by Frank, S. W.
An uncomfortable warmth fanned his face, “A cousin of an old friend.” He shifted uncomfortably, thinking about Kiki’s red lips on his. “Why?”
“Did you screw her the other night?”
“Wait, “ he put a hand in the air thinking out loud, “How the hell did you find out about Kiki, are you having me followed?” When her gaze faltered in guilty admission he sucked in air, “Selange, answer the goddamn question?”
“Not in the way you think, it’s…”
A light bulb moment occurred, “Who…who is it?”
She nibbled nervously on her bottom lip, “Don’t get mad.”
His skull collided with the headrest in an effort to contain his mortification. “Oh, honey what did you do?”
“I…was concerned.”
He pushed forward, the blue eye afire, “Tell me and quit with the innocent crap!”
The contentious tone in his voice brought her alive, “Answer my question first, then I’ll tell you!”
“This isn’t a game. Do you understand how serious this is?”
“Who’s Kiki?”
“My friend, Danté’s cousin Kiki called to tell me he’d been killed. I went to the hospital to confirm it then came home to my wife –no mas. What else do you want to know, should I take a lie detector test?” His eyes shone brightly with hurt from her display of mistrust. “Tell me how to end this fear of yours, tell me and I’ll do it….I’ll slit my throat if that’s what you want….is that what the fuck you want?”
He reached to his waist and the cherished Bowie knife emerged. It’s ivory handle gleamed and the silver steel blade flashed brilliant sparkles as it arced in the air, colliding with the ray of sun before coming to rest at his Adam’s Apple.
Their eyes locked. She held the power; he awaited the spoken command. The corrosive pain hidden in his soul burned through the muscles of his flesh, exposed and putrid in its ugliness. Perhaps, she’d realize the fragility of his heart and tread carefully upon it. He was bluffing, of course but shock therapy often changed learned behavior, or so he read. This was his version of shock therapy!
The tense moment held, her mouth curved upward into a smile and she called his bluff. “I wonder, can a dying man get an erection because I’ll be right on top of you trying to get one last fuck before you expire?”
“Damn, you’re cruel.” The knife was sheathed and he growled. “Next time I might actually do it, if you imply one more time that I’m out screwing other women.”
“Dramatic way to make a point, don’t you think?”
“Sometimes it takes theatrics, but I guess it didn’t work because you know me too goddamn well.”
“No one knows anybody better than they know themselves.”
“Is that a philosophical expression you read somewhere or psychology?”
“It’s true, I took a gamble you weren’t psychotic or suicidal.”
“You gambled with my life, what if you were wrong?”
She grimaced, “Oops!”
“Oh, it’s like that, huh?”
She laughed, “Yeah, it’s like that.”
He grinned, then glanced at his watch. Anita should be there soon, meanwhile he wanted to know, “Exactly when did you start having me followed?”
Of course he’d return to the topic, “When we arrived in New York. But I wasn’t having you followed because I didn’t trust you, I did it because I wanted to make sure we were safe. I know…I should’ve said something but you don’t tell me everything. –Oh don’t try and deny it, something’s been bothering you and you didn’t want to worry me.”
Selange was unreadable at times. He was curious, “Who’d you hire?”
“I called Vinny.”
“Vincent Serano?”
“He said if we ever needed him, he’d come running. We needed him.”
This news surprised him. “I never saw him tailing me. I always did security maneuvers to flush out anybody who might.”
She came to sit on his lap and fingered his watch. “One thing I do know about my loving husband is he always wears an expensive watch.”
His lip curled in amusement. Hot damn!
There was a tracking device in the watches, of course!
She stroked his hair, “He saved our asses and I’ll do it again if I have to.”
“Where is Vinny?”
“I’m not sure, somewhere close by I guess. It’s not like he doesn’t know our location.”
He fingered the watch, clever. Damn she was good and he hadn’t suspected a thing or even considered this scenario. “Call him, tell him to bring his ass on the plane.”
