Arsenal

by S. W. Frank

  “I am allergic to strawberries,” he replied. “But, I thank you for the gesture. I am surprised you did not figure out I enjoy chocolate.”

  She stood, put the ice cream in the bag and walked out. Lorenzo scratched his head, extremely confused by her response. When she didn’t return after thirty minutes, he shrugged, climbed out of bed and went to take a leak, forced to bring the IV machine along.

  Later, he emerged from the bathroom after basic grooming, to find Chocolate sitting on his bed holding an Epi-pen and a tub of ice cream.

  “You’re going to eat ice cream!”

  “Not if it is strawberry,” he replied, as he rolled the cumbersome tower to the closet, ignoring her outburst.

  She screamed. “I walked six blocks to bring you chocolate!”

  Lorenzo glanced over his shoulder and witnessed her wiping her eyes. He sniffed his armpits. He forgot to ask her to bring deodorant. Women were sensitive to B.O.  Maybe she had a whiff of his. Women are strange. Many believe men can read minds or solve puzzles without all the pieces. 

  “Did you hear me?” she asked with a heavy quiver.

  “Hmmm.” Lorenzo ran his hand along the shelf of the narrow closet. He gripped a much-desired grooming item –deodorant. He rolled some on without turning around, finding his visitor’s presence added a measure of home. Whenever, Thalia had an emotional upheaval, he refused to enter the fray. Eventually, she’d simmer down and disclose the specific nature of her irritancy. 

  He heard her pant. “Go ahead, ignore me. I guess I’m not worth even a full sentence.”

  He faced her, noticed the deflation of her lively spirit and pointedly asked, “What is really wrong?”

  She began eating his ice cream. In between scoops, she talked to the cup. “I’m worried about my mama. I can’t reach her.”

  Lorenzo returned to the bed, sat and removed the ice cream from her hands. “That was not hard.”

  “Yes, it was. You’re in a hospital and I didn’t want to bother you with my problem.”

  He dug in. Whenever he puckered, the scar on his mouth was more pronounced. “Umm, now this –umm –this is good.” He nudged her with an elbow. “I have lost my cell many times. Perhaps she has also. Contact a relative –or the police.”

  “I called my Uncle, and he doesn’t know where she is either.”

  Lorenzo scraped the corners of the container. “Then go home.” 

  Then Chocolate’s cell chimed and she answered with relief, “Mama, why weren’t you picking up? Are you alright?”

  Lorenzo sucked the spoon listening to the interaction with a wry grin. He supposed it was difficult caring for an elderly parent from a distance.

  “Dammit, ma, you can’t disappear like that without telling me. I was scared to death!”

  Lorenzo discarded the empty container. He went to the window to give her privacy and peered out the window. The sun glare on the glass hinted at a nice afternoon that encourages a stroll to see nature’s beauty.

  A tall fence enclosed the medical facility. He surmised surveillance cameras existed on the building and the pillars serving as a secondary reinforcement. In the event any unauthorized vehicle attempted to break through the gate, they’d have an explosive collision with concrete.

  The landscape boasted highlighted tips from the sun.

  In the distance, Sicily’s sloping hills and uneven terrain was evident by the irregular formation of the rooftops. He thought of Greece, another lovely island across the sea where everything he loved inhabited. He accomplished what he set out to do.  He planned to visit the family grave to share the news.

  The solemn reflection sparked a fierce ache.

  Chocolate could speak to her mama, but he would never have such moments. His chest lifted at the solemn reflection and an unrelenting yearning followed for the arms of his fiancé.

  A stiff drink, a tote of a cigarette or a pill to sedate his sadness might suffice.

  Then he sighed, and considered the future of the family business. His Pappoús would expect him to honor any outstanding contracts. He supposed Vigo; his mother’s nephew might gladly assume the role, except he sat in a cell with two years remaining of a six-year sentence.

  Lorenzo figured he could manage until then, at minimum he might decide what he wanted out of life.

