Riding Dirty: Luciotti Crime Family (A Bad Boy Mafia Romance) Page 7

  “For one, they’re Detroit-made Italians. Two, my brother is a certified psychopath,” he said, now using both of his hands to massage me. We were still in the middle of the road, but it was early enough that no cars would be driving past us for at least an hour. Every adult in town was at work right now and not many kids took summer school like Jen. If anyone did see us, it would be quite a scene to witness.

  “That's not very nice,” I said. “I'm sure your brother means well.”

  He shook his head and stopped massaging me. No! Don't stop. I secretly pleaded inside of my head. “When I left him last, he was face down in the gravel, cursing my name. Meanwhile, the prostitute he hired to come to family dinner just stood there staring at him. If he could kill me without any repercussions, I think he would do it. Trust me on this, he doesn't mean well.”

  “Sounds like you guys need to see a therapist,” I laughed.

  “Ha, I can only imagine what that session would be like.” He picked me up and set me on my feet. “There you are, my lady.” He bowed. Carmelo pulled into the alleyway and got out.

  “There's my boss, Carmelo,” I said.

  Without saying a word to either of us, he shakily unlocked the door and turned on the lights. “Mind if I sit inside while you open up? I promise I'll tip you guys big,” Lucas asked. It was weird how okay I was beginning to feel with him being around me. I shook off the feeling as Carmelo gave me an angry look.

  “No customers before eight,” he said, walking inside.

  I shrugged at Lucas. “Rules are rules. Sorry.”

  But Lucas was persistent. He leaned in the door and yelled out “What's wrong, Carmelo? You won't even notice I'm there.”

  “Rules are rules,” he said simply, tapping the store hours. Something had been going on with him. Either he was sick or there was something bigger he wasn't telling me. He looked pale, almost like he had been startled.

  Lucas looked to me for backup. “Sorry,” I said, “you heard the man.”

  “Alright, I get the picture. I'm too much man for both of you. Well, I'll be seeing you,” he said, tipping a non-existent hat. “My lady.”

  “Quit it,” I mumbled. Before he could leave I called out to him “Lucas! Thanks for helping me and my daughter out back there. It was, uh, nice of you.”

  “I'm kind of a nice guy,” he said, pulling out a cigarette. “I really shouldn’t be smoking though. Maybe I need a woman in my life to set me straight, huh?” He laughed and tapped the cigarette on his palm.

  “Goodbye,” I said, shutting the door.

  It was weird. I felt excited with only a tinge of nausea. Was I really smiling at all his stupid jokes now? God, I had to be more careful. Still, I couldn't stop staring at him as he walked down the road. Those broad shoulders made my mouth water. Not good!

  Carmelo was in the back kitchen, beating the floor with a broomstick. I wouldn’t call it sweeping. Every two seconds or so he would shout to himself in Italian. When I started counting the drawer, he dropped the broom and walked out to the front. “What did I tell you the other day? Do you ever listen?”

  I was immediately taken back. Carmelo was sort of a strict man, but all in all he had been incredibly nice to me over the months. Now, his tone had changed completely. “Hey, I'm sorry Carl. I had an asthma attack while walking Jen to school. He saved me. What was I supposed to do, tell him to get the hell away?”

  “My name is not Carl, Dahlia. It is Carmelo!” he hissed.

  I was shocked. Something was clearly going on. I found myself apologizing just so he'd leave and go in the kitchen. “Okay. Yeah. You're right. I'm sorry.” But he merely dropped the broom and walked out in a hurry.

  “What the fuck?” I whispered. I didn't know what exactly the deal was with him, but I vowed to find out. Either he was jealous, which couldn't be the case, or something weird was going on between Carmelo and Lucas. Whatever it was, I needed to find out before I found myself in another dangerous situation with yet another dangerous man.

  8

  LUCAS

  A fucking kid? She has a kid? Why didn't she say something? That’s normally something you mention, right?

  As I pointed my classic, black Glock at the door in front of me, I couldn't even think about the man I had to collect from. This low level chump of a drug dealer owed my family twenty grand and I'm wondering why that's reason enough to blow the guy’s brains out. Shit, I mean the guy was so fucking dumb that he fled to Toledo, Ohio.

