by D. J. Manly
Published by Mojocastle Press, LLC
Price, Utah
This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.
The Russos: Episode Two
ISBN: 1-60180-030-4
Copyright © 2007 D. J. Manly
Cover Art Copyright @ 2007 April Martinez
All rights reserved.
Excluding legitimate review sites and review publications, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.
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http://www.mojocastle.com/
Also By D.J. Manly:
Connor's Storm
Melting Ice
The Russos: Digital Soap
Dedication:
To my readers.
The Russos:
Episode One
D. J. Manly
Previously on The Russos...
In Episode One, the eldest brother, Drake Russo, shot his younger brother Johnny in the head. Johnny is in a coma, and Drake Russo is in prison. Their youngest brother, Pepi, is doing everything he can to get his big brother released from prison.
Meanwhile, Tony Newton, a young man in Canada, a great fan of the Russo Brothers band, finds out that his biological father is really Johnny Russo. He is on his way to the hospital in L.A. to see a father he never knew. Sophia Russo, the mother of the Russo brothers, has a terrible secret, one that she has kept hidden for years, contributing to the drama surrounding Drake and Johnny Russo.
And Now...Episode Two of The Russos
Drake's eyes followed his son as he paced the room.
Once in a while, he rubbed his forehead with the back of his hand.
He really regretted dragging Angelo through all this.
When the guard came to ask him a while back if he wanted to see his brother and his son, he had almost said no. He wouldn't let his mother see him in jail, and he felt the same way in a sense about Angelo. But he said yes, because he missed him.
Angelo had been in Europe almost a year, and to see him and not even be able to hug him was hell. He had changed in that year, and not only physically. His features had matured into that of a man, but Drake could see other changes that could only come from being exposed to different geography and different cultures, and he was proud of him.
"Dad," he was saying now, "Ms. Thomson wants to help you. She wants to work with you. Why are you being so goddamned stubborn? We want you out of here."
Pepi, who had been quietly sitting in the corner of the room, stood up now. "She's going to question Nancy Dobson."
Drake blinked and looked up. "Nancy Dobson?" His eyes widened. "What in hell for?"
"You threatened suicide in front of her. The gun came back with two sets of prints on it: yours and Johnny's. Your lawyer thinks you tried to kill yourself, and Johnny tried to stop you. You struggled for the gun, and it went off. Is that how it happened, Drake?"
Pepi met his older brother's eyes.
There was a long silence, then Drake said quietly, "There is no need to drag Nancy into it. I don't want her involved in this."
"Well, if you don't want her involved, give Francine something to work with. You were distraught when you walked into the police station. The warden told me he put you on suicide watch when you came in. Is that true?"
Angelo came to stand closer to his uncle.
Drake glanced at his brother, then his son. "I suppose they do that with all nut cases that...."
"No," Pepi shook his dark head, "they don't. He told me that you were very depressed."
"Of course I was depressed," Drake snapped. "I just shot my brother in the head. How was I supposed to feel, happy?"
"Did you put the gun to your head the other night in front of Johnny?" Pepi placed the palms of his hands flat on the table and looked directly in Drake's face.
"Did Johnny try and take the gun away from you? Come on! For fuck's sake, Drake, you rotting in jail won't help Johnny. Johnny needs you, and I need you. Help me!"
When Drake lowered his head, Pepi threw up his hands and cursed, then gave Angelo a look. "I need some air. Talk some sense into your father, will you?"
He barked at the guard to let him out. The door opened, then slammed shut.
Angelo sat down.
Drake looked across at his son, then said, "Call that lawyer, I'll tell her what happened, okay?" There were tears in his eyes.
"Thanks, Dad. It's going to be okay. We're going to get you out of here, and then everything will be all right."
Drake listened to the conviction in his son's voice. He didn't understand that nothing would ever be all right.
It had never been all right to begin with.
* * * * * *
Angelo slipped into the back of the limo beside his uncle. "Dad wants to see Francine Thomson. He wants to tell her what happened."
Pepi grabbed his nephew in a bear hug, growling with delight. "Wonderful. What did it take? How did you convince him to...?"
"I think it was you."
"Me?" Pepi was surprised. "No. Drake would never do anything for me...only for Johnny, and now you."
Angelo looked at his uncle for a moment, and saw his eyes mist over. He touched him on the forearm.
"Why do you say that? Dad loves you. I know he does. I know he and Uncle Johnny have been really close, probably due to their age, and..."
Pepi put up a hand. "Angelo, there are things that you wouldn't remember...things that happened when we were growing up...before you were born. Leave it alone for now, okay?"
Angelo nodded, but he felt like there was so much more to say.
Pepi picked up his phone and called Frank. Frank was relieved to hear the news, and assured Pepi that he would get Francine Thomson on it immediately. "I guarantee you we'll have your brother out of that jail before you know it," he said.
Pepi thanked him and hung up. "What'cha say we get some food, kid? I'm starved. It must be at least six o'clock."
"Five-ten, but who cares. I'm with you, Pep. Chinese?"
