by Landon Beach
The street boss and all of the other caporegimes had checked in and were due to show up as a sign of respect for the new Don. In regards to Consigliere Verratti, the street boss, Salvatore Gallo, had said, “I’ll find the silver fox and bring him home.” Most importantly, the family underboss, Fabian De Luca, and his uncle, the legendary Papa Pete, would be there to validate Ciro’s position. Hell, Buckeye Mike was even coming up from Cincinnati to kiss Ciro’s cheeks and bring an envelope with cash wrapped in rubber bands like all of the others. Big Joey’s nose always twitched when something was afoot. He trusted his instincts. And right now, his nose wasn’t twitchin’ a fuckin’ millimeter.
He relaxed as his huge, chunky hands gripped the leather steering wheel. A handicapped parking permit hung from the rearview mirror that would give them premium parking anywhere—a small perk that Don Ilario had secured years ago. Another quick look into the mirror showed him a content Ciro, examining his manicured fingernails. He let a prideful grin show and went back to concentrating on the road. He was looking forward to seeing his new boss take over. A younger generation would now be in charge, and he hoped it would mean a new era of peace and prosperity for The Association. His calm demeanor did not last long as he thought about the charge Don Ilario had given to him in private. Not only was he Ciro’s driver, he was the only one on the new Don’s innermost ring of trust. If all other defenses were penetrated, then he was the solitary person who would stand between the threat and Ciro. His job was to give his life so that Ciro would live on. His job was also to have the ear of the capos in case a soldier was thinking about becoming a snitch. It had been a while since an underling had ‘found God’ and become an informant. The Association’s rules were simple regarding informers: If The Association could get to a snitch who had found God, then they made sure that the snitch got to join God. In a shoulder harness underneath his suit was a .40 caliber Glock 22. He wore a special belt that had ten extra magazines of fifteen rounds each. On the passenger seat, underneath a Detroit Tigers sweatshirt, was his Uzi if there was big trouble. He was right to have it with him—would make Don Ilario’s dick stand straight up in his twenty-five thousand-dollar Promethean coffin at the funeral home—there could always be trouble, but Big Joey had thought it all through and didn’t expect any this day. He also had a lupara in a specially built compartment above his head.
He looked back at Ciro once more. The new Don had pulled out his phone and was smiling as he punched away at the screen. Probably playing that ridiculous game again. He even knew that Ciro had chosen the name “Sarcastic Panda” for the character Ciro controlled in the game. Joey sighed. Ciro’s father had been old school, never using a phone. Now, a technology addict would be The Association’s top man. However, in retrospect, Joey thought that the Don had made the right choice in choosing his son—said it came to him a month prior while reading Jim Collins’s book How the Mighty Fall in his hospital bed. “Our hubris of success will be our downfall if we don’t adapt” the Don had lectured. As solid a leader as Fabian De Luca was, the Don had believed that Ciro would do a better job of moving certain sectors of the family business into the virtual arena. However, even though the Don and Ciro feared a possible move by Fabian, Ciro needed to be seen as embracing the long-time underboss for his knowledge of loan sharking and prostitution—at least at the initial gathering. Fabian knew that he had been ordered by Don Ilario to step down once Ciro took over, but the fact that he would be at the Red Robin had put Big Joey’s and Ciro’s minds at ease for the time being. The family underboss had a calming effect, and that was what was needed right now. Ciro still hadn’t made up his mind about who would be the new underboss, but perhaps he was playing his cards close to his vest like his father and would announce it at the Red Robin. Joey knew that Don Ilario had given his son a set of prepared remarks to make when he announced the celebration of Fabian’s retirement. This might be the perfect opportunity. But if a threat from Fabian emerged over the coming weeks when Ciro asserted his power, then the underboss could be quietly taken care of. And Big Joey knew just how to do it.
