EDDIE TUCCI KNEW he had screwed up really bad this time. Unbelievable! It was a terrible mistake to give that job—or any job—to his nephew Johnny. Not for nothing did they call the kid Twitchy. Now he’d gone AWOL and Eddie had spent the past three days waiting for the rest of the shitstorm to hit the fan.
Even so, when the lights in his bar went out just after closing on Wednesday night, Eddie didn’t think too much about it. The building was going to shit, the whole neighborhood. Breakers popped all the time.
He slid closed the register drawer and walked out from behind the bar in the dark. Through the swinging door to the back room. If he could manage to find it, there was an electrical box on the wall.
Eddie didn’t get that far.
Out of nowhere, a bag came down over his head. At the same time, something hit his right knee from the side, hard. Eddie heard the joint pop just before he went down, moaning from the pain.
His moans didn’t stop them. Somebody put him in a powerful headlock, while someone else tied his ankles. He couldn’t even get off a punch, a kick, nothing. He’d just been hog-tied.
“You fuckers! I’m going to kill you. You hear me? You hear me?”
Apparently not. They hoisted him up onto the big table in back and cuffed each hand to the wooden legs underneath. Eddie yanked at the cuffs, but they only cut into his wrists. Even if he could get up, his knee felt like it was never going to work right again. He’d be a cripple now.
Then a faucet was turned on—full force.
What was that about?