Bad Behavior [Confuct Series #2]
Page 18
“I’m sorry, Ashley. Don’t worry. I’ll find him. I will.”
He closed the phone with a sense of dread, knowing exactly where Ben was hiding. The one place Grant had expressly forbidden him to go. The one place Sophie had begged him not to visit. A place a man on parole was prohibited from visiting. He took a deep breath and met Roger’s worried eyes.
***
“You sure Grant’s uncle is out of town?” Angelo rasped. He certainly didn’t want Joe Madsen anywhere near the compound on this glorious day: the day his great-nephew had finally returned to him.
Ben carefully studied his great-uncle, whose pallid complexion and wheezing breaths worried him. “Pretty sure,” he responded, nervously darting his eyes around the guest bedroom—his bedroom. He hoped his great-uncle couldn’t detect that he’d been crying all morning. That would be entirely uncool.
“Okay, ragazzo, then I guess it’s all right if you get your stuff back.” He cocked his head toward the dresser. “It’s in the top drawer.”
Exhaling with relief, Ben crossed the room and yanked the drawer open, pushing aside rolled-up socks and lifting the false bottom of the drawer to reveal a fat bag of weed next to a stack of rolling papers.
Angelo smiled warmly at the delight on the boy’s face as he took the contraband to his bed, laying out the marijuana in front of him.
As Ben scooted onto the bed, he was suddenly torn. Part of him sought the high and part of him dreaded the low. Part of him couldn’t wait to smoke away all the painful memories of his no-good father, and part of him was seized by guilt for even being here, knowing Uncle Grant had clearly warned him not to come. I won’t let you self-destruct like your dad. I won’t do it. I won’t…
“Tell me about my dad,” Ben implored, gazing up at his great-uncle.
Angelo frowned, suddenly feeling weak. He backed into a chair and gratefully sat, coughing a few times. “Your dad?” he wheezed, glancing at the unopened bag of marijuana. “What do you want to hear?”
“Anything—I don’t know. Something good about him?”
The tremble in the boy’s voice was unmistakable, and Angelo felt a stab of tenderness. He eyed Benjamin intently. Though Logan had been physically more imposing at this age, he and his son shared particular quirks, like a palpable intensity and their brooding furrow of the brow.
A memory instantly came to mind, and Angelo was surprised by the wave of sadness that accompanied it. “Your dad,” he said with a faint smile, “was the best prankster around.”
“He was?” Ben’s typically jaded tone was now full of wonder.
Angelo chuckled. “This one time, when he was about…hmm, how old was he? Let’s see, Carlo was eight, so Logan must have been ten—yeah, that’s right. And Grant was still small, maybe five or so. The boys were down in the basement, and me and Anna Maria were playing poker with Enzo and Karita. When Enzo got a phone call from one of our guys, I went to get a refill, and I noticed how damn quiet it was in the basement.”
He looked at Ben sternly. “You don’t have brothers, but let me tell you, when a group of boys gets together to hang out, they are never quiet. I knew something was up. So I snuck downstairs. I couldn’t find the boys anywhere, but then I saw them in the bathroom.” Angelo shook his head disdainfully, a hint of mirth in his gravelly voice. “Logan had wrapped Carlo’s head in a towel. It looked like a fucking turban or something, and he was dabbing some sort of lotion on Carlo’s forehead. Grant was watching them both with his mouth hung open.”
“What was my dad doing?”
Angelo chuckled. “They’d found Anna Maria’s hair removal cream, and somehow Logan had convinced Carlo to try it on his eyebrows. How he persuaded him to do that, I’ll never know. When I discovered what they were doing, I yelled at them—those idiots—sometimes eyebrows don’t grow back. I shoved Carlo’s head under the sink to rinse off that crap, but we were too late. Those damn brows were history. Carlo was bawling his head off, and when I got a good look at him, he was the freakiest thing you’ve ever seen. Without eyebrows he looked like a fucking alien.”
Angelo shook his head some more, laughing disdainfully.
“His eyebrows grew back though, right?”
“Yeah, lucky for him, the dipshit.”
