Goodfellas

by Carl Weber

  * * *

  The next day, East pulled up to Ricardo’s home. When Lauryn opened the door, her words got caught in her throat. She hadn’t seen him since they had kissed at the cemetery weeks earlier. She had tried her best to put the kiss out of her mind but seeing him brought it all back. Her hands became clammy as butterflies fluttered in her stomach. She normally was the one to have that effect on men, but the tables had been turned on her. She felt nervous in his presence and looked away from his gaze. She led him out to the back of the house where Ricardo sat at a table poolside.

  Ricardo, with the help of his cane, slowly rose to his feet to shake East’s hand and give him a hug, then returned to his seat.

  “How you feeling?” East asked.

  “I’ve been better, but I’ve been worse too,” Ricardo laughed.

  “I got something that I think will make you feel a lot better,” East said.

  “What’s that? I like surprises as long as they are the good kind.” Ricardo’s face brightened with anticipation.

  “I can show you better than I can tell you,” East explained, then helped Ricardo to his feet.

  He guided Ricardo out to the front of the house, where his car was parked. East went to the rear of the car and opened the trunk. Inside, there was a dark-skinned man in his late twenties. His wrists and ankles had been hog-tied, his mouth duct taped. He was squirming around trying to free himself. When Zo saw Ricardo and East standing over him, his face turned ashen white, and his eyes grew as wide as an eight-lane highway.

  “I think this is the man who shot you,” East announced.

  “It wasn’t him. It was his brother,” Ricardo said, and up until then, he had not revealed that he had seen who shot him. “But he will do for now,” he said with a devilish grin. He was going to enjoy killing Zo. Finally, he would have a taste of vengeance. His adrenaline seemed to give him the strength he needed to complete his mission. Three weeks ago, there had been an attempt made on his life. He had been shot four times outside the boxing gym he owned, but luckily, he survived. Although there were still two bullets lodged in his back, Ricardo was starting to get used to dealing with the constant pain that radiated through his body from the remaining slugs. He no longer could move with the same graceful fluidity he once had. That was still taking some time to get used to, along with the fact that his body felt like it had aged a full decade overnight. Four bullets ripping through you would do that to anybody. He was still a little paranoid, wearing a bulletproof vest under his grey Nike tracksuit as he stood in his driveway. Ricardo’s dark eyes were cold and filled with murderous intent, his mind playing over the savage physical violence he planned to inflict on Zo. Twisted scenarios of torture slowly moved through his head, like hungry sharks circling a bleeding man. Until he exacted revenge, Ricardo would not be healed physically or mentally, just a broken shell of the man he once was. His eyes widened with excitement and anticipation. He had to refrain from killing Zo right there.

  “I got a place where we can take him.” He looked over at East and smirked. East nodded and slammed the trunk closed.

  Lauryn watched from the bedroom window in a panic as she listened to their conversation. When she saw them drive away in East’s car, she quickly dialed Dos’s number. She paced back and forth in the middle of the bedroom. His phone seemed to ring forever before he picked up.

  “What’s good, ma,” he answered calmly.

  “Nothing is good. Nothing at all!” she cried into the phone.

  “Wow, hold up. What’s going on?”

  “East just came here with somebody tied up in his trunk. I think it was that guy Zo.” She whispered the last part like someone was listening in on their conversation.

  “What!” Dos was now in a slight panic, but he tried masking it to keep her calm. “You sure?”

  “Yes. They just left together. Oh shit, we’re dead, Dos.” She wanted to throw up; instead, she began to cry harder.

  “Calm down. I’m gonna figure this shit out.”

  “No,” she screamed, “there’s nothing ‘to figure out.’ We have to leave.”

  “Leave?”

  “Yes. We have to get out of town, or your father is going to kill us. Ahh!” she shouted. She should have never gotten in cahoots with Dos.

  Although he hated to admit it, the safest place to be for both of them was out of town. At least, until he could find a way to fix things. “OK. OK. Let me think,” he said.

