by Tiana Laveen
“You don’t believe it will work.” She smirked as she kept on stirring, not looking directly at him.
“What makes you think that?”
She placed her eyes upon him like a cat about to pounce.
“I think you know…” She looked back down at the potion. “You don’t believe in magic. You believe in me, but not this.”
He clasped his hands together. “You are magic, so how could I not believe in this?” He tossed her a wink, making her blush. He looked outside her window, noticing the early buds on the trees. They still had some snow, but the seasons were preparing to change. A new day was coming.
“Okay, I am going to say the spell words. Are you ready?”
“Yeah.”
She started stirring faster.
“This love spell is for me and my dear, so we can be closer, ever so near. A drink of chocolate, roses, and milk, all laid out upon a tapestry of silk. True love is eternal, it never dies, open his mind, and his third eye. Awaken his senses, let him see what I see, we’re in love, so let him be me.” She slowly stopped stirring, then picked up the glass with both hands. She took a sip, then another, and handed it to him. “Now, you drink the rest of it.”
He held the warm glass and stared at the strange, milky brown liquid inside. Perhaps he was in over his head. He suddenly had reservations, like the first time he was offered some strange, psychedelic drug from a hippie in a back alley.
“This is what you wanted, Angel. You wanted to be able to see inside of me, the way I can see inside of you. This sort of thing doesn’t last because you don’t have the gift, but sometimes, it opens a window – even for only a short time.”
“Don’t call me Angel. Only Nonna gets to call me Angel.”
“Stop stalling and go on, mister big shot!” The large black bell of her shirt sleeve stirred as she pointed towards him. He took in the image of her. The ruby red of her lipstick, the large gold hoops in her ears, and the soft, black curly puff atop her head, wild, beautiful wisps framing her face, and the bun adorned with a white rose hair pendant. He sniffed the concoction a couple of times.
With a smile, he raised the glass in the air. “Bottoms up.” The warm liquid flowed down his throat, smooth… and delicious. The rose petals resting at the bottom of the glass, he handed it back to her and tried his damnedest to show a semblance of concern regarding table cloth covers, candles, and cakes. They enjoyed one another, drinking, planning their special day.
“You wanna fool around? I gotta skin flute in my pants with your name on it. Why don’t ya name that tune?” he whispered in her ear as he groped her breasts and kissed up and down her neck.
“Stop, Angelo!” She giggled and squirmed. “Come on. Stay focused.”
Suddenly, her phone rang.
“Aww, shucks. I was just getting excited about the fuckin’ clown shoes you’re gonna try to make me wear.”
She burst out laughing.
“I wouldn’t dare. You’re so negative sometimes.” She stood. “Wait a minute, baby, let me get this.” He smoked his cigarette while he waited. “Hello? Oh, hi… yes, he’s right here… Angelo,” she hollered from the kitchen, “it’s your friend Tony. He says he needs to speak to you.”
Tony? What is Tony doing calling me at my girl’s house? I gave him this number for emergencies only. He went to the kitchen and took the phone from her grasp. He waited for a spell, watching her sashay back to the living room and plop down on the floor.
“I’m going to look at these bridal veils,” she announced as she settled, the glow from her orange and purple lava lamp shining on her face.
“Hey, Tony, what’s shakin’?”
“Angelo, hate to botha ya, but this is important. The Barker boys are goin’ after William.”
The Barker Boys were three ruthless brothers who were notorious for trying to break into the cagey club of crime for hire in New York City. Angelo had spoken to them a time or two in passing, and he admired their drive. He’d even given the young men a few pointers, per their request, and they practically bowed to him as if he were some God. He’d told them to stand straight and made it clear to them that as long as they abided by the code, there would always be mutual respect.
“Who contracted them?”
“No contract, they’re just hittin’. Not only did Patrick’s ring take out Luciano before you stepped up to the plate, the rest of ’em who weren’t there have set up to retaliate against ya, and anyone affiliated with ya, including me. The word is that the bullseye is on Simon. We gotta act on this. Now.”