“Were you mad?” Ben asked.
“Nah, I’m sure Carlo had done something to provoke Logan. Those two fought constantly, unless Enzo intervened.”
“Was Grandpa mad?”
This quickly wiped the smile off Angelo’s face.
“We didn’t tell Enzo.”
“Why not?”
Angelo sighed. He knew what his brother had done to those boys. He’d even witnessed Enzo whipping Logan once, and it was not a memory he cherished.
“He was really strict with his sons,” he said. Angelo looked zoned out, trapped in the past.
A knock on the door interrupted his memories.
“What?” he called weakly.
Tank stuck his head in the door. “Uh, boss? Taylor is here for you.”
Angelo’s eyes widened in alarm, and he quickly searched Ben’s face for any signs of recognition, but Ben simply dipped his head, now focused on rolling a joint.
“In the hallway, Tank!” Angelo roared, managing to push himself up and off the chair without the bodyguard’s offered assistance. Once Ben’s door shut securely behind them, he turned to Tank with an icy glare. “I told you not to use that name around Ben! The boy lives with Taylor’s daughter, for fuck’s sake!”
“Sorry, boss. I forgot. But your man Taylor completely freaked out when we grabbed him, and he hasn’t settled down since. He looks like he’s about to cry, the pussy. I don’t want him to rabbit on us—you gotta get down there.”
“Fuck,” Angelo muttered, walking as quickly as he could toward the stairwell.
Inside the bedroom, Ben stood with his ear flush to the door. Sophie’s father is here? Why?
Silently Ben turned the knob and slunk down the hallway, stealthily following the sound of the men’s footfalls.
Angelo slowly entered the tension-filled study, his wizened black eyes taking in everything at once. A man with graying brown hair and a classy business suit sat slumped in the easy chair, with Mario’s controlling paw resting on his shoulder. Angelo noticed another of his men in the corner, and the thug nodded as he caught his boss’s eye. Angelo returned his attention to Taylor, whose frightened blue eyes stared back at him.
After a few painful coughs, Angelo attempted a smile. “Welcome, Mr. Taylor. I assume my men weren’t too rough bringing you in?”
Barely hearing the question over the pounding of his heart, Will tremulously asked, “Why am I here?”
Perched outside the study in the foyer, Ben cautiously leaned forward, straining to hear the conversation.
Tank guided Angelo to a chair across from their captive, and the don collapsed into it. “We have a matter to discuss,” Angelo rasped. “A while back you refused to pay your friendly neighborhood watch contribution. And now you’re overpaying. I want to know why.”
Will met his steely glare but said nothing, fully cognizant of the three burly goons surrounding him.
***
“You made it, sir.” The relief in Grant’s voice was palpable.
“You’re lucky I was able to leave the office,” Jerry Stone growled. “So, where’re we going?”
Grant pointed down the tree-lined Gold Coast street, strewn with fallen leaves. “The Barberi compound’s a couple of blocks from here.” They began walking at a brisk pace.
“You sure your nephew is in there?”
Clenching his teeth, Grant nodded. “Yes, sir. It’s where Ben went the last time he got disturbing news about his dad.”
“What happened this time?”
“He found out Logan was responsible for Sophie going to prison.”
They forged ahead, and Jerry noticed Grant wasn’t loping along with his usual cat-like grace. Instead, he seemed tense, almost ferocious.
As Grant’s hands balled into fists, Jerry more clearly understood Dr. Hayes’ progress reports, which noted that Grant had been working on significant anger-management issues. Jerry had once seen Grant explode in anger—when Marilyn had informed him he was the prime suspect for his brother’s murder (quite an understandable reaction)—but other than that, he’d seen only a docile respectfulness from the young man. Grant’s atypical aggressiveness alerted Jerry’s instincts, and he put out an arm to stop him.
“Maybe you need to calm down before we get there,” Jerry suggested.
“We don’t have time to waste!” Grant protested.
“What are you so worried about? Your nephew has been to the Barberi compound before and come out of it okay.”
