Chapter Text
The stale evening air of the dark, unfrequented street did little to cool them down on their run. At least, ‘run’ is what they would’ve described it as upon questioning; ‘chase’ was the more accurate word. It resorted to this after their warnings to the debtor clearly didn’t get through. And you’d swear this man was so skittish that he’d evaded the pipe bomb they put in his mailbox a few weeks prior because he ran from the innocent mailman.
Originally, this was just supposed to be Soldier’s last task of the day. But Mafioso had recalled Consigliere from an intel gathering, Contractee was just bored, and Caporegime for some reason didn't want to be the only one in Mafioso's company. so they’d all come together to make quicker, simpler work.
Oh how not-quicker and DEFINITELY not simpler it was, even with their expertise.
They’d gone so far from the car by now– or just in circles, who could tell. At least the debtor had made the mistake of running into a relatively unpopulated area (let's face it, abandoned) past dusk. Nobody was around to see him being bounded after by the group of rabbit-hybrids, and anyone who was would very wisely close their blinds and mind their own damn business.
They were all panting at this point. A little concerning, honestly; it had only been a dozen or so blocks. Caporegime had taken note of that. Future improvements to be made in training.
Contractee was starting to get an obvious lead on the others. Yes, he would brag about that later, and yes, he’d get shut down instantly. Something something about “the perks of youth”. And yet, while handling the long distance a bit better, he still found it in him to make a complaint, specifically about the nature of this collection. “I prefer the ones-” He huffed, losing his footing for a second and nearly stumbling. Soldier laughed at him a few paces behind. “I prefer the debtors that fawn, I think.”
“Oh, don’t we all, Lucian.” Despite jogging, Consigliere’s voice was without wave. “Also, you’re getting too far ahead.”
Contractee made that stupid giddy giggle he always did when he was about to say something he shouldn't. It was a bit breathless this time, though. “Maybe you just need to catch up, Vinny.”
“Watch it.”
Soldier shook his head aggressively to get his scarred ears out of his face, which had lopped over from fatigue. “Whatever this guy wanted all that money for, shoulda scratched that. Become– like– a fitness coaching business, or something,” he wheezed again, head down now. “Porca miseria, how many more blocks is this guy gonna run–”
Caporegime, who had been silent the entire time, called out as he looked up ahead. “Eyes up, he just went into a building.”
Contractee snapped back to proper attention and squinted, view bobbing up and down as they approached the zone. His face, already a little strained from the exercise, suddenly tinted with mild distaste. “Aueghhh. That’s that one abandoned place around here. Got a crap ton of forgotten construction and graffiti and shit.”
His comment earned him an incredulous chuckle from Consigliere, who was now trying harder to catch up after the hit to his ego. “How do you know that? You been in there?”
Trying to take it back, Contractee muttered something vague. “MMaybe. You- you don’t need to know.”
The tophat goon nudged him mid-stride. “You do vandalism in your ‘youth’, Lucian?”
Contractee tilted his head back and closed his eyes for a few paces, sucking in air as he spoke. “Mann— give me a break, Vinny.”
When they finally got to the entryway doors.. Er.. lack thereof, a quick peek inside gave them no information on where the debtor went. It was two dark floors of something like a parking garage, since there were few walls other than the perimeter. Not that much material other than concrete and the occasional wooden boards lying around, either. There were no working lights in there as far as they could see, and it didn’t help that the sun was setting, dimming what was still illuminated further. Half-finished insulation lined some of the exterior walls.
It wasn't a safe vibe. Let’s just say that sketchy people could recognize a sketchy place: They were all thinking it, then Caporegime voiced it. “... Let’s be done here as soon as possible.” He took his shades off, because here they just made it worse to see.
Soldier peered into the dark. “Don’t see any other light on this floor, so. Unless this guy is willing to jump out of a second story,”
“—If this place even has windows..” Caporegime tucked his shades into his black uniform vest.
“Exactly. I think this is prolly’ the only entrance and exit.”
“Great! So he cornered himself. Che idiota.” Consigliere mocked, a little louder so perhaps it could reach their target's ears. “Well. Nicky, you stay here to make sure he doesn’t backtrack, and.. we’ll go find the debtor!” He announced, taking the lead.
“Awh come on Vinny, why do I have to stay alone–” Soldier complained.
“You big baby. It’ll take like fifteen minutes, max.” Contractee said, giving him a playful look.
“This was supposed to be my hit though–?”
“Yeah, n’ now it's not. It’s getting darker, roll with it.”
“... Fine. Just, hurry up. Don is gonna be so disappointed if we all teamed up for this and still come back late for dinner.”
Contractee made the ‘ok’ gesture with his hand.
Even around just one wall, they could no longer see any natural light coming in from the doorway. Caporegime fished into his pocket for a keychain flashlight and turned it on as they walked farther into the tenebrous environment. Because of course he’d have one when they needed it.
“Savior as always, Enzo.” Consigliere praised, ears suddenly radaring. He held a gloved hand up for a halt, pausing for a moment. A distant, very faint shuffle could be heard. “... Our guy's upstairs. Look for a stairwell.”
