The Crime of Protection

by Gloria Martin

  This, right here, this was me, and I fully intended to become that person, to take my life in a new direction. I was going to do something more meaningful with my life, something that could give me and Laura the future that we deserved.

  Knock, knock.

  She opened the door after only a few seconds, and I watched surprise spread across her face as she realized that I’d come back for her. It may have taken far too long, but I was back to make up for my mistakes, and to claim what was mine.

  “Mac? What are you…?” She threw her hands across her face in shock. “Mac?”

  “Can I come in?” I asked, wanting to get to the point here. “I’d love to talk to you.”

  “Of course,” she said, eyeing me suspiciously. I walked into her apartment with a newfound confidence to my step. “What are you doing here? The Stallions have gone. I thought you’d know that…”

  “I know, I’m not with them anymore,” I said. I passed the flowers over to her, enjoying the look of sheer joy in her eyes.

  Then I decided to get to the point, to go big. There was no point in doing this, if it wasn’t going to be a surprise, and if I left it any longer she would soon start to suspect. Laura knew me far too well.

  So I fell down onto one knee, and she gasped loudly.

  “Laura,” I continued, gazing up at her stunned face. “I’ve been a fool my whole life. I’ve been in love with you for all that time, for as long as I can remember, and I know it took you a bit longer to get there, but I think that’s where you are too.” She sort of half-nodded, not quite knowing what to say. “I know this might seem rushed, and I really hope it doesn’t freak you out, but I want you to be my wife.”

  “You want to marry me?” she gasped. “Really?”

  “Yes.” I pulled the diamond ring out of the box and took her hand in mine. “I also think you should know that I’ve brought us a home, nowhere near here, in the countryside. I also have a realtor job lined up for me there. I know I’m asking you to leave all that you have here, but it’s near a really good school and I thought maybe you’d like to go back there, to get the high school diploma that you were denied before.” She was too stunned to speak. “You can reconnect with your family. They miss you, and you miss them! You just… you could have so much more, you deserve so much more, and I want to be the one to give that to you.”

  “Of course!” She squealed, wrapping her arms around me and squeezing me tightly. “I mean, I won’t lie, I’m totally overwhelmed, but that all sounds so amazing.”

  Then her lips were on mine, and we were kissing frantically. She was tugging me closer to her, yanking my jacket off, hungry for my body.

  “I love you,” I panted into her mouth, as the buttons pinged off my shirt and flew around the room.

  “I love you too,” she replied, before tossing her own dress from her body, revealing the silky skin that I loved so much. Even the thin bits of lace that were still covering her were inconvenient, so I ripped them from her.

  Once we were both naked, she slid down onto my lap, riding me gently, slowly. The eagerness had gone, and romance replaced it. This time we were about to make love, to do things in the right way, and I needed that more than anything else.

  Watching her body move against mine made my life feel complete. Finally, after all this time we were together, I could finally call her mine. Laura, my perfect woman.

  She was wearing my ring on her finger. We were about to move in together, to get married, to have a family, a future.

  Nothing would ever be the same again.

  Life was going to be perfect.

  THE END

  Bonus Story 17/40

  Her Mafia Landlord

  Darlene awoke in her 95 Honda Civic for the fourth morning in a row with one of the homeless people of Los Angeles tapping at her window. Today it was a woman who looked old enough to be Darlene’s mother. Although Darlene hadn’t seen this woman before, her dusty face, gray-blue eyes, and curly blonde hair blended with the face of Darlene’s mother seamlessly as she tore awake from a dream about home.

  “Spare some money for breakfast?” the woman asked.

  The fact that Darlene had just been dreaming about her deceased mother made her see the woman’s request in a different light. The homeless in Detroit weren’t as ruthless as the ones she’d been waking up to in L.A., but back home they seemed to be more dangerous.

  Darlene reached into her Seychelles shoe where she kept her cash hidden while she slept. Taking a few wrinkled singles from the wad, Darlene considered how she’d been rationing all of her money until she found a place to live. I can live without a couple bucks, she thought. Darlene unrolled the passenger side window and reached out for the woman to take the money.

