by S. W. Frank
“Shanda was an adult. Whatever decisions she made she did without my help.”
A nasty look is what Mrs. Johnson gave Selange. “You’re here to talk in your defense; Shanda’s not.”
“Now I see why my mom didn’t like you,” was Selange’s contemptuous response.
Mrs. Johnson scoffed. “The feeling was mutual. But I never wished death on Darlene. You don’t have to like somebody to be civil, you just leave them be. I can tell you this; your mother didn’t deserve to die the way she did. Your piece of garbage husband is to thank for that.”
The hurtful words struck Selange as if she’d been pummeled with a pipe. “Call him whatever you want you mean bitch but you’ll never hold a candle to the loving person he is!”
“There you go defending him, girl move out of my way. I’m going to pray for your lost soul. If the devil is at work, he’s working through you both. Too bad your man isn’t the one in the ground. That’ll save other mothers burying their children, maybe even save you!”
An ear-splitting scream unheard resounded through Selange’s body. She always respected her elders. Never once had she raised a hand to a middle-aged person but today she tossed away manners. Her fist collided with Mrs. Johnson’s mouth, not once but twice. The cut which opened bled before she careened to the ground.
“How dare you say that?” Selange screamed hysterically. “How fucking dare you talk about souls when yours is rotten you nasty bitch!”
The screeching of car tires resounded and then stopped. Arms were around Selange’s waist and soon hoisted her off the ground. Shoved inside the confines of the vehicle she’d recently exited is where she sat as the skidding noise of tires peeling away from a Brooklyn street where the injured woman lay.
Selange didn’t hear anything, not even the bodyguard on the phone with her husband because she had shut out sound.
How long she sat there replaying Mrs. Johnson’s words must have been lengthy because the car was at the airport where a singular jet waited.
Cloudy and overcast was the weather and her spirit.
The door swung open. There stood her husband with an angry expression she hadn’t seen in a long…long time. Oh she heard everything then, even smelled her turkey bacon sandwich. What in the world possessed Mrs. Johnson to wear that jacket, she wondered.
“Hi honey,” she said trying to diffuse the oncoming verbal lashing, but his eyebrow was already heightened.
Alfonzo stuck his head in the car before she could put out her leg. He was seething mad when he shouted, “Honey my ass. This is exactly why I didn’t want you in goddamn Brooklyn. Vamanos nena, before you’re thrown in jail!”
CHAPTER TWO
Sergio listened to the clinking of china as everyone ate heartily. This was Lucia’s entire family. They were gathered for a dinner to celebrate their impending wedding. Siblings, cousins, uncles, nieces, nephews and grandparents talked and laughed. Such a merry bunch they were. The running joke spoken in his presence was they never thought Lucia would ever marry after hitting thirty. Then a cousin referenced the scandalous secret relationship she had with Giuseppe Dichenzo as the reason. The snatches of conversation Sergio deciphered lay blame on Giuseppe for ruining Lucia’s virtue and other inappropriate things.
Amelda took no offense to the slighted remarks, but Sergio did and spoke out, translated courtesy of Lucia of course.
“Lucia’s past is not why we’re here, we are celebrating our future. And can you please chill with degrading my cousin.”
This seemed to end the Giuseppe bashing, but sour is the taste that clung to Sergio’s mouth. What kind of sister sits mute and allows people to rag on her brother, he wondered as he glared at Amelda’s smug face?
Lucia tried to defend the teasing. “They mean nothing by it, this is what famiglia do, no?”
“Not in my family they wouldn’t,” Sergio whispered angrily as he tried to maintain his cool.
“Every famiglia is different; some are not as sensitive as others, no?”
“No, yes, what the fuck.” Sergio mumbled and then put the wine glass to his mouth before her gang jumped his behind for having ‘sensitivity.’
Sergio noticed Matteo constantly glancing in his direction as if he might bolt out the door. That wife of his wasn’t any better in the attitude department; in fact Sergio liked her less than her husband.
