Jon Fixx

by Jason Squire Fluck

  Marco’s eyes narrowed on me, a malevolent shadow darkening his face. I didn’t need verification from Luci’s connection in Europe. Everything Mosconi had told me was true. I could see it in Marco’s reaction. The question now was how far to push. At that moment I still had a job, and if I backed off, I could wrap this interview up, fly back to Los Angeles, write the story, have Luci put the visual touch on it, and send it back to New York for the wedding. My eyes slid from Marco’s dark look to Maggie’s open confusion. She clearly had no idea. I could see she wondered why I was asking the question. Her look of ignorance coupled with my complete and total dislike for Marco recklessly egged me on.

  “I came across one discrepancy in my research. I wanted to ask you about it, just to make sure when I write the story it’s as accurate as possible. Now, you’re sure you don’t have any children or, more specifically, a child in Italy?”

  Things happened very fast. Maggie was no longer smiling. Marco was moving. With the speed and agility of a man in top form, Marco was on me in less than a second. He grabbed the front of my shirt, pulling me out of my chair. “You piece of shit! I haven’t liked you from the first day. How dare you try to embarrass me in front of my fiancée!”

  I could see the shock on Maggie’s face over Marco’s shoulder. “Marco, what are you doing?”

  “What I should have done back in September.”

  “Is it true?”

  “Is what true?”

  Marco’s words were directed at Maggie, but I could feel his breath on my face. I hung limp, not wanting to fight back, at least not yet.

  “Do you have a child in Italy?” Maggie asked with dismay.

  Marco spit the words at me. “Of course not. Don’t you see it, Maggie? This writer fuck has a crush on you. He’s had it from day one. I can’t believe you don’t see it.”

  I could see recognition in Maggie’s eyes, finally piecing it all together, at least in relation to me. “Jon, is that true?”

  I shrugged my shoulders as best I could with Marco’s hands on my chest. I now knew the truth, but I had no way to prove it. I suddenly felt weak, knowing I had nowhere to go from here.

  “Marco, let him go,” Maggie demanded.

  Marco reluctantly released my shirt. We stood chest to chest, though he had a good two inches on me. Standing a few feet behind Marco, Maggie looked sad and disappointed. “Jon, why would you try to put a wedge between Marco and me? You’re supposed to be writing our love story.” Her eyes bored into mine.

  Even though I was sure Marco’s reaction proved his guilt, I began to doubt my actions. Maybe Marco and Maggie were right for each other. She was the daughter of a mob boss, and Marco was a key player in the organization. Maybe it would be best if they got married and had little mobster children.

  I turned away from Maggie, unable to meet the look of pain and betrayal registered on her face. But as my eyes met Marco’s evil stare, my resolve quickly returned. The hatred in his eyes fueled my conviction. Marco was a cruel individual, so much the opposite of the woman he was soon to marry, I was sure of that. Over time, his terrible nature would break Maggie down.

  “Marco, are you sure you don’t have a daughter in—”

  I never did get the remaining words out. Marco pummeled me, taking me over the top of the chair I’d been sitting on. I landed square on my back, his full weight on top of me, knocking the wind out of me. In that instant, I was trying to figure out why I hadn’t asked Donovan to stay with me. It was a foolish oversight on my part. Gasping for air, I took a left to my right cheek and felt a right cross connect with the left side of my jaw. I saw stars flying all around Marco’s head. In a jumble, I heard a scream I assumed to be Maggie’s followed by a voice I knew would give me at least a temporary reprieve.

  “Marco.” Vespucci’s voice echoed throughout the room.

  Marco’s left arm was hooked ready for another blow. He froze at Vespucci’s voice. I caught my breath. I could feel my face throbbing all over. Maggie stood behind us, horror on her face. Joey and Donovan stood several feet inside the entrance, Joey’s hand on Donovan’s chest. Vespucci stood in the doorway, his anger palpable.

  “Marco, get up.”

  Marco stared down at me, making it clear we weren’t done. Slowly, he climbed off of me, taking a step back toward his fiancée. Donovan pushed his way past Joey, helping me off the floor.

