Faust

A hand full of eights and aces

The air's even thicker outside in the hallway. Men running up and down with guns in their hands and masks of dour on their faces to conceal fear. I walk past purposely not making any eye contacts. Though our faces are practically covered in bruises and wounds, so between hurried footsteps and creaking floorboards, some still stop to give us a few questioning looks.

         Enzo occasionally gives me a few glances when he has to squeeze past someone. More specifically, my right hand in my jacket pocket.

Through the solitary door at the end of the hallway, we bump into Dino. He gave me and Enzo another glimpse before he walked towards the room Alonzo in wordlessly.

Tommy is sitting on the staircase, reducing half a cigarette to ashes with a single breath, three extinguished cig butts line up next to him, filter towards the ceiling, standing bolt upright. His thumb brushes the cylinder of his gun. He added the one between his fingers to the bunch when he noticed us. And our faces.

        "Please don't tell me you two couldn't kill a half-dead whimp......." Enzo let out a grin and slam his hand on Tommy's shoulder.

        "Go check the room and see for yourself. Oh, and bring a mop." Tommy waves his hand like he's flapping flies and pull out another cig from the red-striped pack next to the cig butts.

      "Nicky is downstairs waiting for you like a widow waiting for her only son to visit..." He put the cig in his mouth after sniffing the filter. Then he shifts his eyes on me. "And you, go to the back of the kitchen and grab whatever you need, it's on the house today."

"Sí, sí. Fratello." Enzo bypasses him and the line of cigs on the stairs. I follow behind after a nod at Tommy, who lit the fifth cigarette.
***

        Ground floor, behind the restaurant. Through the back of the kitchen and a set of iron doors, a guy walks out with a crate. Judging by the way he tenderly holds it, it's probably full of 'last results'. I step away to let him pass the narrow hallway.

        11:46. Enzo stops me in front of Nicola's office. With a throaty voice and a smile of a snake, he asks.
       "Last chance to back down, kid." My right eyelid twitched and a half-hearted laugh came out of my mouth.
    And now he's acting like he gives a fuck.

       "Back down to what?" Enzo tilts his head for a moment, eyes shifting to the red patterns on the wallpapers.
       "To save yourself first."
Great, even he my acknowledge my life more than myself.
       "I am doing exactly that. So that's get this over with eh?" I clutch the CZ75 in my right hand, feeling the handle of this clumsy, robust but reliable weapon and how odd Enzo choose this pistol.

        Enzo's gaze is still locked on the fleur-de-lis on the wall. A second later, the left corner of his mouth dropped, and a glint of spite or interest pass the blue eyes before he push open the door to Nicola's office.

         The crank room is full of unorganized sheets everywhere I lay my eyes on. There's a huge square table in the middle, surrounded by too many folding chairs. On it, are a pump-action shotgun, a load of shells, and 9mm cartridges on top of a poorly drawn map of this building and nearby alleys. The room is surprisingly quiet compared to the army bunk of hallway outside, the only sounds here are the ceiling fan and Nicola's heavy breathing.

          The big fella is sitting on the floor next to an opened save at the corner of the room. I don't even need to see his eyes to know he already gave up.

Seconds after we walk in he tries to get up and collect his scattered decency.

"Enzo, how's the snake upstairs?" Patting the invisible dust on his trousers, Nicola asks.
"We were in a bit of a rush, can't find a tuxedo his size. But I'd say he looks sharp enough to leave an impression on the devil's mind when he drags him to hell." Nicola lets out two short laughs and beckons Enzo to come closer.