Mafioso

by Nisa Santiago

  The following day she went to see her private physician, and it was confirmed. She was seven weeks pregnant. Now all she had to do was tell the daddy.

  27

  The knock at her apartment door made Maxine grab her robe that was hanging off the back of the bedroom chair and throw it around her naked body. She was getting ready for bed when someone decided to show up late night. She had an idea who it was. She tied her robe together and walked barefoot to answer the door. Opening it, there was Bugsy smiling at her.

  “Hey Bugsy,” she said with a smile.

  “Hey, Maxine. I just came by to check up on you. Can I come in?” he said.

  She nodded. “Sure.”

  Bugsy stepped inside the penthouse suite, and Maxine closed the door behind him. He stood there looking handsome in his black overcoat, his facial hair neatly trimmed. She could see the butt of his holstered 9mm slightly showing from the inside of his coat.

  “Everything good with you tonight? You doing okay?”

  “I’m doing fine.”

  But she wasn’t stupid. Maxine realized that Bugsy was only coming to visit her late at night or early in the morning to keep tabs on her for his father. He wanted to see if she had another nigga in his father’s bed. But there was no one.

  Though Bugsy was against spying on Maxine, Scott made it clear that he wanted it done. For the past two weeks, Bugsy had been coming by unannounced. But he was always extremely nice to her and he was a gentleman. Maxine didn’t mind it; she loved his company. She was lonely. She didn’t have any friends, and her parents were dead.

  Bugsy removed his overcoat and took a seat on the sofa. He made himself at home.

  “Do you want something? Coffee? Hot chocolate?” she asked.

  “I’ll take a hot chocolate,” he said.

  “Coming up.”

  Maxine disappeared into the kitchen, and Bugsy’s eyes lingered on her longer than needed. He looked around the place and it was always the same—tastefully decorated, relaxing, and no indication of another man’s presence. Maxine had done a wonderful job of picking up the pieces and cleaning up after the FBI left his father’s place in disarray.

  She soon came back into the living room holding two cups of hot chocolate. She handed Bugsy his and took a seat near him.

  “Thanks,” he said, taking a few sips.

  “So, how’s it going out there?” she asked him.

  “Hectic. But I’m managing things,” he said.

  “I commend you. You took on a lot. I know Scott is proud of you,” she said.

  “I do what I need to do.”

  “Don’t we all?” she said.

  “I guess so,” he replied.

  “Scott is a good man with a lot on his plate right now, and I’m gonna always be there for him because I love him. I don’t want him to ever second guess that,” she said with sincerity, giving Bugsy direct eye contact. Meanwhile, she couldn’t give two fucks about Scott’s fate.

  “I know. I see it in your eyes—more with you than my own mother,” he said.

  She was thankful to hear that.

  He sighed heavily. He had something on his mind too, and Maxine picked up on it.

  “So what’s going on with you? I can see it in your eyes that something is bothering you. There’s a deep sadness behind them.”

  He chuckled. “What, you a psychiatrist or something?”

  She chuckled with him. “No, I just know the signs all too well.”

  “Everything’s cool,” he lied.

  “Have you seen or spoken to Alicia lately?” she asked him out of the blue.

  He was taken aback by the question. “How did you know I was thinking about her?”

  “A girl can tell. The way your mood shifted right after I said the things about your father, how I loved him. I know you loved that girl deeply.”

  “I did. I still do,” he admitted.

  “She’s a good woman. If it’s meant to be, Bugsy, she’ll come back to you.”

  “I don’t know. Her world and my world, it will never mix. She’s a good girl. And if anything was to happen to her because of me, I would never forgive myself for it.”

  “Love can be a complicated machine.”

  “I don’t need it to be complicated. I wanted it to work with her,” he said.

  “Have you seen or spoken to her lately?” she asked again.

  “I parked outside her home a while back and watched her from the truck. It was difficult for me. She’s moving. I don’t blame her.”

  “You’re a good man, Bugsy. I’m sorry it didn’t work out with her.”

