by Ws Greer
“Every day we don’t bring the truck, he wants us to add half-a-mil,” I say. Everyone at the table looks worried and uncomfortable. I turn to Jimmy. “This is the kind of shit that gets people clipped. Find the fucking truck. Now.” There’s nothing left to say, so I get up and walk out of the room.
When I reach the elevator, I think about how shitty everything just became in no time at all. The robbing of the wrong truck, Victor’s daily half a million dollar interest, the truck vanishing into air, and now Victor making threats to my family. My stress level went from zero to a hundred in a matter of hours. I’m feeling a new sense of annoyance that can only come with being the boss, so I pull out my cell and call the only person whose voice can make me feel better. She answers on the first ring.
“Hey, babe. How’d it go?” Alannah greets in her soothing voice.
“I think I got a fucking problem that’s gonna require something drastic,” I reply.
“Why? What’s going on?” she asks, hearing the worry in my voice.
“I think I gotta fucking kill Jimmy.”
Dominic
I remember how my father used to talk about wanting to be a captain before it finally happened. I remember it like it was just yesterday. He used to nickel and dime his way through life, taking ten percent off of mom and pop stores and delis, until I had a little idea about taxing the hotels. Dad knew it’d be a huge challenge and that he’d need a big crew, but he pulled it off. He took over River City with nothing but muscle and an “I don’t give a fuck” attitude. The next thing we knew, my father, Donnie Collazo, was a captain in La Cosa Nostra. It didn’t last long, unfortunately, thanks to the fucking Cestone brothers, but my father still got what he wanted, and I was proud of him. And the Cestone brothers got what they had coming to them.
I know if he were still alive, he’d be beyond proud of me now. Not only did I become something in La Cosa Nostra, I surpassed him and became the boss of our family. My dream has been realized, and I’m proud to do what I do, even if the older guys hate me for it. I don’t give two shits about how they feel. This was passed down to me, and I’m not gonna fold up like some little bitch just because I’m only twenty-seven. I’m the baddest twenty-seven-year-old on the fucking planet, and I’d never let myself be somebody’s piccola cagna. My father would be proud of me. He’d be proud of what I’m about to do, because he never got to do it. He was always beneath this level.
I’m not. This is what I do as the boss.
It’s 2017, and everyone knows the Commission doesn’t meet up like they used to, because the fucking cops were always all over them. If the cops or rats could get all of the bosses of the Five Families together in one room and make an arrest, they’d jizz themselves. So the Commission smartened up and significantly reduced the number of in-person meetings for the Commission back in the eighties. However, the Commission still has a job to do, and they still do it.
These days, they hold conference calls on burner phones. It doesn’t happen often, but when it does, you know shit just got real. The Commission swaps out the phones and numbers after each call, and they set up the conferences the old fashioned way—a made guy from New York actually drives to your house and delivers the phone and a letter written by one of the bosses, telling you when the burner will ring—and if you don’t answer it, it’ll be the last thing you ever do. The calls are always short and to the point, because those old bastards hate risking it, so the fact that they’re conference calling me about my situation with Victor means it’s a big deal. Yeah, shit is real now.
Just like we knew he would, Victor fucking Fronzo put in a call to his buddies in the Commission and cried about how I haven’t paid him yet. Fucking pussy. Now the Commission wants to talk to me to give me direction on how to proceed. That’s the thing about La Cosa Nostra, there are rules that have to be followed. Let’s be honest, it doesn’t take much for a guy to get clipped in Our Thing, and I got a feeling we might be losing another member real soon.
Alright, get your pen and paper out, because this is about to be a lesson on This Thing of Ours. The Five Families of New York are the Bonanno, Colombo, Gambino, Genovese, and Lucchese families. Each of these families has a boss, obviously, and these bosses—along with the boss of the Chicago Outfit—make up our governing body, the Commission. The Commission decides all kinds of shit in Our Thing, but one of the biggest is who lives and who dies. Once they push the button on your life, there’s no un-pushing it. It’s lights out for you.
