MOB RULES

by Richard Nesbitt

  “God help him.” she spoke aloud to her empty bedroom walls.

  Mob Rules

  28

  Harris raced back towards The Bronx which he’d left less than an hour before. Traffic was heavier now and he used both his lights and his siren to move slower motorists out of his way. Coming upon a complete standstill, he flipped his blue lights on and used the shoulder for three miles as people moved over to give him a wider berth. When he came upon the minor wreck causing the delay, there was already a patrol car there. There didn’t appear to be any injuries. The patrolman waved to him thinking he was coming to offer assistance and just as quickly spun around in astonishment as Harris cleared the traffic jam, hit the gas and flew past the accident scene.

  Harris had never felt the panic he felt at this moment. This was one of the worst feelings he’d ever experienced. Christi was going to die tonight if he couldn’t locate her. She could already be dead. Just that thought caused his hands to shake as he alternated between fear and fury. He would literally hunt these men if anything happened to her. To hell with his badge, to hell with his career, to hell with his freedom. He was prepared to avenge her completely if the worst happened. But there was still hope.

  He had just begun to head west on the Cross Bronx Expressway when his phone rang. He grabbed for it, almost losing control of his car. It was Tony.

  “Go.” Harris spoke quickly.

  “Jimmy, how familiar are you with The Bronx?”

  “I live in The Bronx. What do you have?”

  “Hunts Point. There’s an old abandoned office building that the Loco’s sometimes use when they want to keep their activities under the radar. That’s your best bet.”

  “You got an address?”

  “1287 Bryant Avenue.” The mobster answered.

  “Thanks,” Harris said sincerely.

  “Yeah. No problem, Captain,” Scalaro replied. “You need any help?”

  Harris understood the true purpose behind Scalaro’s sudden civic mindedness. He knew the more Tony could do for him the greater he would be in the mafia chief’s debt. It was a strategy, a way to bring somebody into the folds without them even knowing it was happening. It was transparent and Harris would have found it amusing if the situation were not so dire.

  “Look Tony,” he spoke matter of factly. “We’re not partners. We’re not in this together. I appreciate the address but do you really think I can just bring members of your crew along as back-up?”

  “You should learn to just say thank you,” Scalaro spoke curtly.

  “I did.”

  Harris ended the call and punched the address into his map feature. He knew the area well. Hunt’s Point was a massive food distribution center. A big shipping port, tons of warehouses and empty buildings it was a perfect place to go undetected. He knew there was a lot of gang activity there so it didn’t surprise him. But it was still not a certainty that she would be there.

  Harris stayed on the Cross Bronx Expressway until he reached exit 4B. This put him on I-895 South which dumped him right where he needed to be. He found his way to Hunt’s Point Blvd and worked his way towards the address, passing several buildings and warehouses, most of them tagged with gang graffiti. Although it was late at night, there were still plenty of people on the streets and a multitude of trucks entering and exiting the port. New York never slept and that went double for the shipping ports. It takes a massive amount of logistics to keep a city the size of New York running. Goods came and went around the clock.

  Skirting over two blocks, Harris found a parking spot on Coster Street directly parallel to where his target address was located. If they had posted a lookout, his black Camaro would be easily recognized. It would be a quick walk. Harris climbed out of his vehicle as he tried to block out the thoughts that ran through his mind. Was Christie alive? Was this even the right place? There were too many questions and not enough answers. There was only one way to find out and if he was wrong, he would have wasted a lot of valuable time. He couldn’t be wrong.

  His blood boiled as he thought of her in the clutches of those sociopathic vermin. Harris reminded himself to calm down, to stay in control as he walked to the back of his car and opened the trunk.

