Authors: S. W. Frank
The sound of rap music floated up through the open window and he grew tight. He thought of his cousin, and the anger rose. Carlos and his boys were gunned down like animals. Nobody seemed to know
shit
.
Mouths
clamped
closed
like
virgin
pussies
. They weren’t giving
up
nothi
ng
,
but once he started getting paid
, and
what-not, the
lips loosened
and he was all up in it
. T
he
anonymous
note cl
aim
ed
t
he dude who shot
Carlos
was a former acquaintance
.
Someone he
once
played ball with
at the
Polo
G
rounds
.
When he re-read the name, his blood boil
ed
.
He sat forward, “
Yo
, Mi
guel
!”
The sound of grunts and a mattress squeak were heard, followed by a
n expletive
before Mi
guel
appeared in CK briefs, “
Yo
,
wazzup
?”
“Guess who we
gonna
’ put a
hurtin
’ on?”
“Man, you called me
out here
for
what,
an interview?
”
“Fuck that
slut
, wait to you hear who’s responsible for doing
our
cuz
and Hector.”
Mi
guel clutched
his
sack of
jewels, “Who?”
“Alfonzo.”
“For real…no shit?”
Juan scowled, “For real, now ‘
aint
that a bitch?”
“
Yo
, nobody said
nothin
’ before
.
You sure you got this right ‘cause Carlos ripp
ed
people off left and right?”
Juan jumped to his feet, “
Yo
, I know Carlos wasn’t a
n
angel. He screwed m
e
out
of cash more times than I can count
but
family’s
–
family, you know what I’m
sayin
’?”
“I
‘
aint
tellin
’ you what to do,
bro.
A
ll I’m
sayin
’ is
Alfonzo
’s
got serious protection, know what I mean?”
“I’m not
gonna
’ kill him…nah…I’m just going t
o
beat the shit out of hi
m. I’m
gonna
’
put the mother-fucker on notice, go the fuck back to PR or wherever the hell he been
hidin
’, cause every time I catch him out here, he
gonna
’
get a beat-down or worse, bro!
”
Mi
guel
snorted, “
Yo
, you do that and
what
we got going,
es finito
. ‘
Aint
no fucking way we can do business and
turn against
those
mafia
pendejos
when
Alfonzo
’s tight with them,
y’hear
what I’m saying?
”
Juan punched his fist in his hand, and growled, “True, true
.” His head turned to the side, his eyes bright with a sudden thought
when he
look
ed
at his younger brother
, “
Yo
, all I
gotta
’ do is pass it by my
man
, you know how they do it in the
m mob
flicks. Get the okay and shit. If he ‘
aint
got a problem with it, I’m
stompin
’ the shit out that Puerto Rican
-gringo’s
ass!”
Mi
guel
grimaced, “Do what you need to do,
hermano
,
right now my dick is hurting for some soft cushion.”
“
Yeah, hurry the fuck-up
, we got business!”
“I’m taking care of my business
.” Miguel chided
, shaking
his sack at his older brother, then returned to the bedroom where his girl Antonia waited.
Salvatore watched the board intently, his clear eyes studying the
position of the chess
pieces
as he
determine
d
his next move
while
his father waited patiently in silence.
His small hand hovered over the head of the rook then changed course to grip the side of a bishop.
The attentive eyes did not wander to his father for
assistance;
instead
he
reviewed his opponent’s
pieces then moved the white bishop to second rank adjacent to the knight’s file in a fianchetto pattern. He looked up at his father’s face and smiled.
Alfonzo
maintained an impassive expression. His son
’s strategy improved each time they played
.
In their last game Sal
took
advantage of his weaknesses
and
put him on
the
defensive. I
n
that
game
the end result was an embarrassing
stalemate.
Squinting b
lue eyes settled on the black bishop
. He mirrored his son’s
move
and a sudden
,
yet familiar ringtone broke his concentration
.
“
Carajo lo que ahora?”
“You owe me a dollar. You cursed.”
His son laughed.
“Sorry, hijo.” He said getting up from the table to answer the call. It was his mother.
“Yeah mama?”
“
We’re leaving in half an hour, a
re you bringing Sal t
o the airport
?”
He looked at his son sitting
there
eyeing the
chess board in contemplation.
At six years old the boy
exhibited skill
beyond his years.
Alberti was right. The game of chess taught patience and strategy, of which Salvatore had in abundance.
He switched the cell phone
to his left hand
and tapped
t
he boy
’s shoulder
then
gestur
ed
for
Sal t
o put on his sneakers. “Yes, mama we’re leaving
soon
.”
“
Bueno
,
I want to get there early
.”
“Si, mama
, but you have plenty of time
.
Your flight isn’t until ten o’clock. Really,
you
could’ve
flown on a
jet
.” He watched the boy rush to the closet for his vintage Jordan’s and flop
on the floor,
thrusting his
growing
feet in.
“Hijo, we
bought the tickets months ago and I’m not letting good money go to waste.”
“Okay…it’s your choice.”
“I just want to get
the kids
through screening, the airport security process is almost as
bad as visiting you know
who at Rikers.
Ugh, I still feel so dirty going there. They touch
you,
look in your mouth…ugh!
”
Alfonzo laughed,
“It’s not
like that at the airport mom,
just
opt for the
full body scan
.”
The Rikers Island experience
traumatized
the poor woman. She could have spared herself the agony by refusing to accompany
her friend to
visit
an abusive husband
. His mother’s actions were perplexing.
Her friend’s
spouse
,
Eduardo
was
arrested
for
domestic abuse
and
received a
year
for
assault
. His
church going w
ife was a nice woman but a
fool for going to see
him and
his mother more foolish for
co-signing on the bullshit! H
e
empathized with
h
is mother’s
desire to be supportive
,
but there’s a limit
to
every
friendship
.