For Nothing (16 page)

Old Joe Falzone deemed it necessary to recruit the youth in order to sustain his numbers.

Besides a wrangling for power, this was a big thing that separated Ciancetta from his underboss in times past.

Ciancetta liked the old traditions. He recruited from overseas. More than half a dozen of his best spoke more Italian than English. Outside of Muro, Aldo and that weasel fuck Sal; none of Falzone’s crew grew up immersed in the old ways.

Perhaps that was what Falzone liked, seeing as how these punks were anxious to prove themselves. They would use a gun to do it, too.

Though that concept didn’t rub Rafael the wrong way, he did prefer control ed chaos. The last thing he wanted to have happen was some punk, for no rhyme or reason, lodging lead in his spine because he felt the trophy kil would be too much to pass up.

Rontego took a deep breath. It centered him.

He had to survive the now in order to worry about the future. But damn if his nerves didn’t seem to be showing up today. Maybe he was tired.

Rontego pushed his hands into his pocket and let his fingers search around for the familiar feel of stiff cardboard. There they were. He was going to need this in the moments that were sure to fol ow.

The assassin started to pul out the packed Sobranie cigarettes when he felt the odd sensation overcome him that he was being watched. He paused for a moment.

He snapped his head around. He scanned the sidewalk peering beneath the rim of his fedora.

No one was there. He scanned the cars parked along the side of the road. Nothing. He looked back at the door.

Enough stalling,
he told himself.

With a flourish, the hit man popped a sturdy Sobranie between his lips and struck a match.

Smoke enveloped him and spread into his lungs, calming his nerves. The moment of truth was upon him.

Looking at the ground he pul ed the door open and slipped inside. Once inside the assassin pul ed out his twin set of silenced pistols and looked into the smoke-fil ed room he’d seen many times before.

He was lying on the left side of his face and it was numb. The lack of feeling was in stark contrast to the warmth spreading across his right eye, along the jaw line and toward his neck. Alex opened his eyes and let out a moan. He discovered the source of the warmth on his face as a blinding light striking his stil slumbering eyes. Sunlight poured through a set of blinds in a direct path to his cornea, penetrating deep into his pupils as they adjusted to the il umination.

Though blinded, he could hear seagul ’s faint cries in the distance. Louder, but stil quiet, he heard the sound of waves coming to a crash on a beach.

Vaughn rol ed over, away from the thin trail of beaming light. His vision cleared and he took note of his surroundings. He sat up.

The room was smal and felt like home. He was on a red cloth couch; the upholstery had a bad flower pattern that did nothing to fit in with the rest of the room. Wood flooring trailed out from underneath the ugly, yet familiar, couch. A recliner was to his left and an ottoman sat as sentry nearby. The leather was ruffled.

Alex placed his hand on the seat. It was stil warm. Someone sat here moments before. He fol owed the dark wooden flooring until it came to rest at a modern kitchen. Marble tiles lined up against one another across the breadth of the room until they disappeared at the foot of a carpeted staircase. The countertop cut along the back of the kitchen fol owing the wal in a half rectangle. It too was made of marble. Above the sink, there was a window which was opened upward.

Alex walked to the window and rested his hands on cool countertop. He peered outside. The sun was just beginning to descend on the horizon and its rays sent a multitude of colors streaking across wisps of clouds. The bril iance of the sky was reflected and magnified by the sea below as light shimmered, brightened, and disappeared in cohesion with the rol ing waves. When there was a lul in the cycle of waves, Alex couldn’t tel where the shining sea ended and the white sand of the beach began.

It was a thing of beauty that Vaughn knew could never last. The perfect alignment of sun, weather, waves and cooling breeze occurred for ten minutes a day several times a year.

Alex opened up the sliding door next to the kitchen and stepped out onto the wooden deck, its warmth absorbed into Alex‘s toes. A breeze stretched comforting fingers against his face. As he breathed in the salty sea air, he realized he knew this place. He couldn’t quite place it but he knew he’d been here before.

He heard a quiet shuffling behind him. Alex knew that he had nothing to fear here. He turned around and saw what he expected to see. Charlotte came through the doorway and onto the deck. She was wearing a pair of black suede pants that hugged her waist and came about three-quarters of the way down her leg before they loosened and flew with the breeze sweeping onto the deck. Her bel y button was showing beneath a tiny white tank top that didn’t try to hide her natural curves and her dark auburn hair fel against her tan shoulders with a gentle elegance. Her soft features were accentuated by her ful lips that pul ed taut when she smiled. Her brown eyes danced and her bare feet completed the beautiful, relaxed look.

Charlotte, his wife.

She walked up next to him and gazed at the scene playing off of the sea, taking it al in.

Despite the strokes of God‘s paintbrush laid out before him, Alex’s gaze was immediately drawn down to that which she carried. He parted the pink cotton blanket and saw her laying there.

Precious El a.

Her eyes were closed, squeezing out the bright light al owed in by this intruder. Vaughn didn’t care; he wanted to gaze on her. Her soft cheeks reflected the pink of the blanket and her nose crunched up in dismay as his baby girl thought about crying.

Alex put his finger against her tiny palm. Her tiny fingers clenched shut on his index finger barely able to grasp this smal est part of the giant.

Her giant
, Alex reminded himself.

Charlotte smiled as she looked over at father and daughter. But as she watched him marvel, her smile faded and her eyes slowed, and then al together stopped their dance.

“You’re going to miss so much,” she said in a

“You’re going to miss so much,” she said in a whisper.

Alex took the bite of the remark square on his heart but he dared not show the breadth of the damage caused by her words.

