Animus

by S. W. Frank

  Nico laughed and it carried to his eyes. He waved good-bye to everyone. The light-heartedness carried him into the fresh air as he ran to his car. Yes, the hell he did, because the thought of going home brought a thrill.

  His family was in Cefalú, only 70 kilometers from Palermo and he was excited to see his new daughter, wife and sons. In the trunk was a canvass and oils. In the days ahead he planned to paint in bright vibrant colors.

  The quiet relaxed him as he drove to the A19 tollway towards Messina-Catania to the Cefalù exit. In less than an hour he arrived. The boys were in the living-room, playing video-games, a favorite past-time for a sedentary generation.

  The smell of food, Caribbean spices, everything island he loved clung to the air. The boys were on their feet, brawny teenagers who wanted to take-down their old man. He put his backpack aside to meet them in the middle of the floor before they collided into his chest, and tried to twist his arms. A happy father laughed, taking down one with little resistance and then the other.

  “What’s all this commotion?” Ari exclaimed. Then she saw the three. Their father had the boys pinned and she smiled. “Nico, you play too rough.”

  Nico’s head swiveled around. There stood Ari, sexy as hell, the woman his heart leaped to see. He stood erect. “Mi bella.”

  The boys’ snickered at their parents when their dad swooped up their mom, squeezed her ass and began to kiss her like they weren’t there. Twin voices moaned. “Ah, shit dad…yuck!” 

   

   

   

   

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

   

   

   

  Sergio’s ass slid left and right on the hard plastic seat at JFK airport. He attempted to get comfortable. How some people slept without a problem, was anybody’s guess. Three hours and forty-five minutes is a long time. He got up and took his bag from the floor, unzipped the side pocket and searched around for a mint. His hands touched keys, and he pulled out a set with a familiar BMW logo. Shit, he’d nearly forgotten all about that car.

  He’d spoken to his sister. Today she was home, and it seemed as good a time as any to sign over the title. He didn’t need the car anymore; maybe she and Tyree might need it to get around. The strap went over his shoulder and he scurried outside for a cab. Two hours tops is probably how long it’ll take to get the car, transfer the paperwork and then get back to the airport. He found a cab beneath the terminal lights. Taxis were in abundance lined and waiting for tourists to exploit. He gave the address and was told an exorbitant sum. Previously the old Sergio may have laughed and told the cabbie to kiss his ass, but instead he nodded and the vulture raced to the expressway in the dark.

  Sergio’s stainless steel chronograph read; 12:52 p.m.

  The car sat right where he parked it a while ago. Damn thing wasn’t stripped or nothing. An orange citation is the only thing different. He paid the driver, minus a tip and leaped out. He snatched the ticket from beneath the wiper blade to read the nature of the car’s infraction which was an EXPIRED REGISTRATION.

  Well, shit, the registration only expired yesterday. The city never cut a dude a break. A car rolled by as he folded the paper and shoved it in his pocket. He had just unlocked the doors and had tossed his bag in the back seat when he heard a deep voice at his back, “Didn’t I tell you to stay the fuck from around here?”

  Spignelli spotted Sergio a few minutes earlier when he drove past. He parked his car and decided to surprise the bastard. Maybe, he ought to teach the kid a permanent lesson about respecting a man’s turf and deal with Nico’s wrath after. That is if Nico even really gave a damn about the punk. The enforcer he knew from the old days, never cared shit about anything except his job.

  Sergio put up his hands when he saw the switchblade come out. The hulking figure was alone, and at this late hour the sidewalks were empty. There wasn’t one witness around. “Hey, I just came to get my car.”

  “I don’t give a damn you piece of dung!”

  The blade pierced Sergio’s side. It stung more when the enraged Italian yanked it out. He went to jab Sergio again and survival kicked in. Everything Nico taught him was executed in an adrenaline induced rush. He sidestepped, both hands caught the oversize wrists, thumbs pushed to reverse the handle and he shoved the larger man’s hands down. The blade went in to his stomach and he dropped in the street.

