A few days passed before Taylor decided it would be a good time to check on the status of his applications. Matty had gone to work and he was alone in the apartment, unable to do much but think and watch TV, which was really getting old. So he headed out and stopped by the first little grocery store he'd applied to.
"I'm sorry, the position has been filled," said the hiring manager as soon as Taylor had arrived; she was a woman who looked to be a few years older than him. She was smiling, but the smile looked far from sincere, and her blue eyes held the smallest hint of fear. Taylor wanted to tell her, that she didn't have to be afraid, that he wasn't who she thought he was. But then he thought, maybe he was exactly who she thought he was. Anything she'd heard about him was either the truth or wasn't too far from it; he fought people. He'd killed people. He was the son of a mafia soldier.
"There any other positions available? I'll take anythin' at this point," he said instead, looking around the store.
"I'm afraid not," she said, and Taylor knew she was lying, something in the way she said it, but he wasn't going to push it. She seemed frail, sensitive, and he didn't want to upset her. He clenched his jaw, pressed his lips together, and nodded once before turning around and leaving.
Heading back to his van, Taylor heard a voice behind him.
"Tough findin' a job these days, huh?"
Taylor quickly turned around, menacing eyes directed at whoever it was. It turned out to be Roberto "Repulsive". He'd been one of Benny "Chains" soldiers who hadn't gone with the others to Montana. Taylor had worked with him a few times when doing jobs for Teddy (technically Benny).
The man was dressed in black, was slightly over-weight and only about five and half feet tall. He was an older man but carried himself proudly and effortlessly. He had black brows (the left one was sliced down the middle by a scar) and eyes as dark as the night sky.
"Repulsive," Taylor said, in a sort of greeting.
"That's me," the man said. "How ya doin', Fists?"
Fists. That was the name Taylor went by when he'd worked for them. Teddy had come up with it a long time ago and it stuck.
Repulsive stepped closer and extended his hand, so Taylor did the same, and shook it.
"Been a while," Taylor said, avoiding answering the question.
"Sure has," Repulsive responded. "So. You did a number on those guys at Yankee Tavern the other night."
Taylor's brows lowered angrily.
"You been followin' me?" he asked.
"Nah, nothin' like that. Been goin' there before you were born, kid. Just so happened to be pullin' up when you were in the middle of poundin' the fucks. Thought you were gonna murk the bastards. Woulda been nice if you did. They've been a problem. Anyway, figured I'd drop by, thank you in person," Repulsive answered. It became clear to Taylor that Repulsive had taken Teddy's place as Benny's Capo.
"That all you're here for?" Taylor asked, and he knew it wasn't. Repulsive laughed, bowing his head.
"No pullin' the wool over your eyes, huh?" he teased. "Alright, well, in that case, I'm not gonna beat around the bush, here," he said, and he stepped closer to Taylor.
"We could really use a guy like you. We're short on men after the shit-show with Deserve and you've got what it takes. Hell, you survived a show-down with the man himself, if you don't got it, nobody's got it," Repulsive said.
"Nah, man, I'm out," Taylor responded.
"Wait a minute, just listen to me, would ya?" Repulsive said, and he sounded desperate. "Listen, I know what it's like, tryna find a job with a record like yours. Next to impossible. Nobody'll hire ya."
Taylor was about ready to get in his van and leave, he didn't have the patience for Repulsive's manipulation, but disrespecting Repulsive was never a good idea and so Taylor stayed still, looking the other man in the eye.
"'Cept guys like us," Repulsive continued. "I got a job for you, and believe me, I'll make it worth your while."
Taylor hesitated as he thought. A job meant money, and by the sounds of it, it was going to be a lot. He was going to need cash soon; mooching off of Matty wasn't an option, and he thought, maybe if he did just one job, it'd help to float him for a while until he found something. Just one job.
"What's the job?" Taylor asked.
"Need you to whack somebody," Repulsive answered.
"Who?"
"Marko Fearless Cancio," said Repulsive.
"Marko Fearless?" Taylor repeated, surprised. The guy was a well-known underboss and was not someone you wanted to fuck around with. He had eyes on every street in New York. "Fuck."
"Yeah. I know you were lookin' to leave this behind, but if you come in with me, you won't be sorry. You've got a chance here to make a good buck. A real pretty penny," Repulsive said.
"How much?" Taylor asked.
"$30,000. And if you get it done, there'll be a lot more where that came from. You murk the guy and you're in, no questions asked," said Repulsive.
Taylor didn't respond.
"I'll give you some time to think about it," said Repulsive. "I'll be at Monte's, 6:30 tonight. You don't show, I get the hint. I'll leave ya alone. But if you do show... You won't regret it."
And with that, they parted ways.
