For Nothing (13 page)

Rafael paused there for a moment just outside the entryway to his building and pul ed out a fresh cigarette. He shielded the flame of his lighter as a gust of wind swept by him and lit the tip of his Sobranie. The flame licked at the tip and then, catching to the black paper, it leapt a bit higher, then simmered back down and, with a slow burn, it traveled up the cigarette as Rontego took a drag and inhaled the sweet nicotine.

He stopped at the newsstand to his left and grabbed up a copy of the Buffalo News
.
He didn’t read it; it was more a matter of habit. With another puff of white smoke, he kicked his heel around and started on the walk towards Rumors and Ciancetta.

The day was nice and the walk seemed to go by in a matter of minutes. He passed Shea’s Theater and didn’t even notice what was showing. In truth, it was closer to a half hour later. Rontego knew it because he already smoked through two cigarettes.

He walked past the bum that was always begging in front of the night club. He tossed him a five dol ar bil without taking notice and was about to push open the club’s doors when he paused.

He walked around to the corner of the building and peered around the side. There were quite a few more cars in the parking lot than usual.

The place buzzed inside.

Only one way to find out why.

He walked through the double doors, and without pausing for his eyes to adjust to the gloom, he darted towards the door of Don Ciancetta. When he got halfway there, his eyes came into focus and he noticed that the place was indeed in frenzy. The back office was open and five guys were sitting there talking and smoking cigarettes. Two guys from the bar to the left were coming towards him, fidgeting at the bulges in their hips. Another, larger man was at the door of the Don’s office, obstructing any entrance into the boss’ room. The two men coming towards him were not sure who he was and were stil advancing on him in order to ascertain his business.

Rontego snapped his head around to face them. He cast a narrow glare on them and patted the gun at his hip with an ease that shook any confidence they might have. His black stare made them feel quite sure that their weapons were mere toys and they looked at the man in front of the Don’s door as if asking for direction.

The glance was not lost on the assassin and he snapped his head back around, not sure what to expect from the guardian at the door. Perhaps Ciancetta ordered the hit after al . A moment later though, his fears were brushed away as the guardian raised his hand and waved the now ridiculous looking men away.

The man pushed the door open and let Rontego inside, where the Don was busy discussing things with Leonard Ciancetta Junior and a capo that he recognized as Christian ‘The Pope’ Biela. The guy was half WOP and half Polish, talk about a disorder waiting to happen. Despite the odds stacked against him in his heritage, the guy was stacked against him in his heritage, the guy was damn smart. He was Don Ciancetta’s consigliore and a lawyer when he was being ‘legit’.

It must be bad times for sure if this guy was being cal ed in. He sported dark hair, but more of brown than black. He worked out and wore his suit wel , not loose like so many of the gangsters did. He carried himself like a professional, as did Rontego, and there was a certain sense about him that Rontego respected.

He wasn’t sure if it was in a mutual respect for the devious demands required of them both, or if it was just the no-nonsense attitude that they shared.

He spoke in a definite structure and a handshake that a businessman would have. He spoke with a slight southern touch to his voice, but not that of a redneck. He was here now, and that meant that the Don was worried.

*

The knocking on the door of room 126 came again and louder this time. It woke Victor up from a sound sleep. He rol ed over, stil groggy, and looked at the clock on the television set. It was six minutes after five AM. Wearing just a wife beater and a pair of boxers, the undercover officer approached the peephole of his squalid motel room door. He grabbed his old friend, the nine-mil imeter Beretta stil inside of its holster, by the grip and curved his index finger along the double action trigger. It looked goofy but the leather wouldn’t stop a bul et if he needed to squeeze off a few rounds of lead. He looked through the peephole.

With a start, two things grabbed his immediate attention. One was that Sal Pieri was glancing back at him and hammering on the door.

