MOB RULES

by Richard Nesbitt

  “NOOOO!!” Hector screamed as he threw his hands out to protect himself.

  The gun roared loudly as the slug passed through Hector’s right palm and smashed into his cheek bone. A large chunk of the man’s head blew off just above his ear. He flew backwards with the force and landed in a crumpled heap on the cold, dirty floor of the warehouse as the chair flipped. Blood gushed from the man’s head.

  Vinny advanced and stood over Hector’s body. He pointed the gun at the dead man and pulling the trigger, putting another round through the back of the man’s already shattered skull.

  As the echo of the last shot rang through the empty warehouse the three men stood silently, looking down at Hector. Steam rose from his head wounds.

  “You want we should dump the body, Vinny?” One of the henchmen asked.

  “No, let the rats have a good meal,” Vinny answered. “I want the street to get this message.”

  Vinny turned and began walking out of the warehouse.

  “Shit!” he suddenly exploded in anger as he looked down. “That lowlife prick got blood on my shoes!”

  Vinny spun back around and fired five more shots into Hector’s lifeless body.

  “Motherfucker,” Vinny mumbled. He holstered his gun and walked towards the exit.

  The two men following him exchanged uneasy glances.

  Mob Rules

  12

  Harris had been driving in silence for the past two hours. The radio, which he normally enjoyed listening to, had been kept off. He looked straight ahead, barely noticing the other cars as he raced well over the speed limit back towards the New York state line and the city.

  Twice he had a police cruiser close on him and both times he’d flashed his cars blue lights and the patrolman was off with a brotherly wave. It was one of the perks.

  Harris couldn’t get his wife’s face out of his mind. He was used to her being angry, even hurt, but this was a wholly different look that he was not accustomed to seeing. She radiated hatred towards him and her eyes blazed daggers each time they looked at each other. Harris tried to console himself with the fact that it was simply a response to the devastating news he’d had to break. Of course she’s beyond angry, he reasoned inwardly. But part of him knew that this was only a small part of what was going on. Ever since Bonnie had left to go and live with her mother, her attitude had been downright hostile. And now that she was talking about going through with the divorce, there was nothing he could do or say that didn’t provoke anger.

  Clearing his head as best he could from his marital problems, Harris thought about his strategy. He knew that bold action must be taken and he had little to go on besides the fact that it was the Franco family that possessed the information he was looking for.

  Although he was frustrated that the brass would not give up the informant, he understood. Besides, Sylvia had been right, he had enough to go on. If the informant knew, then others knew.

  Harris grit his teeth and realized that he was about to enter a world where being a cop would only afford him a certain degree of latitude. If he pushed these men too hard they might just make a move on him even if it meant bringing in outside help. However, if he went in too weak he would be laughed at as a joke because whatever else mob guys were, they were men of action. These men played for keeps. Harris realized that although they were on different sides of the law and order business, he begrudgingly held a certain amount of respect for them. Mobsters did not whine or cry about their problems, they handled them. In addition to that, they kept their own streets virtually crime free. Petty thugs and small time crooks knew better than to ply their trades in family neighborhoods.

  Harris knew he had a fine line to walk. But he also knew that he had a very strong bargaining chip in his back pocket. He would use it to whatever advantage he could.

  Crossing the state line at ninety miles per hour, Harris was heading for his home where he would put together the rest of his plan. Tomorrow was going to be a very busy day.

  Mob Rules

  13

  Sylvia Blumquist sat across from William Streaks, the newly appointed Police Commissioner. Her visit to his office had been unannounced and after exchanging pleasantries, Sylvia had walked to the front of the office and closed the man’s door. She returned to sit in one of the two plush, leather seats and folded her hands in her lap.

  “How are you fitting in?” She asked.

  “Well, there’s a lot to get up to speed on but other than that, it’s going great,” he answered with a smile.

  “Good. Any new developments on that double murder in Harlem?”

  “Nothing concrete, but we have a few leads that are promising.”

