Mobster's Gamble: Chicago Mob Series Book 1 (3 page)

The man from the kitchen this morning is gone. This assembly was called by Priest to remind the community of the Anointed Heavens of our mission to save the world from the evils of gambling.

“It doesn’t stop and brings the other evils with it. Drugs, prostitution, theft…”

My own thoughts jump to the pretense of his words. I’m not a prostitute but I am persuaded by force and fear to have sex with Priest to avoid punishment. Keeping the peace between us. Facing his wrath is a misery I avoid at all costs.

So much of what goes on here is hypocrisy. Whatever is needed to be done to please Priest is how the community functions. Many of us turn a blind eye to avoid confrontation.

I join Pop for breakfast the next morning in his suite. The table is set for the two of us. I gaze out the window and down at the street. A few people are walking up and down. The street is free of cult activists so I sit at the table, snapping my napkin out in front of me, releasing the cotton from its folded swan form.

“Ricco owes the tables some money.” Pop is talking about borrowed mob money, not gambling money. We run two separate businesses and we do the best we can to keep them separate. The casino is run legit. All monies are reported and accounted for and we collect paychecks. We fly under the radar by keeping the business in good standing. By itself, it is a money maker, even with other casinos in the area. We even make legitimate donations to the community. But the business goes deeper than the surface; we are members of the mafia underworld. And our family has been for a very long time. We stay away from drugs and prostitution. That shit always brings the Feds around. Besides, Pop doesn’t like what he calls dirty women or crazy fucks needing a fix hanging in his casino. I like it because I don’t have to deal with the aggravation that goes along with it. I have plenty to handle already, like fuckers who don’t pay back what they owe.

“Alex and I will take care of it.” My friendship with Alex runs deeper than brothers. Raised under the same roof, we have eaten, slept, and killed for each other.

“Good.”

“Any problems downstairs?” Pop shifts food around his plate.

“The guys are doing a good job with security. Nothing to report. After breakfast, I’m heading down to check out the kitchen. Jessie needs another line cook. I’m going to put an advertisement out today.”

“Good, good,” Pop says, taking a bite of his toast. “I know you’ll take care of it,” he mumbles with a mouth full of food.

After breakfast, the elevator rockets down to the ground floor. The main kitchen is filled with staff. Jessie, the chef, approaches me waving a spoonful of some type of amazing dessert she’s baking for today’s specials.

“Here, Carlo. Try this.” The spoon is directly in my line of sight. She’s not going to take no for an answer.

“I’m meeting someone.”

“It will just take a second.”

I roll my eyes and she scolds me by slapping me on the shoulder. I open my mouth and she sticks the spoon in. It is delicious—lemon mousse and almond cake. She is an unbelievable baker.

“It’s okay.” I shrug.

“Okay?” Jessie’s eyes widen and glare. She is pissed.

“Yeah, it’s okay.” I shrug again. “What do you want, a fuckin’ medal?”

She lifts her leg to kick me but I rush out of the way so that her leg only meets air.

“Get out of my kitchen!”

I walk backwards toward the alley door with a smirk and a salute. Pop is going to chew me out later for razzing her. Ticking off Jessie is going to throw the entire dinner rush off. I push the bar on the steel exit door and drink in the cool morning air in the alley. Down a ways, parked half in the street and half on the sidewalk, is a police car and it is right on time.

“Carlo!” Mike, my friend and a policeman, is coming toward me carrying a tall Styrofoam cup filled with coffee.

“You need something to go with that. Come on in and get something sweet from Jessie.” I like to keep things light with the cops. Giving them pastry is a small price to pay to keep off their radar. Mike slaps me on the back while I open the door that leads back into the casino kitchen.

“Hey, Jess, what do you have for Mike this morning?”

“I’m not talking to you, Carlo!” She whips a spatula at my head. I duck and it clanks against the door behind us and bounces off the sparkling white tile floor.

“You’re so smooth with the ladies,” Mike chuckles.

I go right to a tall stainless steel cake stand with multiple tiers. I pluck a croissant off and hand it to Mike.

“Thanks, man.” Mike greedily rips at the delicate flesh of the pastry and tiny crumbs fall to the floor.

I lead Mike back out the door into the alley. “So, are those
freaks
still botherin’ ya?” he asks through slurping a bit of coffee from the plastic lid. I nod. “Eh, what are ya gonna do?”

I reach into my pocket, turning my back to the cameras that I know are there. I grip a wad of cash I put there this morning.

“How much?” I ask. Mike knows exactly what I’m talking about.

“This shit gets complicated, Carlo.” He scrubs the back of his neck. “The best I can do is get them for loitering. Or maybe blocking the sidewalks. Hell, I’ll get ’em for jaywalkin’ if I can.” Mike takes a swig of his coffee, watching me over the Styrofoam cup. “One G,” he finishes. I begin to count out ten one-hundred-dollar bills when Mike adds, “They can still come back.”

