The Hit

The restaurant was dimly lit and empty as I walked in from the palm fronded twilight streets of Pompeii. It was a quaint place, crowded with plants and statuary, and it served some of the best seafood one could find in Campania. Dionyso e Ariadne was a popular restaurant, but the hours it kept were irregular, and patrons would often arrive in the hopes of dining only to find it inexplicably closed. Right now was one of those times, but I knew about a discreet side entrance, which I had slipped into, emerging from a supply closet in a hallway. The restaurant lived up to its classical name; its house wine was amazing and statuettes of the god Dionysus and his wife graced the center of the ristorante amidst a marble fountain. I walked into the rear dining area, where the only people in the otherwise deserted restaurant sat. A stocky old man in a suit rose and greeted me as I entered. He was flanked by two rather large men, one with a surly expression and the other bearing a cool mask of indifference.

"Ciao, bello! " The old man greeted me, feigning to kiss both of my cheeks in turn as I did the same. His voice was deep and gravely, yet soft, like blocks of granite shifting slowly against each other. I shook his hand and the hands of both men, nodding in greeting.

"Come stai, Signor Valentino?" I smiled warmly.

"I'm good, very good, Dante. But tired. I'm getting too old for this, I fear."

"Nonsense, Signor. You've been old for as long as I've known you, and that never stopped you in the past."

Valentino chuckled, patting my shoulder. "How many times to I have to tell you to stop with this 'signor' nonsense? You're making me feel even older! Call me by my name, eh? Sederete!" Though affable, he radiated an aura of danger and power. Sal was one of the biggest Cammora bosses in Campania. It was an honor to work for him.

He sat and I sat across from him. "Mi dispiace, Salvatore."

"That's better," he said. His tanned and weathered face broke into a broad smile. "Vino?" He gestured with a wine bottle.

"Of course, Sal, ma certo!" Salvatore had his own vineyard and made his own wine, which was delicious, as long as you didn't think too hard about Sal's old and calloused feet crushing the grapes, which they did. He poured me a glass and I began to drink.

"How's the family?" Sal asked innocently.

"Ma che cazzo fai!" I cursed, laughing. I had run away from my family as a teenager, and hadn't seen them since. Salvatore was busting my balls. "Non rompe le mie palle! How's your mother?"

His mother had been dead for years. We both laughed, and a stifled snicker began to play on the lips of the man on Sal's left. The other remained stoic, his eyes narrowing slightly. They were Sal's two sons; I had grown up with them. Federico, the older one, was a good enough guy, if you were on his side. Bruno, the younger one, was far more temperamental. He had been glaring at me for the past week or so, ever since he saw me dancing with Giulia, his ex-girlfriend, at a disco. I'd like to say that it was an innocent enough dance, but it wasn't at all. Regardless, Bruno was a jealous man. I suspected he would have swung at me at some point had it not been for his father's intervention.

"Alright, Leone, enough with the jokes." Sal's crinkled smile was ironed out. "I have a job for you." I leaned forward, listening intently. "It seems a job we did down in Palermo went wrong."

"Palermo?" Sal's family, i Valentino, was centered in Campania like all Cammorista families. We usually didn't work that far abroad; Sicily was Mafia territory.

"Yeah, we got tipped off about a good opportunity... I sent Ermete down to help coordinate things; he did this job with this kid from Palermo named Alessio Costa. The two of them pulled the job off together; there was supposed to be a lot of cash. Erme called me up right afterwards, he sounded pleased. But that was the last I heard from him, and that was two weeks ago."

"You think he split with the money?"

"Erme? No, he's loyal. I've never had any cause to distrust him, and though the score was supposed to be good, it wasn't enough to incite him to cross us. I think the other guy set him up and betrayed him."

I thought for a minute. Ermete was a loyal kid, Sal was right. He usually did what he was told. I couldn't see him suddenly growing the balls to cheat Sal. It just didn't fit.

"You don't think this Alessio kid killed Ermete, do you?" I asked incredulously.

"Yeah, I do."

The friendly atmosphere quickly became a somber one as the implications of Sal's words began to dawn on me. Blood began rushing to my head. It couldn't be true. Ermete was unstoppable. They couldn't have killed him. Reeling from a sudden surge of emotion, I fought to keep myself in check. Sal continued.

