Mafioso [Part 1]

by Nisa Santiago

  Layla knew something was wrong. She felt it in the pit of her stomach. The last time she heard from her son was late in the morning. After sleeping most of the day and spending another two hours talking on her phone, she had no idea how long he’d been gone. Why didn’t I check on him sooner? Layla cursed herself.

  She did what Clyde suggested and called his two friends, but neither boy picked up the phone.

  Bonnie lounged in the house like she gave no fuck that her brother was missing. It made Layla upset, and she cursed Bonnie out. She moved around in a panic. She tried not to break down in tears. She had to remain strong, believing Gotti would return home soon. He was stubborn. He wanted to have his way, and he wanted to scare his mother. It was working.

  “I gotta call Scott,” Layla said.

  “You need to call the police,” Bonnie suggested, now worried about Gotti.

  Layla and Scott were raised to never involve cops. If there was an issue, then they learned to handle it on their own. She was born a gangster. But this was her son missing—her baby boy, her youngest—and that street code of ethics went out the door. Layla had to do what she needed to do. Scott was in New York, and she felt lost. She called 911 and reported her son missing.

  Hours went by and still no Gotti.

  Clyde came home, anxious about his missing baby brother.

  Layla’s panic turned into full-blown fear. She couldn’t help but fear the worst. She needed to call Scott and tell him the bad news.

  When Scott answered his phone, she said in one breath, “Gotti’s missing. You need to bring your ass to Florida now. You need to find him!” Her voice trembled with distress and worry.

  Scott couldn’t believe what he was hearing. There was no way his son was missing. “I’m on my way there,” he said.

  Moments after she hung up, there was firm knocking on the front door. Gotti had his own key, but wishful thinking made her believe he’d lost it.

  Layla approached the door with butterflies in her stomach. She felt an uneasy feeling swoop through her. When she opened the door and saw two uniformed cops standing right in front of her, she knew it was bad news. Before they could open their mouths, Layla broke down in tears.

  “Mrs. West?” one cop asked.

  “Please . . . no. Please, don’t tell me—” Layla felt her knees weakening. She had to hold onto the doorframe for support.

  Bonnie and Clyde stood right behind her. They too could feel the tension.

  “Ma’am, we’re sorry to inform you, but your son was the victim of a hit-and-run. He didn’t make it.”

  Layla collapsed in anguish and released a bone-chilling scream that seemed to echo forever, her face swallowed by tears and torture. Her body gave out on her, and she was on the floor, feeling stuck there.

  The two officers gave their condolences, but there was nothing they could say or do to alleviate her pain.

  Bonnie and Clyde were crying too. Clyde had to console his mother. Bonnie couldn’t believe it. Suddenly, their perfect life wasn’t perfect.

  Gotti had been found that afternoon several miles from the house, dead and alone with no ID. It was through the missing person’s report that they’d found Layla to notify her of her son’s death.

  21

  1995

  Maxine’s time on Rikers Island made her feel like Alice in Wonderland, going deeper and deeper down the rabbit hole. But this land was treacherous and a lot scarier. She had no friends, and although her crime was murder, she had no fearsome reputation to fall back on. She felt like a sheep in the wolves’ den. She tried not to cry, but it was hard to hold back the tears. She’d received twenty-five years. She couldn’t comprehend doing that many years in prison. She knew she would not make it.

  Maxine’s first eight months in Rikers were rough. She had a high-profile case, so it was no secret she was in there for murdering a pregnant woman. The inmates called her a “baby killer.” It made her feel a lot worse.

  Because she was pretty, some girls took a liking to her. She had a few confrontations and skirmishes inside Rikers Island, but nothing where she was scarred for life or beaten so badly she needed medical attention. Maxine was adjusting to her new life of confinement, but every day was a battle. Every day she lost a piece of who she was. Her dream of being a law school student was forever gone.

