by Frank, S. W.
Crystalia continued, “You are shocked by these things?”
“A little.”
“I hear Nico is very well-endowed…you know…as they say in America, hung or something like this.”
Selange had to smile, yes he was but Alfonzo’s chain had ample linkage and he knew how to work it.
“I would like to find out if this is true. I wonder if he likes redheads, what do you think?”
“I don’t know you’ll have to ask him.” Selange replied keeping a straight face, although she truly wanted to say, ‘bitch back-off!’
“Anyway, it is late. Remember to be careful of those two.”
With this warning, Crystalia sauntered away and soon Selange followed, wondering whether Nico did in fact like redheads.
At the bedroom door she shared with Kim-Sung she inhaled a familiar scent and glanced down the dimly lit corridor. It was two in the morning, someone else was awake, and apparently there were others who could not sleep. The odor came from one of the rooms. She smelled the scent every day growing up in a Brooklyn housing project. It would drift beneath the doors of her apartment or an open window while she slept and mingle with the air in the morning when she walked to school. Domingo reeked of it at times; the stench was unmistakable.
She opened the door and there with her head dangling out of a window, clad in bright silk jammies stood the petite Kim-Sung puffing on a joint.
The cold wind chilled the room and caused Selange to shiver involuntarily. She shut the door, “Close the window and go to bed!”
Kim-Sung retracted her head and turned around leaning against the windowsill. “Join me, good stuff.”
Selange’s expression reflected her shock that Kim-Sung even smoked weed. She wondered what else didn’t she know about this eclectic group of women and most importantly what did they know about her?
***
Kim-Sung grew and harvested her own marijuana. She brought a gallon bag of the stuff and a handful of delicious aromatic fragrances to burn as air fresheners. How did Selange know? Kim-Sung told her as she sat cross-legged on the floor, leaning on Selange’s bed, talking up to her uninterested roommate. She told Selange she didn’t trust the dealers and preferred growing her own weed. What Selange hadn’t expected was the in-depth lesson Kim-Sung gave on the subject. A girl from Brooklyn didn’t know squat in comparison, but then again Selange never smoked anything.
Kim-Sung recited many of the crazy names cannabis went by; grey goose, sour diesel, skywalker, OG, purple kush, god’s gift and a list of others. Then she went into the pure marijuana plant groups which are either indica or sativa, describing the plants and their effects. Typically indica strains of cannabis are smaller in stature then sativa. They’re bushy and grow wider rather than taller. It gives the body buzz allowing the user to just sit and relax. It’s also medicinally used to treat insomnia. Kim-Sung said it helped her fall asleep, which Selange supposed was what she tried to achieve at this hour of the morning but by her chatter it had yet to work.
The sativa strain of cannabis is longer and taller than the indica strains. They induce the user into a state often described as uplifting and energetic. Ideal for daytime smokers who engage in physical activity. Perhaps, Kim-Sung got the information reversed or the weed clouded her brain. If what she said were true, shouldn’t she be asleep, after-all she had smoked two joints in the past hour?
At three in the morning, and tired of listening to the ramblings of a pot-head, Selange reached for her Ipod, slipped in her earphones, pulled the covers over her head and forced herself to sleep. Kim-Sung and Domingo were ideal for each other!
***
Selange’s eyelids felt like bricks were holding them shut as she struggled to open them at the sound of a woman’s voice right above her head raised in condemnation. There was male laughter, one she recognized instantly. She peered over the edge of the blanket and was greeted by a clean-shaven and gorgeous Nico. Tia scowled at her and the midday sunlight made her squint.
Tia pointed to the windowsill, fussing in Italian and gesturing at Selange. Blinking, Selange slid up and rubbed the heavy slabs from her eyes. “What time is it?”
“One o’clock.”
Nico’s expression was soft, “Seems Kim-Sung had you up late.”
Another groan, “You think? I get put in a room with a pothead.” Selange answered. “Let me get ready before Tia gets an aneurysm.”
