The Good Boss

by Scott Hildreth

  Anthony shook his head. “Who runs the Kansas City operation?”

  “Cap. I’ll be the consigliere, and the underboss. Or, move another capo to underboss.”

  I couldn’t believe Sal thought I wouldn’t like the solution. I’d spent countless hours trying to decide what I could do to make sure I came home every night to my children, and hadn’t come up with any ideas as good as his.

  I looked at Anthony.

  He took a drink of his scotch, gazed down at the table for a moment, and then looked up. “You talk to Cap about this?”

  “It’s not my place, Tony. It’s yours. But. My opinion? He’s ready. Hell, he fought in a war for ten years. This? This is nothing.”

  Anthony looked at me. “Michael. You go to Belize to relax. Can you relax with an old man bothering you every day?”

  “My children’s grandfather?” I chuckled. “It’d be a dream come true.”

  Sal nodded and grinned as if he’d already solved the problem.

  “You said you didn’t like this idea. Why not?” I asked.

  “If you go to Belize for good, I’ll only see you when I come visit. I hate to admit it, but I’ll miss having you around.”

  “Well, if this works out, I’ll miss you, too, Sal.”

  Anthony alternated glances between Sal and me. “You two want to kiss?”

  “Fuck you, Tony.”

  Anthony let out a laugh, and then went stone-faced. He often did that, and did it well. When Sal met his gaze, he cleared his throat.

  “I’ll agree to this on one condition.”

  Sal shrugged. “I’m listening.”

  “If Cap agrees, you act as consigliere. The underboss? The underboss will be Peter.”

  I couldn’t believe my ears, nor could I have been happier. To think Anthony had gone from not trusting Peter because of his sexuality, to accepting it fully was a huge step. His time in jail truly had changed him.

  Either that, or his spiritual awakening did.

  Regardless, he was a different man.

  A man I was proud to be in the presence of.

  “Consider it done,” Sal said.

  “Call Cap,” Anthony said. “It’s time we make a decision.”

  * * *

  To the knock on the door, Anthony said, “Come in.”

  The door swung open slowly, and Cap peered into the room, his face washed with worry. “Guy hates walkin’ into a room when these three fellas are lookin’ back at him. Want the door closed, or open?”

  “Closed,” Anthony said.

  “Figured so,” Cap said.

  Cap pushed the door closed and glanced around the room. “By the looks of the empty glasses, seems I’m comin’ in on the tail end of this one, fellas. Any chance of getting a swallow of that scotch before you hit me with whatever bad news you’re gonna give me?”

  With an expressionless face, Anthony poured Cap a glass of scotch, and then pushed it across the table.

  Sal clapped. “Have a seat.”

  Cap looked down at the floor, sipped his scotch, and then let out a dramatic sigh. “At least there’s not a sheet of plastic on the floor.”

  Anthony laughed.

  Sal glanced at Cap. “You heard about Tony’s run-in with the china cabinet?”

  “Last weekend? Yeah. Good thing Tripp tied that tourniquet, from what I heard.”

  Sal nodded. “Before he got the blood, he had a...” He cocked an eyebrow. “A spiritual awakening.”

  “I saw the light.”

  Cap took a drink, and then met Anthony’s gaze. “Came close to meetin’ your maker, then. In combat, it happened all the time. Guys would get shot, damned near die, and then come back to the platoon and tell stories of seeing their grandparents and shit. Spooky, if you ask me.”

  “We’re not here to tell stories,” Sal said in a gruff tone. “We’re here to solve problems.”

  Cap looked at Sal. “What’s the problem?”

  “Anthony wants to move the operation to Belize. And, he wants to keep the operation here. There’s a hell of a gun market in South America, no?”

  Cap nodded. “There is, yes.”

  “If the move south takes place, it leaves a hole here that needs filled.”

  Cap looked at me. “My man Tripp can fill it.”

  “Not if he’s in Belize,” Sal snapped.

  “Oh. He’s goin’ down there, too?”

  “He’s the fuckin’ gun expert. Tony don’t know shit about guns. He’s going down there to retire.”

  “Unofficially,” Anthony said.

  “So, Tripp and Anthony go south. Who you thinkin’ you want to use to run this operation?”

  “Someone who’s not afraid to show a little muscle. Someone who will whack a fuckin’ rat when one shows his stinkin’ head. And, someone who’s young, and can be in the position of boss for a long fuckin’ time. A man with purpose.”

  Cap looked at the floor for a moment, and then met Sal’s gaze. “I’m drawin’ a big blank.”

  “You,” Sal said.

  Cap burst out into laughter. After he caught his breath, he looked at Anthony.

  Anthony returned a stone-faced glare and a flat response.

  “He’s not joking.”

  Cap looked at me.

  “He’s not joking, Cap.”

  Cap shifted his eyes to Sal, and swallowed hard. “You want me to be the boss?”

  “I’ll be your acting underboss.”

