No Love for the Wicked

by Tiana Laveen

  “Yes, I remember,” she said with a huff. It had been a hellacious night that had involved the police, bounteous tears, and the last evening Uncle Ronald had been home, according to Aunt Bev. “Well, it’s taken care of. I have the gun now, and I feel better already.”

  “You didn’t have to go outside of the family is all I’m saying.”

  “I wasn’t even certain I wanted to get a weapon like that in the first place.” She shrugged as she leaned against the kitchen counter. “But it just so happened to work out that way.”

  “You said he should’ve been a teacher. What does Angelo do?”

  Andrea opened the refrigerator door, removed an ice cold bottle of Coca-Cola and set it on the counter.

  “He takes surplus items and gets rid of them.” She was shocked at how fast she came up with that, the way it slid off her tongue as if she’d been practicing for a long time, ready to lie at a drop of a hat. She had to… she would never tell anyone about his dealings. With the way his reputation was, she was certain that sooner or later, Aunt Bev would figure it out. She grabbed the bottle opener from a drawer.

  “Surplus? Like extra chairs and boxes of oatmeal?”

  “Kind of like that. Auntie, I have to call you back. I need to get showered and dressed before my date tonight.”

  “Okay, baby, but don’t call me while Dallas is on if you get home early. That Patrick Duffy, the guy who plays Bobby, gets my motor runnin’, baby! That’s one handsome man!”

  Andrea burst out laughing.

  “I won’t. I love you.”

  “Love you, too.”

  Andrea hung up the phone, grabbed her cola, and made her way back over to the box of books. The cold, bubbly beverage tasted great going down. She reached inside the container to take out a colorful paperback, but then her phone rang again.

  “Who could this be?” she mumbled.

  A tad annoyed, she got back on her feet and walked into the kitchen.

  “Hello?”

  “There’s the voice of my favorite lady. How ya doin’, baby?”

  She smiled, a warm feeling pouring over her at the sound of his deep voice.

  “Hey, Angelo. I’m fine. How are ya?” She cradled the phone between her ear and shoulder.

  “Good, good. I’ll be over tonight at seven, like I said.”

  “Great. I’m stoked.”

  “In case I didn’t tell you then, I wanted to let ya know that you didn’t do too bad at the gun range yesterday. Proud of ya.”

  “Encouragement is always appreciated. Thank you for being so patient.” She began to twist the cord around her fingers, a ridiculously large smile spread across her face. “I know I was a little skittish at first. It’s not so much the fact that I have a gun, but it was just heavier than I imagined. It takes some getting used to.”

  “Yeah, no problem. It was your first time. I imagine with you bein’ a helpful person, thinking of having to—how can I say it?—help someone meet their maker is not exactly what you’d like to be doin’, but hey, it’s the world we live in. If ya can’t beat ’em, join ’em.” He was suddenly quiet, as if there was something else he’d wanted to say, but was still on the fence about it.

  “Angelo?”

  “Yeah, sweet sugar baby?” Her pussy pulsed with the way his deep voice said those words. She bit her lower lip, shaking her head. So in lust and love. She could hear his lighter flickering and imagined him bringing a cigarette to his mouth, its glow illuminating his handsome face as he sat in a darkened bedroom.

  “My aunt asked me what you do for a livin’. I made up something. Is there something specific you want me to say from now on?”

  “Just tell the truth.”

  “What?!”

  He chuckled.

  “I just wanted to hear your reaction. I mean, ya know, say whatever you think is best, baby.” He paused. “Oh, before it slips my mind, I want you to pack your work clothes for tomorrow and spend the night with me.”

  “Yeah, I can do that. You’re gonna drive me, right? No bus or subway.”

  “Have I ever allowed you to take a cab, bus, subway, a fuckin’ tricycle to work?”

  “No.” She smacked her lips, then grinned as she practically wrapped that cord into a knot.

  “Well then… what kinda crummy guy do ya take me for, huh? My girl doesn’t ride the fuckin’ bus when she’s with me. She rides in style. Get pretty. I’ll take ya for a late night bite to eat after the movie. Get yourself some expensive white wine, lobster ’nd caviar. That’ll make ya happy… I always wanna keep ya happy.”