"Sounds great. Should we call the hospital? Or maybe I should try and reach Kevin, and find out where he's at. They must have landed by now."
"Oh, shit, Johnny's son...eh... what's his name... Tony?" Angelo snapped his fingers. "Do you think he's with Mom already?"
Pepi shrugged his broad shoulders as he opened his phone.
* * * * * *
Kevin Cochrane was sitting in the back of the rented limo with Tony Newton when his cell phone rang. He excused himself and pulled the tiny phone out his pocket. "Ya, Cochrane here."
"Hi, Kev, it's Pepi Russo. Just checking in. How did everything go? I assume you're on the ground."
"We're rolling toward the Hospital now. We should be there...oh, say, in about twenty-five minutes. We're hitting a bit of suppertime traffic here."
"That's cool. How is he...the boy?"
"Okay. You want to speak to him?" Kevin asked.
Tony looked alarmed. He shook his head a little.
"Sure, put him on," Pepi replied.
Tony's hand shook as he took the little phone from Kevin Cochrane. "Hello," he managed.
"Hi there, Tony. It's Pepi Russo. I just wanted to say hi and to thank you for coming. It will mean a lot to Johnny, and it means a lot to all of us. Listen, Janet will meet you at the hospital along with your grandmother.
I think Mac may still be there as well. Angelo
and I, eh...Drake's son...we're going to eat something, then we'll come on over, okay?"
"Sure," was all Tony could think to say. He was stunned by the voice coming over the phone. This was Pepi Russo, the Pepi Russo who played keyboards in the Russo Brothers Band. Tony swallowed.
"Pass me Kevin, will ya," Pepi was saying now and Tony handed back the phone, realizing too late that he hadn't even said good-bye.
He heard Kevin say, "Ya, okay, sure, no problem," and then shut down the phone.
"Your uncle wants me to feed you before I take you to the hospital. Where would you like to eat?"
Eat? Eating was the furthest thing from his mind. He didn't think he'd be able to hold down anything. When he said he wasn't hungry, Kevin suggested they go through a drive-through at one of the fast-food burger places and eat in the limo. "It's safer," he muttered.
A half hour later, they sat in the parking lot of Macdo's with their burgers and fries. Tony took a bite or two and then closed up the box.
He looked around him and decided that he could sit here forever without being bored. L.A. was a completely different world. There were so many people and they came in so many different shapes and sizes and colours. They all seemed to have somewhere to go, and quickly. The traffic whizzed by, horns honked and sirens howled. Electronic billboards changed their message every few minutes, and signs in English and Spanish told people where they were and what they should and should not do.
Kevin asked Tony if he could have his French fries, and Tony pushed the bag toward him. "Be my guest."
"So, big difference from where you hail, I bet," Kevin chewed on a French fry and reached for his Coke, which he had set on the little pull-out table in front of him.
Tony glanced at Kevin and nodded.
"Where is that place you come from in Canada?"
"Ontario."
"Oh, ya. Well, welcome to the land of Oz." He laughed at his joke as Tony looked once again out the window.
Across the street were two women wearing knee-high red leather boots with six-inch heels, and what looked like leopard-skin miniskirts and brassieres. They looked like characters in a movie. Six Hispanic kids wearing pants that were about four sizes too large strutted by, plaid bandanas wrapped around their head. One carried a ghetto blaster that blared out some song with a Latin beat.
Kevin rapped on the window and told the driver to go on to the hospital now. It was after six, and the sun was beginning to go down. He wanted out of this neighbourhood before dark.
"We'll be at the hospital in about ten minutes, kid."
Kevin told him. "You ready for it?"
Tony shook his head. "No. But I don't really have a choice, do I? I either meet these people or turn around and go home."
Kevin knew the kid was shitting bricks. Who wouldn't be under the circumstances? He was meeting his father for the very first time, not to mention the rest of the Russos. Worse than that, they were not ordinary people. They were celebrities, members of a rock band that this kid probably idolized. It had to be strange. He felt bad for him. He seemed like a nice kid. He should try and say something to ease the tension.
"You know," he looked over at him, and then slapped him on the knee, "you'll be okay once you get over the initial awkwardness of meeting these people. I've worked for the Russo Brothers for over six years now and they're good people, really."
"Thank you for saying that. It helps," Tony replied.
"So," Kevin Cochrane grinned at him, "we're on, then?"
Tony smiled back, even if he did feel his stomach doing rock-and-roll. "We're on."
* * * * * *
Mac curled his fingers loosely around Johnny's. For the last hour, Mac had been asking him to squeeze his hand if he could hear him. There hadn't been any response.
Mac placed his forehead down on the cool metal of the side rails and closed his eyes. He sighed, and stood up. He studied Johnny for a moment. His face was so drawn and white; the black curly hair was replaced by a sterile white dressing wrapped around his head like a turban. There was a spot of dried blood coming through the fabric on the right side of his forehead. His eyes were closed. He was very still, except for the constant movement underneath his eyelids.
