by Jessie Cooke
He sighed and turned his back to me, looking out over the city. When he turned back he said, “Sit back down, Catalina.”
I sat down and he said, “I was thirty years old at the time that photo was taken. My wife Janet and I had been married for five years. My oldest was four and my youngest was two. Margarita was our nanny. She worked for us for about a year. We had to let her go, Catalina…she wasn’t…stable.”
“What do you mean? Are you saying my mother is crazy?”
“Not crazy, just unstable. We found out that she was involved with a dangerous group of people that I was prosecuting. I tried to talk to her about it and during that conversation she freaked out and told me that she was pregnant and she was going to tell my wife that it was my baby. I knew I hadn’t slept with her so I went to my wife and told her everything. She believed me and we didn’t take her threats seriously…but then she started following my family and I around, harassing us, telling lies about me and her….”
I stood up again. “My mother is not crazy! You’re lying!”
He shook his head. “No Catalina, I’m not lying. We had to call the police on her more than once. It’s all public record, you can look it up. They eventually sent her and her child back to Mexico.”
“You got her pregnant and then you turned her away. You sent her back to a place where she was going to be mistreated and abused.”
“I didn’t have anything to do with her being sent back. I called the police because I feared for my family. INS got involved and deported her. She didn’t have anyone in the U.S. to leave her baby…you, with. She took you with her. It was a stressful time for all of us, but I swear to you, I never had sex with your mother.”
“You’re lying!” The tears were streaming down my face. Had she been lying to me this entire time? I’m an American citizen and this whole time she let me live in the middle of a war zone with my uncle at the helm?
He stood up and softly said, “I’m not lying, Catalina. I’m so sorry that you came all this way to find out like this. If it will make you feel better, I’d be willing to take a DNA test.” I felt like I couldn’t breathe. It felt like someone was sitting on my chest. What the hell was I going to do? I could hear myself wheezing as I tried to suck oxygen into my lungs. He reached out to touch my arm and I pulled back and almost fell down. “Please sit down. I’ll get you some water…”
“No! I don’t want to sit!” I snapped at him but he wasn’t the one I was angry with. He wouldn’t volunteer to take a DNA test if he thought there was any chance I was his kid…he was telling the truth and my mother was the one who had been lying all the years. I sucked in a shaky breath and said, “I’m sorry. I’m going to go.” I started for the door and he said,
“Catalina…wait.” I stopped, but I didn’t turn around. “I think I know who your father is.”
That sliver of hope was down to a thread, but it was still there. If I was born here that made me an American, no matter who my father was. But…I still wanted to know. I turned to face him and he said, “Do you know who Dominic Vitucci is?” I slowly shook my head. He handed me the newspaper clipping back. The article underneath his photo was about him prosecuting a bunch of guys involved in organized crime. He pointed to a list of names on the bottom right. One of them was Dominic Vitucci.
He’s a criminal? I couldn’t say it aloud. I couldn’t get enough air. I felt like I was going to pass out.
“Dominic is the head of a family called the Sicilian Five. It’s made up of the last of five families that originated in New Jersey and migrated to Vegas in the fifties. Dominic was a young Capo back then. After that bust, he spent eight years in prison. His father died while he was away and when he came out, the title went to him. He’s the one your mother was seeing when all of this happened.”
I shook my head. I didn’t want to believe it…I couldn’t believe it. I ran out the door and towards the stairwell. I could hear him calling after me…but, I didn’t look back. I’d come to meet my father and ask for help…the plans hadn’t changed, they had just been amended.
