by S. W. Frank
The boy dropped to his butt and then crawled away very fast to fetch his truck. Angelina must have run out of steam because she returned from beneath a table to lie down on her papa’s leg. He brought her to his lap and the tiny chica went to sleep. “Whoa, what type of work do you do niña?”
The food smelled good. Alfonzo wanted to shout, “Hurry up and cook Anita, I’m hungry!” Of course, the demand never escaped his mouth. Rush Anita and she’d deliberately slow down. Patience worked best, Alberti taught a nephew, haste is youth’s infirmity, a lesson Alfonzo soon learned. He put the cards on the open pile and reached for the next envelope. His smile soon disappeared when he noticed no return address or sender’s name and only a New York postmark. It was addressed in block letters to Selange Diaz. Instantly, he thought all kinds of shit, anthrax, cyanide, a spectrum of paranoid nonsense. He felt the envelope for lumps, anything unusual and then opened it. There was a letter which piqued his interest. Who the hell sent letters nowadays?
He began reading.
‘What’s up BK. Damn, I can see your face all mad and shit when you get this. You’re probably like what this heffa writing me for?’
Alfonzo considered closing the letter, it wasn’t meant for his eyes, yet, the abbreviations, CSI and DSS stuck out and he was compelled to read what Shanda had to say.
Girl, I wanted to talk so bad that day at the airport. You know, me not saying what I feel means there’s something wrong. I didn’t want to leave. I wanted to chill with you girl but I got put in the middle of some CSI nonsense and I wasn’t about to rat on my girl or her man for nobody. My dad came by this morning with some federal agents and they wanted me to wear this recording device in a cheap ass watch. Girl, if you would’ve seen it, you’d know that wasn’t mine and bust my ass for even trying to go against our fashion sense.But, for real. I was about to tell you to make sure Alfonzo watch his back. The feds are spying on him. They’re working with the DSS or something like that. Anyway, I saw feds at the airport and didn’t want to say anything and risk getting you in any trouble. I don’t know why my dad is so intent on messing up our friendship. He doesn’t like Alfonzo, he never hid how he feels, but this is ridiculous. I’m pregnant and I don’t need this stress in my life. I’m sorry to dip out on you. I love you, that’s why I’m going away. I can’t hurt you or that crazy ass man of yours. He gets on my nerve sometimes, but he treats you good and the dumbass actually saved my life. Please, get rid of this letter after you read it. Mission Impossible style…lol…they might go through your trash. They do that, for real.
We’ll see each other again. Too bad I didn’t get to see bighead.
~BK
Alfonzo folded the letter and shoved it in his pocket. The blood drained from his face when reading. His mouth was clamped together so tight he almost forgot to breathe. So, Shanda’s father was working with the feds. He should’ve killed him when Estefan reported he came to the house looking for his daughter and insulted his wife. He hadn’t done it, simply because the man’s daughter was missing and he felt sorry for the bastard. But, now he understood why Shanda took off. He sat erect, feeling his daughter’s drool seeping through his pants.
Selange appeared with a smile. Her hair, he noticed had grown longer. It’s strange; he could discern subtle changes in his woman whenever his body became hyper alert. He wondered if Shanda had spoken to Selange about the contents of this letter. If Shanda had, then Selange withholding the information had to be because Shanda begged her to. Alfonzo was aware of the feds snooping; the shock was Mr. Johnson’s hatred of him trumped the love for his daughter. Yes, Shanda’s confession was meant only for Selange.
The woman cohabitating with his brother, chose a side, however she wanted no harm to come to her father. Mr. Johnson’s involvement in any plot to get at his family elicited murderous thoughts which arced uncontrollably through his mind. His wife’s lovely face became the epicenter in which he focused for redirection. He managed a deceptive smile, his eyes following her every movement. She bent to retrieve Angelina from his lap and lay the child on the sofa and then scampered after Vincent who wandered to the kitchen where dangers lurked. Selange returned to the living room with Vincent safely attached to her bosom and slid beside him. Her eyes were joyful, gorgeous and bright. The darkness within his heart yearned for their light.
