MOB BOSS 2 (19 page)

The silence in his home, however, was different. Tommy wanted him to stay in one of those fancy condos he owned, but he had refused. Condos meant living on top of people, and he didn’t

want that. This house, across from a lumberyard that kept regular, 9 to 5 type hours, was isolated, dark, dreary, unattractive as hel, but perfect for him.

It was a different silence in his home. Because as soon as he shut the door, this silence was devoid of life. On his drive home he could smel the smog, hear the rustling trees, feel the rain on his

arm as he always drove, unless there was some kind of monsoon, with his window down. Here, in his home, was silence filed with nothingness. And nothingness always reminded him of himself.

He fel across the bed stil fuly clothed. He should fix himself something to eat, he knew, or at least shower first to get the stench of the day off of him, but he didn’t have the energy to even make

the attempt. Because this kind of silence also made him think. There was no road to concentrate on, or even no restaurant activity to be distracted by. Just nothingness. This kind of silence always put Katrina on his mind.

He closed his eyes tightly. Would he ever get over her? Would it ever get any easier? They always said how time healed every wound. But they lied. Time hadn’t healed a damn thing for him.

It just caused him to separate from the wound, to keep his cursed, wretched self far away from her wonderfulness.

And he opened his eyes. He could see her big, bright eyes. He could feel her smooth dark skin, the way he used to caress it, the way he could never keep his hands off of her. He could stil

smel her sweet, fresh scent. On his drive home tonight, Trina was the rain beating down on him, prickling his own skin, forcing him to feel alive. He wasn’t living, he gave up life when he gave up Trina.

But somehow she kept him alive.

The doorbel rang and then knocking was heard. Which, Reno knew as he made his way to open it, that it was nobody but Tommy. He always rang then knocked. And he also was the only

human being to not only know where Reno lived, but to come by and see him.

“It’s one o’ clock in the morning,” he said to his cousin as he let him in and headed for the kitchen.

“Nice to see you, too, Dominic,” Tommy said with a smile as he folowed him. Reno glanced back, at the long white coat Tommy wore, at the fancy bowler hat, at the expensive suit.

“Where you going this time of morning?”

“Phoenix.”

“Arizona?”

“Arizona?”

“Wire-tapping case. One of my people found out some very damaging information on a very highly placed politician. It requires delicacy.”

“Tommy Gabrini to the rescue,” Reno said as Tommy sat at the smal kitchen table. Reno puled out a couple of bottles of beer and gave him one. When Reno sat down, in his stained, rumpled

suit, his five o clock shadow, Tommy exhaled.

“You look like shit,” he said.

“Fuck you,” Reno said with no emotion, and drained some beer.

“How’s it going? For real this time.”

Reno ran his hand through his already rumpled hair, giving it an even wilder look. “It’s going. That little joint of yours taking in serious business.”

“I know,” Tommy said, sipping beer too. Reno smiled. Tommy was not a beer man and it showed. “People thought I was crazy when I bought it, they said it was a dead location. But what do

they know, right?”

“Damn right,” Reno said, folding his arms.

Tommy leaned forward, his brow furrowed, and Reno knew the purpose of this late night visit of his was about to be revealed. “I’ve got to get going,” Tommy said, “but I wanted to ask you

something. I wanted to ask if you wanted me to stop in at the PaLargio.”

Reno was shaking his head before Tommy could finish saying his last word. “No.”

“She’s stil worried about you.”

“That’s why you can’t go. No. The sooner she gets me out of her system, the better off she’l be.”

“That’s bulshit, Reno, and you know it.”

“Whatta you a mind reader now? You gonna tel me what I know and don’t know now?”

“Okay,” Tommy said, leaning back. “Divorce her then.”

Reno stared at his cousin. “What?”

“You want her out of your system. You want her to go on with her life. Fine. Serve her divorce papers. She’l have no choice but to go on with her life then. She’l know you mean business,

and that it’s over.”

Reno’s heart began to pound. “Over?” he said. “What the fuck are you talking about? It’l never be over. That’s Trina. That’s my wife!” he yeled, more in pain than anger. “It’l never be

over. She’l always be my wife.”

