The Gatekeepers, page 22
"John.....John Silva!" the man yelled, still slightly struggling.
Venny leaned in close to the man's face, whose reddened eyes were now completely wide open. "Well listen, John Silva. We're gonna be back here in two days, six a.m. sharp so you can sign over this humble establishment to us. Only you should be here. No one else. And this is the important part to keep in mind. If you go to the cops, or try anything stupid, that little wife and kids of yours are gonna get stuffed into a fuckin' calzone served out front. Are we clear? Do you get the picture, you piece of shit?"
"Yes.....yes I swear it! It's yours! I'll be here! Just please don't hurt me or my family!" John replied, now panting like a dog.
Merc used his foot to stomp the cord to the machine and unplug it from the wall socket. The spinning blade began to slow its rotation as the humming from the machine ceased.
"Six a.m.! Don't make us come look for you. That won't be a good thing," Venny said as he put his blazer back on and buttoned it.
Merc grabbed his jacket from the floor and threw his arms into it, leaving it unbuttoned. He reached into the John's back pants pocket and removed his wallet. He unfolded it and removed all of the cash that was inside. Merc jammed it into his pocket without counting it and tossed the wallet onto John's chest.
"Let's go, Rich." Venny said.
Richie lifted the latch of the large backroom door and opened it wide. The three men exited the room into the kitchen, paying no mind to the workers, who were now gathered to investigate the circumstances of the bizarre meeting. They casually stepped back out onto the windy sidewalk where Richie's car was parked. All three of the men got in, closed their doors, and the grey Mercedes-Benz sped off onto the busy Manhattan street.
Chapter Fifteen
The Hair that Broke the Bosses Back
It was around the noon hour when Vic stepped out of the spacious shower in the penthouse master bathroom. The steam rolled out of the shower's booth, fogging up the mirror which covered the entire wall. He rubbed a fresh, white towel across his face before roughly stroking his hair with it. As he put on his underwear and long socks, his mind became a whirlpool of worry and dread. He weighed the losses since he and the rest of his outfit had been released. He even, at one point, began to ponder if there was still a place left in the world for him and his kind. That thought, however, vanished with the self-assurance that business would resume as usual and he would make it so, even if it cost him his dying breath.
Jackie's words constantly knocked on every door in his mind. Could the police really have an agenda to exterminate them? Would they really burn through all of the time and resources to commit murder just to keep them off of the streets? The confusion was overwhelming as Vic simply waited for one small goal at a time to be accomplished. He was sure that reclaiming their old meeting quarters inside of the pizza parlor would give them the edge they needed to place the center of their business in a legitimate spotlight. It wasn't as much progress as he initially hoped for, but was one step closer to the Gio Dizio family returning to a life of earning profit through the only thing they knew. Things would have to work. They didn't spend all of that time behind a penitentiary wall for them not to.
This was the thought that he clung to as he buttoned his tan, collared dress shirt. He slipped into a pair of pleated, black slacks and slid a matching colored belt into the loopholes. As he stepped out of the steam filled bathroom, he could hear the rest of the family in the dining room having drinks and watching the kitchen's mounted TV. His ear was caught by Merc, who was antagonizing Artie for cheating in a card game. He stood at the bathroom doorway and listened. They paid the price for their branded sins, just like he did. They stayed silent and loyal throughout the entire prison sentence, keeping true to their oath of Omerta upon becoming made-men in the family.
In his mind, they would never go back to prison. They would never be slaves of the system again. This time around, there would be no incarceration. The only way of life now was to live free, or die fighting. He would lead them to the Promised Land as the omniscient leader that he intended to be, or there would be nothing. It was as simple as that.
There was knock at the front door, followed by the sound of chairs being scooted back inside of the dining room. Vic walked through the kitchen toward the living room to answer.
The dining room door opened to reveal Claudi who was also making his way to the living room. "Lemme get it, Vic." he said.
Vic shook his head and continued to make his way to the door. "Who is it?" He asked.
"Venny," a voice responded. Vic cracked the door as per protocol and then allowed them into the apartment. All three of the men entered with Richie closing and locking the door behind them.
"What happened?" Vic asked.
Venny gave a smile and a quick wink, "We had a little pushback but it's ours. The guy's still in one piece. We're goin' back in a couple of days to get the deed signed over." he said.
"No talk of cops? No bullshit?" Vic asked intently.
"None. The mother fucker got the picture," Merc said, expressionless.
Vic gave a glance to Richie, who stood with his head down facing the floor, "Ricardo.....my dear friend.....how you holdin' up?" he asked.
Richie slowly raised his head, "I'm ok, Vic. Just gotta get through this shit, ya know?" Richie replied.
"I do. I'm grateful for all of your help in these troubling times. I'm forever grateful to Larry as well. I promise you, we will make things right." Vic said, squeezing Richie's right shoulder.
Even though Vic's words of sympathy were genuine, they were also a mask to hide the true delight that Merc and Venny were successful. It was the first piece of good news he had received since returning to his home state. By this time, the rest of the men had left the dining room and were gathered in the living area.
