by S. W. Frank
Carey smirked as footsteps approached and a shirtless Nunzio appeared. His fat body resembled a sumo wrestler. There were sweat stains under his armpits of the size triple X teeshirt. The fabric was stretched in an effort to conceal his distended abdomen and Carey wondered how anyone found Nunzio appealing.
“Hey, ‘aint seen your lovely face in a minute detective; what brings you ‘round here?” He asked displaying one front tooth.
“Some of us actually work an honest job for a living,” she said while surveying the hall then looked him in the eye, “I need a favor big guy.”
Nunzio leaned against the wall rubbing his belly, “What you givin’ for this favor?”
She ignored the remark and removed a police sketch from her bag and showed it to him. Not locking his fat ass up was the favor! “You recognize this guy?” She asked.
His pupils dilated in recognition, “Nahhhh.”
“You sure?” She moved in close to give him a full view of her cleavage, “you’ like these tits Nunzio?”
He smiled, “Hell yes.”
“Wanna’ feel how soft they are?”
Sweat poured from his forehead at the possibility, “Yeah.”
“Favor for favor, you first.” Carey pressed her body against him smiling seductively, men were nothing but big horny boys. Tits and ass got men talking. Her police methods were unorthodox but hey got results. She never went as far as sex but letting someone catch a glimpse of her tits or cop a feel she considered more effective then bashing their heads in. Her way got results. He looked about to burst from his pants as she cooed, “I’m waiting big fella.”
“The tattoo looks familiar, like this dude I seen near the west side got something like it.”
“And this guy got a name?”
His eyes were thinking, “Weird Freddie…he just got out the joint. Don’t know his last name.”
He reached out and seized her breasts with both hands, “Damn they’re luscious.”
Carey remained detached as rough hands squeezed and manipulated her areolas, “I need an address.”
Nunzio licked the tobacco stained tooth as his hands caressed her cotton covered breasts. “I just know he got a hole down on one thirtieth street and Adam Clayton Powell, that’s all.”
“Nickname?”
“Oooooh babe…you in the wrong profession.” He whispered.
She rubbed her hand over his arousal, “He got a nickname big man.”
Aaaah shit…this trick got him coming’, “Freddie, they call him Freddie!”
Carey stepped away and adjusted her blouse. Fat slob got sweat on her cotton Dior blouse. She noticed the female pit-bull peering from the cracked door and grinned. Nunzio had a lot of explaining to do.
* * *
CHAPTER TEN
Alfonzo sped north on the FDR, music cranked at full volume. He didn’t give a shit if he got pulled over and issued citations! The music drowned out the anger in his head. Time should rub the rough edges off the hurt, instead it only sharpened into a blade of hate. Three weeks since the murders and nothing!
Detective Johnson assured him they were working every angle, combing the streets for suspects but people weren’t talking. They were simply too afraid. The only witness they had was a drunk resident of the building who recalled seeing someone enter the building wearing dark clothes then emerge later in a white shirt and jeans. He’d not seen the man before. They got a description of the guy and a sketch circling but so far nothing. He hadn’t told Alfonzo the old drunkard did recall a tattoo on the man’s arm…Chinese symbol or something like that…the drunk wasn’t too sure.
He looked at the speedometer…80…he lifted his foot from the accelerator until the needle teetered around 70. Alfonzo gripped the steering wheel; Uncle Al’s death was taking an emotional toll on his family. They wanted this psycho caught, Alfonzo wanted him dead!
He’d lost a father figure and friend. The residual effect resulted in an intense ache in his heart. Nothing could assuage it except looking in the eyes of the monster responsible and blowing his goddamn head off!
