Avarice

by S. W. Frank

  Selange sat with Angelina and Vincent on the patio for lunch, watching their dimples as they chewed. Visitors were coming in and out. Family, mostly, except for Tony who recently arrived.

  Phone calls to her staff, prearranged gifts and a holiday party she left in the hands of her assistant Cam. Giving back was her mission. Fleeting is this life had become her motto and she never wanted to have any regrets that she hadn’t done enough or failed to make a difference no matter how miniscule.

  “Daydreaming, eh?”

  Selange leaned back when Giuseppe picked up Angelina, inserted himself in her chair and then cradled the toddler on his knee. Why did he always smell like washed money, Selange wondered? “Not really.”

  Vincent offered his Uncle a piece of his sandwich and Giuseppe did not decline. “Grazie Vincenzo,” he thanked the boy sticking the bread in his larger mouth. “Very good.”

  Angelina giggled and Vincent smiled before feeding his Uncle more. Selange found their happy faces contagious. Despite her brother-in-law’s acerbic tongue he was great with the children. Selange spoke first, “I’m sorry about your car. I’ll cover the bill. Shanda told me you’re demanding she pay but I’m the one who put her up to it.”

  Giuseppe took her drink and gulped it down before she could stop him. “Mimosa in the afternoon, not so innocent a drink, like you, eh?” he said sitting the empty glass down.

  “That was rude.”

  A grin is what he gave in response. He bounced his niece up and down. Angelina laughed along with her Uncle. “I do not need your money.”

  “So, you’d rather harass a pregnant woman, is that it?”

  “I am teaching a lesson, isn’t that what you two thought to do?”

  “Oh stop Giuseppe. You only want to laude something over Shanda. If you need to teach anybody a lesson, start with yourself!”

  “Humph,” he grumbled not missing a beat in entertaining his niece. “You and I have something in common. We love Shanda. What I seek is forgiveness, have you not done wrong?”

  “Yes…yes…I have and that’s why I don’t want Shanda hurt. I love you too, believe it or not and pray you see Shanda’s worth. Life is too short Giuseppe…”

  Giuseppe smirked when his sister-in-law’s eye began to water. Oh, the woman could become emotional at a drop of a hat. His brother was utterly fucked, wasn’t he? He supposed they all were. “Ah, the trials of love and life. We die for love and live for strife.”

  Selange wiped her eyes. “I’m tired Giuseppe. It’s not easy loving men who go out and may not return home. When you’re out there, we worry. Shanda doesn’t need to wonder where you are. She’ll feel like a fool worrying if you’re okay and then finding out that you were safe with another woman.”

  “Is that why you have sent Alanda away and frightened the others?”

  Oh crap, busted!

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she answered.

  The broad lips smiled. “Ah, of course you do not. Love is usually the motivation.” His leg ceased shaking. “You have become a formidable woman. You are like the cocktail, sweet, yet acidic but good to the palette.” He leaned back. “But do not withhold when my brother is ill again. There are some secrets that are not meant to be honored, capisce donna?”

  “I do not mean to disrespect you, but I cannot disavow my husband’s wishes. To do so is considered misplaced loyalty and although I may have disagreed, Alfonzo had his reasons. I’m sure he did not want to worry you.” She took Angelina from his lap when the girl began digging in his breast pocket and found an expensive pen. “I’m sure it’s not your intention to undermine the mutual trust between Alfonzo and me, right?”

  “No. On matters of health and wellness, yes. Alfonzo is a stubborn man with too much pride. I am his brother, and when he is not well or any of you, I must know. Loving family is present during the highs and lows. You cannot debate wisdom of ancient truths.” He began to chuckle. “Do not look at me that way. I have told fratellino the same, you see I have no reason to hide what I say from either of you.”

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

   

   

   

   

  Tony waited downstairs. The ornaments and tall spruce reminded him of the upcoming holiday he never celebrated. His parents were Jehovah Witnesses, who although were Christians believed Christmas is not commanded by scripture and some considered many such holidays originally pagan.

