Arsenal

by S. W. Frank

   

  ARSENAL

  _________________________________

  ALFONZO XVII

   

   *Copyright © 2015 S.W. Frank

  All Rights Reserved

  Paperback Edition

  First Printing

  Printed by Createspace, USA

  S.W. Frank Publishing, U.S.A

  ISBN-13:978-1514645598

  ISBN-10: 1514645599

   

   

   

   

  *This book or no parts thereof may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system in any form without prior written permission of the author. Piracy of the book is a crime.  Any sites and or persons distributing unauthorized copies are subject to legal action in accordance with Copyright infringement and Piracy laws. Alfonzo detests thieves and liars, he also believes in Karma.  Laws, cannot govern a person’s character, self-governance or lack thereof when nobody watches is a reflection of the soul.

   

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  This is a work of fiction.  The characters, incidents and events portrayed in this story are not to be construed as real.  Any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental.

   

  *Graphic Images on the cover are for illustrative purposes only.

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

  “If you want to go fast, go alone.

  If you want to go far, go together.”

  -African Proverb

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

  Table of Contents

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  30

  Glossary

  From the Author

   

   

   

   

   

  Dedication

   

   

   

  To the hardcore riders that have buckled up, shut down phones to keep their eye on the road, I dedicate this volume to you. You’ve hooped and hollered similar to college kids when the chassis bounced, mooned for fun and sipped on rum during the crazy ride. Yes, Al’s gearing to travel again, free styling in poetic meter and unique syntax representative of his style. Readers, you’re his musical accompaniment and he’s revved the engine to take you on another unexpected ride in celebration of lovingly living.

   

  Fist to heart!

  -SW Frank

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

  A fictional crime world is not much different from an insane reality –flee or cautiously proceed.

  You are forewarned!

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

  ARSENAL

  Alfonzo XVII

   

   

  “There are certain things I believe we need to keep in our emotional arsenal as we navigate through life. Hope is a big one. The more of that we can carry, the better.”

  -Wendelin Van Draanen

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

  Prologue

   

  “Behind every great fortune lies a great crime.”

  -Honore de Balzac

   

   

   

  “Good night Diane. Be careful out there, it’s raining something awful.”

  “I’m not worried about rain, it’s the fools driving reckless I’m afraid of,” Diane replied before slipping out the door.

  She scurried to the elevator, glad to be leaving the Ben-Gay and mothball scented apartment on the swanky Upper East Side.

  Her mama had called earlier, talking off the wall again and asking for a ride. Apparently, some john stiffed her, and then abandoned her in a shady part of Queens.

  She sighed. The woman was never going to kick the habit, was she?

  A forty-six year old strung-out hooker isn’t a pretty sight.

  It’s pitiful to see a drug addicted ho strutting on the boulevard with her wig twisted to the side, a cosmetic disaster with busted shoes, stink looking mess that a person must be sick to want to screw. Nevertheless, they do, and then go home to wives or boyfriends to spread communal diseases.

  Her Mama couldn’t tell her anything about her dad, except that he was a customer. On her birth certificate, the crackhead listed her father as John Doe!

  Diane grew tired of watching her mama play dress up and then hit the street. She’d come home afterward with a busted lip and no money. She had stayed around to look after her Mama as long as she could but the night she fought off a stranger her Mama brought home, she decided her only option was to leave.

  At thirteen, she had to look out for herself. Thankfully, Monica, her best friend from school convinced her mom to let her stay until she finished high school.  Later, some dude knocked up Monica and they went their separate ways.  They spoke occasionally. Diane followed her on social media, saw she had another kid and figured that’s the way of things when a person’s in love –they become baby machines.

  Diane had her own struggles. Nobody warned that good credit is important. A shitty FICO score could cause a person to miss out on a decent crib.

  Currently, she lived in a rent-stabilized apartment, and tried to save for her dream condominium. Keeping good credit meant she had to live within her salary and bypass those advertised luxury items teasing the hell out of poor people.

  Nevertheless, she was making it on her own and she didn’t need to sleep with anybody for false security.

  This business with her mom though was getting old. The drugs were killing her faster than the STD’s she kept getting from going down on nasty ass johns. However, there is a connection to parents. No matter how crappy a parent may be a child wants to know if they're okay.

  “Stupid me,” Diane mumbled as the elevator opened in the lobby. She waved at the door attendant during her departure, and then stepped out into a downpour without an umbrella.

  A gallant man didn’t offer her one either. 

  She tucked her head, briskly passed multi-million dollar structures, and high-end everything she could never afford on a measly salary.

  Sure, she took care of a nice rich woman but that’s as close as she’d get to luxury. Anyway, she made an honest wage and she’d have social security and a pension someday, unlike her mama.

