CHAPTER 3
Benito
I woke up real early, around five in the morning. I hauled myself out of bed, taking care not to wake the nude female body sleeping soundly next to me. I put on my bathrobe and walked out to the balcony. I had not gone home last night; instead, I had slept in the small suite attached to the fitness club, a small but comfortable living area we had constructed just for such occasions, when we'd been working late and drinking and felt like stumbling straight into a comfortable bed instead of facing a long drive home.
It was still dark outside, and the black sky showed no signs yet of the gray of the coming dawn. Instead, a few steadfast stars blazed here and there, fighting against the light pollution that rose from the city of Detroit. There was a chill in the air, and I pulled the robe a little closer around my body as I surveyed the night city. All those lights, stretching from horizon to horizon and glittering in the dark, as far as the eye could see – this was my kingdom, and I was its king. I smiled to myself, satisfied and proud of the work I'd done and how much power I had amassed, expanding my family's territory and area of control, wresting power from the other mob families through both strength of arms and skill in negotiating. I had come a long way from the boy who used to hang around the back of my grandfather's Italian restaurant and deliver envelopes of money on foot for the men of his organization, and who then graduated to boosting cars.
I still remembered the first time I had really understood what it had meant, what it had truly meant to be a part of this family, to live it and to breathe it. I had been around seventeen years old at the time. A Hispanic gang had started to encroach on our turf, pushing heroin and dope. Drugs were one thing my grandfather never tolerated; he was a real old school traditionalist that way, and I guess I got my dislike of drugs and drug pushers from him. Well, those Hispanic gangsters thought they could just come onto my grandfather's turf and start selling their junk to kids.
My grandfather was a fair man, and he gave everyone one free pass. But if you blew it, if you took that free pass and tossed it into the garbage, woe betide you. Then my grandfather would bring judgment . . . and wrath.
He sent a messenger to the Hispanic gang to politely inform them that it was his turf they were peddling their crap on. The messenger returned to my grandfather with two broken legs and a promise from the gang's leader that not only would they continue pushing heroin in our area, they would expand their operation.
My grandfather had known then that further negotiation would have been futile, and only a strong, single-minded message would achieve the effect he desired, while also sending out a signal to any other would-be drug pushers that, in no uncertain terms, our territory was strictly out of bounds, and that there would be very profound consequences for anyone who transgressed these boundaries.
My grandfather's intentions were both simple and deadly; in response to the gang's defiance of his orders and their mutilation of his messenger, he was going to wipe them out, wipe them off the face of the earth. To do that, he needed every able-bodied man in the organization to take up arms. I was promoted to the rank of soldier, and was given a gun to use – a .45 semi-automatic. My grandfather set up a sham meeting with the leaders of the gang in a friend's restaurant after hours, so that no regular customers would have to see what was gonna happen, or get hit in the crossfire. Myself and the other soldiers, we were all dressed as cooks and waiters so as not to arouse suspicion. The heads and senior members of the Hispanic gang all arrived, and we served them starters, playing our role as waiters and cooks convincingly.
Then the time came for them to order the main course – which was two bullets for each man; one in the chest, so that they could see what was happening, and then a second or two later, one the head to finish them off.
The man I had been assigned to “clean” was a lieutenant in the gang, a fat, greasy guy in his forties who came from Colombia. I can still see almost every hair on his stubbly chin, and every wrinkle on his tanned, pudgy face as clear as day whenever I think about that night. As we laid down the main course menus in front of them, that was the signal we'd been waiting for. We all whipped our guns out from under our aprons, and then the massacre started.
I remember hesitating for a moment as the gravity of what I was about to do hit me like a boxer's punch. Then the firing started, and the Colombian in front of me reached into his leather jacket for his own piece, so I did the only thing I could do. I squeezed the trigger again and again, pumping not one but five of those heavy .45 slugs into his chest. He was dead long before I finally put the finishing shot into his head – and so was the boy I had been up to that moment. From then on, I was a man – and I was really and truly part of the family.
As I thought on this recollection, going over the events and memories once more in my mind, I heard stirring coming from inside. I shuffled back into the room and saw Janet sitting upright in the bed, the gentle light catching the obviously fake, too-round curve of her silicon-enhanced breasts. She smiled as I walked in.
“You were just amazing last night, Ben,” she purred. “You were a real animal, gosh!”
I think she expected more of what she'd received from me last night, and I could have given it to her, but my mind was already wandering over to thoughts of Bethany, and with her in my head, there was no space for this airhead bimbo.
