Animus (15 page)

The irony of the location was not lost on the Capo de tutti as he climbed from the black SUV in the fog trailed by his crew. The ruins of what may have been a smaller castle sat nestled among tall trees and brush hiding it from view. The deserted area required navigation by a Sicilian familiar with the miles of winding roads and its location. In the higher altitude, part of the guard tower of Pepoli Castle was seen. The fortress now housed a hotel, making use of the medieval structure and a visitor’s curiosity of the past.

Descendants of a King, darkened skin of an ancient mother and the feuding hearts of men, Nico reminded his cousin of who they were and what it meant. And as Alfonzo’s polished shoes stomped dry grass, he thought of his brother, and pledged to ensure every witness would remember this killing.

His eyes met Sergio’s first, who stood outside the leaning ruins with his arms crossed.
Alfonzo up-chinned the dude before stepping through the entry onto broken slates. Nico sat on a huge rock drinking a beer and eating a calzone, having a goddamn picnic. At his feet was a bag filled with tools. Alfonzo saw the body face down on the ground, handcuffed and blindfolded. He closed the gap and turned the figure over with the tip of his shoe. He bent, sort of hovered for a second in a crouch as he tried to place the face, which was rather distorted by swelling and blood. He removed the blindfold and his memory returned when he recognized the puffy eyes and hawkish nose of Geovonna’s brother, Paolo.

“Don Alfonzo, por favore…I beg of you…we were once family…do not do this.”

The gulping of liquid was followed by the crushing of a beer can in Nico’s hand. The sound of a zipper and the clinging of objects on stone was the non-verbal communication Paolo received.

Alfonzo stood and removed his jacket. It was taken and cared for without a word spoken. Knuckles cracked, loud as thunder and Paolo swallowed his fear. The eyes rapidly went around the room at the faces of emotionless men. They watched as Alfonzo lifted him on his feet. Paolo began to cry, rambling like a bitch, lying about his participation, refusing to own up to the misdeed.

Nico asked, “Serrated or smooth?”

“Smooth.”

A lethal piece of steel, curved in a moon shape touched Alfonzo’s palm. The point was thrust under Paolo’s armpit and rotated. The screams were deafening. Paolo admitted his involvement and begged for mercy. He promised to do anything and Alfonzo hissed. “Be quiet, start there.”

Paolo silenced, the pruner blade was yanked free and it held human meat. Alfonzo let him drop and squirm like a slug when salt is poured on it. Slimy is what it becomes.

“Any hand wipes in there cugino?” Alfonzo asked.

Nico always came prepared. Alfonzo pulled the antiseptic cloth from the large dispenser and took his time cleaning the blood from his hands as a whimpering Paolo watched. An orchestral ring tone went off in
Alfonzo’s pocket which he immediately answered. With the cell to his ear, held in place by his shoulder, Alfonzo continued to wipe his fingers. “Yeah babe, everything all right at home?”

“How’s your brother?” Selange asked.

“He’s doing better.”

“When are you coming home, I really miss you honey?”

Paolo tried to crawl away. Where the hell is he going, Alfonzo wondered? He put his foot on the slimy fishes’ torso. “I’m leaving tomorrow. How’s my Allie?”

The blood no longer stained his fingers. The hand wipe was dropped in a red bag Nico had
prepared. Nothing, not a beer can or cigarette butt gets discarded on jobs for police to find.

Rules.

“She’s fine. I took her to the pediatrician. She had a cold and I think she missed us which equates to a miserable kid.”

“And are you healing okay?”

“Yes, what about you?”

Paolo sat forward and Alfonzo kicked him in the face. Damn, he missed his honey and by the sounds of it, she wanted to talk. He felt bad that he didn’t have the time
. “No complaints. Babe listen, I’ll call you back in an hour. I’m in the middle of something.”

“Okay, bye.”

“Later, babe.”

Nico had a lopsided grin. “Tú eres algo más,” he said in Spanish.

“Cállate y pásame una hoja de filete, primo.”

