Mafia's Cruel Arrangement

MOLLY

I had a problem.

I was pointing a gun at a guy with green makeup on his face, and I kept thinking how he looked like that goblin guy from one of those superhero movies. A bubble of laughter was coming up in my sternum. I tried stopping it, I did, but once it was past my throat, it was hopeless.

I bent over, my gun still in the air, and the laughter was kapoosh! Totally coming out of me.

I winced, hearing a note of hysteria on the edge of it.

“Molly!” That was my employee who was on the ground, his arms folded behind his head as he lay on his stomach, and I could hear how horrified he was.

I raised my head back up, steadied my arm, and cleared my throat. “Let’s review the changes that just happened here. You”—I shook my gun, indicating the green guy—“came in here, to my bowling alley, to rob us. Correct?”

He had a rifle aimed at me, and it was at this point I realized how crazy I really was.

Like, seriously crazy.

A rifle against my handgun. And I was laughing.

I was verging on lunacy. A lunatic. Me.

But he was wearing green makeup, so there could be an argument about who was the more irrational one in this situation.

“You do this sort of thing often?”

“Molly, my god.” That was from a different employee. “What are you doing?”

We had a good situation here. Not the robbery, obviously, but what I’d built in this business. Easter Lanes. This was my place. My business. I was proud of what I’d done for the bowling alley when I took it over from my dad. He’d already run it into the ground, so I seized an opportunity when he was particularly vulnerable, and he was a lowlife street gambler, so those moments were fairly common. We were talking twice a month, but this time was when he was up a literal shit creek and he had no one to come and save him. So, me, being his daughter, well, I took a page from his book—I conned him. Meaning, he called me for bail money and he seemed extra frenzied to get out of there, which probably meant there was someone on the inside who wanted to give him some sort of beating.

I told him I wouldn’t post his bail until he gave me the bowling alley. I was aware that some debts came with the business, but at that point in my life, I had nothing to lose. So I got the bowling alley, renovated what I could, and have continued renovating it over the years as profits got better. I paid off the bowling debts, but that was it. Anything to do with Easter Lanes was all mine. Added a whole pub part and gaming section so families could come here too.

I made sure it appealed to all ages to maximize our customers.

And it worked.

This robber guy had no clue what he was threatening here. This was my life. My only life.

This place was in my blood, and because of all of that, yeah, I went a little unhinged when I looked up and saw a rifle pointing at me.

“What are you playing at, woman?! I told you to give me the money. Why are you waiting? Give me the money!”

Oh, boy.

Boys, girls, don’t try this at home.

The register drawer was closed. The key was right next to it. I looked at my staff because they knew where the extra keys were, but . . . I could grab it, so quick. I could—I did something. That I was going to regret.

“Molly!” from my one employee.

And my second employee. “What did you do?!”

My staff was shouting and gasping, but one scream drowned out the rest. The green-faced robber was shrieking at me, shaking his gun. “What did you do?! You crazy psycho bitch!”

I swallowed the key to get into the register.

That’s what I did.

I was still holding my gun up, but it was shaking because my hand was shaking because my arm was shaking because I was shaking. My whole body was trembling, and I was tasting tears.

Enough!

Screw this. I’d not endured my whole tragic, sad story of a life to get it all taken away from me by this guy. “You come in here! Thinking you’re going to rob my place! This is mine. And I’m not going to take this. You know who my dad is?”

I had temporarily stunned the green-faced robber, because he began backing up, slowly inching away from me. He’d forgotten he had the rifle in his hands, but he paused at my question. “Your dad?”

I could see the realization start coming to him.

His eyes were flickering, skirting, panicking, and he was beginning to remember that some businesses in our neighborhood were hooked in. I’m talking Mafia-style hooked in. I wasn’t above using some of that intimidation if it meant I wasn’t going to be arrested for homicide today.

“Who’s your dad?” His voice rose, more shrill, and I could see the green face paint start to drip.

“Shorty Easter. You know who he is?”

His eyes jerked to the name of my bowling alley. I had it in neon letters above the bar. Easter Lanes. Anyone who was anyone knew that Marcus Easter, a.k.a. Shorty, was basically owned by the Walden family. He gambled at their establishments, but he also gambled for them. I knew his debt to them was so deep that he’d have to live nine lifetimes before paying anything back, but he had other uses, and I knew they used him for those. What they were, I never asked and never wanted to know, but I knew he did jobs for them.

The robber backed all the way up until he hit the door. His rifle slumped down, and he almost dropped it to the ground. “Oh, shit.”

