Maintaining a crumbling faction is grunt work, and beneath a Capi di Capi, standing, this is Ernesto's claim. However, we all know the facts, this is his penalty. The Committee Nonno has served loyally for more than half of his life places blame in his lap, completely disregarding any part they clearly held.
The Illyrian's cease-fire agreement ultimate outcome resulted in the siege on the Port of New York and New Jersey. That agreement was singularly conceived by the Committee. Plain and simple. This rests heavily on Ernesto's shoulders since his family especially his sons paid the too heavy price. What is left, is a man who needs to redeem, the solidarity and faith, he gambled away from this wayward family.
In some ways, Ernesto is in my pocket, similar to the government factions. I am both hero and villain—capable of fostering peace but destined to initiate cataclysmic conflict.
It is time to separate the wheat from the tare.
When enemy and foe are indistinguishable, this is difficult. Some look like me, we are related… by blood… others by an oath, dangerous and dead, nonetheless.
At this time, longtime enemies need to become allies if we are to eradicate what has festered and occupied what is by right ours, New York City.
Both Ernesto and the government fear my methods will emerge as a declaration of war, creating fervor in old enemies, and raising new enemies. My elevation will guarantee my spot as the villain to overcome. This fact is not lost on me and in this case, they, my enemies old and new are accurate. However, by the time they wait for a declaration, it'll be too late.
Torro, Ernesto's only remaining son, living on the East Coast, lacks drive and is, therefore, a disappointment, to his father, he opens the meeting.
"Everyone, a pleasure to hear from you." He lists off attendees and roll calls. "We are all in attendance."
East coast Garko, Ernesto, West Coast Garko.
"Extraordinary to hear from the dead," my uncle Solomon says. Is he genuine, doesn't matter?
"Thanks, I'm sure you're all as pleased to hear from me as I'm to be talking to you." Laughs I need sound off, over my bullshit platitude.
"Gentlemen let's begin with what we know about the multiple families which make up the Illyrian." Kudo's to Torro's attempt to lead the conversation where it need be, but I doubt if this will be effective. There are some pissed off Garko's in this meeting. I'm going to sit back and wait for one of them to blow.
West Coast Garko speaks first,
"We were betrayed by our own, first of all. How about we discuss that motherfucking catastrophe."
That didn't take long at all and I want to laugh aloud at the irony. These same men beat the shit out of me as a kid, to break my spirit, to cause me to cower, and when I emerged as a capable man, they tried to assassinate me. You do not see me fucking bringing forward transgressions for discussion.
"The Committee agreed to the cease-fire agreement because of the Illyrian's history of supporting beneficial collaborations over petty street feuds. Their organization proved as sophisticated and professional as ours. They always deliver," Ernesto, spouted that shit out, like an Illyrian State Farm Insurance representative. What the fuck!
Glad I didn't have to say it.
"What the fuck, papa? You did not just defend, The Committee, as if their decision was 'beneficial'," he spat, beneficial, out as if it scorched his tongue.
"Five of your sons and their families relocated to live thousands of miles away from you, our home, shit … everything, because we were fed crazy Mafia Illyrian, bullshit— they were sophisticated professionals who do what they promise. They lived by the code, Besa, to keep the promise— by The Committee. A council you hold one of the oldest seats on and a gotdamn committee who raped our right to retaliate!"
"To counterattack would have broken the ceasefire agreement. Honor above all, son. The violence ceased in our territory as we were promised."
"Yes, papa but it didn't matter when the Illyrian gangs wrestled control of territory from the city gangs, and eventually they came for us instead. The twelfth street gang and Bloods, the blacks. The Ten Fu, the Asians, and the Negril Villa, the Jamaicans."
True every mistake the unsuspecting street gangs made the Illyrian gangs moved and grabbed the territory. Naturally, this caused a civil war in the streets. Peaceful negotiations with the Mafia Illyrian don't mean shit while the Kanun— Illyrian foot soldiers, flunkies— infiltrate our streets.