“And let me guess who authorized this retaliation?”
“Orders of William, of course. They know Simon helped ya with some guns over the years. He’s your main supplier. They’re going after him soon.”
“Who told you this?”
“I can’t give you his name, Casper, but he’s my secret informant. I have a well-fed squeaky rat giving me all the news, play by play. He’s in their circle. It’s amazing what a little cold, hard cash can buy these days.”
Angelo’s heart drummed a mean percussion. He glimpsed at Andrea, who was nose deep in her magazine.
“This is crazy. Simon doesn’t have shit to do with this.”
“I know, but they know they can’t get any more of your family, or it’ll be a massacre in the streets for months, maybe even years to come, and besides, they feel like Luc’s death was an accident. Poor judgment. Like we should have let bygones be bygones.” He chuckled. “Regardless, they wanna stick it to ya. You fucked up William’s operation, big time. Because of you, the bulk of his drug runners are dead. He spent years building up those relationships. The dealers don’t trust anyone new he is tryna bring in because of the Feds. So, business is down. They can’t go after Fred; they figure you wouldn’t care about him anymore after what went down. They didn’t mention your ol’ lady. I believe they’d be pretty fuckin’ stupid to do that. It would be the end of the fuckin’ world for them too, just like if they targeted your sister or something.”
“Let me be clear, in case anyone ever gets fucking confused. If even one hair is disturbed on Andrea’s head, the idea of the end of the fuckin’ world would be a relief. An escape from me. I’m not a torture tyrant, like some of these guys, but trust me… it would be long. Agonizing. Brutal. And then, it would extend to each and every person they ever loved. I wouldn’t stop until the entire bloodline of everyone involved is eradicated. Poof! Like they never even existed. Take someone precious from me, and I’ll take a hundred from you.”
“Everyone knows how you operate, Casper. Trust and believe, they’re not trying to swim in that pond. I double checked. She’s not even on their radar, so don’t go getting the army tanks just yet. They want a smaller fish that’ll pack a punch. Your main supplier. Something to cripple ya. They know you change guns like you change your underwear. Untraceable. In and out. Vanish. Casper the ghost.” He kept his gaze on the woman of his dreams, feeling broken up and heated inside as he stroked his chin. “They wanna send you a message.”
“No shit.”
“They want that message to say, ‘Casper the fuckin’ ghost used a shitload of artillery to wipe seventeen fuckers out in the Bronx, solo, so we’re going to disarm him. You were already a legend. That put you over the top. It’s something never heard of.”
“Looks like they’re too chicken shit to deal with me head on. Why go after the branch when you could have the whole tree?” He knew the reason, but he wanted to say it all the same.
“They want ya dead, but they know the consequences of that. You’ve got too many allies. And there would be pain. Lots and lots of pain.” Tony cackled. “I say we beat the Barker Boys to the punch, Casper. They just want in, to prove themselves to the Romano family who you know hates William and his boys. But us? We’ve got a stake in this. Let’s take care of these stragglers tonight. Meet me at—”
“Fuck the stragglers. Take out William. Go straight to the damn top. Cut the head off the snake.”
“You’re… you’re kidding, right?”
“Do I sound like I’m fucking jokin’, Tony? I want you to get some guys around Simon, pronto. Don’t let that old man out of your sight. If they’re coming for him, I want there to be some company waiting for ’em. It’s time to play hardball. For years, people have been so careful around William, like he’s some fuckin’ king. He’s a person, just like the rest of us, and he’s responsible for years of bullshit in the streets, yet his hands never get dirty! He has no honor. He doesn’t follow the code. He’s a fuckin’ junkie himself, and he pays his people peanuts yet they keep doing his bidding. He’s not mafia, he’s not elite, he’s not in our circle, he’s nothin’ but a two-bit slime ball. I need for this shit to stop!”
