13. Billy Joel - We Didn't Start the Fire
I sat down on the steps of the back porch, poured myself a shot glass of some Romanian spirit I couldn't pronounce, and waited.
A fancy bottle, a picture of a plum, and I read 45%. I was reasonably certain of what I had found in the kitchen.
Thank fuck the house was finally empty. Except, of course, for the four women either washing away the filth or gorging themselves on whatever was in that kitchen.
I whipped back my head and violently shuddered when the clear liquid went down my throat and the fumes made a detour through my nose.
I was still a baby, I suppose.
The obnoxious music was starting to piss me off, but I couldn't bring myself to stand again now that I finally sat somewhat comfortably.
Hearing the van rumble along the street behind the fence and finally come to a stop I poured myself another shot.
That bucket full of shit, the filthy mattresses, and the pictures of those broken women. I shook my head trying to will those images away. Those thin arms. I drank the shot and poured myself the next. Those hollow cheeks…
I saw Paulie and Bobby step into the backyard with wide eyes and turned my gaze to the ripped leather on my right forearm. Time and adrenalin already did most of the work on that front, but I was still going to point my lamp on it when I was home because the bone under the repaired flesh still felt wrong.
My gaze slid down and finally settled on the hole in my thigh. Who would have thought that I was going to end up bloody in my own bathtub so soon again?
I was sooo not looking forward to peeling my own leg open and search for that bullet. I guess it was better than letting Professor Valentin get his grubby hands on me. Plus, I was going to get used to this whole pain-business a lot quicker. Hooray!
"Bobby, could you do me a favor and check if one of the cars has a spare gas canister. I want to burn this house down." I said without much fanfare. It wasn't much, but I spilled some of my blood in there and I had zero intentions of tempting fate.
He hesitated for a second but did as I asked without question, maybe I looked intimidating enough with my bloody axe resting on my lap.
"Paulie," I began and continued when he turned his gaze back on me, my voice deceptively bland. "Are we dealing with humans and prostitution?" I asked, my masked stare fixed on him, I needed to hear this.
"…" He held my gaze but didn't say anything. Paulie was too old and seasoned to be afraid of a little kid like me.
"To what extent?" I finally asked, brutally suppressing the defeat in my voice.
"Minor." He stated just to dash my fledgling hopes. "Compared to our other business."
'Very well.' I thought and stood up when I saw Bobby return luckily not empty-handed.
"All right, you can take a look inside if you want. Don't scare the women, they…" I was at a loss for a moment.
How did you describe something like this?
"They went through a lot. I intend to take one of the cars and drop them off at the police station with a message when I'm done looting the corpses and burned down the house." I finished with a shrug.
I couldn't or better wouldn't ask Paulie or Bobby to drive them, because… I…was a part of this.
I would do my part in stopping this, and this was going to be the very first step.
I stepped down the porch and headed towards the half-finished pit where the majority of my handiwork was strewn around.
"They speak Romanian, so some Italian should work." I told Paulie over my shoulder as I fished out the first wallet and a car key.
All things considered, I really was a model citizen, I thought as I parked my potential new car.
I wasn't sure yet if I wanted to keep it or cash in on it through the family, but that was food for thought at some other time.
Anyway, when Paulie and Bobby had eventually left, probably to report my 'performance' and to warn Tomasso about my rather telling question, I had managed to convey to the four women through a lot of trial and error, that I was going to drive them to the police.
I really hoped that the note that I had written and given them wouldn't make things worse.
It basically read, that these were former captives and victims of the Ibanescu's human trafficking scheme and that I, a concerned citizen, killed all of the Ibanescu in their currently burning headquarters in the northern East End. I had written, that as far as I was aware the girls spoke Romanian and that Italian might help. I even bluffed, that I would know if the girls were mistreated and didn't receive the proper procedures. I signed it all off with Concerned Citizen.
I didn't want a codename or a cape-name, names made people tangible. It gave multiple groups the means to concretize an unknown given, that they knew they were talking about the same thing.
No, I didn't want that yet, I even had asked Tomasso to refer to me as 'the boy' as it sounded condescending enough, that it could mean any young man in his service. Only my family, Paulie, and Bobby knew who was behind that black steel helmet and I wanted to keep it that way.
Finally stepping into my building, I quietly made my way up the stairwell, since I didn't want to wake my neighbors.
See, model citizen, I even had notified the fire department upon leaving my burning debut and had added a postscript to my letter to the police.
Stumbling into my apartment and out of my costume, I let in some hot water into my tub and parked my bottle of liquid tressure on the washbasin.
This time without music, but my trusty stress ball already in my mouth I sank into the water and hoped that my neighbors would someday appreciate just what a considerate individual I really was.