by Ws Greer
I look over at Nix and glare at him, showcasing disappointment in what I’m seeing and hearing from him. He’s been my partner in crime since the beginning, and I’ve never known him to be afraid, but what he says now sounds a lot like fear. He’s doing it on purpose, and when I lock eyes with him, we know the same the thing. I’m Solomon King. I bow to no man, and I’m not looking to acquire a new business partner.
“Hey, you should listen to your friend,” Tim agrees with Nix with a nod of his head, his slick hair bouncing with the movement. “If you play your cards right, maybe you can stay in business, maybe work for Angelo. I think they’d be cool with that.”
“Do you?” I finally speak up, my nerves tingling with excitement. “You think they’d be okay with us working for them? I mean, we could really bring in a lot of money. We could make their enterprise so much bigger with the added revenue we bring in. Oh yeah! You think they’d be cool with that, Tim?”
“Absolutely,” Tim answers with a reassuring smile, all of his worries have left the house. “Don’t let this whole thing be the end, strike a deal and make money with us. That’s perfect. Imagine the money we all could make if you worked for Angelo and my uncle. Hell yeah, Solomon. Just make the call, and I bet you could work out a big deal. Hell, tell them I brought you in—convinced you to join up with them. It’ll be huge for me. We all can win, Solomon!”
“Yeah? You sure?” I ask.
“Most definitely. Dante and Angelo are businessmen just like you. I know they’d be down for it.”
“Oh man, that makes me feel so relieved!” I chirp with a broad smile. “Phew! Alright, well then I guess we’ll get out of your hair—let you two get back to it! You two lovebirds!” I let out a boisterous chuckle that makes Tim jump. “Come on Nix, let’s go make that call.”
Nix stares at me, unmoving, as I grip the switchblade and turn towards the door. After a step towards Nix, I stop on a dime, turn on my heel, and rush towards Valerie, who’s still sitting comfortably on the couch. She barely sees me coming as I step towards her with my arm swung behind my back and the switchblade gripped tight in my fist. In a flash, I jam the three-inch blade into her stomach as hard as I can, and give it a twist for good measure. I hear Tim let out a scream that’ll surely wake the neighbors as I let go of the knife, leaving it stuck in the brunette’s stomach. Blood begins oozing out of the wound slowly at first, then it picks up speed and starts to look like she’s really going to need to some medical attention.
“Valerie!” Tim screams as he comes running across the room to his whore’s aid.
As he reaches us, I spin around and punch him square in the jaw, knocking him backwards, then I lift my right foot and send my black Timberland boot flying into his balls. He lets out a high pitched chirp and drops to his knees before falling completely over, clutching himself. Valerie whimpers behind me as tears start to flow from her pretty little eyes, and the look of impatience and confidence melts off her face just like her makeup.
Nix stands silently as I take a knee next to Tim and speak directly into his ear.
“Tisk, tisk, Timmy,” I whisper as I reach down and pull loose one of the hands he’s using to hold his balls. I grip his pinkie and ring finger in my fist and bend both of them backwards until they touch the back of his hand, then violently twist them towards his thumb. The result is a gruesome and beautiful double snap, followed by a blood curdling scream from Tim. He’s yelling so loud I actually have to slam my hand over his mouth to shut him up.
“If you scream again, I’ll break every damn finger you have, then I’ll go for your toes, and the last thing I twist off will be your little prick,” I tell him as I drop his twisted hand to the floor. “You pulled one over on me, Timmy. Made me look bad in front of my company, and that’s a no go. The only reason you’re not dead already is because I listen to my good friend, Nix. He wants to sit down with your uncle, and I’m open to that, but not to discuss a partnership. We don’t have partners. I will, however, discuss the return of the money your uncle’s crew stole from Hyperion. That money belongs to me, and if they don’t give it back, everything will change. This is not the Scarfo’s city. It’s mine, and I don’t reach out to people to strike deals, you arrogant little shit! Your uncle will reach out to me, or I’m gonna come back here and set your house on fire with you and your slut still inside. I’ll tie the two of you to your bed, and set a fire on the first floor so that you can hear it coming for you while you lay here on the second floor. You’ll smell hell creeping towards you and you won’t be able to do a thing about it. I’ll make sure you suffer much worse than you’re suffering right now. This is child’s play compared to what I’ll do if your uncle doesn’t reach out to me. Understand?”
