“There’s a tape at Salvatore’s hotel. I want you to take a look at it. It should help you know where to start. Don’t take no for an answer either, that old man knows how to slip a vice if you catch my meaning. I need you to move fast. Time is the sensitive issue here. There are other’s looking for Raf and if they get him first all hell will break loose. I’m talking indictments from Ontario to New York City.”
Not this man.
“Everything we know is that someone took Rafael from a safe house we set up for him. Poor bastard just couldn’t get gone and stay gone. He was across the border but came back. Guess you can’t teach an old dog new tricks.” The Pope shook his head.
“Why me?” He couldn’t take his eyes off his shoes for some reason and he kept his hands in his pocket of his hoodie even though they were starting to sweat.
“Because he knows you and trusts you. You know how these things work.”
Ivan nodded his head again. “He didn’t come today. To the party. Even though he sent cash with the driver.”
“That’s cuz these fucks took him and forced our hand on this. But to be fair it’s better those fucks, whoever they are, then the Feds. I wonder if the Feds know how many death warrants they’ve signed by doing that pig shit they call a job.” The Pope stopped walking and looked away. His eyes seemed to be searching the trees that lined the lot.
A look passed between them and Ivan slowly nodded his head but his heart tried to reach up and strangle him from the inside out.
He let out a sigh, hoping his murderous heart would run out of his throat, but it stayed. He knew what the rules were when he stepped onto the devils merry-go-round. He thought about leaving the meeting, finding Rafael and warning him. You couldn’t kill a man if you couldn’t find him could you?
And then he said it, and everything changed.
“You do this for us and you’ll get everything we promised. You do this for us and we’ll tell you where to find her.”
They know where she is. They know. They know. They know.
“You better not be fucking with me.” Ivan looked down and saw he had grabbed the man by the arm. The Pope took his hand and placed it on Ivan’s instead of peeling it back like he expected.
“I wouldn’t fuck with you about this, Ivan. I know how important she is to you. I know how important family is to you.”
Chapter 5
The Pope pulled his hand away slowly, letting his gaze drop from Ivan’s. His phone was humming in his pocket. It was Tom Coughlin’s number. Though he never saved any names in his phone, he recognized the digits.
Got one at the magic show. It’s a sputnik.
He put the phone in his pocket and looked at Ivan, who gazed off into the distance with his eyebrows crushed together with the anvil The Pope had just lofted at him. It was a lot for someone to digest, especially someone like the Russian who spent the last eleven years in the can.
Unfortunately, the organization didn’t have the luxury of time and he meant to make that point very clear. “Ivan.”
The man didn’t turn to look at him; he gazed into the darkness at some spot that eluded that consigliore. “Ivan.” He said it more forcefully this time and brought the man out of the trance that had washed over him. “Time is in short supply. I really am sorry that all of this is being thrown on you. Especially you, and especially so soon. But we need you now.”
The Russian stood up and faced him. The Pope tried to read his face but the man seemed resigned to the idea.
That or he hasn’t digested it. Either way, it doesn’t matter.
“Come with me, we have business to attend to.”
The Pope walked away from Ivan who walked in slow motion behind him. Nuncio was parked alongside the lot with the window down. He looked at The Pope through the side mirror of the black Town Car. When he saw his employer flick his wrist in a quick wave, he started the engine and began to swing the car around. The Pope felt the Russian walk up to his side as they waited for Nuncio to complete his circle. The air hung heavily between them and for a moment The Pope felt his gut twinge.
It’s too soon. We can’t be sure of the man.
Ivan seemed to register a look that passed over him because he finally spoke. “To be made. For the territory. For the respect. But mostly for her. I will do this thing for her. And then you’ll know.” His voice seemed to pull heavy from his throat, as if the words were foreign to him.
“Know what?” The Pope arched an eyebrow from above his hand, which he defensively held over his mouth, the tickle threatening to claw his Adam’s apple from his throat again.
