Mafioso [Part 3]

by Nisa Santiago

  He could hardly speak, but his last words to Bugsy were, “Fuck you!”

  “Fuck you too!” Bugsy rebuked and coldly shot the man between his eyes.

  Bugsy didn’t know it, but he’d only missed Deuce, Jimmy, and Whistler by a few minutes. They had slaughtered over a dozen men, and although Deuce wasn’t among the dead, it was a good hit.

  22

  Meyer stepped out of his bright red Bugatti, fixed his tie, and walked toward the front entrance of the four-star restaurant called Eleven Madison Park. He looked sharp in a dark blue, two-thousand-dollar Tom Ford suit. Meyer knew that if he wanted to impress this girl, he had to become his twin brother.

  He came unarmed and humble, but he didn’t come alone. Luna sat in a Benz nearby, and a few of his goons patrolled the area subtly, making sure there weren’t any nearby threats. Traffic on Madison Avenue was thick in the late evening, and it was a mild winter’s day, where it wasn’t bitter cold, but a moderate fifty degrees outside.

  Zoe climbed out of a yellow cab and strutted toward him wearing a white embellished coat. Her long, luscious black hair was flowing, and her eyes dazzled like she had diamonds in them. He was new in her life, so she’d arranged to meet him at the restaurant. She wanted no one picking her up from her apartment. She didn’t trust too many people.

  “You’re beautiful,” he said.

  He kissed her on the cheek, trying to be a gentleman, and she smiled.

  “You look handsome yourself,” she said.

  They entered the crowded restaurant and approached the maître d’, a lovely and well-dressed female who greeted Meyer with a smile. “How may I help you, sir?” she asked.

  “I have reservations,” he said.

  “And what is your name?”

  “Meyer West.”

  She searched for his name and quickly found it. “Table for two, right?”

  “Yeah—I mean, yes.”

  They were escorted into the dining area, and Meyer took in the lavish décor. The high-ceiling art deco space had floor-to-ceiling windows with a picturesque view of Madison Square Park and a giant crystal chandelier suspended above. The dining room accommodated up to fifty people, and the patrons were all sophisticated and mostly white—high-end businessmen and Wall Street tycoons out on dates with their wives or mistresses. It was a place you brought someone you wanted to impress.

  Zoe removed her coat to reveal her dress, and it was stunning. Her curvy figure was formed perfectly in the off-white turtleneck sweater dress she wore with a pair of black-tie back boots. Meyer had to remind himself to be a gentleman tonight, and he pulled out her chair to allow her to sit first. He then sat opposite of her and once again proclaimed, “You’re beautiful.”

  She flashed a quick smile. “Thank you.”

  This wasn’t Meyer’s cup of tea—the décor, the people, and the scenery. It all made him nervous. He was a chicken-and-waffles type of nigga—a Popeye’s and Burger King eating dude. Although he came from money and had plenty, he was a street thug at heart. Bugsy had tried to introduce his twin brother to the world of the classy and the elegant many times, but Meyer always shied away from it. Those weren’t his peoples; the streets were. But tonight was an exception. He felt Zoe was worth doing something different.

  “First time here?” she asked him.

  “No, I came here with family once,” he lied.

  “Oh really? I like it here. The cuisine is exquisite,” she said.

  She was spoiled. He knew it. But the look in her eyes and her beauty overwhelmed Meyer. Damn, she is fuckin’ gorgeous, he kept thinking.

  The waiter made his way toward them. He stood erect with a smile at their table dressed in a white button-down shirt and black vest with a black bowtie. “Sir, madam, my name is Jonathan, and I am your servant tonight. Can I start your night off with our wine list?”

  “Sure,” Meyer said.

  Jonathan handed him the wine menu. The prices were high, but it was change in the bucket for Meyer. He didn’t know shit about wine. It was like a foreign language to him. Instead of choosing himself, he said, “Just give me a bottle of your best.”

  “Will do, sir,” the waiter said before he pivoted to leave.

  “What are you in the mood for?” Meyer asked Zoe.

  “I’m famished,” she said. “I’ll start with a few appetizers.”