  So I took the hour or so drive, fed myself at a nice diner with an even nicer waitress Darla, and pulled in right when the coffee hit me. I put on my black leather gloves and stretched them out so they fit perfectly around my wrist and fingers. I laced up my black boots and buttoned my jacket, all the while making sure my sunglasses were on just right. It was the little things like that that made all the difference in the world.

  I took a deep breath, screwed in my silencer, and ran up the steps to the door. That’s when I took position and knocked three times. When the son of a bitch answered the door, he was met face to face with the barrel of my gun. “Don’t move, asshole. And put your hands behind your head. State police,” I said, pushing my way into his house and knocking him against the wall.

  He didn’t even put up a fight. Instead, he actually started crying. I couldn’t believe it myself. “I’m sorry. I really am. Ah, shit!” He cried.

  I secured his hands with some extra-strong zip ties and threw him against a glass frame that hung on the wall. On the floor, he stopped crying. “Don’t hurt me,” he said. “I admit it. I’m a drug dealer. Arrest me.” These little acts I had to do were starting to get a little boring to me. The guy wasn’t supposed to give up so soon, dammit. I checked him for any weapons, but he was clean down to the very last fiber of his being.

  “Now that you can’t squirm or point a gun at me, I want to ask you a few questions. Now, I need you to listen carefully to me, André, because if you don’t, you’ll regret it more than your mother regrets having you. You understand everything so far?” I asked him for clarity’s sake. Snot dripped from his nose onto the carpet. It was better than having blood everywhere, at least.

  But the prick wasn’t giving in so easily, even with his hands locked together. “I need my lawyer. No questions until I see my lawyer,” he moaned. I gave a frown and loud sigh, as I cocked the gun.

  I sat down on the white couch. It was cold and stiff, as if it had never been used before. “André, now’s not the time to fight this. You’re unable to swing a punch, let alone try and escape. The way I see it, you don’t have any options, really. You really believed the whole cop thing too. I honestly can’t believe it. Most people ask for an ID or something, but you just let me right the fuck in.” I laughed to myself and disarmed the gun.

  “You’re … not … a cop?” He asked me, wide-eyed with disbelief.

  “Ding, ding, ding! You caught me. Now’s the time for some questions. You ready? Good.” I traded my gun for a pair of brass knuckles. They were handed down to me from my grandpa, a few years before his death. I couldn’t even imagine how many people received the blunt end of the brass, but it must have been over a hundred.

  “Fuck you!” He spat at me. A big glob nailed me in the face. I grabbed a handkerchief from my pocket and slowly wiped it off.

  “That is not the way to start an interrogation.” I slammed my fist against his jaw and instantly felt the crack and swelling of his teeth. If I had hit him any harder, his whole jaw would have collapsed. Of course, I wanted to. He spit in my damn face. But if I did, he wouldn’t be able to talk and that would be no good, would it?

  “Alright! Fine, I’ll talk. I swear, I’ll talk,” he mumbled. Already his jaw had started to swell up like an egg.

  “Cade Buchwald.” I reached into my pocket and threw a picture at him. “Know that name? Recognize the face in the picture?” I asked him, wiping the blood away from my knuckles.

  “Never heard of him,” he said. “You goin’ to hit me agai
n, tough guy?” He actually started to laugh.

  “No, I think I’m done with the hitting.” I sighed and got out a nice clean straight razor. “Just got this thing sharpened. Pretty, ain’t it?” I smiled and reached down as slow as I could. I grabbed his ear and set the blade near the lobe.

  “What the fuck? No, not the fucking ear!” He screamed, rolling on the floor. I had to put my knee against his chest just to get him to stop.

  “If you’re going to lie to me, you might as well accept the scars that lie brings you. You owe my family over twenty grand, you son of a bitch. I think a measly ear might be worth about two grand. Does that sound fair to you?”

  No! Fine, fine! I’ll tell you everything. Just let my fuckin’ ear go!” He yelled, knowing he was defeated. If he gave me the correct information, he wouldn’t lose his life. He’ll walk away with a bruised face. That’s it. I’d call that lucky.

