by S. W. Frank
-Alfonzo
Arduous are the days when guilt is the oxygen a man breathes. Inhale, exhale while walking erect and never let anyone sniff a conscience. With a stride of confidence Alfonzo entered the store room beneath the in-door parking garage. A laptop waited for activation by its owner, an informant and also a guy with a gambling problem. He needed money, thus he reached out his grubby hand.
“Turn it on,” Alfonzo ordered the figure partially obscured in the shadows balancing the laptop in his hands.
The video came on. The face he saw on screen belonged to a family member. The audio confirmed the nature of the meeting as did an exchange of bags. Alfonzo’s name was mentioned and in the conversation the family member made a false allegation by implying Alfonzo was still in the drug business and wasn’t fooling anybody. The sonovabitch had spoken loud and clear. The dumb prick even laughed. He had received the attention he craved, poor sap. Greed can be the catalyst to claw out the eyes of friends. Cut-throat business deals are like that. Planting false stories about someone’s business is the tactic of the desperate.
Fucking prick doesn’t even realize putting my name in his mouth means I matter!
“Who else has a copy?” Alfonzo asked.
“Nobody. I took it before the agency had a chance to share with the FBI and ATFB.”
“There’s nothing really incriminating from what I see. A pendejo doing a transaction is incriminating for the idiot on camera, not me,” Alfonzo said calmly. “But, thanks anyway for bringing this to my attention.”
Alfonzo made a subtle gesture. The Capo removed the disc and then followed Alfonzo out. They walked briskly into the corridor which led to a backdoor. Lookouts maintained their position until their boss had reached the upper parking level of the garage. Alfonzo up-chinned the bulky figure posted near the exit and then straightened his silk tie before sliding inside an idling car.
The confines of the vehicle remained silent. He checked the time and then reclined his head to observe the door he recently exited. Six minutes passed before the vermin emerged, nervously glanced around and then walked to his automobile. The remote starter activated beeps and lights and also identified his vehicle, a minivan with a BABY ON BOARD sign in the window.
Alfonzo frowned. The man had a family, a teenage daughter and a newborn. He never liked knowing he made children fatherless but when he weighed the alternative, it always came down to the ‘him or me’ decision.
Sometimes he thought about his favorite movie, Any Given Sunday. But, he hadn’t watched the movie in years. What had once been a pleasant film became tainted by bad memories. The reality is, on any given day, a person could lose their life. Young, old, innocent or corrupt, anybody could die.
No exceptions.
Reality soon took on a cinema effect. Surreal is how things are when watching a person unknowingly meeting their demise. Yeah, he could have halted the outcome, an order from a Boss and a life is spared, but generosity doesn’t exist for the damned, sometimes not even for family.
The guy never opened his car door. A muzzle flash without sound occurred and the figure struck the ground. The quickness in which he was tossed inside the van occurred in the blink of an eye. It’s similar to when someone misses the scene in the theatre because they looked away from the screen. A second is all that’s needed for a detail to go by. The collective shout from the movie-goers brings the attention to the screen but by time they look, the good parts gone and all they see is the end.
The cameras were disabled hours ago. The only attendees at the early matinee were Alfonzo and his men.
Alfonzo nodded to his driver and the vehicle rolled slowly around a cement column. The car he occupied was then followed by another SUV.
A Saturday morning in Staten Island was a non-event. There was the usual traffic, an overcast sky and surly men for companions on a long drive had become routine. Once they reached the expressway, Alfonzo spoke to his Capo. “Make a call to our guy in the DEA. I want to stay ahead of any investigations that involve me.”
The man nodded.
The muscle on Alfonzo’s jaw protruded. Domingo had put him back on the drug enforcement’s radar, although he didn’t mess with that shit. The timing sucked. Term limits had taken some of his people out of office. Politics is similar to Russian roulette, nobody has a clue exactly who the bullet will hit and when.
