Animus (9 page)

Nothing strange about their conversation. No talk of murder, drugs or guns. If Alfonzo was the leader of a mafia empire, heck he came across as a respectable businessman in Tyree’s eyes.

In the corridor a male in a double-breasted quality suit that Tyree suspected cost more than a year’s worth of subway rides approached. His clean-shaven face was as smooth as a woman’s, yet masculinity oozed from his pores. Tapered hair so black and walnut hued eyes both shone in testament to his good health. The smile when he spotted Alfonzo had a slight sarcastic tug. “Ah, look who is trolling the halls in his gown. I knew I’d find you eventually,” he said and gave Alfonzo a pat on the back. “You look dapper and well.”

“Don’t lie Matteo
; I look like shit.”

“Okay. You do look awful but gun battles are ugliness.
” The joviality turned to an inquiry when he finally noticed Tyree. “And who is the unfamiliar face, more family?”

“My wife’s little friend.”

“Your wife’s little friend is not little.” Matteo openly scrutinized Tyree from head to foot like a specimen. “What’s your name?”

“Tyree Davis.”

“Doctor Tyree Davis,” Alfonzo smirked.

“A doctor, hmmm,” Matteo mused. “We can always use an on-call physician, eh Alfonzo?”

“We have enough.”

Matteo put his arm around Alfonzo’s neck and flexed against the bandage in an effort to jolt his senses. But Alfonzo failed to react, not even a grimace occurred because he built up a high tolerance to pain. Matteo released his hold when he realized Alfonzo wasn’t easily riled. He spoke softly to avoid Tyree overhearing. “There are never enough. Is he any good?”

“Hell if I know. The kid hasn’t finished his residency.”

“Even better for you. Consider grooming him in the event we need his services. In my experience amico those with medical training are quite handy in emergencies.”

“I got it covered Matteo. Where’s your other half, the wailing woman?” Alfonzo laughed.

“Around.”

They were at the elevator. “I’m going to visit my brother for a while, coming?” Alfonzo asked.

“I have done so already. I am not accustomed to him quiet or immobile.”

“I know.”

“I will see you after I pay visits to the injured. Your man Estefan requires an increase in salary, eh, amico?”

“I totally agree.” Alfonzo’s face transformed into softness. He had yet to properly thank Matteo for his aid. “We’ll share a drink when this is over.”

Matteo held the elevator door for Alfonzo and the young doctor. “This is an endless saga amico. I have stashed the rum in your room. When you have finished talking sweetly to your irascible brother as he naps, call me and we will drink because we have survived another day, capisce?” And then he released the doors.

CHAPTER NINE

Nico set aside the newspaper when Sergio appeared in the middle of the block. He’d spent only ten minutes inside the bakery. His leisurely approach and that grin screamed newbie. The familiar logo identifying the bakery did too.

Nico had witnessed Sergio enter the bakery, but whatever occurred after that was a mystery. The minute Sergio occupied the passenger seat, Nico asked, “How’d it go?”

“Fine. It’s done.”

“You did everybody?”

“Yep,” Sergio answered before stuffing a cannolo in his mouth.

“And you brought food?”

“Yep. No sense in letting it go to waste.”

“And that
’s why young buck you get a big fat F! Never take anything that connects you to a job.” Nico warned and then quickly scanned the vicinity. “I’ll be right back,” he said and exited the car.

He went around the corner, walked leisurely to the rear of the business, found the door unlocked and entered. He wasn’t about to take Sergio’s word without investigation, besides, the novice probably didn’t think to search for surveillance equipment. Sergio hadn’t exhibited outward signs of anxiety and Nico had to admit, he was impressed. The pantry area is where he stood. Flour sat in large containers and other culinary items lined the shelves. The smell of fresh bread, pungent and sweet widened his nostrils.

