“Sorry, Mama.”
“If you‘re not willing to go, who should we use instead?”
“Someone from out of town.”
“We could get Naldo to recommend a shooter. He‘s seen some action in his day.”
“Sure has. They need to be beyond reliable. That‘s the trouble with strangers: how can we trust them? With all due respect to any suggestion from Naldo.”
“Is there any chance of finding Markov alone long enough to hit him and get away?”
“Naldo already checked that out. He‘s always with somebody by day or has armed guards surround him at night. There‘s too much firepower near him.”
“Sniper?”
“That‘s a possibility. A rifle trained on his bedroom window might work but he keeps the blinds shut at all times so basic aiming would be tricky.”
“We‘re getting nowhere with is. All we‘ve figured out for sure is we want Nikolay Markov dead.”
“A BOMB? INSTEAD of a focused strike, perhaps we should blast the fuck out of an entire building.”
“Family home?”
“It‘s one thing to hit Nikolay with an incendiary device. It‘s another to murder his wife and children.”
“Okay. His kids don‘t go with him to work, right?”
“True but he doesn‘t even have an office. He travels round, visiting his venues collecting his tribute. The guy is shrewd: can‘t fault him for that.”
“Sniper in a helicopter?”
“This isn‘t the movies. Let‘s not clutch at straws.”
“Feels like that‘s all we‘ve got.”
The three continued to chew the fat until lunch but were no nearer to any useful conclusion. Sam joined them to eat and in the afternoon, she and Frank left the compound. Alice stayed with Mama and Bobby, which was enjoyable but delivered no plan.
“Maybe killing him isn‘t the answer.”
30
ALICE AND BOBBY sat in the summerhouse. It was the wrong half of the year to sit outside although the temperature wasn‘t that cold. Another Californian Winter‘s day. Mostly, they were silent in their own worlds but every now and then, they‘d glance at each other or mumble a few words. Bobby hid behind a newspaper and Alice didn‘t pretend: she was plain sitting doing nothing in particular.
Or rather, she was using the time to focus on Nikolay Markov. Until the moment when his dick took over from his brain, Nikolay appeared to be open to working together - unless the entire evening was a ruse to get inside her panties. If she set aside the fear and humiliation he'd reaped upon her, the Markov clan was a great fit. Alice did her level best to compartmentalize business from her personal experience of the man. Each family had different but complementary strengths which would support the other‘s weaknesses. A marriage made not so much in heaven but a lap dancing club in the Tenderloin.
Perhaps the trick was to appeal to his wallet or his ego. Puff him up and make him take the sting out of his tail. Once everyone and everything had calmed down, either he‘d see the sense in the deal or she'd slice him open from throat to groin at some later date.
“We should make a peace instead of killing Markov.”
“Do you not think we‘re beyond that now?”
“Not necessarily. Whether we want to admit it, we need them - or some outfit like them.”
“You might be right but that‘s not what I meant.”
“Huh?”
“We‘ve killed his family. He‘s murdered Milton and we‘ve both lost fellas too. I‘d suggest relationships are founded on trust and we‘re living through a fundamental breakdown in that ingredient.”
“Only if we let go of hope.”
“You can take the girl out of California...”
“... but you can‘t take California out of me.”
“Your optimism is astounding.”
“You need faith that change is possible if you‘re to succeed. And sometimes that involves finding the good in people. Even someone like Nikolay, who is a cockroach. If I was able to stamp on him and destroy him then I would, but we can't see how to rid ourselves of the Markov infestation. That means we have to accept they‘ll be around and learn to live with them.”
“Was that a long speech to say: if you can‘t beat them, join them?”
“Pretty much, yeah.”
“BOBBY SAID YOU‘VE come up with an idea.”
“Yes, but I‘m not sure how you‘ll respond.”
“Won‘t know until you tell me.”
Bobby sat still and let the women continue their conversation without interruption.
“If we can‘t assassinate Nikolay Markov then we need to join forces with him. There‘s no other way a neutralize him as a threat.”
“Sounds the exact opposite of what we should do. How can we trust a man like that?”
“I‘m not saying we do. Just that it‘ll be the easiest route to stop the war. If the killing reduces, we have a better chance of making money and surviving until Easter.”
“Sure would be great to find some calm. All this hostility isn‘t good for the soul.”
“Right. The man is too difficult to destroy at the moment, but that will change once we get him to lower his guard. To do that, we must build a peace with him. Create a joint operation to work on together and then make a move.”
“That‘s fine but I would need to be top dog. He would report to me on this project.”
“I can‘t guarantee that‘d happen Mama. Besides, the endgame is his removal. If he rules the roost, that would just put him in the place we need for him even faster.”
“I couldn‘t take orders from that man. Milton‘s in his grave because of him.”
“It wouldn‘t matter. Within a month, he‘d have called off his hounds and then we deal with him.”
Bobby stood up and headed for the door. With a hand on the handle, he turned around.
“Alice is right. To get Markov into the morgue requires us to put him on ice first. Until that point, we suck in any discomfort.”
He didn‘t wait for any reply and walked out.
