Titans

by Tim Green

  Now, here he was, not just sitting next to a man everyone knew as "The Ax," but out on a job with him. Carl had been afraid that he'd blown his chance to do something big. Lonny had had nothing but complaints for him the entire time they had been together, and Carl thought Lonny would do him in. Not so. Jimmy said it was the results that Tony Rizzo remembered, not how Lonny felt about Carl's IQ.

  Carl had done some rough work for Jimmy before. That's why he was here now. He had always been able to inflict fear and pain without the slightest bit of remorse or pity. Until now, that had been limited to roughing up stiffs who didn't pay on time, or breaking the fingers or noses of guys who looked like they weren't going to be able to pay at all. Tonight was different. Jimmy had told him so. Tonight would be his chance to make an impression not just with Jimmy, but with the higher-ups. Carl knew that a man could spend his whole life working for a guy like Jimmy and never even be considered for membership in the family. Membership was something special. Membership made you more than just a tough guy or a petty criminal. Membership put you above everyone else.

  It was a dream for Carl. Angelo Quatrini was known throughout the underworld. He was known and he was feared. Carl wanted that for himself, and he knew that the best way to accomplish that was to do a few jobs with The Ax and maybe have him take Carl under his wing. Carl rode quietly, imagining that. He stole a glance at Angelo. He had to start thinking of him as Angelo. He knew that's what everyone in the family called him. No one would call Angelo The Ax to his face. It was an unpleasant reminder of what had earned him the nickname.

  The story went that Angelo had only been sixteen when his sister, three years his junior, had been molested by some guy who was supposed to have been teaching her gymnastics. It was said that the guy had been sodomizing his young students for quite a while until Angelo caught word of what happened to his sister. The only part of the guy they ever found was his left hand. It floated up on a Staten Island beach, and the cops determined that it had been severed with an ax. They found the ax in Angelo's basement. He was arrested, but since the D. A. was never able to find the rest of the body, all they could charge him with was assault. A good argument was made for the possibility that the guy had simply skipped town after Angelo disposed of his mitt. Angelo was sentenced as a minor and did a couple of years in a juvenile detention center. When he got out, Vincent Mondolffi had a kind of holiday celebration for Angelo in Brooklyn. It seemed that one of Mondolffi's nieces had at some time been bothered by the teacher as well. Thus began the career of The Ax.

  Carl thought about it. How lucky could a guy get? He would gladly hack some pervert to pieces if it would get him in the good graces of Vincent Mondolffi. Hell, he'd do it for Tony, or Angelo, or even Jimmy. He'd do anything to get in, and he knew tonight might further his chances.

  Angelo got off at the Port Washington exit and wound the big black car through the old streets of one of the wealthiest suburbs of New York. Soon they were going past large homes set back and up from the street level like mini-castles. They slowed down and rolled by a large Georgian mansion that was surrounded by a black iron fence and trees that had seen the better part of the last century. Carl glanced at Angelo. He was concentrating on the house. Carl tried to concentrate, too.

  They pulled around the corner and parked the car a good three blocks away in an area where the homes were not as large and a Seville on the street was nothing to look twice at.

  "C'mon," Angelo murmured, shutting off the car and getting out without so much as a glance at his sidekick.

  Angelo took a six-foot ladder from the trunk and slung it under his arm. It was painted black, and as Carl hurried after Angelo, he couldn't even make it out under the shadows of the sidewalk. Together they walked back up the street until they reached the fence that Carl knew belonged to the Georgian mansion. Carl felt almost invisible. They were both dressed in black from head to toe. Angelo glanced around quickly before bracing the ladder against the fence and scaling it like a man half his size.

  "Hurry up," he grunted.

  Carl scrambled up and jumped down to the other side as he had seen Angelo do. Angelo slid the ladder through the fence and laid it gently over the top of some bushes. He pulled a pair of dark sunglasses from the pocket of his jacket and put them on. Then he pulled a long, heavy-looking BB air pistol from under his arm.

