“You gotta speak up for me, Leo,” he said to Mick’s security chief. Leo sat in the front seat too, beside Bernardo. Tonk sat in the back, in the middle seat, beside Rossi, another one of Mick’s men. “You gotta tell him I had nothing to do with it.”
“Lie to him in other words?” Leo asked.
“It’s no lie! I’m innocent, Leo!”
“Yeah, sure.”
“I am! I wouldn’t undermine Mick the Tick, are you crazy? Are you fucking crazy?”
“But you are,” Leo said. “For what you did, you are!”
Tonk looked back again as the limousine approached. He turned back around, his shaking even more pronounced. “You gotta speak up for me, Leo! He’ll listen to you. This is my life we’re talking about!”
“You’re a dead man, Maggio,” Leo said bluntly. “You should have known better.”
“I know better now. Help me, Leo. We go way back. Help me!”
But nobody cared. Not Leo, not Bernardo, nobody. Loyalty was number one with Mick and they all knew it. Tonk knew it too. He was on his own.
The limo pulled up alongside the Town Car. Deuce hurried out and opened the back passenger door for Mick. Mick got out and got into the backseat of the Town Car, beside Tonk. One of his closest employees.
Tonk was ready. He was ready to beg for his life. He and Mick went way back. But Mick wasn’t ready to listen to his plea. He faced forward. He didn’t even look at Tonk. “Why?” he asked him.
“You gotta understand my position, Michello. You gotta understand---”
“Why?” Mick asked him again.
Bernardo looked through the rearview. What was Tonk’s problem? He knew his only chance was to be straight with Mick. What was he doing?
“I didn’t do anything,” Tonk said. “I keep telling them they have the wrong guy!”
But Mick already heard the recording. The fact that Tonk was now lying to him, instead of coming clean, made it worse. “Why did you go to the Feds?”
“But I didn’t!”
“Stop fucking with me!” Mick screamed so loud it felt as if the car shook. “Your ass went to Special Agent Evans and told him all there was to know about me and my business. You work for me and you’re telling some gotdamn Fed all you know?”
Mick calmed back down. “Fortunate for me, Special Agent Evans work for me too,” he said. Then he looked at Tonk. “Fortunate for me. Unfortunate for you.”
Tonk’s eyes rolled in the back of his head and his entire countenance changed.
“It’s like thinking the worse is over,” Mick said, “and you’re walking in the middle of the street celebrating that fact. Only to find yourself face to face with a Mack truck. So yes, my former friend, you’re fucked. Even bullshit cannot help you now.”
Tonk looked at Mick. He had to throw himself on the mercy of a man who never showed any. But he knew there was no other way. “Give me one more chance,” he said. “I’ll be a plant for you. You can use me any way you want, Mick. We go back too far for it to end like this. I wasn’t trying to rat you out. I was . . . Don’t do me this way. You owe me, Mick. Don’t do me this way!”
Mick stared at him. Tonk thought it was because he might have gotten through to him, and he was interested in reasoning with him. Bernardo thought so too.
“Everybody out,” Mick said.
Tonk’s heart swelled with hope. Did he say the right words? Finally he said the right words!
Bernardo, Leo, and Rossi got out of the Town Car and closed the doors. It was now Tonk and Mick alone. And Tonk was ready.
“I can be your plant,” he said again. “I’m not the only member of your inner circle who ratted you out. I can’t be! There’s other poison pills. But I can sniff them out for you, Michello. And nobody will know the wiser. All those fuckers will think I’m on the outs with you. But I’ll be your inside man!”
It sounded wonderful to Tonk. He was making it up as he went along, but he knew he was clever enough to do that. And Mick was falling for it. He felt Mick was falling for it lock, stock, and barrel.
Until he felt Mick grab him by the head and move him as if he was floating underwater, until his head was crashing into the side glass of the car. And then he hit his head against that glass again.
“You’re going to snitch on me,” Mick said, hitting Tonk’s head against the glass again. “You’re going to go to the Feds to rat me out.” Another hit. “And you expect me to let you get away with that shit? I owe you? What the fuck do I owe you?”
