Danny appeared in the living room and shot her an imploring look of concern. Steve and Mike stepped into the room behind him. Bonnie shook her head. She shooed them away as she worked to compose herself. Then she raised the phone back to her ear.
“But it doesn’t really matter, does it Jimmy?” She spoke with a quaver in her voice. “Because whoever put this in motion will just hire another group of thugs. Won’t they?”
“Bonnie. Listen to me. No matter what happens to me, I will fix this. After I crush this initial threat, I have an idea how to cut the head off the snake. But first I need to know who placed the order. Do you understand?”
“What’s to understand? Somebody wants us dead. Somebody who hates you so much that they want to kill me and our son just to make you suffer. And they are never going to stop.”
“Yes,” Harris spoke firmly. “They will. Once I kill them.”
Bonnie let out a nervous laugh. She stared at her shoes and realized that she wasn’t going anywhere today. She was a prisoner. A prisoner because her husband had decided to place all of this shit before his own family. He’d decided long ago to be a warrior and nothing, not even her or Danny, took precedence over the mission. She never felt so utterly powerless.
“Bonnie….”
“What?” She admonished. “You’re sorry?”
“I will handle this Bonnie. I swear on my life.”
“No. You mean you swear on our lives. Because that’s really what it comes down to doesn’t it?”
“Bonnie. This is nothing I caused. These are sick people. If it makes you feel better to blame me then fine. But please, you have to stay up there until I finish this once and for all.”
“Yes,” she said with a shake of her head. “The great Jimmy Harris.”
“Please try to understand, Bonnie. I love you. I’m sorry for all of this.”
Bonnie inhaled slowly through her nose and blew out a long, cleansing breath from her mouth. There was nothing left to say.
“Bonnie,” Harris repeated. “I love you.”
“I heard you, Jimmy.”
“Okay,” he said, hesitating. He wondered if she would ever say it back to him again. “I have to go. But I promise I will keep you up to speed from this point on.”
“Okay.”
“Goodbye, Bonnie. Please tell Danny I love him.”
“I will.”
“Okay, then. Talk to you soon.”
“Wait, Jimmy,” she added quickly. Harris could sense her inner struggle. “There’s something I need to say to you.”
“What?” His voice sounded almost hopeful.
Once again Bonnie breathed in and exhaled loudly.
“I’m filing for divorce as soon as we get back. This has nothing to do with what you just told me. I decided this yesterday.”
Harris remained silent. He had expected something completely different.
“Did you hear me?” Bonnie asked.
“Yeah,” Harris spoke softly. “I heard you.”
There was another long pause.
“It’s over,” she said.
Bonnie clicked a button and ended the call.
Mob Rules
40
Anthony Scalaro sat at the kitchen table inside his modest three story brownstone. Although he could afford a more upscale neighborhood such as Park Slope, he preferred to stay closer to his tough, streetwise roots and lived in Red Hook. The neighborhood got its name from the red clay soil prevalent in that section of Brooklyn. Not lost on Scalaro was the fact that Al Capone used to call this very spot home before moving to Chicago to begin his legendary rise as a notorious crime boss.
Scalaro was enjoying a late breakfast prepared by his wife Angela. She doted on her husband and was very at ease with the way he made his living. As Tony put it, they were no different than the government. They set their own rules and laws and enforced them as they saw fit. You were either a leader or you were led. Tony and his associates preferred to lead. Why work from nine to five at some job you hated, only to give a third or more of your hard earned money away to politicians who were just going to waste it on some bullshit that would line their own pockets? Those people were no different than pack mules, being led around by the nose. Angela was originally from a hard working, blue collar section of Brooklyn and had watched her father work himself to an early grave and die virtually penniless. Tony’s rationale made sense to her and it provided them with a very comfortable lifestyle. She was proud of her husband.
Scalaro was eating in silence, reading the paper when his cell phone rang. He answered it quickly.
“Yeah?”
“Hey Tony, I got an address that might interest you,” Paulie spoke rapidly. He sounded like he was out of breath.
“Hang on,” Scalaro ordered. He stood quickly and walked to a kitchen drawer. Opening it, he found a pen and then walked back to the table to sit.
“Go.”
Tony scribbled the address down on the newspaper in front of him.
“How solid is this?”
“Rock. He’s there, boss. We got guys watching the front and the back. He ain’t going nowhere unless he’s got a tunnel built under Third Avenue.”
“All right. Have your guys stay put. I want to know if anything changes.”
“You got it, Tony.”
Scalaro ended the call with a click and then quickly placed his own call. After just two rings, Harris answered.
“What’s the word, Tony?”
“You got something to write with?” Scalaro asked.
“Yeah,” Harris replied.
The underboss repeated the address Paulie had just relayed to him.
“How sure are you about this?” Harris asked.
“My guys say he’s there. I got them watching every exit. He ain’t going nowhere without us knowing about it.”
Harris paused as he did some quick mental calculations. Scalaro waited.
“Okay, Tony. I need you to pull your guys in twenty minutes.”
“You sure about that, Captain?” Scalaro asked, a touch of surprise in his voice. “We could be of assistance.”
