Infernal

6

Jack had called him and asked for a meet at this Upper West Side dive called Julio's. They'd met out front and wandered in. Typical neighborhood watering hole except for all the dead plants hanging in the front windows. What was up with that?

Joey could tell Jack was a regular by the way just about everyone crowded around him, patting his shoulders and shaking his hand and saying how sorry they were about his dad.

Joey hung off to the side, feeling like he was standing there with his dick in his hand. But not for long. Jack cut it short and said thanks but he had some business. Everyone wandered back to their places.

So now the two of them sat in a back corner. A short, ripped spic brought them a couple of Rolling Rocks. Jack introduced him as the owner.

"Anything I can do, meng," he said as he gripped Jack's hand. "Anything. You just say the word."

When he was gone Joey ran a finger through the wet ring left by his beer bottle and said, "You got something shaking, Jack?"

"Not a thing. Nada. My guy's been asking around and coming up empty."

"And your guy is…?"

Jack gave him a look.

Joey smiled. This was what he liked about this guy.

"Jack the Sphinx. A boccalone you ain't."

"I put the word out to everyone I know on the street to call me first if they hear anything. No one's called."

"Same here."

"The key is those Tavor-twos. They weren't bought at Wal-Mart. Can only be so many in the country. We find who sold them, we can find who they sold them to."

Joey shook his head. He'd had the same thought.

"Trouble is, no one's talking."

"That's because they're not scared of us."

"So what do we do? Brace them? Put the hurt on them?"

Jack gave him another kind of look.

"Come on, Jack. I know what you're thinking: Joey's a bidonista, what's he know about rough stuff? Maybe you don't know 'cause you've never seen, but I can handle myself."

"Never crossed my mind, Joey. No, I was thinking of a bigger scare than us."

"Like?"

"Well, I know your last name isn't Castles. What I don't know is if you're connected."

Joey wondered where this was going.

"Not directly, no, and we like to keep it that way. But you can't operate, least not for very long, you don't give the outfit a piece. Pop did it; Frankie and I been doing it."

"Can you make some calls?"

"Yeah, some. But I know someone who can talk higher up the chain." Joey was liking the idea more and more. "Yeah, by the time Pop retired, the boys had made a chubby piece from him, a piece they didn't do nothing for. Got it 'cause they fucking exist and nothing else. No reason he can't look for something back. Not a lot, nothing that'll cost them anything, just some information."

"Think he'll do it?"

"Pop? He'll jump at the chance. I'll tell him to ask the boys check around and see if anyone's sold a Tavor, or even a bunch of five-fifty-six hollow-points, to a dune monkey."

"That'll do it. But the cops might already know that."

Joey shook his head. "They don't."

"You know for sure?"

"For double sure." Here was a chance to impress Jack. "Frankie and me made us a few friends in the PD over the years." He made a motion of slipping his right hand into his waistband. "You know what I'm saying. That's how I found out about the cyanide bullets. They're keeping me posted. Seeing how much me and Frankie paid them over the years, they damn well fucking better. Time those meat eaters earned it by doing something more than looking the other way."

A smile twisted Jack's lips. Just a little. Just for a second.

"You sound like a good guy to know. They telling you anything else?"

"They hear the Homeland Security people are pretty sure the shooters had inside help."

"Pretty sure?"

"Well, they don't know who yet, but they say someone at the airport had to be helping the fucks. First off, they came and went through an 'Employees Only' door. Second, they got away so clean, they had to have inside help."

Jack shrugged. "Maybe, maybe not. Look at me. I got out, and no one was helping me."

"Yeah, that's right. You were there. But why didn't you just—?"

"Long story. But back to our problem: Who, what, and where is Wrath of Allah?"

Joey shrugged. "Gotta be somewhere. I mean, we know they exist."

"But they may not be calling themselves Wrath of Allah. In real life they could be calling themselves Seventy-five Virgins Here We Come, but they use a different name when they call the media."

Joey closed his eyes and squeezed the neck of his Rock until he thought it would break.

"The slick fucks."

He relaxed his grip, opened his eyes, and stared at Jack.

"How do you stay so cool, man?"

He watched Jack's jaw muscles work.

"Cool? Who's cool? I'm so burned I want to throw something. Or break something. If the owner wasn't a friend I might be going for a twofer and toss this table through a window."

"You hide it well, man."

"Years of practice."

Joey leaned back. "So… what we do we find these faccio di stronzones?"

"We'll cross that bridge—"

"Hey, I know it's a long shot, but what say we get lucky? What we gonna do? Call nine-one-one and tell them where they're hiding? As if. Don't know about you, but I don't wanna see them sit in jail for a couple years waiting to go to court, then get traded for some hostage somewhere. Or get sprung on some technicality. Blood demands blood, Jack. Know what I'm saying?"

This scary look passed across Jack's face, then it was gone.

"Yeah. I know exactly what you're saying. I can hear my father's blood screaming."

"Okay. We find them, we waste them. Deal?"

Jack hesitated, then nodded.

They sat and sipped in silence for a moment or two, then Jack cleared his throat.

"How're you doing without Frankie?"

Joey didn't answer right away. Couldn't. How to explain? He hadn't lost a brother, he'd lost a piece of himself. He'd be less torn up if it had been the old man.

When he finally spoke, he had trouble getting the words out. His voice sounded thick.

"It's tough, Jack. Real tough. I miss him. We was always together. Maybe that's why we fought so much. Like a couple gavones, y'know? But the fighting never meant nothin'. When it was over it was over and we'd go grab a beer. I loved the guy, Jack, and now… I'm tellin' you, Jack, I'm gonna waste those fucks. I swear on Frankie's grave, I get the chance, they're dead meat. I…"

Joey felt his eyes filling and heard a soft sob. When he realized it came from him and that he was going to start bawling like a baby, he got up and turned away.

He managed, "Gotta go, man. Talk to you later."

And then he was heading for the door, keeping his head down so no one would see him crying.