Chapter 2 - The Long Drive to Hell
The interior of the Cadillac smelled of expensive leather,
and the faint,
lingering scent of Vincent’s cigars.
Sophie sat huddled in the back seat,
her small body engulfed by the vastness of the car,
staring out the tinted windows at the passing lights.
Vincent sat beside her,
a silent monolith of vengeance,
his hands folded over his lap.
He watched the way the city changed,
as they drove away from the polished marble of the downtown district,
and into the decaying brick of the slums.
The buildings grew taller and darker,
their windows like sightless eyes watching the street,
and the air grew thick with the smell of exhaust and despair.
Tony drove with a focused intensity,
his eyes darting to the rearview mirror,
checking for any tail.
"How much longer?"
Vincent asked,
his voice cutting through the silence of the cabin.
"Three blocks,
Boss,"
Tony replied,
his voice tight.
"The boys are already in position around the perimeter."
"Make sure no one leaves that building,"
Vincent ordered,
his eyes never leaving the back of Tony’s head.
"If a single Viper tries to run,
take their legs out."
Sophie looked at him,
her bottom lip trembling,
"Are you going to save her?"
Vincent looked at her,
really looked at her,
and saw the reflection of a life he had once hoped for.
"I am going to bring her home,
Sophie,"
he promised,
"and I am going to make sure,
those men never lay a finger on anyone again."
He reached into his pocket,
and pulled out a clean,
white silk handkerchief.
Gently,
with a tenderness that would have shocked his enemies,
he wiped a smear of blood from the girl’s cheek.
"Hold on tight,"
he whispered,
as the car rounded a corner,
tires screeching against the wet asphalt.
The tenement building loomed ahead,
a crumbling monument to neglect,
with a single light flickering on the third floor.
Vincent felt the adrenaline beginning to surge,
the old,
familiar heat of a hunter on the trail.
He hadn't felt this alive in decades,
not since the days before the silence took over.
He checked the weight of the .45 in his holster,
the cold steel a comfort against his side.
"Stay in the car with Marco,"
Vincent told Sophie,
as the Cadillac came to a halt.
"Don't look out the window,"
he cautioned,
"no matter what you hear."
He stepped out into the rain,
the droplets splashing against his polished shoes,
as his men emerged from the shadows like ghosts.
The street was ours,
May you like
the night was ours,
and the reckoning had finally arrived.