He took a peek at his watch again. Selange was in the city. They’d flown to New York together because she wanted to visit Teresa and the girls. He was glad she had such a sense of family, too bad Domingo didn’t. Domingo hadn’t considered the consequences of his actions; hell he hadn’t thought about anybody but his ego.
Selfish bastard!
Alfonzo shut his eyes. Tonight he and Selange would be home, watching kiddie movies with their children as promised. They’d eat popcorn and behave as if they were a normal family, but they weren’t, were they?
***
Teresa appreciated the gifts. The girls would love the latest cell phones. She thanked Selange and so did her children. They loved the woman who spoiled them to death. The girls disappeared after kissing their auntie to brag to friends. Teresa and Selange were alone for the first time since Selange arrived.
“You sure you don’t want something to drink?” Teresa asked.
“No thank you, I’m fine,” Selange replied. She rose from the sofa. “I must leave anyway. I have a quick stop to make before I meet Alfonzo.”
Teresa eyes admired the accessory Selange carried and she commented, “I love your bag, where’d you buy it?”
Selange adjusted the multi-color crocodile strap on her shoulder. Amelda had begun designing handbags and used Selange as an advertisement model. Amelda is relentless and persuasive. She plugged her business ideas whenever they talked. Selange didn’t mind; Amelda was talented and she believed her company would one day become a household name. Besides, she supported women entrepreneurs. Goodness knows there needs to be more successful women businesses. If ladies can multi-task men and children there isn’t anything they cannot achieve. However, not everyone shared these sentiments. Not everyone wants success for others. Speaking failure rather than encouragement appears the norm. Why was compassion and confidence frowned upon and cruel behavior commonplace?
The philosophical ideal Selange adopted sought self-sufficiency for women. One less struggling mom or wife shackled financially to her spouse can mean fewer victims of poverty, not solely monetary gains but also spiritual wealth and independence.
Shanda had reached a pinnacle in her life by starting a small business. She owned her happiness when she discovered her love of baking could equate to profits. Maybe, the relationship between her and Giuseppe could have survived; but whatever the outcome there Shanda would have had her children and a successful company.
Damn!
Oh, Selange wanted to scream at the injustice. Her eyes were stinging; she didn’t want to cry, dammit, she didn’t want to feel the pain of loss anymore.
Philanthropic endeavors weren’t a choice for Selange, but a way of living. Hunger and poverty were in such abundance, to have wealth was a blessing. She requested mercy for her wretched soul and used family’s blood money to fight the guilt. Every dime she put to good use, perhaps her life and the innocent people who died would not have suffered in vain.
‘Take the clothes off my back, take all of my material possessions, whatever I give is pittance because I am given life when so many have had theirs taken,’ her mind wailed.
Teresa liked the pocketbook, fine; she could have it, especially if a purse eased her sadness. Frankly, purses are nothing compared to life.
Selange snatched the items out of the pocketbook. She could feel the overwhel
ming grief beckoning. “Amelda designed this, but I want you to have it. She’ll send me another one.”
“Oh for real chica!”
Selange placed the bag on the sofa. The retail price of the crocodile handbag cost several grand, but she didn’t mention the sum. Teresa liked the pocketbook and that’s all that mattered. She hurriedly hugged Teresa and bee-lined out of there clutching her wallet and make-up case before the waterworks started. She needed air, she wanted to call Shanda and listen to her voice. She wanted to thank her friend for helping her find inner strength when she didn’t know she had any. But, Shanda was gone.
Selange made it to the car without crying. “Head over to the Brooklyn Bridge,” she instructed the driver.
The bodyguard who held the door slid in beside her and she scooted over to peer out of the window in misery. She watched the landscape. Tall buildings, stores and people who’d gotten an early start on their weekend chores. She could remember those normal days, grocery shopping with her mom, pushing a shopping cart while chatting with Shanda on the phone or hitting the mall to purchase clothes.
