"How much of a difference can it be?"
"It's a big fuckin' difference, Nicki, though believe me when I say I can appreciate how very on-brand your lack of taste is."
"Now was that really necessary?" Nicki shuffled the stubby glass bottles between his fingers and palm awkwardly, his other hand adjusting the phone against his ear so he could better position it to rest on his shoulder. "It's a whole three dollars more, is my point, you understand how big a difference that is?"
"It has to be smoked, that's the whole fuckin' point," Tina insisted, her voice a burr grinder in his ear. "We're gonna do this right this year, or not at all."
Nicki fumbled to replace the more plain-looking of the two bottles of paprika back on the shelf, turning the other over to read the back label, unimpressed by how ornate the design of it was. "Now there's an idea..."
"I'm gonna pretend I didn't hear that. Did you get the smoked stuff or not?"
"I'm holding it right now, yeah, I got it, it's just..." Nicki waffled, reluctantly rolling the glass bottle into his handbasket. "Three dollars, you know...?"
Nicki shuffled out of the aisle, sidestepping a young mother's overfilled cart and waving at the cooing baby in the strapped seat as he did. The meat counter was directly across, sans clerk, which gave him some time to browse before choosing--stepping up to the bed cooler, he flipped through the packages like a card catalogue, the bundled chicken breasts sticking together in their tight plastic wrap.
"You remember what happened the year you tried to pass it off with liquid smoke? Uncle B got so upset he about had a stroke, he about set the kitchenette on fire."
"And whose idea was that, I wonder?" Nicki shot back, mentally calculating the amount of chicken per bite based on the weighted prices tagged on each package of chicken, chuckling to himself. "Little Sweet Tea, culinary expert, showing us nobodies how it's done--"
"I told you to watch it with the 'Sweet Tea' shit," Tina snapped, cutting him off from reminiscing further.
Nicki dropped one of the chicken breasts, narrowing his eyes as he spoke more directly into the phone. "You're the one always breaking balls over how much we spend on the groceries, and I don't wanna catch flak from you next week when you start yappin' about how I shoulda grabbed the cheaper shit--"
"This isn't groceries, this is Sunday Dinner and everyone's gonna be there, so you better not be late, Nicki."
"Madon, again with the 'late' shit," Nicki complained, waving in the clerk who just appeared behind the counter, reaching into his basket to hold up a white sleeve of salami. "Hey boss, I didn't see any back there in the pre-sliced, you got any milanese?"
"Careful Nicki, tuck the Calabrese back in," Tina was cautioning in his ear while the butcher was shaking his head.
"They don't have the milanese," Nicki replied, ignoring her last comment. "You want I should lose the hot stuff?"
"Nah, keep it, Reggie will cap it off himself."
Nicki rolled his eyes, waving thankfully to the butcher as he haphazardly snatched up a chicken breast without bothering to check the pricetag again. "What's good for Reggie, am I right," he grumbled. "Hey, I got the chicken; I'm only getting one but it's a big one so it should be enough."
"Two breasts, Nicki, two, I distinctly said--"
"It's a big one," Nicki repeated loudly, startling the older lady passing by as he about faced towards the registers. "It'll be enough, I'm tellin' ya..."
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"Did they have any rounds?" Tina was on speakerphone now that Nicki was outside, the phone held aloft in the hand that wasn't holding any bags.
"They were too soft, I'll ask Cousin to pick some up from the bakery near his place." Nicki dropped the loose bags into his passenger seat, accidentally bumping his rearview mirror in the process. "I got the peppers marinating in the fridge already, you find them?"
There was no response--Tina was distracted by someone else on the other end. Nicki waited, leg hanging outside of the car, taking a moment to fix his rearview.
"Tea?" He asked after a moment. "You find the peppers?"
"What? Sorry, Sissy was showin' me somethin' on her phone," Tina eventually returned, the sound of shuffling papers crackling in the earpiece. "You get the rounds?"
"No, I just--" Nicki scoffed in frustration, still staring in the mirror. "Nevermind. Did you find the peppers?"
"Nicki, we need the rounds, can you please just do this for me?"
"I got the fuckin' rounds," Nicki half-shouted at his phone, holding it in front of his face. "I'll take care of the rounds, don't worry about the rounds."