“Then how is she going to move on, Ree, if you won’t be with her, but you won’t let her go? How does your decision not to divorce her helps her?”

Reno looked out through the always opened blinds of his kitchen window, saw the rain stil slicing and dicing up Seattle. Then he looked at his elegant, dapper cousin, and he felt so inadequate.

“It doesn’t help her,” he admitted. “But it keeps me alive.”

Tommy’s heart dropped. And he suddenly realized a startling truth. Reno was no better, not an ounce better, than he was that night six months ago when he carted him away from Vegas. And

if he didn’t come to his senses and go back to his wife, he was never going to get better.

Tommy stood up. “My plane is waiting,” he said. Then stared at Reno. “You take care of yourself.”

Reno nodded, sipped more beer, stared at more rain, didn’t bother to see him out.

Tommy left the suffocating little house and got into his waiting limousine. Also waiting for him was a beautiful black woman with short, freestyle hair and big, almond eyes. Tommy’s latest lady

friend.

“Hope I didn’t take too long, sweetheart,” he said to her.

“You didn’t,” she said with a smile.

Then they kissed, and she tasted so good that Tommy was certain they would be fucking before they even made it to the airstrip. Then he leaned his head back and closed his eyes as she

unzipped his pants, puled out his manhood, and began to relieve him.

As she did her work, he picked up the car phone.

“Max, it’s me,” he said into the phone, her hand moving up and down his long rod, her tongue licking with light expertness. “There’s a change in the flight plan. Yes. Yes, I’m aware that it’s a

nuisance, but it’s a fact. I need to stop through Vegas first. Right. I know, Max, I know. But do it.” He said his last few words with a grunt, and then he dropped the phone as his woman sucked on him so exactly that he was lifting from his seat.

“
Aaah
,” he said like a loud exhale, no longer caring that he was driving through Seattle, or would soon be at the airstrip, or that he was puling down his pants, lifting this woman on top of him, and ripping the seat of her panties to enter her. Even that oddbal cousin of his wasn’t on his radar screen. Not now. Not as he slid into her black beautifulness and found exactly what he was looking for.

“
Aaah
,” he said again.

FIFTEEN

“I said wel done,” the customer insisted. “Not rare, not medium done. Wel done.”

“It is wel done,” the waitress insisted back.

“Are you blind? It’s burnt on the outside and bloody as hel on the inside. See,” he took his fork and proved his point. “That’s not wel done, lady, are you kidding me?”

“Does it look like I’m kidding you?” the waitress said, her blue eyes blazing now, ready to mix it up with the best of them. But then she glanced at the back booth, remembered who was sitting

there, and caught herself. “I apologize if your sparerib isn’t to your liking, sir.” She scooped up the plate. “I’l correct the problem and be right back.”

Reno, seated in that back booth, took a sip of his Guinness and watched her head for the kitchen of the smal, but prosperous restaurant.
Taste of Southern
it was caled, although why Italian

Tommy would buy an eatery in Seattle that specialized in southern cuisine when he’d only been to the south a few times in his entire life, was a mystery to Reno. But here it was, fried chicken, ribs, and smoked pork chops highlighting the menu. In Seattle of al places. Reno thought Tommy had lost his mind.

But when he left Vegas, it was Tommy who took him away. Took him first to his beach home in Malibu, where Reno at least found the peace and quiet he needed. But good ol’ Tommy felt

Reno had too much quietness and believed what he needed most was to get busy again; that a workaholic like Reno couldn’t sit stil for long. He therefore kept asking Reno to come and manage the

place, that he needed a man he could trust at the helm, that it would help him to stop moping around and reliving al of those horrors.

After much thought, and even more moping around, Reno finaly agreed. And he took that drive from California to Seattle, agreeing to help out on a temporary basis only. Besides, Tommy was

right. Reno was dying a little more every day in Malibu.

But when Reno arrived and first saw the place, his response was exactly what Tommy had hoped it would be.

