“So, tell me why we gotta do this again?” Bruno asked from his perch on the cushy armchair. He was a brutishly built man with a chiseled jaw and large block head. He squirmed in his seat trying to flex the shoulders in his suit jacket into giving him some extra room. He hated suits, primarily because he had to pay extra money to get them tailored to fit his large frame. Bruno was far more comfortable in sweatsuits and sneakers, but Louie had insisted that they all get dressed up for the function.
“Because Frankie sent us. Mr. G needs a favor done,” Louie replied. He was seated across from them in a chair similar to the one Bruno sat on, absently picking the dirt from beneath his fingernails. For the last thirty minutes, they had been sitting in the receiving room waiting for an audience with their host.
“Then how come Frankie didn’t come instead of sending us?” Bruno asked.
Louie stopped his picking and turned his gaze to Bruno. “What are you, trying to be cute or something?”
Bruno looked over at the weasel-faced man. Louie was known to fly into murderous fits over little things so Bruno was careful not to provoke him. “I didn’t mean nothing by it, Louie. It’s just that for an occasion like this one, I’d think Frankie would’ve wanted to be here, or maybe even Mr. G personally. We’re just button-men.”
“Speak for yourself,” Mel interjected. He was a handsome man with evenly tanned skin, and dark hair that he wore high and slicked back. “You humps still got a little ways to climb up the ladder, but I’m a lock to get made the next time they open the books.”
Louie laughed. “You’ve been saying that for the last five years and you’re still right down here with the rest of us, doing Frankie’s dirty work.”
“Hey, Louie,” Mel flipped him the bird. “Right here, huh?”
“Listen, fellas,” Louie began, “I’m sure we all got better shit we could be doing other than kissing this shine’s ass, and those of you who want to leave are free to do so, but I’m not gonna be the one to go and tell Frankie that we don’t wanna do this for him.” The men exchanged looks, but no one made an attempt to leave. “Just like I thought. We don’t have a choice so we might as well as make the best of it. Let’s speak our piece, drink up some of that high end booze they’re serving on the lawn and get the fuck outta here.”
“From the looks of this place, I’ll bet everything is top shelf.” Mel picked up a vase and examined it. “Say, how much do you think we could get if we were to bring a couple of the guys out here to knock this place over?”
“How about you and your next of kin wiped off the map?” Louie took the vase from him and returned it to the shelf. “I keep telling you mopes that these ain’t no average darkies we’re dealing with, but yous don’t seem to be listening.” Unlike Bruno and Mel, he was familiar with the family who owned the property and had seen what they were capable of.
Bruno shook his head. “Man, these are definitely different times we’re living in when a man like Mr. G goes out of his way to pay respect to some spear-chuckers from Harlem.”
“That’s one thing we can agree on, Bruno,” Mel agreed. “I mean, I understand keeping relationships good with the coloreds and all, but Mr. G has practically given him a seat at the table. Between us, I ain’t the only one who is looking at this whole situation funny. Cosa Nostra breaking equal bread with the blacks?” He shook his head sadly. “Fat Mike Tessio is probably rolling over in his grave.”
“A grave our young friend put him in,” Louie reminded them. “See, you boys were still knocking over liquor stores when Fat Mike got the big idea in his head to go against the Clarks. To that fat son-of-a-bitch’s credit, he nearly pulled it off when he had Poppa Clark and his oldest boy Tommy hit. With them out of the way, the lane would’ve been wide open for Fat Mike to do as he pleased in Harlem, but he never factored in the baby brother. When he took the reins, shit got real on both sides of the color-line. Mr. G didn’t just hand Shai Clark his respect, the kid earned it.”
Before the conversation could go any further, the door to the adjoining room opened. Louie stood at attention, followed by Bruno and Mel. From the other room stepped a bookish looking man, wearing wire rimmed glasses and a pale green suit and white shirt. Louie couldn’t recall his name, but he had seen him around the Clarks before and knew he was a part of their inner circle.