The sadness crept into his bones. Uncle Al finally settled down and looked forward to having kids…when….when…Alfonzo began crying. Alone he could display emotion without fear of being labeled a bitch! In the street motherfuckers always tested your manhood. As a result he had physical and emotional scars from fights with gang members, drug dealers and anyone who thought blue eyes meant a lack of street credibility. The tough blue eyed Puerto Rican gained respect when he disproved their assumption. He wiped at his cheekbone then sniffled recalling the night he made his first kill. Not intentionally, it was self-defense but he killed someone nonetheless and would’ve ended up in juvie if Uncle Al hadn’t intervened. It felt like yesterday when he was that bad-ass little kid, hanging out late, breaking curfew, smoking weed, doing shit a kid at that age shouldn’t. Driving, sexing, selling, beefing and thinking it all was a game –but games have players and with a roll of the dice the game can turn deadly.
He remembered walking home late, hoodie on, bop to his step dreading his mom’s ire. He rounded the corner near Second Avenue when these dudes jumped out of nowhere. They were two big dudes, mean thuggish brutes not from the area and they wanted his kicks and jewelry. Alfonzo wasn’t about to part with his new Jordan’s, hell no, he paid a good piece of cash for the retro sneakers and these bums who didn’t know how to hustle wanted them. Nah, it wasn’t happening!
They scuffled, he pulled out his knife and started cutting. When they fell back he took off running in the opposite direction. The streets were dark and the closest place for shelter was Uncle Al’s. He got there in a minute flat and lay on the buzzer. His apartment was over a bodega and Alfonzo stepped out when he heard a window open and saw his uncle peering down at him, “Niño, tú loco? Este tarde! It’s late!”
A second later clad in his boxers Uncle Al opened the door for his nephew. One look at Alfonzo and he pushed the boy up the flight of stairs to his apartment then locked the door, “What happened?”
“Some guys tried to roll on me and take my shit, Tio!”
“You hurt?” Uncle asked.
“Nah…nah…I’m alright but I fucked-up one of the guys real bad.”
“Watch your mouth niño, calm down and tell me what happened!”
Uncle Al listened intently as Alfonzo recanted the entire incident then he directed Alfonzo to take a shower and gave him a set of clean clothes. Uncle Al then called his mom and produced a cover story to get him out of trouble. “Yeah…yeah…we fell asleep playing video games. Yeah, lo siento hermana, I just woke-up. He’s still asleep but I’ll make sure he gets home in the morning. All right…sis…buenos noche.”
After the call he put his hand out for the knife, “Give it to me.”
The blade was taken out of his pocket and placed in his uncle’s palm. He never saw the blade again. Roaring sirens caused fear to shoot through his body but uncle was calm. He dressed quickly, grabbed his keys and told Alfonzo to stay put until he returned. Those were the longest fifteen minutes of his life and when uncle came back the somber expression confirmed what he had done. “The bodies are covered, niño. The men are dead.”
The thirteen year old boy who fought to gain respect graduated to a murderer. It did not matter whether it was self-defense, the outcome remained the same. Two men were dead by his hands. “What, they’re dead, you sure?” Alfonzo asked in bewilderment.
His uncle sat down next to the boy in the oversize shirt and pajama pants, “It’ll be alright…we will not talk about this to anyone. Give me your word.”
The boy nodded, “On my word.”
“This never happened, you and I were here playing video games and you fell asleep. That is what happened, comprende?”
“Si, tio…comprendo.”
He recalled the months of paranoia, checking his back, jumping every time the doorbell rang. Certain the police would eventually learn where he lived and arrest him. Yet, the police never came
.
Alfonzo never told anyone about what occurred, not even his cousin Domingo. The experience hardened his soul. His fierce reputation grew as did the reckless disregard for his own life. Somewhere, deep inside he wanted to get caught and pay for his crime but the police weren’t interested in catching the killer. Another unsolved murder in the ‘hood. No big-deal, right?
On the street they called him locos los ojos azules, crazy blue eyes.