  Tony was an adult and recognized many of the beliefs were the result of reformation when some protestant and puritan groups denounced many of the Catholic Church’s traditions, including festivals for being un-biblical or devilish.

  There wasn’t any historical evidence, only a general anti-Catholic sentiment. He found little comfort in anything religious based, not because he was an atheist, but due to his disappointments that man spouted scriptures but failed in many respects to act in accordance with what was written. Neutrality is the sect he chose; be you Hindu or Jew, Buddhist or Christian he treated people the way they behaved.

  When Alfonzo appeared at the top of the stairs, he was fully clothed for travel. He’d lost weight Tony noticed and wondered just how sick had he really been for that to happen. But, then again if he were very ill, he would not herald to the world because everybody didn’t need to know.

  “I’ll meet you at the car,” he said the minute his feet touched the shiny wood. Then he disappeared around the staircase.

  Tony went outdoors, shoved his hands in his pockets and brought out his cell to answer a call. “Hey Tiffany, what’s going on?”

  “I just wanted you to know I love you. Always.”

  “I know you do…I’m sorry that I dropped the news on you the way I did.”

  “Call me when you get settled in Sicily.”

  “I will.”

  There was a long pause. “I hope you find what you’re looking for is me,” she said and then hung up.

  The front door opened and Alfonzo emerged carrying a coat with his face carved in stone.

   

   

   

   

  ***

   

   

   

   

  On the flight to New York, Alfonzo hardly spoke. Don Vecchio. The name that came from two separate sources played like a spinning carousel until wind drowned the sounds. Even  when the plane landed smoothly on the tarmac and he settled in the chauffeured car he had yet to come to terms with what he’d been told by Nico and then Tony.

  He did not hunt a prey this day nor considered what he’d say when he found his cousin. Brother was what he thought of Domingo right up until the moment the car halt outside the closed shop where he learned drug deals were made. This shop was formerly a safe haven from the hard streets of uptown which had become sullied by Domingo and his quest for something he’d never find.

  Uncle Al worked hard to build a reputable business. For Alfonzo the place represented the sweat of a good man who toiled to buy groceries and pay rent. Uncle’s Al’s shop was hollow ground.

  A phone call was made from the confines of the car to Domingo. “Open the door. I’m outside the shop,” was the only words he said.

  He climbed out the vehicle with Tony at his side and waited until the latch clicked and one of Domingo’s street thugs ushered them in. Rap music, an old Tupac joint played and the bass rattled the stillness. The volume wasn’t loud, not really. The power of Tupac’s raps was the hardcore delivery. Alfonzo spied the punk’s sidearm with mean slits. “Wait here,” he ordered Tony who too must have sensed the tension.

  Through the oil and bolts as Domingo termed the work statio
n where a car sat atop a lift, Alfonzo as smooth as a canine entered the back office. The song was on speaker. Ironic that the lyrics fit Domingo to a T.

   

  ‘…Until I die; live the life of a boss playa,

  Cause even when I'm high, fuck with me and get crossed later,

  The futures in my eyes, cause all I want is cash and thangs

  A five-double-oh - Benz flauntin’ flashy rings…’

  It seems - my main thang was to be major paid

  The game sharper than a motherfuckin’ razor blade…’

   

  Alfonzo wasn’t surprised to find Domingo seated behind his desk counting wads of cash. “Feeling good, huh?” Alfonzo asked.

  “Damn good. Having stacks on stacks is a unique kind of high,” Domingo replied and lifted a blunt from the ashtray he’d left burning when he answered his cell. “What brings you down to the slumburbs high and mighty cousin right before Christmas Eve?”

  “You.”

  “Yeah, you came to bring me a present?”

  “I came to ask a question?”

  Domingo closed one eye and took a long drag of weed laced with coke. “Shoot!”

