One by one, every one stood down and focused their attention on me. “First of all, I want to formally acknowledge that I have taken Marco’s place and want to assure you that any business deals he had with you won’t change. I called you here because I think we can help each other and it will be very profitable for all of us.”
Mentioning profit changed the atmosphere to a less hostile environment. I outlined my plan to increase the amount of heroin we imported for all of the gangs to distribute in their territories and that they would retain twenty percent of the profits. I knew this was more than any cut they were currently getting. It was a high percentage, but it would guarantee we’d corner the market because their territories combined spanned the Northeast, North Philly, Kensington, Chinatown, West Philly and South Philly.
After I finished laying the terms out, people went to their respective corners to discuss, but I knew I had them. When I mentioned the profit share, every single one of the leaders stood a little straighter and the gleam that only the prospect of making money can create, surfaced in their eyes. I wasn’t presenting this opportunity for financial gain. Sure, we’d lock down the market, but if all factions agreed, it would create a level playing field and ultimately cut down on the violence. If I was able to do that, it might convince Natalie to come back and stay. It would also create a safer environment for future Grabanos. I looked over at Miranda and she caught me staring at her belly, which was still flat.
“Let me guess, Grant told you?” Miranda asked, leaning in close so Dante couldn’t hear.
“Yeah, don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone.”
She visibly relaxed after that assurance. “Thanks. It’s too soon to say anything and I can’t believe Grant did.”
“Don’t be pissed at him. I needed to know why tried to sideline you. I’m glad you’re here. You did good.”
“So did you. I think they’re going to bite.”
“Me too.” I was glad when the conversation veered back to something I was comfortable talking about.
Moments later there was movement. Egan and his boys came forward, he shook my hand. “We’re in. Don’t fuck us over.” He squeezed my hand in an attempt to intimidate and I looked down at his battered knuckles. They were swollen and fresh scabs blanketed old scars. I was easily three inches taller and had thirty pounds on him so I didn’t even flinch.
“Good. You’ll get your product in two days.” We made arrangements for one of my men to meet one of his.
Next, Demetrius came over and agreed to the terms. Up close it was easy to differentiate the pock marks from cigarette burns. I didn’t know a lot about Demetrius’ history, but heard his dad was a mean motherfucker, which made Demetrius just as mean, if not meaner. His gray eyes, the color of the Atlantic Ocean after a storm, stood out against his dark skin and locked on mine when we shook hands. “Your uncle’s ways were ancient and he was a racist prick, but you seem a’ight.”
The others followed, all agreeing to the new arrangement. Ji was more than happy with the new terms since Uncle Marco had him keeping only ten percent of the cut. Chan smiled when he shook my hand. “Sorry about Christmas Eve, I heard your little sister was there. It was just a warning.” Chan and Ji didn’t have accents like how most Asian thugs in the movies are depicted; they were third or fourth generation Americans.
“I know. Marco gave you the shaft. It’s business,” I shrugged my shoulders.
Any of the previous tension that filled the room was gone. Even Ji and Chan were talking civilly and I looked over at Grant. He had his arm around Miranda’s waist, clearly staking his claim. Dante walked over to me, clapping me on my back. “It fucking worked, man.”
“Yeah, but it seems too easy.” That was the crux of it. Everything had been going too smoothly. We made my dad and Uncle Al move Marco’s body from The Speak and dump it by the airport. They did this without protest. Of course we had guns trained on them the entire time. It had been weeks since the leadership change and no one had tried anything. I’d expected some blowback and the calm was unsettling. A part of me hoped everything remained calm because I wanted to make a surprise trip to California to visit Natalie, but couldn’t if there were problems and making an arrangement like this was unprecedented. I anticipated some of the smaller gangs, like the Polish Mafia in Port Richmond, and some of the MCs and Latino gangs might cause some trouble or want in. Those negotiations would come later. Only the bigger players mattered at this point and here we all were, chatting away like friends. It was too easy.
