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“Where the fuck are you?” I snarl into the phone. The wiper blades swish across the windshield as rain comes down in torrents.
“I said I’m on 134thStreet and Blakey.”
“I. Was. On. 134thStreet. And fucking Blakey, Tony!”
“Maybe it’s 135th, 136this plausible!”
“Get your ass out of your car and check!”
“It’s raining cats and dogs out there.Capiche.”
I slam the breaks, grip the cell phone with both hands. There Tony goes, extremely out of context! Too many mobster movies. God, why am I here? Why did I answer an unknown number when I already blocked his fucking number?
My palm vibrates. The speaker cuts through my thoughts. “Santino?”
“What?”
“Are you still coming?”
“I’m almost two hours away from my bed at three o’clock in the motherfucking morning. In a couple of hours, I have to drive another five hours in the opposite direction, Tony!”
“So, you’re not coming,” he groans.
“Oh, I’m coming. If I don’t find you, I’m gonna kill you, Big Tony. If I do find you, I’m gonna kill you. Either way, you’re dead.”
He issues another overused mobster retort, then exclaims, “Jesus, Santino!”
Breathing deeply, I visualize Gina wrapped in my arms. “Yes, Tony. Jesus and I have decided to let you live. We love Antonia too much todo you in.”
The vein in my neck pulsates twenty minutes later when I find my ex-brother-in-law on Blakey and138thStreet. He’s standing next to a truck with a hauling trailerin the middle of the night.The rain pelts down on his yellow windbreaker.
With the press of a button, the passenger window zips down. “Care to tell me what you're hauling, Tony?”
“Ahem, stuff.”
I open the toolbox on the passenger seat and toss a steel four-way tool at him. “Is it your shit or stolen shit?”
“It is now,ouch! Why Iought to—”
“My entire family thinks you’re an idiot.” I’m tossing wrenches now, just to be a dick. “I assume,” I begin, as a Phillips screwdriver soars through the air, “that the truck has a spare in the back.”
He jumps around, dodging each until I fake a twist of my wrist, and then a flat-screwdriver bounces off his gut. “Ouch, Santi! I’ll tell . . .”
I bunch my lips into a lunatic smile and ask, “Tell who, Tony? Who will you snitch to,huh?”
“Anto—”
“Your child! Will you also share what’s in the trailer?”
“Do I look stupid?”
“Vaffanculo!”
“What are you saying, Santino? I don’t think Mina—”
At the mention of my sister’s name, I snarl. “You’re standing there, still breathing because of Mina and Antonia!Capiche, bitch! Here’s a new word for you to repeat, ‘Vaffanculo!’ It means, fuck you! Here’s another,Vai a prenderloin culo.”
Tony runs a hand over his stomach, glancing around the slick, dark asphalt to the tools. The ignorant, pained look on his face warns that every word I said went over his head. “But are you gonna help me, Santino? All these tools aren’t for changing a tire, are they? Which one should I use, and how?”
