The Damascus Chronicles (9 page)

”One more thing. I recovered our little collection money from Don Santerini’s own hand,” said Phillips.

“Good,” said Franco as he hung up the phone, chuckling wickedly.

Phillips put a call in on his cell to his special guy. “Duval it’s me, call Martinez and hit the Koreans and the Jews and hit them hard. Let’s show these fucks that we own this city,” Phillips commanded arrogantly. During the past eleven years in which crime and drugs had crept back into Vegas, most mobs had grown wise; combining whatever criminal empire mass fortunes they could from alliances with the global crime syndicates they ran. They then formed their own corporations by buying out most of the original corporate owners. The criminal consortiums also involved powerful politicians, stockbrokers, and secret individuals who had vast fortunes in the trillions. Even the president was in on it. In Vegas it was all about money through violence, bribes, or blackmail. That’s why all of Vegas was going to hell.

On the other side of town at the Royal Dragon Palace Casino, a man dressed in casino business attire was working the halls. He was a muscular black guy, wearing a black suit, a tie, with black hair and dark glasses. He looked rough as he walked to the main owner’s office, carrying a black attaché case. Stationed at the large office doors were two bodyguards who patted down the man. Seeing he was clean, they let him in to see the big boss, Mr. Yang, the Palace’s owner.

“Mr. Duval Jackson! I’m glad to see you again, do you have the item that we agreed upon?” Yang asked eagerly.

“My employer sent two million in product just as agreed,” replied Duval, confidently placing the large case on the desk.

“Excellent, I know it’s all there. Would you care for a drink?” asked Mr. Yang.

“Yes, whiskey,” said Duval.

Yang opened the glass liquor cabinet behind him and uncorked a bottle of whiskey and poured a crystal glass for Duval. Duval opened the case discreetly, placing his hand inside.

“You know, it’s a shame that Frank Scarfo is taking a blow in the percentages, but then a loser like that is always falling, foolish man,” said Yang as he turned to Duval with the glass in his hand.

“He’s not going down, you are!” Duval exclaimed.

“What?” Yang asked, thrown off. Duval pulled his hand through the case as a barrage of silenced shots put holes straight through Yang. The dead Korean lay slouched in his chair with blood oozing out of his chest. Leaving the room, Duval grabbed the case. He landed a fist to the surprised guards, laying them out. Pulling on a pair of white gloves, he dragged them into a closet. Then he used his silenced pistol to kill them both, locking the door behind him. Afterwards, he came out of the closet wearing a realistic mask to disguise his face; he exited the building.

An hour later Yang was discovered dead and the authorities were at the crime scene with an investigation team taking pictures of the brutal murder. News footage rolled on the television; Paulie watched it at home while lounging in his bedroom. He was having a glass of chardonnay when news of the killing hit his screen.

“Tom Wilkins with Channel 8 News reporting here at the Royal Dragon Palace Casino, where exactly 45 minutes ago a murder was committed. The victims are Shim Yang, the owner of the Royal Dragon Palace Casino and his two bodyguards. All three were found gunned down. The killer was not seen and the motive is unknown at this time.”

”Son of a bitch!” said Paulie as he put down his drink and got on the phone with the Don. His hands trembled as he dialed on his antique telephone. “Felice, it’s me Paulie.” Paulie tried to play it cool on the phone.

“What’s the matter?” questioned Felice.

“Our partner at the Royal Dragon Palace was just iced,” said Paulie.

“I just saw it right this second on the news. Find out who did this and stop them,” said Felice, angrily slamming the phone on the receiver. “Mary, Mother of God,” Felice uttered as he continued to watch the news. “We’ve just received word from police that at the same time of the shooting here at the Royal Dragon Palace, another shooting occurred at Czar’s Palace. The victim was CEO David Brookstone, president of Czar’s Palace. Each of the murdered men was the prominent owner of a mega casino chain. The question is why? Police have suspect mafia influence, but nothing definite is known at this time.” Don Felice shut off the TV as he got on the phone with his contacts.

“Two million to whoever finds me the guy that killed my clients. Bring me his head in one bag and his family’s in the other.” Don Felice put down the phone; looking out the window he saw his huge empire coming down around him.

The clock struck 1:30 am on Michael’s grandfather clock; Serena was worried about her lover. After the meeting with Don Felice ended, the crew quietly stepped outside the building, now more concerned about the future of the Santerini family’s survival. To make things worse, they couldn’t make a move unless the Don said so.

“For now let’s just go home and get some rest; this has been one messed up night for us all. We should starting planning a solution tomorrow morning to handle this problem,” said Jackie.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” said Michael.

“What do you mean Mike, isn’t any time as good as the next?” said Sal curiously.

“My mother’s sick in the hospital, and I promised I would visit her tomorrow,” said Michael. Of course, no one knew that Michael’s mother had died a month before of cancer.

“Okay, you visit your mother, and we’ll call you in the evening,” said Jackie.

“Hey who died and left you boss!” snapped an annoyed Sal.

“Sal, shut the fuck up! With all the shit that you put us through, you’re lucky enough the Don didn’t let one of us castrate you for your fuckups!” yelled Jackie, pissed off.

“Fuck you! You fatherless half-Irish bastard!”

BAAAAM! Jackie slugged Sal in face and Sal’s big fat ass met the concrete pavement in less than a minute. “Never say that again!” Jackie ordered, angry as hell. Sal looked at Jackie as he sat up, wiping the blood from his lip, surprised at what had happened. Jackie helped him up. “Sorry Sal, sorry,” Jackie muttered as he hopped into his car, looking nervous and fearful for what he’d just done. Sal was amazed. Jackie sped off.

“What the hell was that all about?” said Anthony, shocked.