"Where is the honor in being cut out of agreements, with law enforcement, the city charter, and local businesses, we've held for generations because we no longer had the juice and on top of that not taking our shit back."
"Papa, did you help construct the message from, The Committee, what did it say… oh, here it is I wrote the bullshit down, "Forethought should have prevailed given the Garko home advantage and inheritance, yet weakness and carelessness have caused your troubles. If not the Illyrians, someone else." Did you papa, help them disgrace us. Your blood."
Ernesto had a shit load to answer for but so did everyone on this call. This exhale of emotional strife was cathartic but sidestepping the purpose of the meeting.
"Child trafficking bastards; they would sell their own mothers."
"Why not kill every Albanian cockroach in New York?" My cousin Vin. He doesn't understand shit, nor does he get he's talking out of turn.
"Shut the fuck up." Someone says.
"Gentlemen, The Committee, has lost considerable profits, insecure Ports create dock issues. We are reconsidering; however, breaking agreements is a sensitive matter. Let us allow Tomas to lay out his plans. After you may ask questions or provide suggestions." Ernesto's ridiculous monologue brings it around.
"My plans involve ...."
The first question and every question after, involved my inclusion of the Bloods because it sounds as if I am making concessions, another agreement, with an outside group. I understand and explain a mile beyond what is necessary. I am not asking for their permission. An important fact they miss.
"There are many gangs, sects of gangs, all over the city on every opposite corner, why the focus on the Bloods?"
"The biggest gangs in NY are a mirror of New York State prisons. The Bloods being the largest inside, the gangs reflect this outside. As a collective, they have more weight."
"If the prison gang population will dictate what type of gangs you see on the street, it's the Hispanics growing in New York State. That's the future coming, what about them?"
"I'm not counting anyone out. Eventually, this city will need a fucking Kumbaya to reconvene a normal.
The Bloods have dozens of sects across the five boroughs and Long Island. Their presence around the projects in the Bronx, Brooklyn, and Queens, as well as on Rikers Island is decades old. Despite gang sweeps and crackdowns over the years, they remain intact. It wasn't until the Besa, the first Illyrian gang sent here, cut their throats, did the Bloods start to decimate. Presently, along with, the current foreigner gang, the Kanun, they have to deal with Crip sets, Latin Kings, Trinitarios, Gangster Disciples, MS-13, and others who have nowhere else to go but invade on Blood Territory. The Kanun have them all fighting for the crumbs left of a pie they used to bake."
"Poetic as you are Force, you've been gone for years. We lived here watching the aftermath. What you say is not wrong, but have you accounted for the up and coming. Like the Dominican gangs, those machete and knives using bastards are associated with the Colombian crime cartels and running cocaine in the Bronx, Harlem, and the Lower East Side."
"Which would you rather enter a fight with, the man with the gun or the man with a knife?"
"Will they play along? It's not as though there is one type of Blood. I see graffiti of a different Blood sect every month. Who's going to control the outlier?"
"Ok, we don't need any of these fucking gangs to do shit but hold their business and territory down. We are not going back into the cocaine nor heroin era of pushing. But, someone's going to push it. The Bloods are established as a legitimate
business. They only use threats and force to keep rival gangs and bootlickers out of their territory. There are a few knuckleheads in every organization. However, younger members believe in hierarchical arrangements and respect the chain of command. More importantly, they show the most control over their individual crews, this facilitates our ultimate goal. Do I need to go on?"
"No"
"Everyone in say, "acconsento" and out, "non" when called.
"West 1?" … "Acconsento"
"West 2?" … "Acconsento"
"West 3?" … "Acconsento"
"East1?"… "Acconsento"
"East2?" … "Non"
"And my Acc—"
"That fucker said, Non, papa." My uncle Joey says.
"Salvatore, what is this?"
"I fuckin said, Non. Let the record stand and go about business. I'll not stand in the way, but I won't let the half breed have it easy."