  Never leave anything behind to tie you to a job.

  Sergio pulled the knife free and Spignelli moaned.

  Never leave anyone alive who can identify you.

  Sergio grimaced. He didn’t want to do it, but he had no choice. The knife was plunged in Spignelli’s heart. Twice for certainty.

  Never linger after a job, become air.

  The knife was thrown to the car-mat and Sergio ripped out of there. In the rearview mirror he could see the body in the middle of the street. The green lights were a sign or something, because he made it to the expressway in minutes. He slowed with the traffic. Panic seized him. The warmth began to spread and his eyes were beginning to close. He forced the sleep to wait. He drove to his sister’s building in a haze. Beneath the apartment window he sat bleeding profusely, as he dialed for a sister’s help. She answered and whatever he said brought her to the car with Tyree at her side. The fog continued, but through it he felt pressure and something tighten around his abdomen to suck him in like a woman’s girdle. What was his sister doing? The blade was removed and concealed in a bag. Tyree assisted Sergio out of the car, his sister following with the duffle-bag.

  The bathroom tub is where he was placed. His eyes were closing. “I’m sorry sis. I didn’t mean to get you involved. I just couldn’t go to the hospital.”

  “Why not Sergio, what happened?”

  “This guy stabbed me and I think I killed him.”

  “That’s self-defense, unless there’s more Sergio…is there?”

  “He’s a mobster. If his people find out I did it, I’m dead sis. They’re not going to care it was self-defense…I’m dead.”

  Sergio heard the running of water and then wetness, stinging when the girdle shit was loosened. His sister’s voice drifted in the air. “Tyree take care of him,” she said.

  “Tonya, what the hell are you doing, where are you going?”

  “I have to get rid of the car and any evidence.”

  “Dammit that’s risky. You’re putting you career on the line for a brother who stole from you girl!”

  “He’s paid it back. Plus my brother wasn’t always like this Tyree. Unlike you he didn’t get any breaks. You had a father who loved you and he had a mother who loathed him because he reminded him of the father. Now, what kind of shit is that?”

  “Tonya, that’s no reason to get involved in his mess.”

  “Really, well I don’t see it that way. It’s more of the reason I am. He’s straightened out his life Tyree and if he needs me, I’m there. That’s my brother, fuck my job. I’m never turning my back on him again!”

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

   

   

   

  The island sun greeted a weary traveler. It warmed the bone and Alfonzo smiled at the welcoming home. Alfonzo chucked deuces to his pilot Troy and disembarked. The familiar face of Emilio and Estefan waited. Estefan took his luggage. He moved with a slight limp, which is the only reminder he’d been hurt at all in the shooting. The short drive in the air-conditioned vehicle came with the smooth crooning of a song. Emilio knew him well; music is what he preferred over idle talk. The haunting sound of a piano in the stillness was soon blended with a melancholy female voice.  Alfonzo’s head leaned against the seat, his eyes were open, his mind engrossed in the song.

  ‘All along it was a fever,

  A cold sweat hot-headed
believer,

  I threw my hands in the air, said show me something,

  He said if you dare come a little closer…

  Not really sure how to feel about it,

  Something in the way you move,

  Makes me feel like I can't live without you…

   

  Sometime during the chorus he’d fallen asleep and a hand on his arm awakened him. The house was as he remembered, the steps to the door counted in breaths. His wife is what he noticed there waiting, holding Vincent in her arms. His mother cradled Angelina. They weren’t babies, toddlers is what they’re called with heads larger than bodies and plump arms pointing in recognition. Their sounds were drowned out by the roaring of his heart when he saw them. Kisses and hugs were shared. Laughter, food and talk of the things he missed during his absence were told to an attentive father. Excited leaps from his two oldest the moment they returned from school, spotted their dad lounging on the sofa and then smothered him with love the way children do.