Nico lifted the large fillet blade
. Alfonzo could have made quite the doctor or fisherman. A piece of Paolo’s shirt was torn loose and then stuffed in his mouth before Alfonzo set to work. He took his time; blood stained the old stones then slid and dripped on the pebbled dirt below. The muffled sounds of loud screams reached Sergio’s ears. He watched as Alfonzo scalped the poor bastard like Indians did on TV. Sergio had leaned in the doorway to watch, but couldn’t view anymore of the butchery. He didn't want to hear the ripping of flesh either as Alfonzo skinned Paolo alive. He walked outside and vomited on the grass.

Alfonzo
said nothing; he wanted the treacherous Paolo to understand suffering. Torture is the ache that never ends.

Nico was certain Paolo went unconscious during the slicing, but Alfonzo was not done. In fact he planned to scale Paolo like a fish and then feed him piece by piece to the sea. He promised Sophie he’d be there for Giuseppe’s celebratory lunch
and he planned to. He hoped Alfonzo finished in time. He continued to watch. It appeared Vincent taught the kid the Butcher Method. This was a hands-on approach for a grievous personal affront.

Barbaric.

Torture.

Mesmerized by Alfonzo’s skill; Nico
admired Vincent’s art. It was like old times again.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Nico made certain Sergio was on the earliest flight out of Sicily. The ticket required a four hour layover in New York and then a connecting flight would take him back to Puerto Rico. “Make sure you contact your sister, keep everything normal. Got it young buck?”

“Got it old buck,” Sergio told his Uncle.

The look on Sergio’s face when Nico embraced him and mushed his head was priceless. “Stay out of trouble and if you need to contact me in an emergency remember what I taught you.”

“I will.”

That was an hour ago and now Nico sat at large table, in the afternoon, with family, sharing a festive meal in honor of Giuseppe. Sophie outdid herself, as always. Giuseppe’s favorite dishes were served. He ate heartily, like a man released from prison. His eyes sparkled with every bite, which was wonderful to see after days of being asleep. The Giuseppe post-shooting seemed more subdued. Nico preferred the old Giuseppe. But, it was just great to see Giuseppe up and talking again. Hell, he was alive. Alfonzo appeared aloof throughout lunch. He rarely talked, in fact he hadn’t said much since they tossed Paolo’s body parts in the sea. Nico could tell he was troubled and after the meal pulled him aside before leaving. “What’s going on with you?”

“What do you mean?”

Nico relaxed, hands in pockets as they faced each other in the living-room. “I asked a straight-forward question Alfonzo. You’re not yourself, what’s going on?”

Alfonzo rubbed his chin. “You’re beginning to sound like a father more than a cousin.”

“Then I’ll be a surrogate father if it gets you talking.”

Alfonzo scratched his head. There are some things a man can’t voice openly. He didn’t want to admit to Nico his reluctance to leave
was not because of his brother’s condition, but fear of intimacy with his wife. He did not want the semen from his dick to bring her harm. Selange was smart. If he suddenly began using condoms she’d get suspicious and call him out. Alfonzo’s ring hand waved in the air. “It’s been a long day. I’m tired. Tomorrow I’m going home, but I’m still a bit worried about my brother, that’s all.”

Nico’s skepticism was not voiced. Alfonzo’s reticence to share what was really on his mind was an indication he didn’t fully trust Nico, yet. Nico was patient. He placed his hand atop the broad shoulder as if this was a conversation with his son. “You ever need
me kid...”

Alfonzo’s face twisted into a half-smile before he could finish. “There we go with the kid shit again. I thought we settled that a while ago.”

“As I said if you ever need me old man.”

“Now I’m old. I prefer kid.”

“I thought so.” Nico grinned. At times he saw the thirteen year-old boy. It was a habit, he had yet to break. “When you want to talk, you know how to reach me.” There’s a time Nico would never have spoken his affections, but with Alfonzo the words came easier now. Almost losing the kid had slightly unstiffened a rigid heart. “I’ve learned a lot about myself over the years and some things I’m not very proud of. When you get older life tends to make more sense and all the bull-shit you knocked your head about isn’t nearly as important as having somebody to love. I’m going home to Ari kid; go home to your wife.”

