Atavus

by S. W. Frank

  He had to think about his family. The pressure had nearly backed him to the wall.

  Luzo’s blood money sat in secured banks all over the world. He didn’t want to rely on his dad, not even in death did he want to admit that he might need his dad’s help.

  Alfonzo frowned. The situation with Emilio could be nothing. However, in light of all the uncertainties, he could sleep easier once assured Emilio’s disappearance was unrelated to the mafia drama.

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

  Chapter Six

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

  Nicole heard Giuseppe’s rude shouting. She swiveled on the polished piano bench. Giuseppe had entered the auditorium, striding past aisles of plush velvet seats toward the stage, where she and Harold stood, their discussion cut short by his entry.

  He hadn’t reached the last row before his vocal chords released a bass that boomed acoustically. “Is that Harold, bella?”

  Harold’s eyebrow rose in examination of the approaching Sicilian. The attire the strapping native wore was very expensive, but the price did not overshadow the rugged handsomeness of the wearer’s impressive physique. Nicole had informed him of her recent marriage; however, she hadn’t revealed the identity of the groom. The ruling mafia families in Italy are well known. The fashionable ones are celebrities. Giuseppe Dichenzo resided in the top tier. The Dichenzo family stayed low-key but the latest assassination attempt put them in the spotlight again. How lucky for Nicole.

  “Yes, I am Harold,” he said, determined to stand his ground.

  Giuseppe sized up the person. He had an elbow on the side of the piano, confident and suave. He wore his hair coiffed in a stylish variation on the pompadour. Harold’s of the world, prep and primps in mirrors, go to salons and speak with superior airs until smacked to inferior status.

  Giuseppe stepped up without using the stair to join them on stage. He dwarfed Harold in height and girth. Is it fair to put a beef jerky alongside a sausage? That is what Nicole asked herself, silently hoping Giuseppe chilled.

  “We do not need your managerial services any further, grazie,” Giuseppe said without thought of his wife.

  Harold glanced at his client. “Nicole we have a contract, is this true?”

  “I am speaking, address me!” Giuseppe bellowed.

  The quiet men in Giuseppe’s entourage were shadows inching closer to the stage with severe expressions.

  Harold found himself in a quandary, Nicole was his highest income-producing client and to lose her without a verbal attempt to keep her was cowardice at best.

  “Then, I say to you with all due respect Signore –“

  “Don Dichenzo, Harold is how you will address me, capisce?”

  Harold cleared his throat. The egotistical bully was not the sort of person he ever imagined Nicole would find spousal material. “Don Dichenzo, marriage does not sever a business contract. Nicole’s lawyer reviewed the terms and she entered the agreement fully informed of the consequences if it is unjustly breached.”

  “Consequences?” Giuseppe took a step closer to Harold who immediately went erect.

  “Yes. I can sue her and she will be unable to perform anywhere until the courts settle the matter.  That may take years, you understand?”

  Nicole exhaled; she couldn’t believe Giuseppe was showing his ass. See, people stereotype black people but Giuseppe was a perfect example that anybody can act the damn fool. She noticed his fingers twitch.

  Oh my goodness, please don’t let this fool hit Harold!

  “Giuseppe, can I talk to you in private for a minute?” she said in sweetness rather than a sour tone.

  Giuseppe looked around the unoccupied auditorium over the heads of his bodyguards. “This is as private as a cemetery, bella.”

  “Harold, I apologize for my husband’s outburst,” she quickly said to decrease the rising tension within her husband. She hoped Giuseppe took the hint and piped his big ass down.

  He didn’t. Actually, his anger escalated. The tempestuous Giuseppe that lurked on the edge of impatience flared. “Never apologize to anyone on my behalf or speak in my defense donna, capisce?”

  “Wait a minute! I do not care if you are her husband, you cannot speak to her that way!” Harold exclaimed with the bravado of a champion.

