by A. J. Mayall
Todd saw the look of absolute fear in Emma’s eyes. He knew she knew something, but what it was eluded him. With the knowledge he had, he couldn’t let that hunch go unaddressed. He looped the blindfold around the bottom of the panel; when it closed, the fabric marked its location. He looked to Caroline, to Joel, as they slept soundly. Nothing would happen to them, he’d make sure of that.
Emma looked at her feet. She slid down the wall, curling up and closing her eyes. Todd scowled and knelt.
“I said you sleep when I tell you to sleep.”
The fear in Emma quickly turned to anger. Her eyes opened and she hissed at Todd, “No one, and I mean no one, commands me. You don’t own me, Todd. Flush your alpha male ideas down the fucking toilet.” Her eyes showed fury, panic, and rage. She was a cornered animal in a room made of only smooth curves.
“You know what’s going on here, don’t you? You see those bodies? You know about those?” he asked, his voice rising.
“Todd, I’m telling you this once. If you try to hurt me, I will end you. I’ve dealt with men who think they can push a woman around, and I won’t take it from you.”
He leaned back. “We’ll play it your way for now, Emma. Do not fuck with me.”
“Go back to sleep. We’ll work on breaking out of here later.”
Todd kept his gaze on Emma as he moved across the room, keeping an eye on her as she slowly attempted to fall back to sleep. He made a mental note that the room did seem to dim after ten or fifteen minutes before he drifted into unconsciousness.
CHAPTER 12
“Phoenix, it’ll only piss him off if you burst into one of his offices. You go in there like a rogue Black Card, you know damn well they’re gonna go full force against you. Cut your losses! So you don’t get paid; we’ll get more business thanks to the video!”
“I’ve told you, this isn’t about the money. I need to fix this.”
“Can’t you get any help from, you know?” Suzette asked, making wavy motions with her fingers, suggesting the Cloister. She knew he fell out with them some time ago, after incidents with what he called The Always Machine. She also knew when push came to shove, they had the ability to give Phoenix the tools to solve any problem.
“No. It’s bad enough they’re trying to get my attention, to loop me into another one of their little lessons. They said one of my predecessors had information I requested.”
Suzette punched the wall. “Dammit, Phoenix, I know you don’t like them, but if you asked.…or will ask them for help and they have it ready, get it!”
“No! Getting them involved can lead to things getting worse. I’m not putting any more people at risk, Angel.”
Suzette rubbed her temples, “Fine, we do it your way. Grandma Francesca won’t tell me why she doesn’t trust them either. What’s the big fucking deal? It’s only innocent lives at stake and trying to corner a local Mafia boss and strong-arm him.”
Angelique poked her head in. “Sounds like fun! Can I help?”
Suzette rolled her shoulders forward, looking to Angelique and pointing to her still full cup of coffee. “Put on a pot of decaf, sis. Princess can’t handle real coffee and I know I’m going to be jittery from this.”
Angelique headed back to the main lobby of the office. Suzette set her fliptop into tablet mode and hung it on the wall near the whiteboard.
Phoenix sat back, looking over the notes Suzette had compiled. “Okay, one more time. Let’s see if there’s an angle here, something we’re missing, some damn clue to all this.”
“I have court records and some other juicy details found online. The main turf wars are fought by the Bellacinos from the Asylum District, and the O’Hallorans from neighboring Sandfall.”
“How did you get this?” Phoenix inquired, following it up with a swig of decaf.
“Plenty of folks have a weird fascination with this stuff; gang turfs, cartel history…I found out stuff even I don’t know how they got access to.”
“Do tell.”
“After I’m done, okay? We have a lot to cover here, especially since someone won’t get help.”
“For a good reason.”
“Whatever. Okay, so the Bellacino estate is here, right between the Asylum and Riverside districts.” She said as she made a crude map of the city, circling areas of interest.
“Okay, where would I find him? I want to get him out in public, bit more legal and less chance of him harming people.”
