City of the Lost Read Online Free Page A
Author: Stephen Blackmoore
Right now he’s the only one who comes to mind. “It’s Julio,” I say. “He’s—” There’s a loud click. I think he’s hung up on me, until I realize I’m not getting a dial tone.
“You can put the phone down,” says a grainy voice, accent like Chicago. Chicago and something else I can’t place. “It doesn’t work, anyway.”
Guy steps out from the kitchen. Tall. Wrinkled and balding. Liver spots on his hands and face.
“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.” The man’s old enough to be my great grandfather, but his hands and neck are all wiry muscle, and he’s standing straight as a marine. Just like the security camera pic Simon showed me. I almost laugh but stop myself.
He may be old, but that Beretta in his hand isn’t. I do what he says, put the phone back in its cradle.
“And the gun, too, if you don’t mind.”
“I think I’d rather not, thanks.” God, but don’t I just love a Mexican standoff.
“Joe, who is this?” Mariel asks. Giavetti smiles at her.
“Sandro Giavetti,” he says. He grins at some inside joke. “You could say your husband and I are close.”
She stands up. Steps into my line of fire before I can stop her. “Can you help him? He came home like this. I don’t know what to do.”
Giavetti moves to the side, each of us keeping our guns on the other. He shakes his head. “No. I was hoping this time would be different.” Mariel looks even more lost than before.
“You did this to him,” I say, more statement than question. It dawns on me that maybe Julio isn’t the only one. “Who else? The two guys who stole for you? You tried to get the other one, but he killed himself before you got to him, didn’t he?”
“I’m not having this conversation. I only want my property.”
I look back at the mess on the couch that used to be Julio, gasping for air that never comes. His property?
“No. You’re not taking him anywhere,” I say.
Giavetti heaves a theatrical sigh. “Is this where you say something like ‘over my dead body’?” he says. “Because we can do that.”
“And what, we kill each other? You shoot me, I shoot you?”
He thinks about this. “You’re right,” he says. “Julio, kill him.”
Julio lurches off the couch with inhuman speed. I spin around. I double tap two bloodless holes in his chest that you could run a train through. The suppressor drops the sound to something like a loud slap. He doesn’t even slow down.
Mariel screams. Runs to him. He backhands her with the force of a bulldozer. She hits the wall like a sack of garbage, bones cracking like glass.
Takes me a second to realize I’ve got my priorities screwed up. I turn to take out Giavetti, but he’s already on me. Old man moves like a goddamn ninja. Sweeps the gun from me with one hand. I take a jab with my left, and he ducks under it like he’s twenty years old.
He delivers a side kick to my bad knee. Tendons shred, the kneecap pops over to the side. I drop in a wave of agony, punching out and clocking him on the side of the face, but by then Julio’s got me by the throat.
He lifts me off the floor. Shakes me, a dog with a gopher. I’ve got no air. Punches are useless. I snag the skin flap at his throat and tear a meaty chunk off, but it doesn’t faze him. He’s crushing my windpipe, and I can’t make him let go.
My lungs are screaming. I can feel my eyes bugging out, blood so tight in my head my face is burning. My entire chest is on fire. I get tunnel vision, shades of gray fading in from the edges. Nothing left but empty gasping as my body tries to get some oxygen.
A thousand miles away, I can hear Giavetti’s laughter.
Chapter 4
When the water hits me, it takes a second to remember I’m not in jail.
Back in the nineties I spent three months sitting in county on a weapons beef that ended in a hung jury. Green-gray industrial paint, grimy white tile. When I open my eyes, it’s like having flashbacks.
“Mornin’, sunshine.” Giavetti tosses
“You can put the phone down,” says a grainy voice, accent like Chicago. Chicago and something else I can’t place. “It doesn’t work, anyway.”
Guy steps out from the kitchen. Tall. Wrinkled and balding. Liver spots on his hands and face.
“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.” The man’s old enough to be my great grandfather, but his hands and neck are all wiry muscle, and he’s standing straight as a marine. Just like the security camera pic Simon showed me. I almost laugh but stop myself.
He may be old, but that Beretta in his hand isn’t. I do what he says, put the phone back in its cradle.
“And the gun, too, if you don’t mind.”
“I think I’d rather not, thanks.” God, but don’t I just love a Mexican standoff.
“Joe, who is this?” Mariel asks. Giavetti smiles at her.
“Sandro Giavetti,” he says. He grins at some inside joke. “You could say your husband and I are close.”
She stands up. Steps into my line of fire before I can stop her. “Can you help him? He came home like this. I don’t know what to do.”
Giavetti moves to the side, each of us keeping our guns on the other. He shakes his head. “No. I was hoping this time would be different.” Mariel looks even more lost than before.
“You did this to him,” I say, more statement than question. It dawns on me that maybe Julio isn’t the only one. “Who else? The two guys who stole for you? You tried to get the other one, but he killed himself before you got to him, didn’t he?”
“I’m not having this conversation. I only want my property.”
I look back at the mess on the couch that used to be Julio, gasping for air that never comes. His property?
“No. You’re not taking him anywhere,” I say.
Giavetti heaves a theatrical sigh. “Is this where you say something like ‘over my dead body’?” he says. “Because we can do that.”
“And what, we kill each other? You shoot me, I shoot you?”
He thinks about this. “You’re right,” he says. “Julio, kill him.”
Julio lurches off the couch with inhuman speed. I spin around. I double tap two bloodless holes in his chest that you could run a train through. The suppressor drops the sound to something like a loud slap. He doesn’t even slow down.
Mariel screams. Runs to him. He backhands her with the force of a bulldozer. She hits the wall like a sack of garbage, bones cracking like glass.
Takes me a second to realize I’ve got my priorities screwed up. I turn to take out Giavetti, but he’s already on me. Old man moves like a goddamn ninja. Sweeps the gun from me with one hand. I take a jab with my left, and he ducks under it like he’s twenty years old.
He delivers a side kick to my bad knee. Tendons shred, the kneecap pops over to the side. I drop in a wave of agony, punching out and clocking him on the side of the face, but by then Julio’s got me by the throat.
He lifts me off the floor. Shakes me, a dog with a gopher. I’ve got no air. Punches are useless. I snag the skin flap at his throat and tear a meaty chunk off, but it doesn’t faze him. He’s crushing my windpipe, and I can’t make him let go.
My lungs are screaming. I can feel my eyes bugging out, blood so tight in my head my face is burning. My entire chest is on fire. I get tunnel vision, shades of gray fading in from the edges. Nothing left but empty gasping as my body tries to get some oxygen.
A thousand miles away, I can hear Giavetti’s laughter.
Chapter 4
When the water hits me, it takes a second to remember I’m not in jail.
Back in the nineties I spent three months sitting in county on a weapons beef that ended in a hung jury. Green-gray industrial paint, grimy white tile. When I open my eyes, it’s like having flashbacks.
“Mornin’, sunshine.” Giavetti tosses