Sal’s face had softened, and he’d asked nicely, “What’s your name, kid?”
“Steven,” Shadow had lied. It was the first rule he had learned: never reveal your name. “Shadow” had come later, once he was a full-fledged member of the club.
“What’s your real name, kid?” Sal had asked again.
“My name is Steven,” Shadow had replied a little more firmly, and Sal had chuckled.
“All right, all right. You’ll tell me in your own time. Now, tell me more about what Reaper told you about me and this ‘job’ you’re on.” Sal had smiled at him.
From that moment on, Sal had treated Shadow like a son and friend, often giving him pieces of advice, letting him borrow some of his favorite guns, and introducing him to his alarmingly extroverted wife, Lorena, who, just like Sal, treated Shadow like her own son. Every time he was in the States, Shadow would make it a point to stop by and see Sal and Lorena, even if he wasn’t on a job.
Shadow was startled out of his memory as Sal shuffled out of the back room and around the counter.
“Will this do?” Sal asked, and Shadow’s eyes gleamed at the sight of the most beautiful rifle he had ever seen.
“Perfectly.”
Later that night, lying in his comfortable hotel bed and stuffed with homemade ziti and tiramisu, Shadow dreamed about all the money he was about to receive and, though he didn’t remember the next morning, a pair of almond-shaped blue-violet eyes floated into his dreams.
Also by Jamie Begley
“Steven,” Shadow had lied. It was the first rule he had learned: never reveal your name. “Shadow” had come later, once he was a full-fledged member of the club.
“What’s your real name, kid?” Sal had asked again.
“My name is Steven,” Shadow had replied a little more firmly, and Sal had chuckled.
“All right, all right. You’ll tell me in your own time. Now, tell me more about what Reaper told you about me and this ‘job’ you’re on.” Sal had smiled at him.
From that moment on, Sal had treated Shadow like a son and friend, often giving him pieces of advice, letting him borrow some of his favorite guns, and introducing him to his alarmingly extroverted wife, Lorena, who, just like Sal, treated Shadow like her own son. Every time he was in the States, Shadow would make it a point to stop by and see Sal and Lorena, even if he wasn’t on a job.
Shadow was startled out of his memory as Sal shuffled out of the back room and around the counter.
“Will this do?” Sal asked, and Shadow’s eyes gleamed at the sight of the most beautiful rifle he had ever seen.
“Perfectly.”
Later that night, lying in his comfortable hotel bed and stuffed with homemade ziti and tiramisu, Shadow dreamed about all the money he was about to receive and, though he didn’t remember the next morning, a pair of almond-shaped blue-violet eyes floated into his dreams.
Also by Jamie Begley
