by Amarie Avant
“Do you have a death wish?” Doctor Carson asks, the cigarette on the tip of his lips, bobbles as he speaks. The Lakers are getting their asses handed to them on a tiny box-shaped television parallel to Carson’s folding tray which holds alcohol, a thread and needle, and other supplies. Each time the other basketball team scores, the old man has a renewed strength when it comes to patching me up.
Instead of responding, I grab the Wild Turkey at my side.
“Zacarro, I don't suggest you take the pills with that, I've seen some crazy shit…” he warns, and catches his cigarette from falling from his lips.
“I'm not. Keep your damn pills.”
He chuckles. “You're gonna continue taking that prescription crap the sombitch at the hospital gave you yesterday? Well, I’ll tell you, last night’s little tit-for-tat has nothing on what tonight’s bastard did...” The doctor’s voice trails off, waiting for me to elaborate on what he assumes is a kickass story. Carson wants to know what brought me here tonight, instead of the very first hospital from Reese’s apartment.
“Keep talking, I'll bring your ass in for those miracle pills.” My teeth are bared in a quasi-smile.
“Take me in, Zaccaro. I ain't practicing no more either so how are you gonna explain these stitches. Impeccable if I do say so myself.”
I raise my bottle to the doctor who’s had his medical license revoked, and then I let the whiskey burn down my throat. Agitation and the feeling of being out of control clutch at my heart. “Hurry up.” I’ve gotta find Reese…
“Don't get us confused. Zaccaro, you're the wannabe Superman with a death wish. If I go any faster, and skip a stitch, one of your organs will fall out.” He laughs at his own joke.
It's almost midnight as I step out of Carson’s house. A plume of smoke follows. He insisted that I take a bag of Famous Amos cookies and a 100% Apple Juice box for my energy. These days the good old doctor just spends his time watching his grandkids or patching up criminals who don't want the harp of answering questions about battle wounds at the local hospital. I've promised that the boys on the beat will leave his block alone for a while and I chuckle to myself. This shit would have never flown in the past.
“Straight and narrow,” I mumble. Not anymore.
If I hadn't almost bled out, there'd be no need for Carson. Now I get into my Audi. Under the pale light from the streetlamp, I notice the leather is caked with blood. I get into the driver’s side, toss my bottle of whiskey into the back and give my face a few slaps. I dial Reese for the hundredth time. No answer.
I leave another voicemail.
Then I try Tony. My pops takes his ass to sleep at a decent time. I scroll through my text messages for Lolita's number, recalling how she'd texted me and a good number of people, with photos of her nuptials.
I dial her number. No answer. Even if she's asleep, she's going to have to wake her ass up. There's no trust for that woman.
Outside of the car, in front of my father’s house, I reach into my pocket to grab my prescription meds. Nothing is there. I pat my blazer pockets, but none of them holds my bottle. I took them to Carson’s. I had to have taken them to Carson’s…
“Fuck!” My fist swipes out at the crisp air as I walk up the long passageway and to the front door. I rub my hand over my face before pulling out my key ring to sift through all the extras for Tony's house.
Only the moon’s illumination from the skyline above guides my path toward the stairs.
The sound of moaning diverts my direction; I backtrack down the stairs and down the hall. Through the sunroom that divided half of the house, the sounds of sex get louder.
I stop at the entrance to the sitting room. Tony is reclining against a chair with Lolita straddling him. She's in a silk robe which falls over her shoulders.
“Tino!” Dad shouts.
“I need to speak with your wife. And I have no intentions of waiting.”
Lolita second-guesses climbing off of him and chooses to cling to his thick body.
“What the heck is your problem, Valentino? You come into my house, demanding to speak to your step—my wife!” His thick jaw shakes and he adds, “I've raised you better than this.”
“I'm a little over being polite. In my field, I've seen more ass than should be allowed at illegal drug labs and what not so needless to say, I’m not looking.” I turn my gaze onto her shocked one. “Lolita, get presentable. I need to speak with you.”