  "Don't worry about the lights," Angelo said. "You just stay right here in these bushes until I get back. Don't move. You'll hear the alarm go off, but stay here. Got it?"

  Carl started to wonder if The Ax wasn't insane, standing there . Staring at him in the dark through black-lensed glasses, telling him not to worry about the alarms. But he knew better. He knew that part of being in the family was unquestioning obedience. That was one thing he knew for sure he could do--that and hurt people.

  "Get in there good," Angelo said, pulling a branch over his head, "and keep down. I'll be back."

  Carl sat, shifting nervously and watching Angelo make his way carefully up the side lawn through the trees and carefully manicured shrubbery. Suddenly two floodlights streamed light down on Angelo and lit him up bright as day, a prowler in black. Carl shrunk instinctively back into the shrubs but kept his eye on his partner. Angelo raised the pistol. One light popped, then the other. Everything was dark. Everything was quiet.

  Time seemed to stand still for Carl. His heart raced in his chest. He waited for the sound of alarms and sirens, wondering if he could remain where he was in the face of wailing sirens. More lights went on, this time on the side of the house. Again Angelo raised his gun and again the lights popped out. The next time Carl could make out his mentor, he was at the service entrance, working methodically on the door like the Maytag repairman. The area was completely illuminated. After a good ten minutes of fussing and fidgeting, the alarm screamed from above. Lights all over the house went on. Angelo scrambled away from the house and was soon beside Carl, wriggling into the shrubbery and sitting down right next to him with his legs crossed like an Indian.

  Within three minutes a squad car came racing up the street with its lights flashing but without sirens. There was no need. The noise from the house alarm would have drowned out anything for two blocks.

  The cops made their way, cautious as cats, up to the house and in the front door. After ten minutes they came back out and walked around, testing doors and windows and looking for signs of a forced entry with their flashlights. When they were satisfied that all was well, Morgan Lloyd came out onto the front steps in his robe and slippers and stood between the towering front columns talking with the police. An hour after the alarm went off, things were quiet once again. The shrubs rustled gently as Angelo eased himself out.'

  "I'll be back," he said and disappeared again into the darkness toward the house.

  It was only a few moments this time before the alarm was screaming, and again Angelo returned to take his place next to Carl amid the bushes. Carl smiled when the car that had just left pulled casually up the drive again and the same two cops ambled up to the front door. This time they went with Morgan Lloyd directly to the door that Angelo had jimmied open. The cops tested it to show Lloyd that all was well. Carl wasn't sure what was happening, but he was close to peeing his pants, he was having so much fun. Twenty minutes later, Angelo repeated the process. Again the police came. This time Lloyd was waiting for them in the drive and they didn't even bother to get out of their car.

  'That oughta do it," Angelo mumbled as the squad car pulled out into the street.

  This time Angelo returned without any alarms. Again he sat down--waiting for what, Carl didn't know.

  "Come on," Angelo said finally. "They oughta be settled down by now."

  "Wait one minute," Carl whispered loudly. "I gotta piss."

  Angelo looked on with disgust while Carl relieved himself in the bushes that had been their hideout for the past two hours.

  "OK," Carl said in a whisper, zipping his fly and falling in behind Angelo. "I know what you to
ld me I'm supposed to do, but just tell me again so I make sure."

  Angelo stopped short and turned. He brought his menacing face so close to Carl's that the smell of his peppery breath filled the air between them.

  "First I'm gonna cut the phone line. When we get in, there's gonna be two guys. I'll take the first guy and you grab the second. I'm gonna talk to the first guy a little bit, and you just wrap the other guy up with that duct tape. When you're done, you come wrap my guy up. You don't have to pamper the little fairies, but I don't want you breaking nothing, not unless I say so. Got it?"

  "OK," Carl said. "I won't break nothing on the guy until you give me the say-so. Uh, Angelo?"

  "What?"

  "You know, if you want to off one of these guys . . . uh, I'd really like to get to do it if you don't mind ..."

  Angelo grinned with understanding before he turned and said, "Come on."

