MOB BOSS 2

by Monroe, Mallory

  “Good?” his mother said, suddenly irritated. “He looks awful. What good? Listen to her if you want.”

  Dirty smiled. “Don’t mind, Ma,” he said. “She’s just tired. Aren’t you tired, Ma?”

  “I’m not tired, what’s with the tired? Dominic’s tired.”

  “I’ve missed you, Reno,” Sophie said, running her hands through his hair.

  Reno, however, suddenly seemed awkward. He looked at Dirty, an odd expression on his face.

  “When Dirty told me you were coming,” Sophia continued, “I couldn’t wait to see you again. It’s been a while, Reno.”

  “Yeah, well,” Reno said, removing her hands from his hair. “Can I see you for a moment, Dirt?” he asked his brother-in-law. Then he asked her to excuse him, and headed for the study.

  When they were in the study, the double doors closed, Reno frowned. “What the hell just happened?”

  Dirty was puzzled. “What you mean what happened? I got Sophie for you like I always do when we’re in Jersey. You like Sophie, you told me so yourself.”

  “I like Sophie, I like Tophie, I like Lophie, I liked them all before I met Trina, you idiot! Now I don’t give a fuck about any of them, Dirty, you had to know that. Remember Trina? Katrina? My wife? The one I just married?”

  Dirty was still confused. “But I thought--”

  “But you thought what?”

  “But I thought she was just a ruse, your marrying her I mean. An alibi for you when the feds come to question you about Partanna’s death. I thought she was just your cover, Reno.”

  Reno frowned. “My cover? You thought Trina was my cover?”

  “Yes! How was I to know you meant it?”

  Reno shook his head. “Get rid of her,” he said, heading for the desk in the study, “and get Carmine in here.”

  Now Dirty was dumbstruck. “You mean you aren’t gonna . . . You know.”

  Reno looked at him. “What?”

  “You aren’t gonna poke her, Reno, you know what I’m trying to say over here.”

  Reno rolled his eyes. “No, Dirt, I’m not gonna do anything with any female but my wife. Understand that? Got it?”

  “I got it.”

  “Dig it?”

  “It’s dug.”

  “Get rid of her.”

  Dirty exhaled. Stared at Reno.

  “What is it now?”

  “Since you aren’t . . . I mean, since you don’t want her anymore . . . you think I can have a crack at her?”

  Reno couldn’t believe it. “What are you, an imbecile? You’re married to my kid sister you idiot! You think I’m giving you permission to cheat on my kid sister? You think I won’t cut off your balls and hang them around your neck if you even think about cheating on my kid sister?”

  Dirty quickly smiled. “I was just joking, Reno,” he said, backing up, “honest I was. You know I wouldn’t dream of cheating on Francine. I was just seeing what you was gonna say, that’s all.”

  “Get the fuck out of my face,” Reno said with a frown.

  Dirty hurried out, he practically ran out. And got rid of Sophie.

  ***

  “Looks like Mama’s ready,” Trina said when she looked across the street and saw her mother coming out of the grocery store. She stood to her feet. “I’d better get going.”

  Jeffrey stood up too, saddened to see their reunion end so quickly. Not that he stood a chance with her anymore. He knew he didn’t. She was now married to the owner of the PaLargio. How in the world could he, or any other regular guy for that matter, compete against that? But damn did she look good, even better than she used to look. And fine as wine, he also noticed as he began walking with her across the street.

  “I really appreciate what you’re doing for me, Tree,” he said, “I really do.”

  Trina glanced at him, her eyes squinting in the sun. “Sure you’re going to be able to handle it this time?”

  He smiled, but she could still see some uncertainty in his smile, maybe even fear. “I told you I’ve been clean and sober for damn near two years now. Ain’t no way I’m going back to that.”

  “But you’re going to be back in the bright lights and the big city,” she said. “And if you thought Reno, Nevada was bad with the partying scene, Vegas is even worst, J. At least here in Dale you’re living a good, clean life.”

  “Yeah, a good, clean, broke-ass life,” he said to laughter. “I’m just looking for another chance, you know? I messed up in Reno. I know I did. I lost a good woman,” he said this as he looked down the length of Trina, “and even worst, I lost a good friend.”

  “You haven’t lost a friend, J,” Trina admitted. “I’ll never be your woman again, but I’ll always be your friend. We go back a long way, and many times you were there for me when I needed you most. Hell yeah I’m gonna be there for you.”

  Jeffrey frowned. “About that night, Tree, when we had our blow up, I’m sorry. I was as wrong as I could be.”

  Trina almost smiled. He hit her with his fist, true enough, but she hit him back, not only with her fist but with a hammer, a lamp, her shoe, a book, anything she could get her hands on, hitting him so hard that he nearly passed out. By the time she was finished with Jeffrey he was sliding backwards on his butt and begging for mercy. That was a bad night, one of the worst of her life, but even he would have to admit she got the better of that exchange.

