by S. W. Frank
“Don’t let that pussy get too dry.”
Shanda almost choked. In a hurry to get away, Shanda exclaimed, “Okay, take care,” and sprint down the block.
The minute she made it inside, she removed Carlo and carried him to bed, ignoring the curious expression from her mother when she passed her on the couch. “Is everything all right?”
Shanda noticed the news footage on the TV and halted. There was Giuseppe, thinner, with bandages around his bald head. He disappeared inside a car and then Alfonzo appeared and she couldn’t understand a word he said. The man was always impeccably groomed, charming and sinister at the same time. Fucking mean ass!
“Mom, what’s this?” she finally asked.
Her mother clicked off the television. “Ah nothing. Your friend was released from the hospital.”
“I’ve been worried sick because I couldn’t find out anything and you call it nothing?”
“Shanda, keep your voice down before you wake the baby.”
“Hmmm, thanks for your concern for my child’s well-being. Too bad you don’t have the same concern for me.”
Shanda stomped upstairs, placed the baby in his crib and removed his outer clothes. She needed to get Giuseppe’s number. She replaced her cellular and asked the company for a detailed bill because she tried to view her call history on-line and was told the data had been lost due to some virus. She hadn’t heard shit like that before, but that’s what they said. Apparently, her contacts were gone.
The frustration of trying to assimilate into her old life when she wasn’t the same person had her edgy all the time. The damn pretense that she didn’t care about her baby’s father was beginning to fall apart. Her dad was trying to re-enact her childhood, but he’d forgotten she had grown-up. He couldn’t undo the years he put work before her. That’s when she needed an attentive father, what she needed now was their support and love. She felt confused; on one hand she wanted to protect her child from harm, on the other hand she missed Giuseppe. Was Carlo really safer in Brooklyn when just the other day a kid got shot going to the store?
Then this nosy bitch acted like she knew her business. Like, they were in the same boat, when their lives were completely different. And why in the hell was her mom going around talking her business? She was going to put an end to that pronto. Frankly, being home reminded her of what she didn’t miss. Ratchet chicks like that made her sick.
She placed yet another call to Selange and left a voicemail message. “Call me girl, please.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Last night Nico called as instructed and his mother delivered. Hot damn!
Geovonna’s brother that piece of shit was behind the whole mess. How she got this information, he hadn’t asked. He investigated further and confirmed everything she said. Paolo Calbrese ordered the hit and the prick hadn’t thoroughly wiped the trail clean.
Paolo had instructed the contractors to wound Giuseppe and let him watch the killing of his entire family and then shoot Giuseppe in his big mouth. Paolo’s animosity stemmed from Giuseppe’s failure to attend the funeral for his sister Geovonna which he considered a sign of disrespect. Nico often warned Giuseppe to tread carefully. Offensive actions can lead to unrest. Giuseppe further humiliated Paolo outside of an eatery during an altercation not too long ago and of course Paolo sought revenge. The politician chose to evoke a personal war and did not request permission to act, a despondent man does not think.
Sergio had begun to get the hang of the decoy stuff and in Paolo’s case it was easy. The skinny twit liked to smoke. He was smoking now as he cut through the piazza to his car. There was Sergio, cigarette in hand, fumbling for a light, when he sees Paolo. Nico smirked, Paolo’s actions were expected. The lighter flickered and was held to the edge of Sergio’s cigarette. Nico pulled up during the distraction and reached over to push open the back door. Like a pro, Sergio took hold of Paolo to muscle him in the car and didn't make a scene. Nico sped off as Sergio checked Paolo for weapons and then handcuffed his hands and ankles.
Sergio was glad Nico had not asked him to drive. The traffic in Palermo was atrocious. There was virtually no road or highway maintenance. The highway and road signs were inadequate and difficult to read. Either they were poorly placed, small, or covered with tree branches or graffiti. At least in New York the highway department trimmed the trees. He found this problem existed where ever they traveled in Sicily, and the criminal control which his family was part of, along with the bureaucracy were to blame. He had mentioned this to Nico and he agreed. Finally, they had found common ground. “So how do you fix the problem nipote?” Nico had asked.