  “Okay. Please let me know the minute something pans out. I’m getting asked a lot of questions. It would be nice to have some answers.”

  “I get it.”

  “Bill,” Sylvia began delicately. “I need to discuss a sensitive issue with you.”

  “Okay,” the commissioner replied as he leaned forward. His expression shifted to match the new tone of the conversation.

  “You obviously know Captain Harris.”

  “Of course.”

  “And you’ve no doubt heard about the threat to his family.”

  “Yes. I was told it was being handled. But you know I’m here if he needs anything.”

  Sylvia smiled broadly at the man and slowly nodded her head in appreciation.

  “He needs a wide berth.”

  “I’m sorry?” The commissioner furrowed his brow.

  “Captain Harris needs to protect his family and we need to let him. And since we cannot give up the informant that’s going to put away a lot of high level mobsters in the next couple years, he’s going to go straight to the source.”

  “I’m learning more about that in the briefings. Is it true that the C.I. is a made man in the Franco family?”

  “Yes.”

  “May I ask why he gave up the intel regarding the hit on the Harris family? Mobsters are usually less than sympathetic when it comes to cops. What was there to gain?”

  “Favor. This guy’s a real egomaniac. He considers himself a double agent. He wants our respect.”

  “Yet he’s still pushing heroin.”

  “It’s complicated. He has to keep earning for the family.”

  “Why don’t we just front him the money and avoid letting him work?”

  “No good. They would know. Look, it’s a dirty business but the end will justify the means. Not to mention the fact that it would get sold with or without him. With him we can also collar users and street level dealers.”

  “So where does Harris come in?”

  “Well, we can’t give him the C.I. for obvious reasons. But we did let him know that other Franco guys almost certainly know about the hit.”

  “Oh,” the commissioner said as the light bulb came on. He sank back in his chair. “He’s going to go straight to the mob. The balls on that guy.”

  “He just now got his family to safety and he’s probably already back in the city. Things could escalate quickly if I know Captain Harris.”

  “I get it. But I still am unsure what you need from me.”

  “Let him operate. Let him do things his way. I owe him that much.”

  “Ma’am,” the man started softly. “We all know what he did for you, getting Emily back and all. But I can’t just let people start taking the law into their own hands. Certainly not any of my men. We are police officers, not vigilantes.”

  “I understand, Commissioner. And I respect your principles,” Sylvia said, smiling at the man.

  “I appreciate you saying that,” Commissioner Streaks responded with his own smile.

  “But I hope you can also appreciate that you’re sitting in this office because I pushed your recommendation through to the mayor.”

  “I’m aware of that ma’am, and don’t think I’m not-”

  “Call it a favor to me,” Sylvia said, cutting the man off.

  Commissi
oner Streaks remained silent. The smile left his face.

  “A big favor,” Sylvia added.

  The commissioner took a deep breath, slowly contemplating his next words.

  “So it’s like that?”

  “Oh Bill, don’t take it that way. It’s always been like that and it always will be. Like it or not, politics moves the machine.”

  The two remained silent as the commissioner weighed his options. Sylvia smiled at him gently, her eyes suggesting that everything was all right.

  “Well then,” the commissioner finally spoke. “I guess your man gets a wide berth.”

  “He’s your man too, Bill. And he’s a damn good man. And don’t worry, he will keep it amongst the vermin.”

  “Let’s hope so, because I can’t have a loose cannon running amuck in the city.”

  “You will find, over time, that a few more loose cannons,” Sylvia replied, making quotation signs with her fingers. “Is what it may take to really clean up this city.”

  “Well, that is an interesting position for the D.A. to take,” Commissioner Streaks said as he raised his eyebrows.

  “I don’t cry over low-life’s anymore, Bill. Not anymore.”

  He looked into her eyes and saw the pain that still hid behind the light, the anguish behind the smile. He nodded his head slowly.

  “Yeah. Okay.” He rose from his chair. Sylvia rose as well.

  “Let’s grab lunch soon, ma’am.”

  “Let’s. But stop that ma’am crap. Away from the reporters, I’m just Sylvia.”