“You've been off your shift for a couple hours now Janet,” I said coldly. “You'd better leave my room and go back to your job.”
“But . . . I thought-”
“I don't care what you thought. Get out. Now.”
She gathered up her clothes and got changed quickly, not making eye contact with me, and she strode briskly out of the room. I could tell that she wanted to slam the door behind her, but she didn't – she knew that I wouldn't take it well, and she didn't want to lose her job over this.
Now with her gone, my thoughts could return to Bethany, and I could focus on her. It was only a few short hours now before I would see her – before she would be mine. I took out the contract Sal had signed, and read it over once more, as I had done many times over the past few months. She would be mine. No wasn’t an option. Bethany would be mine.
It was still early, but now was as good a time to start the day as any; if I went back to bed now, I would only get around an hour of sleep really. I called up one of the staff who worked in the juice bar downstairs, and got him to make me a green juice to start the day off. He said that he would bring it up shortly. After that I would head out to a restaurant to eat a proper breakfast. I undressed and stepped into the shower, and felt vitality surge through me as the jets of icy water blasted my skin. A cold shower to start off the day was a great way to get your head cleared, and start the day fresh and invigorated.
After I'd had my shower and my green juice, which gave me yet another boost of energy, I put on a dark gray suit, an Armani suit that was one of my favorites. I put my Breitling watch on – one of my favorite watches, as I really wanted to make a good first impression on Bethany – and then got the items that I always carried on me: my .45 semi-automatic (a much newer model than the old thing I'd used for my first kill), a folding knife (you never knew when you might need a blade) my two cellphones (one for regular calls, and one that was only ever used for “family” business), my wallet, keys and my silk handkerchief. After this I headed down to the underground parking, where my black Mercedes SLK was parked. It was a great car; fast and powerful, but not obnoxious and screaming out “look at me” like a Ferrari, or the type of midlife-crisis image that a car like a Porsche projected. Classy and almost understated while conveying an image of power and sophistication; just the car for my personality.
I climbed in and started the motor, savoring the power as I pumped the gas pedal a few times and listened to the muted roar of the exhaust.
I headed over to downtown Detroit, listening to morning radio as I drove, and thinking, of course, of Bethany. I could picture so clearly in my mind her stunning emerald eyes, with the finely-curved brows set at a perfect height above them, her small, cute nose, and the sensual curve of her lips. And how I longed to run my fingers through that dark blond hair, slightly wavy and silky smooth, that cascaded over her shoulders.
I paused in mid-thought, wondering how it had come to be that this woman had such power over me. What was it about her that made her so different to the other girls in my world? Was it her sharp wit and intelligence, her relentless drive to succeed, her indefatigable determination in the face of odds that were stacked high against her? All of these I found to be profoundly admirable characteristics. Maybe it was because she, unlike any other girl I'd ever been with, would be someone who would challenge me, someone who would stoke the fires of inspiration within me. We hadn't even met yet, and she had already done that.
I turned the corner that would take me onto the street on which Canfield Grille was situated, and saw a curious sight. There were two CM gang members getting into a pimped-out Honda, with dropped suspension, black oversize rims, a garish paintjob and other tasteless accessories. I slowed down as I passed them, and recognized one as being Tyrese Wilson, the leader of the gang. We had profiles of every gang in the city; it paid to stay up to date with who your rivals were and what they were up to.
And now these two were here. This street was not officially part of their turf, so I found it strange that they were hanging out here. Tyrese saw me looking at him and he glared at me as I drove past. I simply smiled warmly at him in response; I was not in the least bit intimidated by thugs like them.
I found a parking spot down the street from Canfield and watched in my rear-view mirror as Tyrese and his buddy took off in their Honda, screeching and smoking the tires as the motor brayed out a loud, flat drone. Sheesh, they needed to learn a thing or two about taste.
Well, this was it – this was the moment I'd been waiting for a very, very long time. I took a look at myself in the rear-view mirror before I got out of the car. I had made sure my hair was just perfect before I had headed out, and with a few strokes of my fingers I had everything in place. I squirted some breath freshener into my mouth, and then got out and smoothed my suit jacket down. I locked the car with my remote and walked over to Canfield Grille. It was closed – as expected, due to it being ten minutes until their official opening time – so I stood by the door and knocked on it. This was weird – I was almost feeling a little nervous at the prospect of finally getting to meet Bethany in the flesh. Nervousness was a feeling almost alien to me these days; few things could shake me. Bethany, apparently, was one of those things though.