“Apologies for the wait, gentlemen,” the man in the pale green suit greeted them. “I’m Jackson Duffy, but everyone calls me Jackie. I work for the Clarks.”
“A black guy with an Irish name,” Bruno snickered, which got him a sharp look from Louie.
“Louie Gaza,” he introduced himself with a handshake. “And don’t worry about the wait. We see you guys got a lot going on today.”
“Yeah, we’re having a family gathering so we’ll try and get you guys in and out of here as soon as possible,” Jackie said with a smirk, indicating that he hadn’t missed the crude joke. “If you boys will follow me, Mr. Clark is waiting.” Jackie turned on his heel and lead back the way he had just come.
From the legendary stories Louie had heard about the legendary Trinidadian crime family that had went head to head with the American Mafia, he had expected their meeting to be in a conference room around a big table, or at the very least some plush-looking office straight out of The Godfather, but he was thrown off by what he saw when he crossed the threshold. It was a small, yet cozy space. Lining the walls were the tallest bookshelves Louie had ever seen outside of a library, each shelf brimming over with books. Dominating the other side of the room was a large picture window that invited in the noonday sun. When Louie spotted the man sitting in the corner, reading a copy of Soul On Ice, he had to blink twice to make sure he wasn’t seeing a ghost.
He had put on some weight, and now wore his hair in neat, shoulder-length dreadlocks that made him a dead ringer for his deceased father, but their physical appearances were where their similarities ended. Poppa Clark had been a reasonable and fair man, but Tommy was a thug and a savage. He had earned the moniker Tommy Gunz on the streets for his preference to settle disputes with bullets rather than words. Tommy was a tyrant and next in line to inherit his father’s throne, but a bullet to the back changed his fate.
“You’re the last person I expected to see at this meeting.” Louie said.
“I imagine not. You eat a dozen or so bullets and everybody writes you off for dead. I’m still very much alive, just won’t be running any marathons anytime soon.” Tommy patted the armrest of his motorized wheel chair.
“I didn’t mean it like that, Tommy Gunz. It’s just that Frankie said I’d be sitting down with the head of the family, Shai Clark,” Louie explained.
“Well, my baby brother is unavailable at the moment so you’ll be having an audience with me today,” Tommy told him.
Louie and his men exchanged unsure glances. “Is there a problem?” Tommy asked.
Louie is hesitant. “Listen, T. I don’t want you to take this the wrong way, but…”
“I don’t want you to take this the wrong way is usually what a muthafucka says right before they insult you,” Tommy cut him off. “Now I’ve noticed that since I got passed over for the big chair and slapped in this little one, people been acting like they forgot how Tommy Gunz gives it up, but make no mistake that I am still the bark and the bite of this thing of ours. My brother wears the title as head of this family, but let’s not forget who brought the fear of the Clark name to the table. You can put whatever you got on the table with me, or get the fuck out. Don’t make me no difference.”
“Okay, Tommy. No need to get your panties in a bunch,” Louie said in an easy tone. “Like I was saying earlier, Frankie the Fish sent to speak with Shai about a sensitive matter, but since your brother isn’t here, maybe you can help.”
Tommy shrugged. “Frankie the Fish ain’t never been no friend of mine or my family, so what the fuck would make him think we’d even consider it?”
“Let me be a little clearer. Frankie sent me, but the favor isn’t for him. It’s for Gee-Gee,” Louie told him.