  Mob Rules

  29

  A terrified and shaken Christi Sellinger sat on the frigid cement floor of the warehouse. Her body quaked uncontrollably with cold and fear. She was flanked by two of Rabi’s men. Each held a knife in his hand and had promised to “stick” her if she attempted to flee. She looked desperately around the building, taking in the surroundings. There was a refrigerator and a ping pong table. The walls were tagged with the Loco’s brand and one wall was adorned with an impressive mural of a city street and proud, bandana wearing Latino youth dancing and holding guns. There was a door to her left which led to the front of building. There were also two office doors to her right and three large bay doors used for shipping purposes. These were closed. The last door on the right, far end of the warehouse was an exit to the back parking lot.

  Christi guessed that she’d been captive for maybe half an hour, but they had taken her watch, her jewelry and her purse when she was in the van, careening through the streets on the way to this hideout. The kidnapping had happened so quickly that she hadn’t had a chance to truly be afraid while it was happening. It was just a panicked confusion, a very surreal slowing down of time. But now, as she sat between the two young men, she felt her heart pound louder with each passing second and every strange noise made her jump or flinch. Her head hurt from where she’d struck it while being tossed in the van but other than that she was unharmed physically. For now.

  The two guarding her were both very serious looking Hispanic men, perhaps in their mid to late twenties. Tattoos on their faces and neck made them all the more intimidating. Both men also had a teardrop tattoo under their left eye.

  Christi heard a car pull up behind the building. The engine died and seconds later a car door was slammed. The far door leading to the back of the building was thrown open, crashing against the wall with a loud bang.

  “Where the fuck is Bird?!” A man’s voice boomed with authority.

  One of the office doors burst open and a Hispanic man dressed in Chino’s and a red flannel shirt hurried into the warehouse. It was the man who had grabbed her outside Jimmy’s house.

  “Right here, Rabi!” He yelled. He walked towards the man.

  “Qué chingados! Who the fuck is this, puta?!” Rabi screamed.

  “I don’t know, Homes,” the man answered nervously. “She says she some reporter for the paper.”

  “I’m a reported for the Gazette!” Christi screamed, staring at the leader of the group. “Please, you’ve made a terrible mistake!”

  “SHUT THE FUCK UP, BITCH!” Rabi turned, red-faced, to stare down at her. Spit flew from his mouth and his eyes were crazed. He looked as if he might attack her.

  Christi began to sob and lowered her head to look at the floor. She had never experienced the fear she felt now.

  “I said shut up!” Rabi yelled again.

  Christi squeezed her eyes shut. She tried to stifle her sobbing. Her body shook as she struggled to control herself. She felt the strong urge to urinate and did her best to hold that in as well.

  “How the fuck did you grab the wrong bitch?!” Rabi screamed at Bird.

  “Man, she was standing there with the cop. They hugged and shit. Then she walked out to her car. I thought it was his wife, Rabi!”

  “And why the fuck did you bring out the choppers?! You just shot up a fucking cop’s house!”

  “Rabi, we grabbed the bitch and he went for his gun. We had to lay him low!”

  “Bird, man! What the fuck?!”

  “I’m sorry, compadre.”

  Rabi paced back and forth. He exuded rage and his hands shook as he moved silently. He looked at Christi with anger and she cowered and looked away each time his gaze fell upon her. Bird and the other two men remained quiet as they watched thei
r boss go through his paces. Finally the gang leader turned to Bird.

  “You fucked up so you clean up.”

  “Yeah, man. No problem.”

  “Take this bitch out of the barrio, man. Take her somewhere far from here and make sure she ain’t found.”

  Christi gasped loudly. She threw her hands over her mouth and stared with wild, terror filled eyes at Rabi. She shook her head and began to weep again.

  “Where do you want me to put her?”

  “I don’t give a fuck but I don’t want her found! Cut her up into small pieces. After you cut her head off, smash it up. That takes care of dental records and that type of shit.”

  “Please!” Christi screamed in horror. “Don’t do this! I won’t say anything! I don’t even know you!”

  Rabi walked towards Christi. He bent over casually and slapped her face as hard as he could.

  The loud smack resonated through the empty warehouse and Christi rocked backwards and fell onto her side.