‘It’s coming babe, I feel it. My dreams are worsening and my gut is screaming. Hold me love, I’m freezing over, keep me from turning to ice.’
The sigh which escaped his mouth wasn’t sadness; it was more akin to fatigue. She must have heard his silent plea and rested her head against his arm. The heat of her flesh failed to permeate the epidermis of his skin. It stayed outside of his body. He put his arm around her and the warmth slowly seeped in.
Alfonzo was damn tired of killing, utterly exhausted. It didn’t matter if Selange knew or not, he planned to deal with Mr. Johnson for coming to his home and disrespecting his wife months ago. The letter hidden in his pocket only accelerated this decision. There were ways to deal with men like Mr. Johnson who begged for death. Shanda’s father was a despicable motherfucker!
CHAPTER FOUR
Giuseppe fumbled with the miniature fedora, adjusting it just so on his son’s bulbous head. He found the sight funny. “You look like Uncle Alberti.”
The infant blew a raspberry which caused his proud papa to do the same as he reached for the tiny pants. Giuseppe wiped his wet mouth with his arm and held up the trousers, twisting it around and around. Where was the clothing label which separated the back from the front? “How do we do this?” he asked the bambino. “Ah papa has no idea where to put your ass.”
The annoying elastic bands were for people with burgeoning waistlines, not for infants with baby fat. He would ask Amelda to design clothing for her nephew. The annoying wench did have talent as a designer.
He exhaled and abandoned the search. Any side would do.
The baby kicked his legs when Giuseppe tried to don the pants. “I understand. I like to be naked, too but in public we have to clothe our private parts bambino. It is a stupid law we must follow.”
Usually, he avoided holding children, they were fragile creatures and the risk of hurting them was very real when you have large hands accustomed to pummeling people. What if he dropped the infant, what then?
“Ah, cazzo!” He grumbled when the infant squirmed and kicked again. Giuseppe finally wrestled the miniature pants on and stepped back to examine the baby with an exasperated breath. “You want to fight and kick papa, eh?”
Maybe, he should have put the pants on before the hat and jacket. A dressing which took Shanda five minutes had taken Giuseppe much longer.
“Today is my birthday Carlo. We celebrate together, eh?” he said in a hushed tone to avoid waking the mother. Prior to his son coming to stay, he often slept late due to his unorthodox life-style. But since the birth of his son, he found himself up at early hours, checking on the boy like an anxious woman. After the weeks of hospitalization and talk of complications associated with preemies, he worried for the baby’s health. But, the child had grown and steadily gained weight. The doctors said he was healthy and his lungs were strong. The women were always fussing over the bambino and Shanda was worse.
He peered at the baby’s mother, whose butt pointed in his direction and called to him like candy. Days ago she exercised her feminine power which he took as a challenge. Soon, the sexual urge to mate would become torturous and she’d seek him out and abandon the foolishness. Yes, he could envision the wom
an sucking his dick and then taking it in between her lovely thighs to…
He did not complete his thought and spat. “Ah, cazzo!” He grabbed the duffle bag to leave before he took what he wanted right there in front of his son.
Outside a chauffeured vehicle idled. Giuseppe was greeted with a, “Buongiorno,” from the man posted near the front once he stepped out the door.
“Buongiorno,” he answered and hurried to the automobile. He had business to attend to at the office and then he and Carlo would spend a day together. The women had the boy in their clutches far too long. The air and sun were good for building healthy lungs. Besides, he did not want his son to become a simpering woman, crying and bitching at nonsense. Matteo allowed Amelda to smother their child and look at the outcome. The baby cried over the smallest things.
He strapped in with the boy and held him firmly. The infant was handsome, like his papa with sprouting black hairs hidden beneath the cap.