  She befriended a girl inside named Key. Key was from the Bronx, and she had a baby face, but a sketchy reputation. She was connected to some hardcore and dangerous people. When Key found out Maxine was once a law student, she asked for help with her case. Skeptical of everyone inside the jail, Maxine didn’t want to help her out at first, but over time, they talked and got to know each other. Bit by bit, Maxine helped Key out with her case.

  Key was caught with a few eight balls of cocaine during a search of her vehicle during a routine traffic stop. Maxine felt that with her lawyer’s help, they might shave some years off her sentence because of a technicality Maxine came across. Key appreciated the advice and the time. Hanging out with Key gave Maxine some leeway with the other inmates, and they gave her the nickname “Bookworm” in Rikers.

  For the first seven to eight months, Scottie came to visit Maxine on Rikers Island. She was soon to be transferred to Bedford Hills Correctional Facility for Women in upstate New York. For the time being, Maxine was grateful that Scottie was visiting her. It meant he still loved her. He still cared. But then, as the date of her transfer upstate neared, she noticed his distance.

  A week before her transfer, Maxine entered the visiting room in her gray jumpsuit and her long hair in a plain ponytail. Her face was always sad. Although she had been on Rikers Island for months, she could never get used to the place.

  Scottie sat at a table, chilling. Maxine went to him, but he didn’t get up to give her a hug or kiss. He just sat there, looking nonchalant. His aloof demeanor bothered Maxine, but she didn’t make a big deal about it.

  She sat opposite of him and said, “It’s good to see you, Scottie.” She smiled, but he didn’t smile back.

  “How you holding up?”

  “I’m still trying, Scottie. I hate this place. They’re transferring me upstate next week. I’m so scared.”

  “Just chill, Maxine. You’ll be okay.”

  A combination of anger, sadness, and fear bubbled inside her. “I believed you, Scottie. You said I would be okay, but look at me now. Look at where I’m at. I swear, I should have just given them Layla, and I wouldn’t be in this mess.”

  “You need to stop with this fairytale in your head, Maxine. If you had given up Layla, then what? You think the cops would have given you a get-out-of-jail-free card? You thinkin’ delusional.”

  “It would have been a start to something.”

  “Sandy’s purse was stolen, Maxine. Did you forget? You were there, and if you gave up Layla, then you would have been charged with felony murder instead of intentional homicide. The jury looked at you as you having the motive to go after Sandy, not Layla. You let Layla influence you, Maxine. You should have just stayed your ass home and waited for me to come and handle the situation. I would have handled Sandy.”

  Maxine shook her head from side to side in disbelief.

  “I gave you everything, Maxine—a car, jewelry, clothes, and an engagement ring—and you had to fuck it up. You wanted to be this ghetto bitch and go to the projects and start some shit wit’ Sandy. If I wanted a ghetto bitch, then I would have wifed Sandy, not you. You were my good girl, the one in school doing her thing, making something happen for herself. You let me down, Maxine. Did you let Layla influence you? Did you let that bitch get in your head?”

  Maxine was stunned. After his speech, she wanted to leave. Things had gotten dry between them. They didn’t hold hands across the table, and he could barely look at her, like he was hiding something. Or maybe he was ashamed of her.

  Their visit ended with the
CO’s announcement, and Maxine was escorted back into lockup with several other inmates. She didn’t want to look back at Scottie, but she did. He sat there for a moment, not even looking her way. As she was leaving the visiting room, she couldn’t shake the feeling that this would be his last visit.

  Maxine went back to her small cell feeling something was wrong, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. She felt sick. She dropped to her knees and floated her face over the toilet. She threw up chunks and did a few dry heaves afterward.

  She started crying again. Maybe Scottie was right. Had she given Layla up, her best friend would be doing jail time too. Plus, to be labeled a snitch in prison wouldn’t have done her any good. And what good would it have done for them both to be incarcerated? Layla probably could help her out more by being free.

  Her mind went back to meekness and vulnerability again. She also felt terrible for Scottie. He’d paid so much money for her attorney. He had big plans for her to become a lawyer, so he could brag to his friends that his girl was going to be the best defense attorney in the city. Now, look at her—a convict!