The second, his hair was wet and matted to his forehead. He unlocked the door, twisting the deadbolt around. The moment the door was open, Sal came in. It was raining outside, he tracked a puddle indoors and got Victor wet when he shook his hair from side to side tossing the water from his frame.

Sal shook with agitation. He began pacing around the room while Victor closed the door behind him. Garducci turned around and ran a hand through his hair. He was unsure of what to say. Sal stopped his pacing and sat down on the bed. He looked up at Victor and his expression cut deep frown lines into his brow and cheeks. Something was eating at this man. Victor decided to wait and stil he clutched the Beretta in his hand, standing there in his boxers. Sal dropped his head to his hands and he remained that way for some time. He stayed like that for so long that Victor began to think that maybe Sal dozed off to sleep.

After al , he noticed with a twinge of annoyance, it was quarter after five in the morning.

He waited another moment and then began to shake Sal to try and wake him. The whole thing was surreal and the drowsiness was beginning to get the better of him. Then he noticed Sal’s slumped shoulder’s moving up and down in slight spasmodic shudders.

The man wasn’t asleep at al , in fact, he was crying.

Victor couldn’t help but feel awkward. Here he was in a motel room with a grown man who was crying on his bed, while he himself was standing around in his boxers trying to make sense of it al .

What the hell is going on
, he thought.

Victor’s patience wore through and he shook Sal firm on the arm.

“Hey Sal, what’s going on?” He asked it as gentle as he could but he knew that the tone of his voice did not conceal his aggravation.

Sal didn’t notice for a long moment. Then he looked up at Victor, and with al the anguish that a human can endure, cried out, “He’s dead, Victor.

They got him. If he isn’t dead he wil be. They didn’t come back Vic. They’l never come back!” As soon as the statement passed his lips he renewed his open sob. Garducci winced at the spectacle. He needed to keep Sal talking; he wasn’t sure how much more of this crying he could take.

“Who's dead, Sal? What are you talking about?”

Sal looked up and attempted to control himself.

“Oh God Vic, it’s a big mess. Tonight was supposed to be huge, bro. Me and Sonne, we were gonna make these big moves for Falzone against Don Ciancetta. We had this whole idea of restoring credibility to our family name after Sal, my father got… ousted. And you know how my uncle Joe was removed from the top spot and made to retire by Don Ciancetta. Wel , this opportunity came up and, Don Ciancetta. Wel , this opportunity came up and, man, we couldn’t resist. Al I had to do was that thing with Super Nova pizza and Sonne….”

Here he began to tear up again and fought down his emotions to continue. With considerable effort he went on.

“And Sonne, he had to get rid of this guy that Falzone says was Ciancetta’s muscle. You gotta understand man; this was our chance to get back IN.

No more of this scraping together a living on the scraps from Ciancetta’s leftovers. So we took it. But now, Sonne hasn’t come back. I thought wel , maybe he is just hung up or something you know? So I sat there with those two Sicilians, Aldo and Muro, and waited. ‘Bout an hour ago they decided that he was either gone or he jumped town to stay clear of the mess. But Vic, he’s my boy. I know he didn’t jump town. He had his two guys with him and they were planning the job these past two nights. So I walk on over to the fuck’s place who it was they were supposed to deal with and I saw the light stil on at his place. I thought that maybe they got the drop on him and were stil conducting business inside. But I stood across the street watching for a bit longer then I noticed this man drive off in a carpet cleaning truck.

Vic, this is when my heart sank. I recognized that truck, but more important, I knew the guy driving it.

He’s the Cleaner. And I know now that I’l never see my boy again. Even if I were dead Vic, I know the curse of hel is on me and the flames of that curse wil keep us apart even in death.”

At this Sal began crying again but it was brief and Victor could tel that he was cursing himself for crying in front of another man, and cursing himself for his lot in life and cursing himself for not being the one on the more dangerous assignment.