“Drive carefully,” Giuseppe warned as the driver pulled out of the gate. The baby rested without a care, unaware his father watched with pride and tenderness. The boy was four months today. He kept track of every milestone, hung on to every spit bubble of a smile and wiggle of the chubby toes. Next weekend, the child would have his official baptismal. The priest had asked many questions. Will the child be brought up in the Catholic faith, does the custodial parent have an objection to the baptism, and did the parents plan to wed? And when Giuseppe laughed at the latter, Shanda became upset. He found it hilarious in these times, such requirements still existed. The pastor would not dare delay the baptism because they lived outside the Sacrament of Marriage. The priest was a man of the cloth and the unmarried status of the parents wasn’t a scandal in today’s world. The good of the salvation of the innocent child was at stake and baptism would not be denied. Of course, the baptism would not take place at the public Sunday Mass to call attention to the antiquated thoughts of some. However, if Giuseppe wanted to upset the pious order, he could order the priest to perform the ceremony any day he wanted. He was not ashamed of his son or the mother. Nor, would he apologize to a man wearing a dress for his living arrangements. The Giacanti tradition in the end will be upheld.
Today, he and his son would do fun things. Today he surpassed thirty-six and climbing. Strength and energy remained, in fact, he felt extremely young. Except when he glanced at his four month old son, that’s when he realized something. “Compared to you. I am very old.”
He sent Shanda a text message in the event she awakened and found the child missing: Buongiorno. Carlo is with me. I will have him home before notte.
~
Shanda’s eyes opened a little before noon. She’d overslept. A three a.m. feeding can do it every time and the doctor did warn she’d have bouts of extreme fatigue after the hemorrhaging. “Take the multivitamins and iron supplements regularly,” was his order, “and when you come back we’ll test your blood again.”
Well, doctors are full of talk. They need to shut the fuck-up and just fix patients and earn their keep like everybody else.
She rolled over. The crib was empty. Her first thought was Giuseppe stole the baby. She jumped out of bed, grabbed her robe and searched the house. In a panic she raced from room to room and even peered outside. The crazy man took their child. Giuseppe was pissing her off. This arrangement was not working. A man like Giuseppe is accustomed to doing what he wants. Isn’t it only natural to communicate to the mother when you take a baby out of the house?
“Oh my fucking goodness, he’s driving me crazy!” Shanda seethed as she hurried upstairs and rummaged through her purse for her cell to call the baby stealer. “Where’s Carlo?” she asked the moment he answered.
“He is here.”
“Where is here?”
“We are eating lunch.”
She heard a woman cooing in the background, speaking her son’s name. She was probably some whore he knew. He had the nerve to take her child to another woman. Her anger increased. “Bring him home.”
“He is fine donna. We are enjoying a meal together.”
Shanda’s eyes widened. She palmed her forehead in mortification. Was Giuseppe trying to kill her, seriously, didn’t he understand the baby was far too young to be in public spaces? “What have you fed the baby; he doesn’t have teeth?”
“Ah, you worry too much. He is fine. We will be home later. He and I are having fun. Go shopping, enjoy the day. It is bellissimo outdoors. Ciao donna.”
He hung up.
The insufferable baby stealer hung up.
Shopping my ass!
Shanda dressed in record time. Damn she looked good for a rush job in her authentic designer duds, day make-up and stilettos. His guys knew where Giuseppe went and she’d have a driver take her straight there to bring Carlo home. She checked her reflection once more in the mirror before marching downstairs to the front door.
The minute she stepped out, the guard said, “Buongiorno.”
She smiled innocently. “Buongiorno. Giuseppe asked me to bring the baby’s pacifier to him. Can someone drive me there?”
The guard did not question her statement. “I will see.” He pulled out his phone and spoke to someone in the language she had yet to understand.
Maybe, she better learn Italian.
He finished talking and slipped the cell in his pocket. “Excusi, but Signore Dichenzo say the child is fine without the pacifier. It is okay, you go ...eh…he say…fun…have fun today.”
Oh snap, Giuseppe’s men were trained pit-bulls. This wasn’t the low level street crews from the BK. The guys in the syndicate were professional criminals who took this Don shit seriously and weren’t swayed by a pretty woman with killer boobs. Okay, she had to change tactics. Giuseppe was a master game player. So far he’d won this hand. Brooklyn people adapt and that’s exactly what she did, she changed strategies.
