Mafioso [Part 3]

by Nisa Santiago

  He wanted to say something to his queen, but speaking was almost impossible. The only thing he could do was communicate to Alicia through his eyes and hand movements. He hated every bit of his condition, but he thought, Charge it to the game, right?

  He had been in an induced coma for six days. It took several days for all the medication he was being fed intravenously to leave his system, and then his cloudy head began to clear. Through the slow recovery, Alicia and Maxine hardly left his side. Alicia comforted him the best she could, and Maxine got him whatever he needed. It would be a long road to recovery, but Bugsy figured that if he had Alicia there to support him, he could get through this. He could become whole again, for her.

  The moments he was alone, he had time to think. Meyer did this to him. He remembered everything. They tried to hide behind their masks, but their identity was clear to him. The sneakers were the first thing that gave his brother away, then body language and finally the only thing visible—his eyes. It was Luna who had attacked him. And his boy, AJ, was dead.

  He had a lot to think about—the audacity of Meyer coming after him and taking from their father.

  His body ached, and his face felt like stone. They fucked him up good. It was a miracle he was still alive, but Bugsy remembered Meyer pulling Luna off him. Meyer was trying to save his life, but Bugsy deduced that it was Layla who had masterminded the robbery.

  He decided that he wouldn’t tell Scott. He would keep things quiet for now. He knew that once Scott found out the truth, then Meyer and Layla would both be dead. No, once he was healed, he would handle the situation himself. He wasn’t even going to confront his brother about it—not yet. Revenge was a dish best served cold.

  ***

  Three weeks went by, and Bugsy was healing well. He felt in good hands with Alicia. Her being a nurse helped him out a lot too. He had been released from the hospital and could finish recuperating in his home. Day after day, Alicia took care of him. Maxine kept him company in the evening while Alicia was at work.

  Bugsy’s days were spent watching TV, lifting weights, and reading. He had frequent visits to several doctors to check up on his condition. He was receiving the best treatment that money could buy. His speech was still put on hold since his jaw was wired, but he could talk to his girlfriend with a notepad, his touching, and texting. Bugsy wanted to speak so badly, but the condition with his mouth and jaw would last for six weeks.

  Ironically, he received a visit from Layla, Lucky, and Meyer. Layla played the role of a worried mother. She hugged her son passionately and shed tears about his condition. Meyer asked the questions.

  “Yo, you know who did this to you? Just tell me or write down a name, and I’m on these fools fo’ real—gun ’em down, my nigga. I got your back,” Meyer said.

  He said it in front of Alicia, and she frowned and left the room. Bugsy wanted to curse his brother out. He didn’t want that talk around his woman.

  He knew Meyer was fishing for information, trying to see if he knew anything. But Bugsy shook his head no. He would play it like that—pretend to be clueless of his brother’s involvement for a while until he figured things out.

  Meanwhile, he and Meyer played video games to pass the day away, and it was like when they were kids again.

  42

  Scott hadn’t felt like himself in a long while. It all felt like it was slipping away from him. The thieves that ran rampant in his Long Island location made off with millions of dollars, and it was another small blow to his organization. And with his son beaten, he was looking weak in the streets. He couldn’t look weak. The wolves were knocking at his door, and they were eager to take him apart. To take down a large drug kingpin like Scott West would be a glorious victory to whomever achieved it, and the crown would be theirs to wear.

  Scott lingered by the window and gazed at his workers and the activity in the scrap yard. The ground was covered with snow, and it was a gloomy day with gray skies and cold wind. He chomped down on the Cuban cigar and took a few puffs. He then brought it back down to hang between his fingers. He looked pensive. If he didn’t react now, then everything he’d built would be destroyed. He had to send a vicious message out on the streets and set an example—you don’t dare take from him and attack his son. The bang needed to be nuclear. It should be heard and seen for many miles.