  She used words like famished and cuisine. She was not in his ballpark, but Meyer was determined to impress her. He had to think and act like his twin brother. There was no way he would mess this up.

  They quickly looked through the menu, and she already knew what she wanted. Meyer could go for a cheeseburger or a large steak, but he didn’t want to look ignorant or hood. So, he tried something new. For their appetizer, they ordered crab stuffed mushrooms and cucumber bites. The cucumber bites were an acquired taste, but Zoe loved them.

  While munching on the appetizer, they talked. He got to learn a lot more about her. She had no children and no boyfriend. She was Puerto Rican born and raised but moved to the Bronx last year. She was twenty-two, and she had goals. Zoe had already accomplished a lot by being in beauty pageants and being the former Miss Puerto Rico.

  Like her, he had no kids—well, not any he knew of. His child died when Penelope was killed. Thinking about it was still painful for him.

  Meyer had to talk the talk to keep Zoe interested, so he mentioned his business portfolio. It was something he’d picked up from Bugsy. He talked about his investments in real estate and the clubs he owned.

  “So, you’re into real estate, I see,” she said.

  “I am . . .” It was the partial truth. “I’m a black man with a plan.”

  “It’s always nice to hear about a man with a plan. I admire that.”

  “And I admire you, Miss Puerto Rico,” he said playfully.

  She smiled and chuckled.

  They enjoyed a $500 bottle of rosé and talked freely. Meyer was leaving a small impression on her. He did everything opposite of his usual and tried to channel his twin brother. He remembered different wines that Bugsy used to drink and things he would say that made him look smart.

  For dinner, she had the agnolotti, made with small pieces of flattened pasta dough folded over a roasted meat and vegetable filling. She also ordered the red wine braised octopus and bone marrow. It was a dish that made Meyer cringe. It reminded him of something out of Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom movie. Meyer said “fuck it,” and ordered a giant steak with some vegetables. It had been a long day, and he was hungry. But he made her laugh, and she liked to laugh.

  Meyer saw no threat in her. She was a beautiful, smart, and educated woman, not to mention breathtaking. He had to have her, by any means necessary. He wanted to call off the goon squad, feeling they wouldn’t be needed, but it was still better safe than sorry.

  Meyer and Zoe spent nearly two hours in the restaurant. Dinner went great—better than they both expected. Zoe was somewhat shocked. They talked about everything from sports to history, and Meyer kept her intrigued. Some of his twin brother’s knowledge had rubbed off on him, and he wasn’t a drug dealing, cold-blooded savage high on the food chain that night. Meyer did his best to become somebody different.

  When they walked out of the restaurant, Meyer noticed that Luna was still parked nearby in his Benz, watching everything. Meyer subtly nodded his way, giving the signal that everything was okay.

  “I had a good time with you,” Zoe said.

  “I’m glad you did. I had a good time, too. When can I see you again?”

  “I’ll let you know.”

  He didn’t want the date to end. Every time he would look at her, he was in awe. He couldn’t remember a time when he smiled and laughed so many times. Zoe brought something out of him that contradicted who he was. He wasn’t a monster tonight. He was a gentleman.

  “It’s
late. Let me drive you home?” he offered.

  “I’m okay. I can take a cab,” she said.

  “Ridiculous. You can trust me. I don’t bite.”

  “You probably do,” she joked.

  He chuckled. “I’m serious. What kind of man would I be if I allow you to take a cab home? It’s late and it’s cold.”

  “Meyer, I’m a big girl. I’ll be okay. Besides, we’re still getting to know each other, and trust—that has to be earned. You’re doing an okay job so far, but I’d prefer to take a cab.”

  “I respect that. Well, at least let me hail you a cab then.” He stepped out into the street and lifted his arm into the air to hail a cab. He did it with authority, and right away, a yellow cab slowed near him and pulled to the side. He opened the back door to allow Zoe to slide inside. It was hard to watch her go.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “You’re welcome, Zoe.”

  Their eyes were fixed on each other for a moment. Her grace and beauty hypnotized him. God, he wanted to kiss her so badly—and fuck her, too. But he didn’t want to seem too forward. She wasn’t that type of lady. She simply kissed him on the cheek and said “Goodnight.”

