Sons of War

by Nicholas Sansbury Smith

  Buren took a sip of his whiskey. “Very nice.”

  “The best,” Antonio said. He returned from the wet bar with a glass and raised it.

  Buren held up his glass but then lowered it back to the table. “Let’s hold up a minute here and get something straight,” he said. “This deal we’re here to discuss only works if you make me a promise you won’t kill cops.”

  “I’ll leave that up to my nephew,” Antonio said. He gestured to Yellowtail, who pulled out his phone.

  Buren raised an eyebrow, and Best waited to sip his upraised beer. “What’s going on?” he asked.

  “Relax, gentleman,” Antonio said. “All will become clear in a moment.”

  Yellowtail opened the doors to the office, and Vinny came in. He wore a three-piece suit, and his hair slicked back on one side and cut short on the other.

  Best dropped his beer on the floor when he saw his former rat.

  “Something wrong with your drink?” Antonio asked.

  Vinny moved with his father to the balcony doors, where Christopher pulled back the shades. Then he flipped the light on outside, illuminating a naked man bound to a chair on the patio.

  “What the hell is this?” Buren asked.

  “Chief Stone?” Best said. He reached for his waistband, but Lino suddenly had a gun out and pointed at his head. “Don’t even think about it, pig,” he said.

  Best let his hand down slowly. “You can’t do this,” he said. “You’ll never get away with it.”

  “I wouldn’t move if I were you,” Raff warned. He walked over and lifted the gun from Best’s holster.

  “One more test, Vin,” Antonio said. “You decide. Do you kill Chief Stone, or does he become our partner? The choice is yours.”

  Raff handed the cop’s gun to Vinny, who looked at it as he weighed the decision.

  “I say blow his brains out,” Carmine said.

  Frankie, chewing on a match, nodded. “Pig can’t be trusted.”

  Buren started up from his chair, eyes wide with fear, but Yellowtail grabbed him by the shoulders and pushed him back down. “Relax, Mr. Mayor,” he said.

  Antonio went outside with Vinny and Christopher. Chief Stone squirmed in the chair, his hands and feet bound. He mumbled into the bandanna gag over his mouth.

  Christopher walked around the chair and untied the bandanna.

  “Please,” Stone gasped through his handlebar mustache. “I’ll do whatever you want.”

  He looked at Vinny. “Kid, I’m sorry, I …”

  Vinny pointed the gun at his head. “First off, I’m not a kid.”

  Stone looked down, and something trickled onto the ground.

  “He pissed himself!” Christopher chuckled. “Good thing he’s got no pants on.”

  Antonio wasn’t encouraged by the sight. It told him the chief was weak and sniveling. Now he hoped Vinny would blow his brains out. Working with someone so weak was dangerous.

  It appeared that Antonio was about to get his wish.

  “You let those fuckers torture me,” Vinny said, thumbing the hammer back on the .45. The pistol shook in his hand, and he blinked several times, as if trying to suppress the memory. “You let them treat me like I was garbage. Like a dog !”

  Vinny jammed the barrel against Stone’s temple. He clenched his jaw, and his hand stopped shaking. Antonio watched his finger move to the trigger.

  “I’m sorry,” Stone whimpered. “I didn’t …”

  Antonio folded his arms across his suit jacket, filled with pride. He had watched his nephew transform from the nervous boy who executed Enzo Sarcone, to a strong leader who was about to execute the chief of the largest police force left in the country.

  Vinny had more than earned his button. Seeing him master his rage and emotions proved that now more than ever.

  “Open your mouth,” Vinny said, pulling the gun away from Stone’s temple. The chief resisted, shaking his head.

  “Open your fucking mouth,” Vinny said.

  Stone shook his head again, and Christopher yanked it back by tugging on his hair.

  “Stop this, please!” Buren said from inside the office. “If you kill him, I can’t make a deal with you, Antonio.”

  “Don Antonio,” Yellowtail said. “And you will do what we tell you to.”