She arises abruptly, tying her knot before turning around. “Sounds like you have something to say. Say it?”
“Lo,” Tony chides. “Go upstairs, pay us no attention. I'm gonna go kick the ass of this ungrateful son of mine.” Then my father looks me up and down. “Looks like somebody beat me to the punch.”
“Reese is missing. McGregor… he's after her.” My eyes lock onto Lolita's, though I'm calculating and analyzing her entire body language.
Yet her body reads no discomfort at the thought of someone wishing ill upon her daughter. “If McGregor is searching for her, then she's fine. Perfectly safe.”
“How do you know?”
“Gianni Giugliano has to have taken her.”
And in this instant, the pain that's threatening to consume me is dead. No need for Carson’s magic narcs. No, Wild Turkey will do. Two months ago I told that motherfucker to leave us the fuck alone.
“Elaborate,” I say through gritted teeth.
Her pupils slide to the left. Either Lolita is preparing a sordid story of deception or it's because my father, my motherfucking blood has transformed into her strongest alley.
“Evan, give Lo a moment to go dress,” Tony reprimands.
“No!” I shout. “Lolita, tell me what the fuck is going on here!”
Her voice is its usual sultry rasp, no worry for her only child. “Well, I can't tell you how McGregor found Reese. That man is a bum. It isn’t as if she and I have been in hiding. He has never gone after her, though he's threatened us a few times over the years.” She shrugs, dawdling on her words, “Guess being the partner of a known drug lord took its toll. The day DEA cracked down on Milo, that was the day McGregor became the laughing stock of the LAPD, and then he was fired. The Union wouldn't even touch him, moreover speak on his behalf about the pension owed to him. Nobody was sure if McGregor worked for Milo.”
“Alright, I don't give a fuck about McGregor. Why does Giugliano have her?”
And then Lolita Dunham does what she does best. Lie.
Chapter 41
Reese
Tunnel vision aligns my path as we touched down at a private airspace in Naples. A young woman in a sports car that cost a fortune, greets us upon arrival in the wee hours of the morning. Holding mounds of high-end apparel shopping bags in her hands. She must've greeted me in Italian and said something about the clothing fitting me. Then she proceeds to fuck Matteo's face with her bright red lips.
Since I’ve been up for almost an entire day, I almost fell asleep standing there holding the bags as they kissed. Legs locked about the calves, I shook myself awake each time my chin dipped. I rub my face and yawn as a fresh breeze trails over my skin. Evan…
I reach into my pocket for my phone. And then I put down the woman’s bags of clothing to check my satchel.
“Matteo, my cell phone is missing?”
“You left it on the jet, let me go check,” he pulls himself away from the ditz’s embrace.
“No, I did not.” I fold my arms. I needed to call Evan but refused to have a conversation within earshot of my half-brother. “Did I leave it with Jamie?”
“Just let me check,” he holds up his hands as if pleading me not to argue. I nod my appreciation and Matteo heads up the steps.
“Here are your things,” I tell the woman, waking up much more.
“They’re yours. Sal, said to grab you a few items. I do believe the items will fit, like I said a few minutes ago,” she says.
I start to refuse the clothing but Matteo is sauntering down the steps, holding up my
cell phone. “See, no need to worry.”
Lips tensed, I wonder how he easily found my cell phone. Matteo’s lady lingers while I get into the passenger seat of his JEEP. And then I’m out again…
Birds chirp, and wind rustles. Sheer white drapes bellow in the soft wind. The sound of the ocean crashing against the rocks below has awakened me.
I place my hands against my tiny womb, one day my hands won't be able to fully cover it. I've gotta tell Evan we're expecting. My lips spread into a smile, and then my eyes water again. Oh God, I love him.
My fingers fly away from my stomach as if just the touch will singe off my fingerprints and palm prints. What if I’m a mother like my own? And if Evan becomes the very father I loved yet feared? Can I have his baby…
“Evan,” I breathe his name, as if just the mere murmuring of it will rouse a bit of sanity. I glance around. There’s a milk glass vase, it’s filled with exotic flowers. The room has posh furniture, a couch at the end of the dark wood bed.
