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“I’m the motherfuckin’ proof, baby.” Sal beats his own chest.
Leandro rolls his eyes. “Let’s get this over with, please.”
The process is hilariously orderly, considering how eccentric Sal is. Who would’ve thought he could coordinate such an exit? Leandro tells me that for all his faults, the asshole has a brain, which is a pretty big compliment coming from him.
When we get into the hall leading to the reception, a big burly guido-type lets us pass. There’s a door leading outside to our right, where I’m assuming the sanitation truck will pick us up. Bags are lined up across the floor, one for each of us, and a bunch of full ones off to the side. Those have bodies, I know. I’m not blind. One of which is our cash cow – Don Carlo.
“So, this route’s schedule is five-thirty a.m., which is perfect. No one’s awake around here except the birdies. Got about five minutes ’til they arrive. Okay, in you go, people. You too, big boy.” Sal nods to the guy guarding the door.
I give Leandro a nervous glance, but he nods reassuringly.
Out of all the damn things, I did not expect to be sitting inside a black garbage bag at the end of it. Not consciously, at least.
We leave the tops open enough so we can breathe, and I hear the sanitation guys come in as instructed. Sal’s mouth is flapping endlessly about logistics, and jokes, but he’s getting the job done… I hope.
When it comes time to grab my bag, I yelp. The guy hauls me professionally, careful not to knock me into anything. I hear some whispering, then they hoist me high into what I hope is the back seat of the truck.
It takes what feels like a good hour sitting scrunched next to two bodies before the truck stops idling and actually pulls away from the scene. Sal pops out first when it’s time, and cheers. Leandro grunts and groans, slinking out of his own bag, before helping me out of mine.
“Money’s going to be flowing now, boys!” Sal shouts. “Yo, yo, Calzone. Did you bring the champagne like I asked?” He hits the sanitation passenger, who solemnly shakes his head. “Mother—”
The guy then raises two bottles and starts laughing, to more cheers. Even Leandro is smirking.
We laugh into the morning, in the most unorthodox way. Sal talks about how he’s going to hire an unsuspecting guy to get our car out of the lot tomorrow, and make sure no stone is left unturned. That gives me some more comfort, although it won’t matter soon. I hope to be free of all things New York, and maybe even the US.
Time will tell, I suppose.
xxx
We follow Sal up the stairs at seven in the morning. This is Donny’s Manhattan headquarters, apparently. Leandro is at my side, and we’re both too excited to be tired.
“He’s here at this time?” I ask.
“Are you kidding? He hasn’t slept for a week since you accepted the job,” Sal says. “Why do you think we were so close by? Not that we had any doubts, Hook.”
Leandro grunts.
“Did you let him know the outcome?” I ask.
He peers over his shoulder. “Now where would the fun in that be?”
We head into the office and I’m surprised to see a secretary to my right and two working bookies to my left. Sal makes a show of greeting everyone, before strutting to the back office.
He knocks on the door.
“Hellooo, Mr. Stallion.”
“Come in, dickhead,” Donny’s voice comes through the door.
When Sal opens the door, Donny’s not surprised to see us. I’ll bet he has security footage on one of his monitors.
“Well.” He leans back in his chair. “If you’re all breathing, that can mean only one thing.”
We all break into a smile together.
“We lost a good one, though, Donny. Big Angelo.”
“Fuck.” He grits his teeth. “The price of war is steep.”
