by Ws Greer
“You make us look bad when you operate recklessly.”
“I don’t care how you look, because I don’t work for you! I’m not your subordinate, I don’t answer to you, so why the hell would I care how I make you look?” My skin is starting to heat up, and I can feel tiny prickles on my face. I have to let out a few deep breaths to calm myself.
“Like I said,” Dante answers coolly. “You’re on the same road as us, and your actions draw attention to us.”
“Why are we beating around the bush with this?” I ask, feeling fed up already. “Your actions at Hyperion Bank drew plenty of attention, if I remember correctly. Your guys had fully automatic weapons aimed at innocent people in the middle of Girard Avenue. If that’s not wreaking havoc, I don’t know what is.”
“Yes, the Hyperion job was a bit messy for us, but it was necessary to make a point.”
“Make a point?”
“We needed to show you that we can take from you, whatever we want, whenever we want,” Dante replies, his face suddenly confident and smug. “Because you’re not invincible, Solomon.”
“You’re a brave one, Dante,” I say as I take another sip of water. “I have to commend you on that. I mean, look at you! Sitting there shoving spaghetti into your ugly mouth as if you’re in front of a child who isn’t on your level. That’s crazy to see, and it’s new to me. But nonetheless, you’re gonna give me what I want. You owe me a lot of money.”
“Cazzate,” he snips, and I frown. “It means bullshit, idiota. We don’t owe you a dime. You should know by now that you only get what you take in this lifestyle. You didn’t take it, so you have no claim to it.”
“You planted a mole in my outfit and stole our plans to rob Hyperion’s truck,” I say between clenched teeth. “You stole the whole idea and how to pull it off from me, so I’m claiming all of it, and you’re gonna give it to me.”
Dante looks over at Tony, who hasn’t even moved a muscle. The pudgy man is sitting there with his arms folded and his head low while his eyes are locked on me. He looks at me like he hates me, and the feeling is mutual, so I glare back at him, daring him to do something.
“We didn’t come here with unrealistic expectations, Mr. King,” Dante says, looking back at me. “We’re prepared to bargain with you.”
“That’s wonderful news, except it’s a waste of time, because I’m not here to bargain. I want my money.”
“We understand.”
“I don’t think you do.”
“We’ll give it to you,” Dante says before shoving another forkful into his mouth and wiping the sauce off of his chin with a napkin. “But there’s one condition.”
I glance at Nix momentarily, then back to Dante as he continues.
“We’ll give you every cent of the money from the Hyperion job, and you can take it to spend on whatever stupid, flashy merde you like. However, you have to leave Philadelphia. For good.”
I look over at Nix again, and just before I look back at Dante, I burst out laughing. I can’t believe this asshole would think he could coax me out of my own city. I grew up here, this is my city, and there isn’t a man in this world who could make me leave.
“Wow, I knew you were ballsy, I didn’t know you were funny too!” I laugh again, slapping the table with a loud bang that makes all the dishes rattle. I can see the unease finally starting to wash over Dante’s face. He’s watching me, wondering if I’ve lost it right here at the table. He wasn’t kidding when he said my reputation precedes me. He thinks I’m crazy just like the rest of them, and my laughter makes him agitated. I like that he’s agitated.
“That’s the deal, Solomon,” he says loudly to be heard over my continuing laughter. “Laugh all you like, but that’s it, and it’s the best we’re willing to offer, especially after what you did to my nephew. Take it or leave it.”
Suddenly, I stop laughing and slam my fist on the table, my face as serious as ever.
“Oh I’ll leave it, Dante! Because you came into my house and stole from me. I don’t give a single shit about Tim or his wife. The only reason I’m not putting a multitude of bullet holes into you and your fat friend is because Nix here asked me not to, and I decided to listen to him. You do not tell me what I’ll do. No one does.”
