Wild Knights

by Blaise Kilgallen

  Evan marched slowly toward the tables.

  It was then Franco recognized his nephew. He had spotted Evan from his window while the younger man had wandered the backyard of the Gardenia turf last weekend. In his haste to stand up the old man spilled his bottle of beer.

  "Eh, cogliane. Don't be stupid, wasting good beer. What's the matter wit you?" One of the men complained.

  "Don't be stupid yourself. See, I got a visitor. I'll be back. Go on with the game."

  Franco met Evan halfway to the bocce field. "You've grown, Evan Lupo."

  Evan looked down from his six feet plus to assess a man in his seventies. A ring of white hair circled Franco's tanned, age-spotted, balding head. His shoulders, once muscled and powerful, were now stooped. His chest seemed sunken in comparison to a gut that was overly large, hanging over his belt buckle. But Evan noticed Franco Gardenia's bronzed hands were large and square, and recalled that Rose's brother had once been a professional boxer.

  "And I see you've become an old man, uncle."

  "Basta, Evan. It happens to the best of us, eh?"

  Franco looked his nephew up and down. "What are you doing here? Did you come to tell me that Tony met his maker and went straight to hell?"

  Evan laughed.

  "Just the opposite. I've come to see if that's where you should be sent ... Uncle."

  The old man joined Evan in laughter. "Walk with me," he said.

  The two moved away, out of hearing of the bocce players.

  "I came to learn who murdered my father. Was it you, Franco?"

  The old Italian's glance snapped up at his nephew's question. He wore an expression of mild surprise. "What would you do if it was me, Evan? Shoot me? Put a bullet in my head here in the park?"

  "Whoever shot my father, put two bullets in his head. In the back. Like a pissing coward. Now I'm asking you, Uncle, if it wasn't you, who was the triggerman?"

  "Why do you need to know that? All that happened years ago. You couldn't have been more than a child. How do you remember so much of what went on in those days?"

  "Not from my mother, Franco. She told me nothing about what went on in the family. But Uncle Tony, he told me a lot--not too long ago--when your sister died. Before that, I was pretty dumb. I thought my father'd had a heart attack." Evan's stilted laugh was cold and hard. "Uncle Tony is looking for revenge. I'm helping him find it."

  Franco halted and Evan stopped next to him. The older man looked out over the open park, green with trees and grass, as if he were remembering something or possibly making a decision. "Would you believe me if I told you I don't know who did it?"

  Evan snorted. "My uncle gave me three names. He's sure the Gardenia family was involved. I've traced two of them, but without learning anything. Tony now believes you did it. We know we'll never be able to pin it on you, Uncle. Not unless some nosy Newark detective wants to snoop on his own time. The force is so busy busting drug dealers and users I doubt they'd open the case. Besides, my father's death certificate reads heart attack, or words to that effect."

  Evan scowled down at his uncle. "You see, I was informed what a bastard you were ... and probably still are. To my way of thinking your son Rocco is just like you, Uncle, and I never liked him. We never got along."

  The old capo turned without another word and started back to the bocce game.

  "Uncle?"

  "Leave here now, Evan, get away from me. I don't want to see you again." He paused briefly. "Tell Tony I'll see him in hell. We'll both be there soon enough." His sarcastic laughter carried over his shoulder and back to Evan's ears.

  "Shit!" Evan cursed, as he turned away and stalked back to his Caddy. Nevertheless, he was certain one of the Gardenia family did the dirty work. Franco had said as much when he evaded Evan's questions.

  * * * *

  When Evan stopped at his Uncle Tony's, he was surprised to see a large black Cadillac parked across the street. He pulled his convertible into the driveway, checking if anyone was sitting in the car. One of Rocco's punks, he surmised. Good thing the sonofabitch was smart enough not to show up with his muscleman knocking at his uncle's house the way he'd done at Carla's.

  Taking the steps up to the porch two at a time, Evan rang the doorbell. Angelina opened the door after checking through the peephole. "It's good you're here, Evan," she said without giving him the usual greeting. "When I told your uncle who was at the door, he wasn't going to talk to Rocco Gardenia, but he changed his mind and said to let him in. Quick," she gestured. "You come in."

