The Purple Don

by Solomon

  Joey made his way back over to Leslie as she schmoozed with another up and coming actor.

  “We ready?” Joey remarked, cutting in.

  “Sure,” Leslie replied, after saying her goodbye to the actor. On their way out to his car, Leslie asked, “So what do you think of Marty?”

  “I think I’m gonna squeeze that cock sucker until cash shoots out of his ass,” Joey responded seriously, although he was smiling when he said it.

  Leslie giggled and playfully hit him.

  “Oh Joey, you’re so bad!”

  The valet brought his car and they drove away. As soon as they were in the car, Leslie was all over him.

  “I never got a chance to thank you, did I?” she purred seductively, kissing him along the neck.

  “No, but I’m sure you will,” he smirked.

  “Every inch,” she whispered, precisely gripping his zipper, tugging at it, and then when it was all the way down, pulling his half erect dick from his pants and bending over as she pushed her hair out of her face.

  Feeling her warm, wet mouth on him instantly made his dick rock up, and the greedy way she slurped made it hard to concentrate on the road.

  “Let me ask you something?” he grunted, struggling to keep his focus.

  More slurps were her response. He knocked on the back of her head like it was a door.

  “Hey.”

  His dick popped out of her mouth.

  “Hmmm?”

  “Where do you know Te Amo from?”

  “New York. Club scene,” she answered in broken sentences, anxious to get back to the dick.

  “You sure it ain’t Miami?”

  “New York,” she slobbered with a mouthful of dick.

  He nodded to himself, then sat back to enjoy the ride.

  Present Day, July 1997

  “What about the eccentric Hollywood producer, Marty Latrell?”

  “What about him, Diane?”

  “Why is he set to testify against you? Any idea as to what he might say?” Diane probed.

  Joey chuckled.

  “Diane, Marty’s a helluva guy, and ironically a guy I’d consider a good friend. But…”

  “Despite the fact that he’s going to be testifying against you?” she asked, incredulously.

  “Everything isn’t always what it seems, Diane,” Joey replied enigmatically, adding, “I mean, maybe he just has a lot to get off his chest.”

  “Sour grapes?”

  Joey gave a hedging shake of the head.

  “Who knows? You know, I mean we don’t always see eye to eye. Besides, the government, they’re the real gangsters because they make offers no one can refuse. So maybe it’s more of a…personal decision,” Joey suggested.

  “Are you implying that he’s testifying because the government has something on him?”

  “I didn’t say that; you did, Diane,” Joey chuckled, “but everybody knows that Hollywood’s a world of its own, so somebody’s gotta know where the bodies are buried, huh? Look Diane, I’m not concerned with what Marty might say, because he can’t say anything incriminating against me.”

  “Well, recently in an interview, Mr. Latrell said, and I quote, ‘I was absolutely terrified of Joey Diamonds, but I loved every minute of it!’”

  Joey laughed.

  “Yeah, that sounds just like Marty. I mean, what can you say to a statement like that? Bottom line, Marty’s a good friend in a bad position. Despite our differences and what the government wants to believe about me, I’m one of the nicest guys you’ll ever wanna meet,” Joey said, cracking the smile he knew would make half of America’s heart skip a collective beat.

  June 1990

  It didn’t take Marty twenty-four hours to find out all he needed to know about Joey. He called Joey on the car phone as Joey drove along.

  “Yeah,” Joey answered.

  “I suppose apologies are in order. I mean, there I was treating you like a piece of meat, when you could snap your fingers and have me hung up with the meat,” Marty joked.

  Joey grinned. He knew when his ego was being stroked.

  “No need for apologies…or theatrics either,” he retorted nonchalantly.

  “No, really. I must apologize. How can I make it up to you?”

  “By makin’ it up to me.”

  “I’m all ears.”

  “Fuel up that plane of yours. We’re going to Vegas.”

  “Sounds delish. How does Friday sound?”

  “How’s now sound?” Joey shot back, playfully but firmly.

