Mafioso [Part 3]

by Nisa Santiago

  But then, Connelly suddenly stopped in his tracks and appeared to be nervous about something. Deuce read his body language—not good. His eyes shifted toward the 495 freeway. Something was wrong.

  As Deuce rotated his head to see what had caught Connelly’s attention, Jimmy’s face exploded. Blood and brains flew everywhere—looking like a smashing watermelon, and his body violently propelled forward. Before Jimmy could fall, another sniper’s shot nearly took off his whole right half. His body crashed to the ground, facedown.

  “Muthafuckaaaa!” Deuce shouted.

  He attempted to aim his gun at Connelly, knowing he’d been set up, but a deadly sniper’s bullet ripped through his chest and pushed him back against the truck. There was a gaping hole in his chest, but somehow, he was still alive. Connelly looked at him wide-eyed, as Deuce struggled to breathe and aim the gun at him once again. He wanted to kill the sergeant before his death. But then another bullet ripped through his face. The splash of blood and bone went all over the place. Deuce fell dead, and between both bodies, there was enough blood to drown a small animal.

  Unbeknownst to both men, the van parked on the shoulder of the 495 freeway harbored an astute sniper with a Barrett M82 sniper’s rifle. Hired by Scott, Kwame was one of the best killers money could buy. He could shoot the wings off a fly. Through the scope, he observed his handiwork from far away.

  Mission accomplished.

  He soon aimed the rifle at Connelly, targeting the man in his crosshairs. The sergeant was walking back to his car, but he didn’t make it far. Kwame put a bullet through the back of his head and killed him instantly. Direct orders from Scott—no one leaves the area alive—no one. Connelly lay dead, sprawled facedown on the ground near the Crown Vic with a hole the size of a baseball in his head. Connelly had to go too; he wasn’t to be trusted. He had sold out Deuce for a promise of a two-million-dollar payout and he was responsible for losing many men and money while collaborating with DMC. A message had to be sent. The era of Deuce and DMC was over.

  Ruthless, Scott was. No more Mr. Nice Guy.

  Next on Scott’s list was Whistler. He didn’t know Whistler’s fate had already been sealed by Layla and Lucky.

  45

  Bugsy continued to drink and grieve over Alicia. He was devastated. He wanted her back, but he knew deep in his heart she wasn’t coming back. He felt at fault, but he blamed his family too, especially his brother. The thought of her loving someone else was like a steamroller rolling over him. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t sleep. He couldn’t even eat.

  He emptied the fifth of Hennessy down his throat and tossed the bottle aside. He sat parked outside an underground gambling spot on Rockaway Avenue in Brownsville. The location was seedy—lots of drugs, fiends, and dealers. Around the corner, prostitutes worked the area flagging down cars and hopping in and out of vehicles. It was where he would find Meyer, inside the unassuming building with gambling, whores, and drinking.

  Bugsy shoved the .45 down into his waistband and climbed out of his Benz. Bugsy was in a dangerous place inside his mind. He had murder on the brain and he wanted to find his brother and confront him.

  At the door, they recognized him right away—Meyer’s twin brother. He was good to enter. Bugsy walked into the dim and seedy place crowded with thuggish locals and loose women and looked around for his brother. Rap music blared. The stench of weed being smoked all over the place lingered in the air. His eyes scanned everywhere, through the thick crowd of debauchery, and he was aloof to it all. He was a man on a mission.

  It didn’t take long. He spotted Meyer shooting dice with a few men in the next room. Meyer clutched a handful of money and talked shit with his back to the approaching Bugsy.

  “You stupid muthafucka!” Bugsy screamed at him before he struck Meyer in the back of the head with the butt of the pistol.

  Meyer tumbled forward and stumbled to get his footing, but Bugsy struck him again. He fell over in pain.

  “You think I didn’t know—about AJ, the robbery? It’s because of you that she’s gone!” Bugsy shouted.

  Meyer was dumbfounded. Bugsy knew all along?

