Glimpse- An Obsessed Mobster Love story

Chapter 9

"I'm officially advising you that this isn't a safe idea."

"Noted." John slammed the car door shut and walked away, leaving the young guard inside. Monroe was a good little babysitter, and he knew his stuff, but John wasn't going to sit inside that safe house a single moment longer. He'd been sitting on his hands doing nothing for almost a week. Then he woke up and realized he was waiting complacently in a safe house for someone else to fix his problem.

Since when had he ever done that? It wasn't like him to wait around to be saved. If he had a problem, it was time to fuck around and find out. Fuck Ambrose, fuck waiting.

Five days and not a single text or phone call. That bastard better not be dead in a ditch somewhere.

John tried to ignore the nagging voice insisting that maybe he just wasn't that important to Ambrose. Because, really, those were the two most likely options. Either Ambrose was dead, or he wasn't all that interested in keeping John from being worried.

The weather was shit, but it matched his mood. He stomped through the spitting rain across the mostly empty parking lot. It was noon, so the lot of the Mexican food restaurant should have been full of hungry lunchtime customers, but it wasn't. After sparing a moment to take a breath of fresh air, John walked into a place he had hoped to put behind him forever.

The dilapidated interior of the restaurant was exactly the same. Same sticky-looking tabletops, and same cracked terracotta tile floor. The fake plants had done nothing but gather more dust and remained in the exact same place as always. For a moment it was like John was seventeen again. The bell on the front door rang as it shut behind him. Across the room from the front door was a long counter where a customer might conceivably pay their bill. There was a register and everything. Behind the counter there were large black double doors leading into the kitchen that was hardly ever used.

Under the kitchen was the main event.

The double doors swung open. A large, beefy man with too much fat on his middle came stomping out. He had changed, even if the restaurant hadn't. His black hair was grayer and balding. His hands that had once looked so mighty and frightening to John were just the regular hands of an aging man. His beady black eyes carried more wrinkles and his eyebrows were overgrown.

He recognized John right away. His unfriendly snarl melted into a wide smile of welcome and he threw his arms wide.

"Little John! Home at last!" His belly jiggled with his deep laughter. His voice was always so loud. Two decades spent yelling over the screaming crowds at the illegal bouts could do that to a person.

"Gregory," John greeted. He kept his hands at his sides but walked up to the counter. Gregory wasn't an idiot, and didn't insist on a handshake. "How've you been?"

"Oh good, you know business. It ebbs and flows, but never goes. Not this kind of attraction." He hooked a thumb over his shoulder to point at the kitchen. "You strapped for cash? I'll pay you five hundred to fight tonight. I've got a new champion and I know you'll put him in his place."

Cheapskate. I was worth seven hundred a fight last time I was here.

"I actually was wondering if you could help me with a little issue I'm having." John leaned his elbows on the counter. He didn't say no to the fight. "Do you happen to know of Ambrose Hyland?"

Gregory froze in the act of sucking his teeth clean and gave John a dear-in-headlights look. He cleared his throat and regained his composure.

"Everyone knows who he is, little John."

"I got a job keeping his sorry skin safe about two weeks ago. Somebody had it out for him. You know who that might be?"

"Well now, I can't be sure... I don't run with the street gangs." He rubbed his chin and gave John a look that clearly said 'what will you offer me?'