There’s a part of a person that hungers for a sense of knowing where they came from and New York had been that place. There was nothing here for her anymore, she realized. Everybody she loved before Alfonzo had perished while she lived on. But, she had to keep going for the children and her husband.
She put a hand to her chest to feel the heavy thumping which proved she existed and Shanda’s death hadn’t been a bad dream. If the guards were not present she’d scream.
The FDR sort of whizzed by during her reverie. The Brooklyn Bridge came suddenly and she recited an address from memory. One final look at where she was born would close this chapter. Maybe when she peered upon Marcy projects, a sense of peace would come. That’s what she hoped but when the car cruised to a halt, only disappointment emerged. Nothing had changed, the squalor persisted.
Derelicts walked the streets and young people in ill-fitting clothes were clustered near her old building. She chose not to go there and gazed across the street. The bodegas red and yellow colors were life in the dismal environment. She survived this place, yes; the seeds of loving parents were how she navigated through the grime. But, not everything was terrible in the ‘hood, there were fun times and also good people.
She wondered if the owner of the bodega was still around. He was a kind man she remembered. It would be nice to look upon a face from the past that always brandished a smile. She exited the car and heads turned in her direction. Whistles and cat calls were how brothers without game tried to get the attention of girls. She ignored their ass and crossed asphalt and tar to the store to purchase a tea with lemon like she had when she was young.
The owner was leaning on the counter when Selange entered. Vega hadn’t changed. He had the same jovial essence that brightened her day.
Vega recognized the patron. She was the studious girl with that fierce look of determination. The pretty girl had become a knock-out as an adult. He’d heard rumors about her marrying some guy from uptown after her mom and stepdad were murdered. Years later, other stories circulated about her husband’s ties to the mob. Vega didn’t care for any of the gossip, who she married didn’t change his opinion of her.
He remembered a respectful girl who never used foul language unlike those wildlings that frequented on their way to wherever because he doubted they actually entered any building of higher learning. Many of the wayward youth lacked basic common sense. In fact there were times he had to put some of those vulgar kids out the store because they’d be in his place making noise and cracking jokes at the studious girl and her books. He had always known she’d do okay. Those eyes of hazel reflected a fiery spirit.
“Selange Brown, que pasa chica?”
Vega hurried from behind the smudged glass petition where snacks were displayed in small boxes to give her a hug. Well, that was his intention until the big man at her side intervened. Vega put up his hands and slowly backed away. “Whoa, tranquilo. It’s all good.”
Selange rolled her eyes at the bodyguard and then gestured for him to move aside and when he did, she embraced Vega like a long lost uncle. “Hi, it’s good to see you’re still around,” she said.
“You’re looking good mami,” he replied but then added, “no offense big man. I’m only speaking the truth.”
The bodyguard didn’t crack a smile.
“Thanks, so are you. I came for my tea, with no milk, and a little lemon in lieu of sugar, please.”
Vega returned behind the counter to make her drink. He talked as he worked. “This and turkey bacon on a wheat roll was your favorite breakfast. You were asking for turkey bacon before people around here knew how much healthier it was.” He laughed.
“While you’re back there you might as well make me a sandwich too.”
“All right.”
“How’s your family?” she asked.
“Kids are getting big. The wife’s still the wife,” he said with a chuckle.
“And your brother, Raymond, how’s he doing?”
“He opened a store a few years ago in Bed-Stuy. Somebody tried to rob the place a few months ago. He got shot.”
Selange cringed. “Crap, I’m sorry to hear that.”
“He’s alive. The souvenir is the bullet lodged in his arm. He’s fine otherwise.”
“Did he close the store?”
“Raymond?” Vega snorted. “No, this is our livelihood. He didn’t want a gun in his shop but now he understands the necessity.”
A female customer entered the store holding the hand of a crying toddler. “I’m hungry mommy!”