It wasn’t my dad’s name that was causing this change of mind. It was who owned him. I never wanted to use their name, ever, but this was a life-and-death type of situation. A girl had to do what a girl had to do to not get ripped off.

“The Waldens own my father. You coming in here, threatening his daughter, his business. That’s going to have some consequences for you.”

His eyes were really bulging out now. “Oh, fuck. Fuck!” He was plastered against the door, shaking his head. The desperation was edging in him because I was also feeling it, just in a different way. Easter Lanes was the only place I had that was me. Out of all my other homes, nothing stayed. Foster. Shelters. Nothing held.

No one stuck, but this place did. I would not let someone take that away from me, and hear me roar because I was a mama lioness protecting my cub. I was desperate and a lunatic right now, but I didn’t care.

He was going to leave. It was the only play he had left. Get out. Run. Get away as far and as fast as he could go. I was waiting for him to accept that choice, but suddenly he jerked away from the door. His rifle snapped back up.

“If what you say is true, then I’m fucked! Fucked, lady. So I figure you owe me. You want me gone? I need money. If not, I’m dead anyways, and we both know it. You give me all your cash, and I’m gone. Yeah, yeah. I’ll go, but I need cash. What do you have?”

He reached forward, trying to grab me, and I recoiled, feeling the switch happening.

Oh, no.

I blanked.

Coming back, the sound of screaming was all around me, and there was red. Everything was dark red. My hand. My arm. I—

“Oh, good god! Molly!”

I felt a body rushing toward me and jerked around. They stopped, almost falling backward to halt their momentum. Their hands went up, and they were shaking. “Molly.”

It was Pialto, my bartender.

“Molly.” He dropped his voice, low and calm. Soothing. His hands lowered a little, and he took a step closer to me. “Move back, Molly. Back up. One step.”

I started to step to the side, but my foot caught on something, and my gaze jerked downward.

A foot was there.

A leg.

Blood.

There was blood everywhere.

Terror sliced through me.

A body was there. Spread out.

My other employee, Sophie, was on the right side of the body. She had a phone in her hand as she bent down and picked up the rifle. Her whole body was shaking too.

Oh, no.

What had happened? What had I done?

“Is he . . . is he breathing?”

“Molly.” Pialto was beside me now. I could feel him and hear him, and I knew he wasn’t going to hurt me. He touched my arm. The touch was off. Felt weird. I looked at him, for some reason wanting to tell him that, but I didn’t.

A part of my brain was still working while the other part of my brain was turned off.

I was numb while also half feeling at the same time. That didn’t make sense either. It was all very weird.

I’d shot the green-faced robber.

He’d reached for me. I’d panicked, and my finger had pulled the trigger.

I hadn’t known what he was going to do, and I’d reacted.

I’d done my thing again. My switch.

It wasn’t the best name, but the best way to describe that sometimes, when I felt backed into a corner, I did things. I reacted or overreacted or irrationally reacted, and most times it made things worse. It was something I was working on, but I’d swallowed the register key. I’d shot a guy. Both big “switch” moments, and oh boy.

I was officially freaking out.

I. Shot. Someone!

“She’s freaking.”

Pialto was a genius. He was tuned in to my mind.

“Oh, man.”

I always liked Sophie.

I’d miss her. I’d miss Pialto too. He’d have to manage the place for me. Or I could ask Jess. Yes. I’d ask another friend of mine. She had, well, she had some flexibility with her new work, or she’d know someone who could run it for me. Her man might help. But not my dad. He’d try to take over the bowling alley while I was in prison. I couldn’t let that happen. No. I needed to call—

I reached for my phone. “Whoa! Hold right there. Stop! Don’t move, Molly!”

That was Pialto yelling at me, but I heard Sophie gasp before she dove for cover.

I looked up, still dazed, and saw both were staring at what was in my hand.

I still had the gun in my hand.

I started to drop it. “Don’t do that!” Pialto shouted.

His hands were out, and he was half-crouched as he approached me. I didn’t know when he’d stepped back from me, but it might’ve been out of a sort of life-preservation instinct. I mean, at this point, chances were high I would accidentally shoot myself.

“Molly.” His voice dropped again, low. “I need to take the gun from you.”

I was nodding before he even finished. Yes. Yes, he did, before I did any more damage.

I held it out and he took it, quickly unloading it before he backed away again. Sophie had removed the guy’s rifle so it was almost on the other side of the bar. That was good thinking on both their parts.

I slumped down on the barstool behind me, staring at the unconscious man on the floor. God, I hoped that’s the reason he wasn’t moving.

I heard the sirens a second later.

The cops had arrived.