I’m still dressed in the jeans and shirt I went to the Dr. Saadat’s in yesterday afternoon. Or was that yesterday afternoon? The sky is turquoise, mirroring the sea, yet it’s sunny. How long did I sleep and where the heck am I?
I bite my lip, attempting to think. And then an image of a towering villa comes into mind. The white stucco mansion with its dark wood doors, yes, I remember getting out of Matteo’s Jeep. When we arrived, there were gunmen at the wrought iron gates. Matteo lined up all of the staff and introduced me to them. He, along with a maid, carried the bags his girlfriend brought me.
I glance at the closed door, and the glossy expensive apparel bags are set on a chaise next to the exit. As soon as I entered, my head kissed the pillow.
My purse is on the dresser next to me. I grab my phone from it, and see all the missed calls from Evan. I take a deep breath, and dial his number. My hand is back at my stomach, as if massaging my flat womb will settle my baby’s nervous jitters. As the tone connects, I lick my lips, hoping he isn’t angry with me for being out of reach so long.
The call connects.
“Evan,” my eyes brighten, excitedly I declare, “I've gotta tell you…”
“Where are you, Reese?” His voice is calculated and devoid of the love I'm used to. I bite the bottom of my lip. This is perhaps an awful time to mention that we've made a life.
“Reese, tell me where you are?”
“I… I can't.”
His mannerisms soften somewhat. “Send me the location of your phone.”
“I can't…” Antsy as I am, I swing my legs over the bed and stand up. Rubbing a hand through my hair, I endeavor to use the right words to explain, “Evan, I’ve gotta—”
“You can't send me your phone’s location because someone… is someone monitoring your phone calls?”
“No.” I gasp at the absurdity of his question.
“You don't know how?”
“I refuse, Evan,” I take a deep breath and it’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him I'll be home soon. Not sure how soon, first, I want the truth from Sal. But Evan doesn't give me the chance.
“Listen to me, beautiful, you're angry. I get it.” He is livid, “But before we fucked thirty-seven hours ago, I told you exactly who you fucking belong to.”
I match his fury, “Whatever, Evan.”
“No, fuck whatever. Reese, listen to me loud and clear: Wherever you are, I will find you. I will bring you home. Do you understand?”
My mouth tenses, cheeks puffed out. “Evan, if you would just listen to me…”
CLICK.
He hung up!
I rub my index finger over my thumbnail and consider what the fuck just happened.
Evan. Dismissed. Me.
Does this mean he plans to find me or I've pushed him away too much… Jamie’s words about my man growing weary of my standoffish behavior stain my cognition. All the secrets I have ever kept aren’t even worth not wanting him to know the real me. The bits and pieces of me that I hate weigh down my shoulders.
I plop down on the bed, push myself toward the headboard, and sit with my legs to my chest. I wrap my arms around my limbs in self comfort, and tap the cell phone to my calf. I should call him back. I should explain why I’m staying… Sheesh, my dumbass should have never left.
Shoving a hand through my hair, I realize second-guessing the moves I make are of no use. Besides, I don’t want to need Evan, at least, not unless it regards love and our child. He isn’t safe near the Giugliano crime family, and the longer I attempt to settle his spirits over the phone, the weaker I’ll come. He’d come and get me for sure.
That is, if Jamie was wrong all along and Evan hasn’t grown annoyed with me and all my baggage.
There's a knock at the door.
“Yeah,” I respond.
“May I enter?” The voice is feminine, Italian accent. It could be anyone. Besides the arsenal of foot soldiers surrounding the perimeter, and the numerous servants needed to keep this fortress afloat, I recall Matteo said the rest of our family lives here, along with a few uncles and aunts and their own brood.
The door opens. There's a frown on my face unyielding to the stranger’s politeness. My palms are itching, compelling me to dial Evan’s number. And if he had finally knocked some sense into himself, and chose I wasn’t worth it?