Hearing the old mobsters name got Tommy’s attention. Genaro Giovanni, or “Gee-Gee” as he was called by those closest to him, was the former underboss and current boss of the Cissaro family. Back when Poppa Clark had been grooming Tommy to succeed him, they had been involved in backdoor heroin deals with a Cissaro capo named Fat Mike. When Tommy tried to cut ties with Mike and started buying their heroin from the Chinese, the fat man had orchestrated the shooting which left Poppa dead and Tommy in a wheelchair. During his recovery, Shai had assumed control of the Clark family and his first order of business was the extermination of Fat Mike and anyone loyal to him. Shai and the Clark soldiers laid waste to Mike’s men, but left the fat man to be handled by his own people. He exposed Mike’s double dealing to Gee-Gee, and in turn the underboss had him whacked. This took care of the Fat Mike problem, but it also frayed their relationship with the Italians. With a novice, Shai, now at the head of the family, and the veil of protection from the Italians lifted, it was open season on everything Poppa Clark had built. The year or so that followed was a bloody time for the Clarks. Enemies came from far and wide to try and claim their piece of the empire. Shai did as best he could, but the Clarks had taken on heavy casualties and lost a lot of money during the war. For a time it looked bleak for Shai, but he refused to fold. Gee-Gee was impressed by his resilience and this is what caused him to approach Shai with a proposition that would put an end to the fighting and solidify his claim to the Poppa’s empire. No one could say for certain what went on in that room during their meeting, but when it was all said and done, Gee-Gee found himself at the head of the Cissaro table and Shai had usurped Tommy for their father’s throne.
“Okay, I’m listening,” Tommy said.
“Got a rabid dog that needs to be put to sleep. We’d need someone from your organization to handle it,” Louie told him.
“The Cissaros have got plenty of killers on their payroll. Why do you need us to do it?” Tommy asked.
“It’s somewhat of a sensitive nature. He’s a made guy; a member of the Meloni family,” Louie confessed.
This brought a smile to Tommy’s face. The Melonis were an outfit out of New Jersey. They were a small family, but gaining quite the reputation for their brutality. Word on the streets was that over the last few months, they had been encroaching on Cissaro operations. “Guineas whacking their own now? And you call us savages,” he snorted.
“Look, we didn’t come here to be judged by some fucking…” Mel began, but the gun that appeared on Tommy’s lap cut him off.
“You finish that sentence and this quiet chat we’ve been having is going to get real noisy,” Tommy warned.
“Everybody just calm down.” Louie stepped between them. “Listen, Tommy, if it were up to me I’d kill this piece of shit myself, but if it blows back it could start a war between the Cissaros and the Melonis and we can’t afford that right now. It’d be bad not only for our business, but for the Clarks too.”
“That’s a white boy problem. We ain’t got a dog in that fight. Maybe we’ll just sit back and let the Melonis thin your numbers out some more,” Tommy said sarcastically.
Louie laughed. “You’re a funny guy, T. But let me ask you this; what do you think will happen if the Melonis manage to sink their hooks into New York and start calling shots? Unlike us, they ain’t no friends of the negro community. No offense.”
Tommy weighed it. “Okay, let’s say that we do decide to help you out with your little problem. What’s in it for the Clarks?”
“Our undying gratitude.”
“Fuck outta here,” Tommy waved him off. “Us doing this favor for you could have a fallout of epic proportions. You’re gonna have to do better than that.”
“Well, what do you want?” Louie asked, not sure he really wanted an answer.
“You can start with letting me in on that new gun deal you’re putting together behind Gee-Gee’s back.”
The statement caught Louie by surprise and his face said as much.
“What you surprised that I know your little secret? C’mon man, just because my legs have stopped working doesn’t mean my ears have. Don’t nothing move in this city without me knowing about it.”
“Tommy, it’s a small thing. Just me doing a little business on the side to keep up with my alimony payments,” Louie tried to downplay it.
Tommy leaned in and gave Louie a look. “That’s funny, because I happen to know for a fact that you ain’t married.”
“I come here to make a good faith deal and you’re gonna extort me?” Louie chuckled. “Okay, you got me. I know a Russian guy who’s got some connects down south that I’ve been making a little money from, but it’s a small thing. We don’t have the means to get them up here in a large enough volume to take on any partners.”
Tommy’s wheels began to spin. “What if I could solve that problem and provide you with a way to get the guns up here in bulk? Maybe three to four dozen at a time?”
Louie did the math in his head. That was double what he was currently moving. Getting his help moving that many guns at one time, he could he could afford to cut Tommy in and still make a ton good chunk of change. “Then I’d say, maybe there’s room for another hand in the pot after all.”
