by Joe Bruno
He started off in pile-driving mode, but soon slowed down into a slow rhythmic pump. He was moaning and she was moaning, so he didn't notice that Peggy Soo had removed the gun from under the belt in the small of his back.
She held the gun off the side of the bed so he couldn't see it.
“Oh, I'm close to coming,” Nicky said.
“Hold back a little. I want to come too,” Peggy Soo said.
Nicky slowed down a little. Then seconds later, Peggy Soo screamed, “OK, now give it to me! Give it to me hard and fast!”
Nicky went into all-out pumping mode. Jamming her in and out, as hard and as fast as he could.
Peggy Soo screamed, “Now I'm coming. Now. Now. Now.”
Nicky huffed and puffed, as her pounded her. “Me too. I'm real close.”
Peggy Soo achieved orgasm, yelling, “NOW!!!”
Then she shot Nicky in the side of the head, blowing what was left of his brains to the other side of the room.
Peggy Soo was now left with a problem. Two dead bodies were in her bedroom and no apparent way to get rid of them. She grabbed her pink princess bedroom phone and dialed.
Hung Far Low answered on the second ring.
She said, “You wouldn't believe what just happened.”
“What just happened?”
“I can't talk on the phone, but you better come here quick.”
“Come there quick? Just like that. No explanation?”
“I'll order you a dozen eggs roll and a quart of fried rice. The food will be here when you get here.”
“Give me an hour. My daughter is making me dinner. I don't want to insult her.”
“What's she making you?”
“The usual. Fish heads with Chinese vegetables. And spicy chicken feet. Both very low in carbs.”
“Great, you're making me sick. But I think you might get sick too when you get here.”
“Not if a dozen eggs rolls and a quart of fried rice are waiting for me.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. We'll soon find out for sure.”
*****
Big Fast Fanny sat in the back seat of Junior's 1985 Mustang GT, her face hidden behind black tinted glass installed on all the car's windows. Junior also had the car equipped with special super-duper shocks and springs, so that the car's rear end wouldn't collapse under Big Fat Fanny's weight, which had happened several times until Junior got the message and called his local car mechanic.
The Mustang was double-parked next to a Chinese delivery truck, two doors down from the Canal Street tenement building where Crappy lived. The Mustang was facing the Manhattan Bridge, just three short blocks away, so they could make a quick getaway into Brooklyn. Junior held a Motorola DynaTak mobile phone to his ear and was speaking to Bobby the Beak, who was standing on Canal Street in front of the BMT Canal Street subway station, near Lafayette Street.
Bobby the Beak had spoken by mobile phone twenty minutes earlier to Shorty Stitchhead, who had been standing on the sidewalk in front of the BMT station on Times Square and 42 Street. With Shorty had been Soldato “Sammy” L'Occhio, who had waited for Charlie Crappola to leave the Gay Paree movie house and had followed him to the Times Square BMT Station. Shorty Stitchhead told Bobby the Beak that Crappy was en route by subway and to wait for him by the BMT Station on Canal Street.
Bobby the Beak stood hidden inside a factory hallway, with a clear view of the south side of Canal Street's BMT station, knowing full well Crappy lived on the south side of Canal and would surely emerge from that exit. Twenty minutes later Crappy did exactly that.
Bobby the Beak spoke to Junior on the mobile phone. “The eagle is on the way.”
Junior turned to Big Fat Fanny. “Get ready. He just walked out of the subway station.”
Big Fat Fanny slipped two stilettos under her huge bra, one under each mammoth breast. “I'm ready. Give me the go-ahead as soon as he enters the building.”
Through the rear view mirror, Junior spotted Crappy crossing Baxter and heading to his apartment entrance thirty feet away.
“Get ready, he's almost there,” Junior said.
“I'm ready alright,” Big Fat Fanny said.
Junior spotted Crappy entering the building. “He's in. Go get him.”
Big Fat Fanny tried getting out the back passengers door, but the parked truck was too close for her to squeeze out.