  William smiled and extended his hand. Sylvia took it warmly and gave a squeeze.

  “Thank you. I hope this wasn’t too awkward,” she said.

  “Like you said, Sylvia, it moves the machine. Or so I’m learning.”

  Sylvia smiled again and released the man’s hand. She turned and walked out of the office.

  Mob Rules

  14

  Sunlight exploded into the dimly lit room as the door opened and morning glare flooded the seedy pool hall. The windows were blackened and although the sidewalk and street were still visible from the inside, the paint did a good job of keeping the hall dark. All of the establishment patrons turned to look at the entrance.

  Harris’ large silhouette filled the door frame and he walked halfway through, stopping to try and kick the snow off of his boots so that it landed outside. He held the door open with his right arm and using his left, brushed at the snow from his pant legs.

  “Close the fucking door!” A man shouted from the back of the room.

  “Sorry about that,” Harris spoke softly as he stopped brushing himself and let the door close. The room fell into semi-darkness again.

  Harris remained at the door and allowed his eyes to adjust. He scanned the room and noticed that all eyes were still upon him as he began a slow walk towards the bar on the left side of the hall. Every head followed him.

  As he walked Harris took in the room. There were only two men to his left at a small table by the window. There were another two men sitting at the bar. The rest of the crew, he counted six, were sitting at three different tables near the back of the pool hall to his right. Behind them there was a small door leading to the back of the building. Harris noticed that there was no bartender.

  As he made it to the bar, Harris turned to the two men seated there.

  “How do I get a table in here?” He asked with a smile on his face.

  The larger of the two swiveled on his bar stool. He was a barrel chested man with a nose that looked like it’d been broken more than once. He looked Harris up and down with amusement. Finally, he leaned back against the bar and returned the smile.

  “You don’t,” he spoke with a cocky edge.

  The other men in the room laughed. They were beginning to find it amusing.

  “What about those?” Harris asked as he gestured towards the empty pool tables with a nod of his head.

  “Those?” The man replied. “Those are taken.”

  More laughter.

  “I don’t see anybody using them,” Harris continued to smile.

  “Yeah, well they’re reserved for a special party we’re having later.”

  The men all chuckled again. This was a nice distraction to break up the monotony of the day.

  Harris looked around. He wore a broad grin as he looked towards the men by the window. He then shot a playful smile towards the six men to his right. He faced the large man again.

  “Is it a private party or can anybody attend?”

  “Oh, there’s only one guest. It’s a very exclusive little get together.”

  “No kidding?” Harris spoke as he warmed to the game. “Now you have me curious. Who is this special guest?”

  The man looked to his cohorts. He shook his head in disbelief at the stupidity of the lone man who obviously didn’t know that he’d just walked into the Franco crime family’s Brooklyn hangout. One of the man’s colleagues shrugged at him as the others continued to smile with anticipation.

  “Are you some kind of idiot?” The man asked Harris.

  “Well, I mean, I don’t want to sound nosey but all these tables for only one person seems a little much. This guy must be extremely important.”

  “Who said it was a guy?”

  “It’s not?”

  “No,” the man rose from the stool. “It’s your mother.”

  The room erupted in laughter. The men all shook as they threw their heads back and enjoyed the joke. The large man did not join in as he waited for a reaction. Harris looked into the man’s eyes and cocked his head slightly. With a quick glance he noticed the watch on the man’s left wrist. He’s right handed, Harris thought.

  The room grew silent as they all waited for a reaction.

  Harris did nothing, merely stared at the man for several seconds. And then, slowly, he let a smile creep upon his face. The smile grew broader and his eyes twinkled as he started laughing. The large man looked to his colleagues with a puzzled expression.

  Harris’ laughter grew as he looked around the room. On his left, one of the men at the windows started to laugh as well. He was joined by a man to the right. In just a second, the infectious laughter spread throughout the room and every man had joined Harris.

  With the entire hall awash in laughter, the only person who remained silent was the large man facing Harris. The more the joke was enjoyed by all, the madder he grew. Finally he could take no more.