  “It’s not much, but I hope it helps,” Darlene said.

  The woman curled her lips upon seeing that there were only two measly singles. “I’d rather take these bills and shove them up your ass with my teeth,” the woman said hoarsely before spitting with laughter. As the woman walked away without the money, Darlene felt the like the receiving end of some sadistic joke.

  Darlene wondered what the point of that was.

  There was no reason for the woman to be so malicious, and Darlene decided, against her better judgment, that she would never be a person who gives hand outs in Los Angeles ever again. If she were going to make it in this metropolis she would have to grow tough skin and worry about nobody but herself.

  Darlene had done well for herself as an interior designer back home. After getting her degree from the University of Michigan, Darlene couldn’t afford to stay in Ann Arbor. She moved back to Detroit to live in her father’s apartment with him, above the Italian restaurant he owned. Although Darlene had made some connections in Detroit through her father, the Italian Mafiosos who hired her limited her creativity as an interior designer.

  Since everyone knew and respected her father, they’d always pay her extra as a courtesy to the running her father used to do for the mob. Darlene didn’t love designing the same type of décor for Italian restaurants, bars, delis, and pizza places. A couple of her aunts opened up flower shops as fronts for money trafficking. These were the only projects that even mildly inspired Darlene. However, she didn’t like knowing that the hard work she put into orchestrating the perfect combination of furniture, colors, art, and spatial relation was spent on such mundane things. For Darlene, there was an art to interior design. It pained her to see her talent wasted.

  The only conclusion Darlene could come to was that she would be forever stuck in the same cycle unless she left the Midwest. She would have rather waited tables at her father’s restaurant than put any more useless energy into something she loved when it only made her life feel empty at the end of the day.

  Before her grandfather passed, Darlene would visit him every Sunday. He’d make them runny pancakes and strong coffee while they’d watch old black and white monster movies.

  “These movies,” her grandfather used to say, “these will make you the big money. These movies are the perfect front.”

  “The perfect front for what, grandpa?” Darlene would ask.

  “For the Hollywood Heist,” he’d laugh, spilling his coffee onto the card table where they ate breakfast. “I’ve been planning this job for years, Darlene. Just you wait.”

  For years she thought it was an inside joke between them. Darlene learned, however, that her grandfather had been utterly serious. Before his death he left Darlene a detailed plan regarding the Hollywood Heist as a part of his will.

  It wasn’t a joke after all, she thought. She didn’t tell the rest of her family about the heist plans, but they were part of the inspiration for her moving to Los Angeles. Darlene even brought the handwritten plans in case some crazy opportunity ever presented itself, or she became desperate to con someone into doing the dirty work for her.

  All the work she got through her father’s friends helped Darlene save enough to rent an apartment in Los Angeles. At least she h
oped that five thousand dollars would be enough to cover the deposit, first month’s rent, and any other bills, utilities, or expenses she would need to get herself set up in the city. She’d been hoping to find a friend or meet someone networking at a Meetup group, but so far those had all proven fruitless.

  Well, she thought, I’m just going to have to resort to Craigslist. Going online to find some cheap apartment was the absolute last thing that Darlene wanted to do, but it was either that or continue to wake up being harassed by the homeless outside her car. She started to wonder if even they were more secure in the City of Angels than she was.

  *****

  It was Pete’s turn to host poker night because last time Tony Rollonio’s blood and teeth stained Mario’s new carpet. Pete didn’t mind that the boys wanted to go to his new place for poker night—hell, it was actually a compliment to his character. If Victor Lumino was willing to play poker at your house, that meant you were practically made for life.

  Victor had recently promoted Pete “The Piper” Zanelli from soldier to caporegime. Being one of Vic’s Capos was an honor Pete had desired for most of his adult life. He’d started as a runner for Vic when Vic was only an underboss. That was way back when his uncle, Micky Lumino, still ran the Los Angeles crime family. Pete was one of the few people who knew that Vic had killed his uncle in order to move up. In fact, Vic asked Pete personally to help him in the murder. It was a guaranteed promotion, and Vic promised Pete that if he stuck with him then he’d be taken care of.

