by Solomon
“Now I know you’ve heard a lot in the news and on TV about Mr. Diamanti. Let me say from the onset what this trial is not about. It is not about who Mr. Diamanti is as a human being; it is not about anyone’s sexual orientation or inclination. That’s what Mr. Diamanti wants you to believe, but I know that—as conscious Americans—you can see through the smoke and mirrors. Now, this is not about who Mr. Diamanti is, it’s about what Mr. Diamanti has done—and that is murder, extort, rob, destroy, cheat, and steal. All this was done in the name of personal gain, of Mr. Diamanti’s greed. Despite what he says, Mr. Diamanti isn’t being prosecuted for his sexuality. In fact, up until his very public announcement, we weren’t even aware of his…orientation. So put that out of your minds and get ready to focus on a man so cold-blooded, so ruthless, so…evil that Al Capone and John Gotti pale in comparison. That is why we are here, and in the end, I know you will see that all too clearly. Thank you.”
The Federal Prosecutor concluded, dabbed his forehead with his handkerchief, and sat down. He wasn’t known for giving rousing opening statements, so no one expected any fireworks. But he felt satisfied that he had gotten his point across.
“I’m gonna eat this guy’s lunch,” chuckled Ray Rollins, Joey’s lead attorney.
He rose slowly, knowing all eyes were on him, and he was definitely an eyeful. He was only 55, but he already had a head full of grey hair, which those in the know knew was only dye, because he knew jurors—especially women—preferred Silver Fox lawyers. It made him look that much wiser. He complemented the distinguished gentleman look with an expensive flair for fashion. He was always immaculately attired in tailored, double-breasted suits, with shoes made at the finest shoemaker in Manhattan, and a diamond bejeweled TAG Heuer watch. He drove a white Ferrari and had his own private jet. Rollins was a highly successful lawyer, but many said he sold his soul, because he was known as “the mob lawyer.” In his thirty-year career, he had represented some of the most infamous mobsters, drug lords, and corrupt politicians in America. But, as he always said, “It pays well, and somebody’s got to do it.”
A lot of people had questioned, if Joey was denying he was a mob boss, then why would he have hired “the mob lawyer”? They thought he was sending mixed messages, when in actuality he was sending subliminal ones…
Rollins buttoned his double-breasted Armani suit as he rounded the defense table and stepped in the middle of the courtroom, looking at the jury. The courtroom was silent, awaiting his first word, so he waited a few long moments to heighten the drama.
“Guilty!” he bellowed, just loud enough to fill the courtroom. “Guilty, Guilty, Guilty! What’s the point of a trial? Because if our friendly neighborhood Prosecutor is right, where’s the key, so we can throw it away?” Rollins began. Then with a chuckle, he approached the jury box, leaned on the rail, and added, “You ever notice…you ever notice how the Prosecutor gets up here and paints, and I mean that, paints the worst possible picture of a guy or gal? You ever notice that?”
He looked from face to face, and was encouraged by a few subtle nods.
“Now don’t get me wrong. Sometimes the defense does it too. But the bottom line is that this is a trial, not an inquisition. So we are here to find the truth, not create it, you follow me?” Rollins asked then took a few steps away from the jury box.
“So today, we’re gonna throw out the blueprint and focus on finding the truth. I won’t play his game,” he said, pointing to the Prosecutor. “And say what my client didn’t do just to refute what he says my client did do. No. But since the government has already told you what this trial isn’t about, I’ll tell you what they’ll try and make it about. They want to make it about Mr. Diamanti’s illustrious name, a name the government wants you to think is linked to organized crime. But that’s not the case. I think it was Shakespeare who once said something like, a rose by any other name would smell just as sweet. But a rose…is also the past tense of rise. My point? Words, names, they can be confusing. But I trust in your ability to see through any such confusion. Mr. Diamanti is a businessman, a movie star to some, and a helluva nice guy to most. But what he is not is a criminal. He is not the Gay Don, the Purple Don, and any kind of Don. And he definitely is not a murderer.”
