Kristen Ashley - At Peace

“What the fuck, Danny!” Frankie and I heard the minion’s angry shout from the other room.

“Don’t,” Daniel Hart returned.

“This shit is fucked,” the minion shot back. “We don’t got a situation. We got fuckin’ four. ”

“I’m handling it,” Hart retorted.

“Yeah, right,” the henchman snapped, “you’re not handlin’ shit. You’re still chasin’ twat. Fuck! We shoulda took him out in Indiana. Crazy ass shit, bringin’ that fuckin’ guy to Chicago.”

“I wanted to watch,” Hart replied and I closed my eyes and pulled in breath.

Frankie grabbed my hand.

“Like I said, fucked,” the other man was still shouting, “two boys down there, Danny. Took out two of ours down there. Cops in our business everywhere for weeks. And I got sources tellin’ me the Feds got the books. Giglia’s boys are on the hunt and our men are scramblin’. And that guy’s stone cold. You saw what he fuckin’–”

“Quiet,” Hart’s voice was low but sharp.

“Hands behind his back, Danny.”

My eyes opened and I looked at Frankie who for some reason was smiling.

“ Quiet! ” Hart shouted and there was quiet.

I felt Frankie’s body get tense then she released my hand. I tore my eyes from the closed door we were behind and watched her move.

“Frankie!” I hissed but she just lifted a hand and waved it at me as she moved on silent feet across the room.

“I’m your man, Danny,” the minion said, his voice quieter, “been your man a long time but I’m not goin’ down for some dead cop’s cunt.”

“What did you say?” Hart asked as I watched Frankie at a window, she was taking her time, trying to be quiet and slowly working it up.

I left the couch we were sitting on and ran on bare thus luckily silent feet toward her.

“You heard me,” the henchman stated.

Frankie pushed the window up and it made a noise which was drowned out by a gunshot. Frankie and I jumped and looked over our shoulders at the closed door.

“Danny!” the other henchman in Hart’s posse shouted, “Jesus Christ, you just shot Brady. What the fuck! ”

“Go,” Frankie whispered and I looked at her. Then I threw myself through the window, landing on soft turf. I rolled away from the window and got to my feet. She followed me out, I grabbed her hand, yanked her up and we ran.

We heard the second gunshot as we went.

Benny led and Cal followed as Benny opened the door to a sleazy bar that had the name of Slim Jim’s.

Ricky was sitting at the end of the bar looking the same as ever. Thinning non-descript hair. Thin non-descript face. Thin non-descript body. Weasel eyes and, even though Cal couldn’t see him or hear him, he knew Ricky had bad teeth and was a mouth breather.

Ricky’s head came up when Benny came in. He clocked Benny and then he was on the move.

Benny and Cal sprinted after him.

They caught him out the back alley, Benny grabbing him by the back of his shirt, he yanked him to a halt then turned him and shoved him face first against the wall.

Benny grabbed his wrist, twisted his arm around and up, got close to his back and asked in his ear, “Why you runnin’, Ricky?”

Ricky turned his head, saw Cal and his face got white.

“Jesus,” he whispered then rallied, “hey Cal.”

“Talk,” Cal replied.

“About what?” Ricky asked, Benny pushed in closer and Ricky’s eyeballs slid way to the side in an effort to take in Benny. “Yeesh, Benny, man, what the fuck?”

“Talk,” Benny repeated Cal’s word.

“Like I said, about what?” Ricky asked.

“About where Hart would take Cal’s woman,” Benny answered and Ricky’s eyes went to Cal.

“You got a woman?” he asked, openly surprised or acting that way.

“Ricky, we don’t got a lotta time,” Cal said instead of answering.

Benny pushed off and moved a foot away so Ricky could turn to face them, back still to the brick wall of the alley.

Ricky’s eyebrows went up. “You two workin’ for Sal?”

“Cal asked you a question, Ricky. We don’t got a lotta time.” Benny reminded him.

Ricky’s eyes went to Benny. “Don’t know nothin’ ‘bout Hart.”

Benny looked at Cal. Cal caught his eye and then looked at Ricky. Then he moved, dipping low, he caught Ricky with an upper cut to his kidneys. Ricky’s arms went around his belly, he bent forward and coughed.

After doing this for thirty seconds, his head shot back and he wheezed, “What the fuck!”

“Where would Hart go on the run?” Cal asked.

“Hart’s a crazy motherfucker. Don’t know nothin’ ‘bout him, don’t wanna know nothin’ ‘bout him,” Ricky answered and Benny moved in, hand wrapping around Ricky’s throat, pinning him to the brick wall.

“It’s your business,” Benny reminded him, “Mr. Information. You know everything about everyone.”

“Don’t know about Hart,” Ricky rasped, his fingers curling around Benny’s forearm.

“We don’t got time to deal. You sell information. Today, you’re buyin’ it with your health,” Benny informed him.

“Ben,” Ricky choked, “you know Hart. I got in his business, he’d get in mine. Don’t need that shit. I steer clear.”

“You got to have heard somethin’,” Cal told him and Ricky’s eyes came to Cal.

“I hear it, I forget it, I stay breathin’,” Ricky’s voice sounded strangled and he was tearing at Benny’s forearm with his fingernails.

“What’d you forget?” Benny asked, leaning in close and Ricky gagged. “What’d you forget!” Benny shouted in his face.

“Ben, boy can’t talk if you choke him to death,” Cal said quietly, Benny looked over his shoulder at Cal and stepped back.

Benny’s phone rang and since it was in Cal’s back pocket, Cal pulled it out, looked at the display and his brows snapped together. He flipped it open and put it to his ear.

“Yo,” he said.

“Collect call from Francesca Concetti. Will you accept the charges?” an operator asked.

“Yes,” Cal clipped, his eyes sliced to Benny and he mouthed, “Frankie.”

Benny’s back went straight.

“Ben?” Francesca whispered.

“Frankie?”

“Oh Jesus,” she was still whispering, “Cal?”

“Frankie where the fuck are you?”

“Boathouse –” she started then he heard Vi, her voice tight, high, something weird in it.

“Is that Joe?”

“Yeah,” Frankie whispered.

“Give it to me,” Cal heard Vi demand and then he heard a tussle. Finally, Vi came on the phone. “Joe?”

“Baby, where are you?”

“Joe!” she squealed.

“Jesus, Violet, keep it down,” he heard Frankie hiss.

“Oh Joe, Jesus, honey, oh God,” Vi whispered then he heard a tortured sob.

“Buddy, hold it together and tell me where you –” he stopped talking when he heard the phone moving around and then he was back to Frankie.

“Hart told her you were dead,” Frankie explained and Cal clenched his teeth because this was a cruel thing to do to anyone, especially Vi; because he could still hear Violet’s sobs; because he was getting no information; and lastly because they were on the phone but it sounded like they were unsafe.

“I’m alive. Where are you?”

“He took us to a boathouse. North. We’re on the lake. We climbed out the window, went through the trees and broke into another house,” Frankie answered.

“Hart’s not there?”

“No, he’s –” she was cut off by Vi.

“Let me talk to him.”

“Girl, we gotta –”

“Frankie,” Cal cut in, “stay on the line.”