  The two hurried to the back of the house. Angelina knocked on the door of Tony's study. Evan recognized the men's voices but heard no shouting, which he supposed must mean something.

  "Yes! Who is it?" It was his uncle's voice.

  "It's me. Evan."

  "Come in, come in."

  Evan pushed open the door and stepped inside. Rocco sat in a chair across from his uncle, looking relaxed. Evan didn't like it; he looked too comfortable.

  "Rocco," he nodded.

  Evan's gaze swiveled to Tony.

  His uncle said, "Pull uppa chair, Evan. Listen to this figlio di puttana's story, too. Maybe he gives you a big laugh, eh?"

  As Evan sat down, he realized his uncle was using his street language on purpose. He spoke better than that.

  "Your cousin, here, wants me to helpa him get re-elected. What you think I should do, Evan? Should I helpa him ... or squash him like a bug, like the stronzo di merda, like his papa, eh?"

  Rocco's complexion deepened into a bright, ruddy color when Tony mentioned Franco. Nevertheless, he went through his political speech, spouting all the reasons why Newark needed to keep him on the council.

  When he finished, Evan replied, "If it were up to me, I wouldn't vote for him. You know Rocco and me never got along. I never liked him, Uncle, but that's up to you. But I think Newark could do with some new blood on the council."

  Tony's eyes pivoted toward Rocco, his dark gaze penetrating his well-dressed nephew's comfort zone. Rocco sat up straighter. His fingers gripped the arms of the cushioned chair where he sat.

  "Mannaggia! I think you right, my boy. I think it's good that I not helpa him." Tony winked at Evan.

  Rocco bounded up from the chair. "Vaffanculo! Fuck you, Evan! Your uncle was ready to help. Now you come in here and he changes his mind." Rocco's cheeks bloomed even redder with unsuppressed anger. "Maybe that hot cunt of yours needs another scare."

  Evan stood up very slowly, towering over his shorter cousin. "What did you say?"

  "You heard me. You and your pussy have been getting it on..."

  Evan took one step forward. His big hands grabbed hold of Rocco where his neck and his shoulders joined, lifting him off his heels. "You've had me followed? You sonofabitch!"

  Rocco couldn't answer. Evan's fingers on his throat left him gasping.

  "You bigmouthed little leccacazza, I'll tear you into little pieces!" Evan shook Rocco like a dog shaking a play toy. "I warned you once. You'd better open your ears this time. I don't want you within a mile of Carla Moore."

  As Rocco continued choking, Evan repeated. "Got it? Answer me!"

  "Don't kill him, Evan," Tony said. His tone was calm and strong.

  Tony looks better and sounds better today than he has in awhile, Evan thought through his rage.

  "If you want to give him a lesson, take him behind the school again, eh?" Tony cackled. "But never mind, Evan. I still have ways to take care of a bastardo. A few anonymous, incriminating rumors in the right ears; a letter addressed to the Feds or the DEA, eh, and Rocco Gardenia will find himself in boiling hot water, the skin peeling off his puny balls if he's got any."

  Abruptly, Evan released his cousin. Rocco fell back into the soft armchair.

  "I just came from his father, Uncle, but I got no satisfaction." Evan's look skewered Rocco and shut him up.

  Tony's regard pivoted abruptly to Rocco. "Vacagare! Piss off, Rocco. Leave us! I got business with Evan. And remember, don't come bac
k here begging me again. I won't help you get re-elected." Tony shook his head at Rocco. "And by the way, you can tell your father I'll see him in hell!"

  The words, identical to those uttered by Franco, rolled through Evan's head.

  Rocco left, and Evan reported his meeting with Franco Gardenia. "He asked me if I would believe him if he told me he didn't know who pulled the trigger. When I said you didn't believe it, he just shrugged and wouldn't give me an answer."

  At first, Tony was silent so long that Evan thought he hadn't heard.

  "Uncle?"

  "I think there's nothing we can do, but I'll think about it. This is a different world for Franco and me, Evan. Once Lorenzo, Franco, and me--we was like brothers. Afterwards, after Lorenzo was shot, well ... now, I just want to put Rocco Gardenia and his friends off the council. It's been a long time since I searched for the truth, but I couldn't find it. If I'd known who did it, I would have done something about it then." He raised his sad, tired eyes to Evan's. "Maybe neither you or me will ever know what happened, eh? I'm sorry, Evan."