  “Goodnight.”

  The cab drove off. Meyer was left standing in the road watching it disappear into the city traffic and the sea of other yellow cabs that swallowed the road. He felt something that he’d never felt before. Shit! he thought. He couldn’t stop thinking about her.

  It was back to business. Luna approached him. He was curious to know how everything went.

  “So, what’s the 411 on that bitch?” he asked.

  Immediately, Meyer turned his way with anger and exclaimed, “Watch your fuckin’ mouth, nigga! She’s no bitch!”

  “My bad . . . I guess she’s legit then?”

  “Yeah, she’s something different, Luna. I like this one. I do.”

  “I see it on your face.”

  “It’s that obvious, huh?”

  “She got you glowing like the Christmas tree at Rockefeller Center.”

  Meyer chuckled.

  “What you wanna do now? The night is still early,” asked Luna.

  “Fuck it, let’s go to the club. I need a drink and some head. I gotta get my mind off shorty.”

  Luna laughed. “Yeah, I bet you do.”

  23

  Maxine was making good progress, but her recovery was bittersweet with her mother’s passing. She cried and cried, but she knew she had to be strong to make funeral arrangements. Maxine wanted her mother to go out in style, and with Scott’s help, she would get her wish. So she prepared herself for a hardship moment of healing and grieving. At least she had Scott by her side to comfort her and help her with everything.

  Before the funeral, Scott stood her before her mother’s casket, got down on one knee, and asked for Maxine’s hand in marriage. The huge engagement ring was an exquisite piece of jewelry, a glimmer of joy amid Maxine’s heartbreaking grief. Maxine accepted, but not before Scott could promise her mother that she could rest in peace knowing that he would always take care of her daughter.

  The funeral was held at Southern Baptist Church on Stanley Avenue in East New York. Maxine remembered when her parents used to take her to church there every Sunday morning. Her mother used to sing in the choir and was active in the church activities and numerous community programs. Her mother steadily preached the gospel and salvation to her, but Maxine strayed away from the church and fell in love with a drug dealer and the lavish lifestyle he provided. She knew the choices she’d made in her life broke her parents’ hearts—especially her mother’s. Their little girl was supposed to be somebody in life, but instead, she became a convicted felon.

  A few tears trickled from Maxine’s eyes as she gazed at her mother’s body in the solid walnut hardwood casket dressed beautifully in a blue-and-white dress. She looked so peaceful. Finally, her mother was reunited with her father, resting in peace.

  Maxine felt guilt too. She didn’t get to spend enough time with her parents—over twenty years was lost. What was worse was to be in a coma while her mother was dying. More tears trickled from her eyes, and the hurt she felt in her heart and her soul was becoming overwhelming.

  She touched her mother’s body gently and sulked. Maxine wanted to show her mother the good life. The cruise was only the beginning. There just wasn’t enough time. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

  It was a beautiful service. The choir sang and the pastor gave a lovely eulogy. There were flowers and pictures of her mother everywhere.

  Mrs. Shirley, her mother’s best friend, hugged Maxine, gave her condolences, and said to her, “Your mother was a good woman, and she loved you so much. I’m gonna miss her. But you be strong, Maxine.”

  Maxine nodded and wiped the tears from her eyes. Mrs. Shirley was good peoples. She gave Maxine a lingering hug. It was comforting.

  “God bless you, and I’ll be praying for you,” said Mrs. Shirley.

  The slow church hymns made everyone emotional, and there wasn’t a dry eye in the place, except for Scott. He sat in the front pew stoic. He was there for emotional support. He’d seen his fair share of funerals and had shed his tears for loved ones.

  After the service, the hearse led the line of cars north of the church toward The Evergreens Cemetery. It was a bright, blue-sky day and windy, but not too cold. Maxine climbed out of the limousine looking immaculate in her classic black dress, black shoes, a large black hat, and dark shades. Scott walked with her toward the burial site. It too was bedecked with lots of flowers and pictures, and there was a seating area under a tent canopy for the family and close friends.

