Avarice (7 page)

“Nah. I’m doing me.”

“By selling,” Alfonzo sighed. “Damn, you’re letting pride and money become the great divide between family.”

“You’ve been up in the stratosphere too long. Money divides the world; how it’s made is where we disagree.”

Domingo’s animosity toward him must’ve been simmering for a while. “Every dollar you make from that poison will have somebody’s blood attached.”

“And what you do isn’t tainted, primo?” Domingo challenged.

“You have a choice not to get dirty instead you’re throwing away legitimacy for delusions of grandeur simply to have people bowing to your ass.”

“Don’t tell me you don’t get high off respect.”

“Respect?” Domingo’s naïveté nearly caused Alfonzo to laugh. The man was a child in thinking. “False respect primo bought with money and intimidation isn’t the kind I want. I’m naturally high every day when I wake and later make it home to my family. There’s nothing glorious about violence. Those riches I’ve amassed are my family and that material shit you’re coveting is what’s going to get your ass killed one day.”

“All I know is I’m not happy messing with oils and bolts. Uncle Al loved this shit but I don’t!”

Alfonzo’s eyebrow cut upward.  On the wall were pictures in frames, gathering dust on the edges of his namesake in various poses with customers. There were ‘hood rappers, business people and everything in between. But it’s the genuine smile and the beam of a contented man that Alfonzo respected. Domingo the ungrateful bastard had the audacity to sit there snubbing his nose at their Uncle when days of sweat, oils and bolts were what helped feed their asses when they were kids. Coño!

The play button to Alfonzo’s mouth was pressed and the pause ended. “Then take your ass back to school, learn another craft. There’s value in an honest living, but you’re the whiney motherfucker who don’t want to get his hands dirty and takes shortcuts. If you’re not happy start looking inside and fix the problem. I offered you many opportunities to come work with me and you spit on the offer. You want to be a low-down drug dealer because you want easy instead of the success derived from hard-work!”

Domingo snickered. “See primo…that’s what I mean, you’re sitting your ass so high you forgot leaders aren’t happy followers and I’m not about to keep doing shit for anyone other than myself.”

The gem colored eyes narrowed at the comment. Who’d thought it’d be Domingo who’d blindside his ass?

Alfonzo
stood and looked his cousin square in the face. After everything they’d been through as kids…covering each other’s backs on the streets…capping motherfuckers if they flexed too hard…damn…fist to heart type love they had…up down…tussling on the courtyards…family.

Domingo’s aspirations weren’t motivated out of necessity. They weren’t kids grinding for cars, girls or any of that stuff anymore. They were men with families and surpassed the street level hustlers because most of them were doing time or dust.

But, here they were in the ‘hood, boys again in Uncle Al’s shop. The blood stains from the past dripped on a troubled man’s brain. The cousin who was once considered a brother had changed. The knowledge became cerebral and potent.

Uncle Al’s mutilated face is the image unlocked from death’s box. He didn’t want the vision in his mind because happier times are what he chose. You know death visions never listen, though and an image of Domingo claimed that place. He didn’t want to be a pallbearer at the funeral unless he’d done everything to let Domingo know how he felt. Yet, the problem with loving family is treachery hurts the most.

Alfonzo’s tone became harsh. Wash his hands is what he decided if Domingo brought more death to the ‘hood. “You’re about to put family in a precarious position, I hope you understand that. A skirmish for a temporary title of Drug Lord isn’t a conflict I choose to enter. There’s a reason there isn’t a King sitting on that red seat, they die before any can enjoy the tainted glory.”

Domingo shrugged. “I don’t plan on getting dethroned.”

Alfonzo shook his head in dismay. “I love you primo…I really do but if you’re opening the blood-gates for an imaginary crown then whatever happens you’re on your own!”

During the drive down Brooklyn streets, past familiar bodegas Alfonzo frequented on days spent at Uncle Al’s shop, he found himself frowning. The scenery was the same. Years had gone by,
but the street stayed alive. Young faces had become old; they leaned on walls with expressions of the downtrodden. They hid in liquor, drugs, senseless media entertainment and allowed their senses to become dulled. Addiction and desensitization is how some coped. Not everyone believed in socially responsibility, hell or even possessed a social conscience. Oppression had many negative effects and one of them is political apathy. There’s productivity when citizens take positive action to push for reform. Levántate hermanos y hermanas, he thought, demonstrate the power of multitudes by raised voices, vote the suckers out of office who perpetuate discriminatory laws such as the ones instituted in many states which bar felons from voting. New York restored an inmate’s voting rights after incarceration and parole. But, felony disenfranchisement prevented millions of people who served time and were rehabilitated from exercising their rights and permanently revoking their ability to partake in the electoral process.

Of course arguments abound why that is so, but considering this law affected a disparately large number of Latinos and blacks, Alfonzo deemed it yet another form of racial injustice.
The Eighth Amendment succinctly prohibits excessive sanctions and demands that punishment for crime should be graduated and proportioned to the offense. The expatriation of felons also conflicts with the 14
th
Amendment’s Equal Protection Clause.

The ACLU, lobbyists and other advocates were working to repeal such laws in states where they were enforced. The politicians and lawyers on his payroll had their asses in the trenches earning their bucks as well.

The racial profiling shit taking place in communities of color, Stand Your Ground law and similar others giving license to justify killing unarmed brothers were on his radar. Domingo suggests he forgot where he came from, which was bullshit. He was a Latino, a goddamn Nuyorican who experienced prejudice and negative stereotypes like many others. Forget…who the fuck can forget being stopped and frisked simply because of his ethnicity, clothes or the car he drove in America?

