Atavus (8 page)

Selange laughed. “That’s for sure.”

He finally stopped the teasing and went for that shower. Selange listened to the hypnotic sounds of splashing water. Her eyes were heavy. She thought about what she read. Alfonzo’s family history was fascinating. She always cringed when she read about women suffrage. Living in the old days sucked for her gender. They were second-class citizens and treated like chattel.  Stay home, cook, clean, have babies, tend to husbands, farms, smile, be obedient and a career was a job most often in factories for the poorest. The details about Semira from her son’s point of view portrayed her as an outspoken maverick and Selange had a deeper respect. Semira defied tradition by being active in her husband’s business affairs.

She believed the sentence said, “…
mama is instrumental in expansion of papa’s business. She is not the signore limited to the kitchen while papa meets in the cellar. I hear her voice below. The men hold her in high esteem. There is respeta…
”

Selange wondered whether Semira’s royal blood contributed to the reverence or her husband’s position.

Her eyes fluttered. Tomorrow she planned to read more. Semira was fascinating.

A warm hand settled on her stomach. In the early stage of sleep, she smelled cedar, smiled when fingers stroked her hair as she put her face on a pillow of muscular skin. She drifted to sleep with scorching kisses to her neck. Hazy dreams of the past brought a whispered endearment. “I am forever yours my King.”

Alfonzo snickered at the silly statement. Selange had retired to a fairytale dreamland. He rubbed her ass deciding to let her rest. It was hard, though. His dick had made a big top of the sheet. “Ah chica, estoy enamorado.”

~

“Geo, I’ll call you back, I’m in a meeting with my manager.” Nicole said on the Monday afternoon when he called for the third, no –fourth time to check on her fragile condition.

“I thought you were in rehearsal?”

“The rehearsal is over and Harold is in town to see the performance tonight. So, while he’s here, we’re discussing my tour schedule.”

Giuseppe drummed his fingers on the desk and then rose. Nicole was performing at the Teatro Al Massimo with a full orchestra. His wife’s talents were undeniable, however for the purpose of security; all of her associates underwent background investigations. She said this Harold’s name familiarly as if her husband knew him well. He did not; in fact, this was the first time he heard of Harold at all.

The sound of machinery filtered through the open door of his office. He walked over and slammed it shut. “Does Harold have a surname?”

“Uh, yes. Look, I have to go,” she answered impatiently.

“Why am I unaware of this manager until now? Tell Harold he is not needed, your husband will tend to your interests without compensation.”

“You’re being annoying and of course I mentioned that I have a manager. Who do you believe manages an artist’s career? We will talk about this later. Love you –bye baby.”

Giuseppe looked incredulously at the screen when the color changed and the icons floated to a standstill. The secretary peeked in which saved the cell from a collision with a door.

“Signore Rosa is here.”

“Si, send him in.” Giuseppe replied and then shoved the phone in his pocket to attend to an obligatory meeting with Palermo’s Waste Management Inspector.  Matteo had the diplomatic responsibility of dealing with mundane tasks, which included minor bureaucrats.

The company had yet to incur infractions, until last week.  Thousands of euros are the penalties for improper disposal of contaminants and other hazardous materials not in accordance with regulations.

The trash trouble in Naples had grabbed the attention of the world press. An expanded lens turned on other cities.  The growing pile of refuse, blackened Italy’s image and the prime minister scurried to trash infested Naples to resolve the situation. Giuseppe ‘humphed’ at the notion. The family who controlled the collections for the province refused to provide adequate compensation to employees, thus the problem led to slowdowns and strikes. Giuseppe’s company paid well, besides those on the payroll were fearful of their boss’ retribution if they picketed, when they were free to leave.

Since Matteo received that lethal knife to the heart from his wife, Giuseppe figured he must address the matter in his backyard before further violations occurred. Naples’ trash collection fiasco was overshadowed by a more sensational scandal involving the newly elected Mayor. Accusations of rape could likely end the Mayor’s political aspirations. While the reporters scurried to cover politics, Giuseppe took advantage of being in the shadows to have a forthright talk with a bureaucrat.

Signore Rosa entered, removing his hat and nodding. “
Buongiorno Don Dichenzo. Congratulazioni per il tuo matrimonio Don Dichenzo e le mie simpatie per la perdita del vostro socio stimato Don Peglesi.”

Giuseppe waved the short government servant to the empty chair. “Buongiorno, grazie,” he said curtly.

The proper acknowledgment of his marriage and sympathies for the death of Matteo should have been an envelope of cash or a gift other than words.

Signore Rosa waited for Giuseppe to sit before he followed the action.

Giuseppe leaned back. He was certain he did not wear a wiretap or have a weapon. Three points of security included a hidden scanner at the entry, a physical search prior to admittance and another electronic detector right above the office door.

“My apologies for the fines Don Dichenzo. We have a zealous worker who is not aware of your status.”

“The fines are paid. My company has yet to disregard city ordinances. Laws must be obeyed and I have fired the new employee responsible,” Giuseppe said sternly.

“I see.”

“I do not tolerate infractions which impacts Sicilians or the tourism industry. We must work to keep the palazzos environmentally pleasant for residents and visitors, si?”

“Si –si you are right.”

Giuseppe’s attempt at a diplomatic smile failed. A sarcastic sneer is all he could muster on the heels of an unpleasant ending to a conversation with his donna.

Signore Rosa expected monetary incentive to gain compliance; however, tossing cash at trash will only create a larger pile for vermin to burrow. The infestation might empty his wallet.

The inspector cleared his throat. “I will ensure you are not given any further fines.”

“There is no need to make such assurances. We cannot foresee mishaps or accidents or predict when lazy people will request their full salary in exchange for incompetence, can we?”

