Anarchy (Alfonzo)

by Frank, S. W.

  “Twenty-third, South.”

  “Twenty-third, South.” He repeated then hung up. He rose from the table, “Let’s go, I have a hectic schedule today.”

  Anita frowned, such a shame the police hassled Alfonzo. Now, she’d have to break the news to Selange when she returned. Aye!

  The interrogation room of the bustling precinct needed a remodeling and ventilation system. ‘Fucking ugly place stank!’ Alfonzo thought. The steel seat he occupied was hard on his ass –but to the detectives watching closely from across a table he was the embodiment of confidence. Alfonzo smoothed his Armani pant leg then cocked his head toward the door when his attorney walked in.

  Martin entered the musty room, wrinkled his nose and took a seat beside his client. He asked Alfonzo, “Have you answered any questions?”

  Alfonzo’s impeccably white teeth showed, “No, but Detective Winoski and Higgins love hearing themselves talk. Maybe, talk radio can be a second career choice.”

  Detective Winoski smiled, Alfonzo Diaz was smart. He refused to cooperate. The man knew his rights. He hadn’t said one word in the past hour; this was the first he’d spoken. They tried every police tactic; the Reid Technique, bluffing, intimidation, empathy, you name it and got nothing. Alfonzo Diaz wasn’t talking!

  She checked out the fabric on his attorney’s double breasted suit, top quality, and identical pricey material as his client’s. He was being paid a nice chunk of money, that’s for sure.

  Martin Scheppe’s acquittal record was impressive. As a criminal defense attorney the majority of his clients were rich, everything from corporate executives, celebrities and several organized crime figures thrown in the mix. On the three occasions his clients were convicted, their sentences were light. Laughable, in fact for the severity of the crimes –but in his thirty year career, the majorities were acquittals or dismissals. Winoski wasn’t a fool, nobody’s that good. He had powerful connections!

  “Why is my client being questioned?”

  Detective Higgins spoke, “We’re investigating a homicide.”

  Martin nodded impatiently, “And my client’s alleged link to your homicide, is what exactly?”

  “We believe he may have some information that might be helpful in the case.”

  “Oh, you believe…thus, not sure. Speculation, no physical evidence…does that about sum it up?”

  “Your client is on video surveillance leaving a nightclub minutes before the victims.”

  Martin’s eyes widened in disbelief and his knives came out, “A homicide or homicides, because you said victims?”

  “Well, there was more than one victim.”

  “I see. And because my client was at a nightclub and is seen leaving before the victims, he’s considered a suspect?”

  “We’d appreciate if your client could tell us what happened after he left the club. Did he have an altercation with anyone? The bruise on his face wasn’t visible on the tape when he was seen leaving the club, so it had to happen sometime after, isn’t that right Mister Diaz?”

  My client cannot help you and frankly bringing him down here for this bullshit may constitute harassment.”

  Detective Winoski slid her chair forward, behind her pretty smile an arsenal of tricks. “Your client knew one of the victims, his car was seen speeding away after the murders, I think he can help us a lot,” her voice held honey as she looked at his client, “why not help us catch who shot your friends, what do you say, after-all you’re a law abiding citizen and they usually cooperate and help police apprehend violent criminals, isn’t that right Alfonzo?”

  Alfonzo leaned over the table, unabashedly gazing at Winoski’s cleavage which was on full display, “There are plenty of law abiding people around here, except most of the cooperative ones you’re referring to live out in the suburbs where most of you officers hail from.” He grinned, “They’re your neighbors and friends; people you give respect. You officers hang out at bars getting smashed with them, driving drunk, breaking the law all the time –but when Officer Shithead’s eighteen year-old son Jimmy is smoking weed outside the Seven-Eleven or seen driving a luxury car with a blown headlight he’s not hauled off to jail and treated like a criminal. The second you get here and don that colored uniform, you’re as bad as gangbangers. You roll through my ‘hood threatening people. All the courtesy and respect you gave Jimmy goes out the window. So, those police psychology handbooks you study don’t work on me. Where I’ve been you don’t need a book to learn how to read people –and oh by the way, button your blouse, it’s distracting and unprofessional, don’t you think?”

