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SAM COULD HARDLY REMEMBER the last time he went to the art gallery, much less having a shootout in one, but life has a very funny way of doing things and here he was, caught up in the joke.
Except he wasn't laughing. Laughing to Sam meant slinging an arm around Tom's shoulder, eyes crinkling at the sides and his mouth stretching from end-to-end as he leaned forward slightly, letting out his amusement at one of Paulie's dumb ol' stories that he's heard many times but was still, surprisingly enough, just as funny as the first time. Paulie was not so great at many things but Sam could count a few things Paulie was exceptionally good at with three fingers: he was a damn good storyteller, a damn good brawler and he could brew a really delicious coffee.
He's not around anymore though. Sam was responsible for that.
A day before...
Rain was the last thing Sam expected as he climbed back into his car parked in front of an apartment building. There were too many things running around in his head and the chance of rain was not among them. The gun was still hot in his hand and his heart was thumping violently in his chest but nothing was more violent than the act of killing your own best friend.
Life before the family was meaningless to Sam. It was poverty, hunger and abuse. It was stealing produce from the greengrocer and picking cigarettes and wallets from people's pockets. Sometimes it was also fights with other boys who barked more than they could bite and searching for a decent place to sleep when all's said and done. By the time he grew up, it was apparent to him that he couldn't continue living like that. On the day he became a made man and swore fealty to Don Salieri, those bygone days were already long forgotten.
Sam's life began with the family. He doesn't know any other kind.
Paulie joined in the ranks a couple of months after Sam did. He was all gung-ho, the “always-ready-to-rumble” type. The kind of guy who would act first before thinking—the exact opposite of Sam. That’s probably why they complemented each other perfectly.
Carrying out jobs with Paulie was quick, easy and efficient. Nine times out of ten, things would go smoothly and if it doesn’t, well, they could handle anything thrown at them just fine.
Fistfights? Paulie could whack anybody upside down anytime, anyday. Guy won’t pay up the money he owes? Sam’s got a way with words that will make the guy surrender every single valuable asset he owns. Car chases? So long as Sam isn’t behind the wheel, they’ll come out just fine with a couple of bruises and scrapes. A booze run goes south? Nothing a few bullets can’t fix. Gunfights? All in a day’s work.
But those were the busy days. Slow days had Paulie and Sam sitting in the bar, knocking back a few rounds together and Paulie telling tall tales again. Sometimes they would go out back and find the other guys roughhousing and making their own little wrestling ring. Paulie’s loud cheers and hollers could be heard all over town as Vinny easily picked Little Tony up and slammed him into the ground.
Slow days got them talking. When noon approached and the clouds moved lazily in the sky, Sam would be sitting in a booth, leaning back comfortably with Paulie across him. The latter did most of the talking — his eyes looking out the window, watching the cars zoom by, making a little game out of guessing what the passersby worked as by the way they dressed and occasionally turning his head to make eye contact with Sam as he emphasised on an important point in his sentence.
Sam noticed it was a little habit of his. As the days turned to weeks, and weeks turn to months and years, Sam’s awareness of Paulie’s habits grew exceptionally.
Paulie took his coffee with equal amounts sugar and milk. He fidgets with the sleeves of his jacket when he’s nervous and he likes to flick at the brim of his hat with a finger when he makes a smart comment. The last one happens to piss Sam off, especially when the smart comment was directed at him, and he’s one hundred per cent sure Paulie does it just to spite him.
It was difficult to not notice the things Paulie does. They were paired together more often than they were not. Paulie’s face and voice are familiar. He’s family, after all.
Which is why Sam’s heart ached — truly, painfully ached. The image of Paulie lying face down on the floor, bleeding out on the carpet with a gunshot wound visible in his forehead was burned into Sam’s memory. The way his body slumped over the hallway, completely devoid of life when just last week he was all smiles and laughter. Death looked different on Paulie — it looked odd, strange, out of place — as though it was against the very laws of nature for him to die.
At least Sam didn’t see Paulie’s face before he pulled the trigger.
With the rain pelting hard on the body of his car, so too came the tears — hot, angry and very much filled with misery.
He had to do it. There was no other choice.
He blamed Paulie — who else was there to blame but him anyway? It wasn’t Sam’s fault the man decided to plot a stupid scheme of robbing a bank. It wasn’t his fault that Paulie somehow managed to loop Tom into it too. No, Sam had made his point of view about the idea clear as he sat in the backseat of the car.
It was inevitable that the Don would find out and oh boy, he wouldn’t take it lightly. Two of his best men going behind his back — he’d lose his head.
And lost his head he did.
It was all Paulie’s fault that Sam was stuck in this position, wasn’t it? Having to choose between his friends and his boss was killing him and tearing him apart within. The Don was kind enough to take him in and provide him with a livelihood and a family all those years ago. The least Sam could do in return was remain loyal and stick by the Don no matter what.
(But was killing his best friend worth it?)
Gritting his teeth, Sam pulled away from the apartment and drove down the streets under the heavy rain. What’s done is done.
Onto the next.
Present day...
Bowties were exclusively for funerals. He wore it to Frank and his family’s — there weren’t any bodies in the caskets but he didn’t know it at the time — and he was wearing it now as he’s slumped against the marble railing, suit soaked through with his own blood, the sunlight breaking through the vaulted ceiling of the city gallery decorated with mosaic and stained glass washing over him.
