Page 4

Rocco
“Hick-fucking-ville.” I hop out of my black Chevy Commander and look around at the green, grassy fields surrounding us. “I hope you brought your cowboy boots and spurs.”
Nico Salesi, the head of the Salesi crime family and one of my best friends, snickers, following me over to the fence along the property. I climb on the bottom rung and lean over, breathing in the fresh air. I almost choke, I inhale so deeply.
“Easy, killer. This air is pure, not like the shit you’ve been inhaling back home for most of your life.”
The wind whips through my hair, and I pull my baseball cap from the back pocket of my jeans, sticking it on my head. I turn around to face Nico and fold my hands across my chest. “So why the hell are we here in Bumblefuck, New Jersey? I mean, I know you like the track, but I didn’t think you wanted to buy and race your own ponies.”
“I don’t.”
“Okay.” I nod and look at the large white house in the distance. Four stories high, red shutters, picket fence. “Are you so sick of us that you’re planning to move Shaye up here?” I chuckle. “Or are you so sick of me that you decided to ship me off to God’s country to live off the land?”
“You’re getting warmer.”
I roll my eyes. Nico doesn’t give a fucking inch when he doesn’t want to. But I’d really like to know why I’m about to be neck-deep in horse shit. Literally.
As if I don’t have enough other crap to deal with. Like my survival.
“Let’s go inside.”
“Why? Do you think the animals are gonna hear about whatever your plans are and run straight to the feds?”
“No, dipshit. I need to take a leak.”
“Aha, running water. Nice, so it’s at least somewhat civilized up here.”
“I told you you’d love it.”
“Yeah, but you didn’t tell me I’d be taking up residence.”
Nico nods his head toward the massive farmhouse. “Come on. Take a load off, partner.”
“Christ, you even sound like a cowboy now.”
We walk along the cobblestone pathway toward the house, and Nico pulls out a key, shoving it into the lock and twisting the knob. The bright red door creaks open, and a musty smell wafts over us. I wrinkle my nose. “Smells like my grandma’s old house.”
“Your grandma’s old house smelled like escarole and sauce, dude.”
“Yeah, when she was cooking. I’m talking about the rest of the time.”
Nico shakes his head and starts opening doors. I guess he’s looking for the bathroom. He opens a few down a hallway and disappears for a minute.
I peer into the rooms on the first floor. All of the furniture is covered in plastic…Jesus, I really feel like I’m in the Twilight Zone now. Grandma always had her shit covered in plastic. I remember hating to sit down in the living room in the summer time. My grandparents never used the air conditioner. When my Pop was sick, she’d keep it off so he wouldn’t get a chill. Then after he died, she just never bothered to turn it on again. I guess she got used to the sweltering heat. But damn, I remember how my legs would stick to the plastic and sear the skin any time I’d visit in the hot summer months.
I tried not to visit too often between the spring and fall for that reason.
Now she lives down in Florida, without the plastic, and I visit all year round because she turns on the air conditioner in the ninety-plus-degree temps.
Nico curses loudly and a loud banging sound vibrates the walls of the house. “Nico, what the hell did you do in there? It sounds like the pipes are revolting!”
He pops his head out of the bathroom. “Realtor never turned on the water.”
“Gross, man. I’ll hold it until we get back on the road.” I brush past him and walk into the kitchen. Sunlight streams into a solarium in the back of the house and the light bounces off of the shiny surfaces of the room. It’s quiet. Peaceful. And nothing at all like I’m used to.
Why the hell am I here again?
Still waiting for a fucking answer.