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He, Argi, and Cristo crossed themselves.

“My dad was showin’ me the ropes ’bout what goes on up in the compound—you know, givin’ me the ‘One day, son, all this will be yours’ speech—so he shows me how they snatched this gal who was married to some racketeering bigwig in the F.B.I., and my dad, see, he wanted to teach the guy a lesson. So, anyway, they got the guy’s wife stripped naked and hangin’ by her wrists in one of the snuff rooms, and then my dad’s major button at the time, Tony Guerini, he takes a boxcutter and he cuts a line around the bitch’s waist—you know, same place a belt wound be—and then he works his fingers around under the skin, and she’s screamin’ and flippin’ and floppin’, and you know what Tony did then?” Paulie’s eyes widened at the memory. “He starts pullin’ down on the skin, yankin’ it over her ass and legs just like he’s pullin’ off a pair of pants! ”

“Oh, I remember Tony,” Argi said. “Hardest-core button I ever saw. One time he machine-gunned a busload of first graders because one of the kids on the bus was a judge’s grandson. Another time he snatched this chick who was cheatin’ on one of your dad’s crew-bosses and tourniqueted her neck till her eyeballs popped out and her face turned the color of a plum.”

Cristo reflected. “You know, I think I heard of him. Is that the same guy made porn up the Pennelville House and filmed it while he’d stick a knife in a chick’s belly and fuck her stomach?”

“Naw, naw,” Argi said. “That was Rocco… God rest his soul.”

They all crossed themselves.

“Tony was the guy used to feed kids of cops to the pitbulls,” Argi corrected.

“Yeah, yeah,” Paulie agreed. “Same Tony, all right, but you’re missin’ my point. See, when he was yankin’ this gal’s skin off like it was a pair of fuckin’ PANTS, I’m standin’ there watchin’ it and thinkin’ ‘Man, this is some over-the—top fucked-up shit, and then I look over at my dad, and you know what he’s doin’?” Paulie stared off. “He’s got his cock out, and he’s beatin’ off! ”

Argi chuckled. “Yeah, boss, your dad was a character, all right. Loved the hardcore vendetta shit.”

“Sure, sure, Argi, but I mean, he was beatin’ off watchin’ a girl get her skin yanked off her ass and legs! And what I thought first is I thought, ‘Holy shit, my old man’s a sick pup jerkin’ off to all this torture, he must be sick in the head, and since he’s my dad…maybe that sickness’ll get passed on to me! ’ But you know what? The second I thought that, I realized somethin’ else…” Paulie gulped. “My dick was rock-hard too…”

“Such are the rites of passage of industrious young men destined to become Mafia bosses,” Prouty offered. “The arrival of self-actualization amid such…axiomatic environs are no doubt quite common.”

Paulie smirked at the spiel. “No, no, Doc, what I mean is… If my dick gets hard watchin’ murder and torture and snuff-flicks and all that..doesn’t that mean I’m mentally fucked up? Doesn’t that mean I’m abnormal? ”

Dr. Prouty stifled a gag, knowing that a negative response would only exacerbate his employer’s already negative mood, the result of which might have very negative effects on Prouty. Why? Because Paul Vinchetti was more than likely the most sexually sociopathic and bloodthirsty individual the good doctor had ever observed. “Abnormal, sir? I should think not. For normalcy and abnormalcy are subjective terms and therefore cannot be defined ob jectively. The primal human mind is incalculably intricate, and tags such as normal and abnormal, moral and immoral, good and bad, etc., are all subject to interpretation. One’s life-experiences and learned behavior most indubitably make subconscious impressions via observation: a normal function of the brain. Hence, sexual paraphilias and/or fetishes are derived quite naturally. So to answer your query, no, sir. You are not abnormal.”

Paulie relaxed in the plush forward seat, a hand to his heart. “Damn, I feel much better now.”

Prouty sighed in relief.

Argi looked down the road ahead. “Okay, so it’s back to Newark. Road out of town’s comin’ up.” He looked to Paulie with a smile. “Hey, boss. Ya feel like callin’ those rednecks back up on the cell and razzin’ ’em a little more?”

“Naw, best to let ’em stew.”

Cristo leaned forward. “But what if…”

“What if what, Cristo?”

“I mean, these crackers who live in the hills—ain’t they got a reputation for fuedin’?”

“Fuedin’?”

“Well, sure. Like maybe they’re so pissed off about what we did to that redneck kid…they’ll try to get us back. ”

Paulie laughed. “Shit, man. These people are hillbillies. They eat woodchucks and shit in the woods. What the fuck could a bunch of piss-poor backwoods hillbillies do to us? ”

— | — | —

Chapter 6

(I)

“Bumpity-bump-bump, look at Frosty go…,” the cheerful Christmas song thrummed through the store. Veronica—jacket on, backpack packed—tapped her foot unconsciously to the tune, casting a dreamy smile out the store’s massive front window. The town’s Christmas lights blinked down the main drag in a wondrous holiday vanishing point.

This’ll be my first Christmas with Mike, she mused.

Footsteps snapped behind her. “Veronica. What are you still doing here? No point both of us staying on duty—we’re not going to have many customers this late.” It was Archie.

“Oh, I already clocked out. I’m just waiting for Mike to get done in the office so I can say goodnight to him.”

Archie paused. “Mike left an hour ago—”

“ What? ”

“Yeah.”

Veronica noticed only now that very few employees remained on duty. Even the Greeter was gone.

“Well, the Greeter should be here,” she said for no reason she understood.

Did Archie stall? “Oh, no, I cut her an hour ago—”

Veronica tensed up. “You just said Mike left an hour ago… Mike didn’t leave with her, did he?”

Archie laughed but, you know what? It was a forced laugh. “Jesus, Veronica. Get your head out of the sewer. She’s sixteen. You’re not implying that she and Mike got something going on, are you?”

Veronica slumped. I’m overreacting again. “You’re right. I’m sorry. Don’t know what came over me, that’s all.”

“Mike’s really stressed now; that’s why he left without saying goodnight,” Archie offered. “His job’s not easy, you know.”

Now Veronica felt selfish and stupid. I need to have more consideration. “Yeah, and he told me about all that year-end accounting he has to do.” She shuffled away. “See ya tomorrow,” but then she snapped around. “Do you think I should call him?”

Archie made a face. “Well, you probably shouldn’t. I mean, he’s neck-deep in that paperwork.”

“Yeah.” She blinked. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight—oh, and congrats on that dynamite camera sale today!”

“Thanks…”

Veronica left the store. But why should she be so disappointed? What, because Mike—overwhelmed with take-home work—was too harried to say goodnight? Poor guy’s got so much on his mind, running a big store during Christmas and all. Yes, she should be more considerate.

But suddenly the cheery, blinking Christmas lights that constellated the town didn’t seem quite so cheery. She scarcely felt the chill air as she rounded the store to the back parking lot that the employees used.