  He had to stop playing house with Maxine and get his hands dirty again, or else he would suffer additional consequences, and one could be losing another child. Bugsy had done more than hold the organization down against Deuce. He’d proven repeatedly that he was the right fit to lead the empire.

  Bugsy had taken out many of Deuce’s men, but the head of the snake was still attached. It was time to turn up the heat and burn shit down.

  Scott made a few phone calls and contacted some heavy hitters to do the job. They were expensive, but it was necessary. What Scott had forgotten about the game was, it just wasn’t about the guns and the soldiers that brought you to the top and gave you power, it was information too. Information was power, and he would pay a lot of money for some information on his rivals. Therefore, he made more phone calls—most were out of town—and he put the word out. Two million dollars was the right bait to lure in any fish.

  ***

  It took less than a week for Scott to hear something. Mason, one of his trusted henchmen, had been holding down Delaware since Bugsy was attacked and Meyer switched sides. He put pressure on the corner boys, spread out some paper, and came up with some viable information. “You wanna talk to this cop—Sergeant Connelly is his name. He’s in Deuce’s pocket. He’ll lead you right to that muthafucka. I can guarantee it.”

  “Sergeant Connelly, huh?”

  “Yeah.”

  Immediately, Scott took a trip to Delaware. The three-hour drive had him there by early evening. He rode in an armored Escalade—everything bulletproof, even the tires. It didn’t take him long to track down the police sergeant. Scott had his home address, but it wouldn’t be polite to show up uninvited, and he didn’t want to attract any unwanted attention. He wanted no one, especially his enemies, to know that he was in town.

  Once again, he passed some money around, it got into the right hands, and soon word got back to Sergeant Connelly. He was promised fifty thousand dollars for his time, and a note with an address was given to the cop. The sergeant was skeptical at first. He knew the name. Scott West, a millionaire tycoon out of New York City. What would a man like that want with him?

  Connelly couldn’t turn down the meeting, but he had a hunch it would have something to do with Deuce.

  After midnight the gray Crown Vic arrived at Christina Park. The sergeant brought another corrupt cop with him. They parked in the vacant parking lot, near an idling black Escalade. Connelly eyed the lavish ride with the dark tints. He sat in the passenger seat and took a deep breath.

  “You need me to come with you?” the cop asked his boss.

  “Stay here. I’ll handle this alone.”

  Connelly climbed out of the car and slowly approached the truck. His gun was holstered to his hip, and his badge was underneath his clothing. He couldn’t shake the nervousness he felt. Dealing with these criminals, he didn’t know what to expect. They were a different class of offenders, far removed from the local crack dealers, gang members, and fiends he was used to dealing with. Scott West could probably buy and sell his small city.

  As he got closer to the Escalade, the driver and back door opened, and two men got out. They were Scott’s henchmen, Mason and Avery, and they eyed Connelly carefully.

  “Your gun.” Mason suggested he remove it from his hip.

  Connelly didn’t have a choice. He slowly removed his weapon and handed it over to Mason. It was foolish, giving up his police issued Glock to a criminal. But he’d come this far.

  Avery then indicated he needed to search him.

  Connelly groaned. “Seriousl
y? I’m a fuckin’ cop.”

  “You think we care?”

  Connelly lifted his arms and spread them like wings, and Avery patted him down from head to toe. He checked between his legs and squeezed his dick to be extra cautious. It was awkward.

  “He good,” said Avery.

  Mason tapped on the back window and said, “He good to go.”

  The door opened, and Connelly climbed into the backseat of the truck. The door closed behind him. Scott sat next to him, calmly smoking his cigar. Connelly quickly sized Scott up, and the man was dressed impeccably. His suit and shoes probably cost more than Connelly’s house and car put together.

  “I’m here,” Connelly said

  “I appreciate your time, sergeant,” Scott said.

  “Well, don’t waste it.”

  “I won’t. I understand you and I have a common problem.”

  Connelly chuckled. “You think I have a problem?”

  “I know you do, and I want to fix your problem and make you a very rich man at the same time.”

