Page 128 of Marcello

When I pushed open the rotting door, Cesare was pacing back and forth in front of a bunch of our guys, who stood there ashen-faced as he screamed at them. All of them had paintguns dangling at their sides, and most had red and yellow splotches on their clothes.

“YOU FUCKING RETARDS COULDN’T FUCK EACH OTHER IN THE ASS UNLESS I DREW YOU A GODDAMN MAP!” he roared, spittle flying from his lips.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

At the sound of my voice, Cesare whirled around. He looked unhinged. Veins were bulging out on his neck and forehead, and his eyes were bloodshot.

He was probably strung out from not having any cocaine the last few hours. Or maybe too much. You never knew with Cesare.

“YOU!” he screamed. “MR. ‘I’M TOO FUCKIN’ GOOD TO SHOW UP FOR WORK!’ WHERE THE FUCK HAVE YOU BEEN?!”

“I’m sorry I’m late. I had way too much to drink last night.”

“YOU THINK THAT’S A GOOD EXCUSE?!”

This from the asshole who got shitfaced almost every night.

“No, but I’m here now.”

I must not have been sufficiently deferential, because Cesare came stalking over to me –

And shoved his pistol in my face.

Not a paintball gun –

A real one.

“IF YOU FUCK UP THIS MISSION, SO HELP ME GOD, I’LL BLOW YOUR FUCKING BRAINS OUT!” he shrieked.

All the other guys in the room looked like they were about to shit their pants.

Not me.

I’d started off my ‘relationship’ with Cesare pointing a gun in my face. Over the last couple years, it had turned into at least a semi-annual occurrence. It was old hat by now.

Add in my natural reaction – everything slowing down and not seeming real – and I wasn’t fazed at all.

This is the part of the movie where the hero outsmarts the villain.

With the gun pointed right between my eyes, I asked calmly, “Did you practice the part where we break into Luciano Amato’s house and tie up his wife and kids?”

Cesare looked puzzled, like he had no idea what the hell I was talking about.

That’s why I’d said it. He wouldn’t know, because he was rarely around.

“That’s okay,” I said. “We did that every day last week. Did you cover the part where we bust into Luciano’s mistress’s apartment? Did you have some guys play the guards out front, and have the others practice taking them out?”

Now Cesare was looking really unsure of himself.

“No problem,” I said casually. “I had everybody practice it at least thirty times last month. What we haven’t done much of yet is the part where we break into the Amato compound. Lucrezia mapped out three different variations on how it could go, and we’ve only done them a couple times each, so we should probably go over those some more. Should we do the one where we hide Tiratore in the trunk?”

Cesare lowered the gun. “…yeah… that’s probably a good idea.”

“Cool.” I turned to the guys in the crew, who were staring at me wide-eyed. “Everybody go outside and divide yourselves into two teams: one Cosa Nostra, and the other Camorra. I’ll be out there in a minute to tell everybody what to do.”

Everybody ran out of the room in two seconds flat, leaving me and Cesare alone.

“I’m sorry I was late,” I said, trying to fake sincerity.