  22

  Meyer sat back on the bed relaxing as the cute girl with slim curves and full lips worked his hard flesh. Her lips moved up and down nice and slow, putting him into absolute bliss. His dick made her mouth stretch wide like a rubber band. He took a fistful of her long hair, grasped the back of the head, and made her deep-throat him. She didn’t gag with eight inches disappearing down her throat.

  Meyer closed his eyes and groaned, “Oh shit, ma! Keep doing that shit. I love it.”

  The young whore smiled and continued working her lips against his swollen member.

  He was making the best of Delaware by finding pretty young girls to have his way with. It was something to do while the organization steadily progressed. He and Bugsy were making moves in Wilmington. They had enough muscle to build a wall around them and to wipe out any competition in the city. But things had to be subtle—no public bloodshed, no unnecessary violence unless it couldn’t be avoided. They had to make bodies disappear out of town to make it look like a rival crew had killed a DMC member. Delaware couldn’t be turned into a war zone.

  Meyer hated the sneaking around in the dark. They were bigger than that. They were a powerful organization with millions of dollars and over a thousand soldiers spread across the country. His father’s team was a force to be reckoned with. So why play careful with a bunch of nobodies? The solution was easy—put out a contract on Deuce. Take off the head, and watch the body fall. But there was one problem. Not too many people knew what Deuce looked like. He was smart enough to stay under the radar. Meyer felt that Delaware shouldn’t be complicated to usurp. But it was.

  Meyer felt the girl’s sweet lips about to make him come. She did everything right. His worries had been substituted with pleasure. There was nothing like a good blowjob to keep the mind distracted. Still, his .45 pistol was within reach. He always kept his gun close.

  Sudden knocking on the door made Meyer snapback to reality. He reached for his pistol. He made the girl pause her oral action and removed himself from the bed naked, the gun at his side.

  “Meyer, open the door,” he heard Bugsy say.

  “Nigga, I’m busy.”

  “Yo, open the door. We need to talk. It’s urgent. Pops called with some bad news,” Bugsy said.

  Meyer threw on a pair of jeans and unlocked the door. Bugsy stood there with his eyes watery. Luna stood behind him expressionless. Something was wrong.

  “What is it?” Meyer asked. Bugsy’s eyes never watered.

  Bugsy stepped into the room and saw the naked girl on the bed. “She needs to leave.”

  Meyer didn’t give it a second thought. He pointed his pistol at the girl and said, “Bitch, you heard what my brother said. Leave!”

  She was taken aback by the sudden hostility. She jumped from the bed, grabbed her things, and ran out the room.

  With her finally gone, Bugsy stared sadly at his brother and said, “It’s news from Florida. Gotti’s dead.”

  “What? What the fuck you talking about? Our little brother is dead? How the fuck—how?” Meyer’s eyes watered now too. He could feel grief whirling inside of him. It had to be a mistake. Gotti was only nine.

  “It was a hit-and-run,” Bugsy said.

  “A hit-and-run?”

  “We need to go to Florida.”

  Meyer sat at the foot of his bed in sadness. It’d been a year since he’d last seen his little brother and his mother.

  They say thugs don’t cry, but Meyer and Bugsy both became emotional.

  Bugsy sat next to his brother and said, “We gonna find the driver, and he’s gonna pay for what he did to our little brother.”

  “I want him,” Meyer said.

  ***

  Gotti’s funeral was fit for a king. It was a sunny day, and hordes of mourners gathered in the Queens cemetery to pay their respects to Scott West’s youngest son. The gravesite was flooded with flowers, wreaths, and pictures of the smiling, handsome boy. Gotti’s body was transported from the church to the cemetery in a white horse-driven carriage, and during the committal, over two dozen white doves were released into the air. It was a marvel to see the birds dance around the sky together, representing the soul’s final journey. They looked like angels in the air.

  Layla stood by her son’s burial site in a black Valentino dress and large shades covering her sad, misty eyes. Scott stood next to her in solemn silence, looking healthy and handsome in his black Armani suit. He was in great pain, though it wasn’t palpable.