13
Conan
I lifted my heavy eyelids slowly…they felt like they weighed about a thousand pounds. The strong smell of cleaner filled my nose and dried out my nasal passages and throat. My mouth was so dry that I wasn’t sure I could even open it. I smacked my lips a few times and then I tried to look around. I realized that one of my eyes was covered with something. The left one was uncovered but it took me quite some time to focus it. Everything was still a little hazy as I took stock of where I was. The walls were starch white and the lights were so bright they hurt my single eye. I wanted to close it again, but curiosity kept it open. I could hear all sorts of beeping noises coming from behind me. There was a big window on one side of the room and the sill was filled with flowers and balloons. At the far end of it was a big chair and my mom was asleep in it. I tried to turn my head in the other direction but that netted me a sharp pain in the back of my head that traveled down my neck. Obviously I was in a hospital…but why?
“Mom.” I made a noise, but my ears told me it only sounded like “Mom” inside of my head. I tried the smacking thing again and worked up a little bit of moisture and said it again. “Mom.” That time it sounded like “Mom” but it didn’t sound like my voice. It was raspy and had a croak to it. It worked though. She lifted her head and looked around as if she was as disoriented as I was. Her eyes finally landed on me and she smiled. She got up and came over to the bed.
“Conan, you’re awake!”
“Yeah,” I said, again in a voice that sounded like James Earl Jones. “Can I have a drink?”
“Yes, of course.” She poured water out of a pink pitcher into a pink cup. Why are all hospital cups and pitchers pink? Where is the gender neutrality in that? She held a straw to my lips and I sucked. My mouth felt like shit as the cold water hit my broken teeth, but it tasted so damned good. She only let me suck on it for a few seconds and then she pulled it away. “Are you in pain honey?”
“Nah, I’m okay. What happened?”
“You don’t remember?”
“I’m not sure, it’s all fuzzy. Why is my eye all patched up?”
“I don’t know all the details either. Something happened to you in Mexico?” It was said like a question and suddenly I remembered the answer. Fuck! Guzman…
“Where’s Catalina?”
“Who?”
“Was there a girl with me?”
She looked like she wanted to ask about that so badly…but to her credit she said, “No honey, you were at a gym. A man named Jacob Wright called me…”
“Oh fuck!” I tried to sit up and she pushed me back down.
“Stay in bed and watch your mouth. Please.”
“Sorry, Mom. Did Jacob knock me out or what?”
“No, poor thing thought he did. He was so upset with himself when he called me. The doctor said you had a bleed in your brain. He said it had to be caused by a blow to the back of your head. Jacob said you told him something about getting hit in the head with a lead pipe in Mexico?”
Shit! I really didn’t want to talk about that to my mother. Avoiding, I said, “How long have I been out?”
“Two days off and on.”
I was sure my brain wasn’t processing that. There’s no fucking way I’d been laying in the bed for two days. “Days…or hours, Mom?”
“Days, Conan. It was Tuesday afternoon when they brought you into the ER. You had surgery on Wednesday morning…”
“Surgery? What kind of surgery?”
“On your head, to relieve the pressure. The bleed was filling the inside of your skull and putting pressure on your optic nerve. Did you notice your vision wasn’t right?”
“Yeah, kind of…”
“You didn’t think going to the doctor after you got hit on the head with a pipe would have been wise?”
“Really Mom? You want to lecture me now?” She looked like she was doing all she could to keep from crying and I
felt bad for putting her through it. Since my father died, she hated hospitals. She almost had a phobia of them…and there I was, putting her through it again. “I’m sorry, Mom. I didn’t mean to snap at you. So, I had surgery Wednesday…so today is Thursday?”
“Yes. It’s Thursday evening. They had you heavily sedated for twenty-four hours. The doctor told me the last time he was in here that you should be waking up soon. I should go tell them you’re awake.” I tried to nod…another painful mistake. She leaned down then and kissed my face. I felt a tear fall from her face to mine and I reached up and touched her. The IV in my hand pulled and that hurt like a son of a bitch too. But hell, I survived Guzman and Jacob Wright, I can handle it.
“Hey, don’t cry. I’m okay.”
“I had a feeling about Mexico,” she said.