The woman is as round as she is tall. A gray streak divides her stark black hair which is in a severely pulled-back ponytail. She's dressed in black lace that rumples at various fat rolls. She appears in mourning, yet the politeness is gone. Something tells me that her old ass won't be baking any cookies anytime soon.
An ethereal speed is on her side as she lunges at me. A scream is perched at the tip of my tonsils…
Chapter 42
Evan
Cosenza, Italy
“The fuck happened to you, Valentino?” Vincenzo asks, barefooted, dressed in basketball shorts, and a jersey barely covers the fat-folds of his arm pits and tits. Vinny is a rich slob and he doesn’t give a fuck about it.
His face is a mask of my pain as he glances me up and down. Though I’d showered at my dad’s place, and donned one of my black suits in my old room, for the sake of getting through TSA at the Los Angeles Airport, my face is full of scruff from not shaving and all abraded up. And I haven’t found my medication, so the melatonin I took on the ride just to get me here has worn off.
“I need a gun.” I reply as he leads me into his house.
“No, wait a minute, here you come over to my house outta the blue. Long time no see, the first thing outta your mouth is to ask for a burner?” Vinny rubs the back of his neck, as we walk down a corridor with glossy gray walls. “First of all, big cousin might have been in Vegas today. Where would that place you? At least give your big cousin a hug.”
I hug Vinny and grimace as he holds tight, I pat his back roughly and now he’s grimacing too.
“Alright already, Vinny. And you need to stop frequenting Vegas or Monte Carlo or San Juan too. Isadora is ready for you to grow the fuck up.”
“Me, grow up? Don’t speak such blasphemy in my spot.”
I follow Vinny down a long corridor, up a flight of stairs as he mentions his current inventory. The only dirty family I have, guess I lucked out he dabbled in arms dealing with the funds Isadora unknowingly offers him. We step into a room with wood walls.
He steps toward a security pad. Vinny pauses from punching in a key code, and his interest piques. “So, whadaya need?”
“Just a standard .9.”
“Fucking cops, you're so easy, you’re boring.” He grumbles.
“Yup, boring does make life easier, doesn’t it?” I assure as he finishes punching in the code. The wood walls separate as I add, “I'll need a few clips.”
We stand before a display case. Bright lights shine down on every sort of combat weapon.
“Where you heading? I've got these new modified Intratec,” his beefy arms bulge as he handles the automatic gun, “This shit is sweeeeet
, thirty-two round magazines, and if you empty your fucking mag, and still wanna play, the Intratec is also equipped for another eight rounds of shells, muhahaaa. You could blow a fucking crater in your enemy’s chest with this bad boy. I’ve been waiting to take ‘em out.”
“Point that at me, I'll punch your fucking lights out,” I order, fisting the barrel of his Intratec.
He grumbles once more. “Man, it’s taken years; I finally see why Isabella calls you a brat. Where are you going, Tino?”
“Naples.”
He rubs a thumb against stubble and fat chops, and we head toward the bathroom across the way. “I had this old lady out that way a while back, she was wise in many ways, know what I'm saying?”
I grab the bottle of Aspirina that he tosses my way. “No.”
“Lighten up, Evan. I'll ride with you.”
I flick on the faucet, and water pools into my hands. “No, you won't. I have no intentions of using the gun you gave me, unless provoked.”
After I swallow 1500 mg and wash it back with tepid water, I add, “Also need to borrow a car.”
His eyes widen. “I have no extra cars… Why?”
“Stop with all of the questions, Vinny. And if you invested in ‘boring’ cars, you wouldn’t be so stingy with those fucking toys outside.”
“Is it for the girl? The candy bitch our Zia Isadora tried to pawn off on me— “
My hand clutches his throat. Thumb applying just enough pressure to constrict his breathing. “You're my cousin. I love you. Shut the fuck up.”
He nods.
“Keys.”
He fumbles in his pocket, grabs his keys and hands them over.
“And don't ever call Reese a bitch. Got that?”