by Andy Rausch
The bartender turned and looked at him.
“I'm looking for a lawyer, goes by the name of Frankie Gio.”
The bartender simultaneously nodded and grinned. He pointed over to some doors in the distance. “Second door is his,” the bartender said. “If you get to the john, you've gone too far.”
Lefty thanked him and walked towards the office. The door was closed. He now saw there was a clumsily-scrawled sign taped to it. It had Gio's name written on it. Lefty knocked.
“Come in,” came a voice from inside.
He opened the door and found a sleazy-looking heavyset goomba with leathery skin, approximately fifty, sitting at a desk watching porn on his PC. He looked up, a cigarette dangling from his bottom lip. “What can I do you for?”
“I'm supposed to give you a password,” said Lefty.
This got Gio's attention. “What's the password?”
“Avocado.”
Gio lit up, nodding. “Right, avo-fuckin'-cado.”
“I need details about the contract.”
“I'll give you what I can,” said Gio. He stood up, wiping food crumbs off his t-shirt/sports coat combo. He reached out a hand for him to shake. Lefty didn't want to shake it, but he did, thankful to find it neither sweaty nor slick from lotion. When they unlocked hands, Gio came around the desk and walked to the door. “Follow me,” he said. “We'll go somewhere we can talk.”
This surprised Lefty as he would have thought Gio's office a sufficient locale for their discussion. A few steps outside, Gio turned back to him. “Are you straight?”
“What do you mean?”
Gio rolled his eyes. “Do you like pussy?”
Lefty grinned. “Who doesn't?”
“Right,” said Gio, nodding. “Even women like pussy. At least the good ones anyway.” Gio walked over to the bartender and said something, but Lefty couldn't make it out. Gio and the bartender then parted ways. The bartender scurried off, and Gio came back over to where Lefty was standing.
“Come on,” said Gio, leading him. “We can talk in here.”
Gio led him to a door labeled the Champagne Room. Lefty wondered what all this was about, but he wasn't about to turn down the charms of a shapely young woman if they were offered to him. They entered the Champagne Room and there were two chairs in the center of the room and a couch along the back wall. Gio motioned towards the chairs. “Have a seat.”
Lefty sat down.
“Where you from?”
“Does it matter?” asked Lefty.
“Not particularly,” said Gio, still standing there, removing a pack of smokes from inside his sports coat. “You mind if I smoke?”
Lefty shrugged. “It's your place.”
“I don't own it or anything. I just got an office here.”
“I've never seen a lawyer with an office inside a strip club before.”
Gio grinned. “What can I say? I'm one of a kind.” Gio started to say something else, but the door opened. Two young strippers strode in, wearing only bottoms and heels, their tits on full display.
Gio put his hand on one of the girls' arm, leading her in. “Ladies,” he said. “Come on in. I want you to meet my friend here.” He looked at Lefty, realizing he still didn't know his name.
“Call me Lefty,” he said. The girls both smiled, their eyes sizing him up. They giggled. One of them, a sexy Latina with long black hair, climbed on Lefty's lap, straddling him. Lefty looked at Gio. “This one's forward.”
“That's the best way for a broad to be,” said Gio, sitting down in the chair beside him. “Who's got time to fuck around, am I right? I figure it's better if they just get in there and do the thing, you know?”
Lefty looked up at the girl sitting on his lap, her medium-sized tits in his face. She was beautiful. He was certain she had broken a heart or two before, back when she was Maria or whomever she was out in the real world. “What's your name?” he asked.
“Candi,” she purred.
“Candi? Why does that sound like a bullshit stripper name to me? I've never seen a Hispanic girl named Candi before.”
Candi grinned. “Judging by how hard your dick is right now, I don't think you really care too much what my name is.”
“Just making conversation,” said Lefty.
The other girl was now straddling Gio, who looked completely disinterested, causing Lefty to wonder how many lap dances the man received.
“Tell me about the mark,” said Lefty, still looking at Candi. She was trying to look sexy, feigning interest. Lefty was pretty sure he could fall in love with this girl if he let himself. So he vowed he that wouldn't, no matter what his dick had to say about the matter.
