FOR BLOOD AND LOYALTY

Chapter Six

Bobby knocked. He rang the doorbell too. And he waited in the hallway of the 5-story building. It had no doorman or elevator, but Victor only lived on the 3rd so for Fat Mark it wasn’t that bad. Dude was obese. But still.

            Even though the entire world had moved on without him—even though he felt like a visitor everywhere he went—Victor’s home would always be Bobby’s, and vice versa. So when Victor opened the door, after they hugged, he told Bobby he’d be right back as he went to the bedroom and Bobby just sat down on one of the fine black leather couches in the living room and looked around: The place was sick. Dope. Beautiful. But not nearly as beautiful as Victor’s wife, Michelle. At 27, Puerto Rican and as sexy as ever, few women could compare.

            Except one, Bobby thought.

            As Victor walked into the bedroom, he slapped her on the ass as she walked out. When she did, Bobby stood up. They kissed on the cheek.

“How’s this guy treating you?” he asked her.

            “Like a housewife,” Michelle replied. But their son, Michael, only 4 years old with long, cute curly hair stole her attention. “Did you say hello to your uncle Bobby?”

            No response. He was too busy playing with his toys on the floor in front of them and the brand new 50 inch TV.

“Brat. Bobby the remote’s over there, on the couch. Put on whatever you want, I got to finish up,” she told him, and she went back to the kitchen.

As Bobby stared at the television. Not at Victor’s old boxing gloves and championship belt that were hanging on the wall above it, but at what was on it: a show giving a tour of celebrity mansions. In fact, other than the assorted gangster stuff, this was Victor’s favorite kind of program. He watched them all the time, thinking of the mansion he himself would one day own. Because getting money, stacking bread came natural to Victor and he knew that if he could just avoid doing another bid—or dying—it was only a matter of time.

            But after six very long years in lock-up, surrounded by strangers, looking at other people’s cribs didn’t do the same things for Bobby. He couldn’t help but to just stare around. Not at Michelle’s plump ass or perky breasts but at the way she was working over the stove in the kitchen. At little Michael, playing with his toys on the floor in front of him. At the nice life Victor and his wife had built for themselves. At the Family atmosphere. And that’s when it hit him, harder than it ever had before.

            Fuck, Bobby thought.

            He missed out.