  “You filthy dog, you’re really a piece of shit!” Higgins exclaimed, getting to his feet, “Get the hell out of here before I lock you the fuck up!”

  Alfonzo sneered, “Filthy dog, piece of shit, nice choice of words, detective. Guess name-calling, stereotyping and racial profiling is in the incompetent police handbook. If I were you I’d be careful, the pointy white hood is slipping off,” then he pushed back his chair smoothly to stand.

  Martin rose, less gracefully. His chair scraped the floor making an ear-splitting screeching noise. He tossed the detectives a few parting words, “Next time you bring my client here for questioning for amusement, I’m filing a complaint.”

  Unfazed by the threat, Winoski responded. “I strongly suggest you try to stick around for a few days Mister Diaz, we don’t want to waste taxpayer resources searching for you.”

  “Unbelievable, unless my client is charged with a crime, he’s free to return home any time he wants.”

  “You’re absolutely right, however, we might need to ask your client more questions, leaving may imply he has something to hide.”

  “Book a flight to Puerto Rico or call him on the goddamn phone. We’re leaving detectives, have a shitty day!”

  Outside the precinct, Alfonzo noticed the Cirrostratus Clouds; an indication rain was coming within twenty-four hours. Martin suddenly expressed his disgust with the police and their tactics, “Fucking bullies. You’re seen leaving a club before the victims and all they got is a car speeding away…incompetent assholes!”

  Selange pulled up right on cue. He shook Martin’s hand. “They bother you again, give me a call.” The attorney said.

  “You know it,” Alfonzo replied then hurried to the awaiting car.

  “I can’t leave you alone for a second, can I?” Selange exclaimed, throwing the car in gear the instant he was buckled in.

  Alfonzo laughed, “Shit, you sound like Anita.”

  “Well it’s true; anyway, what did they ask?”

  “Standard stuff, trying to get me talking.”

  She glanced at his profile, “You okay?”

  “I’m good,” Alfonzo drank in the scenery as she drove through El Barrio. This was his former stopping ground, the projects north of Ninety-Sixth Street. The familiar sights slid by like images on a roll of film. They traveled north on second avenue toward one hundred and twenty-second street. They passed Taino Towers and she turned west on one hundred and twenty-fifth. He easily spotted the hustlers. The grinding, stomping asphalt, making moves –whatever term you used was still happening. Time hadn’t changed the action on the streets, only the players.

  He inhaled his wife’s floral perfume, turned his head to watch as she drove in silence. His mouth pursed together tightly. Anita was right, Selange did lose a little weight. He felt like shit for not taking better care of her. She was running around, trying to help clean up his mess, when she should be home resting. Today he planned to remedy the situation.

  “Drop me at the office honey, I need to pick up some papers. You go home and get some rest.”

  “I’m not tired.”

  Her make-up free face revealed fatigue despite her protestation to the contrary. Of course, she’d say that, she wasn’t one to complain about anything. No, Selange twisted with the wind, drifted on its current in whatever direction it traveled. Although, they experienced different things growing-up, they had a lot in com
mon. Their environment spawned a pair of fighters.

  “Do it for me.” He insisted.

  She nodded, “Okay.”

  “Promise.”

  Selange broke out a smile, “I promise.”

  Satisfied, he pushed his torso into the seat, “I’ll be home before it gets late. We’ll go out to dinner, whatever you want and then we’re flying home.”

  “I’ll settle with a quiet night with you and Allie before we leave.”

  “Sounds good.”

  She smiled again and brought the sun. The brightness faded when gunshots rattled the driver’s side of the car and shattered their relaxing moment.

  Selange floored the gas and his head jerked forward from the sudden action. Cars honked, moving out of the way as she zipped down one hundred and twenty-fifth street trying to shake the suped-up Nissan Silvia right on her side. It gained speed, closing the distance.