  “Baby, being with you makes me happy. You don’t have to be so extravagant all the time.”

  “Yeah, I know that. But I like spoiling you.” Her cheeks filled with heat. “What’s that movie ya wanted to see again? I checked the times earlier.” She could hear what sounded like papers rustling. Perhaps he had the newspaper. “But right this second, the title is slippin’ my mind.”

  “The movie we’re going to see is “The Black Stallion,” with Mickey Rooney.”

  “Yeah, that’s it. See the fuckin’ sacrifices I make for ya? I agreed to take you to a horrible fuckin’ movie that nobody wants to see but you, ’cause you’re my girl.”

  “You said you wanted to see it, too!”

  “Like hell I did. Ya told me about it, I said no fuckin’ thanks. Then ya went on with your song and dance… giving me those puppy dog eyes of yours. ‘Oh, Angelo, please. Jessie said it was a must-see flick. Jessie and Winona said it was so good!’” He imitated her voice, making her laugh. “‘You have to see it, baby. All my friends said it’s so sweet and heartwarming.’ Warm my fuckin’ ass.”

  She rolled her eyes.

  “I think you’re jealous of my friends.”

  “Besides that night at Studio 54, I’ve only seen ’em a few times when I’ve driven up to your job to take you out for lunch. Why would I be jealous of them?”

  “I think you’re jealous of how much I talk about them. You don’t like to share me. You compete with them. You know they’re like sisters to me, and you’re jealous of how much time we spend together.”

  “Unless they’re fuckin’ you, Andrea, in some sorta strange department store orgy cult you gals got goin’ on that you haven’t told me about, then what the hell do I care about what you broads do?”

  “You’re a real jerk.” She tried to sound serious, then burst out laughing.

  “They can’t fuck you. They can’t make you laugh like I can. They care about you, I’m sure, but what they got with you is different from what you and I share. And besides, who wants a girlfriend with no fuckin’ friends? You’d be unhappy then. I want you to be happy, just like I said… so I’ve got nothin’ to be jealous of. I’ll endure this movie…” His tone was more serious now. “But, another way for me to look at it is, if I’m spending time with you, then that’ll make it fun. It’ll be worth it.”

  “I’m definitely worth it.”

  “Oh, you don’t have to tell me, baby. I know it.” She smirked. “I’ll even get ya some popcorn, soda, candy, all that shit. Real fuckin’ romantic.”

  She shook her head. “Well, I better start getting ready then, Angelo. Oh, and by the way, hate to spoil your parade, but Aunt Flo is in town.”

  “So.”

  “So?”

  “Tell that bitch to step aside. She’s crampin’ my style.”

  “Well, that’s ironic. You don’t know shit about cramps, but the point is, there’s not going to be any hanky-panky tonight, Angelo. I can give ya a hand job or some head, though. I know how you get.”

  “Your blow jobs are fuckin’ amazing, but I was in the mood for a little more than that tonight.”

  “Well, that’s too damn bad. Don’t go ruining everything. I tried to tell you in advance so you wouldn’t feel blindsided. Hold on.” She put the phone down, retrieved her drink from the living room, and chugged on it all the way back to the kitchen to place the empty bottle on the counter. “All right. I�
�m back.”

  “So you’re on the rag. Fine. Did it just start?”

  “What does that matter?” She put her hand on her hip and grimaced.

  “Because then, ya know, it’s still light. A little spotting is all. We can still fuck around and—”

  “Angelo, no horizontal tango.”

  “Look, ya don’t seem to get it.”

  “No, you don’t seem to get it. I knew that I was giving yo’ ass too much sex! You’re some kinda nymphomaniac.” She snickered. “You wanna talk about spoiled? You’re the one that’s spoiled. Make me regret saying anything at all, and I knew you’d respond like this. I just knew it.”

  “Then why are you getting angry? Didn’t the cards, crystals, our daily horoscopes, four leaf clovers and a bowl of fuckin’ Raisin Bran tell ya I like my sex, and I like it served often? We’re amazing in the sack. It’s fuckin’ incredible. This is bullshit. I don’t give uh shit about the Red Sea. Throw a towel down and let’s go!”

