Al waits, his watchful gaze making me want to squirm. I don’t, though.
“You ever shoot someone?” he asks after a minute.
“No, sir.”
“Taken a bullet?”
“Yes, sir.”
He nods, not looking surprised, though he must not have expected that. My mother assured me he knew my past. That I grew up with everything handed to me, that I went to private schools and played sports and had the world at my feet.
“Tell me about that.”
I nod, shifting in my chair and sipping the stinging liquid in my glass. “I was helping my father take down a family he didn’t like in his town,” I say. “We were torching some houses, and one of the guys came out and shot at my brothers.”
“Not you?”
“He was aiming at my brother,” I say. “I did what anyone would do.”
“You didn’t have a gun?”
“No.”
“You know how to handle one?”
“Of course.”
“If you’d had a gun, would you have used it?”
“I would have killed him,” I answer honestly. I thought I couldn’t kill a man, but when I remember that moment, I know I would have shot without thinking twice. When that asshole leveled a gun at my little brothers, there was nothing but murder in my heart.
Al pulls a set of keys from his pocket and unlocks a drawer on his desk. He opens it and hands me a gun, sleek and black and made for killing. I don’t ask where it came from or who owned it before me, don’t ask how many more are in that desk. I don’t want to know how many lives it’s taken.
“Did your father succeed in destroying the family?” Al asks.
“Yes.”
Not the way the mafia would have. He didn’t kill them all and walk away proud. He was sneakier, dirtier.
Al busies himself slicing off the tip of a cigar. I’d give a thousand bucks to know what’s on his mind, but he gives the cutter his full attention. At last, he leans back in his chair and lights the cigar, watching me again. His eyes narrow as he studies me through the smoke.
“I have a partner in mind for you,” he says.
Damn it. A babysitter, just like Ma predicted.
“Don’t worry, all the new guys get a partner,” he says. “Most of the old guys, too. Helps me know who to trust. Keeps people accountable.”
I nod. There’s no use in arguing, no reason to make him think I’m a little punk. This isn’t high school. I don’t call the shots here. I put my nose to the grindstone and obey orders and survive. After a few years, I’ll have proven myself, and I’ll start working my way up. Al doesn’t have sons. Maybe someday, I’ll be sitting in his seat. There are probably a dozen guys with more years, more experience than me already eyeing that seat, though. I’m not ready for it, and if I put myself in the race, I’ll just get myself killed. I’m not going to shoot myself into the position. I respect Al already. If I end up in line for his position, it’ll be when he puts me there.
“I’ve got an assignment in mind for you as well,” Al says, pushing the cigar cutter toward me and handing me a cigar. “It’s a big one.”
Adrenaline spikes inside me. I didn’t expect to be making a hit on my first job.
This guy doesn’t waste any time.
That’s fine, though. I like his direct approach. If he wants to test me right off the bat, I can respect that. Besides, the sooner he tests me, the sooner I can prove myself.
“Yes, sir,” I say, carefully slicing off the end of the cigar. “I’m ready.”