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Eddie found himself standing in a tight, windowless room, with barely enough space to hold the cheap wooden desk and two mismatched office chairs that stood haphazardly before him. He assumed the tiny room was the meager headquarters of the garage owner’s business.
Behind the junky desk covered with greased-stained customer invoices, sat yet another Black man. This guy was better looking and not quite the size of the other two. Strong, but not overly muscular. Thinner, too. His head was shaved bald and buffed to a shine.
Several bricks wrapped in silver electrical tape sat in neat piles on the far end of the desk, along with a black .45. A larger load of the bricks lay on the floor next to the desk. Meth, Eddie assumed.
Based on the man’s youth and attire—a loose white muscle shirt—as well as tattoos covering his light-skinned muscular arms, it seemed unlikely this guy was the owner of the establishment, Mr. O Jackson, Sr. No, sitting before Eddie was the O Jackson, Jr.
The bald man, who appeared to be in his mid-twenties, busied himself with some sort of handheld video game. He gave Eddie a bored glance before returning to it. His cockiness indicated to Eddie a confidence borne from a tough life. He’d likely be more difficult to take down than his appearance indicated.
“You O Jackson?” Eddie asked. “Jr.?”
The man lifted his gaze to assess Eddie, seemingly for the first time. His voice was quiet, nonchalant.
“The-fuck are you?”
Without an offer, Eddie took the seat closest to the door and threw his right knee across the left one. He leaned back and folded his arms.
“Name’s Eddie Bracchio. Thought I’d be polite.” He shrugged one shoulder. “Introduce myself.”
O had no reply and continued with his game. Eddie sat in the chair in front of the desk and began to study O’s tattoos. “Interesting tattoo. The-fuck is it? A buncha’ broads having an orgy or somethin’?”
O’s chest and shoulders shook a little before a grin crossed his face, revealing a gleaming set of white teeth, except for one gold one at the top right.
“Somethin’ like that.”
Eddie’s brows raised as he smiled. “That’s different. Ain’t never seen nothin’ like that before.”
O placed the game in a bag on the floor behind him and then rested his forearms on the desk. He leaned forward and stared at Eddie with a dead-eyed expression.
“How can I help you, Mister—what’d you say your name was?”
Eddie put his leg down and leaned in, too.
“Bracchio. Eddie Bracchio. Call me Eddie.” He smiled and put up his hands. “No formalities, please.”
O leaned back, his hands still resting on the desk. “Listen, man. Honestly, I don’t give a fuck who you are. Either state your business or get the fuck outta’ my office.”
Eddie smiled. “Alright.” He nodded three times. “O.” His smile quickly turned to a frown. “A man who means business. I respect that. I’ll get to it, then. The reason for my visit today, is to tell you—” Eddie’s voice hardened as he pointed at O— “that I’ll be takin’ over these operations.” Eddie waved his hand in the direction of the bricks. “Your services are no longer required.”
O’s eyes narrowed for a second and then he chuckled. “That right?”
Eddie nodded. “That is right.”
He sat back, looked at his gold pinky-ring, buffed it with a quick breath, and then folded his arms to wait for the news to sink in.
For the first time, O took a good look at Eddie. He raised his right brow and scrunched his face almost into a smile as he snarled.
“Fuck you talkin’ ‘bout?”
Eddie stayed firm, un-wavering, as he watched O’s confidence begin to fade. O stood and slammed his hands on the desk, causing it to wobble loudly under its aging legs. Eddie never flinched and remained seated.
O leaned across the desk toward Eddie and did a rapid shake of his head, his finger raised and waving.
“Naw, naw man. I don’t know who the fuck you think you are, but that shit ain’t happenin’, and you can go fuck yourself if you think you’re takin’ over my shit.”
A slight smile formed across Eddie’s lips. He was enjoying this new sense of concern in O’s tone. This crack in his confidence. Eddie adjusted himself in his seat and crossed his arms, waiting for more from O.
O tipped his head forward as he laughed, his cold eyes fixed on Eddie.
“I’ll hand it to ya’ though, man. You got some balls walkin’ in here like you did.” He laughed again, his hands on his stomach, the desk between the two men. “Yep, some kinda’ mother-fuckin’ balls.” He paused, still smiling. “What are you, Italian or somethin’?” O grabbed his crotch. “Cajones? Is that what you call ‘em?”
He shook his head and waved his hand to the side. “Man, fuck you. Get the fuck outta’ here ‘for I pop your silly ass.”
O sat back down and turned to reach for his game as though bored with Eddie.
Eddie used that opportunity—O’s lack of focus—to slip his right fingers into the left sleeve of his jacket at his wrist and pull out a petite, solid steel screwdriver about the length of his hand. Held securely and discreetly in a tiny elastic loop just inches from the edge of the shirt cuff, it was a tool of his trade, and always missed in body searches.
Just as O’s eyes returned to face Eddie, Eddie jumped from his seat causing it to tip and crash back. He leaned in across the desk toward O and, with his left hand, grabbed O’s right hand and slammed it onto the desk. At the same time, he raised his right arm high over his head. O had only a second to look up at the small screwdriver, as he fought to wriggle his hand from Eddie’s powerful grip.
“Wait!” O shouted.
He fought with Eddie’s grip, while trying to stand, but Eddie was faster, stronger. Eddie held O’s right hand with a power O could not overcome, and jammed the screwdriver down into his hand, crushing bones as it penetrated, before lodging firmly in the wooden desk underneath it. O’s hand was now pierced into the desk, a bonus Eddie had not planned on.
O’s eyes bulged as he screamed out a sound resembling that of a dying animal. Eddie heard voices and commotion outside the door, but his hand held the screwdriver firmly in place. O tried to fight him off with his other hand, but the agony made this effort futile. Eddie wiggled the screwdriver a bit, further slowing O down.