  Cap’s chest puffed out. He stood, cleared his throat, and looked at Anthony. “You’re serious?”

  Anthony nodded. “We still need to work out some details, but yes. This is our answer.”

  “Do I have to drive a Cadillac?”

  I fought not to laugh. Of all the questions Cap could ask, that was the one he chose. Cap was Cap, and there wasn’t any changing him, that was for sure.

  Anthony shot him a look. “You can drive whatever you want.”

  “Well, if I can be a boss in a pickup truck, I’ll damned sure do it. I’d be honored.”

  “It’s settled,” Anthony said. “We’ll work out the details in the next few days.”

  I couldn’t have been more proud of Cap.

  To think we’d made the impression we had in the short time we’d been in the family was unimaginable. It confirmed that I surrounded myself with good men.

  And, a man can only be as good as the men he surrounds himself with.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Terra

  I sipped my drink and then looked around the coffee shop. “I can’t believe we’re sitting here.”

  We were sitting in the same seats we sat in the night Michael and I met for the second time. The words he’d spoken came back to me, and sent a chill down my spine.

  Tonight? Tonight I decided I want to devote a portion of the time and effort needed to eventually earn the right to watch you get dressed in the morning.

  I looked at Michael. “I love you.”

  “I love you, too.”

  “Why did we come here?”

  His eyebrows rose slightly, and he inhaled a shallow breath.

  “I’m not complaining,” I said. “Just asking. I like it. It’s weird, but I really like it. It brings back good memories.”

  “Like what?”

  “When you got out of your car. When you said, ‘I don’t give a thimbleful of fucks who you are. But you damned well need to understand who I am.’”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “You sure did.”

  “Did I?”

  “Those exact words. And then Vincent said, ‘Who the fuck are you?’ You took off your jacket, tossed it on your trunk, and said, ‘I’m that guy.
The one you’re going to wish later that you listened to.’” I chuckled at the thought of what happened next. “And then, you punched him in the throat.”

  Michael laughed. “I remember that part. He was a dick.”

  “He was. So, why did you decide to come back here for a cup of coffee? And, in the middle of the day?”

  He arched an eyebrow. “You complaining?”

  “No, it’s nice. It’s just... I don’t know. You’re always working during the day. I never see you. I like this.”

  “You like relaxing during the day?”

  “Love it. I mean, it gets boring doing it alone. I can only go shopping so much. Seeing you during the day is special. I like it.”

  He cleared his throat. “Your father and I talked this morning. We would like to make some changes to the family’s business. Big changes. Changes that would potentially change where we live, what we do, how our lives are lived, everything.”

  I felt sick. I knew the day would come when my father decided to go back to Philadelphia. The thought of it made me ill. My hormones got the best of me, and before I could respond, I started crying lightly. “We’re going to Philly?” I murmured.

  He touched my shoulder. “No, babe. We’re not going to Philly.”

  I wiped my face, embarrassed that I’d cried in public. “We’re not?”

  “No.”

  “What are you talking about, then?”

  “What would you think about this? Well, before I tell you, let me preface it with this. From what we’ve been talking about, and how your father would like to implement the plan, I would probably work one day a week, if that. It might be one day every other week, I don’t know...”

  He continued talking, but I heard nothing.

  One day a week?

  If he worked one day a week, he would have time to be an active part in our child’s life. We would be together during the day, enjoy our lives together, and make memories that we’d cherish for a lifetime.

  Instead of concentrating on making money.

  I felt hot.

  I grabbed my wallet from my purse, and began fanning my face. “Where would we have to move?”

  He grinned. “Belize.”

  He must have misunderstood me. “No, where would we move to? Where would these changes take place?”

  “Belize. We’d move there. Permanently. The family would have business there, and I, for the most part, would run it.”

  My mind raced. My heart went aflutter. The feeling lasted a short period of time, and then I realized Michael and I would be raising our child in a foreign country, alone. No family. No friends.

  Just us.

  “When? Um...what—when could we—what about the baby? The baby would grow up without grandparents. We’d have to... I mean, I like the idea of the—”

  “Your parents would come with us.”

  “Wait, what?”

  “Your mother and father. They’d move there. Permanently. Your father, unofficially, would retire.”

  It was a dream come true.

  Nothing, and I do mean nothing, could be more perfect. According to Michelle, no one retired from the Mafia, they only died or went to jail. To have my father walk away from the risk of going to jail, and to have Michael work one day a week while we lived in paradise?

  My mind conjured up images of Michael and me walking along the beach with our children while my father relaxed in the sun and drank little drinks with umbrellas in them.

  My mother and I could open a clothing boutique and work when we wanted, and relax when we didn’t feel like working.

  We would live the island life.

  “Terra?

  “Terra?”

  He put his hand on my shoulder. “Terra!”

  “Huh?”

  “This is something we’d like to do immediately. Immediately, as in right now. Your father believes when he cut his arm that he had a premonition. A sign, if you will. He’s ready to make a change. So, what do you think?”