  There was a pause that Joey knew was Marty wondering how much of the tempo he would let Joey control, as a man used to being in charge.

  “Only if I get to blow on your dice,” Marty cooed with a hint of growl.

  Joey laughed at his feeble attempt, and replied, “Fuel up the fuckin’ plane,” then hung up.

  Several hours later, they landed in Vegas. Marty had a car waiting that took them directly to the MGM Grand Hotel on the Strip. Once there, they headed straight for the suite awaiting them. As soon as they stepped inside Marty said, “Everything’s already handled. My guy’s got the pencil,” referring to the power to make everything complementary just by signing for it—a power usually reserved for casino owners.

  “No need for that, because we’re not leaving the room,” Joey told him as he loosened his tie.

  Marty liked the sound of that, but he still asked, “Then why come all the way to Vegas? I’ve got a nice little hideaway in Palm Springs.”

  “Because what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, right?” Joey answered.

  Marty’s mischievous grin said message received.

  Joey sat down on the stylish leather couch, crossed his legs, right over left and remarked, “Now, how ‘bout a drink?”

  Marty allowed Joey to set the tone up until that point, but he decided it was time to assert his control, because he was used to having it.

  “Joey,” Marty smiled, yet his eyes didn’t. “I like for a man to take charge but not take over.”

  Joey’s smile said message received.

  “Then hey, let me get you a drink.”

  They both laughed and Joey crossed the room to the bar.

  “What’s your poison?”

  “Gin neat.”

  “Gin neat,” Joey echoed, then poured them both the same drink. He handed Marty a glass.

  “I see you like it neat,” Marty commented.

  “Naw, I just wanted to see how you taste,” Joey winked, then looked out at the patio. “Vegas kinda looks naked in the sunlight, without all the lights, huh?”

  “And illusions,” Marty added with a smirk.

  “Yeah, true; no illusions. But the view is still breathtaking,” Joey said as he stepped out onto the patio. Marty followed him out there, just like he knew he would.

  Joey took a deep breath.

  “I love the desert air, don’t you?”

  “As long as I don’t have to smell it,” Marty retorted with disdain and a wrinkled nose. Then he sipped his drink.

  “Well, I think that’s pretty much the idea Marty, but hey,” Joey commented, downing his drink and sitting the glass down. “Tell me somethin’, Marty: would you like to gamble with me?”

  “I thought we weren’t leaving the room.”

  “We’re not; we can gamble right here,” Joey smiled. It wouldn’t be until much later that Marty would remember it as sinister.

  “Sure, why not? What shall we play? Strip poker?” Marty quipped, wiggling his eyebrows.

  “In due time. I was thinkin’ more like roulette.”

  “We don’t have a wheel,” Marty replied.

  “Sure we do, Marty,” Joey replied then rolled out a .38 revolver from the small of his back.

  Marty was startled when Joey pulled out the gun.

  “What’re you going to do with that?”

  “Play roulette,” Joey answered, like it was obvious. He opened the cylinder and dumped the bullets in his palm, then held up one between hi
s forefinger and thumb for Marty to see as he put it in the chamber. With an elaborate slap, the cylinder closed. He cocked the hammer.

  “Count me out,” Marty said, reaching for the patio door.

  Joey took his arm—and with a look of cold amusement that sent a chill down Marty’s spine—said, “Marty…that wasn’t a suggestion.” He then half shoved him back against the railing. Marty looked down from the dizzying height. Trapped between an abyss and a gun, he looked at Joey with pleading eyes.

  “Please tell me you’re not serious.”

  “Relax, Marty, it’s your lucky day. Five-to-one odds. Vegas should be so lucky. Well, since I’m holding the gun, you go first,” Joey told him. Without hesitation, he put the gun to Marty’s head and pulled the trigger.

  Click!

  The metallic click made Marty whole body tremble with terror and relief at the same time as he cried, “Oh, God!” and ducked at the same time.

  “No fair, Marty, you ducked. This time, don’t move.”

  Marty crouched, almost in an upright fetal position, holding on to the railing.

  “No. No, please don’t do this,” he begged.