“Make the families in charge of these services deliver.”
“Sounds good in theory. Corruption is rampant.”
“What’s the point of having power if you don’t use it?”
“Allies can become enemies when livelihoods are threatened. Keeping a medium is preferable. Sometimes a person can lean too far in the wrong direction and upset the balance of things.”
“People deserve better than squalor Uncle.”
“A liberator of the people is a thief,” Nico said jokingly.
“Call me what you want, but this shit is wrong.”
“Sí, nipote there is much wrong in the world. Not even the power of force can change that, capisce?”
That is only one of many conversations Sergio had with his Uncle during his stay. The car distanced itself from the tourist Palermo, and Sergio sighed at the general deterioration of public places. The lovely seaside towns, with the once beautiful brick sidewalks set along the beachfronts, broken and bricks missing due to lack of maintenance brought a snort.
He found corruption and failed bureaucracies were endemic problems in many places apparently other than the United States. He somewhat understood Nico’s logical assessment, because Tony had made a similar observation. There were not enough bullets to wipe-out the ills of people.
Nico’s eyes were on his nephew wondering what he was thinking. He’d been quiet far too long. A plus and a minus is how he saw it. “You alright, nipote?”
“Yeah, I just think if our family banned together we can change some of this squalor. I mean damn Nico, if what you say is true, Sicily should represent our proud heritage and not a feeding ground for vultures to pick at, you know what I’m saying?”
Nico’s chest convulsed. In an unguarded moment, the young upstart had finally spoken wisely. Yes, goddammit Sergio, now you’re awake, he thought. “Buongiorno Paolo,” Nico said with his eyes on the rearview mirror instead.
“Nico, people will look for me.”
“Hum, and?”
“Por favore do not do this.”
Nico had done nothing. “Do what Paolo?”
“Do not kill me.”
“I am not going to kill you Paolo.”
Paolo’s relief showed. “Grazie, grazie.”
“The Capo de tutti wants the pleasure. I have seen what he does when he is angry. My cuts are kinder.”
Paolo’s eyes were saucers. He shouted in fear and tried to reach for the door. Sergio’s fist smashed into his face and actually broke Paolo’s jaw. He yelled no more.
“Grazie, nipote.”
“You’re welcome.”
~ ~
There are ancient places found throughout Sicily. Old castles on rolling hilltops overlooking Trapani and the beaches of San Vito lo Capo, in the shadows of mountain and fog is where Nico chose to meet. History survived in Erice in the stone streets and feudal strongholds older than the Middle Age period. The city sat atop a mountain, where eyes could absorb the Tyrrhenian coast of western Sicily.
Mythical
heroes such as Hercules and Aeneas are associated with ancient Erice. Here is where, according to Diodorus Siculus, Eryx received Hercules during his visit and lost to him in a wrestling bout. Eryx was the son of Aphrodite and King Butes of Elymians.
The irony of the location was not lost on the Capo de tutti as he climbed from the black SUV in the fog trailed by his crew. The ruins of what may have been a smaller castle sat nestled among tall trees and brush hiding it from view. The deserted area required navigation by a Sicilian familiar with the miles of winding roads and its location. In the higher altitude, part of the guard tower of Pepoli Castle was seen. The fortress now housed a hotel, making use of the medieval structure and a visitor’s curiosity of the past.
Descendants of a King, darkened skin of an ancient mother and the feuding hearts of men, Nico reminded his cousin of who they were and what it meant. And as Alfonzo’s polished shoes stomped dry grass, he thought of his brother, and pledged to ensure every witness would remember this killing.
His eyes met Sergio’s first, who stood outside the leaning ruins with his arms crossed. Alfonzo up-chinned the dude before stepping through the entry onto broken slates. Nico sat on a huge rock drinking a beer and eating a calzone, having a goddamn picnic. At his feet was a bag filled with tools. Alfonzo saw the body face down on the ground, handcuffed and blindfolded. He closed the gap and turned the figure over with the tip of his shoe. He bent, sort of hovered for a second in a crouch as he tried to place the face, which was rather distorted by swelling and blood. He removed the blindfold and his memory returned when he recognized the puffy eyes and hawkish nose of Geovonna’s brother, Paolo.