  These were the moments he cherished. Every day these visions kept him going, but it was the night he dreaded. And when the children slept, lovers undressed to embrace. His woman’s hands caressed him gently, smiling hazel drinking him in. Lips, softer than memory touched his chest, trailing kisses over scarred and healing flesh. He lay there; eyes closed hearing the song from earlier today as his wife’s mouth gave him pleasure. She massaged his body, stroking places no other woman ever reached and deeper he sunk. Internal music and the manipulations of his skin worked in unison causing weightlessness.

  ‘It's not much of a life you're living,

  It's not just something you take, it's given,

  Round and around and around and around we go…

   

  Not really sure how to feel about it,

  Something in the way you move,

  Makes me feel like I can't live without you…

   

  Ooooh the reason I hold on,

  Ooooh cause I need this hole gone,

   

  Funny you're the broken one but I'm the only one who needed saving…’

  Through slits, Alfonzo watched Selange climb over his thighs, bracing her hands on his taut skin. The heavy lids were evidence of her lust and she was as beautiful as the day they met.

  In tragedy’s parlor.

  His dick was rigid to the ceiling, waiting and wanting to love, but then the doom appeared.

  Selange’s beautiful dress bloodied his thoughts.

  Tumbling and falling on hard stairs in a rapid descent.

  An image caused his dick to fall, too.

  Shame. Self-recrimination. Fear and sadness prompted deceptive actions to cloak the physical symptoms of what he considered psychological erectile dysfunction. He covered like a pro, providing extended oral pleasure to his honey’s pussy and she flowed. The orgasms racking her body, distracted from the non-appearance of the main attraction, Sir Dick remained a no-show.  Shortly after, he mumbled some shit about being exhausted and his chest hurting and excuses he never uttered before to avoid sex. He pulled her close to his body and her suppleness blanketed hard abs instead of a hard dick. He felt crappy and feigned sleep. The haunting lyrics of a song clung like guilt all night long. 

   

   

   

   

  ~ ~

   

   

  Alfonzo arrived early to the office. He needed to review the status reports on many of the jobs. Hopefully, they were still running on schedule and nothing pressing required his attention. The employees weren’t due for another three hours, which gave him an opportunity to walk through the offices without having to talk. Anita was up when he departed this morning, cooking breakfast, patting his cheek and then squeezing and kissing it like a happy mother. Of course, the caring woman ordered him to sit and eat.

  Selange had come down then, her face unreadable for the first time. He smiled in greeting and stood. She gave a weak smile as she tied her robe. “It’s only five-thirty in the morning, where are you going?”

  “I’m hitting the office early babe. I’ve missed a lot and need to get back on top of things.”

  Her eyes were sad. “But can’t it wait, I mean at least until tomorrow?”

  “No esposa, it can’t.” He wrapped her tightly in his arms and placed a lingering kiss on her neck. “I love you very much.”

  “I love you, too.”

  “I’ll call later, okay?” he had said and then took off.

  Alfonzo groaned at the memory of his deception. The what if’s just rolled on, one after another. What if she gets pregnant? What if she dies? What if…

  Forlorn, he sank in the leather chair behind his desk. “Maldito, how am I supposed to get through this?” he asked aloud and then took out his frustration on an innocent waste bin. He kicked the shit clear across the room!

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

  CHAPTER TWENTY

   

   

   

  The morning rain was teardrops on the windowpane. Sitting forward in bed was an effort. Walking by the nursery always brought a pause and flaring nostrils. Matteo was angry, ah, the cazzo would get over the news Giuseppe fucked his sister and made her pregnant. If he didn’t he could join the others with their petty grudges. They were termites trying to topple a pillar of stone.