On this conference call, every one of the five bosses of New York will weigh in on my situation with Victor fucking Fronzo. I won’t have to wait to see what’s next with Victor, because they’re going to decide it for us. There’s only two ways this plays out, as far as I see it: either we’re gonna have to pay Victor sooner, rather than later, or Jimmy’s going to die, probably by Victor’s hands.
Just like my letter said it would, at exactly midnight, the burner in my hand starts ringing. I sit down on my couch and light up an Oliva Melanio cigar.
“Ciao,” I answer in Italian.
“I understand we have a problem between your family and the Chicago Outfit,” a husky voice says on the other end, and without asking, I already know the voice belongs to Benny Lucchese. He’s an actual living descendent of Gaetano “Tommy Brown” Lucchese, who made the notorious family what it is today. There’s no chairman of the Commission, but if there was one, it’d be Benny Lucchese. “This was brought to us by Victor Fronzo, and now you have our full attention, Dominic. What’s your say on this matter?” Benny asks, followed by silence.
I know all five of them are listening, and maybe even Victor since he usually sits on the Commission. Nonetheless, I don’t hold back.
“With all due respect to the bosses of the Original Five Families,” I begin, giving the Commission its due. “My take on the situation is that it shouldn’t be at this level. As far as I’m concerned, this should’ve been handled easily and kept between Victor and me. Regardless, I already spoke with Victor and told him we have the money he asked for to settle the matter. It just needs to be delivered.”
“We’re aware of that,” another voice says, who I’m pretty certain is Piero Bianchi, the current boss of the Genovese family. His voice sounds airy like he started smoking as a toddler and it ruined his vocal chords. “But Victor has a complaint. You had an opportunity to deliver the money on time, but refused to tell him why you couldn’t when the time came. What kept you from holding up your end?”
Fuck.
The thing about these conference calls and the Commission is that you better not lie. If they ever find out that you lied to them, you’re a fucking dead man—boss or associate, it doesn’t matter.
I let out an exasperated sigh and speak up.
“The truck’s missing,” I admit, feeling hot all over from having to confess something so ridiculous.
“The truck’s missing?” Stephano Alfrezi, I think—boss of the Gambino family.
“Yeah, somebody stole it from behind Jimmy’s place of business.”
There’s a brief silence on the phone that makes me uneasy. I feel like a complete moron for having to say that a member of my family lost an ice truck full of money. If the Commission doesn’t vote to kill Jimmy, I might just do it myself and hide his useless body so they never find out about it.
“I assume you’re aware of how this sounds, Dominic,” Benny speaks up.
“I know how it sounds, but it’s true.”
More silence, then Michael Botti of the Colombo family chimes in.
“Jimmy took the truck, Jimmy lost the truck,” Michael says, repeating the facts to himself and his fellow council members. “I think Jimmy might need to get lost, himself.”
Looks like that’s it for Jimmy.
“What’s Jimmy’s explanation?” the last unspoken member speaks up. His name is Alfonse Sivaretti, and he runs the Bonanno family. Of all the members of the Commission, Alfonse is the newest with the least amount of pull, whic
h is why he’s last to speak.
“He claims the truck was stolen,” I reply.
“Do you believe him?” Alfonse asks.
“Not sure. Seemed genuine when I asked him about it, but who knows.”
“Considering all of the information,” Benny jumps in again, sounding irritated at the length of the conversation. “Here’s how you’ll proceed Don Collazo. Jimmy Costello has fino a domani serato to find the truck and the money contained in it. If it isn’t found by this time domani notte, Jimmy goes to Australia. And Dominic, you’ll purchase his ticket. Since he’s your man and you couldn’t control him, your family will pack his bags and send Victor Fronzo a souvenir to settle the beef. Understood?”
“I got it,” is all I say in response, and the line goes dead immediately after my words.
So, that’s it. In all the coded talk, the order from the Commission is clear. If Jimmy doesn’t find the truck by this time tomorrow night, the Commission wants him dead, and they want me to order the hit and send one of Jimmy’s body parts to Victor to show him the deed has been done.
