Page 19 of A Wife’s Duty

Boone stepped up to the front door and knocked. It was only a little after nine.

The door opened and Boone put a smile on his face. “Good morning,” he said.

“Fuck off. I’m not interested in what you’re selling.” Donald went to close the door, and he used the leverage to smash the door in his face and step into the house. Donald had collapsed onto the floor.

“Dude, what the fuck?” Donald asked.

He closed the door, pulled out the brass knuckles he rarely used, but he felt this was a special occasion. The image of Nancy lying in a hospital bed, bruised with broken ribs, a hand, and a leg. He grabbed Donald off the floor, slammed him into the wall, and sucker-punched him in the gut.

There was no way for Donald to fight back. A blow to the jaw, one to the chest and gut, and the man was on the floor. He picked him up by the scruff of the neck, and that was when he saw the tattoo. A small black square. Valdez’s man.

Boone moved him into the kitchen, forcing him down onto the table. He put the man’s hands flat on the surface, and then sat opposite him.

“I suggest if you want to live for the next couple of minutes, you keep your hands flat,” Boone said.

“Who the fuck are you?” Donald asked.

He picked up a knife, twirled the tip on top of his finger, and he took a breath, then put the blade in the center of the man’s hand.

“The name’s Boone Grinder.”

Donald was not good at keeping his body language ... still. He tensed up.

Boone tutted. “I would take it from the way you’re acting, you know who I am?”

“Shit, man. I don’t know what your problem is, but this has nothing to do with me. I’ve got nothing. I am nothing. I’m a no one.”

“I wouldn’t say that was true.”

He lifted the knife, pulled back the shirt he was wearing, and pressed the blade against the telltale lies.

“Shit, man, that means nothing. That is nothing. Just a little ink I got back from nowhere. It means nothing. I swear, man, I totally swear.”

Boone slammed the blade straight through the man’s hand, and in response, he screamed.

“Shit, fuck, stop, stop!”

“I’m not the man you should be lying to. You work for Enzo Valdez and he is part of the Bonaldi Italian mafia. One of my friends was targeted last night. A woman. She was beaten up pretty bad. She is in the hospital, broken leg, broken hand, some ribs as well. One eye is completely swollen shut.”

“That has nothing to do with me,” he said.

“Did you not make the call last night?” Boone asked.

Donald’s face scrunched up. “All I had to do was tell Howard to come home. That was all I was told to do and I did it. You don’t understand, you follow the rules with these guys.

If you don’t, you end up with no limbs or you’re fucking dead.

Do you hear me? You’re fucking dead. I did what I had to do. ”

“And because of it, Nancy is in the hospital. A woman you claim to be a friend. I know all about the nice man, Donald. The one who was willing to take care of four boys. Who conveniently befriended them. I thought it was suspicious, especially as your parents died so close together, leaving you everything.”

“Hey, fuck you, man. I didn’t do nothing to my parents.

I fucking loved my parents. It’s why I never left home.

I fucking loved them, and they knew how to keep me from doing crazy shit, but .

.. fuck, the money had run out, and I can’t get a job.

I’ve been fucking mourning. I can’t throw any shit out. I love my parents.”

Boone looked at him, and it was strange, but he actually believed him.

Grabbing another knife, he impaled it into the man’s hands. “Stay here. I don’t want you to run. If you do, you’re dead. You stay, we might be able to negotiate.”

“Fuck!”

With that, he got to his feet and started to look around. Heading into the living room, sure enough, there were pictures of a couple through the years, some together, some with Donald. Even Donald looked different. His hair was well groomed. No facial hair, and even neatly dressed.

He made his way upstairs to the parents’ bedroom, which looked like it had been cleaned as well.

His first assessment of Donald was not accurate.

The parents had died close together, and it would seem they had all been close.

The son was in mourning. Pulling out the documents, he saw that Donald’s funds had been depleted.

Sighing, he made his way downstairs. Desperation had sent this man to the Valdez.

“When did you get the tattoo?” he asked, taking a seat at the table.

“What does it matter?”

“Your life is what matters,” Boone said. “If you want to live, tell me when you got the tattoo.”

Donald sobbed. “Six months ago. To make money, you had to get this fucked-up tattoo, and it stung like a bitch. My mom would be so pissed if she was alive. She was always telling me that my body is my temple and I had to take care of it. She wasn’t a fucking weirdo, but .

.. she believed in that kind of stuff. Taking care of herself. ” He sniffled.

Six months ago would align with Valdez becoming desperate. He had already started to push against his turf. Donald’s place, close to Howard and Nancy, made it convenient.

“I didn’t think a phone call was going to hurt her,” Donald said. “I would never hurt Howard and Nancy. They’re my friends. They knew my parents.” He sniffled. “She makes me the casserole my momma made.”

Clearly this man wasn’t thinking with all cylinders. He showed remorse. Boone was usually quite good at reading people, and he had a feeling Donald here was just trying to get by.

“You have two choices,” he said. “The first, you go to this cop.” He continued to talk as he reached inside his jacket pocket and pulled out the card of the single cop he trusted.

The same one he’d been feeding all the information to.

“You tell him everything. You tell him how you joined the Bonaldis. You tell him what you were told to do, and the repercussions.”

“If I do that, I’m dead.”

Boone pulled out his gun and placed it on the table, still within his grip, but the intention was very fucking real. Donald jerked back.

“Or, you can die right now. Those are your two choices.”

Silence fell between them.

“Time’s ticking, Donald.”

More seconds ticked by.

He didn’t mind if he had to kill this fucker today.

There were already two more men on his list to die.

They messed with the wrong people and now they had to pay the price.

The image of Nancy in the hospital bed, one eye swollen shut.

All they were trying to do was make a living.

He’d make sure they were well taken care of, but he was never going to be able to erase the memories.

“I’ll go to the cop,” Donald said.

“Excellent. Are you going like that or are you getting changed into something more presentable?”