He couldn't help but keep looking back to the rearview mirror. Something was catching his eye, like a fishing hook tugging in his peripheral. "Did you find the peppers?" Nicki asked yet again, distracted as his eyes continued scanning the mirror.
"I just hope to fuck you aren't gonna behave like this on Sunday, else I'm pullin' your card, is all I'm sayin'," Tina replied, her tone a violent one. "What's the hold up, why ain't you here yet?"
"Look whose Calabrese is showing now. I dunno, somethin'--" Nicki squinted, tunneling his vision in on the reflection--behind him, rows of nondescript cars, all empty, all equally unassuming. Nothing to worry about. "Thought I saw somethin', is all. I'm on my way--did you find the peppers?"
No response, more shuffling of papers and muted chatter.
"Tea?"
"I'm hanging up, get here soon, don't spend too much, love ya, bye." The line beeped at him, the call ended. Nicki clenched his teeth, counting down from ten so his phone wouldn't fly through the windshield.
He dropped the phone in his lap, puffing out a deep breath from within his diaphragm, wiping away his wet bangs from his vision before giving the mirror one more look.
Nothing but empty cars.
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The traffic wouldn't have been so bad, except his AC wouldn't stay on for shit, not without sapping volume from the radio. Thus, by the time Nicki's tires were chewing gravel on his unpaved driveway, he was already on edge from nearly an hour of being tortured by the sensory dissonance of hot air blowing sweat blossoms onto his forehead and listening the garbled static that may or may not have been The Eagles. Another unusually hot and humid evening in October--leaving the bags in his passenger seat for now, Nicki's thin leather jacket creaked as he stood straight, looking over his car's roof at the neighboring houses. The shouts of kids playing in a hose; the Chinese tallowtrees that lined both sides of the street all melting like yellow wax in the setting sun; the formerly white Bronco propped up on cinderblocks in the driveway across from him, awaiting the day it may once more have its hood closed again.
Nothing out of the ordinary.
Nicki pushed the car door shut with his knee, shuffling his keys into his jacket pocket. He had nothing to be suspicious about, and yet even with the billowing steam of his own body heat trapped beneath his impermeable jacket, Nicki felt a chill running up his back. Nothing was wrong, and yet something wasn't quite right, either.
He had made sure to crack a window, but the colder groceries weren't gonna keep for long, so he had to be quick--in and out of the shower and a spritz of Tahari, then he'd be back on the road to Tina's while there was still some sunlight left to drive by. Making it inside, Nicki gave his shoddy foyer a cursory once-over, in case an ambush was waiting for him further beyond the threshold. All that waited for him was a dark hallway and the smell of his polished dress shoes tucked in a corner.
Still, Nicki wasn't at ease. He closed the door behind him softly--then, deciding not to flip the deadbolt, he plucked a hair from behind his ear, balancing it delicately on the stainless steel doorknob. He wondered momentarily if this was too paranoid--then, rubbing a hand on his chin, the scratchy static of his five'o'clock shadow reminded him there were more pressing matters to attend to. Jacket and shoes off, Nicki hung up the former and kicked off the latter, setting them somewhat askew in front of the door. No need for tidiness, he'd be putting them on again shortly.
#
His sweat purified by a stiff showerhead's scrubbing ministrations, Nicki blotted a hand towel over his smooth face, taking care not to wipe away too much of the smell of Acqua di Gio. There was still some blue light filtering in from the dirty square of window above him when he got out of the shower, so he was right on schedule--buckling his belt, he reached into the pocket of his fresh pants before realizing his mistake. His discarded chinos were still crumpled in the corner; Nicki tossed them about and listened, then stuffed a hand into the pockets in turn to be sure. Nothing.
"...Fuck are my keys at," he mumbled to himself, then stopped--he'd left them in his jacket pocket, no worries. Satisfied, he let the pants fall before opening the bathroom door, exiting in a whorl of steam as he snatched the silk shirt off the hook he'd hung from the knob. He took the stairs at a crabwalk, craning his neck back as he pulled the shirt on one arm at a time, leaving it unbuttoned--Nicki took a moment at the foot of the stairs to kiss at the small iron star hanging from his neck before tucking it behind his white tank, then stepped forward to slip a foot into his shoe.