Mick was just as offended now as he was angry. He rammed Tonk’s head and rammed Tonk’s head until it broke the glass.
Tonk was fighting for his life, but he was no match for Mick. Because as soon as the window crashed, Mick’s fist took over. He beat Tonk and beat Tonk until blood covered his once handsome face. Tonk managed to open the door and then fall out of the car, but Mick the Tick fell out with him. And he was on top of him, still beating the shit out of him. He hit him and hit him and hit him. He wanted no mercy and showed none. His men couldn’t even watch. It was just that brutal.
But that was why they loved their boss. He never let another man do his dirty work. He never put blood on their hands until he put it on his own first. And his hands were bloody. He was beating Tonk Maggio to within an inch of his life. He was down in the dirt doing it himself. He was no Mafia. There was no honor in him. When it came to exacting revenge, Mick was a ticking time bomb. Mick the Tick was a thug.
Tonk Maggio was still holding on. His face was raw meat as his skin had separated and bones were showing. He was on the doorstep of death. And that was when Mick stopped. And sat there. And watched Tonk Maggio slowly show some signs, flicker, and then fade away.
Mick stood up. His men stared at him with terror in their hearts. One of them, Rossi, handed Mick a handkerchief. He wiped his hands as he stared down at Tonk. “That’s what happens to a fucker,” he said to them, “when they cross me.” He looked at his men, as if he wanted Tonk’s horrible death to be a warning to them. Then he handed the handkerchief back to Rossi, walked to his limo, and Deuce let him in.
When he got inside, and the door slammed shut, he leaned back, gripping the armrest. He was not a man who hated this part of his life, because he knew it was a necessary part of his life. He’d been in it too long to hate it. What he hated were the people who thought they could get away with backstabbing him and face no retribution. What he hated were the snitches and the plants and the flimflammers trying to bring down his organization. That was what he hated. That was what he was going to stomp in the ground every time it rose up. Mick Sinatra might have been an upstanding businessman. But Mick the Tick was a thug. That was why he was still standing today. He would have been dead if he wasn’t as tough as he was. And he made no apologies for it.
But as Deuce pulled off, leaving his men behind to clean up his mess, his cell phone rang. When he pulled it out and saw that it was Rosalind calling, his entire train of thought ceased. And he smiled. Rosalind. He was about to answer her call. She was undoubtedly concerned about him.
But just as he was about to answer, just as he was about to reassure her that he was just fine, he thought, not about himself for once in his life, but about her. Because he knew he was not just fine. He looked at his hands, and what his hands just did to a man. He was not just fine. Because he knew, if they continued down this road, it was going to lead to more, not less of a connection. And he was going to plunge her, not only in his world of legitimate high finance, but in his world of trash barrel thuggery. He was going to change her life forever. She was going to rue the day she ever laid eyes on him. And that look of love and admiration will turn into horror and disappointment, the same look his father gave to him, and his mother gave to him, and the world gave to him. And coming from Rosalind? That could be the death of him.
He didn’t answer her call.
He couldn’t.
He let it ring.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The next day, Roz was at
the acting studio going over line sets with a handful of her students. She wanted to try Mick’s cell phone again, because she was still worried about him, but one of her students, a method actor who was certain he could teach her a thing or two, was getting on her last nerve.
“I cannot do it,” he said, in the middle of rehearsing a line.
“Really, Zack?” Roz responded. “We’re still on page one and you have another issue?”
“Is it my fault these people don’t know what they’re doing? No,” he added, answering his own question.
His reading partner, Pam, rolled her eyes.
“Roll your eyes all you please,” Zack responded. “This is all wrong.”
“What is it your business?” Pam asked. “Nobody’s asking you to marry the script. Just read the freaking line for crying out loud!”
“What’s the problem now?” Roz asked Zack, maintaining her cool. She had the play in her hands as well.
“This line is the problem,” Zack said. “I am sorry, but it is.”
