For Nothing (5 page)

Falzone was the consigliore, or advisor, of Papa Leo Ciancetta and was the current underboss of Leonard Ciancetta Junior, the current Don. Old Joe held a lot of power in the Buffalo-Niagara underworld. The least of this power was not in the local unions. Hel , Local 210 in Erie County was about as corrupt as a union could get.

The power that Old Joe Falzone held due to this Local was quite significant and was a base of power that, in the hands of an ‘aspiring’ underboss, could very wel undermine Don Ciancetta. The fact that Falzone was al owed to operate that particular union, unchal enged, showed one of two things. It either showed Ciancetta’s faith in Falzone’s loyalty, or it showed a covert power struggle of sorts with Ciancetta not being able to harness enough power to wrest control of the union from Falzone.

Interesting possibilities in either case.

This was the very crew that Alex attempted to infiltrate. When he was pul ed off assignment, a few undercover cops in other operations dropped the hint that he left town, to sources known to report to Old Joe.

The word on the street was that ‘Victor Garducci’ owed an unhealthy sum of money to an old associate out in New Mexico and would be gone for several months. The higher-ups in Alex’s precinct figured this would give the Buffalo crews enough time to either forget Victor ever existed or enough time for whatever trail remained, leading to Alex, to vanish.

Wel , just maybe, it was time for ‘Victor’ to come home. First he had to meet Charlotte.

*

Rontego walked towards Shea’s Theater.

The building stood just a bit off of the boardwalk and off-white stone with carved dramatic faces rimmed large arching windows. Perpendicular to the street, a sign read “Shea’s” at the top and the word, “Buffalo” ran the length of the thin sign from top to bottom. The green sign was lined with bright white lights that cut through the crisp evening. Rontego shoved his hands into his pockets as he approached a group of huddled patrons in their long jackets and thick coats shuffling inside. Rontego pushed past them. He wasn’t here to catch a show. Tonight was al business.

Without a glance to either side, he walked into the building, where an usher greeted him, but upon recognizing him, let him pass. Rontego kept his hat tilted forward and he hunched his shoulders, looking at the ground as he walked. He hated large crowds. Not the crowds so much, just the people.

Ignoring the beautiful interior and the plush carpets that lined the marble floors, he bound up a flight of stairs covered with a red trailer. He knew where Muro Lucano sat. The brute never missed a show.

Always, he sat in the same seat. Rafael Rontego shuffled through a door that led to the main balcony overlooking the stage, and sure enough, he saw the large man’s back. He reclined in a seat facing the stage, and only a few other people dotted the balcony. Rafael took a seat behind the set of broad shoulders. He saw the pinstripes that rol ed downward and the jacket draped over Muro’s lap.

He opened his mouth to speak, but Muro beat him to it.

“Rafael. How are you, old friend?” Rontego saw something shuffle under the jacket on Muro’s lap, and Rontego’s hand drifted inside his coat out of habit.

“Wel enough. I’ve been conducting business.”

“Wel enough. I’ve been conducting business.” Rafael felt himself smile. He knew the grizzled veteran would understand what he meant.

“So I hear.” Muro threw the words. It seemed as if it was just another thing to say, but Rafael felt the weight.

“You hear much. I left something at the scene.

Do you know if the boys in blue found it?” Rontego thought to his cigarette. It bothered him a bit, but not much. If he could get it out of evidence, though, he would.

“I hear more than you know. More than I want to know.” Stil , Muro didn’t turn to face Rafael. Rafael studied the stubble on the man’s jaw line. The mandibles flexed as Muro continued. “Relax about evidence. Word is, they found nothing. Some cop mucked up the scene real bad anyway. Some friend of your guy.” Muro paused, and then switched direction. “We’ve known each other a long time. We have been fortunate to be on the same side of these things in the past. But Fortune, she is a crafty bitch.” Rontego didn’t know what Muro was yapping about. But he didn’t like being in the dark, and he disliked Muro’s cryptic conversation even more. On visits like these, in the past, there was banter, a few tidbits about the reasons such business was conducted, and life went on. Rontego liked that flow to the order of things. This was something different.

