The Golden Goose of Los Angeles Extended Edition
Page 38
anymore.” He says with genuine pride, holding the small garbage bag in the air.
“Well, that’s good,” Rory says still in a half animal state, rubbing his left thigh from the pain caused by a recent muscle spasm.
“Yeah, you did good,” Pezzloni agrees, “and I have a gift for you.” He says with a smile, handing the pistol to Rory and watching with intrigue as the younger man grips it for the first time. “This is your very own forty-five automatic, to help protect you from the Chinese.”
“Oh, sweet!” Rory exclaims with elation, pointing the gun at the blank wall near his feet. “When can I shoot at something?”
“We’ll try it out later. For now, just put it somewhere out of sight, and get some rest.”
Anthony steps out of the room like a proud father, watching Rory aim the pistol at the wall and pretend to fire. His exchange of the pistol for the drugs brings him a feeling of relief as he carries them toward the main trash.
A few hours later, Anthony and Dimitri are seated at the travertine table beneath the gazebo, near the pool. It is a serene, quiet evening, and the pool area is empty, save for the men at the table. Above their heads, the waterfall splashes a clean, consistent stream into the chilly waters. Dimitri is dressed in a lime green, button down silk shirt with a black and red striped tie, and a dark tan Armani Suit with matching wingtips. Anthony is dressed less formal in a black fitness shirt with blue jeans and gray cowboy boots. He is wearing a gold chain around his neck and his salt and pepper hair is neatly spiked for this occasion.
Herb Christos, the younger brother of New York syndicate boss Chandler Christos, sits at the table across from the two men. He is dressed in a purple mock, black slacks, and a pair of cheap, worn basketball sneakers. Herb’s olive skin is a natural Italian hue like Dimitri, but he is heavyset with brown hair that hangs just past his shoulders. He also sports a poorly groomed goatee.
“What the fuck is happening?” Herb asks with pleading eyes and an entitled tone of voice. “I know that I screwed up, and the shipment didn’t make it to L.A., but if you look at my track record over the past year and a half, I’ve had thirty-four successful shipments and only two failures. That’s a good average, right?”
“Not in this business,” Pezzloni replies with a forced smile, “your first mistake cost us over six million. This last shipment took down two mules and cost over fourteen million. This is not a job delivering cupcakes where you can get it right most of the time, Herb; it only takes one wrong shipment to bring the DEA to all of our doors… Now you’ve lost two… to the Feds.”
“Yeah, but you’re doing good, right?” Herb asks with a charming smile. “Dimitri here is wearing Armani, you’re living in a palace in Southern Cali. Somewhere the business has to have a hedge fund for something like this, right?”
“Excuse me?” Pezzloni asks indignantly. “A hedge fund; in organized crime? No, we don’t have them. We take our losses on the chin.”
“Right, but you don’t pay any taxes, not like all these other fags. There’s got to be some room in the bank for a few mistakes.”
“Are you smoking what you’re supposed to be shipping?” Pezzloni mocks sarcastically. “We have to pay more than just taxes; it costs a fortune to clean our money. Paying taxes would be a hell of a profit increase.”
“Well, I fucked up, and I’ve already admitted that, but I want to stay in the business.”
“I would love to help you on this one,” Pezzloni says slowly with another fake smile, “your brother and I have a lot of respect for each other, and I promised him I would do everything I could.”
“Great, so you have good news for me?” Herbert says with a cocky grin, leaning back in the padded seat and putting his hands behind his head.
“Unfortunately, no,” Pezzloni says, lowering his voice to a whisper. “I’ve got this pain in the ass rep from The Cartel staying in my house, as we speak. When he heard the chatter about this latest drug bust, he flipped out and threatened to cut off our supply. The Cartel gets spooked about The DEA having a reason to look for them in Mexico.”
“So did you put in a good word for me with this guy?” Herb asks with a hopeful gaze.
“Put in what word?” Anthony begins. “The guy flipped out and called the leaders back in Mexico. Then he comes down looking all strung out and talking about how they are going to impose their own form of affirmative action, and only Mexicans will be allowed to mule the product across the border to L.A.”
