The Damascus Chronicles (16 page)

“You think that will stop Franco?” Michael asked.

“It will, because if not, the Godfather himself will kill Franco,” said Don Felice.

“That’ll stop Franco,” said Anthony sarcastically.

“Godfather Scarfo has ties to many loyal and powerful allies in the government; he can be very persuasive,” said Don Felice.

“What do we do, just wait it out?” asked Paulie.

“I don’t know,” replied a worried Don Felice.

Godfather Scarfo sat at the Scarfo mansion in his study. He was furious at his nephew’s actions. Godfather Scarfo had ordered his men to beat up Franco and bring him in to talk. Dragged in through the doors by Godfather Scarfo’s bodyguards and tossed on the floor, Franco looked first at the Godfather’s shoes, keeping his head on the ground and wriggling in fear. His hands were pinned over his head.

“That’s enough boys, let him up,” said Godfather Scarfo. Raising his head up to look at Godfather Scarfo, Franco said nothing.

“You animal – you’re no longer in this family. Get out!” said Godfather Scarfo, enraged.

Franco flinched with fear like a child. “But I was only looking to protect our interests,” said Franco fearfully.

“Killing over one hundred innocent people is not the way we do it. You have disgraced this family’s name,” raged Godfather Scarfo.

“But – ” started Franco.

“But nothing! You’re no longer my nephew; your father would be turning over in his grave if he could see you now. I’m tired of holding your hand like you’re a damn whining baby! Get out of my fucking sight.” Godfather Scarfo bashed Franco in the head with his pistol.

Dizzy, Franco raced out of the Godfather’s home and into the night to go into hiding.

“Don’t come back! If you do you are dead!” screamed Godfather Scarfo as he slammed his front door shut.

Franco pushed full throttle on the gas, racing his car to a small hideout he knew. He called Sergio Garcia and Phillips along the way.

“Phillips, Garcia, get your asses to the hideout – we have work to do!” Franco ordered.

“Got you, Franco.”

After arriving at the hideout the three schemed inside. “It’s time we take this town,” said Franco.

“How? The Godfather is well protected,” said Phillips.

“We’ll sneak in when he’s asleep and rig his mansion to blow. I want to kill that old fart myself; I want him to see his death coming and beg for mercy before I kill him,” laughed Franco wickedly.

Later that night Franco, Phillips, and Garcia took off with an armed armor truck, carrying enough sticks of TNT to annihilate two city buildings. They were disguised as private bank guards with the errand of making a deposit drop at the mansion. After being admitted with passes, Phillips and Garcia knocked out the guards and unloaded the crates full of TNT.

Franco crept upstairs to the Godfather’s bedroom, where he was sleeping, while downstairs Garcia and Phillips rigged the explosives to the boiler room beneath the mansion.

“In 10 minutes this place is history,” Garcia chuckled wickedly.

“Come on, let’s get to the truck,” said Phillips.

As Franco entered the Godfather’s bedroom, he saw that Bobby Scarfo was also in the room. Bobby was the Godfather’s favorite nephew, a good man and loyal to the end. He was in his forties and quite fearless, dressed to kill in a sharp suit.

“Don’t even think about it,” said Bobby holding up his Magnum.

“But how!” Franco exploded.

“The Godfather has never trusted you; he had a bug put on you while you were beaten up,” said Bobby.

“It doesn’t matter, because in five minutes this place will be blown to bits,” said Franco. He leaped through the window, landing on top of the perfectly positioned truck. It sped off into the night. Bobby picked up Godfather Scarfo and jumped through the window onto a car that Bobby had signaled with his auto drive key. Using the auto drive Bobby got the car to a safe location as the dynamite destroyed the Godfather’s mansion.

“That was too close, my boy,” said Godfather Scarfo.

“I have to hide you in a special location,” said Bobby.

“No, an old mobster like me is not afraid to die. I’m prepared for hell anyway,” said Godfather Scarfo.

“We’ll meet with our contact, Mr. Cragwell; he’ll be able to help us,” Bobby replied. They drove off to Cragwell’s office to talk.

Phillips had just arrived at his private office to rest after a job well done when he received a call. “Mr. Scarfo, yes I understand, right away, I’ll meet you immediately. Please come in,” Phillips spoke into the phone.

He changed into his disguise with a black wig, mustache, and beard. A half-hour later Bobby and the Godfather arrived in front of Phillips’ office. “It’s show time,” said Phillips under his breath, as Bobby and Godfather Scarfo entered the office. “Ah, gentlemen what can I do for you this evening?” asked Phillips with a Russian accent, shaking Bobby’s hand.

“We need to purchase a special property for my uncle here,” said Bobby.

“But of course. I believe I have the perfect one set up for your business.”

“You do?” said Bobby.

“Please direct your attention to the center of the wooden cube base in the middle of the room.” Phillips pushing a button on a remote that had a model pop up from the cube base’s lid, showing a miniature of a weapon installation and safe house outside of the Las Vegas area.

“Impressive,” said Godfather Scarfo in awe. “ Titanium alloy installation, unbreakable, with weapon caches perfect for pest control and a private safe house underneath the foundation. Our organization provides services to the government and private individuals for defense purposes,” Phillips explained.

“How much?” Bobby asked.

“Five million.”

“Done,” said Godfather Scarfo, handing Phillips a check.

“Here are the keys,” Phillips offered.

After the Scarfos had left, Phillips looked at the check with greedy eyes. “Forget Franco. I don’t need his help; with this I can retire. But Garcia will come in handy.” Phillips smiled wickedly.

In the car, Bobby had a hunch that something wasn’t right.

“What’s wrong, nephew?” asked Godfather Scarfo.

“Something isn’t right. Cragwell figured out too quickly that we were in need of a protective location. I don’t trust this guy,” said Bobby. “You’re right. Lucky for us, I never use real checks,” said Godfather Scarfo.