He decided to take some of the power back.

“Wel , if she is such a bitch, I could change her mind. I could take you out. If I wanted. Right now.” Rontego smiled. He had no intention of shooting anyone in a crowded theater. But Muro and he enjoyed a different way of communicating. “You know better than to keep your back so open.” Rontego lifted his eyebrow in surprise when Muro smiled and shook his head back and forth. “I know better. But you don’t know what I know Raf.

Look under the seat.” Rontego placed his hand under his seat. His fingers groped, blind, until he touched a bulky object. He felt the tape and smiled as he pul ed it from under him and Muro continued.

“You think I don’t have my gun pointed at you under my arm right now? Maybe you’re stupid enough to believe bul ets don’t go through chairs.” Rontego pul ed the carved wooden piece onto his lap and tugged the masking tape off of it.

The chess piece lay in his palm, the pawn gazing up at him.

Rafael smiled again and stood up, placing his hand on the back of Muro’s seat. “Til next time.” He started to turn away, when he felt a hand clamp down on his. He turned back and looked at Muro who final y spun around, his brick hand holding Rontego’s to the seatback.

His eyes held Rontego’s for a moment. “Til next time.”

Muro released Rontego’s hand and looked back at the stage. People began to file in, and the curtain on the stage lifted. Rafael Rontego went up the stairs, his hands back in his pockets, rol ing the pawn between his fingers. Something about Muro’s face alarmed him. What it was, he couldn’t tel . He filed the look away, and picked up his pace. He had to get out of the theater before the damned singing started.

*

Alex and Charlotte walked through the theater in silence. She seemed to enjoy the play and they seemed to get along as the night went on, but they always got along when they didn’t have to talk. They got along when they could bury their concerns with distractions. That was how they operated for so long.

Alex didn’t know any other way. He glanced around the theater as they made their way towards the exit.

“We should talk.”

She said it soft and quiet and Alex tried to ignore her. He knew what talking meant. He looked at the ornate ceilings with their decorated tray crevices. The theater, a baroque masterpiece, was recently renovated.

Worth every penny.

Surrounded by the awe-inspiring theater and the mix of French Rococo and bits of Spanish architecture, he couldn’t help but look at her. She outshone al of it.

“Fine, let’s talk.”

He held the door open for her as a crowd shuffled by on their way out. The cold blast of Buffalo’s night air hit them as they exited. Charlotte shivered, but Alex didn’t know where to put his hands. So much was off limits these days. He watched her shiver again, and made to put his arm over her. He did it a thousand times in the past. This over her. He did it a thousand times in the past. This time, like the last time, she shrugged him off. The heat rose to his face despite the swirling winds.

“Alex, you know what I want.”

Alex looked at the ice on the sidewalk. “You know I can’t Charlotte. I mean, now, of al times.” Charlotte turned to look at his face. But he stil stung from her shrug, and refused to meet her eyes.

“You can do whatever you want.”

Alex looked past her. His irritation was palpable. She wouldn’t let him touch her. Jack was dead.

She won’t let me touch her.
He felt his hands tremble, the emotion boiling to the surface. He heard his voice lift. “I catch bad guys Charlotte. It’s what I do.”

“Don’t give me that crap. You choose what you want to do. You always have. You know what; I guess we don’t have much to talk about after al .” Her voice got louder to match his.

Alex knew where this was going but it was like a play he had seen a thousand times and was powerless to avoid. He played his part perfectly.

“Wel then I guess we don’t.” He felt the sentence come through his throat louder than he intended and people turned to look. He felt the heat in his face compound. “You’re so damned selfish Charlotte.”