Three cards Monte is what Giuseppe played as if she were a newbie when New York and Vegas hustlers perfected the scam. She gripped the key to her sports car and addressed the guard. “You know, shopping is just what I’ll do.”
“Security will accompany you.”
“No, I’m fine. Feed the dog for me. Thanks. Ciao or whatever the hell you people say. Bye!” She waved and scurried to the garage.
The security guard was on the phone, undoubtedly checking with his master. She made it inside the sleek car, got the engine going and sped to the gate. The guard there hadn’t received instruction to halt her departure or maybe his mind was rattled as he ogled her cleavage. This is the guy who once secured the door. Giuseppe should remove his butt. Tits easily distracted the damn fool. But, today Shanda was glad he monitored the gate when he allowed her to exit. “Grazie!”
The return smile resembled a Chester cat.
Shanda switched gears and zipped into the street. The tires squealed, spinning on the asphalt, burning rubber up the street. Rap music blared from the Bose speakers and Shanda bopped in sync, but the lyrics she sang were different. Her words were, “So you think you’re a hot-shot, you gonna’ feel your ass drop, ‘cause we’re playing I-Declare-War!”
The game began. Shop, yes Shanda shopped. Dior, Gucci, Armani and every designer store she found. At the end of the spending spree she enjoyed a meal at a fancy restaurant, drawing appreciative stares from men. Italian males were very friendly, one boldly ventured forward from the bar, introduced himself and sat down.
Shanda stayed cool. She discreetly checked him out. He was no Giuseppe in the looks department. His English was tepid at best and the conversation was strained. She gave him an A for effort, called Giuseppe to check on her son and when he asked her whereabouts, she deliberately paused for him to hear the sounds coming from the atmosphere. She winked at her table mate and the male laughter got Giuseppe’s attention. “Where are you bella?”
“Having dinner and fun like you said. I’ll be home soon, ciao!”
Shanda hung up and took money from her purse, slapped an ample amount of euros on the table and stood. “Ciao!” she said to the man and strut out the door.
“Take that Giuseppe!”
CHAPTER FIVE
Nico’s sudden appearance shocked the hell out of Sergio. After the diner incident he thought his Uncle had written him off. Apparently, he came to his senses and realized family came first.
He picked up his gear bag. The practice game was over. Five hours of running around with old-timers had given him enough of a work-out. The muscles in his legs were aching and he’d caught the hard ball the wrong way which resulted in a sore thumb that throbbed badly.
He waved good-bye to the guys. “See you old fart tomorrow for the game. Don’t forget I want my four hundred before I play.”
The heavily accented co-captain nodded. “Be ready to play bright and early youngling. Ya’ get ya’ money then, y' hear?”
“Shit, I’ll be here ahead of time. I’m out!” Sergio said over his shoulder.
He adjusted the gear strap and searched the landscape for any sign of his Uncle, finding none he exited the field.
Sergio dropped the bag in the trunk of his car. Nico said Chip’s man came to extend a job offer, but he wasn’t interested.
Heck, if Chip’s being generous, maybe he’ll cut a dude a break. My own damn family won’t! Is the sentiment which entered Sergio’s head. He was down to a few dollars, Tonya wasn’t talking to him and he could use the cash to make good on a family debt. He looked at his car, it was fly but it seemed nobody wanted to pay his asking price. Haggle, haggle, haggle, is what cheap motherfuckers did. At this rate he’d never be able to look his sister in the face, again.
“Phew,” he sighed and then got in the car. Tomorrow night after he helped the oldies win, he’d have cash in his pocket. He had spoken with a girl he met in Bed Stuy and they were hooking up after the game. Maybe he’d take her to see a flick and a cheap dinner. She was the ghetto fabulous type of girl, superficial and with her nose in the air. But, her requirements were rather low. Any good-looking dude, with a nice whip, who knew how to work the dick in that pussy easily secured a place in her heart. The problem is, sometimes the ghetto divas started making claims on a brother and it’s exactly the reason why none of them knew where he lived.