  "I still don't trust him, Uncle."

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  "Carla, this is Evan. I'm calling you on my cell. Don't leave any messages at my home number. Get a piece of paper and a pen and write down this number."

  "Evan, what's going on? I don't understand."

  "Just do it, Carla. I'll tell you when I see you, which won't be until the weekend. More like Sunday."

  "Evan..."

  "My cell number is 555-302-6678. Got it? 555-302-6678. If you need me, call me at that number, and I'll get back to you as soon as I can."

  "Okay, Evan, I've got it written down. Are you all right?"

  "I will be. Then I want to talk to you."

  "What about?"

  "You'll know when I tell you. Now, are you okay? You haven't heard from Rocco, have you?"

  "No, of course not. Why would I?"

  "I'm just askin', that's all. I don't want him hassling you."

  "Evan, are you in trouble?"

  "Me, sugar? Naw. I'm as straight as a lance and as strong as a knight's broadsword. But now, I've gotta go. I'll see you on Sunday. I miss you."

  And he hung up.

  What in the world was going on with Evan?

  * * * *

  Evan knew when he left his uncle's house there would have to be a showdown between him and Rocco. He conned his cousin's car phone number from his secretary at the council.

  "Rocco? It's Evan. I want a meet."

  "What kinda meet? We just met. What the hell are you talkin' about?"

  "A friendly chat, someplace private. Maybe your old stompin' grounds. How about the field house on the North Newark Park track? Let's say Saturday night at eight?"

  "Are you lookin' for a foot race, Evan? That was never your bag. You were too clumsy. As a kid, I was always faster than you in track meets."

  "How about a wrestling match then, Rocco? You thought you could take me and you did--once. Maybe you still can. Wanna try? Or are you too old and flabby?"

  "I can still take you, you big shit."

  "Wear casual clothes. Two falls out of three should do it, okay?"

  "Yeah, right. Maybe I'll break your neck for good measure."

  * * * *

  Evan asked Raoul to be his second--someone to watch his back and check on the falls. Evan told him it was a grudge match between him and his cousin from the time when he and Rocco had gone to high school together. He never mentioned the fact that his cousin was a bigwig in Newark politics.

  The area around the field house was deserted on Saturday when Evan and Raoul arrived on time in shorts, T-shirts, and sneakers.

  "Maybe he ducked out, buddy."

  "Naw." Evan shook his head. "He'll be here."

  Rocco and his punk Luigi stepped out of the field house. Rocco was dressed for the match. "I doubt I'll sweat it with you, but I might need a shower afterward--to get the stink off me."

  Rocco's sarcastic sneer rankled through Evan, but he swallowed his temper and concentrated on the upcoming challenge.

  Raoul glanced over at Evan, relieved his friend wasn't buying the prod.

  "How much time do you need, Rocco?" Evan asked.

  "Two minutes should do it." A nasty laugh ripped from his lips. "But let's make it 20. I need to get warmed up." Rocco laughed again.

  Both wrestlers tore off their sweat jackets and dropped them onto the grass. "Here's a good spot." Rocco pointed and began to circle.

  Evan saw that Rocco had rubbed oil on his bare skin to make him harder to grab and hold. Rocco was always looking for an advantage if he could find one. He hadn't changed one bit. But in this instance Evan had the reach, the height, and the weight. He wondered why Rocco had taken up his challenge. Maybe it was his egomania leading him on.

  They grappled, dropping to the grass on their knees. Rocco ended up behind Evan and got a headlock on him, bending him backward, legs and feet caught under his buttocks.

  Evan's big hands slid off Rocco's muscular arms. He reached higher, trying to grab his face, but his cousin had a stranglehold and was putting pressure on Evan's windpipe. His breath came in sucking gasps and grunts. This wasn't anything like high school wrestling; this was street fighting, with both trying to hurt and maim their opponents.

  Evan finally threw Rocco off his back, but his cousin managed to grab Evan's wrist and yanked it in back of him. He jerked it higher and harder. Evan shouted a loud, painful, "Shit!" A strong man could put a shoulder out of its socket doing this.