At the sound of her name Tia gestured and stormed out the room, calling over her shoulder, “Vieni Nico, fuori!”
Nico’s dimples were visible without the beard. Selange waved bye, thinking how odd Alfonzo had deep ones like that, too.
“Meet you downstairs, Tia’s making sure I get out.” Tia hovered at the door. Nico kept his back to the cantankerous woman and silently mouthed, “Hurry up woman; I’ve got a surprise for you.”
And like many women eager to receive an unexpected gift, Selange leaped out of bed, her shapely round bottom visible in the skimpy lace shorts as she rushed to the bathroom. Nico’s smile broadened. He had to admit, the woman could move and damn she was hot!
Unlike most women she was dressed in under an hour, in the car beside Nico and they were on their way.
Nico actually smiled. She looked like a celebrity in the faux fur white sable, matching hat and designer shades. Her rich black hair covered her collar and quite frankly she looked stunning for someone who’d gotten dressed so quickly. Nico complimented her, “You look beautiful.”
“Thank you. I see you shaved, I approve.”
“Glad you like.” He motioned to the backseat, “I brought along a camera in case you want to take some pictures.”
She reached for the camera, a Canon Eos 7D. It’s considered top of the line, mainly used by professionals. She placed it on her lap, “Where are we going?”
“It’s a surprise, remember?”
“Does it include food?”
“Food for the mind, sure.”
Her fingers caressed the 28/135mm lens as the Mercedes traveled the narrowing road. She watched the scenery unaware Nico watched her wondering what she was thinking about or who. Certainly she thought about her children, he thought about his every day, but he hadn’t thought much about Ariana. He never wore his wedding band, it was an occupational hazard. Selange’s bright pink diamond was worn religiously on her finger. Was she thinking of her husband at this very minute and their wedding vows, he wondered?
His mouth tightened. She loved Alfonzo and he would never ask her to choose. No, he wasn’t delusional about who she loved more or angry for that matter. There were children to consider not mentioning the precariousness of their situation. Besides, Alfonzo would not let her go, he knew the man well. He’d die or kill before he allowed it. That’s the strength of how much he loved her. Anyway, Nico figured marriage for somebody like him wasn’t in the cards. There weren’t happy ever after’s for a hit-man. A solitary life awaited or an assassin’s bullet. Having and loving such a wonderful woman in the here and now was enough for Nico. He was blessed in some regard, he’d found love twice, produced two wonderful boys and got to taste a bit of heaven. It was enough. He could feel her eyes on him, and then she turned away to check text messages. He gave a voice command and the sound of classical music filled the silence. His errant thoughts were redirected to the road.
Soon Nico turned onto the piazza Santa Maria delle Grazie to the ancient church which housed Leonardo Di Vinci’s famous painting of ‘The Last Supper’.
“Oh my God, Nico, is this what I think it is?” She gasped.
Her joy brought a smile back to his mouth, “Surprise.”
She jumped excitedly, kissed his cheek and he thought of his boys, wishing they were here, wishing for a lot of things –and that’s what bothered him most, the ‘wishing’ part because he wasn’t the wishing kind.
Visitors were usually allowed only fifteen minutes for viewing, but Nico as a ‘special guest’ had no time restriction. A hefty donation allotted him intimat
e access which was cool since Selange wanted copious pictures of the grand painting and the ancient church. From there they visited The Duomo, the third largest church in Christendom.
She took a few tourist brochures and he laughed at her, making her put them away. He gave her background information as he guided her though the great cathedral, sharing stories not printed on the shiny pamphlets. They rode the elevator to the roof of the Duomo stretching high above the piazza del Duomo and when they reached the top, she took his arm, moving close to his body for warmth. He tried not to get distracted and pointed at the baroque and neo-gothic façade and the five carved doors done by separate artisans, describing the politics at the time of their selection. He also, told her the beautiful cathedral took 500 years to complete and from where they stood high atop the roof there was a breathtaking view of the Alps. He pointed and she released his arm to get pictures, turned, smiled and took one of him, then took his arm again.
