A Bullet for Carlos

by Giacomo Giammatteo

  “And a better plan at the border,” Tomás said. “Berto is dead.”

  Carlos sat straight up. “And the shipment?”

  “Gone,” Tomás said, his head lowered, avoiding eye contact.

  “From the look on your face I can tell there is more bad news.”

  Tomás gulped, and then cleared his throat. “That cop from New York. They cannot find her.”

  “What do you mean, cannot find her? She is a cop. Call the station.”

  “They said she is on special assignment.”

  Carlos stood. Let the smoke curl around his head. “Call our friends in Queens,” he said, then looked at each of his men. “If anyone else has bad news they should tell me.”

  Tico cleared his throat. “That councilman in Houston is putting pressure on the city to close the club, and the people are supporting it, saying it is too close to the school. Also, we need a new banker for the club.”

  “There are ways to solve the first problem,” Carlos said.

  “You can’t kill a councilman,” Tico said.

  “I didn’t say kill him. There are many ways to get someone to do what you want, my friend.” Carlos thought for a moment. “It seems as if many of our troubles have come together in one place. Tomás, I want the surveillance report we’ve had on our friend, the councilman. And Tico, I believe we should go to Texas.”

  “When?”

  “Tomorrow. I must say goodbye to the children, and to Marianna.” He bounced a lemon from hand to hand as he spoke. “Tomás, you must stay here and take care of things. Tico, bring Roberto, Chaparrito, and Paco with us.” A hard look came to Carlos’ face. “We must make a stop in Laredo and visit Señor Craig on the way to Houston. He needs to understand the cost of failure.”

  Chapter 20

  A Visit From Carlos

  Carlos read the paper while he sipped his morning coffee. Soon the children would be down to share melons and berries with him, then Carlos would have another cup of coffee with Marianna. He did not like reading the news, as it was seldom good, but for business reasons he had to. A business man must know what was going on in the world, and drugs were a very big business. Before setting the paper down he read the entertainment section to see which celebrities the Americans were fawning over this week, who was in favor and who was falling. American newspapers dedicated as much space to entertainment as news; in fact, as he thought about it, they weren’t newspapers at all, just entertainment papers.

  As he drained his cup, a smile formed. The sound of bare feet racing across the tile lightened his heart. He moved the cup further back on the table, then turned in his chair just in time to catch Julio in his arms.

  “Buenos días, Papá.”

  Then Adalia joined them, sliding onto Carlos’ knee. “Buenos días, Papá.”

  He squeezed them both. “Buenos días, niños. What a beautiful day it is.”

  Marianna came up behind him and rubbed his shoulders. She leaned to kiss him. “You are leaving today?”

  “For a short while, yes.” He patted her hand, resting on his shoulder. “All right, children. Time to eat.”

  They shared stories and laughter during the meal and when the children finished they went outside to play. Marianna turned to him. “How long?”

  “A week, maybe two. No more than three.”

  She nodded. “Ten cuidado.”

  “I am always careful, my love.”

  They finished their coffee in silence, then Carlos stood. “I must be going. Tico is waiting and it is a long ride.”

  Carlos talked little on the way to the border. Mostly he thought about what he would do once he got to Houston. The councilman’s rantings were bringing too much attention to the club and Carlos needed that club. He would have to plan this carefully.

  As they approached Nuevo Laredo, the traffic got heavier and the road more bumpy. Carlos suffered through the endless traffic, breathing easier once they crossed the border into Laredo and the great state of Texas. Laredo was an old town, resembling both an early western town and a Spanish settlement. For the most part, the houses were modest, the streets often dusty, and the air dry and hot.

  Paco drove slowly toward Craig’s house. In this section of the city, the Lexus attracted attention, drawing stares from the children playing on the side of the road. When they pulled into Craig’s driveway Elizabeth and Grace ran to the car. The oldest of the two, Elizabeth, hugged Carlos as he got out. She had grown to like him after a few visits to Monterrey. Grace, two years younger, wrapped her arms around his legs as he set Elizabeth down.

  “Hello, girls. Good to see you again.”

