Internal Affairs
By Dominique Wilson
Tony got things done. He was reliable. Eventually, people started to think he was a little too reliable.
He followed through on seemingly impossible hits. It got to the point where The Don started giving him difficult jobs just to see if they were doable. The Don soon learned that, for Tony, they always were.
He made a hit in the middle of a conference room filled with every police chief from every county in the state. Officially, it was a heart attack, but everyone in the family knew it was one of Tony’s jobs. It had his flavor to it. Plus, there was a huge hit out on the guy already. Nothing special about that, except his name had been at the top of the list for eighteen straight months. No one could touch him.
But the week before the convention, Johnny saw Tony meet with The Don. Then, days later, the most wanted guy on every underground hit list suddenly has a heart attack?
Forget about it.
*
Tony didn’t think he could do it anymore. It was taking too much out of him. He’d need a prosthetic arm soon, or his kidney’s might fail. He could feel it. Another push and it was over. No more hits. No more contracts. His body couldn’t take it.
But the voices… God, the voices were too much.
He’d never gone this long without tapping in.
Standing in front of his bathroom mirror, Tony splashed cold water on his face and hung his head. Squeezing his eyes shut, he called out (or called in) to that focal point right below his navel.
He felt them there. Every hitman the family ever used back in the good old days.
Salvatore. Barboza. Greco. Cavataio.
All of them. They were screaming out. They wanted a portal open, and they wanted it open now. Their voices rang through Tony’s head, alternating between threats and bargains. Begging him one second and then promising him what they’d do if he kept them trapped the next.
They were going to force their way out one way or another. Tony knew that all too well.
*
Hunched over and convulsing, Tony leaned against the brick siding of Bagarella’s Restaurant & Bar. A faint rain left droplets across the black leather of his overcoat. Water mingled with the sweat pouring down his face while his stomach softened beneath his clothes into a meaty paste.
Barboza won the draw.
He was ramping up to travel.
*
The night before, Tony had tried getting out. He met with The Don. He made his offerings and paid his dues, but it wasn’t going to happen. Tony was too valuable. The Don nodded along as long as he could. He played at amiability. Acted like he completely understood.
Ultimately, the answer was no.
No, and here’s a job.
Tony wanted to hold firm. He wanted to walk out no matter what The Don said, but the voices won. He did owe them, after all.
*
Barboza was eager.
Barboza was ready.
Tony’s stomach sank inward, collapsing into a black pit before pushing back out. It unfolded. Flaps of skin peeled away, exposing the fleshy pink underside, then folded around his sides like a jacket turned inside out.
Tony reached into his body and pulled until a shoe emerged between his fingers. He dragged it far enough into the open for Barboza to do the rest. A leg followed, stepping through sinew and muscle. Or seeming to. Gravity was strange when traveling.
Barboza both stepped and floated, resting somewhere between vision and sense. He was there and not there. If someone across the street happened to look over, all they would see was a man standing in the rain, holding his unbuttoned shirt open and exposing his pale torsos beneath.
Tony’s stomach closed behind Barboza. He doubled over, vomited, and curled up on the pavement. His skin sagged loose from his body, almost fluid now. Barely breathing, he faded in and out of consciousness while the soft rain cooled his burning skin.
Barboza went to work.
He stepped through the wall of the restaurant and looked for his mark. Bagarella sat in an eastern alcove, eating and chatting with a group of men. It sounded like business. Barboza sprang into action. He wanted this one to linger a little. Things had felt off with Tony when he stepped through, and Barboza intended to fully enjoy the time he had. Just in case.
Hands the size of a giant’s wrapped around Bagarella’s neck.
Barboza cooed to himself. He loved the feeling of a warm neck ready to break between his fingers. He wanted to make it ooze this time. He knew it didn’t usually work like that here, but he could hope.
Barboza’s longing to fully feel the act of throttling again was immense. And Tony’s weakness while the portal was open seemed to be changing things. Usually, people suffered what looked like a quick brain aneurysm when Barboza got to throttling them.
This time, Bagarella’s head exploded.
Chunks of wet meat and bone shot in every direction like cannonballs. The force tore through restaurant diners and wise guys alike. Barboza was overjoyed with the result. He went from table to table, throttling and exploding person after person. A mad glee filled his eyes.
It felt like the good old days during Prohibition. It felt like midnight runs through the woods. Making guys dig their own graves. Taking long rides with the bodies in the trunk, every turn around the mountain sending them sliding across the metal until a heavy thump came from somewhere near the bumper.
He was alive again.
He was Barboza again.
*
The authorities found Tony outside Bagarella’s Restaurant & Bar later that evening. So many people had run from the restaurant completely covered in blood that the city saw the quickest police and ambulance response in its history. After two days of questioning, they had to let Tony go. They had no evidence. His fingerprints and boot prints were nowhere inside. There wasn’t a drop of blood on him, which would have been impossible if he’d been the one responsible for the hellscape they’d walked into at that restaurant.
Plus, Tony was completely mute the entire time. He just stared off into space, rubbing his stomach and making a softer whimpering sound. His left arm hung limp at his side. They offered him medical help, but Tony just shook his head. It was the only response they got out of him.
*
They found another grave outside the city. It was full of young couples this time.
The night before, another club had been hit. Eyewitnesses and surviving victims all said the same thing: people’s heads just started exploding out of nowhere. That made three events like that in one month. People started reporting sightings of a big man walking the streets downtown sometimes. A giant of a man with hands the size of dinner plates.
Normally, that would just sound like somebody saw a big guy walking around town. Except every time someone saw him, something happened that night. Something big.
*
The Don let Tony go after the night at the restaurant. Tony just wasn’t Tony anymore. After what happened at Bagarella’s, The Don seemed too scared of him not to let him leave.
Tony started talking to himself. He shuffles around town now with his left arm swinging uselessly at his side. Sometimes people see him stop in the middle of the sidewalk like he’s listening to somebody. Sometimes he answers. Most the time he just gets fidgety with the buttons of his shirt above his stomach. Nobody else hears any questions.
But man, was he good in his day.