All in all, Alex liked Hi-Def and Hambone. The two of them seemed genuine in their concern about getting some semblance of revenge for Jack and it didn’t hurt that they were all still legitimately on the job.
Alex Vaughn noticed a telephone booth on his right as his thoughts rambled on and a sudden urge came over him. He stepped into the booth and pulled some coins from his pocket. Vaughn dialed the familiar number and waited as the phone rang. As it rang, he thought of Jack. On the day of Alex’s wedding, Jack took Alex aside.
“Alex, how do you feel about Charlotte?” His face was serious.
“What do you mean?” Alex was startled by the question.
“Right now, right this second, what does she mean to you? Alex, it’s not rocket science.”
Alex composed himself. Thinking about it for half a moment, he knew exactly how he felt.
“I think she is my world. I can’t remember a time before her and I don’t think I want to think of a time without her.”
“Good.” Jack liked the answer. “Now, no matter what happens in life, no matter what things get in the way, try and bottle how you feel right now, right this second. When something goes wrong, release the feeling you have bottled up and let it remind you of what she means to you.”
Jack flashed Alex a smile and walked to the mirror to fix his tie. He left Alex behind.
The phone rang one more time and then the voicemail picked up. It was Charlotte’s voice. She waited a few months before removing Alex’s name from the recording.
Alex thought about what Jack said, and he memorized what he wanted to say to Charlotte. He wanted to say how she meant the world to him, how he missed Ella, how he missed home. Alex was just about to reveal his feelings onto the therapeutic recording when Charlotte’s tiny voice broke into the voicemail.
“Hello?”
Alex hung there for a second, petrified.
“Hello?” she asked again. “Alex, is it you?”
Alex froze and then did the only thing he could do. He hung up.
What if she had forgotten how she felt about me at that moment, he wondered.
He tried to shake his thoughts loose as he continued on his way towards Wizeguyz, but they kept creeping back to memories of his life before he became so immersed in the job that lost him everything. The life when he had a wife, a child, a best friend.
It wasn’t even particular instances. It was flashes of bits of time. The thoughts came as a smile from Charlotte. They came as a laugh from Ella. The thoughts came as a general memory of things he may have done a thousand times or seen a thousand times but it was all summarized in one flash of memory. Jack in a booth drinking a beer. That memory summarized the dozens of bars they confided in. It summarized the hundreds of beers they shared. Alex shook his head as the memories assailed his consciousness.
“If only I could forget everything,” he thought out loud.
A lady with a shopping cart walked past as he spoke. She cast a wary look at him as she pushed her pop cans along the sidewalk past Alex.
He pulled his jacket closer around him; he didn’t notice her at all. The reminiscing wouldn’t let him be. Though the sun shone on, the cold continued. The breeze bit at him and tore at his skin as the faded memories gained traction and became solid visions. The flashes came quicker now and became a full-fledged action movie in his mind.
He was alone in his thoughts and the visions whisked him away, far beyond the troubles and worries of that frigid Buffalo avenue.
He was alone. He was in their bed, but he was alone. He didn’t know where she was. When he lay like this, she was under the crook of his arm. He would breathe on the back of her neck as her scent would come up to meet his nostrils. It was intoxicating at this hour in a way that always comforted him into a sound sleep. She was his magic elixir for all that ailed him after the hours, sometimes forty eight or more in a row on the streets.
Alex felt a dread that would not let sleep overtake him. He knew this feeling. It was a gentle ripping in his chest. It happened when they fought.
The adjoining bathroom was slightly ajar and Alex knew that she was in there. Her hand came through the doorway, and the rest of Charlotte followed. Even in her ferocity, she was beautiful. Alex couldn’t remember why they were fighting, but he knew the outcome. The déjà vu would not release him. Alex knew that he had to try though. He sat up on the edge of the bed. His back was to her.
“Baby, will you come here please,” he pleaded.
