Torture to Her Soul
Page 74
The fabric was heavy, or maybe that was just my heart. I felt constricted, weighed down like my body was made of concrete, my insides a block of stone that the world was steadily chipping away at. I was suffocating, but there was something strangely reassuring about the sensation, something soothing about wearing the dark, heavy suit, like a coat of armor, keeping the world from stealing any more pieces of my soul.
I put it on that day, and I never really took it back off.
Not for a long time, anyway.
I'm wearing it again, the first suit I bought. The chest is a little snug, but it still fits me almost like it did back then. It's strange, thinking I haven't physically changed much, but I feel like a vastly different man. Instead of wearing it like armor, it feels like it's rubbing me raw, exposing parts of me that I've kept locked away.
Kelvin is working the door at Cobalt. He nods at me when I step inside, averting his eyes right away. I stroll past him, into the main bar area.
Ray is sitting by himself in his usual chair, swirling scotch around in his glass.
Wordlessly, I step toward the man, sitting carefully in the seat beside him. The waitress glances over, not even bothering to ask before bringing a bottle of pale ale over, still sealed.
"Alone today?" I ask. It's a rare occurrence, Ray without someone to keep him company.
"Not anymore," he says, looking at me. "The guys are, well... and Baby Doll had something she wanted to do."
Reaching into my pocket, I pull out my keys and pop the bottle cap off, tossing it aside.
Ray watches me, raising an eyebrow. "I see you've found your keys."
"Yeah, they showed back up."
"Funny how that happens," he mutters, sipping his drink. "Just when you think something's gone..."
I shrug casually, taking a swig of beer when he trails off. "They're just keys."
He's not talking about the keys anymore and we both know it. We sit in silence, drinking, the air around us tenser than I remember it ever being between us. I'm not sure how to diffuse it. I don't know what he wants. An apology? An explanation? He'll get neither, but I don't think he really expects either one.
It's not in my nature.
He wouldn't accept it, anyway.
"So now that you're back home," he says, "where are you on our little problem?"
"Which problem?"
"The fact that Carmela's still breathing."
No bullshitting.
Straight to the point.
"I'm working on it."
"You've been working on it for a long time, Vitale. Too much longer and I might have to look elsewhere for a solution."
My stomach coils.
It's a thinly veiled threat.
He's saying he doesn't need me.
This job became mine because I had a personal vendetta, a reason to see it through. At the end of the day, any one of us could do it.
It would probably be better, logically. She expects me, and these days I'd be grateful to have that burden lifted from my shoulders. But backing out now is the equivalent of bowing out, and you don't bow out when it comes to Ray.
He takes you out instead.
I'm already walking a fine line with Karissa.
Maybe he'll let that slide.
Maybe, if I can convince him she's innocent.
But Carmela's non-negotiable.
"Nonsense," I say. "I got it handled."
"You sure about that?"
"Positive."
"And the girl?"
I hesitate. "What about her?"
"How's she going to accept what you have planned?"
That's a different question than he usually asks.
Maybe he's coming around.
Maybe.
"I don't see why she ever has to know."
"You keep secrets from her?"
I shrug a shoulder. "Some things are better left unsaid."
Ray throws back the rest of his scotch before standing up. He discards the glass and strolls over to me, pausing beside my chair. His thick hand clamps down on my shoulder, squeezing.
"You're like a son to me," he says. "I cut you slack because of it, because my daughter loved you, because she saw something in you, something I saw the day we met. You didn't cower, Vitale. You never cowered. Don't do it now. Don't cower."
He doesn't sound angry.
He sounds exasperated.
Reaching up, I clasp my hand overtop his for a moment, silently letting him know I understand. I return to my beer as he walks away, leaving me alone.
I finish my drink before standing up and strolling toward the exit. Kelvin is gone from the door, a guy whose name I don't know in his place. His gaze flickers to me only briefly before he bows his head.
I walk out, into the late afternoon sunshine, and make my way around the building when I hear a car pull into the alley behind me. They drive slow, the sound of gravel crunching an agonizing groan. I slow my footsteps, an ominous tingle creeping up my spine, my fingers twitching at my sides.
My heart beats wildly, but it's soothed right away when colored lights bounce off of the buildings, a high-pitched squeal echoing behind me.
Police.
Who thought I'd ever be relieved to encounter them? But on the hierarchy of people who could potentially sneak up on me, the police are currently the least of my problem.
