The Good Son

by K'wan

  “You got a light, handsome?” Blue Dress asked. She had a joint pinched between her painted lips.

  “Who the fuck was that?” Honey demanded to know on the other end of the phone.

  “Nobody…just some girl. I don’t know…” Shai tried to explain.

  “Shai, you are so full of shit.” She didn’t believe him. “You know what, I hope that bitch has got somewhere for you to lay your head tonight, because your ass ain’t welcomed here!”

  “Honey? Honey?” Shai spoke into the phone, but she had already ended the call. “Fuck!”

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to get you into trouble.” Blue Dress said.

  “It ain’t your fault.” Shai fished a lighter from his pocket and lit the cigarette for her.

  “I know you from somewhere, don’t I?” Blue Dress exhaled a cloud of smoke.

  “Nah, baby. I don’t think so.”

  “I’m pretty sure I do.” She studied his face. “Didn’t you used to play ball for N.C. State?”

  “Yeah, how’d you know?” Shai was surprised.

  “I’m an alum; graduated last year,” she told him. “Nice to bump into a fellow Wolf.” She extended the joint to Shai.

  “Nice indeed,” he said as he accepted it.

  Shai and Blue Dress hadn’t even been chatting for two minutes when the dudes her and her girls had been sitting with came spilling out of the bar. They were drunk and rowdy. The loudest of them was a short, squat dude rocking his hair in cornrows. When he saw that Blue Dress wasn’t amongst the girls, a scowl came over his face.

  “I think your boyfriend is looking for you,” Shai told her.

  Blue Dress sucked her teeth. “He ain’t my boyfriend, just a nigga who was buying me drinks thinking it would help him get into my panties.”

  “Still, maybe it’s best we part ways.” Shai handed her the joint back.

  “Yo, what the fuck?” the squat man cursed. Shai had been right when he smelled trouble earlier. “Who this nigga you all over here all cozy with?” he questioned as he walked over.

  “Ain’t nobody getting cozy, we just talking,” Blue Dress said with an attitude.

  “I’m in there blowing my cash on drinks and you trying to slide with this nigga?” The squat man was becoming hostile.

  “And so what if I was? It’s my pussy and I can give it to whoever I want.” Blue Dress snaked her neck.

  “Dig this, my man - I ain’t trying to step on your toes. As a matter of fact, I’m gonna leave y’all to work out your issues.” Shai tried to walk off, but Blue Dress grabbed his arm.

  “You ain’t gotta leave, baby. This nigga is just talking. He ain’t gonna do shit,” Blue Dress taunted her date.

  “Damn, he stole ya bitch, kid!” one of the squat man’s friends instigated from the sidelines.

  “What? You trying to play me?” the squat man took the bait and got in Shai’s face.

  “I don’t want any trouble.” Shai told him.

  “Too bad, because you got it,” the squat man replied, before punching Shai in the face.

  Shai staggered from the blow, with spots dancing in front of his eyes. He touched his hand to his lip and his fingers came away bloody.

  “Yeah, pretty boy. Do something!” the squat man challenged. Shai happily accepted.

  Shai had never been much of a fighter, but that didn’t mean he was incapable of defending himself. He fired off a lightning fast combination, tagging the squat man in his face several times. The squat man tried to retaliate, but Shai moved like the wind, raining blows on his face. The squat man went down, and Shai moved in to finish him off when someone sucker punched him. Instead of a one-on-one fight, it was now a three-on-one. Shai slipped on something and lost his balance, falling on his hands and knees. Before he could get up, the three men were on him, punching and kicking him. Shai thought it was over for him until he heard the unmistakable BOOM of a gun being fired. The attackers hurriedly backed away from Shai, allowing him to regain his wits. When he looked up, he saw Swann holding a smoking pistol.

  “You good?” Swann asked Shai.

  “Yeah, I’m straight.” Shai picked himself up off the ground and assessed the damage. He had a busted lip and his knuckles were scraped, but he was otherwise unharmed.

  When Swann saw the blood on Shai, he became irate. “Oh, you niggas is going night-night for this shit!” He drew on the terrified attackers, intending to kill all three of them, but Shai stopped him.