  “What the fuck is wrong with you?” He roared. “A man insults your mother and you laugh?!”

  There was a mischievous glint in Harris’ eye as he looked back at the man.

  “Well, it’s just funny. You’re a funny guy!”

  The room erupted once more.

  “Hey, Carmine!” One of the men yelled. “He thinks you’re Joe Pesci! Remember Goodfella’s? You’re here to amuse him!”

  With this the laughter grew to a fever pitch. Men rocked in their chairs and held their sides as they now enjoyed the fun-filled moment at the expense of their friend.

  The large man turned a shade of red as he looked to his cohorts. He was clearly not enjoying being the butt of the joke. He looked back at Harris and fixed him with a deadly glare.

  “See if you think this is funny!” The man threw a looping right hook at Harris’ head. It’s always a hook, Harris thought with amusement as time slowed. He ducked and allowed the punch to sail harmlessly over his head. Then with blinding speed Harris pushed forward with his right leg and threw his own crushing hook which landed on the exposed jaw of the large man. The man crumpled and dropped like a stone as Harris reached under his jacket and pulled his gun.

  The sound of eight chairs being pushed back filled the room as all of the men leapt to their feet. In a fraction of a second there were an equal number of guns pointed at Harris.

  Harris pointed his 9mm at the man lying on the ground.

  “Come on!” He growled as his own face now bore a deadly look of intent.

  “You’
re a dead man, asshole!” One of the men to his right yelled.

  All eight men advanced towards him as Harris made an exaggerated point of pulling the hammer back on his 9 mm. He gripped the gun with both hands.

  “Then say goodbye to Carmine!” He yelled back.

  “STOP!” A strong voice commanded from the doorway to the right.

  All eight men froze in place.

  Harris, chest heaving and jaw set, looked up and into the familiar face of Anthony Scalaro.

  Mob Rules

  15

  The meeting was held in an old, dilapidated office building that doubled as the Loco’s hangout. The Bronx gang was one of the most feared sets in the barrio and was run by a savage killer whose street name was Rabi. Rabi was short for rabioso. As in rabid. As in rabid dog. The handle fit the man.

  Rabi had done time for manslaughter. Three years. The prosecutor knew he couldn’t get a first degree charge to stick although everybody knew that the murder had been both premeditated and calculated. But there were no witnesses. Just DNA and it wasn’t enough to prove that it had been planned. The gang leaders attorney had plead it down to a crime of passion, a fight that had broken out over a female. They took a deal, manslaughter and five years. Rabi was back on the streets in three.

  The hit that landed him in prison had been sanctioned by the Loco’s leader at that time. It had been retribution for a drug deal gone bad. Everybody knew it. And the guy Rabi had taken out was a high ranking member of an opposing gang. The problem was that he did it in a very bloody fashion, so bloody that he missed some of the guy’s blood under his fingernails. A snitch had given him up but there were no actual witnesses. In the end it was the blood under his fingernails that cost Rabi three years of his life. Three years to think about revenge.

  While he was doing his time, the leader of the Loco’s had been taken out in a drive by. Rabi, although imprisoned, was appointed the de facto leader of the street gang.

  During the time he was inside, the snitch had been discovered. Rabi ordered that nothing happen to him until he got out. However, on the very day he was being sprung from Rykers Island, while he was still being processed out of the correctional institute, the snitch was kidnapped. Rabi was driven straight from the prison to meet the man who had put him away. He let the man sweat for a full hour before putting a switchblade through both of the his eyeballs. As the man screamed for mercy he was told that the worse was to come. While two of Rabi’s associate’s crow barred the man’s jaws apart, Rabi cut out his tongue out. Then he cut off the man’s fingers one at a time. The gang then drove the man to the nearest hospital and kicked him out of the car. He was told that if the authorities found out who did this to him, his mother and sisters would get the same treatment. He was allowed to live because the message was better this way. You rat and there would be a price to pay. A very serious price.