Alfonzo had a mental shift though, and that’s regarding illegal guns. Alfonzo was licensed to carry a weapon as well as everyone he employed, even fucking Tony, a felon. This ensured the field was leveled, a gun against a gun, like in the Old West where the outcome depended on who was the quickest shooter.

Domingo didn’t see change because he wasn’t looking. The New York residency requirement for police recruits was revamped; there was a Latino Senator of New York, finally. These were subtle reformations but changes nonetheless. Domingo wasn’t privy to Alfonzo’s actions, not many were. But, there’s only so much a man can achieve in his lifetime when faced with centuries of discrimination against peoples reinforced by racist thoughts.

The car rolled over a pothole and jarred Alfonzo from reflection. “Tony.”

“Yeah.” The stocky man beside him answered.

“Check on my cousin occasionally. I want to know what he’s doing.”

“Sure.”

“I’m going to need an answer before Christmas on what we talked about. I know that’s a short time to make an important decision but time is of the essence, comprende?”

The bodyguard nodded. “Yes, I’ll give my answer soon.”

“Bien.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

Giuseppe circled the car. Candy apple red was Shanda’s favorite color. A million
or so for a machine wasn’t much to win his family back. The woman’s stubbornness caused a grumble. He had to admit, he was rather proud of her success in business. He’d always enjoyed her cooking, it came as no surprise others would, too.

He opened the door and sat in the plush custom designed seat. Red and black were the interior palettes, red for Shanda’s fiery spirit and black because of his mood. He’d never tell her that, though. The only thing he wanted was a chance to reconcile. Be nice to her Allie advised. “Give her a present and if she doesn’t like it Uncle Geo, then I’ll have to talk to her because that’s being rude!”

Giuseppe had to chuckle. Ah, that Allie was a great soldier. She was more considerate of his feelings than his own mother at times. She’d encouraged Shanda, which was nice but what about the

He started the engine.

Bellisimo!

Beauty is the Bugatti.

Christmas Eve was fast approaching. That is when he’d present the car. In the meantime he’d take the expensive automobile for a spin on the streets of Palermo. With guards following in their vehicles, Giuseppe sped out the gates with the wheels gripping asphalt as they melt the light snow beneath the treads.

***

Giuseppe read the lettering on the delivery truck at the foot of the drive as he walked past; S & S…yada…yada…yada!

So, Shanda had begun delivery services of her pastries, how nice. Too bad his mother hadn’t convinced her to return home. This separation had gone on far too long. Eh, he grumbled and waved at the vehicle as he continued on. His feet moved swifter when he saw his woman exiting with a uniformed driver loaded down with boxes. As he neared the sound of laughter registered causing him to speed walk. Shanda had taken a box to assist the man when she spotted Giuseppe. Her smile faded which stabbed at his heart.

“Buongiorno Signore Dichenzo,” the driver said nervously when Giuseppe’s feet stopped in their path.

Giuseppe didn’t respond. His eyes were on his bella clad in clothes best
suited for summer. The woman had no business flirting with illness when she carried his bambino. Civility wasn’t his moniker, to hell with playing nice when his mood was sour. “Where is our son?”

Shanda rolled her eyes and shoved the box in his hands. “Carry this to the truck please.”

He let the box fall to the sloshy ground –on purpose.

“You…oh…” Shanda freaked and bent down but the driver beat her to it and placed it atop the stack before hurrying away. Shanda glared at Giuseppe. “That was fucking mean!”

He shrugged and continued in the house. Over his shoulder he grumbled. “I am not the delivery boy, capisce?
”

Inside, he s
potted the evidence of their little business. Boxes were stacked on the dining table with cards and an order sheet which he scanned. He recognized names of rich families and gourmet bakeries even several high end restaurants. He made a mental note to keep abreast of Shanda’s clients, he told himself for safety precautions although that may have been a lie. “Mama!” he shouted.

Shanda slammed the d
oor. “She’s not here Mr. Ghetto Ass!”

“Where is she?”

“Your mother has gone out
sire
,” Shanda said sarcastically and then strolled to the kitchen to check off names on an invoice with Giuseppe breathing over her shoulder. She stuck the pencil in her hair when she finished. “Carlo’s with her, so call next time.”

His forehead wrinkled. “Call?”

Shanda spun around and the pencil fell, rolled near his foot and he crushed it –on purpose. He splintered the wood into the marble. “I do not call when I want to visit my son bella. Do not have delusions that I am the calling kind!”

Shanda
didn’t flinch during the tantrum. “Suit yourself,” she said and walked out the kitchen.

Giuseppe followed, talking to her back.
“I do not like you lifting, let the staff work, capisce donna?”

Shanda was climbing the stairs. “Do not have
any delusions that I care about what you want!”

He took the steps by twos to march on her heels through the long corridor. The soft humming of a vacuum cleaner told him they were not alone. The maid undoubtedly was listening but he did not care. Many of the staff knew Giuseppe since childhood and were accustomed to his tirades. He seize
d
Shanda’s arm and made her halt. “You will not dictate rules with mio figlio. Carlo is not part of this game you play.”

“Game…me?” She tsked. “You really don’t get it, do you?”

“Sí, I am not dense. I have disappointed you.”

“Disappointed me, how about lied?” She jerked her arm
free and entered the bedroom.

Sh
e went to slam the door but he pushed it open and stepped inside his childhood domain. Giuseppe tired of the squabble. Perhaps, he had exaggerated many things but not how much he loved her. “Ti amo. That is not a lie.” Why were her eyes watering, he wondered?

Americanos!

“I came back because of you dammit. I gave up my family. You said you wouldn’t hurt me, that’s what you said on the plane…you liar!”

Giuseppe scoffed; he had said that, hadn’t he? “I did not mean to hurt you. What I have done is hurt myself.” He shrugged. “But, the past cannot be undone. My love is unwavering bella that will remain constant.”