  He was taking too long for her liking. She was the one in immediate danger. Ricardo could come back at any moment and kill her. “I’m leaving, Dos—with or without you,” she stated.

  “You right, ma. You should get the fuck out of there right now,” Dos admitted. “Grab what you can and get in your car. I’ll meet you somewhere.”

  Lauryn was already packing, stuffing a few important things into her designer carry-on bag. “There’s a motel by the airport. You know the one.”

  “Yeah,” he said. “I’ll meet you there in half an hour,” he promised.

  “Dos, if you don’t show—” she started, but he cut her off.

  “I’ll be there,” he assured her.

  “If you don’t, I’m leaving without you,” she said, then hung up the phone. She raced frantically around the room grabbing things, then headed for her car.

  * * *

  From the spot in the middle of the floor where he lay writhing in pain, Zo could hear someone walking across the floor in the darkness. Suddenly, Ricardo Wheeler emerged from the shadows of the warehouse carrying something in his hand that Zo could not quite make out. He walked with a heavy limp. His eyes were dark and cold when he reached Zo. Then he set the bright red gas can down. He knelt down beside him and pulled the duct tape from his mouth. Zo immediately spit in his face, hoping it would anger Ricardo enough to put him out of his misery quickly. There was no such chance of that happening.

  Ricardo merely took out a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his face clean. He rose to his feet and swung his head side to side, cracking his neck. He pulled the gun from his waist. He looked at the black .45 in his hand, but gripping a loaded pistol had long lost its excitement. He wasn’t there for thrills today. He was there for revenge. His blood warmed at the thought of that. Every muscle in his body began to tingle. He was a pro, at the top of his game. Standing over Zo, he felt at the height of his power.

  How dare someone test my position! he thought to himself, then he kicked Zo in the stomach.

  Ricardo looked at his victim’s grimacing face. The smell of fear hung in the air. “What made you niggas think you could come for my crown?” The high that came from having power was like a drug. It sent a euphoric feeling through his body, numbing his own pain from head to toe. “Now look at you.” He put the gun next to Zo’s ear and pulled the trigger. The loud noise echoed through the warehouse.

  “Ahhh!” Zo screamed in excruciating pain. His eardrum had been busted and blood leaked from his ear. The loud ringing in his head went on for minutes. Zo began to struggle to free himself, to no avail. He looked like an animal trying to break its restraints. His constant moans and pleas fell on deaf ears. Ricardo planned to make an example out of him. The next person would think twice before making a move on him. He had to restore order in the streets. Reestablish the pecking order in Miami’s underworld. He picked up the gas can that sat at his feet and began pouring gasoline over Zo’s body and head.

  “Not like this—please!” Zo wailed in terror.

  “No, I think this is perfect,” Ricardo replied. “What you think, East?” he asked, looking off to the side where he was standing.

  East nodded.

  “Tells everyone who’s still in charge. I think my message will be very clear,” Ricardo continued. He reached in his pocket and removed a cigar. He put it in his mouth and lit it.

  Zo shouted, “No! Not like this!” as Ricardo began to puff on the cigar. “This wasn’t me or my brother’s idea. My brother was hired to kill you.”

 
That statement intrigued Ricardo, causing him to hesitate before tossing the cigar on Zo. “Hired by who?” he commanded to know.

  “Your son,” Zo revealed.

  “Dos?” Ricardo’s hearty laugh filled the spacious warehouse. “No way my son had anything to do with this.”

  “I have no reason to lie to you. I know I’m going to die. I have nothing to gain. Just thought you should know.”

  “Bullshit,” Ricardo challenged.

  “How do you think my brother knew exactly where you’d be that early in the morning?” Zo asked. “Who were you supposed to be meeting with?”

