Associates

by S. W. Frank

  The weapon began to rise. He would kill the driver. The husband first, he told himself. Blow his brains out and let her witness the horror of death.

  I don't care how you get here, just - get here if you can,

  There are hills and mountains between us -Always something to get over…

  The passionate huskiness of Ari’s voice called him in song. A forlorn child who longed for a mother’s love, yet hated as a man pointed at the object of his anger. The melancholy cry from the woman he vowed to love forever and be at her side had summoned.

  If I had my way, surely you would be closer -I need you closer…

  Nico cursed, banged his fist to the dashboard and his dark soul screamed like demons in silence and Ari’s love broke the murderous hold. In a cloud of dust the vehicle made a U-turn and the car sped toward the airport. He choked a cry and she heard it. “Nico are you okay?”

  “Yeah sweetheart. Hold on love I’m coming.”

  The flight to Palermo took him less than an hour. He caught a cab and glanced at his watch. It was almost eleven. Motorcycles weaved in and out of traffic in a caravan of black, slowing the Saturday traffic, making him anxious. He shouted for the driver to go faster. “My wife is having a baby.”

  The driver nodded and the cab squeezed around slower moving vehicles as Nico clutched the seat. He could see the large medical building. He was close to it, kilometers to the promise he meant to keep. He would not let Ari do this alone. This vow he could not break. Again, traffic and those damn motorcycles. He grabbed a handful of money from his sack and tossed it over the seat at the driver. “Let me out!”

  The vehicle stopped and Nico’s legs were those of a sprinter. He scurried around stalled cars and his feet sped faster than the autos rolling. He was almost there…almost…there.

  Up the main entry he ran and pushed through the revolving door. His feet skittering in the enclosed rotation because he’d pushed too fast. Out he rushed and searched the signs in the lobby. His mind wasn’t thinking straight. Then he remembered the floor and started running toward the stairwell and the guard shouted and Nico screamed back, “Vaffanculo, my lady’s having a bambino!”

  The guard did not pursue and Nico raced up the many stairs and crashed through the door leading to the delivery area. He swiveled left and saw his sons leaning against a wall. His feet slowed only when he reached them. Aaron pointed. “Mom’s inside dad. I still can’t believe you guys are having another baby.”

  “Me neither,” Darren said.

  Nico heaved a breath. “Me neither ragazzi.”

  He stepped in the room. Draped in a hospital gown, face calm, eyes burning with love she gasped when she saw him. “Nico…you’re here!”

  “I’m right here with you love.”

  Ari started to cry. “I didn’t think you were going to make it like the last time.”

  Nico’s heart somersaulted. “I let you down, then sweetheart but not this time.” His eyes began to tear. A mother he hated and loved had killed his father. Today, of all days he discovered this. He bowed his head to his wife’s breast. “You are a good mother. Thank you Ari, for taking me back and singing me here.”

  Ari caressed his hair and a very sharp labor pain came. It came again and then again. She used his entire name and when she stressed the last vowel his head snapped to attention. “Ah, Nicolo...she’s coming…ooooh…oh…oh…goddamn…she’s coming.”

  Nico clasped her hand and squeezed. “We breathe, together, come on, and let’s breathe.” In between the breaths he said, “Boys get the hell off those cell phones and get the nurse!”

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

   

   

   

  The Sacrament of Baptism, often called ‘The door of the Church,’ was under way. Mother held child near the marble fountain filled with Holy Water. Giuseppe stood, hands clasped to the front of his dark suit, listening to the words spoken in ancient Latin, remembering nothing of the day when the Sacrament was bestowed upon his infant size head. Baptism is to remove the guilt and the punishment due to Original Sin, delaying baptism until a child can understand the sacrament may put the child's salvation in danger, should he die unbaptized is the belief of Catholics and shared by his family, who despite their iniquities found solace in the hereafter.

  Baptism is the first of the seven sacraments. It is the first of the three Sacraments of Initiation, the other two being the Sacrament of Confirmation and the Sacrament of Holy Communion. Once baptized, a person becomes a member of the Church. He wanted his son to know of faith; to believe in something beyond the visions seen. 