“I know Mom, I’m sorry.” That just made her cry more. She pat my hand and then lay it back down on the bed and scurried out of the room. While she was gone, I tied to gather my thoughts. It was Thursday…I had surgery the day before…I guessed the safe assumption at that point was I wasn’t going to make my fight on Saturday. Fuck. There was still something I had to do on Friday though…I had to get rid of Mom first though because she was not going to like it…
“He lives.” I slowly turned my head in the direction of the voice. Jacob was standing there looking like a fucking male model. I wondered if he fights so well because he’s driven to keep that pretty face safe.
“Look what you did to me. You’re a fucking brute, man.”
He grinned and came closer to the bed. “Yeah when Tim called he forgot to tell me you couldn’t take a punch.”
I laughed. That fucking hurt too. “Don’t be spreading rumors man; I’ve got a big fight in two days.”
“The fuck you do,” he said. He looked like he wasn’t sure if I was kidding or not. “How are you feeling?”
“Pretty much like shit,” I said.
He shrugged. “That explains how you look.”
I laughed again. “You’re about as much of an asshole as everyone says you are, aren’t you?”
“Yeah, pretty much,” he said, dead-pan. “Tim’s on his way out, I talked to him this morning.”
“Shit. He didn’t have to come all the way out here.”
He shrugged again. “It’s a two-hour flight. I’m sure he’s made enough money off you to pay for it. I watched some of your videos last night. When you’re not bleeding in your head, you do okay.”
With a grin, I said, “When I’m not bleeding in my head, I can beat your pretty ass.”
“That remains to be seen,” he said with a grin of his own.
“By the way, did you call my mother?”
“You looked like the kind of guy who needed his Mommy.”
Shit-head. I laughed again. “Thanks, I did,” I said.
“While I was perusing your phone to find your Mommy’s number, I came across something else…it’s actually why I’m here.”
“Aw, I thought you came to bring me flowers.”
“Your tits are going to have to be a lot bigger for that. Who is it that wants to put your head on a pike?”
“You read my text messages?”
“Put a lock on your phone Opie. This isn’t Mayberry.”
“Fuck you,” I said, in a friendly way. “I’m handling it.”
He let his eyes roam over the IV pole with the tubing running into my hand and the machines on the wall and said, “You look like you’re doing a damned good job of it.”
Seriously, I said, “I do appreciate you wanting to help, but I can’t get anyone else involved in this.”
“This is Mexico shit?”
“Yeah and shit is the key word.”
“This niece he was talking about in the message, is she a runaway?”
“Are you a detective?”
“Man I just want to know I’m not covering some shit up that’s going to get someone hurt.”
“She’s an adult. She doesn’t want to go back. Nobody committed a crime though, except maybe the guy who took a pipe to my head.”
“Good, so obviously you’re not going to be on Freemont Street Friday night…”
“Bullshit. That’s exactly where I’m going to be.”
“You’re crazy if you think they’re going to let you out of here tomorrow. They just opened up your big head.”
“Maybe…but I’m not asking their permission. This guy is a dangerous piece of shit and he won’t stop looking for her.”
“So what’s your plan? You show up and get your head bashed in on American soil this time?”
“I don’t really have a plan…yet.”
“Okay Conan, the doctor will be in any minute. Hello Jacob.”
“Hello Mrs. Reagan. I was just checking in on Conan and letting him know Tim is on his way.”
“Oh perfect, his trainer can sit at his bedside and urge him to hurry up and get back in the ring. Maybe he’ll bring his promoter with him as well.”
I saw Jacob’s lips twitch. “I think I’ll make my exit before he shows up. I’ll be back tomorrow.” I shook my sore ass head at him. He ignored me and turned to my mother. “You have my number Mrs. Reagan. You’re welcome to call me if you need anything.”
“Thank you.” My mother was blushing. God help me. She turned to me when he left and said, “He’s such a nice boy…and so handsome.” Jesus Christ.