“I know,” I respond and sigh. “Hopefully, this will deter them or at least help them to find someone else to bother.”

“Let’s hope.” Mike throws up his hands and his thick neck meets his shoulders. He stuffs the bills in the front pocket of his uniform. He shifts closer for a half hug that I return.

“Don’t be a stranger, Mike. Come by for Sunday dinner. Pop would love to see you.”

“Will do, Carlo.” He waves.

Mike heads back to his cruiser, and I go back into the casino kitchen, which is only one aspect of the microcosm that I live every day. This casino represents more than a legitimate business and the mafia. It is more than a way of life. I have no regrets but sure as hell wasn’t left with any choices either.

I didn’t know what to expect, really. But returning to the streets where the prostitutes strut up and down, casting their shadows in the alleyways, was not what I was anticipating. After what happened at the casino, I figured that Priest would be right back there after nursing his wounds. I thought I knew him. I guess not. It is unsettling because I have become pretty good at reading people.

My blue robe swishes across the dirty pavement as I walk hand-in-hand with the other followers. Joseph is on my right and Kylie is on my left. My head is lowered, watching in the dimness of twilight. The cracked cement littered with bits of rotting trash that has blown about or the rounded spots blackened over time where someone has tossed their used gum pass underneath my feet. A breeze blows, swirling strands of my hair into my face. I release my hand from Joseph’s to swipe them away, and I reattach myself to him, bonded by a simple clasping of our hands. I raise my head because I can’t help but examine the women we pass. Clad in leather, short skirts, and high heels. Their fingernails and makeup lighting them up against the dark backdrop one after the other hoping to be seen, to be chosen, not for the Anointed Heavens but to earn money. Cars idle by the curbside and others just creep along inspecting, trying to choose which woman they would like in their bed. Most frown as we pass, angry at us trespassing across their place of business.

“Hey, freaks!” A rugged man from across the street heckles us. “Isn’t it past your fuckin’ bedtime!” We ignore him like we do all the others who persecute or call us names.

Simon is carrying pamphlets as he leads the procession by Priest’s side. Typically, Priest stops to talk and bless each girl we pass in the hopes that she will be desperate enough to change her ways or enamored enough with Priest to join us. Instead, this evening he walks by them and nods, reminding me of the Pope winding through crowds of people offering them hope from the divine—except Priest doesn’t have celestial guidance no matter what he tells himself or his followers. He is a fraud.

Our bandwagon of redemption slows and out of the corner of my eye the shape of a man hovers beneath the overhang of a building on our right. I can’t see his face. It’s not completely dark yet nor have the streetlights come on; it’s that time in between dusk and darkness. As uncomfortable as it is being in the underbelly of Chicago, the tiny hairs on the back of my neck rise in warning.

Priest does something that I’ve never seen at a demonstration before. He whispers something to Simon and steps away from us. The string of us halts, not advancing. This brings on angry murmurs from the women working here tonight.

The twenty-four of us are alone at a standstill, our leader and savior gone. He’s talking to the man by the building. Simon waves his hand for us to face the street where the cars are hovering. A light early night air breeze blows, filling my nose with the stench of the clogged sewers below us.

Simon has us in a straight line forming a barrier between the hookers and the street. Kylie’s hand squeezes mine in fear. She leans closer to me.

“What is going on?” her voice rattles. I open my mouth to say I don’t know when one of the women comes up behind us, her stiletto heels clicking.

“You crazy freaks are blocking the road! Take your high and mighty asses back to wherever you came from!” Others gather around her.

“Yeah! Get the hell out of here! Before I knock your blue butts into the street in front of a moving car.”

Non-stop hollers of “yeah, get out of here” chime in all around us. The woman behind us calls us bitches with cobwebs in our vaginas. I give a sharp sideways look to Kylie. Then, never breaking the chain of linked hands, I pivot my head to look for Priest. He’s ignoring the whole scene and is engrossed in a conversation that I can’t hear.

Anger bubbles up in me and I bow forward, looking down the line of followers to Simon. His head is dancing around, alerted in distress. I shift my gaze one more time to Priest, fury coating my insides. I decide on a bold move. The crowd of hookers is gaining prominence around us, putting the group in a very vulnerable position. I step forward off the curb, detaching myself. Kylie and Joseph quickly grab hands locking themselves together. I walk to the other end of the line, past Simon, through three very agitated prostitutes, and straight for Priest. His back is to me.

“What are we doing here?” My voice comes out shaky, not because I’m afraid but because I’m filled with outrage. The audacity of him to leave us abandoned on a street corner full of dangerous people.