“Angelo, we can’t take out William! Nobody ever gets close to William, or he would’ve been gone by now! How do ya think Patrick knew to surround himself with all of those human shields, huh? He learned from the best. Patrick was an idiot, a flunky. But William? He’s no dummy. Well, that’s a whole different breed.”
Everyone lets their guard down every now and again. Where there is a WILLiam, there is a way…
He turned and found Andrea’s eyes upon him, worry etched upon her face. He turned back around, facing the kitchen sink. Everything was going down the drain if he didn’t do something. It wouldn’t stop with Luciano. With Simon. With no one. They’d keep going, and going, and going.
“I’m taking care of this. I should’ve fucked him up the same day I took down Pat!” He slammed the phone down and marched back into the living room, grabbing his coat off the couch.
“Angelo…” She rose to her feet, her voice quaking. “Baby, please don’t do this! I don’t know where you’re going, or exactly what you intend to do, but I know wherever and whatever your intentions are, they ain’t no damn good!” He refused to look at her for he sensed she was on the verge of tears. He would not look into those big, beautiful eyes. He could not.
“I’ll be back.”
“You won’t! You’re gonna get killed!” She raced towards him and pulled at his arm.
“Andrea, stop it! I have to do this!” He grabbed her wrists and shook her. “You don’t understand. If I don’t, a lot of people are going to die.”
“I understand, all right! I understand that you have a death wish!” She stepped back. “Just five minutes ago, you were sittin’ here, hugging and kissing me, tryna get me into bed, and now you’re about to go out here and shoot or stab somebody!”
“HE DESERVES IT!” he roared. “I should’ve done this years ago. I kept getting talked out of it, but not this time. He wants a war, I’ll give him one!”
“Angelo, you just told me that you were going to buy a car dealership. Become a businessman! You just told me you wanted to open a gun range! You can’t do that if you’re in prison or dead. And what about me?! Do I mean nothing to you?”
“You mean everything to me, Andrea.”
“Then please don’t do this! This won’t change anything!”
“If I don’t do anything, Andrea, it will continue, and continue, and continue! Now they’re targeting Simon, a nice little old man in Queens who provides many of my weapons. We have a professional relationship going on thirteen years strong. The man is seventy-two damn years old, five foot three, and a hundred pounds soaking wet. He’s a minister, for God’s sake! He’s never committed a crime a day in his life, unless ya include dealin’ with the likes of me. I won’t let them kill that man.”
“I’ll call the police, okay?!” Tears streamed down her face as she waved her hands frantically in his direction. “You won’t even have to be involved. I’ll tell them that I heard someone is going to hurt this Simon guy and—”
“Oh, the police?” he sneered. “The police are gonna help us now? Ya really believe that?! Wow! That’s news to me! The same fuckin’ police that didn’t do shit when someone broke into your apartment? The same police that laughed when ya showed them the threatening letters, told ’em about the breathy phone calls, and weird ass, dead black flowers? The same police that fell asleep while writing up a report on your behalf when you were twenty-five and got mugged by some druggie just comin’ home from work? The same fuckin’ police that let a rich White girl steal from the department store, harass ya at your job, and call ya a nigger to your fuckin’ face? The same police that beat up my uncle and called him a greaseball, all because he was in a part of town they didn’t think he should be? The same police that laughed in my mother’s face at the morgue, and told her ‘good riddance’ when they heard my father was dead? That same fuckin’ police, Andrea?! That’s who ya want to call? That’s who I’m supposed to trust?!”
She shook her head, gaze lowered.
“Because of William, Luc is dead, Andrea. He would’ve been my best man if he was still alive. He really liked you, by the way. Thanks for tellin’ me that he said it wasn’t my fault, but I still take some of the blame, and I’ll take it to my grave. This has to stop. Because of William, Fred is in hiding. He’s a marked man. Because of William, my father died earlier than he would’ve!” She looked at him like she didn’t quite understand. “It’s the bloodline, Andrea. William’s father was one of the guys who shot up my father when he went to go confront the man that was sleeping with my mother.”