I stop where I am, slowly raising my hands without turning around. I hear doors open, footsteps approaching hastily before hands are all over me, patting me down from behind. They're checking for weapons we all know they won't find as others stroll around in front of me. The familiar face of Detective Jameson greets me with a smile that has all the warmth of dry ice. "Mr. Vitale."
I put it on that day, and I never really took it back off.
Not for a long time, anyway.
I'm wearing it again, the first suit I bought. The chest is a little snug, but it still fits me almost like it did back then. It's strange, thinking I haven't physically changed much, but I feel like a vastly different man. Instead of wearing it like armor, it feels like it's rubbing me raw, exposing parts of me that I've kept locked away.
Kelvin is working the door at Cobalt. He nods at me when I step inside, averting his eyes right away. I stroll past him, into the main bar area.
Ray is sitting by himself in his usual chair, swirling scotch around in his glass.
Wordlessly, I step toward the man, sitting carefully in the seat beside him. The waitress glances over, not even bothering to ask before bringing a bottle of pale ale over, still sealed.
"Alone today?" I ask. It's a rare occurrence, Ray without someone to keep him company.
"Not anymore," he says, looking at me. "The guys are, well... and Baby Doll had something she wanted to do."
Reaching into my pocket, I pull out my keys and pop the bottle cap off, tossing it aside.
Ray watches me, raising an eyebrow. "I see you've found your keys."
"Yeah, they showed back up."
"Funny how that happens," he mutters, sipping his drink. "Just when you think something's gone..."
I shrug casually, taking a swig of beer when he trails off. "They're just keys."
He's not talking about the keys anymore and we both know it. We sit in silence, drinking, the air around us tenser than I remember it ever being between us. I'm not sure how to diffuse it. I don't know what he wants. An apology? An explanation? He'll get neither, but I don't think he really expects either one.
It's not in my nature.
He wouldn't accept it, anyway.
"So now that you're back home," he says, "where are you on our little problem?"
"Which problem?"
"The fact that Carmela's still breathing."
No bullshitting.
Straight to the point.
"I'm working on it."
"You've been working on it for a long time, Vitale. Too much longer and I might have to look elsewhere for a solution."
My stomach coils.
It's a thinly veiled threat.
He's saying he doesn't need me.
This job became mine because I had a personal vendetta, a reason to see it through. At the end of the day, any one of us could do it.
It would probably be better, logically. She expects me, and these days I'd be grateful to have that burden lifted from my shoulders. But backing out now is the equivalent of bowing out, and you don't bow out when it comes to Ray.
He takes you out instead.
I'm already walking a fine line with Karissa.
Maybe he'll let that slide.
Maybe, if I can convince him she's innocent.
But Carmela's non-negotiable.
"Nonsense," I say. "I got it handled."
"You sure about that?"
"Positive."
"And the girl?"
I hesitate. "What about her?"
"How's she going to accept what you have planned?"
That's a different question than he usually asks.
Maybe he's coming around.
Maybe.
"I don't see why she ever has to know."
"You keep secrets from her?"
I shrug a shoulder. "Some things are better left unsaid."
Ray throws back the rest of his scotch before standing up. He discards the glass and strolls over to me, pausing beside my chair. His thick hand clamps down on my shoulder, squeezing.
"You're like a son to me," he says. "I cut you slack because of it, because my daughter loved you, because she saw something in you, something I saw the day we met. You didn't cower, Vitale. You never cowered. Don't do it now. Don't cower."
He doesn't sound angry.
He sounds exasperated.
Reaching up, I clasp my hand overtop his for a moment, silently letting him know I understand. I return to my beer as he walks away, leaving me alone.
I finish my drink before standing up and strolling toward the exit. Kelvin is gone from the door, a guy whose name I don't know in his place. His gaze flickers to me only briefly before he bows his head.
I walk out, into the late afternoon sunshine, and make my way around the building when I hear a car pull into the alley behind me. They drive slow, the sound of gravel crunching an agonizing groan. I slow my footsteps, an ominous tingle creeping up my spine, my fingers twitching at my sides.
My heart beats wildly, but it's soothed right away when colored lights bounce off of the buildings, a high-pitched squeal echoing behind me.
Police.
Who thought I'd ever be relieved to encounter them? But on the hierarchy of people who could potentially sneak up on me, the police are currently the least of my problem.
I stop where I am, slowly raising my hands without turning around. I hear doors open, footsteps approaching hastily before hands are all over me, patting me down from behind. They're checking for weapons we all know they won't find as others stroll around in front of me. The familiar face of Detective Jameson greets me with a smile that has all the warmth of dry ice. "Mr. Vitale."