“You know a lot about these places. You’ve probably visited many times, didn’t you?” She asked impressed by his wealth of knowledge.
He found her statement amusing. He was born in Italy, schooled there and proud of his heritage, both good and bad. These antique buildings were lasting symbols of the past. A testament to the intelligence and hard work of a strong people just as the pyramids and sphinx were to the people of Africa. He sometimes found Americans oblivious to history and often lacking in detailed knowledge of the monuments thriving in their midst. He met many New Yorkers who lived in the city all their lives and had yet to visit the Statute of Liberty and if they had were unable to articulate even the smallest details. This was not isolated to New York City; it was prevalent in San Diego, Florida and many other states scattered across America. Perhaps this is why she was easily enthralled by his recital of the buildings history.
He took her hand, “You hungry?”
“Starving now.”
He teased, “Starving, huh. Only days ago you barely ate.”
The smile he received was one of genuine love, “Until you talked sense into me, remember?” Her lip curled, “That scared straight shit, really works.”
A bass of a laugh escaped his throat, “Oh, that’s all it took. Me? I feel honored to have such power.” He took the camera from around her neck and shot several frames of the smiling young woman. When he finished he put the strap over his shoulder then drew her tightly against him and asked. “How’s the baby treating mom?”
“I’m getting tired really fast. I don’t remember feeling this way when I was pregnant with Allie or Sal. I gained two more pounds this week.”
“Every pregnancy is different, but tomorrow if you like we can visit a doctor friend of mine, she’s discreet.”
“No, I’ll be home soon, it can wait.”
“You sure?”
“Yes,” she placed her hand on his arm, “thanks for taking such great care of me.”
“It’s my pleasure.”
High above the piazza Duomo he kissed her.
A flash from a camera ended his public display of affection and he turned to see where it originated and spotted a man on the other side of the roof angled in their direction with a camera about to take another shot.
The man wore dark shades and Nico could not see his eyes. He was also alone, highly unusual. He carried a cylindrical shopping bag with the name of a local winery embossed on it. The neck of the bottle with its black cap showed over the plastic rim, other than this and the camera, there were no other signs of shopping, which struck Nico as out of the ordinary. Most tourists traveled in pairs or groups, bought souvenirs or mementoes at every opportunity and took pictures of the scenery or each other, this man did not. Nico surmised the man was not a tourist.
“No pictures!” Nico exclaimed as he walked over.
The man answered in a Milanese accent, Nico detected. “I could not miss the opportunity to take a picture of love.”
Nico grabbed the camera, removed the memory card and handed the man his camera with fifty euros, far more than the cost of the inexpensive xD picture card. “No pictures I said. Here buy another one and take pictures of someone who doesn’t mind.” Eyeing and assessing the unassuming man.
He crushed the card with his heel and swiftly walked away running his hands inside his coat for the concealed weapon in the inside pocket. He did not draw it, only released the safety then collected Selange and hurried her to the elevator. The man would not do anything in public; witnesses were everywhere, besides he would not make it from the building. Security covered every floor. No, he’d wait.
“What happened, what’s that about?”
Nico didn’t answer. Once clear of the cathedral he escorted her in the direction of the restaurants and cafés. They stopped at the Panzerotti Luini where he watched the faces as they waited on line, scanning for the man from the roof. At the counter he ordered the famed panzerotti, rounds of dough stuffed with tomato and mozzarella and beverages. He saw no sign of the man. He paid for their order, snatched up the bag and escorted her out a back door to a narrow street. They were on the opposite side of the piazza now hidden from view. This shorter route to the underground garage was lightly traveled and unknown to the throngs of tourists.
“What’s wrong Nico, are we being followed?”