14
Catalina
The nasty little man dragged his eyes across my body and when he finally reached my face I felt like I needed a shower. Technically, I did even before that, but after that I felt even dirtier. I’d been on the streets for two days asking questions, trying to find Dominic Vitucci and trying to establish my citizenship. That was how I found myself in the run-down little casino in North Las Vegas and the object of the creepy little pervert’s stare. I hadn’t slept in two days and I was sure the quickie sponge bath I took at the Gold Nugget wasn’t still holding. I wondered how desperate he was. “You want to see Dominic?”
I forced myself to look into his beady blue eyes and I said, “Yes, I need to see him. Is he here?”
“Do you work for him?” That question insulted the hell out of me. I’d spoken to some of Dominic’s working girls the night before. I was pretty sure I didn’t look that bad.
“No, I don’t work for him. I have a message for him…from one of his family members.”
He raked his eyes over me once more and then he said, “From whom?”
“I’m not supposed to share that with anyone other than Mr. Vitucci.”
He snorted and said, “Not just anyone can get an audience with Mr. Vitucci. Who shall I tell him is calling?”
“My name is Catalina Guzman. I am Margarita’s daughter. You can tell him that.”
He stood up off the stool he was sitting on. His pants were tented in front. I was completely disgusted. “Wait here,” he said, looking over at the big hairy guy that was lounging up against a slot machine. “Watch her,” he said. Big and hairy stood up straight and eyeballed me. I gave him a bored look and watched the girl dancing on top of the table behind me while I waited. I wondered what kind of shitty life you had to have to grow up and do that for a living in a place like this. The sarcastic half of me responded quickly, “Maybe one where your mother’s an ‘unstable’ liar and your uncle and father are gangsters.” Shit! I should sell the movie rights. Add to that I spent the morning at the hall of records. I finally found my birth certificate. Having no I.D. and no money, they wouldn’t let me have a copy of it. But, I was now well aware that out of all the things my mother cheated me out of, my citizenship was the worst. On my birth certificate under father it says, “Unknown”. My mother was listed as “Undocumented” therefore, I was as well.
It was at least twenty minutes before the creeper came back out. “Follow me,” he said. I had visions in my head of him taking me to a back room to assault and have his way with me. It was nauseating. I followed him anyways because in two da
ys it was the closest I’d been to meeting the famed Dominic Vitucci and I was about to drop. I wasn’t even sure where to go from there. He led me through a door and up a flight of stairs. I was amazed that it was the same place as the sty out front. He pushed through a rotating door and suddenly the smell of smoke and piss was replaced by fresh flowers and floor wax. The floors were highly polished wood; I could almost see myself in them. The doors looked hand carved with intricate designs. We came to a gold elevator and it opened as soon as Mr. Creepy pushed a button. I hated the idea of being alone with him in such close quarters, but I pushed on. The ride was only seconds long and it stopped smoothly and the doors slid open.
“Ladies first,” he said. I shuddered as I felt his eyes on my ass. Jeez, the guy was a pig. He led me down another long hall and I had to wonder how big the place was. The casino I’d come through on the other side couldn’t have been more than a few thousand square feet…back here had to be at least three times that. As we passed door after door, none of them marked, I couldn’t help but wonder what he used them all for.
He finally stopped in front of a set of enormous double doors with etched glass and he knocked twice. The door was pulled open by a guy as big as Conan…only a hell of a lot scarier looking. He was bald and beefy and dressed in black from head to toe. He had a long, jagged scar that ran from below his right eye all the way to his chin and another across the front of his neck. It looked like someone had tried to saw his head off and I wondered if he had met my uncle.
“Have a seat,” Creepy said. “Mr. Vitucci will be right with you.” There was a huge polished black desk that took up half of the wall in front of me and a floor to ceiling window behind it. There was a black leather couch and a black leather office chair that faced the desk. I took that one and the creepy guy left. The bald bouncer positioned himself behind the desk and stared at me like he was afraid I was going to steal something. I was starting to re-think this whole thing, but just about the time I decided to stand up and walk out, the door behind me opened and the big bald guy’s posture straightened even more. My father had just made his entrance.
