Chapter 5

16 Years Ago

"I brought you some shoes," Ben said, offering up a pair of loafers. "I didn't know your size."

"They'll be fine," he muttered, swinging his legs off the end of the bed. "Thanks."

"Don't walk that far. Just around the nurse's station a couple times, okay?" he said protectively.

"I need to start walking."

"What you need is to not be such a tough guy all the time. Which is probably what got you into this mess." He
checked off something on his chart. "By the way, there's a memorial service for you tomorrow."

He grunted, amused. "You going?"

"What, you want a report?"

"You've done enough for me," he mumbled, getting to his feet. This required leaning on the railing. "I can't think of a way to repay you."

"C'mon. We grew up together. Besides – what would you have done that morning if I hadn't picked up the phone?"

"Died," he said abruptly. "You never asked how – "

"I know." Now it was Ben's turn to be surprising. "Before the first surgery, we gave you sodium fentanyl. It's a prep drug, but it also happens to be a truth serum, and a short term memory killer. I asked if you were still awake, and you started talking. So I asked." He paused. "Sorry. But I was kind of curious."

"What did I say?"

"That you rejected Silvia's advances, and she told Chris you tried to rape her. Though you used more colorful language. So he had you shot." He added nervously, "Are you going to go after him? No, wait – maybe you shouldn't tell me that."

"I'm not," he said gruffly.

"You're not?"

"I'm not." He could stand now, with one hand on the edge of the bed. "He did somethin' I would have done, if she had been my wife. Whatever else happens between them is none of my business."

"The big day."

He straightened the jacket give to him on his shoulders. Not exactly his style, but he knew better than to be choosy. Guilt passed through him like pain. He had asked so much of Ben, and offered nothing in return. "You didn't have to go to the service."

"It would have looked weird if I wasn't there, right?" Ben said with a wink. "Anyway, it was nice. They got a stone and everything."

He didn't ask if anyone had cried. He couldn't imagine they would have.

"There's a razor in the bathroom, if you want to shave."

"Nah." He rubbed his furry chin. "I'm gonna grow it out. Look like a different person." I am a different person, he thought to himself. He had lost weight – not that he had much to lose – and most of the color in his face was still gone. He was a mess, but it felt good. Besides, it wasn't like he was reporting to work anytime soon.

"Do you know where you're going?"

"Not really." It was the honest truth. "And that's better for you, anyway."

"This never happened. Secret Outfit stuff." Ben seemed amused by the idea. "Look, you can't push yourself. Wherever you go, you have to rest most of the day. And don't do anything strenuous."

"They sewed me up good," he said. "I'll be fine."

"I left you some money. It's in the left pocket."

He glanced down, and saw a few bills. "Ben, I'm really going to owe you one for all this."

"You can pay me back by staying alive. Somewhere."

He smirked, and started for the door, unsure in his unfamiliar clothing that covered layers of bandages. All that remained on him of his old self was his tie, his wallet, and his holster, protecting the gun. He knew right of the bat that he couldn't use any of this credit cards or banking materials, and his ID was practically as useless. He was going out there with what Ben gave him, the Smith and Wesson, and nothing else.

"Jimmy," Ben said hesitantly, "Am I ever going to see you again?"

"Not if either of us can help it," he said, and closed the door behind him.

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Christopher Magnelli knew something was off before he stepped in the limo. It hit him while he was still on the sidewalk – not
literally, just a feeling. Maybe he would be safer in the cab. Maybe he was about to be assassinated in the sidewalk, like in the movie. Yes, that's it, his life was turning into Godfather – terrific.

But the problem wasn't a sniper on the sidewalk. Chris realized this as he slid into the leather seat, and the driver closed and locked the door behind him.

Ben Attelberg was sitting across from him, looking very expectant for some reason. Next to him was someone unfamiliar, a thug with a fedora over his face. He had a distinct Smith and Wesson pointed at Chris.

It all made him do a double-take. "Ben – " Ben was a civilian, wasn't he? Had he sold out? "Marco!"

In the driver's seat, Marco giggled in an entirely unfamiliar way. He tore off a latex max to reveal a different man with a buzz cut and sideburns. He didn't recognize him. "Just enjoy the ride."

"You're not in danger – " Ben said.

" – we just need to talk." The man with the gun pushed his hat up. His unkempt beard didn't ring any bells, but those black eyes did. His expression was remarkably courteous.

Chris gasped. He finally choked out, "Jimmy." The gun was still trained on him as the limo started moving again. He looked at Ben, who crossed his arms impatiently, and back at the gunman. "H-How are you?"

"Alive." He cocked his gun, then smirked and turned it away. "Relax. I'm not hear to kill you. Would've done it a while ago."

Chris wished he could relax, but here he was being kidnapped and held at gunpoint. He turned to Ben. "You're in on this?"

"Somehow I got dragged in when your men jumped me," he replied coldly. "I know you thought I betrayed you, but that's not what happened."

"So Ben and I are really in the same boat," Jimmy said. "Some woman's cheating on you and we get the shaft." The gun was off Chris, not entirely away. Not that it mattered; Jimmy was the fastest draw he had ever seen, if he had kept it up – which he obviously had, from the way he moved and talked. "Classic."

"Where are we going?" he demanded.

"Doesn't matter. We just want to talk. This seemed like the best way to do it." Jimmy actually kicked up one of his feet on the leather seat next to Chris. But he had always been like that, hadn't he? "Believe it or not, we're looking out for you."

"He's telling the truth," Ben said, in that honest voice that Ben always had. He had always been the goody two-shoes. "Tony Marcello wants you dead."

"Tell me something I don't know."

"He sent his girlfriend after you. She tried to get me to go along with it, but I refused," Ben said. "But he's not just in it with her. He's been working with Silvia on the side."

He turned to Jimmy in disbelief.

"I always said she was a bitch," Jimmy said without reservation.

"Yeah, on my wedding day. It was appreciated," he snapped back, then added with more reserve, "This is true, isn't it?"

"Would either of us lie to you?" Ben asked.

He eyed them skeptically. Ben didn't waver, and Jimmy huffed indignantly and took out a cigarette from his inside pocket. "Look, man, why do you think I haven't killed you? Maybe I'm not mad at you for shooting me half a dozen times. Because if it was my wife, I would have done the same thing. It was all Silvia. It's always been about her." He didn't bother to disguise his rage. "I didn't do anything with her, and Ben doesn't work for Fujiko." He lit cigarette with a silver lighter. "We're on your side."

"Okay... Okay." But he wasn't okay. "So I am approximately screwed. Why are you telling me this? Do you have some kind of plan to get me out of it?"

"Not me," said Jimmy, and gestured to the door, which opened. "My boss does, though."

"Your boss?" Chris's mind was going through the various possibilities. There were other minor bosses, there were other families outside of Chicago –

They had pulled up to the waterfront, but there was no man he recognized as a crime figure, or that looked remotely American. There was only the man who had been his driver in a red jacket. Standing behind him, sword apparently at the ready, was a samurai.

"This better be a good one, Lupin," Jimmy said.

"Oh, it'll be good," said the 'boss,' – a monkey-like sort of man with a very vague accent. "If I do say so myself, it's an absolutely brilliant plan."