Disclaimer: Not mine. Not for lack of wanting, though.
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Face
Damn. The bastard really did a number on me.
It doesn't look nearly half as bad now that the blood's been wiped away, but it's still not gonna be pretty tomorrow; I can already feel the swelling tightening the skin of my cheek under the left eye. And I don't even want to think about what sneezing would do to me right now.
He really, really did a number on me, the son-of-a-bitch.
Guess that's my fault; I asked for it by yanking his chain once too many times. Kind of like when I was a kid and I had Pierro tease that mutt in the Santadios' backyard. The last time he went, one of the links on the chain snapped, and it was enough for the dog to get a piece of him. He never walked near that yard again. Or me, for that matter.
I should have known this would happen eventually. That this whole business with Marco would come back to bite me. Bite me, yeah; another dog-related metaphor. Fitting, I guess, considering how much like a dog with a bone Ray can be when he wants.
You'd never have been able to say that just by looking at him as a kid: chubby, self-conscious, with a mouth on him already, but that he didn't quite seem to have the hang of quite yet. His old man saw to that – for a while, anyway. But when the fat started to melt and turn to muscle, things changed. He talked back; he even pushed back. Trouble is, it got him a lot more bruises and shiners than ever before.
Ah, the things we could have accomplished together if he didn't have that stupid bleeding heart. He could have been Family if he wanted; he has the right streak of toughness in him for it. And he knows it, too. Crazy thing is, I think he scared himself into becoming a cop with it. I never thought too highly of his dad, but where that's concerned, we're in agreement: it was a perfect waste of good material. Too bad he crossed that line.
Too bad I crossed the family one. And make no mistake; that stupid Mountie is family to Ray. No question about it. I should probably thank him, in a way, for being there when Ray turned up on my doorstep to ask me about Paducci. Had he not been there, I'm not sure how things would have played out. More than likely, one of us would have ended up in jail, for anything from assault to murder. As it is, the crazy Mountie managed to do with a small push of the hand what would have required a couple of my guys to do.
Murder. He just about went through with it tonight. Okay, maybe not; but, God, he was tempted. I swear, the man was possessed. Never, never have I seen Ray that angry before. But then, never have I touched his family before. I should have remembered that he's the one who put his old man in his place – all by himself. He can take a lot, and for a long time, too, before he blows; but when he reaches his limit… Should have remembered that. Would have saved me the puffy eye, the swollen nose and the loose teeth.
But I always enjoyed trying to get Ray's goat. I'm not sure why. Maybe it was that battle I always saw playing out in his eyes when I did something he didn't agree with. His good heart wanted to help whoever I had it in for at that particular moment, the gangster in him wanted to step in and give me a taste of my own medicine, and the cooler part of him felt fear at the very real possibility of retribution.
That's a fear I never learned to feel; never needed to. Served me right tonight, didn't it?
Yeah, retribution walked right up to me tonight. Twenty years worth of it. That's another thing I had forgotten about Ray: he has a long memory. And that's another thing I might end up paying for one day. Oh sure, he gave me his word he wouldn't talk. But that'll only last as long as I don't give him an excuse to spill. The man knows how to play the game, I gotta give him that.
Oh, the things we could have done, had he decided to stray to my side of the line…
Now all I've done is create yet another enemy. Not that we weren't before, but now… The lines have been drawn, in blood: mine and the Mountie's. Like I didn't have enough to worry about with Charlie…
That one hurts, too. I'm not kidding myself; I know Charlie stays on more out of some sense of loyalty to my father than anything else. That was especially obvious in the look he gave me tonight – the same one he gave me after my father cuffed me for the lame stunt I had my "right-hand man" pull at the Santadios. I feel like I've been put on notice; he, too, will reach his limit at some point – sooner rather than later, if I'm any judge. And when he does…
I reach for my towel and try to find a spot that's not bloodied to wipe one more time at the cut under my eye. Face is the name of the game; show it under the proper light, and you come out on top. Lose it...
Shit.
He really did a number on me…
The End