  Stone closed his eyes and finally opened his mouth, sobbing like a child.

  “Spending your final moments on earth like a sniveling baby,” Antonio said. “At least, Enzo Sarcone died with dignity.”

  “You do this, and there’s no deal!” Buren shouted.

  “Forget him,” Antonio said. “We own this city now.”

  “That’s why I can’t kill him,” Vinny said. He decocked the hammer and stuck the pistol inside his waistband. “I can’t work with the cops if they know I executed Chief Stone. But I can do this.”

  He took a pair of pliers from his coat pocket.

  “What are you doing?” Stone asked. His wide eyes followed the pliers as Vinny lowered them toward his mustachioed upper lip.

  Stone struggled in Yellowtail’s grip, but Vinny managed to jam the pliers into his mouth and clamp on to a tooth. The chief howled as Vinny pried forward and backward, then yanked it out with a cracking sound.

  Stone screamed in agony.

  Vinny held up the bloody tooth. “Eye for an eye, as they say. And a tooth for a tooth.”

  He dropped the pliers onto Stone’s naked lap. Yellowtail let go of his head, and the chief leaned forward, blood drooling from his lips.

  “Stone is an asshole,” Vinny said, looking over at Antonio. “But he’s a corrupt asshole, and now he knows who the king of Los Angeles is going to be. Right, Chief?”

  Moaning, Stone managed a nod.

  “And you know what will happen if you cross us?” Vinny asked, crouching down in front of Stone.

  Stone met his gaze. “I’ll never cross you,” he said. “I swear on my kids.”

  “Tell Don Antonio,” Vinny said.

  Stone’s eyes flitted to Antonio. “I swear it, Don Antonio. I’ll never cross you.”

  At first, Antonio was disappointed in his nephew, but then he saw the brilliance behind his decision. He started to smile, but it quickly turned to a sneer.

  “I hope you’re not as weak as you smell,” Antonio grumbled, looking at the piss puddle on the balcony deck. “That’s why I selected you for chief and not one of the other two candidates.”

  “Selected me?” Stone mumbled.

  “What, you thought you got this job on your own merits?” Antonio said.

  Blood drooled from Stone’s lips and down his hairy chest. “I …” he said. “I …”

  “I paid Mayor Buren a mint in silver to get you that spot,” Antonio said. “Isn’t that right, Mayor?”

  Stone’s eyes flitted to the open doorway as he digested the news.

  “Get him some clothes,” Antonio said. He walked back inside, leaving his nephew to untie the chief. Christopher followed his brother into the office.

  Antonio pulled out the head chair and sat back down. Then he took a drink from his glass. “So, Mayor Buren, about this deal you’re here to discuss—tell me why you want to work with us.”

  Buren quickly regained his composure. Pulling on his cuff links, he said, “I believe the Moretti family brings something to the table that the Vega family didn’t.”

  “Oh?”

  “Unlike so many of these dirtbags running loose, you all follow a code of honor,” Buren said. “The Vegas are brutal: skinning cops, lopping off heads. We can’t have that. We won’t have that. You demonstrated mercy by keeping Stone alive.”

  “You have my word,” Antonio said. “We don’t go after cops as long as they stay out of our way and obey my orders.”

  Buren seemed to think about it and looked over
at Stone as he dressed.

  “Chief Diamond was strong but stupid,” the mayor said. “He didn’t realize that sometimes it’s necessary to work with …”

  That’s right, asshole. Pick your words carefully.

  “… to work with an organization such as yours to keep order. He wanted to wipe out all organized crime, but that would have destroyed the city in the process. I believe in a more rational approach—what I call ‘organized chaos.’”

  “Organized chaos,” Antonio said, lifting his glass. “I like that.”

  Buren held up his drink, and Antonio sealed the promise with the clink of glasses.

  Lino took the gun off Best, who let out a sigh of relief.

  “You didn’t piss yourself too, did you?” Antonio asked. “Get him another beer, Lino.”

  Lino brought Best a new bottle.