  “I said I’m good!” Shai assured him. “Let’s just get out of here.”

  “Only reason niggas talking tough is because they strapped,” Shai heard someone mumble as they were walking away, followed by a chorus of snickers. They were only words, but they hit Shai in the back like a physical shove. He had always been Poppa’s good son, the one who always turned the other cheek, but he was getting tired of trying to be diplomatic in a society of people who only understood one thing. A storm began to build in Shai’s gut and pushed its way into his heart. Without warning, he snatched the gun from Swann and turned back.

  “One of y’all got something you need to say?” Shai approached the three men, who were no longer snickering. No one said anything, but the squat man was glaring at Shai like he wanted to keep the issue going. “You a tough guy, huh?”

  “You got it.” The squat man raised his hands in surrender.

  “You know what? I don’t want it,” Shai said, before cracking him in the head with the gun. When the squat man hit the ground, Shai straddled his chest. “I’m sick of muthafuckas like you thinking shit sweet!” He began hitting him over and over. “I ain’t no fucking sucka!” he kept repeating while bashing the squat man in the face. Long after he had stopped moving, Shai continued to hit him.

  Swann was on the sidelines laughing at the whole scene. It wasn’t until he realized that Shai intended to kill the man that he stepped in. “Aight, that’s enough. He’s learned his lesson,” he said as he pulled Shai off him.

  Shai stood over the fallen man, chest heaving and heart full of rage, the squat man’s smug face now a mess of bruises and blood. Though he was no longer moving, Shai still wanted to keep pummeling him. Shai had never lost control like that, and much to his surprise, it felt good. He could have very well killed the man and doubted he’d have lost a wink of sleep over it. Something about this unexplored side of his brain he’d just tapped into filled him with something that made his heart swell with a feeling that strangely felt like joy. He turned to Blue Dress, and the look of adoration she’d been giving him earlier was gone, replaced by one of fear.

  “Come on before we catch a case.” Swann pulled Shai down the block towards where the car was parked. “What was that all about?” he asked when they reached the Lexus.

  “Nothing,” Shai said, hitting the door locks. “That was more than nothing, Shai. You checked out back there.”

  “Them fools tried to kick my ass, what the fuck was I supposed to do?” Shai snapped.

  Swann raised his hands in surrender. “Hey man, I ain’t complaining. I’m just a little shocked, that’s all.”

  “Sometimes you just gotta get it out of your system,” Shai said, opening the driver’s side door. “I’m sorry for fucking the night up.”

  “You didn’t fuck it up, Slim, just made it more interesting. So what’s up, we gonna keep the party going or what? We still got time to catch my homegirl’s spot downtown.”

  “Nah, I don’t too much feel like it. I’m gonna go for a drive and clear my head,” Shai told him.

  “You need me to roll with you?” Swann asked.

  “I’m cool. Do ya thing. You need me to drop you off at your car?” Shai slid behind the wheel.

  “Nah, I’m too drunk to be driving all the way back from Jersey. I’ll jump in a cab and pick my whip up in the morning. Call me when you get home.” Swann tapped the hood of the car.

  *

  Shai rode around New York for a while, windows down and music blasting. He wasn’t sure where he was
headed, but he felt like he just had to keep moving. All the adrenaline from the fight had burned through the alcohol, so he wasn’t drunk anymore; just wired and frustrated. He thought about going home, then remembered that Honey was on some bullshit. The last thing he needed was to walk into her bullshit after all he’d been through, so he just kept coasting until a better idea struck him.

  He pulled over at a bodega and hopped out to get a bottle of water, and as he was patting his pockets for his money, he came across Monet’s business card.

  PART IV

  “DIRTY TRUTHS”

  CHAPTER 21

  Bustelos was a coffee house on the Upper East Side of Manhattan that was so non-descript, you’d likely miss it unless someone pointed it out. Unlike some of the more modern places that were popping up all over the city, they kept their menu simple - coffee, espresso and pastries. It wasn’t the most inviting establishment, yet its doors had managed to remain open for the past ten years. Bustelos flew under the radar, and the people who frequented it most preferred it that way. If you tried to search for the owner of Bustelos on paper, you’d find yourself chasing your tail through a bunch of shell companies and probably still couldn’t say for sure who held the deed.