  “Don’t piss me off, puta,” Rabi spoke with a calm indifference. Now that his initial rage had subsided, he seemed calmer. He crouched beside her. “Bird’s gonna cut your throat first. It’ll be fast. You won’t feel shit for more than a few seconds.”

  “No!” Christi screamed as she covered her ears to drown the man out.

  Rabi laughed. He rose to his full height and continued.

  “But if you piss me off, Bird’s gonna go slow. He’ll start with your feet and work his way up.”

  Rabi laughed again and his men joined in.

  “But I didn’t do anything,” Christi sobbed. “You have the wrong person.”

  Rabi merely shrugged and smiled at her.

  “Wrong place, wrong time, bitch.”

  “This is a bad dream,” Christi spoke aloud. “This isn’t happening.” She felt herself losing control and her head buzzed with a strange echo.

  She barely heard the men laughing again.

  “I’m going to the crib,” Rabi spoke. He gestured to one of the henchman. “You come with me. And Bird, get it done before daylight.”

  “I will, amigo,” Bird answered. “And I’m sorry, mi hermano. I really thought she was his wife.”

  “It’s done. Just clean it up.”

  Christi mumbled incoherently to herself as she rocked in a fetal position. She watched the man walk towards the exit.

  “Hey, jefe,” the thug who was staying with Bird called out. “Is it cool if I break one off before we do it? This bitch is too fine to waste.”

  “Cojeme,” Rabi swore in Spanish, exasperated. “I don’t give a fuck, Juan. Just be quick. And make sure nobody ever sees her again. Understand?”

  “Yeah, Rabi, it’s done,” the man answered.

  The gang leader and his cohort exited the building with a slam of the door.

  “Well,” Bird spoke, looking at the remaining man. “Get it done, homey. We ain’t got all night.”

  The Loco looked at Christi and a large smile crept onto his face. He unbuckled his belt.

  Mob Rules

  30

  Harris grabbed a grey hoodie from his trunk. He pulled it on rapidly and slammed the trunk closed. He then headed towards Viele Street. When he arrived he turned to the right and walked rapidly south. Crossing the next street he approached Bryant. As he rounded the last building on the block he saw the place he was looking for. A blind man could have spotted it. The building was old, probably dating back to World War two. Set back a good thirty feet from the street, the front of the structure sported a large Loco’s tag spray-painted in large letters over the door. In the dirt lot that fronted the building sat an old Chevy SS with a gaudy, purple and yellow paint job. Strewn about were two old couches and three large fifty-five gallon drums which served as trash cans and fire barrels. One of these barrels glowed with a low fire. A young Hispanic man stood in front of it warming his hands. He had a purple bandana around his thigh which was the Loco’s calling card.

  Harris felt his pulse quicken. A lookout. They wouldn’t have posted him for no reason. Pulling his hood over his head, Harris checked that his garment covered the 9mm that was holstered on his right side, just in front of his hip. He unsnapped the leather safety clip. Feeling a renewed sense of urgency, Harris had to force himself to slow down. He ambled nonchalantly across Bryant to get to the right side of the street. He then turned left. The building was the third on the street and Harris took his time. He staggered slightly, swaying just enough to look like he had a nice buzz on. He got to the lot and smiled broadly at the gang member who glared at him.

  “Hey man,” Harris slurred slightly. “It’s cold. Can I get some of that heat?”

  “Keep walking, motherfucker,” the young man spat.

  “Awwwwww, man. That ain’t cool,” Harris drawled slowly, doing his best to sound drunk. “We’re all brothers around here.”

  “Yo man, I ain’t your brother,” the man responded. “Now walk your punk ass on.”

  Harris mumbled an expletive under his breath and fumbled in the pockets of his hoodie. He staggered slightly and then caught himself. He turned and walked towards the barrel.

  “Yo man, I ain’t playing,” the man walked around the barrel to meet Harris. “I will fuck you up if you don’t get to stepping.”

