{"id":494,"date":"2020-06-24T11:40:21","date_gmt":"2020-06-24T11:40:21","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.fishbonescomic.com\/novel\/?p=494"},"modified":"2021-08-08T20:11:16","modified_gmt":"2021-08-08T20:11:16","slug":"book-ii-chapter-25","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"http:\/\/www.fishbonescomic.com\/novel\/2020\/06\/book-ii-chapter-25\/","title":{"rendered":"Book II – Chapter 25: 1978"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"\"Illustration by Eyugho<\/span><\/a><\/span><\/p>\n

Summer, 1978<\/em><\/p>\n

Victor\u2019s new car suited him. It wasn\u2019t his first Lincoln, nor would it be the last. The ’78 Continental Town Car swept down the service road \u2014 a wide, angular beast fresh off the assembly line. It was a black tank with luxury trim, and the first vehicle he\u2019d paid for himself. The windows were rolled down, allowing the thick, muggy air to sweep cigarette smoke into the night sky.<\/p>\n

Harold slumped in the passenger seat. He ran a few fingers through brown curls, cursing the humidity\u2019s influence on his hair.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou know this thing came with A\/C,\u201d Victor said. He was multitasking \u2014 both fiddling with the radio and ignoring the speed limit.<\/p>\n

\u201cIf we roll up these windows and I come home smelling like an ashtray again\u2014\u201c<\/p>\n

\u201cYeah, yeah. Ruth will kill you.\u201d<\/p>\n

Victor settled on a radio station, the volume just high enough to hear Dolly Parton over hints of static. Streetlights left gold stripes over the hood of the car, swelling and vanishing in cadence.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou really think this guy is going off the record?\u201d Harold said, idly tapping his hand on the car door.<\/p>\n

\u201cEither Ricky is the shittiest auto fence I\u2019ve ever met, or he\u2019s keeping our cut to himself.<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd what\u2019re you going to do when we prove it?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhatever the fuck Dad wants me to do \u2014 whatever it takes.\u201d The Italian took one last pull of his cigarette before flicking it out the window. The car slowed to a stop at an intersection, red light blanketing the dashboard.<\/p>\n

Harold raised his brow. \u201cYou\u2019re ready to kill a man, you mean.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m ready to be made.\u201d The knuckles of Victor\u2019s thumbs cracked over the wheel. \u201cApparently being the boss\u2019 son isn\u2019t enough.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019d really want to be part of an outfit where that was all it took? Nepotism?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo,\u201d he said. \u201cI wouldn\u2019t.\u201d<\/p>\n

Harold smiled \u2014 he hadn\u2019t expected any other answer from Victor. The voice on the radio changed to one more fierce, her words rolling like a storm at sea. Because the Night<\/i>.<\/p>\n

\u201cGood. So go out there and earn your button.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYeah, shut up for a second.\u201d Victor leaned in to twist up the volume knob. \u201cI love this song.\u201d<\/p>\n

Red flicked to green. The Town Car stole through the intersection, a dark, glossy titan and two men singing.<\/p>\n

The restaurant was their last stop before Fioretti Auto. A few straggling customers were smoking near the entrance, flushed from the wine and the heat. Gino slid into the backseat, immediately straightening his lapel in the window\u2019s reflection. Victor leveraged his hand on Harold\u2019s headrest as he looked back.<\/p>\n

\u201c<\/span>Pap\u00e0, sei pronto?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cCerto.\u201d Gino nodded. \u201cE voi due?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Victor frowned, then glanced at Harold. \u201cUh \u2014 you got a piece?\u201d <\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cNo.\u201d He let out a painfully feigned sigh. \u201cGuess I can\u2019t kill anyone today.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cCheck the glovebox, you wiseass.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