Nobody came to the door, but I knew she was in; my observer had informed me that she was in the restaurant an hour before opening time every day, without fail. I knocked again, harder this time, and then saw a shadow moving around inside. The shadow started to move closer, and morphed into the form of Bethany, and seeing her beauty in the flesh at last almost took my breath away. I smiled a great, beaming smile as we finally made eye contact.
I greeted her and asked if I could come in, but she said that I couldn't just yet. The sound of her voice, soft and a little husky, was a real turn-on for me. As we were speaking, I looked past her and noticed that there was glass strewn all over the floor. And it didn't just look like someone had dropped a cup or something – it looked like someone had gone to town on the place with a wrecking ball – or a baseball bat. I offered to help clean up the mess in exchange for a cup of coffee; I needed to get in there to talk to her when she was alone, and didn't want to wait until the official opening time, and besides, there was now this mystery with the broken glass that I wanted to try figure out.
Surprisingly, she agreed and let me in.
She opened the door and I walked in, and whistled slowly through my teeth as I saw the extent of the damage. Now that I was closer to her, I could see that her eyes were reddened and that she was on the verge of tears, and that her throat was red too, almost as if someone had been choking her.
“What happened in here?” I asked. I wanted to see if she would willingly tell me, because it was pretty damn clear that someone had come in here and done this deliberately.
She looked away, and I could see that she didn't really want to talk. I was about to tell her that it was okay, that she didn't need to tell me, when she turned to me, tears now running down her cheeks.
“There was . . . there was an armed robbery here. The guys came in and pointed guns at me, and when I said I had nothing to give them – because I don't, I really don't – they got real angry and smashed the place up.”
“I see,” I replied, nodding as if I accepted this explanation, but I knew that it wasn't the whole truth. Now the pieces of the puzzle were coming together – this was why I had just seen Tyrese Wilson and his buddy getting into a car just up the street. They must have done this – and one of them must have laid his hands on her. That thought sent cold rage shooting through my veins; if one of them really had put their hands around her throat, I would take off the fingers of that hand one by one – by pulling them off with pliers.
“Are you alright?” I asked. “It must have been a terrifying experience.”
There was a reason I had come here today, and that wasn't to comfort her – but seeing her like this, in this state, softened my heart, and I almost didn't have the heart to bring up the matter I had come to discuss.
“I . . . I don't think I'm heart,” she said. “They hit me-”
“They hit you?! Where?!” I asked, my temper soaring with every passing second. I was getting more than a little mad at these guys. I was gonna cave Tyrese's skull in for this.
“Just in the stomach. It hurt a lot at the time, but it's just aching a little now.”
“Those lowlifes,” I muttered. “We'd better call the cops, tell them about this.”
“No, no, we don't need to do that,” she said hastily. “No cops.”
Now I knew for sure that this hadn't been a simple armed robbery. No. It looked very much like the CM guys were probably trying to squeeze her for protection money. I could easily stop them in their tracks, and send them running with their tails between their legs, all with a simple phone call to my boys, and I was almost inclined to do it right away, seeing the state she was in, but then, before I could act on this impulse, I thought long and hard on why I was here. I had come to tell her about the terms of the agreement I had made with her step-father, Sal. The agreement in which she was collateral against the debt Sal owed us – a debt he was no longer able to pay, not being of this world any more.
So right now, I couldn't get involved in her trouble with the CM gang. No – not until she had heard what I was going to say, and she agreed to it. Only once she had agreed would I help her out, and make the problem with the CM thugs a thing of the past, never to be repeated. Once she had agreed, in fact, I would provide her with anything she wanted, anything at all.
I decided to cut straight to the point – but only after I had helped her to clean up, which I had promised her to do. I helped her clean up the broken glass in silence, making an effort to cover the bulk of the job myself, to give her time to recover from the ordeal she had just been through. Once everything was all cleaned up, there were only two minutes left until opening time. It was now or never; I had to tell her everything about the deal Sal and I had cut.
“Thank you so much,” she said after I had cleaned up the last of the broken glass. “It's comforting to know that there are still good people in this world. I don't know how to repay you, I really don't. A cup of coffee doesn't seem like nearly enough, but I'll go make one up for you quick. And please, help yourself to a donut or two, it's the least I can do.”
“Hold on Bethany,” I said. “I'm not actually here for coffee.”
She looked up at me with those beautiful green eyes, an expression of confusion crossing her face.