"I called Maniscalco, asked him about this kid Alessio, who's supposed to work for him. Maniscalco says he's never heard of the job they were supposed to be doing; he's pissed because he didn't get a cut of it. Tells me the kid is a loose cannon, always causing trouble. He says it’s none of his business, but he gives me sanction to correct this situation as I see fit."

"So what do you want me to do?" I asked, choking back the urge to scream.

"I want you to go to Palermo and find this stronzo. Tail him for a little, check out his place. I have a feeling this bastard has our cash. Get as much of it as you can, and then make an example of him. Make a damn good example of him. I don't want anyone to think that they can pull a fast one on i Valentino. No one fucks with us."

I nodded. I didn't need to ask any questions. I knew what Salvatore wanted of me. I finished up my wine and stood.

"No problem, Sal. I'll take care of it."

"Good." He handed me a roll of bills. "This is for your travel expenses. Take care of yourself down there, Dante."

"I will, Salvatore." I bid the men farewell and left the restaurant.

* * *

At first, the train ride to Palermo was rather uneventful. I sat and read for a while, and thought about Ermete. He had been a good friend, a clown; he always seemed to be getting into some kind of trouble. He was an impeccable dresser and a ladies' man, but not as much of one as he'd like you to believe.

I had spent a lot of time with him in the past few years; we would go out to bars and discos together hoping to pick up beautiful women. Half the time we'd get shot down, but the other half of the time we did pretty well for ourselves. I remember one time Erme had slapped one girl's ass at a disco, promptly turning away afterwards. She had turned and thrown her beer on me, cursing. I tried to tell her that it wasn't me but she wouldn't listen. I was mad at Erme at the time, but in retrospect it was pretty damn funny. I began to laugh to myself. The old man sitting across from me looked up from his newspaper.

"Mi dispiace, signor." I raised my hand in apology and stifled my laughter. The old man nodded and returned to his reading and I released a quiet sigh.

We had a lot in common, Ermete and I; we both liked to be the center of attention. Bereft of his friendly competition, it seemed that I was going to be the center of attention for a while. Only now I could give half a fuck. Erme had been one of those rare friends whom I had actually trusted, one of those unique people who actually contributed at least as much as what he took away. Alessio, the Sicilian kid, was supposed to have been his friend. What the hell kind of person would kill a friend like Ermete just for some extra cash?

I looked out the window and my eyes grew misty as I stared out at the passing countryside, watching the hills level out.

Don't fucking cry, you pussy. Don't cry.

My eyes felt like they were swelling, like a well about to overflow. I looked up to see if the old man had noticed. He remained engrossed in his paper.

Don't fucking cry. Only women cry in public. Suck it up.

I widened my eyes, absorbing the tears back into my eye sockets, feeling them roll back inside of me. My sinuses hurt, aching like ripe rain clouds begging for release, but I did not allow myself to shed a single tear. Not now. Not yet.

That's it, Dante. Now you've got it.

Salvatore wasn't the only one upset. My mission was a personal one. I was going to find this Costa prick and kill him.

* * *

We reached the ocean early that evening, and the train rolled inside the gigantic barge that conveyed the trains to Sicily. After the barge had left port, the passengers all got out of the trains to stretch their legs and get some fresh air. I moved through the crowds upstairs, and walked to one of the upper decks of the ship. The air was fresh and clean, and I watched the water churn hypnotically as the barge stormed through it. The lights of the city of Reggio shone like terrestrial stars, sliding gradually away from us as we navigated out of the harbor. Nearby, a handful of people were talking and laughing.

"Ciao, bello!" One of the boys hailed me.

"Ciao." The boy had a mop of curly brown hair held back by a headband. Standing next to him was a beautiful girl with shoulder length brown hair and green eyes. There were two other guys standing nearby, smoking. The boy had a large hand rolled cigarette in his hand, which he gestured with.

"Want to smoke?" he asked.

"I don't smoke tobacco."

"But this is a joint." He smiled.

"Ok," I laughed. That was another thing entirely. "Thanks."

I lit the joint and hit it a few times. "E buona. Grazie."

"No problem."

