Miles Away (Carrion #1)(76)

“Oh, who decided to wake up and join the party…” the driver said as he looked at Juan in his rearview mirror. The man spoke with a thick Brooklyn accent.

Not bothering to answer the man, Juan looked out his window trying to determine where he was. It wasn’t hard. Even with his foggy vision, Juan could easily make out one of the most famous skylines in the world.

We’re in New York, Juan thought. This is Michael Capadonno’s doing. Letty. Oh, my God, I hope Letty is okay.

“Whatsamatter Johnny, not in the mood to talk?” the man in the passenger seat asked. Turning around, Juan immediately recognized him as a man he had seen around the neighborhood in Carrion.

“The name’s Juan, not John. What do you want with us?” Juan asked in a firm tone not daring to show a stitch of fear on his face.

“That’s our business…”

“Bullshit. You can at least tell me why you took us… Why us? We’re quiet people. We mind our business.”

“It all boils down to loyalties, Pops,” the driver said.

“Loyalties…” Juan repeated.

“Well, yes and no. You and kiddo there are just along for the ride. Consider yourselves collateral… bait on a hook for a bigger fish.”

Miles, Juan thought. They want to kill Miles.

Just then, the driver’s cell phone rang. Seeming to jog Juan’s memory, he checked his pockets, which were empty of course, but they hadn’t got to his cell phone which he kept strapped to his leg. It was a weird habit, but a useful one. When Juan worked, he didn’t always feel his phone vibrate in his pocket, but he certainly did when it was on his leg. As Juan sat in the car, his hands and feet bound, he could feel the cell phone jabbing him in the leg.

“Hey, Nunz… Yeah, we’re crossing the bridge now. We’ll be in Brooklyn in a few. Nope. No problems. Yep. Bye.”

“Who was that?” the passenger asked.

“The boss. He was just checking in,” the man explained. “Everything is going down tomorrow night.”

As the old car rumbled across the Brooklyn Bridge, Juan kept a close watch on his surroundings. The first chance Juan got, he would text the address of where they were taking him so that Letty could get him help.

“C’mon, f*ckers. Try me. You messed with the wrong crazy Mexican,” Juan said under his breath, drilling a lethal glare into the back of the men’s heads.

As they pulled through the gate to Brooklyn, the passenger turned around and said, “You say something, Pops?”

Juan stared at the man for a moment and laughed. Never one to stay quiet for the sake of another, Juan loudly said, “Yeah… I said you messed with the wrong crazy Mexican!”

“Feisty, that one.”

“Simmer down, Pops. We ain’t gonna hurt you. Unless of course, your boy don’t show.”

Writhing against the ropes around his wrist, Juan refrained from saying any more in fear that he would be shot before he could send for help. Quietly, G stirred next to him and a faint whisper cried from his mouth.




Sasha continued to prepare dinner as she danced along to the cool croon of Frank Sinatra in the kitchen. Pulling a wooden spoon from a kitchen drawer, Sasha stirred her homemade gravy. Lifting a spoonful out of the pot, she blew on it, making the gravy cool enough to sample. Tasting a tiny bit to check if the gravy needed added seasonings, Sasha quickly decided that she thought it was perfect, but the true test would be if her father did. Tossing the spoon into the sink, she grabbed another from the drawer and dipped it in the gravy. Cupping her hand underneath the spoon to prevent any drips on the freshly cleaned floor, Sasha went in search of her father so that he could sample it.

Lord knows he’ll find something wrong with it, Sasha thought.

“Dad…” Sasha called out as she entered the parlor.

Michael stirred in his bed and looked over at Sasha with a calm look upon his face. In an effort to get Michael to calm down after lashing out at Letty, Sasha slipped him an extra two Zolofts. It took a while, but finally Michael had slipped into a sleepy and tranquil mood.

“Yeah, Sash…” Michael replied, sounding loopy but decidedly calm.

“Try this. Let me know what you think,” Sasha said as she brought the spoon to her father’s mouth.

Michael tasted the gravy and sat quietly while he critiqued it.

“It’s good. Needs a little more oregano, though.”

“Okay, I’ll add some. Are you feeling better now?” Sasha asked with a concerned look upon her face.

Somberly, Michael nodded as he looked up at his daughter.

“What am I going to do with you? You can’t just freak out on people. I could deal with the countless weekend nurses that left, but Letty’s been good to you, Dad.”

Michael sighed dramatically. “It’s not easy being like this, Bella. No one understands.”

“Well, I’m trying to. That must count for something, right?”

Michael patted his daughter on her hand. Suddenly, a sad expression formed on his face.

“What?” Sasha asked, sounding very concerned. “What is it?”

Michael sighed again as he clutched his bedsheets tightly. He appeared to have a heavy burden on his mind.

“Dad, tell me. I want to help,” Sasha said, appearing doe-eyed and alarmed.