An Unexpected Evil

Billy Capello stood in the darkness of a filthy, abandoned apartment he happened to find, his teeth gnawed at the fingernails on his left hand, nipping off tiny tidbits that he spat aside, while the forefinger and middle finger of his right hand flicked against one another with a steady rhythm. His head swiveled right, then he dragged his feet across the dusty wooden floor until he stopped at the soot-encrusted window. Outside, the rain had passed, leaving the streets barren and looking somewhat dry, just a few puddles spread about illuminated by streetlights.

Now would be a good time to leave, but he’d made that same assumption in the past. Looks could be deceiving, and tonight he couldn’t afford to be deceived. It was one of the few times he wished he’d never started smoking. Satisfying his nicotine craving would be terribly risky, and if he wasn’t careful, it could be life-threatening. Charlie had warned him what would happen if he didn’t get his money. Why didn’t he listen?

But he also knew he couldn’t stay cooped up in there forever—not with the cravings struggling inside his body. He ambled back toward the sagging couch ready to take a seat and will his cravings away, but knew it wouldn’t work. He had to get out. Maybe he would be lucky this time and wouldn’t be seen. Hell, he’d found this empty apartment tonight by dumb luck and hadn’t been spotted. Maybe there was a little more luck left around, just for him.

It would be a quick trip—just a couple of blocks down the street to the neighborhood smoke shop. He’d already scoped the streets the last couple of hours. There had been little movement, and there were hardly any cars parked on the road, with only two or three driving by. This could be his chance to go, he thought as his hand patted his pocket, ensuring his cash was handy. His outstretched arm grasped the doorknob, and he turned it slowly. The apartment door whined as it opened. He held his breath and inched his head into the hallway.

The hallway was just as dark as the apartment, and with each measured step, he picked up on every shadow and strand of light. He reached the stairwell and leaned over the railing. The stairs were empty, but they were prone to creak.

His heart hammered as he questioned why he kept putting himself in tough situations. First, it was the gambling, then the smoking. Both were hurtling him to his demise if he didn’t straighten out. Supporting both habits had their own risks, and he chose to take those risks. The big payoff he expected in the end never looked so distant, and now it looked impossible.

He blended into the wall’s shadow as he stood in the front doorway on the bottom floor, peering out through the door’s plate-glass window. Slowly, he eased his head toward the glass, allowing a single eye to scan the street outside. The old apartments across the street were just as dark except for a few lights shining through ragged pulled-down shades. The road remained empty, and he had to move now, slowing so he didn’t attract attention.

He slid out the door and down the short flight of concrete steps. Just his luck, all the streetlights were lit, but their yellowish hue kept the street darkened. His strides were long and deliberate, and his head swiveled left to right and back again. Just buy a pack of smokes, then hightail it back to the apartment before being spotted. The chilly air forced him to bundle his brown jacket tight to his body.

The lights from the corner smoke shop illuminated the sidewalk, and for the first time that day, his heart didn’t feel like it was being squeezed. He patted his pocket once again. His cash was ready. Just a few more yards, get the smokes, then head back.

Shadows shifted across the street.

He stopped and stared. Could it be a shade flapping from the brisk wind? He wasn’t sure, but something wasn’t right.

Something in the shape of a bent arm jutted from the shadows. That was no shade. He wasn’t alone on the street anymore. Shaken, he scrambled back toward the apartment building. Behind him, a legion of hurried footsteps followed.

The footsteps were getting closer. There was no way he was going to make it back to the apartment. Up ahead was an unfamiliar alley between two brownstones, and with any luck, it would lead to the street on the other side. He turned the corner and hauled ass through the alley, splashing through scattered puddles, his socks absorbing the cold rain water. His heart dropped when, up ahead, a massive, wet cinderblock wall stood, blocking his way. On either side of him were rows of massive, rain-slicked metal trash containers that smelled as if they hadn’t been emptied in a month. Old plastic garbage bags and soggy, loose rubbish sat at their bases, acting as guardians. The only thing to do was hide, but Charlie’s minions would eventually catch up to him.