Ciro laughed at his phone’s screen and did a little dance as he continued to push buttons. For Cosa Nostra to thrive in the future, it needed personnel who were tech savvy—starting with the Don. Ciro had smart friends who were not only college educated but also computer whizzes. They would be needed to run the family’s gambling operations online through another country. Big Joey had already set up a meeting with them for tomorrow afternoon. After that, in private, he would talk to Ciro about getting the dry boxes out of the cave as soon as possible. They had respected the Don’s wishes, but an underwater cave was no place for that amount of money. His deceased boss was too old-school and too paranoid. And Big Joey had his doubts about River Nicky—and the gardener following Stansie Russo around like a lost puppy. He also wanted to speak with Ciro about how long the new Don planned on keeping the gardener around.
Details, details.
He got off at Exit 219, and the car began its journey down Gratiot Street toward Greektown—and a new beginning.
✽✽✽
Greektown Historic District
Fabian De Luca sat alone in the back seat of a rented Lincoln MKZ—“Get us one of those cars that McConaughey does the commercials for,” he had said to his driver and bodyguard GiGi Rizzo. The MKZ was parked in front of the Underground Railroad Reading Station Bookstore just before the intersection of Beaubien and Monroe Streets. If his calculations were correct, Don Russo’s Mercedes would pass by any minute now, cross over Beaubien, and pull over on the left-hand side of Monroe in front of the Red Robin Lounge. And when it did, he would witness the execution of Don Ciro and his pain-in-the-ass, overweight driver Big Joey Manetti. His teeth began to grind. He wanted Stansie Russo dead today too, but she was nowhere to be found along with her idiot gardener boyfriend. He opened his mouth, enjoying the cool air running over his teeth as he inhaled. This relaxed him, and he took comfort in the fact that Stansie Russo, wherever she was, would be easy to find. A drug addict who leaves the sanctuary of her home is like a baby without a diaper.
The car’s tinted windows would make it difficult for anyone to see him from the sidewalk. From the entrance of the Red Robin, it looked like no one was in the MKZ. He looked at his watch—1:03 p.m. The Don was supposed to arrive three minutes ago. The rest of The Association members were to have shown up at noon. The tradition of keeping subordinates waiting was started decades ago by Don Ilario. He reasoned that it would remind them just who was in charge without having to tell them so. It appeared that Ciro would be continuing the tradition, but not for long.
The Red Robin had a back entrance, and earlier, GiGi Rizzo had left him in the car and entered the lounge from that entrance. Here, they would use another one of Don Ilario’s traditions to their advantage. The upstairs bar was off-limits to everyone except for the Don, the underboss, the consigliere, and their bodyguards. The upstairs bar also had a secret stairway that led to a hallway and out another back entrance. His son Leo was inside the main bar area downstairs, waiting to pay his respects to Don Ciro, as was Papa Pete. When the assassination took place, Fabian would exit the vehicle, take a left down Beaubien Street and then cross the street and head down the back alley until he reached the back entrance. Leo would slip to the back entrance and let his father in and guide him to the hallway and secret staircase. Fabian would head upstairs and meet GiGi, who would then usher him down the regular staircase to see what all the commotion was about. Papa Pete would be playing his role as the emotional elder who had seen too much but vowed The Association would avenge Ciro’s death. This would allow Fabian to be a level-headed calming force for the organization at that moment. And, because of Papa Pete’s urging to everyone present, Fabian would be named Don later that afternoon.
The three men he had recruited for the hit were drug dealers that he had sprung from jail. They were each given ten thousand dollars and told that they would be paid a hundred thousand more
upon completion of the hit. They had no idea who was hiring them or who had gotten them out of jail. In fact, the person who had arranged it and met with them was already dead, his body feeding the fishes along with Silvio Verratti’s in Lake St. Clair.