***
Egan and his crew started to leave. His V.P. opened the door first and the squeak of rusty hinges was followed by a deafening boom. The man fell backwards into the room, holding his midsection and screaming. Blood saturated his shirt and started collecting beneath his writhing body, mixing with the dirt on the floor. His legs were in the doorway, preventing the door from closing and more bullets came at us through the opening. We all scattered, diving to the floor to avoid being hit. Egan crawled over and pulled his friend out of the way, kicking the door shut. Bullets hit the metal, but didn’t penetrate. This reprieve gave us time to regroup and start yelling accusations at each other.
“Is this a fucking trap, Grabano?” Egan yelled. His hands were covered in blood as he put pressure on his friend’s wound. The guy had stopped moving and had grown quiet. Judging by the gray pallor of his skin, I knew he was going to be dead soon, if he wasn’t already.
“No it’s not a trap.” I ran up to one of the windows and peered through the dirt. Big Tone and Little Tone were in the parking lot, flanked by Telly’s brother, Salvatore, and Ronnie, one of Marco’s loyalists. Big Tone raised his shotgun and fired, shattering the glass, missing my head by inches. I dropped down to a crouch and frog walked over to Grant and Dante who were shielding Miranda. When I told them who was firing on us, Miranda let out a slew of expletives. The shooting stopped and minutes of silence ticked by. I crawled back over to the window and quickly popped my head up. They were gone, but I heard sirens in the distance heading our way.
“Those were some of Marco’s men shooting at us just now. It’s an internal problem that will end tonight. It won’t affect our agreement,” I said to the other leaders. Egan grunted and looked down at his man who had indeed died. Grant and I helped carry the corpse out to Egan’s Camaro. He popped the trunk and we laid his friend inside on top of an old army green blanket that was riddled with holes and rust colored stains. “I’m sorry, man. If you want a shot at Big Tone, you got it.”
“Yeah, I do.” Egan cracked his knuckles. “Call me when you have him.”
We all left before the cops arrived. Miranda climbed into the backseat behind Grant to ride with us. “So, sounds like we have some issues to resolve,” she said.
“Yeah and I know who we need to talk to.” I turned onto Broad Street and started heading towards South Philly.
Salvatore tried to run, but he didn’t have anywhere to go. Grant kicked in the front door to Sal’s apartment and we followed him inside. Salvatore ran from the living room down the hall towards the bathroom and I followed. He tried to close the bathroom door on my face, but I slammed it open with my shoulder. Sal turned, backing up until his calves brushed against the edge of the bathtub. A clear plastic shower curtain decorated with brightly colored tropical fish rippled behind him.
“Dom, I’m sorry! It was Big Tone’s idea. We didn’t mean to shoot nobody. We was only sending a message.” Sal held his hand out towards me as he pleaded for forgiveness. I didn’t enjoy killing, but knew this had to be done.
“Oh yeah, well I have a message too.” Raising my gun, I put a bullet in his forehead. Blood and brains exploded onto the shower curtain before he slumped backwards and slid into the tub, taking the curtain with him. Part of it folded over Sal like a blanket. I turned to leave only to find Grant and Miranda crowding the doorway. Miranda was looking everywhere except the dead body in the bathtub and seemed particularly interested in the green hand towel hanging from
a brass ring next to the sink.
“You good?” Grant asked.
“Yeah, that’s one down.” The prospect of hunting down Maurice, Little Tone and Big Tone just made me feel bone tired, but I knew it needed to be done. Leaving the carnage behind, I followed Grant and Miranda out of the apartment. We passed a few people on the street, but they knew well enough to keep their heads down and eyes averted.
We spent the rest of the day looking for the other three loyalists. Maurice was easy to find holed up in the corner bar at the end of his block. He was well on his way to blackout drunk when Grant yanked him off the bar stool by his neck and dragged him into the alley behind the bar. No one interfered and right before the back door slammed shut behind us, I saw the bartender clear away Maurice’s glass; even he knew the chances of Maurice coming back to finish his drink were nonexistent.
Big Tone and Little Tone were nowhere to be found. Grant and I searched until after two in the morning before calling it a night. There was one person who I thought would have a lead on their whereabouts and we were going to pay him a visit.
