Animus

by S. W. Frank

  “Neither do I, cugino. That’s why I’m training him, now get some sleep.”

   

   

  ~ ~

   

   

  “Always keep a peer of shades and a cap handy. You never want anyone to get a clear picture of your face.”

  Sergio nodded.

  “Talking too much gives people an opportunity to identify your voice.”

  Another disinterested nod. Sergio was thinking about how Nico insisted he do some sight-seeing in between the lessons. He’d visited museums, the theatre and sat in the piazza alone. He’d gone to the nightclubs, spent time in hotels and left a tourist trail. His Uncle explained to Sergio that his arrival by commercial flight got his name put on the FAA data base. If anybody ever comes asking, you were on vacation, simple as that and you’ll be able to prove it. His Uncle always thought ahead.

  “When you’re on a job, don’t linger around before or after. You scout the environment in what your father termed a Fly-By.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You do a quick visual by circling the location searching out undercover cops or anything suspicious.”

  “Same thing as scouting, isn’t it?”

  Nico’s head fell to one side and he had an incredulous expression. “Damn nipote, have you listened to anything I’ve said?”

  “Well what’s the difference?”

  Nico was tempted to pull over and kick Sergio out of the car. His sons were better students. What a shame Ari refused to allow them to participate. “When they’re twenty-one Nico, they can choose. As long as their minors, there’s no damn way I’ll let my boys have guns. Anyway, every day I’m on pins and needles when you’re working and with this newborn I’m stressed out and could use their help.”

  He didn’t argue with Ari. The boys would have a choice. He’d never kill their dreams. They could decide when they were of age, whether to follow in his footsteps or travel a different path. Whatever, they chose, he’d be okay. Aaron and Darren were naturals; their strengths were intellect, which Sergio seemed to lack.

  “Scouting is the preliminary assessment of a location. It’s a longer process. You’re deciding the feasibility of doing the target there, such as, is it too close to a police station, is there accessible exits, and all the variables a good enforcer takes into account, understand?”

  A nod.

  “You visit at different times of the day, on foot and in cars, always blending in with the environment.  Now, a visual right before the job is just a quick thorough check that everything’s the way you remember and there aren’t any major changes, like cops in the vicinity or maybe the target has his kid, things like that. You got it, now?”

  “And if there are what then?”

  “Improvise. Sometimes that might be the only thing you can do if there’s a contract with a deadline, if not abort.”

  “So, if the target’s kid is present and I’m on a time constraint I have to kill the person in front of his kid?”

  Nico squint, it’s better than killing the kid in his opinion. “That’s your call.”

  “Have you ever had to do that?”

  The silence gave the answer. Sergio sighed, now isn’t that why they were out hunting as Nico put it in the first place; somebody improvised and botched the job?

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

   

   

   

  “I can dress without assistance, I am not an imbecile,” Giuseppe said to the nursing assistant whose hands reached to button his shirt.

  Finally, he was going home to a familiar place and a comfortable bed. His mother promised to bring him a celebratory meal. Alfonzo stood with his hands in his pockets, quiet and pensive. His brother did not seem happy. His rigid facial expression, did not change as he escorted Giuseppe from the hospital toward an awaiting automobile after two weeks of lying in bed with a bullet graze to the skull.

  The doctor’s found no reason to detain Giuseppe; he’d made a good recovery. The track of the bullet left an indented path, from the frontal occipital, laterally toward his ear. The area was to be kept clean and dry. The stitches would leave a scar, but no one would see once his hair grew back. Alfonzo’s concern about Giuseppe’s mental health was temporarily assuaged by the specialist who stated, “The patients’ psychosis while in the intensive care unit was a case of delirium, which is not unusual. The stimuli when he became conscious, such as the unfamiliar environment, sensory deprivation and overload, immobilization and pain caused anxiety. He is better. I do not feel he requires any pharmacological intervention. Pain medication and a gradual introduction into daily activities are recommended. Do not let him become overwhelmed, monitor his behavior and if there are any disturbances in behavior, he is to return.”