The child was clean and well-dressed; neither wore designer fashions with logos everywhere. Selange viewed a struggling mother doing her best under unfavorable circumstances. The mother had a scratch mark on her face and a ripped earlobe. The ghetto life could be tough. The hard exterior put on for the world was merely a front. Not everybody in the ‘hood likes where they’re living, and if many had a choice they would leave.
“Stop crying, I’m buying you a juice,” the woman said to the child as they passed the counter.
“Here you go,” Vega said when he finished cooking. He covered the white Styrofoam lid with a thin napkin and the sandwich wrapped in aluminum foil he placed in a paper bag. “This is on the house.”
“Thanks, but I prefer to pay.”
“Okay, pay me with a smile.”
Selange laughed and Vega said, “You pay well.”
From the corner of Selange’s eye she noticed the little girl point to a bag of chips while her mom retrieved a sugary drink from the glass case. Selange knew the lady didn’t have the money. Those cheap sweetened drinks were around forever. The only reason anybody bought them were their affordability when funds are low. The first of the month or the fifteenth is when government aid is siphoned en-masse to the poor.
“Nice seeing you Vega.”
“Same here honey and stop by anytime.”
“I will.” Selange took a sip of the hot tea. “Um I needed this.”
The woman reached the counter and Selange took her sandwich.
The toddler had a sad face because she hadn’t received the chips. The woman dug in her pocket and Selange could hear the change jingling. Before she pulled out coins, Selange said, “Excuse me, I think you dropped this.”
People in the ‘hood aren’t dummies. The child’s mother didn’t require prompts to take the hundred. Her face stayed as cool as ice. “Girl thanks. I didn’t even realize I dropped my money.”
“No problem.” Selange bent to give the cutie a banana she’d taken from the bunch stacked in a box near her leg. “How about a fruit. Vega has some really good bananas. I eat these all the time, right Vega?”
“Si, she sure does,” Vega lied.
The child nodded shyly.
The mother smiled when her daughter took the banana. She decided to exchange the drink for orange juice and hurried back to the counter with the chips as
Selange departed.
In the car, cradling tea, Selange’s cell rang. It was Alfonzo calling to make sure she was on her way to the airport.
“Yes, I am.”
“What are you doing in Brooklyn?” he asked.
Selange forgot about the tracking devices. “Visiting.” She frowned as the car returned to the road. “I’ll see you shortly.”
She would’ve disconnected but Alfonzo had more to say. “I don’t like you in that area babe.”
“Then you don’t like me because this is where I’m from!”
“Stop putting a spin on what I’m saying. You know exactly what I mean chica.”
“Good-bye Alfonzo.”
She hung up and he didn’t call back. Ever since, Shanda’s death he walked around emotionless. He hadn’t shed a tear that she’d seen over his cousin and that’s cold considering how tight they once were.
The car turned right on Linden Boulevard heading toward the South Conduit. They were away from the public housing complexes in an area of well-kept residential homes. This is where Shanda’s parents resided.
A pedestrian caught her attention. Selange craned her neck to view the woman dressed in block heel shoes and wearing a horrendous leopard print trench. She recognized the face and the nose in the air to sniffing her self-importance.
“Pull over, hurry!” Selange demanded.
The vehicle stopped and Selange flung open the door. She flew in her heels to catch the figure before she turned the corner.
“Mrs. Johnson!”
Shanda’s mom halted.
They were face-to-face without the barriers of an ocean. Selange had a lot to get off her chest. It didn’t matter where they stood or who watched, Shanda’s mother needed to hear her out.
“How could you blame me for what happened. How could you say all those mean things to me?”
“Because it is your fault Selange my daughter’s gone,” Mrs. Johnson replied with a sanctimonious scowl.
“No it isn’t. Shanda died in a car accident.”
“She wouldn’t have been in that car or over there if she wasn’t trying to copy everything you did. Selange this, Selange that is all she talked about. My daughter couldn’t see anything pass the fancy clothes and money. If she had she would’ve known there’s nothing admirable about a bunch of crooks. You introduced her to that life and she changed into you!”