by Tiana Laveen
“Oh yeah?!” the man said with venom as he snatched a cigarette out of his pocket and lit it with the lighter Angelo had given him in Patrick’s basement.
“Oh yeah, motherfucker.” Angelo laughed as he gripped the steering wheel to keep his fists from wrapping around Fred’s fucking neck and killing him, too. “Your father made my pops promise to look after ya after he died all those years ago.” Fred slowly turned towards him, his cigarette limp in his hands. “Before my father died, he told me, ‘Hey, Angelo, if anything happens to me, look after Frederick.’ So, I had to look after ya. I promised my father I would. Your father, like you, had done a lot for my pops.”
“That doesn’t make sense! We’re the same age. Why would my father ask your dad to do a thing like that?”
“Your father was afraid people would take advantage of you.” His eyes narrowed on the bastard. “Just like they did tonight…” I shouldn’t have sent Luciano. I should have come myself. I do share part of the blame…
They continued on in silence, the music and the sounds of the city the only noise. He ignored the stinging pain of his arm and tried to stop grinding his teeth. Soon, he arrived at Tony’s crib.
“Fred, get out the car, ring the bell, then knock twice on the door. Tell Tony Luciano is in here.” Fred nodded and stepped out.
He watched as the two men spoke for a bit at the front door of the apartment building. Then, Tony motioned in his direction.
Fred returned to the car and got in.
“Tony said pull the car ’round back.”
Five minutes later, Luciano was inside Tony’s living room on the floor, a blanket over him, while their host was on the horn making some calls. Fred perched on the love seat while Angelo paced back and forth. All he wanted to do was tear the world apart with his bare hands. This shit was far from over. Luciano was important not only to him, but to a number of significant people. Luciano was relied on. Killing Patrick simply wasn’t enough. Taking out everyone in that house but the broad wasn’t enough, either, and there was no doubt that someone would get her, too. Not everyone had his same ethics. Having a set of tits and a pussy be damned. Patrick was one of many of his kind.
Their network was like cobwebs – spread all over the damn place. The debt wasn’t even. The score was not settled. The slate not cleaned. A war had been started. Angelo had done his part, but some of the organizations that relied on Luciano would want revenge from the rest of Patrick’s hangers-on around the city, and Patrick reported to William. William was the big kahuna. Luciano’s funeral would easily have hundreds of people in attendance. It was just that serious. They’d find each and every one of Patrick’s people, and they’d wipe out the rest of that crew in no time. You just didn’t take out Luc and not implode. There would be no business as usual once the dust settled.
“Yo, Angelo.” Tony hung up the phone, then ran his fingers through his feathered dark brown hair. “I couldn’t help but notice your situation. Looks like you’ve got a gun tattoo. Let me help clean ya up.”
“I’m all right. I’ll take care of it later. Fred, stay with Tony. He’ll take ya home.”
Fred nodded nervously, then kept shaking his head long after as he held that cigarette with an iron grip.
“Go on, Casper. I’ll ring ya tonight,” Tony offered.
Angelo finally headed out of the apartment, jumped in his car, and drove like a bat out of hell.
Tony’s going to take care of my nonna. She can’t see me like this. He winced as he touched his shoulder, the pain getting worse by the minute. Shit! I almost forgot… I have to call Andrea and tell her I can’t come by tonight… I’ll have to make up an excuse. He kept on driving towards his apartment, then turned up the music. ‘My Sherona,’ by The Knack, was the song that greeted him. He smoked his cigarette, doing his utmost to blink away the pain of losing Luciano, and kept on rollin’…
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
For the Bible Says…
Rule 16: Life will sometimes come at you fast. Only a woman or death will make you slow down. Sometimes they’re one and the same. Make sure they’re not.
