Tony sits at the table in the dim cafe with his head in his hands. His long, thin fingers burrow into his shaggy, greasy brown hair, scratching at his scalp in time with the pounding of his heart. He has failed for the last time. There will be no cheating this time, no way out of it: they are coming for him now. He does not look up when the heavy footsteps cross the cracked tiles. He does not move with the glass door is closed with a finality reminiscent of death and the loud snick of the lock tumblers dropping into place sounds more like a gunshot than the simple action that it really is.

His heart begins to pound harder, forcing the blood to his brain, his lungs, his feet, his hands–such wasted energy now that it is time to face the devil. The room is thrown into semi-darkness as the shades are pulled down over the few windows in the place.

Tony keeps his head bowed even after a chair is pulled away from the table, which vibrates a little from the force of the big man when he sits. There is a scrap and a metallic sound of something being laid down on the table top. The man clears his throat and Tony finally finds the courage to look up at him.

Vince Ramirez regards Tony with an expression that says the big man would clearly love to be anywhere else than here. He is less than impressed with the smaller man’s bloodshot eyes and tear-stained face. Vince decides he’s a weakling. If it wasn’t for the boss’s orders, he would have already done away with the sniveling addict and been back out home resting on silk sheets between Rachel and Regina.

For his part, Tony knows better than to open his mouth. On the bright side (if there really is one,) Vince has laid down his gun and Tony is still breathing, heart still foolishly pumping blood through his veins. There may be a way out of this yet.

“What was it little fool? Girls, blow, cards?” Vinnie’s voice is a gravely bass that rumbles from his chest and across the cafe like a slap in the face. His eyes are dark, reptilian orbs that carry the promise of the ultimate destruction.

Wisely, Tony says nothing. He moves his thighs a little closer together, however. If Vinnie does make a threatening move, he’d rather not lose all control in the instant before he meets Death.

Vinnie smiles at him with a cold grimace that could only be described as dragon-like. Tony’s heart kicks up a few more beats; he controls the whimper that threatens to break from his tightly pursed lips.

“Cards, I’ll bet.” Vinnie gives him another fake smile and Tony tries to hide behind his side of the table, wondering why he is still alive. “In light of the debt you know owe, we are willing to make a deal with you.” Tony sits up a little straighter, seeing bright light where a few moments ago there was nothing but blackness reaching out forever. He nods, willing to grasp at any straws he can get.

“Fine, then, listen up.” Vinnie outlines the plan, the thing that Tony must do in order to get back into the favor of the boss and then never, ever end up in this position again the rest of his life. By the time Vinnie stands up, snaps his fingers and is followed by the very large goon by the door out to the street, Tony’s face is white as buttermilk and he is trembling so slightly. If Vinnie would have showed him the photograph first, he may have just accepted the bullet for himself and been done with the whole thing.

—

The darkness is a truckload of stone upon his shoulders, a threat of suffocation every single time he draws a breath. His fingers quake around the Glock in his pocket. He considers whether anyone could hear the sound of it if he were not standing in this long alley. Rain has just begun drizzling on his head, it drips below the high collar of the trench coat he stole from the thrift shop about an hour ago. He tries hard not to feel the coldness of it against his overheated skin. He promises himself at that moment that he will never even so much as play Go Fish let alone blackjack every again.

There is a sudden movement at the end of the alleyway just as the heavy black sky is seared with a bolt of lightning. For an instant, Tony stands facing the second gunman whose photograph was shown to him yesterday. It is amazing that the bartering system is still alive and well. A life for a life. There are no words to say, then he is staring at the business end of a silver gun and desperately working the Glock from his pocket with shaking hands. Tony’s fingers have gone numb. He finally gets the weapon into position to actually use the damn thing but it is too late: the report of a gunshot fired in his direction bounces off the brick walls, muffled only by the sound of the run as it pelts him as he falls.

A man’s voice screams out “No!” and suddenly there are arms around him and a strangely familiar voice murmuring in his ear. He wants to say he is sorry, that the whole thing was just wrong and if he can just live he will try to be a better person, it’s not worth it it is not worth it…

And the voice hushes him, begs him to be quiet. There is the static crackle of a radio and the voice asking for assistance at the scene. Tony stills, allowing the man to help him, though he knows it’s too late. He has paid the price for his sins.

Tony feels liquid life rushing from his body as he looks up into brown eyes so much like his own; for an single instant he wonders when his big brother ever became so caring and then it is all over.