  This was the world’s leading neurosurgeon and not some schmuck. Alfonzo thought of a young doctor with goo-goo eyes for his wife and mentioned him to the surgeon. “There’s a young physician, Tyree Davis finishing a residency at Kings County Hospital in Brooklyn. I believe he can learn a lot from you. I’m making a hefty donation to any of your research projects, just where do I send the funds?”

  The doctor’s face lit up. “I’m affiliated with many research projects. However, The August Foundation for Traumatic Brain Injury certainly could use more funding. Gunshot wounds have a high morbidity rate and aside from gun control lobbying, patients require state of the art treatment and intervention and that’s what we do, improve care and discover new ways to treat injury and increase the survival rates if we can. Your brother was lucky, there are many who are not and require more intensive intervention.”

  “Ten million dollars is a small token of my family’s appreciation. We support the great work you and others in the medical field continuously to do to save lives. Gracias.”

  The eyes opened more. The smile showed uneven white teeth. “Thank you.”

  That is the crux of it. Give a generous donation for a great cause and a young intern gets a chance to learn from the most respected brain surgeon in the world. It’s a guarantee, the neurosurgeon would make the call and if Dr. Tyree Davis declined, it’ll be his choice. But, Alfonzo hoped the youth recognized the once in a lifetime opportunity.

  Afterwards, he escorted his brother outdoors to the awaiting car. The brothers were spotted by the media. The rear parking lot was secured and none could get close but it didn’t stop the firework of flashbulbs on the overcast day. The bodyguards held them at bay until Giuseppe was secured in the car and then Alfonzo said, “I’ll be right back Geo, they’re going to want a statement.”

  Giuseppe nodded and through tinted glass observed Alfonzo approach the media mob clamoring outside the sheltered area. Alfonzo’s Italian was perfect. “Grazie to everyone who has sent well wishes to mi famiglia. We are overwhelmed by the outpouring from the comunità during this crisis. Grazie to the polizei for apprehending those involved. We ask that we are granted privacy to properly grieve for our loved ones. Grazie, grazie!” Then Alfonzo turned his back as questions were shouted and sat in the car next to his brother, closed the door and the vehicle sped off.

  “Nice fratellino, you handled that well.”

  “Thanks, I hope it keeps the gnats off your back.”

  Giuseppe stared out of the window. “What has Nico learned?”

  Alfonzo held his chest. The dull pain had lessened and he could take fuller breaths. His neck injury brought the most pain. “He’s on a lead. He’ll contact me when it’s solid.”

  “When he finds the culprit, he will wish he killed himself
fratellino!”

  “I agree brother.”

  Giuseppe turned to look at his young brother‘s profile. The obstinate jaw had clenched. A firm line of muscle protruded. “Have I offended you fratellino?”

  “No.”

  “You are different.”

  The bass of Alfonzo’s voice made the syllables pound. “I am.”

  “How so?”

  He missed his wife, his children and relaxing beneath the island rays. These troubles invading their lives could not be eradicated with diplomacy. Giuseppe was right. There are many songs and poems that promote peace. What armistice is derived when human factions continuously instigate war? “I no longer give a damn about playing nice. I’m done.”

  “Humph,” escaped Giuseppe’s mouth. He watched the brick and stone buildings and the people going about their day. His head hurt a little, but his longing for his son overshadowed the ache. “Has she left me fratellino?”

  “She was frightened grande fratello. She feared for Carlo.”

  “I feared for him, too.”

  “Yo sé, we all did.” Alfonzo frowned. “I want you well. I need you brother. Your ass better not scare me again.”

  No wisecracks from Giuseppe came and Alfonzo became weary. He leaned back, closed his eyes and transported home. He wanted to hold his wife, hug his children and mama. He could not leave until he butchered the animal that stole part of his life and caused a mother to flee. Perhaps, its best Shanda and the baby were at a distance. Giuseppe may have another outburst and inadvertently hurt them. Currently, Giuseppe’s recovery must remain stress-free.

