***
Scott sat in the back seat of the shiny black Escalade parked near the shoreline and smoked his cigar with several armed goons close by. The area was quiet and regulated with Scott’s people, so there was no unwanted company.
Florida’s heat was stifling. Even with dusk settling over the city, it still felt like it was a hundred degrees. Dressed sharply in a three-piece suit, looking like a mafia don with his gold cufflinks and pricey watch, he grieved his son’s death in his own way. Keeping busy was one way. Another way was infidelity.
But this thing with his son bothered him. Something wasn’t right, and he wanted to get to the bottom of it. What type of person ran down a child and fled the scene? Scott didn’t care if the driver turned out to be a sixteen year old kid; anyone connected to his son’s death would die slowly.
He puffed on his cigar as he gazed at the calm ocean. It seemed like a gateway, with the fresh waters peeking at the dry earth above. Occasionally the sea gently rolled against the soft sand and moved back to its watery home, as the sunset cast an evening light against the shore.
Soon, another vehicle approached. The bright headlights belonged to a white Escalade, which parked in front of Scott’s car. The rear doors opened, and two men climbed out. One was a detective named Joseph Mastery.
Before meeting with Mastery, Scott researched everything about him. He had fifteen years on the police force, eight years with Miami-Dade, and then he became a homicide detective in Key West. He had been married to his beautiful wife Jennifer for five years, and they had one boy and two girls. His parents were still living. His police record was okay—a few little bumps here and there, but nothing too wild. His personal life seemed ordinary, minus his gambling habit. He was in debt for ten thousand dollars to a local bookie.
Scott’s men went to Mastery’s home to collect him for a meeting. It wasn’t a choice. Detective Mastery seemed alarmed by their sudden presence, but he complied. He told his wife he’d be right back and left with the men. The men told him there would be no need for his firearm.
One of Scott’s men escorted him to the black Escalade. He approached the window and asked Scott, “You ready to see him, boss?”
Scott nodded.
The passenger door opened, and Mastery was told to get into the truck. He got in and sat next to Scott.
“Why am I here?” Mastery asked.
Scott puffed his cigar and didn’t speak for a beat. He wanted the cop to feel his power. “You know my son?”
“Pardon me?”
“You’re the detective investigating his death, and I want the case file on my son’s murder.”
“I can’t,” the detective said.
“In my world, there’s no such thing as can’t. When I want something done, or if something is needed, I’ll get it either way, Detective. Now, I want the file, and I want information on the case. And before you continue to contest me, I hope you’ll consider that there can either be retribution or reward.” Scott dropped a thick manila envelope filled with cash onto the detective’s lap. “There’s twenty thousand dollars there, enough to pay off your gambling debts and still treat your family to something really nice.”
Joseph Mastery picked up the envelope and stole a look inside. He was shocked to see only hundred-dollar bills clustered together, definitely a lot of money in his eyes. “Whoa!”
“Now, can we talk?”
Mastery exhaled. “What do you need to know?”
“Tomorrow, I want everything you have in my possession,” Scott said.
Mastery nodded.
Scott took another draw from the cigar and exhaled. The back seat clouded with smoke, but Mastery wasn’t bothered by it.
“Gotti meant the world to me, Detective, and his life was stolen from him.”
“My condolences. I’m a father myself. I can only imagine.”
“What do I need to know right now about the hit-and-run?”
Mastery paused for a beat. He sighed. “First, I don’t believe it was an accident. Where your son was struck, there weren’t any skid marks to indicate the driver intended to brake or stop. And from the forensics deposition, the car had to be traveling a good speed, say maybe sixty to seventy miles per hour.”
“So it was a murder?”
“Unfortunately, yes.”
Scott fumed on the inside.
The detective added, “We found the car torched right after. It had been reported stolen. The owners of the vehicle are law-abiding and taxpaying citizens; nothing strikes me as suspicious about them. Their alibi checks out.”