MARY LOU STARED at the closed door and Alice wondered if she was in a trance. Then she blinked and mentally returned to the room. Mama smiled quietly to herself and turned her attention to Alice.
“You met up with him.”
“What?”
“Nikolay. You had a meal with Markov. What happened that meant you wouldn‘t tell me you‘d even seen him?”
“Don‘t want to talk about it. I made a mistake.”
“One that‘s cost us several good men. From what I‘ve been told, all this maelstrom of blood letting started shortly after you broke bread with him.”
“I‘m all too aware.”
“And the fact you kept it from me means either you‘re about to turn traitor, he did something wrong or you behaved inappropriately. Which was it?”
“I‘m no traitor, Mama.”
“Sure, dear. You wouldn‘t be the first woman in this family to have had to fend off sexual advances from a man.”
Tears ran down Alice‘s cheeks and they hugged, but Alice refused to go into any details about what went down in her hotel bedroom and Mama didn‘t elaborate on what had happened to her when she visited Uncle Frankie and he laid his hands on her.
FRANK HAD NEVER been to San Francisco. When he arrived, he was not disappointed and he was not alone: Isaak Vasilev sat next to him on the plane. When he realized a firm hand was required and a violent disposition, Isaak was the first person who popped into his head.
They had met when Frank had got into a spot of bother in Morocco shortly after leaving school. The local dealers weren‘t impressed with Frank‘s attempts to introduce a little healthy American-style competition to their country. Isaak appreciated Frank‘s entrepreneurial efforts and applied a knife and a gun to the problem. They had kept in touch ever since and when Isaak moved to the States, Frank ensured he found the man work that suited his talents for murder and mayhem.
Over the course of a we
ek, Frank and Isaak proceeded to make inroads into the Markov empire. First, they unearthed a meth lab which supplied Nikolay and sent Molotov cocktails into the building. The next day on the other side of the bay, they did the same to a crack house.
Isaak paid a visit to the Red Stocking and sliced himself some whore faces so they hit the Markov cash flow very rapidly and without getting spotted. By the third day, the Markovs noticed Frank‘s antics. The good news was that they were like a needle in a haystack to find. Two men in a city of millions gave them the best odds to survive.
BY FLYING UNDER the radar, Frank was having a low-level impact but his activities were far from a game changer. His family would learn to trust him if he showed them he knew what he was doing. So the next logical thing to do was to build an operation in SF, something no Lagotti had been able to achieve.
A narcotics play would take too much time to prepare, but a brothel would do the trick and only required rent to be paid upfront and girls would start to earn that night. Twenty-four hours later and Frank held the keys in his hand to an undesirable residence on the edge of the Tenderloin as far away from any Markov establishment they knew about.
While Isaak set about organizing rudimentary furniture for each bedroom, Frank hit the bus station to grab fresh tail among the new arrivals to the city. A rental car took the hapless ladies to the house and Frank gave his employees a full staff induction. He showed them the bathroom and explained how they kept their tips but the first thirty dollars from each john belonged to him. Any trouble, they screamed and Isaak would sort the dude out.
The next day, Isaak added partitioning in the larger upstairs rooms and Frank returned to the bus station for more ass. Without Nikolay noticing, Frank had kicked off a San Francisco operation by slowly boiling the frog. Slamming into an existing deal was never going to work, Frank reckoned.
He stayed in the area to get to know the locals and to hire a timekeeper and troubleshooter. As fabulous as the cathouse was, Frank had other plans for his time which didn‘t involve fucking. He smiled at that idea: he never imagined such a statement might ever be true. Besides, when he got home, he‘d have Sammy in his bed and what she could do with her body was worth waiting for.
31
PASQUALE BASSANI WAS an old man, who enjoyed nothing more than sipping coffee at a cafe, a casual round of golf when he had the energy and quiet conversation with his family and friends. Florida was the perfect state to retire in because its weather was fine and the stresses of his former life were far away. There had been a long tradition of gangsters staying in Miami-Dade dating back to Al Capone so Pasquale was in good company.
When he retired to the Sunshine State, Pasquale sold up all his investments in the various illicit assets which he owned and ensured everyone knew it. He‘d heard too many stories of revenge being taken on the older generation because they were sitting ducks.
Visitors were welcome but Pasquale had no desire to be dragged into the problems of today. The mob world was behind him and he lived with the riches that life had generated for him. So when Bobby called to ask his advice, Pasquale was cautious. Not out of any distrust of Bobby: he and Mary Lou had been doing business together since the early ‘7Os.
He didn‘t want his words to cause someone to be killed and a misguided relative take retaliatory action against him. Pasquale had survived way too much to be whacked by a teenager with a gun and a point to prove. No-one was going to make their bones by sending him to the morgue.
Bobby and Pasquale sat on his patio and sipped a glass of red wine each.
“Thank you for allowing me to come here to speak with you.”
“Most welcome. How is Mary Lou?”
“Fine. She sends her regards.”
“Strange that she is not here in person. Matters are so difficult you need to see an old wizened fool like myself, yet Mary Lou stays at home. Talk to me, Bobby Trevisan.”
