Free Grinder by Mike Knowles

shot the camera when he mentioned respect.
    Nicky spoke up again, building on Army's revelation about Bombedieri. “Shit, Perino thinks he's big time 'cause he pimps shit out of that store of his.”
    Both boys stopped and did a silent sign of the cross, their faces suddenly angelic, before they started laughing.
    Nicky continued, “He hasn't pulled a trigger on a gat since he killed Carerra four years ago. He thinks he's gold 'cause he shot that fucker into his soup. But gold gets tarnished, yo.”
    “Bitch,” Army yelled.
    “Bi-atch,” Nicky confirmed.
    “Rosa is tough,” Army said. “I hear that boy pulled the trigger nine times last year.”
    “I hear that boy pulled a lot of triggers last year . . . with his teeth.” Nicky delivered the joke with all the glee of a child telling his first knock-knock joke, and then both boys laughed at their apparent outing of Rosa while making dick-sucking gestures with their hands and cheeks.
    “It's our time,” Army said. “It's time the Donati crew showed the Hammer how real thugs do.”
    Nicky pulled off his shirt to expose a tattoo across his chest. It read “gangster” in big black Gothic letters. “We ain't into playing, we into being. 'Cause that's how we roll.”
    Both boys high-fived. “It's our time,” Army said again and then he reached forward off the screen. Suddenly, booming rap music pounded out of the computer speakers. The music was too distorted with bass to be understandable. After a minute of music and on-screen posturing by the boys, the screen went black. The site offered the option to view the other postings by the boys. I scrolled down the screen instead of opening more of the videos. There were comments from viewers all the way down the screen. Most thought the boys were a joke; many were scathing in their hatred of Army and Nicky.
    “What a bunch of douche bags,” Louis said. I nodded in silent agreement. “I mean . . . they're white kids. They look like such posers. No one could take that crap seriously.”
    This time I didn't nod. Louis was wrong; someone took these boys real serious. These two morons crossed a line. Crossed it so far that even genetics couldn't save them. They didn't just slip up and say the wrong thing at the wrong time; they broadcast names, crimes, and gossip for the world to hear. And here I was having to put it all on the line to find these two jokes.
    “Why did you pay forty bucks for this?” Louis asked.
    “I had to see it before I started,” I said as I clicked the tools folder and erased the browser history.
    “Started what?”
    I didn't answer Louis's question, I just got up and walked to the door.
    “Do you know those kids?” Louis asked.
    I didn't answer as I opened the door. I didn't know those kids, and after seeing the video I was pretty sure no one who did would ever be able to recognize them again.

CHAPTER ELEVEN
    In the car, I sat with the air conditioning on while I fiddled with the radio and used my thumb to loosen the muscles in my jaw. The rough massage gave me a break from the constant grinding of teeth I had since I met with Paolo. I passed stations pumping out unfamiliar music by even more unfamiliar groups. Music had become even more artificial since I dropped off the radar. I spent too much time on the boat listening to the rhythmic beat of a fish finder, out of range of anything that could transmit the changing popular culture. I turned off the radio, realizing it was keeping me in place when I should have been moving.
    I pulled the car back into traffic and drove the Hamilton mountain. I found Stonechurch Road, which ran the length of the city, and settled into its stop-and-go rhythm. While I sat at a light, I powered up Johnny's phone and called Paolo. He picked up without saying a word.
    “Can you talk?” I asked.
    “Not now.”
    “I'll call back in ten minutes,” I said. I heard an animal grunt before the line disconnected. Paolo was angry that I gave him an order. He was even