  There weren’t many people in the coffee shop, save for some of its regulars and the two yuppie-looking guys, wearing sports coats and jeans that didn’t quite hit their ankles over designer sneakers. They were unfamiliar faces, which meant they were either cops or had just wandered into the wrong spot to get their dose of caffeine.

  The old man behind the counter taking orders was a surely-looking character, with thinning white hair and hateful eyes that hid behind thick black glasses. He looked the two backpackers up and down as if they were hobos who just wandered in to beg for some change.

  The tallest of the two pranced up to the counter and flashed his sixty-thousand dollar grin. “Two Cinnamon Dolce light fraps,” he said in a tone that seemed to irk the old timer.

  “Two what?” the old man asked in his thick New York accent.

  The yuppies exchanged glances.

  “Coffee, ya know? A little syrup, cinnamon,” the second yuppie explained as if the old man was an imbecile. “And only two-percent. Whole milk doesn’t agree with my stomach,” he added for good measure.

  “Does this look like Paris to you?” the old man grumbled.

  “Excuse me?” The first yuppie was confused.

  The old man rested his withered knuckles on the counter. “Yous two seem like educated fellas, so how come you didn’t read the sign?” he said, nodding at the white poster-board sitting in the window that read “Coffee & Snacks.” “See a frap or any other of that sissy shit you just asked for on my menu?”

  “There’s no need to be an asshole about it!” the second yuppie snapped, clearly taking offense at the statement.

  “And I’ll bet yous know a thing or three about assholes, huh?” the old man taunted.

  Before the argument could go any further, the yuppies noticed all of the light shining through the front window. They initially thought it was overcast, but when they turned toward it, they saw that it wasn’t a shift in the weather, but a man. He stood a hair over six feet tall, and weighing at least four hundred pounds. His jogging suit looked like it was stitched together from pieces of a tent. High black hair sat on his sloped forehead, so slick with gel that it resembled a polished tile floor.

  “Problem here, Sally?” Jimmy the Whale asked, glaring at the two yuppies. Clutched in his meaty fist was a fiber bar that he desperately wished was a piece of fried chicken. The doctors told him he needed to lose some weight, but it was a struggle.

  “I was just explaining the menu to our whimsical friends here,” Sal said with a devilish grin.

  The second yuppie pursed his angry lips to fire off a nasty retort, but the first yuppie touched his arm and gave him pause. “C’mon, I think there’s a Starbucks two blocks from here,” he said as he tugged at his friend’s arm.

  The second yuppie gave Sal one last dirty look before allowing his friend to nudge him towards the door. As an afterthought, he knocked down the poster board sign and flipped Sal the bird. “Eat shit you fucking homophobe!” he spat before running out the door.

  “Beat it, you damn fairies!” Sal yelled, tossing a sugar shaker at the door.

  “How do you expect this shithole to make any money if you keep chasing the customers away?” Jimmy asked.

  “I don’t chase all the customers away, just the undesirables,” Sal capped.

  The front door opened again, and both men’s heads turned, thinking the yuppies might have found their balls and came back. In walked three men, laughing heartily as if one of them had just told the funniest joke in the world. They barely made it across the threshold before Jimmy moved to intercept them.

  “Hey Jim, what’s the word?” Mel greeted him with a smile.

  “It’s Jimmy, you smart ass. What are you hoods doing on this side of town - looking for a liquor store to knock over?” Jimmy glared at him. He didn’t care for Mel and made no secret of it. Jimmy was old-school and from an era where rules meant something, while Mel represented the new age Mafiosos who didn’t care whose toes they had to step on to get ahead.

  Mel found himself at a loss, not quite sure how to reply to the hostile reception. Thankfully Louie cut the tension.

  “He’s only busting your balls, Mel,” Louie said as he stepped forward and shook Jimmy’s hand. “Why you always rousting my guys, huh?”

  “He looked like he was ready to shit his pants!” Jimmy laughed, slapping Louie on the back good-naturedly.