  Nicole’s eyes widened, damn Harold, I had this, she thought but it was too late for Harold to offer a retraction. She grabbed for Giuseppe’s arm, but a minor flex popped loose her unsecured hold. He bolted with a step the short distance where Harold stood, seized him effortlessly and dropped him head first into the piano case. Strings snapped and the screech was Harold’s voice to music as Giuseppe used the wooden lid to beat at his legs as if they were clothes sticking out of a suitcase.

  “Cazzo cagna!” Giuseppe roared.

  Harold shouted for help, only Nicole answered with an incredulous. “Look at your ghetto ass Geo. Exactly what the hell are you doing?”

  Giuseppe slammed the painted cover shut for good measure. The fucking cazzo had the audacity to threaten a Don. He slid a hand to his waist and unclipped his gun.

  At the sight of the weapon, his wife’s fury showed. “You want to kill something, well you have, my career. I hope you’re satisfied!”

  She stormed off the stage, her shoes click clacking her rage. The weapon returned to the holster and Giuseppe jumped down in pursuit. “Get the cazzo out of there!” Giuseppe ordered a guard as Nicole pushed through the auditorium doors.

  Had he gone too far, he wondered, but the idiota asked for punishment, did he not?

  Giuseppe grumbled. She is mad; she looks sexy when she is angry. He snickered while he admired her shapely apple bottom. Then he panicked, he should not make Nicole upset, stress may cause a miscarriage.

  Nicole suddenly halted in the lobby, spun around catching Giuseppe by surprise and slapped his face with more force than a woman should have. “Wipe that damn smirk off your face, you’re not funny!”

  Had he chuckled too loud, he wondered?

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

  Chapter Seven

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

  “Babe, what did I say? No means no! Aldonza cannot go to a friend’s house after school. I don’t give a shit if her friend’s father is Mahatma Gandhi, MLK or Buddha himself, she’s on lock down for sassing Anita, remember? She’s letting loose on the waterworks because she’s trying to break you down. Come on now babe, you know the tactic she’s trying to employ, divide and conquer is the mess kids pull all the time. Be strong until I arrive home to block that manipulator of our love, comprende mami?”

  Alfonzo stared at the twinkle of lights over the downtown businesses in Bayamón. Emilio often hung out around this area. It was the happening spot for local college students. A weekday didn’t deter the young partygoers out looking for a good time. Stress relief from exams, asshole professors and academic rules find cures among peers in dancehalls to hump away the ‘I Don't Wanna Grow-Up’ blues. They missed classes or attended in their pajamas because at the end of the day, they probably weren’t footing the bill for tuition. To be young is supposed to be about fun and studying is seriously boring.

  His wife said something during his distraction by a group of raucous chicas in tight dresses passing. He saw the base of their asses when they walked by the tinted
windows of the car. Young Alfonzo may have climbed out to ask, “Where are you chicas heading looking that fine?” The mature dude that appreciated a sexy woman replied to the lady he married. “Amor, we have discussed this and that’s it, she can’t get away with the mess she’s been doing anymore.”

  Alfonzo’s eyes trailed the swaying backsides of the female barracudas. The people who thought they were the hunters didn’t have a chance of outsmarting a hunter on the prowl.

  There were moments he wished he could reverse time to save his Uncle and Selange’s mom. The empty person who fucked for fun had found a stimulating relationship. The bad hand he was dealt was made good by Selange.

  “Okay honey; don’t get yourself bent out of shape, I won’t give in. Hurry home, stay safe because I’m in need of my penile pacifier. I miss it bad.”

  Alfonzo chuckled. “Ah man, si bébé,”

  “Hey, I’m sending you a video to inspire a hasty return. My period’s over.”

  “I can’t wait,” he said before he received the video notification followed by Selange’s, “Bye honey, enjoy the peep show.”

  He opened the video and shook his head laughing like a horny kid. “Oooh damn!”

  He scratched his chin while smiling. There she goes; pulling the stunts that had his dick flipping. In the video, the vixen wore his blue designer suit jacket and a silk tie he recognized from the pattern as the one he wore on their first date.

