However, Joey was a short stocky man with a bad case of little man syndrome, but where that was a downfall to some, it helped to mold him to become the most feared bookie in the city. People could bet on anything with Joey, even the Academy Awards. He kept up on all that stuff, and he seemed to like it. If anyone in the city wanted to place a bet on something, Joey was the go-to guy. But if someone cracked a joke about his height, they bought themselves a one-way visit to the intensive care unit, and the ones that were really out of line were never heard from again. People were scared of Joey, and he knew it. If too many people hit big on the odds, well, Joey would just change the numbers. He would literally alter people’s bets, and no one argued with him about it, and took whatever he paid out. Joey had greatly increased the wealth of the family, which helped us to muscle out the remaining Riccis.
Next, Francesco Carbone walked in the room, but we all called him Frankie.
“Skeeter, how are ya? Are you doing okay, my friend?” Frankie hugged and kissed me on both cheeks.
“Don’t worry, Frankie, everything is fine,” I reassured him. “Please have a seat.”
Frankie was the best bagman that ever worked for me, and probably the best in all of organized crime. Frankie collected all the money from bets that were placed on the street, and not in Joey’s restaurant which was named Joey’s Kitchen. I found that to be a little on the nose, but what are you gonna to do about it? Joey earned well, and that was all I really cared about. Frankie worked closely with Joey, and he was one of the main reasons why he always collected. People knew if they didn’t pony up, then Joey would find the degenerate and would give them a beating they would never forget, or Frankie would light them up like a Christmas tree—literally.
Frankie not only aided in collections, but he’d pay out the winnings to the people who placed their bets out on the street. The one thing that bothered me about Frankie was how arrogant he could be. The guy was in his fifties and he still acted like he was twenty-one all the time. He worked out consistently, and because of that, he thought every twenty-something young woman wanted him. Even as he sat at the table, he told Joey how much weight he lifted at the gym that day and flexed his biceps as if we cared. Then he went on about how all the women at the gym were checking him out, and even I had to roll my eyes at the last one. Frankie fired his mouth off once about some of the business dealings he participated in to impress some woman he was hoping to bed, and it almost cost him his life when I found out. I would have killed him if he wasn’t family, but I told him next time he was a dead man.
Finally, Enzo Messina entered the room in his solid black suit and greeted me as the others had. He gave a respectful nod to his associates and took a seat at the table while Joey and Frankie exchanged pleasantries with him. Enzo was my enforcer, and he was the most brutal and efficient hit man I had ever seen. He studied the art of killing and had it down to a science. The way he staged his hits to look like accidents or that someone else was responsible was like a work of art that one would pay good money to see in a museum. The man was also some kind of genius. He kept up on the latest evidence collection methods in order to beat them and stay a step ahead of the cops. He had a talent that only a few possessed. Enzo was quiet and respectful, which I liked most of all about him.
The one thing they all had in common was that they worked for me, John “Skeeter” Amara. They were my family, and they aided me in running my empire in the city of Black Castle. These were my top guys, my captains. I viewed us as legitimate businessmen, but not all people or government agencies looked at our line of work the same way we did. I believed the term others used to describe our line of work was organized crime, which an organized criminal is what you had to be to make a decent living in Black Castle. I went to the bar and poured each of us a shot of whiskey and handed them to my companions. We all raised our glasses.
“To Black Castle, the city that has been so good to us.”
We all downed our shots, and then Frankie opened his fat mouth and spoke first as I tried to savor the smooth taste of that finely aged whiskey. His pride never afforded the opportunity to let someone else speak first.
“So, Skeeter, you brought us all here for something important I assume, so what can we do for you?” Frankie wiped away the whisky that ran down the sides of his mouth with his hand like a child.
I stood there quietly for a moment with my eyes closed, enjoying the whiskey as it settled nicely in my stomach. I was the boss, and I wasn’t going to let Frankie’s arrogance stop me as I enjoyed one of my favorite drinks. I took in a deep breath quietly and released it loudly as I opened my eyes and looked around the room with a satisfied smile on my face.