“And the driver of the car?” Scott asked.
“Nothing yet. The fire destroyed any evidence that might have been inside the car. We don’t have a face or name. But a few witnesses saw a cable van in the area around the time of the incident with your son.”
“You’ve done your job well, Detective. Thank you. I expect the file tomorrow,” Scott said coolly. “That’s all.”
Mastery nodded.
The rear passenger door opened, and one of Scott’s goons was waiting to escort Detective Mastery back to his home. Mastery climbed out of the SUV and walked back to the vehicle he’d arrived in.
Scott sat wordlessly in the back seat, consumed by his thirst for vengeance. He didn’t want the cops to find Gotti’s killer. He wanted to locate the man himself and make him beg for death.
25
Three weeks after her son’s funeral, Layla flew back to Florida first class on American Airlines. Though she was reluctant to leave New York and wanted to be close to her son’s gravesite, she still had business in Florida to take care of. The moment she announced to Scott she was heading back to Florida, he was ready to return to New York.
Bonnie and Clyde had the courage to go back earlier and had the estate to themselves. Scott had booked the Four Seasons Hotel so that he could freely hold meetings with the underworld in an attempt to locate his son’s killer. He needed to keep Bonnie and Clyde away from the family business until things settled down. They took full advantage of not being chaperoned by their mother or father. Housekeepers, a driver, gardeners, and credit cards helped them maintain, but neither parent was around full-time anyway. They missed Gotti, but their lives went on. New York was a happening place, but the twins enjoyed Florida more with its warm weather, beaches, and upbeat atmosphere. They couldn’t wait to move there full-time.
The black Maybach pulled into the circular driveway and stopped at the front entrance of the home with the two large pillars. The chauffeur climbed out and opened the back door for his passenger.
Layla swung her legs around, and her “red bottoms” touched the pavement to her property. She climbed out of the sleek Maybach, looking stunning in a short sundress and big hat. She took a deep breath and stalled. She had a quick flashback of the two cops showing up to her door to deliver the bad news.
“I’ll get your things, Mrs. West,” the chauffeur said.
Layla nodded. She climbed the stairs to the entrance, and the wide front doors opened on cue. Bonnie and Clyde greeted their mother with smiles on their faces.
Layla hugged her children and went inside. Everything was the way she’d left it. The staff had taken good care of the place. “I need a drink,” Layla said.
The maid hurried off to fulfill her request. She soon returned with a Daiquiri made with rum, simple syrup, and lime juice.
Layla wasted no time drinking it. On the way to her bedroom, she stopped at Gotti’s bedroom and peeked inside. It was the same—messy and undisturbed. His video games on the floor were a sad thing to her. He loved his video games. Layla wiped the tears from her eyes. She felt it was a mistake to look into the room so soon. She closed his door, releasing a deep sigh.
She went into her bedroom and closed the door. She needed a timeout. Everything felt so different. She took comfort on her bed, smoked we
ed, and ignored her phone calls. Tomorrow she would regroup and get back to business. Three weeks was a long enough hiatus.
***
The next morning, Layla sunbathed on the balcony naked like usual. It was another sunny and scorching day in the Sunshine State. With the kids gone and the staff off, she was able to enjoy the quiet. Solitude was something she’d gotten used to, especially with Scott continuously gone. She was looking forward to the landscapers coming by to treat and cut her yard. Fabian was always a treat to see. The more she saw him, the more she desired him.
She put a cigarette to her lips and inhaled the nicotine. Her pain was still raw, but she was getting by, doing everything in her power to hold it together.
Her cell phone rang. When she saw the number, she mustered up the courage to answer. It was a collect call from Maxine.
Something suddenly came over Layla when she heard Maxine’s voice on the other end. She cried like a baby as she told her longtime friend about Gotti.
Maxine feigned shock over the phone and pretended to sob. “Ohmygod, Layla! My condolences to you. I’m so sorry for your loss.”
