Nepotism
Giraldo “Jerry Icepick” Ferrera walked down the circular steps from kitchen in Don Calabrese’s palatial home to the fully finished basement. He passed the oak bar room, complete with full size billiard table and large screen HDTV , and strode into the unfinished area of the wine cellar. He stopped not for a vintage, but to probe the far wall with knowing hands. A door slid slightly back, then pocketed into the wall. Giraldo stepped through, closed it, turned to face another door, and repeated the process. He was in the guts of the house now. He had to turn his muscular body out of the way of cobwebs to avoid getting debris on his tuxedo. The boiler was to his left, the hot water heaters to his right. Large containers held reserve water, enough for the don, his wife, and three children for an extended besiegement.
Two children, Giraldo reminded himself. The lovely Vincenza was to be married this day to a man not in the business, and be swept away from this dirty world to the left most coast. Giraldo grimaced at that. His special assignment had been to make sure the girl grew up safe and isolated from Don Calaverse’s underworld dealings. He had performed his job flawlessly. As far as Vincenza knew, her daddy was filthy rich as a result of being a tycoon in refuse removal. His satisfaction was diminished by the thought of Vinni in Hollywood
Still, with the eldest out of the house and only two male children left and presumed to be brought into the family business, Giraldo was due a promotion. Space had been made for him. He was to become capo and in charge of all family security in the city. All he had to do was see this wedding through, which made his visit to the basement all the grimmer. He opened a door to what could only be described as a cell.
Two hulking enforcers stood in their undershirts. Each wore a shoulder holster. One, Guido, stood back near the door, a Glock in his hands. The other, Nuncio, had only his fists out. In front of him, chained to a chair that was bolted to the ground was a man that Giraldo had known all his life, though he barely recognized him. His left eye was swollen shut and his mouth was cut and bleeding. A nasty gash was dripping blood down over the right eye and his t-shirt looked like a prop in an Evil Dead movie, saturated with blood. Still, despite his lack of vision, the man smiled as Giraldo came in.
“Hey-hey, Jerry Icepick, you wop bastard. You come to invite me to the party?” the man said around his fat lip.
“That’s what I love about you, Spears. Your vivid imagination,” Giraldo replied.
“Oh, I don’t think you’d be surprised what I’m imagining right now,” Spears said, giving Nuncio a wicked grin. “Why don’t you let these chains off and I’ll paint you a little picture.”
Nuncio grunted and moved to strike him, but Giraldo stayed his hand.
“You done enough damage, Nuncio,” Giraldo said. “Spears and me go way back. And on the extremely remote chance he was to free himself from those chains, you don’t want him to think of you as cruel.”
“I ain’t scared of this little shit, Giraldo,” the slugger said. Nuncio was basing his opinion on the wrong facts, Giraldo knew. Spears sat strong and straight, despite the beating he had taken. He probably gave up a hundred pounds to the refrigerator sized Nuncio. But if Spears was free, he’d disassemble him. The chains hardly reassured Giraldo. Spears had escaped other tight situations.
Giraldo shook away the thoughts and addressed Spears. “I thought we were friends, man. Why would you come to the don’s house on the day of his daughter’s wedding to try to kill him?”
“I’m not here to kill him, Giraldo; I just want to ask him a favor.”
“This ain’t The Godfather. The only favor you’re going to get is a stay of execution until tomorrow morning. Seriously, man, I knew you were back out on your little vigilante kick—what is this, the sixth go round—but to do it on the day when Vinni is getting married is a creep move. The kid don’t know nothing about her dad’s business. You want to scar her for life?”
“Yeah, you got me there. I was just looking at the easy opportunity to get on the compound. Guess I never thought about the emotional well-being of a crime lord’s only daughter.”
“Wasn’t so easy, was it, jerk off,” Guido said from the back.
“Not so bad. Your butt-buddy here hits like your mother,” Spear said.
Giraldo couldn’t stay Nuncio’s hand this time. The goon belted Spears a right cross on the chin. Spears head snapped around but came back grinning. Still, his eyes were glassy. Spears wouldn’t be getting out of this one. Giraldo felt a bit sorry for that, sorry that this good man’s tragic life had brought him to darken this doorstep, had brought him to clash with Giraldo’s business. But Giraldo couldn’t to afford to be sentimental. Spears had terrorized the crime world from the street level on up for years now, ducking or surviving hits from some top level shooters.