  “Angelo!”

  “I’m serious, baby!” They both laughed now. “I’m not waiting five or six days to fuck, Andrea.” The man is insatiable… “Head alone isn’t gonna cut it. That’s an appetizer. I need to be inside of you.” She hated how her pussy throbbed at the sound of his words. “We’ll put a towel down, like I said, or do it in the shower. You honestly think I’m scared of a little blood? Just think about that for a minute.” He has a point… “Now, pack that bag and go get ready. I’m comin’ for ya.”

  “Okay. See you in a bit.”

  “You bet.”

  She hung up the phone and stood there. Her stomach was filled with butterflies, as though she were a teenager on her first date. Getting her cap opener, she opened a new bottle of soda and drank up.

  I’m in love…

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Let Me Introduce Myself.

  Rule 15: Never abandon family. EVER.

  My father told me when I was just a boy, “Angelo, when you do good, son, no one remembers. But, when you do wrong, no one forgets. Never be forgotten…”

  The honking cars made a ruckus, as did several delivery trucks pulling up and dropping off their loads. The noise of the city was compounded by loud buses and rumbling old automobiles travelling in the Meatpacking district. Angelo parked his ride near the White Tower Hamburger restaurant, hopped out the car, cigarette in hand, and slipped into a nearby phone booth. Grabbing a fistful of coins from his jeans pocket, he slid a dime into the thin metal slot. He was calling his associate, Tony, a guy he’d known since the age of seventeen. They’d met through the Zamboni family. Tony was a pretty good gun for hire himself. Well respected. Not too showy, and knew his stuff. The phone rang a couple of times.

  “Hey, Tony, it’s Angelo Ferrari. I ran into Hector a minute ago, and he said Fred called Danny, but the rest after that didn’t make much sense. I tried to call Fred, but his wife, Katie, said he isn’t home, and my cousin, Luciano, who’s with him, isn’t home yet either. I know you keep your nose to the grind. It’s your job. All I know is some shit about Fred callin’ Hector, but Danny answered the phone at the shop instead of him and now I’m just tryna figure out what the hell is going on. Do ya know anything? I’m getting concerned. What gives?”

  The man took a deep breath—one far longer and more intense than Angelo was comfortable with.

  “Angelo, Danny called me too, since he couldn’t track ya down. He said he got a call from someone, he thinks it was Fred… and uh, he sounded outta his fuckin’ mind. Screamin’ and carrying on. Before he could finish whatever he was blabbering about, Danny heard gunshots. Then, someone grabbed the phone.”

  “And said what?”

  “Yeah… uh, Angelo, not sure how to tell ya this, but—”

  “Just spit it out.”

  There was a long pause.

  “Patrick Murphy got on the phone and he said he needed to speak to someone about some money that Fred owed him. I asked around, but no one knows what the fuck he was talkin’ about. He musta been high off his ass.”

  “Fred doesn’t owe him any money. That’s bullshit. Fred was tryna get a gig or two, move some dope for ’em, and that’s it.”

  “It was more than likely an extortion scheme ’cause of Fred’s contacts. Everybody trusts Fred. You know that. That could be exploited if he’s used as a patsy. I hate to tell ya this, man, but Patrick said Luciano is dead, Angelo.” He closed his eyes as his heart began to race… It felt like the blood was draining out of his body, flooding his fucking shoes. “And according to Danny, no one has heard from Fred in hours. We’ve been tryna reach ya. We know you kinda watch after him. From the way Danny made it sound, if he and Luc are by some miracle still alive, they’re in trouble, man. I woulda gone over there myself, but Paulie was too chicken shit to come with me to handle Patrick and his crew. You know how they get around those guys. I couldn’t run up in there by myself, and I’m short-staffed today. He’s a fuckin’ pussy; always has a bunch of fuckholes around him because he can’t fight, and can barely shoot straight.”

  “Yeah…” Angelo rubbed his forehead as his jaws tightened to the point of pain.