  “I chose this life, and she has hers. That’s life, right?”

  Maxine tried to encourage him. “You’ll find that special girl one day, and she’s going to love you unconditionally.”

  “If I don’t die out here first,” he uttered.

  “Don’t talk like that,” she said. “You’re gonna live forever!”

  He laughed. “You believe that, don’t you?”

  “I believe we make our own way, no matter what, and those who are determined to survive will, no matter what,” Maxine said.

  “I respect you because you’re a survivor. Twenty years inside, not a word to give up my mother. If it wasn’t for you, I probably wouldn’t even be born,” he said.

  “Fate is a funny thing, you know? You never know where it might take you, good or bad.”

  “Speaking of bad,” Bugsy wanted to shift the conversation from Alicia. It hurt too much. “Layla is at it again. I don’t want to bring up bad memories for you, but she wants Lucky to take the fall on her case.”

  “Take the fall?”

  “Yeah, I don’t know why I’m mentioning this, but I guess it’s because you can relate. She wants Lucky to take the stand and undergo a line of questioning that could place her on the FBI’s radar. Can you believe that?”

  “With Layla? Yes. She will always put herself first.”

  “Over her kids, though?”

  “She’s frightened, and when she’s scared no one around her is safe.”

  The two finished off their hot chocolate and talked for a while longer. Maxine always provided Bugsy with good conversation. He felt that he could talk to her about anything. He felt that she was honest with him and she offered good advice.

  Bugsy looked at the time and it was getting late. He’d spent nearly an hour at her place. He stood up, and she stood up too. They looked at each other and smiled.

  “It’s been real with you, Maxine. Thanks for the hot chocolate,” he said, throwing on his overcoat. “I feel like I’m twelve years old again.”

  She chuckled. “You’re far from twelve years old, Bugsy. You’re a very handsome young man.”

  There was lingering eye contact between them, but no words. She continued to smile. He started to walk toward the door. There was nothing for his father to worry about. Maxine was a wholesome woman, he believed. Scott was being paranoid, and Bugsy would report back to him with the good news like he always did. But Scott would continue to look for something that wasn’t there at all, and Bugsy would warn him to fall back. Scott was determined to find something on Maxine—something that he felt wasn’t right with her all of a sudden.

  Maxine followed him to the door and opened it. Before Bugsy left, there was more lingering eye contact between them—smiling eyes and a shared connection. Before Bugsy made his exit, they hugged, and it was a lasting hug. Maxine pulled away from him, feeling her heart flutter suddenly. His hold around her started to become a little bit too enticing for her. Then he accidently brushed up against her backside. They both felt it, their emotional exchange. He looked at her and she looked at him. There was desire between them, but it felt awkward.

  Bugsy left and Maxine closed the door behind him. She sighed and remained by the door. What the
fuck am I thinking? she asked herself. The fuse had been lit. She felt something with Bugsy. There was this cumbersome spark that somehow ignited inside of her. He left moments ago, but she still felt him.

  She retreated into her bedroom, removed her robe, and lay naked on her king size bed. Her body felt built up with a need to release. She spread her legs and moved her hand between her open thighs and rubbed her clit and fingered herself, all while thinking about Bugsy. He was the younger, smarter, more loyal version of Scott. His charisma, kindness, and swag had left a mark on her.

  ***

  Bugsy briskly walked out of the building and climbed into the backseat of the lavish GMC Yukon. His men had been patiently waiting outside. They didn’t question his extensive time inside Maxine’s apartment. It wasn’t their business.

  Bugsy sat back in the seat, knowing what he suddenly felt for Maxine was surreal. Something unspeakable had started between them. She was a real woman and his father was lucky to have her. He respected that—the love they had. It made him envy it and made him upset that he didn’t have that with Alicia. He needed to forget about Maxine somehow. It was immoral.

  “Take me to this nigga right now,” he said to Pluto.