January 1990
Joey dreamt that Seth was riding his dick backwards, calling out his name in passionate anguish. When he awoke, he realized it wasn’t a dream, but it wasn’t Seth. It was Te Amo.
“You couldn’t wait for me to wake up?” Joey asked, amused. He crossed his arms behind his head and watched Te Amo’s perfect figure as she rode him like a wave.
“You didn’t ha—” she began but was interrupted with a guttural moan, “—have anything to do with it.”
“Can I watch?” he smirked.
“Wait, wait,” Te Amo gasped, riding him harder and digging her nails into his stomach. She threw her head back, and with a shriek came all over his dick.
“Too late,” she giggled, then leaned down and gave him a kiss. “You should make a mold of your dick. You’d make a fortune.”
Te Amo got off him and headed to the bathroom.
“What about me?” he yelled after her.
“You’re a big boy. You can take care of yourself.”
She jumped in the shower. Joey chuckled, shaking his head at her audacity. He got up and followed her into the bathroom. She was showering with the curtain open.
“Move over,” he told her.
She handed him the soap and he lathered up her back.
“So what’s the deal with the Russians?”
“All taken care of. They want to meet at three,” she answered.
He massaged her as he lathered her up.
“Whaddya know about these guys?”
“Nothing. I thought you knew something about them.”
“Seth set it up, but we never had a chance to meet.”
“Think we need some extra bodies?” she questioned.
He thought about it for a moment, then answered.
“Naw. They don’t have a reason to be less than friendly…yet,” he smirked.
She glanced over her shoulder, with a lust in her eyes and a devilish grin on her face.
“Yet? What are you plotting in that mind of yours?”
He licked his lips, slid his hands along the small of her back and up to her shoulder.
“I can show you better than I can tell you,” he said. And with that, bent her over and finished what she started.
They were in Little Havana, at a Cuban sandwich shop that Te Amo said served the best Cuban sandwiches in Miami. When they arrived, the Russians were already there. Joey glanced around casually, as he could see how the Russians had a couple of men strategically placed around the restaurant’s outdoor-seating area. In the center of all the security sat a man not much older than Joey. He was dressed casually, in khakis and a Cuban-style shirt, but Joey could tell that the man carried weight. Joey took it as a good sign that they didn’t send a lackey to meet with him.
As he and Te Amo approached, the man stood up to greet them.
“Joey Diamonds,” he said with a strong Russian accent, hand extended. “It is good to meet you, yes?”
Joey shook his hand and found that he had a strong grip. Up close, Joey could see that he was a body builder.
“Same here, ah…” Joey returned, asking for his name without asking.
“Zev,” he answered.
“Zev? Just Zev?”
“Just Zev,” Zev assured him. A friendly smile was plastered on his face. He turned to Te Amo. “And it is even better to meet you.”
When she extended her hand, he kissed it.
“Sit, sit,” he urged them. “You drink vodka, yes? Drink vodka with me,” Zev suggested, then snapped his fingers and the waiter brought over a bottle of vodka, three glasses, and some bread. Zev took the bottle and filled the three glasses.
“Whoa, I’m used to vodka in shots,” Te Amo snickered.
“Ah, America
ns,” he playfully waved her off. “You nibble, nibble. In my country, you drink, you drink. And friends, we come together. We break bread, yes?”
Joey understood the importance of custom, so he didn’t object. He lifted his glass as Zev toasted, “To health.”
“Salud,” Joey seconded.
Te Amo nodded as they all drank, downing a good portion of their drinks and taking bites of the brown bread.
“And…it is very sad what happened to Seth, eh?” Zev remarked.
Joey nodded solemnly.
“Yeah, I wish I could’ve stopped it, you know?”
“Those things happen, but it is upsetting when they happen so close to home.”
“Close to home?” Joey echoed, because Zev’s tone said he was speaking personally.
“Seth was my cousin. I was the one that asked him to speak to you.”
“I see,” Joey replied, subtly glancing around, mentally re-assessing the situation.