And standing right before him was the great politician killer and bank robber Thomas Angelo with the barrel of a gun pointed right at Sam’s chest.
Tom - so reliable, so professional, so by-the-book. He climbed up the ranks in only a couple of years since Sam and Paulie vouched for him. He did every job given to him to the letter and if things went south, he cleaned everything up and nothing was traced back to him or the family. All his tracks were covered up well — so well that nobody found out that he left Frank alive instead of putting a bullet through his head until years after. When Sam learned the truth, it didn’t shock him as it did to the Don. After all, Tom did spare Michelle at his request. Well, it’s not like the Don will ever know the reason behind Tom letting the whore live.
For a while, Sam could already guess that Paulie was growing tired of the life but he didn’t realise Tom was feeling the same way. But he supposes it was inevitable anyway. The guy’s got a wife and daughter now — they’ve become his top priority. Even now as he bore down on Sam menacingly, he’s probably cooking up a plan in his head to get the money and his girls out of town safely.
Where did everything go wrong?
Life was perfect and smooth for Sam. He was perfectly satisfied and content with his position in the family and the jobs he had to do. He liked partnering with Paulie and enjoyed the moments where he paid a visit to the girls at the Corleone Hotel. The races were fun too and the money he earned was even better. He wouldn’t trade it all for anything in the world. So when did everything start going downhill?
Was it when Tom unloaded an entire magazine of .45’s into Morello’s body with a Thompson? Or was it when Morello sent his hatchet men to shoot up Pepe’s restaurant as Salieri was dining in? Maybe it was when Paulie started thinking about robbing banks — or when he, Tom and Sam found out about the dope in the cigar crates when there should have been diamonds like Salieri said.
No. Everything started going to hell the moment Paulie and Sam climbed into Tom’s cab to escape Morello’s goons. They couldn’t see it then, but Sam saw it all so clearly now.
The gears were already turning that night in 1930. Their fates were written down and the clock had started ticking.
Sam’s own time was running out. He could barely move, his breathing was ragged and he could feel the blood seeping through his fingers. Even with all that fury and sorrow building up within Tom, he was still a good shot — clipped Sam right in the abdomen and goddamn, it hurts like hell — just like that time at the farm.
Five years ago, Sam was sitting in the back of a truck — mouth dry, a bullet lodged somewhere in his body, vision all blurry but the only thing — or person — that was clear as day to him was Tom and his worried and distressed expression. His hair was all disheveled which was rather unusual to see since he was always the neat and tidy kind and his voice was shaky and filled with concerned. Now, the situation was entirely different. Tom no longer cared about the man in front of him. Sam’s life was in Tom’s hands.
As he tried in a futile attempt to beg for his life, Sam was completely aware of how big of a hypocrite he was in that moment. He had mocked Tom for keeping Frank and the whore alive but here he was, trying to pry some sympathy out of Tom so that he too could be spared. He briefly wondered how Michelle had looked back then when Tom forced her to skip town. She’s in the past though, and if there’s two things Sam made clear to himself about the life, it’s to not think about anything and to not dwell too long in the past.
The former, though, was now a bit difficult to follow. Years he spent burying every memory of his life before the family, every emotion, every single thing that ever bothered him in the dirt. He was well aware of his reputation of being ruthless, reserved and remorseless and he was somewhat proud of it even though he never showed it. In fact, he never showed much of himself to anybody. Maybe he supplied a little to Paulie and Tom but those were only fleeting remarks he was sure they would forget about.
So why was he choking up now?
Since when does a man wanted for murder, conspiracy and racketeering cower in the face of death when he’s been staring straight at the grim reaper every single time he goes out and does a job for the Don for over a decade?
He doesn’t want to die, not when he’s already climbed up the ladder so high to be next to the Don’s side. The thought of his life ending right here in the art gallery was sending him over the edge. He doesn’t want to go — it can’t be his turn to go. He must still have some time on the clock left, right? Right?
He can’t even defend himself anymore. His body felt so heavy and his gun had spun all the way to the corner of the room when the bullet hit him square in the abdomen and he fell. In all his life, he had never felt so helpless, so defenseless, so cowardly as he does right now.
How could Tom look at him with those harsh, unkind eyes when Sam was also apart of the same family?
Oh, wait. That’s not entirely true.
Tom has his own family now — a loving wife and daughter — and Sam was never apart of any of it.
As Tom pulled the trigger and the bullet zipped through Sam’s chest, a final memory cropped up in his head just as he slipped into eternal unconsciousness.
A memory of him, Tom and Paulie sitting in the meeting room in the back of the bar, playing cards in their hands, a stack of chips and a pile of money in the middle of the table. The door opens, and Salieri walks in with Frank following behind. The game doesn’t stop though, and the Don watched in amusement as Paulie was bled dry of his money and collapsed into his seat, defeated. Through the window, in the billiard room, there was Sarah bringing in a tray with two cups of coffee to Carlo and Vinny who were setting up the billiard table for a game. Luigi appears in the doorway, calling for his daughter and Sarah says something over her shoulder. And as she was about to leave the room, Ralph enters, wiping his hands with a rag and the two have a short conversation which leaves the mechanic smiling.
If he could smile, he would but life was already leaving his body and his vision was fading.
Well, at least he could see Paulie again.