Never Gonna Tell (8 page)

I glance longingly back toward the street behind me. Hiding in my car seems like a much smarter option than being out in the open where I can possibly be seen. Plus, I have an emergency first-aid kit in my trunk that might come in handy. I take a few steps and, stupid me, trip over a beer bottle and stumble, barely catching myself. My palms scrape against the brick wall, drawing blood. The bottle rolls away as if in slow motion, the glass clinking repeatedly as it rumbles along the cobblestone before it hits the wall of the building.

“What was that?” Nicky the loan shark asks. I’m frozen on my hands and knees, praying to every deity I can think of that he can’t see me. I hold my breath, shaking uncontrollably. My fingers knot at the fabric of my shirt as my heart races, nearly exploding in my chest.

“Hey, Junior, go check out that alley.”

“Aw, c’mon, Uncle Nicky. It was probably just a rat or something.”

“So what? Are you afraid, Junior? Of a little rat? I can’t wait to tell your dad what a pansy he raised.”

Frantically, my eyes scan the alley for a place to hide. I can’t stand up and run because there’s nothing else around. There’s no way to get out unseen. My only option is to slide behind the rancid dumpster. I wipe beads of sweat from my upper lip and dial the nine and one on my phone, just in case.

“Fine, whatever,” Junior retorts. I can’t see him, but there’s something about the voice that’s familiar to me.

I don’t have time to worry about who’s coming for me so much as the fact that someone
is
coming, and I’m about to be on the receiving end of that bloody baseball bat. I tighten myself as small as I can and push back on the wall, hoping that if I push hard enough I’ll eventually become a physical part of it.

Footsteps draw closer, each one echoing the incessant pounding of my heart. I cringe, holding my breath and squeezing my eyes shut as I prepare for the worst. It’s quiet for a few seconds, and I pray to all that’s holy that the silence means Junior didn’t spot me.

“What do you see, Junior?” Nicky yells.

The voice startles me, and my eyes fly open. There, standing in front of me peering down, is Marco Coletta. My eyes widen, practically bulging out of my head as fear overtakes me. A scream threatens to bubble out of my throat. I shoot up as my arms instinctively claw at him in attack.

Marco’s hand deflects my blows while the other covers my mouth. “Shh,” he whispers. “Don’t make a sound.”

I don’t say a word. I couldn’t if I tried. We’re staring into each other’s eyes. Mine are pleading with him not to tell, and his are full of worry and despair. For me? For getting caught by me? I don’t know, and I can’t ask him. Not now anyway.

He pulls me down so we’re eye to eye and nods once before turning and yelling back to his uncle. “It was like I said, Uncle Nicky. Just a rat.”

The knot in my chest loosens slightly as Marco hovers over me, almost sheltering me.

“So, Danny Boy, where were we?” Nicky begins again. Another loud thwack, followed by Daniel screaming. I wince, burying my head in my hands. “Ah, yes. You were about to tell me why I should give you another chance. After all the other chances I’ve already given you and your boy.”

“I know, Nicky. I know. If you could just give me—”

A sharp whistle from the other direction cuts Daniel off. I flinch at the noise, gripping my shirt tighter.

“Yo, Nick. You’re never going to believe what we found in the guy’s car.”

I’m taken aback by how light the tone of this new voice sounds, like they’re buddies just hanging out rather than beating the crap out of someone. It’s disturbing and only makes me more anxious about how far they’ll take this.

“Shit,” Marco whispers. I stiffen and I raise my eyebrows in question. “It’s my dad and cousin,” he replies.

I swallow hard, trying to control the panic swirling through my chest as the men continue. “Check it out. Seems like ol’ Danny Boy here is in cahoots with the FBI. He had this shoved between the seat and center consol.”

From my vantage point behind the dumpster, I can’t see what it is. Marco closes his eyes and cringes.

“You narcing on us, Daniel? Is that how it is? We show you mercy time after time, and you go and turn to the feds? That’s how you repay us?”

Nicky is furious, and my fear reaches a new level. My hands tremble, the shaking moving up my arms into my shoulders and chest. Marco grabs my hand, running soothing circles into the flesh between my forefinger and thumb with his own. As terrified as I am, the small gesture works and the tightening in my chest loosens ever so slightly.