The room was swept clean. He noticed a receipt with today’s date in the wastebasket. The owner maintained a daily routine which consisted of waking early, walking a few kilometers to a nearby cafeteria for an espresso and then he walked here. The receipt was from the café. He paid too much in Nico’s opinion.

The pantry led straight to the kitchen and is where
he found the bodies propped against a wall. The cooks and owner had wounds to the head. Nico’s eyes surveyed the place, not missing anything. He’d been trained by his adoptive father who always stressed, “Do not overlook the smallest thing Nico. It is the smallest thing which can do the greatest harm, capisce?”

The Butcher’s book of life lessons were straight-forward and precise.
Sometimes people interpreted scriptures differently, with The Butcher, nothing subjective exists. Nico learned the basic rules early. First rule of thumb is always leave where you were clean.

Nico avoided the human plasma. He wondered how Sergio got all three men in a singular location. If he shot the owner
out front, he’d find a trail of blood indicating he’d been dragged. There wasn’t a spot visible as he headed to the front of the shop. Once there he hurriedly checked the tables and floors for anything out of the ordinary, anything that screamed a professional hit which might lead to the novice waiting in the car. He removed gloves from his pocket and a small tube of antiseptic, squeezed a copious amount on a bundle of napkins pulled from a dispenser and sanitized furniture, anything Sergio might have touched. He glanced occasionally at the glass door with the CHIUSO sign facing the street for anyone lurking. A pair of vibrant potted plants partially obscured the door. The light drizzle had become a steady rain and a rolling thunderclap served dual purposes. The pedestrian traffic was light and nature replenished thirsty soil. At least the owner’s plants would thrive, unlike the bodies shoulder to shoulder in a death sleep left to decompose. In time they’d become brittle and eventually return to ash. Back into the soil they’d go to become compost for plants.

Strong hands vigorously rotated the cloth across the open cash register. The
money was gone except for a few coins and Nico scoffed. That damn Sergio, he had to do it didn’t he? Opportunist is an understatement, but in this case, Sergio’s greed worked to their advantage.

Finally when d
one, he slipped into the cramped office near a tiny bathroom, found the surveillance monitor, removed the flash drive and completely destroyed the unit keeping in line with a fake robbery. Minutes later, dripping wet, he was back in the car, driving in silence, and thinking.

“So where to next?” Sergio asked with enthusiasm.

“Did you save me one of those cannolo?”

“Sure did!”

Nico took the pastry from Sergio and drove with one hand. A healthy bite caused it to disappear in a flash. Hell, the damn thing was good. The deceased had the tastiest cannolo in the region. An old family recipe the owner had told Nico during a visit. The crunchy dough with its creamy and sweet ricotta was heavenly. The cannolo dissolved with his saliva and that’s when talkative Sergio asked another question, “Who were those guys, anyway?

Nico didn’t answer because Sergio didn’t need to know. “Give me another, nipote.”

Sergio clutched the bag like a hoarder and Nico snatched it. “Oh it’s like that, huh Uncle?”

“Yes it is,” Nico replied as he dug a hand in the bag for another of the delicious pastries.

“Are you ever going to tell me anything?”

“When the time comes.”

“Hell, I did as you said, doesn’t that prove something?”

“Not a thing.”

Sergio spun around to examine Nico for any hint of jest and instead found his cheek puffy as he chewed. “Are you serious?”

“Am I laughing?”
Nico answered with his mouth full.

“You never laugh. I wonder
, when you fuck do you grunt or act dead?”

Nico shoved the bag into Sergio’s chest. “How about I fuck you up and make you grunt, eh nipote?”

“What the hell is a nipote?”

“Use your phone technology, there’s a translation app for language deficient people like you.”

Sergio didn’t take offense. He was learning a lot about Uncle Nico. One, he was hard as a brick, and two, he had to be for his line of business. Sergio liked teasing the psychopath. “Forget it.”

“Good,” Nico said. Sergio’s mouth quit moving and Nico grinned. “Have you ever gone hunting?”

