Page 58 of Kingpin
“Son of a fucking bitch,” Dominic says as his head lowers like a child being scolded. “I’m on my way.”
“What’s going on?” I ask as soon as he puts the phone on the table.
Dominic runs both of his hands over his face, steadying himself as the information he just received sinks in.
“Dominic, you’re scaring me. What’s going on?” I ask again.
“One of my guys got shot,” he says. I watch as his eyes begin to water and he fights back the tears. “My three closest friends were walking into a bar, and a truck drove by and started shooting. My friend, Tommy, was hit in the back twice. He’s in the hospital. I have to go, I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have to apologize,” I assure him. “Do what you’ve got to do. Go see your friend. I can take a cab home.”
“It’s okay, just come with me.”
I immediately start to think about what kind of characters might be at the hospital, and instantly know I don’t want to be there. I’m definitely not ready to meet anymore gangsters.
“No, it’s okay,” I say. “This is your thing, and I’d just rather go home.”
“Well, at least let me take you,” he pleads, but I want to be supportive. I want him to know I understand he has friends that I don’t know. Friends he’s known a long time, and I can tell from the tears in his eyes that this is serious.
“I’m fine, Dominic,” I insist. “Go check on your friend, I’m gonna take a cab home. Just let me know what’s going on as soon as you can, okay?”
He’s reluctant, but he nods his head. He pulls a wad of cash out of his pocket and places some on the table to pay for dinner, and then hands some to me.
“This is for the cab,” he says as he stands up. “I’m so sorry about this. I’m gonna call you as soon as I know he’s okay, then I’m gonna meet you at your house when I’m free. Is that okay?”
I force a smile.
“That’s perfect. Okay, now go.”
He leans over and kisses me softly on the lips, then he hurries out of the restaurant.
I wait for the waiter to acknowledge the money for the check and the tip, then I get up and make my way outside. I flag down a cab within a minute, and as I ride home, I feel frustratingly anxious. I hate this part of it—the wondering if he’s going to be okay or not. I hate trying to figure out if this is something mafia related, or if there are going to be more consequences for it. That’s two shootings in two days, yet Dominic insists this isn’t how his life usually is. Is it usually rainbows and butterflies? I highly doubt it.
So, when the cab pulls up to my apartment, I’m filled with anxiety and confusion. All I can do is go inside and wait to hear from him. With my nerves being on high alert like this, and my brain drawing its own scary conclusions, I hope I don’t have to wait long. I don’t think I can take much else.
