Thursday 10:00 p.m.
Tony’s hand shook as he finished losing his supper in the corner of an abandoned parking lot several blocks from Wong’s Diner. His chest heaved as he greedily sucked in the cool night air, lungs eager after his run and sickness. He wiped his chin with the back of his hand and he started to chuckle.
His chuckle turned into full-blown laughter, and he slumped against a rusted-out Ford, arms wrapped around his stomach. He tapped the butt of the pistol still in his hand against his forehead several times. “I killed him. Oh, man, you shoulda seen his face. Ha!”
He held the gun sideways and pumped his arm back and forth. “Blam! Blam! Take that, ya chinkie bastard! Blam!”
Light splashed over the lot, and Tony rolled under the old Taurus, clutching the Browning to his chest. He shook as tires crunched over broken glass and busted concrete, flinching when the car door opened and slammed closed. Pure white tennis shoes attached to legs clad in a green track-suit strode directly toward his hiding spot.
“Please, God, get me out of this,” Tony whispered, holding the cross on his necklace. He kissed the symbol of Jesus, tucked it back, and threw his hand out, Browning leading the way.
A powerful hand clasped his forearm and jerked him out. “Please, don’t kill me!” he said, eyes closed.
A familiar grunt caused him to pry open one eye. “Shit, Bernardo!” His body relaxed as he recognized Fianchetti’s goon. “I knew it was you, big guy. Just messin’ wit ya, buddy. Ha!”
Bernardo cocked an eyebrow at the piece in Tony’s hand. Tony followed his gaze. “Oh, that? Pfft. That’s nothin’. I wasn’t going to shoot ya! Promise!”
Bernardo grunted and jerked his head toward the sedan. Tony paled. “Um, where we goin’?”
Bernardo turned his back and walked back to the front passenger side. He paused before he slid in, piercing Tony with a stare and another cocked eyebrow. Tony shuffled over, setting the Browning in Bernardo’s waiting paw before climbing in the back.
Thursday 11:30 p.m.
Tony blew out a long breath as the car pulled through a gate and journeyed up the winding drive to a Tudor-style mansion. Bernardo hopped out as soon as the vehicle hit park. The driver, a dark-haired mook with scarred knuckles, turned back to look at Tony with expectant eyes.
Tony clambered out, scurrying to catch up with Bernardo, who had already disappeared inside. The interior brought him up short as he drank in the shining hardwood floors, spotless red satin carpets, and chandelier dangling down. “Whoa,” he breathed.
“Quick-Fingers!” Mr. Fianchetti padded into the foyer, dressed in a black smoking jacket, gray silk pajamas, and slippers. A pipe, smoke curling up from the bowl, filled his left hand. “Did you deliver my package?”
Tony straightened his shoulders. “Of course, Mr. Fianchetti. It wasn’t no thing.”
“No thing?” Fianchetti laughed. “You here that, Bernardo? No thing.”
Tony started when he felt Bernardo’s presence behind him. How does that slab of meat move so quiet? He focused as Fianchetti started speaking again. “Tell you what, Quick-Fingers. I like you. That thing with the wallet,” the older man waved his hand in dismissal, “water under the bridge.”
“I appreciate that, sir.”
“Think nothing of it, kid. In fact,” he stepped forward and clapped Tony on the shoulder, “you interested in some other work?”
Tony’s eyes widened as the implications hit him. “Uh…uh…sure, Mr. Fianchetti. I’d love that.”
“Good. We’ll be in touch. Bernardo will take you home.” Fianchetti turned to head up the red-carpeted stairway.
“Uh…Mr. Fianchetti?” Tony gulped as the second most powerful man in the de Rossi family turned to stare at him, face stony. “Can I keep the gun?”
Stone features cracked into a smile. “Ha! Memento, huh. Sure, Quick-Fingers.” He nodded at Bernardo. “Give our new friend his gun back, Bernardo.”
Tony grinned as he accepted the Browning, tucking it in his back waistband and draping his shirt over it. “Bernardo, I get the feelin’ me and you are goin’ to be great friends.”
Bernardo grunted and jerked his thumb over his shoulder toward the door.
Another part of the story of Tony Abbatiello. Stay tuned for more. I have gathered all the stories so far under one category, and the new ones will go there as well. Read the story and character sketch so far under Serial Monday: The Rise and Fall of Quick-Fingers.
Hope you enjoy.
Happy Reading and Writing!