  I let him go and sat back down, waiting for the information. All I wanted to do was get back to Monroe. It was actually mind-blowing someone would ever want to get back there, but the town was starting to grow on me. Everyone knew each other. They helped one another out. I even liked those small town roads where everyone followed the speed limit. Of course, there was that woman. Dahlia. With the kid. Shit, she was out to make my life difficult, wasn’t she?

  “I don’t know him as Cade Buchwald. People in the drug circuit knew him as Cade Whiteman. You know, ‘cause he had the whitest, most purest shit on the market. But most people just called him Cade.”

  “How clever.” I smirked. What a fucking moron. These drug dealers always wanted to add their creative spin to the equation, but it always ended up sounding like something a middle school kid could come up with. That, or it caused even more trouble for them. You’d think he’d at least change his first name. You know, so he wouldn’t have a chance of getting caught by the police.

  “Yeah, man. I mean, whatever. I didn’t say he was the brightest tool in the shed, did I? Anyway, last I heard he was in Seattle, shacked up with some broad. Some real druggy bitch, you know?” He looked at me with a glaze in his eyes. The guy was probably high right now, taking drugs out of the stash he was supposed to be selling for us.

  “No. I don’t know. Why don’t you enlighten me, André?” I set the brass knuckles back into my jacket pocket and folded my hands in front of me. I was almost positive I had broken a knuckle or two. Oh well, it wouldn’t be the first time. There was no more need of excessive force if he was willing to talk.

  “I don’t know, man. It’s just what I heard. Got me? There was some woman with him. A classic situation or cycle of…what do they call that? Oh yeah, cycle of abuse. She did all his drugs and he beat her when things weren’t goin’ well for him. I heard she was talking about splitting and going to the Midwest to get help or something. He probably killed the woman.”

  “Well, that’s not much help, but I guess it’s something,” I said. “Let me give you some information about your situation. You owe my family twenty grand. Actually, it’s $21,350. That’s not chump change. That’s a good amount of money. Something tells me this house is brand new. Something also tells me you’re just sitting on some of our product.” I was going to continue, but he decided he would interrupt me.

  “Luciotti family, right?” It was like a stroke of genius had finally come into his head. After a year of running from us, he suddenly remembered who we were. It was always a likely story with these assholes. “I don’t get what you’re doing here, man. I paid you in full. Last month, I swear to fuckin’ God!”

  “You paid us half. Not full. Listen, you mamaluke. Are you really going to fuck with me right now? I’ll get out my pliers and give you a whole new set of teeth. We can do this all day for all I care. I practically live for this shit.” I reached into my jacket pocket, despite his cries for me to stop, stop, stop.

  “Alright, Jesus Christ. I get it. I don’t have your money, but there’s some powder in the cupboard upstairs. Take it,” he said.

  “I don’t want your fucking drugs. I want information. Real information. Now tell me where Cade is.” I let go of the pliers in my pocket and went for my gun instead. I let off the safety and cocked it ready. I was done questioning this guy. His arrogance was annoying the hell out of me.

  I fired a bullet next to his face and said “Next time I won’t miss.”

  “He’s in Detroit!” He screamed suddenly. Finally, some real information.

  “There! Was that so hard to do? Where in Detroit?” I placed the warm end of my gun against his cheek and slid the barrel against his teeth. I pushed the piece of heavy metal into his mouth.

  With the gun pointing directly at the back of his throat, he mumbled “I don’t know! I really don’t.” I pulled the gun out enough so he could talk. “He moves around every week. One week he was camping out in the old abandoned zoo. The next week he was in the old train station. He doesn’t tell anybody where he’s at anymore. I’m pretty sure he’s losin’ it, man. He paid me to stay quiet.”

  “To stay quiet?” I asked, pulling my gun away from his mouth.