  The man nodded and drove away from the building. Bugsy stared off in the distance in a daze. He remained silent as Pluto navigated the SUV to Brooklyn in the middle of the night. The traffic was sparse, and it was familiar territory to Bugsy. Brooklyn was his parents’ stomping grounds, their home, and it was the place where everything started for his family. It was where his parents made a serious name for themselves the hard way, literally through blood, sweat, and tears. The West name was known in every ghetto and project building. The streets were unforgiving at times, but his folks built a legacy.

  Still, the wolves were at their ankles, snarling and hungry to devour what his family had built. With Scott and Layla locked up, there were more wolves emerging and trying to test their strength and looking for cracks in their foundation. They wanted to see the family and the organization torn apart and crumbling so a new team could rise from the rubble.

  One particular wolf was named Gambino. He was becoming a heavyweight on the streets and a problem, like Spank. However, Gambino was a lot more organized and connected, and he was older and more influential in the streets. Scott’s arrest made it appear that Gambino would become the next major drug lord in Brooklyn and beyond, and Bugsy couldn’t allow that to happen. The West organization couldn’t look weak. Bugsy and his father had just eliminated Deuce and his crew from the face of the earth, and now Gambino was their next threatening rival.

  The Yukon came to a stop in front of a corner bodega on Myrtle Avenue in the Bed-Stuy section of Brooklyn. Bugsy stepped out of the truck and went into the store with his two goons following. There were no customers in the store, and Bugsy was met by the store clerk. The man nodded and watched Bugsy walk by toward the back area. He trekked through a short, narrow hallway and descended narrow concrete stairs to the basement. He was met by Choppa, who looked like he had been putting in work.

  “Is he talking?” Bugsy asked Choppa.

  “Nah,” Choppa said.

  Bugsy frowned and entered the concrete room and saw the victim lying on the floor. His name was Mackie and he was a higher-up in Gambino’s crew. Mackie had been severely beaten by Choppa and the other hoodlums in the room, and there was more to come. Bugsy approached Mackie with his hard gaze and felt no remorse for his condition. His face was bloody, eyes swollen, and skin bruised. Choppa had put a serious hurting on him. His right-hand thug loved his job a bit too much.

  “I swear y’all muthafuckas are like weeds. Cut a few down, more pop up somewhere else in the backyard and fuck up my grass,” said Bugsy.

  He removed his overcoat and suit jacket, unbuttoned the cuffs on his shirt, and rolled up the sleeves.

  Mackie looked up at Bugsy and scowled. Bugsy nodded to Choppa, and right away an aluminum baseball bat was put into his hand. He towered over Mackie like a hungry cat to a cornered mouse.

  “I’m tired of y’all muthafuckas thinking y’all can just come and take food out of our mouths. Nigga, do you think we’re gonna allow that to happen?” Bugsy exclaimed.

  It was a rhetorical question.

  “What—you see this nice suit, the expensive shoes, and the pretty face and you think I’m a pussy?” Bugsy threw out another rhetorical question. Next came the not-rhetorical question. “Where’s your boy at? Gambino? He and I really need to have a face-to-face. He’s overstepping his boundaries because my peoples are down—like he can just come into Brooklyn and do whatever the fuck he wants!”

  “Fuck you!” Mackie growled at Bugsy with contempt.

  “Seriously? Fuck me? That’s your comeback line? You disrespect my business and you insult me?” Bugsy retorted.

  Yeah, he meant it. Mackie wanted to be tightlipped and hardcore to the end.

  Bugsy wanted to teach him some manners, and the baseball bat was his lesson plan.

  “My boys beat you down pretty badly, but that’s nothing compared to what I got in store for you if you don’t speak up and tell me what I want to know,” said Bugsy coolly.

  Once again, Mackie glared up at Bugsy and retorted, “Fuck you, nigga!”

  Bugsy shook his head in disbelief. “Y’all niggas are never gonna learn. This shit isn’t a fuckin’ game!”

  He took an angry swing, and the baseball bat slammed into Mackie’s lower back. A deep howl emanated from Mackie as he cringed from the blow. But Bugsy wasn’t done yet. He swung that bat again and struck Mackie in his knee cap, then on his shin, and he worked his way up the body.