  Click! Click! Joey squeezed the trigger twice in rapid succession, sending spasms through Marty’s body that found release in a spurt of urine that wet his trousers.

  “Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God!” Marty, a confessed atheist, recited like a mantra of hyperventilation.

  Joey squatted down next to him.

  “Marty, I gotta say, you’ve been kissed by fate. You oughta go downstairs and try your hand, huh? Joey cracked. “Do we need to keep playing?”

  Marty shook his head frantically.

  “No! Please, no!”

  “Because we can.”

  “No! Please, no!” Marty begged.

  Joey watched him for a moment then chuckled and said, “Marty…Ay Marty. Marty, look at me,” then turned his face gently to look at him. “I was just pulling your leg; I palmed the bullet.”

  Joey opened his palm and held up the gleaming bullet.

  “See?”

  Marty looked at the bullet then at Joey’s smile then back at the bullet. Slowly, his breathing stabilized and he laughed with Joey.

  “The gun was empty!” Joey roared. To further prove his point, he opened the cylinder. As he tilted the gun, a single bullet hit the carpeted patio with a thud that brought instant silence.

  “Oops,” Joey remarked, without even a hint of a smile.

  Marty turned a sickly shade of purple.

  “Now, get up. Go inside.”

  Marty scrambled to his feet and staggered inside.

  “Joey, why are you doing this to me?” Marty squealed.

  Joey ignored him, took off his suit jacket then said, “Now, take off your clothes.”

  Without hesitation, Marty complied. He stood naked and vulnerable under Joey’s steely gaze.

  “Now, bend over the couch,” Joey ordered.

  Marty did as he was told.

  Joey unbuckled his belt.

  “We need to get somethin’ straight right now, just so we understand each other,” Joey began, sliding off his belt and wrapping it around his hand, the buckle exposed. “You may be a big fish in a big pond, but you’re swimming with sharks now. Ya got me?”

  “Y-yesss-s,” Marty stammered.

  Joey brought the belt across his ass like a whip.

  “Do you?” Joey barked, hitting him two more times.

  “Yes!”

  “Are we on the same page?” Joey hissed, punctuating the question with another lash.

  “Please,” Marty begged.

  “Please, what?”

  “Pl-please…please fuck me,” Marty stammered, so filled with lustful anguish, he felt like his whole body would explode.

  Joey smiled. He stepped closer. He laid the cold leather of his belt on Marty’s ass. Marty flinched.

  “Please…Joey…fuck…me,” Marty trembled.

  Joey tossed the belt to the side and grabbed Marty’s ass, making Marty bite down on his bottom lip.

  “Yeah,” Joey growled as he dropped his pants and aimed his rod straight for Marty’s ass. “We understand one another.”

  Then he plunged in, with the full length of his dick, making Marty howl like a Banshee and beg for more.

  Two hours later, with Marty sore but satisfied, the two of them lay in the bed, Marty’s head on Joey’s stomach while he traced Joey’s belly button.

  “Now I know why your eyes are so blue…and cold,” Marty commented.

  “And why is that?”

  “Your soul is empty. You made a deal with the Devil,” Marty cracked, only half-jokingly.

  Joey smirked.

  “Actually, he made a deal with me. I let him operate as long as I get a cut of every soul.”

  They both laughed.

  “And I’ve been thinking about your little offer.”

  “Of?”

  “To be in your movie. Who knows? Maybe I’ll be the next De Niro. Besides, it’ll be good business…partner.”

  “Partner?” Marty echoed, lifting his head from Joey’s stomach.

  “Nothing major. I just wanna wet my beak, so to speak, eh? I promise it’ll be good for both of us.”

  “But my investors,” Marty protested. “I have—”

  Joey smoothly cut him off.

  “Hey, where’s your manners?”

  “Huh?”

  “Didn’t your mother tell you never to talk with your mouth full?” Joey quipped then turned Marty’s face to his crotch and filled his mouth full of dick.