“Which line?”
Zack counted them. “Fourteen.”
Roz moved her finger down to the fourteenth line of the script. She read it, and looked back up at him. “I don’t see what you’re talking about. It’s perfectly fine.”
“That line is perfectly wrong,” Zack said. “It reads, ‘she is been.’ How can they expect me to say she is been?”
Roz looked again. And then read the dialogue aloud. “She’s been there before.” She looked at Zack. And frowned. “What wrong with that? What are you talking about?”
Zack was happy to correct her. “She’s, for your information, Miss Teacher, and I use that term advisedly, means she is.”
Pam shook her head. She couldn’t believe it.
Roz couldn’t either. “She’s means she is. But it also means she has. As in she has been. As in she’s been there before. Come on now, Zack. Work with me, brother. You’re an actor. You know words have more than one meaning. Just read what it says. You’re killing me here!”
“He’s killing all of us here,” Pam echoed, and the rest of the troupe applauded.
But Zack would not let up. The next line was a problem for him too, and the line after that. Then the stage direction was an issue. Then the fact that they were not being trained as method actors. He felt they should all go out and work as janitors and maids in order to play their assigned roles more effectively. Or, as he called it, with more honest integrity. Roz was on the verge of telling him what he could do with his honest integrity, but she held her peace. He was disruptive, but he paid just as all the others had paid. He had a right to complain.
And they managed to get through it. Soon he was in the groove too, and the line sets were actually being completed. But Roz was only barely there. Because Mick was still on her mind. Because Mick left her bed late last night promising to return. But now, in the light of day, he wasn’t even returning her phone calls. She was nobody’s chump. She was not the kind of woman who chased after men. But she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. She was worried about Mick.
After work when her last student (Zack) asked his final question and she was free to leave, she couldn’t see herself going back to that apartment and that bed that still held his scent. She, instead, took the Subway to Broadway. Barry Acker’s play was in rehearsals now and she knew the stage manager. He let her in, but it would be nearly half an hour before Barry could break away and talk to her.
But when they talked, she quickly realized that he knew nothing either.
“So he hasn’t phoned you at all?” she asked.
“Not at all,” Barry admitted. “But he wouldn’t. That’s not his style. The only time I get to see him when he’s in town is if I track him down myself. If I don’t run him down, he’ll be in and out of here without so much as a hello. That’s Mick.”
But that still didn’t alleviate Roz’s concern. She wanted to know that he was okay. She couldn’t dismiss that need to know.
Barry saw the concern in her eyes, and he felt for her. Although Mick didn’t hold him in any great esteem, he wasn’t sure if he knew how, he had a heart for Mick. He loved him like a son. “You’re a good, normal girl, Roz. And I know you don’t want to hear this, but find yourself a good, normal guy. Mick hits and run. He always has and always will. He’s rough around the edges. That’s his style.”
But Roz wasn’t ready to believe he could be that callous. Not the man who pulled her into his arms to shield her from harm. Not the man who rode the Subway with her. Not the man who made love to her the way he made love. But Barry wouldn’t understand. “Could you phone him? Maybe he’ll answer your call. I just want to make sure he’s okay.”
But Barry declined. “I can’t do that,” he said. “I’m still Mick’s friend because I give him his space. As soon as I start intruding onto that space, he’ll cut me off. I like him in my life rather than out of it. I can’t do it.”
Roz didn’t want to hear it, but she couldn’t make him do what he didn’t want to do. So she said her goodbyes and headed down the aisle toward the exit door.
Barry watched her walk away. And he had the oddest feeling. He had a strange feeling that the best woman in this world for Mick was walking away. He hesitated still, but then he gave in. “Roz!” he called after her.
Roz turned, and saw Barry walking up to her. “I won’t call him, or get in his business that way. He’ll never forgive me if I do. But it’s public knowledge he’s staying at the Carson. If he’s still in town, that’s where he’ll be.”
Roz smiled. Thanked Barry. And headed for the Carson.