  “I just need a light for my cigarette. Tha’s all,” Harris slurred again. “Then I’m gone.”

  He was now just five feet from the man.

  “Man, you in the wrong place! I’m about to light you up, bitch!” The young gang member produced a knife from his pocket. He took a menacing step forward, closing the distance to just a couple feet. He was in range.

  “Okay, okay, no need for that. I’m leaving,” Harris apologized. He started a slow pivot to turn back the way he came from. Instead of completing the turn, he used it to coil himself. When he whipped back around to face the man it was with blinding speed. He caught the startled youth by surprise and as he pushed forward with his right leg, he drove a steel fist straight up and under the chin of the Loco’s member. The boy staggered backwards, almost out on his feet. The knife flew from his grip to land in the dirt several feet away. Before he could fall, Harris raced behind him and grabbed the boy around the neck, putting him in a sleeper hold. He flexed his forearm and bicep against the side of the boy’s throat, blocking the blood flow to and from the young man’s brain. The body went limp. Harris quickly dragged the unconscious gang banger into the shadows by the side the building. From his back belt clip he produced a pair of handcuffs. He dropped the young man face first into the dirt. Grabbing one of his wrists he clicked the first of the cuffs closed. He repeated the process with the other arm and the boy now lay with his hands secured behind his back. Harris then produced a handkerchief from his back pocket and gagged the young man before dragging him deeper into the shadows and dropping him. There was a steel pipe running alongside the building. Harris produced another set of cuffs from his belt and ran it through the cuffs holding the boy’s wrists. Then he closed both of them over the pipe. With his hands cuffed behind him and secured to the steel pip, the thug wasn’t going anywhere.

  Harris walked quickly to the front of the building, keeping low. He peered in the window and saw what must have been a reception area when this warehouse actually served as a legitimate business. It was dark but he could see that there were lights on through a far door that led to the warehouse and holding facilities. He tested the door, turning the knob slowly. It was unlocked.

  Harris pulled the bottom of his hoodie up and over his holstered 9mm. He tucked the fabric behind the gun so that it was easily accessible. Then without further hesitation he opened the door, moved rapidly inside, and then quietly closed it.

  A loud smack rang out and he heard a female voice cry out in pain.

  Christi!

  Harris felt his hands quivering with nervous energy. He reminded himself to be calm, to move with purpose and measured steps. All of his training came back into play. No matter the situation, the
worst thing a warrior could do is to let his emotions get the better of him. Anger gets you killed.

  Harris eased towards the open warehouse door. Crouching, he leaned forward and peeked around the corner. His heart skipped a beat.

  On the floor of the warehouse lay Christi, sobbing. She was tucked in a fetal position, rocking back and forth and holding her face. Surrounding her were four men, one of whom, paced back and forth. Harris looked into the man’s face and even from a distance he recognized him from his mug shot.

  Rabi!

  This was quickly confirmed as one of the men called him by name. Harris saw that his hands were shaking. He tried to steady his breathing as a blinding fury swept over him.

  Think, he told himself. There are four men. Too many, Harris thought.

  He remained in place and listened as Rabi told her what was in store for her. He had to fight the urge to run into the room shooting as he heard the four men laughing about it. The cold blooded, son of a bitch, Harris thought.

  His blood boiled as he watched the man move and joke with his men. Holding his body completely still, only Harris’ eyes moved to track the man as a lioness would its prey, unblinking and cold with deadly intent. Harris had never wanted to kill a man so badly in his life.

  This was the man who had taken the job.

  This was the man who was planning on killing Bonnie and Danny. This was the piece of filth that was going to take money in exchange for killing his family. It took every bit of self-control Harris possessed to remain still. But he had Christi’s well-being to consider. He couldn’t risk attacking four men. It was too much with just a pistol.

  Finally, he heard the break he was waiting for, the Loco’s leader was leaving. And a second man was going with him. This was perfect. Confronting two men was a different story, especially if he had the drop on them.