"Excellent." —I cut in before the conversation veers out of control. Salvatorio Santari is but a bug on my shoe in the larger scheme of what's going to happen. He'll be dealt with, for sure.
One more item… and not open for discussion, I plan to retire any man I catch on the dock turning his or her back on illicit unsanctioned cargo shipments. It enables terrorism and postures us as un-American. It has never been our way, and it won't be again."
I've read, dockworker responsibilities have changed, with workers having less direct access to cargo. But many still hold positions influencing which containers move off the piers. Allowing terrorist free reign and access to ports for a little extra gain is greedy masochistic gangster shit. Human trafficking, guns, drugs, and minor paraphernalia like counterfeit purses, all come through because someone turns a blind eye. It is only a matter of time before some fucker denotes the weakness, as an opportunity to send nuclear material, or whatever Armageddon device of the day used to destroy. And the Port Authority that got caught slippin', who just fucked themselves in the ass trying to make an extra dollar, is just as responsible for the fallout. I am going to fucking kill every last American, Sicilian, and Albanian I catch with unsanctioned cargo— the only way to make it real for the ones who come behind, us.
CHAPTER 11
Stuck
Evee
America land of the free, they say, however, big brother is always watching. Or Mother dearest. The Ponti women were fierce in their domination of family ties. And who was I to fight them? Were not my accomplishments enough to warrant the possibility there was more for me in this life than a convenient, advantageous marriage?
Yes, I played their game, feigned excitement when lessons on duty and women’s causes, arose.
You see for some families, the definition of duty could imply, providing an heir, like the continuation of the family name. Understandable with reason.
Might duty in another family describe a certain call to vocation, families of doctors, ministers of faith, or lawyers, are not uncommon.
But you see the Ponti family duty is different. It is an overwhelming cause that seizes one’s life force, and takes their very soul, for the service of another. Mommie Dearest and her family could care less, about my JD, the signature behind my name, or the highest IQ ranking I held in various arenas. Never once did they think I could be of service to our causes in a different capacity than Mrs. Somebody or other.
I was a fool to ever believe anything other the title Mrs. could matter.
I’d left Tomas at the lounge, abruptly. The call was from our family watchdog, enough money and influence could travel across land and sea. It was that serious with Daughters, that’s what our mothers called us. I left Tomas at the bar and sent a text once I was alone. My phone rang, “Tomas Garko is on a do not engage list.”
Well, Blow Me.
“Did you hear what I said?”
I should breathe and count before I speak, but have you met me, “What!” my temper rising, I am exposed, and just creeped out. I look around me. I’ve settled into a café. Someone here could be an informant. I’d kick their ass if I found them.
I need to reign it in. Aggression is expected from me always.
“I mean what’s going on. Do you want me married or not? Once again feigning interest in matrimony.
“His position in la Familia is indecisive. No one knows his desires, will he become La Familia’s Boss again, or leave the life, again. He is an enigma at this point. He may not last the month out.”
I knew from following Tomas, his plans rivaled anything on the scale of an epic shit storm. His enemies have underestimated his schemes. Now, these characters want to deem him low hanging fruit, on the ‘ability to impact the world’ scale. My family is all about prestige, influence, and wealth. Did they once mention his unlawfulness? Nope, and they wouldn’t, it was not a factor.
“I did not think you walked away from the life. Everyone knows Blood in, blood out.”
“I believe you’ve heard that in a theatre film.”
“They call them ‘The movies’ here.”
“Right, but Tomas case is unprecedented... let’s say special. And there are other factors.”
Why is he being cryptic, “Okay, what other factors can there be I don’t know about?” I gave due diligence.
“It’s being pushed around you may be too young for a match. Not everyone agrees. Quite, frankly, some are surprised you appear interested in mating anyone without coercing.”
“He’s thirty- one, I am twenty—um, fuck I almost forgot my actual age. I don’t forget anything, ever. It’s stress. I need my lighter.
I caught the ending, “Well, stop stalking him!”