  The question was so heavy it felt as though Ricardo’s chest would collapse from absorbing it into his heart. Because he knew the answer. It was one he didn’t want to accept. The rage that burned in his eyes for Zo began to dim quickly before it faded completely, doused by the hurt and betrayal he suddenly felt. His soul was crushed into broken shards of glass. This was something he would have never expected. No man could fathom that his own seed—his flesh and blood, his one true heir—could be capable of such disloyalty. He had been betrayed in the most painful way. Ricardo always had his eye on everyone within his organization . . . except the one person he should’ve been watching. The person he would’ve never thought to keep under close observation. The person closest to him, closest to his heart. Dos had done the unthinkable. In return, Ricardo was left with the hardest choice he would ever have to make in his life. He knew in his heart there really was no other choice, but what hurt the most was knowing he didn’t have the heart to do it himself. Ricardo let a single tear fall from his eye. Then he tossed the lit cigar on Zo, instantly sending him up in flames. As he watched him burn, Ricardo felt East’s comforting hand on his shoulder.

  “You believe him?” East asked somberly.

  Ricardo slowly nodded his head in confirmation. “I was supposed to meet Dos that morning, but he never showed,” he admitted reluctantly, every word drenched in sadness.

  “Where’d he say he was?” East inquired.

  “He said he had overslept. Something about fucking two bitches the night before.”

  “C’mon, let’s get out of here,” East said, helping Ricardo to the car. Ricardo’s adrenaline had worn off, and he was feeling the pain.

  Physically and emotionally.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Ricardo sat alone at the desk in his home office, feeling sick to his stomach. He couldn’t watch any longer. He pointed the remote at the TV and cut it off. He now knew the reason for his son’s betrayal. The love and affection of a woman—his woman.

  After returning home with East, he found Lauryn gone, along with many of her things. He also found his safe wide open. She had cleaned him out, taking all the money and bricks she could find. He was sure then that she was in on everything with Dos. He checked the tapes from the security cameras, and there she was, taking everything she could before vanishing.

  Ricardo’s thoughts were in shambles. He had been betrayed by two of the people he loved the most. He wondered if they had been intimate in his home. He checked the hidden camera no one knew about, and what he saw broke him. Dos and Lauryn fucking in his bed while he lay in a coma in the hospital. Lauryn’s ass propped up in the air, on their bed as his son pounded her relentlessly from behind. Ricardo tossed the half-empty glass of Cognac across the room. The tiny hairs on his neck stood up. Fury took over his entire body. His breathing pattern quickened, and he became hot, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. “I’m going to enjoy killing that little bitch. I should’ve fed her and her father to the sharks,” he reminisced about that fateful day on the yacht, years ago.

  He had other plans for his son. Ricardo knew he could never curl the trigger on his own seed, even after all the disloyalty. He got up from behind the desk and walked slowly in the living room, where East was on the phone pacing back and forth. He was trying to locate Dos and Lauryn’s whereabouts.

  “OK, thanks. I owe you, my nigga,” East said as he ended the phone call. He looked at Ricardo and could see the pain in his face. He could only imagine what he must have been feeling inside. “I know where they are,” he told Ricardo. “My man said he seen both of their cars at some low-budget, crackhead motel by the airport.”

  “They trying to lie low and get out of town.”

  “Where would they go?” East asked.

  “California, probably,” Ricardo said. “Dos’s mother lives out there,” he revealed. “C’mon, let’s go take care of this.” Ricardo didn’t sound excited at all by what he had to do. He turned to East as they made it to the door. “You know, you’re my only son now,” Ricardo said, grabbing him by the shoulders.

  Ricardo sat in silence as they drove. He couldn’t help but to compare Dos and East and think about how they had turned out. He was truly amazed at what East had become. He was even sharper than he thought. Plus, he was honorable. At that moment, Ricardo wished that East was his own son. From the day he walked into the boxing gym, Ricardo knew he was destined for greatness. Ricardo had an eye for talent. He could spot a kid and know exactly how to use him within his organization for his own benefit. He truly couldn’t bring himself to murder his own son, but East had proved before that he could do what most couldn’t. He could kill despite emotion.

  “Some things might need to be done tonight that I might not necessarily be comfortable with doing,” Ricardo confessed.