There was a clunk as the compartment opened, followed by the sound of stilted rummaging. Harold wasn\u2019t looking very hard.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cNo firepower,\u201d Harold said. He uncovered a small cedar box, lifting it to squint at the engraved text. \u201cI did find cigars, though \u2014 Davidoff? Vic, I thought we talked about your spending.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Victor\u2019s posture stiffened, as if bracing for an impact.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cThey were for a special occasion. Vanni wanted to wait until dinner this weekend, but \u2014 doc says the kid\u2019s gonna be a boy. Still on track for next month.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Gino clasped his hand on his son\u2019s shoulder, giving him a little shake. \u201cChe grande! That\u2019s wonderful.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Harold was silent, looking down at the wooden box. He gave a distant smile, as if he were in another place entirely.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cOh. Er\u2014\u201d Victor paused, then clumsily packed the cigars back into the glove compartment. \u201cSorry, Harry. I know you and Ruth have been trying. Any, uh \u2014 any luck?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2014\u201c Harold\u2019s expression held, though it was clearly taking some effort. \u201cWell, we\u2019re guessing it\u2019s not meant to be. But I\u2019m happy for you. Just hitting your twenties and you\u2019ve got a son on the way. You\u2019re making me feel like an old man.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re only\u2014\u201c Victor took a moment to count on his fingers. \u201cSeven years older than me.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cSix years, seven months.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cMerda, you go to one little Ivy League and you come out an insufferable jackass.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Harold shrugged. \u201cYeah, that\u2019s fair. You two decide on a name?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cShe likes \u2018Sergio,\u2019 but \u2014 ma non sono sicuro. I don\u2019t know, it\u2019s not very American.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Gino clicked his tongue. <\/span>\u201cMi piace. Sergio is a fine name. Don\u2019t be ashamed of where you\u2019ve come from.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou gave me<\/i> an American name, Pap\u00e0,\u201d Victor said.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWell, one of us needed to sound like a citizen.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Victor groaned, rolling his head back as his two passengers laughed \u2014 not with him, but at him. Merciless.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWell, what do you think, Harry?\u201d Victor said. \u201cToo Italian?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Harold gave his friend the most sincere smile he could muster.<\/span> \u201cIf I say the name is perfect, will you actually drive?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cOh, fuck you.\u201d<\/p>\n

#<\/p>\n

Fioretti Auto was a half-car shop, half-junkyard heap of loose steel and chain link fencing. Red neon reflected in scattered puddles. The Town Car parked just inside the gate, flanked by a pair of stripped Cadillacs. Noise and light poured out of the garage through an open door \u2014 the sound of two men laughing and the shuffling of glass bottles.<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, good.\u201d Victor freed a handgun from his belt, snapping in a fresh magazine. \u201cHe\u2019s home.\u201d<\/p>\n

Gino waved the weapon away with his hand. \u201cNon ancora. Wait for my word \u2014 understand?\u201d<\/p>\n

Victor nodded, but kept his grip on the pistol. It was time to arrive unannounced.<\/p>\n

Gino entered first. The garage fell silent, both heads turning toward the figure in the doorway and the two men behind him. Ricky was seated on a crate, kitty-corner from his mechanic and right-hand man. There wasn\u2019t a soul that would call Gino \u2018tall<\/i>,\u2019 yet somehow, he towered over the room. He kicked aside a discarded bottle with his heel.<\/p>\n

\u201cNice evening, isn\u2019t it?\u201d Gino smiled. \u201cYou boys enjoying yourselves?\u201d<\/p>\n

There was a lightness in his tone, something pleasant and almost genuine. Even so, Ricky was paralyzed. Gino had locked eyes, meeting his stare with a deep, cruel blue. The bottle rolled to a stop against a tire with a clink. Ricky snapped out of his daze.<\/p>\n

\u201cShit, uh \u2014 Blue, you didn\u2019t say you were comin\u2019.\u201d He stood, a little too fast. \u201cYeah \u2014\u00a0 <\/span>yeah! Come on in. You want a drink?\u201d<\/p>\n

Ricky fumbled through a cabinet, pushing aside papers and boxes to retrieve a bottle of bourbon. It was unsteady in his hands \u2014 slippery, as if his palms were sweating.<\/p>\n

\u201cThat looks like a 50 year old bottle, Ricky. I thought you were broke,\u201d Victor said.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt was a gift.\u201d The man was focused on his task, tipping a glass as he coated the bottom with amber, oakey liquor. He offered the lowball to Gino, leaving clammy fingerprints along the glass.<\/p>\n

\u201cHow generous of you \u2014 sharing this with us.\u201d Gino tilted the glass to take in the scent. \u201cNot enough men understand the importance of sharing.\u201d<\/p>\n

Ricky gave a stiff smile. The man had a wiry figure, angular and unshaven with a knob at the peak of his throat. He swallowed.<\/p>\n

Victor made his way through the garage, running his hand along a table. His fingertips left trails in the dust and he rubbed them together with a frown. The place was a mess. Tools and documents mingled together on various surfaces \u2014 wrenches, oily rags, and receipts. He adjusted his glasses, peering across the space toward a vehicle covered with a canvas sheet.<\/p>\n