  “Apology accepted,” she said. Then she smiled. “Just don’t even try it again.”

  He laughed. “Don’t worry. Besides, I’m willing to bet your rich husband would not approve if any man raises his hand to you.”

  Trina thought about another ex-boyfriend and how Reno ran him out of town at gunpoint. “Oh, I think you’ll win that bet,” she said with all sincerity.

  “Where have you been?” her mother asked as she and Jeffrey made their way up to her buggy. “I’ve been waiting out here for ages.”

  Trina and Jeff exchanged smiles.

  “Who’s he?” Earnestine asked.

  “Jeffrey Graham,” Trina said. “You remember.”

  “Jeffrey Graham? That’s Jeffrey Graham? He was a little skinny thing, a stick of a man, not this big, fine, muscular man here.”

  Trina was amazed by her mother’s appraisal of Jeff’s physique. “Yes, mother, this if Jeff Graham. You knew him when we were in school together. He buffed up years ago.” Jeffrey laughed.

  “How you doing, Mrs. Hathaway?” he said.

  “I’m doing better than most. Especially on days when this arthritis leaves me alone.”

  Before her mother could go on and on about her numerous ailments, Trina said her goodbyes to Jeffrey, piled the few bags of groceries into the backseat of her father’s SUV, put her mother inside, and was off.

  By the time they made it home, her mother, who had been calling Jeffrey Graham a no-account loser for as long as Trina could remember, was now singing his praises.

  “That’s what you need,” her mother said as they began unloading the bags of groceries. “A good looking man like that. Well-spoken and mannerable. Somebody who’s one of us, not some mafia mob boss whatever that Dino person is.”

  “Reno,” Trina corrected her, walking in front to unlock the door. “Dominic, to be precise.”

  “Dominic, that’s worst,” her mother, never to be outdone, said as she followed her daughter with one of the bags in her hand.

  They entered the house talking, or at least Trina’s mother entered talking. Trina pretty much tuned her out.

  Outside of the house, however, was a car on the opposite side of the street. Trina had already spotted it and assumed it to be one of Reno’s men. Although Reno didn’t tell her a thing, she knew from experience that there was no way he was going to leave her tucked away in tiny Dale, Mississippi without some just-in-case protection. Seeing that car, the same car she had spotted when they were at the grocery store, was no deal at all to her.

  Only it should have been. Joe Ralston would have told her that it defini
tely should have been. He’d been following Reno ever since Partanna iced his father. Had been following Reno on the orders of Partanna himself. Just in case Reno tried a retaliatory strike. He became Partanna’s inside man, a man who’d done work for Reno’s father in the past, a man known for his discretion. A man whose services, Reno nor his father ever realized, that was up for the highest bidder. Frank Partanna was the highest bidder.

  Keep an eye on him, Partanna had personally told Joe Ralston. Find out what he’s up to. And he was doing just that, until Reno made this detour to Mississippi all of a sudden. And then was marrying this black chick. He had one of his men outside while the marriage was taking place. Had no idea, until he received the call from LA, that at that selfsame hour Frank Partanna and all of his top lieutenants were being gunned down like dogs in the street. And gunned down, they all were convinced, on Reno’s orders. The East Coast bosses provided the fire power, but Reno Gabrini, everybody knew, was calling those shots.

  Joe thought it was over after Partanna was killed. But it wasn’t over by a mile. He received a phone call, told him to stay on Reno, but not to touch him, not yet. So Joe immediately contacted Reno’s people, told them he had heard about the Partanna hit, and offered his help. Mentioned that he was in Birmingham on business, but would be back in Vegas in a few days. And Reno’s people fell for it. Called him back within the hour and ordered him to Dale, Mississippi to provide cover for Reno’s new bride. Joe smiled just thinking about it. He was providing cover all right, he thought, as he cranked up his car, pressed the button, and drove off.

  As soon as he pressed that button, however, the house across the street, the Hathaway home, blew up like a fireball, the swoosh so sudden that it seemed almost caricatured. The neighbors rushed out onto their lawns, one lady soaking wet and wrapped only in a towel, as the fire began to consume the Hathaway home. And it was a crazy scene in Dale. A house blown up like that.

  “Is anybody inside?” one of the neighbors yelled to other neighbors in a hysterical voice. “Is anybody in there?”

  “Lord have mercy if they are!” another yelled back.

