“Fine,” I said. “Call Vinnie and see if he’s up and ready. We should do it soon. Maybe try to get there by six thirty, before he leaves for the day.”
“He’s up at four thirty, just like me.”
“Well, get him over here,” I said. “And we’ll get this show on the road.”
After stopping at the Dunkin’ Donuts for a cup of coffee and a pastry, we made it to Josh’s house just before seven a.m.
I followed Vinnie and Herb to the front door. The home was a modest ranch with a one-car garage in a quiet neighborhood positioned in the center of town. Despite the faded exterior paint and damaged roof tiles, the yard was well-kept and landscaped beautifully. The garage door was closed, and no cars were parked in the drive, leading me to believe there were no Friday night visitors still occupying the home.
Herb was dressed in a pair of khaki-colored old-man pants and a powder-blue, short-sleeved button-down shirt that was tucked tightly into his waistline. He looked like every other eighty-year-old man in Southwest Florida.
Vinnie wasn’t quite what I expected. In his mid-sixties, by my guess, he was five-foot-six or so, built like a semi-retired weightlifter, and had a thick New Jersey accent. He wore his salt-and-pepper hair slicked back, and he walked with a noticeable “don’t fuck with me” gait.
He was dressed like he was headed to a nightclub. Two gold chains dangled from his thick neck, one of which had a large, diamond-encrusted crucifix. A gold Rolex watch was on his left wrist, and his right was adorned with a gold chain. Several of his fingers, including his right pinkie, were fitted with gaudy gold rings. Wearing a pair of olive-colored slacks, black dress shoes, and an untucked black silk shirt, he looked the part of a stereotypical East Coast mobster.
When we reached the front door, Vinnie nudged his way in front of Herb. He glanced at me. “Pay attention.”
“To what?” I asked.
We’d agreed the two old men would lure Josh to answer the door, with me hidden out of view. Once the door was open, I’d take it from there, pushing him back inside the home to take care of business. After I made myself clear, we’d depart with a stern warning of retaliation if he spoke to police regarding the incident or to Kate about anything.
Vinnie slammed the backside of his thick fist against the door like he was a detective serving a warrant.
“What’s with the cop knock?” I whispered.
He glanced over his shoulder and shot me a glare.
He knocked again. This time it was much harder than the first.
“Jesus,” I said.
The same “go fuck yourself” glare followed.
Herb teetered back and forth on the balls of his feet nervously. I felt like an extra in a scene from a Martin Scorsese mobster movie, with Vinnie playing the lead, Herb along for the ride, and me as a stand-in.
The door opened a few inches. From my position, I couldn’t see a thing.
“What, umm,” a tired voice stammered. “Is there something—”
Vinnie planted the heel of his shoe against the door with such force that it slammed against the face of whoever was peering through it.
“Fuckin’ piece of fuckin’ shit,” Vinnie seethed, storming through the opening.
I edged my way past Herb and stepped inside the home. Josh’s left hand was in front of his face, covering his eye. Wearing sweatpants and a wrinkled T-shirt, it was obvious he’d just crawled out of bed.
He looked at Vinnie through one extremely wide eye. “What the—”
“Fuckin’ stronzo. I ought to cut yah fuckin’ hands off,” Vinnie snarled. He kicked the toe of his shoe against Josh’s shin, just below the knee.
Josh fell to the floor like someone had pushed him off a cliff. “Goddammit,” he whined, looking up with his one good eye. He glanced at me and then Herb. “Who the fuck—”
“Hit a fuckin’ woman?” Vinnie asked. “In the face? Che palle?”
Josh’s eyes shifted from Herb to Vinnie.
The heel of Vinnie’s shoe came crashing down against Josh’s stomach. Repeatedly, Vinnie stomped until Josh was wadded into a tight ball.
Assuming it was over, I nudged my way to Vinnie’s side. He looked at me with anger-filled eyes. Holding my gaze, he stomped his heel against the side of Josh’s face.
Blood ran along the side of Josh’s face and pooled on the floor. A large gash on his upper cheek would require a dozen or more stitches. The ugly scar would act as a reminder of the mistakes he’d made.
“Katelyn Winslow,” Vinnie said. He tapped the toe of his bloody shoe against Josh’s temple until Josh looked up. “Ever talk to her again, I’ll come back here and cut yah cock off, yah fuckin’ medigan.” Satisfied that he’d done the damage he’d come to administer, Vinnie leaned over Josh and spat onto his bloody face. “Vaffanculo!”
He looked at me. “He’s all yaws, kid.”
It had only taken Vinnie thirty seconds to take care of Josh, but he’d done so quite authoritatively. I really had no idea what I could add to make our visit any more memorable.
“This happened because you punched Katelyn in the face,” I said. “Don’t ever approach her, message her, talk to her, or attempt to make contact with her in any way, shape, or form. If you do, I’ll be back. If you talk to the police, I’ll be back. If I ever hear of you touching another woman in a derogatory manner, I’ll be back. The next time I come back, I’m not bringing two nice old men with me. I’m bringing a dozen outlaw bikers.” I raised my brows. “Are we clear?”
Peering up at me through the one eye that wasn’t swollen shut, Josh nodded his bloody head.
I raised my right boot over his crotch. “Are we clear?”
“Yes. Understood,” he blurted. “I understand.”
I stomped the heel of my boot into his crotch. I couldn’t leave without doing something in retaliation for what he’d done to Kate. It seemed minuscule in comparison to Vinnie’s violent rampage, but it would have to suffice.
“C’mon, fellas.” I turned away and stepped through the door. “I’ll buy the coffee.”
Herb pushed me out of the way and shuffled to Josh’s side. He kicked him in the ribs. “Don’t.” He kicked him again. “Hit.” He kicked him again. “Women.”
He spat on the floor beside him and turned toward the door.
I patted Herb on the shoulder. “Good job, old man.”
We got inside Vinnie’s Cadillac. With me seated in the back seat and Vinnie and Herb in the front, we pulled away from the curb like we were leaving a funeral. Seeming to be completely over his fit of anger, Vinnie crept up the street at a snail’s pace.
He adjusted the rearview mirror so he could see my reflection. “Herb tells me youz got an Italian home on the beach for sale.”
“We do. It’ll be finished next week. It’s more of a mansion than a home, though.”
“When can we see it?” he asked.
Vinnie lived in Herb’s neighborhood, Pelican Bay. It was a gated community that butted against a private beach. A mixture of condos, single-family homes, and duplexes intended for the elderly, it was an expensive place to live by anyone’s standards. It wasn’t, however, sixty million dollars’ worth of expensive.