Mafioso [Part 2]

by Nisa Santiago

  His workout with Tammy concluded, Scott thanked her and even flirted with her for a moment, but Tammy kept things professional between them. She had a fiancé she loved dearly, and she showed off her diamond engagement ring to Scott. Though he was a gangster, he respected her commitment.

  He wiped the sweat from his face and brow and was ready to leave the gym. Before his departure, he called his goons outside to inform them he was leaving. They were to be alert and ready. He wasn’t carrying a pistol, but his security was heavily armed.

  Bag in hand and satisfied from his workout with Tammy, Scott walked toward the exit. He had been going to the gym for a year, but his appearances there were irregular. So far, he’d had no incidents.

  He glided out the front door, and his two goons were standing outside the Range Rover parked across the street and trying to blend in.

  Twilight had descended across the city, and traffic had thickened on Church Street. The people busied themselves on the street with their smartphones and conversing with each other, and the restaurants and cafés were coming alive with evening customers. It was a typical night in New York. Scott was among the crowd of people, looking ordinary, mixing in with the city folks.

  As he headed toward his men parked across the street, someone immediately caught his attention from his peripheral vision. He noticed the large black male dressed in gym wear carrying a small duffel bag approaching him. Scott’s first thought was that he was a customer at the gym; he was muscular and worked out. But there was something off about him. Scott had never seen him around. And his eyes, from a distance, were menacing. With over twenty years in the game, Scott knew that look of evil; he carried that same look himself.

  His sixth sense kicked in, and it screamed at him—the large man was a threat to him.

  He kept calm and walked toward the street. He was unarmed, but his goons weren’t. The vehicle traffic and foot traffic blocked their view of him, though, and it could create a situation.

  The man in the gym wear casually walked Scott’s way, not going toward the gym, his eyes fixed on Scott.

  Scott kept his eyes on him, his nervousness increasing, his two armed henchmen too far away to protect him from a bullet. When he saw the man reach for something, he didn’t hesitate. He hunched toward the ground and took off running into the congested city traffic.

  Deuce lifted the .45 Magnum in Scott’s direction and blasted gunfire his way. Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!

  Panic and chaos ensued with screaming and a wave of people running away from the gunshots, dashing for cover, swarming into buildings, toppling tables and chairs from the sidewalk café, ducking behind cars, and hitting the pavement face down.

  Deuce was on Scott, chasing after him and releasing a barrage of bullets that whizzed by Scott’s head, barely missing him. Two bullets shattered the windshield of a parked car.

  Scott frantically dodged through the traffic, desperately trying to escape the brazen hit on his life.

  Scott’s goons scrambled to reach him, their guns drawn and ready to neutralize the threat, but the scattering crowd and two passing box trucks obstructing their view temporarily hampered them. When they finally had a view of Deuce, they opened fire, and a full-blown shootout ensued.

  Jimmy charged into the violent mêlée heavily armed. Deuce was on the opposite side of the street shooting at Scott, and Scott’s men were shooting at Deuce.

  Jimmy approached the two gunmen from a blind spot. He raised the 9mm Uzi carbine in his grip firmly and aimed their way. Distracted with Deuce, they didn’t notice him. Jimmy didn’t hesitate at all. Bratatatatatatat!

  Bullets slammed into the two men, spraying their blood on the streets. Their bodies spun from the gunfire, and they went down from the hail of bullets.

  Scott took off running, suddenly alone and fearing for his life.

  Deuce continued shooting at him. The bullets hit everything but him.

  The streets of Manhattan had quickly been turned into the OK Corral. The gunfight was intense and terrifying. Car horns blew erratically, and there was screaming and more screaming, crying, and people running and hiding.

  Scott sprinted from the shooting like a track star, and Deuce lost sight of him among the sea of people fleeing the area. They’d missed their shot. Scott had gotten away.

  Jimmy shouted, “We need to go!”