  “You have nothing to say, muthafucka?” Bugsy screamed.

  Still, Mackie showed noncompliance, and that further fed Bugsy’s rage. He swung the bat again and hit Mackie full-force on his forehead. The blow was so heavy that it nearly sunk his skull in. Blood started to trickle down his face. Bugsy hit him again, the bat colliding with the man’s face, spewing more blood and knocking out teeth. Then there was another hit and another. Each forceful bash was disfiguring the man’s appearance as Bugsy’s men watched. Mackie’s face started to look like chopped meat, and he wasn’t moving. Mackie was dead. Bugsy had hit him like he was a hanging piñata—ready to have his guts spill out instead of candy.

  When he was done, Bugsy was breathing heavily, and the bat was dripping with blood.

  “Get rid of this muthafucka,” he said.

  Choppa nodded.

  “I want you to dump the body on the street—send a message to that muthafucka Gambino,” Bugsy added.

  “I got you,” Choppa replied.

  Bugsy’s actions were in complete contrast to who he was earlier with Maxine—Mr. Nice Guy and a gentleman. Bugsy had a lot of pent-up hurt and anger that he needed to release, and Mackie made a fine punching bag. Plus, he wanted to get his hands dirty to remind his men not to be confused by the suit and tie. He was still a very dangerous man—a killer—and he needed to show it from time to time.

  He dropped the bat and cleaned his hands. He then fixed his shirt and tie and donned his overcoat. He turned and left the basement, leaving his men to exchange silent glances.

  28

  Angel invited Lucky to join him in sunny California. He loved his warm weather states. Lucky flew first class to Los Angeles, alone this time. She wanted to see Angel face-to-face and tell him about the pregnancy. How was he going to take it? It’d been nearly twelve weeks since they’d seen other in Miami.

  The plane landed at LAX in the early afternoon. It was her first time in the Golden State. The nearly six-hour flight went smoothly, and Lucky walked through the terminal with anticipation of seeing Angel. There was a three-hour difference between New York and L.A., and Lucky experienced minor jet lag. Her pregnancy wasn’t helping either. So far, she’d kept it a secret from everyone. She wanted Angel to be the first
to know about his baby growing inside of her.

  The only baggage Lucky traveled with was her small carry-on bag. She walked toward the terminal exit behind the dozens of other arriving passengers looking ravishing in her dark blue pantsuit and heels. She looked like a professional woman in L.A. on business, but her cleavage was spilling out of her blouse. She didn’t look twelve weeks pregnant. She was carrying small, her waist only slightly thickened.

  Outside the terminal, there was an idling black Range Rover with tinted windows parked near the curb and a tall, intimidating Latino male wearing a dark suit and dark shades posted by the vehicle with his arms crossed in front of him. Lucky knew he’d been sent by Angel to greet her at the airport. She looked at him and he looked at her, unsmiling. She took a deep breath and walked his way. He immediately opened the back door for her to climb inside. There was no welcome—no formal greeting from the henchman. He was standoffish and didn’t even help her with her small carry-on bag. He was simply there to escort Lucky to her location—nothing more and nothing less.

  Lucky sat back and eyed the scenery. It was busy, busy, and busy. Cars and people swamped the area, and L.A. traffic was already in full effect right outside the airport. There were two men with her inside the Range Rover. Both of them were quiet. The driver navigated the vehicle toward the airport exit. It was a slow crawl, but eventually, they made it onto the 405 Expressway and headed north toward Santa Monica. Lucky was floored by L.A.’s palm trees and beaches, and the weather was flawless.

  The driver came to a stop in front of an attractive hotel on Ocean Avenue. The passenger got out and opened the back door for Lucky. She stepped out of the vehicle and looked around. The street was lined with towering palm trees, and the people were sexily dressed for the sunny and warm weather. It was like Miami all over again. The luxury hotel featured oceanfront tranquility, European-style spas, and fine dining.