  Yes, he did. 

  By the background image, he knew the filming location, the bathroom with the Romanesque sunken tub. She lay on her side, staring into the lens, nude beneath his jacket, stroking her breasts and lip-syncing to a song. He glanced up, checking the bodyguards had their attention on the club doors. If they spotted Emilio, they'd alert him, Alfonzo was certain.

  He grinned when his eyes returned to the screen. Selange’s attempt at porn made him smile. She masturbated and he was jealous his dick couldn’t be in the action.

  Yep, this is soft porn and he intimately knew the star. Her video depicted erotic behavior intended to cause sexual excitement and she succeeded.

  Damn…damn….damn babe you’ve met your objective!

       He cupped the bulge between his thighs, coaxing it down as Selange charmed the snake with her actions and song.

  “You don't need a lot of money…Honey you don't have to play no games…All I need is all your loving…”

  He watched her fingers descend over her navel. She had that smile with a corner dimple that he loved, taunting him from a distance. Alfonzo experienced a wave of heat. He roasted in the suit, and loosened his tie as the sweat gathered on the collar of his shirt. “Turn up the air-conditioning!” he said, completely aware the cool air wouldn’t douse the flames of sexual desire.

  Does that chica have on my watch?

  Yes, the fuck she did.

  The watch became a prop. She removed it from her arm, slightly parted her legs to slide it over her opening.

  Her lips moved. “To get the blood rushing through my vein…

  I wanna say we're going steady…Like it's 1954. No, it doesn't have to be forever…Just as long as I'm the name on your tattooed heart…”

  Alfonzo coughed to conceal the grunt of want when Selange kissed his timepiece, and held the strap with her teeth to massage her thighs with both hands. She opened them as the music played to display her vaginal lips as she slowly massaged her clit, moaning in pleasure, holding firm to his damn watch and not him.

  He slumped back perspiring so bad he swore he was in hell.

  “…You don't need to worry about making me crazy 'cause I'm way past that…and so just call me, if you want me –‘cause you got me and I'll show you how much I wanna be on your tattooed heart…”

  The seduction had him in bed with a virgin again. He had experienced such heat that day when she admitted he was her first. The girl who put her trust in him had become his wife. In his eyes, she was more beautiful than the stars. 

  She didn’t need to worry. She was tattooed on more than his heart. Whatever force held them together was one strong sonovabitch because even when he tried he was unable to break the grip.

  Yeah, babe, oooh chica, damn –this video’s hot, aye!

  The video ended with her blowing the screen a kiss and then that laugh that excited his bones. He experienced desperation to return home. He missed her, and that’s crazy because he hadn’t been gone long.

  Alfonzo hadn’t heard the Capo call his name until he repeated. “Senore Diaz, I think that’s him!”

  Alfonzo tucked away his phone and opened the car door. He was eager to have a distraction from the intense throbbing. His skin remained shimmery though, that’s the potency of his wife’s video.

  Emilio walked, chest out, a proud Latino balancing the heat from a Latina on his shoulders. Thankfully, he was alone or Alfonzo might have pummeled him for giving Jessica a scare while he fucked around.

  Emilio noticed Alfonzo. He was hard to miss with that stride, jet-black hair and those brilliant blues peering from golden skin. A man of contrasting hues, encased in tailored suits.

  Explanations flowed from Emilio’s mouth. “I was going home Alfonzo, I swear. I just took a break from Jessica. She’s…she’s…acting like a…”

  “A handful,” Alfonzo finished Emilio’s sentence because if the word ‘bitch’ had escaped he’d have socked Emilio in the mouth. “Get the fuck in the car!” he ordered Emilio who had a sheepish look. The guy could never play poker. He babbled, which wasn’t good and Alfonzo sneered. “Shut up unless you want to be bitch slapped!”

  In the backseat, Emilio slid down, defeated. “I can’t stay with Jess, it’s not working out.”

  “And running off is how you tell her pendejo?”

