Guard My Heart (5 page)

“Would you shut the fuck up, woman?” Danny Migelli
screamed. I could see the little vein pop up between his eyebrows.

“Fuck you, Migelli,” she screamed back.

And out of nowhere this big Asian dude walks up and
backhands her so hard she stumbles into the car.

Everybody who knows me knows that shit doesn’t fly around
me.

Maybe I went insane for a minute. Forgetting why I needed
to stay alive, I lunged at the guy, but before I could land my shot, Mike got
to him first.

The next set of events happened in a blur. Two punches to
my ribs. One in the face. I’ve been kissed by a freight train, that’s how much
it hurts. I’m down. Gunshots. I freeze. Death was suddenly very real. 

The rest kind of happened in slow motion. Mike grabs the
girl. The other two guys fire off shots at Migelli’s men. I run for the truck.
I don’t know who shot first, but I know if it was one of us, there’s hell to
pay.

We lost the bag. We fucking lost Pete’s drugs. We’ve got a
drugged out girl and a pissed off boss. And Danny Migelli is pissed and not
taking any calls.

When my alarm clock goes off a couple of hours later, I
don’t even bother getting up. What’s the use? I can’t move. My ribs are aching
up a bitch.

Mom comes in a few minutes later. “Kyle, it’s time to get
up,” she says softly. I pull the comforter over my head. I’m sure my face is
bruised. I didn’t even see the guy who punched me last night. I hear her put
the coffee down on the bedside table, but I can’t turn to reach it.

“I’m not feeling well, Mom. Besides, there’s nothing
happening at school anyway.”

“Do you want me to get you something? Do you need to see a
doctor?” Her voice is closer now, like she’s leaning over me but she’s not
touching the bed. I’m sure if I move I’ll cry like a baby.

“No it’s okay; I just need to sleep a while
longer.”

“Okay, honey. I’ll tell Mia to go along without you,” she
says, patting my shoulder. Such a tiny move, so much pain.

I suck in a big breath, and my ribs protest loudly. I
immediately curse my own stupidity.

I’m the stupidest person on earth. Pete isn’t going to let
this slide. I don’t know how much we lost this morning, but judging by Pete’s
reaction it was a lot. He tried phoning Danny Migelli twice last night. Each
time it went to voicemail. Each time ended with Pete cursing and pointing his
gun at Mike. The girl was passed out in the car. Oblivious to the chaos she’d
caused.

Eventually, Pete sent us all home and told us to keep our
phones on. That reminds me to check mine.

I check my phone for new messages but there aren’t any, so
I close my eyes and sleep.

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

I open my eyes and focus on the blurry screen of my phone.
It’s almost midday. I slide my finger over the message. It’s from
Pete.

“Warehouse, now.”

I send a text back telling him I’ll be there in a while.
I’m not sure of my mobility yet; I don’t think anything is broken, but it’ll be
slow moving for sure.

I sit up, trying to ignore the burning sensation snaking
up my side. I know there are some painkillers in the bathroom cabinet; if I can
just get to it before Mom sees me, I should be okay. I don’t know what I’ll
tell her if she asks what happened.

The universe is smiling upon me because I don’t encounter
anybody in our short hallway. And I’m saved another lie. Soon I’ll be drowning
in the stuff. I swallow two painkillers and clean up as best I can in the
shower.

Putting my sneakers on is torture. It feels like someone
is pressing red hot pokers under my skin every time I try to bend down to tie
them, so I decide to leave them untied. If Pete decides to kill me today,
there’s no way I’ll even try to run away; tripping over untied shoe laces is
the least of my worries. I’ll probably just roll over and die all on my own
just to escape this run-over-by-a-train feeling.

There’s a black SUV waiting on the other side of the
street from my house when I step outside. I can’t see anybody inside through the
heavily tinted windows. Is Pete watching my house? Or the other guys? When I
pass Jenna’s house, I notice her bug isn’t in the driveway. Of course it
wouldn’t be dumbass. Normal kids who don’t get shot at are still at school,
where you should be. I’m good at mentally beating myself down, and normally it
keeps me straight. But somehow the less honorable side of me has the rest of me
convinced that playing around in both love and dealing drugs are good
things.