After going up a rickety set of stairs and closing in space with a cornering maneuver, they caught the debtor in a disrepaired wooden nook. The man pleaded, like they all do.
Who was he? That doesn't matter to this narrative. Only his crimes, and how utterly disrespectful he came off. In fact, his first (and rather audacious) words were “I just need another month, please.”
The three men in uniform looked at each other. Consigliere moved to block any exit.
“Always demanding so much… ‘just another month, just another G, just another!’ You’ve been on our list for how long? Two years? You were about to be off it, too, till you, what, gambled allat away?” Contractee said, recalling the last excuse the man gave as he kicked him to the floor.
“Not even at our casino, what a disappointment.” Caporegime added, cracking his knuckles and crossing his arms.
“No– no, I just needed more money for my start up business, the loan wasn't-!”
Imagine the last thing you hear and see are three men mocking you as they close in on you in the dark, something about a gambling entrepreneur. Even though only one of them had brought a weapon, work got done.
Contractee pulled off his soiled gloves after they descended the same stairwell from before. He sneezed as a bit of dust sprinkled from the ceiling onto him, rubbing his face with the back of his wrist. “eughf. Surprised we didn’t see any squatters. Seems like the type of place for them.”
“Well, we found a guy that was probably gonna become one.” Caporegime pointed out, one hand beaming the flashlight out in front of them.
Contractee snorted. “He was kinda pathetic. Maybe we did him a favor then.”
“Hff- alright, alright. Pay attention, we're not out of here ye–”
Consigliere yelped. It was a loud, pained and completely uncharacteristic noise that echoed on the concrete walls, along with the accidental scuff of one of his boots on the floor. He’d been in the front, leading in confident, careful strides as typical, and then that awful sound led into a rather clumsy stumble backward. He came to a halt and lifted his right foot off the ground.
… Anyone who had worked with him knew full well this man wouldn’t even give a flinch at any less than a gash. So this was a bit concerning.
“Woah, woah. Vinny, you okay!?” Contractee came to steady Consigliere by his shoulders after the unbalanced backstep.
Mafioso’s right-hand was silent, the small circle of light now shining on his backside as Caporegime calmly directed his attention. He stood shocked, motionless and silent, like he was still trying to figure out what happened seconds later. An initial deep sting, then throbbing, layered with an intense burning sensation.
“Vincent?” Contractee nervously called out again, definitely worried now if he wasn’t before. Caporegime tilted his wrist down and around with the flashlight, looking for the problem.
… It didn't take long to find, since Consigliere had picked up his foot like an injured animal. There was a bent, rusty screw impaled through his boot, which had evidently also gone right into his foot. The lighting shook, just a bit. Barely noticeable. “Figlio di puttana,” Caporegime muttered, kneeling and holding Consigliere's foot just above his ankle. “The old construction shit. Did it go all the way through your foot?”
“What did what-?” Contractee leaned over, and then audibly gagged. There was no blood visible through the confines of the right-hand’s footwear, but there was something different about seeing a long piece of metal out of place like that. Especially when it was in your friend’s flesh.
Consigliere finally got a hold of himself, shaking his head. “Don’t be too dramatic, you’re not the one who got impaled.” He took a deep breath. “No, it didn’t go all the way through.” He couldn’t see it, but he could feel just as much. In 4k, even, now that the initial shock was nearly over. It had to have gone in at an angle, maybe an inch and a half up his heel. He bared his teeth. Just another injury, nothing new. “It’s alright, I can wa–” His entire, and I mean his entire body disagreed with him when he tried to place his right foot in front of him. He couldn’t even fully set his toes down before a deep, burning zing shot all the way up his spine, making his eyes water and his fists clench. The only confidence he held now was the adrenaline, which he figured would be wearing off in the next few minutes. He trembled a little on one foot, repeating himself even though it was a complete lie at this point. “I can walk…”
“... Right.” Caporegime skepticized flatly, still kneeling on the floor. “So, scale one to ten–”
“Eight. And a half.”
A suffering sigh came from the oldest. And yet, he spoke without question. “Contractee, hold the flashlight please.”
“So much for ‘fifteen minutes’, the hell took you guys so lo- Vinny-?”
“Yeah yeah, I’m-” He sucked through his teeth, reconsidering. Consigliere was, with a firm hand behind his back and an arm under his knees, being bridal carried by Caporegime. “You know what, I’m not even going to try.”
“There’s a nail through his foot,” Contractee pointed, bluntly. He used his thumb to click off the mini flashlight as they stepped out into the moonlight.
“You know, when you say it out loud it sounds worse. Also, it’s a screw, not a nail.” He corrected, teeth gritted.
That got the youngest riled up even more. He spoke in a whisper-yell, mindful of how late it was now. Even though there was probably nobody to hear. “Vincent, it is terrible no matter how I communicate it, there is a screw through your-”
“–okay, okay!” Consigliere didn’t quite feel the need to be reminded, the rusty metal inside his paw was already pulsing with every heartbeat. It was a sensitive part of the rabbit hybrid, that much he was starkly aware of. He twitched uncomfortably, and his head tipped back with blurred eyes. Sometimes he hated the meticulous person inside him, the one that wouldn't let him pay attention to anything else except the count of each throb, the imminent several step process of extracting the deeply piercing object, removing debris, cleaning the wound,–
“Vincenzo.” Caporegime intentionally jostled him where the hand behind his back was. “No tapping out right now.” Consigliere hadn’t realized his head tilt had turned into a loll. He’d mostly just zoned out, but he could see the reason for concern.