  Deuce didn’t want to leave. He had Scott dead in his sights, and the muthafucka escaped death somehow. He scowled, the smoking gun still hot in his hand.

  The getaway vehicle was of no use to them; it had been blocked in by an abandoned car. The men had to flee on foot and ditch the guns. With police sirens blaring in the air, they had to blend in and get the hell out of Dodge.

  ***

  The front door to the penthouse suite burst open, and Scott hurried inside. He closed the door and immediately collapsed against the floor. His legs felt like jelly. It was a long and worrisome trip home via cab ride and ridiculous traffic. He looked a mess. It was a miracle he made it home unscathed. He was breathing hard, thankful to be still alive. But two of his men were dead. How did they find him? Who were they? He had questions he knew he would get the answers to really soon.

  He lay on the floor for a few minutes before he sprung up and darted into the master bedroom. He went into the drawer and removed a 9mm Ruger. Next, he checked his home, going room to room with the pistol, making sure there weren’t any threats inside. The place was empty. Not even Layla was home. He was worried. If they came after him, what would stop them from going after his family?

  First things first, he needed to make sure his family was okay. His cell phone had been lost in the gunfight, but he had more burners around. He knew that cops and homicide were all over the crime scene by now.

  Scott had a lot to be concerned about. He wasn’t just worried about the men who tried to kill him, but about tonight’s mess spiraling out of control with the media, and his face being captured by the surveillance cameras. The last thing he needed was unwanted attention toward him, his family, and his organization. On paper, he was a businessman—a real estate developer, club owner—a legit millionaire. A shooting and two men murdered on a Manhattan street wasn’t something he wanted to be connected to. But it was about to be headline news and a sensational story with the media. He needed to reach out to his connections throughout the city and disconnect himself from the shooting and murders and from the negativity. His lawyers would get on that right away.

  His adrenaline was still pumping. His soul was on fire. Someone took a shot at him, and now it was his turn to shoot back, and he didn’t plan on missing. In the midst of things, he soon noticed the hole in his track suit jacket from a bullet passing through it. They had come that close to killing him.

  From then, Scott decided to triple his security around himself and his family. And everyone in his circle had to wear a bulletproof vest. He wasn’t taking any chances.

  He made phone calls to his children, to his wife, and then to two of his lieutenants and assassins.

  17

  Miguel pulled up in front of Max’s place. He called her new cell and let her know that he was waiting for her outside.

  “Fifteen minutes,” she said.

  While sitting and waiting, he lit a cigarette and chilled. The radio was on Hot 97, and Ebro, Laura Stylez, and Rosenberg were interviewing Lil Wayne on their morning show. Lil Wayne was saying some interesting things about Birdman and Cash Money. He griped about money issues and Birdman allegedly sabotaging his album release. These musicians had millions of dollars, and yet they were complaining about some catty shit. Lil Wayne had a net worth somewhere in the hundreds of millions.

  Miguel knew if he had the money they had, he wouldn’t be under Max’s thumb, and his family wouldn’t have to worry about anything for the rest of their lives. And with that money, he could easily hire someone to murder Max. It was a pleasa
nt thought. He even smiled about her death.

  It was another day, and another unwanted moment he had to spend with Max. She was a headache to him. The sooner he did his part of the job, the sooner Nadia would finally be free from that bitch. It’s why he took the initiative and investigated Bugsy himself, though he knew Max would be against it. She had told him not to do any intel on Bugsy without her, but Miguel ignored her. He couldn’t wait that long. He and his lady might have been indebted to Max, but he wasn’t her slave. The sooner he found the perfect location to murder Bugsy, the sooner he would be done with her. And the time was now.

  ***

  Miguel had taken it upon himself to track Bugsy down and follow him around town. It was a long and tedious task, but it had to be done. Bugsy was a busy man, mostly dealing with legit businesses in his father’s name and moving kilos of drugs for the organization. He traveled back and forth from New York to Delaware regularly. He would meet with attorneys and businessmen one day and then the street lieutenants and his twin brother the next. He was the family’s golden boy for handling the paperwork and money laundering, and he was in charge of distribution.

