Pietro took a drag off his cigarette. “When you clowns officially become suits, Mr. Giordano is keeping you on day shifts so that Mrs. Rossi gets to see you on a regular basis.”
With gratitude, I nodded. “Much appreciated.”
Sal added, “At least until my father returns.”
I asked Pietro and Cristian, “When does it become official?”
The two men looked at each other, a little guilt present. “Soon.”
Sal and I were no longer the farmhands loading sheep or milk into trucks. We were the hands that now loaded the mysterious boxes first. We were now part of the team to carry out Mr. Giordano’s illegal business deals. Most days, everything went without a hitch. That is until the one day it all went wrong.
I had questioned the driver, “Are you new?”
The man, about 6’4”, brushed off my inquiry with a simple, “He is sick, so they sent me.”
Sal was already loading crates full of jars of milk, that were hiding rifles, into the back of the truck that we had dealt with many times. If not careful, routine can cause blindness.
Walking around the front of the commercial-sized truck, I pointed to the windshield, asking, “Who are you?” to the passenger I had never seen before.
Behind the glass, the stranger shrugged. “Just a backup replacement.”
Alarms were pinging in my gut, so I peered around for Pietro and Cristian, or any other Suits, but, unfortunately, none were anywhere in sight. Again, I thought of how careless we had all become in the name of ‘routine’.
I wasn’t going to be caught off guard more than I had already been.
At the passenger door, I pulled out my gun and aimed. “Get out until I have confirmation.” In the corner of my eye, I saw Sal peeking around the back of the truck.
He must have heard me. “Angelo?”
As the passenger door opened, I backed up to make room. “Sal, something isn’t right—” I didn’t even get to finish my sentence before the passenger started reaching for his own gun.
Time stood still as I was faced with the choice to be killed or do the killing. Even after all the training we had experienced—shooting many objects—actually pulling the trigger on a human felt so against nature itself. Yet, what choice did I have? The dark expression on the stranger’s face promised he did not feel the same. That he was going to pull a trigger and end my life within one second.
So, I beat him to it.
I pulled the trigger of the gun I had aimed directly at his chest to cause a grave wound.
Except, there was only a click and not a boom!
This was nothing I had been trained for. My ears rang so loudly as my own natural desire to live kicked in. The stranger lifted his weapon to point it at me. This was it. I didn’t have time to retrieve my other gun, so I swung the butt of the dead one in my hand and smashed it into the stranger’s face.
His head violently jerked to the right as his jaw went slack, and he rolled and fell into the side of the truck then slid down. A heap on the ground, he was unconscious.
There was no need to wonder where the driver now was. Sal running toward me, screaming, “Noooo!” was all I needed to know. The driver was right next to me. Sal fired his aimed gun at the stranger, but again, all that could be heard was Click! Click!
With no time to understand how both of our guns were malfunctioning, backhandedly, I swung the butt of my gun to hit my oncoming attacker, but he got me first. Wham! Something hit me on the top of my head. My knees instantly buckled, and I fell to the ground, landing on my hands and knees because I was too stubborn to go all the way down. My best friend was going to need me.
Stunned due to the strike to the head, I was only able to watch Sal’s shoes as he ran past me, all the while making the click, click, click. My mind was struggling to focus on anything else. It was as if it knew that sound was a death sentence.
Then there was an ounce of more clarity. Sal.
I wanted to yell for him not to go near the driver because we had been set up, and we were weaponless, but my mouth had yet to work as it should because my brain was still dazed.
From my hands and knees, I looked up just in time to see Sal take a hit to the face by a butt of a rifle. My mind cleared, immediately. Rage had me roaring and charging forward. As my dear friend fell to the side, laying defenseless on the ground, I passed him like a phoenix on fire demanding revenge. Getting low, I barreled forward, catching this asshole around the thighs, and lifted, all the while thundering my wrath. I carried him for a couple of feet to create distance between him and Sal, then threw him to the ground. I was too angry to comprehend my sudden strength.
On his back, the driver slammed to the ground, his expression full of shock before his eyes slid shut in a wince of pain. Since I knew I had no guns of use, I snatched his rifle and pointed, then pulled the trigger. Once again, I had gun-failure. That should have been a clue to what was happening, but my mind was too consumed, replaying Sal falling to the ground, to see clearly. Lost in a haze of survival, I threw the gun and retrieved my pocketknife.
Once the stranger on the ground opened his eyes, he lifted his hands, begging me not to kill him as I lifted the blade into the air, preparing to do as much damage as possible with such a tiny knife.
“Angelo!” yelled a voice I recognized, even in my fury.
With my hands still over my head holding the knife, my eyes searched for the man speaking to me. Sweat and blood dripped into my insane eyes.
My father was supposed to be in another country searching for Scarlett, but he was here now. Due to my temporary insanity, I doubted my mind to the point that I wondered if I had actually been shot and was now in another place, wanting to see my father one more time. That had me afraid that Sal had been killed, too. I spun on my feet. “Sal!”
Due to his head injury, Sal was stumbling to his feet, but still with a gun in his hand. Somewhat falling forward, he aimed toward the man I had on the ground in front of me. His trigger finger pulled and pulled, but again no bullets were flying. “Goddamnit!” he roared.
Beyond him, back by the Giordano house, Suits were reappearing, all proudly smiling.
I’m not dead. This was a—
Sal tripped toward me, eyes fighting to focus on the driver, still pulling the trigger. Click! Click! Click!
Glaring at my father and Mr. Rossi turning the corner of a barn, I snarled, “This was a test,” while pulling Sal to me—an embrace to steady his struggle. He instantly sagged into me but had his arm underneath mine, defending my back. Click! Click! I held him. “It’s over. It was a test.”
Sal leaned back to try and see me, but his eyes kept rolling all over in delirium. “What?”
“They tricked us.” I wiped blood from his face, but it was just replaced with more that kept dripping from the top of his head. Giving up on the fruitless attempt, I pulled him back to me and growled over his shoulder to our fathers. “Stay away from us.” They both lifted their palms in surrender, seeming to completely understand I was still filled with tremendous adrenaline and protective fury both racing through my veins. As far as I was concerned, they had struck Sal.
Feeling betrayed, I backed us away from all the staring eyes. They all looked pleased and overjoyed with my and Sal’s fight, clueless they had just shoved another wedge between us and the Giordano way of life. I was holding one of the only ones I would stay loyal to.