  Alfonzo stood slightly behind him with Selange. They were the godparents, given rights to his child if fate sent angels to collect the parents before Carlo’s maturity. He felt good about this decision, despite the harsh words exchanged between brothers. Fratellino Alfonzo would care for his son, of this Giuseppe was certain. He’d seen Alfonzo over the years with his family and he was the greatest of fathers, a loving man in spite of his seriousness.

  The rites were administered and the guilt and punishment were vanquished from Carlo. He smiled at his boy who merely blinked when sprayed and took the child in his arms when Shanda passed him over to be kissed on both cheeks by his loving papa. The baby was passed around as the couple received congratulations from family and joyful hugs and kisses. A celebration would follow the ceremony at his mother’s home. It was a wonderful moment, one Giuseppe thought he may never experience.

  The family members walked toward the beautiful carved doors of the cathedral. Selange held her godson as Shanda scurried to use the restroom, shouting in the vestibule, “I’ll catch up with you outside, I have to pee.”

  Giuseppe smirked at Shanda; he had come to care too much for the troublesome woman. Later, he planned to share his feelings, confess his love and perhaps she would always remain at his side without reservations. His life was not an easy existence, far from normal as Cugino Nico always said. They were what they were, killers, tortured souls who needed women who understood they could not change. Just as the many ridges, patterned in a unique formation identify a person, they could not remove a fingerprint or alter their DNA binding them to Semira and a King.

  Alfonzo pat Giuseppe’s back as they walked. “Congratulations big brother. I love your crazy ass.”

  Giuseppe’s arm went about Alfonzo’s shoulder good-naturedly. “We make up with drink. I am glad you are here for me.”

  “I wouldn’t have missed this occasion. We’re family.”

  A bodyguard held the door open for the men to exit. The wide brick staircase leading to the cars was empty as was the street. It was closed for this occasion, no one was allowed to exit or enter by order of Giuseppe Dichenzo. Below, several soldati scanned the street and rooftops, ensuring the safety of the Giacanti family. On the top step, Alfonzo removed a cigar from his breast pocket and passed it to his brother. “For you. In honor of the occasion.”

  Giuseppe grasped the thick cigar and put it to his lips and a silver lighter appeared in Alfonzo’s hand, which he flicked to bring a flame. Giuseppe sucked in the leaves and smiled tasting Alberti’s Behike brand. “Bellissimo, fratellino!”

  Matteo and Amelda had descended the stairs, waving good-bye. They were smiling. They made a very nice couple Alfonzo thought as they entered the chauffeured car. Over Giuseppe’s shoulder he saw Estefan in front of his wife, scanning the streets, Sophie and Selange were talking as they walked behind him. Carlo was clutched to his wife’s breasts as if he belonged to her. A proud husband smiled. The nurturer, teacher and friend was very beautiful, and her sweet heart made her stunning. He was blessed beyond m
easure. Favored and cursed.

  Giuseppe took another pull. “Thank you fratellino.”

  Alfonzo adjusted the stylish fedora. He’d worn the hat in honor of Alberti whose presence was sorely missed today. They started walking, shoulder to shoulder, brother and brother, family. Other lesser Don’s descended on the outskirts of wide steps, smoking or smiling as they talked to Capos and Tenente, undoubtedly hoping Giuseppe’s bliss filtered to business.

  There are moments of quiet stolen joys on a beautiful afternoon when hums too loud and revving noises sends chills up the spines of cautious men.

  What Alfonzo heard, so did Giuseppe. The blue mirrors reflected solidarity of brothers. A pair of fiery oceans witnessed the approach of twin motorcycles roaring in their direction in the center of the empty street. The brother’s weapons whipped out simultaneously, seconds before bullets exploded in rapid succession to mow down guards. It is the leather shoes skipping like pebbles over stairs, hand brandishing steel, reacting without hesitation, running without care toward the women and child in the center of the steps which were the first in motion.