“Restaurant,” Reno had said. “What restaurant? You cal this hole in a wal a restaurant?”

And Tommy had laughed and hugged his favorite cousin. Reno was finaly showing some signs. It wasn’t much, it was just a comment and a smile, a drive out to Seattle, but it was a far sight

better than he’d seen his cousin in a long, long time.

Reno buried his face back in the Seattle Times crossword puzzle he was working on. It was late at night, nearing closing time, and he was beginning to feel the uneasiness that always came over

him when he thought about going to his drab little house. But he dismissed the thought out of his mind.

He’d been manager for nearly three months now and was doing damned good business. He never dreamed a hole in a wal like this could run this much business. Tommy said it was because of

al of the displaced southerners that were finding their way to the west coast, al of those people who grew up on fried everything, and he wanted to tap into, and ultimately corner that market. Displaced people, Reno thought. He could relate to them.

And Reno had to give his cousin credit. It was working. Was even making him feel a pulse again.
Taste of Southern
was becoming his lifeline. But then he’d think about one southerner in

particular, a certain hazel-eyed beauty from Mississippi, and that old familiar ache would replace any fulness, and that feeling of emptiness would replace any gain.

Janet, the head cashier, sat across from Reno in his back booth. Reno sipped more beer and looked at her. She was a fair looking woman, strawberry blonde, nicely tanned, but she was a

woman who always gave Reno the impression that she was trying too hard. And not just her work product, either. She’d also been trying to get Reno’s dick up her ass the entire time he’d been there.

“I’m off in a few minutes,” she said.

“It’s that time again?” he asked. “You work too hard.”

Janet smiled. “Look who’s talking. You do nothing but work, my friend.”

Reno gave a little snort and looked back down at his puzzle.

Janet, however, continued to stare at him, at his rich, brown hair slicked back off of a face so attractive she understood how he could be kin to a great looker like Tommy Gabrini. And that body

of his. She just knew he could satisfy her in ways that could turn her into his bitch for life. Regardless of how he treated her. Which, she suspected, given the rumors she’d heard about his ties to the mob, would more than likely be rough.

But he never showed any interest. She could probably flash him right here and now, and he’d look, probably even get a hard on, but wouldn’t touch. He never seemed to want to touch. She

once thought about asking Tommy if he was gay. But Tommy wasn’t the kind of man you could just walk up to and ask such a question. He was as standoffish as Reno, maybe even more so. Unless

you were black, Janet thought with some bitterness when she looked toward the entrance door and saw a black woman walk in. Tommy seemed to just love those black bitches.

“When I get off,” she said, turning her attention back to Reno, placing her hand over one of his, “I’m going to go home and cook a big, wonderful meal. And it won’t be any of this southern shit,

either.” Reno smiled. “So why don’t I give you a cal when I have it al ready, and you can come over and join me?”

Reno looked up at Janet. She was a good person and deserved a good man. He, however, wasn’t that man. “I’d better not,” he said. “It’l be late before I can get away from here and I’m

going to be too tired to eat anything.”

“Get lost, in other words?” Janet asked in jest. But when Reno didn’t correct her, didn’t say,
no, of course not
, but instead drained down more beer and looked out of the window away from

her, she jumped from the table angrily, determined to leave his heartless sight. Only she bumped into the black woman who had just entered the building.

“Look where you’re going, lady,” Janet admonished the woman, and then walked away.

“Sorry,” the woman said to Janet’s back, wondering where did al of that anger come from.

When Reno heard the woman’s voice, however, he went stil. He knew it couldn’t be. Not here. Not in Seattle. He knew his imagination was playing tricks on him once again. He knew he

was being suckered once again.

But he looked anyway.

And to his shock, to his utter surprise, Katrina, his wife, the woman he hadn’t seen in nearly half a year, was standing right in front of him.

At first he just sat there, unable to make a move even if he had wanted to. And he didn’t know if he wanted to. He had done her the greatest favor of her life by leaving. As soon as he

answered al the questions the authorities wanted answered, and they had nothing on him because he and his team knew how to clean up their mess, he left. But that poor child was stil dead. But