*
Franky joined the organization back in ‘87, or maybe it was ‘88. Mr. Carlino had just become boss, after the death of old-man Merazano. Now there was a boss you could respect, a man who knew how to run this town. Merazano got old and physically weak, and some of his younger crew got to thinking bad things—men with too much muscle and not enough brains. That’s how Mr. Carlino and his lieutenants came into power, not by courage or promotion, but by cold-blooded murder.
It was Merazano who implemented the partner system, teaming Franky and me up. It was good having someone watch my back when we made our rounds, especially since much of our clientele were crack-heads. Sometimes, drug addicts get ideas, ideas that are no good for them. Drugs make people unpredictable, and guns and knives make people feel strong.
Recently, Mr. Carlino got wind that Franky had been talking to some people who he shouldn’t have been talking with. The Vipers, they called themselves. Stupid name. The Vipers. They should have spent more time thinking about their image instead of selecting a name based on a fucking snake. Nonetheless, these Vipers, they were real up-and-comer in these parts. They didn’t have the reach and distribution capabilities as we did, and they never would without stepping on our turf, but they had numbers. Numbers that were steadily growing. And they were real sick sons-a-bitches too. They liked to play with knives and axes, fire and explosives. Franky had informed these guys when Mr. Carlino and his lieutenants would all be gathered together. And with Franky being able to access the game room in Mr. Carlino’s house, he was even going to plant the explosives himself before ducking out of there.
But Mr. Carlino had figured out the plan, which means he had little time to come up with a plan of his own.
And I had a pretty good idea of how his plan would go down. He’d handle it the same way that he handled the Southside wars back in the late ‘90s. He’d hide while we, his men, are out on the streets doing all of the fighting. I earned my biggest scar back in the Southside wars, the one across my stomach. I earned it for him, Mr. Carlino, and the guy did nothing to show his appreciation. He never came to visit any of us in the hospital. Franky was there, too, and so was Stevie, the guy watching the door. Jesus, Stevie was just a kid then. We got lit up at the same time in a drive by. That’s when the seed of mistrust got planted in Franky’s head. It was then that Franky lost all his respect and hope for Mr. Carlino, and his ability to lead our organization.
So Franky gave information to the Vipers, and in return, the Vipers would merge with what was left of our organization, split all revenue. Franky would even be boss.
Not the worst idea.
But a terrible idea for Mr. Carlino, and his empire built on greed and blood.
The Basement Vault Page 2