“No, it’s not like that, Nicky,” Daniel pleads. “They don’t know anything about you, I swear. I haven’t said I word.”

Nicky huffs, and the other two men laugh heartily. “So you expect me to believe you just happen to have the business cards of two FBI agents and detailed notes of my family? Names? Dates? Tsk, tsk, Danny Boy.”

“Where’d my boy run off to?” Marco’s dad asks.

“Shit. I’ve gotta go. Just … don’t move or make a sound,” Marco says. I shake my head vigorously. I don’t want to be left alone and, for some reason, having him next to me made me feel a little safer.
Shit must be bad if Marco is making me feel safe.

“You’ll be okay,” he whispers, squeezing my hand one last time before he stands up and jogs out of the alleyway. I shrink back, hugging my arms around my legs and trying not to cry.

“I’m here, Pops. I was just keeping a lookout. Uncle Nicky thought he heard something earlier.”

“What do we do with this guy, Nick?” Marco’s dad asks.

“Well, now that is the question of the hour, isn’t it, Frankie?” Nicky’s voice is low. He’s no longer screaming and doesn’t even seem angry. Instead, his voice is eerily calm. “Guess there’s only one thing we can do. He hasn’t left us with any other choice.”

“No, Uncle Nicky, don’t,” Marco pleads.

He barely gets the words out before there’s a loud click, followed by a single, ear-piercing gunshot.

MY HANDS FLY to my mouth to stifle the scream begging to escape. Without thinking, I glance around the dumpster. Blood pools around a slumped-over Daniel, slowly oozing from a gaping wound in his head. His vacant eyes are no longer moving. Nicky steps over his crumpled form, disregarding the now-lifeless body like it was a bag of trash.

My head spins and I have to bite down on my hand to keep from screaming. I bite so hard that I taste blood, making me gag.
Oh my God, Marco’s uncle just killed a guy. And Marco knows I heard it. He knows I’m here. He knows
. Panic swells in my chest and I can’t breathe.

No one is speaking anymore, but there’s movement coming from their direction, the shuffling of feet and the grunting of the men. My fear has overcome my curiosity to see what they’re doing. I don’t want to know. I want to be at home, in my room, under my blankets where mobsters only kill people on TV dramas.

“Alex, get rid of the car. Wipe it down first. Junior, what are you staring at?” Nicky asks.

“Nothin’, Uncle Nicky,” Marco mutters.

“Then be of some use and go burn these. Frankie, help me with him here.”

Any residual hope that Daniel might still be alive washes away with those words. All my life I couldn’t wait for the day when I’d hit the mother lode. The story that would make people stop and take notice, maybe even win me a Pulitzer. I just never thought the story would involve me being the sole witness to a mob hit.

My hands won’t stop shaking and my chest is so tight, I can barely catch a breath. I’m afraid I’m going to hyperventilate and pass out. What am I supposed to do now? If I call 911, even to leave an anonymous tip, the Calottas will know someone saw something. Of course, that’s assuming Marco doesn’t tell them about my presence to begin with. Should I tell my dad? Charlie? But that would only put them in danger, too. These are people who don’t have qualms about killing. I don’t doubt they’ll do the same to me or my family without much more hesitation. Not when what I saw could put them away for life.

I try to slow my breathing, in through my nose and out through my mouth, but I can’t seem to catch it. Where’s a paper bag when you need one? And some Xanax?

I wait a good twenty minutes until I hear no other sounds before I dare to creep out of my hiding spot and check to see if the Calottas are gone. I poke just my head around the corner, and, thankfully, see nothing. Feeling confident that I’m alone now, I creep out of my hiding spot. My legs are shaky, but I manage to run in a full-out sprint back to my car, digging my keys out of my backpack before I exit the alley so nothing can delay me from getting home as fast as possible.

It’s not until I’m in my driveway that I allow myself to fully meltdown. The tears start slowly, but after only a few seconds, they’re streaming down my face, soaking the collar of my tee shirt. As reality sets, in I can’t control the sobs that rack my body. Not only has a man lost his life, I might be joining him.