  “Hello, Señor Cortes,” they both said at once, with a rhythm similar to the ones children used to learn songs in school. “We missed you.”

  He patted their heads. “And I have missed you.” He walked to the front door, already open and with Craig waiting to greet him. The look on his face was not quite shock, but it came close. Nerves choked his voice.

  “Señor Cortes, I didn’t expect a visit or I’d have prepared something.”

  Carlos waved his hand as he walked into the house with the rest of his men. “It is nothing. We were on our way to Houston and thought we would stop by.” He looked around. “Besides, I needed a clean place to relieve myself.” His face twisted into a grimace. “Those bumpy roads, you know.”

  Craig laughed, perhaps some tension gone, and he pointed toward the back of the house. “Last door on the right.”

  As Carlos headed down the hall, a bedroom door opened and Libby walked out, her blonde hair bouncing with each step and a smile planted on her pretty face, pale and angular. “Hello, Carlos. It’s good to see you again.”

  He bowed his head. “And you, señora. I hope you are well.”

  She started to say something, but Carlos forestalled her. “You must excuse me, señora, I need to use the bathroom.”

  She blushed and made her way quickly to the kitchen, greeting Tico, Paco and Chaparrito. His nickname, Chaparrito, meant “shorty” but he was six feet two inches. Even as Libby greeted them, the girls chattered and asked too many questions. Soon, Carlos returned.

  Libby smiled at him. “Would you like something to drink?”

  His brow furrowed as if he were considering a major decision. “Perhaps some lemon water. But no ice,” he quickly added, then turned to Chaparrito. “Why don’t you take the girls to get ice cream.”

  Squeals of joy confirmed his suggestion hit the mark. They were out the door before Chaparrito even started to move.

  Carlos took a seat at the table across from Craig and wiped his brow with a handkerchief. “It does not bode well for summer when it is this hot already.” While Craig was agreeing with him, Carlos turned to Tico. “Are you almost ready?”

  Libby set the glass of water in front of Carlos. “Gracias,” Carlos said, then took her hand in his and held it gently. “That is a beautiful ring. I don’t remember seeing it.”

  She let her hand lay in his and blushed. “It’s an old family ring, but it’s not worth much.”

  “Then perhaps you don’t need it,” Carlos said, and there was danger in his voice. He gripped her wrist tightly, and pinned her hand to the table. At the same time, Tico wrapped and then tied a gag around her mouth, and Paco came alongside her to the left. He held a short, thick-bladed knife in his hand. He spread her fingers then pressed the blade against her flesh just above where the finger meets the knuckle. Libby tried screaming. Tried pulling away. Tried everything, but nothing worked. Tico and Carlos were holding her. Paco had the knife. Craig jumped up, but a glare from Carlos stopped him.

  It took two tries for Paco to do it and he had to use all of his weight and strength, but then it was severed. Libby’s knees gave out and she began to fall. Tico held her up while Paco moved a chair under her. Blood spread across the table, some dripping to the floor. Tears poured down her face, and she glared at Craig as if she would kill him.

  Carlos walked around while he talked. �
�It is good lemon water, by the way. I thank you for that. I know a lot of things are going through your mind. What to do? How to get even with Carlos? Go tell the cops. The FBI.” He came back to the table and leaned on it, shifting his gaze from Craig to Libby. “This is the price of Craig’s failure. I lost a young boy named Berto because of Craig’s incompetence, and I lost a shipment of goods.” He picked up the finger from the table, the ring still attached to it and held it at eye level. “This is nothing. If the authorities are notified, or if I lose one more shipment, I will take Libby’s hand, and, a finger from each of the girls.”

  Craig leapt for Carlos, hands balled into fists. Tico hammered Craig’s kidney with a punishing blow, dropping him to the floor. He lay there, gasping.

  Turning to Libby, Carlos stared into her eyes. “I want to make this clear. I don’t want to do anything else, but I will come back if Craig fails me again. Do you understand?”

  Libby stopped crying and narrowed her eyes. “I understand. Completely.”

  “Good. I am going to count on you to make sure Craig understands.” Carlos reached his hand out. “Money, Tico.” Carlos hated to carry large amounts of cash. It made his pockets bulge, so he had Tico or one of the others carry most of his money.