He hesitated. Drawing his foot back, Nicki looked over his shoulder, down the hall past the stairs. Then back to the front door. Leaning in to look, he saw just what he was looking for: a single dark hair, slightly wavy, balancing on the stainless steel doorknob.
Relieved, Nicki once more bent down to put his shoes on. Once more, he hesitated.
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The hair was just where he had left it on the doorknob. The shoes, on the other hand, were neatly placed together, facing the door. Coupled in perfect symmetry with one another, as if they'd been straightened by someone's hands.
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Nicki left the radio off this time as he drove, uninterested in hearing Witchy Woman through a can of noise again. His hackles were raised now, one hand drumming his thumb against a knee, the other draped loosely over the steering wheel with a forgotten cigarette tucked betwixt the knuckles. Nicki hadn't felt this shaken in a long, long time--mostly because he'd left his .38 with Tina last time he visited, in case the gator she'd seen in her pool came back. He brushed away some gravel from his shoulder--almost twenty minutes he'd spent on his back in the driveway, half-under his car, looking for any GPS trackers that might have been placed while he showered. The car had come up clean, though, even if he hadn't, and now he was rubbing dirt away from the back of his neck.
Tina's place was north, a few miles past Grimm, and he wouldn't make it that far without stopping for gas somewhere on the way. There was a shitty little truckstop off the turnpike about halfway there, which, by his calculations, should be coming up...
...Now. Around the bend, about a half mile away, he could see the dimly lit sign through the clumps of bald cypress.
It was a bad idea to stop here if he was being followed--it was an even worse idea to power on and run out of gas on the old highway in the middle of a swamp. He'd just have to keep his head on a swivel.
Nicki pulled in, circling around the wide open lot to be sure there were no headlights following him around the bend. Facing the way he came, he parked next to the pump closest to the road, far away from the other cars parked up by the curb, giving one more sweep of the place before popping the gas cover and stepping out of his car. The last cicadas were retiring for the night as their quieting chorus was choked off by the rising tide of crickets. The bell above the truckstop door jingled as a patron departed. Nicki watched as enormous palmetto bugs skirted the fringe of yellow light cast off the gas station overhead, and he ruminated on this notion of vermin staying in the shadows as he pumped gas, listening to the ticker tally up his gallons.
The tank couldn't have been halfway full before it came: a crunch of gravel, then a shuddering exhale behind him through fabric. More warning than he should ever have been thankful enough to receive.
Nicki spun on his heel, arm wide, the car antenna in his hand whistling like a shrike before it cracked against meat--a loud expletive behind a heavy grunt, and the would-be assailant recoiled, doubled over to protect his front. This only gave easy access to his backside, and like his life depended on it, Nicki took to frantically whipping that fat ass with the antenna--deafening snaps of metal against skin and nylon ringing out through the lot over and over again.
"Ey ey ey, okay, fuckin' stop, I didn't mean it, gerroff me cocksucker--!"
"Fuckin' heard your fatass mouthbreathing from a mile away, you slow fuck!" Nicki bounced on the balls of his feet, holding the antenna like a rapier and he was a seasoned duellist, arms wide to invite further challenge. "Should have invested in some fuckin' quieter shoes like I always fuckin' told you, stoopid!"
"You know I need the orthopedics for my back, quit breakin' my balls," gasped the failed assassin, his wide frame drawing itself up to face Nicki, face obscured by a dark sock drawn down past his chin. "What kind of paranoid fuck keeps a car antenner in his pocket, anyways?"
"Paranoid?" Nicki's eyes went wide, and he launched into another flurry of whiplike blows against his attacker's knees, making the larger man stumble back.
"Alright enough, enough I said, godammit!" Wringing his hands, the heavyset man finally pulled up his sock--blubbery features rolled out from beneath the elastic, his eyes regarding Nicki with defeat from beneath his greasy black curls. "I'm sorry, like I said, I didn't mean nothin' by it, alright?"
"Didn't mean nothin' by tryin' to clip me?" Nicki kicked away the suppressed Beretta that had fallen between them, the cheap pistol clattering away in a scramble of gravel. "You gonna get wise with me now, huh Joey?"
Despite everything, Joey gave a hapless shrug, grinning meekly like he didn't just try to murder his old friend. "Good ta see ya's, Philly. I mean that."