He heard her heavy sigh, but he also heard the soft padding of her feet coming to him across the carpet. Maybe there was hope.
“I know all of this is hard. But it’s just you and me, love.”
She was in front of him now. He put his hands around her hips and pulled her in. Placing his head against her belly, he glanced at her tear-streaked reflection in the mirror above the headboard.
“Alex, it isn’t, though. It won’t be ever again. Don’t you see?”
Alex felt the lump in his own throat grow, but he would never let her see that.
“I know love, I know. But I mean right now. Can’t you see that I love you? I always will. That has to count for something, right?”
Charlotte nodded her head in agreement, but the tears started squeezing out again.
“I just, I can’t, Alex. Sometime, you have to start living for someone other than yourself. I can’t stay here with Ella. You aren’t any better than an absentee father.”
“Don’t do this Charlotte. I love her, I love you.”
Alex saw this all happen before. He needed to keep trying though. There had to be a way to stop it before it happened.
If only I could just get her to stay the night.
She turned to leave. Alex grabbed her hand, tears were rimming his eyes. Frustration would no longer let him contain the raw emotion.
“Slow down baby. Please don’t sell me out yet. Don’t give up on me. Please, just don’t give up on us. Come here, lie down for a while.”
Charlotte looked into his eyes. Some part of her found the love that her own frustration was blocking. She crawled into the bed and lay her head down on the pillow facing away from Alex. Alex rolled to meet her and wrapped his arm over her slender form.
Soft tears fell down her face and rolled onto the pillow.
“I can’t accept we’re going nowhere.”
Her words struck him right in the chest. Alex held her tight. He just wanted to be closer to her, to remember how they used to be. He kissed her cheek and wiped at the tears traveling along her tiny nose.
“I have to go Alex.”
“Please, just one last time, let me hold you,” he whispered.
After a moment’s hesitation the soft reply, “Ok.”
Alex got even closer and held on for all that she meant to him. She closed her eyes as he watched her. After several minutes, she fell asleep. Perhaps there was hope. The morning would lend a clearer mind to these situations. Alex kissed her cheek. He fell asleep.
He awoke. Alex must have rolled away from her in his sleep. In a panic, he rolled back toward Charlotte. Before he even saw the empty space where she had lain, he knew the truth.
She was gone.
*
Alex stumbled forward, closing in on Wizeguyz. He was alone. His thoughts came back to the present and he reached the conclusion that perhaps he was destined to wander down the lonely road.
He was so stupid then, with Charlotte, so careless with what he had. What hit Alex hard was that he felt no wiser than the fool he was before. As he thought about these things, he realized that he reached his destination.
In front of him was Wizeguyz, and it was a bustle of activity. There was a heavyset, banged up youth standing outside of the pool hall. The fat kid looked dejected and by his bloody lip, the reason wasn’t hard to discern. Tom Coughlin’s car was pulled up diagonal to the front of the building. Half of the car was in the street while the rest was pulled up onto the sidewalk. Muro Lucano was walking towards the place
with Sal Pieri and Frankie DeRisio in tow. Sal looked disturbed when he came up to the pool hall but as he saw Alex Vaughn, or Victor Garducci rather, he looked relieved.
Victor met him in front of the doors to Wizeguyz as Muro brushed against him on his way inside; the fat youth and Frankie were close behind. Garducci was about to follow Muro in as well when Sal grabbed his arm and motioned for him to stay outside with him. Victor stopped and looked at him. Walking a few feet away from the door and any ears that might be prying, Sal started to speak with the look of a man who carried the weight of the world on his shoulders.
“So, shit is really hitting the fan now,” he started.
“What do you mean?” Victor’s curiosity was piqued.
“Well, Muro and Aldo just had me ditch a couple revolvers at one of our pawn shops down the road.”
There were at least half a dozen pawn shops nearby, but if the weapons were used in any of the recent hits, then Victor was sure some of his partners would like to know where that evidence was being stored. Victor decided it was worth trying to pry the location out of Sal.
