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Thirty-Four

Sal

I caught sleep like a whore during church, her only safe moment to rest but it’s not long. I’m grateful my wife can do it anywhere. Christ, I love saying that. I whisper to the darkness, “I love you, my wife.”

I really want to turn her over and fuck her, but she’s so tired and my side smarts. I can’t imagine her life makes any kind of sense right now. I slowly peel myself away from her warmth, and it feels like a sip of old coffee when my feet hit the floor. Cold and bitter. I want to stay with her, but it’s time to finish this. I close the door, tightening the robe sash so it doesn’t pop open and accidentally give Mark a free peek at the Cannoli show. Christ. I’m so wrapped up in this ridiculous woman I just called my dick Cannoli in my head.

I don’t know how to do this, but I need him dead. Like really fucking dead. All the fuckers, dead. I want a life beyond waiting for fucking guys to drop each other or for my number to be up. I know I’ll always have a shadow, a tail, and a bounty, but if I can disappear for a while, then we can figure it out.

Mark is sitting at the long light wood table. His faded FBI t-shirt looks to be from his training. He’s bigger now and fills it out, but I imagine he was a little wimp before that. But deadly, always deadly. He’s scowling at his laptop and has several phones in front of him.

“G-man? What are you doing up?”

“Don’t you know? I’ve lost an international pariah boogeyman and probably my job. Certainly, all respect, honor, and backup.” He sits back and sips more of his tropical concoction.

I open a series of drawers, finding a lot of those rubber jar openers. Who the fuck still uses those? Eventually, I find a long lighter usually used to flick on a grill. I make my way to the slider to the back patio. “Come on, you fuck up.” I nod my head to him.

“Ditch the cruise booze and bring the Scotch, you damn sad sack.”

I bite off the end of a cigar. I fucking hate not having a cutter on me, but I guess the luxuries of life have to take a side step for a moment. I puff on it for a couple of pulls. It’s my last one, and I know Pop hates them. Maybe it’s really my last one. We’ll see.

Mark pours two three-finger drinks and sits. “I have lots of moving pieces right now, man. I need to count on you not to make it worse.”

I smack him on my back, the man who I have spent more time with than my damn wife. I’ve turned states without turning states. I trust that Mark will let me go on the other side of this.

“Boy, we are through the looking glass with this shit.” I gesture with my cigar.

“I’ve been called back to Langley. I have to write up reports on all of this, and about why I was with Poppy of all people in LA. The picture helps, but I’ve been benched. But there’s other shit. I can’t tell you until I know more.”

Mark stands and turns away from me. Then locks his hands on top of his head. “I had every port of entry surveilled, and when it all came up empty, the cost and failure of this operation and all the related threads to Cady rests on my shoulders. And I think I just pulled in my last favor in Europe.”

I pour my booze into his glass. “Get drunk. It will all look worse in the morning.”

He laughs and takes the glass, then shoots down the very large glass of brown liquor.

I puff and push the smoke up and away from him. “Lou told me where Enzo is going. I just need to heal a touch, and she needed to fucking rest.” Mark sips his fruity drink with his eyebrows high. I lift my shirt to show my fresh bandage.

“Graze?”

“A bit deeper but don’t tell her. Cleaned and dressed, I’m good.”

“Mafia doc? Or your favorite vet?” I laugh.

“Nah, old flame whose in the fucking Enzo business now. He didn’t leave with Cady.”

“Explain,” Mark says. I pull on my cigar and watch the smoke hang in the intense middle of the night heat. Fucking desert.

“We were in Long Beach when the bitch gave us up, and he was on our heels.”

Mark sits back and smiles at me. “Is this his goomar, who I assume is Ang Di Novia?”

“I forget you know everything sometimes.”

“Not everything. Give me the fucking full picture. Then I’ll give you what I can. My career and life are linked to yours now.”

“Weren’t they always?” One of his phones pops off. He answers and steps away. I don’t like that shit. All I hear is him tell the person ‘no.’ Then he looks like he’s seen a fucking ghost.

“Explain that shit to me.” I gesture with my cigar.