He startled a bit more than the jostle called for, responding back nonetheless. “Hahaa, nope. All good.” He forced a vibrationless laugh, hoping it would ease himself, or at least them. It did neither.
“You’d better be. Luciano–?”
“We can take an alleyway cut back to the car.” Contractee responded before he could finish, eyes down on his phone with a map open.
“Woww, you're surprisingly on top of that.” Soldier nudged him, poking his cheek.
“Wh- I- I can be reliable when it matters!”
“Yeahh, when it comes to Ribbons, of course you can–”
The noncontributory bickering grated on Consigliere’s ears. Caporegime wordlessly adjusted the position he held in his arms, and that was how the tophat rabbit realized his nails were digging into the poor man’s shoulders. And yet, not a single complaint. Only a mildly impatient order. “Contractee. Lead the way please.”
Contractee jumped, nervously laughing and pointing. “Right, yeah, across the street, through there.”
Thankfully the walk wasn’t too long. They really had run in one large semi circle. Or, semi square. Consigliere tried not to shift around too much, but the adrenaline was starting to wear off and the pain was growing increasingly unbearable. Once they got to the car, Soldier opened the passenger door.
Caporegime placed Consigliere on the seat like a child, and proceeded to make eye contact with him as he put his seatbelt on for him. The partially irritated (embarassed, really) stare he got back was quite telling, but the older couldn’t give less of a fuck.
There was the sound of three more car doors opening and closing, and soon enough Capo was pulling out of the dark parking space, gripping the wheel a bit tighter than normal. Those little signs of stress even showed through him. “Somebody call Don to request the doc in.”
“Innit just a screw?” Soldier cut in, taking out his burner nonetheless.
Consigliere frustratedly slumped his head back against the headrest, the sound making a dull thump. The words ‘Fucking idiot’ came to his tongue; what he actually said was much milder. Not his glare though, that stayed sharp. Sharp as the metal threads of the mechanical fastener in his foot. Which hurt like a bitch by the way, they were tearing him up with every little movement. “Sure it's not a gunshot puncture, but it's still a puncture so it's a bit more serious than it looks, Nick. Not to mention,” He bit his lip, stifling a noise when his foot accidentally tapped against the floor of the vehicle during a turn. Getting worse. “Not to mention the infection risk,” he explained, barely holding onto a steady voice now.
Soldier nodded like he understood and dialed their boss. He saw the distressed look on Consigliere’s face as a warning sign, but unfortunately didn't take enough of the hint. Cause’ he made the mistake of trying to lighten things up a few seconds later. “Oh, I know that look. Ribbons ain’t up to date on his Tetanus shot, that’s what it i–”
“Fucking Zip. It, Soldier!” Consigliere lost it, raising his voice and snapping at him. Suddenly everyone’s posture snapped straight, like it always did when a certain someone got mad in a rare occurrence. When Mafioso picked up the phone, Soldier notified him about the situation and then hung up. And after that, there wasn’t another word in that dark car ride. Not when Consigliere made strained whines, not when he smacked the dashboard at particularly bad spikes, and definitely not when his breathing started to make audible wet hitches.
By the time they were close to getting back, their injured person was starting to get a little out of it. Their flamboyant casino lights shone through the tinted windows, coming and going as the car circled around to the back of the property. That was where there was access to the residential part. The gate opened for them.
Contractee nervously unreeled his seatbelt to give himself extra slack, leaning over the back of the front seat to look at Consigliere. “... Enzo, isn't it bad that he's..?”
“Spacing out? I'm sure he'll be brought back when that thing has to be taken out of his foot.” Caporegime responded, words blunt and eyes locked forward. However, his tone held the ghost of empathy you'd recognize if you knew him enough.
The right-hand was slipping from the adrenaline crash as they pulled in. And by slipping, I mean both down the seat, and out of consciousness. Contractee, still leaning over, reached to gently snatch his white top hat by the ribbon before it could fall underneath the glovebox. Caporegime turned and pulled the key out of the ignition.
“Contractee, go run in and let them know we’re here. Soldier, hold the door for me.”
Their family doctor, with a name probably Mafioso only knew, was a respected but also mostly unknown person to their group. But they should probably be grateful for that. At first a reluctant man forced into dark hands after a couple messy hospital-incidents-turned-lawsuits, over time became a more trusted person. They, in fact, had a few people in distant reach trustworthy for situations of medical need, especially for their similarly distant associates. But more commonly, it had been Consigliere doing the basics and stitches for the others. Which of course posed a problem now.
It was also clear this doctor didn't exactly want to be here, but with Mafioso's glaring presence by his side when the boys brought Consigliere in, it looked like his destiny was to suck it up.