  The morning traffic slowed her progression at Madison Avenue. He saw her hands tremble with indecision. There were pedestrians and she worried they’d get hurt. He leaned over, put his hands over her fingers and spun the wheel hard to the right away from the people.

  The vehicle began to cruise. “Gas it now!”

  The car leaped forward, barely missing an old woman in a motorized chair. His jaw clicked at how close she came to hitting the senior citizen, thank God she hadn’t. He peered over his shoulder to see the Nissan in pursuit. Shockingly, not a single cop car was visible. Any other time he cruised around they were everywhere, pulling people over for small or trumped up infractions.

  “Keep going.” He said aloud.

  “Who are they?”

  The Nissan closed the gap and Alfonzo cursed. The Audi had more horsepower but his wife’s unfamiliarity with its handling put her at a disadvantage. When she overcame the initial fear she began to handle the car more competently. She circled back to Second Avenue by careening around streets and bolting through residential blocks. He guessed she wanted to get away from the residences to the underpass. The better alternative was the expressway. It was after ten and the traffic there much lighter. He pointed down a one way street, a shortcut to First Avenue where they’d have a straight away to the RFK-Triborough Bridge. She followed his hand and the car screeched east doing ninety.

  The Nissan’s engine roared and Alfonzo knew they were in for a race war. The driver of the pursuing vehicle wasn’t backing down. The aerodynamic wings on the rear trunk and specialty tires identified the owner as a speed enthusiast. Whoever owned it had it customized for illegal street races. Despite the alterations, speed wise, the Audi sports car was faster. Ultimately, it came down to the skill of the drivers and unfortunately, Selange was a novice.

  The Nissan was on the Audi’s tail. Explosive gunshots bounced off the Audi’s bulletproof windshield. Alfonzo’s eyebrow elevated, this was the worst time to give his wife advanced driving lessons on evasion tactics. He wished he was at the wheel but he wasn’t. Instead, he encouraged Selange, “You can do this babe, remember, keep firm hold of the steering wheel, ease up on the gas before each curve, be comfortable with her and she’ll show you what she can do. Come on, it’s time to outrun that sonovabitch!”

  She nodded nervously then sped up the entry ramp, hugged the curve and shot out like a projectile toward the toll booths. The Nissan’s driver must have laughed. Alfonzo heard the car drop a gear and he looked back to see the driver show-boating. The Nissan drifted smoothly on the circular incline then roared straight past the Audi.

  ‘Shit!’

  He heard the shifting of gears, slowing the Nissan’s momentum and Alfonzo guessed the driver’s intent, “Uh, babe hold on.” He said and without a thought to his personal safety, Alfonzo released the latch from his seatbelt, threw his body over hers to grasp the steering wheel and shouted, “Take your foot off the gas!”

  The Audi decelerated just as the Nissan’s wheels began kicking up smoke in reverse. Alfonzo steered hard, aiming for the Nissan’s rear wheel well. He clipped it and it went into a furious tailspin. He could feel Selange’s heart pumping as their car headed straight for the guardrail. Hand over hand he turned the steering wheel counter-clockwise until the passenger side of the Audi crashed against the protective rail. In his awkward position Alfonzo managed to realign the car’s tires but not before the body bumped and scraped the metal barrier sending sparks in the air along with a loud screeching sound. They were heading straight into oncoming traffic. Loud, panicked breaths kissed his neck as he swerved around the opposing vehicles. His face was a mask of concentration, there wasn’t any room for miscalculations or they were dead.

  She shouted, “They’re coming again!”

  He avoided the cars. Horns blared at the crazy driver heading in the wrong direction. Alfonzo heard the distinctive sound of the customized Nissan as it barreled after them. He didn’t expect a flash from a black car zooming by on the outskirts of traffic to pass them or the cacophony of explosive booms from a shotgun. A quick glance in the rearview mirror revealed smoke rising from the Nissan. There were also strobe lights belonging to a convoy of state police cars coming up fast. The Nissan slammed into the protective railing, flipped on its hood, more booms then a bright ball of red and black fire. Out of the smoke came the same black car at lightning speed. The tinted windows protected the identity of its driver and Alfonzo doubted he’d get a good look anyway. Alfonzo slowed the car and brought it to rest out of the way of traffic on the side of the on ramp. The black car was gone.

