Desperately seeking feedback

                This is the opening hook to my new novel Blood Oath. I am interested in any feedback you can give me.

                                                        Blood Oath

                                                 by Shawn P Mahoney

             The black sedan turned the corner and crept down the street.  Behind the wheel sat Maxmillian "Mad Max" DeSalvatore.  Max had just finished up a five year stint for armed robbery.  His passenger was Anthony "the Angel" Marchevecchio.  The two were made members of the Carlucci crime family.  It was three in the morning and German Town Avenue was dead.

              "I don't think this fuckin guy is out here." Max complained.

               "He's fuckin out here."

               "I don't think so, I think we're chasing our  dicks." Max bitched.

                "Forget about it. I'm telling you the mother fucker is out here." Anthony replied.

                 As they pulled up on Armat Street, a short white guy  with a slight hunch back turned the corner.

                 "That's him." Anthony said. "Didn't I tell you?"

                  The car glided to a stop athe curb. The passenger door swung open and the Angel slid out. "Hey you, junky." he called. "Come here."

                   Ryan Feldman stopped in his tracks. "you got the wrong guy mister." Looking back and forth between the car and the gangster. "I'm no junky."

                    "That's too bad." Anthony replied. "I was hoping you wanted to make twenty bucks."  He turned to get back in the car.

                    "Wait!" Ryan called. "What do I have to do?"

                    "We need you to deliver a package." He said holding open the back door.

                    "Twenty bucks to make a delivery?"  he asked. "I thought you wanted a blow job or something."

                     "Hey!" Anthony scolded. "Do we look like a couple of fagolas to you?"

                      "No sir." Ryan appologized and climbed into the car.

                       You couldn't blame him for thinking it was about sex.  Since his mother died of a heart attack, he had sucked more than his share of dick to feed himself and his habit.  The rest of his family had warned his codependant mother repeatedly to let him hit rock bottom.  She continued to make excuses for him until her dying day.  The family, tired of his lies  and sick of being robbed, cut him off.

                         He missed his boys the most, but they had a new daddy now, one with a job and a house.  Their new daddy  cared more about playing catch and building tree houses than chasing the dragon. Ryan knew he loved his kids, but he also knew he loved heroin more.  Just thinking about it was starting to make him sweat. He could really use the twenty.

                          "Hey pal," Anthony said. " You don't look so good. You gonna make it?"

                            
                            "I'm okay." helied, he needed a fix bad.

                             The car pulled on to the ramp for the Walt Whitman Bridge.

                             "Where are we going?" Ryan asked.

                              "Jersey." max repiled.

                               "Where's the package I'm supposed to deliver?"

                                Anthony leaned across the seat.  "It's in the trunk. You know you ask a lot of fuckin questions."

                                "I'm sorry." Ryan said. "I'm a little nervous.

                                "Forget about it." Anthony advised.  "Just a quick drop off and we'll have you back to shootin goo goo juice in no time."

                                The courier slumped back against the seat trying to think of something else. He was starting to itch like crazy.  All he wanted was to get this over with and get his medicine.  That's how Ryan thought of heroin. It stopped the itching, the cramps and most of all it stopped reality.  When he was high he was the king of the world, not some homeless loser who alienated everyone that ever cared about him.  That wasn't his fault, he was sick.  So he stole some things from them, that was the disease. Fuck them, they cared more about their stuff then they did about him.  If they wouldn't have left their things where he could get them he wouldn't have taken them. Even his mom knew that.

                                The ride suddenly shifted from smooth to bumpy. Ryan sat up and looked around. His heart was beating like a jack hammer. This was not right.

                                "What are we doing in a cemetary?" he asked.

                                 Anthony leaned back and smacked him in the mouth.  "Shut the fuck up!"

                                 Ryan coward in the back seat.  His lip was already starting to swell and blood was trickling from the corner of his mouth. "I'm sorry. Please,  I never did anything to you guys.  This is a mistake." he pled.

                                "I said shut the fuck up." the mobster roared.

                                The Lincoln stopped and the two criminals jumped out. Ryan found himself staring down the barrel of a nine millimeter.

                                 "Get out." Anthony demanded.

                                 "I'm sorry."  Ryan cried. "I swear this is a mistake. Don't shoot me."

                                  The Angel reached in and pulled the junky out of the vehicle.  "I said get the fuck out of the car."

                                   Ryan landed face first in the dirt sobbing. Max grabbed a hand full of his hair and yanked him up on to his knees. His cherekes were a muddy mess, covered in dirt and tears. The impact of Max's hand sent his head snapping back.

                                  "Act like a fucking man." Max commanded. "Stop crying like a fuckin bitch. You brought this shit on yourself."

                                  "How?" Ryan whimpered. "I don't even know you guys."

                                   "You know Vincent Carlucci?" Anthony asked.

                                   "The mob boss?" I never did anything to him."

                                    "Unfortunately for you." Mad Max advised. "The old lady that you stole the DVD player and TV from. is Mr Carlucci's aunt."

                                   This was not going well at all. Ryan scanned the area looking for an escape route. When his eyes reached his right side he saw the freshly dug grave.

                                  "Please," he begged. "I never stole any DVD player. I swear to God, you have the wrong guy." Please let me go."

                                   "You aint talkin your way out of this one." Anthony said. "Do you think we just grabbed some random junky?  We even know who you sold the shit to. It was that big mouthed mulian dealer from Kensington. What's his name Max?"

                                   "Eddie Jenkins." Max advised.

                                   The would be murder victim started wiping the tears from his face. "That's great." he replied. " All you have to do is ask Eddie. He'll tell you it wasn't me."

                                   "Do you really believe he'll tell us somebody else sold him the shit?" Max asked.

                                    "Yeah," Ryan said. "it's the truth."

                                     "Okay."Max said walking toward the car. "Let's ask him."  Ryan's heart sank as Max bent to unlock the trunk.  "Hey Mulian, the junky says it was somebody else that sold him that shit. Was it him or not? After about thirty seconds of silence. 'He ain't talkin. Maybe you should ask him yourself."

                                   Anthony grabbed Ryan's shirt and roughly pulled him to his feet. Almost instantly the stench hit him and he froze.  The Angel's hand slammed in to his back and he stumbled forward.  Ryan reached out and grabbed the edge of the trunk to keep from falling. He found himself staring into the dead eyes of his former dealer.

                                   The drug addict vomitted from the smell. The body must have laid in their trunk for two days baking. In the middle of the corpse's forehead was a small hole. Ryan knew it was the entrance wound and the back of Eddie's head would be gone.