His heart grew colder, his actions bolder. He sold drugs, amassed loads of cash, built an illegal business which afforded him to move his mom into a nice place and eventually branch out on his own. He was never happy, though. The thirteen year-old boy never healed from the trauma. Abuela once made him promise to go to college and when she passed a few years ago he did just that. His SAT scores were enough to get him into Columbia University. He did well in business and finance courses and eventually earned his degree. The fascination with business prompted him to continue his studies and last year he received a Master’s Degree simply because he wanted to prove to himself he was as good as or better than most of the gringo and Asian kids whose parents were footing the bill. Meanwhile the smart capable Latino and black students were busting their asses working to pay tuition or going through hassles with financial aid every semester. This one black dude Samson was a genius in math, he aced every course but his financial aid got cut because he got arrested for drug possession over summer vacation. The dude was pissed after he tried to register for the fall semester and was informed about it. Alfonzo saw him outside of school and he vented about the injustice of the situation and Alfonzo agreed then said, “Mira hombre, let me pay for your tuition.”
Samson was skeptical, “Yo, I appreciate it man but I can’t accept it.”
“Why not? The government got you on lockdown; this is your last year.” Alfonzo put a fist to his chest, “On my word, you owe me nothing…nada…”
“Why you want to do this…for me?”
Alfonzo was blunt, “Because hombre our people get few breaks in life and I want to even the fucking playing field, tú sabe?”
Samson caved. He wanted his degree. He had ambitions to get a job down on Wall Street and you know what? The dude is raking in stacks at Merrill Lynch. He is also the same guy who made Alfonzo a sizable return in the stock market. There are times when he thinks about the trade-off and smirks. Paying a year of tuition for Samson was one of the best investments he made.
The college experience assisted in broadening his horizons, he met many diverse people and learned a lot about himself. For starters, to be respectable he needed to open a legitimate business. The illegal drug trade, although lucrative was also a deadly one. The retirement package often consisted of a bullet and a grave from a ruthless competitor. He opened a real estate investment company, a legitimate company with five employees uptown. He paid taxes, the whole bit and provided jobs to people in the neighborhood searching for opportunity. People willing to learn and earn.
His legitimate real estate ventures far exceeded profits from any illegal business and with a combination of stocks and real estate investments he was becoming a wealthy young man. The drug business had become second tier. His desire to get out and how to do it was the reason he wanted to talk to uncle. This is why he’d been so damn conflicted. He sought a way to transition from the old Alfonzo to a newer version but the old continued its hold. Each time he took a step forward the life jerked him backward.
Damn Tio…man I fucking miss you!
The girl Selange was on his mind, a lot lately. He worried about her being way out there on Long Island with her flighty friend Shanda as a roommate. He offered her to stay longer at his place, no strings attached but she refused anxious to try to get on with her life. Despite her bravado he knew it was going to be difficult moving forward after what happened. He called her almost every day to make sure she was okay. She broke down on the phone last night and his heart collapsed from the weight of her pain.
The Mercedes slowed to a halt at the red light and he instinctively checked the car on his right. The driver of the old black Chevy stared straight ahead. Red changed to green and the driver pulled ahead and Alfonzo turned left on ninety-second street west to third avenue. He wanted to update the family on the police investigation before going home. There was a ten thousand dollar reward offered by the police, a paltry sum for two lives. On the street he placed an even higher bounty of one million for anyone who came forward with credible information about the killer.
Minutes later he found an empty parking space not far from his mom’s brownstone. He sat in the car for a minute looking around the quiet street. He decided to call Selange. She answered on the third ring and he grinned, “Hola.”
“Hello Alfonzo.”.
“How did your day go, chica?”
“It’s getting better.”
“Bueno, but you know you can’t stay sequestered forever, you need to start going out or you’re not living.”
“I’m not ready.”
“Tomorrow I’m coming over. No argument.”
She breathed out, “Okay, whatever.”
“Hey, chica?”
“Yes?”
“Make sure you lock all your doors and windows before going to bed.”
“I will. It’s pretty safe here. There’s a neighborhood patrol and Detective Johnson stops in occasionly.”
None of this satisfied him but he chose to end the conversation on a positive note, “I’ll see you tomorrow, buenos noche.”
“Good-night Alfonzo…and thanks for calling.”
He hung up then exited the vehicle. He crossed the street and suddenly recognized the black Chevy parking not far away.
Coincidence, maybe not!