Sensing the air of tension, Zev remarked, “As I said, these things happen. I blame nobody but those who pulled the trigger, which is part of why I wanted to see you. Zev is with you against who is responsible.”
The two men locked gazes, and Joey knew he had an ally. He grabbed the vodka bottle, refilled their glasses then toasted, “To Seth.”
“Da,” Zev seconded.
“Salud,” Te Amo chimed in.
Then they drank and again broke bread.
“I appreciate your offer of assistance…truly. I can promise you, his death won’t go unpunished, but I can’t tell you when. Things are crazy in New York, but the sooner I can re-establish myself, the sooner I can straighten everything out. Which is why I wanted to see you,” Joey explained.
Zev nodded, downed the rest of his vodka and replied, “Unfortunately, I’m going to have to decline your offer.”
Joey was instantly disappointed, but concealed it well.
“Why so?”
Zev shrugged humbly.
“Because I’m not the Boss. My word, how you say, carries weight. But the deal I brought to you has already been taken.”
“By who?”
“I think you already know the answer to that.”
Joey nodded.
“I understand. But tell me, would it be possible if I spoke to the Boss?”
Zev eyed him curiously, popped a piece of bread into his mouth and replied, “I don’t see why not, but I don’t see why.”
“Because I think I can make him a better deal,” Joey answered. “Besides, I’m a confident man, and I can be pretty convincing when I have to be.”
Zev filled his glass halfway, pondering.
“No disrespect, but the word in the City is that you have…fallen from grace. I don’t see what you have to offer.”
Joey shrugged, nonchalantly, downed his glass then responded, “Like I said, I can be pretty convincing. I mean, hey I convinced you, right?” Then he hit him with the pearly whites.
Zev chuckled.
“Let’s just say, I’m curious.”
Zev barked something in Russian, and a few seconds later, one of his goons came over and handed him a mobile phone. He dialed, spoke in Russian, listened, looked at Joey then said goodbye in Russian, hanging up. “Two days from today in New York.”
Joey nodded, then stood up. Zev and Te Amo followed suit. The two men shook hands firmly. “Nice meeting you, Just Zev. I’ll see you in New York.”
Zev smirked.
As Joey and Te Amo walked away, he asked her, “Whaddya think?”
“I think if we’re going to New York, we’re gonna need a crew.”
“You musta read my mind.”
“You call this a crew?” Joey quipped, as he glanced around the dimly lit strip club that night.
Te Amo had just pointed out the team she had in mind. They were all women, nine total. Four were Spanish, three were Black, and two were White. They were all dancers and waitresses at a little out-of-the-way club in Liberty City, a rough part of Miami that no tourist would dare to tread.
“Believe me,” Te Amo assured him, “looks can be deceiving.”
Joey scrutinized them closer. He watched one of the Spanish girls work the pole like an exotic acrobat, wrapping herself around it with the graceful slither of a snake. They were all beautiful, but he still doubted their prowess.
He wouldn’t for long.
“They’re fuckin’ strippers,” he chuckled.
“You’re expecting a bunch of no-neck guidos?” she cracked.
“I mean, a little testosterone wouldn’t hurt.”
“Look who’s talking,” she snickered.
“Fuck you,” he replied, without malice.
He surveyed the girls again. He caught the eye of the Black waitress. She winked and blew him a kiss.
“You say they’re good?”
“Not the best, but very good,” she assured him.
“Let’s find out how good.”
Later that night, he met all of the girls back at Te Amo’s condo. As they filed in, Joey looked them over, one by one. Looking each in the eye as they passed, he could see each had seen their own version of hell. Beautiful on the outside, but life had taken their beauty on the inside. It’s much harder for a woman to mask true coldness, and from what Joey saw, he knew it would put a chill up anyone’s spine.
Most took seats around the room, some chose to stand, but they all watched and assessed Joey just as he had done them.
“I appreciate all of you for coming. Te Amo, you wanna do the honors?” Joey requested.