Dante and I fall into an intense staring contest as he locks his grayish eyes on mine and totally stops blinking. For thirty seconds straight, there’s nothing but the sound of cars slowly driving by and our breathing as background noise. He can’t stand me, I’m sure he’d like to see me dead, and the irony of it all is that I want the same fate for him. I’ve been sick of the Scarfo family since Nix first told me to slow down because of them. I’d like nothing more than for them to be out of our way, but making that happen is a lot easier to say than it is to do. As pissed as I am, I know I can’t do anything drastic at this meeting. But that doesn’t mean something drastic won’t be done in the future.
“Let me assure you of something, Mr. King,” Tony Belinelli finally speaks up after clearing his throat to break the silence. His voice is like gravel, low and husky with a certain growl characteristic that’s annoying. He sounds like he’s been smoking fifty cigarettes a day since he was two years old. “We’ve been doing this a long time. We’ve been in this life since before either of yous were born. We wouldn’t be sitting at this table if we hadn’t already looked into you and your crew, and that includes the guys you’ve only used for jobs once. On behalf of Angelo Scarfo, I advise you to take the money and go. You don’t want to open a door you won’t know how to close, and Mr. Scarfo doesn’t want blood in the streets if he can avoid it. So, once again, I ask that you please take some time to consider the deal. You don’t have to decide right now. We understand it’s a painful decision, considering both of yous have lived here your whole lives, starting out in Strawberry Mansion. Please, take your time and think about it.”
“There’s nothing to think about,” I snap back, glaring at Tony. “This is my city, my home, and I ain’t leaving.”
“Are you sure you wanna do it like this, Solomon?” Dante asks in his Italian accent, as he sets his silverware down and leans back in his seat. “Angelo Scarfo is seventy-one years old, he’s seen things you can’t even dream of. Me, I’m fifty-two, and I’ve been in this life since I’m thirteen. I’ve seen things I wish I wouldn’t have, and done even crazier things. We don’t have to go down this road. But just know this, refusing to take the deal could cause a war in the streets. You don’t want that, and neither do we. But, we’re willing to take it there if it’s necessary.”
These mob guys have a lot of balls, and with every passing second, I want more and more to saw those balls off with a dull butter knife.
After a second to act as though I’m considering their offer, I turn to Nix, who hasn’t done anything but listen to this garbage. He looks back at me in anticipation of what I might say, knowing me so well.
“Let me ask you something, Nix,” I begin. “Are you afraid of the Scarfo family? Do you think we should allow ourselves to be run out of our own city?”
Without a second of hesitation, Nix replies.
“I haven’t ever been afraid of anybody my entire life, and even though I respect what the Scarfo family has done in this city for so long, there isn’t a chance in hell I’d take the money and run. My mother still lives here in the house I bought for her five years ago. I would never leave her behind just to make Angelo Scarfo happy. It’ll never happen.”
“Music to my ears, just like I knew it would be,” I reply before turning back to Dante and Tony. “You asked me if I wanted to do it like this, Dante, and my answer is yes. I’d love to do it this way. You’re right, I’m twenty-five years old, young and out of control! You said I had a reputation, but you obviously don’t take it seriously, because if you did, you never would’ve even considered asking me to leave my home. If you want to go to war with me instead of share the wealth in this big city, then bring your tanks and the full force of your army, because the o
nly running I’ll be doing will be towards you to cut your fucking head off. Now, give me my money, or I’m gonna come to your house and take it.”
Dante and Tony stare at me with mixed, indecipherable expressions. In their eyes is a cross between anger, fear, and shock. This family has been doing business a long time, and I’m guessing they’re not used to people standing up to them. When someone in the Scarfo family says leave town, you pack your bags and get out before they kill you, it’s always been as simply as that. Over the years, as Nix and I were coming up in this city, I’ve known guys who’ve packed up and left town out of the blue, out of fear that someone in the Scarfo family would bring misery into their house. I’ve also heard of guys flat out disappearing without a trace, no one knowing where they went, but everyone knowing where they went, knowing they’re gone for good. So, this has to be off-putting for these two lifelong gangsters. Seeing their uneasiness now, I’m sure of it—I’ve pushed their buttons. Little ole me! Solomon King from Strawberry Mansion has managed to rattle the cage of the underboss of the Scarfo family! Laughter bubbles in my stomach and I have to force it to stay down.