Hearing Nico’s words caused Alfonzo to elongate his spine. He sighed, an eyebrow rose and he looked up a bit at Nico. He’d always wondered when the residual hostility against Nico would leave. Standing face-to-face with his cousin, whatever knot existed had gone. He didn’t feel anger or see Nico’s mistake, instead he saw someone who sacrificed years of youth to keep a wayward boy safe. He saw a man robbed of a childhood, yet remained loyal far longer than any sane man could. His strength is what the family desperately needed now. His love for Vincent was powerful, yet it had been Nico he had
the special bond. Despite the distant years and hardship, the bond never really broke. It’d gotten frayed, coarse and rough, but it held through all the torrential storms. Alfonzo imitated Nico’s wide stance and pressed down on his cousin’s shoulder to reverse roles. “Grande cugino, grazie for your sacrifices. I have yet to thank you for those years. They were hard on you, they had to be. You were always strong and still are. Go crazy sonovabitch, spend time with your family, and rejoice in your blessings, because your old ass deserves happiness.”

Nico laughed and it carried to his eyes. He waved good-bye to everyone. The light-heartedness carried him into the fresh air as he ran to his car. Yes, the hell he did, because the thought of going home brought a thrill.

His family was in Cefalú, only 70 kilometers from Palermo and he was excited to see his new daughter, wife and sons. In the trunk was a canvass and oils. In the days ahead he planned to paint in bright vibrant colors.

The quiet relaxed him as he drove to the A19 tollway towards Messina-Catania to the Cefalù exit. In less than an hour he arrived. The boys were in the living-room, playing video-games, a favorite past-time for a sedentary generation.

The smell of food, Caribbean spices, everything island he loved clung to the air. The boys were on their feet, brawny teenagers who wanted to take-down their old man. He put his backpack aside to meet them in the middle of the floor before they collided into his chest, and tried to twist his arms. A happy father laughed, taking down one with little resistance and then the other.

“What’s all this commotion?” Ari exclaimed. Then she saw the three. Their father had the boys pinned and she smiled. “Nico, you play too rough.”

Nico’s head swiveled around. There stood Ari, sexy as hell, the woman his heart leaped to see. He stood erect. “Mi bella.”

The boys’ snickered at their parents when their dad swooped up their mom, squeezed her ass and began to kiss her like they weren’t there. Twin voices moaned. “Ah, shit dad…yuck!” 

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Sergio
’s ass slid left and right on the hard plastic seat at JFK airport. He attempted to get comfortable. How some people slept without a problem, was anybody’s guess. Three hours and forty-five minutes is a long time. He got up and took his bag from the floor, unzipped the side pocket and searched around for a mint. His hands touched keys, and he pulled out a set with a familiar BMW logo. Shit, he’d nearly forgotten all about that car.

He’d spoken to his sister. Today she was home, and it seemed as good a time as any to sign over the title. He didn’t need the car anymore; maybe she and Tyree might need it to get around.
The strap went over his shoulder and he scurried outside for a cab. Two hours tops is probably how long it’ll take to get the car, transfer the paperwork and then get back to the airport. He found a cab beneath the terminal lights. Taxis were in abundance lined and waiting for tourists to exploit. He gave the address and was told an exorbitant sum. Previously the old Sergio may have laughed and told the cabbie to kiss his ass, but instead he nodded and the vulture raced to the expressway in the dark.

Sergio’s
stainless steel chronograph read; 12:52 p.m.

The car sat right where he parked it
a while ago. Damn thing wasn’t stripped or nothing. An orange citation is the only thing different. He paid the driver, minus a tip and leaped out. He snatched the ticket from beneath the wiper blade to read the nature of the car’s infraction which was an EXPIRED REGISTRATION.

Well, shit, the registration only expired
yesterday. The city never cut a dude a break. A car rolled by as he folded the paper and shoved it in his pocket. He had just unlocked the doors and had tossed his bag in the back seat when he heard a deep voice at his back, “Didn’t I tell you to stay the fuck from around here?”