Page 66 of Marcello
The cops…
The dead Camorra in his bloodstained track suit…
But it was Buzzcut who caught me.
He put a gun to my head and said, This is what you wanted – right?
And then he pulled the trigger.
I bolted upright in bed, clammy with sweat, the thunder of the gunshot still echoing in my ears.
I barely got to the bathroom in time before I puked my guts out.
But I don’t think it was the alcohol.
Or at least, it wasn’t just the alcohol.
The next morning, my head pounded like Buzzcut had actually put a bullet in my brain.
As I stood in the bathroom brushing my teeth – very slowly, because every little movement hurt – Federica walked in and frowned at me. “Did something happen yesterday?”
“No – why?” I asked, trying to sound bored rather than panicked.
“You kept mumbling in your sleep.”
I stopped brushing. “What did I say?”
“I couldn’t make out most of it, but you kept repeating ‘I’m sorry’ over and over.”
“…I… guess it was just a nightmare.”
“I guess,” she said, then shrugged and walked away.
What I didn’t tell her was that I was living a nightmare.
It just seemed to have seeped into my dreams, as well.
As I walked to work, I tried to figure out how to find Buzzcut.
Turns out, he found me.
He was out in front of Sotto Napoli, slouched against a column in the exact same spot I’d botched the drug buy with Lametta.
When our eyes met, Buzzcut jerked his head to the side – Come on – and strolled across the street without waiting for me.
I hurried after him.
“Where were you yesterday?” I asked grumpily when I caught up to him.
“Fuckin’ good morning to you, too,” he snapped as he kept on walking.
I realized it probably wasn’t a good idea to get on the bad side of a murderous psychopath. Especially one I wanted as my new boss.
“Sorry,” I muttered. “I just thought I’d see you right after I… you know.”
“That was the plan, but you’re one fast motherfucker.” He finally looked over at me and burst out into a grin. “Good fuckin’ job, by the way.”
“Thanks,” I muttered, but couldn’t bring myself to enjoy his praise.