  “He was my main client. He bought loads of shit from me. After a few years of relyin’ on him to buy the product, I came to expect it. When he fell onto hard times, he started to ask me to front the shit to him. He’d pay me back a week later, when he sold the stuff. So, I agreed. I had to. Otherwise, your family would kill me. Of course, when he got held up the one time, he had no money to pay me. He tried to keep away and wouldn’t answer any of my calls. When I finally found him, I made him pay me double. That’s how I got this place. It’s how I paid half of my debt off. I was gonna pay you back in a month or so. I swear it.”

  I scratched my head.

  “You still will.” I sighed. “Because if you don’t, you’ll be buried without a certificate to prove your death.”

  This whole ordeal was making my life way too difficult. All I wanted was to get back to Monroe and jump into a quiche or two. Or three. Scratch all that. What I really wanted to do was slowly undress Dahlia. I wanted to pump and thrust, and dive in between her legs until she came. I wanted to run my hand across her backside and pull her hair back like she was my pet. I wanted to spread her open with my thick cock as my palm cupped her full tits and ass. I wanted to consume her.

  I shook off the feeling and focused on the asshole in front of me. “Where’d he get the money to pay you? I thought you said he got held up. This isn’t adding up, pal.”

  He shook his head. “That girl, man. Aren’t you listening? This guy uses people. Got too caught up in the lifestyle. That kind of thing happens all the time. So when I came to him with my crew and a gun in my hand, he started beating that poor woman. I watched it with my own eyes. She had a kid and shit too.”

  “So he stole the money from the woman to pay you? Sounds like a real winner. Forgive me. I just want to get your story straight. You watched this woman get beat to a bloody pulp and you took her money? And you did this all in front of her baby? Correct me if any of that is wrong because I’m just trying to make sure I got this right.”

  He was shaking his head violently. “You’re not listening! I didn’t do nothing. He did. He’s the asshole.”

  “Yeah, but you didn’t do anything about it. You see the issue here? You just wanted your money. You were selfish. It’s alright. You can admit it. We all need to repent every once in a while. Myself included.”

  “But I—”

  “You took her money, watched her face get broken into a million pieces, and let the baby stay in the room to watch the whole thing. That includes the aftermath. Can you imagine what happened when you left? Look, I’ve heard all I need to hear. This is what I’m going to do. I’m going to take your arm and I’m going to give you a minor spiral fracture, enough to take a bit to heal. Then, I’m—” The son of a bitch had to interrupt me.

  “No, fuck! Not my fucking arm. You can’t break my arm.” He growled at me and jumped off the couch, only to fall face first on t
he floor. I watched him as he tried to crawl like a worm to the back door. I simply put my boot against his back and stopped him from moving.

  “Sorry, I just can’t get behind beating a mother for some money.” I grabbed his arm and put it into a stronghold.

  “What else could I do? I had to! You guys would have killed me!” He screamed.

  “Keep your voice down. We don’t want the neighbors coming over, do we?” I applied the right amount of pressure on his arm. “You had choices. You could have robbed a bank or convenience store. You could have robbed another crew for Christ sakes. I can’t even believe I’m explaining this to you. You fucked up. Now you’ll pay the price.”

  I pushed down on the joint and forced it to snap. He wailed like a baby. “My arm! My fucking arm! Why?!”

  “Oh, come on. Stop crying. It isn’t all that bad. You’ll go to the hospital and they’ll give you a cast and some painkillers. You love pills, right? Good, it’ll be fun then. You have to admit, it’s a little better than what you did to that woman, right?”

  “Take off the zip ties, man.” He moaned, exhausted from pain. I just shook my head. He was going to be left to his own devices on this one. I wasn’t about to help a woman beater.

  I got up and collected the bullet casing and any other fragments of shit I might have left in his house. I wiped down the door and door handles, as well as the couch, and made my way to the door. “Pay us the rest. You have ten days. After that, you will take a bullet. You will be buried. And you will be forgotten.”

  I slammed the door and made my way to my rental. There was still a lot to be done in Monroe. If Cade was in Detroit somewhere, the family had to be aware. Only, I wasn’t going to tell them. Dad was too old, my brother was too quick to action, and the rest of the guys weren’t in on the job. No, I’d handle this one myself. The next step? The café owner: ‘Carmelo.’