Victor didn’t know what to say. He was already resigned to his mission of vengeance. It seemed that the entire world would one day be embroiled in vengeance upon vengeance, but Victor Garducci didn’t give a damn. He just wanted to taste his share of it before his time came.

He asked Sal, “So, what you want to do now Sal?”

Sal looked at him, vacant, for a moment then asked, “What?”

Victor repeated himself, “So what you want to do now Sal?”

“Just put on some clothes. We’re heading on over to the pool hal soon. We’re supposed to meet up early, but I can’t fucking sleep, not knowing that the curse of whatever God there may be is on me.

Let’s go eat. I’m not much hungry but I bet you could do with some coffee or something. When I don’t sleep, you don’t sleep.”

He was standing up now and his face looked resigned to some decision he came to in the privacy of his own thoughts. Victor recognized that look. He saw that look everyday he looked in the mirror since Jack’s death. Vengeance was the order of the day.

In a few moments, Alex wore his slacks and a white T-shirt that Sal had in his trunk. He tucked his Beretta into the smal of his back. Over the top of it al he slung his leather jacket. The two walked out of the motel. They stood there for a moment and Victor popped up the col ar on his jacket to keep out the bite of the rain and cold.

Sal lit a cigarette that became a soggy mess.

It took him a few tries to light it, his hands were shaking so bad he almost lit the middle of the tobacco rol . There was a flash of light in the morning gloom.

“What the fuck was that?” Victor asked Sal.

“What? What are you talking 'bout Vic?” Victor glanced around, “You didn’t see that light?”

“Fuck Vic, it was just some lightning.” With that he got into his car and leaned over unlocking the door for Victor.

As Victor stood outside he took one more glance around then muttered to himself, “Yeah but lightning is usual y fol owed by thunder.” He got in the car, and Sal drove them back towards the pool hal . He stopped for a moment and got two coffees for them at a Wilson Farms
drug store. As the two of them entered Wizeguyz, Alex Vaughn was beginning to hate the place. Here he was, searching for his friend’s kil er but he hadn’t seen much of anything except the inside of this two-bit joint.

The haze in the hal bit at his nostrils and his already weary eyes felt the burn as the smoke turned his eyes a bloodshot red. The doors of Wizeguyz swung shut behind them and a table ful of punks who were playing cards stood up and started walking toward the duo. They muttered curses and fanned toward the duo. They muttered curses and fanned out.

A sharp word from Aldo in the back stopped the youngsters in their tracks and they sat down again to finish their game. One of the kids, who grew a black mustache and wore a black beanie, never took his eyes off the two of them as he attempted to posture himself as a hardass. Maybe that was why he wore a thick gold chain around his thin neck.

Compensating.

“Man, I’d love to break his face in two,” Sal said.

“You know it,” Victor said to appease his comrade.

Aldo Marano shuffled his way up to Sal.

“Things are getting a little hectic. We stil haven’t heard from Sonne. We need to talk to you in the back.” He glanced over at Garducci and with a wave of his hand dismissed him. “Vic, go sit down and get some coffee for God’s sake. You look terrible.” He didn’t even notice the coffee already in his hand.

“Yeah, sure thing. Where are Jimmy Jacks and Tom?”

“What’s with al the questions? They’re in the back.” Aldo looked over at the teeny boppers playing cards and snapped, “Hey Mikey, go and get Jimmy and the Irishman out of the back.”

The thug with a staring problem put his cards down and walked past Sal as if he had something to prove. He brushed past giving a slight bump to the street veteran. Sal dropped his left hand towards his coat pocket as an angry cloud sifted through his already strung out gaze. Aldo touched Sal’s arm, snapping him out of it, and led him towards the back of the bil iards hal .

Tom Coughlin came strutting out of the kitchen fol owed by Lil’ Mikey and Jimmy, who wore a confused look on his face as always. Tom walked straight over to Victor.

“Hey Vic. Me and Jimmy are gonna go and run a few errands. Sorry but we wil catch up with you when we get back.”