by B Heon
The tapping of custom made shoes on imported Italian marble, the dark damp halls that expanse the arena that is the Italian Club in Ybor make for a horror movie back drop. The 3 story white and red brick building in the middle of Ybor has graced some of the most prestigious Italian-American business men and women. It has also long been known to be a playground for the Syndicate. In one of the ball rooms, a group of men sit at a round dinner table with bottles half full with matching glasses in hand. The room was empty safe for this one table of guests. Sharply dressed in tailored made suits, with hand painted silk ties with matching pocket squares, who spoke did in educated well thought out precision. Only one man spoke at this table, the rest sat and nodded with approval every chance they got.
"I know there may be some differences of opinions at this table, and I understand that. My father, he was a fair man. "
A small sip of water breaks his stride before he continues.
"He always made time for all of you. I know how much my father trusted each of you here today. That will not go for nothing, I promise you that."
He scans the facial expressions of his fellow compatriots.
"I hope we can continue with business at hand without any bumps in the road. Nothing will change in the way my father ran things now that he's put me in charge. I still have him to council me if I need it. First things first"
He turns and yells toward the back of the room. Out of the shadows comes Reyes, two men dressed for a funeral in black off the rack suits handle him by the arms and force him to a seat at the table. The man stands and looks directly at Reyes, his stare burning into Rolando's soul, as he perches his lips together in anger, he addresses his guest.
"Rolando Reyes, do you know who we are?"
He shakes his head in recollection but his mouth doesn’t move. The man continues.
"Do you speak without manners to your friends Mr. Reyes? Do you disrespect your friends behind their backs Mr. Reyes?"
He could have been ordering a sandwich; his overtly calm demeanor would actually put a fearsome twinge in your back if he actually wasn’t.
"Do you want to be mine friend Mr. Reyes?"
Rolando just sat there nodding, trying to give the man all the answers he figured the man would want.
"Do you pay your debts Mr. Reyes? Of course you do. Cowboy Labruzzo says you’re a man’s man. A stand up guy. A fellow warrior. Let’s talk your friend Mr.McKall"
April 18, 1955. Charlie's one and a half story house sits up on a small embankment with a 3 foot black iron fence separated by a few concrete pillars. Charlie lived at this residence for over 30 years, and two marriages. Religiously he kept the house locked up tight whether he was home or not. His wife, who had left for the weekend with her sister to Connecticut, was the only other resident of the property.
Charlie had spent his night as he did any other. Drinking at The Dream and going home only when the bar closed. Charlie had to be driven home by the bartender; Rolando had been reluctant to return Charlie’s calls for a ride. Unusual for Rolando Reyes, but Charlie, like usual was incoherently intoxicated to be aware of the coup. Had he been younger, had Charlie been at the top of his game, maybe he would have seen the snake in the grass.
Around 2am, Charlie was home alone, in the kitchen of his home cooking himself bacon and eggs. He was in his night attire of a silk robe and matching silk pants with dually colored slippers. Turning the stove off, a loud thud could be heard behind him. He pulled his Colt from the counter top and walked to the front door. As he opened the door he shoved the gun into the face of his late night intruder. Rolando Reyes stood visibly shaking and pleading not to be shot in the face. After realizing it was his long time driver, body guard and generally most trusted confidant Charlie lowered the gun, turned around and waved Rolando in.
Charlie didn’t feel the first. It thrust him to the ground with force he couldn’t control. The second cut through the air like a whiffle ball bat, but struck with the force of a horse kick. Charlie rolled to his side to face his attackers, only to catch the wood come into focus just as it struck his face. He didn’t feel the next few blows.
Brought to his knees and held up, Charlie was face to face with Rolando Reyes. Charlie, faced unrecognizable, one eye a quarter the way open and blood red, stared deadpan at Reyes, unable to move his mouth. Reyes leaned in close to Charlie’s ear.
"You did this to yourself Charlie; you had to talk about the old man"
One of the men bracing Charlie up grabbed him by the chin from behind. He lifted his face up to look him in the eye as he slid a stiletto from his back pocket.
The man leaned in and whispered "You cock sucker, you, You mother fucker"
He then punctured Charlie’s face just under the left ear, and as he slid the blade down his neck, the dull blade caught the cartilage in Charlie’s throat. The man dragged and pulled at the blade, thrusting in and out, sawing the throat like a tree. Charlie was still alive; lying on the floor air gasping threw the hole in his tracheal valve. The man laid Charlie on his back and with a foot on Charlie’s shoulder pinning him down began sawing at Charlie’s throat. Reyes becoming horrified with the act this man was administered to the feat he had, jump in with an ax handle and struck Charlie in the head repeatedly until Charlie was dead. With each stroke of the ax handle, a spray of thick dark liquid followed. The scene a gruesome mess. Rolando stood over Charlie’s lifeless body panting. Breathless, physically and emotionally drained Rolando Reyes stepped over Charlie McKall and walked right out the front door, leaving the other men behind.
Charlie was dead. His brutal murder made headlines nationwide and his murder remains unsolved.
The body of Rolando Reyes was found stuffed in an oil drum 50 miles off the coast of Miami 6 months later.