  They rode in silence to Giuseppe’s home. Car after reinforced car lined up near the entry. Dark men in darker suits emerged, surveyed the property and then held wide the doors for the Dons. 

  Inside the home were flowers and food. Cards from well-wishers were neatly stacked on a table which Giuseppe fingered before looking around. Two weeks, not a long time, considering he could be dead, but long enough for him to miss the cries of a baby, a woman and a dog. His mother tried to break the news delicately, but it did not work. He remembered everything, well almost everything. The important details were there, which is all that mattered. His shaved head had begun to sprout fine hairs like a bambino. The dreams felt so real. There were many faceless women. Shanda stood out among the vague stills in the frame. There was more missing from the home, a familiar greeting. A friend he’d come to love. His fist collided with the table, rattling a vase. “She even took the dog?”

  Then he heard a bark, the canine jumped up with its tail wagging. Giuseppe kneeled; unaware Gee had been in the backyard playing when he entered the house. The moment Gee sniffed its master though; the hound legs flew through the wind to arrive at Giuseppe’s side in welcome. Giuseppe picked up the pit-bull which had grown several inches in height and girth in their short time apart. “Ciao il mio amico,” he said rubbing its shiny coat.

  Alfonzo had taken a call, and walked from the room. A few minutes later he returned, announced his departure and exited with several men. The others were left to ensure Giuseppe’s safety, mainly from himself.

  Giuseppe took a seat on the sofa, holding Gee in his lap.

  “Is there anything you need?” he was asked by his second in command.

  “No, grazie.”

  He lowered the dog to the floor after ruffling its ears and petting his head. A visitor was announced and a woman came into view. Giuseppe sent away his guards, aware they would not go far. Dark brows met as he strained to place the face. She had a smile, and strut to where he sat and planted a familiar kiss on his mouth. “I am glad you are well, bello.”

  The voluptuous stranger rubbed his face tenderly. “Who are you?” he asked.

  The feminine lashes blinked rapidly. “Alanda, bell’uomo.”

  He shook his head. The doctor said he may have slight fogs in memory, but how could he not recall a sexy woman, someone who appeared to know him intimately? “Mi dispiace, I cannot recall bella.”

  Tenderly she took his hand and placed his palm to her cheek. The warm skin of a beating heart is a blessing. Alanda cared nothing about the memory loss. Giuseppe lived and that is what mattered. Besides, she knew of his woman and son. She saw the sparkle when he mentioned them when he ended their trysts months ago. Only a desperate fool misses the signs of someone in love.  Alanda was not an idiot, she enjoyed his company, but his heart belonged to another. Sculpting and art were her passions, men came and went.  The handsome Don who intimidated many was considered a friend. That is the nature of her visit, especially when she learned the mother of his son had moved out. Her polished lips kissed his palm. “It is okay bell’uomo. Your memory will return in time and if it does not, we will make new ones.”

  The parted lips lowered to his again. The softness of a woman’s touch on a desolate heart awoke a need. He cupped her face, kissing her with hardness, wanting to silence the shouts for Shanda in his brain. The screams continued and he fought them, battling their hold, and suffered emotional defeat. He released the stranger, yet their lips were close. “Leave your number Shanda and when I am better I will call.”

  “Alanda,” she corrected.

  The Freudian slip confirmed his true desire. The apology from the brolic Don was a toothy smile. “Once we are reacquainted bella, your name will flow from my mouth.”

   

   

  ~ ~

   

   

  The wheels of the stroller rolled across rough cement. Bodegas, with multi-colored awnings and advertisements for cigarettes, lotto and faded pictures of food items crowded the windows.