He introduced himself, his friends, and the girl, who was his sister. I promptly forgot all of their names, save that of the girl: Natalia. As we smoked and talked, I gazed languidly at Natalia. Her eyes flashed like a pinball machine, and she smiled mischievously. In the background her brother was talking incessantly, periodically touching my shoulder and hip as he did so. He seemed as flirtatious as his sister, and it irritated me. He was probably a finnochio. I looked at him skeptically and moved slightly away. I am a person who does not like to have my space invaded. Generally, it is fairly dangerous to do so. The joint gradually burned down to a roach and I promptly excused myself, walking towards the other side of the ship.

"Ciao, bello!" the boy called after me. I waved unenthusiastically.

Soon I found a quiet corner of the deck to repose on. I tightened my jacket against the cold, night air. My head buzzed from the hash, and I slowly surrendered to a feeling of peace. I soon sensed someone approaching behind me.

"Che c'e?" a soft voice said. I turned. Natalia stood there, eyes flashing. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, really... sometimes I just need a bit of space when I smoke."

"But surely there is something more troubling you..."

"A friend of mine disappeared. I think he's dead."

"Dio mio, how terrible! What happened?"

I shook my head. "I don't know."

We talked for the next hour or so, but it seemed like twenty minutes. I unburdened myself in conversation with her, but I was sufficiently vague in my story. Some business is best kept to yourself. She moved closer to me as the night grew colder, and I put my arm around her. A faint mist from the ocean sprayed us as the barge picked up speed. She was deeply sympathetic, an aspiring nurturer. I soon knew that I had her wrapped around my finger. Or maybe she had me wrapped around hers.

"How sad you must be... is there anything I can do?" she inquired, with a modicum of innocence.

"Well... there may be something..." I turned towards her and angled my head. She met me halfway and we kissed as the stars winked overhead. We kissed for an eternity, the kind of kiss where you feel every little thing, the kind of kiss that you savor and draw out, an unhurried kiss, intensified by the hash. Soon the port of Messina came into view and the water became more crowded with boats and ships of all sizes. A statue of Christ, standing in benediction on an alabaster column alone in the sea, loomed over the barge as we passed, illuminated by a huge neon blue "O" fixed above his head. Clouds hung low over the nighttime harbor as smaller boats negotiated past us.

Eventually we made our way back downstairs and into the train. We snuck into a room and drew the curtains, making love as the train rolled back onto land, until Natalia's stop in Commachio. She gave me her number and kissed me, extending an open invite if I was ever to visit her neck of the woods.

"Ciao, bellisima," I said as she left. I coasted off of my newfound bliss for a while, but ultimately returned to my old despair. It was inevitable.

* * *

I arrived in Palermo the next morning. The sun was shining and the air was dense as I got off the train. The station was decorated with small palm trees and plants; the floors were littered with refuse. The city was much louder than Pompeii.

It had been a year since I had visited, but I was nonetheless hoping to make the trip a short one. The buildings were tall and the city was dirty and hot, and I longed for the comfort of a cool shower as I sweated through my buttoned-up shirt. I walked down the crowded streets and saw a sign for a hotel. I entered the building, ascending through a dilapidated elevator that made disturbing noises as it rose. At the top I saw the open doorway to the hotel lobby. A friendly, middle-aged woman worked behind the counter while her son played with action figures on the floor. I booked a room and she walked me down the hall.

"If you need anything else, let me know." She smiled warmly.

"Thanks." I entered my room, took off my clothes, and promptly fell asleep on top of the covers of the bed.

That night I wandered the streets of the city. Having visited Palermo before, I knew that the nightlife during the week was terrible; there was pretty much only one spot where people would go to drink on a Tuesday night. I wandered off the main streets through the winding and dilapidated lanes until I reached a courtyard a few blocks away from the Palermo museum. The courtyard was centered between a handful of bars and restaurants, and it was full of people. The alleys nearby were lined with Moroccans selling handmade drums, clothing, and bootlegged CDs. Cars and motorcycles cruised slowly through the throng, the passengers yelling out the windows to their friends. If Alessio Costa was a friend of Ermete's, then he was in all likelihood a drinker. From what I had heard about him, he was also a flamboyant and outgoing character, and he probably had some money to throw around. I walked through the crowd into the ritziest bar in the courtyard, Il Pozzo.

Inside I could barely squeeze through the people to the bar. I looked around and got my bearings. There were many people, many beautiful girls. But I soon knew who would be able to help me. I saw a group sitting at a table in the corner, dressed expensively in the southern terroni fashion, shirts unbuttoned and gold medallions exposed. Though their manner of dress was fairly commonplace and popular, I could nonetheless tell that these were the mafiosi of the crowd. You can usually tell when someone is connected. They just have a certain aura about them.