Dante lets out a breath through his mouth, sipping his water before reaching into his back pocket and pulling out a wad of cash in a platinum money clip. He pulls out a fifty and drops it on the table, a hefty tip considering his meal was only twenty bucks and the rest of us had water.
“Here’s how this works,” Dante says. “We’ll give you a few days to think our offer over. After a few days, we’ll meet up again and see what you decide. Capiche?”
“How many times do I have to say the same thing to you people?” I reply as Dante and Tony both stand up to leave. “The decision has already been made. I want my money, Dante.”
“Okay, Solomon,” Dante answers as he wipes his mouth one last time with his napkin before dropping it on top of his plate, and the two of them head for their car. “We’ll talk again soon.”
“I want my money, Dante!” I say again, but I’m ignored as the two made men climb into their black Mercedes and slowly drive away.
“Well, that was interesting,” Nix says. “You know what this means, right?”
I let out a loud whoosh of air.
“What’s that, Nix?”
“Something’s gonna happen before we meet with them again,” Nix replies. “That’s how this works. They’re gonna show us something, then call us back to the table to see how we react to it. We need to be ready.”
“I’m always ready, Nix,” I answer, sipping my water one last time as I stare at the tail lights of the Mercedes driving away from us. “Always.”
THE VP IS a fancy American restaurant smack dab in the middle of Center City West. It serves what you’d expect to see at a Ruby Tuesday or something similar: amazing steaks, fantastic burgers, fresh seafood, and a bar stocked with every type of liquor you can think of. If Club Asylum is our home, then The VP is our home away from home, and it’s owned by Mr. Nix Malone himself.
There’s nothing like legit money when you’re involved in a life of crime. Every mob guy knows this, which is why they all invest in something legal that can’t be taken away by the feds if they get raided or shaken down. Nix, always a fan of the nineties mob life, followed suit and had The VP built shortly after we transitioned out of Strawberry Mansion. He built The VP—also known as The Vice President—I built Club Asylum. I’m a little more on the overprotective side, so I built the Box inside my club to keep out nosey people and cops. Nix, on the other hand, wanted The VP to be just another place where people with fat wallets could come spend their money on a thirty-five-dollar steak and seventy-dollar lobster without wondering who the tatted up lowlifes in the bulletproof glass case are. His place doesn’t have the protective measures mine does, but it’s an elegant, cushy little number that never fails to be packed to the brim with paying customers who only spend their money at five star joints. Nix, of course, did it the best way possible—he’s the owner, not the operator, so he sits back and watches his restaurant make money for him and collects a fat check at the end of every month. He doesn’t deal with payroll or managing the joint a single hour of the day, but when he comes in, he’s got the VIP section locked down without question. So, guess where we’re sitting tonight.
The sit-down with Dante and Tony was yesterday afternoon, and Nix and I are still pissed at the audacity of those two assholes. Nonetheless, we knew it was in our best interest to alert everyone in the crew about how the conversation went so that they’re aware of the situation. When your money gets stolen right in front of you, you’d like an update on when you can expect to have it paid back. That kind of thing doesn’t slide in our lifestyle. So, Nix and I called a meeting with Rock, Marcell, Ricky, and Donny to discuss where we are with the situation.
Nix and I arrive first as usual. When we walk through the entrance, the hostess immediately recognizes Nix and rushes to take us to the back of the restaurant. The woman’s red hair sways behind her as she walks with an extra pep in her step, wearing black pants with a white shirt and gold bowtie. She leads us through the crowded main floor, and I always make sure to take a minute to check out how nice Nix’s place is. Black, white, and gold are your primary colors: black walls, black leather seats, long white table cloths dangling over the sides of the tables, and a black and gold patterned carpet to really make it all pop. Even the golden-framed pictures on the walls fit into Nix’s scheme, which he won’t admit he designed himself before relinquishing control to his managers. It’s a beautiful place, and once we pass through the main floor, we enter through two black sliding doors with frosted glass blurring the vision of anyone trying to get a peek inside, and we find ourselves in the luxurious VIP section. The VIP is a fancier version of the main floor, with thick, plush, black leather seats that wrap halfway around the table before stopping to make room for two separate leather chairs. At the end of the long seats stands a gold pole with a black bucket at the top, specifically for keeping bottles of champagne on ice. When Nix and I sit in the separate chairs, there’s already a bottle of Cristal in the bucket waiting for us. Yeah, we do it big. The days of frantically searching through Whitney’s kitchen for scraps to eat are over.