Tim nods his head as sweat pours off of his face. The combination of pain, fear, and cocaine are overloading his senses, and it wouldn’t surprise me if the little bastard had a heart attack right here on his floor. That’d be a sight!
“Good,” I reply with a smile. I lightly tap Tim on the cheek before standing up and heading towards the door. Valerie is clutching her bloody stomach on the couch, still breathing and whimpering, full of terror as she tries to lean back away from me when I move. That’s the proper response when I’m around. If she lives through this, she’ll never be confident around me again, and she’ll never forget the day she met Solomon King.
I smile at Nix as I approach him, and he lets himself release a sly smirk of his own with a playful shake of his head. He knew I wouldn’t let Tim get away with all of that talking. I’m a man of action. When were kids, Nix told me to be careful where I stole from, because we didn’t have the power to deal with the Scarfo family at that time. We’re not kids now. The days of standing in front of Nix’s house, pondering where we should strike are over. We’re grown men now, both of us twenty-five. We’re multi-millionaires, and we have more associates than the Scarfos have a clue about. We won’t hide from anyone, and the only partnership we have is between the two of us.
Nix turns on his heel and exits, and I follow behind him just before looking over my shoulder.
“I’d get my ass up and put pressure on Valerie’s wound if I were you, Tim. Otherwise, she won’t be alive for the next time we meet. See you soon!”
The last sound Tim and Valerie hear from us is my loud, boisterous laughter echoing throughout the house.
THE CALL FROM the Scarfo family came less than twenty-four hours after Nix and I left Tim with his nuts kicked in and Valerie with a knife in her stomach. I wonder why so fast? It came by way of a direct call to Nix’s personal phone, which surprised us both a bit, because it meant they had taken the time to look into who Nix is and figure out a way to get his personal information. If they have his phone records, then what else do they know about him? How about me?
We put those worries aside for now, because as Nix told me when he hung up, it was time to have a sit-down with Tim’s uncle, Dante Rossi. Nix got the call at ten o’clock the night after we had our little talk with Tim, and the man on the other end of the phone was the consigliere to Angelo Scarfo, a guy by the name of Tony Belinelli, who has been a part of the Scarfo family for nearly all of his sixty-two years of life. That’s the thing about dealing with mob families, their loyalty is unbreakable because they’ve been a part of their thing for so long. For them, the gangster life is passed down generation to generation. A guy who’s sixty-two like Tony isn’t going to budge from whatever he has his mind set on, and we have to know that going in. They’re a hard-headed lot, the Italian families, so if you don’t know what you’re getting yourself into, it could be night-night for you and whatever you’ve got planned. They don’t mess around, and we won’t underestimate them. Be that as it may, we’re not going to take any crap from them either.
Tony was brief, according to Nix, and told my right-hand-man that Dante wanted to have a sit-down with us as soon as possible to discuss “ongoing matters,” which we know is the Hyperion money, the fact that I attacked Tim and broke t
wo of his fingers, and my operation as a whole. Tony didn’t go into more detail than that, because the line was unsecure, and the Italians are nothing if not professional. They don’t make many mistakes. In fact, if it wasn’t for snitches, not a single mob boss would’ve ever gotten caught throughout La Cosa Nostra history. They’re that good. Their problem is that there is always a weak link who ends up giving the police everything they need to take down their top guy. I guess that’s a pretty big problem to have, and it’s one I plan on avoiding forever.
Other than that brief description of what we’d be discussing, Tony only gave Nix a time and location, and informed him who would be attending the meeting from their end—only Tony himself, and Dante Rossi. That leads us to the here and now, and unlike the eager and enthusiastic feeling I had before the Hyperion job went to shit, I’m calmer now, seated in the driver’s seat of my brand new, burgundy Rolls Royce Wraith. The tan interior of the car is a beauty, and I always feel like I’ve really made it when I sit my fancy ass inside this four-hundred-sixty-two-thousand-dollar sex machine, but today I have different feelings. Today I feel cautious.
