Page 55 of Bleed
“Whatever floats your boat.” I scoff, bouncing my lap up and down, making her jostle and wake up more, but giving me a hard on in the process.
“Well, that floats my boat.” She giggles, reaching between us, palming the lump in my jeans.
“Wait till the show is over baby.”
“Hmmm, party pooper.”
“Oh no baby, you’ll get your kinky little party of two. Don’t you worry.”
The turmoil in my head is all but gone as we rise from the loveseat and stretch our backs. I watch as her shirt rides up, showing me her flat stomach, and I bite my lower lip.
“Come on, before I change my mind and bend you over right here.”
“Yes Sir.”
It’s her leading the way out of the café, her hand again in mine, pulling me towards the parking lot and the gas cans hiding just where we left them. But it’s me leading her when we grab them and cross the street, going down the sidewalk and into the alley behind Valentino’s.
There’s no cars on the street, and the whole block seems deathly quiet, like the universe has warned everyone who should not be here away. I’m happy for that, because for one, it won’t allow witnesses, and two, no one besides the family will perish.
No crickets chirp, and no birds sound out above us as we hunker down in the back lot behind the building. I try the back door, and it doesn’t open, but that’s no shock, it’s usually locked. I’m surprised to find that my key still works though. You would think that with everything going on, they’d have at least changed the locks. Unless they’re planning something. Too bad for them, I’m always more than one step ahead.
“I’m gonna go in. You stay out here. When I come out, you use your can to douse the dumpsters and the doorway. Got it baby?” I say to Dani, waiting for her to nod her acknowledgement.
When she smiles broadly and nods up and down, I turn the lock and pull open the door, staying low, dribbling the gasoline from the doorway into the restaurant. I leave a thin trail of it down the back hallway, and into the offices, dousing a large amount on Valentino’s desk that’s been empty since his death. I can tell by the amount of dust already gathered on it that turns to a grey mud with the wetness of the fuel.
After the office, I go to the kitchen, keeping quiet, hiding around the corner, watching as my cooks and servers mill about, not working near as hard as they ever used to for me.
Fuck!
In a split-second decision, I stand up and walk into the kitchen like I own it, with my chest puffed out, and clear my throat loudly, getting their attention, blowing stealth right out the window, but I can’t let the innocent staff perish with the family, they don’t deserve it.
“If you want to live, get out, now.” I say, shushing any sounds they could make at my sudden appearance.
I see the look of excitement to see me change to looks of solemness, because they know who I am, and if the Reaper is telling them to leave, they have no choice.
Silently, they put down their pots and pans, knives and dishes, and file out of the kitchen through the back hall from where I just came. Each one of them shakes my hand or pats my shoulder as they go by me, a silent farewell to the years we’ve been together, and a thanks for sparing their lives.
“Dani will meet you out back.” I say as the last of them goes to walk past me, the second in command to Antonio, a young man named Mark.
I stop him with a tight hold on his hand, pulling him into me, hugging him and slapping his back.
“Mark, Antonio didn’t suffer.” I whisper to him in his ear. “I took him before they could get him.”
“Thank you.” It’s all he says, but it’s heavy with his appreciation.
Waiting a minute for them to be safely outside, I toss the red can on the floor and walk into the heart of my kitchen, taking one last look around. I’m going to miss the place where I’ve cooked my heart out for the past decade.
My lighter clicks a few times before the flame licks up from its wick, and I stare at the little dancing blue and yellow fire, mesmerized at how something so little can cause the destruction I’m hoping for. It clinks loudly when it lands on the tile floor at my feet, lighting the end of the trail of gas, pushing outwards down the hall and into the offices.
Walking further into my kitchen, I grab the corners of the fryers, shaking them until they tip over, spilling all the cooking oil on the floor and all over the nearby equipment.
The heat from the small fire on the floor quickly finds the spilt oil, and the kitchen goes up around me like an inferno, burning as hot as the bowels of hell while I walk over the flames to the saloon doors. Picking up a burning rag off the ground, I carry it with me into the dining room, where the chatter and fun times stop instantly and the family all looks in my direction.
The ladies scream, and rush towards the men as I stand there waving the burning cloth. The men stay in their seats all except Salvatore who stands up, adjusting his suit jacket, staring at me like a petulant child.
“Reaper.” He says, cocking a brow at the fireball in my hand.
“Salvatore.” I respond, slowly walking over and blocking the front door with my body as his eyes and the guns hidden underneath the tables all focus on me.