“I'm sure you know who the mark is,” said Gio.
“I do. Real colorful character. But who's putting up the money?”
Gio looked past the silicone breasts in his face, making eye contact with Lefty. “I am.”
“Right, but who's behind you?”
“That's one of those need-to-know kind of things.”
“And?”
Gio grinned big. “You don't need to know.”
Lefty nodded, looking back at Candi, grinding on his dick. “You like that?” she asked. He nodded, then turned back to Gio. “So nobody knows who's behind this thing?”
“Well, I do,” said Gio. “But that's it. And maybe Bruno De Lorenzo. Maybe. But that guy's pissed off enough people he might not know for sure either.”
Lefty said, “That's what I hear. The guy is legendary for his bad behavior.”
Gio nodded, smirking. “He'd done a couple things.”
“So answer me this: what's to stop Bruno De Lorenzo from having his goons come down here and stick a gun in your mouth and force you to tell him who's behind the contract?”
“This your first time in Detroit?”
“Yeah,” said Lefty. “Why?”
“That's not how we do it here. I work for everyone, across the board. There's an agreement, and that agreement says that nobody touches me. It's been this way for a long time, and nobody crosses those lines.”
“I would think the Don would be interested in finding out who's behind this.”
Gio nodded. “He probably is, but again, there's an agreement here that nobody comes after me. I'm just the middle man. I work for all these guys. I ain't never fucked with nobody, nobody fucks with me.”
“What about me?” asked the stripper on Gio's lap.
Gio grinned big. “You got me, kiddo. I fuck with you, and I fuck with you good, huh?”
She grinned and looked at Lefty. “You do alright.”
Gio pretended to be offended. “That's fucked up, Angie. You're hurting my feelings.”
Angie just giggled again. “How about I kiss you and make it better?”
Gio looked at her. “You think your kisses are gonna make me feel better?”
“I suppose it depends on where I kiss you,” she said.
“So where's Bruno De Lorenzo stay?” interrupted Lefty. “I heard he lives in a big hotel somewhere.”
“He lives on the top floor of the Belmont,” said Gio. “Penthouse.”
“Lots of security?”
“Normally just a few guys, but with this contract on his head, there's likely to be more.”
“How many guys are on the job?” asked Lefty. “How many hitters have you spoken to so far?”
“I really can't say,” said Gio. “But there are others.”
Candi, riding on Lefty's dick, said, “You guys just gonna talk all night, or you gonna fuck us?”
“Dirty mouth on this one,” said Lefty.
“Dirtier than you might think.”
Gio looked to Lefty to see what he was gonna to do.
“That sounds like a threat,” said Lefty.
Candi bit her bottom lip seductively. “More like a promise.” She reached back and fondled his balls.
“Don't worry,” said Lefty. “I'll fuck you. Make no bones about it, that's gonna happen. But right now we'r
e talking business.”
“So what's your point?” asked Candi.
“Let the grown folks talk, sweetheart,” said Gio.
“Then?” asked Angie.
“Then we're gonna do some blow.”
“Off our tits?”
Gio nodded. “Sure. Off your tits and asses.”
“Then what?”
“Then I'm gonna screw the taste out of that dirty mouth of yours,” said Lefty.
“Ooh,” purred Candi. “Sounds yummy.”
“You don't know the half of it.”
She looked at Lefty. “You wanna do some blow?”
“Does a bear shit in the woods?”
Angie inquired, “Is this a domesticated bear?”
“Nah, just a regular old black bear living up on Shit Mountain.”
“What's that supposed to mean?”
“It means let's do some blow.”
“How do we know you're not a cop?”
“Do I look like a cop?” asked Lefty, offended.
“Girls,” said Gio. “Do I ever come back here with cops?”
The girls looked at each other. “Sometimes,” said Candi.
Gio nodded. “Got me there. Sometimes. But not today.”
Lefty looked at Candi, at big brown eyes he could get lost in. “What's your story, Candi? How'd you end up here?”