"Shut the fuck up," Nicki said, looking around in a panic as if someone else more dangerous might hear. "That ain't my name no more, you got it?"
Joey held up his hands apologetically. "Sorry, Philly."
"Who else you with, who sent you?" Nicki took a half-step forward threateningly, prepared to rain down more blows.
"Nobody, and nobody, really!" Joey took a half-step back submissively, prepared to draw his windbreaker over his head to protect himself. "I'm on my own, swear to Christ, Philly. I mean, 'Not-Philly.' I was up the coast with Bull Winslow--the adjuster guy, you 'member?--anyways, I was up the coast with him and his new boat, and we saw you leavin' that restaurant, you know the one, on the pier? You and your thing for fish, cousin, I swear--"
"Don't 'cousin' me you John Hinckley motherfucker," Nicki interrupted, bouncing about like he'd been shocked with a thousand volts. "Runnin' insurance scams with that piece a'shit now, are ya?"
"Hey, take it easy, Philly," Joey pleaded, looking hurt. "Bull Winslow is a dear friend, right? He's a stand-up guy, unlike some fuckin' guys I could name right about now. Granted, he's got that thing with the nudie pics, hey, fatti gatti due--but, hey no judgments from me, him with his bragiol' thing, and you with your fish thing--"
"My name's not Philly and I don't have a fuckin' fish thing!" Nicki cracked the antenna across Joey's chest punishingly.
"Fuck Jesus Christ's mother, I'm sorry, alright! You don't gotta fish thing and your name's not Philly, I got it," Joey pleaded.
"I'm pickin' up that gun and puttin' you in the fuckin swamp, I'm fuckin' serious," Nicki threatened, advancing once more.
"Fuck's sake I told you, Ph--I told you, cousin, it was a personal trip, honest!" Joey held one hand up as if in prayer. "Nobody else knows you're here, I ain't gonna tell 'em, I promise."
"I'm supposed to believe that shit? How'd you fuckin' know I'd be here, you bug my wheels? I know you were in my house today, don't fuckin' lie!"
"I wasn't! Okay, I was," Joey quickly corrected, wincing as the antenna whistled up to strike, "You had Sweet Tea's address in your center console, the time and date written on the fridge--I just connected the dots, is all. Plus I know you can't remember to keep the tank filled for shit, so I drove on ahead to the first stop I could find, and, hey, here you went!"
Nicki's breath hissed through his flaring nostrils. "So you were going after Tina next, you prick? You ain't doin' a good job changin' my mind, motherfucker."
Joey motioned towards the gun. "G'head, pick it up. See for yourself, you crazy fuck."
Nicki kept the antenna pointed at Joey as he stepped backwards towards the gun, feeling around for his foot until he felt his heel connect. Prize found, Nicki tossed the antenna away into the dark and reached down to snatch up the pistol.
"Go on," Joey encouraged, firmly rooted in place with a defiant look in his eyes.
Nicki glared at him, fuming, as muscle memory kicked in and he thumbed the magazine release with a familiar click. The flat end of the mag fell into his open palm, and he held it up into the light to inspect.
Empty.
Joey's labored breathing mutated into relieved laughter, and instantly Nicki felt his anger melting away, dissipated like cotton candy in rain. He even clicked back the slide on the gun to check--empty chamber.
"You dumb motherfucker," Nicki chuckled in spite of himself, shaking his head incredulously. "You are so fucking stupid..."
"I was gonna say 'Tony Lazuto says hello' or some shit, but I didn't get the chance before you summoned the spirit of The Cheyenne Kid on my ass," Joey guffawed, stepping forward.
"That's 'The Silver Whip,' you fuckin' moron," Nicki corrected, spreading his arms begrudgingly to embrace his old friend. "How the fuck you been, you fuckin' stoonad?"
"Ey, can't complain, some skinny kid whipped the maranad outta me a minute ago, but whaddaya gonna do?" Joey clapped Nicki on the back a few times before separating, sizing the slender man up. "Speakin' a-which, you ain't aged a day, you lucky bastard--didn't even take a second to recognize you back on the pier, how the fuck d'you do it?"
Nicki just nodded, avoiding the question. "You ain't look so bad yourself, what're you losin' weight?"