  A cowardly person had upset his life. When found they would be punished and suffer. But, in the mean-time the spineless actions had caused him to lose time with his family. The happy moment and intimacy with Shanda was broken. She had finally begun to trust him and let down her walls. He loved coming home to find her marching around the kitchen in charge of the pots and pans or receiving an unexpected call asking that he join her and Carlo in the park or at some historic sight the tourists often visit. He missed his son and the mother. The love for both was strong.

  A shower and food helped ease a sullen mood. Business, to hell with business, he allowed Matteo to run the companies for a time. When Matteo’s skull combusted from whining men and requests for favors he’d understand why bleeding hearts are people pleasers and stone ones please themselves. 

  He forked cold leftovers into his mouth. Perhaps, he should hire a cook…nah…not everyone’s food did he like. His fork was placed on the plate when his Capo alerted him to yet another female visitor, days of women coming to inquire about his health become irksome. It was not his injury they wanted to nurse; they wanted Doctor Dick to perform vaginal exams.

  “Eh, send her away!”

  “Lucia Peglesi, are you certain?”

  “Why did you not just say Lucia’s here, aye?”

  The Capo shrugged.

  “Let Matteo’s sister in!”

  Two minutes is the amount of time which elapsed before Lucia stepped through the door carrying a wet bag and umbrella.  She put the umbrella down near the door and joined him at the large table for large men. “Buongiorno amico.”

  “Buongiorno Lucia.”

  She removed a covered glass from the bag and walked to his side. The sight of the delicious granita made him smile. “Tu sei il migliore!” he exclaimed and he pulled her on his lap, kissing her rosy cheeks for her thoughtfulness. The soft, airy, buttery brioche roll split open wide and stuffed to overflowing with sorbetto, layered con panna was always his favorite. She lifted a spoon and fed him like he was a child. His eyes twinkled because if there were ever a choice between sex and food, he would not die from abstinence, however the latter he would.

  Lucia wiped his mouth with a napkin. “My brother is furious with us.”

  He held Lucia’s hips. “I apologize if I brought you pain by speaking of our past.”

  “Oh mio Giuseppe, what occurred between us is the past.”


  “But, we have never spoken openly and that is how the past haunts souls.”

  “In church I confessed my sin. It is my sin and not yours.”

  “No, ti sbagli. I am to blame. It is my irresponsible actions which led you to do what many young frightened girls have done. Perdonami, Lucia.”

  Lucia’s lip trembled. Many years she carried the guilt, ashamed for violating her religious beliefs. She feared her parents over God, and such is the agony of an obedient girl. “Sí, mio amico. I have forgiven you in my heart.”

  Giuseppe put his forehead to her buxom. “Grazie that is all that matters.”

  He raised his face and smiled. “I think it is time for you to leave Lucia Peglesi before Matteo comes here with his guns to kill me.”

  “Ah, he is your friend. He is angry now but Matteo is upset with you often and soon calms.”

  Lucia’s bottom began to heat his flesh and he set her upright to her feet. He could never return there with Lucia. His love for her had changed. She felt more like a sister. “Grazie for the granita. I must go out.”

  There was a hint of disappointment. “Sí, of course. Ciao!”

  “Ciao bella.”

   

   

   

   

   

  ~ ~

   

  Giuseppe surprised his mother and appeared at her home, freshly shaven and dressed in his finest suit. She smiled and kissed his cheeks, happy to see him up early. She often came to his house after ten o’clock to cook, clean and wash. He told her many times during his recuperation it was not necessary, but she is Sicilian. They’re stubborn.

  The medicated fog had finally exited his system. His mind grew sharper, the Giuseppe who craved food, wine and sex returned. Except, last night he had considered ringing Alanda, but then decided to sleep alone and then this morning, another opportunity arose with Lucia and he passed on a really good fuck. Unheard of!

  He put the coffee cup to his mouth watching his mother flitting about the kitchen. The cook was also present and she pushed pastries in front of the hulking figure leaning over the counter. “Eat, we have missed you,” the cook said.

  The old woman had always been the second mother in the house. “Grazie,” Giuseppe smiled.