The woman held herself and groaned. All the skeletons toppled out of the closet… the blood and chocolate mixed. Love and hate became one.
“There were three men. My mother called to warn her lover-boy that my father was comin’, after my parents got into it, and Dad left out the house to put a stop to it. The guy was scared out of his mind. I told ya everyone was afraid of my father, so his cowardly ass called William’s grandfather, who sent his son. That guy’s name was Henry. Henry kept his hands dirty in money laundering, and had connections – favors owed. That son of a bitch grabbed two more fellas to join him in protecting that worm, and they put forty-two fuckin’ slugs in my father’s body! Forty-two, Andrea! We couldn’t even have an open casket… My father lived by the sword, but he sure as hell didn’t die by the sword. He died because of his heart. He loved the wrong fuckin’ woman. I love the right woman, but she needs to understand, this isn’t a velvet cape wrapped around me. It’s my true form. I am a black moon.”
He slipped his coat on, kissed her, then walked out the door…
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
The Boogie Man
Rule 22: If you play with fire, you’re liable to get burned. Son, never fuck another man’s woman, fuck over your best friend, or be fucked at your own game.
This was what he was accustomed to. He was born from the dirt, his torn petals buried underground, while his roots reveled in their pristine ugliness and glorified their hard, twisted work. The strong stench of old piss, the smolder of cigarettes, and the balminess of the hot subway were all too familiar smells, awakening his senses as he made his late-night rounds. Clad in a black suit and disguise including a wig and fake beard, as well as his tote bag strapped across his chest, Angelo exited the subway station. The bright lights of Times Square bathed him in shades of red as the spectacle of illuminated signs publicizing naked girls within an arm’s reach glowed with hedonistic seduction.
He stepped on broken glass and dodged puddles from the melting snow. The air was tinted with the distinct scent of marijuana and the promise of a good time. He paused on the sidewalk and rubbed on his shoulder where the strap of the bag began to dig in.
He’d recovered fairly well from his injury, thanks mostly to Andrea who wasn’t the least bit squeamish and knew her way around a bullet wound. Now, all he had was a small scar to remember dear ol’ Patrick by. He’d heard that Pat’s funeral received far less fanfare than Luciano’s. He kept on walking down the street, then crossed the slippery wet road that reflected the street and traffic lights, towards the old theater. He’s in there… There were three things Sir William couldn’t resist: Primo cocaine, a pair of big boobs to bury his fat face in, and a feast fit
for a king.
Tony wasn’t the only one with a pet rat – he had one, too. Donnie, a hoodlum he’d known since grade school, who played the guitar like no one’s business but nursed an insane drug habit, would nibble on crisp dollars if the price was right. Now he knew where ol’ William was partying at for the evening. Top secret information. William drifted where no one would believe he would – like grimy, and at times revolting, Times Square, where the dope heads, dealers, and perverts roamed. The crowd was particularly thick that evening, despite the cool bite in the air. He finally reached the theater and cased the joint. His lips curled in a smile at the sight of William’s driver’s car. He’d know it from anywhere.
The unmistakable gold Chevrolet Monte Carlo sat there like a golden nugget. What a beaut. ‘Disco Inferno,’ played from some nearby establishment at high volume, mixing in with feminine screams, and someone racing away, yelling, “You’re stoned, sucka! Can’t get me now. Suck my ass!”
Angelo approached the car with caution, surveying his surroundings. He carefully removed a bottle filled with water from his bag and poured it around and beneath the car. Reaching into his pocket, he rubbed his fingers against a moist cloth that had been dabbed in gasoline. He then began to mumble, loud enough for those that passed him to hear.
“Ya smell that, chief? I think this fancy car here is leakin’ gas. I was just checkin’ it out. It’s a real nice machine. Gotta get it to a mechanic. Don’t light a cigarette around it. Geesh.” He pointed down to the water he’d just poured, and sure enough, people paused to take a look.