“No, I’m not into shooting deer and what-not.”

A stern eyebrow was cocked in Sergio’s direction. “I mean people.”

“Hell no!”

“But you want to do what I do, isn’t that what you said?” Nico reminded his nephew.

“Wait, you want to kill more people today?”

“I haven’t killed anybody. You have.”

Sergio stopped talking.

Nico counted in his head and when he got to fifteen, Sergio’s mouth opened. “How many times a day do you do this?”

“Do what…drive?”

“You know what I mean.”

The rain slackened. Nico exited the roadway and took a less busy route. The scenic view of the Mediterranean near the coast of Cefalu is what Sergio was given in lieu of words.  On warmer days the long golden beach was filled with families and lifeguards. A straggler braving the rain leisurely strolled along the sand. A sailboat heading toward the dock with its colorful mast of orange and blue was definitely a postcard picture.  Nico navigated a sloping hill and the jagged incline as they moved farther away.

Nico thought of Ari and their walks along the beach in Barbados. She was a city woman, but fell in love with the island sand. When he brought her to Sicily during their courtship, he’d taken her to San Vito Lo Capo. A coastal resort town west of Palermo.  The Caribbean of Italy, visitors had named it and Ari agreed. She loved it there, absolutely fawned at the pristine water and golden sediment beneath her feet. How happy she was then and so was he. The twins were the result of their stay in San Vito Lo Capo. The Mediterranean fish and the times spent making love at leisure he’d never forget. He had though for a time and given in to want. He thought of it now and the wounds opened his shame. He had not voiced it, duty forbid he ever admit that he held a special place in his heart for Selange, the nurturer of lost souls, and the lover of art. She unleashed the passion of a desolate killer and reminded him of his humanity. Such utter disgrace for him to have weakened to the point he injured the man he swore to keep safe with his callous actions. He fulfilled his quest for redemption because he’d never break another sacred vow or jeopardize the love he found with Ari, again. Selange would always be his muse, youthful dreams and veiled art. The masterpiece reminiscent of the Italian greats, mosaics, romance, and swirls of color he’d yet to paint but she commissioned
as a gift for his wife. He had never experienced an ounce of regret before, but conscious was a bastard. It tortured a killer with jagged glass, scoring the flesh, eating him whole for being the cause of his brother’s death and failing to stop his sinning heart.

He grimaced in disgust, determined to restore the family’s health with blood of enemies. He’d do right by Vincent and mentor Sergio. His past offenses were over and his love grew stronger for Ari. He’d paint her image in his mind and heart forever, hold true to loyalty and friendship. Family unity is what his father Alberti admonished is the key to their survival. Alfonzo and Giuseppe knew this, but a renegade enforcer, rebellious and conflicted had been the last to learn.

The terrain became rocky as he traveled near the edge of a bluff and then headed inland where tall grass and square abodes in colorful arrangement peered. Higher the car climbed toward an exclusive property surrounded by green olive trees and covered in ocher bricks. The split level villa overlooked the sea with a panoramic swimming pool for the pleasure of its inhabitants.

The car’s wheels rolled over silver-gray pebbles in the courtyard and this is where Nico stopped and spoke
, “Gather up everything and bring them in.”

“I’m not your personal valet.”

The Nico glare served as a rebuttal.

Sergio mumbled, “Goddamn, I swear I’m not anybody’s personal gopher!” He grabbed Nico’s belongings off the seat
and his duffle bag and then scurried after his cantankerous Uncle laden with shit that wasn’t his.

Once again, Sergio was impressed. His new family had money galore. Every home he visited with these guys was the bomb. On the ground floor was a spacious bright living room with a traditional wooden ceiling painted white. Tiles in a tessellated design are what his shoes walked on. There were several windows overlooking the garden and a stylish black fireplace gave warmth to the atmosphere. In front of it sat a sofa and twin armchairs placed around a wooden low table. “Is this your house?” Sergio asked at Nico’s back.