Layla told her the story, and Maxine listened, although she knew the details already. But it was fun to hear it from Layla’s mouth. Maxine took pleasure in Layla’s grief. Yet, she was so believable about feeling her friend’s pain, Layla tried to console her. It sounded like Maxine was taking the situation hard.
Then Layla started boasting about the funeral. “His funeral was spectacular, though. We sent our son out like a king. His casket alone was ’bout thirty thousand dollars, and we buried him in this Jewish cemetery in Queens. We had over a dozen doves fly into the air. In total, we spent over a hundred thousand dollars to send him off correctly. And so many important people came to pay their respects. He was laid to rest in his very own mausoleum, complete with a private sitting area inside, just like the great John Gotti.”
Max was upset that Layla found a silver lining in her son’s death. She wasn’t grieving enough.
Maxine sighed. “Listen, I hate to bring this up, especially at a time like this, but I’m gonna need another favor from you. I need another thirty thousand sent to the same location.”
“What? Are you serious?”
“I’m willing to work something out with the girl, but—”
“Shit, Maxine! You need to stand up for yourself and handle your muthafuckin’ business. I can’t always have your back and pay your punk dues. And you ask me now? Wit’ Gotti dead? Fuck you, bitch!” She hung up, annoyed by Maxine’s audacity.
***
That afternoon, Layla watched Fabian tend to her front yard, her needs screaming at her. Maxine had irked her nerves; she was highly irritated and watching the help was a distraction. Fabian’s sweaty shirt was clinging to his deep muscles. Layla was completely transfixed by him. She stood against the balcony railing, admiring his biceps as they flexed with every movement of his arms.
They locked eyes. She smiled. He smiled.
Only his smile wasn’t enough to free her mind from the pain and loneliness of losing her son.
Then, thoughts of Maxine invaded Layla’s fantasy again. She hated herself for hanging up on her friend in her time of need. Layla was surprised Maxine had lasted twenty years in prison and she hadn’t committed suicide or wasn’t stabbed. Maxine could have easily given her up to save herself, but she kept her mouth shut all this time. Maxine really was a diehard friend.
Layla picked up her cell phone and made a call. “I need another certified check . . . thirty thousand dollars.”
26
1995
Maxine felt like she was in a different world after she was transferred to Bedford Hills Correctional Facility for Women in Westchester County. Several hours from New York City, it was maximum security and the largest female prison in the state. Though she’d spent almost a year on Rikers Island, she once again felt like fresh fish in Bedford. It took some time for her to adjust to the big leagues. There were new guards, new rules, and the same danger, but from new inmates.
Questions peppered her mind. Who would come see her way up there? Her parents had their lives to live, and she didn’t want them to focus solely on her troubles. She had cost them so much grief. And what was going on with her appeal? She needed to talk to her lawyer, yet when she called he was never in the office. The irony was that it was times like these that she needed Layla—the very person responsible for this mess. The one person, other than Scottie, that she wished would visit her. But neither came.
She figured Scottie was sticking his dick in some new bitch by now. She wasn’t a fool. Truth be told, he was never faithful to her. Scottie had taken her virginity and was the only man ever inside her. Now there wouldn’t be others, since there would be no love and affection from a man where she was.
Her first week at Bedford, several inmates tried her, but the guards intervened. Maxine was becoming hardened by the conflict and the prison itself and was gradually changing into someone she hardly recognized. Her first year of incarceration was the hardest, and then she learned to do the time instead of letting the time do her. She was learning the hard way but learning all the same.
Leanne befriended Maxine in Bedford. Leanne was Maxine’s senior by ten years, but they had a few things in common. They’d both attended Catholic schools, come from homes with two parents, and had fallen in love with drug dealers. Now they were both doing hard time for murder after refusing to snitch.