  Liquor was on Emilio’s breath. “I didn’t know how to break it to her. I just can’t deal with the fussing. I love her, I do, but I don’t think she’s going to change her bad attitude.” He rubbed at the stress on his face, but it didn’t go away. “I don’t want to stick around for years to find out either.”

  Alfonzo sighed. “Emilio, I’m only here because Jessica is worried and then she worries me. I have problems, but I’m not running off like some bitch and turning off my cell. You do whatever you need to do, but you’re not running out on your responsibility. Is that clear?”

  Emilio nodded.

  “And at least keep your phone on, shit, if you had I wouldn’t have flown here for this petty mess. Get the fuck out the car and talk to Jessica when she gets back from New York about your change of heart.” Alfonzo tapped his knuckles on the glass and the driver standing outside opened the door for Emilio to exit.

  Alfonzo scoffed as Emilio walked swiftly to his car parked a few feet away. Pissed is an understatement. Selange was sending him soft porn, making him hard. And here I am listening to some knucklehead whining about loca Jessica, Alfonzo reflected. He seriously considered kicking Emilio’s ass for ringing a false alarm. Anyway, Emilio had exhausted his patience. A person can lose his mind dealing with other people’s relationship troubles. Did Emilio believe nobody cared enough to search when he disappeared?

  Dumbass!

  Jessica might not change, she wasn’t a transformer, heck, when Emilio met his cousin she was high-strung. The chica had been that way since Alfonzo could remember. Emilio’s problem is he wanted an excuse to take flight. Alfonzo suspected the broken foster care system screwed with his head. Abuse by strangers and not feeling loved by anybody can do that. Nevertheless, there’s a point when choices are made, wallow in the shit or grab hold of life and squeeze out every drop of happiness.

  Alfonzo seethed before instructing the chauffeur. “Get me to the airport.”

  He considered flying to New York; his mom was there for Domingo’s remembrance ceremony along with Jessica and the rest of the Diaz relatives. Instead, he phoned Jessica, to inform her that Emilio was fine. That’s all he told her, the rest was up to Emilio to divulge.r />
  He heard the voices in the background, including laughter and hated he couldn’t be there for Tia Carmen. It would be hard to pretend, his guilt might show and that would devastate those he loved. Time and distance is what he needed to reconcile with himself. Visiting with a fake smile when Tia suffered would damage his insides.

  The solitary place closed to outsiders served Alfonzo well during the ride. They were unaware of the turmoil that resided in their Boss over a killing that continued to appear in his mind. The gun in his face, held by someone he loved caused him to snap…and the fact Domingo didn’t seem to care about the danger he put his family in by consorting with the enemy.

  Alfonzo’s lamentations were private conversations with Domingo in el barrio as Tupac and Big Pun rapped in the background. Then a wistful smile of regret weighed him down. He murdered a person who had been his best friend.

  He recoiled, guilt-stricken at the notion.

  The dodged narrow escapes from the police and making it alive to adulthood wasn’t an escape when the result is they turned on each other with knives and bullets.

  Damn you Domingo for letting Matteo twist you against me primo…me!

  We were blood, I never thought you’d hurt me until then. What the fuck did I do to you to make you hate me so much?

  The Alfonzo his mama taught right sold bricks for dinero and realized the exchange had been for his soul. The realization taunted him in the face as Selange’s tits had done.

  He wasn’t going to New York to pay homage in a suit to Domingo like some gentrified person standing above a subculture of crime. He lived the struggle with his thug street brothers and it would be in him until the day he died.

  Tupac’s lyrics spoke many truths and revealed the hopelessness of dudes battling against poverty and bias that continued to plague generations. However, Alfonzo saw hope. There had been a black president, and every day wasn’t a struggle, some were damn good in his opinion.

  Domingo was the wake-up alarm that everybody related by blood isn’t a brother and loyalty is the anchor of all strong families.

  He surveyed the dark beauty of the island, which served as a safe haven with a blank mind. Gone were the dreams of youth, stolen by reality.