  The door was already open. All was quiet and one by one they slipped into the house. Carl shut the door quietly behind them. Angelo lit their way up two different stairways with a heavy-duty red-lensed flashlight. Before Carl could think, he was standing in the middle of a large bedroom. A king-size four-poster was set in the middle of the room and on it was a large blanket-covered lump that consisted of two intertwined bodies. Above the bed was an ornate chandelier that hung from a mirrored dome in the ceiling.

  Angelo sat gently on the edge of the bed and he motioned Carl to the other side. Angelo fiddled with a Tiffany lamp next to the bed and it clicked on, illuminating the well-appointed bedroom. Angelo flipped back the crimson bedcover, exposing two men spooned together like man and wife. Morgan Lloyd was wearing a pair of striped pajamas; the other man was completely naked. Both of them began to shriek like women.

  "Billy!" Lloyd screamed, reaching for his lover, whom Carl was dragging by his long golden locks toward the edge of the bed.

  Angelo had his pistol out and quickly jammed it into Morgan Lloyd's mouth, silencing him of all except a pathetic whimper. Lloyd's eyes were as big as a snared rabbit's, and he rolled them toward Billy, who was frantically clawing at Carl's face with his hands as well as his feet.

  "Fuck!" Carl bellowed and smacked his flailing victim in the face with a blow that spurted blood all over the bed linens.

  "Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" Carl said, punching Billy with each exclamation and speckling his own face with scarlet dots from the force of his blows.

  "Billy ..." Lloyd moaned past the barrel of the Glock pistol, and rolled his eyes away.

  "Little fucking queer cut me!" Carl complained as he roughly began to wrap Billy's wrists with the tape.

  "Shut up," Angelo said, and put his face up close to Lloyd's. Carl didn't know if he meant Lloyd or him.

  "Now you listen to me ..." Angelo's voice was low and guttural. Lloyd was quiet. Fear filled his eyes. Carl had Billy down on the floor now with his feet straight up in the air. Carl was winding the tape down from his ankles. Billy was moaning pathetically through a band of tape that cut across his face.

  "You see this gun?" Angelo continued, jiggling the Glock in Lloyd's mouth.

  Lloyd nodded and whined.

  "Well," Angelo said, pulling back the hammer, "I'm going to fucking spray your brains all over this room with it.

  "Open your fucking eyes!" Angelo screamed.

  Lloyd opened his eyes.

  Click!

  "Aww, shit!" Carl said, tearing off the end of his tape job and sniffing the air like a mastiff. "What the fuck is that? Did he shit himself?"

  Carl made his way over to the other side of the bed and began to tape Lloyd from the ankles up. "Aww, man," he said, wincing. "He did. That's fucked up."

  "I told you to shut the fuck up!" Angelo said. This time Carl knew he meant him.

  Angelo kept his face close to Lloyd's. He seemed not to notice the smell. He kept the gun in Lloyd's mouth.

  "Now listen carefully, because I know you don't want me to have to pay you another visit to tell you again, right? Right!?"

  Lloyd nodded his head and gave out a low cry that sounded like no.

  'That's right," Angelo said. "Now, I'm going to let you live tonight and you know what? I'm going to let your little fag live, too. What do you think of that? Pretty fucking nice of me, isn't it? Isn't it?"

  Lloyd nodded his head as violently as the big pistol would allow.

  "Yeah, but you don't have to thank me. No, there's only one man in the world that's keeping you alive right now. Do you want to know who that man is? Yeah? OK, it's Grant Carter. Yeah, that's right. See, my boss says that you don't deserve to live. My boss says that I can have you for myself to kill in any way I want, and I got special ways to kill little fags like you. But then he tells me that a guy by the name of Grant Carter says that you're not such a bad guy, he says maybe I shouldn't get to kill you.

