FIGHT (22 page)

“I always knew you really were my boy,” Victor gloated.

Gabe didn’t get the reference, and his face showed it.

“You just put your old man out of commission.  That really does make you my son.” 

“Old man?”

“God, you never figured it out?  You never noticed the resemblance?  Well, I suppose there’s not much of a resemblance now, not after you turned his face into mashed potatoes.”

“Resemblance?” Gabe asked, surprised someone else had noticed that he looked like Unique.

“Yeah, the resemblance.  You resemble your old man.  Or you did before you shot him up.”

Gabe forced a response: 

“I have no idea why you’re calling him my old man.  If you’re talking about the fact that we look alike, I already knew that.”

“I’m calling him your old man because that’s who he is, and that’s why you look like him.”

“You’re lying.”

“I’ve had too much booze to lie.  Your father would’ve worked for you when you inherited the business, if you hadn’t killed him just now.”

Gabe’s mind raced back to what few memories he still had of his mother. 
Her name’s Debby Fallon.  She, she… wanted to go somewhere… far away… to teach… and she was going to take me with her. 
That’s all the distant past would let him remember.  Everything else was buried in the sands of time.

“I… I don’t remember anyone… or my mom… telling me about him,” Gabe said, confused, frustrated.

“Of course she didn’t mention him.  She didn’t know his name.”

Victor’s third scotch blinded him to the anger mounting on Gabe’s face.

“You’re saying my mother was a whore?  That’s why she didn’t know my father’s name?”

“No.  I’m saying your mother was knocked up rough-and-tumble style.  She never saw it coming, and Unique didn’t bother leaving his autograph.  That’s why she didn’t know his name.”

Gabe wanted to doubt what he heard, but he couldn’t.  Victor was serious.  And the resemblance. 

“How do you know this?” Gabe demanded.

“Cause I’m the one who told the fucker to do it.  You wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for me.  You’re welcome,” Victor laughed, and, with an inebriated grin, he raised his glass in a toast to his brilliant contribution.

Gabe had always known that he was adopted because Victor needed a son. He’d heard of another Family in New England (somewhere in Connecticut?  Hartford maybe?  he couldn’t remember for sure) without a male heir.  Rumor had it that the Godfather’s consigliere killed him with a knife while the infertile bastard was sleeping, hoping to stage a coup and take over.  It’d failed.  The coup had split that Family into warring factions, and the civil war that erupted sank the entire operation.  Gabe had never forgotten the story, which made Victor’s account believable.

He watched in disgust as Victor downed yet another glass of scotch and then another.  Only thirty minutes had passed since he’d killed his father, but it felt like an eternity had gone by.  He’d spent his childhood wondering, guessing who his father was, and no one had ever told him, until he’d shot the sack of shit. 

“You need to call your security guy and let him know he’s about to hear more gunshots, but tell him he shouldn’t be worried,” Gabe said, hoping his anger wouldn’t be detected.

“More gunshots?” Victor inquired in a drunken slur. 

“Yeah, the police will be here any minute now to investigate the sound of gunfire.  We need to put some bullets in the wall behind you, to make it look like Unique shot at you first.  That way it’ll look like you killed him in self-defense.”

Victor was too wasted to see the obvious setup. 

“That’s what I like about you,
son,”
he said, downing his scotch and emphasizing the last word comically, “you’re always thinking.”

Victor picked up line 1 and ordered his secretary to put his security guy on the phone.  He smiled, tapped his fingers, and drunkenly hummed an old American standard, as he waited for the guy to pick up.  Surviving a near death experience was a hell of an adrenaline rush.  Nerves and alcohol teamed up to put him in the most carefree mood he’d felt since his recent conflict with the Filippos had started.

“Hey, you’re going to hear more gunfire, but don’t be alarmed.”

When Victor hung up, Gabe pulled out his second Glock 18 and killed his other father.   

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Gabe arrived at St. Knox’s Memorial Hospital near 6 in the evening.  He guessed Victor and Unique’s bodies hadn’t been discovered yet, since they were both freshly dead.  He parked in the back between two ambulances, near a loading dock.  He went to the door labeled “Personnel Only” and buzzed the outside intercom to be let in.  He knew he was on camera, and he expected someone to electronically unlock the door when he was recognized.  He pulled on the door, and it was still locked.  He buzzed the intercom again, waited a few seconds, and once more found the door locked. 

What the hell is wrong?  Why won’t they let me in?

He saw a nurse dressed in blue smocks approaching.  He waited for her to punch her five digit password into the door’s keypad, heard the door click unlocked, and followed her in.  He was glad she hadn’t asked why he wasn’t using the front entrance. 
Probably knows who I am and doesn’t want to piss me off.

He knew the hospital’s layout, and he had no problem finding the east wing and then the gastroenterology department.  He recognized some of the hospital staff as he passed them.  About a third of the staff was either on the Adelaides’ payroll or at least aware of the Adelaides’ presence in the hospital.  The rest of the staff, including Dr. Cathy Sandefur, was clueless about the mob’s involvement.  As he passed the staff who knew him, he noticed that none of them acknowledged him.  He reasoned they simply didn’t want to be connected with him in front of their colleagues.   Though the GI department was closed for the evening, he was able to make it into the department’s inner corridors, thanks to entering from the personnel entrance.  At Dr. Sandefur’s door, he took out several envelopes containing the other half of the money needed for Bruce’s operation, and slid them under her door.  He disliked leaving that much cash unguarded in an empty office, but he had no choice.  He’d call Sandefur first thing in the morning to confirm that she had the rest of the money.  He’d also call Bruce and tell him to have his surgery immediately.  He hoped Bruce’s discovery of August’s safe arrival would buy him some credibility, enough credibility to convince Bruce that August really was in danger, and enough credibility to convince Bruce to have the surgery so he could adopt the kid and shield him from the Filippos.   

