by S. W. Frank
Three guys were seated at a table, laughing over their plates, enjoying an after dinner conversation with liquor and smoke. One of them he recognized from TV as the Chairman of the New York Stock Exchange. He appeared regularly on the business networks discussing trends and politics’ effects on stocks. Seth Meyer he believed was the name, yeah that’s it, Tony remembered just as Alfonzo slid open the patio door and invited himself in. “Buenos noche,” he said with a sneer.
Seth put his hand on the table to rise and before he could do so, Alfonzo’s blade speared it to the wood. He sat with a yelp, leaning over in pain.
“Anybody fucking else want to get up?”
The men stayed in their seats as Alfonzo’s guy circled the table to check them for weapons. Estefan appeared from what may have been the living-room and gave his boss a nod. Tony figured he’d gone to check the house and gave Alfonzo confirmation there wasn’t anyone else in the home.
The room went silent. Every eye was on the well-dressed Capo de tutti that cared nothing about the blood running down Seth’s hand or his tears. “A meeting with friends. Muy bueno,” Alfonzo commented eyeballing their shocked faces. “You fucked with my business after I made you suckers rich, huh?”
Seth spoke up, “No…no…it’s not like that.”
The action from Alfonzo came quick. His hand held the weapon Tony had suspected lie beneath his shirt. He squeezed off a shot and put a bullet in Seth’s head. “Quiet!”
The blood splattered across the table, and then the lying backstabber’s face slapped the plate causing the utensils to clatter before settling still. Alfonzo yanked the knife free and wiped the blood on Seth’s sleeve. “Nobody talks until I say so, comprende?”
The diners nodded, one continued to smoke.
“Is there anyone else not present for this gathering that should be?” he addressed his former associates.
“We would not tell you. We are dead men tonight, why rat on others.”
“You just did,” Alfonzo stated.
“We die, others come. Greed makes men fiends. Holding on to so much when you are undeserving and have not breathed our struggle Don Alfonzo is the reason you have many enemies and always will.”
Alfonzo scoffed; ah he’d gotten to the core of their animosity. Aside from jealousy, the motivation was hate. “Nice of you to share your philosophy, but that isn’t what I asked?” He stepped behind the chair of the Italian who was dressed in fine leisure clothes and whose lavish life-style was evident by the rosiness of his cheeks. What a greedy swine, Alfonzo thought before he used the gift from Nico to cut smoothly across the meaty neck, opening up gory flesh to display the fat of a human pig.
The final man at the table hadn’t uttered a word. He took a pull of his cigarette and blew smoke to the side without fear. Alfonzo smirked. Of course, it’d be the Russian who’d face him down. The elder man hadn’t licked his wound apparently from a night of drinking and bad business which resulted in an act of generosity that Alfonzo gladly accepted. The bottle on the table, the best of its kind and distributed around the world was his reason to join the others. Some people can’t relinquish the past or learn from their foolish mistakes. “You’re still upset, I take it,” Alfonzo said taking an empty seat at the table for the dead.
The pale hand holding the cigarette waved in the air dismissively. “Upset, no. Seeking to recoup my losses from an opportunist is appropriate, da?”
Tony listened. These two had the mannerisms of former friends. He detected their disagreement was personal. Alfonzo’s azure irises were brilliant beneath the low-hanging chandelier. Alfonzo’s opulent ring sparkled just as clear as the fixture suspended from the ceiling. Tony shifted, and the subtle movement received Alfonzo’s attention. “You said you’ve been scorched Tony. I’ve been burned to the bone. This man and I have done business many times in the past. He decided to give me a gift. Do you think it’s right he wants it back?”
“No,” Tony answered.
“Me neither,” Alfonzo replied. As part owner of the Russian’s vodka company, he received hefty dividends. The alcoholic owner blamed spirits for signing over an exorbitant amount of shares. His regret surfaced during hours of soberness. “People like you are called Indian Givers where I come from. Have you ever heard that expression?” he directed the question to the Russian.
“Da, I have.”
Alfonzo fingered the bottle of vodka and then poured more into the Russian’s glass. “Let us have one last drink,” he said, putting the bottle to his lips to swallow some straight. He watched the Russian enjoy the final pleasure and then suck his mouth from the spirits strong taste. The vodka was good, but Alfonzo preferred the island rum. This would be their last drink together, their business relationship had concluded.
Tony watched his boss. The vein in his neck appeared to slither up and down like a serpent. Suddenly, he clucked his tongue. “Come here Tony.”
Tony stepped forward.
Alfonzo placed the gun in Tony’s hand. “Mi primo taught me to do a man in the manner he lived. The Vincenzo Test or I just call it the Vin Test is pass or fail. Let’s see if you can pass.” He slammed the bottle on the table, his finger pointing as he spoke. “You see the guy with his face in the plate, he never considered I’d catch on to his bull-shit, plus I disliked his pompous ass anyway, now he’s eating shit. The other chump, let greed interfere with judgment, and you can say gluttony caused him to choke. What do you think is fitting for a Russian-Indian Giver?”