  Tony had a few guys he’d trained himself for smaller-scale hits. He’d become quite the entrepreneur. “I’m sure you understand. Patrick is a fuckin’ monster, but he’s a coward. Nothin’ worse than a psychotic weakling, man. They’ll throw their own fuckin’ mother under the bus just to buy five minutes to haul ass. He hangs with like fifteen, twenty guys at any given time so he doesn’t have to battle. Because of that though, no one can go in there solo. If ya hang tight, I can meet ya at your spot, get you a few of our guys in about an hour, and we can settle the score.”

  “I don’t have an hour, Tony. I don’t have thirty minutes. I’ve got only right now. Fred is worth something to them alive, so I bet they’d hesitate to take him out. But eventually, they’re going to kill Fred, too, if they haven’t already. I gotta go get him. I’ll take care of it myself.”

  Angelo took a hard pull of his cigarette.

  “Angelo, are ya fuckin’ crazy? They may be a bunch of jerk-offs, but they don’t play around! You don’t wanna end up like—”

  Swirls of smoke escaped his lips as he slammed down the receiver on the payphone. He raced to his parked car, his brain feeling heavy and swollen, about to explode and split his skull wide open. He hopped in his ride and banged the dashboard with an unrelenting fist. Over and over he hit the damn thing, screaming at the top of his lungs.

  “FUCK! SHIT! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!”

  After a while, he gathered his wits. He leaned back into the seat and looked up at the car ceiling for a minute. Then, he turned on the engine and it purred like a kitten getting an ear rub. ‘Jamie’s Crying,’ by Van Halen, blasted from the radio speakers. He reached into the glove compartment and grabbed his Glock and Colt M1911, jamming them each into the holster on either side of his hips. Then, he placed a third gun in his black leather jacket pocket. Pulling away from the curb, he headed to the den of iniquity. Like a map plastered inside his brain, he recalled turn by turn, exactly where Patrick motherfucking Murphy resided: in Woodland Heights, in the Bronx.

  He turned the music up as loud as it would go and rolled down the window to let out the smoke. His nerve endings were on fire. The thirst for blood within him was stronger than a vampire’s in a room full of menstruating women. When he arrived close to Patrick’s place, he parked a few houses down. He killed the lights and studied the large, unassuming light gray structure. He could see a few lights on inside, shadows, and a couple cars parked out front in the driveway. Making double sure he had his knives, assorted weapons, and guns, including a fully loaded one in a back holster. He stepped out.

  After dropping his cigarette on the asphalt, then stomping it out, he straightened his jacket collar, checking it out in the car window reflection. He then popped the trunk of his car, and fetched his automatic rifle. Rain started to fall as he approached the front door. Perhaps it was God crying… He r
aised the rifle, aiming the bitch, and shot the doorknob. Smoke filled the air, and screaming and gunfire immediately ensued when he walked the fuck in as if he’d been invited for a celebration. He ducked behind a couch as bullets flew in his direction, spraying the air all around him.

  “Christ! It’s fuckin’ Casper! SHIT!” someone yelled. He quickly stood and threw his knife, followed by a Chinese star from his inside pocket, across the room. With perfect aim, both weapons penetrated some asshole’s chest, right into his heart. He didn’t want to make any more noise with a gun right away; it was best to make the motherfuckers guess where the hell he was until he made it safely to the next location in the house. A red bearded man’s eyes rolled upward, unfocused, and he fell to the floor with a heavy thud. In a flash, Angelo made it to another room with several men inside, and after realizing Fred wasn’t one of them, he lit the place up, blasting everyone in sight. Smoke and return gunfire filled the space, but he was on a mission and nothing mattered to him except what he’d come there for.

  “CASPER! You son of uh bitch! You fuckin’ wop!”

  BAM! BAM! BAM!

  He had no idea who the hell had yelled all of that, and he didn’t care. But as blood pooled out of the fucker’s mouth and he wobbled back, then slammed like a slaughtered pig into the wall, the light leaving his eyes, he knew one thing: the fucker was sure enough dead.

  …And then, the floor creaked.

  BAM! BAM!

  He shot a guy he’d seen a few times – a son of a bitch who looked as if he’d been sucking on an exhaust pipe his entire miserable life. Blood covered the walls like paint, while Angelo kept shooting away at anything that moved. These bastards were far too slow, making it almost too damn easy. He could hear them loading, cocking their guns, and running before his next breath.