“We are in a dangerous situation and I am seeking your advice. We have no idea what to do.”
“Go on.”
Bobby explained the Markov war and outlined the issues with Mary Lou‘s decision making. Once he had finished, Pasquale took small sips from his wine glass and contemplated the problem in silence. Bobby knew his job was to not speak and give Pasquale the time to think things through. Five long minutes later, Pasquale cleared his throat and had another sip to moisten his tonsils.
“Forgive me. My medication gives me a dry cough. It‘s for my blood pressure, so the doc says, but I‘m the most relaxed I‘ve been since the day I was born.”
Pasquale slipped into silence and pondered more. And Bobby waited - politely and with the utmost respect for this once-powerful old man.
BOBBY DID HIS best not to hold his breath or tap his fingers with impatience. Pasquale had been the firm hand supporting their efforts through thick and thin. He had been there in the early days and gave Mary Lou her big break when she first drifted into town. Five years earlier, the fella had been the only person to try to save his children. He was solid as a rock and deserved the time to think. No matter how long that took.
“You have exhausted your options through violence, you say.”
“The Markov men are real tough and whenever we cut one down, another appears in his place. It‘s like they‘re lining up in Russia waiting to join the fight over here.”
“They probably are. The break up of the Soviet Union strengthened the Russian mob. Khrushchev never allowed crime families to get too strong. With freedom comes chaos.”
“Khrushchev?”
“Whoever. My point is the same and I hope well taken.”
“Yes, Pasquale.”
“As far as I can see, you have two options. First, find reinforcements and destroy these foreigners. Second, make your peace with them and merge your activities. Half of a large pizza is better than all of a child‘s portion.”
“Where would these extra men come from?”
“Is there anyone else who has a beef with these guys?”
“I don‘t know.”
“Worth finding out then, wouldn‘t you say?”
A nod. Bobby was embarrassed that none of them had thought of that. They were too close to the trees to see straight through the forest.
“And is a merger the only other option you can see for us?”
“On what you‘ve told me: yes. From what I hear, it‘s the way of the world. We have always had to adapt to survive. Shed your old skin to let your new one come alive.”
“Doesn‘t that make us a bunch of snakes?”
“And what of it? When the mammals are long gone from this stinking planet, we‘ll be left with the reptiles and the insects. Snakes and cockroaches will rule the Earth, my friend. Rejoice that you are a snake and not a disgusting roach.”
Pasquale knocked back the dregs from his glass and got Bobby to refill it. After he put the bottle down, he mulled over Pasquale‘s words, sifting through his prejudices to find out if he could deal with the consequences of working with Nikolay. The options: do that or die. Not much of a choice.
He spent another thirty minutes with Pasquale talking about the good old days with both catching up on who had died in the other‘s circle - Fabio was one of the many names. Then he thanked the great man and took his leave. Pasquale occupied the rest of the afternoon reminding himself of happier times when the Feds didn‘t have wiretaps and could barely match fingerprints.
WHEN BOBBY ARRIVED home, Mary Lou was already asleep, so he waited until morning to tell her what Pasquale had recommended. As ever, they sat in the summerhouse to talk business, having used breakfast for couples conversation.
“First the good news: Pasquale is doing fine, living out his days in the Miami burbs. The rest is less good.”
“Spill.”
“He says we should stop the war before it gets out of hand. Either we find a group with aligned interest in the destruction of Nikolay Markov or we make peace and learn how to work together.”
“Peace is not a
n option.”
“Only if we ignore it and Pasquale was very clear. We need to give peace a chance.”
Mary Lou sat and thought. Then she shook her head.
“I can‘t do that. What Markov has done is not forgivable and needs to be punished. Milton is dead because of him. The guy might not have been the brightest spark in the fire, but he was decent to his wife and to his mistresses. And that should count for something.”
“It does, but some things you have to suck in and that‘s one of them. I‘m not saying we ignore what he did to Milton, just that we don‘t have to act now. His revenge can be served cold - later this year or the next: whichever is more convenient for us. Today we need to make money and spill less blood.”
BOBBY COULDN‘T TELL if Mary Lou was thinking, sulking or both. He could not read the taciturn puffing of her cigarette. All he knew was her silence. When she stubbed out the remains, he received her response.
“We can win the fight if we carry on and don‘t give up hope. Look what Frank has achieved in only a handful of days. He and his sidekick have thrown sand in Nikolay‘s face and set up a cathouse under his nose. That proves we should attack Markov and grow our business interests without the need to sit down and talk. Let alone share the profit from our hard work.”
“Short-term gains. Two guys on their own? Of course, they can make early inroads. Will the story be the same in a month‘s time? Nah. The whorehouse'll be shut down and the girls will have their throats cut. And we shouldn‘t wait four weeks just for me to be proved right. Me, Alice and Pasquale. We‘ve all reached the same conclusion. It is time for a peace conference.”
“Frank is leading the way. If we each set up a small group and chip away at their businesses, in a few weeks we‘ll be in a very different situation. We will starve them of money. Without that, they are nothing.”
The Lagotti Family Series Page 83