  Meyer tried to stand up. He felt the warm blood on the back of his head. Others simply stood around the action and observed. They were aware who the twins were. No one wanted any trouble with them.

  “Bugsy, let me explain—” Meyer said.

  But the moment he tried to open his mouth and talk, Bugsy smashed him in the face with the gun. He wasn’t there for an explanation.

  Blood gushed from Meyer’s nose. He charged at Bugsy and they wrestled aggressively. Meyer smashed his elbow into the side of Bugsy’s skull and then tried to grapple him into a headlock, but Bugsy strongly resisted. Their guns went flying and were confiscated by unnamed goons who could get a couple hundred on the streets for them. It was chaos all around, and the twins would not stop until the cops arrived.

  Quickly, they were broken up by several uniformed officers, handcuffed, and arrested. Their bruised and bloody faces were evidence of the fight. Bugsy was steaming mad. He could kill his brother.

  ***

  In the bullpen, the twins cooled off. They sat on opposite sides of the room and barely looked at each other. They were nursing their wounds. Everything had gotten out of control.

  Bugsy looked at his brother and said, “She’s gone. It’s because of who I am—this life I live—that the best thing that ever happened to me walked out of my life. And you instigated her leaving me by having me beaten within an inch of my life. She couldn’t take it.”

  Meyer looked at his brother and said, “I’m sorry.”

  “You’re sorry?”

  “I know she’s a good woman and you love her, but this ain’t all on me. I wasn’t the one calling the shots, Ma was. She put that shit together.”

  Bugsy continued to frown, but he was listening. He understood where his brother was coming from. Their mother was a brutal and cold woman, and Meyer would do almost anything for her. Still, Meyer was still at fault for agreeing to go through with it.

  “You chose to stay with her,” Bugsy said.

  “I did, because I don’t trust Pop. You was always the better son to him, and he always belittled me. How much more was I supposed to take from him? But you gotta admit, both our parents are fucked up.”

  Bugsy knew Meyer was right. He saw his father’s weakness.

  “But look, when we robbed that place, you wasn’t supposed to be harmed. Ma made that clear to everyone—not to touch you. But Luna, he felt that you made us, so he figured if he came after you, you wouldn’t believe we had anything to do with it. We wanted to pin it on Deuce.”

  “That’s idiotic. Deuce is a psychopath. He would have killed everyone in that room, including me.”

  “Anyway, when she heard the news about you, she went crazy, and she forced me do it—do him anyway,” Meyer said quietly, as if others were eavesdropping on their conversation.

  This was the first Bugsy heard that Luna was dead. He could see the sadness in his brother’s eyes. He knew what Luna meant to Meyer.

  The brothers made amends during their time in lockup, reconnecting over losing someone close to them and realizing that friends and lovers may come and go, but they would always have each other. A brother’s bond that could never be broken.

  46

  It was sixty-five degrees and sunny with blue skies stretching endlessly. The warm weather meant that spring was approaching. It had been a brutal winter, from the cold and inclement weather to people’s evildoing. The springlike day in late winter was needed.

  Maxine stepped out of the building lobby in a blue flutter sleeve top, a pair of tight Gucci jeans that accentuated her curves, and a pair of wedge heels. She looked exotic with her dark and glossy stylish hair and pearl necklace. She was the epitome of elegance. The warm air against her skin felt exhilarating. She exhaled. It would
be a beautiful day.

  She strutted toward the Bentley, where the chauffeur stood near the opened back door and waited for her to enter the vehicle. Maxine had a busy day today—breakfast with Scott, then brunch with a new friend she had met in the building, shopping at a few stores, and just living her life the way she was supposed to—with richness, class, and elegance.

  Her stint in prison felt so long ago. She’d come a long way. She was twenty years overdue to live the good life. Scott was in love with her, and he was giving her the world. She didn’t want for anything. Their relationship picked up right where it’d left off, and all was forgiven.