Instead, he fumbled out a reply, half true, half in token response, “I wish I weren’t going.” Charlotte’s eyes lit up at the opportunity of the statement. “Then don’t go,” she said. “You don’t have to go, just tel them your situation has changed. Look, you have a baby daughter now!”

As if to emphasize the point she held El a up in her arms and made a bouncing motion that tore at every string of Alex’s heart.

So, just for the night, just to make Charlotte smile, he lied.

“Ok, love. I’l stay.”

He looked deep into her eyes. She searched his face, hesitant to accept his words. The clouds descended into darkness behind her. Alex’s heart began to race. The darkness consumed them both and a sudden flash of lightning il uminated Charlotte and El a’s silhouettes.

“I’m so glad you’re staying Alex,” she whispered. His name echoed in the darkness.

“Alex.”

Alex.

“Wake up Alex!”

Alex tried to open his eyes. He was lying on the left side of his face and it was numb. The lack of feeling was in stark contrast to the warmth spreading across his right eye, along the jaw line and toward his neck. Alex opened his eyes and let out a moan.

He discovered the source of the warmth on his face as his hand wiped across his forehead revealing the al too familiar sight of his own blood.

*

There was a moment where everything in the Universe paused. Rafael took everything in. Twin pistols at the ready he scanned the room, taking advantage of Father Time’s courtesy. Several tough-looking kids were playing a game of cards near the center of the room.

Probably fresh meat,
Rafael thought.

Past the kids, in the back of the room, sitting at a booth were the patrons Rafael came to see.

Aldo, frail and old as ever, was sitting across from the ox of a man that Rafael once cal ed ‘mentor.’

Muro locked eyes with Rafael for a moment.

Rontego never flinched; instead he drew a slow steady breath through his Sobranie. The black paper flared and came to a crackling burn that told the assassin Time was again on track. He reached into his pocket as he drew in the smoke and pul ed the pawn from his pocket. In one swift motion he threw it in the air to Muro. Muro looked like he was going to let it hit him square in the face, when he snapped a hand up and caught the pawn in his fist.

Pandemonium.

Three of the youngsters at the table stood up, pushing back from the wooden slab. The fourth one, wearing a black beanie and sporting an il -advised mustache, sat stil . His eyes widened like saucers and he started to bend to his side. Rontego didn’t have time to worry about reacting to what these kids might do.

Instead, he took two steps towards the group and then sidestepped into a spin, his coat twirled behind him. It caught two bul ets from the quickest of the kids.

Rafael’s eyes centered on the gangbanger closest to him. This one liked to eat. Twice the size of the assassin, he was fumbling for his gun, lodged in his waist band.

Kids,
scoffed Rontego.

When were they going to learn that packing heat wasn’t for fashion? Guns weren’t accessories like their bling.

Rontego took two more steps toward the large youth and the juvenile gave up on his search for his weapon. He raised his fists and stepped toward the assassin. The goal was easy to discern. He hoped to squash Rontego’s head with his meaty fists.

Not today, however.

Rafael took a pivot step into his adversary and raised the side of his pistol straight into the teeth of his charging assailant. A cloud of blood and teeth puffed into the air and the youth’s fist forgot to find its target. His hands went to his face and covered what was left of his maw.

Eat this, fatty,
Rontego quipped to himself.

A whistling sound sped past Rontego’s ear and was fol owed a split second later by the bang of and was fol owed a split second later by the bang of the pistol that sent the bul et close to Rafael’s head.

On instinct, the assassin crouched behind the writhing form of the large youth hunched over in pain.

He needed some cover so he grabbed the largest thing in his area.

Coming out of his crouch, Rafael Rontego swung his pistol upwards against the exposed face of his young sparring partner, lifting him upright with a scream. Rontego slid behind his injured enemy and brought one of his pistols to rest against the young man’s head while bringing his other cannon to bear in the direction of the youth who shot up his nice coat.

When things are moving fast, one had only
to slow the situation down
, thought Rafael Rontego.

He took stock of the situation. Aldo was stil sitting in the booth smoking a cigarette, but Muro was gone and the swinging doors of the kitchen advertised his escape route of choice.

There were more pressing issues though.

Besides the kid hiding behind the facial hair who had not left his chair, the other youngsters were on the move. They each drew their pistols and were moving out, one on either side of Rontego, away from the table at the center of the room. They were trying to flank the assassin.

Only one thing to do.

Rontego

maneuvered

his

hefty

and

whimpering shelter toward the youth on the left exposing himself to the youth on his right. But with his right pistol placed against the back of the head of his cover, he leveled his other pistol at his unsure and inexperienced adversary to his right. The bul et shattered his knee.

The youth hit the deck like fly on a car window, his weapon fal ing from his grasp and sliding

across

the

slick

bar

room

floor.

Simultaneously, the assassin kicked into the back of the fat youth’s legs, dropping him to the floor and leaving his own body exposed.

The enemy on the assassin’s left was quicker than the other youth. Several bul ets left his gun, none of which found their mark.

The steady assassin took his time, took aim, and took off the youth’s right shoulder blade, sending blood and pieces of clavicle against the wal behind the young man.

The man wailed as his fingers lost their strength and dropped his gun. He groaned as his legs failed him and dropped him to the floor, incapacitated. Rontego took a second to take out both of Falzone’s soldiers.

He saw a movement out of the corner of his left eye.

The hairy bastard at the table
, he realized.

Rontego swirled around pul ing both pistols paral el to each other in front of his chest.

The youth discovering puberty had a butterfly knife with the blade pinched between his fingers, arm cocked back to throw. Rontego pul ed the hammer of his pistols back generating the unmistakable warning click. The agonizing groans of the wounded continued behind him. The boy pul ed up. When a rattlesnake hisses, you take notice.