  He exhaled, forced to the present by a figure walking up the path toward the building after making it through the checkpoint. Only immediate family and emergency vehicles were allowed on the premises.  He saw the visitor’s cars in the parking lot beyond the high gate. The day he arrived, he had traveled through an underground tunnel to a garage manned by heavily armed guards. He’d seen a few cars there at the time and surmised that was the VIP parking area.

  The security at the Luca Clinic received Lorenzo’s nod of approval.

  “Are you okay Lorenzo?”

  He nodded. “I am. Is your Mama okay?”

  “Yes.” Chocolate smiled. “I’m sorry for snapping at you. It’s just that I worry about her.”

  “Is she sick?”

  Chocolate scoffed. “Very!”

  He strolled to where she settled in the wide recliner and put his foot on the base of the IV machine. “If you are anxious about her well-being, then you should go for a visit. Do you need money, is that it?”

  She stood. “I can afford a plane ticket –thanks.”

  Lorenzo snorted. “Are you leaving again?”

  “Yes, to see why nobody’s come in here to check your IV.”

  “You care?”

  “Of course I care about my employer.”

  “Employer.”

  “Yes, isn’t that what you are?”

  His eyes narrowed. He had considered their relationship a friendship. Perhaps the exchange of money had given the wrong impression. “Right, this is business, sighnomi. I forgot.”

  “Hi, are we interrupting?” A cheerful voice asked. “We just wanted to bring you get well gifts.”

  Lorenzo smirked. Standing in the doorway were Don Alfonzo’s lovely wife and children. They cradled huge baskets of flowers and goodies. “That is very kind.” 

  “I baked you cookies!” The mirror image of the mother exclaimed.

  “We helped!” Another child with clear blue eyes pouted.

  Lorenzo laughed.

  Then he spotted the tilted bottle of Marsala in Selange’s basket with gold wrapped chocolates and his joy intensified. His wide smile was not lost on Chocolate. She felt like an outsider, watching his interaction with family.

  The teen boy stepped forward. “Hi Lorenzo, I’m Salvatore.”

  “We call him Sal!” The smaller boy with piercing eyes and cherry lips volunteered.

  Lorenzo shook the teen’s hand, examining the youthful features and saw a striking resemblance to the father, only less hardened. The boy’s grip was firm for a kid. “Nice meeting you Sal.”

  “Vincenzo was my first best friend. I’m honored to meet you Lorenzo. I hope we can become good friends, too.”

  In the periphery, Lorenzo noticed their mother setting the basket on a long sideboard.

  The other children introduced themselves.

  “I’m Vincent. That’s the English version of Vincenzo. Did you know that I was named after your dad?”

  Heartache occurred.

  He needed a drink –desperately.

  The clamoring for his attention grew overwhelming.

  “How’d you get that cut?”

  “My dad has tattoos!”

  “Is that your girlfriend? Hi girlfriend!”

  “When you’re out of here can you play videogames with me?”

  “How old are you?”

  “Do you have children?”

  An unbridled grief had threatened to appear simply from the affection shown him by his new family.

   

   

   

   

  7

   

 
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  “That reporter is a bitch. No wonder she’s single!” The Mayor stated as he walked alongside the Deputy Mayor out of earshot of the reporters that were exiting. They’d come for a press conference on his latest initiative, the assignation of more police in crime-ridden areas. “Where does she get off asking me whether my divorce is due to another woman?”

  “Maybe she has the hots for you.”

  “She’s not my type.”

  “Smart and pretty isn’t your type?”

  “No. Sometimes, they’re too smart is a detriment!” He marched through the office door, removing his suit jacket before claiming the seat behind a large desk.  He tossed it over the back of his seat before sitting. “Close the door Tim.”

  Tim shut the door and sat opposite the Mayor. “Now what’s really on your mind?”