  “Are you okay?” Donovan’s face reflected his concern. “I should have been in here.”

  I took a breath, wincing, feeling the damage in my ribs again. “My fault completely,” I said. Looking around, I realized all eyes were on me. I glanced at Maggie, disappointment, pain, and disenchantment wrapped up in her stare. Vespucci’s voice grabbed my attention.

  “Jon, are you okay?”

  I eked out a “Yes,” but barely.

  “Maggie, could you leave the room. I need to speak with Jon and Marco alone.”

  Maggie turned to her father. She looked like an orphan surrounded by men. “Papa, I have to ask you something.”

  Marco leaned over and whispered in her ear, “Now is not the time, Maggie.”

  Impervious to her fiancé’s warning, Maggie pushed forward. “Did you make Giancarlo send Marco to Italy when we were kids?”

  Vespucci was clearly taken off guard by his daughter’s question. “Did Marco tell you that?”

  Marco pointed at me. “You can thank this piece of shit for that accusation.”

  Vespucci was silent for a moment, considering what he’d just heard and turned to his daughter. “Maggie, I need to speak with Jon and your fiancé privately,” Vespucci said, his voice firm.

  Maggie looked around at the men. I was sure this was not the first time she’d been asked by her father to leave a room so he could discuss business. Maggie stared at her father, finally deciding not to pursue the battle with him at the moment. She turned to her husband-to-be, clearly wanting answers from him. “Marco, please explain to me what that was about?” She gestured to me, indicating my face.

  “I’m sorry. I don’t like this guy. As far as I’m concerned, he’s been wanting to get his hands on you since the moment he showed up.”

  “Don’t be so crass,” Maggie admonished him.

  “I know it as well as you do. The loser’s on the rebound, and he set his sights on you. You said it yourself.”

  Marco was airing private conversations between them, and for a brief second Maggie appeared ruffled and embarrassed. Maggie looked at me. “Jon, I’m sorry this happened.”

  “Don’t apologize to this loser!” Marco barked as he stepped toward me. Donovan quickly blocked Marco’s path.

  My mind was racing, trying to figure out how best to gain advantage here. My plan had failed. I had not gotten Marco to admit to anything. Now I needed to figure out how to get Donovan and me safely out of Vespucci’s compound. “No apology necessary, Maggie. There’s some truth in what Marco said. The moment I met you, I knew you were special.”

  Maggie’s face reflected pained interest in what I was saying. Marco clearly wanted to inflict lasting damage on me.

  “And Marco’s right. I am on the rebound and I think these feelings may have colored my views of Marco in a less than flattering light. I’ve been completely unprofessional. What I can do now is promise that I will forget everything that happened tonight and will get your novella done to everyone’s satisfaction. I’ll consider tonight nothing more than a misunderstanding.”

  Before Maggie or Marco had a chance to respond, Vespucci said, “Maggie, I’m not going to ask you again.”

  Without as much as a glance my way, Maggie gave Marco one last searching look, then turned and left the room.

  Vespucci walked toward his desk, setting the room in motion. Marco immediately crossed the room away from me, a hateful stare directed at me. Donovan positioned himself between us to block Marco’s path.
Joey hung back, shadowing Donovan.

  Vespucci settled into his chair. “What the hell was that?”

  Neither Marco nor I proffered an explanation. I wasn’t about to go into any detail about Marco without proof I could hand Vespucci.

  “Fine, neither of you wants to talk. Then sit down.”

  I hadn’t heard this tone of voice from Vespucci before. He was in Boss mode. I took a seat in the chair I’d sat in previously, angling it toward Vespucci’s desk. Marco sat opposite me, on the love seat where he and Maggie had been sitting while I interviewed them. Donovan and Joey stood in the back, ready to move in an instant.

  “Jon, I’m extremely disappointed. I hired you to write a love story for my daughter, and instead I come home and you’re fighting with my future son-in-law. How should I take this?”

  At the moment I didn’t have a good response, so I remained silent.

  “If you were in my position, what would you do? Is Marco right? Have you developed feelings for my daughter? Are you trying to cause trouble between her and Marco?”