“Figured you’d see things my way,” Tommy smirked. “Of course I’ll have to charge you a little something extra for transportation costs.
“I come here to negotiate a good faith deal and you’re trying to grease me?”
Tommy laughed. “I hardly think soliciting murder qualifies as a good faith deal, but whatever. Those are my terms. Now we can either keep dancing around and wasting either other’s time or seal the deal so we can both go on about our days.” He extended his hand.
Louie looked back at his entourage. Both Bruno and Mel looked like they were against it, but Louie didn’t figure he had a choice. If he didn’t go along with it, what was to stop Tommy doubling back and exposing his backdoor deal? He had witnessed what happened to the last person who had tried to put one over on their organization and wanted no parts of it. “Fucking ballbreaker,” he grumbled and shook Tommy’s hand.
“Thought you’d see things my way,” Tommy smirked triumphantly. “Now you’re excused. I’ll have my boy Duffy come see you tomorrow so we can work out the details of our new business arrangement.”
“Fuck you, Tommy. You just make sure that whoever you sent to clip this prick does it painfully and slowly. Oh, and pay special attention to his face. Mr. Gee would like it very much if this prick’s family couldn’t have an open casket funeral.” Louie stood to leave.
“Say Louie, if you don’t mind me asking: what did this guy do that has Mr. Gee so in his feelings about it?” Tommy asked curiously.
Louie shrugged. “He’s got a thing for little girls.” “Say no more. He’s fucking dead.” Tommy vowed. “Anything else I need to know about this guy?” “Yeah, don’t take him lightly. Nicky might be a baby-raping piece of shit, but make no mistake - this guy is a stone killer. Whoever you send after him, make sure they’re up to the task.”
Tommy waited until Louie and his bunch had gone before letting a sinister grin spread across his face. Sitting with Louie and his boys was the last thing he had expected to be doing that afternoon. Shai was the mouthpiece of the family those days. Him being unexpectedly absent and allowing Tommy to highjack the meeting was either dumb luck or fate finally throwing him a bone.
Tommy had a long and turbulent history with the Cissaros, since before the events leading to his father’s murder and his current physical status. Though Fat Mike might not have been the shooter, he set the wheels in motion, and Tommy held all of the Cissaros accountable by association. During his long months of recovery, all he could think about was revenge against those who had changed his destiny and that of his family. When the subject of the truce between the two sides had first been presented, Tommy was the most animate in his opposition of it. His little brother was more of a politician than the warlord Tommy had been in his day, so he understood him wanting to end the bloodshed and get back to the money, but that didn’t mean it sat well with him. Had it been up to Tommy, he’d have kept killing until the last of their enemies were dead, but he was no longer calling the shots - his baby brother was. Publically he would support his brother in whatever decisions he made concerning the family, but in secret, Tommy plotted and waited for an opportunity to strike back at his enemies, and Louie might have provided him with just that.
“Did you get all that?” Tommy spoke to the seemingly empty room.
“Yes,” a voice spoke back. A figure peeled itself from the shadows near the window and stood next to Tommy. He was a tall man with a shaved head, dressed in a dusty priest’s robes. A black leather patch covered his left eye, lying just over a scar that went from his forehead to his cheek. To most, he was known as the Clark family executioner, but to Tommy he was simply called Priest.
“These fucking dagos kill me. The only time they even halfway show the proper respect is when they need a damn favor!” Tommy spat.
“It’s been like that since the beginning. The only reason Poppa even tolerated them was because they were able to open doors that were previously closed to us,” Priest said.
“Well Poppa ain’t here, and we been took them doors off the hinges. If it were up to me, I’d sever ties and kill the whole stinking lot of them.”
“Well, it isn’t up to you anymore,” Priest said. He didn’t mean any offense; just making a point.
“Don’t be funny, Priest. You’ve always been better at killing than you were at making jokes,” Tommy said.