Candi shrugged. “Dumb luck, I guess.”
“No, really. I'm curious.”
“I'm tryin' to pay my way through college.”
“That's what they all say.”
“Well, fuck them. I'm actually going to college.”
“What's your major?”
“What do you care?”
“How am I supposed to bang you if I don't know your background?”
Candi smiled. “Accounting.”
“You're an accounting major? Where you from, Candi?”
“Texas.”
“You from Dallas?”
“Believe it or not, we've got other shit in Texas besides Dallas. I'm from a teeny-tiny little small town in the middle of nowhere. You wouldn't know it.”
“Try me.”
“Anderson,” she said.
Lefty laughed. “You're right. I don't know it.”
“You wouldn't,” said Candi. “You could have actually driven through it and you probably still wouldn't know it. It's pretty nondescript. It's just one of those small towns, like a million other podunk towns in the South.”
“So you came to Detroit?”
Candi nodded. “I did.” She looked at Gio. “Can I have a smoke?”
“Sure,” said Gio. “But when you end up with cancer, don't blame me.”
Gio pulled out the pack, removed a single cigarette, and handed it to Candi, along with the lighter. She looked at Lefty as she placed the cigarette to her lips. “You care if I smoke?”
“It's a free country.”
Candi looked at him like he was stupid. “You're a black man. You know better than that.” She lit the cigarette, getting it going. She handed the lighter back to Gio.
“Your family know you strip for a living?” asked Lefty.
“Of course not.”
“What do they think you do?”
“They think I sell furniture at this big warehouse store.”
Gio laughed. “Why on earth would they think that?”
“I used to work there,” said Candi. “I just never told 'em I got fired.”
“What made you want to be an accountant?”
“The money. Accountants make good money.”
“I'll bet a pretty girl like you makes good money here.”
“I do, but there's no future in it.”
“You don't like your job?”
Candi looked at him, trying to understand. “What's to like?”
“You get healthcare benefits?”
Both strippers laughed at this.
“Christ no,” said Candi.
“And you hook also?”
“Not really.”
“What does that mean?”
“I occasionally screw guys for money, sure, but it's only the guys I wanna screw.” She looked over at Gio. “Well, and Gio. I screw him, too.” They all laughed at this. “But seriously,” she said. “It's not like I'm a real hooker, where I'm dependent on the money and I gotta screw every sleazeball who walks through the door.”
Lefty started to say something else, but Candi put her finger over his mouth. “Why don't we stop talking now?”
“Or what?”
“Or I'll stop riding your dick.”
“Okay, you win.”
Candi intently gazed down at Lefty. “Do you think I'm sexy, baby?”
“Can't you feel my dick?” he asked. “It's harder than Chinese arithmetic.”
Candi reached back and caressed his shaft. “That's for me?”
“Every inch of it,” said Lefty.
“Awwww,” she said, trying to sound cute. “You're so sweet.”
“I guess that didn't sound so cute coming out of my mouth.”
Candi stuck her finger in his mouth. “Wanna hear how cute I can sound coming in your mouth?”
Lefty was driving back from the strip club when he spotted a coney dog restaurant with a drive-thru. While having sex with Candi he'd worked up an appetite, so he pulled in. Being the single dad of a seven-year-old, sexual encounters were few and far between for him. Candi had served as an adequate reminder of the things in life he was missing. But between raising Layla and killing people, there just wasn't time to go out and meet women. It took far too long to get to know them and share intimacies and do and say all the things it required to get a non-professional girl into bed. And even then, Lefty didn't want to risk being discovered as the professional killer he was. So for now it would just remain he and Layla, a house of two.
As Lefty sat idling in the drive-thru, waiting his turn and listening to the O'Jays, he thought about the Bruno De Lorenzo contract. Sitting there, he raised his cell phone and looked up the Belmont Hotel to get an idea where De Lorenzo was staying. There was a Wikipedia entry for the hotel. Lefty scanned the article, reading about the hotel's long history of Mafia activity. It didn't really tell him anything that would be of use.
