Chapter Five
Snake
I sit in a corner, keeping to myself. I don’t want to talk to anyone. I don’t want to make eye contact. I don’t even want to show my face around here. But this is a required meeting with Monty, our capo, even if I don’t have any funds to kick up.
Our crew’s headquarters are at MTB Concrete Supply. It’s a massive warehouse, stocked with inventory that hasn’t been touched in years. Back in the day, this place made a lot of money, providing most of the revenue for the entire crew. Monty had an in with every contractor in town, and most law enforcement and politicians were in his pocket. Nothing got built in the city of LA without using MTB Concrete Supply. Monty sold his inventory at a highly inflated price, and in return, he fixed the bids, so the contractors that were loyal to him always got the job. The business was also used to clean cash from other rackets that benefited the family. That ended with a series of articles in the LA Times that blew the lid off of the Mariano’s stronghold of the construction industry. The politicians and contractors couldn’t handle the heat, and that racket went belly up.
Those days are gone, gone before my time. I find this place fucking depressing. All anyone can talk about is the glory days when they were drowning in cash. I feel like one of those millennials that graduated from college in the middle of a recession.
Salvatore and Bruno walk in. I try not to make eye contact with them. I’m not in the mood to talk. But they walk over to me anyway.
“Yo, Snake,” Bruno says, sitting across from me.
“What’s up, man,” I say to Bruno, and give Salvatore a respectful nod. I turn back to Bruno. “Your pretty face is healing nicely.”
“It always does,” Bruno says, cockily.
Salvatore smacks Bruno on the shoulder. “Those licks you took gave me a nice little payday. Congrats on the win.”
“My pleasure,” Bruno says, then looks at me and shrugs. “By the way, what happened with you and the professional looking brunette the other night? I was too drunk off of free shots to get the details.”
I rub my hands together, smiling discreetly. “You know, the usual.”
“No, I don’t know,” Bruno says. “Give us the details. That was one hot piece you had there. What did her tits look like?”
I don’t know why, or where it comes from, but something about that questions pisses me off. My skin burns hot underneath my suit. Jess wasn’t a quick hookup. She’s not that at all. She’s a stuck up bitch, yes, but Bruno has no right to be asking about her tits. If he had any idea about the steel balls on that chick, he’d think of her with a little more respect. I still can’t get over the fact that she waltzed into that fight and proposed a business opportunity. I’d take her up on it just for the chance to get her into bed, but my gut’s telling something’s suspicious about the whole thing.
Bruno raises an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me you struck out.”
“I’m not telling you that,” I say.
Anthony walks in, striding through like he owns the place, and shooting darts with his eyes at everyone there.
“This isn’t fucking gossip hour,” Anthony says, walking up to our table. “This is business. Show some respect.”
Bruno holds his hands up, showing his palms. “Nothing but respect here, chief.”
Anthony glares at Bruno, then turns to Salvatore. “What’s the beast doing here anyway? He’s not made.” He turns to Bruno with a smile. “Someone check him for a wire.”
Bruno starts to stand from his seat. I grab his arm.
“Easy,” I say.
Anthony and Bruno stare at each for a few tense seconds. Salvatore pats Anthony on the back.
“Stand down, cuz,” Salvatore says, wryly. “Since when do you have such a stick up your ass about the rules? Relax.” Salvatore gives Bruno a warning look. “You too.”
No one says anything else until Monty shows up. When the capo walks in, the entire crew straightens up. He’s a middle aged, balding guy, thick around the middle, and mafia to the core. You can tell by his confident swagger and mannerisms that this is a man who’s lived outside of the law his entire life. Without saying anything, he walks around the room, collecting envelopes of cash from all the soldiers. Some envelopes are thick, some are thin, a few have nothing at all. Monty’s understanding with the empty-handed guys. He knows it’s harder than ever to get something going in this business climate.
Monty gets to us. Salvatore and Anthony both hand him envelopes stuffed with cash. He turns to me.
“Sorry, capo. I’ve come empty-handed.” I hold my hands up and look down as a sign of respect.
“Again?” Monty asks in his gruff voice.
“Look, it’s not for lack of trying. Things just kept falling through.” I glare at Bruno from the side of my eye.
“You’re not the only one,” Monty says, cocking his head. “Have something for me next month.”
“I will.” I hope it’s a promise I can make good on.
Monty holds the envelopes in a stack under his arm, and stands in the center of the room to address the crew.
“Now, a lot of you guys have been asking, so I’m going to tell you. We’ll split the pool evenly among soldiers, even those that didn’t pay their dues. These past couple of years have been hard on everyone, and we don’t let our soldiers starve.”
Monty looks over his soldiers. We’re all watching him silently, at attention. The capo nods, then goes back to his office. That’s when the soldiers that don’t agree with what he said start to groan. Anthony is one of those guys. He looks right at me.
I stand up calmly. “You got something you want to say?”
Anthony looks me up and down, then laughs. “It’s not your fault this family has gone to shit. It started with whatever idiot decided to allow half-breeds in.” He eyes Bruno. “And let the children of snitches live.”
I immediately put my hand on Bruno’s shoulder. I feel him swell underneath me. But this bitch, Anthony, never knows when to shut up.
“How do we know it wasn’t Bruno that talked to that reporter, and blew everything up,” Anthony says. “Like father, like son.”
I don’t even try to hold Bruno back. For a big guy, he’s fucking fast. He’s out of his seat in a flash, delivering a sharp jab to Anthony’s nose. The other soldiers go silent and look to see what’s happening. Salvatore steps in quickly to diffuse the situation. He puts his hand on Anthony’s shoulder.
“You can’t go mouthing off like that,” Salvatore says. “That’s a fucked up thing to say. We got the leak, remember? Plugged it up good. Show Bruno some respect. A son shouldn’t pay for the sins of his father.”
Anthony wipes the blood from his nose, shaking his head. “It doesn’t hurt anyway. I don’t care about my nose. I care about my money. Around here, dead weight is cut loose to sink on its own. Remember that.”
When Anthony leaves, the entire room watches him silently. He slams the warehouse door, and people start talking again.
“What the fuck’s his problem?” I ask Salvatore.
“He’s got problems, trust me. Nothing to do with you,” Salvatore says.
“Like what?” Bruno asks. He’s staring at the door Anthony just went out of, his face red.
“Look, don’t breathe a word of this to anyone,” Salvatore says. “But the doctors think his wife has cancer.”
“Jesus.” I do the sign of the cross, not for Anthony, but for his wife, Clarissa. I’ve met her a few times, and she’s a real class act.
“Doesn’t give him the right to act like a prick,” Bruno says.
“It doesn’t,” Sal says, lighting a cigarette. “But he’s right about one thing. You need to bring in more revenue. It won’t be long until the boss starts getting impatient.”
I rake my fingers through my hair. “I’m trying. You know that.”
“The boss wants results,” Salvatore says, blowing out a thick plume of smoke.
“What’s he going to do? I’m made. That means for life.”
“Not exactly,” Salvatore says. “I never told you this, but when I recommended you to be made, I had to fight for you. A lot of the guys didn’t want you on account of your heritage. I convinced them to take you on a probationary period.” He points his cigarette towards Monty’s office. “According to Pop, the guys at the top are starting to get anxious. I believe that probationary period is coming to an end.”
I plant my elbows on the desk, and drop my head into my hands. All this time I’ve been comfortable, knowing that nothing would happen to me. Now, I feel out in the open. At any moment I could fall out of the boss’ favor. Soldiers don’t get fired. They get hit.
“Fuck me,” I groan.