  And so far Pete had been taken care of pretty good. As one of Vic’s new Capos, Vic made sure to stock Pete’s wardrobe with new name brand suits, bought him a BMW, and even let him manage his restaurant, Lumino’s. Of course the management position was a front for what he really did for Vic. The restaurant itself only served as a way for Vic to claim and launder money from “alternative” sources.

  Poker night, however, was not something Vic usually entrusted to the soldiers, but as a Capo his name was in the running to host. The previous month Tony Rollonio drank a few too many glasses of vino and ended up spilling his guts about money he owed all over town for gambling.

  “If you owe money for gambling, playing cards with us is the last thing you want be doing, Tony,” Mario said. Pete kept his mouth shut. He didn’t have anything but a pair of fours anyway.

  “But if I win with you guys then I can pay the other guys back,” Tony said.

  “If you lose tonight, Tony, then Mario is knocking your teeth out,” Vic said.

  “That ain’t very funny, Vic,” Tony said.

  “It ain’t meant to be funny,” Vic said, swigging his McAllan 12. When he set his glass back down on the card table all the guys knew to roar with laughter, even Tony.

  “I can’t argue with the boss,” Mario said.

  They played the rest of the hand as they would any other, except Pete could see from behind his cards that Tony was sweating. If Pete was right about which cards had already been played from the deck, which he usually was, Tony couldn’t have had more than three of a kind. Pete might not have been able to win the hand, but he was also sure that the odds were not in Tony’s favor.

  Pete had folded quickly into the hand, but Tony kept upping the ante. Pete knew that Tony was trying to bluff a good hand, but the sweat on his brow gave the poor guy away. Pete scratched his left eyebrow, signaling to Vic that Tony couldn’t possibly have squat. Vic lifted his glass and took another sip of scotch. This was his signal to Pete that his hand couldn’t be beat.

  “Well, boys,” Pete said, standing up and finishing off his Stella Artois, “I’m going to go out for more booze.” Tony looked up from his cards, familiar with the lingo coming out of Pete’s mouth. Tony knew not to stand up as Pete went to the doorway, blocking its entire frame with his body. The doorframe in the kitchen was the only way to exit the house, and unless Tony was prepared to break through Pete then he was stuck to finish the hand.

  “Alright, let’s see what we got,” Vic said. His glass of scotch had been empty for a whole minute. Vic laid his cards out on the table, revealing a royal flush. Everybody else at the table felt stupid laying their own hands down because they would obviously be incomparable to Vic’s undefeatable hand.

  Mario laid down a straight. Pete and Sammy had both folded. Dom revealed a flush, which was an admirable attempt. Pete watched as Tony tried to stand up. His failure to stay in his seat made Pete think that he had something worse than a losing hand, something Pete’s card counting skills couldn’t have predicted.

  “What you got, Tony?” Vic asked. The boss picked up the bottle of McAllan and poured the remainder of the amber liquid into his glass.

  “I’d rather not say,” Tony whispered. Pete could tell that the poor guy just wanted to get out of there. With sweat pouring down his fat face, Tony kept his cards literally to his chest.

  “Show us what you got,” Mario repeated after Vic. Pete didn’t want to watch what would happen next.

  Tony laid down a five of a kind, four aces and a wild joker. The hand is very rare, and Pete had considered it but never thought such a rare hand would fall into Tony’s mitts.

  “You cheating piece of shit,” Vic laughed. He had no more McAcllan in his bottle, so his anger waned on the brink of rage. Pete kept his post in the doorway, watching Vic’s veins popping from his forehead and neck. The last thing Pete ever wanted to do was be on Vic’s bad side. Pete had known Tony for years. They were Soldiers together, although Tony’s methods had always been too unorthodox for Pete, even considering the fact that they were in the mafia.

