“Then what’s it going to be today, Jimmy?” Al asks, snapping the clippers open and shut, a malicious gleam in his eye. “You know what happened last time you didn’t pay.”
“I can get it by tomorrow,” Jimmy says. “I just need one more day. My ma’s been in the hospital. She’s been real sick, or I would have gotten you the money already. I’ll have it first thing in the morning, honest!”
“It wasn’t due first thing in the morning tomorrow,” Little Al says. “It was due yesterday.”
“Please,” Jimmy sobs.
“What do you think, kid?” Little Al asks, holding out the shears. “Want to do the honors?”
I know what I have to say. It doesn’t matter if I think this guy is telling the truth, if I think it’s crazy to cut someone’s nose off for being a day late on payment. This isn’t the world I grew up in, where pardons were acceptable. This is a different world, a different life. One where I have to prove myself worthy. If I’m not capable of violence, I might as well sign my own death warrant.
I steel myself, closing off the place in my chest that aches, the place in my stomach that twists at the thought of those clippers. There’s no place for pity or feelings in this world, and if I have them, there’s no place for me.
I stand and aim my foot at Jimmy’s knee, delivering a swift kick. My heel connects with precision and effectiveness. My chest is hollow of emotion. The only thing I feel is the bone give way, his kneecap separating from his knee.
“Next time, you won’t run,” I say.
“We’ll be back next week for the money,” Little Al says, stepping over Jimmy’s writhing body. “With interest.”
I turn, and we exit the alley, leaving Jimmy howling behind us.
“Damn, kid,” Al says, slapping my back. “For a second there, I thought you were going to puss out on me. But we’re going to get along just fine. I can tell already.”
As I slide into the passenger side of Little Al’s Porsche, I know this is where I belong. It’s easy, really. All my life, I cared too much about my family, my name. I thought that mattered. Here, none of that matters. Brothers kill each other without blinking. Couples marry without feeling. What matters is survival. The slightest hesitation, the slightest emotion, is a death sentence.
Everything in the Life is black and white. It’s simple because it’s all business. Nothing is personal. You play by the rules, or you pay. You have the money when the tax man comes, or you get hurt. You give a little taste of what’s to come if they don’t pay, or you learn how quickly you become expendable. You don’t think about his ma in the hospital, and you don’t hear him screaming. You think about what will let you live one more day, and you know it’s easier to feel nothing than to feel pain.
six
Eliza
“Do you know who he is?” Bianca asks excitedly over brunch the following Sunday.
“No,” I admit, misery weighing down every word I speak. “Just a name. I’m supposed to meet him this afternoon. I’ve never even heard of him.”
That’s not surprising. I don’t know anyone in the Valenti family because they’re all self-serving assholes who don’t do anything without evil motives. I know all I need to know—stay away.
“Maybe it won’t be so bad,” Bianca says with a sly smile. “Maybe he’ll be cute. I mean, I’d fuck Al Valenti.”
“Well, it’s not Al. Who, let me remind you, is three times our age.”
“And hot as fuck,” she says decisively. “Not to mention he’d know what he was doing. We’re virgins, E. I know I don’t need no high school boy who’s only out to get his. I need a man with some experience, who knows how to keep his old lady happy.”
“I don’t need a man at all,” I say, draining my mimosa and tipping the glass toward our live-in cook, who also serves the meals when it’s just family or a few friends. “Why do we have to get married so young, anyway? I like my life how it is. I don’t need a change.”
“Because they’re afraid you’ll let some guy float the love canal before tying the knot. We’re lucky they wait until we’re eighteen now. In the old days…” Bianca wiggles her eyebrows.
I push my plate away and slump back. “I guess at least I wasn’t engaged from birth. That shit still happens, even if they wait until we’re eighteen to marry us off.”
“You knew this day was coming,” Bianca points out, munching away on a piece of cantaloupe with a glimmer of smugness in her eyes. Fucking frenemies. She’s probably laughing on the inside, hoping I’m miserable for the rest of my life.
“It’s coming for you, too,” I remind her, accepting my third mimosa of the morning with a nod of gratitude. “You’re seventeen.”
“I just pray I don’t get some creepy old dude who can’t get it up,” she says, wrinkling her pretty nose.
“Dear god, I’d pay to get some creepy old dude who can’t get it up.”
“You’re crazy,” Bianca says with a wild laugh. “Don’t you want to have sex? Besides, they only give you to someone like that if you’re done for, and they want you out of the way.”