Alfonzo (10 page)

“No sweat,” Raul replied
quietly. Under different circumstances he’d exhibit jubilation to drive Alfonzo’s car
,
but tonight all he felt was emptiness. He walked slowly away, tapping Fernando as he passed
his taller companion.
Fernando trailed
after Raul and they jogged across the street, dodging cars to Alfonzo’s ride.

“I’ll pull around
, I’m parked at the end of the block
,” Domingo added.

“All right.”

He hurried the shivering girl to the parking lot and scanned the dozen or so cars wondering what type of car she drove. His head twisted left when he caught sight of a shiny black Mercedes parked in a far corner.

She pointed at it, “That’s my car.”

What? No fucking way she owned a Mercedes SLR McLaren Roadster!

It boggled
his
mind
the car
sat undisturbed, not one tire or rim missing. This was a top of the line automobile worth half a mil. She spoke abo
ut a lottery winning and he assumed she meant a couple of grand. To have a car like the McLaren a person must have substantial
cash
.
The parts for this car were expensive and the insurance equally obscene. If the idiot who murdered his uncle and wife were after cash, he’d gotten plenty if he stole and sold this car piece by piece. Damn fool!

The car beeped open at the push of
a
button and
he held ajar the passenger door,
waited for her to settle in then circled around to the driver’s s
eat
.
He
slid in
side. The silver SLR insignia on the ebony console gleamed beneath a moonless sky. T
he plush custom red leather seat with the initials SB stitched in
silver across
the
middle of the
headrest
and modification to the gas pedal were undoubtedly Uncle Al’s handiwork. A mechanic by trade
,
he owned and operated a custom detail shop in
Canarsie
with an impressive clientele. Alfonzo adjusted the seat and mirror before
starting the engine and listened to the 5.5 liter, 617 horsepower AMG V-8 engine hum to life.

‘
Damn, this car
i
s wicked.’

He
rolled out to the main road, flashed the headlights to get Raul’s attention then sped away trying to put distance between hell
and the
highway. The car handled remarkably, making it a breeze slipping around the slower moving vehicles as he headed toward the Brooklyn Bridge and when he finally reached it and exited to the FDR it welcomed him. He cut loose down the narrow stretch of highway listening to the nothingness of his mind. He was numb to the pain, stricken silent by the enormity of it.
He glanced at the sleeping girl.
The peaceful expression
on her lovely face
was
antithetic
al to the inner turmoil
he was certain
existed there. Tomorrow she’d awake
and the truth of this night will revisit.

The illuminated clock on the dashboard read 2:30
in the morning
.
Three hours ago he
lay
in bed and decided to call his uncle
,
instead he reached this girl. It took three
hours for his entire life to change and for the first time in forever he longed for
the dad he never knew.
The brownstone came into view and
he
found a park
, r
an up the steps to unlock the door then returned for his sleeping passenger. She did not stir as he carried her inside and placed
her
in the guest bedroom
atop the queen bed.
Nor
,
did she blink when he stripped her of the stained clothing then
cleaned
the bloody gook from her face. His eyes lingered admirably for a moment
on her shapely figure but as a gentleman he slid the covers up to her chin then stepped silently out the door. He prolonged the inevitable long enough. He squared his shoulders, rolled his neck like a fight limbering up before a bout, clenched his jaw
in obstinacy then rushed downstairs and out the door where the others now gathered.

Gina
Palazzo walked gracefully by silk covered tables
as she followed the
maitre’d.
Les
Faire,
was
an upscale restaurant on posh Fifth Avenue
which
catered to the rich and
pampered.
They were also discreet and offered private rooms for
well…dubious clients.
She
requested a
private table
. She was here on business and to
sample the food
; a completely innocent dinner from all
appearances. She could see the private dining rooms in the distance and smiled. There was nothing private about
it;
in fact
,
it brought unnecessary attention to anyone who occupied them. With this is mind she gladly settled for a quiet table amongst other patrons. The
maitre’d escorted her to
a small table
in a cozy corner of the room as she requested. When a waiter appeared from the shadows the maitre’d instructed him to give Mrs. Palazzo special attention. He marched away to welcome his other wealthy patrons.

Gina
tenderly touched the diamond necklace at her throat, a gift from her terminally ill
husband.
A menu was placed on the table and he stepped back, hands clasped patiently behind his back.
She did not make eye contact nor acknowledge him in the slightest.

“Would you like something to drink?” The waiter asked.

She deliberately made him wait and he did not care. Vapid, cruel and falsely superior creatures like these
were often miserable. He grinned
,
thinking of the large tips he made from the miscreants. Many of these
spoiled socialites tipped extravagantly to assuage their bad manners. Thank you and please often omitted from their vocabulary.