She lifted her rump off his leg and went to her purse to get her cell then sat down again, scrolling a finger across the screen. She leaned on Alfonzo’s chest and saw him smile. He rubbed her thighs.
She smiled in response to his naughty caress, hoping the pilot didn’t wander from the cockpit after checking his instruments and get an eye full.
She held the slim device near her ear. A gravelly voice boomed from the phone, “Hey.”
“Vinny, I told on myself.”
He guffawed, “Women can’t keep secrets, can they, is he pissed?”
She studied Alfonzo’s neutral expression, “He’s got the poker-face, I can’t tell. He probably thinks I’ve had a traumatic brain injury which altered my behavior.”
“Brown sugar, if it weren’t for you his ass’ll be sleeping in the morgue!”
“Hey, I heard that and don’t encourage my wife, you crazy motherfucker!” Alfonzo chimed in.
Vincent laughed.
“Where are you?” Selange asked.
“Look left girly at Hangar Four.”
She moved to the opposite side of the aircraft, peered out the window, reading the numbers atop the grey dome structures. A man wearing a blue mechanic jumpsuit, clutching a large duffle bag, leaned casually against the exterior wall. He waved.
“See me?”
“Yep!”
“I’m coming aboard, oh yeah and tell your husband he can thank me later.”
She smiled at Alfonzo who watched her intently with an inquisitive brow. “Tell him yourself, when you get here.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Rap music and an odorous smell of bleach emanated from the apartment into the hall. The men gathered on either side of the brown painted door, removing the safety from their guns. The one nearest the doorknob held up his fingers, counting down from five.
Four…three…two…one! The door was kicked open, the frame splintered easily and they filed in, guns aimed at the empty walls. The lead man, stayed flush to the wall, absorbing the lay-out, noticing empty bottles of liquor and shoddy furnishings. He eyed the CD player, Bose, top of the line, everything else was flea market purchased. The place was a drug den.
He gestured toward the single bedroom and the other two got in place.
Five…four…three…two…one!
They were in.
The count man searched the small kitchen, and then turned his attention to what could only be the bathroom. Gun up, he nudged the bottom of the plywood door with his foot then quickly retracted it. Nothing. The rap music annoyed the shit out of him but the noise worked in their favor. He poked his head inside.
“Shit!”
The others were at his side. They’d found nothing in the bedroom and now understood why. Someone beat them here. The count man holstered his gun, flipped on a light for a better view and grimaced. “What can we do with this?”
The dismembered corpse of a Hispanic or black male floated in the bathtub, in what he suspected was bleach. Who walks around taking heads, the counter man wondered?
He stepped out the door to check around the apartment. The place was clean, whoever got there ahead of their crew made sure of it. He opened the closet, pushed back the racks of heavy coats and smelly winter clothes. Apparently, someone did actually live here. He rummaged through the pockets and found a rather interesting business card. He tucked it away
and joined the others.
“Let’s go.”
They exited the apartment and shut the door. Rap music continued to blare, far into the night.
Alfonzo reached over the head of his sleeping wife to answer his cell. “Talk to me.”
“Somebody beat my boys there. They got a card, sent you a photo.”
Alfonzo checked the picture. A business card for a pharmacy somewhere in Florida. “Alright, thanks.”
“Hey kid, need anything else you know how to find me.”
“Thanks, I’ll come visit your new restaurant.”
“Do that.”
The call ended and Alfonzo reclined in bed. He had Vincent contact the old crew. They were flying in, coming back to work, long-term. If he were doing this, he was going to do it right. No more half stepping.
Selange turned over in her sleep. He still couldn’t believe she’d had the foresight to have protection at the ready out in New York. He’d been so busy trying to live normal, he hadn’t considered the possibility this was his normal.
He touched her hair, chuckled. It was soft to the touch but strong. Just like her. He bent and kissed her cheek. She squat at her face to fend off a pestering insect and he smiled. He kissed her again, hoping this time she’d wake because his engine was revved and ready to go.