"Everybody sit," Vic said. All of them found a spot and sat down, including Claudi, who still had a near full glass of brandy in his palm. Vic lit a cigarette and began to speak as the rest of them quieted down.
"Venny and Merc got our old spot back. We'll be settin' back up there in a few days," The rest of the men cheered with delight at the news.
"It's about fuckin' time." Artie said with a smirk.
Vic continued, "When we're back and situated, we can start earnin' again. Before we got back to New York, we had some gigs on the table that we could potentially start back with. Jimmy Locks is willing to cut us back in to some of our old action with sports bettin' and some of our old protection spots. Merc, Jackie and Jonny will remain captains. With that being said, it's coming time to open the books again for new membership. It's clear that Marv and-"
At that moment, there was a loud banging at the apartment door which caused every man's body in the living room to jerk involuntarily. They stood in unison.
"What the fuck?" Artie whispered.
Merc pulled his long barreled revolver from his jacket pocket and aimed it at the door as he slowly walked toward it. He pressed the barrel against the stained glass of the door, "Who is it?" Merc growled.
"It's Jackie! Lemme in!" Jackie yelled.
Merc went to crack the door but it was pushed open and Jackie dashed into the penthouse, wheezing and short of breath.
"What is it, Jackie?" Vic asked.
"It's Louie.....he's dead. He's fuckin' dead," Jackie said through numerous pants of breath.
The men abruptly turned their heads to one another with their mouths open.
"Dead? How? What the fuck happened?" Merc asked in a demanding fashion.
"We was at the place downtown. Louie, (pant), he took us to the place to get the jewels hocked. As soon as we got out, a fuckin' cop car pulls up. We didn't even realize they was there until I heard the shots go off. The mother fuckers shot him in broad daylight! Right in the middle of the god damn street!" Jackie screamed.
“Holy fuckin' shit...." Jonny said.
Vic stood expressionless; his lips slightly parted as he processed this information, "Jackie, you sure it was a cop?" he asked.
"Vic, it was a fuckin' police unit! They rolled down the window and fuckin' shot him in the face! What the fuck else do you need? I told you this was what the fuck was happenin'!" Jackie wailed in a fit of panic.
The living room was now a chamber full of enraged mobsters. Threats of violence and revenge began to pour from their mouths with every second that passed.
"These fuckin' pigs had it out for us since we got outta the joint! They wanted to wipe us out before we could even breathe fresh air. MUTHAFUCKAS!!!!" Artie yelled.
"I'm gonna have heads hanging from the precinct ceiling! FUCK THIS! They wanna to war?? WE'LL GIVE 'EM A FUCKIN' WAR! WE'LL KILL EVERY LAST ONE OF THOSE BADGE FLASHIN' COCKSUCKERS!" Jonny yelled in a vocal blast of rage.
Amidst the grievous words of stirred up anger, Vic remained silent. His jaws was clenched shut, his eyes like spears piercing the fabric of thin air. His heart rate increased tremendously as the sensation of cold mixed with hot swept across his shoulders and down his back. He could feel himself losing grip of reality. As the unbridled rage began to engulf his entire body, one definite fact arose to the forefront of his mind. It was true. The same system that imprisoned them was now trying to kill them. All of the pieces of the puzzle came together, and all rational thought in Vic's mind faded away. The time of makeshift civility was over.
"What do we do, Vic? We can't let them do this!" Jackie belted.
Vic remained silent. He quietly crushed out his half smoked cigarette in the ashtray and walked toward the kitchen.
"Vic?" Venny said with a confused tone.
Vic continued to walk until he was at his bedroom door. He opened it to step inside slamming it behind him. The rest of the men, still in shock, stood puzzled and dumbfounded. Silence reigned for nearly a solid minute. The men weren't sure how to react. As they stood in awe, Jackie stepped toward the kitchen and made his way to the next bedroom over.
"Fuck. What the hell are we gonna do? It's just a matter of time now before they come for one of us. Or all of us at once," Claudi said.
Troy spoke up, "I say we take one theirs out. Fuck it. I say we blow his fuckin' brains all over the side of a building and any other ass wipe we can get our hands on."
Every man in the room turned their heads to glare at Troy in astonishment. His usual silent moniker was no longer present.
"Yeah, sure. Good plan and all but who's gonna do it? That squad is knit tighter than gut stitches," Jonny replied.
“I don't care. I'm sick of this shit. They wanna try to pick us off one by one? I say we do the same. I'll do it. Fuck it," Troy said, his eyes now donning a cold gaze.
Even Merc was taken aback by Troy's bold statement. For a moment, he felt a sense of pride to hear the words be spoken. "Don't be stunad. This ain't a one man job, "Merc said before pausing, "but I ain't sayin' I disagree, kid."
Troy looked away with an angry scowl. It was clear that these feelings had been building within him the entire time.
Marv spoke up as well, "I don't disagree, either. Louie's the reason we even got that armored car job. He put everything together. He went through all of this just to be gunned down by a degenerate cunt in a uniform."