“According to these sites, he runs a few restaurants and delivery services.” She marked them on the map. After a few swipes on the tablet, she grabbed the red marker and gave a location a few chaotic circles. “Mondays, he hosts close friends at Harley’s on Hudson. It’s an upscale jazz club. Pool hall, gambling, cigars, that kinda deal. According to the reviews, they make an amazing chicken Milanese.”
“Is this your way of saying you want me to bring you takeout, after crashing a Mafioso’s party?”
She playfully avoided his gaze. “Maybe…” Suzette slumped forward and threw her hands up. “I don’t even know why I’m telling you all this; you’ll go in guns blazing, no matter what. If I can at least get a good meal out of it, that’s a win for me.”
“Give me the details I need to know. Also, you’re paying for the food. I’m broke.”
“Take the emergency credit card; claim it as a business expense. According to my online sources, he goes with a few of his lieutenants and bodyguards. Now, remember he’s based out of the Asylum, good chunks of his crew are Stygus and Omnus.”
“I can handle a room full of Black Cards. Listen, I’m not going to try and cause trouble. I’ll ask to see him, politely. If he can let Jeremy and Margaret go, I’ll leave him be. I don’t want the Bellacinos on my back. If things go south, you might wanna consider having your new boytoy spend a few nights over.”
“He’s not my boytoy, McGee. Not sure what I think of him right now, knowing he was there with The Pack.” She took another gulp of her coffee, sitting back, “Want to know what else was on the site about Donatello? His history might give you a psychological edge.”
Phoenix looked nonplussed. “You wanna gossip. Fine, data drop on me.”
“I have to admit, I’m kinda impressed by him.”
“Oh, God…”
“What?”
“If you’re impressed, the bastard must be a sociopath.”
She threw a marker at his head, the blunt tip bopping him on the scalp, getting a glaze of his hair gel. “Shut up, Phoenix. This is part of me doing research. Do you want to know or not?”
Phoenix rubbed his eyes, and then the top of his head wishing he had some form of alcohol to put in his coffee. “Yes, I do.”
“What do we say after I say ‘I’m kinda impressed with someone’?”
The detective groaned and leaned forward, playing along. “How so?”
“Donatello was born Belladonna, the fourth child of seven. He is now the oldest of the four remaining. Well-behaved until age eight, when eldest brother Luca was killed in a hit by the O’Hallorans. Their father was the intended target. The O’Hallorans gave up the remainder of their turf in the Asylum district as restitution. Belladonna took it hard, according to the reports I’ve managed to access.”
“That had to piss off all parties.”
“The blood feud went deep; the accidental killing of Luca, a Stygus, pissed off plenty of folks in Asylum. It didn’t matter if you were with the Bellacinos; O’Halloran came in and killed one of theirs. Old Don Romeo Bellacino incited a bloodbath on the streets. Cops had been bought out by both families, and the police didn’t want infighting.”
Phoenix scrunched up his face. “I remember some of that. Dad worked in the Sandfall for a few months. He was nervous going to and from work.”
“According to this, at least twenty-nine accidental homicides and forty gang-and Mafia-related hits happened in three months. That’s the official record.”
“What’s the story of the other two dead kids?”
“Both boys, as well. With Luca dead, the heir to the family business was now on Carmine Bellacino’s shoulders.” She shuffled through a bit of paperwork, checking her notes. “Then, Donatello showed a more active interest in the family business.” Suzette paused and looked up. “I’m saying Donatello because that’s who he is. I mean, yes, all this happened before his transition, and the records I’m citing used his name given at birth.”
“No problem, keep going.”
“Where was I?”
“Family business.”
“Right! Okay, so he was taking a more active interest and acted more rebellious. Parents and teachers tried to reel him in, to no avail. This continued until age thirteen, when Romeo reluctantly let him handle some bookkeeping to occupy him.”
“How did you find all this stuff, Suzette?” The detective was impressed. “Seriously, school records? Are those psych exam notes?”