  The Mayor folded his hands atop the desk and peered at the spectacled man. Tim was a loyal person. They’d known each other for years. They were from different upbringings, though. Tim knew nothing about his life before politics, only what he told him. Maybe, he could trust Tim with the sordid details, but a person like Tim would never understand his perversion.  He might resign and that would set the speculative hounds loose, reporters like Laura Visconti were certain to kill his career.

  He couldn’t trust Tim with the facts; instead he’d feed him a meal of fabrication.

  “Since that reporter is digging for dirt, she might find some to bury me with.”

  “I don’t understand,” Tim said with a skeptical gaze. The Mayor wasn’t being straight. To perform damage control, he needed to know the full story. “What will she find?”

  “I’m being blackmailed by my grandmother’s former Home Health Aide.”

  Tim slapped his shiny forehead, dislodging his eyeglasses. They fell on his lap and he squinted. “You have to be fucking kidding me! Christ! Why?”

  “She claims to have evidence I forged my grandmother’s will. She says she has the original.”

  “But your grandmother’s been dead over a year. The decedent’s estate is settled. How long has she been blackmailing you?” Tim reclined, and the distress lines on his forehead deepened. “Did you forge a legal document?”

  The rapid-fire questions were exactly what he expected from Tim.

  The Mayor’s nostrils flared and his mouth descended in derision. “Of course not,” he exclaimed indignantly. “The woman is a con-artist and a thief. During the inventory, we were unable to locate several pieces of my grandmother’s jewelry. We’re missing her Tiffany broach, my grandfather’s wedding band recovered from Chelmno, which is the most our family’s most valuable possession. It reminds of us our strength and our survival despite the actions of a madman’s attempt at extermination.”

  Tim’s eyes lowered. The horrible tale of the extermination camps, were atrocious. His stomach churned. He often found it inconceivable that humans could carry out such crimes. However, the Mayor’s use of the Jew card to garner his sympathy had grown tiresome.  He considered asserting a stinging rebuke, to remind the Mayor, his personal troubles hindered his ability to make sound judgments.

  High crime sections of the city were under siege daily by lawless miscreants. Yet, the Police Commissioner utilized officers to guard synagogues. This disturbed Tim, and he suspected the reporter shared his concern. In a previous Press Conference Laura Visconti asked the Mayor about the ongoing ‘credible terrorist threat’ to the Jewish community when he announced the assignment of extra patrols in the non-secular parts of the borough.

  “This Intel, is it from the FBI, CIA, or Homeland Security? Is this fresh Intel or a precautionary measure?”

  The Mayor’s face had contorted into an irritable sneer. “That is privileged information Ms. Visconti, next question!”

  The reporter persisted. “Do we know who is behind these credible threats, Mr. Mayor?”

  “Terrorist organizations, Ms. Visconti.”

  “Is there a specific target? There are many synagogues throughout New York. Will you keep uniformed officers on patrol 365? What are you doing about the cluster of shootings in the Bronx and Brooklyn? Aren’t citizens there entitled to a safe community as well?”

  The Mayor had remained composed. “Yes, and that is why the Police Commissioner is coordinating a task force to address the gun violence. Okay, thank you all for coming.”

  That was earlier, and like the reporter, Tim wasn’t satisfied with the answer. He’d been in politics fifteen years, discovered most politicians after election pandered to affluent constituents and lobbyists. Those that fell within the poverty to middle-income bracket were rhetorically pacified.

  He sat there thinking about his career. Yes, Ephraim appointed him to a political position with a six-figure salary, however, his aspirations were far grander. It seemed he’d aligned himself with a loser and perhaps it was time to exercise discretion by ousting him quietly. He squared his shoulders. “How long has this been going on?”

  “Over a year.” Then he paused, before looking Tim in the eye. “She also has my grandmother’s diary. Apparently, the old woman wrote about that college incident.”

  Tim’s eyes bulged. He returned his spectacles to his sallow face. “You told your grandmother about what we did. That violated your fraternity pledge, dammit Ephraim, the brothers will be upset!”