“First of all, gentlemen, thank you for coming here this evening on such short notice. I hope you can forgive me for interrupting whatever your evening plans were, but I have news from my informant in the Black Castle PD that must be discussed immediately.”
“Just tell us who we need to take care of, boss, and consider them done,” Frankie said as he motioned towards Enzo with a smile.
Enzo flashed a stern look at Frankie which caused him to immediately quiet down and look back at me.
I decided to ignore Frankie’s idiotic comment, which I knew would embarrass and anger him, but he needed to be reminded of his place. “Gentlemen, I received word a short while ago that our old associate, Ron Horn, is no longer with us. He was murdered a few hours ago.”
“I guess that’s one less man on the payroll,” Frankie said as he laughed and gave Joey a slap on the shoulder.
“Yes, Frankie, that is true, I did not call you here this evening to revel in Ron’s demise. As you all know, the intel and muscle Ron provided to us in the beginning was critical in our takeover of the city from the Riccis. Even after he got out of prison, he still had a way of getting information from the police that was very helpful and allowed us to stay one step ahead of our enemies. After all, that is why I kept him on the payroll, even when he went to prison, because he was the golden goose that kept on giving.”
“Are we at a disadvantage now that he is gone, Skeeter?” Joey asked in a respectful tone after observing my displeasure toward Frankie’s earlier comments.
“I believe we will be fine, Joey, I have another well-placed and secure informant who has proved to be quite useful. This is the same informant who contacted me just a few moments after Ron was dead and told me of his unfortunate passing. I bet the body wasn’t even cold before they made the call. Now, you’re probably wondering who my source is, but I’m going to keep that one to myself for the time being. However, we may have a potential problem facing us at the moment.”
“What’s the problem, sir?” Enzo asked.
“Apparently, Ron’s former partner, Brandon Farmer, was there when Ron was murdered. He witnessed the entire event right before his eyes and did nothing to stop it from happening. He said he was incapacitated by the attacker, and the police believed his story and cut him loose a little while ago, just like that. But I don’t need to remind you how Brandon feels toward each person in this room. He did say he would bring us all to justice one day, but he abandoned that notion when we threatened to kill his girlfriend at the time. Now, he’s a loser P.I. living in an old part of the city with very little to his name. Maybe he feels he has nothing left to lose.”
“Boss, do you really think he did it?” Joey asked. “We all remember Brandon being angry, but we all agreed that he was all talk and no bite back then.”
“Yes, I remember, but he said some guy in a red suit killed Ron.”
“Red suit. Like Santa Claus?” Frankie laughed and looked around the room expecting others to join in with him.
By that point I had enough of Frankie’s interruptions, and I reached over and grabbed Frankie by his lower jaw. “Frankie, if you interrupt me one more time with another one of your idiotic jokes, I’m going to have Enzo rip your tongue out. Do you understand me?” I forcefully pushed his head back.
Frankie lower
ed his gaze and was terrified because he knew I was serious.
“Yes sir. I apologize, I didn’t mean any disrespect. I’ll stop.”
“Thank you. Now, like I was saying, Brandon, said a man in a red business suit, white dress shirt, black tie, black gloves, and black dress shoes killed Ron. Apparently, he picked him up with one hand, and stabbed Ron in the chest with a knife before he dropped him to the floor. The guy claimed he knew about how Ron killed all those old folks with a knife for not moving when we told them to, so I’m only going to ask this once. Have any one of you been running your mouth about our former business dealings?”
The guys looked at each other, and they all seemed to answer at once. “Not me, boss.”
“That’s what I figured because you know what would happen to you if you did, and Ron was always very tight lipped about his dealings with us. So, if it wasn’t any of you, then it could be his old partner, Brandon? He swore to get even with us for using him like a puppet, but I don’t see Ron telling him about it. We were all very careful not to leave any loose ends for someone to follow later on if they got curious.”