Nix and I make ourselves comfortable as a waitress—this one black, and thick in all the right places with jet black hair—pops the cork on the Cristal and pours glasses for us. She flashes an inviting smile at me before setting the bottle back in the bucket and making her way to the kitchen. Just as she is out of my line of sight, I see Marcell being led through the sliding doors, followed by Rock, Donny, and Ricky. Marcell is wearing an all-black outfit with white shoes to set it off. Rock is sporting his usual tight-fitting, long sleeve sweater, while Donny and Ricky are doing their thing with two different combinations of red and white flannel shirts with Doc Martins. Our crew complete, Nix and I greet them and wait for all of the orders to be taken by the perfectly thick waitress before addressing tonight’s topic.
“So, it’s been an interesting few days, gentlemen, and let me start by apologizing,” I begin. “When I call a crew to do a job, I expect it to go without a hitch. I don’t like distractions or working with people who aren’t focused enough to pull off a job the right way. The whole thing with Hyperion was supposed to be big, and all of us had to sit there and watch it be stolen from us without knowing what the hell was going on. Nix and I don’t stand for that kind of thing, so we took the liberty of doing a little digging to find out who the hell hit the Hyperion job just seconds before we were supposed to. I’ll let Nix explain the rest, since he’s the mastermind behind tracking down our little mole.”
“Mole?” Rock says with a deep canyon between his eyebrows.
“Yeah,” Nix answers. “So, as it turns out, Tim Sandusky was a mole for the Scarfo family.”
“Whoah,” Marcell bellows with raised eyebrows behind his glasses. “Did you just say the Scarfo family? Seriously?”
“Yeah,” Nix answers.
“As in Angelo Scarfo?
” Donny says.
“Yes, now listen,” Nix replies. “It turns out, Tim Sandusky was sent to infiltrate our outfit. It just so happened that he came at a time when Solomon was trying to get a job done involving Detective Anthony Mason, who’s also on Angelo’s payroll. All three of them colluded together and pulled a scheme to trick Solomon and me into trusting Tim. After he gained our trust and the details of the Hyperion job, Tim sold the plans to his uncle, Dante Rossi.”
“Holy shit!” Rock barks. “Tim is Dante Rossi’s nephew? Never would’ve seen that one coming. Wow.”
“Yeah, that makes three of us,” Nix says, frowning just from the thought of how I let us get played by a young rookie like Tim. “Anyway, so it was Dante who took our plans from Tim and beefed them up. He pulled off our job right in front of us on purpose. He wanted Solomon and me to see that they had one up on us.”
“Why would they do that?” Donny asks, which causes his brother to frown.
“Why do you think, dummy,” Ricky snips. “It’s a competition thing. Angelo must see you guys as a threat. You don’t see him going after any other criminals in the city. If they wanted to take your job, it’s because they think you’re becoming too big. When you think about it, it’s kind of a compliment.”
“Yeah, so we’ve heard,” Nix replies. I sit back in my seat and listen to Nix fill in the rest of the story. “So, once we got this information, Solomon forced Dante into a sit-down yesterday, after breaking Tim’s fingers and stabbing his wife in the stomach with a switchblade.”
“Holy shit, Solomon! You killed the dude’s wife?” Donny chirps with a wide grin, to which I just smile.
“Nah, she lived, I think,” Nix says. “At the sit-down, Dante offered to give us the money they stole, but there were conditions. They want Solomon and me out of Philly for good.”