“Is that a joke?” Harris asked flatly.
“No joke, Jimmy. I got a stake in this too.”
“Yeah well, I appreciate the offer but I can’t quite see how I’d explain the NYPD partnering up with the Franco’s so I think it’s best if I handle it from here.”
“Okay, Captain. Have it your way,” Tony said. “Just don’t forget that this information ain’t free.”
“I am well aware of that,” Harris spoke curtly. “Twenty minutes.”
“You got it. Good luck.”
“Thank you, Tony. I do appreciate this.”
“Thank me with a name, Captain. The sooner the better.”
The line clicked dead.
Scalaro held his phone in front of him and stared at it briefly before placing it on the table. He picked up his fork and stabbed at a piece of bacon. The thought occurred to him that Harris might not fulfill his end of the agreement. Another, more pressing thought was that Harris was no good to him if he ended up dead. Tony chewed slowly and thought about his next move.
Mob Rules
41
Harris hung up the phone.
He stared off into the distance, still feeling as if he’d been punched in the stomach. The phone call from Bonnie had come right before the one from Scalaro. Not even thirty seconds had passed after Bonnie had hung up on him.
Divorce.
She’d mentioned it before but Harris had always known that she was just blowing off steam. He knew Bonnie well. In fact, he knew her so well that he knew she was serious this time.
Dead serious.
Harris had never given up hope that he could fix the situation, that he could find a way to make it work. But now it appeared as if he’d run out of time. He’d failed. She was going to divorce him. Her last words said it all. It’s over.
Before he’d even had the chance to digest that news, he�
�d received the call from Scalaro. He now had the address he needed. There was no time to worry about anything else. The most important thing was getting to Rabi and making him talk. He couldn’t worry about what Bonnie said right now. It was far more important to find out who placed the contract on his family. That was the only way his wife and son would ever be safe again. He would think about what Bonnie said later.
He thought about it now. He couldn’t help it.
Harris tried to shake it off and he did his best to convince himself that it was just the stress talking. Just the situation. A million thoughts jockeyed for position in his mind. Everything was upside down. His gut was wrong this time, she couldn’t possibly go through with it. Bonnie would calm down once this was well in the rear view mirror. She wouldn’t throw away all those years.
Even as these thoughts came and went, he knew that he was lying to himself.
“What the hell are you doing?!” He suddenly spoke aloud. “Get your ass in gear!”
But he sat. And he thought of her.
Harris wished he wasn’t so tired. He was running on pure adrenalin. Before the phone calls he had planned on trying to get a few hours sleep. But this changed everything. He told himself to move. Whatever else might happen, he had to end this threat. For his wife. For his son.
Harris moved.
He got up from the chair and put one foot in front of the other. And he moved.
Despite the police presence in front of his home, Harris held a gun in his hand as he walked out the door. He kept it low profile, by his side, as he scanned the perimeter looking for anything out of the ordinary. He wasn’t going to get ambushed a second time. He walked right past the two police officers stationed on his front porch. They nodded their good mornings but it was as if they were invisible. Both policemen saw the stress on his face and the dark circles under his eyes. Neither took it personally.
Jumping in his Camaro, he quickly typed the address into his GPS and the system immediately routed him to a Lower Bronx neighborhood. As he pulled out of the driveway, he looked back at his house in the rear view mirror. The bullet holes and police tape were now motivation. He used it as fuel. They had no idea who was home when they shot up his house. In fact, they thought they had just grabbed his wife. His wife! The motherfuckers, he thought. Go after my family? That’s a death sentence.
Harris hit the accelerator and rocketed down his neighborhood street. Children, playing on the sidewalks, turned to see the car speed by and adults yelled after him to slow down. He breathed deeply and urged himself to slow down. To calm down.
Mistakes happened when you let emotion cloud your judgment.
He followed the instructions his cars navigation system gave him. It was a short drive, as Harris lived on the upper side of the same borough, and before long he entered what was widely considered the seediest part of The Bronx.
Harris pulled his car into a supermarket parking lot and killed the engine. From there it was just a couple blocks to his target. He couldn’t risk parking on the same street as the house. The residents knew who belonged and who did not. His car would stick out like a sore thumb.
Harris grabbed the hoodie he’d worn the night before and pulled it on. He pulled the hood over his head and exited the car. Walking at a brisk pace, Harris soon found himself on the street he needed. As he made his way down the block he paused and counting the house numbers, quickly found the place he was looking for. A run down two story tenement home, it looked like every other house on the street, dilapidated and in need of repairs.
There was nobody out front. The Loco’s had gone completely dark, they were underground. Or so they thought.
By now Scalaro’s men would be gone. He looked around and wished it were night. It didn’t matter. They were not expecting him. It was an edge. He hoped it was enough.
Harris moved.
