Willy stopped the car, a brief hesitation before turning up the long drive. The farm lay on the edge of a broad plateau adjacent to wooded hills: house, barn and a large utility garage perched on a man-made nub. The view to the distant horizon quite peaceful.
Twice, men failed to harm him. The three who’d tried were dead. The luck that granted him such good fortune derived from believing that his time had already expired.
He did not think of his own death as imminent, rather, he saw it in the rear-view mirror. He just wasn’t official yet. He’d either be alive when the sun went down, or underground. No more Mr In-Between.
He didn’t want that to be his nickname, the years that he walked upright chiseled on a grave marker. If he’d even be given a grave marker. If he was even admitted to a cemetery. He might not be granted that dignity.
The man who called himself Willy, known in one quarter as Coalface, although he was unaware of the moniker, drove up to the farmhouse. The valley of the shadow of … The meeting among mobsters had either been called off or had been a ruse. The only vehicle on the property looked too tame to be a gangster’s preferred mode of transportation.
The boss saw him drive in and donned a protective vest. He cinched the webbing fasteners as Willy stopped the car and climbed out. No weapon was visible in the hands of either man in the bare barnyard. Willy raised both his to indicate that he had arrived peacefully. Slowly, he lowered one hand and with a thumb and forefinger extracted Massimo’s pistol from a jacket pocket and tossed it on the ground. He raised that hand back up again. He lowered his other hand and extracted Teddy’s pistol from a hip pocket and tossed it on the ground. He hoped that would appease the boss because he didn’t have a third weapon to show him. The boss came over and at the last second pulled out a pistol from the holster at the base of his spine, and with his other hand reached across diagonally and clutched Willy by the shoulder. He forced him to pivot and face the car. Willy obediently placed both hands on the roof line and spread his legs.
As if he was under arrest.
The boss frisked him.
That was undignified. But appropriate.
The boss turned him around again.
‘Teddy?’ Ciampini inquired softly. ‘Massi?’
‘They were coming here after? You were expecting them?’
‘After what?’ He spoke softly, a whisper. Willy resisted the urge to lean in to hear better.
‘You know, Mr Ciampini.’
‘They weren’t coming here. Don’t fuck with me, Willy. Where are they?’
‘Not my decision. Heaven or hell. Maybe one in each?’
‘Jesus, Willy. Did you hide the bones, at least?’
‘No worries. I did unto others as they would do unto me.’
‘You’re religious now?’
‘By now I should be.’
‘You come here with your new religion. Figure to do me next?’
‘I hold no grievance against you, Mr Ciampini. I had no grievance against them. Maybe they didn’t feel the same way. You should hold no grievance over me.’
‘You say.’
‘The only thing between me and you is my loyalty. That’s all. That’s what I think.’
‘Maybe you think too much.’
‘I thought we could talk about it, Mr Ciampini. I mean, if you want me dead, I’m dead, right? What can I do? Maybe we can talk first. I got nothing to hide. What we have here is a bona fide, no-doubt-about-it, humongous misunderstanding.’
‘Is that what we have?’ Ciampini sparked. ‘Think so?’
‘Speaking for myself, I don’t understand it, that’s for sure.’
Ciampini stared him down, looking for a flicker of doubt, or of fear. ‘You got some balls.’
‘My Willy stones, Teddy called them.’
‘Did he, yeah? Teddy was your buddy, no?’
‘A good friend of mine, yeah. I killed him anyway. On account of he was going to kill me first. Wait. No. Second. He was going to kill me second.’
‘He was not supposed to tell you that.’
‘He didn’t. He stuck to the plan. I figured it out is all.’
‘Always the smart one, Willy-boy,’ Ciampini said. ‘Why we kept you around so long.’
‘I’m still smart. You can still keep me around.’
Ciampini gave him a hard, long look again. Willy did not relent.
‘It’s always the smart guys who wanna fuck with you.’
‘I’m not that smart.’
Ciampini kept staring at him, boring holes in his head.
‘Walk away ten strides,’ the boss ordered.
Willy did so, and the mob boss took advantage of the distance between them to pick up the two pistols dropped on the ground. He emptied out their shells and sniffed the barrels. Both weapons had been fired recently. He tossed the guns into the front seat of the car and dropped the bullets into a front pocket of his trousers. He slammed the car door shut.
‘You can’t come in the house. My youngest is here with her youngest who’s taking a nap. Some kids got it soft, you know? A nap! I didn’t get those when I was a kid. You?’
‘I don’t recall. Maybe a few. Don’t hold it against me.’
‘What’s he need a rest for, my grandkid, middle of the day? Does he work at a job?’
‘How old is he?’
‘Eight months.’
‘He’s got a lot to think about, I guess.’
‘Like you.’
‘Maybe not the same.’
‘We’ll go in the barn.’
He could die there. Or they could talk there. Not his decision.
‘I don’t know why he visits me,’ Ciampini groused, ‘if he naps all day.’
Ciampini kept a hard grip on Willy’s right biceps as they strode to the barn. The farm had not seen rain. Their boots kicked up dust. Ciampini’s pistol was pointed at the ground. Willy took solace in that. Maybe he had a chance to be resurrected. Or not.
His boss showed him his three horses. They were big horses. The two men went into an empty stall at the far end of the barn and Willy was told to kneel down. He did so. He knelt down on the straw. It seemed very clean. He was told to take his belt off and he did so. Ciampini used it to lash his arms together above the elbows behind his back. He could easily squiggle free if left alone for five seconds, but not with Ciampini watching. Those five seconds would cost him his life.
He adjusted his weight on his knees.
Ciampini sat down on a low stool, the kind that might be used for milking a cow if they had cows. Willy could be shot through the back of the head at any moment, what the papers liked to call gangland-style. He’d never see it coming unless the boss wanted him to see it coming.
He didn’t mind. He was already dead. This was only about climbing back out of his grave into the light of day if that was possible. His heart was thumping. He could feel his pulse beating in his neck and head no matter how calm he looked.
He had his back to Ciampini yet was staring into the eyes of death.
‘Talk,’ Ciampini directed. And forewarned, ‘Don’t waste my time, make sure.’