No money will change hands today. No surprise there. When I think about how this whole thing will go, I expect Dante to try to haggle me a bit, try to negotiate and strike some sort of deal with us in exchange for the money. That won’t go well. The money from Hyperion belongs to me and my crew. The plan that Dante’s crew executed was my plan on steroids. They took what was mine, and I have no problem telling Dante that to his face. I’d tell that to Angelo Scarfo himself.
As we wait outside the restaurant, I can see two white tables in front of the entrance, right underneath the purple cloth overhang in front of the doors. Each table has two white chairs with green seat cushions facing one another, which is where we’ll be seated for today’s little conference. Nix and Tony will sit at one table, and Dante and I will sit at the table directly next to them with Nix and I on the same side. I’m not surprised to see that this whole thing will be taking place right out in the open, in front of the restaurant only a few feet away from the street, at noon. This is a business deal, and Italians like to discuss business over a meal. I’m not exactly feeling hungry, and I can tell from Nix’s silence that he’s as anxious as I am. This is the big time, and both of us feel ready to step up to the plate. Just as I take a breath and let it out, I see a black Mercedes with black rims pull up and park behind my car. Right away, I know it’s Dante. Game time.
The first to exit the Mercedes and step out into the sun is Tony Belinelli. He’s about five-foot-eight with a balding head that holds nearly no hair where the front of his hairline should be. Most of what’s left of his hair is hanging out in the back half of his head like it’s afraid to move any closer to his chubby, scowling face. The man looks absolutely miserable, with bags under his eyes like he just got done drinking an hour or so ago, and his mouth has the look of a clown with a never-ending frown. It’s like his smile has been turned upside down, and as funny as that may seem, I know Tony will gladly slice a man’s throat, so I don’t laugh when I see his hairless face. The man is wearing a typical black suit with a black tie, not even trying to hide the gangster appearance as he closes the driver’s door, just as the passenger door pops open.
Out of the black-on-black Mercedes steps Dante Rossi. Standing at six-foot-one, Dante is close to two-hundred pounds with longer hair that hangs down and has a tendency to cover his eyes, so he has to give his head a little swish to move it aside. Dante goes against the Italian mafia grain and actually has hair on his face in the form of a thin beard that runs along his jawline and comes together under his chin. Admittedly, Dante is a good-looking guy at fifty-two years young, with eyes that are so lightly colored that they almost look gray. He’s rocking a white button-up shirt with the top two buttons undone, and just like Tony, I know a killer when I see one. Dante didn’t become underboss to Angelo Scarfo at the age of fifty-two overnight. He’s done a lot of dirt in his life, and usually that would make us friends, but we grew up in different walks of life, so today we’ll have lunch together as enemies. When Nix first mentioned the Scarfo family to me in front of his house the night I sliced his dad’s earlobe off, I never would’ve thought that he and I would be having lunch with them, on the same level as them in this criminal underworld we live in. My how the times have changed!
The two Italian men stand next to their car looking directly into the back window of my car, waiting for us to get out and show we’re not trying to ambush them. They should know we’re not that stupid. I want my money, I’m not trying to start a war—yet.
I look over at Nix and he looks at me, both of our faces stone cold. It’s me who smirks, and I swear my smirk puts us both at ease. This is a big moment, but we still have to be who we are. We have to be the kids who clawed their way out of Strawberry Mansion with no help whatsoever. Nix grins back at me to let me know he’s ready, and at the same time, both of us get out. The doors to the Wraith are suicide doors, so they open on the opposite end of a normal car door as the two of us step out together. Nix straightens the jacket on his dark gray suit, smoothing out his black tie as he closes the door and steps towards the setup in front of the restaurant. I look back at Dante as I run my hand down the length of my black button-up. Unlike him, I have the entire top half of my shirt completely unbuttoned, exposing my bare, hairless chest and the diamond-crown-wearing grim reaper tattoo that covers it. I see Dante glance down at the ink as I look away from him and make my way to the table to sit next to Nix. A second later, Tony and Dante are seated in front of us, eyes locked with ours. They’re all business, and so are we. I could scream from all of the intensity!