“Personally, I think the whole thing stinks to high hell. The Cissaros have got at least a half dozen qualified killers on payroll who could undertake the task?” Priest shook his head. “I don’t like it, Tommy.”
“Truthfully, I don’t either, but I can’t pass up an opportunity to put that prick Gee-Gee in our debt and dipping into Louie’s pockets at the same time. Shai breaks bread with the Italians, I’m fonder of bleeding them.”
“Poppa used to always say that all money ain’t good money, Tommy,” Priest warned.
“Well we see where my father’s philosophies got him, don’t we?” Tommy asked. This quieted Priest. He wheeled himself over to the desk and reached for the drink resting on it. Tommy had just lifted it when the glass slipped and shattered on the floor. “Muthafucka!” he began flexing his fingers as if they had gone to sleep.
Priest knelt and began cleaning up the glass. “Your hands giving you trouble again?”
“A little numbness from time to time, but nothing I can’t deal with.” Tommy shook both his hands to wake them up. “It’s a small price to pay to be able to wipe my own ass again. I’ve never been one to believe in miracles, but our mutual friend got me re-thinking my stance on that.”
After Tommy had received the news of his paralysis, he’d slipped into a deep depression. To make matters worse, the shit treatment he’d received while in the prison infirmary only made things worse, as he had contracted two infections that caused further nerve damage. By the time he was released and able to receive proper care, he was in such poor health that things didn’t look good for him. Shai spared no expense, taking his brother to the best specialists around the country, but none of them were hopeful. When conventional medicine failed them, an unconventional remedy presented itself.
One of Priest’s acolytes, The Black Lotus, had come to them during their times of troubles and told them of a man who was said to be able to do what the doctors could not. He fashioned himself a faith healer, but upon their first meeting looked to be anything but that. Dressed in leather and motorcycle boots, with a black duster that looked like something out of a Terminator movie, Shai and everyone else had been suspicious, but they had exhausted all their options and Tommy was desperate so he consented. By the third week of what the healer referred to as conditioning, there was still no improvement in Tommy. By week four, Tommy was ready to write the faith healer off as a charlatan and arrange to have him killed, but something quite unexpected happened…his finger twitched. In under a year Tommy had regained the use of his arms and hands. He still couldn’t walk, but the man he had come to know only as The Cross, made him hopeful.
“About this gun business,” Priest interrupted his thoughts. “I’m not sure how Shai is going to take this. You know he has a strict policy about the Clarks not getting involved with guns. It’s too risky.”
“And selling heroin isn’t?” Tommy shot back. “If Shai was so worried about what was going on with the Italians, he’d have been here to take this meeting instead of running off to do God knows what with Angelo and Big Doc. He ain’t gonna have shit to say about this little deal I made because we ain’t gonna tell him… at least not yet. This deal is about me, not the family. I’m used to earning my way, not depending on the mercies of my little brother.”
A disapproving look crossed Priest’s face.
“You got a problem with that, Priest?”
“My job is to pass judgment on our enemies, not members of this family. I am here to serve the Clarks,” Priest told him.
“And you’d do well to remember it.”
“Do I even want to know how you found out about Louie’s gun connect?” Priest asked.
“A little jumpoff I’m knocking down is connected to the guy Louie is getting the guns from,” Tommy said, much to Priest’s surprise. “Don’t look so shocked. I can’t feel shit below the waist but I still get the occasional erection. These days sex is more of a psychological thing for me than for pleasure.”
“I guess The Cross’ treatments worked a little better than we expected,” Priest said in awe.
“You don’t know the half,” Tommy flexed his hand. “Now about this shit bird Mr. G wants clipped.”
“I’ll take care of it. The Black Lotus is in town - I’ll set her to the task,” Priest offered.
“Nah, we’ll save her for something more befitting of someone of her talents. We’ll let one of the soldiers take care of it.” Tommy thought on it for a few ticks. “As a matter of fact, those little niggas from the Dog Pound are always looking for a come up. We’ll put one of them on it.”
“Tech? Maybe Brasco?”