They were given an escape route to follow from the lounge and a time and place to meet later that day to collect the rest of the money. Fabian knew they would never make it to the meeting. Papa Pete had his men stationed outside the entrance to the Red Robin, and after the assassination, they would kill the three assassins. All bases were covered as Papa Pete’s men had officially been hired as security consultants and were licensed to carry firearms. One of Fabian’s contacts in the Detroit Police Department was making sure that there would be no officers within two blocks during the hit. Behind the Lincoln was a crash car, which was to be driven out into Monroe Street and hit any police car that came from behind them. This would give Papa Pete’s men more time if they needed it and Fabian more time to get to the alley and up the staircase. There was another crash car stationed on Beaubien Street, north of the alley, to do the same if a police car came from that direction. Fabian looked at the phone on the seat next to him. It remained dark and silent. If there were any problems, GiGi or Leo would call. He looked down at his disguise: running shoes, sweatpants, a baggy Detroit Lions t-shirt, blonde wig, sunglasses, and a Detroit Lions hat. GiGi had his suit, shoes, watch, and rings waiting for him to change into behind the upstairs bar. Papa Pete and Leo had tried to talk him out of it. “Just wait upstairs and have some wine,” his uncle had said. “No,” he had replied. “I have to see it.”
He waited patiently for the Mercedes. It was the last time he would wait for anything or anyone ever again. After today, he would be the one they were all waiting to see. From the left-hand pocket of his sweatpants, he pulled out a single playing card: the Ace of Spades, the death card. He rubbed the tip of his right index finger along the four edges, making a slow rectangle. He did it over and over and over again, while he watched the street.
✽✽✽
Kelvin Murphy exited the Greektown Casino Hotel with his wife Lydia and their four-year-old daughter Nancy. Last night had been a merciless experience at the roulette wheel, the blackjack table, and every slot machine he had tried. Lydia had not fared much better. Drunk, tired, and depressed, they had both entered the elevator and decided on the ride up to their floor that saving up money to take a vacation just to gamble even more of it away didn’t make any sense.
It had made sense when they made the reservation two months ago. They had recovered from his lousy stretch of unemployment, and it was time to celebrate and take a chance. The silver bullet of hitting the jackpot this week was just as appealing to the Murphys as it was to the other casino players who were donating their hard-earned bucks for a chance at glory. Now, after a peek at prosperity on night one and an epic disaster on night two, they were ready to cut their losses and skip the routine on night three. Lydia was also grumpy because of his outburst after losing two thousand dollars in one spin of the roulette wheel. He’d said, “These Goddamn Native American casino owners are taking revenge on all of us for stealing their land all of those years ago!” She had immediately pulled him aside and admonished him for his racist rant. Then he had said, “But it’s true!” She had slapped his face and headed to the bar.
Right now, they were both hungover and hungry. Nancy had stayed in the room next door with Lydia’s mother, who had accompanied them on the vacation but was growing more impatient by the minute. At this point, he agreed with her, which was one of only two times during his marriage when he had found common ground with his mother-in-law. The other was when Nancy wanted to wear a witch costume to pre-school every day. “But we have all of these cute outfits that I want her to wear,” Lydia had said. He had replied, “Just let her wear the damned thing. She loves it.” His mother-in-law had agreed, and the topic had ruffled the marriage feathers for three months until the morning when Nancy couldn’t find it in her dresser and had to wear something else to pre-school. He was convinced that Lydia had thrown the costume away but had decided not to ask.
When they knocked on her mother’s door five minutes ago, they had been informed that Nancy had had breakfast a few hours ago but needed lunch—and that grandma needed some time alone. Now.
As they walked hand-in-hand down East Lafayette Street, Lydia started in on Kelvin. “I don’t understand why we didn’t use the exit on Monroe Street. We’d be to Five Guys by now.”
Kelvin rolled his eyes behind his sunglasses. “Because I wanted to see Old St. Mary’s Catholic Church.”
“You’re not even a practicing Catholic anymore,” she shot back.
“I know, I just wanted to see it. Plus, we needed some fresh air.”