Suzette pushed her glasses up. “I’ve had to branch out for ways of getting intel, with the legwork you’ve given me in the past. I mean, options are limited for finding the nitty-gritty for this stuff.”
“May I ask how dependable these sources are?”
“I mean, they have scans of legal documents. I don’t know how they got them, or how authentic they are. I can’t verify them with the county clerk or anything.”
“Is this legal?”
She shifted her weight from foot to foot. “Can we continue, Phoenix? I don’t want to bore you with the details of all this.”
He groaned and rubbed his temples. “Fine; I just don’t want to get arrested.”
“You won’t. I didn’t personally grab these documents. Someone else did and posted them publicly online.”
“Fine, fine…go on.” He swallowed more coffee, still wanting a bit of rum in it. He was relieved the connection hadn’t been through her grandmother. He didn’t want Francesca to be in danger, or to be more in her debt.
“Carmine was still next in line to take over. Donatello expressed interest in being in charge to a court-appointed psychiatrist during a legal dispute when he was thirteen. It was also around this time he started his transition. By the time he was sixteen, he was legally assigned his current gender.”
“Not seeing where this is relevant, Suzette.”
Suzette smacked Phoenix in the sternum. “Tradition, McGee. This stuff is passed to the eldest male child. Carmine didn’t want to take over but tradition stated he still had to. The next youngest, Mario, was fine with doing so, even if he wasn’t the brightest. Donatello still had two obstacles in his way.”
“His brothers…”
“His brothers.”
“Into the mouth of Hell, go I…”
CHAPTER 13
Morning sunlight streamed through dingy lace curtains. The tang of dust and old books hung in the air as shadows and rainbows danced on the walls. The hum of machinery and electrical current caused a buzz more felt than heard.
The cube generated excessive heat, especially in the upper levels of the building, making it necessary to open the windows; being on the riverside assisted as a heat sink. The windows hadn’t let in fresh air in years, their paint having melted enough to split when forced open.
“Phase Two, going as planned, sir,” echoed down the empty hallways of the forgotten building. The only other sounds were the voice through the earpiece and shoes on hardwood floor. The cube created enough white noise that contact over the phone required a walk to another wing of the old estate.
The once-stately manor was left to rot. Books lay on the floor. Wires supporting artworks had rusted or decayed from neglect, leaving discolored rectangles on the walls, their paintings askew or left on the floor in disrepair. Dust stood as a testament to its abandonment, also showing where the people left to monitor had wandered.
Except the ballroom; with its vaulted ceiling, access to power, and vacancy, it was the best location for the cube. It stood easily twenty feet per side, with many bits of scaffolding and safety rail circling it beyond.
The call ended and the monitors came to life as the motion sensors detected movement. The cube was, if anything, energy efficient. Fingers swiped over the main touch screen, monitoring the various life signs, ambient lighting, and temperature of the cylindrical room housed within the cube.
A list of recently compiled data was sent wirelessly to the people in charge. After all, if the cube didn’t function as it should, the design might need to go through another revision and the inhabitants would need to be purged.
The current ambient lighting was at ninety-two percent; all four inhabitants were currently awake. They had found the lavatory, and surpassed expectations by finding a way to keep it open. This reduced the maximum brightness to ninety-two percent.
The man’s phone buzzed. Quickly answering it, he simply stated, “I’m going to need the team to come soon.” He paused briefly as the voice on the other end confirmed a meet-up time. Then, he hung up and dialed his contact in charge.
“We’re ready to begin, just awaiting word.”
With that, Sam Maxwell left the cube to its own devices.
The sun set on the edge of the canyon wall as Phoenix McGee landed on Hudson Ave. The detective had spent a considerable amount of time preparing himself mentally for the upcoming exchange, and an equal amount of time getting his hair just right, while practicing various one-liners. He had a reputation to uphold, or at least establish.