  “Now that we have that out of the way, let’s gather around and talk about the future of the city,” Antonio said. He got up and looked outside, then said in a loud voice, “Hope you’re listening, Chief Stone.”

  Best reluctantly stepped over to look at the maps with Buren.

  “As you know,” Antonio said, “the city has essentially been divided into four selling zones, or territories, controlled by different crime organizations.”

  He ran a finger from the eastern edge of downtown to Pasadena’s border with the Angeles National Forest, then down to the city’s new eastern border at Chino Hills. “We control everything over to the barriers here, but most of our operation will be run at the Four Diamonds public housing blocks.”

  Then he pointed to Anaheim and Santa Ana, both circled in blue. “The Russians have won the battle for these areas. Sergei Nevsky grows stronger by the day.”

  Next, Antonio pointed to the areas outlined in red. “Skid Row and parts of downtown are still under the Bloods’ control. I’m told Lil Snipes somehow survived his wounds from a few weeks ago.” He shrugged. “Now people will know what comes of messing with the Morettis.”

  He pointed again at the map where the Angel Pyramids were being built in Inglewood, just south of the Forum. “Everything from west of downtown to the ocean, and south to Long Beach, is Esteban Vega’s territory—for now.”

  Best scratched his mustache. “We’re still looking for him, and when we find him, we’ll take him into custody. When that happens, zone two is as good as yours.”

  “Just remember,” Antonio said, “Esteban Vega is mine. If my people get him first, he’s a dead man. If your people grab him up, I want him handed over. Alive. I have special plans for the narco king.”

  “Understood,” Best said.

  Antonio looked back to the map and ran his finger around Ascot Hills Park. “The Four Diamonds public housing units are being built by the government here,” he said. “When they’re finished, they will be our biggest selling grounds. You will receive a fair shake, and you have my word that none of your men will be harmed—nor any police, for that matter, as long as they stay out of our way.”

  “Just find a way to keep your, um, commerce discreet, okay?” said Buren.

  Antonio nodded. He already knew exactly how to move his product.

  “You got it,” he said.

  “You got a deal, then,” Buren said, extending his hand.

  Antonio reached out, and they shook on it. Then he looked back to the patio door. Vinny led Stone inside. He was back in his uniform now and held a bloody handkerchief to his mouth.

  Vinny gave him a shove into the office, and the chief limped over to Mayor Buren and Lieutenant Best.

  “I’ll be in touch, Antonio,” Buren said.

  “Don Antonio,” Christopher said.

  “See ya’ later,” Antonio said, purposely omitting his name and title.

  The three men left the room steaming but knowing who their handlers were, thanks in part to Vinny.

  Antonio went to his display case of ancient weapons. Selecting a sword, he joined his men under the stars on the outside patio. Christopher and Lino worked quickly to set up a table, lighting candles in preparation for the oath of the omertà.

  Vinny waited with his hands folded across the button of his suit jacket, looking out over zone 4 of the city—a massive territory that he had helped Antonio secure for their family by killing Enzo Sarcone and infiltrating the police force.

  It was time to reward his nephew for his sacrifices and loyalty.

  “Vincent Christopher Moretti,” Antonio said, “it is my great privilege to welcome you into the ranks of the Moretti family tonight. You have done more to earn this than any man your age.”

  Christopher stepped forward, taking the cigar butt out of his mouth and grinding it under his shoe. “Vin, I’m fucking proud of you,” he said.

  Raff patted Vinny on the back. “You aren’t a boy anymore, and I’m proud to serve with you.”

  “Thank you,” Vinny said.

  The other soldiers formed a circle around the soon-to-be youngest made man in the family. Antonio handed the sword to his brother.

  “Hold out your trigger finger,” Christopher said.

  Vinny smiled during the poke, his upper lip feeling the gap left by the pulled incisor. Then he dripped the blood on the picture of Saint Francis of Assisi. Christopher brought out a candle and set the picture ablaze in his son’s hand.