“I have to get out on the driver's side,” she said.
Junior opened the driver's door and jumped out of the two-door Mustang. Big Fat Fanny pushed hard against the back of the driver's seat. So hard, she drove the narrow top of the headrest right through the spokes in the steering wheel.
She rushed out of the car, almost trampling Junior. “Get out of my way!”
Junior jumped back into the street to avoid her and almost got clipped by a passing cab.
Big Fat Fanny waddled fast into the Crappy's tenement building. Once inside, she pulled the two stilettos from her bra, slipped them into the pockets of her black pin-stripe pants suit and rumbled toward the stairway in the back. When she got there, she spotted Crappy standing on the bottom step, three feet in front of her.
“Hey you!” Big Fat Fanny yelled.
Crappy turned and his eyes flew wide open. “Yeah, what do you want?”
She inched closer. “Tony B wants to see you right away.”
“For what?”
She was now close enough to smell the liquor on his breath. “He'll tell you that when he sees you.”
Crappy turned away from her and took a step up the stairs. “Tell him I'll see him tomorrow.”
Big Fat Fanny slipped the stilettos out of her pants pockets and lunged forward, a blade in each hand. She stabbed Crappy twice in the upper back, ripping downward until she reached the bottom of his spine. Crappy did a wobbly about-face, and she stabbed him twice more, in the chest, ripping downwards almost to his toes. Blood oozed out of Crappy's mouth and body, and Big Fat Fanny hopped back quickly to avoid getting blood on her clothes.
Crappy's eyes rolled in his head. Then the lights went out behind them. He fell face up at Big Fat Fanny's feet. His unseeing eyes were open and Big Fat Fanny knew he was indeed quite dead.
Just because she could, she kicked Crappy twice in the head and stomped on his chest three times. She spit on his bloodied body and wailed, “That's what you get for sucking something you shouldn't!”
Then she huffed out of the building to the waiting Mustang outside.
Junior was still standing in the street, a puzzled look on his face.
“Let's go!” Big Fat Fanny said.
“We can't go,” Junior said. “You pushed the headrest right through the steering wheel.”
“Well pull the headrest out of the steering wheel,” she said.
“I can't,” Junior said. “It's wedged in tight. It won't budge.”
Big Fat Fanny surveyed the situation. “Let me try.”
Big Fat Fanny jumped into the back seat of the Mustang. Then she leaned forward and surrounded the driver's front seat with her lumberjack arms. Instead of pulling the front seat towards her, she fell backwards, hard. And like a champagne cork popping out of a bottle, the headrest slipped free from the spokes of the steering wheel. Big Fat Fanny landed in a sitting position in the back seat and the rear end of the car hit the pavement with a bang.
“Let's go!” Big Fat Fanny said. “Move it fast!”
Junior shook his head. He knew what Big Fat Fanny had just done using only her weight, ten weightlifters couldn't do on a bet.
Junior got behind the wheel, burned rubber and sped towards the Manhattan Bridge.
In minutes, they were parked in an indoor garage on Flatbush Avenue, two blocks into Brooklyn.
Junior got out of the car and pushed the front seat forward so Big Fat Fanny could emerge. She started to exit the car and he saw her moving her right hand towards the back of the front seat, to lean for leverage.
“Don't!” Junior screamed.
He grabbed Big Fat
Fanny's hand, summoned all his strength, and using her forward momentum, pulled her out of the back seat of the Mustang, while feeling his testicles bang against the inside of his thighs.
Big Fat Fanny put her hands on her corpulent hips. “You better trade this piece of crap in for a four-door sedan. A Lincoln, or a Caddy or something like that. I'm not going through this shit again.”
Junior pushed the front seat into the sitting position and he noticed that the headrest was bent forward at a 45 degree angle from the rest of the seat and that one of the spokes in the steering wheel had cracked in half.
Junior shook his head. “No way, I'm trading in this car in this condition. This one's going right into the East River.”
