part0013

Francesco sat silently in Castello di Vino sipping on a glass of wine while its owner Federico was cleaning, getting the old pub ready for opening.

"You don't seem okay today."

"Your thoughts are wandering."

"You could say that.”

"Does it wander somewhere particular?"

"Maybe to the bella ragazza?"

“That girl is a Lombardi, Federico."

"Lombardis are not known for their beauty?”

"They are. They really are."

"So, what's the problem? She seems inteligente."

"Not mafia smart, but definitely smart."

"I would ask her out if I were you."

"I have my father’s business to run, Federico. It's not that simple."

"So, what? You can't run famiglia and have a nice lady?"

"I must focus right now. She’s the enemy for Dio’s sake.“

"Famiglia will always trouble you, Francesco. Your father has a nice donna. You need one as well.“

"It's hard to keep Dad’s business in one piece. It’s been harder than building it."

Federico shrugged. "You know better, I reckon." Federico grabbed a mop.

"I'm surprised you are not a vergine."

"Knock it off, Federico."

"No, I'm not. Why are you asking me this anyway?"

"I just want to see an old friend happy with famiglia. I want to be the zio."

Francesco laughed. "You'd be a hell of one, Federico." Francesco finished his glass of wine, grabbed his hat and nodded. "I'll leave you to clean this place up. It looks like a mess.”

"Vaffanculo, Francesco!" Federico shouted Francesco entered the busy street. He looked back seeing if any copper was trailing him. There were only people jogging, smiling and enjoying life. It made him feel happy, seeing New York alive.

"Wish I lived like this more often," he muttered as he waved a taxi down.

An hour passed and Francesco was in the dining room, having a plate of Ciceri e Tria. He was alone, reflecting on today's events. Another crisis was averted for now but there was something that had to be done about Elias and the Lombardis. Francesco was almost finished his dinner when the dining room door opened. His father, Luca walked in, dressed in a similar white suit as his son's. Francesco stood up and opened his arms, embracing his father.

Luca hugged his son and kissed him on the cheeks. He then grabbed a seat at the end of the table. The Don's face had a peaceful look in part because he knew his son's task was a success.

"How’d it go, son?”

"Elias won't be a problem."

"Did he talk to the Lombardi scumbags?"

“Nothing. I made sure of it."

"Who did they send this time? Giovanni?”

"A girl by the name of Jessica who says she's a lawyer."

"Ah, Giovanni's little sister."

"I didn't know Michael had a daughter."

"She wasn't raised in the business. How'd she do?"

"She was out of her league.”

"Hmm, poor Michael. He’s getting old."

"I could've handled Giovanni as well, father!"

Luca looked at his son in displeasure.

"That bastard Giovanni would have been easy to deal with as his sister!”

"Son! Show some respect. They are our rivals, but they are still Italians.”

"I'm sorry, Papa.”

"We have far more important issues right now to deal with. Starting with—Forget the Harbor."

"Terry Woods and Jonathan Howards are about to turn themselves in. Goddamit, son, you made a mess out at the Baldinottis?”

"I should have been more careful."

"But you didn't, Francesco." Don Luca raised his voice while Francesco hushed, staring at the empty plate in front of him.

"Anyway, it doesn't matter how it happens. This should be taken care of a long time ago."

"I'll take care of it, Papa.”

"Yes, you will. Please, this time, don't make a mess. We can't have more officers on our payroll not fearing us.”

"Why the hell do they want to confess all of the sudden, Papa?”

"There's a new FBI agent in town. Our men inside say he's bent on taking us all down."

"If those two want to turn themselves in, more will follow, you know that?"

"We need to make Terry and Jonathan examples. You get my drift, son. I trust you to take care of this right away.”

“When and where?”

“Don’t worry. Jonathan will be taken care of. You just have to get Woods."

"Yes, he lives alone. Here's the address." Luca handed it to Francesco and patted his son on the back. "The driver is waiting for you out front."

Luca got up and headed towards the kitchen. “Call me when you have some good news."

Francesco stared at the piece of paper. “Si, Papa.”

This was a total mess. First, Davide, and now these two coppers. The Giulianis were losing their control of New York and the family had to do something about it.

Francesco got up and went to where the vehicle was awaiting him. Guillermo the driver was leaned against the door, finishing a cigarette.

"I was making bets and you surprised me, Francesco. Under 10 minutes!"

"Let's get ready. I have some urgent business to take care of.”

“I like how that sounds, Francesco.”

Francesco got in as Guillermo flung his cigarette out the window.

“Here’s the address,” Francesco said handing Guillermo a napkin. He lowered his hat, leaning back.

“We have guns in the back, right?”

“Yes, boss. You know the usual."

"Excellente," Francesco said closing his eyes. He didn't want to think about anything that happened earlier especially the Lombardi Girl. His task at hand was this job for the family.

Terry Wood lived in downtown Manhattan, a few blocks from the 5th Precinct. Francesco spent the next 90 minutes in and out of asleep until the car finally stopped. Guillermo pulled up the handbrake and said, "We're here boss.” He then opened the trunk.