  Four nights later, Joey met with Bone in a deserted school parking lot in South Central. They parked facing different directions, Joey in his Jag and Bone in his cherry-red drop top ‘64 Impala.

  “Everything’s a go on my end,” Bone assured him.

  Joey nodded.

  “That’s good to hear, because when we pull this off, we takin’ our show on the road. You got the muscle and I’ll make sure you get the product, and together we’ll be paid…in full,” Joey predicted.

  “Sounds good to me,” Bone smiled. “But listen, we gotta be on point. These fuckin’ Chechnyans are like killer bees. We gotta kill ‘em before they get out of their hives.”

  “Between you and my girls, that’s a done deal.”

  Bone nodded, then extended his hand. Joey shook it.

  “Then we all good, homey. I’m on it.”

  Both of them drove off in opposite directions. As Joey drove, he went over his plan. Taking over the ecstasy trade in L.A. and beyond was only the tip of the iceberg. His real plan—the plan he hadn’t told anyone—was to totally eliminate the Piazza family and start his own family in L.A. The Piazzas were outliers: West Coast puppets for East Coast strings. He would cut the strings and use that leverage to muscle his way into the Commission. He was determined to be a Made Man and to earn the respect of the five families.

  Respect.

  That was the recognition he craved. No matter who he was or what he was in their eyes, they would respect him, kill him, or die, but he refused to be an outcast. His thoughts turned to his father and the last time he saw him, lying up in the hospital. The look on his face when he told him he had been the one to hit him. The memory made him squeeze his eyes shut. It cut deeply, yet he knew it had to be done. It was imperative that he moved first. Now, all he had to do was wait…

  When he arrived at the apartment, Te Amo greeted him with a kiss and a drink.

  “Everybody’s in place,” she informed him with a triumphant grin.

  He sipped his drink.

  “Okay.”

  “And Enrico is here.”

  Entering the living room, he saw Enrico sitting on the couch. When he saw Joey, he smiled, no longer making an attempt to mask his attraction.

  “Hello, Joey.”

  “How’s New York?”

  “Perfect. Zev sends his best, and in two days LAX will be a go,” Enrico explained proudly, knowing Joey woul
d be pleased with him.

  His plan was beginning to look flawless.

  “If I woulda known it was this easy, I woulda took over the world a long time ago,” Joey quipped arrogantly. They all laughed.

  Joey raised his glass. Enrico stood up to join the toast, the three of them in a semicircle.

  “To plans coming together,” Joey triumphantly sang.

  They toasted and drank. When they finished, he kissed both Te Amo and Enrico.

  Sergei was a fat, greasy pig. Everything was about more for him. He was short, wide, and obnoxious. He feared no one, which meant he took few precautions. Besides his two bodyguards, he was a virtual open target.

  He pulled up to his favorite Italian restaurant. They gave the keys to a young, Black valet. Had they looked closer, they would have seen that he didn’t quite fit the décor or the ambiance. But again, he feared no one. Inside, they ate, drank, and were merry—unaware of what awaited them.

  When they returned to the car, the valet brought the armor-plated Mercedes around. They got in and pulled off. The valet watched, marveling at how easy it had been. He looked around and began to walk away, quickly pulling a black box out of his pocket. The way the Benz was plated, their weapons couldn’t have touched Sergei. But if the weapon were already inside…

  The valet pressed the button without even bothering to look around. He didn’t have to. He heard it as the C-4 he had planted under the seat went off, enclosing the three men in a secure bomb zone that would leave nothing to identify them besides a mixture of metal, blood, and guts.

  Enrico and Te Amo caressed and kissed each inch of Joey’s body as they slowly undressed him together. Enrico kissed all over his chest while Te Amo sucked from his ear lobe to his bottom lip and headed south, following the path that Enrico laid. As they both covered him with kisses, he thought of Seth’s words, the words he used when he turned him out.

  “That’s the power only gods have, Joey,” Seth once said.

  As he looked down at Te Amo and Enrico simultaneously sucking his dick, kissing over the head of his dick in unisexual bliss, he knew then that indeed he was a god.