  "But you know what I'm betting? I'm betting that you're gonna do something to piss off this Grant Carter. I'm betting a big-shot faggot like you's gotta throw his weight around . . . yeah. In fact, I'm betting that I'm gonna get to pay you a visit again real soon, and there ain't nothing that can keep you safe from me. You think you're safe? You got this big house, these gates, and lights, and alarms . . . You're never safe. You hear me? I'd love nothing better than to have to come back for you, 'cause next time it will be to fucking snuff you and whatever little fairy I happen to find you with. Now you just think about that. You just think about what a good friend you got . . . and if you forget, well, then I'll look forward to seeing you again real soon.

  "Oh," Angelo said, pulling the pistol out of Lloyd's mouth so Carl could wrap a band of tape around his head, "another thing. If Mr. Carter finds out about my visit, if you so much as imply that maybe someone had to teach you some manners . . . well, then all bets are off. So you just be a good friend to Grant Carter and behave yourself, got it?"

  Lloyd nodded emphatically.

  "Come on," Angelo said to Carl, and the two of them left with Lloyd frozen on the bed amid his own stink and Billy thumping about on the floor in his own blood.

  Chapter 18

  Hunter walked alone down the empty beach. It was a weekday, early enough in the morning so that he had it all to himself. The sun was struggling to rise through a heavy bank of clouds and brilliant rays were beginning to creep over its highest peaks. A light breeze brought a fresh sea smell to his nose. It was a perfect summer morning in the Hamptons, but Hunter couldn't remember being so depressed in all his life. Even when his family was losing the farm they'd lived on for generations, he hadn't been as low as he was now. Hunter snorted. His brother would readily agree with that assessment.

  He turned and peered back down the beach toward his house. He could make out Rachel moving steadily toward him. It was easy to tell it was her even at this distance. Her dark hair contrasted starkly with her all-white nylon sweatsuit, and the purposeful way she walked would have told him it was Rachel even if she had been wearing a disguise. He had left her asleep and was surprised to see her out and about this early. He began a steady pace back toward her, and in a few minutes he was kissing her lightly on the lips.

  "Hi, honey," he said with as much cheer as he could muster.

  Rachel returned his greeting with a look of concern, her pretty face turned up to his.

  "Hello, honey," she said. "How are you feeling?"

  "I'm fine," he replied. "You know, a little down about having to go to training camp is all. Besides that, nothing big. I'm fine, really."

  "'He doth protest too much,'" Rachel said with a weak smile.

  "What, I'm not protesting. I'm fine, Rach."

  "Hunter, I know you. Remember? I'm the one who you say knows what you're thinking before you're thinking it. You said that," she reminded him, "not me, and for you to be out here at this time is unheard of. With camp in a few days you're usually like an old bear with your sleep, always grumbling about how you won't get any for a month. Since that party at the Carters' you've been mister early riser, acting like you'v
e got the world on your shoulders."

  "Oh, really, Rach," Hunter said, putting his arm around her shoulder and beginning to tug her down the beach toward their house, "you know how I get. You know I always get a little under the weather before camp. I hate to be away from you and Sara for a whole month. I swear, it's enough to make me think about quitting football."

  "You'll get through it," she said. "But there's more than that, Hunter. I know your training camp mood. There's something else bothering you. Tell me . . ."

  Hunter hesitated, thinking wildly. He slowed his shuffle and toed some wet sand into the advancing white foam of the surf. It wasn't like him to keep things from Rachel. She was his best friend and his best confidant, but he had never discussed his gambling with her at length. There had never been the need. It was never any big deal, until now. And now if she knew, she'd kill him. It was bad enough when she found out about the ten thousand dollars. If she knew the situation was compounded by threats from Tony Rizzo, she'd insist he call the police or something crazy like that. That's just how Rachel was. He didn't want that. He had no doubts that Rizzo would take him down. He was at the top of his career. He was finally going to make the kind of money that would set him free from everything. He couldn't let it get away.

  "I guess it's the money," he said finally. "I'm worried about our money."

  'This is something new," she said, though not sarcastically.

  "I just can't stop thinking, with all my limited partnerships in the tank now, I was counting on those things to keep us going. Besides the houses and the farm--what's left of it--I've got everything I've made over my entire career invested in those damn hotels and apartment houses and all that other shit that's worth about nothing right now with real estate the way it is ... "