  “I understand,” East replied. “Don’t worry, I got you,” he assured Ricardo. The look in his eyes matched his words.

  Ricardo was relieved. His hands would remain clean, although his heart would forever be dirty.

  Ungrateful bastard, he thought to himself about Dos right as they turned in the motel parking lot.

  It didn’t take long to spot the cars. They were the most expensive ones in the parking lot and stuck out like an ink spot in milk.

  “Look, there they are,” East said, pointing to the two vehicles. “They gotta be in that room right there.”

  They parked and got out. They didn’t say a word to each other as they walked toward the door, each man filled with so many thoughts and emotions. Everything was right. It was a perfect night for murder. Above the rustling trees, thick grey clouds hung over the city as an occasional streak of lightning flashed in the night sky. Although it was almost midnight, the stifling humidity hadn’t diminished nor faded. The air was thick, hot, and still. The steady hum of air conditioners echoed outside the motel rooms, mixing with Ricardo and East’s footsteps. They were there to kill. They both knew it, but it didn’t make it any easier. Both had performed the task of murder plenty of times before, but tonight, there was an unfamiliar heaviness in their hearts. A weight on their shoulders that made the concrete seem to buckle underneath each step they took.

  Ricardo removed the gun from his waist. East already had his out. From outside the door, they could hear the TV blaring. It sounded like SportsCenter. Ricardo took a deep breath as East knocked heavily on the door. After a moment, it opened slowly, but Ricardo didn’t wait. He pushed himself into the room, gun raised, followed closely by East.

  What Ricardo saw made him hesitate to shoot. Dos was tied to a chair, wearing only a bloody wife beater and boxer briefs. His face was swollen and bruised from the tremendous beating he had suffered. He was bleeding from a gash in his head, and his mouth was duct taped.

  “What the fuck is this?” Ricardo said . . . before he felt a thud to the back of his head and the world faded to black.

  * * *

  When Ricardo came to, he was still inside the motel room. For a moment, it was still spinning as he tried to focus. His blurry vision slowly cleared; then his heart sank. East stood with his gun at his side, next to a tied up Dos, while Screw and Ques had their guns trained on Ricardo himself.

  “You know, before Tez died, he told me the story about how you played him and my father against each other. He confessed to killing him. I respected him for telling me the truth,” East recalled. “I barel
y knew my father, so it didn’t bother me, but I loved Tez,” East said.

  Ricardo was starting to get an idea of what this was about. Confidence could be a weakness if it exceeds its limit. Ricardo had first underestimated Dos, and now he had done the same with East. This time, it would prove to be a fatal mistake.

  “You did the same thing to me and Dos, all these years. Playing us against each other. Even tonight, with all the, ‘You my only real son now, East’ shit.” He shook his head putting his hand on Dos’s shoulder. A sympathetic gesture, even if he truly had none for him.

  “Eastwood, let me explain,” Ricardo tried speaking, but East would have none of it. He was in control.

  “Ain’t nothing to explain. You can’t talk your way out of this one,” East promised. Then he walked over to him. “You made me kill Tez. Now, kill Dos,” he said, handing Ricardo his own gun back. “And before you even think about it, there’s only shot in there.”

  Ricardo began to cry like a child at the choice he had been given. When he didn’t move fast enough for East’s liking, Screw walked over and put a gun to his head.

  “It’s him or you,” East reminded him of the words he had once told him.

  Ricardo had ordered him to kill so effortlessly that night, but now, he would do the deed himself. He walked over to Dos and lifted the gun. His hand was unsteady, trembling uncontrollably. Tears ran down his face as his finger remained paralyzed, unable to curl on the trigger. “Please, Eastwood. Don’t make me do this. He’s my son,” he pleaded.

  Dos looked up into his father’s eyes. The man he had tried to have killed only a few weeks prior and now present with the same opportunity to kill him. He felt like the lowest of lows. Seeing the agony on his father’s face made Dos hurt more for him than he did himself. He began to sob equally as hard as Ricardo.