Enzo politely lifted his index finger to get my attention.
“Yes Enzo, what do you got?”
“Would you like me to pay him a visit, or perhaps have a little chat with him to get him to confess?”
“I appreciate that, Enzo, but not at this time. I think we should keep a close eye on Mr. Farmer and see what he does next. Ron was very clear that he didn’t share any of our dealings with Brandon, and I’m still inclined to believe him since Brandon hasn’t ever tried to make a move against us or even go after any of our interests. So, if it is him, I don’t understand why he would wait all this time to do something.”
“So, what do you want us to do, boss?” Joey asked.
“I want him to be watched to see what he does. Who knows? He might have finally snapped and killed Ron and have plans for coming after each one of us. This also could be the Riccis retaliating for us killing most of them, running the rest out of the city, and taking over all of their territory. Maybe Brandon is working with them, but either way, no killing unless I say. We have a tight hold on this city because we went about it in a smart way, and we continue to operate as such. The last thing we need is a bunch of bodies showing up bringing unwanted attention from the good cops left in this city or the feds. If the feds show up and start looking into things, that could jeopardize the entire operation.”
“But if it is any of the remaining Riccis, then couldn’t we just take them out as well, Skeeter?” Enzo asked.
“We could, but if we get into another big war, that will assuredly bring down the feds on us. Trust me when I say that is the last thing anyone of us wants. So, in the meantime keep an eye on Brandon Farmer without letting him know he’s being followed, and I’m sure we will get to the bottom of what’s really going on. Either Mr. Farmer has decided to become a vigilante, he’s working for the Riccis, or the red suit guy has teamed up with one or both of them for some reason. If that reason interferes with our business, then we will deal with it quickly and thoroughly.”
I walked to the bar and grabbed the bottle of whisky and refilled everyone’s glass for another round.
“But one thing’s for sure.” The guys waited for my response. I downed the second shot of whiskey and looked into my glass, wanting another. “We have one less on the payroll.”
We all broke out in laughter and poured each other a third round.
Chapter Six
Brandon Farmer
The City of Black Castle
I REPEATEDLY KICKED myself as I pulled out of the police station parking lot. I couldn’t believe I had slipped up like that and said something about Scott to Lizzie right when things started to turn a corner. She had let her guard down a little, and for a brief moment it felt like old times between us. As quickly as it had come, it was gone. Any hope I had of winning her back was crushed the moment I said Scott’s name, and all I succeeded in doing was pushing her further into his arms. I provoked her when I should have said I was sorry and that I was in the wrong, instead, I did exactly what she wanted me to do. I proved I was all the horrible things she thought about me and more in that interrogation. She treated and looked at me like I was a would-be criminal, and it ripped me apart. But why did she have to say those things about me being a waste of time? I knew I had made mistakes, but we had a lot of great times together, and it was the memory of those times that added to the constant pain and regret I bore every day. That hurt, but the words about my father tore into me the most. My father loved her and told her all the time how great and special he thought she was. She didn’t need to bring him into it, and I felt it was low, especially coming from her.
As I drove down the road, I relived the conversation in my head. I condemned myself a little more each time as I saw all the moments when I could have shown her how much I still cared for her. I just wanted things to go back to the way they were before, and I wished my dad was still alive so I could have someone to talk to. He always knew what to say when I was upset, and I found myself looking at his name in my contact list while I was stopped at a light. I needed something familiar at that moment, and when I looked up, I saw the church my dad and I attended back when he was still alive. I stopped going after the stuff at work went down the way it did. I felt like I couldn’t ever show my face there again, but as I drove toward the church, I found myself compelled to pull into the parking lot. I parked in the back of the lot where there were no cars, turned off the engine, and stared at the building. I got my familiar alright because the building hadn’t changed in the slightest over the last few years. The large back-lit sign still read in bold, solid black letters, The Holy Anointed Church, Welcome Home Black Castle.