Tony didn’t take long to deliver his answer. He shot the Russian in the foot first, then hand and mouth. “I can’t stand people like that either. They give with one hand and take with the other; meanwhile they smile in your face.”
The weapon was returned to the original owner, wiped clean with a napkin and then secured. Alfonzo rose, toppled over the unfinished bottle of vodka and watched it spill across the polished wood. “Make sure that cigarette stays lit,” Alfonzo ordered to his crew and stepped outdoors to inhale fresh air.
The Italian was right. He couldn’t trust anybody, but there were exceptions. He did have family and despite their differences he was certain of their loyalty. Selange, yeah, when it count he’d put his faith in her, Giuseppe, too –for sure and of course Nico. There were many others, Domingo, his mom and the entire Diaz clan, even Sophie and her lot. Hell, he had quite an ensemble of loyal soldiers ready to march. The knot in his stomach had gone and he wasn’t angry anymore over the past. Nico came through; he always did!
He admitted the truth to the gentle island breeze. His cousin Nico was flawed, yet for family he’d slay armies to protect them. Sometimes the pain got in the way of what mattered. Alfonzo claimed to forgive, yet at times forgot. The boil called ego began to rot. A hidden resentment toward a loved one which is secretly unresolved is the worst of human lies. It does far more injury to the heart. The release rid the ache and no longer corroded his soul.
As he waited, his eyes were on the sea. The beginnings of a fire kindled. The smell of sulfur is unmistakable. He wondered what Selange was doing, was she nude in bed or reading? He smiled at the image of his children with parts of both parents. Allie was his tigress and Sal was wise beyond his years. Oh, and Vincent and Angelina, were his double joys. Ah, what more could he ask for?
Selange was always patient, man, he loved her, but for a moment he got scared. Life without her was a frightful thought. He saw many more challenges on the horizon, it’s inevitable, but with his family he’d battle every goddamn one!
Dancing flames were celebratory leaps at his back. The crackling sounds of a human bonfire also brought intense heat. His feet traveled over the grass, pressing it down, leaving transient imprints to mark his presence. The guys caught up and flanked their Don. None spoke, none questioned, and none disagreed. This Don was ruthless toward traitors, and yet fair.
They observed a leader who committed crimes to survive the human jungle. Yet, none truly understood his heart, except a
woman named Selange.
EPILOGUE
On the deck of a yacht, being served Spanish delicacies by uniformed waiters and pawed by bikini clad women is where Alfonzo lounged with the Balearic Island in Spain as the backdrop. A woman draped a hand over his chest and he removed it, annoyed by the implication he was ruled by his dick.
The waiter clad in a pristine white jacket that rivaled his ebony complexion offered Alfonzo more to drink. The man’s features were as strong and sharp as a sevengill shark. His accent was hard and thunderous although he sought to speak mildly. Alfonzo nodded, he could use the refreshment while observing the comedy of errors, why not?
The Mediterranean Sea stretched for eternity, many considered a Mediterranean Paradise. With the right company one could enjoy the beautiful setting. This was business and his wife and children were in Sicily visiting Ari. They were in cahoots, getting around loopholes in reporting charitable donations, which came from criminal sources and laundering the shit out of it. Thanks to Ari, Selange was officially cheating the I.R.S. He blamed Nico, yeah it was fun blaming Nico, after-all he was the common link to both women’s corruption. He kept a careful eye on the ladies and their doings. The last thing he needed was to bail his wife out of jail.
The curious Capo de tutti had grown impatient. The Spaniard assumed he was impressed by the display of decadence, however Alfonzo was offended. To have a playboy wine and dine him as if he courted a woman with a golden pussy made him sick.
Amused eyes danced at the opulence exhibited, the prelude to a favor of ambitious people seeking an allegiance with an international mafia kingpin.
Pasqual Cruz lifted his drink to the air with an eccentric flare. “It is not often I have men of your distinction upon my vessel. She has entertained many famous celebrities and politicians but you are certainly the most importanté, Senor Diaz.”
“Humph.”
“These are many of your favorite dishes. I hear you have the finest tastes and also enjoy beautiful women, no?”
Alfonzo smirked. If chicken iza, lechón asado or barbecued pig is considered fine cuisine and a beautiful wife, a plural then Pasqual was quite the idiot. But, he listened to the speech, similar to many he heard before and took a sip of the expensive wine to prevent him from calling the Spaniard an ass.
“Would you like more dessert, there is plenty or a moment with any of the lovely women, please feel free.”