Victor jerked his chin toward the car.\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cWhat\u2019s that you got? Something new?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cJust a repair. That\u2019s all we really got, lately \u2014 repairs.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cToo bad, after we spent all this money setting up your shop. Just repairs, huh?\u201d Victor\u2019s hand found its way to the sheet, curling the fabric between his fingers before sweeping it free. The cloth fluttered to the concrete floor, revealing a polished, ivory-white Mercedes-Benz. Its surface glinted under the fluorescent lights of the garage.<\/p>\n

\u201cDoesn\u2019t look broken to me.\u201d Victor gave the hood a light knock. \u201cWhat do you think, Harry?\u201d<\/p>\n

Harold had already made his way to a cluttered desk, picking through notebooks and sheets of paper before finding the ledger. He gave a thoughtful hum as he flipped through pages, scanning rows of longhand and dollar signs.<\/p>\n

\u201cNope. No Benz in here.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI was going to put it in there \u2014 we just got this one in today.\u201d Ricky wrung the hem of his shirt in one hand.<\/p>\n

Harold tossed the ledger aside. Metal clanged as he opened drawers, rummaging through stacks of files. One book in particular seemed to catch his interest \u2014 a yellowed notebook with grease stains on the spine. He didn\u2019t have to read for long before he found what he was looking for.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo,\u201d Harold folded the ledger open, facing the page outward.. \u201cI don\u2019t think you did.\u201d<\/p>\n

There it was \u2014 the other ledger. The one filled with line after line of vehicle models, dates, and most importantly, cash flow. Mercedes-Benz 450SL, white \u2014 $26,000 (cash). <\/i><\/p>\n

The mechanic, who hadn\u2019t yet spoken a single word, leapt to his feet. The crate beneath him clattered as he barreled toward the door, his breath heavy and his steps hard. He only made it a few feet before a heel cut his ankles, sending him lurching to the floor. Gino\u2019s loafer was quick to pin the man down by his spine. The gunshot echoed.<\/p>\n

A red trail trickled from the hole in the back of the mechanic\u2019s skull \u2014 thick, and slow. The Italian tugged a silk handkerchief from an inner pocket. It was deep water and endless skies \u2014 blue, monogrammed with two initials: GG. It draped over the back of the man\u2019s scalp, darkening with the soak of blood. His eyes returned to Ricky.<\/p>\n

\u201cIs there anything you\u2019d like to say before Harold starts reading?\u201d<\/p>\n

Ricky\u2019s breaths had roughened. His chest rose and fell, lungs grinding air through a raw, dry throat. He shook his head.<\/p>\n

Harold gave a shrug. \u201cWell, all right. \u201974 Ford Thunderbird. Six grand, cash \u2014 two days ago. \u201977 Cadillac Seville\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

There was a thump as Ricky backed into a half-gutted truck.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2014 I can\u2019t believe this.\u201d Ricky spat onto the floor. \u201cYou\u2019re going to trust this kike<\/i> over me? Over me<\/i>? You can\u2019t be fucking\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

The sound of bone on glass was one Harold would never forget. Victor breathed inches from Ricky\u2019s face, his elbow pinning the man to the truck window.<\/p>\n

\u201cSorry, what were you going to say? All I heard was \u2018kike<\/i>.\u2019\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou can\u2019t\u2014\u201c<\/p>\n

The man heaved as he was kneed in the gut. His body crumpled, dragging down the truck door before hitting concrete.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s\u2014\u201c Ricky gave a few wet coughs. \u201cIt\u2019s in the bottom drawer. All\u2014 all of it, just take it.\u201d<\/p>\n

With a wrench, Harold cracked open the lock on the final drawer of the desk. After a moment of evaluating its contents, he gave Victor a thumbs-up.<\/p>\n

\u201cI was going to tell you,\u201d Ricky said from the floor. He grasped Victor\u2019s ankle with a shuddering fist. \u201cI was going to kick it up. I swear \u2014 Jesus, I swear. You know me, Blue. You gotta\u2014 gotta give me another chance. Fuck \u2014 please. You\u2019ll give me a\u2014 another chance, right?\u201d<\/p>\n

Victor snapped back the slide of his handgun, letting the round chamber with a clack. He observed the man begging at his feet, then glanced back at his father.<\/p>\n

Gino shook his head.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo,\u201d Victor said. \u201cMaybe next time, Ricky.\u201d<\/p>\n

Two shots pierced the air, and the garage was silent once more. The fingers on Victor\u2019s pant leg went limp.<\/p>\n