Junior heard sirens blaring in the distance. “That's the cops heading to Canal. Pretty soon they'll be sending for the meat wagon to cart Crappy away.”
Big Fat Fanny slipped a piece of gum in her mouth, chewed voraciously, then blew a bubble as big as her face. She popped the bubble with a flick of her tongue. “The way I sliced him up, they better order two meat wagons for that blimp.”
Junior couldn't help wondering how many meat wagons they would need for Big Fat Fanny, if God forbid, something bad ever happened to her.
CHAPTER 17
The Melding of the Minds
Junior sat in a booth in the back of the Red Apple Rest on Route 17 in Tuxedo, New York. As was his habit, he sat facing the door so he wouldn't be susceptible to surprises.
With all the warring activities going on in the Lower East Side between the Chinese and the Italians, Junior figured it was wise to meet his sweetheart as far away from the old neighborhood as possible. It was the middle of the afternoon, between the lunch and dinner rush, so the restaurant was almost empty. The only other people in the place were an elderly couple eating bagels and lox at a booth near the front door.
Suddenly, he saw her walk through the front door of the restaurant and all was right with the world.
Lily Low was wearing a black skirt, with a red blouse and black spiked heels. She look pretty enough to be a model parading down a runway at a fashion show. She spotted Junior and walked back to his booth. He stood and she kissed him on the cheek. She sat in the booth opposite him.
“You sure you weren't followed?” Junior said.
Lily put her purse on the seat next to her. “As sure as I can be. I stopped at the Paramus Mall on Route 4. I went inside the mall for a few minutes. Then I left by a different exit and walked back to my car. I had eyes in the back of my head all the way and I couldn't make anyone following me.”
Junior reached across the table and held her hand softly. “That's good. I went over the mountain to Greenwood Lake. Then I made a U turn on Windermere Avenue and came back over the mountain. No one could have possibly been following me.”
The waitress came and took their orders, then left.
“You heard about Crappola?” Junior said.
“Yes. But as far as I can tell, the Chinese had nothing to do with Crappola.”
“That was our work. Crappola had to go.”
“Why?”
“Personal stuff I can't discuss. Let's just say Crappola broke some rules. Rules that just can't be broken.”
The waitress came with their food orders and placed the plates in front of them.
“Anything else?” the waitress said.
“No, we're fine,” Junior said.
The waitress left the table.
Lily took a bite of her hamburger. “The Chinese are up in arms since Yuan Dum Fuk disappeared.”
“Nicky Knuckles disappeared too.”
“Yes, I heard. Do you think there's a connection between the two?”
“It sure looks like it.”
“Everyone is talking about a possible all-out war between the Chinese and the Italians.”
“And your father?”
“He's the one who's talking about it.”
“Yeah, my father too,” he said.
“We have to figure out something before things get out of hand. I don't want my father hurt and I'm sure you feel the same way about your father.”
“Well, I guess it's up to us to put an end to all this nonsense.”
“And now we have another problem,” she said.
“What problem?”
“A policewoman came to our apartment this morning. She gave my father a tape of your father saying he wanted to kill my father. She said the tape was made at Dave's Corner.”
“Yeah, I was there too.”
“Yes, I know. I heard your voice.”
“Well, then you heard I was against killing your father. In fact, I've been trying to talk my father out of it since.”
“And have you succeeded?”
He shook his head. “I don't know. But I do know one thing. Nothing will happen until I find out about it first.”
“So we better think of something fast, before your father makes up his mind,” she said. “And what about your father?”
“I don't know. He just got the news this morning that your father is planning to kill him.”
“This policeman who gave you father the tape ... ”
“It was a police woman A black, very attractive police woman.”
“How much did she charge your father for the tape?”
“Not a dime. She said it was a favor from somebody high in the command of the police department.”
“How high?”
“She didn't say how high.”
Junior took a sip of his coffee. “I bet this goes all the way to the police commissioner himself.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because a few weeks ago, Police Commissioner Blusterman approached my father about cutting a deal.”