He wasn’t accustomed to large gatherings of relatives. In fact, he found it hard to relax with all the noise. They had no idea he was on the verge of telling them to shut up.
Lucia sensed Sergio’s discomfort. “Bello, more food, si?”
“No thanks, I’m full.”
Her pouty mouth formed a smile. “Mi famiglia can overwhelm, yes?”
Italians and their questions. He started to feel caged. Maybe, if he had someone from his side in the mix he wouldn’t.
“I’m okay Lucia, stop babying me.”
She caressed his cheek. “We can go if you like.”
Amelda was staring him down. That fucking woman had a problem. “Yes, let’s get out of here.”
Lucia tapped her glass with a fork to get everyone’s attention. When they quieted her charm is what Sergio admired. “Grazie famiglia. Sergio and I thank you for this lovely dinner.” She rubbed her distended abdomen. In four short months the bambino would appear and join those she loved. She was excited at the prospect and happy to have another chance to be a mother. Sergio was young and virile, and with him she was certain to have many more bambini. She was not like Amelda who cared only about business. She preferred to stay at home. Let the men go out and toil in stressful surroundings and then return to a peaceful abode. For her life, enjoying motherhood is what she wanted. She could do as she pleased in leisure and bring pleasure to her husband’s loins. Frown on Amelda, she thought and then beamed with the radiance of pregnancy. “I am tired, so we must go. Ciao!”
As the couple prepared to leave, Lucia’s mother who spoke very little English asked about Sergio’s choice of best man. Lucia translated as they stood near the door perched to exit.
“My mama says the wedding is soon and she must know.”
Sergio had considered asking Uncle Nico to do the honors, but in light of the latest deaths, he decided to forego tradition and have his sister step in. The more he thought about it, the more he loved the idea of Tonya being at his side at this whirlwind event. “My sister is who I have in mind.”
When Lucia turned to tell her mother, she shrieked and held her chest. “Aye…aye…no…no!”
Sergio was shocked by the theatrical response. Mrs. Peglesi continued to wail bringing her elderly parents scampering to her aid. His eyes bulged when she shook a fist in his face, while shouting, “Heathen…ah mio…santo…santo…perché?”
Lucia tried to calm her mother to no avail. Her other siblings appeared, stroking and talking in a language Sergio didn’t understand, yet.
“What have you said to my mama?” Matteo scowled.
A shrug. “That my sister is my choice for Best Man.”
“Are you stupido?” Matteo bellowed.
“Eh, fratello, por favore, this is not your wedding.” Lucia intervened in Sergio’s defense.
Matteo’s eyes were granite. “Cazzo, you will give my mama a heart attack. Best man means un uomo!”
Sergio shrugged. “Not to me.”
The shrieks continued. Sergio was officially a heathen in their eyes. He refused to bend on who he wanted for Best Person, they could scream to the rafters. Once he started bowing to demands from Lucia’s thuggish family, he’d find himself always kissing their Italian shoes.
“You will reconsider for tua madre’s heart will not take this, capisce?” Matteo sneered close to Sergio’s face with
his garlic breath.
“I didn’t know she had a heart condition, she looks healthy to me.”
Matteo’s fist didn’t connect because he was rushed and detained by the bulky men who had joined the chaos. Their beer and wine stomachs did not hinder the strength of arms holding Matteo from doing harm to Lucia’s future husband.
The sinister woman he called a wife said, “I suggest you take il ragazzo home Lucia and nurse him with your tit before he receives a beating from mio marito!”
“Zitto Amelda!”
Amelda was as belligerent as her husband.
The yelling match that ensued between the women joined the chaotic wails of Lucia’s manipulative mother. Sergio escorted Lucia from the mayhem. “Come on Lucia. This isn’t good for the baby. To hell with this craziness.”
