Page 2 of Out of Sight

“We can’t just take him to a trail in the city. Out in, say, the East Bay there’s less witnesses out late and people probably won’t find the body so soon.” Just because I’d never done it didn’t mean I wasn’t smart enough to do it.

I glanced up at movement inside the building. Costa was still inside. That meant he either he somehow managed to come up with the money or he was a moron.

“That’s him, right?” Shit, Antonio noticed him, too. “Let’s go, man. I got a couple uncles to impress!”

Without waiting for me, he hopped out of the car and barged into the laundromat.

“Dammit,” I muttered. He was too eager. I still didn’t know how to control the situation if Mario Costa really was a moron after all. I had no idea how to get out of killing him, especially with an eager apprentice like Antonio along for the ride. I unbuckled and hurried after him.

Antonio already had his pistol out. Jesus, he worked fast. I needed to take charge before it got ever further out of hand.

“Mario, my friend,” I said, putting on my Intimidating Asshole Face again. “Do you have anything for me?”

Please say yes.

“Yes! Just tell your boy to put the gun down! Yes, I have the money!”

“All of it?” I inquired, standing as tall as I could to loom down over both men. Antonio did a double take as I towered over him by almost a foot.See, I’m not such a little guy, douchebag.

“Yes, all of it! I got all twenty-thou!” I held in my sigh of relief.

But then Antonio clocked him in the head with the gun anyway.What the actual fuck?

“Get it,” he demanded as Mario Costa stumbled under the hit. Antonio kicked him from behind, urging him to move, so Mario scrambled along the floor to the back room. I followed silently behind. If Costa had the money this would be a piece of cake and Antonio could take the lead all he wanted.

Once the stacks of bills were laid out in front of me, I felt the last of my anxiety leave. I could do this. I wouldn’t need to kill anybody. I let Antonio count the bills, relieved when he gave me an approving nod at the total. Everything was going to be fine.

But then Antonio pistol whipped Costa a second time, leaving him reeling all over again.

“What was that for?” I demanded, but forced myself not to move. My spine ached from the effort to hold myself back from helping Costa back up.

“Well, it looks like poor old Mario is short a couple grand,” Antonio sneered, stuffing a thousand dollar bunch in the pocket of his gray leather jacket and tossing another to me. I caught it on instinct. “Guess we’re gonna have to teach him a lesson. Let’s go!” he shouted at his hostage, using his ridiculous steel toe boots to stomp on a kneecap hard enough I heard something crack.

And because that wasn’t enough violence for Antonio, he used those heavy boots to kick him all the way out the door, poor Mario struggling and crawling as best he could with his broken kneecap.

Jesus. Antonio is a psycho, I thought, fighting disbelief and horror. I couldn’t do anything except follow behind them, pretending I had my shit together.

Spoiler alert: my shit was not together.

I was numb as I watched Antonio duct tape Mario Costa’s mouth and wrists. Silent as he dragged him to the trunk and then bound his legs. Complicit as I got into the driver’s seat and headed to an out-of-the-way park hidden in the suburbs.

What did I get myself into?

We arrived before I could begin to process how to get out of this mess. Antonio practically bounced out of his seat, so excited to fuck this poor guy up. Then Mario was out of the trunk, duct tape ripped mercilessly from his mouth—the flesh on his lips torn away with the tape—and on his knees while his attacker circled him.

Could I stop this? How could I do it without pissing off one Morelli or another? I needed this job; who else would hire an ex-con?

But was a job worth Mario Costa’s life?

I crossed my arms against my chest, body rigid. I’d wait it out and take a chance to help Mario when I saw one. There was no way Antonio could do this; I was supposed to be his coach, supposed to teach him how to hurt people. He didn’t know what he was doing yet.

I’d figure out a way to make it right before Antonio went too far.

Antonio took out a knife with a wicked looking serrated edge and I tensed up again, but he only cut the bonds on Mario’s wrists and ankles. I let out my breath when he holstered the knife at his waist once more, continuing his manic circles around Mario Costa.

Antonio stopped behind him to twist his wrist in a bone-crushing angle. “Why are you short two grand?” Antonio demanded, leaning forward to scream in Mario’s face, spit flying.

Mario looked back at him like he was crazy. “I’m not! I had the whole twenty-K! I did! You took some!”

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