Senses heightened, Alfonzo strolled casually down the block listening for the man. An oncoming couple passed laughing then they crossed the wide street. Their voices drifted away and he continued on discreetly reaching for the blade secreted in his pocket. The last gift he received from Uncle Al; this beautiful silver engraved retractable bowie knife.
On this warm summer night the block boasted very little activity. In the distance, he saw a woman entering the Fernandez home. A group of youngsters walked toward the avenue and a car passed on his left. Footsteps approached from the rear and he readied the blade in his hand as the steps quickened. Alfonzo turned catching the man by surprise. The man held a gun pointed at the back of Alfonzo’s head which he deflected before he gripped the man’s wrist in a vice. On the forearm he saw the Chinese symbol for death inked there. He raise the gun hand skyward and used the blade to carve through the man’s flesh until it made contact with bone. The man howled in agony then quieted as the gun misfired shattering a car window and setting off the alarm. Alfonzo attempted to dislodge the gun again and met a powerful head-butt which caused him to stumble and lose momentum.
The attacker took the opportunity to fire the weapon and a bullet grazed Alfonzo’s shoulder. Completely focused on the man and his movements Alfonzo twisted the wrist swirling the man’s entire body around in the opposite direction, placed a kick to the gunman’s leg bringing him to his knees then applied such force to the wrist it cracked loudly and the gun slipped from the man’s fingers to clang against the pavement. Another blow to the man’s spine sent him face-down on the ground knocking loose several teeth. Blood poured from Alfonzo’s shoulder wound like spilled paint as it trailed down the front of his shirt but he found the sticky warmth comforting in murderous rage. He bent low and lifted the man by his collar intent on slashing his filthy throat. In this short space of time his assailant gathered his wits and reached backward to grab Alfonzo’s legs sending him careening backward on the pavement and the knife flying from his hand. His head hit the cement and the pain slapped his entire body. The impact left him stunned; it hurt badly. The man was over him now punching and punching until the hits failed to inflict pain.
Alfonzo’s eyes fluttered closed then swiftly reopened with determination. He kneed the
man in the groin, grabbed one shoulder and thrust him aside then struggled to his feet. However, his assailant refused to go down and rushed Alfonzo mid-center into a parked car. They scuffled for dominance despite their injuries and were unrelenting. Alfonzo’s reflexes were slower due to the head injury and he recognized his body’s lack of coordination, but in a deadly street fight there’s no reprieve. Cognizant of his disadvantage, Alfonzo acted swiftly by sidestepping away from the car, throwing a kidney shot to the man’s side, and then followed up with two hard thrusts to the man’s solar plexus. He then put all of his strength into a lateral punch right to the goddamn man’s neck. The force and location of the blows crumpled the assailant bringing the fight to an end.
Alfonzo pant hard and looked around for his blade. He spot the customized knife lying two feet away on the sidewalk and rushed to retrieve it. He reached it, then suddenly his body jerked. He twist under the sting of a bullet and realized his mistake. The projectile tore through his flank and blue eyes turned to rest on the gunman. He cursed himself. Street fighting 101 never turn your back on anybody unless you’re sure they’re dead or unconscious. ‘I fucked-up! I let my guard down.’
Excruciating pain crippled him, his knees buckled and he hit the ground bleeding profusely. The man crept closer and hovered above him brandishing the gun, “Fucking punk!” He took careful aim at Alfonzo’s head but right before he squeezed the trigger Alfonzo scissor-kicked, capturing the man’s legs while rolling out of harm’s way. The fast action sent the man off balance and he crashed against the cement slamming his trigger arm. The weapon misfired again and it spun across the ground then landed several feet away. Alfonzo’s fingers gripped the handle of the monogrammed knife then drove it into the man’s trunk. The effort caused blood to bubble from his wound and he slumped down on the ground pulling the blade free with the last of his strength. The assailant clasped both hands over his stomach to stop the bleeding then backed away unsteadily. He slipped in blood and fell on his ass then struggled up again as voices began shouting. Windows opened. Too many people were watching. Goddamn potential witnesses. He lowered his head in the darkness to flee just as Alfonzo stumbled to his feet, grabbing hold of a low wrought iron gate for support.