  The smoke rafted to the office ceiling. The dull lights made it seem like a cloud. Alfonzo hadn’t sat. His legs were tensed for a verbal battle. The music brought a pulse of its own straight to the heart of ‘hood men.

   

  ‘…I'm caught between my woman, and my pistol, and my chips,

  Triple beam, got some smokers on, whistle as I dip

  I'm lost in the land with no plan, livin’ life flawless,

  Crime boss, contraband, let me toss this…’

   

  “How did you hook up with Don Vecchio?”

  Domingo laughed. “Oh I get it. You have spies everywhere type shit. For your information the dude sought me out, made me a proposition I couldn’t refuse.”

  “Yeah when?”

  “About a year ago.”

  Alfonzo did the math. “It didn’t seem suspicious to you primo that a man like that would come to talk business?”

  “Nah, aint like I haven’t got my own reputation you know.”

  “You’ve been legit for years now unless I’m mistaken isn’t that right?”

  “Yeah, so?”

  “So, your dumb ass never considered the possibility you were being used to get to me?”

  “Everything aint about you primo!”

  “In a situation like this it is. Did you know Selange and Allie nearly got killed a few months back?”

  Domingo seemed surprised. “No…no…I didn’t.”

  “Did you know Sergio almost got killed a year before that?”

  “Fuck’a Sergio!”

  “Sergio’s family just like you’re family.”

  “Your family you mean, he aint shit to me.”

  “Then I’m not shit to you either.”

  Alfonzo recalled a conversation he had during a meeting with the Five not so long ago. Now things started to make sense. Don Vecchio hadsaid, “Loyalty and trust go hand in hand. Sometimes those who speak least are those who listen and observe the most.”

  Back then he’d been warned to look in his own backyard and told that is where trouble stems. He took out Lou, but Don Vecchio had corrupted Domingo and he wondered exactly how long that had been his plan.

  Getting high and listening to Tupac was hype shit. The type of songs they played back in the day when adrenalin was pumping and drug deals made. Sometimes they caught heat, whipped out nines and laid suckers down. That’s their legacy of street days gone by. The curse of many wayward youth growing up without good fathers. Some found a way out through education, employment or like Tyree, determination to do something meaningful with their lives. Not Domingo. He had the street mentality and bought the negative lies.

   

  ‘…The nervousness neglect make me pack a tec,

  Devoted to servin’ this, Moet and pay-checks…

  It ain't right parasites triggers and fleas crawlin

  Sucker duck and get busted, no emotion…

  Where you goin’ I been there came back as lonely homie…

  It's about the money in this rap shit, this crap shit…’

   

  Domingo frowned and stubbed out the blunt. “Real shit Tupac.”

  “Straight up, but I’m not here to discuss dead rappers primo.”

  “You know,” Domingo said standing tall. “Eversince we were kids you thought you were big and bad. I used to kick your ass remember until you started pumping iron and taking martial arts classes.”

  “I didn’t do that because of you primo, I did that for self-defense against the gangs running me down, comprende?”

  “Maybe, we see things differently. But that was then and this is now. I’m sorry if you’ve been having troubles but that has nothing to do with me.”

  Alfonzo’s stance widened. “Oh, but it does. You turned on me primo and what’s worse is you’re so high you probably don’t even know you did.”

   

  ‘…This criminal lifestyle, equipped with the bulletproof vest,

  Make sure your eyes is on the meal ticket,

  Get your money motherfucker let's get rich and we'll kick it,

  All eyes on me…’

   

  Bold is what boys become when loaded with substances, guns and angry songs. Face down a motherfucker and speak reckless against your own. Pull a gun on blood, point it in his face, and stare in the blue eyes of a cousin because his words held a threat to a warped brain. “I should blast your ass. I’m sick of hearing your shit primo. Get the fuck over yourself and stop interfering with my life. You just upset because you can’t control what I do, word!”