  “How much?”

  “Three thousand.”

  Tico counted out three thousand in hundred dollar bills and set them in Carlos’ hand. Carlos set it on the table next to Libby’s finger. “Get your hand fixed with this, but don’t tell them what happened. Make up a good excuse before going. And do the same with the girls. If I see fear in their eyes the next time we meet, I will be upset.” He stared at her, expecting a response.

  “Don’t worry, Carlos.” Libby’s tears were long gone, her voice now filled with conviction. “They will know nothing.”

  “I can see that,” Carlos said, and not for the first time wished he had Libby as the border patrol instead of her cowardly husband.

  Carlos had Tico clean up the blood while he talked about trivial things, though no one joined him in conversation. When the car pulled into the drive, he stood. “I’m sorry it had to be this way, Libby. I hope you forgive me.” He started to leave, but turned to look at her one last time. “When you feel well enough, come visit us. Bring the girls.”

  He said his goodbye’s to the girls then got in the car. “Let’s go, Paco. Houston is a long way off and we have a councilman to see.”

  Chapter 21

  Just a Few Questions

  Zeppe was watching an old movie with his son when a call came in. After three rings, he yelled. “How about somebody picks up the damn phone.”

  His daughter’s soft footsteps raced across the tile floor of the kitchen. “All right, pops. Not like you or Joey couldn’t get it.”

  “We’re watching a movie.” Joey said.

  She answered the phone, then set it on the counter. “Dad, it’s for you.”

  “Who is it?” Zeppe said, and got up from the couch. “Joey, pause the movie, huh.” As he walked past Denise he asked again. “Who is it?”

  “One of your friends.”

  Zeppe picked up the phone. “Yeah, who’s this?”

  “Questo é Fabrizio.”

  “Jesus Christ, Fabrizio, speak English. I go through this enough with Dominic.”

  “Are you alone?”

  “I’ll call back on another phone.”

  Zeppe walked toward the sliding door, then out the back where the kids couldn’t hear him, and dialed Fabrizio’s number. “What’s up?”

  “We got one of the Mexicans, but he won’t talk.”

  “Where are you?”

  “At the warehouse, down by—”

  “Yeah, I know,” Zeppe said. “Stay put. I’ll get Dominic.”

  Zeppe went back into the house. “Joey, I gotta go out. Finish watching it if you want. I’ll catch it another night.” Zeppe grabbed his keys and a pack of smokes from the kitchen table. “You got my lighter?”

  “By the fridge,” Joey said.

  Zeppe stuffed the lighter in his pocket and headed for the door. “Tell your mother I went out. Be back in a couple hours.”

  “All right, pops. See ya’ later.”

  Zeppe made it to Dominic’s house in less than ten minutes, parked the car and went up the walk and in the door. It wasn’t locked. Who the hell was going to bust into Dominic Mangini’s house? “Dom, where are you?”

  “Kitchen.”

  Zeppe walked in to find him reading the paper and drinking a glass of wine. “Just got a call from Fabrizio. He’s got one of the Mexican guys, but he won’t talk.”

  Dominic folded his paper, set it aside, then sipped on his wine. “You want a glass?”

  “I’m good.”

  After another long sip Dominic smiled. “Tell Fabrizio to get the Doctor.”

  “If you’re using the Doctor, count me out.”

  Dominic’s mouth twisted, as if he would get angry, but his voice remained calm. “Tell Fabrizio to get him, and have Johnny bring the car.”

  “Yeah, all right.” Zeppe started to leave, then stopped at the door. “Thanks, Dom.”

  “Go home. And tell Joey and Denise I said hello. Paula, too.”

  Zeppe let out a loud breath. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  It took thirty-five minutes to get to the warehouse. Johnny parked the car out front and he and Dominic went inside. A man at the door greeted them. “He’s in the back, Mr. Mangini.”