“I want you to hold him in this cell, alive, until the last drunken goombah staggers out of here,” Giraldo said to Guido. “Feed him, give him whatever he wants to drink, but don’t take the fucking chains off him. One guy watches him through the peephole all the time—and I mean watches him, not stand here with your back to the door waiting for him to disappear from view. This guy’s the real deal, aintcha Spears?” Spears shrugged modestly. “Don’t go relaxing and letting your guard down. From now on, you go into this room, bring two friends. Check his chains before you get near him, then feed him. And don’t do somethin’ stupid like bring a fork or a knife in here.”
“Giraldo, he’s in chains. How the fuck’s he gonna get the silverware?” Guido asked.
“Listen to me, you cro mangnon motherfucker. You do not fuck around with this guy. When you think of him, you think of him as Hannibal Lecter, or Satan, or Sister Mary Francis or whoever the hell made you wet the bed at night. He’s slick. He gets out. And when he does, you think he’s gonna just go by you with a ‘how you doin’’? He’ll shove your balls in your mouth, then come up and kill everyone in this house until I stop him.”
“I wouldn’t actually shove his balls in his mouth,” Spears said around his fat lip. “I wouldn’t have time or magnifying glass to find them.”
“You shut up!” Nuncio said, backhanding Spears.
“Good comeback, Nuncio,” Giraldo muttered under his breath. “Now you two, outta here, now. I’ll send food and backup down in a little while.” They left the room and bolted it shut. To his credit, Nuncio kept his eye to the peephole.
* * *
And so, under secure lock, key and guard, the incredible Mr. Spears did not break free and kill the mobsters in attendance for the ceremony. Nor did he disturb the reception or blow up the portable stage where a Sinatra-esque crooner made the early evening magical. Giraldo almost allowed himself to relax and enjoy a glass of champagne, but the little itch of danger at the base of his neck couldn’t quite be scratched. He excused himself from his table, went to the bathroom to check his Glock, and pat some cool water on his forehead. As he emerged, the new bride almost ran into him.
“Uncle Jerry! Tell me you’re having a blast! Does Daddy know how to through a wedding or what?” Vincenza said. She had a little trouble with the s in her words.
“Don’t get so loaded you ruin your wedding night, Vinni,” he said with a wink.
“Ohmigod! I can’t believe you just said that!” Vincenza said. “You used to scare the snot outta every boy who came around for me.”
“You’re a married woman now,” Giraldo said with a shrug. “No need to keep up the chaste act.”
“And who says it’s an act?” Vincenza said, though her tone was playful.
“My apologies, Mrs. Johnston. Musta been some other Vincenza I followed up to the make-out spot after your senior prom.”
“You were there?” Vincenza looked genuinely startled. “And you didn’t stop us?”
Giraldo shrugged again. “Had to let you have some fun. Besides, that whatshisname knew what woulda happened to him if he got you in trouble.”
“Oh, you’re bad!” she said, snagging a glass of champagne from a passing waiter. “Hey, you haven’t danced with me yet!”
“Yeah, you’re right. Let’s go.”
The moved out to the wooden floor and swayed comfortably. The other dancers gave them extra room, as much for Giraldo’s simple presence as care for Vincenza’s dress.
“One last dance with the manny, eh kiddo?” Giraldo said.
“Don’t be so dramatic Uncle Giraldo. This isn’t goodbye. And you’ve never been just a babysitter to me.”
“I know, Vinni. I still remember when you danced on top of my feet when you were ten. I guess I can’t believe you’re growing up, leaving me.”
“Why Uncle Jerry, are you tearing up? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you cry.”
“Guys like me don’t cry, angel. Wouldn’t do no good. Besides, I want to see you clearly on your last day in New York
“Such a tough guy. But don’t worry about missing me, Unc. I’m not going to…”
One of Giraldo’s security men stepped quickly to him and interrupted whatever Vincenza was about to say. “Vinni’s father would like a word with you in his den,” he said into his ear. Giraldo nodded.
“You’ll have to forgive me, darling. Your father calls and I must answer.”