“That I’m a man the family can trust.” He pulled a small square from his pocket and began to twirl it in his fingers. The Pope tried to catch a glimpse of it, but it seemed to be some sort of photograph, a small wallet sized blur of color as the creased rectangle flipped carefully through the man’s oversized fingers.
The Pope nodded as Nuncio opened the car door for them. He waved Ivan inside and after he slid across the leather climbed in after him.
Nuncio returned to the wheel and asked with his marinara accent, “Where to? Home?”
“Not yet, my friend. Take us to the magic show.” He caught his driver’s eye as he glanced back with alarm through the rearview mirror. The Pope merely looked down at his hands, revealing as little as possible. Nuncio was no novice to his boss’ habits and started off in the direction he indicated.
The car hummed as the pulled out of the lot and headed towards I-190. The Pope knew that from there they would hop on I-90 and head into Cheektowaga. He had made this trip a half dozen times in his career and each time was as unpleasant as the last.
Ivan was curiously quiet during the drive. He looked out of the window and seemed to be watching the streetlights fly by in streaks of burnt yellow, their light reflecting off of the green and blue signs that led them through the city. When they pulled off of the interstate, they took Union Road to George Urban Blvd. After a few seconds, Nuncio slowed down and the eerie quiet of the night seemed to descend on the car.
They passed through an opening of a rollaway chain link fence armed with curls of barbed wire. A small guardhouse was curiously vacant as they rumbled through, the stench of the area wafting through the air-conditioning vents.
“Christ Nuncio, put the air on recycle. I’m gonna vomit back here. My lungs are shit enough.” The Pope covered his face with his rag, waiting for the cool air to diffuse the putrid smell permeating the vehicle.
“The dump?” Ivan questioned, alarm in his voice. The Pope looked over at him from behind his rag. The Russian’s knuckles were white as they clenched the car door. A small sheen of sweat glistened on his forehead from the dim lights that hung on rusted lampposts intermittently dispersed among the mounds of trash and debris that stood as mountainous testaments to the waste of man.
“Relax.” The Pope smiled behind his rag. It was good the man should have a healthy dose of fear. It meant that living was important to him. If living were important, he would try hard to succeed. “We have a potential lead here.”
As they rounded a bend in the heaps of refuse, a pair of lights beamed outward in dusty yellow lasers that cast a pale glow on a curious scene.
Tom Coughlin was waving them over, and Nuncio brought the Town Car to a halt, leaving an extra pair of lights on the men in the junkyard. Jimmy Jacks had clearly just planted a fist in the face of man with little fight left in him. His arms were bound behind his back and his face dripped rivers of blood from his nose and under one of his eyes. A flap of skin hung lazily from the cheekbone it used to call home.
The man fell forward in the dust, his blood eagerly gobbling up the dirt that turned to mud upon contact. Jimmy walked over, waving his hand back and forth, trying to throw the pain from his knuckles.
Not too bright, but Jimmy is a doer.
Jimmy Jacks flashed a grin to the men as they came up. He forgot about the pain in his hand as well as the man lying in the dirt a few paces away from
the foursome. Tom Coughlin on the other hand kept glancing back at the man as if he were going to break loose from the ties around his wrists and strangle them with the bits of rope. The Pope glanced over at Ivan who seemed to be standing a bit away from the rest of them. A firefly buzzed around a hand the Russian had outstretched in front of his body. The bug, its ass aflame, rested on his palm for a moment and the light went out. Ivan gave a sideways grin to no one in particular, and shook the insect from his hand.
“What’s up with him?” The Pope indicated the prone man with a nod of his head.
Jimmy, still clutching his hand explained, “So this sputnik gives me a call…”
Tom coughed and Jimmy stopped mid sentence, turned his head to Tom with his mouth open as if to ask, “What?” But Tom nodded his head at Ivan and Jimmy understood.
“I’m sorry, this guy, comes in to Anchor’s where Tom and me was in the back room counting. He says he knows where we can find our guy. So Tom says to him, “What guy?”
“What fucking guy?” Tom Coughlin corrected.