That was the strangest conversation ever…
Andrea had worn her cute little light orange sweater, gold lion pendant necklace, matching earrings, and tight black pants, ready to show off her new threads for Angelo. All that effort, only to be told that he wasn’t feeling well and they’d have to reschedule. Before she could ask any questions or offer to help, the man was off the phone and she was listening to the dial tone. At first, she was upset and started to dial him back to let him know she didn’t appreciate being hung up on like that. But then, she thought better of it. Something wasn’t right. In fact, that whole day, something seemed off. She couldn’t figure out what it was, so she kept her gun near, just in case she received an uninvited visitor. With Angelo’s help, now she was ready. Was her black rose petal pursuer back? Her nerves were a wreck. She’d been on edge since eating her orange slices during her break at work, but thoughts of Angelo kept popping into her mind, and not good ones.
It was as if she was somehow tuning into his channel. The show was pure static, and it left her bewildered. His energy came across as troubled. Drowning in a deep, dark pool of rage.
She removed her heels, kicking them to the side in angst, and grabbed a bottle of wine from the refrigerator. After pouring herself a glass, she lit a few white candles and placed an album on the record player: ‘Hot Child in the City,’ by Nick Glider. She snapped her fingers to the rhythm, letting the music sink in. Then, she grabbed a bag of crystals, her playing cards, and a pendulum. Sitting cross-legged in the middle of the living room floor, she shuffled the cards and took a sip of wine.
What the hell is this man up to? He is a damn fool if he thinks I’m going to let this slide. He cancels on me at last minute like this… That’s not like him, and he didn’t sound right. I hope I get some answers because this shit is unacceptable.
She pulled several cards from the deck, then laid them out one by one, keeping them face down. Reaching into her black velvet bag of crystals, eyes closed, she pulled out one and placed it next to the cards. When she opened them, she took a deep breath. She sipped on the wine and turned the cards over, one by one.
The knight of spades. The king of spades. Several sixes and nines…
He’s conflicted. He’s upset. Some sort of… fight. Knight of spades is youthful, but he is always charging towards something to handle a conflict. To fight. King of spades is a very wise, brilliant man. These two are layered, showing they are the same person in this reading. The king of spades sometimes means a battle is taking place, too. Sometimes that battle is internal, not external. This is Angelo.
She studied the crystal she’d pulled, holding it in the palm of her hand. Lepidolite.
Lepidolite is good for balancing emotions, oftentimes in case of trauma.
She touched the lilac-gray stone with the tip of her finger.
Trauma… What trauma, Angelo? Are you hurt? The kings in the deck drew her attention again. Spades was movement. Action. Below it was the Jack of Hearts. Typically, that was a great card, meaning a friend or lover, an honest guy, brave and respectable, but this was upside down. She kept gravitating to the heart in the card.
The color red… Red means passion. Lust. Love. But also anger… Angry about what? Did I do something? Jack of Hearts is a guy in love, but this one is the wrong way up. There are kings and male energy throughout here. I don’t think this is about me. This doesn’t come across as a love or relationship reading. I mean, mentally, with the way he acted towards me just now, I kinda feel like it’s about me, but I’m nowhere in this reading; nor is his mother or grandmother. This is about him, about Angelo. But there are men around him, too. Not every single card here is Angelo, and he’s got this joker next to him. That could be external or internal. A man might have tried to trick him, acted foolishly, lied, or got him in some sort of trouble. I’ve never seen so many men in one reading. Why are they there?
She grabbed her pendulum and held it high. It swung from right to left, over and over.
“Swing towards the left, for No. Swing towards the right, for Yes… Did Angelo get into some sort of conflict or trouble today?” She held the pendulum higher, then flicked it. Around and around the clear crystal on the string went, then began to sway to the right. She sighed, then placed it down. Getting to her feet, she went to her coffee table and gripped her new Bible which had come in a big box from the magazine catalog. She sat back down, closed her eyes, and began flipping the thick, gold-bound pages back and forth, back and forth, then stopped when it felt right. She placed her finger down on a page. Then, after taking several deep breaths, she opened her eyes and read the scripture:
“Ecclesiastes 12:7. And the dust returns to the earth as it was, and the spirit returns to God who gave it…” Confused, she read again. “Did someone die?” She closed her eyes once again, closed the Bible, opened it back up, and once more flipped the pages back and forth. Then, she began to pray.