“What I need is a greasy burger and then an afternoon nap.”
“You slept all morning,” he said.
“Ho, ho, ho. Look who’s talking.”
Before he could fire, Nancy broke the tension with, “Mommy, why are you talking like Santa?”
Kelvin burst out laughing, and then so did Lydia.
They turned and starting walking up St. Antoine Street.
“Look,” he said, pointing at the massive church. “There it is. See? Not that far out of our way.” He leaned over Nancy and gave Lydia a quick kiss on the side of the head. “We’ll be inhaling burgers soon, team. But, wow, look at that architecture. Almost pretty enough to pull me back in.”
“That’ll be the day,” Lydia said. “Although with what we donated last night, maybe we should go inside.”
“What’s ‘donated’ mean?” asked Nancy.
Kelvin ignored her for a moment, his eyes transfixed on the towering spires.
“It means to give, sweetie,” Lydia said.
How much did we lose last night? The thoughts of losing his job returned, followed by the thoughts of how much he hated being on a bare-bones budget afterwards until he had landed his current job. Feeling queasy, he said, “Okay, team, let’s get some burgers and fries.”
They turned onto Monroe Street and soon saw Five Guys down at the end of the block, right before Beaubien Street. Across the street and toward them was the Red Robin Lounge. Maybe after the food had settled, he’d head in there and just start drinking again. He shook his head. Don’t be an adolescent. Get the food, collect the mother-in-law, and get the hell out of Detroit. There were no silver bullets in life.
They walked past the Monroe Street entrance to the casino, and he was met with a patronizing look from Lydia. Okay, okay, you win. He dropped his chin to his chest and let it hang there for a few seconds.
Lydia triumphantly reached her hand over and lifted his chin.
All was forgiven.
Then, after a few more feet, Nancy said, “Daddy, I see the sign for Five Guys!”
✽✽✽
The Mercedes traveled the final few car lengths down Randolph Street, past Buffalo Wild Wings on the left, and Big Joey made the final left of the journey onto Monroe Street. They passed by the Acropolis bakery, the Ham Shop Café, and the Deluxe Bar and Lounge on the right, while The Old Shillelagh passed down the left.
Ciro said, “I’ve been down this stretch my entire life, Giuseppe, but it all looks different today.”
“There’s been some turnover—different stores and restaurants. But I’m thinkin’ it’s mostly because you’re big boss now,” he replied and then tipped his driver’s cap to the image of the young Don he saw in the rearview mirror. Ciro had put away his phone.
The car crossed over Brush Street, and more familiar places came into sight. Fishbones, Firebird Tavern, the International Banquet Center, Second Baptist Church, Sports Mania...The Underground Railroad Reading Station Bookstore.
✽✽✽
Fabian watched as the Mercedes passed by. His breathing picked up, and his left hand closed around the Ace of Spades, crumpling the card. His eyes narrowed as he watched the Mercedes’ crimson brake lights come on. The car wheeled to t
he left and pulled up in front of the Red Robin Lounge.
✽✽✽
Perhaps five paces from the door to Five Guys, Kelvin Murphy watched as the door swung open and three men wearing ski masks, Hawaiian shirts, and jeans raced across the street and started firing handguns at the two men who had just emerged from a beautiful black Mercedes.
✽✽✽
Ciro Russo felt the first sting in his right arm as a barrage of popping noises filled the air. Then, he heard Big Joey, who had opened the back door to the Mercedes for him, yell, “Get do—” but his speech was cut off as the side of his head exploded into a mess of goo. He fell to the ground, his hand stuck inside his jacket, reaching for his gun.
Then, as Ciro went to duck back into the car, his chest was hit by multiple rounds and pieces of his shirt, suit, and tie fluttered away into the air as blood erupted from the holes. He fell and felt pain as his back and then head smacked the sidewalk’s concrete. The last thing he saw before he died was a figure in a ski mask standing over him, taking aim at his head with a gun.