\u201cPiece of shit bigot,\u201d Victor said. He kicked the hand off, his eyes flat with indifference.<\/p>\n

Harold joined him beside the truck, cleaning his glasses with the hem of his shirt. He peered through the lenses with scrutiny before replacing them on his face.<\/p>\n

\u201cVic, I didn\u2019t know you cared.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cShut up, Harry.\u201d<\/p>\n

Harold ignored him, only offering a smile. \u201cYou did it. Finally made your bones.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt had to be him,\u201d Gino said with an offhanded gesture. \u201cI only had one handkerchief.\u201d<\/p>\n

With a scoff, Victor turned back to his father. \u201cCazzo, stai scherzando? How many of those things do you even have? Jesus \u2014 is that why they call you \u2018Blue<\/i>?\u2019 Cause of that fucking hankie?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cNo.\u201d Gino took a moment to smooth back his hair \u2014 coal-black with silver temples. \u201cIt\u2019s because of my eyes \u2014 I have beautiful eyes, you know. I prefer Azzurro, anyway. It sounds more dignified.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201c<\/span>Pap\u00e0, none of these American trash bags are gonna call you Azzurro<\/i>.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cToo bad. Back home, they did.\u201d<\/p>\n

Victor\u2019s stare fell back to the body at his feet. Those eyes were still open \u2014 drab and motionless. He took a sharp breath through his nose before kicking the body over with his heel.<\/p>\n

\u201cWell,\u201d Victor said. \u201cThis is home now.\u201d<\/p>\n

He couldn\u2019t see Ricky\u2019s face anymore, but those eyes stayed floating in his vision \u2014 two brown eyes with two bullet holes between then. From the bridge of his nose to his brow, that face had been demolished \u2014 unrecognizable. Those eyes would never blink again.<\/p>\n

\u201cVictor<\/i>.\u201d It was Harold\u2019s voice. \u201cYou okay?\u201d<\/p>\n

Victor inhaled, rubbing his forehead. \u201cYeah \u2014 yeah, I\u2019m fine.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cGoing to earn yourself a nickname, too?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI didn\u2019t come here to earn a fucking label.\u201d He cracked open the door of the truck. With a crouch and a grunt, he heaved the body into the driver\u2019s seat. Willfully ignoring the blood on his sleeves, he grabbed a gas can.<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t need some\u2014 some signature. You want me to leave a napkin? A business card?\u201d<\/p>\n

The smell of gasoline stung their nostrils as he dumped the can\u2019s contents over the body, then kicked the door shut. The slam reverberated across the garage.<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t have time for that shit.\u201d<\/p>\n

The can was tossed aside, plastic clunking over concrete in a trail of stray fuel. He could still see those eyes. They bore into him, daring Victor to rid the world of their rotten stare. His lighter clicked open, its wheel scratching before a tall, lean flame popped up. He watched the fire for a moment, then flicked the Zippo through the truck window.<\/p>\n

Flames consumed the fuel-soaked upholstery, writhing over the corpse \u2014 hungry. The glow reflected in his lenses, a burning, devouring red. Fire was all he could see now. No more eyes \u2014 nothing. He smiled.<\/p>\n

\u201cThere,\u201d Victor said. \u201cLet\u2019s see \u2018em make a nickname out of that.\u201d<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Illustration by Eyugho Summer, 1978 Victor\u2019s new car suited him. It wasn\u2019t his first Lincoln, nor would it be the last. The ’78 Continental Town Car swept down the service road \u2014 a wide, angular beast fresh off the assembly line. It was a black tank with luxury trim, and the first vehicle he\u2019d paid […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":false,"jetpack_social_options":{"image_generator_settings":{"template":"highway","enabled":false},"version":2}},"categories":[5],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-494","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-fishbones-book-02"],"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p4oWx8-7Y","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"post_mailing_queue_ids":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.fishbonescomic.com\/novel\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/494","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.fishbonescomic.com\/novel\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.fishbonescomic.com\/novel\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.fishbonescomic.com\/novel\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.fishbonescomic.com\/novel\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=494"}],"version-history":[{"count":6,"href":"http:\/\/www.fishbonescomic.com\/novel\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/494\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":786,"href":"http:\/\/www.fishbonescomic.com\/novel\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/494\/revisions\/786"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.fishbonescomic.com\/novel\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=494"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.fishbonescomic.com\/novel\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=494"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.fishbonescomic.com\/novel\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=494"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}