“Jackie’s dad left him and his mother when he was three. He hates his father, but I think he hates it more because he never had a father; that’s why he always looks up to me as a big brother,” said Michael.

“My fucking ass! The kid fucking disrespects me like this, a made man!” bitched Sal.

“Sal, shut up. You got what you deserved. See you tomorrow night,” said Michael coldly as he walked up the street. About a mile from home it hit him like a whirlwind. His stomach shrank, his eyes burned red and his fangs began to protrude. He threw up the blood that Serena had given him to drink as it did not agree with his system. Michael then realized he had not feed enough and with no criminal victim in sight it was awfully tempting to drain anyone walking down the street of his or her life force. He knew he wasn’t a vampire like Serena; he knew that inside his vampiric soul something darker and deadlier called. As he started to run through the streets he began to hear voices: “Take them, kill them, take them.” Michael shook these voices out of his mind, then lost his balance and fell on the street. “What’s happening to me?” Michael whispered. On a dark corner further up the street he managed to find a pet store that was closed for the night. His hunger was now growing insatiable as he drew closer to the entrance of the pet shop. A professional hit man, Michael knew to never leave evidence of his identity at the scene of any crime, and he picked the lock on the door wearing gloves he always carried in his pocket.

As he entered the pet shop the place was quiet and peaceful with the sound of little grunts and snores that came from the animals in their cages and pens. Michael loved animals and doing this felt awful, but he would rather take the life of an innocent animal than an innocent human. Michael began to focus his vampiric mental energy through the entire shop. To be merciful he put the animals into a deep sleep; this way, it would be painless and quiet. As all the animals were in a catatonic sleep, he drained them of their life as he walked over to each one quietly. When he was finished, the corpses of dogs, cats, birds, and even the fish in their aquariums were left dead white, like statues. With his stamina fully restored, he switched the lock back in place with his lock pick on the pet shop door and walked the rest of the way home. It was 3:00 am when he silently opened the door to his apartment. Serena ran to him and kissed and hugged him. She looked disappointed and asked him with those eyes of hers “Where have you been?”

Michael, reading her body language, responded; “Baby, it’s been a hell of a night.” The two undressed and lay down.

“So tell me where you want to go someday to get away,” said Michael teasing.

“Paris,” spoke Serena softly.

“We will babe, we will someday,” assured Michael, whispering into her ear, and with a kiss of affection the two fell asleep.

An hour later the phone on Michael’s nightstand rang. Serena raised it to her ear and said, “Hello,” half awake.

“It’s Paulie, put Michael on pronto!”

Serena handed her lover the phone and lay back down.

“Paulie?” said Michael groggily.

“Yeah, listen up, two of our influential clients at Royal Dragon and Czar’s just got whacked!” said Paulie.

“What, when!” asked Michael, awake now. “Did they say who did it?”

“No, the news just said they were taken out clean,” replied Paulie.

“Should I take care of it?”

“No, you’re needed on solving this other dilemma with Franco’s weapons. We got some other guys handling this one; just thought though you might want to know. Stay in touch with me kid,” said Paulie as he hung up the phone.

“Shit,” said Michael as he sat up in bed.

“What’s wrong love?” asked Serena.

“Nothing baby, just some bad news from the office,” Michael replied as he kissed her on the forehead and lay back down to sleep.

The sunrise touched the sleepless city of sin with a shimmering golden shine. It looked to be a pleasant day for the common couple cruising the city highlights.

But downtown, on the corner of the 34
^th
Precinct, death and murder were just another day at the office. Two large feet stepped onto the sidewalk from an unmarked car. The feet belonged to a behemoth of a middle-aged man dressed in greasy, stained brown pants, and a long brown leather coat with slick black shoes. He also wore a fedora and a badge on a shirt so tight that it seemed the buttons would pop off at any minute. This specimen of law enforcement was Lieutenant Frank Watson. He walked over to a murder scene on the corner where the CSI team was bagging the body of a guy with gunshot wounds in his chest and head, and a second body with punctures on the neck and chest. The second body was so pale it looked like it was carved from marble. Frank lit up his morning cigarette with a look of disgust and frustration and approached his partner, who had just arrived on the scene.

“Well look at this, another fine mess to deal with. Just the perfect thing I need to start another day,” complained Watson.

“I’d figure after seeing so many bodies like this you were beginning to wear down a little,” said his partner.

“Please Jack, don’t insult me. Shit, three murders at the Royal Dragon and one at Czar’s last night and now this. Sorry piece of shit this town has become,” said Watson, pissed.

“So what do we got here Frank?” asked Jack. “Standard gun shot wounds to the chest and head on this guy here and one that I think you should look at. It looks like to me this guy took a stabbing to the neck and chest. He was probably held at knife point and then robbed and killed,” said Watson confidently.

“I don’t think so Frank,” replied Jack, getting a closer look at the wounds in the body. “I used to work as a coroner in the morgue years ago. I’ve seen many stab and gun shot wounds before, but this isn’t one of those.”

“What do you mean?”

“These four punctures look like they came from an ice pick, not a knife; just look at these jagged indentations here on the main artery,” said Jack, examining the body. Jack was a tough old Irish cop, he was the yin and Frank was the yang of their duo. Jack wore a grey trench coat and suit pants with black tie and white dress shirt; he was a respectful cop that stood for the law all the time. “Probably just another way to take out the garbage; another Scarfo family special, I presume,” said Frank.

“Well?” said Jack.

“I wouldn’t think too much about it. We’ll call the boys from forensics to send the meat truck down here, they will take the stiffs to the coroner’s office and we’ll get a full report after the autopsy.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. Ballistics will match the bullet shells to the casing book they have, and they’ll give us the report later,” said Jack.