Mob Rules
42
The Blumquist women sat on one side of the crystal table located in the sunroom just off the kitchen. They faced Christi, having picked her up from the hospital earlier that morning. The limousine ride was Christi’s first and she sat in the luxurious vehicle and watched the city roll by through the tinted windows. Somehow, she thought, the city seemed different when there was wealth involved. This was a different lifestyle than most people were accustomed to, although not necessarily a better one. Monetarily perhaps, but it also felt detached, removed from everyday society. Riding in the stretch limo, passing so much poverty towards an opulent mansion on the waters of Oyster Bay, may have been a reality but it felt more like fantasy.
Sitting now, talking with the Blumquist’s, she faced north looking out the large picture window over the impeccably maintained lawn and gardens of the estate, out upon the waters of the Cove. Although she’d been to the home many times, it never stopped being a surreal experience. It resembled a fairy tale, not unlike going to Disney World. No matter how many times one went to that iconic theme park, they always felt a tingling sense of excitement entering the gates and walking onto Main Street. A feeling like they were walking into a very happy daydream. Although it would be their reality for a day or two of vacation, people also understood that it was not real life.
“Penny for your thoughts?” Sylvia asked.
Christi couldn’t help but smile at the turn of phrase. She shook her head and gestured to the surroundings with a wide sweep of her arm.
“A whole lot of pennies,” She replied.
Emily giggled.
“I’m sorry,” Christi apologized, still grinning at the two ladies. “I know it’s in poor taste to talk about money, but damn. Does this ever become normal?”
“Well,” Emily spoke first. “It’s all I’ve ever known. Still, I understand what you mean. I used to feel guilty sometimes that I was born into this when so many others were not, but as I grew older, I realized that was foolish. I had no more control over my birth than anybody else.”
“I get that,” Christi said. “And I’m not trying to say it’s wrong. It’s just that this is most average people’s fantasies. Winning the lottery type of stuff, ya know?”
“I guess,” Emily answered. “But after a while you don’t even notice it. I’m thankful but I don’t go around thinking I’m better than anybody else.”
“Well, I’ll say this about you, Emily,” Christi spoke. “You are very down to earth. I’ve met a bunch of rich people who are extremely pretentious.”
“Those people are usually very unhappy,” Sylvia chimed in. “They don’t understand why their wealth didn’t bring them happiness because they failed to learn that it was never going to. Money may buy nice things, but it’s ones purpose in life that determines how you feel.”
“That makes sense,” Christi said. “I’ll bet there are a lot of rich people who are unhappy too.”
“Trust me, honey, I know a ton of them. Unfortunately.”
A female servant pushed a silver cart into the room and approached the table. On it sat a carafe filled with black coffee. There was also cream, sugar and a plate of pastries.
“Thank you,” Christi spoke to the woman as she accepted a cup.
“Would you like cream and sugar, ma’am?” The woman asked.
“Just cream, please.”
The woman went around the table and when all three had their coffees, she placed the plate of pastries in the middle of the table and pushed the cart back towards the kitchen.
“Thank you, Diane,” Sylvia said warmly as the woman walked away.
Christi stirred her coffee slowly. She reached up gingerly to touch her bandaged neck.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” Sylvia spoke as she noticed. “That experience must have been harrowing.”
“To be honest,” Christi began. She looked meekly from Sylvia to Emily. “I feel guilty even admitting that after what you experienced. What right do I have?”
“Christi,” Emily said softly. “You can’t compare the two. Both were horrible.”
“I know,�
� Christi looked at her with sad eyes. “But it’s like whining about a stubbed toe to somebody who was in traction.”
“Okay,” Sylvia interjected. “Let’s just agree right now that-”
A musical interlude interrupted her sentence. Sylvia picked up her phone from the table and read the caller ID.
“It’s Jimmy!” She exclaimed.
Christi and Emily straightened in their chairs.
Sylvia quickly pressed a button.
“Oh my god, Jimmy. How are you?”
There was no answer. Silence.
Sylvia waited a second.
“Jimmy? Are you there?”
“It ain’t Jimmy, bitch,” a man spoke menacingly. He had a Hispanic accent.
Sylvia gasped. She looked at her phone again. The call was from Jimmy’s number.
“Who is this?”
“This is the dude who’s going to cut Jimmy into pieces and feed him to my dogs.”
Sylvia gasped in horror.
“What?!” Christi almost shouted as she leapt from her chair.
“Mom?” Emily implored as she offered her mother a troubled, stunned look.
“Who the hell is this!?” Sylvia yelled into the phone.
“You the D.A., right?” The man toyed with her.
“What have you done with Jimmy!?” She demanded, ignoring the question.
“I ain’t done nothing with him,” the man replied with a sinister tone. “Not yet.”
“Don’t you hurt him! I will pay whatever you want!”
The man laughed.
“Bitch, why do rich folk always think it’s about money? If I want your money, I’ll come and take your money.”
Sylvia quickly cupped the phone and hissed to Christi. “Call Blake Shannon!”
“I-I don’t have his number in my phone!” Christi answered as fear gripped her. “What’s going on!?
“I swear to God,” Sylvia growled. “If you hurt him I will use every resource I possess to hunt you down!”
The man laughed out loud and Sylvia stood quickly, knocking her chair to the floor.
“I’m bloody serious, you bastard!” She yelled, her face contorted in rage.
MOB RULES Page 14