“What kind of deal?”
“He basically offered my father complete police protection, in all things he does, for a piece of the action.”
“And what did you father say to that?”
“My father told Blusterman to go fly a kite. Or words to that effect. My father is already paying off half the cops in the city. Some of that money must be making its way up to Blusterman already. My father figured, why pay him twice?”
“My father is paying off the cops too,” she said.
“Probably the same cops my father is greasing.”
“Probably.”
“So the cops are getting rich and our guys are getting whacked, one by one.”
“It's been this way since the beginning of civilization.”
“So what are we going to do about it?” he said.
She smiled. “Today, we're just going to think about it. After we check into our motel room.”
“Motel room? What motel room?”
“The one I reserved for us in Monroe, New York. A few miles up 17A.”
“Do you think we're ready for that yet?”
She reached across the table and held his hand. “Probably not. But let's give it a try anyway.”
*****
Police Commissioner Keyshawn Blusterman entered the Mott Street curio shop followed by Detective Clarice Jackson. They strolled around the store, checking out various Chinese artifacts, porcelain cups, Buddhist statues and assorted incenses. Suddenly, Blusterman realized they were the only people in the store. Not even a salesperson was present.
He stopped in front of a black lacquer Chinese curio cabinet. It was certainly something he would like for his bachelor pad, but there was no price tag on it.
Like from a puff of smoke, a tiny Chinese lady appeared behind the cash register. She was four foot nothing and maybe eighty pounds. She wore heavy pancake makeup and ruby red lipstick. She had nary a wrinkle on her face and her age could be anywhere from forty to infinity.
“Do you like that curio cabinet, sir?” the Chinese saleslady said.
Blusterman approached the cash register. “Maybe, but there's no price tag. How much are you asking?”
“That sir, is a very rare antique from the Canton region of C
hina,” she said. “At five thousand dollars, we think it is very fairly priced.”
Blusterman's face turned bright pink. “FIVE THOUSAND DOLLARS! Do you maybe have a Chinese curio cabinet from the New York City region of China?”
Clarice stepped up to the cash register and spoke to the Chinese saleslady, “Does the word Chu-Jung mean anything to you?”
The Chinese saleslady smiled. Clarice had said the magic words.
“You lo fan surprise me with your knowledge,” The Chinese saleslady said. “Chu-Jung is the Chinese God of fire and of executions. He rules over justice, revenge and death.” She motioned with her hand. “Please follow me.”
The Chinese saleslady pushed past a curtain and they followed her down a long winding hall that ended with a floor to ceiling curio cabinet. She turned a knob on the door of the curio cabinet and the cabinet swung to the right, exposing an entrance.
“This way please,” she said, stepping to the side to let the two cops enter first.
Blusterman whispered to Clarice. “I hope this is not a set-up.” Then to the Chinese saleslady, “After you please.”
The Chinese saleslady made a short bow. “As you wish.”
They followed the Chinese saleslady down steep, winding steps to a room below. As he was heading down the steps, Blusterman detected a sweet, pungent smell he couldn't exactly place.
At the bottom of the stairs, Blusterman saw Hung Far Low sitting at a desk, inhaling from a clay pipe.
Hung Far Low offered Blusterman the pipe. “Care to indulge?”
The Chinese saleslady pointed to two chairs on the opposite side of the desk. “Please be seated.”
Blusterman and Clarice took their seats.
Hung Far Low extended the pipe to Blusterman.
Blusterman waved his hand in dismissal. “Not for me, thank you. What kind of weed are you're smoking anyway?”
“Not weed,” Hung Far Low said. “Opium. Very high grade opium. Straight from the motherland. Maybe the lady would like to try?”
Clarice shrugged. “Why not?”
Hung Far Low handed her the pipe and she took a deep drag. She wrinkled her nose as she exhaled. “Not bad.”
“Please, you try too,” Hung Far Low said to Blusterman.
