Hank Garnetti, unaffectionately known as the Gar, was Benito Mancuso's enforcer. I guess we both was. Hank had the biggest, longest nose you ever saw. I never called him by the nickname, least never to his face. He was one of those no-neck guys with a chest like a bull and the mean, little eyes of one too. A bull probably would've been smarter to work with though.
Hank's specialty was blunt force trauma which he administered courtesy of a sap glove. It was a wonder he hadn't killed anyone with it before. Seligman didn't need to die. He just needed to know that Mancuso didn't like to be told no.
"Well, crap." Hank squatted down by Seligman's corpse.
"Smooth move," I said, poking the body with the toe of my boot.
"How was I supposed to know the old man had a glass jaw?"
The old man's face was surprisingly smooth and plump given the grizzled beard. "You sure he's dead?" I asked.
Hank slipped off the glove and felt Seligman's neck. "Yeah, dead. No pulse. Now what?"
"You made the mess. You clean it up."
"Get the trunk." Hank hoisted Seligman by his armpits, grunting as he slung the slight body over his shoulder.
I looked the body over. "He ain't bleeding is he? I don't want no more of that. It's hell to get out of the upholstery."
"Cripes, he's heavy for a little guy. But he ain't bleeding. Get the trunk, will ya?"
*
I let Garnetti drive out to a spot we both knew well. If we was lucky, the 'gators would clean up after us. If not, well, bugs did a pretty good job too.
We parked and he looked over at me. "Oh no," I said. "This one is all yours, Hank. You get to explain it to Mancuso too."
His mean little eyes narrowed even further, but he heaved himself outta the car with a grunt. I popped the trunk for him and waited for the splash.
Nothing.
I looked up, but couldn't see nothing on account of the trunk being open. The car rocked like he was having trouble dragging the old man's corpse out. The rocking finally stopped, but still no splash. Cursing the day I got saddled with the Gar, I unbuckled my lap belt and got out to see what the dumb hunk of meat was up to.
I walked around the back of the car, but no one was there. "What the…" My toe made contact with something solid.
Hank lay flat on his back; his eyes stared up past me. He made a sick gurgling sound. I half-crouched and reached for my piece before remembering it was in the console. The squelch of shoes in the mud made me spin around.
"Mr. Garnetti has met with an unfortunate accident," the old man said.
"But you was dead," I sputtered.
"I still am." Seligman smiled, showing me a mouthful of sharp teeth. "Now it is your turn to convey a message. When I told Mr. Mancuso that my answer was no, I meant it. Now you can tell him what happens when he disturbs my clan."
In a fluid movement, Seligman snatched Hank off the ground with one hand. Maybe it was the red glow from the brake lights. Maybe his eyes was always that color. He sunk his teeth into Hank's neck like he was biting into an orange, making slurping noises as he sucked.
It was four miles before I remembered to stop and close the trunk. I hit I-75 and ain't never been back. I don't know if Mancuso ever got the message, but I sure as hell did. I ain't afraid to bleed and I ain't really afraid to die, but I ain't gonna live forever. Not like that.
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