That place had felt like home when dad was alive, and maybe it could be that way again for me one day after everyone forgot about my previous work troubles. As I stared at the building, I felt pressure from within to go inside, and it only grew as I fought against it until I couldn’t take it anymore. I hadn’t gone to church or talked to God in years, and it just seemed better that way. I had failed my God, my father, and the town by not seeing all the terrible things I had unwittingly gone along with. But there I sat, compelled to go into the lion’s den. I thought about starting my car, but I got out of it instead and slowly walked toward the building. I looked around to make sure I wouldn’t accidently run into someone I used to know. I didn’t want the hassle of sneering looks or the embarrassment of being asked to leave by someone who was well acquainted with my past. The service had already started, so I could easily sneak in and sit in the back so no one would notice me. All the door greeters had already taken their seats, so I quietly slipped into a chair in the back without being noticed.
Phillip Martin was still the pastor of the church, and he and I used to be somewhat close. He was about fifteen years older than me, but he always seemed very knowledgeable on life’s issues. He was also always ready to talk whenever I had a problem. He scanned the room as he preached his sermon, and as he did, he saw me in the back. I was busted, and I knew I wasn’t getting out of there without him talking to me. He preached for another twenty minutes, and I felt a small bit of relief from the despair that whirled within me from his comforting and reaffirming words. As I tried to get up and leave, Phillip, finished his sermon and the ushers passed around small pieces of bread with tiny cups of grape juice for communion, which I knew I was unworthy to take, let alone hold in my hand. I felt boxed in, and if I were to get up, I’d clearly be noticed, and then I’d hear the comments from the people around me as I left. The next thing I knew, my phone went off in my pocket, and it was Phillip. He texted and asked me to stay and talk with him after the service. He must have sent that message right when he left the podium while the ushers worked. Phillip had returned to the platform by the time the ushers made it to me, just in time to see me refuse the sacraments. He led the people in prayer, and then they all partook of the Lord�
�s Supper.
As soon as the service ended, Phillip, exited the stage and was standing behind me within moments. It made perfect sense the pastor would know all the routes around the church in case they needed to make a quick get away from angry or clingy church members.
“Hey Brandon, I’m glad you came by. How are you doing?”
“To be honest, I’ve been better, and things have gotten a whole lot worse for me. I don’t even know why I’m here. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be dumping my problems on you.” I made an awkward turn to leave.
“No, it’s fine. How about we go and talk in my office, so we’re not interrupted?” Phillip had a genuine smile on his face.
I wanted to go, but I really needed help. “Sure, that sounds good.”
As we walked to his office, people had just started to file out of the sanctuary, but we were able to avoid them. He got away with a quick hello or God bless you, as we walked to his office.
“How did you get from the platform to the back and the other side of the church so fast, Phillip?” I asked.
“I’ve been pastoring here a long time, Brandon, you get to know the fastest routes around a large building after a while.”
I smiled to myself about my earlier assumption being correct.
Phillip had one of the largest churches in the city, but it hadn’t always been that way. The church had started out in a small metal building, but Phillip had grown the church rapidly throughout the years and built larger structures as he could afford them. As we entered his office, I noticed his suit and office seemed a little too nice for a pastor, but then again, his church was big and seemed to still be growing. I also wasn’t going to knock him for having nice things, because Phillip deserved to have some nice things after all the good he had done for others. His office looked like a high-end library with beautifully stained wood walls, one wall being dedicated to shelving books from the floor to ceiling. Then there were the hand painted canvases of Jesus that hung on the other walls, and I noticed faint scratches in the wood along the right side of the painting located closest to Phillip’s desk. That told me he had a safe installed in the wall behind the painting, and the hinges were too small for the portrait to swing out without touching the wall. I figured he thought no one would notice, and if he went with any bigger hinges it would probably make the painting stick out too much and give away the location of the safe.
The Wrath Walker (The Wrath Series Book 1) Page 6
