12

Bugsy sat in the visiting room of the MCC building waiting for Layla. He was dressed in Armani with his cool persona and looked more like a high-powered lawyer than a gangster. He spotted his mother being shepherded into the room by a CO. He kept his eyes on her from the moment she entered the room, walking his way with her contentious frown and ugly brown prison garb. She sat across from him and quickly started with her demands.

“I need you to put your goons on Maxine, ASAP! I want that bitch dead by nightfall. Your damn sister, that little dead-eye bitch, has been ignoring me, talkin’ ’bout now is not the time. It’s always the right time to see that bitch dead. Especially wit’ me in here. I know that bitch is gloating! And don’t tell me shit about your father. He can’t do shit. How do I know? Because we’re in the same situation.”

Bugsy listened to her go on and on about being wronged by everyone, griping about Lucky’s bullshit, hating Maxine, how trifling his father was, and how much she’d sacrificed. He wondered why he’d come to see her at all. Layla was too consumed with hatred and revenge to even notice he was sitting there. Not once did she ask about Meyer’s condition.

Bugsy shook his head at his mother’s demands. She was unbelievable. He wanted to laugh, but he didn’t want to rile her up even more.

“First off, I don’t take orders from you,” he said. “I came to visit and talk, not be belittled and bossed. And Maxine is no threat to anyone.”

Layla was taken aback by the comment. Her frown tightened and her cheeks got hot with anger. How dare he?

Bugsy then continued with, “And your son—you remember him? Meyer? He’s still alive, in case you were wondering.”

The callous comment set her off. “You muthafucka! You defy your mother like this? I gave birth to you and raised your ungrateful ass. I gave you everything and now you come against me? You rotten-ass nigga! I’m in jail and you allow that bitch to still breathe? Why? If I wasn’t in this position, I would slap the shit outta you.”

Bugsy had never disrespected Layla the way Meyer and Lucky did. The both of them would have cursed her back, but he continued to sit there coolly and allow the venom to spew from her mouth. His visit with his mother wasn’t turning out the way he’d hoped. She was difficult, but she always was a difficult woman—a bitch who was used to getting her way. Jail wasn’t going to change that.

Bugsy smiled, which angered her more.

“Why the fuck are you smiling when your mother is in fuckin’ jail?” she rebuked. “You find my predicament funny?”

“No! But I love you, Ma,” he replied.

He stood up to indicate that their visit was over. She didn’t control him, and he hadn’t come to argue with her. His kissed his mother on the forehead and left the table.

Layla sat there in silence and in bitterness. She could only watch her son leave the room, knowing she was losing her hold over him and the others. She feared that the longer she was behind bars, the more distant and independent they would become.

Bugsy wasn’t killing Maxine. Scott would never sanction it.

***

Bugsy sat in the backseat of the black Range Rover and watched in silence. His goons were seated up front, and they were quiet too. Bugsy just wanted to sit and reminisce—no radio and no conversation. The SUV was parked on the suburban block at night, across the street from a beautiful three-bedroom home with a manicured lawn and a floral arrangement near the front steps. She loved her flowers. Her blue BMW was parked in the driveway, and the lights were on in the living room.

He watched Alicia move around her home. She was still beautiful—breathtaking. She didn’t walk but glide, it appeared in Bugsy’s eyes. His missed her so much. What he would do to be with Alicia right now. He sat in the dark vehicle stone-faced, but his heart was fluttering with sadness and regret. She was the best thing that ever happened to him, and now she was gone—dismissed from his life because of who he was and what he represented, and who his family was—gangsters. It could never be her world—the drugs, the killings, the authorities kicking in her front door with a warrant at any time. Alicia was the purest thing in Bugsy’s life, and he had no right to corrupt her. But he loved her dearly. He was lonely without her, but she was untouchable.

Bugsy watched her petite silhouette move back and forth from the living room window. The good news was, she appeared to be single. She didn’t have company and there were no other cars in the driveway. There was a for-sale sign on the front lawn. She was selling the place. He had paid cash for it and it was hers, his gift to her—her name was on the deed. She would be leaving and he didn’t know how soon. Maybe she wanted a fresh start somewhere, and the house was only a reminder of their love.

Damn. She deserved to be happy; Bugsy only wished that it could have been with him.

“Let’s go,” he told Pluto.

Pluto nodded and started up the vehicle. Bugsy took one long and final look at Alicia’s home. As if on cue, she appeared in her front window dressed for bed in a long T-shirt and sipping on tea. Bugsy’s eyes fixed on her from the tinted windows of the truck and his heart melted with nostalgia. Did she sense that he was nearby? Her eyes gawked at the Range parked across the street, and Bugsy managed to smile.

So beautiful, he said to himself.

Pluto slowly moved the truck away from the curb. Bugsy took his final look at Alicia standing in her window, glowing like the angel she was. He would bother her no more. She was moving on, and so would he.