  “Repeat after me,” Antonio said. “As this card burns, may my soul burn in hell if I betray the oath of omertà.”

  Vinny repeated the words, holding Antonio’s gaze while the image of the Moretti family’s patron saint crinkled in the flames. When it was nothing more than a curl of ash, Antonio put a hand on Vinny’s left shoulder, and Christopher put a hand on his right shoulder.

  “Welcome to the family,” Christopher said.

  Antonio looked upon his nephew with pride, hoping that someday his own son would become a brave and smart young man like his cousin.

  “Are you ready for your first mission as a made man?” Antonio asked.

  Vinny nodded. “I’m at your disposal, Don Antonio.”

  -28-

  “How’s it feel to have your button?” Doberman asked.

  Vinny looked out over the Santa Monica Pier, considering the question. The moon sparkled on the ocean, and the waves lapped at the receding beach. Not far from here was the spot where they had first approached Carly Sarcone.

  The memory of kidnapping her and then shooting her father in the head played in his mind’s eye. He flinched from his anxiety-ridden thoughts. The things he had done to earn his button would also earn him a place in hell for eternity.

  He shivered in the warm breeze.

  “Vin?” Doberman asked.

  “It feels good, man,” Vinny lied.

  Truth was, he felt low and dirty for the hand he had played in a lot of things over the past few months. Not only with Carly, but also some of the things he had done when posing as a police officer.

  Was damnation worth the price?

  This was what he had always wanted: to be a soldier in the Moretti family. A gangster. And while he had committed heinous acts, his family’s future was brighter now than ever, and he was a part of that. It had to count for something.

  Doberman pulled out his cell phone to answer a call, distracting Vinny from the question he seemed unable to stop asking himself.

  Get your head on straight, he chided himself.

  The Vega family, the Nevsky family, and the other gangs would reorganize. The next fight would be for rule over the four zones, and though the Morettis had the police in their pocket, Esteban Vega was still as dangerous as ever.

  Vinny had to be ready for anything.

  “Porca miseria! ” Doberman growled. “These new cell towers suck ass.”

  Five people came up the boardwalk as Doberman called their contact back. Vinny kept his eye on the men
and one woman, all of them wearing hoodies much like his.

  In his short time working with the anti-gang task force, he had learned how to look for threats, and these guys weren’t one. Just a few young twentysomethings here to hang out on the beach.

  Doberman slipped his phone into his jacket pocket, and they made their way back to their tinted black-on-black BMW, parked in a lot near the boardwalk.

  The twentysomethings weren’t the only ones out for a leisurely stroll tonight. A group of teenagers smoked a joint in the back of a pickup truck. Pulsing rap blasted from other cars, the bass so loud it vibrated the Beemer’s trunk.

  If Vinny didn’t know better, it would have seemed like a normal prewar night at the Santa Monica Pier.

  Their next stop was far from the beautiful views of the ocean. Vinny pulled his mask up to help mitigate the sour scent of garbage.

  Mission one, he thought as they pulled up to the Santa Monica Waste Collection facility. The meeting spot was next to a row of garbage trucks. Piles of trash, tires, and junk littered the dirt site.

  “I don’t like this,” Doberman said.

  “Don Antonio knows where we are, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Then we have nothing to worry about.”

  Vinny got out of the car and approached one of the trucks. A burly man wearing shorts and a tank top sat in the open passenger door. He jumped out, several thick silver chains popping out of his shirt.

  “This the guy?” Vinny asked.

  “They call him Mexican Mikey,” Doberman said quietly. “Guy’s a psycho, so better keep any jokes to yourself for this first meeting.”

  “¿Qué pasa?” the man said as they approached.

  A dozen shadows moved away from the piles of junk.

  “Shit,” Vinny muttered. He didn’t like being surprised.

  “What’s this?” Doberman asked.

  Mikey shrugged. “I believe in a thing called insurance, and I don’t know you two guineas.”

  Vinny kept his cool. “I was told this would be one-on-one.”

  “You brought one of your dogs; you expect me not to bring mine?”