  Rocco wrapped his other arm around Evan's neck and tossed him to the ground, flat on his back. Evan exhaled and nodded. One fall to Rocco.

  The second round went in Evan's favor. He had hooked Rocco's ankle, and his cousin had lost his balance and stumbled. Evan landed on top of him; his weight was enough to hold Rocco down.

  Fall number two to Evan. The match was even.

  Both men were breathing hard. The seconds stood nearby, watching the wrestlers and eyeing each other. The match had lengthened beyond the stipulated 20 minutes.

  "Okay, Cuz, aren't you ready yet?" Rocco taunted. He lunged, kicking Evan in the groin with a cleated track shoe. The swift blow caught Evan square on his vulnerable "family jewels." He doubled over in excruciating pain, clutching himself. He'd never thought to wear a cup. With Evan stooped over, Rocco aimed another lethal kick, blasting Evan on the left side of his head, breaking his nose. Blood spurted out of Evan's nostrils.

  Rocco laughed out loud. "You big dumb ox, I'm a black belt! Guess you didn't know that." Rocco crouched, waiting for a chance to finish Evan.

  Evan staggered back, wiping a palm down his face, bright red blood painted his hand and ran down and off his chin.

  "Evan! Give up!" Raoul yelled, starting toward him.

  "Stay back," he commanded the stalwart knight. "I'm not done with him."

  Rocco egged him on. "C'mon on, c'mon, Evan-boy. Let's get this finished. You're dead meat, testa di merda!"

  The men circled again, feinting their moves. Evan watched Rocco's eyes as well as his hands and feet. Rocco had taken him completely unaware. He hadn't known his cousin had trained in karate.

  Finally, they grappled again, whirling around, still on their feet, each looking for an advantage. Evan gritted his teeth and lunged, grabbing Rocco in a slick move from the back, under his armpits and across his chest, lifting one hundred and ninety pounds of muscle off his feet. Quickly, Evan twisted back and upward, locking his fingers behind Rocco's neck. With that kind of pressure grip and his bodybuilder's strength, it was possible for Evan to break his cousin's neck.

  Rocco fell forward, trying to break Evan's hold. He landed on all fours. Evan was all over him, his heavy thighs capturing his opponent's legs in a fierce double knee grip.

  Evan was smart enough to know his current position wasn't enough to put Rocco's shoulders on the ground in a wrestling match. The man was stronger and in better shape than he'd expected. They held that position
for almost a minute, grunting and trying to make a solid move, both sucking for air.

  Then Rocco slipped out of Evan's hold and slithered away on the grass. Evan caught up with him and hung onto his foot. The shoe came out of his fingers. Evan threw it aside. Fury burned hot and heavy inside him. No way was Rocco going to win this match.

  Rocco kicked at him, but Evan grabbed the foot again and threw himself on top of his cousin. It was enough to knock the air out of Rocco's lungs and plaster his back on the grass.

  "Okay, okay," Rocco grunted. "You win this one."

  Evan straddled him, looking down at a close family member he never liked. It took an extraordinary effort not to pulverize Rocco's face with his fists.

  Raoul came over and handed Evan a towel to stanch the blood still running out of his nostrils. "Satisfied?" the knight asked.

  "Yeah," Evan replied and stood up, weaving a little. He left his cousin where he lay. "C'mon. Let's get outta here." Evan pulled the car keys out of the pocket of his shorts and handed them to Raoul. "You'd better drive."

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  All weekend, Carla had waited in vain for Evan's phone call. Now it was Sunday night and she was in the living room, watching TV, but no sign of Evan. Disappointment flooded through her when the show ended at 11:00 p.m.

  The telephone rang a few minutes later.

  "Can I come over?"

  "Evan?"

  "Who else?"

  "Oh, at this time of the night?"

  "I want to see you. I need to see you. I need to hold you."

  Half an hour later, he was knocking on her door. Carla watched for him but hadn't turned on the outside light. She didn't want her nosy neighbors catching sight of a man coming to her house this late on a Sunday night. She had pulled the shades down in the living room and left one lamp lit.

  She let him in and clicked the door shut behind him. When she turned and saw his face, she gaped in horror. "My God, Evan! What happened to you?"