Page 23 of Long Live the King
Dominic
The weather mirrors my mood. Dark clouds rest overhead with thick raindrops splashing onto my windshield, making everything cold and uncomfortable. It’s been that kind of a day today—cold and dreary—and as I stare at the abandoned house in front of me, I feel like I see light at the end of the tunnel. As crazy as it sounds, this could be the start of things going back to normal. Well, for those of us who will live to see tomorrow.
I’m not naïve to the change that’s occurring. I felt it when I woke up this morning and checked my cell phone to see if I had any missed calls, and there were none. I knew it as I showered, and as I ate breakfast with Alannah. I knew it because the phone didn’t ring. No word from Frankie or Tommy. Not a word from Jimmy. Not a peep from anyone in my circle of made men about the missing truck from Chicago. My family is about to change, but the drama will end.
The day passed as if it was on mute. The only sound I could hear were the voices from my conference call with the Commission. The Five made it clear what they thought. Jimmy made a mistake that’ll cost him his life if he doesn’t repay it. He robbed the boss of the Chicago Outfit, who just so happens to be the voice of the Midwest families when the Commission meets up, regardless of the rarity of the occasion. He stole from the wrong boss, and every minute that passes condemns him, because it looks like he did it on purpose. Whether that’s true or not, only Jimmy knows, but regardless, the Commission wants punishment for the mistake. They want justice for the theft, and they want it sooner than later, so they made the decision to have a made member of La Cosa Nostra killed with no hesitation. And they made sure I had to carry the burden of making it happen.
So, I noticed every second that ticked by as I ate my lunch in silence and repeated the process for dinner. I felt the tension and anxiety building in my chest as I realized I wasn’t going to receive a last minute phone call to save Jimmy. When the call didn’t come, I swallowed it all as I’ve grown used to doing, and I called Tommy and told him to meet me in E. St. Louis at the abandoned house I’m perched in front of now. I didn’t have to say why, Tommy knew what this meeting would be about. We only meet here when we need to speak in private, just the two of us. When shit starts to go sideways and we need to get away from the rest of the world to figure it out, we come here.
As I drove, that’s when the storm clouds rolled in and the rain followed, and it hasn’t stopped since I left River City. It’s been dreadful out here since I came off the bridge and parked, waiting for Tommy to arrive. The sky is filled with dread. Jimmy’s final storm is coming.
I admit that I never liked Jimmy. His loyalty is obviously to Frankie, since they came up together, and any captain who can’t kick up the proper amount doesn’t deserve the position. But in Our Thing, once you’re promoted to a position, there’s no being demoted. Demotion equals death.
This Thing of Ours is bigger than one man. La Cosa Nostra is bigger than Jimmy, it’s bigger than Victor, and it’s bigger than me. What I do now isn’t about me or Jimmy, it’s about La Cosa Nostra. I remember that as I see headlights round the corner and I get out of the car. I close the door behind me and make my way inside the open garage of the abandoned house as Tommy parks his Cadillac next to my Challenger and gets out. He doesn’t look so happy about this meeting, probably because he knows the reason behind it, but I couldn’t care less. It’s an ugly business, This Thing of Ours, but it is ours, and there’s no escaping it.
“There’s no point in dragging it out,” I say to him after we hug in greeting. “I spoke to the Commission last night.”
Tommy’s shoulders slump. He knew it was coming, but I guess he was hoping he might be wrong.
“They gave him a day to find the truck, and he didn’t do it,” I continue. “That would be a problem with anybody, but it’s especially big when the owner of the truck usually sits on the Commission. They know him better than all of us, and they want justice for the disrespect. We both know what that means.”
Tommy looks down at the floor and lets out an exhale. “Yeah, I know,” is all he says.
“I’m giving this to you because I trust you to get it done, Tommy,” I reply. “It needs to happen tonight. Find out where he’s at, and call me when it’s over so I can let the Commission know it’s done. Before you get rid of the body, cut off both of his hands so I can send them to Victor as proof. Then this thing is settled.”
Tommy stares at me without saying anything. I can see the frustration in his eyes, but this is how it goes. The boss doesn’t go around whacking guys like he’s still a soldier. The burden of carrying out my hits goes to my underboss.
In This Thing of Ours, the boss is very rarely the triggerman. Cops are always after wise guys, but they’re really watching the guys who they think are running what they call organized crime. As the boss, I rarely carry a gun. I don’t need to. I point my finger and people die. I nod my head and somebody stops breathing. Why risk getting pinched holding a gun when I can kill a man without so much as a word?
“Tommy,” I say to him, “I know you like Jimmy and all that, but the decision’s been made. It’s done. Call me when he’s with the fishes.”
Tommy simply nods his head. “Okay, Dominic.”
Now it’s my turn to nod. “Good.”
Tommy and I hug before heading toward our cars. I’ll spend the rest of my night on pins and needles, waiting for Tommy’s phone call, after which I’ll spend the rest of my night debating how to go about killing Victor Fronzo for tattle-telling to the Commission about this.
As I reach for my door handle and Tommy reaches for his, I hear my phone ringing from inside the car. I pop open the door and see the call is from Frankie, and nearly drop the phone trying to answer so quickly.
“Frankie?” I answer, as I stand outside my car.
“They found it, Dominic,” Frankie speaks into the phone, sending me reeling.
“What?”
“Jimmy’s crew found the truck,” Frankie repeats.
I look over at Tommy and put my hand in the air, signaling for him to wait.
“What the hell? They found it where?”
“Well, that’s one of the crazy things about it,” Frankie says, sounding confused himself. “It was only ten blocks away from the carwash where they left it originally. It doesn’t make any sense, because I know we looked there. It wasn’t there before. Somebody put it thereafterwe looked for it.”
My head immediately starts to hurt from the confusion as I look at Tommy, who frowns as he waits for me to pass the information to him.
“What the hell? You said that’soneof the crazy things,” I reply. “What else is there?”
“Yeah,” Frankie says behind a loud exhale. “The driver side window of the truck was smashed, so whoever took it obviously had to break in. But, the weird thing is that nothing’s missing.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean the one-point-two million dollars in the back of the truck is still there. Not one cent of it is gone,” Frankie says.
“That doesn’t make any sense,” I reply. “Why would someone steal the truck and then leave the money?”