“Don Alfonzo, por favore…I beg of you…we were once family…do not do this.”
The gulping of liquid was followed by the crushing of a beer can in Nico’s hand. The sound of a zipper and the clinging of objects on stone was the non-verbal communication Paolo received.
Alfonzo stood and removed his jacket. It was taken and cared for without a word spoken. Knuckles cracked, loud as thunder and Paolo swallowed his fear. The eyes rapidly went around the room at the faces of emotionless men. They watched as Alfonzo lifted him on his feet. Paolo began to cry, rambling like a bitch, lying about his participation, refusing to own up to the misdeed.
Nico asked, “Serrated or smooth?”
“Smooth.”
A lethal piece of steel, curved in a moon shape touched Alfonzo’s palm. The point was thrust under Paolo’s armpit and rotated. The screams were deafening. Paolo admitted his involvement and begged for mercy. He promised to do anything and Alfonzo hissed. “Be quiet, start there.”
Paolo silenced; the pruner blade was yanked free and it held human meat. Alfonzo let him drop and squirm like a slug when salt’s poured on it. Slimy is what it becomes.
“Any hand wipes in there cugino?” Alfonzo asked.
Nico always came prepared. Alfonzo pulled the antiseptic cloth from the large dispenser and took his time cleaning the blood from his hands as a whimpering Paolo watched. An orchestral ring tone went off in Alfonzo’s pocket which he immediately answered. With the cell to his ear, held in place by his shoulder, Alfonzo continued to wipe his fingers. “Yeah babe, everything all right at home?”
“How’s your brother?” Selange asked.
“He’s doing better.”
“When are you coming home, I really miss you honey?”
Paolo tried to crawl away. Where the hell is he going, Alfonzo wondered? He put his foot on the slimy fishes’ torso. “I’m leaving tomorrow. How’s my Allie?”
The blood no longer stained his fingers. The hand wipe was dropped in a red bag Nico had prepared. Nothing, not a beer can or cigarette butt gets discarded on jobs for police to find.
Rules.
“She’s fine. I took her to the pediatrician. She had a cold and I think she missed us which equates to a miserable kid.”
“And are you healing okay?”
“Yes, what about you?”
Paolo sat forward and Alfonzo kicked him in the face. Damn, he missed his honey and by the sounds of it, she wanted to talk. He felt bad that he didn’t have the time. “No complaints. Babe listen, I’ll call you back in an hour. I’m in the middle of something.”
“Okay, bye.”
“Later, babe.”
Nico had a lopsided grin. “Tú eres algo más,” he said in Spanish.
“Cállate y pásame una hoja de filete, primo.”
Nico lifted the large fillet blade. Alfonzo could have made quite the doctor or fisherman. A piece of Paolo’s shirt was torn loose and then stuffed in his mouth before Alfonzo set to work. He took his time; blood stained the old stones then slid and dripped on the pebbled dirt below. The muffled sounds of loud screams reached Sergio’s ears. He watched as Alfonzo scalped the poor bastard like Indians did on TV. Sergio had leaned in the doorway to watch, but couldn’t view anymore of the butchery. He didn't want to hear the ripping of flesh either as Alfonzo skinned Paolo alive. He walked outside and vomited on the grass.
Alfonzo said nothing; he wanted the treacherous Paolo to understand suffering. Torture is the ache that never ends.
Nico was certain Paolo went unconscious during the slicing, but Alfonzo was not done. In fact he planned to scale Paolo like a fish and then feed him piece by piece to the sea. He promised Sophie he’d be there for Giuseppe’s celebratory lunch and he planned to. He hoped Alfonzo finished in time. He continued to watch. It appeared Vincent taught the kid the Butcher Method. This was a hands-on approach for a grievous personal affront.
Barbaric.