“Sí, va!” Amelda smirked as she stood on the side of her husband who had shaken loose but allowed Sergio to leave without harm due to the pleas of a pregnant sorella and elderly Nonna.
“Your family is nuts,” Sergio commented when they were safely in their car.
Lucia laughed. “We are passionate that is all.”
Sergio shook his head. He was taking Lucia home and afterward driving down to visit his Uncle Nico. He needed somebody insane but sane to talk him out of calling the wedding off!
***
Nico gripped his wife’s waist. She had waited for him to come home after another long day of training his protégé. She wore jeans and a tank top that displayed her hefty breasts. He liked the simple attire. Minimalistic is what they were and that’s why they fit so well. He loved how athletic and pretty Ari appeared without effort.
She was very attractive and the sparingly applied make-up when she ventured out only accentuated her lovely features. Her pixie cut was always perfect. He’d seen her with long hair and honestly he preferred the shorter style. Waiflike and ethereal is what Ari represented.
“You stayed up sweetheart, you didn’t have to.”
Her hands were on his forearms. “I wanted to. Besides, it’s still early.”
“Yeah, the city that never sleeps fits you to a T.”
“Give me a kiss and be quiet.” She ordered and when he did she moaned and then chuckled during the lip lock.
“What’s so funny?” he asked, when he detached and they walked to the kitchen with his arm around her waist.
Ari’s hand massaged his lower spine. “You missed the drama today.”
Nico was peering in the pot she kept on the stove heaped with pasta and meatballs. He released her for utensils and a plate. As she slid in a chair she watched him pile a mountain of food on his dish and begin eating before he reached the table.
“Umm, what drama?” he asked with a long spaghetti sliding in his mouth that Ari considered sexy.
“I went out today and when I came home I caught Darren making out with a girl.”
Nico almost choked. “In the house, where was Aaron and ‘Mira when this was going on?”
“They were with me all day. That son of yours was fully engrossed. Nico, if he gets one of these local girls pregnant I’m whipping his ass!”
“Who’s this girl?”
“Hell, I’ve never seen the girl in my life. I barely see a neighbor, look where we live.”
Ari was right. Their secluded villa was surrounded by hectares of land. The boy must’ve met the girl at school or in town. “All right, I’ll handle Darren.”
“He did say the girl’s name is Anna.”
“I’ll talk to him.”
“Yeah, do that and make sure you reiterate the importance of condoms because you’re not the most consistent in that department.”
Nico didn’t argue. He had foregone the prophylactic with two women. He kind of lost his senses on those occasions because he let emotions take over when usually they didn’t. Fucking and making love are separate acts, what he hoped Darren did was fuck, ‘cause if the boy dared say anything about ‘love’ he’d whip his ass and spare Ari the headache.
Love is what he had for Ari…years of tests…some he failed. But, when he got on track he saw through the fog. His self-deprecating behavior had come to an end. He had duties though, Bianca was one of them. He had called to check on her, he’d never tell Ari that. His job entailed keeping secrets and this was one of the many. Bianca was an enforcer, and like any business, it must run efficiently despite any scandals. There wasn’t anything he could do about their past sordid relationship except ensure to avoid any sexual contact in the future.
Anyway, Bianca agreed. He’d keep his bargain; protect her as vowed and only in extreme emergencies call upon her expertise.
“…and they were humping like gorillas. The boy has moves his daddy doesn’t even have.” Ari was saying.
Nico slurped the noodles. “Um, yeah, care to show me?”
He slid out of his seat and loosened his pants.
Ari laughed. “We can try but I warn you, you might hurt your back.”
Nico went to stand behind his wife’s seat. He bent over her shoulder and whispered, “My back’s fine sweetheart, worry about your spine.”
He had his hands on her breasts when a light flashed. The ground sensor had detected a vehicle approaching. His first thought was this girl Anna’s parents had come to address their daughter’s loss of virginity, but when he peered up at the monitor and saw the make of the car; he sighed and zipped his trousers. “Goddamn Sergio.”
