Penalty Time

The booth erupted with laughter.  Kirill looked at his henchmen, “You hear how he talks to me?  Like he’s part of our circle or something?”

More laughter as Kirill returned to his veal and pointed his knife at him.  “Soon, my friend,” Kirill said.  “Very soon.”

Shea had been in deep cover for two years, that’s twenty-four months away from Patty, except for the occasional arranged bump-n-run at the mall or bus station or some restaurant.  He’d text Patty telling her to show up at one of these places when he had free time, usually in the afternoon.  They’d do it in a dressing room or public toilet, and, afterwards, lock in a minutes-long embrace before parting.  It was always quick because Kirill was fucking paranoid and Shea needed to account for every second.

Shea watched the three thugs boast and laugh and attack their Italian. It was a red sauce joint, but Kirill owned it, taking it as treasure after he cleared the mob out of the lower West Side.  Shea thought about all he had done to get close to Kirill, how he had endangered himself and hurt others.  There were the countless dealers who worked for Kirill that Shea threatened and occasionally kneecapped.

There was Edgar the Puerto Rican.  He was a small time operator moving in on Kirill’s turf so Kirill told Shea to “take care of it”.  As a member of law enforcement, Shea did his best to avoid doing anyone serious harm, but he didn’t like Edgar so he knifed him in the throat and put him in the drink.

There was that crackhead bitch on the East Side who owed Kirill money, so Kirill told Shea to “have a chat” with her.  Shea hooked her tits to a live wire before pulling out two of her teeth.  She paid.  He delivered the money to Kirill and thought about Patty.





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