As Taylor drove, he thought of Repulsive's offer; thirty-thousand was no joke and he knew he could get a job like that done with little to no effort. The guy wouldn't have even seen him coming. It would be quick, painless, and he'd be paid a good amount, a real fuckin' good amount. He'd be able to take care of himself, no problem. He'd be all set; he'd be able to take Matty out to dinner, or where ever else his friend wanted to go. He could even have given some cash to his mother. And with everyone turning him down, there didn't seem to be many (if any) other options.
He continued that day with checking each location, and he was given the same story every time, just by a different face. Nothing was available, the position was filled, he didn't have the experience (all bullshit, but amounted to the same thing). It was nothing new, nothing Taylor didn't expect. Just more of the same, and going back to it all, the life, was starting to sound more and more appealing. There was a comfort that came with the idea of doing what he'd always done. He was used to fighting, he was used to killing, he was used to life as a mobster.
But was it worth it worth the risk? He was out, for the first time since he was 10 years old. He had a new life, a normal life...
Or did he?
There was one last place Taylor had applied to, and when he arrived, he parked his van on the side of the street, got out and went inside. Another bodega; nothing special. In fact, it was far from special; it was small and crowded and smelled severely like body odor.
Taylor walked over to the counter and he quickly realized it was the owner that'd been smelling up the joint; an older Indian gentleman with a name-tag that read "Ramesh".
"I came in the other - " Taylor began, trying to ignore the judgmental look in the man's eyes as he spoke, but he was interrupted. Just then, right outside the store, there was the sound of a car horn, which was common and wouldn't have meant much if it hadn't been accompanied by a scraping noise and a woman's cry. Taylor quickly turned around, half-expecting to find that some poor girl had been hit, worried that he'd have to run over and take her to the hospital, but he instead found that someone had managed to scratch the side of his van in an effort to avoid her.
"You gotta be fuckin' kiddin' me," Taylor said, disbelievingly. Though it was relieving that the woman hadn't been crashed into, it was also the third time he'd been hit that year, and he wasn't even driving this time. He was starting to think that he should get something smaller, especially now that he wasn't hauling the lottery machines around (he'd sold them to the owner for the extra cash), because apparently avoiding his van was too difficult for these people.
Taylor quickly left the store, eyes locked on the man who'd hit his van. The guy looked as if he was eager to drive off but the streets were so crowded, he was unable to. Taylor walked over to the man's window. He was going to give the guy a break up until he started to speak.
"That your van, asshole?" the man snarled, already defensive; bobbing his head toward the black Dodge ram van. Taylor had to hold back from pulling the guy out of the window and pounding him into the cement right then and there. After a day of being denied any job, after a day of judgmental stares and lies, Taylor's composure was starting to wane.
"Yeah, it's my van, and you hit it. So you're gonna get outta the car and give me your information," Taylor demanded.
"Eat me, faggot! You park like that, expect to get hit!" the man yelled.
That was it.
It didn't take Taylor more than two seconds to punch the man square in the face. His head jerked back and his hand instantly went to his bleeding nose.
"Fuck! The fuck's the matter with you!"
Taylor then took his fist and punched the side of the man's car over and over again, covering it in fist-shaped dents.
"Stop! Wait, stop! I'm sorry, alright!" the man hollered, but when Taylor didn't listen, the man quickly rolled up his window and when he saw his chance, drove off as fast as he could. Taylor had to jump back to avoid getting his foot run over. He planned to run after the guy, because he hadn't made it far before running into traffic, and Taylor had a crowbar in his van which he was going to use to beat the car with. Eye for an eye.
He turned around, heart pounding, head spinning, and just as he went to reach into his van to get the crowbar, he saw the owner standing in the door way of the bodega. He was just staring at him, and he wasn't the only one either; some bystanders had their eye on him, and they looked him over, as if criticizing. The store owner shook his head back and forth and then went back inside, and Taylor knew what it meant; he wasn't going to hire Taylor. It was unlikely that they'd have hired him anyway but now it was a definite.
That was the last straw.
'Fuck! I'm done! I'm fuckin' done with this bullshit! Fuck it, fuck it all!'
Taylor's skin crawled, his blood boiled and he wanted to shout out loud and tear somebody apart. No matter how hard he tried, he always ended up in the same position, and he was sick of it. Sick of people taking advantage of him, sick of people looking at him like he didn't belong, sick of the feeling that came with incessant rejection.
More than any of it, he was sick of trying to hold it back. Being a regular citizen, that could work for a guy like Matty - not for a guy like him. He didn't understand this world, these people. He didn't know how to be like them, he couldn't be like them, but a mobster, that was something he'd always been, something he was used to.
Everyone saw him as a stone cold killer, and that's exactly what he was. There was no denying it; he couldn't pretend anymore. He was his father's son.
Taylor hardly realized he'd taken the crowbar and was in the process of swinging at his van, damaging it even more.
