Mark Tufo - 'Til Death Do Us Part

He dipped down below the edge of the railing which had been lined with half-inch steel plating, trying to see if he could possibly figure out where the shots were coming from. Travis came running out when he heard the shots. Tony’s cries of warning were intermingled with the sound of the rifle shot as Travis went down. Tony stood and peppered the location where he had seen the muzzle flash, then he ran back to his grandson.

“I’ve been shot, Pops,” Travis said. “It hurts so bad.” His teeth were chattering between words.

“What’s happening?” Nancy asked, coming towards the door.

“Get down!” Tony yelled. “Help me get Travis back in.”

Help was coming in droves now. BT was next, he quickly traversed the length of the room and grabbed Travis as Tony kept them covered.

Nancy swept everything off the kitchen table as BT placed him gently down.

“Hurts so bad, BT,” Travis said, his eyes clenched shut, tears of pain attempting to push through.

“It’ll be alright,” BT said stroking the boy’s head.

“Nancy, get some towels, water and a knife,” Tony said as he put his rifle down. “And then get his mother.”

BT looked over at Tony with concern.

“I...I’m so cold,” Travis said. “I could use a shot of whiskey for the pain.”

BT ran over to the liquor cabinet as Tony cut Travis’ shirt off. “Well De Niro you’re not,” Tony told him. He grabbed the bottle from BT, popped the top off, and took a long pull. “That’s for not being careful,” he told his grandson, “and this…well this is for scaring the hell out of me.” He poured a fair amount over Travis’ wound. Now Travis’ howls of pain were real.

“Jesus H. Christ, what the hell are you doing, Tony?” BT shouted, throwing his hands to his head, unsure what to do. “The more time I spend with the Talbots, the more I feel like I’m the sanest person in an insane asylum, but at that point what difference does it make?”

Tracy was now at the entry to the kitchen. “Tony?” she asked, her one word question turning her face ashen white.

“He’ll be fine, bullet went in and out. I, on the other hand, probably suffered a heart attack.” Tony sat down heavily on one of the kitchen chairs while taking another pull from the whiskey bottle.

“Mom, it hurts so bad,” Travis said, reaching out with his arm from the undamaged side.

The bullet had caught him underneath the shoulder; it was a flesh wound that had already stopped bleeding for the most part.

“Oh, Travis,” Tracy sobbed, grabbing her son.

Tony pressed the bottle up against his head. He hated the fiery liquid, but he thought it might be the only thing that would quell the panic of nearly seeing his grandson cut down. More shots had been going on as the rest of the clan gathered in and around the kitchen. Slowly but steadily, the compound was going dark as the spotlights were taken out.

Tony took one more pull. “Ron,” he said as he stood, “they’re getting ready for some sort of offensive, I can feel it, we’re going to need a couple of more people out on duty. Everyone needs to make sure they stay below the lip of the railing. Shut off unessential lights in the house and get Travis down to the safe room at least until he gets patched up.” He was trying his best to walk the fine line between allaying Tracy’s fears and making sure the boy didn’t feel like he was being left out.

Mrs. Deneaux was already on the deck sitting far enough back that the gunmen didn’t have an angle on her. “How is the boy?” she asked Tony between cigarette puffs.

“He’ll be fine, caught him under his shoulder.”

“Fortunate. I don’t believe Tracy could take another loss, she’s like that candy that’s all hard on the outside and soft on the inside.”

“Better than hard and bitter all the way through,” BT said as he was almost crawling to get his bulk through the doorway unseen.

“Debatable,” Mrs. Deneaux said as she took humor from BT trying to make himself appear small. “You look like a bear trying to fit through a doggie door. Wake me before dawn, will you, Tony?” She asked before putting her cigarette out and closing her eyes.

“Why before dawn?” BT asked Tony as they settled in on the other side of the house.

“Any force that has wanted to catch its opponent at their least alert always attacks right before dawn,” Tony told him, sitting with his back against the plating.

“And the old bat knew that?” BT asked sitting next to him.

“She’s probably employed the tactic numerous times herself,” Tony said smiling.

“Man I see so much of Mike in all of you,” BT said sadly. “It’s like he’s not really gone.”

“If only that were the case,” Tony said.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Mike Journal Entry 14

It was after three in the morning when we finally pulled into Searsport.

“Now what?” Azile asked.

“I’d rather just ditch the damn truck, but we’re still ten miles out. However, if we get too close, they’ll hear us coming and if we stop then and don’t show up they’ll get suspicious. How many of those driver’s would recognize you?” I asked, the beginning of an idea forming in my head.

“Kong, Horatio, and maybe four or five others. Why?”

“I think we play the odds.”

“Whose odds? Vegas odds? Because those are never good.”

“So you have the potential of nine people knowing you including Tomas and Eliza, I only have two. When I tell you to pull over, do it, then I’ll drive.”

Azile’s expression was dubious at best.

“It’ll only be for a little way,” I assured her.

“Kong will recognize you. I mean he’ll recognize that you don’t belong, I mean,” Azile explained.

“That will have to be a problem we deal with later. First things first, there’s a dry cleaner at the center of town, pull over when I tell you.”

Between how ill-fitting and smelly my clothes were, Azile didn’t have a comment about my wanting to change.

The sound of the idling truck barely masked the plate glass shattering as I threw an ashtray stand through it. It had been months since police had come to any crime scene and still I looked around guiltily, old habits die hard.

“Hurry up!” Azile said through the window. “And no suits.”

“What are the odds they’ll have jeans here?” I asked her.

“At a dry cleaners? Just hurry,” she reiterated.

I stepped into the blackness of the store, the echoing engine vibrations were slightly disorienting. The long ‘ess’ of plastic wrapped clothes was directly in front of me as were every conceivable nightmare I could think of. I was convinced a horde of zombies laid in wait. I quickly moved behind the counter and scooped up a handful of clothes off the rack. I brushed anything that looked remotely like business wear off to the floor. I wasn’t left with much to choose from.

“Who dry cleans a skull cap?” I asked the non-existent attendant. Someone was still in my corner as I grabbed the small bag off the line. It covered my Eliza blocker perfectly and gave me sort of a World War 2 James Dean look. Hey it’s my mind I can live in any fantasy I want and this way I could get rid of the dreaded Yankees cap.

There was a long sleeved shirt that didn’t look too bad; it had the name of a bar on it, Rollie’s or something close to that. It was a little snug when I put it on, but nothing like my previous duds, and I knew this was clean. Now I needed some pants that didn’t look like I shopped in the boys’ department. This was proving a little more difficult. First off, most of the clothes were women’s, I thought I should still be alright, Maine is known for its stout women. They were of the power suit variety though and then I came across not what I wanted but what I could use.