Malachi doesn’t greet me as friendly as he did last night.
His whole face is a dark cloud of tension. He barely makes eye contact with me
when I walk past him to the back room. Mike and the gang are already sitting at
the table. Pete has his back to me, staring out the small window.

“Kyle, get your ass over here,” Pete calls from the
window.

I look at the three guys sitting at the table, but their
faces give nothing away. No clue as to why I’m here. Stoic, statue, perfect
disinterest.

I walk over to Pete and see what he is looking at. Through
the small window I see what looks like a factory floor. There are people
everywhere, boxing up stuff. I can’t really see what is being packaged because
the parcels are already wrapped in black bags before they are placed in the
cardboard boxes. But I still try, squinting my eyes in hope of developing x-ray
vision.

“What am I looking at?” I ask Pete.

“My livelihood. My job. Do you know what my job is?” He
doesn’t wait for me to answer. “It’s getting these,” he points to the general
floor swarming with people and stacked to the ceiling with boxes, “to the
people who want them. To the people who
paid
for them.”

Pete turns around, his face pale and taunt. He has dark
circles under his eyes, like he didn’t sleep last night. He also looks scared
shitless.

“The people I work for are unhappy. You assholes lost a
lot of money last night. Danny Migelli doesn’t have the bag. Nobody has my
fucking bag!” Pete shouts and slams his hand down on the table. The other three
guys snap their heads up and eye him cautiously.

“You four fuck nuts,” Pete says sweeping his hand over us,
“are going to meet with Danny fucking Migelli tonight and apologize for this
shit storm. He doesn’t want the whore back, but he is pissed, and you are gonna
fix it. You are going to kiss his ass until it shines brighter than the full
moon. And then…” Pete pauses, a thin smile spreads over his face, and I don’t
like it. He knows something we don’t. And that isn’t good for us. “You are
going to go find that bag and bring it back to me,” he finishes with
finality.

“This is bullshit. I wasn’t supposed to be there. I don’t
need this shit,” I spit at him.

“Yeah, but you were. And none of you assholes thought of
grabbing the bag. You saved your own asses instead, and now, now you owe me,”
Pete says the last part slowly, jabbing his finger into my chest on the last
four words.

Fuck him and this drug bullshit. There’s no way this is
going to help me. Instead I’ll just end up putting Mom and Mia in more danger.
Or get killed.

“Did you put the black car outside my house? Don’t you
trust me?” I ask Pete.

“What? What black car? No. Is someone watching you?” he
asks, just as confused as I am.

“I don’t know. This is the first time I’ve seen
it.”

“Fuck! Go! All of you, just fuck off! When you get my
text, get your asses over here for the location of the meet.” is all he says
before he stalks out the room.

I look at Mike. He won’t meet my eyes. He knows it was his
fault we lost the bag. It’s not right, but he should’ve just left the girl,
gone back for her later or something.

“I hope she’s worth it,” I say to him.

Three pairs of eyes swing to mine and hold it menacingly.
I told you these guys are a team. You don’t take out the leg of a tripod without
the other two tumbling down on you. I hold up my hands.

“A man should never hit a woman, but I hope she’s worth
all this shit. I just think you could’ve done something different.” I don’t
mention that I was right there ready to clock the guy myself. Instead I leave
him with my accusation.

When I get out of the warehouse there’s a black SUV parked
on the street again. It’s the same van, of that I’m sure. I send Pete a text to
tell him, then stuff my phone into my pocket and walk home as fast as I
can.

***

It’s a horrible feeling when you’re blindfolded and on
your way to the unknown. Uncertainty and fear swirl around in my belly,
threatening to escape up my throat and expose me for the coward I really am.
When we met with Danny Migelli, he had a sneaky smile on his face. I didn’t
trust his greasy, pimple-infested mug when I saw it last night, and now I know
he can’t be trusted. Danny Migelli was never interested in our apology, he wants
revenge. The sick, twisted, little man wants to humiliate us like we humiliated
him last night. I don’t think anybody has ever stood up to him before. His ego
got dented and now he wants payback. I can only hear the breathing of the other
three guys next to me. Our hands were bound at gun point, and we were shoved
into this musty panel van. I can say it’s a panel van because my ribs made
acquaintance with one of the open panel doors before I was kicked inside. I
don’t know if we are being transported to our death. Will my body be found in a
shallow grave tomorrow? We don’t have any lakes or rivers near our town so
cement shoes are out of the question.