Leanne was from Harlem and doing life for murder and conspiracy. She was part of a drug organization called GMN (Get Money Niggas) that netted thirty million dollars a year. GMN was notorious for extreme violence and intimidation, and Leanne was the first lady of the drug empire.
Tipped off by a mole in her organization, the authorities busted Leanne with five kilos of cocaine in the trunk of her Mercedes. They later found out she had an existing warrant for murder. The DA promised her leniency if she testified against her violent drug crew, but she refused. When Leanne heard Maxine’s story, she respected her for keeping her mouth shut.
Over time, Leanne taught Maxine many things, particularly how to smuggle drugs and corrupt guards. She took Maxine under her wing and schooled her about prison life. Association with Leanne meant respect from the other inmates, but it also came with a cost, and Maxine became Max. Her rite of passage came the day Leanne needed a favor from her.
“I need this bitch got,” Leanne had said to her.
“Who?” Maxine asked.
“Sonia.” Sonia and Leanne had a rivalry that started from the streets and continued in prison.
Though Maxine had been sentenced for murder, she’d never killed anyone in her life. But Leanne needed the favor done ASAP, and she trusted Maxine to carry out the deed. Leanne provided the murder weapon, which was a sharp shank made from a piece of material from the cot in their cells. The murder plot required the help of another inmate, Ginger, and a corrupt guard.
It took place near the showers early one morning. Sonia and her lesbian lover, Julie, were alone, having relations with each other in the shower. After their intimacy, Julie left the showers first to make her morning visit from family. Maxine approached the bathroom with Ginger, and the guard posted nearby stepped away for reasons unknown. Maxine waited for Sonia to exit. When she did, Maxine took a deep breath and they attacked. Ginger quickly subdued Sonia while Maxine plunged the shank into Sonia’s back repeatedly. It was a daring feat, and one that made Maxine cringe, but it had to be done. She feared repercussions from Leanne if she didn’t carry it out.
As Sonia lay dead on the floor, Maxine discarded the bloody shank. She and Ginger left Sonia’s dead body for the guards to find.
After that, Maxine had Leanne’s full trust and respect. Maxine was now Max, and her reputation was solidified.
***
After their uncomfortable visit before her transfer out o
f Rikers, Maxine wrote Scottie letter after letter without reply. She called his cell phone repeatedly, but then he changed his number.
Maxine’s eyes were almost swollen shut from crying every night. At first, the inmates commiserated with her, understanding her pain. Each one of them had been betrayed by a man. But then Maxine had to suck it up.
Maxine received letters from Layla, but never a visit. Layla’s excuse was she feared jail and prison and thought they would detain her and she would never be released. It was the same excuse Layla had for not attending Maxine’s trial.
After a few months in Bedford, Layla sent a letter congratulating her for becoming an aunt to twin boys, Meyer and Bugsy. She didn’t even know Layla was pregnant, and there was no mention of the twins’ father. The letter was also accompanied by a large commissary deposit. Guilty-conscience money, Maxine thought. Layla had taken over where Scottie had left off. After she had blown trial it was just a matter of time before he had stopped dropping money off to her parents on her behalf. No visits, no letters, no money, and no Scottie.
During a casual phone conversation, Maxine’s mother said she had seen Layla and Scottie together in the neighborhood. She assumed the two had become an item. It was heartbreaking news to Maxine.
Six weeks after the birth of her two sons, Layla wrote Maxine again, informing her about her sudden marriage. Her knight in shining armor was handsome, respected in the streets, and the father of her twin boys. But there was no mention of the groom’s name, and no picture of him.
After Max had spent almost a decade in prison, Layla said to her one day, “Scott is taking me to Paris for our anniversary!”
It was that simple. From that day Layla would bring up Scott’s name in her letters and in their phone conversations. It was bad enough that Layla’s aggressive actions had taken Maxine’s freedom, but now she had taken her man and flaunted the betrayal with letters of pregnancy, marriage, children, and wealth.
Mafioso [Part 1] Page 15