  Another polished shoe spun; its wearer clenched a cigar in white teeth about to follow his swift brother until his name was screamed. It was Shanda, shrieking for Giuseppe and their son. Lucia was nearby, pushing at the stampede of guest seeking shelter as she sought to go out.  Shanda was caught in the crossfire, frozen as guests toppled and a small child tried running to his father who tumbled downstairs. Utterly torn, Giuseppe’s foot pivoted, changed its course away from Alfonzo and he barreled up the many stairs. The massive arm snatched the frightened child in flight toward his donna, shooting sideways to the street over his brother’s head to ensure his safe descent.

  “Inside!” he shouted and shoved the child in Shanda’s arms and then herded the panicked guests back inside the church.

  “Be careful Giuseppe, save our baby!” Shanda screamed.

  “Yes, please be careful Geo,” Lucia said with soft eyes and he thought of her young. Teens they were. Foolish and reckless. An act by a girl changed him many years ago and he had stopped caring, until now. Shanda is who he grinned and winked at before the massive biceps stretched material to close the heavy doors from the outside before anyone got hit. Then a searing heat slammed his body against the carved wood and the cigar in his mouth snapped loudly like bone. Giuseppe’s trigger finger twitched and a bullet struck the marble cornice above the frame. Broken chips pelted Giuseppe’s shiny black hair and marble snowflakes scattered on the ground when he fell.

  Alfonzo’s eyes were hawks. They absorbed the motorcyclists’ rapid approach, and the trajectory of the bullets ricocheting from the hood of cars. A projectile boldly snatched the fedora from his head as he bobbed and weaved, popping off shots as he navigated the stairs.

  Gunfire came from every direction. Men returned fire before the bikers neared. Estefan was struck and he toppled and then lay prone, alive, still shooting toward the street. Alfonzo resorted to the language of his mother, ordering his woman down and in the second she looked in his direction, their eyes spoke of a love so strong death could never weaken it. But, then her expression changed. Her eyes opened wide and she said something to Sophie and placed a hand to her shoulder as her head looked down. The arms of a matron went around the wife and child and the trio bent low.

  ‘What’s wrong with my woman, what’s happened, is she hit?’ Alfonzo’s mind screamed? 

  Chaos ensued and through it his legs remained in motion, weaving to avoid bullets and shooting the ancient streets his father once roamed.

  The women were huddled, as Estefan did his best to shield them in the open. Alfonzo went wild, popping off shots to give them more cover until he could get there. A biker barreled past the thinning soldati, spraying the stairs. Alfonzo picked him off and the bike collided with a car, tossing the rider over the hood and crashing to the sidewalk. Alfonzo’s eyes were flicking left and right in the mayhem, a videogame figure in real life. Gunfire muffled his ears and the landscape was a blur of granite and stone. His heart ceased beating, frozen in silent anger at the sight of his wife and Sophie’s beautiful dresses and high heels twirling over. There were no screams from the mothers, no sounds of terror as her hair slipped loose from their pins, cascading curls hanging over Sophie when they landed slightly above the last stair. The distance had widened between him and his love. Copper jacketed bullets from assault rifles were not meant for women and children. Men invented these killing tools and it is men the bullets were meant to strike.

  The steps were a bloody river with his woman on the other side. A haunting ballad as he dodged and crouched to return fire and then move again struck a chord. Jimmy Cliff crooned a classic as a determined man’s legs danced the distance with projectiles piercing the air, putting a soundtrack to an ice-capped heart.

  ‘Many rivers to cross but I can’t seem to find my way over,

  Pondering I am lost as I travel along the wide cliffs of Dover,

  Many rivers to cross and it’s only my will that keeps me alive,

  I’ve been licked washed up for years and I nearly survived,

  Because of my pride…’

  Estefan slid up to shield the women’s exposed heads, firing as he tried to cover the unmoving trio. Matteo emerged from the car with an assault rifle when he saw Alfonzo’s precarious predicament. He laid down a sheet of gunfire to aid Alfonzo in reaching the women and shouted, “Ora!”