The road gets bumpy, and the sound of tiny stones hitting
the moving vehicle fills the space around us. I try to think of all the gravel
roads I know of around our town but draw up a blank. Apparently my brain
doesn’t realize it’s quick think or die time.

The van comes to a stop.

“One,” Mike starts to say, but a loud thud followed by a
hiss of breath cuts him off.

“Shut up,” someone growls from slightly behind
me.

Mike is smart; he is counting the stops, and I make a
mental note to do so myself.

The van starts moving forward slowly, and I hear dogs
barking somewhere in the distance. There’s none of the other city sounds
hanging in the air, and I listen more carefully. We must be somewhere outside
of town.

“Two,” I count in my head when the van stops a second
time. The sound of the panel van door opening followed by a loud “Move” snaps my
head up.

I’m pulled up by my arm, and my ribs protest painfully. I
take a shallow breath and mentally count to ten. If I get out of this alive,
I’m kicking this guy’s ass. Let’s see how he likes being dragged around. I’m
pushed forward, and I stumble into something. I use the extra support from the
obstacle to help straighten myself out because I can’t really do anything since
I’m blindfolded and my hands are tied. If I run they would just shoot
me.

So I decide to listen more carefully. Picking up any
sounds that might lead me away should I get a chance to escape. The barking is
getting louder, and there are two different barks. Two dogs. A fountain or
running water on my right. Crunching gravel under my sneakers. Five stairs. A
door. Ten steps and a left. Silence. And then light.

I blink in the brightly lit room. It looks like an office.
A rich man’s office. A big mahogany desk fills the back of the room. A cabinet
stocking amber liquid in a fancy container in the left corner. A bookshelf to
the right. A leather couch behind me. Mike and the other two guys also to my
left. Three of Danny Migelli’s men, heavily armed, to my right. The freight
train Asian at the door. Danny Migelli to my front, leaning against the desk. I
make quick notes and look for an alternative exit.

“So you boys think you can screw me over, do you? Which
one of you took the bag?”

Nobody speaks. Danny Migelli moves toward us slowly. Maybe
he is trying to be intimidating; maybe it would have worked if he wasn’t only a
few years older than me. He doesn’t run this show. The way his eyes dart to the
right side of the room, to the other entrance I was looking for, belies that
fact. Thank you, Danny Migelli. Migelli is waiting for someone to walk through
that door. His boss?

Migelli walks up to one of Mike’s friends and holds the
gun against his head. My heart starts to beat wildly in my chest. The guy
swallows hard, and his hands clench behind his back.

“What’s your name?” Migelli asks the guy.

“Ethan.”

“Ethan, did you take my bag?”

“No,” Ethan says, his voice steady, but he’s breathing
hard through his nose.

“Did you see who took my bag?” Migelli asks slowly like
he’s talking to a child. He twists the gun in small half circles against
Ethan’s skull.

“No,” Ethan answers again, and this time he looks like he
is about to cry.

“Then you are of no use to me,” Migelli says.

BAM.

My body jerks and my ears sting from the velocity of the
shot. I blink my eyes rapidly, not sure if what I’m seeing is real.

Ethan’s body slumps forward, and he falls to the floor.
Mike and the guy next to Ethan are splattered in blood. Mike looks at Ethan’s
body, and his jaw clenches. If I don’t do something, I’m going to die. Migelli
is going to make his way down this line until it’s my turn, and I will have the
same answer as the dead guy before me. NO. Because I don’t know who took that
fucking bag.

“What’s your name?” Migelli asks the guy next to
Mike.

“Jonah.”

“Well, Jonah, did you take my bag?” Migelli asks, trying
to look bored. But his eyes still dart to the right every couple of seconds.

Jonah’s eyes dart to the side, flicking Mike a quick
glance.

Migelli sees it and back hands Jonah with the butt of the
gun. The sound of splitting skin and crunching enamel turns my stomach. But
Jonah doesn’t go down; instead he swings around and spits a mouthful of blood
into Migelli’s face.

“Fucker!” Migelli screams, swiping at the blood with his
black suit sleeve. The look of shock on his face almost has me laughing at him,
but I bite my tongue and look down quickly to hide my smirking face.