He stood erect while she languidly perused the menu then ordered without looking at him.
“I’ll take a martini spritzer while I wait and the vichyssoise with light cream.”
The waiter nodded, removed the menu and retreated to the kitchen.
In his
absence a blonde man joined her.

“Good evening Mrs. Palazzo,” Evan Graham said cheerfully as he occupied a chair
opposite Gina
.
H
e slid
the
folded newspaper across the table. “Read page three.”

She did: ‘LOTTERY WINNER AND HUSBAND KILLED IN BROOKLYN.’
The article described a double murder in a Brooklyn apartment followed by a vague description of a possible suspect. Her mouth twisted with a satisfied smile until she
read the ages.
Her eyes narrowed angrily
and she scowled,
“What the hell is this?”

Evan seemed confused. “What’s wrong?”

Gina leaned forward, her tone low and contemptuous, “Did you read this?
This victim is too old.
Our man is twenty-three, not thirty-nine.
”

Evan snatched the paper and read it. “This must be a typo.”

“
And he isn’t married you imbecile
,” she hissed.

Evan looked around to ensure their conversation hadn’t been overheard, “I’ll verify this!”

Gina folded her arms, “You were paid well and assured me this would get resolved.
I sent you pictures, everything you needed.” She sat straight and folded prim hands on the table as a display of her breeding.
S
he
spoke calmly
,
cognizant of the other diners,
“
I’m beginning to regret our business arrangement.”

“I’ll handle it.”

V
oid of appetite
and thoroughly annoyed she rose
, “I expect results very soon.”

She exited the restaurant leaving her companion to dine alone.

***

Luzo Palazzo
slumbered
in the massive bed under sedation.
The cancer spread to his lymph nodes.
M
oney
spent on
specialists
, alternative treatments and even prayer failed to slow its deadly
progression.

A
once muscular
and imposing man
,
his appearance
had
changed drastically
,
leaving a shadow of the
power of his presence. An emaciated bundle of flesh and bones the only fire of life came from the piercing blue eyes whose flame began to dull.
At
his age
he accepted the inevitable. Death neared with each labored breath
and with its coming his wife became scarce
.
She traveled abroad attending social events to avoid witnessing her husband’s foul temper.
Sensual Italian lips unaffected
by disease smiled ruefully. Perhaps, she thought him a dying fool. His faculties remained intact along with his far reaching power. He knew of her many indis
cretions
but he was not bothered in the least. The
source of his anger was
her disloyalty in business. She sought to
influence
the Board of Directors
at
Palazzo Enterprises
to gain executive control of his empire
.

His trusted
advisor and friend Alberti
L
uca kept him abreast of every clandestine meeting
as did those she approached to elicit favor
.
She failed to understand the nature of his business or his connections. Her flirtatious charms were entertaining at most but his associates were men of honor who recognized an opportunist in a skirt. They also feared retaliation if any dared to act against him.

“Are you comfortable Mr. Palazzo?”

The blue eyes were a
lert
. The medication was wearing off and the dull pain increased but he refused to remain
drugged. He wanted his senses when his wife arrived.
B
lue e
yes settled on the nurse’s large bosom. Long ago he may have seduced the
woman
, very long ago. He
shut
his eyes focusing not on the pain scraping at his bones but the past.

Twenty-four years ago he lost a great woman in his quest for power
and duty
.
He was a
despot
who
chose power over love, a frailty Gina exploited
and he allowed
.
His ascension required a woman like Gina, ruthless, ambitious, a socialite of Italian birth. Yes, he traded love for power, something he required to fulfill his destiny.

In
Europe’s elitist society
Gina’s lavish dinner parties gained him
political
and business
allies
which were necessary to expand his business empire
. Her parties were the talk of
Palermo;
those who attended were the echelons of society.
Yes, these were the people who secured his ascension from obscurity to a reputable businessman. Marriage
to Gina for him was purely business. Part of the contract
entailed she
provide
him with
a male heir
.
This was his only request and she agreed
and
in return he gave her money, status and protection. He came to care for her, not passionate
ly but genuinely as one would a friend. Eight years later their relationship changed when she failed to deliver on her end of the bargain.

He visited a specialist after considering her state of non-conception was perhaps a male
in
fertility problem. The doctor assured
him;
his sperm count
rivaled any
healthy male
half his age
and suggested his wife see a fertility specialist. So, they
di
d.

Luzo
sneered at the memory. Gina was
infertile and feigned
ignorance
once the test results were
reveal
ed. However, he did not believe her and it is then he realized the depths of her manipulations. Gina played him like a boy!