“Even on my wedding day, Giraldo?”
“Fraid so,” Giraldo replied.
He made his way swiftly through the maze of tables, his trapezious muscles tense. Reflexively, his hand nudged the spot where his gun was concealed, reassuring him it was there. He glanced around to make sure his men were in position, then shouldered his way into Don “Little Vito” Calabrese’s oaken office.
Giraldo blew out the tension through pursed lips when he entered. Don Calabrese sat at ease on a leather couch, his heavy body sunken into it and loosened by the scotch in his hand. He blew out the smoke from a Cohiba cigar as he laughed at something his new son-in-law had just said. Both men were in the attitude of ease and joviality, unconcerned with the killer chained in the basement.
“Giraldo!” Calabrese said in his sandpapery voice. “Come! Sit, have a scotch. Dale was just sharing another L.A.
Giraldo had never particularly liked Dale. Even his name irritated him. Dale Johnston! How waspy could you get? Someone named Dale Johnston should be driving two-hundred miles an hour around an oval, not running a movie business. Dale was short and already showing signs a bald spot on his crown. He was too thin and his handshake wasn’t strong, but he did that weasel trick where he tried to grab your fingers and squeeze before you were ready. Giraldo had always been ready, though, and so far was not intimidated by the L.A.
“Yeah, come on in, Jerry,” the wimp said. “Close the door behind you. Vito and I have something to talk about with you.”
Giraldo didn’t like the way Dale said Jerry. He didn’t like the way he said “Vito”. The tension was back in his shoulders as he closed the door.
* * *
When it opened again and he stepped out, something like disappointment appeared in Giraldo for a moment. It was quickly consumed by rage. This position had been promised to him since day one. He’d done everything right. He’d toadied around for years from every after school activity, amusement park vacation, and teen angst depression. He’d threatened boyfriends, dried tears and celebrated birthdays. He’d even protected Vinni from a kidnapping and done it without the girl even knowing something was wrong. He was family, not some smug wimp from Los Angeles
He stalked from the room and spied Vinni sprawled out on a couch. Giraldo picked the drunken girl up in his arms and carried her out the door to the waiting limo. One of his men was driving.
“Take her right to the hotel. Don’t stop for shit. Take a couple guys, and get the two little boys out of here, too. Stay there until you hear from me. Don’t call nobody here, don’t tell nobody where you are. This is plan B. Got it?” The man nodded sharply to the grim tone in Giraldo’s voice and snapped into action. All of the men under Giraldo’s control were loyal to him. The driver was his lieutenant and was aware of Giraldo’s back up plan. Neither had really imagined it would be necessary.
Giraldo turned and left him. In the kitchen, he put a plate of food together for Spears, with a little something special for dessert. He carried the food down the circular staircase, past the basement bar, and through the wine cellar. He balanced the tray as he slid one door open, then closed it behind him, then the other. He covered the food with his hand but didn’t worry about the cobwebs getting on his tuxedo. He stopped at the door. Guido had switched off with Nuncio and was peering through the peephole.
“He in there?” Giraldo asked.
“Yeah, Jerry, we did just like you said and kept switching off to look at him. We did it real quick like, too,” Nuncio said.
“All right, you guys go grab some food and I’ll feed Mr. Spears here.”
“But Jerry, you told us to bring another guy in there when we fed him. You just goin’ in yourself?” Guido said, looking back
“But Jerry, you told us to bring another guy in there when we fed him. You just goin’ in yourself?” Guido said, looking back
from the peephole.
“Forget about it, Guido. Just get the fuck out of here and get something to eat.”
The men shrugged and ambled away. When he heard the second door click closed, he opened the cell door.
“Don’t kill me, Spears. I come bearing gifts,” Giraldo said, keeping his prisoner in view. It wouldn’t do to have him break free and kill him now. He dropped the food tray on the ground in front of Spears.
“I suggest you eat it before you go, and here’s a little something for dessert,” he said, dropping an ice pick on Spears lap. Spears looked at it then looked up at Giraldo with a crooked smile. He wriggled a little and the chains fell free.
“Yeah,” Giraldo said, locking his eyes on Spears. “Tell the don ‘hi’ on your way out.” He then turned and strode from the cell, leaving it open behind him.
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