  As Maxine approached the Bentley, her cell phone rang. She reached into her purse, removed it, and answered the call. The caller was unknown, and she knew her man sometimes would call her from different numbers.

  “Hello?”

  She expected to hear Scott’s voice, but she heard her worst nightmare.

  “You fuckin’ bitch, you think you and me are over with? Shit just got started,” Wacka growled into the phone.

  Maxine was shocked and terrified to get a call from Wacka on her cell phone. She stopped walking toward the car. The last thing she needed was the chauffeur eavesdropping.

  “How did you get this number?” she asked.

  “Bitch, that’s the last thing you need to worry about.”

  It was a valid question. It took connections and sheer luck, but Tarsha had a cousin who worked for a collection agency. Wacka had Maxine’s full name, and that was all they needed. Several telephone calls yielded a result. They found her—the woman who had hired Wacka as a hitman.

  Maxine looked around. It was a busy area with lots of people and lots of traffic. She feared he might lunge at her from out of nowhere—gun her down where she stood. Wacka was unpredictable and crazy.

  “Ms. Maxine, is everything okay?” the driver asked her.

  She ignored him. Wacka had her undivided attention. The thought of him coming for her angered her. She stepped farther away from the driver, confusing the man as he waited near the car.

  “Listen to me, you stupid muthafucka. I’m not the bitch to fuck with. You understand me? I will hunt you down and have you killed.”

  She heard an ominous chuckle from him, and then he said, “Not before I tell your boyfriend about our business dealings in the past. I think he would be very interested in knowing that his lady—oops, I meant to say fiancée—had me murder his three young children.”

  “He’ll never believe you,” she retorted.

  “You think so, huh? Would you want to take that chance?”

  Maxine knew she couldn’t. If Scott even had a suspicion she was involved with his kids’ deaths, it would change everything. It was a secret she wanted to bury deep, but she couldn’t while Wacka was still alive.

  “He’ll kill you too.”

  He laughed. “But you first, bitch,” he mocked.

  “Fuck you!” She was losing her cool.

  They argued with each other, but Wacka had the advantage.

  “Maybe we can work something out, and you pay me for my silence.”

  Maxine felt it was coming—the blackmail. It was still hard to believe.

  “What the fuck you want?”

  “I want five hundred thousand dollars.”

  “Five hundred thousand—are you crazy?” she repeated the price like it was a shocking blow to her. She feigned anger at the amount, but she had to keep from laughing at the price.

  “Bitch, did I stutter?”

  “No.”

  She was almost relieved that he’d asked for such a small amount. She could get that with no problem.

  Wacka was a dumb fuck, and Maxine was grateful for his stupidity. Did he have a clue how much Scott was worth?

  “I need some time to get the money. It’s a lot.”

  “I don’t give a fuck how you get it. You have one week, bitch.”

  “A week?”

  “Don’t play games wit’ me, bitch. You should be dead, but consider this your amnesty fee—five hundred thousand dollars or your life.”

  He hung up.

  Maxine stood there for a moment, taking it all in. She had to be smart on this. She had to get way ahead of him and fix it.

  Breakfast with Scott was great. She laughed with him and enjoyed the poached eggs and blueberry pancakes put together by one of the best chefs in the city. Clinton’s was a fine place to eat on the lower east side.

  Maxine felt it was the perfect time to talk to him about her future.

  “I wanna go shopping today, but I need some cash,” she said.

  Scott reached into his pockets and pulled out a wad of cash—all one hundred-dollar bills. He counted out seven thousand dollars and handed it to her. Maxine took the money, but the look she had wasn’t happy.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  She wanted to tell him how she felt, but she knew that you could catch more bees with honey than shit. So, in a very calm voice, she said, “Thank you, baby. I appreciate everything you give me, but I do want to feel some security. It isn’t about the money, but more of me wanting to become my own woman. Why do I continually have to ask you for money like I’m a child? I don’t want an allowance from you, but I want an opportunity.”

  He smiled. “Opportunity, huh?”