“Which one?”
“Which one, what,” Sal asked, eyeing him.
Victor pressed him, “Which pawn shop?”
Sal stood up a little bit straighter. “You ask a lot of questions, you know that Vic? Especially for someone who was conveniently gone, according to big man Muro, when the shit went down.”
Crap. He was starting to feel on the hot seat. There were three ways to proceed; he could let it go and get nothing out of this, he could keep trying to prod him and maybe arouse Sal’s suspicion even further, or he could act slighted that Sal was getting suspicious and not including him. He decided on the last option.
“What the fuck Sal? That’s bullshit. Last I saw fucking Muro was coming back to the place, too. Then, I ask you a fucking legitimate question and you come at me like that. At me like that! Fuck, Sal. You know what, look out for yourself next time ‘cause I sure as hell am not putting myself out there for your sake anymore.”
Victor turned around to go inside. Sal grabbed his arm again and pulled him back.
Sal was looking stern now. “First of all, don’t you ever talk to me like that again. I’m a capo in this thing of ours. I can’t have you talking to me like that. Definitely don‘t talk about Muro like that. That guy will have your head. Now that’s me looking out for you.”
“Well, how do you want me to act when you basically call me a rat like that?”
Victor kept his eyes away from Sal. Feigning anger and hurt, Victor hardened his eyes.
“Nobody’s calling you a rat, Vic. I was just saying these are dangerous times. Somebody can’t be too careful. Listen, I’m just on edge. I lost my boy today. My boy, Vic. I don’t want to lose you, too. Now tell me what you were worrying ‘bout poor old Sal for.”
“Well, for one thing, what pawn shop was it, ‘cause what if it’s one controlled by Ciancetta’s crew? You don’t think they would be interested in something like that?” Victor knew Sal wasn’t that stupid but he wanted the name of that shop.
Sal gave a little chuckle. “Vic, you don’t think I survived this long by being a fool do you? Amvet Thrift is with us. “
Bingo. But he had to give him one more to keep him off of the scent.
“Ok Sal, but what about this. Why are Aldo and Muro having you hide guns? They could have any one of those punks inside get that job done. I hope you used a fake name. And I hope to God that place doesn’t have any cameras.”
Victor looked at Sal taking in the thought. He looked troubled for a half second, and then brushed the idea off.
“Well, first of all I used a fake name. Like I said, your pal Sal is no fool.” He flashed Victor a smile and continued. “Plus, that just isn’t how it works. They wouldn’t do that. What the hell do they need a patsy for? All the cops that ask questions around here end up on the front page, if you know what I mean. Now, we’re going inside. I heard it’s a bit of a mess in there right now so just try and keep your cool. Stay close to me.”
Without another word Sal went inside. Victor followed him but his mind ran record laps in his skull. What did Sal mean all the cops that ask questions end up on the front page? What did he know? Did he know something about Jack? Perhaps he knew something about some of the other officers who were murdered. Was he giving Victor an underhanded threat just in case?
As nightfall started to descend on the city, nothing could have prepared Alex for what he was about to see. He pushed through Wizeguyz’ double doors.
Chapter 19
Rafael Rontego snapped his eyes open. He knew that something was awry. He was no longer on the floor, but was reclining on the bed inside the safe house. Had he stumbled onto the bed in his delirium?
As far as Rontego could figure, there was a good chance that he should be dead. His neck hurt and he could barely turn his head to look at the shades. The slight upward crack in the blinds let Rafael discern that sometime passed as nightfall descended on the city.
Rafael lay there, quite still, barely daring to breathe. The events from earlier began to unfold in a blur of recollection. The slash across his neck. Rafael Rontego’s hand crept up to his neck and traced the three-inch long wound. It was closed and he could feel the unmistakable ridges from the stitches that pulled his skin back together.