“What? What do you mean?”
“You'd better sit down for this,” I said.
We walked over to a table and took a seat.
“I come here to you today as a representative of the Sciotti family,” I said solemnly, “and me, my family, we helped your step-father Sal out a lot.”
“But I've never heard that name before,” she said, sounding very confused. “What did you help him with?”
“Your step-father had some . . . activities in which he was really interested. And he needed cash to finance these activities. We, the Sciotti family, we provide . . . loans to people who, how should I put this, people who banks might not be too keen to lend money to.”
As I was saying this, I saw a look of realization spreading across her face, replacing the look of confusion. She now knew what I was talking about.
“He was gambling, wasn't he?” she asked softly.
“I believe that that may have been one of the things he did with the cash we loaned him, yeah.”
“And you're a mobster. You're no businessman . . . you're a gangster, aren't you?”
“If you want to call me that, then yeah, I guess I am.”
Now her expression was changing again – and anger was starting to crackle like the first sparks of a great forest fire in her eyes.
“And he owed you money, right? And now . . . now you're here to get that money, aren't you?”
I nodded.
“Well I'm sorry, but he didn't leave me any money. He was broke when he died, flat broke. All I have is this diner – that's it. And it's about to go under, unless I really work a miracle and make it profitable again in the next few months. And if it does go down, then I'll have nothing, nothing at all – and I'll be out on the streets, begging. Do you understand?! I have nothing to give you, nothing! I'm sorry that my step-father played you to get money for his gambling addiction, but there's nothing I can do about the money he owed you, nothing, because I don't have any! I have nothing, nada, you got it? Now please, just go. Please just leave me alone and get out. I've had one hell of a day, and we haven't even opened yet, and I sure as hell don't need you making it even worse. Now if you've got even one shred of decency and goodness in you, you'll leave now and never bother me again, alright?”
I was almost tempted to walk out and leave her alone – but I couldn't. I wouldn't. Instead, I simply took the envelope that contained the contract between Sal and my family out of my pocket, and pushed it across the table to her.
“What the hell is this?!” she demanded.
“Read it,” I replied calmly. “Read it very carefully.”
She opened the envelope and pulled out the contract, and as she read through it I could see her eyes widening with shock and her mouth hanging open wider and wider with disbelief.
“What the . . . what the hell?!”
“You can see Sal's signature, right there at the bottom, next to mine,” I said. “I'm sure you're familiar with your step-father's signature, aren't you?”
“You . . . you . . . he . . . I . . .” she stammered, seeming almost unable to comprehend the words on the paper in front of her.
“You understand what this contract says, don't you?” I asked.
“You're . . . you're insane, you're fucking insane!” she screamed. “I'm a human being, not a fucking car or a piece of property! This is the twenty-first century, not the seventeenth! This is . . . this is slavery you're trying to talk about here! You can't buy and trade me like some fucking thing! I'm a human being, a free person with rights! You're insane, you're crazy! You and that deadbeat step-father of mine! Get the hell out of here! Get out, right now, and don't ever, ever come back here!”
“The contract states quite clearly that you're mine now, Bethany,” I responded, my tone calm and measured. “It's right there in front of you, in writing.”
“The contract?! The damn contract?! This is what I think of your stupid contract!”
She jumped up, grabbed the contract and ripped it in half, and then crumpled it into a ball and threw it as hard as she could at my face.
“That's what I think of this, this farce!” she spat. “Now get out, get the hell out of here and never come back!”
I stood up, remaining calm despite the rage she had flown into. I took a business card for my fitness center out of my pocket and slid it across the table toward her.
“I know it will take some time to accept this, but you'll simply have to accept it,” I said calmly. “And when you come to your senses, you can find me here, at my fitness center, and then we can talk in a more civilized manner about all of this. Oh, and I know that this wasn't no armed robbery, by the way. I know that the CM boys are after you. And if you want them off your back forever, I can make it happen. Come to my fitness center when you're ready and talk to me. We can make this whole thing work out quite nicely for both of us.”
“Get out!” she screamed, and she picked up my business card and ripped it up too. “Get the hell out, now!”
I nodded to her, remaining calm despite everything, and smiled.
“Farewell Bethany,” I said as I turned around and walked out. “I expect I'll be hearing from you soon. Very soon.”
“You won't!” she yelled out after me. “You won't!”
I knew I would though – I just knew it, and as I walked off, I smiled to myself. I would be seeing her again soon. Very soon.