Bad Blood

by Anthony Bruno

  Tozzi’s mouth was dry. It was hard to believe what he’d just heard, but the punk came right out and said it. The Mafia was in the slave business. Jesus Christ. Tozzi decided to creep out of the beds and get out of there before they spotted him lying in the dirt. They’d just assume he was eavesdropping, and guys like D’Urso aren’t very good about giving people the benefit of the doubt. Tozzi crawled around the corner of the house as D’Urso tried to get his hysterical wife to calm down. From what he could hear, it wasn’t working.

  D’Urso sat by himself out on the deck. Michelle was inside washing her face. Bobby had gone in, too, to take a crap or something. He stared down at the sun gleaming off the water in the pool and suddenly wondered when the hell the pool guys were gonna come and empty it. It was October, for chrissake. Why hadn’t Michelle called them? What the hell’s wrong with her? Doesn’t she see anything? He was about to go in and yell at her when he caught himself. She was crazy enough now. Better leave her alone. He was reaching across the table for the coffeepot to pour himself another half a cup when he heard the glass doors sliding open behind him.

  “Daddy!”

  “Hey! Here’s my girl.”

  D’Urso’s three-year-old daughter, Amanda, ran over and leapt into his lap. She threw her arms around his neck, puckered her lips tightly, and gave him a loud kiss on his nose. D’Urso hugged her tight and rubbed her back. She was wearing sweat pants again today. Why the hell didn’t Michelle ever put a dress on her once in a while?

  Then he noticed Reiko standing there in the doorway with all that beautiful hair hanging down her back. Some of these Jap broads were unbelievable. Reiko was one of the best-looking ones he’d seen. Bet she’s as good as the Jap braciole he’d had at Hamabuchi’s place in New York. He wouldn’t mind finding out. She’d go good down in Atlantic City.

  “Reiko,” he said, stroking his daughter’s hair. “You wanna cup of coffee?”

  She furrowed her brow in confusion. No speakee English. That could be a problem. She could learn, though.

  “Coffee,” he repeated, picking up the pot. “You want coffee?”

  “It’s okay, Reiko,” Amanda said, settling into her father’s lap and reaching for an anisette toast. “You can have some.”

  “Sure she can,” D’Urso said. He poured a cup for the woman. “You want milk, sugar, Sweet’n Low?” He looked up at her and pointed to the items. “How about me?” He was grinning.

  Reiko whipped her head to move her hair over her shoulder as she took a tentative step forward. She pointed to the silver sugar bowl and indicated a little bit with her fingers.

  Just then Michelle came out. She’d fixed her makeup, but she still looked pretty washed out.

  “Mommy.” Amanda jumped down from her father’s lap and ran to her mother. She took Michelle’s hand and led her to a chair. “Here. You sit down here, Mommy. You be sick and I’ll be the doctor. You sit down and I’ll make you all better.” She took another anisette toast and started to crumble it on the table. “I’ll make some pills for you, okay, Mommy?”

  When she saw what the child was doing, Reiko went to stop her, but Michelle waved Reiko off. “It’s okay, Reiko,” she said, nodding her head affimatively. “Imaginative play is good for her at this age.”

  D’Urso snickered. “Whatta you telling her that for? She doesn’t understand English.”

  “Well, how else is she going to learn unless someone talks to her?”

  D’Urso shrugged and smoothed his tie. She was still touchy.

  “Sit down, Reiko.” Michelle made hand signals toward the deck’s built-in bench. “Have a seat.”

  Reiko just stood there, holding the cup and saucer until Amanda went over and led her to the bench by the hand. “You can help me make the pills,” the little girl said. She went back to the table for another cookie, then started to crumble it on the bench. Reiko swept up the crumbs and put them in her saucer, then placed the saucer under the child’s hands so the crumbs wouldn’t get all over the place.

  D’Urso sipped his coffee, studying his wife, trying to figure out how he should approach this. “Listen,” he said, “you got any good girls? As good as Reiko, I mean.”

  “What do you mean ‘good’?”

  “Good with kids. What else do you think I mean?”

  “Well, yeah, there are a few outstanding girls. At least that’s what the families they work for tell me.”

  “You think you could get one of them back? You know, do a substitute thing.”