When Lefty finally edged up to the window, he paid for the sack of dogs he'd ordered. The young guy at the window handed him the sack and his large Sprite. He sat the bag on the seat beside him, placed the cup in the cup holder, and pulled out of the drive-thru. He was driving along, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel, lost in thought, when he came to Broadway. Remembering that the Belmont was located on Broadway, he decided to drive past the hotel to get a look at the place before going back to the motel.
Being the horrible navigator that he was, Lefty got turned around a couple of times before he located the hotel, but at long last he found it. It was a big tall building, jutting up towards the sky. Despite having been built in the 1920s, it didn't look particularly archaic. Lefty parked the Caddy on the side of the street, deciding to sit there and watch the building for a few minutes as he scarfed down his food.
As he was sitting there eating, Lefty saw a bald-headed black man parked in a black Escalade on the other side of the street, also watching the hotel. Lefty stared for a moment, recognizing him. It was Orlando Williams, a contract hitter out of Los Angeles. The bosses in the Midwest sometimes called Orlando for special jobs, as he was considered the absolute best in the business. Lefty watched Orlando, but Orlando never noticed him. They had met once in passing, but there was no reason Orlando should remember him. Lefty was probably too far down the food chain for Orlando to bother remembering, even if they were basically the only two black hitters the Mafia employed.
But Lefty was pretty sure he would make his mark on Orlando's life today. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out why Orlando was here, and Lefty wasn't about to lose out on his big payday. So, he concluded, he would have to kill Orlando Williams.
Eight
/> A Worthy Adversary
Lefty sat there watching the guy for awhile, but Orlando Williams didn't seem to notice. Orlando Williams was Lefty's hero. He was the first black hitman the Mafia had ever utilized, so he was a fucking legend. Before Orlando had paved the way, Lefty's father had been working for black gangsters in Chicago. It was only because of Orlando's proven efficiency that Spook was eventually hired by the mob. Since then there had only one other black hitter, and that was Lefty.
Orlando was a curious case, to be sure. The Mafioso would talk about him with reverence, in a way that these Italian “men of honor” never spoke of any other black man. They called him the Professor, because, as the story went, Orlando Williams had once been a UCLA professor by day and a hitter by night. But none of that was what made him the stuff of legend. It wasn't even the remarkable number of hits he'd pulled off over the years.
No, Orlando Williams had done something no one else had ever done before and certainly no one else—especially a black man—would have been allowed to survive having done. Orlando Williams single-handedly wiped out an entire Mafia family in Los Angeles. He then slipped into the wind for a bit, hiding out somewhere; some people said the Caribbean, others said France. Then, eventually, he turned up stateside, reaching out to the Commission to plead his case. The Commission had experienced some real problems with the Los Angeles crew and had been secretly pleased with Orlando's killing them, saving them the hassle of doing it themselves. So, despite the objections of a few of the older mustache Petes, Orlando Williams had been allowed back into the fold.
Lefty watched Orlando pull away from the curb. Lefty followed, staying a ways behind so the older hitman wouldn't know he was being followed. The Ojays were now singing “For the Love of Money” on Lefty's stereo, perfectly summing up the situation Lefty was in. Here he was, about to murder his hero, and it was all because of money. As Lefty considered this, still following the Escalade, he thought about the old saying about money being the root of all evil. He didn't necessarily believe in good or evil, but he definitely agreed that money was the root of a lot of really fucked up shit.
Lefty followed Orlando as he cruised through Detroit, making occasional turns here and there. Finally Orlando pulled into the parking lot of another high-rise hotel. This one was called the Dumont. Lefty figured this was where Orlando was staying. As Orlando settled into a parking spot, Lefty drove around the block so he wouldn't be seen. When he came back around to the parking lot from its side, he could see Orlando walking towards the building. Lefty parked alongside the curb on the outside of the lot. He climbed out of the car, grabbing his silenced Glock 23 from the floor, sliding it into the shoulder holster in his jacket. He began making his way towards the building, watching Orlando enter. Lefty was still a fair distance behind, so he broke into a sprint. After all, he didn't want to lose the guy after coming this far.