Fulvio Castellano woke up early. Something told him to get out of his apartment, what, he wasn’t sure. It was just a feeling. He got cleaned up, not bothering to shave and grabbed his keys. On some instinct he decided to use some pillows to make his bed look like he was still in it. He even grabbed the Styrofoam manikin head with the wig on it that a former girlfriend left so it would look more lifelike. Good practice he thought. 

He took the elevator from his fourth floor apartment and walked from the building’s tiny lobby across the avenue to the coffee shop. He was their first customer of the day, but he cast wary glances around the shop anyway. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was amiss.

“Yeah, give me a double espresso and one of them bear claws,” he said to the girl behind the counter. He handed her a twenty-dollar bill. “Keep the change, doll.” He took a seat next to the window. He liked to watch the traffic go by. He took a bite of his pastry and a sip of coffee.  He could take his time. He wasn’t expected at the social club until noon.

Then he saw something peculiar. Two men got out of a car in front of his building. The third man, the driver, backed the car into a space behind the no parking sign. Fulvio felt a chill run up his spine all the way through the back of his head. He didn’t recognize the driver, but he knew the two men who entered his building. It was Nicky Baradoni and the jamoke, Petey Porcelli. The men were dressed identically. Black slacks, black sneakers and black leather jackets. He knew instantly why they were there.  

He went into a crouch, ducking behind the tiny table and chair where he was sitting. Not three minutes later, he saw several flashes coming from his bedroom window. There was no sound. Regardless, Fulvio flinched, knocking his coffee cup over. The only question now was how thorough the men would be. Considering it was Nicky and Petey the jamoke, he was pretty sure they wouldn’t take the time to make sure they got him. How many times had he told them they were lazy?

The two men came walking out of the building as the car rolled up. They actually squabbled a bit over who was going to ride in the front. Real pros, Fulvio thought. As soon as the car turned the corner, Fulvio ran across the avenue and back to his apartment. “The dopes didn’t even take the time to make sure there was blood,” he whispered to no one. Then he realized they would have hated the assignment. The three men came up together. Part of Dennis Florio’s crew, they all made their bones five years ago, during the same week.

The assignment to perform the hit on him, no doubt, was torture for these guys. Florio was testing their loyalty when he gave them the job. They would be watched closely for any signs of hesitation. Fulvio had to hurry now. He wondered how Florio caught on to his skimming the take from their loan shark operation. He grabbed a duffel bag and started packing. By the next morning, probably sooner, Florio would know that his buddies missed their target. A more experienced hitman would be dispatched to get the job done right.

Nicky and Petey would be in some trouble themselves for having botched the job. It would look suspicious, or perhaps worse, like they were too stupid for serious work and therefore condemned to be low level soldiers.          

He filled the duffel bag, packing only what he needed to get through the next week. He went to his kitchen pantry and pulled out a box of Wheaties. He carefully lifted the plastic bag that held the cereal. His emergency stash, $10,000 in hundred dollar bills, was resting on the bottom of the box.

He thought about his car, a new red Cadillac ATS. He decided to leave it in the lot behind his apartment. It could only cause him trouble. He would take the bus up to West Caldwell. A guy he went to high school with owned a 24 hour used car lot. Nobody would look for him there. By nightfall he would have a decent ride.

He stuck his cell phone memory card in his wallet and threw the phone on the bed. He activated one of the burner phones he had. He knew he had to take caution; that he wouldn’t be out of the woods until he was thousands of miles away. Sometimes, Florio personally checked on the quality of the work he ordered. He always said, “If they think I’m gonna inspect, they treat the jobs I give them with proper respect.”                    

Fulvio spent about twenty worrisome minutes carefully looking out his window, gun in hand, waiting for the bus to get close. As soon as he saw it was a couple of blocks away, he grabbed his bag and raced down the stairs. He stood in the vestibule until the bus approached. Trying to look casual, he walked to the stop and climbed aboard just in time. He paid his fare and took a seat near the front of the bus. Finally, he could breathe. He closed his eyes. He thought about where he would go. Somewhere down south maybe. His life of crime was over. A new life in a better place awaited.

The bus started to roll, then stopped; another passenger. When he saw him climb aboard, Fulvio knew his new life would be a short one. Dennis Florio paid his fare and smiled at him. “We’ll get off at the next stop. Leave your bag here. You won’t need it.”