  “Why?” Michelle already looked suspicious.

  “I want us to have a good nanny for Amanda. I’ve got something else planned for Reiko.”

  Michelle stared at him, her eyes narrowing. Fuck. Here we go again. “No way, John. No. We’ve already gone through this. You are not going to turn this girl into a whore. Do you understand me?”

  “Don’t tell me what I’m gonna do. I said I’m taking Reiko, and that’s it.”

  “You can’t take her. Amanda loves her.” She was whining again. “It would be too disruptive. God, all the books say this is such a critical stage in a child’s development. No, no, you can’t do this to your own daughter.”

  “Come on, will ya, Michelle? Two days with a new girl and she won’t even remember the old one.” He glanced at Reiko sitting on the bench. She was helping Amanda crumble the anisette toasts. Her hair had fallen down over her face like a shiny black curtain. God, she must be incredible.

  “You have no respect for child care, do you, John? You think it’s easy, anyone can do it. You think it’s like putting someone on the assembly line down at the chicken plant. Well, it’s not like that at all. You have to know what you’re doing with kids. You have to build up a rapport with them. Reiko and Amanda have that kind of relationship. We can’t destroy it just because you need another hooker.”

  “You know, I’m gonna throw out all those goddamn kid books you got. You don’t have any common sense anymore. Did your mother need a million books to tell her how to bring up a kid? My mother didn’t.”

  She glared at him. “Don’t get me started on your mother.”

  “What about my mother?” Little bitch.

  “Nothing.” She wouldn’t look at him.

  “Whatta you mean ‘nothing’? Go ahead. Say what’s on your mind.”

  She looked up at the sky, clenched her fist, and bit her bottom lip. “Look, John, I don’t want to fight with you. I didn’t mean anything about your mother. I’m just nervous.”

  “Nervous about what?”

  “Everything—the whorehouse, you taking Reiko away, Mr. Antonelli. It’s too many changes, John.” She was starting to cry again. Jesus Christ.

  “But why does that make you nervous?” He was struggling to hold his temper. As his grandpa used to say about his grandma, what she needed was a good slap and a big shut-up.

  She started sobbing like a baby. “Antonelli’s gonna get good and mad at you. He’s gonna think you’re getting too wise for your own good. I’m afraid of him, John, afraid of what he’ll do to us.”

  “What’s the matter, Mommy? Why are you crying?” Amanda looked like she was going to start balling herself.

  D’Urso rubbed his face. “Stop crying, Michelle. You’re upsetting Amanda. Stop crying and just listen to me. You won’t have to worry about the old man much longer.”

  She stopped crying. Her eyes widened. It looked like she’d stopped breathing. “What are you saying, John?” Her voice was a desperate whisper.

  He hadn’t meant to tell her, but it was too late now. She knew. It wasn’t hard to figure out, though. “I’ve made up my mind,” he said. “The old man’s gotta go.”

  She tried to get the words out but she couldn’t. She was hyperventilating. She put her hand over her mouth and looked at Amanda.

  He grabbed both her wrists and gently made her face him. “Don’t throw a fit now. Just listen to me for a minute.”

  “You’re crazy!” she hissed. “You’re crazy! If he ever finds
out you put a hit on him, he’ll kill us all.”

  “Michelle, five years ago I might’ve agreed with you. Antonelli was a real boss back then, but he’s too old now. He’s lost it. He’s weak, he’s out of touch with reality. Half the crews in the family do whatever the hell they want, and he doesn’t even know it. He’s bringing the whole family down.”

  Mascara was running down her cheeks. She looked like that guy Alice Cooper now. “The man is a boss, John. You kill him and you’ll start a war between the crews. You don’t want that, do you?”

  “Thank you, Michelle, thanks a lot. It’s so wonderful to have a supportive wife.” He threw her wrists back at her.

  She stopped crying and wiped her eyes with a napkin. “This is wrong, John. This is a big mistake you’re making.”