  “Thank you, Bobby.” Dominic and Johnny headed toward the back of the warehouse. The place reeked of dampness and mold. It was a large warehouse, once used for temporary storage of goods waiting to be shipped. Now this section of the port was in disrepair and many buildings sat empty. A broken-down forklift and a few mangled crates littered one corner of the building. A pile of garbage, mostly boxes and plastic parts, occupied another. Across the room a second man guarded an entry in the rear.

  The man stepped aside as Dominic approached. “Good evening, Mr. Mangini.”

  Dominic nodded. “Michael.”

  He stepped through the door and handed his hat and coat to Johnny.

  “Dominic.” Fabrizio hurried to greet him. A small, thin man, Fabrizio was as quick on his feet as he was with numbers and assessing people. Raised in Sicily, he had fallen out of favor with one of the local mobsters, but a relative who knew someone who knew Dominic put in a word, and Dominic called him to the States. Fabrizio soon became one of Dominic’s most trusted men.

  “Any information?” Dominic asked.

  “Nothing. But I haven’t tried since Zeppe told me the Doctor would be coming.” Fabrizio’s English was remarkably good for someone who had only been in the country a few years.

  “Good. I want him fresh.”

  “He will be here soon,” Fabrizio said. “I had them pick up Mazza on the way. The Mexican speaks no English, or he’s pretending not to. Either way, with Mazza we’ll know for sure.”

  The door opened a few minutes later. Mazza walked in followed by a short, almost emaciated-looking man, wearing a jogging suit and athletic shoes. He carried a surgeon’s bag in his left hand.

  At one time the Doctor had been a surgeon but he had fallen into a trap of women and drugs. Soon he was selling organ parts to high bidders to pay gambling debts. Soon after that he was expediting the process to ensure the organs were available when needed. Instead of killing him, Dominic found use for him, taking care of wounds best not seen by hospital staff. The Doctor embraced his new work and grew to love it.

  “Good evening, Mr. Mangini.”

  “It is a good evening,” Dominic said, happy that he would soon have the information he needed.

  Fabrizio stepped forward. “From what we heard on the street this guy cannot read or write and he speaks Spanish only.”

  “What is it you need to know?” Mazza asked.

  “Need to know who’s distributing the drugs, and how they’re structured.” Fabrizio lit a cigarette. “If he can’t tell us the d
etails—”

  Dominic moved up to stand before him. “There is no can’t. I want who gave the orders to kill those cops in Brooklyn.”

  “Okay,” Mazza said, then leaned close to the Mexican. He was sitting in a chair, hands cuffed behind him and his legs tied at the bottom. Mazza explained what they wanted in Spanish, then asked the man if he understood.

  The man nodded. “Si, señor, pero no sé nada.”

  Mazza turned to Dominic. “He said he doesn’t know anything.”

  “Hurt him,” Dominic said.

  “Let me try again first,” Mazza said, then to the Mexican, “If you don’t talk, they will hurt you. It will be very bad. Do you understand?”

  “Si, señor, pero no sé nada.”

  Dominic nodded to the Doctor.

  The Doctor set the bag on the table, opened it and removed a towel. He lay the towel next to the bag, reached in and grabbed a scalpel. The Doctor looked to Dominic. “How do you want it?”

  “Nothing permanent. Give him hope.”

  The Doctor faced Mazza. “Tell him I am going to hurt him.”

  Mazza told him but the man shook his head.

  “Shall we gag him?” Fabrizio asked.

  “No one can hear,” Dominic said, and gave the signal.

  “Remove the shirt,” the Doctor said.

  Mazza took the man’s shirt off, then the Doctor cut a slice across the man’s chest from side to side, not deep enough to require stitches, but it would be painful, especially when agitated with salt and vinegar.

  The man winced and held his breath, but he said nothing.

  “Keep going,” Dominic said.

  The Doctor placed the scalpel below the man’s nipple, waited until he had the man’s attention, then with one swift stroke he cut the nipple off. The man screamed loud enough to make Mazza take a step back.

  “I wonder if that was in Spanish or English,” Mazza said.

  “I have heard screams in many languages,” Dominic said. “They all sound the same.”

  Tears welled in the man’s eyes. He breathed heavily. Mazza waited a moment then asked him. “Who gave the orders?”

  “No sé nada.”