Surprised looks began to spread across the faces of the made- men around Marv and Troy. It felt as though they had already been made and were ready to walk through death's doorway in honor of the family. This caused a surreal feeling of grief mixed with unity to course its way through their veins.
The sound of a door opening in the back hallway captured their attention and they turned and faced the kitchen. Vic's slow footsteps made a tapping noise on the hard floor building the anticipation of the rest of the family as they stood waiting for a ruling from the boss.
Vic entered the living room and walked directly to Richie. He placed his hand on his shoulder once more, "Richie, you have been more than helpful through all of this, but I'm afraid I must ask another favor of you, my friend." Richie's bloodshot eyes raised to meet Vic's as they were face to face.
"Sure, Vic. Anything." he replied.
Chapter Sixteen
Going Live
At six-thirty p.m. the sun was nearly set on the city of Manhattan. Darkness began to shroud the streets, ushering the street lamps to switch on and offer illumination to the traveling city dwellers.
Sherriff Phillip Anthony Preshinzie clocked out after a full day of work and headed down to the local Irish pub for a few shots of Jameson and to blow of the steam of a hectic twelve hour shift. As he pulled his high-sitting, dark blue pickup truck into the bar's parking lot, he grabbed a wad of cash from the console and opened his door but without warning, the door slammed his body against the frame and a pair of hands grabbed him around the throat slamming his skull into the jagged concrete of the parking lot. He attempted to scream but no sound would come from his lips. His airways were completely squeezed shut. He struggled frantically but with futile results. As his oxygen depleted, he widened his eyes to get a clear view of his assailants. This too was futile. Their faces were covered with black ski masks.
"What the fuck?? G-get the fuck off me!" he managed to mutter in a labored whisper. That was the last thing he would say in that conscious moment as a blunt object crashed into his jugular rendering him completely limp. While one pair of hands tightly wrapped a blindfold around his eyes and duct tape over his mouth, the other two pairs zip tied his hands behind his back and his ankles together. The blood from his battered cranium began to drip down the back of his neck onto his navy blue uniform shirt. His assailants hoisted his body up from the ground within seconds and tossed it into the trunk of black Chrysler 300. The engine was started and the car of masked kidnappers peeled out of the parking lot.
Six-fifty p.m.
Lieutenant Governor Connor Rosco spent his day doing paperwork in the governor's Manhattan branch office. With his election campaign in full swing, his desk was crowded with documents from financial donors and city issues to be dealt with before reaching the governor's desk.
This is where he remained barricaded most of the day, sneaking sips of scotch from the bottle in his desk drawer in between signing documents. As he closed the last folder of the day, he got to his feet to stretch and realized that he was a bit more intoxicated than he thought. This was alright, in fact, since now he was free to be as inebriated as he desired outside of the public's view. He threw his grey, wool, trench coat over his suited shoulders and walked out his office. He locked the wooden door behind him and looked at the glass on the door. It read his name and his position. “It's gonna say 'governor' real soon,” he thought to himself with a grin. He stumbled past the empty secretary desk and past the security guard at the door. He shook his hand and bid him a pleasant night. The guard happily reciprocated and let Connor out.
The night wind sent a chill to his face and nose that caused him to tighten the belt of his trench coat. As he made his way to his Cadillac Escalade, which was parked near the office's double doors, he blindly fidgeted in his pockets to locate his keys. He pressed the key fob button to unlock the SUV's doors. Nothing happened.
"What the hell?" he said as he continued to tap the button with no response, "Well that's just perfect. Jesus."
He slid the key into the door's keyhole and turned it open. As he climbed inside, he started the engine and began to sort through his satellite radio channels. He reached for his seatbelt but didn't get a chance to pull it across him before a thin piece of strong; nylon rope wrapped around his neck from behind and jerked his head into the headrest.
"GUGUGHHHHH," he muttered as he felt a gun barrel press hard against his temple.
"Drive, mother fucker," a voice whispered.
"Ok....ok..." Connor responded through gasps of air. He put the SUV's gearshift into drive and pulled out of the parking lot. The security guard gave a wave as it passed by the building.
Seven forty-seven p.m.
Phillip Preshinzie awoke to a splitting headache, unable to see, move or speak. He could hear a trunk lid opening and voices whispering to one another.
"Grab his legs. I'll get the top." he heard a voice say.
He moaned from the pain as his trembling body was snatched from the trunk and harshly thrown to the concrete. The impact took the wind from his lungs and caused him to fight for air as he lay on his stomach.
He felt the hard heal of a boot roll his body over on his back. Then, the voices continued to whisper. Phillip could hear what sounded like a phone conversation amongst the low chatter of others that were present.
"Alright good. Let me know when you're in position." he heard the voice say.
As he lay on the cold concrete, he began to say a silent prayer in his head. His prayer was interrupted by the blindfold being ripped from his face to reveal three men in black masks with suits to match standing over his bound body. Their hands were covered in freshly unpackaged leather gloves. Phillip's eyes passed back and forth between the faceless snatchers, as this was all he was physically able to do.