“Okay?” Grant fumed. “He’s becoming an addict, just like his dad! Every time Ben gets under their influence, I lose him a little more. He’s probably in there right now, lighting up a joint, just like I warned him not to do—I’m…I’m gonna kill him!”
Jerry took a step closer and grabbed Grant’s arm with a firm grip.
“You will not touch that boy,” he said in a low voice. “He’s a minor, and you will not lay one hand on him, got it?”
Grant’s lips parted, and he stood stock-still, suddenly aware of his own behavior as well as the officer’s implied threat—cross Jerry and suddenly he could be violating his parole. He took a deep breath and willfully unfurled his fists.
Studying him intently, Jerry added, “If that kid is in there, I’ll take care of it, okay?”
“Yes, sir.”
Satisfied that Grant was back under control, Jerry dropped his arm and they turned the corner, immediately dwarfed by the massive homes lining the streets.
“Ben is not his father,” Jerry said. “There’s still time to save him.”
Grant’s throat tightened, and all he could manage was a nod and a soft “Yes, sir.”
***
“Please, I’ll—I’ll do whatever you want,” Will Taylor promised, warily looking back and forth from Angelo to Tank.
Out in the hallway, Ben frowned. Why was Sophie’s dad so scared?
“What I want,” Angelo slowly enunciated, “is an answer. Why are you fucking around with your payments? Do you want your business to go under?”
“No!” Will shouted before more carefully adding, “Please. I was foolish back then. I—I thought I didn’t need to pay for protection. But I learned my lesson. I paid extra as a sign of my goodwill and respect. I’ll do anything you want—just please don’t hurt Sophie any more.”
Sophie? How was she part of this? Ben’s forehead creased.
Angelo also felt quite perplexed, but he showed nothing. After Grant had shot and killed Carlo in a north-side apartment, Angelo naturally had ordered his men to investigate. They’d discovered that the apartment was leased by Kirsten Holland, a friend of Sophie Taylor. They’d also then discovered the romantic relationship between Grant and Sophie, and they now knew the two lived together—along with Ben currently, since the teenager was dumped there by his mother. But how any of that related to Will Taylor’s protection payments was still a puzzle to Angelo.
“I assure you Carlo acted on his own that night in August,” Angelo said. “I did not order him to threaten your daughter.”
The fear momentarily left Will’s eyes, replaced by skepticism. “Right,” he scoffed.
“You don’t believe me?”
The businessman leaned forward on his seat, seeming more incensed than afraid now. “You’ve been targeting my daughter for some time now, Mr. Barberi.”
Again, Angelo was at a loss.
“And now you’re siccing your nephew Grant on her, despite all my efforts to keep her away from him,” Will continued. “I have to stand by and watch another Mafia man seduce her—just waiting for him to hurt her!” Will’s voice had grown louder. As he glanced around, he seemed to grasp the danger of the situation. Looking down, he grimly resumed. “Anyway, I get the message loud and clear. There’s no need to drag me down here and threaten me. I’ll never miss another payment.”
Angelo paused. Taylor thought Grant worked for him? And that mistaken belief had led him to overpay? For a split second the Mafia don saw Grant’s innocent eyes swimming before his face, and he considered telling the truth. But then the reality of his impending death hit him, along with the familiar burden of responsibility for securing his family’s future. Taylor was a wealthy man, and the Barberi family could definitely benefit from a potential windfall, even if it stemmed from making false threats.
“Look at me, Mr. Taylor,” Angelo commanded.
Will slowly raised his head.
“I haven’t had a reason to order Grant to harm your daughter—yet. You’ll double your regular payment, and as long as we get that on time every month, Sophie will be safe.”
“But that’s impossible in this economy—”
Angelo held out a hand. “Surely your daughter’s life is worth it, Mr. Taylor. And any plans to go to the police will result in the complete collapse of your business. I can guarantee it.”
That threat quelled any further protest, and Will slumped in his chair, feeling a mixture of fear, resignation, and disgust. Angelo looked pointedly at the bodyguard in the corner. “Take Mr. Taylor to get a drink. He looks like he needs one.”