Jimmy looked at the Irishman but otherwise continued with out missing a beat. “And he says the Angelo Della Morte.” He stopped talking and stared at The Pope, his usually smiling face pulled tight.
“The Angel of Death.” The Pope looked over Jimmy’s shoulder to get a better look at the man who moaned and let out a loud breath of air but otherwise didn’t move.
“Right. The mother-fucking Angel of Death. Now there are only a few people who call Raf that and one of them I personally saw die in a cellar. That leaves the other Italians. You know who I’m talking about.”
The Pope slowly shook his head and stared off into the night, huddling in anger on the outside of their little circle of light.
“The Bonannos.” Rafael Rontego earned the nickname from Carmine Galante, a Bonanno boss who was eventually wacked himself.
“Yep. Only thing is I wanted confirmation. But this prick is going on about some Russians being the ones that did it.” Jimmy took a step back as if composing himself.
“That doesn’t make sense.” Ivan walked closer to the circle. “The Russians in this area have never been strong and would have no desire to make a move on Italian turf. Unless things really changed around here it doesn’t fucking make sense.”
“That’s what I thought. That’s why we’re here now.” Jimmy showed them his bruised and blood splattered fist. “I must have planted more then twenty hits on this guy and he still says its Russians. Half of what this sputnik says sounds Russian even when he tries to speak English and even that was before I broke his teeth.”
“I broke his teeth, you broke his cheek.” Tom Coughlin showed his knuckles and they looked like someone bit a chunk of skin off of his left hand.
“We broke his teeth.” Jimmy compromised.
The Pope began to cough at that moment and he brought his rag out to shield everyone from the sight. In between coughs he managed to get out, “I don’t give a fuck who broke his teeth. Ivan, see if what the man says is true. Jimmy, what the fuck is his name?”
“That’s Pavel.”
“That’s Vel? The loan shark? Christ, you really worked him over.” The Pope clutched his handkerchief and looked into the light trying to get a better look. Ivan was halfway to him and cutting across one of the car’s headlights when The Pope called out. “Ivan?”
“Yes?” The man’s muscles were tense. His prison-fed frame looked like an apparition standing half in light and half in dark.
“Get what we need and then do what needs to be done. Jimmy will give you a ride home.” The Russian nodded his head and turned towards the man still prone on the dusty patch of ground. “Nuncio, let’s go.”
The driver held open his door and shut it behind him. A moment later and Nuncio was turning the car key and firing up the engine. As he swung a circle to pull away from the scene, The Pope saw Ivan crouching on the balls of his feet, lifting Pavel’s head with both of his hands.
“Welcome back, Ivan.” The Pope folded his lips over his teeth as he watched Jimmy and Tom walk towards Ivan and the small area of remaining light.
“Home, sir?” Nuncio was pulling out of the junkyard and a decision needed to be made.
“Yeah. Take me home.” The Pope reached for a small bottle of scotch that he kept stored in a side compartment of the Town Car. He poured some of it into a glass as he took turns thinking of Pavel. The man always had a smile on his face even when he was beating up a poor schmuck who didn’t pay back their loan on time. Always a smile.
But not anymore. Unlucky fucker.
In the past they might have paid him for the information. But a few wrong words and bad timing and now there was no way that man was going to be able to walk out of that junk yard. The Pope had no doubt that Pavel was telling the truth. Russians must have taken Rafael Rontego. No one could take the beating Jimmy had given him and still hold onto the lie. Ivan taking a turn on the man was just a formality.
How would he know to use the term Angel of Death?
Jimmy was right. Only a few people knew Rafael by that name. One was Aldo Marano and his body was no longer fully assembled thanks to Jimmy Jacks and Tom Coughlin ending that war in one massive stroke. Another was Muro Lucano and Rafael Rontego executed him during the same war. The other was long since retired. That left the Bonanno old-timers that might have heard the name from Carmine Galante. But even then, it didn’t add up. Another cough racked The Pope and elicited a concerned glance through the rearview from Nuncio. He waved off the driver with a hand and wiped the tears from his eyes.
That one hurt.