Chapter 32
A new casino was being built on the riverfront and while this might put a hurting on our gambling business, Grabano and Sons Construction got the bid for the project and it only cost a few thousand in bribes. My dad was outside the job trailer talking to a foreman when we arrived. He had a scuffed up hard hat on, steel toe boots, jeans and a denim shirt rolled up at the sleeves. He was looking every bit the construction man my grandfather groomed him to be. He was bent over an iPad and in deep discussion with one of the crew when we approached. He looked up in surprise when he saw us and quickly ended his conversation.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, but his voice was swallowed up by the excavator running in the background. He gestured for us to follow him into the job trailer, which rocked slightly when we stepped inside off of the small metal steps. It was moderately quieter and less dusty in the cramped quarters, which smelled of burnt coffee and stale cigarette smoke. My dad sat behind a metal desk covered with blueprints, a stack of invoices and a few Styrofoam cups half full of old coffee.
“How’s it going Dad?”
“Good. You know, I’m kinda glad things turned out the way they did. This is a big job and it needs my oversight. How are you doin’, son?”
“Aside from just getting shot at by Little Tone and Big Tone, who killed K&A’s second? Things are great.” I filled my dad in on who else was involved with the shooting and the arrangement we had secured for the heroin trade. He took his hard hat off and scratched his head, leaving his salt and pepper hair in disarray.
“I’m not surprised about Big Tone and those guys. They’re definitely loyalists to Marco and I heard they were trying to stir up shit. They didn’t screw up the deal, did they?”
“No, but I need to clean house and fast. Maurice and Sal have already been taken care of, but Big Tone and Little Tone are M.I.A.”
“What do you want from me?”
“I know they’re lying low. Do you know where?”
He leaned back in the office chair and rocked back and forth while he thought about it. He stopped rocking and leaned forward, placing his arms on top of the blueprints spread out on the desk in front of him. “Tell ya what…I’ll make some inquiries and see what I can do. There are still a few who think I’m a loyalist too, but honestly, you’re doing a helluva a better job than my brother did. Give me a day and I’ll find out where they are.”
“Thanks Dad.” He stood and I shook his hand before we filed out of the cramped trailer.
It took him less than twenty-four hours to track them down.
***
Big Tone and Little Tone were hiding out in Pennsauken, just over the bridge in New Jersey. One of Little Tone’s girlfriends had a small split level home in an older neighborhood located right off of Route 38 and they thought it was a good idea to lay low there. They weren’t hiding enough since it only took my dad three phone calls to locate them and get an address.
Egan and I sat in my Mustang down the street from the house. Grant and Dante were parked behind us in Grant’s Lexus. It was almost dusk and people were getting home from work. Streetlights flickered on as we sat there. Gray and crusty snow banks clung to edges of most driveways. A pizza delivery guy drove past us and stopped in front of Little Tone’s girlfriend’s house. He got out with two pizza boxes and walked up the front steps to ring the doorbell. We waited.
Moments later Little Tone answered the door. After a heated exchange, the pizza deliveryman ran down the stairs, practically dropping the pizzas as he scrambled to get in his car. Calling in a false order was one of the oldest tricks, but still effective. As soon as the delivery guy pulled away from the curb, we got out and walked down the sidewalk.
Egan rang the doorbell and stood out front in case Little Tone checked first before opening the door. Fortunately for us, the dumbass didn’t. He yanked the door open and looked like he was getting ready to tell the delivery guy to fuck off, but the words caught in his throat when he saw us. In a delayed reaction, he tried the shut the door, but Egan rushed it and flung it so hard, the doorknob became lodged in the plaster wall behind it and got stuck.