It suddenly occurred to him that he was planning on living through the night.  How else would he call Sandefur and Hudson tomorrow?  He
needed
to live through the night, and that meant surviving his meeting with the Filippos,
if
he was still going to meet them.  He considered his options.  He no longer had a reason to bargain with them, because he didn’t care about Victor’s demands.  But he couldn’t shake the fear that the Filippos had been watching him for the past several weeks, ever since they’d broken into his apartment.  And that meant they’d likely seen August with him.  He had to make them aware that August wasn’t his son, wasn’t an heir to the Adelaides’ operations, and certainly wasn’t a threat to them.  He realized he had to meet with Don to let him know that the competition between the Families was over, but he also needed to survive the meeting long enough to make sure Bruce went under the knife.  His earlier desire to end it all now completely left him.  He now wanted to live. 

It also occurred to him that there was a way to survive his meeting with the Filippos.  He needed to return to Victor’s office one last time.

------------------------------------------------

Martha and Bruce sat next to each other on their couch, and August, sitting in a large chair across the room, told them about his recent life with Gabe: the zoo, the pizza, the arcade games.  They listened in troubled silence, while August told them about his recent activities.  They sensed that August remembered Gabe fondly, and that disturbed them.  Bruce believed August suffered from a classic case of Stockholm Syndrome, a strange attachment that a hostage develops for his kidnapper.  

“I’m not sure what happened to you,” Bruce said, “but I want you to know you’re safe now.”

“I was always safe.”

“You might think you were safe, but that doesn’t mean you were safe.  Sometimes we think we’re safe when we aren’t safe at all.”

“I know I was safe.”

“How do you know you were safe?”

“Because Gabe liked me.”

Bruce didn’t have a response for that, and Martha was just as speechless. 

------------------------------------------------

Gabe rushed back to Victor’s office, pleased to find that most of Victor’s staff had knocked off for the evening.  He saw no signs of the security guy, and that was potentially good news, unless the security guy was out looking for him.  Gabe unlocked Victor’s inner office and was pleased to see both bodies still lying where he’d gunned them down.  The security guy would’ve removed the bodies if he’d known about them.  He wondered if the police had been by to investigate the sound of gunfire, but there wasn’t any evidence of that.  He retrieved his phone from his pocket and shot a couple of quick pictures of Victor’s corpse.  That would be his leverage in tonight’s meeting. 

------------------------------------------------

Donatello Filippo knew who Gabe was, but he didn’t know the other guy Victor was sending. 
Must be someone high ranking in the Adelaide clan, and he must be roughly as important as Victor’s son, if he’s negotiating terms
.

Don sat alone, slowly chewing his dinner.  His muscle, around 20 guys tonight, surrounded him from nearby tables.  They spread themselves out to look inconspicuous.  At precisely 7, a black Mercedes Benz GL passed the restaurant’s large front windows at a slow speed. Don knew the make and model belonged to Gabe, and he knew he was about to get company.  He ordered a cup of coffee, and the waiter (also a goon) was quick to bring it to him.  That was the signal the opposition had arrived.  Craning their necks as discreetly as possible, Don’s guys saw the coffee on his table.  The meeting had started. 

Two minutes later, a small bell jingled, as Gabe walked in alone.  He spotted Don and recognized him from photos the Adelaides’ reconnaissance team had snapped of him over the years.  Don sported a poker face, deathly intense yet eerily calm. Gabe ignored the front waiter’s offer to seat him, walking directly to Don’s table and helping himself to a chair.  Don noticed Gabe was alone, and this worried him. 
Where the hell is the other guy?
  There was no way Victor would send the Family heir to meet the enemy without any cover.  Wild scenarios came to mind.  Was the other guy hiding among the customers, pretending to have a casual dinner like his own muscle?  Before speaking to Gabe, who was now sitting and facing him, he scanned the joint and saw about ten faces he didn’t know. 
Holy shit!  What if all these no-names are Adelaide goons!
 

“How’s it going?” Gabe asked in a dry tone.

“Where’s your partner?”

“He couldn’t make it.  Change of plans.”

Change of plans
sounded ominous.

“Let’s negotiate,” Gabe started.  “I want out, and that means I want you to leave me the hell alone.  I also want you to leave everyone I know the hell alone.”

“You want out?  I don’t follow.”

“I want to go legit.  No more mob life, no more underworld, no more crime.  I want out of it all. You can have all the Adelaides’ turf.  The entire Boston market is now wholly yours.”

“You aren’t serious.”

“I’m very serious.  The Adelaide empire is finished.  As of tonight, yours is the only Family in town.”

“That wasn’t my understanding of this meeting.  Your father said…”

“If you’re referring to Victor, he’s not my father, and you need to know he’s dead.”

Gabe pulled out his phone, thumbed through its features, and pulled up the photos of Victor’s bloody body.

“Here, take a gander at your new power,” Gabe said, handing the phone to Don.

“Who took this?”

“Who do you think took it?  The picture’s on my phone.  I took it after I killed him.  You’re welcome.”

A waiter approached their table with a menu in hand for Gabe, and Gabe waved him away to keep him out of earshot.

“You killed your fa… Victor?”

“That’s right.  I killed him a few hours ago.  He’s dead, and I want out of this business.  You know that without a son our enterprise is over, and I don’t want to be that son any longer.  There’s no reason at this point for your goons to pursue me.  There’s no reason for them to keep following me around, spying on me, or breaking into my apartment.  I’m going legit, and I wanna be left alone.  That’s the deal I’m offering you.  The black market is yours, provided you leave me and everyone I know the hell alone.”

This was better than winning the lottery.  Fortune wasn’t just smiling on Don: it was fucking drooling on him.