  “We’d all move down there?”

  He nodded. “We would.”

  “What about Cap? And Peter?”

  “Funny you ask. Cap would run the family business here, and Peter would be second in command. Sal would remain in place, acting as a—”

  I swallowed hard. “Peter? Dad is going to let him—”

  “He insisted on it.”

  It was perfect. Simply perfect.

  “Can we come back from time to time and visit?”

  “Sure. Any time we feel like it.”

  “And holidays? We can all get together?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Maybe have them come to the island for Christmas? Leave the snow and come to the warm weather? Cap and Michelle would like that. So would Peter.”

  “We could do all of that. So...”

  I fanned my face again, and realized as soon as I did, that I was crying. I coughed out a laugh, wiped my tears, and met his gaze.

  The changes he was talking of were a dream come true.

  I stood. “I’m ready. Do whatever you have to so we can move. I’ll support you one hundred percent. Now, and always. That’s what Mafia wives do.”

  “There is no Mafia,” he said with a laugh.

  There was a Mafia, and after spending a lifetime denying it, I was married to it.

  And, I was proud.

  Epilogue

  Michael

  I walked along the edge of the beach, forcing myself to take shallow steps. Every few strides, the waves would encroach into our path, and encompass our feet with the warm salt water.

  “Dad. Dad. Dad. Dad. Dad,” she said until the water receded.

  “I know,” I said. “It feels good, doesn’t it?”

  She looked up and scrunched her nose. “Lalla.”

  Bella was fifteen months old, and was able to say four things: Mom, Dad, lalla, and juice. She used lalla for everything.

  I lifted her from the sand, hoisted her to my shoulders, and peered along the beach. I hadn’t realized we’d walked so far. We were at least another fifteen minutes from home.

  “We’ll be there pretty soon, sweetie,” I said.

  “Lalla.”

  I glanced over my shoulder. Two large footprints and two small ones, side by side, stood as a reminder of where we’d walked. Before I had a chance to turn around, the waves washed ashore and erased their existence.

  I grinned, knowing we’d be back. Every morning we left our mark, and every night we left it again.

  Anthony purchased the entire island, buying out the other two occupants, and the small makeshift vacation cottages that were sprinkled along the west side. The entire beach, as far as the eye could see, was ours.

  The only feet that would ever leave an impression on the sand were friendly feet. My life, for once, had no foes, no threats, and no drama.

  Our weapons transactions were conducted in various countries, primarily in South America. We armed anyone willing to stand up against communism, fight the drug cartels, or oppose terrorism.

  Our deals were huge, infrequent, and without incident.

  The last deal we completed made Cap’s three-million-dollar transaction look like chump change. And, we did it all from the comfort of our phones and computers. We inked the deals, Cap manufactured and shipped the weapons, and the majority of the proceeds were wire-transferred to a bank in Switzerland.

  Living life on the island was effortless.

  Off in the distance, our homes were finally visible. “Almost there,” I said aloud.

  “Dad. Dad. Dad.”

  Hearing those words, at least initially, had brought tears to my eyes. I’d gotten used to them over time, and although they were still jus
t as important as they were the first time, I somehow managed to hear them without becoming emotional.

  We continued our trek through the sand as the late evening sun settled in the sky. Another hour or so, and a blanket of darkness would envelop the island. The forecast for the night was clear skies and seventy-five degrees, a perfect night for gazing at the stars.

  My mind drifted to thoughts of my family, my gratitude for the Agriolis, and for the friends that I’d developed over the years. My life was in order, my family came first, and I’d somehow either found or developed a way to spend my days relaxing instead of working.

  “Hurry the fuck up, beach bum,” a man shouted from the porch.

  I looked to my right.

  Cap stood on the edge of the wooden structure, waving. His hair was no longer closely cropped. Now almost collar length, and sprinkled with grey, his hair was pressed against his head, and behind his ears.

  At first it seemed odd, but over time, as with everything else, I became accustomed to it.

  “We’re coming,” I shouted.

  I nodded toward our home. “Look, there’s Uncle Cap.”

  My lackadaisical stroll along the beach turned into an eager pace, and with Bella on my shoulders, I jogged up the beach and to the edge of the porch.

  “Lookin’ good, old man,” I said.

  “If you’d let yours grow, it’d be grey, asshole.”

  I shrugged. “Maybe so; maybe not.”

  “You ready for this?” he asked.

  “Ready as I am every year,” I said. “It’s a good tradition.”

  “No argument here,” he said with a laugh.

  “Where’s everyone?”

  “Inside unpacking the boxes. Looks like you got everything, huh?”

  “Guess so. Terra left it all sealed up. Thought she’d wait until you got here to unpack them.”

  He chuckled. “Nothing like waiting until the last minute.”

  I walked up the steps, and then lowered Bella to her feet. “Thirsty?”