The sand is hot against my knee as I stagger. My hand steadies me vanishing somewhat beneath the outer layer of the desert. My skin ignites with UV fire. My dry lips sting with the air passing between them.
Flimsily I stand back to my feet. I falter my body wavering, my head light. The phantom of that last supper before I ventured out from home torment me at the edges of my viewpoints. My mom's face viewing at me as she holds the plate of cannoli floats like a phantom to me.
"I won't make it, Mama." My voice is rough and unrecognizable. She doesn't hear me. Obviously, she doesn't. She's back in Brooklyn gloating about her Jimmy who went out west to make his fortune.
The blood next to me drenching my shirt is wet and tacky. An immaterial voice floats across the nobleman ocean of intensity loosening up toward each path.
"We should take a ride."
"Where we going, Capo." The long dark Cadillac loosens up before me. Salvator Giacoma holds the traveler entryway of the Car Deville open. My heart starts to race under my ribs. Wear Johnny Mirabelli grins at me from the driver's seat.
"I was simply telling Sal, we never made Jimmy the Bison an individual from the family. I believe it's time we revised our misstep." He movements to me with a rush of his huge hand. "Get in we can examine the subtleties on the way." Venturing forward I hear a murmur toward the rear of my head telling me not to go. Be that as it may, this isn't a greeting.
My eyes squint against the torching yellow circle bearing on me. The perspiration that moved down my face in consistent streams when I initially began has dried to the remaining parts of dried streams that have gone excessively lengthy without water.
I realize I'm dried out. I realize my reasoning isn't clear. Not too far off I see shapes I believe are structures, yet they could be hallucinations. Desert springs with gambling clubs and working young ladies rather than water and trees.
My hands pull my shirt from my jeans, and I wonder briefly where my suit coat has gone. Then, at that point, I recall that I left it on the sand some place in my thought process are miles of strides behind me. Thinking back, I realize in this Mojave heat time eases back and my coat could be simply past the last rise I peaked. My Giuseppe Zanotti loafers occupy once again with desert sand and I shake them from my feet. The glow of the sand leaks through my dark dress socks when I press them down and make my most memorable strides without the shoes.
"Jimmy?" Her delicate voice poses an inquiry with my name as yet curious as to whether I'm here. For a beat, I keep silent and she calls out to me once more.
"Jimmy?" Turning the switch on the light next to me, I watch as the light washes her Jessica Bunny figure. Carla Mirabelli, the taboo natural product I have pined for starting from whenever I first saw her.
"Mio Bella." She grins her little grin that lights up her entire face. Indeed, even with the heaviness of what I should impart to her pushing down on me, I need just to kiss her like I have nothing else to do.
"Jimmy, why are you sitting here in the dark?" Her eyes glisten from tears, she's already cried. Carla's a smart girl. She's Johhny Mirabelli's daughter and she inherited his savvy. I pat the seat beside me, and she comes over. Her perfume fills the air and it's everything I can do not to lean back against the cushions, pull her on top of me, and let the rest of the world slip away. Because I would give anything to get lost one more time in her touch. With a heavy breath, I take her hands in mine and stare into her Sicilian blue eyes.
"I have to talk to you, amore mio." A tear slips from her eye falling slowly down her cheek and I know she knows our worst fears have finally come true.