I glance out the window at the dark windows of Kally’s house, wishing like crazy that she was home right now. Without thinking, I pull out my phone and click Charlie’s face from my favorites list.

“Hey. I thought we were going to Skype. I miss your face.”

I can’t even pull myself together enough to say his name.

“Reagan? What’s wrong? Why are you crying?”

“I …I …” I take a deep breath and wipe my eyes with my sleeve before trying again. “Charlie, I ….”

“Slow down, Rea. Breathe. What’s going on?”

I sniff, wiping my nose on my sleeve, but don’t reply. The lump in my throat is too big and too hard to attempt words.

“Hold on. I need to go in the other room so I can hear you.” Background noises fade away and after a few seconds he comes back on. “You still there?”

“Yeah,” I manage to squeak out between sobs.

“What happened? Why are you crying?” he tries again.

I open my mouth, but freeze before any words come out. No. I can’t tell him. As soon as he finds out what happened he’ll beat the crap out of Marco and go straight to my mother with the story. I can’t put him in the Calottas’ crosshairs, too.

But I need him. I need my best friend to help me figure out how to deal with the shit storm I’ve just entered. “Please, Charlie. I need you.”

“What happened? Talk to me, Rea.”

“I can’t. I can’t.”

“Okay, what do you need me to do? Do you want me to call your mom?”

My chest tightens at his suggestion. “No! You can’t call her! You can’t call anyone.”

“Okay, that’s okay.” His voice is soft, like he’s coaxing a kitten out of a tree. “Whatever it is, we’ll make it right.”

“It’s never going to be all right,” I whisper.

“Do you need me to come home?”

I want to say yes with every fiber in my being. I am so selfish for even thinking it. He has so much of his own stuff he’s dealing with. “Yes,” I hiccup and selfishly ask anyway.

“I’m packing a bag now. Just hang out until I get there, Reagan, okay?”

I blow the snot dripping down my nose into a Kleenex I find balled up in my center console. “Thank you. Thank you so much, Char.”

“Anytime.” He pauses, and I can hear a bag unzipping. He’s packing already. “Will you be okay until I get there?”

I take a deep breath. Charlie is coming. He’ll help me know what to do. Everything will be okay. “Yeah, I think so.”

“Good. I’ll see you soon.”

“Drive safe.”

I hang up and take another deep breath to slow my sobs. I need to pull myself together, at least long enough to get by Mom and Dad and into the shower, where I can break down without anyone noticing. I search the glove box for more tissues but, finding none, use my sleeves instead. I suck in a few deep breaths, and wipe the smears of mascara so I don’t resemble a raccoon when I enter the house.

After a few more minutes of practiced yoga breathing (thankful that those DVDs have finally come in handy), I feel confident that I can put on a smiling face and fake it long enough to get by my parents. And if they say anything, I can easily feign an upset stomach as a good excuse why I want to go to bed early. Maybe even skip school altogether tomorrow. Yes, I like that plan. I can’t even imagine what I would say if I had to see Marco.

I grab my backpack and take a deep breath in the brisk night air. The porch light is on, and looking at my phone, I realize I’m over an hour late. This is not good, not that I mind being grounded right about now. I don’t ever want to leave safety of my house again.

The front door is unlocked as I step over the threshold, and I quickly lock both the knob and deadbolt before I head for the stairs.

“Reagan? Don’t even try escaping to your room. You’re an hour late, young lady, and you have some ‘splainin to do!” Mom’s mood is still somewhat playful, so I know she’s not truly pissed.

I drop my backpack on the bench in the entrance way and head for the family room instead. Plastering on a fake smile, I brace to see Mom and Dad. Ever since I was a little girl, Dad always sensed when I was lying to him. I’d gotten better at it over the years, but if something is really big or bothering me, he always knows. Always.

I can’t let him know about this, for no other reason than to protect him. I start with my excuse before they can bombard me with questions. “I’m so sorry. I ran into a few friends while I was at the library, and I ended up going out for burgers and a shake afterwards. I completely lost track of time. I won’t let it happen again.”