"Gained twelve pounds when my liver blew up like a friggin' balloon, thanks for askin'," Joey replied, his grin softening somewhat as he looked over his old friend. "Saint Philly, alive and well. Philly--you know I gotta ask. Why the fuck did you leave?"
Nicki recoiled a bit upon hearing his old moniker, still nodding. "Was kinda hopin' you all just thought I went into the program, not gonna lie."
"We did," Joey assured, "At least, some of us. I knew you'd never flip, I just assumed you got clipped is all. But I still gotta ask. I don't wanna ask, but you know I gotta ask. It was a real fuckin' blow, losin' you, you know--"
"Listen," Nicki interrupted, clapping a hand against Joey's sleeved arm. "I'm hungry, and I know you are too, probably about to keel over from standing here yawpin' so long--why don't we take a seat inside and order some steaks, and we can have a quick catchup before I gotta get goin'?"
"Mangia cazzo, gas station steak? Where's that fuckin' gun," Joey moaned in horror. "Gimme a fuckin' break, Sweet Tea ain't cookin' up somethin' for us up at the house?"
Nicki's eyebrows shot up. "'Us?' That's a big fuckin' word, 'us,' be careful with that shit--you know she still hasn't forgotten what you said at her birthday dinner."
"Madon, I said 'pecorino,' as in Romano, I meant the fuckin' cheese," Joey fumed with extravagant gesticulation. "Philly, I love you and I love Sweet Tea, but your sister, I'm tellin' ya, she's a bit of a--I swear, I'm not crazy, I swear she just mishears shit like that on purpose--cousin, she'--a bit of a medigan, you know this. I would never say something like that about your sister, c'mon."
"Irregardless of all that," Nicki said, hands up imploringly, "I'm not too sure she'd be happy to have you drop in all-of-a-surprise-like, not least of all because of what tomorrow is."
Joey shrugged. "Tomorrow eh, che cosa fai?"
Nicki tapped his middle finger against his forehead.
Joey furrowed his brow, then the realization set in. "Shit, that's tomorrow? Look at me, I'm wanderin' through forests of plastic pumpkins at Target all month long and still askin' you these kinds of questions like a stoonad, chiedo scusa, cousin."
"Shadows that move, cousin, that's all it is," Nicki said, shaking his head. "Old souls throwin' salt in the corner. 'Cept in our case, I guess it's the other way 'round..."
"Yeah you're throwin' salt in the fuckin' pan, am I right," Joey said enthusiastically, slapping Nicki's elbow. "Saint Philly, I'm dyin' here, c'mon, you know I can sweet talk Sweet Tea like nobody's business, let's take it up to the house and I'll be outta your hair before sunrise, scialla."
Nicki bit his lower lip, visibly tempted by the idea of seeing the chaos that might ensue. "You know what she told me today as I was leaving the grocery store? 'Don't spend too much.' About Sunday dinner, she says this to me."
Joey clasped his hands together as if to pray. "That's it, she's gotta go. No two ways about it, Philly, the witch must burn."
Nicki was sold, reluctantly rubbing the back of his neck in a plea for forgiveness, knowing this would definitely set off fireworks. "Ey, no way this isn't gonna chafe her ass, so try to be a fuckin' gentleman when we get there, aight? Oh, and if she sees two cars pullin' up she's goin' heavy, so we'll park you somewhere nearby and hoof it the rest of the way."
Joey chuckled nervously. "Yeah, 'hoof it,' thats a good one...listen, you know you're as good as family to me, cousin, but uh...since we're breeches on the subject..."
"They won't show up till tomorrow night at the earliest, the house'll be empty tonight," Nicki assured him. "Well, empty-ish--lost count of how many Tea's up to now, but there'll be some anklebiters to step over."
"On second thought," Joey backtracked, quickly shifting gears at the mention of kids, "This pericarditis? S'a whore and a half, y'know? Might need ta hold off on ma's cookin'--listen, how's about we make the trip, quick kiss on the cheek, then get us a brew and some nachos at the closest watering hole while we catch up, ah?"
"Oh yeah, some witch hazel and Angostura'll clear that liver right up," Nicki agreed sarcastically, clapping Joey's shoulder's in a half-hug. "C'mon, follow behind, we'll find a motel to play musical cars at."