  Scott’s organization had a reliable team of people for handling large sums of cash, and Bugsy was one main guy that ran the show. Bugsy had set up offshore accounts in countries with bank secrecy laws that allowed anonymous banking. They also ran numerous shell companies for the sole purpose of laundering drug money.

  For three days, Miguel had trailed Bugsy, making Bugsy’s life his own. Wherever he went, Miguel went. Miguel took down notes and license plate numbers. He was playing detective. He needed to find that open window to strike. It was difficult because Bugsy had steady security around him twenty-four/seven. Wherever he went, his armed goons went too. He had little privacy in his life.

  But Miguel knew there had to be something he was missing. Then, on day four, he found his opportunity. It was after midnight, and though he wanted to go home and be with his kids, his gut instincts told him to stick around and wait it out.

  Bugsy was held up in a towering apartment complex on the Upper East Side. He went in alone, and his security detail retreated.

  Miguel watched three men climb into the dark SUV and drive off, leaving Bugsy alone. That never happened, but that night it did.

  Miguel lingered outside the building in his non-descript vehicle. He watched the lobby like a hawk, being patient and chain-smoking. He knew something was going down, but he couldn’t put his finger on what it was.

  An hour later, Bugsy was seen exiting the lobby and getting into a black Lincoln. Miguel figured the car to be Uber car service. Bugsy’s appearance was low-key and more relaxed—a blue ball cap, jeans, and a T-shirt.

  The Lincoln drove off, and Miguel followed. It headed toward FDR Drive, going northbound, and then they crossed over into the Bronx, using the Willis Avenue Bridge, and the Lincoln fused with the cars on the I-87 North.

  Miguel followed them shrewdly, always remaining two or three cars behind them. I-87 took them into the north side of Mount Vernon, where the area had a suburban vibe as opposed to the south side, where its urban feel resembled the Bronx.

  The drive wasn’t long or far, thanks to the late hour and sparse traffic. But it was taking a toll on Miguel’s gas tank. His money was dwindling, and shadowing Bugsy was taking precious time away from his kids, but this felt like it was going to be big.

  The Lincoln came to a stop in front of a small, middle-class home on a tree-lined block with well-cut grass and a garden. The place was a cliché, a cookie cutter home, especially with its white picket fence. The area was quiet, and there was a park a block down.

  Bugsy paid the driver and stepped out of the car. From across the street, Miguel watched him approach the front door. He knocked twice, and the white door opened up and a beautiful young woman emerged.

  Miguel smiled. “Gotcha!” he uttered. He lingered on the block.

  The lights to the living room came on. The living room faced the street, and it had large bay windows. Miguel could see the silhouette of the folks inside, moving back and forth inside the house. He needed to know more about the area and the house Bugsy was inside. He smoked another cigarette as he waited.

  Half an hour later, the living room lights turned off, and he figured the twosome retreated into the bedroom, maybe to have sex or get some sleep. Either way, he would take advantage of the opportunity. His head swiveled, scoping out the street. Everything was still and quiet, and the neighboring houses were dark.

  Miguel removed himself from the car and stealthily approached the residence, trying not to attract notice. He scaled the short fence and mapped out the house. It was old-fashioned with a short paved driveway leading into the back yard. There was one dilemma—the front and back yards both had motion lights.

  The bright light turned on, and Miguel shifted from the brightness quickly and crept toward the yard. He looked up. The master bedroom overlooked the small back yard. The neighbor’s dog was keen on his movements, and it barked at him.

  Miguel had seen enough. The neighbor’s dog was too loud, and the damn thing would raise concern with its owners. He quickly trod back to his car. He’d found his window.