“God, please show me what I need to know. I believe you placed Angelo and me together. I believe you mean for us to be as one, for me to be his woman, and he my man. None of us are free of sin and wrong-doing. You know our hearts. Please show me what I need to do right now, if anything. I am confused. I see him fighting, I think. I see him upset and depressed. In fact, I can feel it! I can feel him all inside me.” She closed her eyes again, trying to catch her breath as strong emotions overcame her. “He called me, not sounding like himself tonight. Not sounding right at all. Angelo doesn’t open up the way he should, so I need your help, Lord. Please show me a scripture that tells me what you want me to do. If it is nothing, I will accept that answer, too.”
She gave the Bible one more flip, then once again placed her finger on a scripture. Opening her eyes, she read it aloud.
“Ezekiel 3:18. When I say to the wicked, ‘You will surely die,’ and you do not warn him or speak out to warn the wicked from his wicked way that he may live, that wicked man shall die in his iniquity, but his blood I will require at your hand.”
Oh, God. Something is definitely wrong. Okay, I hear you. I must speak out… I must go to him. She closed the Bible, picked up her belongings, and placed them all back in their rightful place. After turning off the music and blowing out her candles, she grabbed her jacket. Ten minutes later, she was up the street, hailing a cab. She jumped in the back seat, wind and rain beating against the car as she rattled off Angelo’s home address to the driver. She sat there in the backseat, gripping her purse, her heart pounding nearly out of her chest. Her stomach knotted painfully, as if she’d had a bad meal that made her sick from the inside out. Something was so very wrong, and no one could tell her otherwise…
Sitting at the table in his bedroom, Angelo took another labored breath. Blood-soaked cotton balls and gauze littered the floor and trashcan. With the flame from his lighter, he purified the blade. He stuffed the cloth in his mouth, braced himself, and pierced his flesh to try to extract the bullet. It had been eleven years since he’d been shot the very first time in his life. That had been a graze that left little damage to his lower right leg. He knew he was in trouble almost immediately today when it happened, but he had to finish getting his cousin out of that house, as well as get Fred to safety. Pain be damned.
“AHHHH!” He spat the cotton rag out of his mouth, then assessed his progress. It was happening, slowly but surely. The bullet was embedded in the muscle, and he knew if he didn’t get it out soon, he could have irreparable damage to his shoulder. It was too far close to the joint, but it could’ve been much worse. He reached over to the red table, grabbed his glass of whiskey, and downed some. ‘Miss You,’ by the Rolling Stones, was his background music, and a stick of Cannabis incense burned nearby. Minutes ticked by. More blood… more whiskey… more curses.
He suddenly heard his buzzer go off at the front door of the apartment building. The alarm clock on his nightstand said it was almost ten PM. Holding his arm, he got to his feet and made his way to the kitchen, then pressed the button.
“Yeah?!”
“…Angelo. It’s me.”
Fuck…
He closed his eyes and hung his head.
“I already told ya I’m not feelin’ good, baby. Please go home.” He tried to not sound angry when in fact, he was.
“I can’t go home.”
“Why not, Andrea?”
“Because the Bible told me to come.”
“The Bible?” He rolled his eyes. “Isn’t that the same Bible that tells ya witches are evil?”
“I’m not a witch.”
He rolled his eyes again. “The Bible says that people like you, with your type of gifts, and I know ya got ’em because I saw it for myself, should drown in a river, Andrea. Or burn at the stake. Somethin’ like that, right? My days of children’s Sunday school and readin’ the good book are fuzzy, but I know there’s something in there like that. I also know you liken yourself to some sorta Christian witch, but the same would apply to you, regardless.”
“You just wasted a whole minute talkin’ a bunch of jive. Let me in, Angelo.”
“Andrea, stop. I can’t see ya right now. I’ll call you tomorrow.” He turned away to walk back to his bedroom when the buzzer sounded again. Cursed, he stormed back over.
“You’re pushin’ me! I told ya—”
“I know someone may have died! I know you’re upset or hurt in some way, and I know you better open this gotdamn door, Angelo! Open this shit, now!”