He was only a few blocks from Harley’s. Phoenix slowed his pace to gather his thoughts before entering. He made a point to keep his eyes up, never knowing when you might have a flier coming in for a landing. It was customary to land on the corners, but few respected the niceties, especially in the Black Cards’ home turf.
Phoenix kept an eye out for the large red and blue neon sign, a landmark among the stretch of bars and clubs that was Hudson Ave.
He passed the thrumming bass beats of some of the more recent additions to the neighborhood, full of youth and tourists, eager to party in the metropolis of the odd. Although it wasn’t time when the big crowds came out, there were always a few early birds wanting to get their drinking done before it got too cumbersome. The city pulsed around him as he headed toward the belly of the beast. Hudson Avenue was all about entertainment and business, about keeping people’s attentions off their troubles.
He saw the familiar glow of Harley’s up ahead. It had been around for generations, even functioning as a speakeasy during Prohibition. These days, the hidden rooms became banquet halls. The mixture of brick and adobe spoke of its timeless aesthetic. Phoenix wished he hadn’t had to worry about the potential of danger here. His long-held fantasies of being the hard-boiled detective thrived on locations like this. Though he was about to confront one of the more violent Mafiosi of the city, a film noir fantasy from his youth, the reality made him think twice. He kept reminding himself of the Bentons as he entered.
The inside was adorned with intermixed soft-and hardwood. Gentle overhead lighting created a welcoming environment. It was like stepping back in time, and Phoenix instinctively drew his collar over the back of his neck and stepped to the bar, hands going to his pockets. A detective needs to look the part, after all. It also confirmed the emergency credit card was there.
The bartender, a friendly-looking man with a practiced smile, nodded to him. He had gray, piercing eyes, and was in a white dress shirt, black bowtie and red vest. Phoenix inwardly smiled; if he survived this, he would have to return. This was his sort of scene. He took a seat as the bartender spoke up.
“Get you a drink, sir?”
“Actually, you have a menu?”
The bartender produced a large, but aged, menu. The gold leaf on the cover was wearing off, and Phoenix marveled at the selection. For a man living off hot dogs, this was a piece of heaven.
“Anything you recommend?”
“We’re known for our steaks,” the bartender said, checking some of the wine glasses above, taking a few down for a quick polish. “
I’m Joe, by the way.”
“Phoenix. Nice to meet you.”
“Need a few minutes?”
Phoenix shook his head as he quickly scanned the menu. Emergency card or not, best to keep it cheap. “Spicy grilled chicken sandwich. Cherry cola as well. No ice.”
“Ever had a Syndicate?”
“What’s that?”
“Mango rum, cherry cola, and a few extra things.”
Although he made a point to rarely imbibe, it might take the edge off. “Sure, why not?”
Phoenix took the opportunity to get the lay of the place and plan escape routes as Joe mixed the drink. Once it was ready, Joe put his order into the computer nearby.
“Fries or baked potato?”
“Fries, please.”
“You got it.”
Phoenix took a slow slip from the drink, the detective closing his eyes as he enjoyed the flavors. If this was part of his last meal, so be it.
“Joe, could you help me with something?”
“That’s my job, friend.”
“I’m looking for Donatello Bellacino. I hear he comes here around this time, every week.”
Joe paused, sizing up McGee. “You sure, kid?”
“I’m not here to start trouble.”
“I’m worried you might be thinking you’re here to end trouble.” He leaned in close. “If I were you, I’d leave my regulars alone. They don’t cause me grief, and I don’t like people causing them grief.”
“I just want to talk to him,” Phoenix said, a look of nervous desperation in his eyes. He knew he wasn’t the first to seek an audience with Bellacino, but he hoped his blunt honesty would sway the man. Eventually, Joe nodded.
“Okay, back room on the left. I’ll let him know he has company. You cause trouble, it’ll be a cold day in hell before you’re let back in here, kid.”
Phoenix nodded and downed the last of the Syndicate. He cased the place once more. Front exit, fire exit in back, the kitchen probably had an exit too. He could break through a few large windows if push came to shove.