Her eyes squinted, her mouth kissing the pillow as she said, “Am I finally going to get a thank you?”
She was naked beneath the covers; a convenience when a man is hard as stone and needs immediate satisfaction. He climbed over her, and she pushed her buttocks to him. Canine style he soothed himself and reclaimed part of his broken ego. He held her stomach, bending over her spine, kissing her shoulders, caressing her breasts, exciting in the spasmodic breaths from her lovely lips as he showed his gratitude.
Her hands gripped the pillows, his name whispered repeatedly in the dark as he filled her with the most pleasurable of gifts. She arched further in small convulsions, professing her love and he climaxed, grunting, swearing, making a confession of his own, “I love you, too and I’m lucky to have you, babe.”
They slumped to the bed and he held her lovingly in his arms. Their breathing in rapid unison until it slowed and sleep came. In his dream state, sometime during the late hour, he said aloud in his sleep, “El amor, usted es más que la esposa de un mafioso, usted es el corazón y el alma!”
She’d heard his declaration in Spanish. The words wafted through her slumber and a smile of contentment settled on her lips. His words were poetry, lulling her to sleep, again with its own sweet melody. ‘Love, you are more than a mobster’s wife, you’re his heart and soul!’
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
The natural charismatic grace in which he walked demanded attention. His tailored suit was refined, an expensive quality brand that only added to the visual appeal. The blue eyes were unforgiving and cold. They held not one glimmer of doubt. He was a different man, more mature, confident and wiser. He was primed, one of their own and they were curious in what direction this Don sought to go.
They were all there, ten of his top men, including Vincent, Lou and even Crazy Nicky. The only man missing was Nico. He’d gone into retirement and from his brother’s account was ‘happy humping exotic trees and drinking tropical sunsets.’ So, Alfonzo let him be, grateful his loyal friend and protector found his paradise.
The meeting room was his private boathouse, not far from the estate, where the only entries were through the main grounds or by sea. Each was tightly secured, not only by manpower but also high-tech surveillance videos and sensors. He’d know if any were breached. Money did buy a man warning equipment, the rest was left in God’s hands, as his mother would say.
This morning his mood was foul, he’d received notice from the company’s legal department the Bronx contract was rescinded in light of his brush with the law. He expected as much. The contract was going to another bidder, Rajid Sanduwar. A local New York contractor who often used substandard and cheap construction material. He cut corners, building crap out in Queens and Brooklyn. Homes which he later sold for exorbitant amounts to his own Guyanese people and other immigrants searching for the elusive American dream.
On this project, Alfonzo would provide unauthorized oversight. He’d clamp down on the low-life, make sure he didn’t skimp on materials and hire qualified laborers. He was no longer playing by anyone’s rules; the bastards were going to dance to his salsa beat for a change!
The men were assembled, food, of course was provided thanks to Anita and her new helper, her niece Sonia. He’d given the woman too much power in his house. When she came to him demanding he hire the young woman, he thought to refuse until she spoke in their native language to remind him of his obligation to assist those less fortunate. She also added, “Sonia has no criminal record, she is an unemployed mother of three, trustworthy, family and mute to the business of others.”
He took a day to think about it, actually, he had her thoroughly checked out, rechecked himself and what Anita said was true. After Franky, anyone new to his home underwent an intensive background check. He would not suffer the same betrayal more than once. There were not going to be any slip-ups, not ever!
He stood, hands in his pockets, relaxed and ready to get started. “Glad you all made it, let’s get to it.” He walked to the center of the room, eyeing each man, looking for dissenters, finding none. “Please sit.”
They sat.
He remained standing. His adrenalin far too high to do anything other than walk it off, an excited professor with loads of material to cover in a forty-five minute course. “The reason you’re here is simple. You worked for me once and were the best, most experienced, most loyal. I’m going to require those same skills going forward.” His eyes connected with each man, “Retirement is not everything it’s cut-out to be, more hazardous to a man’s health then fucking working!”