The hulking man crossed the room and waited expectantly by the chair until Will stood up and allowed himself to be led out of the room. Ben quickly hid behind some hideous Roman statue, escaping detection by the two men leaving the study.
As soon as they were gone, Angelo shook his head uneasily, glaring at Tank and Mario. “Something’s not right here—something’s missing. What the fuck was Taylor talking about? He said we’ve been targeting his daughter for some time now? Something about ‘another Mafia man’ seducing her?”
Ben overheard every word, and his heart began thumping in his chest.
“The daughter was at Logan’s funeral,” Tank said.
Angelo looked shocked. “She was? Why didn’t you tell me that?”
“Sorry, boss. Didn’t think it was important.” Tank’s throat constricted as he told the lie. He’d been with Carlo at the funeral, and Carlo had ordered him to investigate Sophie’s background. He hardly wished to mention that at the moment, though.
Peering at his bodyguards suspiciously, Angelo’s mouth tightened. “Cut the shit, you two. I know you were the ones who held Logan down while Carlo shoved a knife in his gut.”
Ben stopped breathing.
“Tell me what you know now,” Angelo hissed.
Tank shot a desperate glance at Mario before looking back at his boss.
“C-C-Carlo had me call one of our police contacts after the funeral, and I found out Logan had history with Sophie Taylor. She was his shrink, you know, when that judge made him go to counseling, and he, uh, used her office to hide guns and money.”
Silent tears slid down Ben’s face as he hunched in the corner, his thin arms wrapped around his torso, hugging himself. Somehow he was grateful he’d heard this story from Sophie first.
“I guess the cops raided Taylor’s daughter’s office and found the cash, and they found guns too,” Tank continued. His voice dropped lower. “One of the weapons was traced to the Salazar murder.”
“Shit,” Angelo muttered.
“The girl served about half of her two-year sentence, and she’s still on parole.”
“Why haven’t I heard about this before?”
“Her dad used his influence to keep it outta the papers. I guess Logan didn’t tell you?”
Angelo shook his head. “All I knew was the family was out one hundred Gs and Logan was on the run from the fuzz.”
Tank sighed. “Logan sure got himself into a clusterfuck. When I told the story to Carlo, he immed
iately wanted to track down Taylor’s daughter to try to get the money back. I guess he got to her through Grant…and we know the rest.”
Yeah, Carlo shot Sophie, Ben silently responded. And then Uncle Grant had to kill Carlo to save Sophie’s life. He felt nauseated.
Angelo tried frantically to sort through all the pieces of information, undeterred by the pain coursing through his weak body.
“Holy shit,” he cried, having an epiphany. “Logan just started going to see Taylor’s daughter randomly, right? After the judge ordered him to get therapy?”
Mario nodded, wondering where his boss was going with this.
Angelo started to get excited. “But Taylor thinks Logan went there on purpose! He thinks we sent Logan to set up his daughter as retribution for not paying the extortion fee. He blames himself for his daughter going to prison.”
Tank’s jaw dropped. “You’re right, boss. Think we should set Taylor straight?”
“Hell, no,” Angelo retorted. “I only wish we could make all our suppliers this scared of us. Taylor looked like he was about to crap his pants.”
Tank and Mario chuckled while Ben’s blood boiled. He’d heard all he could stand. He slunk away from his hiding place and headed back to his room to retrieve his backpack. He had to get far away from this place and never come back.
In the study, Mario tensed as he glanced at the security camera feed for the entrance to the compound, instantly recognizing Logan’s brother, accompanied by an older man with “cop” written all over him.
“We got company, boss.”
***
“How can I help you, Grant?” Tank asked pleasantly through the locked gate at the entrance. His glare at the man next to Grant was not so pleasant.
“We’re here for Ben,” Grant responded, not mincing words.
Tank shrugged and did what came naturally—he lied. “He ain’t here.”
A small seed of doubt sprouted inside Grant—what if Ben wasn’t here? Where else would he be? Noticing the smirk on the bodyguard’s face, Grant squared his shoulders.
“I know he’s in there… Anthony, is it? Please bring him out.”