Conversation was a distraction and he gave no response. He was too busy listening to other external sounds. The sun began to set and they had maybe twenty to thirty minutes of natural light remaining before the oppressive darkness settled overhead. He wanted to get on the road, see if anyone tailed along. Selange’s feet moved swiftly in the practical boots and he appreciated she didn’t persist with any further questions and kept pace with him. He looked over his shoulder as they came into an opening and were visible to the public. The garage entrance was across this narrow street. He pulled her along, past a couple and then an elderly woman who smiled with her missing teeth. Nico nodded as he squeezed past. Culinary aromas clung to the air as they passed a row of residential buildings and entered the entrance to the underground parking lot. Car horns blared in the distance and he halted, stole a glance over his shoulder and spotted the man with the bag heading to the garage from an easterly direction.
He initiated the remote start, unlocked the vehicle from where they were and thrust the bag and camera in Selange’s hands, pointed to the car and gestured she leave. Selange listened, this time and hurried past the rows of cars until she reached the Mercedes. He heard the door thud and knew she had made it inside.
Nico positioned himself on the east side of the cement entry and listened. The running of boot encased feet drew near; it came close to the wall. The foot entered before the body followed and this is when Nico struck. A powerful hand grabbed the man’s throat, lifting him off his feet and the bag crashed to the ground. He was quickly pressed against the cement wall and as Nico rapidly frisked him with one hand. He removed the gun from the man’s underarm holster, shoved in his pocket and asked, “Who sent you?”
“No English.”
Nico asked in Italian.
The man answered. “No one.”
Nico squeezed until he choked, “I do not know. It was a call, a voice only. I do not know.”
“Were you sent to kill me?”
The man said nothing.
Nico slapped the glasses off his face and asked again, “Were you?”
“Yes, and to take the woman.”
“Then what?”
“I was to call when it was done.”
“Call, who?”
The man refused to answer. Nico’s eyes squinted. He rummaged through the man’s pockets and found no form of identification or numbers written on a card of any kind. The numbers were in the man’s head, memorized, of course and he would not divulge it. Nico didn’t have time to torture the truth out of him and opted to cut the tail off instead.
Nico pressed hard on the man’s face with one hand and with the other punched with the points of his knuckles at a strategic section of the
sternum. He felt and heard the bone fracture. The man clutched his chest, his eyes wide at the sudden pain and Nico knew he struck accurately. Right now a sharp bone or two punctured the man’s heart and without immediate medical intervention he’d die. The man could do nothing under the intense pain except watch as his body was guided sideways to the ground. His eyes followed Nico’s movements as he knelt to retrieve the broken wine bottle. Wine pooled at the bottom of the bag and he used it to pour over the stricken man’s coat. He also dribbled the liquid on the man’s mouth then placed the bag within reach of the dying man before trotting to the car.
A perfect day ruined!
.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Alfonzo finally received a text from his wife during breakfast. Last night he found it hard to sleep, as usual and spent most of the night staring at the ceiling debating on whether to call her. He’d called numerous times and she wasn’t answering. Fed-up with the silent treatment he text her late, ‘contact me or I’ll be there tonight!
Apparently the threat worked and her text read; ‘I NEED SPACE!!!!’ Yup, that’s what she replied in all caps and overused exclamation marks for emphasis.
Frustrated with her reluctance to listen to his explanation, he pushed from the table and dialed her cell. This time she answered. “Didn’t you get my text?”
Alfonzo slipped out the patio doors and walked out to the lawn. “To hell with space, either you listen to my explanation or I’m leaving to come there and we’ll talk face-to-face!”
“You have a lot of nerve, demanding I listen to you after you’re latest stunt. You don’t have the right to demand anything. I had it with your lies, save them for the bitch you slept with!”
Alfonzo’s jaw muscles pushed out of his skin. He halted right there on the lawn and peered toward the house. Thank goodness he was too far away for anyone to overhear his angry response. He was furious with her tone and her self-righteous attitude. “What the hell are you talking about goddammit, estás loco?”