  More roars came and bikes leaped cars with sparks flying from weapons not sold in hunting stores to bend hoods as wheels bounced on metal. An accurate hand took aim when two guards in the periphery toppled, another trigger squeeze unseat an assailant and Alfonzo's legs became swift scissors of black, cutting through air as they took flight. The motion caused wind to swirl Alfonzo’s fine jacket as he skidded across the step in front of the fallen women and child to hover like a panther over cubs. A bloody hand adorned with his wedding ring pressed his wife’s warm cheek before blocking their bodies with the expanse of his trunk. He spoke words without thinking, reaching to her spirit as he shielded those he loved with his body. “I’m here babe. We’re loving souls battling together…either way…together is how we’re going home.”

  There was a gentle hand touching his spine, a loving caress which became a fist against the rear hem of his jacket and then it was gone. She’d heard. His woman was fighting and his spirit rejoiced.

  He assessed the possibilities, get the women to the car, but that would mean dragging them one by one and expose the child. His only recourse without aid of more hands was to take up sentry until the film faded to black.

  There is honor in death for those who know love. Stand guard and protect the women and children, be their saviors in the flash storms. Let evil meet love’s resistance, fight it back to hell and lick its flames is what a husband, father and man sought to do. For he could not return home to look into the eyes of his children without their mother, nor did he want to. His life ended here with Selange at the base of a church. A fitting end for a wicked man who did evil deeds to protect those he loved.

  And as he reflected, more soldati came. For whom they came, does not matter, blood of family stained the cathedral steps. The silence of women despairing…yet…a child’s whimper lit hope anew.

  Alfonzo thought of his wedding vows: “May the pain and blood of the past be cleansed away. Let old sins dissolve in rivers vast. Unto the Lord repentance is asked for ancient acts and future deeds. A sinner beseeches thee, have mercy for the water’s red. Amen.”

  He blasted many shots, sending men twisting until he ran out of ammo. Matteo scampered to his side with the assault rifle and a spare weapon which he seized as calmly as a man resigned to his fate. He cared not for things bought with money or dreams unfulfilled. There stood no tomorrow or sunset rise without Selange. For all the dreams a man can have, his was to die on this day in a hail of glory as soldiers do on battlefields. He slapped in the magazine and took aim.

  W
hat tomorrow is there when hearts which beat in unison slow to a single tempo? Not a day did he choose to live beyond this one.

  ‘Beat the drum for me Semira, ancient mother, whose love bound me to one woman. Light candles on the shores of Italy. Dance barefoot on the beaches of the islands’ sand. Pound the concrete of the city; for today I die in the bloody bosom to which I was born...I die a Giacanti, my father’s son!’

  The brilliance of Supremo on the sunny afternoon cast light of rainbows from bleeding fingers. Blue eyes found family in their line of sight. Amelda screamed inside the bulletproof car with palms pressed against the window, streaming tears while confined to the interior of her reinforced protection. Alfonzo understood the shrieks of agony were for family. Matteo had taken up arms with brethren. His allegiance was to a Capo de tutti, wearing the ring of Giacanti. Every man who pledged the oath of loyalty had a duty to guard their Supremo, die to protect his life, as Vincent had.

  Amelda’s fists pummeled the window, bereft she’d bear witness to her loves fight without aid of a weapon, but it was not her place to die, she represented Semira, every Giacanti woman bore an African spirit.

  The men in their stylish suits wore love’s armor for their clan. Descendants of a King, dark bastards who some sought to wash from their land. There were no words exchanged from their mouths, only focus to stop the wave of attackers seeking to wipe them out. But, it is not as a Mafioso Alfonzo fought; it was as a protector of life and a shield for the innocent who fell.

  A pair of bikers came from opposite ends of the street. With only one Giacanti soldati standing, weapons discharged amidst silent screams. Alfonzo with his back to Matteo, Estefan wounded yet capable, were a fortress for a frightened baby. In the mayhem gunshots sprayed and men crashed to earth. There was a pause in the racket and then shots broke free. Assailants hiding behind cars in the street were advancing but they were hit from above and the attacker’s numbers decreased. And then a massive figure rushed down clad in black and closed rank with the trio. It was Giuseppe, holding two weapons and scowling. He was hurt and blood stained his suit but his anger bandaged the flesh. Shanda and the others were secured in the church.