Alfonzo finished the wine. The sea air he loved, yet did not own a yacht. He had no need of it, when Giuseppe and Nico’s were at his disposal. The flamboyant Spaniard must believe wealth meant ostentation, for braggarts and new money perhaps, but Alfonzo was neither. He leaned forward. An hour of bad theatre was too long a trial for a man who detested opera, but tolerated it for his wife. He saw no reason to linger longer unless there was a reason to do so. “What do you want Pasqual, I am a busy man?”
“Yes, yes.”
Alfonzo eyed the extras and found them a distraction. “Please before you speak, ditch the audience.”
Pasqual’s face turned serious and the mask fell off. He shouted for everyone to leave and then addressed Alfonzo. “We have both come from nothing. I have made my fortune on the streets of Madrid selling musica to tourists.”
“I don’t need your biography Pasqual. I already know what’s in the press kit,” Alfonzo said candidly. He disliked pomp and circumstance. Anyone acquainted with him, was well aware of this fact. Pasqual had not done his homework.
“I am interested in shipping goods into America. The ports in Miami controlled by you are optimal.”
“What type of merchandise and the frequency?”
“Luxury automotive, monthly.”
“Automotive only, no illegal substances or humans involved?”
“No.”
Alfonzo squinted. “There are no illegal substances or human trafficking in anything I personally control. I am not flexible on these conditions.”
“I understand.”
“No, I want you to completely understand. My tolerance for motherfuckers who say they understand and then pretend they didn’t when they’re in violation is zero. You hustled on the street and made a fortune, you say. I never made a fortune on a street corner that shit never happened. My fortune was made when I stopped thinking, uno calle and considered el mundo.”
Pasqual nodded. “It is that which I admire.”
“Bull-shit!” Alfonzo’s eyes were laughing. The Spaniard was a salesman, but failed to realize when it was time to quit selling or lose the customer. “You require an entry port. That’s not admiration it’s business.”
“Yes, business with someone I admire. You are a man who makes things happen.”
“I will consider your request. In a week you’ll receive my answer.” Alfonzo rose.
Pasqual stood and they shook hands. Pasqual watched as the acerbic mafia lord boarded the speedboat attached to the luxury yacht. When the boat sped away one of the waiters re-emerged and sat in the cushioned seat previously occupied by the distinguished guest. “Let us hope you did not kill my opportunity Pasqual!”
Pasqual remained standing. “He said he will consider.”
The predatory nose flared. “Your foolishness was distasteful. Learn to read a man.” A scantily clad woman approached and began massaging the tension from the African’s shoulders. “I have made you rich; it is in your best interest to ensure that does not change,” he reminded the Spaniard. His eyes were on the speedboat cutting across the Mediterranean Sea. Looking in to the blue eyes of the visitor was as if staring in to a mirror of a different color. They were vicious and lacked fear. Such a man could become either an ally or an adversary. It all depended upon the final decision.
Pasqual’s nervous face twitched. The African was a ruthless diamond smuggler. He did not know which man to fear more, the one seated or the mafia leader some said if crossed he skinned you alive. They also cautioned if he sent his enforcers, you’d never see them coming until you were perched on death’s door.
On the speedboat heading to shore with Nico in his usual get-up, hat, shades and stubble along with Tony, Alfonzo burst into laughter. “Do you believe that guy?
Nico shook his head. “I think he made his fortune talking.”
“Selling bull-shit!” Alfonzo added. Suddenly, his cell started buzzing and he answered a distress call from his brother. Giuseppe’s tone was urgent and somewhat of a whisper. “Fratellino, I need your protection.”
A skeptical brow lifted. “And why?” Alfonzo asked although he had his suspicions.
“Amelda is a witch. She has caused trouble and I fear I am in the dog house, yet again with Gee.”
“What did you do this time grande fratellino?”
“Me? I do nothing!”
Then he heard a familiar female voice calling Giuseppe out from his hiding place. Alfonzo put the phone on speaker for Nico to hear. The fireworks were sure to come and the pair never disappointed their audience by putting on an elaborate display. Cousins smiled at Giuseppe’s misery when Shanda shouted, “You slept with Lucia and didn’t think to tell me?”
“It was many years ago, bella. Amelda likes trouble, she remains angry with her friend.”
“But, Lucia visits and smiles in my face and kisses all over Carlo with her fake ass and you smile too. Wait, until I see that bitch. You wait…!”
Alfonzo disconnected. He choked, his ass had laughed so hard. The shit was hilarious and soon Nico joined in. Giuseppe had met his match and they better hurry to Sicily before the woman killed her fiancé.
Tony smirked. In a short time span he’d risen in the ranks and really liked the gig. Moments like these when everything isn’t killing and hard men laugh made it all worthwhile. Today was just another day at the office, except there weren’t a
ny walls to close him in.
See you in XI. Hasta luego!