The Capozzi Family: Joey #1

The mole jerks against the kitchenette, one hand braced on the counter, the other trapped by Joey's pressure. His breath comes short and ragged. Vicky stays at the door, Tommy by the window, both of them watching for a lie as much as a getaway.

The mole swallows hard. His eyes flick to the open apartment door, then back to Joey, searching for mercy and finding none.

Tommy lifts the phone from the floor with two fingers, glancing at the screen like it might answer for him. The room goes still around the tiny, ugly buzz of a dead line.

The mole flinches at the word, then shakes his head once, small and miserable.

Tommy lowers the phone a little, the screen dark in his grip. The apartment feels smaller with that answer hanging in it.

Joey tightens his hold just enough to make the point, and the mole’s breath catches hard in his throat.

Tommy’s phone slips in his grip and thumps softly against his palm, the screen glowing once before dimming again.

The mole swallows and looks from Joey to the open doorway, waiting for the next question while the smell of spilled dust and old fryer grease hangs in the cramped room.

Joey’s shirt front bulges and tears open as a massive, tooth-lined maw forces its way through his chest and stomach, snapping wide toward the mole. The room jerks back from the shock of it.

The mole slams harder against the counter, eyes blown wide, but the mouth does not close around him. It hangs there wrong and impossible, exposed and uncontrolled, more threat than grip.

Vicky recoils a step, staring at Joey’s ruptured shirt and the snapping maw, her guard slipping into alarm. Tommy lowers his phone by reflex, his attention caught off the screen and back on the thing in front of him.

The failed lunge leaves the mole no longer just frightened, but fixed on the opening in Joey’s torso, like he has seen enough to understand this is not a bluff. The pressure in the room changes, and the next move is no longer simple restraint.

Joey drives the maw in again, and this time it bites down deep. The mole’s body jerks hard against the counter, his knees buckling under the force.

A choked sound cuts off as Joey keeps pulling. The man’s fingers claw at nothing, then slip, and his weight starts to go dead in Joey’s grip.

The maw tears through the struggle and the mole goes limp, his head lolling toward the floor. The kitchen goes still except for Joey’s ragged breathing and the hum of the apartment’s failing light.

The counter edge is smeared, the tipped lamp throwing a weak, tilted glow over the aftermath. Tommy stares over the phone in his hand, and Vicky has gone pale at the doorway.

Joey lets the maw fold shut against his torn shirt, the teeth disappearing as his chest settles back into stillness. The room holds its breath with him.

A low chuckle leaves Joey anyway, rough and dismissive, aimed at the dead man more than anyone else in the apartment.

Joey turns from the kitchenette and steps over the dead man without looking down again. The torn shirt hangs open as he heads for the door.

Tommy lowers the phone and glances from the body to Joey, then to the hallway beyond the apartment.

Vicky swallows, shifts back from the doorframe, and gives Joey room to pass. The weak lamp throws his shadow long across the floor as the apartment door opens to the hall.