Page 18 of Working for the Mob

“Yes, sir,” Henry said.

The last thing we needed was for McLaurin to sneak out the backdoor and run into the woods. Then we’d have a long night in front of us. The best thing to do is to get him on his front porch.

“On my signal,” I said. “Go.”

He nodded goodbye, and turned to slink into the grass. It didn’t take long for him to disappear in the darkness.

I put my focus back on the house and took a deep breath. I always hated this part. I pulled out my revolver from the holster and crept through the un-mowed field.

In this darkness, McLaurin wouldn’t be able to see us, but I wasn’t taking any chances. I stayed low and crept across the open field to his house.

The dry grass, as high as my waist, scratched at my face and clothes.

Lance should be the one out here, freezing his balls off, preparing to kill another human being. But that wasn’t the hand I was dealt. Instead, I was raised to be the weapon. The enforcer.

I counted at least three-hundred breaths before I took refuge behind the back of the shed. I pulled my revolver from the holster and inched along the shed. I kept my eyes focused on the front door and––

Fuck!

I kicked a hay fork hidden in the grass. The fork flipped in the air, snagged the hem of my pants, and sent me toppling to the ground. I hit the hard dirt with a thud, and my gun flew out of my hand.

Shit.

A loud bang crashed ahead of me, and I looked up to see a trash can on its side, with its contents of liquor bottles and preservatives splayed across the ground. I must have knocked it over in my fall.

Shit. Shit.

I held my breath and waited to see whether McLaurin had heard me. Sweat dripped down my brow, despite the cold night. A light turned on in the house and a voice from within cussed loudly.

“Those damn raccoons better not be back!” McLaurin yelled, and creaks within the house indicated that he was on the move. I only had seconds before he would come through the front door.

On my hands and knees, I scoured the ground while footsteps pounded down a flight of stairs. I didn’t see my gun anywhere. The grass was too high.

I sifted through the contents of the garbage, pungent in the fall air, and the lights from the living room flicked on. The door would open before I could find the gun! All of the glass bottles made it harder to distinguish the glint of the stainless-steel revolver among the rest of the debris.

The door creaked open and McLaurin’s boots clucked against the hardwood. No longer concerned with keeping my noise down, I sped through the debris. A beer bottle, an old tin-can, a moldy jar, but no revolver!

A light blinded me. I jumped at the blast of gunfire, but didn’t have time to check my body for bullet holes. I scoured the trash, now illuminated by whatever flashlight McLaurin shined at me, and searched frantically for the damn gun.

“Who the fuck are you?” McLaurin asked. He must not have cared who I was, because he aimed his shotgun at me anyway. I couldn’t get out of this jam. This was it.

Two gunshots rang through the night and my heart stopped. I waited for the impact, for the pain, for the white light, but it never came. The flashlight no longer blinded, and my eyes were still adjusting. I only heard my racing heart and my quick and shallow breaths.

Once my eyes adjusted, I slowly raised my head to the front porch: McLaurin lay sprawled on the deck, with two bullet holes in him.

“What the hell were you doing?” Henry’s voice asked me. He crouched twenty paces away from me, his smoking rifle in his hands.

“I dropped my damn gun,” I spat back. My heart still ran at a thousand beats a second.

A huge smile splayed across Henry’s face. “‘Best Shot in Pennsylvania,’ my ass! You can’t even hold onto your own gun.”

“If McLaurin just picked up his damn yard, I would’ve been fine,” I said through gritted teeth.

Henry headed to the front deck. “Who knew ‘The Great Art Necci’ needed his sidekick Henry to bail him out. You’re going to have to give me a raise.”

“What do you need money for? The cathouse will be done without McLaurin to run it,” I growled.

He ignored my comment and shined McLaurin’s flashlight on the ground in front of me, still chuckling. He was clearly enjoying this.

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