A waiter, wearing an untucked white button-up and a black tie, comes out to greet us before anyone at the table says a word. We’re locked into intense stares even as we begin to place our orders. Dante orders the cliché of spaghetti and meatballs with a glass of water, while Tony chooses not to have anything but water. I’m a little surprised at Dante’s order. His entire demeanor is tranquil, and he must be really comfortable to be eating a meal at a time like this. Nix and I, on the other hand, know that this is a business deal, and the two of us follow Tony’s lead and just get water, which is brought out quickly in wine glasses along with a basket of steaming bread before even one word is uttered at the table. After what seems like forever, it’s Dante who breaks the silence.
“Mr. King,” he says with a hint of a smile. “We finally meet. You have quite the reputation.”
Now it’s my turn to smile, but mine is from ear to ear.
“How nice of you to notice,” I say, leaning forward with my forearms on the table. The sleeves of my button-up are rolled up just enough to show the flame-covered crown on my left forearm that I got when I was a teenager, and the crying clown on my right forearm that I got two years ago. Dante, who has no tattoos per the Italian mob’s customs, looks down at my ink and then lift his eyes back up to meet mine. His face carries the look of a man who’s trying to convince himself that he’s unaffected by what he sees in front of him. But I don’t believe he’s unaffected. I think he’s affected plenty, and it’s the fuel to the fire quietly burning inside of me.
“I have noticed,” Dante admits with a nod of his head, his long hair bouncing with the movement. “We’ve noticed you for a while now, even before you attacked my nephew and his wife.”
Wow. I had no idea that pretty little Valerie was Tim’s wife, but that information puts another smile on my face. No wonder the call from Dante came so fast. I hit home with that little stabbing act.
“Nothing personal with Timmy and his girl. Just business, you know. How’s Val doing, by the way?” I ask, smiling with my eyes at the thought of Valerie bleeding from her stomach and Tim lying on the ground clutching his nuts.
“She’s fine,” Dante replies, his face suddenly serious. “Our docs fixed her up and she’ll recover physically. Maybe not mentally, though. It was a bold statement, Solomon. You like to wreak ha
voc, and that’s the kind of thing that draws the wrong kind of attention.”
I smile again.
“Havoc, you say? I like to think of it as chaos, and yes, I do thrive in it. I bathe in it, I drink it down until I’m full from it and then piss it out onto others. You do, too. Your family has been wreaking havoc for generations. Has it not? You just do it quieter than me.”
“I suppose I could agree with that,” Dante answers, nodding again.
“Yes you could,” I snip, feeling serious all of a sudden. “The difference between us though, is that I crave the chaos and hate the quiet. I wanna be loud, I wanna be seen, and I want the world to know that it’s me who brings the chaos. I create and control the flames, and there’s nothing anyone can do to extinguish them, because they’re mine.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, Solomon,” Dante says as his meal is brought to him by the waiter. The spaghetti and meatballs looks delicious as steam and aroma rise from the plate. Dante thanks the waiter in Italian and picks up his fork before speaking again. “You seem to think that you’re invincible. You live your life at a hundred miles per hour as if you can never be stopped. You disrespect those who are traveling quietly on the same road as you, the ones going with the flow of traffic as you speed ahead like a madman.”
“Well, that’s what the kids are saying about me anyway, so why not play the part?”
“Maybe you are a madman, I don’t know, nor do I care,” Dante snips as he nonchalantly shoves a forkful of marinara-covered noodles into his mouth. “Regardless of what you think, you’re traveling on the same road as us, and when you drive too fast or too recklessly, you draw attention to the rest of us who are operating under the radar. We can’t have that.”
“Ah, so that’s what this is about,” I say as I lean back in my seat and sip my water. “You think my style of criminal activity is beneath yours. That’s pretty funny. I didn’t know one form of being a degenerate was better than another.”