the last four words to make them count. "If we're all that's left of my uncle's family, then there's no family. There's nothing but the two of us. We're not planning on going back. Are we?" he asked Carter.
"Not a chance," Carter said.
"You're telling me you two are happy hicks now?" the guy said. "How come I don't buy that?"
"We're living together," Tony said. "Out here in the open. We even walk down the fucking sidewalk holding hands. What's that tell you?"
Tony could see the guy think that one over. He might not believe anything else that Tony had told him, but the guy knew what that meant. He had to know, just like Tony and Carter knew, that the two of them would never be able to stay together and get any respect from any of the other families. Even if they wanted to take over Uncle Sid's old operations, they couldn't, not and still be together.
"I go back and you're not dead, I got my own problems to deal with," the guy said. "My boss, he don't like it when I walk away from a job."
"You won't be walking away," Tony said. "You'll be taking a message."
"Oh, yeah? What message?"
"Leave us alone, and we'll leave you alone. No retribution for my uncle, for the rest of the family. That score's settled, once and for all."
"That's it?"
"That's it," Tony said.
"And if I say no?"
Tony raised the barrel of his gun so that it pointed at a spot between the guy's eyes. "Then you don't walk out of here alive, and I find another way to send the message to your boss."
"You can't kill us both," Carter said. "Take the deal and walk out of here alive, or die. It don't matter to me."
"You'd be dead, too," the guy said.
One corner of Carter's mouth quirked up, just a little. "Like I said, it don't matter to me."
Tony wasn't sure what did it, either the futility of the situation, simple math, or that little quirk of Carter's mouth, but the guy finally lowered his gun. When the red dot disappeared from the front of Carter's shirt, Tony felt like he could breathe again. He lowered his own gun.
The guy on the floor groaned and one of his arms moved, like he was trying to push himself up.
"Get your friend and get the fuck out of here," Tony said.
The guy didn't want to do it, Tony could tell. He was a shooter, not a pack horse. He looked at the guy on the floor like so much dead weight, and for a moment, Tony thought he'd shoot the man himself.
In the end, the shooter put his gun in a shoulder holster and bent to help the guy on the floor get to his feet.
"You got one more in the living room," Tony said. "Except I don't think he's getting up."
"Then he's your problem," the shooter said.
∗ ∗ ∗
This time the sheriff wasn't as accommodating.
One dead body and a middle of the night shootout apparently wasn't what the sheriff had in mind when he'd told Tony to keep his nose clean. Only the fact that there were bullet holes in the front window and another one over the couch, not to mention the fact that the dead guy had night vision goggles and was all the way inside the front door, kept the sheriff from charging Tony with manslaughter.
The sheriff definitely wasn't happy with their story about Tony's gun. Carter had gotten rid of Tony's gun -- all the guns in the house -- before they'd called the sheriff to report the invasion of their home. Tony didn't know how, and he didn't want to. The less he knew, the less he'd have to lie about. They'd told the sheriff that the dead guy's accomplice had stolen Tony's gun, but Tony knew the sheriff didn't buy the story. He just had no evidence that Tony was lying.
Not that the sheriff didn't try. He kept Tony in the little interrogation room for more than two hours trying to shake his story, but Tony had been grilled by cops back in Jersey. He knew how to stick to his story and otherwise keep his mouth shut.
Finally, Sheriff Sewell leaned back in his chair. He pointed a small remote at the camera in the upper corner of the interrogation room. Tony wasn't surprised that
"Not a chance," Carter said.
"You're telling me you two are happy hicks now?" the guy said. "How come I don't buy that?"
"We're living together," Tony said. "Out here in the open. We even walk down the fucking sidewalk holding hands. What's that tell you?"
Tony could see the guy think that one over. He might not believe anything else that Tony had told him, but the guy knew what that meant. He had to know, just like Tony and Carter knew, that the two of them would never be able to stay together and get any respect from any of the other families. Even if they wanted to take over Uncle Sid's old operations, they couldn't, not and still be together.
"I go back and you're not dead, I got my own problems to deal with," the guy said. "My boss, he don't like it when I walk away from a job."
"You won't be walking away," Tony said. "You'll be taking a message."
"Oh, yeah? What message?"
"Leave us alone, and we'll leave you alone. No retribution for my uncle, for the rest of the family. That score's settled, once and for all."
"That's it?"
"That's it," Tony said.
"And if I say no?"
Tony raised the barrel of his gun so that it pointed at a spot between the guy's eyes. "Then you don't walk out of here alive, and I find another way to send the message to your boss."
"You can't kill us both," Carter said. "Take the deal and walk out of here alive, or die. It don't matter to me."
"You'd be dead, too," the guy said.
One corner of Carter's mouth quirked up, just a little. "Like I said, it don't matter to me."
Tony wasn't sure what did it, either the futility of the situation, simple math, or that little quirk of Carter's mouth, but the guy finally lowered his gun. When the red dot disappeared from the front of Carter's shirt, Tony felt like he could breathe again. He lowered his own gun.
The guy on the floor groaned and one of his arms moved, like he was trying to push himself up.
"Get your friend and get the fuck out of here," Tony said.
The guy didn't want to do it, Tony could tell. He was a shooter, not a pack horse. He looked at the guy on the floor like so much dead weight, and for a moment, Tony thought he'd shoot the man himself.
In the end, the shooter put his gun in a shoulder holster and bent to help the guy on the floor get to his feet.
"You got one more in the living room," Tony said. "Except I don't think he's getting up."
"Then he's your problem," the shooter said.
∗ ∗ ∗
This time the sheriff wasn't as accommodating.
One dead body and a middle of the night shootout apparently wasn't what the sheriff had in mind when he'd told Tony to keep his nose clean. Only the fact that there were bullet holes in the front window and another one over the couch, not to mention the fact that the dead guy had night vision goggles and was all the way inside the front door, kept the sheriff from charging Tony with manslaughter.
The sheriff definitely wasn't happy with their story about Tony's gun. Carter had gotten rid of Tony's gun -- all the guns in the house -- before they'd called the sheriff to report the invasion of their home. Tony didn't know how, and he didn't want to. The less he knew, the less he'd have to lie about. They'd told the sheriff that the dead guy's accomplice had stolen Tony's gun, but Tony knew the sheriff didn't buy the story. He just had no evidence that Tony was lying.
Not that the sheriff didn't try. He kept Tony in the little interrogation room for more than two hours trying to shake his story, but Tony had been grilled by cops back in Jersey. He knew how to stick to his story and otherwise keep his mouth shut.
Finally, Sheriff Sewell leaned back in his chair. He pointed a small remote at the camera in the upper corner of the interrogation room. Tony wasn't surprised that
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