  She
trudged through the rain down to Second Avenue. There were fewer cars at eleven at night, thank goodness. That meant she’d make it to Queens in no time.

  Soon, she reached her unreliable old jalopy and drove across the 59th Street Bridge that didn’t have a tollbooth, squinting more than she should due to the dull headlights. She really needed a new car, but living in New York, taxes ate a third of her paycheck.

  “Next year I’m claiming my damn mama!” she said and meant every word.

  She cruised around the blocks behind the college, straining to make out an emaciated figure in the shadows.

  Her cell buzzed and she pulled to the curb behind a car that looked more busted than hers did.

  When she answered, her mama began the conversation with the usual sour attitude. “Where are you Diane? You have me waiting out in the rain?”

  “Don’t fuss at me, you chose to stroll around like a ho, remember?”

  “Who the hell you calling a ho? I’ll slap the mess out of you when I see you!”

  “How come you’re super sensitive now? You were never ashamed about your job when I lived with you, what’s changed –wrinkles?”

  “You know what; take your high and mighty ass on. I don’t need any abuse from some sassy bitch cleaning an old person’s ass!”

  Diane scanned the quiet area, noticing the place was deserted. In the backdrop were factory type buildings and pillars of metal stretching toward the city that belonged to the overhead transit line.

  A single car idled in front of a commercial warehouse farther north. She swiveled, right and left for a better look at her surroundings and realized she might not be in the safest spot. Then, she noticed a black SUV turn a corner and slowly approach the sedan.

  Yeah, this was the nocturnal meat market. Apparently, the area is a bustling commercial district by day, but once the lights go out, transforms into a flesh service business.

  “Okay, bye ma!”

  “Hold on! Since you’re near, you might as well come on and get me, then you can go to hell.”

  Diane sucked her teeth, noticing the rain had stopped. “Where are you exactly?”

  Her mama was still in her feelings. “When you go back to that life of judging, a day might come when you gotta’ do something others might not understand and then you’ll feel differently about me!”

  A man exited the idling car on the next block. Under the streetlamp, she could see he carried a briefcase. He began walking toward the corner.

  Diane’s eyes went to the vehicle he exited. When she focused on the auto’s contours, even from the rear, she recognized the distinct model of the car. The body was unmistakably that of a Rolls Royce.

  Then the break light glowed and she thought the driver intended to pull off, instead the vehicle quickly reversed.

  There were sudden sparks from the interior of the car like muzzle flashes from a gun and she jumped, although the illuminations were devoid of sound.

  The driver’s bullets struck the former passenger and the pedestrian slapped the concrete with his face.

  “Holy crap!” Diane gasped. Her hands shook from the fear of having witnessed a murder.

  Then the SUV halted alongside the Rolls Royce. The occupants exchanged words and then a passenger emerged from the SUV to grab the briefcase.

  The Rolls sped away.

  Diane’s heart pounded. She hadn’t shut off her headlights. If the driver checked his rearview mirror, he might spot her car behind the other vehicle.

  “Shoot!” She slumped down in the seat and cut the headlights. “Mama I’m sorry I called you a ho, now where are you?” she asked as she observed the vehicle roll forward. Thankfully, the SUV continued onward.

  “I’m over by the projects. What’s this…twelfth street yeah Twelfth Street and Vernon.”

  “You didn’t tell me that. I’m on the other side near the college, like you said.”

  “I walked over here where there are people. It’s deserted over there and –”

  The SUV stopped. 

  Oh my god, she dropped her cell. “Shit!”

  The wheels moved outward.

  Diane shot upright as the SUV screeched while making a sharp U-turn.

  “Oh shit!” Diane exclaimed and then put her car in gear. “Mama take the train! I can’t make it, my car stalled!” she screamed in the confines of the vehicle and tossed the cell on the seat.

  “Sure it did you little bitch!” Her mama shouted, but Diane’s hands and thoughts were on getting the hell out of there.

  She raced past the SUV, and it spun across the double yellow to her side of the street in pursuit.

  Diane cut a sudden left and then a quick right toward the boulevard.

  “Where’s a cop when you need one!”

  A red light stopped her. Traffic moved in both directions in front of her. When she glanced in the rearview mirror and didn’t see any sign of the SUV, she exhaled in relief.

  However, when the light changed, she looked again and spotted the SUV on the move –right on her tail.

  She accelerated, barely missing a car that ran the red.

  Prickles of fear had become icy stabs in and out of her skin.

  She considered pulling over and running, and quickly scrapped the dumb idea.  After several blocks of stop signs, which she ignored in the harrowing race of her life, she swerved onto a side road where a sign redirected cars.