  He slammed his fist down on the table. A cup fell off the edge and smashed on the deck. “The old man is keeping us from making this slave thing really take off. He says we can’t do this, we can’t do that, but he still wants his fucking forty percent off the top. How does he expect me to pay his cut and make a decent profit if he won’t let me have a few girls turning tricks on the side? That’s not asking much. But he says no, you can’t do that. It’s not honorable. If you ask me, he and his buddy Hamabuchi are two cuckoo birds with this honor crap. The man’s just gotta die. He’s lived long enough already.” He stood up and buttoned his double-breasted suit coat.

  He suddenly noticed that Reiko was staring at him. She did that shrug again to flip the hair over her shoulder. He brushed his lapel and pursed his lips to contain the grin. Yeah, I like you too, honey babes. One of these days, Reiko. Very soon. I promise.

  Amanda hopped down off the bench and carried the saucer of crumbs over to Michelle. “Here you go, Mommy. Here’s your pills. You eat these up and you’ll be all better.”

  “Thank you, honey,” Michelle said with a sniff and started eating the crumbs. She was bent over the saucer like it was lobster she was eating, swiping at her eyes with that grimy, mascara-smeared napkin, making believe everything was all right for the kid. Stupid. She never used to be this stupid. Having kids makes women batty. It ruins them.

  “I’ll see you later,” he said to his wife. “Bye, Amanda.”

  “Bye-bye, Daddy.”

  As he turned to go, he caught Reiko’s eye again. He grinned at her and winked. Yeah, one of these days, Reiko. One of these days.

  SIXTEEN

  REIKO ALWAYS DID this when they made love. Straddling his hips, riding him slowly, steadily, teasingly, she’d tilt her head back and let her long, silky hair sweep his balls as she traced his tattoos with a light fingertip. First she’d do the green dragon on his left shoulder, outlining the teeth, dotting the scarlet eyes, scalloping the scales, following the curls in the beast’s tail right into his armpit. Then she’d go to the dragon on his right shoulder and do the same to him.

  From there she’d move on to the left devil mask over his ribs, always tracing the tongue first, then the long blue penis nose. The right devil always came next, in the same order as the left: tongue, nose, mouth, eyes.

  Then she’d go on to the fat black fugu in the center of his chest, starting with the blowfish’s blubbery lips, traveling over his dumb brow, up and over his back, swooping down and out to form the tail, stopping to outline the membranes of the tail, then returning to his form, following the dip of his fat belly before rising to his chin and twisting her finger over his bulging yellow eye to complete the fish.

  Finally she’d concentrate on the medallion superimposed on the fish’s flank, the medallion of the Fugukai, meticulously writing out the characters that formed their organization’s name. Nagai always wondered why she followed this painstaking ritual, especially when they only saw each other once a week at most. It wasn’t particularly erotic anymore. It was actually Reiko’s long hair tickling his balls that turned him on. That’s why he told her never to cut it, no matter what.

  She finished her tracing and twisted her hips, screwing her moist folds around him. They linked fingers and she continued her twisting, bouncing a little. But her hair didn’t quite reach his balls now, dammit, and that suddenly made him impatient. He was full, ready to explode. He locked his elbows and lifted her off him, then rolled her over onto the squeaky mattress. She fell into her own hair like a princess dropped from heaven. He found her silky wetness again and slipped in, gyrating his hips to make his presence felt. He wanted to tease and stroke her, but he was anxious and impatient. She liked it prolonged. She said making love slowly made time stop. Sometimes sex was like that for him, but not often. Not since he’d come to America. It was hard to make time stop when you had Mashiro and two of Hamabuchi’s kids waiting for you in the parking lot of this crummy motel, waiting to escort you to a meeting in New York at noon with another one of Hamabuchi’s goddamn contacts.

  Shit. He was losing it, getting limp thinking about work. He had to hurry before he lost it completely. Nagai started to thrust, picking up the rhythm, arousing himself so he wouldn’t be embarrassed by failing to come. Sweat beaded his brow. He was working hard now, pounding, trying to hold himself together. He pumped and pumped and pumped and worked his hands under her, kneading her ass with all that lovely black hair tangled between his fingers. He thought of Reiko in a room in a nice house in the country, her hair so long it filled the room with deep piles against the rice-paper walls. She lived there naked, only for him. Her hair was her clothes, their furniture, their bed. Sun came through the windows and made the coils of her hair shine. All of a sudden he started to come. Yes. That one always worked.

