Page 3

Max

"You sure we have the right guy?" I ask as I fill up another bucket of water.

"Who else could have done it?" Dad replies. "It definitely wasn’t Mike, and Tiny voluntarily lives in squalor. He doesn’t care about money enough to steal from the family."

"I know, I know. It's just... Sam doesn’t seem like the type to do this."

He shakes his head. "You're too damn trusting."

I let the comment slide, turn off the sink, and follow my father back to the room where we're keeping Sam. He's tied to a chair, his face bloody from the beating, but we've mainly focused on waterboarding him for a confession.

My cousin Nick leans against the wall across from Sam, who's begging Nick to let him go. Nick maintains a stoic expression, but I’m sure this is bothering him as much as it bothers me.

We've both become friends with this guy over the past couple of years.

But there are two things we absolutely cannot tolerate: snitching and theft.

Dad places a hand on my shoulder, then takes the bucket from me. He nods to Nick, who throws the towel over Sam's head and yanks his hair so he's staring upward. Dad pours the water onto his face.

Sam flails in his seat until the bucket is empty.

"I didn’t fucking do it!" Sam gasps when Nick removes the towel. "I have no idea where that money went."

"Sounds like he needs another round," Nick says, taking the bucket from my dad and heading out the door.

"Then tell me who stole from us?" Dad presses.

"It must have been Mike! Hell, maybe someone hacked us. I don’t fucking know!"

Dad points a finger at him. "Mike’s my cousin. I grew up with him. I trust him with my life. And who are you? You’re not family. You just showed up at the right place at the right time. Made a good impression on Mike so you could take advantage and grab a larger piece of the pie?"

"I’m so fucked," Sam moans. And he is.

I’m still skeptical about this whole situation. We figured out that the transfers went to an account owned by Sam. But the guy's not a complete idiot. If he were truly pulling an embezzlement scheme, he wouldn't have been so obvious.

Nick returns with a fresh bucket of water.

Taking over my cousin’s task, I grab the towel and slap it on Sam’s face. I’m lost in thought, trying to decide if I should speak up before we escalate further, when I feel a crushing sensation on my hand.

I curse and punch Sam in the face, forcing him to release his jaw from my hand. Clutching my wrist, I backpedal until I'm leaning against the concrete wall.

Nick whistles. "I’m so glad I took over bucket duty."

I flip him off with my good hand and assess the damage. Two red half-circles mark each side. It hurts too much to move my ring finger and pinkie, but at least I'm not bleeding profusely.

Dad swears under his breath. "Alright, can we just get this over with?" He kicks Sam’s chair. "Do you have any way of proving you didn’t do this?"

"No, but—"

"Shut up!" Dad balls up the towel and shoves it into his mouth. "Max, Nick? We done here?"

Nick nods. "I think he's guilty. Besides, Max and I have an interview to get to. Hopefully, we’ll have a new bartender for tonight."

"Why is this the first I'm hearing about the interview?" I snap.

"It was last-minute. Joe called and said he hired a girl with no driver’s license or social. Maybe she’s foreign or something," he shrugs. "It doesn't matter to us as long as she can serve drinks and the gamblers like her."

I grit my teeth, more from the pain in my hand than anything.

"Max?" Dad asks, nodding toward Sam .

Sam screams something at me through the towel.

"I can be done here," I say, but I can't shake the feeling in my gut that we're making a mistake. Still, it's not my decision to make–I'm just a soldier. So, I choose to stay quiet.

"Max," Dad says, "why don't you finish the job? Payback for that." He gestures at my hand.

I grab the piano wire from the bench on the side of the room. I know Dad's not suggesting this because Sam bit me; he's testing me. I've killed before, but never someone I knew. Someone I considered a friend.

I focus on my breathing, trying to tune out Sam's muffled screams before stepping behind him and holding the wire taut.

Dad gives me the slightest nod, and I wrap it tightly around Sam's neck, doing my best to dissociate from the feeling of him flailing against the wire.

I grimace as the pain in my hand intensifies; the last thing I needed was to grip this thin, fucking wire.

Nick stands with his hands in his pockets, trying to look bored, but I'm sure he's counting down the seconds until this is over too.

Sam’s body goes limp.

I give it a few more moments, worried he might be playing possum, then drop the wire. My palm is raw, and the fingertips of my right hand are smeared with blood.

"Good job, kid," Dad says as he unties Sam’s wrists and ankles. "I can handle the rest from here. You two hurry off to that interview. "

Great. Now I have to act like a normal person when all I want is to hide away in my office for the rest of the day.