Priest whirls around to look at me and his eyes are menacing. For the first time in a long time I don’t care. The heckling and the animosity on that small street corner are growing. If Priest isn’t going to do something about getting us out of here, I will.

“Back in your place, Anya,” Priest snarls at me. I gaze at him straight in the eye. The unfamiliar person he is talking with leers at me. I spin on my heel back to the group.

Instead of rejoining where Kylie and Joseph are in the line, I walk to the opposite end, reach out to take the hand of the last person, and begin moving, taking with me the train of the Anointed Heavens followers.

They come, trailing behind like little chicks behind their mother. I lead us away. The prostitutes clap and the cacophony of their hands slapping together resonates as we make our way back toward the compound. I look back at some confused faces, hesitant ones, and others that are happy to get away. The face I don’t see is Priest’s.

The quiet hiss of a pissed off breath sounds from behind me. Alex is trailing me carrying a large weapon that has a wide range. I wasn’t taking any chances meeting the Campuonos. Why they want a meeting blows my mind. I told Pop I would handle it. It’s just bullshit anyway. They ain’t got it. Their numbers are low, their enforcers and lieutenants are incompetent and fighting amongst themselves. I hear it all. The Carusos have eyes and ears everywhere. We keep it together invoking loyalty and keeping the ranks in line and fat. We grease palms, kiss babies, and make sure we fly under the radar.

“What about those cult bastards?” Alex huffs.

“Jesus Christ, I can’t even think about that right now.”

“The chick you cornered was pretty hot. Shitload of wavy brown hair.”

“Yeah, ‘a deer in the headlights’ kind of hot,” I add, stomping toward our vehicle section in the concealed part of the underground garage.

“Under that blue robe thingy, I bet she’s got a nice rack.”

I stop and swing around; his comments stick like shit on the bottom of a shoe, stinky mush.

“What the hell?” I’m not sure why I care what he says. All I want is for those freaks to get the fuck away from the front door of the casino. I have plenty to do without their weird crap.

“I bet you any fuckin’ money the Campuonos are going to send Caesar,” Alex seethes, changing the subject. “I hate that fucker.”

I nod. “He will definitely be there, of that I have no doubt.”

We arrived at the designated location that the Campuonos had sent through covert channels. The Capo isn’t the one I was expecting; it is not Caesar. It’s another guy who I know has his own prostitution ring.

This guy is much less fucked up than Caesar. Caesar is a fiend that lays his hands on his girls. Tweedy is in it for the money. His philosophy is if the girls are fucked up then they can’t fuck. If they can’t fuck then no money is coming in. Deep down, I believe Tweedy cares in a twisted way. He does his best to keep the girls safe. Unlike his paesan, Caesar.

“I got a problem, Carlo. I got these nut jobs standing on my corners messing with my ‘business.’” He waggles one eyebrow for emphasis.

“Do they wear fucking blue robes and sing and shit?” I ask to confirm.

“
Yeah, that’s them.”

“
They’ve been doing the same shit to us. We’ve been moving them along. I don’t know what to tell you, but you’re gonna have to handle it on your own.”

“What happened to you help me, I help you? We got to stick together against these assholes.”

“Well, I can’t help you with your business ’cause you know my pop doesn’t like it. We stay away from your type of shit.” I fold my arms across my chest, annoyed that I had to come out here for this. “I can tell you I greased one cop. The next time I see him, I’ll give them the word you’re having some trouble. That’s the best I can do.”

“
All right, I’ll tell the boss,” Tweedy puffs, frustrated. He thought he was going to get assistance from us, he wanted to generate an alliance against the Anointed Heavens. This type of situation is delicate; if it blows out of control it could turn the eye of the media directly on us. This cult isn’t drawing attention to our illegal rackets. Right now, I have the ability to keep this shit controlled and not let it leak.

The Campuonos, on the other hand, have deeper issues. The cult fuckers are drawing attention to their illegal shit.

“
I’m glad Pop didn’t come. What a waste,” I murmur.
“
If they’re not strong enough to handle their own problems, I’m not getting involved.
”

Alex nods, agreeing with me and getting back in the car just as dumbfounded.

“Like we don’t have better things to do than help them with their fucking prostitutes.
They’re weak and they know it. They need our help
,”
Alex adds, summoning it up.

“
Let’s get back. I have some paperwork I have to do and it’s gonna take me all afternoon before tonight’s rush.”

“I wanna make some last-minute checks in the club,” Alex continues. “I think we should add another camera over the bar.”

“You suspect someone of tipping the glasses, over pouring, skimming…” I trail.

“I’m being cautious. It’s a blind spot. When the lights are off and the room is full, it is tough to see what is going on.”