The doctors thought it was a reflex. Mac believed he had to be dreaming.
He pulled a chair over to his bedside and took his hand again. They'd had too much together, too much happiness and joy. There was no way it could end like this. Or maybe they had been given more than their share of happiness, and now it was time to pay the piper.
No, he refused to believe that there was a limit on the amount of happiness a person was allotted. They had earned this success, and they had all paid for it in their own way.
"Remember, Johnny." He spoke aloud now.
"Remember those dives you and Drake and I used to play in? Pepi was lucky, he was spared all that. He'll never know what it is to play for drunks who ask for songs you've never heard of. Remember that time we kept on playing through that major barroom brawl on the east side of New York?" Mac started to laugh.
"Christ, a guy landed right in front of my drums, and then Drake yells out, "Play Barroom Brawl!"
Mac's laughter died. "We've all paid our dues to be on top, haven't we, pal? I mean, I certainly feel paid up. Remember when Drake married Janet? Shit, that was the most depressing day of my life. Drake never knew how I felt about Janet, but you did. I stood by and watched my best friend marry the only woman I ever loved. God, did you and I get drunk that night. What a crazy wedding that was. Janet's parents hated Drake, and your mom cried during it all, and you...you were so quiet. That night, I remember you saying to me, "Mac, I feel like somebody close to me just died."
Mac squeezed his hand. "Anyway, it didn't last. I guess we knew it wouldn't, and then you and Sandy... Ah...let's not talk about that. Do you remember the first time we met, Johnny? Shit, I do," Mac laughed. "It was grade one. Drake brought me home to see his trucks.
He'd built this tunnel in the back yard, and there you were. Drake said, this is my new best friend, Mac, and you wanted to play with us, and Drake told you that you were too young to play with us because you didn't go to school yet. Boy, did you cry. You ran to your mother, who was very pregnant with Pepi then, and told her that Drake said you were too young to have a best friend, remember?
"Anyway, it was after that, a few years later that I got the drum set for Christmas and Drake got a guitar, and he used to come over and we'd play out in the garage. God, did we stink. Then you got your guitar because you felt left out, and you came and we would spend hours and hours in that garage. Those were good times, real good times."
But there were some not so good times too. Times that Mac didn't care to say aloud to Johnny. It was okay until they became teenagers, and then something happened. Johnny changed, and Drake began to distance himself from his brother. He would go out of his way sometimes to lose him, telling Mac to meet him someplace that Johnny wouldn't know about.
There would be fights. In fact, Drake and Johnny fought a lot. When Drake would get to the point where he would ignore his brother altogether, Johnny would act out, do stupid things, sometimes dangerous stuff.
One time, he began walking along the edge of the Manhattan Bridge. One of the kids he was hanging out with came and told Drake what his brother was up to.
Frantic, Drake left to rescue Johnny.
Another time, Johnny stole some hash from a member of a local street gang just for the hell of it. He was being chased by several of them and had to hide out. He disappeared for several days. His parents called the police. He helped Drake look for him, and they finally found him hiding in an old warehouse. Drake took back the hash and pleaded with the street gang members to forget about it. Drake had to give them his leather jacket in order to appease them. He was so angry at Johnny for that, he socked him a good one.
In spite of this acting out, Mac had always liked Johnny. He was a good kid. He had a lot of talent and a good heart. But there was thi
s sadness, something he held deep down inside of him that was sore and painful. Whatever it was floated to the surface every once in a while, and raged like a storm.
He had asked Johnny once when he was sixteen why he always looked so sad. He had everything going for him. He was good-looking, popular. He could sing and play guitar like a charm. Why should a kid like him carry the weight of what seemed like the world on his shoulders?
Johnny had said, "I wasn't meant to be who I am, that's all. Things are as they are, and I can't change them. That's why I'm sad. Sometimes I think I'm mad, and then I realize that I'm probably saner than anyone deserves to be."
Mac told him with a laugh that he was relieved to hear that he wasn't nuts.
But Johnny shook his head and looked off in the distance. "No, being mad would be a hell of a lot better, Mac, because I could blame everything on the madness."
"I'll never forget that...what you said," Mac whispered to his friend. He blinked back tears. "I lost Kate because I was never home, and you had that bad time with coke. God, I hated those years. Drake was in agony. He worried about you constantly. We all did. We thought you'd end up with AIDS. You were so stoned all the time, and you slept with just about anyone you could. You still do, but at least you've kicked the coke."
Mac sighed. "We were lucky. When Frank signed us, who knew we'd go to the top. I never dreamed we'd get this big. Do you remember the first night Pepi played with us on stage? It was what...nine years ago? Wow! He was sick before the concert. I have never seen anyone puke so much. Shit. It was in Boston, wasn't it...or was it Philly? No, Boston." Mac laughed. "Poor Pep. But as soon as he walked out on stage and Drake looked at him...you know...in that way he has of looking at you as if to say, 'Get the lead out of your ass, boy', he started playing like a pro. Oh, what a night."