  “I was young and scared at the time Tim.  My grandmother and I were always close and I knew she’d never tell anyone. In fact, we’re all doing quite well due to her intervention.”

  Tim wiped cold sweat from his brow. He’d done a heinous thing in the name of brotherhood. He’d been a foolish, shy kid, influenced by wild and wealthy friends. Nights of debauchery and substance abuse had led to a tragedy –the death of a female student during an off-campus party in which they all partook.  It was true, Ephraim’s grandmother enlisted the aid of a contact to cover-up their deed. A poor Latino had taken the blame and they lived freely with bright futures. Tim wished he had developed a backbone sooner and took a stand for himself. Instead, he allowed a simpleton like Ephraim to wear a crown for too long.  Without his grandmother’s influence, Ephraim was nothing.

  “Give me everything you have on the woman.”

  “Sure,” the Mayor said with a stern expression that belied his elation. Tim had responded as he predicted. Tim, yeah, good old Tim would ensure his headache disappeared. 

  The regular workday concluded. Tim exited City Hall swinging his briefcase, strolling toward where the rotunda once stood, replaced by a fountain that during warm months sprayed water.

  The bustling suits traversing in every direction were magnified, as clear as his new path. He ignored the drips of rain on his head as he continued along the walkway, and took out his cell to contact a friend.

  They conversed in Khmer, the language of Cambodia.

  “Yes, utilize whatever tactics necessary,” Tim said. “Smoke her out and then call me when you have it. You are always discreet. I am aware of your talent that is why I look to your expertise.”

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

  8

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

  Giuseppe watched the trees nocturnal dance, their leaves rustling from an invisible current. He’d arrived home late, after making unannounced spot checks of his businesses with his son in tow.

  Carlo enjoyed the attention from underlings, reminding Giuseppe of the trusting na
ture of youth. Nico said he had been a spoiled child. He agreed. A powerful Don’s son should want for nothing.

  He peered at his watch. It was a gift. The initials belonged to another influential man –his biological father. Sí, he was very spoiled indeed. 

   Giuseppe stretched his foot, examining every perimeter of his property as he listened to the psychiatrist's evaluation of his wife’s condition. He never confused a psychiatrist with a therapist; one has a medical license, prescribes medication and can have a person committed. The other cannot do anything without authorization from the Boss.

  Giuseppe preferred to deal with people in charge.

  From the backseat of his luxury car, he waited for the psychiatrist to spout medical lingo that bored Giuseppe to anger. His clear blue eyes settled on the soldati standing on the side of his door awaiting the cue before opening.

  Then his eyes lowered to the round cheeks of his son. Carlo was the heart of him in an innocent’s flesh. Throughout the day spent together, Carlo asked about Nicole. Finally, after evading the questions he answered. “Your Mama is sick in the head. She is having it fixed.”

  Carlo became sad. “I hope she gets well.”

  “Me too –me too.”

  The doctor’s optimistic projection brought Giuseppe from his reverie. “You say this to assuage my fear?” he then asked the psychiatrist. “Give me a written guarantee that she is not a danger to me or my son.”

  Giuseppe glanced at his son, holding his knee as he slept. Any person that deliberately causes self-inflicted injuries to their body spoke of devils and craziness posed a threat in his opinion to a child.

  When the psychiatrist stammered, Giuseppe scowled. “You stutter like an idiot! Monitor my wife’s condition until I determine when she may return home!” Giuseppe demanded before severing the call.

  He rubbed his chin contemplatively. He had a meeting tomorrow in Borneo with one of the family’s. It was important to know what exactly Selange bartered beforehand.

  He tapped the driver’s seat. “Take me to my brother’s villa.”

  The engine quietly hummed and the bodyguard in the role of temporary footman, reentered.

  During the ride, Giuseppe rang Selange and she answered with her sleepy voice. “Yes Geo. Is everything okay?”