His life had become an hourglass, and the sand was running out, grains slipping away. Nothing would stop Charlie’s men from finding him. He pinned his back against an old metal door embedded in the brownstone, and with nowhere to run, he stood as still as he could, shivering from the frigid air seeping beneath his jacket and through his T-shirt. His toes were numb from running through Brooklyn’s rain-soaked puddles, and now they were soaked in a disgusting pool of freezing runoff water. Before he could catch his breath, the clouds opened once again. Could things get any worse?

His eyes were glued on the sheen covering the rain-soaked alley, a product of the streetlights situated near the alley’s entrance. He trembled but didn’t know if it was from the cold or fright. Maybe it was both. What will they do to me? Will it be a slow death or something so quick I won’t have time to react? What will it feel like to be dead? His whole life was in shambles, and it didn’t have to be that way, but it was the way he had gambled with it, but this time, he was going to lose much more than the money Charlie had spotted him.

His eyes beheld the first shadow, and then, one by one, three more shadows appeared and grew larger as they neared him. His Adam’s apple pulsed, his mouth was a desert, and he was sweating despite the cold. On top of it all, he had to pee, bad. “God help me,” he prayed to himself as he tried his best to blend his thin body into the door. His mind drifted back to his death scenarios, which scared him more than dying itself. Would it be two bullets, ‘tap-tap,’ into the back of the head? Would they humiliate him and tell him to fall to his knees and beg for mercy before they pointed the barrel at his forehead and squeezed the trigger? Maybe, just maybe, if they weren’t in much of a hurry, and since there were no witnesses, deep stab wounds might be the way to do away with him. He didn’t want the pain to last any length of time. He wished he had paid back the five large in the two weeks as he’d promised.

The boxing match he gambled Charlie’s money on was supposed to be a sure thing. He’d known the boxer, the trainer, and the ref. How ‘Tugboat’ Harrison had let that wimpy, no-talent Kenny Culligan knock him out in the sixth round was too coincidental, and he was sure he’d been set up. But it was too late now. Charlie didn’t care about the fight, only about his cash. Billy was a sucker, and now he was about to get his comeuppance.

Footsteps splashed in the alley’s puddles. His heart thumped faster. Would he ever see his silky-haired Constance again and what would happen to her once he was gone? Would Charlie send his gang after her? She had a gun, but would she be able to use it against them? She had warned him time and time again about his gambling, that one day it would get him into more trouble than he could afford. Now, her haunting words had come true. She believed he could do much better.He had a problem, but he also believed he was lucky. The lure of easy money had always called to him like a desperate lover.

It didn’t matter now. His chest rose and settled like bellows igniting a hearth as he shivered, this time not from the cold but fear.

Four thugs appeared in front of him. Trapped, he began speaking with his most pleasant voice and tried being cordial, but he couldn’t stop it from wavering. Not a single smile crossed any of their damp faces. They were purpose-driven and silent. Pleas for his life spilled from his mouth without any forethought. He clasped his hands together, praying to his oppressors to give him a break.

Something dark rushed from the shadows to his left.

There was a bright flash and a burst of pain. He was on the ground, breathless. He had barely inhaled before his eyes caught a glimpse of their shadows closing in. This was it.

Blinding light accompanied each blow to the head and face. Their pointed shoes felt like dull knives attacking his back and sides. Disgusting rainwater splashed into his mouth as he writhed on the ground. One of them lifted him back up like a storefront dummy and socked him square in the gut. Air exploded from his body, and he lurched forward. His insides imploded. Fists battered his back, and stabbing pains shot through his rib cage. Trying to catch his breath was a lost cause. His end was near. He coughed up something that tasted as bad as it smelled. Then his legs were swept from beneath him, and he slammed onto his back. Someone gripped his right leg and held it down tightly. He had no more strength to struggle. His entire body throbbed as though he’d just been tossed from a window down onto the street below. He heard a sharp snap and let out a shriek. His world darkened as he drowned in a sea of pain. His brain blossomed into wildfire, but through it all his ears picked up a second snap, and he prayed someone would just ‘tap-tap’ his head.

Billy’s world went dark.