“No problem,” she replied, and then introduced each girl. She started with Maria, who resembled Rosie Perez so much that Joey had to do a double take. Next was Chi-Chi, so dark he thought she was Black until she opened her mouth and her accent came out Latin-flavored. The next girl was Black, jet-black: the color of midnight, had it been made out of silk. She was a Nigerian named Maliah, long-legged like a black widow and just as deadly.
Next were the two White girls: twins named Alicia and Amanda, both blond with blue eyes. They looked like America’s dream, but in the trailer parks of Columbus, Georgia, they had lived America’s nightmare. Standing beside them were two more Black girls: Bianca and Marilyn. They called her Marilyn because she was light enough to pass for White, and with her blond hair, she resembled Marilyn Monroe. Bianca was straight ghetto: gum-popping with a sassy Black attitude, but her smooth cinnamon complexion broke hearts, and the razor she often had in her mouth made many a kiss taste like death.
The last two girls looked Indian, but hey were Nicaraguan; the most exotic of the bunch and the most dangerous. Mianna and Anita looked like sisters, but were not related, except for the fact that they were both stone cold killers. After the introductions, Joey looked around and began.
“It’s good to meet cha. All of youse. Now, Te Amo has vouched for every one of you, but I need you to vouch for yourselves. So what I mean is, what we’re about to do could easily get us all killed, or…make us all very rich. But the bottom line, if the former ain’t worth the risk of the latter then so be it, but I’ma hafta ask you to leave, because once I open this door, there’s no turning back.”
He paused to give anyone who wanted to leave time to go. Instead, Chi-Chi said, “Nobody’s going anywhere. We’re a team, and our loyalty is to Te Amo and the Reyes family.”
Murmurs of agreement rippled across the room.
“‘Til death do us part,” Maria vowed.
Joey nodded, approvingly.
“Okay, I like that. So here we go. Do youse know who I am?”
A few nodded, and Marilyn remarked, “I sure wanna get to know you, cutie.”
Joey smirked.
“And you will. I’m Joey Diamonds, from New York. I’m here because some people back home don’t think I deserve what goes with that name. I’ma prove ‘em wrong. But to do that…I need your help,” he explained, pouring himself a drink. He took a sip and continued.
“Now Te Amo says you’re pretty good
. Well, the people we’re goin’ against are even better. Besides that, they’ve got the whole City under their thumb. Between the five families, they’ve got half of the NYPD on the take. Now, for anybody takin’ score, they’ll make the odds pretty long, huh? But an old-timer once told me, “Sometimes being underestimated has its own odds.” I believe that, but now…we gotta prove it. If we can do that…when we do that, the City is ours.”
For the moment, no one spoke, contemplating the words. Then Bianca said, “So let me get this straight. You want us to go in wit’ you against the whole fuckin’ Mafia?”
“If that’s what it takes,” he answered dead seriously.
Bianca laughed.
“Yo, Te Amo, who the fuck is this guido?! He’s fuckin’ crazy! But you know what, I fuckin’ love crazy!” she snickered, flipping the razor with her tongue. “I’m in!”
Bianca’s remark made everyone laugh, including Joey.
“Me too! I ain’t never been to New York City,” Amanda said, purposely exaggerating her Southern drawl.
Te Amo looked at Joey and smiled.
“Looks like you got your crew. So what do we do now?”
Joey smirked and replied, “We start with the Russians.”
Mikhail “Mickey” Pavlov was one of the biggest Russian gangsters in the City. He had his hands in all of the Russian rackets and a few joint ventures with Mob families. He ran a crew out of Brighton Beach, made up of mostly Russian Jews from Moscow by way of Israel. He usually held court in a bar in Coney Island. He and Zev were there, waiting for Joey to arrive. The contrast between the two was stark. Up against Zev’s smooth looking youthfulness, Mickey wore his age with rugged gruffness. Covered in tattoos, with wisps of grey hair haloing his head, he resembled a thuggish Boris Yeltsin. A former bodybuilder, at 60 he still had his size but he also had a huge beer gut to match. With his goons spread out around the room, he and Zev sat in his favorite back booth, enjoying their favorite pastime: drinking vodka.