Nick and I walk side by side in silence down the damp hallway to the main part of the casino.

My mind races, trying to justify what I’ve just done.

My previous kills were out of self-preservation or to protect family.

This one feels different, and I already regret not speaking up more about how I think Sam might have been innocent.

"Think I should sit this one out?" I hold up my bitten hand. "I mean, I'm fine, but it might unsettle her to be interviewed by a guy with this going on. I won’t even be able to shake her fucking hand."

“No, I can't do an interview alone."

"Are you kidding me? We do these all the time."

"As you know, Max, I majored in Human Resources Management," Nick says with a straight face.

"Oh, fuck off." I can't help but laugh.

"Anyway," Nick continues, "it's not professional to have a one-person interview panel. Too much risk of bias, and it’s harder to give a comprehensive assessment alone. It’s bad enough we don’t have any women on the panel."

Everyone in our family is encouraged to get a college degree before joining the business.

Most pick something practical: finance, accounting, law.

And this mother fucker majored in HR. It's not that HR is useless in general, but considering we torture and kill anyone who crosses us, it's goddamn ridiculous .

"Then call Savannah!" She's our only bartender who’s worked with us for a long time. "And you're worried about bias? We grew up in the same family, in the same neighborhood, so if you're biased, I probably am too!"

Nick laughs as we pass the neon slot machines. We weave through a bachelorette party, seniors, and regulars.

"You know I'm just fucking with you, right?" he asks.

"Yeah, I know," I say, grinding my teeth. "But the Sam thing's getting to me."

"You’re not going soft on me, are you?" He chuckles but the look I give shuts him up. "I feel like shit about it, too. Just trying to lighten the mood before this interview. Why don’t you head home after? Take the night off. I can handle the party with your old man."

The way Nick swings from busting my balls to babying me is maddening. He’s almost ten years older than me, and I hate when he treats me like an inexperienced kid when I’m almost thirty.

“I’ll be alright as long as you don’t ask any of those dumb questions at the interview,” I say.

"Like what?"

"The tree one? Or the sandwich one?"

"How the interviewee answers tells a lot about their character. Those questions are borderline mandatory in interviews."

I swear under my breath as I realize he's back to his personality that’s hell-bent on giving me a migraine .

An elderly lady drops her cash-out voucher.

I step forward to pick it up and whistle at the ten grand printed on it.

"Excuse me, ma'am?" I jog in front of her.

"I think this is yours." I hand her the ticket.

She smiles widely, but I can tell she's not all there.

"Jeffrey! I haven't seen you since the war.

You haven't changed a bit, still as handsome as ever.

" She grips my arm while Nick stifles laughter behind her. I glance at the clock, realizing we’re late.

"Looks like you’ve had a lucky day." I hand her the voucher with thousands of dollars on it, but she lets it drop to the floor again. "Are you here with anyone?" I pick it up again as she giggles.

"Edith!" Her friend calls as she approaches. "We've been looking everywhere for you."

"This is Jeffrey," Edith says. "He took my virginity at a church potluck."

I manage a smile through my grimace and give her friend the voucher with my non-bloodied hand. "She keeps dropping this."

"Thank you." Her friend pats my hand. "Ten thousand! Edith, when did this happen?"

Edith keeps staring at me, longingly. I excuse myself and leave before it gets weirder.

I'm nearing the offices when I see a woman standing, looking lost, clutching a large bag to her side. I know it’s raining outside, but she's completely drenched. She turns to me, her full lips parted, blue eyes wide. Her white blouse is soaked through… and that shirt should not have gotten wet.

Nick catches up. "You need to stop banging old ladies, man."

The girl gasps, clamping her mouth shut, cheeks flushed. I glare at Nick, expecting her to flee, but her gaze shifts between us.

"Hi, um," she stammers. "Are you two Max and Nick? I was told to look for two men in suits."

Nick switches to a professional demeanor, extending his hand. "We are. You must be Hailey?"

"Yes." She shakes his hand. "Hailey... Smith."

She says her last name like she’s forgotten it or made it up.

"Nick Marino."

Hailey turns to me, hand extended. Not wanting to smear blood on her, I keep my hands in my pockets. "Max Calabrese." The discomfort of not shaking her hand gnaws at me. For one, it’s rude as hell, but there's something about this girl that makes me want to make a good impression.

"Forgive my colleague," Nick says. "He's severely germophobic."

I want to kill my cousin.

"Oh, sorry." She drops her hand, biting her lip.

"This way, Miss Smith." Nick guides her to the offices, chatting about the weather while I lag behind, eager for the day to end.