“Tech has got his head shoved too far up Swann’s ass for me to trust him to keep this quiet, and I don’t like that fat fuck Brasco. We’ll give it to the other one - the little fucker with the grills and bushy hair.”
“No!” Priest blurted out to Tommy’s surprise. “What I mean is, he’s barely a child. If this Nicky that we’ve been asked to murder is Nicky The Gent, then he’s a real piece of work. I’m not sure Animal is ready,” he tried to clean it up.
“Have you forgotten that this child, as you call him, presented my brother with a human head to prove himself?” Tommy reminded him. “I’d say he’s more than qualified.”
Before Priest could try and argue further, Duffy walked in. He seemed startled when he noticed Priest in the room. “I’m sorry, T. Didn’t know you had company.” He apologized, quietly wondering how Priest had managed to slip passed him.
“It’s fine, Priest was just leaving.” Tommy said, dismissing the assassin.
Priest gave a curt nod before slipping from the room.
“That guy give me the creeps,” Duffy said once Priest had gone.
“He should. Priest has been putting niggas in the ground since before either of us were born. I can give the history of the Brotherhood another time, but for now I need you to do something for me.”
“Anything, T,” Duffy said excitedly. He couldn’t wait to get out of that suit and back into the streets.
“I need you to make a run into Harlem to get something for me.” Tommy grabbed a slip of paper and a pen from the satchel hanging from the arm of his wheel chair and scribbled an address down on it.
“Sure, T. Anything. What do you need me to get?” Duffy asked, stuffing the slip of paper into his pocket.
“Not a what, but a who. Tell the Animal that the Clarks have need of his services.”
The mention of his name made the hairs on Duffy’s arms stand. He had never met The Animal, but the stories he’d heard painted him as a homicidal imp that got his jollies off the misery of others. Duffy wasn’t entirely sure if the stories had been exaggerated or if the devil really did walk the earth, but he wasn’t too happy about being the one sent to find out.
“You got a problem with what I’m asking you?” Tommy noticed Duffy’s hesitation.
“No, no problem at all.” Duffy checked himself.
“Glad to hear it. And as far as me receiving any more appointments, ain’t my problem or concern. I ain’t Shai’s secretary. They can wait for him to come back or go the fuck home.” Tommy wheeled himself over near the widow and gazed out at the lawn.
“I figured you’d say that and I told him as much, but this guy says he’s your family,” Duffy explained.
Tommy cocked his head. “Family? Ain’t much of that left besides me, Shai and Hope. Whoever the fuck it is, tell them I said, ‘Beat it,’” he capped, loud enough for whoever was waiting outside to hear. Tommy dismissed Duffy and picked up his book to go back to his reading.
“Damn, that’s how Nappy Black do his family these days?” Tommy heard a familiar voice from the hallway, and it froze him. There were only two people who referred to him as Nappy Black: his brother Shai and the man who had given him the nickname in the first place. He dropped the book and wheeled himself towards the door so fast that he nicked one of his fingers in the spokes.
Standing there, still trying to convince Duffy to let him pass, was a face Tommy hadn’t seen in years; a face not all that different from his own. He was tall and dark-skinned, dressed in jeans, combat boots and a tattered fatigue jacket. He had shaved off his dreads and now wore his hair in a low afro that had begun to gray around the temples. He had aged quite a bit, but his lips still wore the mischievous grin he would always flash at Tommy as a kid, right before convincing him to do something that would likely get him into trouble.
Seeing that Tommy was watching, Duffy doubled his efforts to get the man to leave. He was about to lay hands on him when Tommy motioned for him to stand down. Duffy didn’t like it, or the looks of the man, but it wasn’t his place to argue with Tommy.
“Pardon yourself, lil’ nigga.” The man popped the collar of his jacket and bumped Duffy as he passed him.
“The devil must be slipping if he let you sneak out of hell,” Tommy glared up at the man.
The man placed his hand over his heart and flashed Tommy a mock-wounded look. “Now what kind of greeting is that for your favorite cousin?”