The Innocents by Nathan Senthil (autobiographies to read .TXT) 📕

had to admit. Some sort of guardian angel was intervening here. Not only intercepting the hit team, but also, somehow, keeping Iris safe.

But Ryatt couldn’t delegate his responsibility of keeping himself and his mom safe any longer. To get the control back, he needed to eliminate the only threat in his life: Bugsy.

Chapter 43

May 13, 2019. 06:03 A.M.

In their eighteen plus hours on wheels, they switched driving between them to get the necessary sleep. Before entering Michigan, Leo changed the number plates.

Ryatt opened his duffel and took two lollipops from it. His mom had said that they weren’t going to produce Zesty anymore. That batch was the last, and Ryatt decided he would use those two for Roman and Bugsy.

Leo drove straight to Calabria and parked at a street behind. So early in the morning, it was locked. But was it truly? Roman conducted his business from this shithole, meaning it must have many important documents, files, or hard drives. He wouldn’t leave it unprotected.

Ryatt strolled to the bar’s entrance, cupped the sides of his eyes and looked through the front door glass. No one was inside, but a ceiling fan was spinning over the bar counter.

Ryatt instructed Leo to bring the jimmy from the Hummer and break into the shop.

While Leo did the work, Ryatt scanned the neighborhood. The street was free of people. Maybe a few hobos here and a junkie there, but they wouldn’t pay attention to two old men lingering in front of a shop.

Something moved at the corner of his eye.

He looked up at the building across the street. A hotel. Ryatt squinted and studied the second-story window closely. The drapes moved but it could be Ryatt’s mind.

Discarding it as a false alarm, Ryatt turned on his heels. Leo had successfully pried the door open.

When inside the bar, Ryatt tiptoed towards the counter. And there, like he suspected, was a man lying on a mattress, down on the floor. Apparently guarding the bar, he parted his mouth and snored.

Ryatt crouched and wedged the Desert Eagle’s muzzle into the guard’s open maw.

But he did not wake up. Must be drunk.

Irritated, Ryatt shook the barrel and the metal grated the guard’s teeth.

This time, he jumped and woke up in terror, hurting his throat.

Ryatt pointed his pistol at a telephone in the corner. “Call your fat boss and tell him that his bar’s been broken into.”

“Y-you… you are Lolly,” the man said. His eyes widened in realization. “Fuck you, cunt.”

“He chooses the hard way,” Ryatt informed Leo and hooked his knuckles onto the guard’s temple, disorienting him. Then he grabbed a towel under the bar table and bundled it up, before shoving it down the guard’s mouth.

Leo bent over and put the muzzle of the MAC-10 under the guard’s chin. Ryatt shook his head. Then he lowered the gun and put it under his armpit.

Ryatt thought for a few seconds. Not completely non-fatal, so he shook his head again. The MAC crept down to the guard’s leg and the muzzle rested on a foot.

Ryatt nodded, and Leo squeezed the trigger.

It was just a fraction of a second but at least three to five bullets would have smashed their way through the ankle. The guard’s eyes bulged and he let out a shrill, which the towel muffled. Ryatt let the loyal guardian writhe in pain for a good two minutes.

When he was exhausted, Ryatt grabbed his hair and slapped him. “Still prefer the hard way?”

The barkeeper trembled and shook his head.

Ryatt pulled him up and dragged him to the telephone. Before giving him the receiver, he called Leo over and told him to put the muzzle on the guard’s zipper.

“Just a pair of things to think about if you want to warn Roman,” Ryatt said.

The guard made the call and acted his best. Well, the fear and the breathlessness weren’t acting.

“He’s on his way,” the guard said and dropped the receiver.

“Good boy.” Ryatt dragged him back and they all nestled together under the bar counter, safely tucked away from the front door.

Fourteen minutes later, a bunch of angry footfalls pervaded the bar.

Ryatt filled his lungs and stood to his full height, pulling his gun out. Leo followed suit.

Roman’s jaw dropped at the sight of Ryatt. He had two goons at his side, well-built beefcakes with ponytails. They were twins.

“Y-You…”

“M-m-me.” Ryatt mocked. “Yes.”

One of the ponytails slowly moved his hand towards his back.

“Not this again,” Ryatt muttered and shook his head. “You wanna tell him, Rome?”

Roman did. “Don’t, Levi! You’ll be dead before you touch your gun.” Then he addressed Ryatt. “What do you want?”

“Someone has to pay for what happened to Thomas.”

Roman said, “No, I don’t know—”

“Cut the crap!” Ryatt barked. “First, tell those monkeys to lose their guns. And it’s choice time. You or Bugsy.”

Roman’s Adam Apple bobbed as he scratched the back of his head. Then he ordered the ponytails to drop the weapons, which they did. Leo skirted the table and picked them up.

“Come here.” Ryatt led them to Roman’s office and closed the hefty door behind. Should be soundproofed. Good.

Ryatt marched the weeping guard to a corner and stood him there. But he collapsed down and began tending to his mangled foot. Those types of wounds didn’t upset Ryatt’s stomach anymore. Perhaps he had evolved.

“You two gentlemen,” Ryatt pointed at the ponytails, “sit beside your crying friend over there, and you, sir,” Ryatt motioned at Roman, “take the chair.”

No one obliged him despite his good manners.

Roman began, “Come on. I agreed that I’ll help—”

The butt of the Desert Eagle knocked the words back into his mouth.

“Shut up and sit!”

Now everyone obliged the man with the gun.

Leo made a quick trip to the Hummer