“You weren’t expecting this were you kid?” Daimiano said, staring at Joe with his steely grey eyes. The cigarette stub he had stepped on still had a an orange ember or two left on its tip, and smoke twirled up into the air like a pair of ballerina legs. Joe stared at the pretty dancing smoke, wishing himself out of that garage.
“Hey Kid! Answer me!” Daimiano yelled, and shifted his weight, crushing his foot deeper into Joe’s chest. The concrete felt smooth and cool under Joe’s shirt, and he thought about how nice and easy it would be to just give up, and go to sleep here, forever.
“God Damn it Joey! I’m only going to ask you one more time! Where the hell did you put that money?!”
For the first time in about ten minutes, Joe made eye contact with Daimiano AKA The Judge. They called him that because he always carried that crazy walking stick with a judge’s gavel on one end. Joe had been bracing himself for the moment when the wooden mallet would come smashing down on his fingers, or his balls. But so far the Judge hadn’t completely lost his temper, or so he had told Joe. Daimiano met his eyes, and Joe thought he caught a glimmer of sympathy floating around with the silvery flecks of his cornea.
"Come on Joe. We all want to go home here. Don't do this."
Joe knew there was no backing down, and tried to keeps his thoughts on Lucinda and the baby. They would be able to move away and start a new life. Joe felt a pinching sensation in his heart as he admitted to himself they might even be better off without him. It was for them that he was doing this. For them. If he just repeated that in his head over and over again, he wouldn’t feel so scared. Joe clenched his jaw, and braced himself for the worst. Staring back at The Judge, he said,
“I don’t know where the money is.”
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