  Meyer, Bugsy, and the other children stood near their parents, all sharply dressed and each holding a white rose. They stared at the coffin, still in shock and overcome with sadness. Bugsy did his best to console a teary-eyed Lucky.

  Meyer frowned, his anger growing more and more. Someone had to pay for their loss. Gotti was a mere child. He wasn’t supposed to die. Gotti was supposed to be protected.

  “For dust thou art, and unto dust thou shalt return.” The preacher stood over the casket, Bible in hand, dressed in a long, black-and-white clergy robe with an embroidered cross.

  The final words in reference to her baby boy sent Layla wailing in uncontrollable grief. “No! No! No! Please, God, bring him back to me. No!!” She wanted to wrap her arms around the casket and be entombed with Gotti. She dropped to her knees, her eyes saturated with tears. The pain was unbearable.

  Scott stood still like a statue, his eyes fixed on the casket. One of his henchmen had to console his wife and lift her to her feet.

  The siblings walked closer and each tossed their white rose on top of the casket.

  Meyer had seen enough. Once he threw his rose and said his goodbye, he distanced himself from the ceremony, which was cluttered with gangsters, crime bosses, his father’s business associates, and even a politician or two. He wanted to be alone. He smoked a cigarette in the distance.

  ***

  While Meyer smoked in solitude, Scott was holding an impromptu conference with a few trusted lieutenants nearby. He was flanked by Whistler. “I want this muthafucka found,” Scott snarled. “This is my son in the ground . . . my fuckin’ boy!”

  “I got peoples on it already,” Whistler said.

  “What do we know about the car?”

  “Local police found a torched car on the same day. They believe it’s connected to the crime,” Whistler said.

  “I need to know if this was deliberate or some scared fool trying to cover their tracks. I just want this murderer in my grasp by week’s end,” Scott said.

  “We’ll get our hands on any surveillance footage in the area, and we’ll find a face,” one of his lieutenants said.

  “I want more than a face, I want a name,” Scott said.

  The man nodded.

  Scott was in heavy mourning, but he composed himself. Who
would have the audacity to go after his son? It was imperative he found the driver and questioned him before his demise. Was it a lone act, or was someone coming after his family? In his line of business, one never knew. He had to be sure, since he had enemies. Scott wanted to kill the man himself with his bare hands.

  He turned to Whistler. “Make arrangements for my trip to Florida. I want the entire police report on my son’s death. I don’t want anything left out. And I want to meet the detectives handling the case. It’s been a while since we’ve been down there thick. We need to make our presence known.”

  Whistler nodded.

  Scott dismissed his lieutenants and went to rejoin his family. His son was already laid to rest, and his gold casket was ready to be entombed in the mausoleum. He only looked at Layla, having no words for his wife right now. His deadpan demeanor continued.

  Meyer noticed his father’s quick meeting with his lieutenants from where he stood, and it bothered him he wasn’t involved. He had an idea what they were discussing. He wanted to avenge his little brother’s death too. He had done everything his father had told him to do from jump, so there was no way he would miss an opportunity to exact revenge for his family’s grief. He would put Delaware on hold and go down to Florida to comfort his family and handle the situation himself. He would argue against his father if needed. Though he was a hardcore gangster, Meyer had much love for his family. And if you fucked with them, then you fucked with him.

  Meyer flicked away his cigarette and exited the cemetery. His mind was too dark with things, and he needed to leave. Being back in New York, he knew the right place to go to for a drink and some pussy. His strip club in the Bronx.

  23

  At the strip club, Meyer threw back a few shots of hard liquor and reconnected with a few friends and females. It felt like old times, though he hadn’t been away that long. Delaware was a much different environment than New York. It was a business there, but there was no place like home.

  The news of his little brother had spread fast. Some folks were ready to earn some cool points with Meyer and his family, promising him they would keep their ear to the streets, and if they heard anything he would be the first to know. Although the tragedy happened in Florida, they believed someone would be talking about it somewhere.