"Can I get you a drink, sir?" The bartender was a cute brunette with short hair.

"Yeah, I'll have a coca e rum."

She began mixing me the drink. I spied a book of matches on the counter and pocketed them.

"Can I ask you a favor?" I smiled at her.

"Sure," she replied.

"Do you know where I'd be able to find Alessio Costa?"

Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. I put a twenty casually on the table. "I knew him back in middle school and I heard he lived here now."

She took the bill and nodded her head towards the men in the corner. "There he is, in the red shirt."

Alessio was a man of about my size, a little shorter than me and a little thicker. He had a mop of dirty blonde hair that hung in his eyes and he was a bit of a pretty boy, dressed in expensive looking clothes and gold jewelry. I instantly despised him. He sat laughing in the corner with his friends; their table was covered with empty bottles and glasses.

That's right, you bastard, run up a huge tab, I thought to myself. You can afford it, right?

I thanked the bartender and downed my drink in a few swigs. I walked outside. Now it was time to wait.

At two in the morning the area was clearing out. I watched Alessio and his friends emerge from the bar. They called out farewells to each other, his two friends walking towards the harbor in the company of one of the attractive girls they had been talking to. Alessio headed in the opposite direction. I stopped my haggling with a Moroccan merchant and followed him with my eyes. After a few minutes, I slipped down the same alley.

Trailing someone was an exhilarating sport that required a certain degree of finesse. I was fairly good at it, one of the reasons that Salvatore had picked me for this job. Alessio stumbled down the alleys haphazardly, humming to himself, and it was clear that he was drunk enough to make my job considerably easier. I stayed a block or so behind him, right around the corners of the streets, keeping him barely within my line of vision. I slunk slowly on the sides, in the shadows, and I noted the street names as he led me through the labyrinthine vias of Palermo. He stopped in front of a tall apartment building and unlocked the large front door. I made note of the place and headed home.

* * *

I was there the next night when Alessio left at a few minutes past eleven. I waited until he was out of vision, then I approached. Soon an old woman emerged from the building; I held the door open for her and nodded politely.

"Grazie," she thanked me as she walked on her way.

"Niente," I replied. I paused to look at the intercom board on the wall before I continued inside; the name Costa was marked Room 218.

The lift was occupied so I walked the flight of stairs until I reached 218. I put my ear to the door: silence. The door was locked, so I reached into my jacket for a few slim tools. I fiddled with the lock for a bit, and soon I heard the familiar click of the tumblers falling into place; the door sprung gently open.

Inside it was black, illuminated only by the moonlight which shone in from the balcony, filtered through the tall glass doors. I snuck around the place; there was a bedroom, a bathroom, a kitchen, and a living room, all unoccupied. I switched on the lights.

The place was nicely decorated and well furnished; the kitchen had an extensive liquor cabinet that I wished I had more time to appreciate. The bedroom had a Japanese theme; there was a folding screen decorated with bamboo designs and a wicked looking katana hanging above the bed. A night breeze ruffled the curtains, brought in through an open sliding door that led to the balcony. I began to scout around. I found a small box filled with gold jewelry, which I pocketed. The rest of the search didn't yield much, until I discovered the false bottom in his lowest dresser drawer. I moved it aside to reveal about ten stacks of €100 bills, each stack holding one hundred bills each. My heart leapt, and I quickly began to fill my pockets with the money. My slacks had been custom tailored, and were lined with hidden pockets on the interior that oftentimes came in handy. They were quickly filled, and I had just closed the drawer when I heard the door open slowly. I ducked behind the screen.

Catlike footsteps, barely audible, moved into the bedroom and across the carpet. I saw a man's silhouette play across the bamboo screen, eerily distorted. I was just reaching into my jacket for my .357 when the figure turned abruptly towards me and started firing. I threw myself to the ground as shots rang out, rolling and knocking the screen over above me. Chaos ensued.

The screen hit the man and he began shooting wildly as it toppled to the ground. I squinted my eyes, gun now firmly in hand, and blasted a few shots upwards. The first shot went through his forearm; he dropped his gun in surprise, cursing. I caught a brief glimpse of his face; it was Alessio. My next two shots flew wildly as he ducked, one hitting the ceiling and the other struck the light fixture dead on. The room was plunged into blackness.