  Did he understand where she was coming from? Maxine was a smart woman, not some groupie looking for a handout. They had history together and she once had a vibrant future ahead of her.

  “Yes, an opportunity. I want to be able to buy my own car.”

  “I just bought you a car.”

  “It’s not about the car; it’s about the financial freedom. Why is it that Layla gets to walk away with fifty million dollars and I get spoon-fed a few thousand dollars here and there?”

  Scott’s jaw tightened at the mention of Layla and his money. Abruptly, he banged his fist on the table, startling Maxine. “Layla is not going to keep a fuckin’ dime of my money! I’ll see her dead first. And do I have to remind you that it is because of you that she’s still living?”

  Maxine still tried to get her point across. “Well, I’m your fiancée, and I should be treated accordingly. I feel that I should have access to certain accounts, and I should have the chance to build something of my own.”

  “You’re starting to sound like her,” he said.

  Maxine didn’t want to be compared to Layla. It infuriated her.

  “I’m offended,” she said. “After everything I went through to prove how much I love you. I kept my mouth shut and did the time, and you went and started a family with her, and you treat me like I’m her!”

  Maxine abruptly pushed her chair away from the table, stood up, and stormed away from him. She couldn’t help but to shed a few tears.

  Scott took a moment to sit there and cool off. Why was he so resistant in trusting Maxine? She wasn’t anything like Layla. She was a good woman. She even spared Layla’s life after all she had done to her. And Maxine was never a materialistic woman. She cared about her education and her family. When they were together, he had to force her to take gifts from him. She would hardly wear the expensive jewelry he’d bought for her back in the days. He would always have to ask her to put on the jewelry he bought for her. Scott wanted them to stunt together. She was his woman and she needed nice things.

  Scott finally caught up to Maxine outside the restaurant. He grabbed her by the arm and spun her around. She put up little resistance.

  “I’m sorry, baby. Forgive me,” he said.

  She looked at him expressionless.

  “I love you,” he proclaimed wholeheartedly. “And I’ll start making arrangements to have your name added to some of my accounts, properties, and other legal affairs. You do deserve it, after everything you been through.”

  She still looked at h
im.

  “Look, everything is going to take some time. I want to marry you and spend the rest of my life with you so you’ll always be entitled to half of everything I own.”

  She smiled. But, the kicker was time—Maxine felt that time was what she didn’t have. Now she had to go to plan B which made her very unhappy.

  ***

  The day before the meeting with Wacka, Maxine went to the bank to withdraw five hundred thousand dollars in large bills. The money was from the sale of her parents’ home. Years ago, they’d put her name on the deed, so she didn’t have to go through probate court to receive her inheritance. Her parents’ home was paid in full. Her dad bought the property over forty years ago. She netted the full sale of the home, which was just under six-hundred thousand dollars, after the realtor fee.

  Maxine was almost sick sitting with the branch manager for the withdrawal. This was blood money, and she was giving it away to a murderer and blackmailer. She took a deep breath and knew that she had to go through with it.

  After over an hour inside the bank, Maxine finally walked out the building with the money in a cheap gift bag. For once, the lady with all the master plans and intricate schemes didn’t know what to do to get rid of Wacka for good. She was stumped.

  ***

  Maxine had to remain patient. She had to think things through, but a lot of issues weren’t looking in her favor. Trouble was looming left and right, and it was becoming difficult to handle everything. With Wacka’s threats, she realized that she didn’t have access to Scott’s money—at least not yet. Maxine was agitated by the fact that Layla walked away with fifty million dollars, when Scott didn’t give her a bank account or access to any money. Scott was at war, and he was still legally married to Layla. So for her to be his fiancée, it was only for show. If something were to happen to him, then all his legal assets would go to Layla—her archenemy. Maxine would walk away with nothing. She’d come too far, did too many years in prison, along with losing both of her parents behind her decisions, just to walk away broke. And now Wacka had the audacity to blackmail her.