  When he opened his eyes again, Reiko’s head was resting on his bicep. She was pouting. “You do it like an American,” she said in Japanese.

  He looked up at the painting hanging on the wall over the bed. Red carnations in a Chinese vase painted on black velvet. The flowers were upside down. He wanted to sleep. “How do you know how Americans do it?”

  “I’ve seen the videos they bring home. I have to make believe I don’t understand. Blush at the sex scenes and all that crap. D’Urso thinks it’s very funny.” Her contempt for the D’Urso family rose to the surface easily. He wondered if she was as good an actress as she thought. That worried him.

  “So how do Americans fuck?”

  “Fast. Like rape, except at the end they always say ‘I love you.’ Real crap. Have you ever seen From Here to Eternity? A classic, dear Michelle tells me. She owns her own copy. Burt Lancaster on the beach on top of that blonde. Real fast. Awful.”

  “Who’s Burt Lancaster?” He grinned. He knew who Burt Lancaster was.

  She pouted and turned away, resting her cheek on the right dragon’s back. My princess.

  “I’m sorry,” he finally said. “Sometimes I get . . . nervous, edgy. It’s hard to relax sometimes.”

  “I know.” He could feel her sighing breath on his bare chest. “That’s why I never tell you anything until we’ve finished. But that doesn’t seem to matter anymore. You’re always this way.”

  Shit. Don’t pull this shit on me now. Please. “I’m sorry. Sometimes I can’t help myself. Things will get better. Soon, I hope.”

  “No they won’t.” She pushed herself up and glowered at him. There were bitter tears brimming in her eyes.

  She was so dramatic. She just liked to see him get upset. For some reason, women like to see their men get rattled now and then. Stupid. “Well, what is it? Talk to me.”

  “Do you want the bad news or the worse news?”

  He frowned. “I don’t like these games.”

  “D’Urso told his wife he’s going to kill Antonelli.”

  She settled down on her elbow, waiting for his angry reaction. He wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction. Instead he looked up at the carnations. Fuck.

  “You’re not surprised?”

  He stared at the carnations and wondered how you paint on velvet. “D’Urso told me he had something big planned. I guess this is what he was talking about. I thou
ght the bastard was smarter than that.” He pulled Reiko’s head back down onto his chest and stroked her hair as he pondered how this would affect him and his defection from the Fugukai to a partnership with D’Urso. If D’Urso was strong enough to pull this off, it would be great for the slave business. The competition from Antonelli and Hamabuchi would be eliminated. They’d be the only game in town. But if D’Urso tried to get rid of his boss and failed, he could get caught in the crossfire of Antonelli’s retribution. Nagai tugged on his earlobe. Maybe it would be better for him if he remained uncommitted to D’Urso until this power play was settled. It’s never smart to be caught backing the loser in one of these things.

  “Does D’Urso have any support within the family?” he asked, recalling his own attempt to have Hamabuchi killed and the supposed supporters he thought he had.

  “I’ve heard D’Urso and Bobby discussing their friends in the family. Some of them are ‘real good guys,’ they say. They seem to imply that these men are more loyal to D’Urso than to Antonelli. They mention names, but I can’t remember them. Italian names all sound alike to me. Ip-pee, del-lee, roh-loh, roh-lee.” She wrinkled her face in disgust.

  “Did D’Urso say how he was going to kill Antonelli?”

  Reiko shook her head. “He never discusses details with his wife. Dear Michelle usually gets hysterical enough with what little he tells her. I thought she was going to have a fit when he told her about this. She turned white. Later she warned Bobby that someone named Vincent would kill them first.”

  Nagai nodded. Ah, yes . . . Vincent. Quite formidable, supposedly. Mashiro could take care of this Vincent for D’Urso. If Nagai decided to go over to D’Urso’s side. If . . .

  Nagai sunk down into the pillows and stared at the red carnations. But why was D’Urso even considering it? Hadn’t he learned anything from Nagai’s own big blunder? Still, part of him wanted to advise D’Urso so he could re-enact his own attempt on Hamabuchi and prove that it could have worked. But the Mafia practices a hard art: Force is met with equal force, automatically. Antonelli won’t play the wise old master with D’Urso the way Hamabuchi had with him. No. This wasn’t smart.