“Tony!” Little Tone cried out before Egan’s fist practically broke his face. Bone crunched beneath scabbed knuckles and Little Tone fell backwards down the stairs that led to the bottom floor. Grant and Dante followed and were on him before he had a chance to regain his footing. A shadow moved along a wall on the second floor so I ran up the steps, taking them two at a time and spotted Big Tone disappearing into a room at the end of a hallway. Egan was behind me as I approached the room with my gun drawn. I didn’t hesitate and kicked the door in. Big Tone was trying to squeeze his fat ass out a narrow window; a sweatpant clad giant wiggling in the frame. We ran over and hauled him back into the room. Egan nailed him with enough punches to subdue Big Tone and we dragged him down the hallway and down the stairs to the bottom floor. We found Grant and Dante in the home office where they were in the process of duct taping Little Tone a chair. I was pleased to see his mouth was already taped shut. His face took on an unusual shade of red and his broken nose made a wet whistling sound as he attempted to draw in air.
Egan forced Big Tone into the other plain wooden chair. Dante handed him the roll of duct tape and I held a struggling Big Tone in place so Egan could strap him in. He started with the mouth before moving onto the feet, taking the sneakers off before taping Big Tone’s ankles to the front legs of the chair.
We had just finished wrapping his wrists together, so his arms were stuck behind him, when a door slammed upstairs. “Be quiet,” I whispered and crept closer to the hallway.
“Tony, I’m back and I got your fucking KFC,” a woman yelled in a voice so nasally and high pitched that it could shatter glass and make babies cry.
“Jesus Christ, how can you listen to that?” I asked Little Tone. He mumbled something and shrugged his shoulders. Dante snorted and shook his head. “We can’t do this shit here, can you get them ready to transport?” I asked Grant.
“Yeah, go run interference. This will take a few minutes.”
“Tony? Where ya at?” the woman called again and a dog in the neighborhood started to howl. I didn’t think it was coincidence. Heels echoed on the hardwood floor upstairs as Little Tone’s girlfriend started to search the house.
“This is the last time I’m nice and go get you fried chicken!” This declaration resonated off the walls, followed by the smell of greasy food. I heard her descend the stairs so I stepped into the hall, closing the office door behind me. Little Tone’s girlfriend came to a sudden stop when she reached the bottom floor and saw me. She wasn’t bad looking with doll-like features and petite curves, which I noticed once I got past her hair, a style last seen in an eighties metal band music video.
“Who are you?” she asked and I didn’t miss the way her eyes slowly raked my body so I decided to use this to my advantage.
&n
bsp; I casually leaned against the wall and slipped my hands in my pockets. “I’m here to talk to Big Tone and Little Tone. And you are?” I asked letting my gaze roll over her body and she straightened up, sticking her chest out for further examination.
“I’m Ronnie, but you can call me Veronica.” She twisted a crispy curl of brown hair around her finger.
“Veronica, did you know Little Tone and Big Tone have been bad boys?” I smiled enough to display my dimples, which according to Natalie, would make any girl drop her panties.
“Really? How bad?” She threw a pout in with the hair twirling.
“Bad enough to be punished, but I don’t think you want that to happen here in your house, do you?”
She shook her head and then gasped. Her eyes grew wide and she released her hair. “Those fuckers! I knew they had done something the way they were acting all cagey and shit. They brought trouble here, to my house, didn’t they?”
“Afraid so, Veronica.” I moved closer and caressed her cheek. She leaned into my hand and briefly closed her eyes before stepping away from me and crossing her arms over her chest.
“What are you going to do to me?”
“Nothing, as long as you keep quiet. We’ll take the boys out of here and mete out their punishment elsewhere. I have a feeling you don’t want blood everywhere.”
“That’s it?” she asked.
“Yes and you never saw me.”
“You never told me your name.”
“You’re better off not knowing. Do you have a cell phone?” I asked, switching gears on her. It took her a second to catch on since she was distracted by the grunting coming from behind the closed door, but she finally nodded.
“Yeah, it’s upstairs in my bag. Do you need to make a call?”
“I’m just going to hold onto it until we’re out of here.”
She turned to go upstairs and I followed close behind to make sure she didn’t do anything stupid like run out the front door screaming. Veronica handed me her cell and I slipped it in my back pocket. I gestured for her to take a seat at the dining room table that was in need of refinishing. A bag from KFC was on the kitchen counter so I brought it in to her.
Clean Slate (New Mafia Trilogy #2) Page 23