  I had already said as much. I saw no purpose in adding to it, so I responded with a nod. I could feel the blood throbbing in the areas of my face where Marco’s fist had connected. I wondered if I should ask for ice to keep the swelling down.

  Vespucci turned his attention to Marco. “Marco, I don’t appreciate you bringing violence into my house. Under my own roof, you attacked a man I hired.” Marco accepted the verbal slap in silence, though he was seething. “Jon, I don’t appreciate you stirring up the past, encouraging my daughter to ask questions about things she’ll never understand. She only needs to know what I decide she should know.”

  Vespucci’s eyes traveled over my head and settled on Donovan. “I want to remind you both where you are.” As if on cue, Joey reached inside his jacket and pulled out his .357 Magnum. The sight of the gun created an immediate, overwhelming sense of fear in my belly. I felt Donovan tense up behind me. Sure we understood the threat, Joey put the gun back. A self-satisfied smirk crossed Marco’s face.

  “Jon, I hired you on Cranston’s recommendation, believing that the product you provided would be a unique, wonderful gift for my daughter. And to be honest, upon meeting you, I just liked you, which is something that doesn’t happen with many people. But over the last couple of months, I’m afraid you have broken the trust I must have for anyone I let into my home. I expect those I invite into my home to use the utmost discretion. I don’t believe you have information that would be of any great assistance to someone trying to do harm to me, or my family, but I consider it a direct offense if you pass on to anyone even one ounce of information you have obtained about my family.” Vespucci paused. “Do you understand what I am referring to?”

  I was wracking my brain for what he could consider my breach of ethics but could not come up with any good reason why he would think that. I shook my head.

  “Well, it started with your attendance at my godmother’s funeral, Carol Zefarelli. Ever since then, I’ve wondered what you were doing there.”

  “But that was a total coincidence, Tony, like I said. Nothing more.”

  “That is what you said. But given everything since, I have to reconsider your words.” He picked up a picture from his desk, tossing it toward me. “Do you know who this is?”

  I stood up, dizzy from moving too quickly. I grabbed the chair, Donovan coming from behind to steady me. I got my balance and then crossed the few steps to the desk, picking the picture up. I felt sick looking at the image of Williams coming out the front door of our hotel. Watching my face, Vespucci saw the recognition. He picked up several more pictures, slowly flicking them one at a time in my direction. More pictures of Williams. Someone must have gotten on a rooftop in a building across from the hotel, because several of the pictures had been taken through our hotel window and showed Williams standing in the room with Donovan and Luci and me. The last picture was of the three of us sitting in the coffee shop with Detective Hunt.

  “Why are you talking to these people?”

  “Tony, I can explain. None of this is what you think.”

  Vespucci put his hand up. “No explanations needed. We’re too late in the game for that. I’d say speaking to the FBI and the police are most definitely not necessary for you to complete your assignment for my daughter’s love story. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  I needed to understand why this was happening. “If you hired me to write this story, why would you follow me?”

  “He didn’t. I did.” Marco’s voice came at me from the side. “I haven’t trusted you from day one. I knew you were a weasel. I was the one who put guys on you. I knew I’d find something sooner or later.”

  Marco’s words hit me like bullets. In that moment, I hated him with a passion I couldn’t recall ever feeling so strongly toward anyone, not even the Professor or the Frenchman. Overcome with red-hot anger, I lunged at Marco, a right hook shooting at his head as hard as I could muster. My fist connected with his left temple, knocking him completely out of his chair, toppling him to the ground. Luck had thrown me on top of him this time, giving me the advantage. If I was going down, I wasn’t going down without a fight, or at least not without feeling like I’d gotten in a few good shots. I was through being everybody’s punching bag. Marco writhed beneath me, trying to get some leverage with his hips and legs against the ground. My left connected with his cheekbone when I suddenly felt large hands gripping my arms, yanking me off. As Donovan wrapped his arms around me to hold me back, the initial rush of adrenaline disappeared and I felt empty and spent. I didn’t have anything left. Marco scrambled to his feet taking a step toward me, but Donovan immediately put himself between us. Marco reached inside his jacket, unsheathing his revolver, pointing it at us.