“”I’m selfish? I’m selfish?” She said it twice and Alex knew it was a done deal. Anytime she said anything twice he knew to brace. “You’re the one who does whatever he wants. Just remember, Alex, you choose your life and everyone else just has to hope for the best. Wel , I’m done hoping.
We’re
done hoping Alex.”

She turned to walk away, but spun around after a step. “I’m selfish? You’re just a little boy Alex.

Why don’t you grow a pair and grow up.” Her eyes watered and Alex wondered how they didn’t freeze to that cold face of hers.

He hated her tears, always had. But he couldn’t help himself. It just came out.

“Go fuck yourself Charlotte.”

He spun around first this time and walked away as people swerved around him in pairs, some shaking their heads at him as he passed. He couldn’t remember when having the last word felt so terrible.

*

Rontego walked down the street back towards his apartment. The snow began to fal now.

The assassin lifted the col ar of his suit jacket and lowered the brim of his hat to shield himself from the frozen fal ing droplets of water. Those same droplets resulted in an odd mixture of hard, tiny hail and a flurry of soft snow that melted as soon as it landed on your heated frame. With a grunt, Rafael fumbled inside his Armani suit pockets and pul ed out a cigarette.

“Maybe this wil keep me warm,” Rontego mumbled as he let out a puff of warm breath.

The hit man glanced down at his feet as he burned the tip of his cigarette and felt the taste of the smoked tobacco fil his mouth, then his lungs. His pants were getting wet in the slush that was left behind from the nasty snow.

As Rafael Rontego stumbled onward to his apartment, he let his mind wander a bit and he took in what transpired at the meeting with Don Ciancetta and with Muro. He rol ed the pawn between his fingers again. The first time he met Muro, when he was learning how to do a hit, Muro gave him the pawn. Rafael stared at it, unsure what to make of it.

He never played chess, and he was pretty sure you needed a whole set anyway.

Muro laughed at his confusion. “It’s a reminder.”

“A reminder for what? Rontego asked.

“That these,” he lifted his jacket showing his gun holster. “These make it so even a pawn can take out a king.”

Ever since, the two of them traded the pawn when they wanted to make a point. This time, Rafael was unsure what point was being made.

Shaking his head, he revisited his meeting with the Don. He was amused that Leonard Ciancetta had become the new boss in Buffalo.

Things changed in the last few years. Rontego remembered back when leadership in Buffalo was consolidated. He had never known many years of peace since he entered the services of the organization. The last real years of ‘peace’ ended when Rafael was just a young boy.

The best he could remember, it was back The best he could remember, it was back when he was about four or five years old. He met the man who held the reigns to Buffalo’s underworld for over fifty years. His dad introduced them. The man was Don Magaddino. Rontego remembered the awe with which his father spoke of the man. When he met Magaddino he was nervous and he did not even know why.

The man was old, but his strength, unmistakable. When he looked into the old man’s eyes he saw a sort of tiredness and a look as if he were contemplating something that he could not change but desperately wanted to. More than that, though, he remembered the Don’s hands. They were large and encompassed the entirety of his hand when the man reached down and shook his. When he shook hands with this grown up, this powerful adult, he felt as if he were being treated like a man.

That feeling stuck with him for a long time. But that was in a time since passed. Magaddino was the last man to hold things together, and it was before Rontego’s time. He did however, have that meeting as a claim to fame.

Rontego walked with a brisk trot. The cold began to bite at him as the wind snaked around and grazed against the sides of his neck. With a puff on the tobacco, he let his mind continue along its course so long as it was not focused on the weather enveloping him.

He thought back, the times with Magaddino were the 'good times’. Like al good leaders though, his success at running the family spoiled some capos, and they began to bemoan the power that the Don held. They forced the old Don into retirement. It was about this time that the family began to have a shift in power.

That was before the Pieri brothers and Fino fought the Cammil eri wars. Before Crazy Fino’s own son betrayed him and sided with the Pieri brothers.