“I better tell Michael about this,” thought Bobby as he drove on to an old warehouse in which he could hide the Godfather. After dropping off the Godfather and calling bodyguards to protect his uncle, Bobby proceeded to Michael’s pad.

Back at Michael’s pad, Serena, Jackie, Anthony, and Michael were discussing a way to end the war with the Scarfos just as Bobby knocked on the door. Michael opened the door in surprise. “Bobby what are you doing here?”

Jackie rose in anger as he spotted Bobby. “What the hell is he doing here!”

“I did not come here to argue with you Jackie. This problem is far more serious,” said Bobby.

“Cut the crap Jackie. Bobby is a friend of Isabelle and any friend of hers is always a friend of mine. What’s wrong Bobby?” asked Michael. “Franco nearly whacked my uncle and he destroyed the mansion,” Bobby Scarfo reported.

“I knew the old man couldn’t stop Franco,” said Anthony, upset.

“Apparently Franco has been the cause behind this mob war between both our families,” said Jackie.

“Things have gotten too dangerous. Franco must have had spies to have been able to get to us both like this,” said Michael.

“What do we do now?” asked Serena.

“We all must inform the Don immediately,” Jackie decided. They raced off in Bobby’s car to the Terrace Tower.

“Just wondering – have you been visited by anyone doing money transfers lately?” Bobby Scarfo asked.

“Yes, we have; every week a guy by the name of Riffman, a Russian, stops by. He’s always wearing a gold ring with a crescent hammer. Why do you ask?” said Jackie.

“We too have a Russian working for us as well, in money and defense transfer contracts. The guy’s name is Cragwell and he also wears the same kind of ring,” said Bobby. On hearing this Michael flashed back in his mind and remembered the ring that Riffman was wearing the night he came in to collect the protection money. “Did he have a scar on his left eye?” asked Michael.

“Yes,” Bobby replied.

“That settles it then, it’s the same guy. We’ve been had,” said Jackie.

“I bet it was also the same guy we saw with Franco at the warehouse weapons deal,” Serena chipped in.

“It must be, but we still don’t know who the guy really is,” said Michael as they arrived at the Terrace Tower.

In the Don’s office Michael and company gathered and laid out the whole story. After hearing this the Don looked quite stern, his hands clenched up to his chin in deep thought. “I have come to a decision and it’s one I regret having to make. As of right this moment, we must all go into hiding. Franco Scarfo has been able to gain much information on both our organizations and he has more advanced firepower than us,” Don Felice decided.

“You can’t mean it?” interrupted Jackie.

“Yes. I hate to say it, but we must all go our separate ways, for now. It is too dangerous; this could bring the Feds down on us, and I’m sure the police commissioner has already contacted them,” concluded Don Felice.

“So that’s it, we hide like roaches,” interjected Michael.

“Yes son, that’s what we must do until we can find a way to expose Franco and his operation to the media. If we can find a way to do that, Franco’s days will be over,” said Don Felice. With looks of sad defeat they all shook hands and departed each other’s company.

As Michael and Serena sped off for home, Michael grew fed up with the actions of the Don. “How do you like that? The Don just expects us to hide under a rock until things are all better; it makes me damn sick.”

“I suppose he’s only trying to protect his family. Didn’t you tell me one time that the ‘family’ is your family?” asked Serena.

“You’re right, he’s only trying to look out for our welfare,” said Michael. “However, that still doesn’t fix how we’re going to beat Franco at his game.” Michael was frustrated and driving fast.

“Well, I think I might know some people who can help us,” said Serena confidently.

“Who?”

“The Coven.”

“The what?” Michael asked as Serena gave him a wicked smile, her lovely eyebrows arching coyly. “They might actually need our help, from what I’ve been told by the other vampires in the city,” said Serena.

“How come you didn’t tell me about this before?” asked a surprised Michael.

“I forgot to tell you, sorry,” said Serena.

“Where is this coven located? I take it that it’s somewhere dark and mysterious.”

“Baby, you watch too many movies. It’s at the newly appointed Vladimir skyscraper downtown, the financial headquarters of the Zoratus Enterprises Corporation. There are actually many covens in the city, but this one is the largest.”

“Vlad, for the Impaler, right?”

“Right,” said Serena.

“Oh please.” Michael was annoyed by the cheesiness of the name, and Serena chuckled as they sped off to the Vladimir skyscraper.

During the last 20 years, Las Vegas had been transformed into looking more like the vast closeness of New York and Los Angeles with its new monstrous skyscrapers and vast bullet train systems. The only thing that has stayed connected to the past was the Strip, even with the gigantic buildings that now towered over the old casinos and resorts. The Strip’s nickname was now “Old Vegas”.

After parking the car in a nearby lot, Serena and Michael proceeded to the front entrance of the colossal building. The doorman, who was a vampire, recognized the small symbol on Serena’s neck, a vampiric seal of the Zoratus family. After being admitted Serena and Michael proceeded to the center of the lobby where a large, transparent, tubular elevator waited for them; they entered and shot up to the two-hundredth floor, where they would meet a force of mystery.

In a large circular office, with blue drapes and walls decorated in medieval art and weapons, sat a man in a blue cloak, a crucifix around his neck. He wore a silk-cuffed shirt, a red tie and the vampiric seal embroidered on the back of his vestments. His hair was long and as white as a glacier and his eyes burned with bluish fire. His face was aged, wrinkles upon wrinkles, along with scars from endless years of battle. A true Italian and crusader of his faith.

The man was speaking with his eldest son, Darius. Darius was a man whose black hair was sharp as spikes; he was dressed in black leather pants and boots, with an Edwardian vest and black tie. He was half Italian and Romanian.