“Did you hear about what happened at the Galleria Mall today?” Nuncio asked.
“No, what happened?” The Pope didn’t really care and he closed his eyes.
“Some nut job blew himself up or something. Killed a lot of people.” The driver shook his head. “The world is mad.”
He flicked his eyes open. “Jesus Christ. Right here in Buffalo? Mother Mary and Joseph.” His eyelids pulled down like they were tied to a ten-pound weight. He tried to think of the families, of the dead, of their kids, of the parents, but he couldn’t. All he could think about was whether or not this would bring extra heat down on the neighborhood.
He leaned into the soft leather, his body succumbing to its inviting embrace. It would be a few minutes before he got home. Maybe he could sleep for a few minutes. He closed his eyes and thought of his Del Avant condo and its mahogany furnishings. The place always smelled of leather and polish. He thought of the bottle of scotch he kept by the door and with his eyes still closed took a sip of the scotch he currently held in his own hand.
I’m so fucking tired.
He thought of his bed and its deep mattress; the feather-down pillows and the view of the skyline over the balcony outside his bedroom window. He loved the view. He loved the balcony. When he stood there the wind would whip around his face and caress his cheeks until they shone a light red. He could see the cars moving to and fro on the roads below. Everyone was certain that his daily routine was so important. Right about now the stars would be visible above the soft glow of the city, bright balls of white flame that echo the lights of the stadium below. The silence that high up would be deafening. The Pope could almost taste the air as he stood on the balcony and felt the wind around him. It lifted him onto his toes and his body leaned against the metal railing and even in his dreams he knew he couldn’t, but wished with everything he had, that he might fly.
Chapter 6
“Do things normal kids do. Wear your youth and your gender like a shield and no one will touch you. Even better, no one will suspect you.”
He was right about that. He was right about everything and everything she had learned from Uncle Dick. The thought kept the nauseating smile plastered across Kira’s face as she carted Bobby and Gina from the John and Mary’s Pizzeria. Bobby was sitting next to her in the front seat of her Escalade droning on about something she didn’t care about.
&n
bsp; Won’t he ever shut up? Probably not.
Kira heard Gina giggle at whatever he said, but she was too busy glancing at the clock to register it. She had to drop these kids off and be at the mall in under an hour.
“What do you think Kira?” Bobby had one arm resting outside of the open window and he had a grin on his face that was actually quite charming in its adolescent way.
“About what?” She must have really zoned out.
It wasn’t lost on Gina who giggled again, took a sip of her soda and said, “Their baby, Kira. What do you think it would look like?”
“Whose baby?” Kira felt her forehead crease and knew it must look like a scowl so she quickly put a smile back on her face but Bobby seemed to notice the change in her demeanor. His own eyebrows furrowed, but Gina continued from the backseat.
“Mrs. Ingels and Mr. Tratler.”
Despite herself, Kira laughed out loud. “Well Ms. Ingels is about six feet tall and Mr. Tratler is about five feet tall so I guess it would even out.”
Gina laughed again as they pulled into her neighborhood. Fortunately Bobby lived a few houses further down.
“Well Mr. Tratler does have a son, I’ve seen him. He’s short too.” Gina laughed then added, “But he’s only four so I guess it can be forgiven.”
Bobby was letting the wind trail between his fingers and his eyes seemed to catch a bit of the sunlight. Kira looked away.
He’s just an overgrown child.
“Well his son can’t be any shorter than Ms. Ingels’ cats. She has about thirty of them and she tries to teach them all science like they’re her students. Trey said he went trick or treating over there one Halloween and saw all of them dressed up in tiny white lab coats. She is certifiable.”
Gina lost it when Bobby said “certifiable” and a bit of her soda came out of her nose. Bobby heard her snort, looked back, and a wide grin split his face when he looked back at her. Kira felt heat creep up behind her ears and she slammed on the brakes. Bobby flung forward and his head nearly snapped into the Escalade’s dashboard.
Buffalo Soldiers (An Upstate New York Mafia Tale Book 2) Page 7