I never liked Jimmy, so I’ve got no qualms about icing the guy, and I don’t think for a second that he’s going to find the truck. It’s going to be over for him. Ha finito.
I blow out a cloud of smoke just as I toss the burner phone into the fire place in front of me. Alannah’s in the bedroom waiting for me, and I’ll sleep easy tonight knowing tomorrow will be Jimmy’s last day on earth.
Dominic
The weather mirrors my mood. Dark clouds rest overhead with thick raindrops splashing onto my windshield, making everything cold and uncomfortable. It’s been that kind of a day today—cold and dreary—and as I stare at the abandoned house in front of me, I feel like I see light at the end of the tunnel. As crazy as it sounds, this could be the start of things going back to normal. Well, for those of us who will live to see tomorrow.
I’m not naïve to the change that’s occurring. I felt it when I woke up this morning and checked my cell phone to see if I had any missed calls, and there were none. I knew it as I showered, and as I ate breakfast with Alannah. I knew it because the phone didn’t ring. No word from Frankie or Tommy. Not a word from Jimmy. Not a peep from anyone in my circle of made men about the missing truck from Chicago. My family is about to change, but the drama will end.
The day passed as if it was on mute. The only sound I could hear were the voices from my conference call with the Commission. The Five made it clear what they thought. Jimmy made a mistake that’ll cost him his life if he doesn’t repay it. He robbed the boss of the Chicago Outfit, who just so happens to be the voice of the Midwest families when the Commission meets up, regardless of the rarity of the occasion. He stole from the wrong boss, and every minute that passes condemns him, because it looks like he did it on purpose. Whether that’s true or not, only Jimmy knows, but regardless, the Commission wants punishment for the mistake. They want justice for the theft, and they want it sooner than later, so they made the decision to have a made member of La Cosa Nostra killed with no hesitation. And they made sure I had to carry the burden of making it happen.
So, I noticed every second that ticked by as I ate my lunch in silence and repeated the process for dinner. I felt the tension and anxiety building in my chest as I realized I wasn’t going to receive a last minute phone call to save Jimmy. When the call didn’t come, I swallowed it all as I’ve grown used to doing, and I called Tommy and told him to meet me in E. St. Louis at the abandoned house I’m perched in front of now. I didn’t have to say why, Tommy knew what this meeting would be about. We only meet here when we need to speak in private, just the two of us. When shit starts to go sideways and we need to get away from the rest of the world to figure it out, we come here.
As I drove, that’s when the storm clouds rolled in and the rain followed, and it hasn’t stopped since I left River City. It’s been dreadful out here since I came off the bridge and parked, waiting for Tommy to arrive. The sky is filled with dread. Jimmy’s final storm is coming.
I admit that I never liked Jimmy. His loyalty is obviously to Frankie, since they came up together, and any captain who can’t kick up the proper amount doesn’t deserve the position. But in Our Thing, once you’re promoted to a position, there’s no being demoted. Demotion equals death.
This Thing of Ours is bigger than one man. La Cosa Nostra is bigger than Jimmy, it’s bigger than Victor, and it’s bigger than me. What I do now isn’t about me or Jimmy, it’s about La Cosa Nostra. I remember that as I see headlights round the corner and I get out of the car. I close the door behind me and make my way inside the open garage of the abandoned house as Tommy parks his Cadillac next to my Challenger and gets out. He doesn’t look so happy about this meeting, probably because he knows the reason behind it, but I couldn’t care less. It’s an ugly business, This Thing of Ours, but it is ours, and there’s no escaping it.
“There’s no point in dragging it out,” I say to him after we hug in greeting. “I spoke to the Commission last night.”
Tommy’s shoulders slump. He knew it was coming, but I guess he was hoping he might be wrong.
“They gave him a day to find the truck, and he didn’t do it,” I continue. “That would be a problem with anybody, but it’s especially big when the owner of the truck usually sits on the Commission. They know him better than all of us, and they want justice for the disrespect. We both know what that means.”