Ari said, “Hurry up and get rid of him so I can demonstrate what those kids were doing.”
Nico’s mouth squeezed her cheek. “You bet.”
When Nico allowed Sergio’s car through the gate, he opened the front door and leaned on the frame to await Sergio’s arrival. His nephew had driven out to the boondocks to visit. Nico surmised that meant he had love troubles.
“Unk, I’m dealing with some bullshit,” Sergio announced the moment he exited the car. He slammed the door for extra measure and walked to stand in front of his Uncle. He was a young man in need of a wise elder. “Why didn’t anybody warn me about Lucia’s loony family…wipe your face…what the hell is that anyway…blood…ah that’s nasty…are you slurping on bloody coochie?”
Obviously, his nephew couldn’t distinguish tomato sauce from plasma. Nico wiped his mouth with his sleeve and murmured, “And so it begins.”
CHAPTER THREE
There’s a time when low isn’t low enough. The face can burn from the sting of alcohol that seeps through pores, yet low hasn’t come. Drink more of the strong stuff as sips turn to gulps because drowning the pain of awareness was Selange’s goal. Losing people you love and having them fall like rows of dominoes isn’t easy to stomach. Keeping a straight face is hard when there is double grief heaped atop weary bones. But, for the sake of children a mother keeps marching when weary feet are blistered, yet there cannot be a fall. To do so may be too comforting.
During her grief, she observed her man…her rock…her everything and noticed the coldness when anyone mentioned Domingo. He hadn’t mentioned his name or talked of finding the killer. Puzzling behavior from someone who loves family and Domingo had children.
Then, to know how Domingo died by a violent stab to the heart, signified the killing was personal. Up close is how the murderer did the deed, and this had to be an acquaintance or someone Domingo knew. Domingo was street smart; he was also a fighter and he would have at least struggled had he seen the knife coming.
Gosh, she loved Domingo, yeah, he smoked too much darn weed, but that didn’t ma
tter, he was family. Her heart ached for their family.
Yet, another loss through violence.
Piled on the weighted heart was a darker tragedy. A nagging suspicion that Alfonzo had knowledge about Domingo’s murder and wasn’t sharing. Something in her brain during a keyhole reprieve from mourning caused her to wonder, did her honey do it...did he kill his beloved cousin?
Yep, those are the feelings of a tortured wife as she stares down the neck of a bottle to discover the comforting liquor gone.
Selange's unsteady legs shuffled to the tall rack. It reached to the ceiling, rows upon rows of spirits to dull the hurt sapping energy and yet she couldn’t fall down. She held on to the side of the sturdy post, looking with blurry eyes for a bottle with a screw off cap. “Hell, where is it?”
Her body felt heavy but she didn’t want mass, she needed a total blackout to deal with the suspicion Alfonzo murdered Domingo. The pain of knowledge worsened when Maria visited this morning, convinced Alfonzo was doing everything in his power to find the person responsible, but he wasn’t doing shit…nada. Unless Alfonzo confessed his sin to that woman she wouldn’t believe he committed the heinous crime.
Alfonzo never ratted, nor would he ever convict himself.
Stolen.
That’s the word Maria used to describe the death of her nephew, as if a robber absconded with his life and somehow Domingo's resurrection might occur when his spirit was found. But, like the devoted wife, she said nothing, providing comfort to her mother-in-law who rolled her beads in faith. Comfort and nurture every fucking body is what Selange must do. Keep a poker face is what mob people master. Ironic, she'd learned from the best. Alfonzo was the most duplicitous, because he continued to deceive the wife who loved him by withholding information. Share what happened in a confession to a wife is all she wanted in order to find a measure of peace. But lie by omission was her husband’s course of action although Selange suspected the truth.
“Bastado!”
Selange hiccupped as she reached for another bottle. She became woozy and experienced a carousel affect that caused her to close her eyes because she wanted to get off the ride.