Alessio kicked me solidly in the jaw as I lay on the ground and I reeled back, my nose bleeding. My legs knocked his pistol under the queen-size bed as I writhed in pain. He stomped on my wrist and began to pry my gun from my fingers. In a fit of fury I swung my other arm, grappling his leg, and rising to a half crouch I bowled him over as he simultaneously wrested my .357 from my hand. We fell out onto the balcony, his head striking the metal railing, and my gun flew off the balcony and clattered to the streets below.

This guy can't hold onto a gun to save his life, I thought. Fucking pretty boy.

"Va fan culo!" he screamed. I rose to my feet quickly, just in time to get clocked in the eye as Alessio swung at me. My nose, hurting more now, was still bleeding steadily. He shoved me out of the way, his face contorted with desperate rage in the blue moonlight, and ran into the bedroom. I heard a scraping, ringing sound and turned.

"I knew something was going on when I saw the lights go on from outside," he snarled at me through ragged breaths. He had taken the katana down off the wall and out of its sheath; it glinted brightly in the dark room. "You’ve got a lot of balls trying to steal from me. Do you know who I am?"

"Do you know who I am?" I asked calmly.

"You're one stupid cazzo, I'll tell you that much," he sneered, the sword clenched tightly in both his hands. "You're a dead man."

"I'm a friend of Ermete Napolitano's," I said as calmly as I could through clenched teeth.

"A friend of Erme's, eh?" Alessio laughed derisively. "He was a good enough kid, though far too trusting. You'll be seeing him soon enough, though-"

He swung the katana at me, and I jumped back, feeling the sword slice through my shirt and into my chest and abdomen. He swung again, higher, and I leapt backwards onto the balcony, feeling the wind from the swing on my neck. The sword lodged itself deep into the doorway with a deep thunk. Costa tried in vain to pull it out of the wall, his eyes wide in surprise. I swung hard at him with my left hand, hearing his nose crack under my knuckles. I grabbed his throat with my other hand and began to choke him, pushing him back into the room and throwing him to the floor. Grasping the handle of the sword, I wrenched it free from the wall. As Alessio started to rise, I brought it down in a sweeping arc, cutting his throat wide open. He began to gurgle in pain as he attempted to stand in an act of apparent futility.

This is for Ermete, you piece of shit. I thrust the katana into his stomach and upwards beneath his ribcage. I drew the sword out promptly; the blade was slick with his blood. He slowly fell to the ground and stopped moving, a growing crimson pool spreading quickly onto the carpet. I cleaned the sword off on the bedclothes, finding the scabbard lying on the floor. I sheathed the sword and hung it over my back as I looted Alessio's body, taking his wallet, keys, watch, and gold chain, and wrapped the body up in the bloody sheets. I removed my own bloody shirt, throwing it into the mess, and borrowed one of the expensive looking red dress shirts hanging in Costa's wardrobe. I looked outside. Despite the chaos, the street was inexplicably deserted. Either no one had heard or no one cared enough to get out of bed. I checked my pockets; the money and the jewelry were still secure.

I dumped the body over the balcony and grabbed a handle of Bacardi 151 from his liquor cabinet before I hurried downstairs. Though the air was fresher outside, the night was hot and humid, and my sweat was already collecting against my new shirt. I looked around the street as I fumbled with his keys in my hand. His car was a Fiat, and I found it quickly; it was a smallish car, white, a '96 . I unlocked the car and picked up the body from where it had landed nearby, dragging it into the driver seat and shutting the door. I doused the body and the interior of the car with the Bacardi, and, striking a handful of matches, threw the entire book in through the driver side window. Fire quickly grew and spread across the bound corpse, and I began to run down the streets, away from the place of death that was beginning to eat at my mind.

When I was a few blocks away, I heard a pop. Turning, I saw that the whole car had erupted in flames. They had killed Erme discreetly, but I was going to make an example out of Alessio. They should know now not to fuck with us; we were Cammora. The fingers of flame rose and illuminated the irregular and dirty Palermo streets, throwing flickering shadows against the crumbling walls of the nearby buildings. I jogged towards my hotel, the katana bouncing on my back, a faint smile playing on my lips, necessity holding despair at bay. Salvatore would be proud.