“Can I wait for another choice?” this would give me more time to stall and figure out what to do. I was not so sure I wanted to give Tomas up, this soon. A couple of dates, maybe on his jet, fly off to some island, lying on the beach, while he emerged from the water half-naked, like in that movie…
“Always be diligent, Daughter of Ponti,”
Shit, he was ending our call.
“Always be true.” I hung my head on my Fist.
“I waited until you were off the phone to come over. Can I get you something, hon? A milkshake?” She was all-knowing.
I wouldn’t eat in this greasy bucket diner. My body was a temple. Yet, the milkshake she offered sounded delicious. Hmm.
My phone buzzed.
“Yeah a chocolate milkshake, two please.”
“Hello.”
“Will you accept a collect call from the county jail, precinct 5?”
“Yes,” who was in jail? Tomas again. He didn’t have my contact information. No, that was stupid.
“Alo, Evee gurrl, you there?”
“Jengo?”
“Yass. Come get me out of here, Evee. I’m locked in here on a Friday. They say I’ll be here until Monday or Tuesday if I don’t make bail tonight.”
“Pay the bail.”
“They have not set a bail. I’ve asked and yelled at the bastards. They want me to rot in here.” He was being a bit dramatic. Four days in jail didn’t seem like much to me. Not for a man heavily involved in criminal activity as Jengo.
“Sit tight. Give me an hour. I’m coming to get you.”
“That’s my gurrl, Evee. Come and get me outta here.”
Jengo in Jail? He’d never set foot in one since we first met, that I knew of. Cynthia would have told me, for sure. I had a couple of resources to pick from to get Jengo a set bail. Carefully, I thought out which one would get the lesser notice from anyone watching me. I decided to contact Cynthia to help.
She was waiting by the bus stop when I turned off her exit.
“Why do you walk to the bus stop when I could pick you up from your front door?”
“I will not explain it again.”
It was an ongoing battle. Cynthia did not appreciate the house in the suburbs on a cul-de-sac Jengo found.
She acted embarrassed by the pretty manicured lawn and the as cute two-story house she now owned. Coming to live with me in the
City was more of an excuse to move away from it, than work as my administrator.
“Did you call the number I text you?”
“Yes, he said he would meet us at the precinct.”
“Good. When you go inside, find him. He’ll take care of everything.”
“You sure?”
“Positive. Judge Carrie accosted me in the women’s bathroom during after hours at Jack's Pub, one night. I seriously jammed his fucking penis and knocked him in the head. I never told anyone. But, the Pub has camera’s outside in the hall. They revealed him stalking in after me, and me running out minutes later with my blouse ripped. He then crawled out and passed out onto the hallway floor. It was not a good look for the Judge.”
She laughed.
“Rich or poor men are the same everywhere. So why is he helping us? I’m sure he hates you.”
“I have it. And use the tape to blackmail him at my leisure. He’s no longer a judge but his buddies do his bidding all the same.”
“Smart. So did my brother say why he was picked up?”
“No, but his intake says a public disturbance inside a legal business.”
“What? Not my cool as a cucumber, hermano.”
Jengo and Cynthia walked out of the building ninety minutes later. I’d finished off my two milkshakes which were melted and overflowing the to-go cup, but chocolate is chocolate.
“Evee, my sweet gurrl. Get me the fuck outta here.”
We pulled up to his club and got out.
“I have your money inside.”
“Are you sure it's not too soon to come back here? I mean they said…”
“Look, this is my shit. I paid for this, no one else. How they gonna tell Jengo not to come home. Do you want your money back?”
I didn’t need it, but the law of the street said you always made people pay you back, especially friends. You’d stay friends that way. It was debatable saying, but Jengo believed this.
Cynthia and I sat at the bar while Jengo went to the back. Gunshots rang not two minutes later.
Cynthia screamed. “My brother, where is Jengo?”
For Blood and Beast: Tomas, For Blood (Garko Book 1) Page 7
