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My car was smoking some, maybe from the wait and the hot weather, and her eyes grew wide as I started to inch closer to her fancy European car. She flung herself on the ground when I got close enough to ram it. I moved that fancy bitch out of the way, and when I could get around her, I hit the gas, sticking the princess the bird on my way out of the parking lot.
Instead of relishing the feeling, tears streaked down my cheeks.
This was my life.
My life.
Flipping out over spilled drinks.
Jerry Rispoli came to mind. So did whoever he worked for. Jerry Rispoli existed because his boss did. It didn’t matter if he had a name or not—he would forever be known as the straw that broke my back.
The fucking bane of my existence.
I punched the horn and it got stuck. It wouldn’t dislodge. Everyone was staring at me as my horn went off in a continual blast.
Vinny and Sam were standing outside of Dynamic. They narrowed their eyes when my horn announced my arrival. My brakes screeched when I came to a halt, and I emerged from a cloud of smoke from my hood and dust from the lot.
“Where’s our drinks, Leo?”
Vinny could very well see my car was shot to shit, fucking hear it, and I was in the middle of a breakdown, but he was good at sidestepping personal issues. He said there was enough estrogen in the building to send a rocket into space, and he wasn’t fond of Mars. If men were from there, I was sure Vinny was from Uranus. But that was his way of taking the easy street when the girls who worked for him had problems.
And there were plenty enough to go around.
It wasn’t like we were all making it in the big league of life. We’d all had big dreams but ended up in this small shack on barren land. The cars that belonged to the staff, besides Vinny and Sam’s, were replicas of mine.
Sam walked around to my open window and leaned in. He punched the area where the horn is, and it went wimpy before it stopped completely.
I planted my hands on my hips. “Who does Jerry Rispoli work for?” I didn’t miss the hysterical tinge to my voice. Neither did Vinny.
He took a step back. “Who’s asking?”
“Is that even a legitimate question? Newsflash. It’s not. Since the question came from my mouth, Vinny.”
“It is legitimate when you want to know who Rispoli works for. Maybe it’s not you who wants to know. Maybe it’s someone who has nefarious intentions. I’d be the man telling.”
“Why? Is he terribly dangerous?”
“You can say that.”
“I did. Give me more than that, Vinny, or I’m calling that guy to come back and separate your finger from your hand again.”
“Whoa. Whoa.” He held his hands up. His pinky finger was bandaged. “Did someone piss in your drink or something?”
“I didn’t get a fucking drink!”
He looked at Sam, then at me. “Rispoli works for Tullio Bigatti. You might know him as—”
“Mr. Big,” I breathed out.
“You do something to him, Leo?”
Yes.
No.
I didn’t fucking know.
My heart felt like it was about to jump out of my throat.
