Free Vengeance is Mine by Reavis Z Wortham

Vegas.
    It was nearly midnight when they strolled through the darkness back to the motor court. As usual, Anthony couldn’t relax his guard, keeping an eye out for Malachi’s goons. He wasn’t convinced they’d be easy to find so far out there in the sticks, but he learned long ago that no one in his business could ever be too careful.
    When they reached the motel, Anthony was surprised to see the manager’s office was dark, a neon No Vacancy sign sputtering fitfully in the window. They continued under the awning covering the office’s entrance, past the dark pool and playground.
    Clearly unnerved, Anthony paused and scanned the parking lot. “We have a problem. There aren’t enough other cars here for that no vacancy sign to be lit.”
    â€œIt’s probably a slow night. It is Wednesday.”
    â€œUh uh. Something isn’t right. Stay close and be ready to move if I say so.”
    Samantha picked up on the nervousness that radiated from the young man like a wave of electricity. Frightened for the first time since they left Vegas, she kept a hand on his back of his suit coat as they cautiously approached their room. In the dim parking lot, Anthony saw the lock on the Buick’s trunk was broken. The lid was halfway open.
    He slipped the Colt from the rig under his left arm and handed Samantha the key, keeping an eye on their surroundings. “Open the door and get inside while I keep an eye out. Grab our bags and let’s get out of here.”
    Sam was a quick study and didn’t ask any questions. She reached for the lock at the same instant Anthony gave it a quick glance.
    The knob twisted, opening from the inside. The stubborn door once again stuck, giving Anthony a half second to respond.
    He pushed Sam sideways off the high heels he’d been admiring all evening. She fell hard on the concrete walk with a surprised yelp. The door opened a crack, throwing a long rectangle of yellow light into the lot and revealing a barrel of a man standing there in his boxers.
    There was no time to wonder why the familiar man was in his drawers. The .38 in his hand was answer enough. Anthony hit the door with everything he had, like he was shoulder-blocking a linebacker. The man inside didn’t expect an attack.
    The wooden door caught Big Nose Pennacchio smack in the head, slapping him back into the room. He dropped the cocked revolver and fell backward, howling. Big Nose had fallen onto a little kid’s chair that matched two others around a scarred wooden table barely eighteen inches tall, part of the motel’s “kid friendly” advertisement. Two taller-backed support posts stuck up and he landed directly onto one of them. The thick post punched through his thin shorts, and into a place designated as an exit.
    Big Nose didn’t yell long, because Anthony shot him twice, the .45 deafening in the enclosed room. Big Nose’s presence immediately told Anthony they were there to kill him for leaving the business. The guys waiting in their room had done the same many times before, for lesser reasons, and Anthony had been a part of it on a number of occasions.
    Slick and shiny with sweat, two other goons leaped up from peeling the Boss’ safe and grabbed for weapons. They were also stripped down to their boxers and sleeveless undershirts in the stifling room after shutting off the swamp cooler to better hear what was going on outside.
    The gangsters must have been at it five minutes after the couple entered the café. The table beside the pole lamp in the corner was full of tools, beer cans, fedoras, and guns.
    Anthony swung the automatic’s muzzle and hammered them both. Red bloomed on their thin undershirts as they dropped to the floor like limp rag dolls.
    The last guy was stuck all the way to his elbow in the safe. The last time Anthony saw Seymour Burke and Big Nose was the night Best ordered him to kill the Sandoval family. Tufts of hair escaped his