  “Put it away.” Vespucci’s voice brooked no argument.

  A red welt lit the skin above Marco’s left eye. Seething, he held the gun for several seconds. My eyes focused on the gun barrel. It looked much bigger pointed at me. I took two quick steps, placing myself between Donovan and Marco’s gun. As scared as I was, I wasn’t about to let Donovan take a bullet because of my actions. From the corner of my eye, I could see Joey’s .357 aimed at Marco. Doubt crept into Marco’s eyes. He glanced at Joey’s .357, then at Vespucci. Marco slowly replaced his gun into his shoulder holster. Joey did the same.

  “Jon,” Vespucci said quietly.

  I looked toward Vespucci, trying to catch my breath. My chest was still heaving.

  “You will go home without saying goodbye to anyone. Tomorrow, you will call my daughter and tell her that you have to go back to Los Angeles and cannot complete the project for personal reasons. You will never contact my family again.”

  I thought my life had been in the toilet before Vespucci hired me, and now it was even worse. I had trouble focusing on Vespucci’s words. His voice sounded like an echo.

  “You do not want to know what will happen if you don’t follow my instructions. Do you understand?”

  I felt crushed. Everything had ended. I nodded, in defeat. I turned on my heel toward the door, my feet heavy as lead. Donovan tracked with me, placing his hand on my shoulder in a sign of solidarity, following one step behind. As I passed Joey, I nodded, trying to let him know that I appreciated the help he’d given me over the last few months. Joey didn’t respond. I stopped steps from the door, turning around to Vespucci. “I’m sorry.” I turned to leave when I heard Marco explode behind me.

  “That’s it? You’re going to let him leave?”

  I ducked and turned back as I heard steps coming my way, Marco moving in our direction. Joey crossed between us blocking Marco’s path, shoving his palm into Marco’s chest.

  “Enough!” Vespucci bellowed.

  It was the first time I’d heard him raise his voice. Marco immediately stepped back away from us. I stared at Vespucci, locking eyes with him. He returned my look, s
howing his anger, but there was also something else. Pain? I wasn’t sure.

  “Joey, please see Jon and Donovan out.”

  Joey left Marco standing in the middle of the room, staring at our backs as we left the library and turned down the hallway. Faintly, I could make out Maggie’s voice coming from the kitchen, entertaining Sabrina, though I could not hear what she was saying. I didn’t want to leave without saying goodbye and not giving her an explanation, but Joey’s square frame kept us moving toward the front door. Before I could think of anything else, Donovan and I were in the front yard, following the path leading to the outer gate. Not a word was said. I reached the gate first and opened it onto the street, followed only a step behind by Donovan. Standing at the gate about to close it and, in effect, end the Vespucci chapter of my life, Joey glanced at my face, seeing something there that gave him pause. “Watch your back.” With a respectful nod toward Donovan, Joey closed the gate.

  Donovan and I stood there for several moments. Finally, I asked, “Taxi or walk?”

  “Walk. Easier to see if anyone is following us.”

  We turned in the direction of the hotel, neither one of us speaking the first couple of blocks, processing everything we’d just been through. I called Luci, getting his voicemail. I left a message telling him we were on our way back to the hotel but nothing more. He’d find out soon enough what had happened.

  Finally, Donovan broke the silence. “Thanks.”

  “For what?”

  “You know what.”

  I tried to play it down. “Marco’s fight was with me. I knew he wouldn’t fire his gun in Vespucci’s house.”

  “No, you didn’t.”

  He was right, I didn’t.

  Neither of us talking, the traffic of Brooklyn filling our ears, we walked slowly, staring at the low-rise homes, the neighborhood shifting from bourgeois, upper middle class to middle class to working class, the distance between the houses diminishing as they became more narrow, less detailed, and needing more care and attention. Apartment buildings began to replace the blocks of houses, small businesses appearing on the corners. Lost in my thoughts, I sensed Donovan was diligently watching our surroundings, eyeing every passing car, checking out the sparse number of pedestrians crossing our path as we moved toward the hotel.