With a groan, the assassin rolled over and sat up in the bed. He heard a noise in the adjacent room of the seedy dwelling, but he wasn’t too alarmed. Whoever took the time to stitch his neck probably did not want him dead. Nevertheless, the wary hit man glanced to his right on the nightstand where his twin pistols were resting. He grabbed one from its holster and slid it under the covers and onto his lap.
Against the dim lighting, the silhouette of his unknown savior came out of the adjacent room. When he took a step closer, bloody dishrag in hand, the assassin took in a deep breath and cocked his head in a slight tilt.
“Truly, you are full of surprises,” the assassin stated.
The Cleaner took another step closer and his eyes shifted to the solitary pistol on the nightstand. “I don’t think you'll need that, but if it makes you feel better, by all means.”
There was a pause as the two men regarded each other. There was a definite tension in the air, but it was borne more out of uncertainty than it was any particular animosity.
The assassin decided to keep it simple and asked, “How and why?”
It was The Cleaner’s turn to tilt his head as he studied the assassin. He took yet another step forward and sat down on the edge of the bed.
“The answers to those questions are very simple. The ‘why’ is a little more so than the ‘how’. I don’t like being stood up for dinner. Which, by the way, would be right about now.”
The assassin allowed a wry grin to escape his lips. It was true enough; they were supposed to meet for some spaghetti at Chef’s Pasta Place.
“And the how?”
“Raf, you have persuasive friends. Let me tell you something, The Pope is no stupid man. He didn’t send you into Falzone’s place of business without having you followed. That Pollock bastard is watching you as well as watching out for you.” The Cleaner looked the assassin dead in his eye. “You need to be careful. I’m not saying that just because these punks are burning the city down around themselves. People like me, you, The Pope, we’re a dying breed. Hell, even old man Falzone and Aldo and Muro are getting swept up in the changing tide.” The Cleaner stood up then and tossed the bloody rag into another one of his customary duffle bags. “You can only swim against the tides of change for so long, Rafael.”
The assassin stood up and holstered his pistols as he slung the shoulder holsters around his frame.
“So, what now?”
“Now, you take me back to your place and get me the rest of my money, you still owe me half. I’m not betting you will be around to pay me in the future. Once you collect your stuff, we’re also going to torch that place of yours.”
&n
bsp; “Torch it?” Rafael did not like the sound of that at all. Mostly because he was so damn tired.
“Yeah, you have been on a killing spree lately, in case you didn’t notice. Oh, and Falzone and his guys know where you live; or did you forget that too?” The Cleaner took up his duffle bag and motioned for the door. “C’mon, let’s go. Let’s also hope that no one is there waiting for you as we speak.”
With a nod, the assassin let the Cleaner lead him out of the safe house and out into the continuing bite of the Lake Erie winds. The Cleaner took a quick glance left and right and then melted away into the shadows along the alley. Pulling his fedora low around his eyes, and snapping his stained collar up around his neck to break the swirling winds, the assassin too entered into the comfort of the shadows, leaving nothing but the whisper of his passing in his wake.
*
Alex Vaughn, or Victor Garducci, looked at the carnage that was Wizeguyz Billiards. Tables and chairs were strewn about the place; blood was splattered on the floor and walls. Bullet holes were speckled about the interior and some younger thugs were running all over the place. Aldo Marano was in a heated discussion with Muro. Sal saw the animated conversation and went over to see what he could learn.
One thing caught the undercover agent’s attention despite all the distractions in the room. Over where Muro and Aldo usually sat, immersed amongst the pile of yellow cigarette butts, there was one unmistakable black cigarette with a gold foil filter.
Garducci felt his pulse quicken as he approached the table. His hands trembling, he scooped up the cigarette butt. There was no mistaking it, this was a match.
He glanced over in Sal’s direction as the conversation took a dramatic turn. Aldo was showing Sal a napkin, the contents of which were sending Sal into a frenzy. With a shout, he grabbed the object out of Aldo’s hand and marched towards Victor Garducci. Victor held out the cigarette in his hand as Sal came up.
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