The Tank

Chapter 6

It was August 31st now. It's been about three days since the incident with Robbie and Frankie, and Vinny sat alone tonight. He sat alone in a dying bar, with old drunks being thrown out and servers throwing in their shifts. The occasional mistress came along to take Vinny away, but he declined, like usual.

Vinny sat for a while, still working on the same bottle of Carling, and he looked up and down the shining bar table. The same familiar crowd was trickling away, with all the old drunks being thrown out and the whorish tramps being shooed away like dogs.

Vinny sat some more, let down his bottle of Carling, and began puffing on his newly brandished cigar which proudly presented itself as a fresh "Cohiba". He took a few puffs, then lifted it out of his mouth. Vinny had sunken eyes and a loose jaw, products of his tiredness.

Vinny sat on his stool until he saw the nightly news continue with a news flash presenting on the TV in urgency. The reporter began, "Sometime in the afternoon on August 28th, a man reported an attack on Mafia and long-time mob boss Frank Cecila in a Riverdale apartment complex in the Bronx."

Vinny was suddenly awake now, and he looked on in bewilderment. He never expected any of this to pick up on the news, and then Vinny suddenly remembered how Frankie was indeed a long time mob boss, and this attack was a big deal to the criminal underworld.

"We reported onto the scene a few hours later," the reporter continued. "When we had arrived, Cecila's hands were completely broken, and stuck together by brute force. Emergency services concluded on the scene that the attacker had to have been at least six and a half feet tall, and three-hundred pounds to perform such an act. Cecila is expected to make a full recovery by early December later this year, and will be facing up to 100 years in prison or the death sentence, on multiple accounts of drug trafficking, money laundering, and multiple cases of pre-meditated and first degree murder. We will report more as this story progresses."

Vinny continued to sit, amused and even entranced at the thought of his old partner dead. He took a deep sip of his Carling while playing with the end of his cigar. He played with the thought of Frankie's death, wondering at how it could play out for his mob, and if Vinny or Robbie would be killed as a result.

Then, it suddenly clicked. Vinny hadn't thought of it, but with Frankie gone, the men could easily have Robbie killed or hurt to the point of extremity or torture. Vinny was wide-eyed, scared at the thought. What if they were at the safe house now? What if Robbie was dead? What if Scar was dead?

Vinny flattered himself with the thought, red with drunkenness and arched with tiredness. Vinny set down his nearly finished Carling, and put out his Cohiba as the nightly news came to end.

The reporter concluded his story, and as the bartender started setting down his final glasses, clean and pristine, Vinny started up, and to the door to leave.

*****

The midnight darkness unraveled into the safe house, sending the men who didn't obey into a senseless slumber. Robbie lay awake, feeling his smashed nose and glossy eye. He sat up, staring at nothing but the darkness. He stared once more at his hands, cleared of blood, but not cleared of guilt.

He lay back down, and as he drifted away, Robbie clenched his eyes shut, in hopes of ridding his guilty mind.

Frankie was there. His arms were missing, and he was strapped in a painfully white hospital stretcher. Frankie regarded Robbie emotionlessly, and spoke in Robbie's voice.

"Why did you hurt me, Robbie?" Robbie looked on, dumbfounded. He stared through shut eyes, realizing once again what he could've done. He stepped backwards in his conscience.

"Well? What is it? Is it maybe because you were being paranoid?" Robbie started running in his mind, running into a neverending void. He screamed in his head, trying to block out Frankie's voice.

"Perhaps you were scared? Selfish, maybe? Definitely wouldn't be suprised if you were angry - that's for sure." Frankie was still in Robbie's voice as the fragment of imagination tore Robbie apart relentlessy.

"Jus' leave me alone! God jus' fuckin' leave me alone," Robbie said while screaming. Suddenly, he jerked upwards from his sleep, clawing for air while his heart beat rapidly in his chest. Robbie sat up, but instead of sobbing or screaming, he sat there, thinking.