  Mel didn’t say anything, but inwardly he fumed. It seemed like every time he was in Jimmy’s company, the big man was mocking him for laughs or saying something disrespectful. Had it been anyone else, Mel would have put a bullet, or at least a fist, in Jimmy’s mouth by now. But Jimmy the Whale was a Made man, and until that changed, he had no choice but to suck it up. Mel hoped that if he played Frankie close for long enough, his reckoning with Jimmy would come sooner than later.

  “I’m here to see Frankie,” Louie said, getting back to business.

  Jimmy looked over his shoulder at a man who was occupying a table in the back, pretending to read the paper, but had been watching the whole exchange. Sitting next to him was a woman dressed in all black. The man told Jimmy that it was okay to let them pass. With a smile, Louie started forward, but was stopped by the Whale for a second time.

  “You know the routine.” Jimmy motioned for Louie to raise his hands to be searched. Louie complied. Jimmy kept his searches of Louie and Bruno brief, but took his time when it came to Mel. He patted under his arms, his legs and gave him a light shot to the nuts before letting him join his companions.

  “You guys hang out over here at the counter while I straighten this out,” Louie told his buddies before crossing the room to pay his respects to the Cissaro Capo.

  Franklin Donatello, known as Frankie the Fish to his friends, did not fit any stereotypes of a typical mobster. He was tall and well-built with a head full of beautiful black hair, and had a smile that could light up a room. In secret, some joked that he looked more like a model than a gangster, but they wouldn’t dare say it to his face, even in jest. He had gotten the name “The Fish” for his fondness of dumping the bodies of his victims in the ocean to feed the things that dwelled beneath the water. Despite his dashing good looks, Frankie was a stone-cold killer.

  “Well, if it isn’t my favorite of the three stooges,” Frankie said as he flashed his signature smile. He folded his newspaper and placed it on the table.

  “How you doing, Frankie?” Louie shook his hand, then kissed him once on each cheek.

  “That all depends on what news you’ve brought me.” Frankie motioned for Louie to take the chair across from him. “So, did you take care of that thing?” He noticed that Louie was hesitant to speak in front of the woman.

  “Yeah, we took care of it. The ball is in play,” Louie said pr
oudly.

  “Good,” Frankie nodded in approval. “How did the kid take it? Did he balk, or jump at the chance to give Gee-Gee a hand-job?”

  Louie fell silent. His face said he wanted to say something, but couldn’t figure out how to word it. “What?” Frankie pressed.

  “That’s the thing,” Louie began timidly, “I didn’t speak to Shai. He wasn’t available, so I sat down with Tommy.”

  Frankie couldn’t hide the surprise on his face. “Tommy Clark? Last I heard, ain’t he a vegetable or some shit?”

  “A vegetable with a set of nuts you wouldn’t believe,” Louie said. “You should’ve heard the way that jig was talking. You’d think he’d taken the oath or something.”

  “I asked you to present this to Shai specifically.”

  “I know, Frankie, and trust me I tried, but the kid wasn’t available. He got called away on some urgent matter right before we got there,” Louie explained. “You said it was important that this get done, so I figure it was better to broker it with the gimp rather than having to come back to you with nothing. I’m sorry.”

  “Indeed you are, but what’s done is done at this point,” Frankie said, sliding a large envelope from the folds of the newspaper.

  “Frankie, can I ask you a question?”

  “Sure, Louie. What’s on that tiny little mind of yours?”

  “Well, I didn’t know Nicky too good, but near as I can tell he was a stand-up guy. I never would’ve figured him for a child molester.” Louie said.

  “That’s because he wasn’t,” the woman spoke for the first time.

  Seeing that Louie looked totally confused, Frankie decided to enlighten him. “Louie, I’d like to introduce you to a friend of mine, Constance Tessio.”

  Louie’s face turned as white as a ghost when he heard the name of Fat Mike’s widow.

  “Maybe now you understand why it was so important for Shai to greenlight this assassination personally? When the shit hits the fan and the Melonis come across the water to claim their pound of flesh, it’s taken out of Clarks’ asses and not ours.”