  Connelly read between the lines. “So you want me to help you kill Deuce?”

  “Yes.”

  “And why should I help you?”

  “Two million dollars.”

  Two million dollars—whoa, that amount of money would be enough for Connelly and his wife to retire. He could buy a house in Florida and fix up his boat.

  “I know he has you in his pocket, and whatever dirt he has on you, it’s not my interest. My only interest is his demise.”

  “And when he’s gone, then what?”

  “For two million dollars, why should you care? I hear you’re planning on retiring soon anyway.”

  Connelly exhaled sharply. Scott’s eyes were fixed on him, waiting for his reply. The cigar smoke and the smell of a good Cuban filled the backseat. Connelly wanted to ask for a puff himself.

  “No mistakes, you understand me? I can’t have this coming back on me. I have a family and kids, and if Deuce figures out I’m setting him up, he’ll come for them and then me,” said Connelly with uneasiness in his voice.

  “We don’t make mistakes, sergeant.”

  The two men looked at each other. They both had authority, and they both were affected by Deuce’s ruthlessness and craziness. It had to come to an end. There had to be some balance of respect and control.

  “Make the call,” Scott said.

  “You mean now?”

  “Yes.”

  Scott didn’t want to waste any time. While he was in town, he would be hands-on in eliminating Deuce. There was no way he would leave Wilmington without results—without Deuce, Jimmy, and Whistler dead.

  Connelly removed his cell phone from his jacket pocket and made the call. Scott listened carefully to every word out of his mouth.

  “Yeah, it’s me. We have a serious problem, and we need to meet,” Connelly said.

  It was a quick call, and Deuce agreed to meet with the man. Everything was coming together perfectly.

  43

  Bugsy stared at himself in the mirror. He’d lost some weight. He didn’t look emaciated, just lean. The morning jogs, the weightlifting, and the Creatine shakes were helping him add muscle and weight, but he had a ways to go. The doctor finally removed the wires from his mouth, and he had limited mobility in his jaw. He could finally talk, but he couldn’t open his mouth as wide as before. There was a slight change in his tone. His voice sounded lower and raspy and had more of a sinister pitch to it. His voice had always been deep, but when the trauma doctor in the ER had gone to work on him, his vocal cord was slightly pinched.

  Day by day, Bugsy was recuperating, and the only thing he could think about was finally proposing to Alicia. He wanted everything to be perfect. He had no more medical restrictions, and he wanted to plan his future with the woman he loved—the love of his life.

  Maxine was excited for him. She knew he had a good woman.

  That night, he put together her favorite meal—a Philly cheesesteak from her favorite restaurant and French fries with some Häagen-Dazs vanilla bean ice cream and ginger beer. It’s one of the things he loved about her; she enjoyed the simple pleasures.

  When Alicia arrived home from work, she was surprised by the scented candles burning, flowers in the dining room, and R&B music playing. He had a soothing bubble bath prepared in the bathroom for after dinner.

  “Ohmygod,” she uttered.

  “You like it?” he said quietly.

  Everything was beautiful, and it was the reason she was so sad.

  “I got your favorite,” he said.

  He pointed to the table, and she saw the cheesesteak meal. She chuckled as her eyes welled up with tears. It was romantic and well thought out.

  Bugsy took her hands in his and pulled her closer to him. The look in his eyes was pure love. He wanted no one else but her. She was his life, and he was prepared to make things official with her. So, before they started their romantic evening together, he dropped down on one knee in front of her. It seemed like the velvet ring box magically appeared in his hand. He smiled up at her and revealed the vintage engagement ring. It was flawless.

  Alicia was dumbfounded—this wasn’t happening. Shit!

  “Alicia, I love you so much, and I want you to become my wife. Will you marry me?” he proposed with a broad smile across his face.

  She stood there in front of him. Her eyes became more watery. He was waiting for her to happily shout out “Yes!” But there was hesitation, and from the look on her face, the tears trickling from her eyes, and the sadness in them, Bugsy knew something was wrong.