“Are you fucking kidding me, he wants Mexicans to do my job? You’ll be missing a lot more than a few shipments a year.” Herb declares, scratching underneath his goatee a bit as his face turns red with frustration. “I’ll kill the motherfucker. Where is he?” Herb asks, pulling a nickel-plated pistol from the back of his pants.
“No!” Anthony demands with fierce eyes, holding his hands up with his palms out. “We can’t kill a cartel guy in my house; you know that isn’t gonna’ fly. Look, I’m as frustrated as you are, you’re my guy, and you’ve been my guy. I know we can’t kill him, but I think we can scare him.”
“How?” Herb asks, leaning forward as Pezzloni continues to whisper.
“First, give me the clip and get rid of the one in the chamber so I know you won’t do something stupid.”
Herb stops to think for a minute, then with a heavy sigh, he removes the clip from his pistol, ejects the round from the chamber, and gives them to Anthony.
“Great, I just need to know we won’t have any Cartel blowback on this.” Anthony begins with serious eyes. “This guy has been seeing some chick named Kelly, and she lives in L.A. If you go up to his room and tell him that you’re going to kill Kelly because of what he has cost you, then he’ll probably be scared enough where I can talk him into keeping you on as our mule. Otherwise, I’m afraid it’s a done deal.”
“So he loves this girl Kelly?” Herb asks with a thoughtful stare.
“Yeah, he talks about her all the time. The guy reminds me of Edgar Alan Poe… Lost his poor Lenore and shit.”
“Does he have a gun?”
“No, but he has…”
“He has what?” Herb demands eagerly.
“It’s kinda’ sick, but he has a machete under his mattress. If you push your knee down hard on the bed, he won’t be able to get to it in time.”
“I’m sorry, Herb,” Pezzloni says slowly with genuine eyes, “this is all I can do for you.”
Herb stares at the travertine table for a moment, and then looks up at the house, jutting his chin out in a cocky fashion.
“This is my job, I’m not losing it to Mexicans,” Herb announces finally as he gets up from the table with his empty pistol in hand. “I’m going to scare the shit out of that cartel boy. Which room is he in?”
“It’s the second floor, down the hall to your right, and the first door on your left.”
“Thanks…” Herb says coolly as he starts walking toward the house.
“My pleasure,” Pezzloni replies, looking down at the bullets in his hand with a winning smile.
Rory is immersed in a deep sleep, remembering visions of Kelly at the Academy Awards; one of the best nights and worst nights of their long relationship. He smiles wide, h
aving peaceful dreams for the first time in a long while. His lips purse in the air as he remembers that last kiss in the hallway, her amazing smile and sad eyes wanting to be with him, but having to let him go-
“WAKE UP, YOU FUCK!” A man’s voice yells as something hard and metal hits Rory in the head.
His right eye begins to trickle blood and he sees a glimpse of a large man with a goatee hovering over him, but his eyes haven’t adjusted to the light yet.
“You took my life away from me, you little shit.” The man shouts. “Who do you think you are to decide whether I’m in or out?”
“What?” Rory asks as his eyes start adjusting to the light.
“I’m going to kill Kelly,” he threatens, hitting Rory with the pistol again. “I’m going to L.A., and I’m gonna’ kill Kelly; maybe that will help you to make a better decision. Why don’t you think on that for a bit and get back to me?” He says with a cocky smile, smacking Rory with his pistol a third time.
Herb gets up from the bed and steps out of Rory’s bedroom, walking away with an arrogant grin that forms through his goatee.
Out in the hallway, Anthony and Dimitri are listening to the events taking place in Rory’s bedroom. Anthony is stunned when he sees Herb emerge unharmed, stepping toward them with a smartass look on his face.
“That was easy-“ Herb begins to say.
Rory sprints out of the bedroom like a warrior. His face is dripping blood and the pistol is clutched tightly in his right hand. As soon as the barrel is near the small of Herb’s back, Rory begins to fire, raising the gun a few inches before firing again.
“Oh shit!” Anthony exclaims as he lunges backward from the gunfire and blood spray, watching a bullet strike the wall where his head was a moment ago. He looks on with a helpless, horrified expression