Tommy looks down at the floor and lets out an exhale. “Yeah, I know,” is all he says.
“I’m giving this to you because I trust you to get it done, Tommy,” I reply. “It needs to happen tonight. Find out where he’s at, and call me when it’s over so I can let the Commission know it’s done. Before you get rid of the body, cut off both of his hands so I can send them to Victor as proof. Then this thing is settled.”
Tommy stares at me without saying anything. I can see the frustration in his eyes, but this is how it goes. The boss doesn’t go around whacking guys like he’s still a soldier. The burden of carrying out my hits goes to my underboss.
In This Thing of Ours, the boss is very rarely the triggerman. Cops are always after wise guys, but they’re really watching the guys who they think are running what they call organized crime. As the boss, I rarely carry a gun. I don’t need to. I point my finger and people die. I nod my head and somebody stops breathing. Why risk getting pinched holding a gun when I can kill a man without so much as a word?
“Tommy,” I say to him, “I know you like Jimmy and all that, but the decision’s been made. It’s done. Call me when he’s with the fishes.”
Tommy simply nods his head. “Okay, Dominic.”
Now it’s my turn to nod. “Good.”
Tommy and I hug before heading toward our cars. I’ll spend the rest of my night on pins and needles, waiting for Tommy’s phone call, after which I’ll spend the rest of my night debating how to go about killing Victor Fronzo for tattle-telling to the Commission about this.
As I reach for my door handle and Tommy reaches for his, I hear my phone ringing from inside the car. I pop open the door and see the call is from Frankie, and nearly drop the phone trying to answer so quickly.
“Frankie?” I answer, as I stand outside my car.
“They found it, Dominic,” Frankie speaks into the phone, sending me reeling.
“What?”
“Jimmy’s crew found the truck,” Frankie repeats.
I look over at Tommy and put my hand in the air, signaling for him to wait.
“What the hell? They found it where?”
“Well, that’s one of the crazy things about it,” Frankie says, sounding confused himself. “It was only ten blocks away from the carwash where they left it originally. It doesn’t make any sense, because I know we looked there. It wasn’t there before. Somebody put it there after we looked for it.”
My head immediately starts to hurt from the confusion as I look at Tommy, who frowns as he waits for me to pass the
information to him.
“What the hell? You said that’s one of the crazy things,” I reply. “What else is there?”
“Yeah,” Frankie says behind a loud exhale. “The driver side window of the truck was smashed, so whoever took it obviously had to break in. But, the weird thing is that nothing’s missing.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean the one-point-two million dollars in the back of the truck is still there. Not one cent of it is gone,” Frankie says.
“That doesn’t make any sense,” I reply. “Why would someone steal the truck and then leave the money?”
“I’m not sure I understand. Maybe you should explain it to me again.”
“What’s there to explain?”
“Everything. I don’t get why you put it there.”
“I put it there so they’d find it.”
“What? We decided to take it so it couldn’t be returned, and now you want them to find it?”
“Look, I’ve been a part of this a long time, alright? I know what I’m doing. I have a plan, and I’m sticking to it.”
“Don’t give me that bullshit. This has been a part of my life a long time, too, so don’t presume to know more than me. I learned from the best.”
“If that’s how you want to think of it, fine. Just remember that it was you who came to me about dethroning Dominic, so I don’t care if you’re pissed off about the process of getting it done. In the end, the goal is to get it done. Right?”
“Yes, but the goal is also to make sure he doesn’t die. If he ends up dead, then all of this is for nothing anyway.”
“Finding the truck and the money isn’t going to kill him. Why are you so paranoid?
“Why? You know why!”
“Ugh. Look, letting them find the truck was part of the plan. It needed to happen. It’ll make the Commission suspicious about what the fuck he’s doing. I don’t expect you to understand, but I know what I’m doing. This is about moves and countermoves. As long as I stay a step ahead, then it’s fine. You just gotta trust me.”