  Shanda peered at the familiar landmarks, a run-down gas station, a Quick-n-Dry, Jamaican restaurant, a Chinese food take-out with hungry customers standing inside, but without tables to sit, was like looking at old footage. Another liquor store had sprung up on the corner. She just passed one on the previous block and she wondered if there was a city ordinance that limited such businesses from being so close together. The neighborhood didn’t need any more drunken fools congregating on the sidewalk causing a disturbance with their raucous talk. She’d grown tired of her parents smothering and a peaceful walk with her child to clear her head is what she needed.

  The consensus among the family is she should stay in New York, get her life back on track and forget. Her brother even added his two cents. “He ‘aint shit sis. That baby could’ve been killed. Nah, I’m with mom and dad on this one.”

  She hadn’t asked his ass what he thought, brotherly support or maybe a little understanding might’ve helped. She felt confused and pressured to move on. But, move on to where?

  She’d come home because she was scared. Now she wondered if Selange was right. Maybe, she was a coward. Maybe, what she was afraid of was how much she loved Giuseppe and death. Nobody knows how much she dreaded funerals. When her grandma died, she shook so bad when her mom brought her close to the casket. Everybody touched the woman’s dress, talking about how pretty and peaceful grandma appeared. A nine year-old girl saw a lifeless person she loved who would never hug her again. She’d gone to heaven.

  Carlo fell asleep during their stroll. When she reached her block she ran into a neighbor’s daughter who returned to live with her parents. Ten years away had brought her back to the beginning with three kids, not a penny to her name and a no-good baby daddy serving time at Rikers for selling.

  “Oh shit, how you doin’ Sha’?”

  Sha’ was her nickname back in the day when they played jump rope in the street as kids. “I’m good.”

  The woman bent down to look at Carlo. “Girl he’s white as hell. So, my mama wasn’t lying. You went and got knocked up by some white dude. Baby’s cute though.”

  “First of all girl what color my baby is shouldn’t matter, he’s a baby. Secondly, whatever gossip you heard chuck that shit, alright?”

  “I see you all sensitive. Aint nothing wrong with pale dick, I had some a few t
imes and some other kinds. But my boo's the best. It's thick and dark like chocolate and tastes good, too.”

  Vulgar bitch! “Good for you, I guess while he’s on the Island you’ll be here waiting because his dick is the bestest.”

  The woman looked at Shanda like she was crazy. “Girl, the dick’s good but it ‘aint that good. He’s doing a nickel and I’m ‘bout to find me another playa’ to plug my whole. Any newcomer lay it down right and take care of me, I’m out.”

  Shanda’s face scrunched in disgust. “What about loyalty to your boo?”

  “Boo-hoo-hoo.” The woman laughed. “He only the daddy of one of my kids and we ‘aint married. Nobody can blame a girl for lookin’ out for herself?”

  “If that’s what you call it.”

  “Girl, men bounce all the time, ‘aint that what your baby daddy did, taste the chocolate then took off ‘cause he got a wife and shit?”

  Shanda tried to remember the girl from the past; bouncy pig-tails, bright eyes and a pretty pink smile. But, she couldn’t see any of that in the adult. The hair was covered by an obvious wig, the eyes were dull and the lips darkened by smoking weed and there was a healed cut in the corner. The voice of a joyful girl had been replaced by the ignorance of a gold-digging woman. Shanda allowed the dumb heffa to think what she wanted. “Well, you know how it is. Shit happens!”

  “Sure does. But, don’t worry girl. The way you look you can snag another dude. There’s plenty of ‘em around.”

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence, girlfriend.”

  The dummy failed to detect the sarcasm and replied. “We gotta’ do what we gotta’ do.”

  “Um-hum, you got that right. Talk to you later.”

  “Now that we both on the block again we gotta’ hang out, hit the clubs some time.”

  “I don’t go out much.”

  “Shit, you were the head of the Bad Girl Committee on the block. Don’t let any motherfucker change you that much. So what you got a baby, you can still go out and party. We gonna’ get together and find us some men.”

  Shanda couldn’t believe the skank. “You go ahead on your mission without me. I’m taking a break until my baby gets older.”