The men laughed, many agreed.
“I’m ready to get to work, Don Alfonzo!” Crazy Nicky exclaimed.
A chorus of, “Hell yeah, let’s do it, I’m in!”
Vincent stood beside Alfonzo and recited the Giacanti-Diaz doctrine, “On the blood of your mother, your loyalty is bound...”
The men all stood and once again pledged their allegiance. Afterward the oath of Omertá, the code of silence was taken. “And it is by death the penalty shall be.”
They repeated these words, kissed Alfonzo’s ring, not the Palazzo crest, one less ostentatious, and designed by Alfonzo to represent a new order. The rise of Don Alfonzo Giacanti-Diaz, a direct descendant of Sergio Giacanti. The Giacanti name would be heard aloud and not whispered conspiratorially in shame, ever again. This he swore.
When they returned to their chairs, Alfonzo spoke candidly, “Your business ventures are protected, except those involved in the distribution or supply of the drug Anarchy. Any of you have a part in this menace?”
There were frowns, mumblings of disgust, even the statement, “I have a teenage daughter, and the last thing I want is to be the man responsible for killing my own kid!”
Alfonzo was glad to hear they were not involved because secretly he planned to slit the throat of whoever raised their voice in assent. Two of his cousins’ friends and an aspiring young man were dead because of the drug, a transgression he could not forgive.
“I must be explicit about my vision so we have no misunderstandings. In my business, the drug trade is off limits. Leave it for those who can’t see opportunity. Money is great, we all love it but real wealth lies in freedom, how else can you enjoy riches? I don’t want any drugs on any of my properties, cars or in your possession. We keep our hands clean and minds alert. You’re all familiar with these large tech companies. We use them every day, like soap. Nerdy boys raking in billions of dollars, building profitable empires. Their clout is in their legitimacy. They lobby with money. Well, here’s my vision. Technology is the latest drug of choice. It’s an addiction, every time a new gadget, or upgrade hits the market, people must have it
, right?”
“Right!”
“Those billionaire boys haven’t met us. Oh, we’re not going to do any old-fashion shake-downs. Uh-uh, we’re going to acquire controlling shares of these companies by panicking the market. Those guys on Wall Street, the self-important economist, speculators and analysts won’t be able to predict us coming. We’re not stopping there, the Fortune 500 companies, corrupt CEO’s robbing from workers, we’re bitch-slapping their asses then taking their purses.” Alfonzo left out the most crucial detail, not only were they going to infiltrate these companies, they were going to do the same in the political arena. Once the mafia had people in the different branches of government, then their power would have no equal. The antiquated system and its racist politics were going to change.
“About goddamn time we hit those bastards, every one of them!” Lou exclaimed, “They’re worse than thieves.”
“I’m fucking with you all the way. The penny ante shit is for the birds. Yeah, I make an okay living but it’s nothing compared to what those snot-nose kids are making from their social networking sites and those guys up top getting multi-million dollar bonuses they skimmed from real estate Ponzi schemes. Nowhere close!”
“My kids can be set for life.”
“Exactly.”
Alfonzo let them talk. They were in. His mafia vision went far beyond the limited thinking of his peers. To keep his family protected, he needed the influence of government.
As the idea marinated with the group, he broached a different subject, family. “My wife and family, as your wives and families are to be treated with respect. I will not interfere in personal business, but don’t bring shame to yourselves or my name and operate with discretion. Keep your affairs and vices under the shadow of caution or you open the door to insurrection and infiltration. Am I clear?”
The men nodded their understanding.
He widened his stance, “Unless you’ve been in a whale’s pussy, I’m sure you heard about my adventures during retirement. For the most part it was uneventful, however, the devil’s come calling and I’ve been summoned to the head of the line.”