Signore Rosa flushed scarlet at the subtle threat. To deal with a Dichenzo is a frightening experience. Rumors are Giuseppe's father murdered a banker in the palazzo in broad daylight. He then retreated to a nearby café for breakfast to eat leisurely. The polizei arrived, but Carlo Dichenzo was not a suspect. Witnesses were afraid to come forward. Citizens refuse to speak publicly about Mafiosi or such incidents with the polizei.  They understand organized criminals control many things including law enforcement. They also believe Carlo Dichenzo had killed the foreign banker for seeking to defraud a local merchant of his life savings. There are many who say the Dichenzo’s provided protection from other Mafiosi who relentlessly exacted money from struggling small businesses for doing nothing. Had Carlo not intervened the unfair ‘pizzo’ or tax to merchants would remain in effect throughout the provinces. Many Palermites revere the Dichenzos. The rumor is they are descendants of Italy’s King.

Signore Rosa wiped sweat from his brow. Whispers of a mafia war were on the lips eversince the murders of many of the Peglesi family. Some believe the killers were foreign factions from the cartels seeking a stronghold on Italian soil, thus targeting the most influential families. If that is true, Don Giuseppe was undoubtedly preoccupied with more pressing matters than hauling trash.

Giuseppe stood. The idiota got the point. The city received the money instead of the person who failed to provide the services he promised. “I have an urgent meeting. Arriverderci Signore Rosa. Perhaps, we will talk again in a few months when you come to inspect the facility.”

Signore Rosa leaped to his feet. “Si, I will do the inspection personally.”

Giuseppe nodded and watched the inspector’s hasty exit with bored relief. He waited for the door to close before summoning his secretary to prepare a memo that any employee caught improperly discarding hazardous materials or contaminants after pickups from medical facility routes, will result in immediate termination. He then requested his car. If his moglie believed she could dismiss a Don with a word, she would find he was not a Harold but Giuseppe Dichenzo, her husband!

Chapter Five

The corner market with the vibrant flowers on one of many similar side streets of an old city caught Alfonzo’s attention. Discovering quaint plazas or hidden jewels among rustic roads occurred frequently during the alternating routes home. Predictability is a killer. His cell rang which occurred all too frequently now since Giuseppe learned he was having another child.

He stared at the number for a second, told the driver to pull over and answered as he leaned toward the door with his eyes on the plaza.

“Hola, Jessica, que paso?”

“Alfonzo, Emilio hasn’t come home in two days. Did he sneak over there primo?”

The narrow street ahead with the grey stones that blended with structures and brightened by colorful flowerpots near the entry were a renaissance master’s subject. His eyes settled there as a rider on a scooter traveled along the gutter, before disappearing from view.

“Nah,” he said, motioning the driver to continue. He decided to buy Selange flowers another day. “Did you have an argument or something?”

Jessica began cursing in Spanish. “Fucking A. He forgets I have a business to run just as he does and it’s not fair I have to be the one to arrange childcare. I swear, if Domingo was alive he’d find Emilio and put his ass in check.”

Alfonzo stiffened at the hard punch to his chest when she mentioned Domingo. Jessica always threatened everybody with her brother, even Alfonzo. Domingo never won any of their childhood fights or the adult brawls. The weed smoking and eating fast food had slowed him down. A gun is how he won fights.

“Tranquilo, I’ll try to find out where he is, but if you hear from him, ask him to call me, alright?”

“Okay. How are doing anyway primo? How’s la familia?”

“Bien. Listen, I’ll make some calls but if he returns you let me know, comprende?”

“I’m going to the memorial, are you guys going to be there tomorrow?”

Alfonzo couldn’t dodge the question. “Prima, you know I want to, but shit’s crazy here. Domingo’s in my heart chica, besides now I have to do what he would’ve done and find Emilio and put him in check, right?”

“Damn right, umwah, te amo primo!”

“Te amo, tambien,” he said and then slumped in the seat with the cell balled in his hand. He beat his knee, shit, what a mess!

The driver turned on the heavily traveled palazzo where tourists flocked like cattle. He checked the mirrors to ensure they weren’t followed. His boss made it clear, anything suspicious is a warning that trouble’s coming. The boss’ Capo sat in the passenger seat, with eyes on everything, Glock on his lap and a stern expression of no-nonsense. He often talked Spanish to his Boss. They were aware he didn’t understand a lick of the language. He was born and bred in Germany, a military brat. His Boss nicknamed him the ‘German’, and the guys teased him about having it rough as a black German living in a country where a dictator set the tone for racist groups. He ignored them, that was before his time and he didn’t have problems with the German people. In fact, he felt more at home there than in America which is considered the melting pot of the world. However, the plate is sectioned, similar to charts that display grains, vegetables and dairy. They are all foods, eaten, used for nourishment and then excreted for fertilizer. These are the purposes of foods, and people function as simply as that, until mental charts of separation are drawn. He preferred Europe; his life was not complicated due to color. Money was the divisor.

Alfonzo tapped the back of his seat. “German, pay attention and cut a left.”

The German turned as directed and then entered a hidden parking lot adjacent to a large metal container with Italian markings he did not understand.

Going from light to darkness within an instant caused him to squint. He nearly collided with a huge column, narrowly missing it and receiving a bark from the Boss when his shoulder struck the window. “Shit, that’s what headlights are for German!”

“Entschuldigung!” The driver exclaimed.

“Sorry my ass, pull over to that black car!” Alfonzo snapped. He exited as soon as the vehicle screeched to a halt. “German you couldn’t outdrive my mother.” Alfonzo grumbled while hitting the remote to unlock the black auto. He went to the other car, opened the door, reached inside for a disposable phone under the seat and dialed Emilio. The call went to his voicemail. “Emilio hit me up,” he said and then shoved the cell in his breast pocket.