“This shouldn't take more than ten minutes. If it takes longer, just go." Francesco said as he opened the door. He went to the trunk seeing his favorite guns boxed. Francesco then look around seeing the streets were pretty busy. However, there was no one in sight who appeared to care about a man in a white suit dressed so sharply. This is why Francesco loved New York; it was every man for himself.

Francesco grabbed the Colt and headed towards Terry's apartment building. Examining the piece of paper again, he compared the mailboxes on the ground floor and saw Terry Woods' name written under Third Floor, Apartment 13C.

Francesco took the stairs up the old building reminiscing about having to live in a place like this when he was a child; the cooking gas coming out of the apartments, combined with dust and urine in the hallways made Francesco want to vomit. He was glad his father had moved away from the city. Yet, Francesco couldn't stop thinking about how this place was going to smell after Terry's passing. In a shithole like this, it would take at least three days to find Terry. A neighbor tired of the rotten scent would call maintenance to check on the apartment. Or maybe this new FBI agent would just show up asking questions and stumble upon Terry’s body? The only thing for sure was that Terry Woods would die today.

Francesco walked cautiously, halting at every hallway, wishing not to be interrupted by some random cleaning lady or neighbor. Now on the third floor, he went to check the numbers on the doors, finding at the end of the hallway was Apartment 13C. Francesco knocked lightly but his taps echoed like church bells on the day of a funeral. Francesco sensed Terry was scared from his slow steps he took towards coming to the door. Francesco then tapped again.

"Agent Miller?" Terry said from behind the door. Francesco then kicked it in, the door hitting Terry in the face. He plopped on the ground causing a loud crash. The noise echoed through the hollow hallway. Terry Wood’s service revolver fell a few feet away from him.

Francesco aimed at Terry's head while entering, never losing sight of the officer while pushing the door behind him close. The handle and lock had broken and that door would never open properly again.

Terry was lying on the ground, holding his bloody nose, moaning of pain. "F-fuck." He crawled towards his gun as Francesco reached it first kicking it to the far end of the room.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you, Terry.“

"Why not? I'm already dead."

"Fuck! I thought I’d get away.“

"No one does, Officer.”

Terry was on the ground with blood streaming down his face. Yet, he was grinning.

“Someone has to?” Terry said trying to rise up.

"Oh, what does it matter? Kill me while I'm down like a pig or kill me while I'm standing with honor and dignity.”

"I said, stay down," Francesco yelled bearing the gun closer to Terry's temple.

"You're done, fucking Giulianis," he said spitting out blood.

"You're done, Terry. You and your fucking pal, Jonathan. We told you we’ll take care of you and look at you now.“

Terry's eyes shrank, lowering his head.

"I shouldn't have dragged Jonathan into this. He’s a good man.“

“For Christ’s sake, he has a family."

"He should have thought of that sooner because we all do, Terry.”

"I'm different. I wanted it all. Jonathan only wanted to protect his family."

"And he would have."

"I know. I know. May I sit up at least?" Terry said lifting his hands above his head. Francesco pointed over with his gun to the purple sofa in the middle of the room. The TV set was on; a newscast about a missing girl was being mentioned. Terry moved slowly, with his hands above his head to the couch.

"May I pray, Francesco?"

"You should have done that the moment you sent that letter to Agent Miller.“

"I did and I'm not much of a good Christian, you know?”

Francesco didn't speak, lowering his gun just a little. Terry's eyes had a peaceful look like Francesco's father's earlier in the morning before he got angry.

"Agent Miller will take you down, you know that, Francesco. No one has had organized crime in this city on their heels like this man for over forty years,” Terry said spitting out more blood. “That's why he'll get you because you fucking old-timers are sloppy."

"The Giulianis will keep running New York long after you, Officer Woods.”

"No, they will not. Your family is finished and you know this. If Jonathan and I turned and Davide took sides with the Lombardis, there will be more."

"We'll take care of all of these little nuisances. No worries, Officer. Any last words?“

"Keep killing and there will be no city to run. That is why they call you savages . Your way is the old-time way of running things, bud.”

Terry's bloodiness had increased with the only thing visible was his awful smile and pitiful eyes.

"I'm sorry, Terry but you will be part of one of those old-time ways of how things are run.”

"Get on with it, then.”

Terry lowered his hands and joined his hands to pray.

A gunshot echoed the apartment; a bullet to Terry’s head as Terry dropped face first. Francesco turned towards the door and didn't look back. He ran down the stairs to the outside of Terry’s apartment building. While he was descending the stairs, he heard doors opening and closing from the third floor, like a concert, followed by an old woman's scream. By the time, Terry's body was found, Francesco was already in the front seat of his car.

"We should get a move on it,” Francesco said, dropping the gun under the seat.

Guillermo turned the key and the Fiat started shaking and moving like a horse that got spanked on its ass.

A clean job this time for Francesco Giuliani. No mess, no witnesses but it didn't feel like it. It felt like the Giulianis were now patching up a bag with too many holes. You don't fix the bag; you buy a new one or get rid of it. That's what the family has been doing for the past weeks; cleaning house around town and matters were only getting worse.