Torture.
Mesmerized by Alfonzo’s skill; Nico admired Vincent’s art. It was like old times again.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Nico made certain Sergio was on the earliest flight out of Sicily. The ticket required a four hour layover in New York and then a connecting flight would take him back to Puerto Rico. “Make sure you contact your sister, keep everything normal. Got it young buck?”
“Got it old buck,” Sergio told his Uncle.
The look on Sergio’s face when Nico embraced him and mushed his head was priceless. “Stay out of trouble and if you need to contact me in an emergency remember what I taught you.”
“I will.”
That was an hour ago and now Nico sat at large table, in the afternoon, with family, sharing a festive meal in honor of Giuseppe. Sophie outdid herself, as always. Giuseppe’s favorite dishes were served. He ate heartily, like a man released from prison. His eyes sparkled with every bite, which was wonderful to see after days of being asleep. The Giuseppe post-shooting seemed more subdued. Nico preferred the old Giuseppe. But, it was just great to see Giuseppe up and talking again. Hell, he was alive. Alfonzo appeared aloof throughout lunch. He rarely talked, in fact he hadn’t said much since they tossed Paolo’s body parts in the sea. Nico could tell he was troubled and after the meal pulled him aside before leaving. “What’s going on with you?”
“What do you mean?”
Nico relaxed, hands in pockets as they faced each other in the living-room. “I asked a straight-forward question Alfonzo. You’re not yourself, what’s going on?”
Alfonzo rubbed his chin. “You’re beginning to sound like a father more than a cousin.”
“Then I’ll be a surrogate father if it gets you talking.”
Alfonzo scratched his head. There are some things a man can’t voice openly. He didn’t want to admit to Nico his reluctance to leave was not because of his brother’s condition, but fear of intimacy with his wife. He did not want the semen from his dick to bring her harm. Selange was smart. If he suddenly began using condoms she’d get suspicious and call him out. Alfonzo’s ring hand waved in the air. “It’s been a long day. I’m tired. Tomorrow I’m going home, but I’m still a bit worried about my brother, that’s all.”
>
Nico’s skepticism was not voiced. Alfonzo’s reticence to share what was really on his mind was an indication he didn’t fully trust Nico, yet. Nico was patient. He placed his hand atop the broad shoulder as if this was a conversation with his son. “You ever need me kid...”
Alfonzo’s face twisted into a half-smile before he could finish. “There we go with the kid shit again. I thought we settled that a while ago.”
“As I said if you ever need me old man.”
“Now I’m old. I prefer kid.”
“I thought so.” Nico grinned. At times he saw the thirteen year-old boy. It was a habit, he had yet to break. “When you want to talk, you know how to reach me.” There’s a time Nico would never have spoken his affections, but with Alfonzo the words came easier now. Almost losing the kid had slightly unstiffened a rigid heart. “I’ve learned a lot about myself over the years and some things I’m not very proud of. When you get older life tends to make more sense and all the bull-shit you knocked your head about isn’t nearly as important as having somebody to love. I’m going home to Ari kid; go home to your wife.”
Hearing Nico’s words caused Alfonzo to elongate his spine. He sighed, an eyebrow rose and he looked up a bit at Nico. He’d always wondered when the residual hostility against Nico would leave. Standing face-to-face with his cousin, whatever knot existed had gone. He didn’t feel anger or see Nico’s mistake, instead he saw someone who sacrificed years of youth to keep a wayward boy safe. He saw a man robbed of a childhood, yet remained loyal far longer than any sane man could. His strength is what the family desperately needed now. His love for Vincent was powerful, yet it had been Nico he had the special bond. Despite the distant years and hardship, the bond never really broke. It’d gotten frayed, coarse and rough, but it held through all the torrential storms. Alfonzo imitated Nico’s wide stance and pressed down on his cousin’s shoulder to reverse roles. “Grande cugino, grazie for your sacrifices. Thank you for those years. They were hard on you, they had to be but you’re strong, now go crazy sonovabitch and spend time with your family. Your old ass deserves some happiness.”