  FOUR

  His father’s closest friends were assembled in a private office at the Jersey compound, and all four were long time east coast bosses. Reno, with Carmine standing beside him, leaned back in the chair behind his deceased father’s big old Victorian desk and listened to the four men. Vito Giancarlo, the most powerful of the four, sat in front of the desk with his hands on the arms of the chair. He was a husky Italian the color of hay, doubled-chinned, pushing sixty and looking every bit his age. He and Reno’s father were the closest of friends, his father seemed to idolize the man, and an undercurrent of grief still cloaked Vito, it seemed to Reno.

  Luigi Drago, known in the family as the Drag, sat beside him. Although not nearly as powerful as Vito Giancarlo, Reno trusted Drago more. Used to always tell his father that Vito Giancarlo’s fine when you need a big mouth to speak up for you, a gossip to get the pot stirred up, but when you need a reliable hand to help you, Drago was the man to call. He was built more like Carmine, muscular and compact, than Vito, and was younger too.

  The other two bosses, Tommy Fabruccio and Enrico Lenzeni, were seated on either end of the two men. Neither were heavy-hitters, skylocking and illegal gambling bolt-holes their main drugs of choice. But they stepped up when Reno’s father was iced, and Reno therefore kept them in the loop.

  “That’s the problem,” Vito was saying. “We just don’t know. But there’s some chatter, some talk, you know, that I’m a little concerned about.”

  “What kind of talk?” Reno asked him.

  “Talk,” Vito said. “Chatter.”

  “Yeah, but what kind of talk? What kind of chatter?”

  “About Frank having more sense that we thought he had,” Tommy Fabruccio spoke up. “About Frank not being no whack job like we thought he was.”

  Reno studied Vito. “What’s the word, V?”

  Vito inhaled. “This is all rumor, mind. All speculation that nobody’s proven to my satisfaction. But there’s some talk, some chatter, that Partanna wasn’t the lone wolf we took him for. That he had backup we knew nothing about.”

  Reno’s heart began to pound. He leaned back further in his father’s swivel chair, his eyes never leaving Vito’s. Whatever there was to be known at this point, of all the men in the room, Vito would know. “This backup is one person,” Reno asked, “or a network of people?”

  Vito inhaled again. “A network’s what I’m hearing.”

  “Fuck!” Reno yelled, and slung the chair forward, his body now leaned over the desk. “How could that happen, Vito? I made clear we either hit’em all or nobody. Hit’em all or don’t hit nobody, that’s what I said. Now you’re telling me there’s more psychos out there, some under the underworld network of shitheads out there? That it wasn’t just Partanna and his lieutenants we needed to hit?”

  “Who do you think you’re yelling at, Reno?” Vito asked with a scream in his voice. “This is Vito Giancarlo here! Your father’s best friend! I loved your father!” He said this pointing at his chest, said this with pride and affection for himself.

  Reno settled back down. “I’m sorry, Vito. I didn’t mean any disrespect. But I made it clear.”

  “And we ordered our people to do exactly what you told them to do. We didn’t know about this network. I thought Pags had been called in.”

  “Pags?” Carmine asked, astounded. “Geez, Vito. Are you telling us that that psycho Pagnini ain’t dead?”

  Vito leaned back. Looked at Reno. “That’s the word I’m hearing, Ree.”

  Reno frowned. “But I thought he was called in?” Reno said. “I remember Pops telling me how stupid Partanna was to call in Pags, how messed up in the head he was to put a hit on his own best lieutenant.”

  “I was saying the same thing,” Vito said. “I thought they iced him in Portland. Everybody did. Partanna was bragging about it for the longest, bragging about how he called Pags in and killed one of the baddest bad-ass wise guys ever created, how he sent his most powerful made man packing forever.”

  “But it was a lie?”

  “It was all lies, Reno, at least that’s what I’m hearing. I’m hearing Partanna sent Pags underground to work with some undercover network he had going that oversaw his power grab. I’m hearing that now, with Partanna gone, the network’s taking over. And although Pags is second in command, he ain’t in command.”

  “Fuck!” Reno yelled again from the top of his voice, slamming his hand down on the arm of the chair. “This is exactly why I hate this shit! As soon as you think you can get in and out, you can hit and move on, you find out somebody didn’t do their homework and now you’re in some gotdamn war! There’s always some trapped door, always some fucker in some alley ready, willing, and able to keep the battle raging!”

  He exhaled, tried to control his temper, but failed. “You assured me, Vito Giancarlo,” he said in an accusatory tone. “You assured me that Partanna was surface, that he had nothing and nobody beyond his own muscle. Now you’re telling me that he not only has a network, but that Pags is in it, that crazy fuck Pagnini for crying out loud, and not just that, but that there’s some Capo dei capi in charge, some boss of bosses, we don’t even know about?”

  Vito leaned back too. He looked as if he’d aged two years in two minutes. “That’s what I’m telling you,” he said. “But nothing’s been confirmed yet, Reno, I’m also telling you that.”