  “I . . . I can’t,” she announced sadly.

  Bugsy was blown away. Had he heard her right? She couldn’t marry him. Why? He remained on one knee in front of her. This was a greater pain than when he was pistol-whipped and beaten.

  “I’m afraid for you, Bugsy,” she continued. “I don’t want to live that type of lifestyle—always afraid of you being murdered or someone coming after me because of you.”

  “Baby, I promise you, no one will ever harm you. As long as I’m living you’re safe with me,” he said with conviction in his voice.

  He stared at her, pleading with his eyes. By now, he was standing on both legs and trying to take her hands into his and have her reconsider.

  “You don’t know that. You can’t make promises like that.”

  “I can, and I will. I would protect you with my life,” he said.

  “That’s the problem. I believe one day you will. You have enemies out there, Bugsy. And seeing you in that hospital, beaten like that, my heart was shattered, and I can’t go through that time after time . . . and I can’t let our kids go through that. I don’t want to end up like your mother. I look at her, and I see a miserable woman. She lost three children to that lifestyle, and it made her angry and bitter. I can’t—I can’t see you in a grave. I would rather walk away than go through that, and that’s why I have to leave you now before it gets worse,” she proclaimed sadly.

  Her words were cutting him deep. By now, Bugsy was teary-eyed. He rarely cried, but it felt like a giant knife had penetrated his heart. He saw the love and the pain in Alicia’s eyes too. Where did he go wrong?

  “But I told you everything about me and you said you could handle it. I never lied to you, Alicia. Why allow me to fall in love with you if you were going to leave me anyway?”

  “I thought I could take it. I fell so much in love, I didn’t think it would matter. But it matters because I love you.”

  “Please, don’t do this.”

  “Baby, just let me go. I will always love you, but I can’t be a part of that life,” she said.

  He looked at her and released a deep breath. It would kill him, but he reluctantly agreed. He loved her so much that if it meant she would be happy elsewhere, then so be it.

 
He hugged and kissed Alicia one final time, and said, “I love you.”

  Bugsy collected himself and grabbed a few of his things and left her place. He got into his car and sped off.

  Later that evening, he drowned his sorrows with a fifth of Hennessy and playing the blame game. Who did he blame for losing Alicia? Meyer! And that grimy bitch, Layla!

  44

  Deuce and Jimmy arrived at the isolated location near a set of abandoned train tracks and the Christina River. For a half mile, there was nothing around but the elevated 495 freeway that crossed over the river. It was dark and late, and it was a dark looking area, nothing alive and moving but the animals and insects. Deuce and Jimmy trusted the location. No one could set up on them—no buildings to hide in, no busy roads—nothing. It was a ghostly looking area.

  Jimmy had done his surveillance, and he was content with where they were to meet with Sergeant Connelly. They sat inside the Yukon and talked while waiting for Connelly to show.

  Connelly had been on point since Deuce had met with him at his home. He fed him information, made arrests that were beneficial to his drug organization, and warned him of snitches. Connelly feared him and had a lot to lose; it’s the reason he made the perfect corrupt cop for Deuce.

  “Where is this muthafucka?” Jimmy said.

  He glanced at the clock. It was 12:45 a.m. There wasn’t a soul around—not a sound; it was the cold, the vacant land, and the dark.

  “He’ll be here. Whatever he needs to talk about, it better be good,” Deuce said.

  In that moment, the two noticed the headlights approaching their way. Jimmy gripped the Uzi in his hand. Deuce strongly felt it wouldn’t be needed. He warned Connelly to come alone and if he tried anything, to think about his wife and kids. It wasn’t just his job in jeopardy.

  The gray Crown Vic rolled up toward them and came to a stop. Deuce squinted his eyes at the car and saw one silhouette inside. The headlights shut off and the door opened. Connelly stepped out of the car and looked their way. Deuce and Jimmy exited the Yukon and walked toward the cop.