The Carson-Benning, one of the richest hotels in the city, wasn’t exactly the kind of opulent grandeur Roz was used to, but she entered the palace doors anyway. She was determined to make sure Mick was okay. She knew it was risky. She knew he could be avoiding her like the plague because he didn’t want to have anything more to do with her. Guys charmed their way into ladies’ beds all the time, only to dump them like bad habits as soon as they zipped back up their pants. Mick could be that guy. He could be that heartless. But her instincts were betting against it. She entered the massive hotel, so far outside of her comfort zone, on instinct alone.
But as Roz made her way to the front desk, Mick’s limousine pulled up outside. Deuce hurried from behind the wheel, and stood at the back passenger door, but Mick remained inside. His head was leaned back. His eyes were closed. He’d been in meetings all day, mostly concerning problems with security breaches, and he had a business dinner to attend in a couple hours concerning his offshore investments. His schedule was packed solid. But he was unsettled. Because with so many issues to think about, all he was thinking about was Roz.
During the course of the day, he pulled out his cell phone more times than he would ever admit, ready to answer her call or phone her himself. But he didn’t do it. Not for his sake. He knew he would do himself the greatest favor in the world by involving her in his life. But what would it do for her? She would go from being an uncomplicated woman in beautiful obscurity to becoming the woman of one of the most complicated men in America. His load would become her load. His enemies would become her enemies. His tortured heart would become hers.
He couldn’t do that to her.
He finally opened his eyes and got out of his limousine. Fairytales came true, they did for Reno Gabrini after all, but Reno’s blues were not like his. He was a bad man. Reno, deep down, had a heart of gold and would give a scumbag a break. Mick didn’t believe in giving breaks. He believed in taking breaks. He learned long ago that no fairytales were coming true for a man like him.
But even though fairytales weren’t going to come true for Mick, they sometimes dropped by. That was the feeling he felt when he stepped out of his limousine and saw Rosalind coming out of the hotel. He froze where he stood.
His sudden stop was so pronounced and unexpected that Deuce looked to see what his boss was seeing. When he saw Roz standing there, staring at
Mick as if she was angry and pleased all at once, Deuce couldn’t help but smile. That’s how you do it, young lady, he thought. He believed Mick Sinatra was hers for the taking, but she had to be smart enough to understand it. She was, he thought happily. She was.
Mick lost his glide as he walked across the sidewalk toward her. He couldn’t pretend to be cool. The area was busy, with cars picking up and dropping off and people coming and going, but all he saw was Roz. He tried to plaster on his best business smile and play it off, but he couldn’t pull it off. Seeing her again was felt too deeply.
She wore a red skirt and a red and white blouse. Red was one of his least favorite colors, given his line of work. But it looked beautiful on her. “Business at the Carson?” he asked her.
“No,” she said plainly.
He appreciated her honesty.
“I wanted to make sure you were okay.”
Mick was touched. He was touched in a way that would stun her. She didn’t come to cuss him out for leaving her. She didn’t come to sass him for failing to keep his promise. She came to make sure he was all right. She came for him. Emotion swelled within him like a rushing tide. “Thank you,” he said.
The Doorman, after opening the door for another VIP, looked over and saw Roz with Mick. He hurried over, his hands clasped. “Are you alright, sir?” he asked Mick, glancing at Roz. “Is this person bothering you?”
Mick gave that man a look so cold even Roz felt its chill. He didn’t have to say a word. His look said it all.
The Doorman, mortified that he had totally misread the situation, quickly moved away from them. Roz looked at Mick and smiled. And just like that, that feeling of safety she felt around him returned. No man had ever made her feel so secure. But the fact remained: he was okay, and he didn’t get in touch. “I won’t keep you,” she said. “I’m glad you’re okay. I’ll let you get on with it. Have a nice day.”
And she began to walk away. But Mick pulled her back. He should let her go, he knew. For her sake. But he couldn’t. “Not so fast,” he said, holding onto her hand. “You know I’m okay. I need to know you’re okay.”
Mick Sinatra: For Once In My Life Page 10