  Diane held tight to the wheel, as the car’s suspension rattled a complaint and bounced her up and down after hitting a trio of potholes.

  She knew the area. The agency she worked for had sent her all over the city until she finally landed a permanent position.

  The vehicle revved, but speed isn’t strategy. Diane hung a sharp right on a two way, swerving around an incoming car, applied the brake and let the vehicle drift before speeding onto the side block before the LIE entry.

  She checked the rearview. The vehicle wasn’t there, but she knew, dammit, going to the police wasn’t an option. Anybody with any sense would avoid the cops. She got off at the first exit, merged with the traffic heading to the Midtown Tunnel, thinking she needed money for a plane ticket out of the country. The nice wealthy senior might spot her a few bucks if she asked politely.

  However, with an elderly person, there’s no telling what the response might be.

  She hurried past the door attendant. “Hi Matt, I forgot my key.”

  “Okay, hope you find it,” Matt said.

  She reached the apartment, used her key and called out. “Mrs. Bergman, I left my key in here somewhere.”

  The lack of a reply wasn’t surprising. Mrs. Bergman was hard of hearing. She also had a weak heart.

  Diane walked through the cluttered living room where expensive furniture dotted the shiny parquet floor. Old colorful paintings in an assortment of sizes hung proudly on the walls. Every space seemed occupied by a decorative display of wealth. The woman came from a long line of money, washed clean by antiquities and bank accounts all over the world.

  She went to the bedroom and peered in. Mrs. Bergman was asleep. In the corner sat a vintage armoire. That’s where the rich woman put her valuables. Diane moved quietly past the bed, glancing at the prone figure on her way. She hadn’t snored, which brought Diane to a halt.

  Mrs. Bergman was a mouth breather. Tonight her lips clung together, wrinkled in repose.

  Mrs. Bergman had died. 

  She signed the cross, asking forgiveness prior to stealing from the dead.

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

  1

   

   

   

   

   

   

  Sacred ground doesn’t exist for bliss. Being happy is challenging living in a world overflowing in senseless violence.

  Alfonzo knew his name would be added to the great o
ffenders. Excuses wouldn’t matter when laid on a pyre with self-professed religious martyrs and murderers.

  He was a sinner and knew it.

  The dim hospital room reflected Alfonzo’s spirit. A curtain separated him and Nico. He wondered if Nico was awake, staring at the ceiling, deep in thought or swimming through horrors, too.

  Two days…long, hours lying on his back…two days lost in med dreams and inactivity of a forced rest had him in a bad mood.

  Alfonzo frowned, gazed at the black splints on his hands and slowly wiggled his fingers.  The pain stabbed through bone, shooting up the wrist to his brain, rolling him supine to escape. He quietly moaned, wanting to bawl and curse in rebellion.

  “Hurts, huh fratellino?”

  Alfonzo’s head swiveled to the side; the stubble on his cheek raked the cotton pillowcase. Giuseppe inhabited the comfortable recliner Selange occupied earlier in the day. He snorted, too battered to exchange quips with his shoeless, leisurely-attired brother. Giuseppe looked as miserable as the patient did.

  Alfonzo displayed a feeble smile at the sight of Giuseppe. He noticed turmoil mirrored in the sapphires.

  The latest battle had taken a toll on Alfonzo. He had traveled to thug heaven where non-violence wasn’t a dream but a reality. When he returned, he was more determined to cling to family and to allow Giuseppe to have more responsibility.

  He gazed at his brother in solidarity. Giuseppe’s presence brought a joyful renewal to that pledge despite the chronic aches plaguing his body.

  Giuseppe spoke. “I sent Selange home. She is not the only person that cares about you. Besides, I needed a private moment.”

  Another’s desire preceded that of the injured. “It’s late Geo. You should be home with your pregnant wife.”

  Giuseppe’s head hadn’t lifted from the top of the comfortable seat. He looked at Alfonzo beneath hooded eyes. “You think of the family, too much.” His mouth slackened, and then tightened. He refrained from stating, 'And here you are due to Nico.' But, the statement was withheld.

  He acknowledged he envied Alfonzo’s bond with Nico. Their congenial bond is something he once had with his Papá. Alfonzo would never understand missing his father or needing his wisdom when emotionally torn.

  Yesterday was Papá Carlo’s birthday, but Amelda upstaged him with the birth of her daughter, which she named Sofia. This of course, secured their mother’s allegiance forever, putting him on the outs as usual. Yosef had traveled to Amsterdam for another grand opening of his franchises, a gentleman’s club for the criminal elite. Giuseppe’s moment of silence for his Papá Carlo lasted for hours in the mausoleum, drinking salutations to marble.