  Childhood memories dissolved down the hard barrel of a gun pointed at Alfonzo’s face. An extremely reckless action by someone he loved, whose action reflected hate. Cool and completely chilled Alfonzo responded with disappointment. “You sink low when you pull a gun on blood?”

  “Then stop talking shit and recognize I aint one of your flunkies primo and maybe then we can talk!”

  Alfonzo squinted because the pressure bearing on his head was too strong. He turned his back then, prepared to walk out on Domingo for good when there was a chuckle. “Ah come on, you’re all pissed and shit. We’re still cool, we’re family.”

  Family.

  Alfonzo turned. Domingo found the entire situation humorous. Jokes can’t stop a weak link from breaking an entire chain. Smiles after treachery can’t erase an affront. Hell, even Nico during fists and quarrels had yet to pull a gun.

  Family.

  “Sí primo…familia es importante,” Alfonzo replied and stepped to the edge of the desk. He spread his arms wide for an embrace. A broad smile transformed the grim face. “I love you, for real. Ven aquí, primo.”

  Domingo leaned over the desk, clasped his arms about Alfonzo’s shoulders to share a bro-hug. For old time sake he thought or a truce. But Alfonzo sensed money and ego sent them too far adrift and someone had to drown.

  There was a loud gasp, followed by wide eyes staring into stagnant blue waters in disbelief at Locos Ojos Azules…el Diablo…the side of Alfonzo he forgot.

  Domingo disavowed a vital code. Never whip out a gun unless you plan to use it, but on family that’s never done.

  Blood makes you related but loyalty makes you family!

  Red drips on green.

  Fluid can dissolve cash.

  Alfonzo gripped Domingo’s neck, listening to the shallow breaths before he retracted the blade from his chest. “You stopped being familiael segundo le puso un arma en mi cara!”

  Domingo should have killed him when he had the chance, because mercy from Alfonzo wasn’t happening. He thrust Domingo backward to the high backed throne he coveted and he slumped over dead. With a monogrammed handkerchief he cleaned the blade before sheathing the weapon.

  Not one tear was shed.

/>   Not one drop of remorse.

  Blood is all that spilled on the floor.

  Money is what some men live for.

  But betrayal of family came with a death cost.

  Alfonzo scanned the room, checking if Domingo had listened and installed security cameras, but he hadn’t. Alfonzo peeped the lax security during his prior visit. Domingo didn’t want surveillance on the property because he worried the police might one day get hold of incriminating evidence about his drug transactions. Search warrants were often surprises, unless you have an inside man in your camp. That’s what separated the wannabe gangsters from the real professionals.

  Then his eyes went to the picture of his Uncle. The man seemed to be looking at him. Alfonzo signed the cross. “Lo siento Tio…lo siento.”

  With gloved hands he exited Domingo’s office. The black shiny shoes covered swift feet. Tailored slacks encased weakened limbs which had a sturdy gait. Taut muscles reawakened from a virus’ grasp flexed across skin to feet. The swoosh of the three quarter length Irish wool during the lithe strides was an image of a fashionable Capo de tutti.

  Alfonzo stepped across the oil stained floors of the shop that once served as a second home when the streets were hard.  The poison had seeped beneath the concrete in to blood’s veins when he wasn’t looking.

  Blue eyes as cold as frost hid nefarious intent as he approached the exit to the street. Domingo’s guard stood with a smugness of most second rate thugs with weapons. They’ll shoot across blocks with kids around, dumb shit like that. In every ‘hood whether impoverished or a gated community, guns transformed cowards to thugs. Step toe-to-toe, go fist-to-fist with a man without a weapon and see how quick the weak ones topple. Half the suckers couldn’t fight for nothing, instead of learning they utilized guns.

   Domingo’s hired hand was oblivious and cocky; that’s why he never saw the blade coming. A perforation occurred at the jugular. Alfonzo’s hand arched sideways and up with the Bowie knife. Fast and accurate he slit the man’s throat.