  To outrun the police, he needed to change position and said, “Hurry babe, move over!”

  She did and he was in position when the Port Authority Police cars, sirens blaring intercepted the Audi and he put the car in park not willing to put his wife’s life in danger.

  “Put your hands in the air where I can see them. Now!”

  He did as instructed and nodded to his wife to do the same.

  “Slowly put your hands on your heads and step out the car.”

  Alfonzo complied. He exited the car, hands atop his head. Selange scampered out the driver’s door when the passenger side failed to open. He felt her presence at his back and he used his frame as her shield.

  There were multiple guns pointed at them and a police helicopter hovering above their heads. He grimaced. The scene was straight out of a movie. Over a dozen cops for one couple seemed like overkill. Oh he forgot, everybody was a terrorist.

  “Down on the goddamn ground. You too lady!”

  They knelt and stretched out on their stomachs. Selange’s breasts prevented her from going flat, leaving her upper torso partially elevated. It began to rain, gently at first then increased to a torrential downpour, soaking through his wife’s little summer dress. He seethed with anger.

  Selange turned her cheek in his direction, raindrops clinging to her long lashes. Water dripped from her nose, and she grinned. “We’ve never had sex in the rain. This position would be very satisfying if I had you beneath me instead of concrete.”

  The fact she sought to bring levity to the situation meant either she possessed a twisted sense of humor or was thoroughly corrupted. She lifted her bottom off the ground in a provocative simulation and despite himself, he chuckled, “You can hump me later and without the witnesses. I promise. ”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Giuseppe called a sit-down. The three most powerful families in Naples arrived on schedule. The door to the back room of the meeting place was heavily guarded; each exit covered by Giuseppe’s soldiers. Alberti watched the men carefully for any signs of duplicity. After yesterday’s foiled assassination attempt, he thought it best he remain at Giuseppe’s side.

  Giuseppe spoke in Italian, “Someone has decided to have me join my father, however, I remain above ground.”

  “I heard of this, but I assure you it was not the ‘Nhandrangheta.” Don Meroni spoke instantly in his family’s defense.

  “Your loyalty to my father is noted, Don Meroni. It is your loyalty…and the loyalty of all h
ere to me that I question.”

  Ignacio Peglesi spoke up, “So, you think we have something to do with this?”

  “Do you?”

  Ignacio’s face contorted angrily. He was offended by Giuseppe’s accusation. The Peglesi clan was old friends of his father and Alberti. His grandson, Michello was engaged to Giuseppe’s sister. The insult could not go unanswered, “You go too far Giuseppe. The men who did this were from America, it is there your troubles lie.”

  Alberti noted one man’s silence throughout it all. Fabio Benaducci. He wondered if his nephew noticed, certainly Alfonzo would have. To break the tension he opened the humidor on the table and offered each man a cigar. Peglesi and Meroni accepted, Fabio Benaducci declined.

  Alberti cut off the end of the fine tobacco leaves and lit it. He smiled, “Ah, good, eh?”

  “Yes,” Peglesi agreed.

  “Don Benaducci, it appears there is something weighing heavily on your mind. You are among friends, please speak candidly,” Alberti said between a cloud of smoke.

  All eyes turned upon Benaducci. Giuseppe alert now.

  “What do you mean?”

  Alberti shrugged, “What do you know of this?”

  “It could be nothing or very important, I do not know.”

  Giuseppe jumped in, “Fabio, end your silence!”

  “No need for hostility,” Alberti interjected.

  Fabio frowned, “I have remained silent to think. I sent a representative of my family to the funeral of Don Fiorello’s wife weeks ago to pay respects. I knew the girl’s father; he was from the old country and unlike his brother, a good man.” He waved his hand, “That is past; however, while in America he overheard talk of a lucrative business venture one of the family’s invested in. A new designer street drug bringing with huge profits.”

  Giuseppe frowned but held his tongue as he listened.