He rested his head against the wall and shook it. And then, resigned, he pushed the little button to open the front apartment building door so she could come in. Typically, she was able to enter when someone was entering or exiting, but perhaps she’d waited a bit and no one showed up. Now, he’d be stuck trying to explain what the hell happened. His shoulder situation was hard to miss. Leaving her out in the cold was no longer an option.
A few minutes later, his woman was banging on his front door. She bypassed the doorbell and went straight berserk with her fist against the wood.
He stared at her through the peephole.
“When I open this fuckin’ door, Andrea, I don’t want any bullshit. Do ya understand me?”
“Mmm hmm. I understand.” Her lips pursed and she crossed her arms, all while tapping her foot impatiently.
Great. Nothin’ but attitude. I’m fucked.
He undid the locks, swung the door open… BAM!
“Jesus Christ, Andrea! Shit!”
“Talkin’ to me like that! Have you lost yo’ mind, boy?!” She slammed his door closed and locked it, while he rubbed his head where she’d bonked him with her purse. And then… her gaze rested on his shoulder. “Oh my God! Oh my God! What happened, Angelo?!” She wrapped herself around him, holding him, but mindful of his shoulder.
“I’m fine, baby.” He kissed the top of her head.
“No, you aren’t.” She stepped back and looked at his wound. “That’s… that’s a gunshot wound.”
“No kiddin’?” He chuckled as he made his way back into his bedroom with her trailing close behind. Plopping down in the chair, he took another swig of whiskey.
“You need to go to the hospital.”
“Not gonna happen.” He pressed into the wound and gritted his teeth, trying to find where he’d left off.
“Why not?”
“Because that leaves a paper trail. Any time a guy like me shows up at the ER, it gets put in a file and then the police can link ya up with crimes in the city around that same time frame, even shit ya didn’t do. There are no papers on me. Never have been, never will be. I would’ve considered just leaving it alone, but it’s too close to where I swing my arm, ya know, that joint, so it’s gotta come out.”
“You know I want you to tell me what happened, but for right now, let me help you.” She walked away and he heard her in his bathroom, turning the faucet on.
“Andrea, ya can’t help me. I can do t
his, all right?” When she returned, she was patting her hands dry and holding a bottle of rubbing alcohol.
“Stop using that knife. You’re going to leave too many scars, and you could accidently make it worse.”
He looked her up and down for a spell. “How would you know?”
“Well, first of all, these sorts of things have always interested me. I studied medicine and the body to help some of my clients with their aches and pains. I make special remedies out of natural ingredients, as you know. Secondly, my Aunt Bev had gone to nursing school, but once she started havin’ kids, she decided to stay home with them. That didn’t erase the knowledge she had, though. She’d help people on the sly. I watched ’er take a couple bullets outta people when I was a kid. These guys wouldn’t go to the hospital for the same reasons you’re telling me you won’t go. Like you said, sometimes she’d tell people it was best if they left it alone, but you’re right. In this case, it’s too close to your joint, so it could travel, even leave your shoulder altogether, hit a vital organ and possibly kill you if it punctures or obstructs the wrong thing. You could get an infection, too. You’re going about this crudely, and I’m concerned you might be losing too much blood. Are you feeling lightheaded?”
“No.”
“Okay, good. Got some needle-nose pliers?”
He looked at her inquisitively, then nodded.
“Yeah, in the kitchen. Second drawer on the right.” When she left, he tried to calm his breathing while ‘Shadow Dancing,’ by Andy Gibb was starting to play. She soon returned with the pliers, a bowl of water, and several towels.
“Sit straight up, baby.” He did as she asked. “See, this is at an awkward angle. You’re right-handed, trying to tend to a right shoulder injury, and you can’t get at it well because you have to use your left hand.”
“Shit.” He winced as she pressed an alcohol-laced towel gently against his wound.
“I looked in your bathroom and didn’t see any peroxide. I see you cleaned up the wound pretty well, but you’ve made a few minor cuts in your efforts. I wanted them disinfected.” As he sat there being tended to, she hummed to the music and he realized that he was definitely in good hands. It hurt less than when he was doing the job, and she was taking her time. Nevertheless, he did not like her being involved like this. That was a hard rule he’d just broken. Your woman was never supposed to be wrapped up in your bullshit, yet here she was.