  As a precaution, Scott had a few of his henchmen scattered around the cemetery for security. They was dressed in black, armed, and moved around covertly.

  The pastor stood near the casket with his bible, prepared to send the woman off in good measure. Each mourner held a red or white rose to toss onto the casket when it would descend into the ground. They stood around the burial site in silence. So far, everything seemed at peace, until it wasn’t.

  The black Maybach came to a stop inside the cemetery, and it immediately caught the attention of Scott and a few others. Scott’s head turned toward the lustrous vehicle in the distance, and he stood on high alert. He was armed and ready for anything. The doors to the Maybach opened, and out stepped Layla and Lucky. Scott scowled at mother and daughter, and he felt his blood pressure rising.

  Why is she here?

  “This fuckin’ bitch,” he muttered. He knew his soon to be ex-wife wasn’t there to give her condolences to Maxine. She was there to stir something up.

  Maxine noticed the bitch too. The nerve of Layla to show up to her mother’s funeral. The anger Maxine felt was murderous, and she was ready to confront Layla, but Scott stopped her.

  “I’ll handle it.”

  Layla was dressed to the nines, wearing a long, white mink coat, matching mink hat, and shiny white pearls that contradicted the black and gloomy mood at the cemetery. She strutted in a pair of white heels with red bottoms and was smiling with Lucky in tow. Besides the driver, she and Lucky had come alone, no goons—or so it seemed. Right away, Scott’s men intervened before Layla could step any closer to the tent. They stood in her way like a closing gate, frowning and on their jobs. She wasn’t invited or allowed there.

  “Excuse me!” Layla barked at them.

  “You’re not welcome here,” said one man.

  “Don’t tell me where I’m not fuckin’ welcome. I came here to pay my respects to a friend,” Layla exclaimed.

  “There’s no trouble here—not today!”

  Layla and Lucky were defiant; they weren’t going anywhere. Layla threatened the men, but they weren’t backing down. Then Scott approached.

  Scott exclaimed, “Leave here now!”

  “Fuck you
, Scott!” Layla cursed.

  Scott gritted his teeth and scowled. “This is a funeral. Show some damn respect!”

  “Respect? You have the nerve to talk about showing some fuckin’ respect. You and that bitch don’t know shit about respect!” Layla retorted.

  Scott was so sick and tired of her over-the-top antics. She had no reason to show up. His goons kept her away, but a commotion was ensuing. Layla loved the attention. It’s what she wanted—a disturbance—and Scott was falling right into her trap.

  “Fuck that bitch and her dead mother!” Layla shouted.

  The obscenity was harsh and highly disrespectful. Scott got close to her with his fists clenched. He wanted her gone.

  When she threatened him with, “They gonna be burying you and that bitch next,” he lost it. The punch to her face came rapidly, and it hit Layla so hard her legs buckled and she went down like Joe Frazier. The pain was unlike anything she had felt before. It shot through her whole body and knocked off her mink hat. She’d threatened him, and he didn’t like to be threatened.

  The scream she released was ear-piercing. She was lucky he hadn’t broken her jaw. But Scott wasn’t done with her yet. As Layla shouted, “You fuckin’ bastard! I’ll kill you!” Scott charged at her and grabbed her roughly into a strong chokehold. This was a funeral, and Layla was making an absolute mockery of it.

  “Get the fuck off me! Get off me, you sonofabitch!” she screamed as she struggled in his chokehold.

  Everyone was shocked, including Lucky. How could he treat Layla like that—his wife and mother of his kids? He punched her like she was a man and a stranger to him. Lucky was still salty from the slap he gave her over Penelope, and she didn’t like the way he was manhandling her mother. She just couldn’t stand aside and watch. She shouted, “You fuckin’ bastard!” and went to aid her mother. She attacked him from behind; she bit his forearm, punched him, and scratched his face repeatedly to pull him off her mother. A violent spectacle developed at the funeral, and everyone was watching and looking stunned. Maxine wanted to jump up and stop the spectacle, but her feet felt like stone. She was unmovable. Her eyes darted as Scott sent blows from Layla to Lucky, all in her honor.