  ***

  Max’s fifteen minutes seemed like an hour to Miguel. He was on his fourth cigarette, and now he was becoming impatient. He was tempted to drive off. Max was becoming a burden to him. To him, she was a lonely bitch who wanted to wipe the cobwebs from her pussy and get fucked. And Miguel was the handsome thug she wanted to break her drought. She wanted him badly, but Max was far from his type. Nadia was the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. He planned on marrying her the day she was released from prison. Max was trying to interfere with his relationship, but it wasn’t happening. Once their business was concluded, he was gone, and he wanted her to stay far away from him and Nadia.

  The front door opened, and Miguel looked that way, expecting to see the same dyke-looking Max emerge from the house. And then she appeared. Miguel had to do a double-take. “What the fuck!”

  Maxine sauntered toward the car looking fabulous in a pale yellow jumpsuit and a pair of heels. Her walk was mean. Her hair was different, her smile was radiant, and the outfit was kind to her curves. A glistening gold heart necklace decorated her slim neck.

  She slid into the passenger seat.

  Miguel was speechless, his eyes stuck on her.

  Max knew he liked the transformation. The stunned look on his face told it all. She was expecting the positive response from him.

  “What happened?” he asked.

  “I needed to get back to being me again,” she said. “You like it?”

  “It’s different.”

  She smiled. “From the ugly duckling to the pretty swan, right?”

  Miguel suddenly felt odd around her. “You’re beautiful . . . I never knew.”

  “You don’t know many things about me, Miguel.”

  He grinned. “I guess I don’t.”

  Maxine had seen that same look he held in his eyes with other men; she knew she finally had him. Now she was finally in charge over Miguel, and it made her gloat inside. Now she could toy with him the way she wanted to. Beauty made men weak, and Miguel was no different. He was still a man with a dick, and a dick was always weak for some pussy; it was human nature.

  Before he drove off, she tossed a brown envelope on his lap. Miguel picked it up and opened it. Inside was cash. It was unexpected.

  “That’s ten thousand dollars,” she said. “For an additional hit.”

  Miguel was stunned silent. Between the new money and her new look, it was a little overwhelming. Who was she?

  “No thank-you?” Max said.

  “Thank you.”

  “I told you, I’ll take care of you as long as you take care of me.”

  Miguel secured the cash on his person. Money was
becoming tighter in his household, and with him not having steady employment and raising children, he needed to make every penny. “Well, I got some good news for you,” he said.

  “What is it?”

  “I’ve been following Bugsy on my own for the past five days, and I got a new location for you.”

  You did what? Max was upset he went off on his own and went snooping behind her back, possibly risking being caught. She was surprised he actually had some results, though. She didn’t fuss but listened to him.

  “He got a girl he goes to see in Mount Vernon. He goes alone, no security at all, and it’s our open window,” he said.

  “Impressive.”

  “I’m ready to get this over with.”

  She smiled. “I bet you are.”

  Miguel put the car into drive, and they were off, going to look at the new location he had told her about. Once again, his eyes quietly shifted her way. He was captivated by her beauty.

  Max eyed the quaint suburban home on the tree-lined street from the car parked across the street. It was early afternoon, and the neighborhood was quiet, as was the house she gawked at.

  “He comes here?” she asked.

  “Yeah, at night. And he comes alone. He took a cab here.”

  Max smiled. She needed to find out more about the girl, but it was perfect. Layla was about to get ready for another funeral, and this one would really hit home. Bugsy was a core player in the organization. The day they lost him would be the day their family and organization started unraveling, if it hadn’t started already.

  “Let’s go,” she said.

  Miguel started the car, but he didn’t drive away just yet. He looked at Max and asked, “You hungry?”

  She returned his look and simply smiled. It was the first time he’d ever asked about her well-being. She chuckled inwardly. Yes, things had changed between them.

  Max wondered just how loyal Miguel would be to Nadia now that he was captivated by her new look.