Eddie then grabbed the .45 from the pile of meth and pointed it at O.
“Sit down,” Eddie said. “And shut the fuck up.”
O’s face contorted in anguish, as he slowly sat down behind the desk. He was now firmly under Eddie’s control.
Both Eddie and O turned to the closed door, as they heard footsteps and yelling from outside. Eddie maintained his grip on the gun in his right hand and O’s speared hand in his left. He wiggled the screwdriver just slightly between O’s bones, causing him to groan in agony. He could now see that the tiny point of entry between O’s forefinger and third finger had punctured a vein. Blood spilled over onto the table and onto the bricks of meth, which had jostled a bit in the struggle.
The office door was yanked open. Dax stood just outside of it, his gun pointed at Eddie. Eddie sensed the guy looked nervous, unsure of the scene before him.
With the gun aimed in Eddie’s direction, Dax yelled, “The fuck you doin’?”
“Shoot this motherfucker!” O cried, pushing the desk toward Eddie with his waist. It barely moved, though. Eddie’s hold of the desk with his thighs was stronger, and O’s pain and blood loss were weakening him.
“I wouldn’t do that,” Eddie said to Dax. “I’m a good aim. You shoot me, I could shoot O first, then you, before I go down.” He laughed at the guy with the gun. “What’re ya’ gonna’ do, ‘eh? It’s a big chance you’d be takin’, am I right?”
Dax held his gun at Eddie, but Eddie never flinched as he stared down its barrel. He continued holding the screwdriver, and gun at O, as O squirmed. Dax looked away from Eddie and back at O.
Eddie held on as he grinned at O. “Tell him to back off, O. I’ve got eyes on your nice house. The one on the lake? Your little girl?”
O stopped squirming and stared at Eddie. “No!”
Eddie raised his brows as he whispered, “Yeah.”
He gave the screwdriver another tug sending a shriek from O’s lungs.
“Tell him to back off,” Eddie said. “Now. Or I give the orders at your house.”
O moaned, his face contorted in pain. “Stay back, man! Stay back!” He shook his head. “Maddie!”
Dax continued to point the gun at Eddie, unsure of what to do.
“Back away, man,” O said, grunting through the pain.
Eddie and O hadn’t moved, their faces nearly touching. Sweat dripped down the sides of O’s forehead. Eddie’s firm grip remained on the screwdriver’s handle, with O’s left hand still pinned to the table and bleeding. Eddie’s other hand held the .45 near O’s face.
Dax lowered his weapon. “Okay, man. It’s cool, it’s cool. I’m movin’ back, okay?”
Eddie hissed at Dax. “Get the fuck out and shut the door.”
Dax lowered his weapon, backed out, then reached to shut the door. Eddie waited. Once the door was closed, he turned back to O, his hand still tightly holding the screwdriver.
“Keep that screamin’ down, O. You don’t want your boys out there thinkin’ you’re some sort of pussy now, do ya’?”
O’s face remained twisted in pain, but he went silent.
“Okay then. I’ll repeat myself, which I don’t like doin’,” Eddie said. He wiggled the screwdriver another fraction. “Do we have an understandin’?”
O squeezed his eyes shut and nodded. “Please man. Please stop. Please get that thing outta’ my hand.”
O begged Eddie with his eyes for relief, but Eddie just smiled at him, unflinching, as he held his grip.
After a moment, Eddie’s smile faded. He leaned into O’s face, and with cold eyes, he spoke quietly through gritted teeth. “Now you listen to me you mother-fucker. Like I was sayin’: you, and your stupid-ass friends out there, got a new boss.”
Eddie jiggled the screwdriver around O’s bones. O squirmed, bouncing his legs uselessly. Except for a brief moan though, he stayed quiet.
“That’s me,” Eddie whispered. “You answer to me now. You got that? Huh? If you don’t, there’s a lot more where this came from,” he said. “But if you do get it,” Eddie pulled back a bit and smiled. “We’ll make some money together. Yeah?”
Eddie laughed as he tightened his grip on O’s wrist before quickly yanking out the little screwdriver. O screamed as he pulled his mangled hand away from Eddie. He held it gingerly in his other hand, close to his chest.
Eddie reached across the table, pulled on O’s white muscle shirt, and wiped the bloody screwdriver clean.
He paused, smiled, and then whispered through his teeth.
“You piece-a shit.”
Eddie moved back, his legs brushing the tipped chair as he took a handkerchief from his inside pocket and wiped the blood and skin off his hands. He threw the bloodied cloth onto the table in front of O and stepped to the door, whipping it open.
Dax was there, pointing the gun at Eddie, but Eddie was pointing O’s .45 at Dax.
Eddie spoke calmly. “You gotta’ fuckin’ problem, asshole?”
Dax lowered his gun. “Man, fuck you.”
Eddie stared at Dax, challenging him until he blinked. Eddie continued to point the gun at him as he put out his other hand.
“My piece?”
Dax frowned as he retrieved Dario’s .38 from his sweatpants pocket and handed it to Eddie. Eddie slipped it into his jacket pocket and smiled.
He then moved past Dax and lowered O’s gun, adjusting his suit jacket as he walked toward the front of the garage, not once, losing his stride or swagger.
Upon seeing a third door, he stopped and turned back to Dax.
“What’s behind that door?”
“None-a’ your fuckin’ business.”
“Alright.” Eddie smiled. “For now.”
He walked up to Dario and Tau, who stood near the exit trying to look calm, but Dario was fidgeting. Tau kept tight eye contact with Eddie.
Eddie gestured with his arm for the boys to leave first.
“Let’s go.”
Before leaving, Eddie turned back to face the men one last time.
“Until we meet again,” Eddie called to them.
“Fuck you,” Dax shouted.