  Mario stood up from his seat, his fist already balled into the palm of his other hand. “This isn’t going to be fun, Tony,” Mario said, “But it is going to teaching you a fucking lesson.”

  Tony’s eyelids sucked back into his face. Pete couldn’t remember seeing anyone so scared to take a beating. Vic stood up from his chair to give Mario enough space. Before too long Tony couldn’t help but getting up from his own chair, foolishly holding a bottle of liquor as if he could use it as a weapon. Deep down they all knew that none of them could mess with Victor Lumino, especially during a poker game with his closest comrades.

  “Please, Vic, this hand is legit! You seriously think I was cheating? That’s impossible!”

  “All I know is that you’re a lying rat,” Vic said. He looked over to Pete with a smile. He wanted Pete to enjoy in the pain that Tony was about to take in.

  Does he want me to see what will happen to me if I ever double cross him? Pete wondered.

  Mario snatched the bottle from Tony’s hand. “You think this is going to help you, you little cocksucker?” Mario laughed. His high-pitched voice echoed in the smoke-filled room. During his maniacal laughter, Mario smashed the liquor bottle against the card table and held the jagged edge to Tony’s throat as if the glass were the blade of a sword.

  Tony took a swing at Mario, catching him in the temple. This bought Tony a second to get his back away from the wall, but Mario got his balance faster than Mario could dodge. The glass weapon cut Tony in his stomach, and Pete’s mouth fell open while the blood spilled from his belly to the floor.

  Tony let out a wail of agony, his saliva and blood mixing as it spat from his mouth. “Sorry, Tony,” Mario said, withdrawing the glass dagger from Tony’s stomach.

  “Don’t be sorry, Mario,” Vic said. “This rat owes money all over town that he won’t pay back. You did Los Angeles a favor. Ain’t that right, Pete?”

  Pete didn’t know what to say. He knew enough not to contradict Vic. If he did, he’d be as good as Tony, both of them most likely buried in Pete’s new back yard.

  “Get this piece of trash out of my fucking den,” Pete said. His smile was forced but he knew that it would be the sole gesture to save his life.

  “Will do, Pete,” Mario said, picking Tony up by his greasy hair.

  “He ain’t leaving this house,” Vic said.

  “What do you mean?” Pete asked. Was Vic going to
sadistically force Pete to be Tony’s stay at home nurse?

  “I mean once we whack this rat, his body ain’t leaving this apartment.” Vic’s demeanor told the entire room that he meant business. He lifted his lip above his two front teeth and dented his eyebrows while reaching into his jacket pocket for a cigar.

  “Please, Vic, I’ll do anything,” Tony mumbled through a mouth full of blood.

  “You already did enough, you little piss ant,” Vic laughed while lighting up his stogie. “You might as well keep your mouth shut and keep your pleas to your prayers. They’ll do better with God than they will with me.”

  At that point Tony knew that it was futile to beg for his life. Once Vic made up his mind, that was that. You were either alive or dead with Vic. There were no two ways about it. Pete learned that early on. He would never be stupid enough to get into debt like Tony, though. Pete knew that working for Vic was a blessing that you didn’t want to ruin.

  If Pete shut his eyes, he knew that Vic would notice and think that he couldn’t take watching a man getting whacked. One day Vic might want Pete to do the whacking, even though everyone knew Pete was pretty much a money guy. Mario, on the other hand—Mario was the type of guy you didn’t want to double cross. Pete had seen Mario once kill a man with a hockey puck and a dry erase marker. He still had nightmares about the scene.

  With Tony bleeding to death, Mario must not have thought he was dying fast enough because he pulled out his knife and slashed Tony’s throat. The blood poured out, and Tony cried out weakly, then went limp.

  “Well, that’s that,” Vic laughed. “Sammy, clean up the blood. Dom, get rid of all the shit. All the evidence. Mario, Pete—you two find a place to stash this guy somewhere in this apartment.”

  “In my apartment?” Pete asked. He already wished he hadn’t opened his mouth.