Endings & Beginnings (New Mafia Trilogy #3) (17 page)

DOMINIC

I walked with Uncle Al to his car where he leaned
inside and pulled out a thick yellow envelope from the glove box.

   “What’s this?” I asked.

   “All the intel you requested. Johnny printed
everything out as a precaution.”

   “Good thinking.” I unclasped the envelope and
pulled out a stack of paper. The very first sheet was a copy of Phillips’
driver’s license, street address and all. The next page was a print out of a
Google Earth image that provided an aerial view of his house in West Chester. Johnny
had even included a list of the vehicles registered in Phillips’ name. “I’ll
look the rest of this over back at my place. Please tell Johnny thanks. He did
a great job on this.”

I slid behind the steering wheel of my Mercedes and
slipped on sunglasses I’d left on the dash after tucking the envelope between
the passenger seat and console. I opened the sunroof and pulled out of the
parking lot to head back to my condo. I was on Route 70 when I noticed a car
following me and it was the typical government-issue sedan.  The tail kept at
least two cars back and kept up with lane changes. I decided to have some fun
and lose the Fed following me and knew the perfect spot. Just as we were coming
off of the Ben Franklin Bridge, I had my turn signal on to make a sharp right.
This would drop me down onto Columbus Boulevard. I started to make the turn and
the sedan happened to be right behind me. Looking in the rearview mirror, I
waved and banked hard to the left, cutting across to the lane that led to the
Vine Street Expressway and Independence Hall. Horns blared and I heard someone
call me an asshole. The Fed following me didn’t have great reaction time and he
was forced to continue on.

Instead of going to my condo as originally planned,
I decided to review Phillips’ file at the Grabano Enterprises office instead.  I’d
rarely set foot inside the office before becoming the boss. Since I
occasionally had to sign documents for real estate transactions and other
dealings, my visits had become more frequent. The office itself was on the
thirtieth floor at One Liberty Place and consisted of three suites. Estelle
worked the front reception desk and she had to buzz you in during daytime
office hours if you didn’t have a code for the front door lock.

After parking in the basement garage, I took the
elevator up to the sixteenth floor with the envelope tucked under my arm.
Punching in my code, the lock on the large wooden door clicked and I pulled on
the brass handle. Estelle looked up when I stepped in. Her fierce, “no
nonsense” expression quickly morphed into smile when she saw me. Estelle was a
fixture in the office and had worked there for close to twenty-five years. She
was tiny, maybe five feet tall and not even a hundred pounds, but she was a
fierce gatekeeper. When I did make it into the office and told her I didn’t
want to be disturbed, she kept everyone out and never transferred a call.

   “Dominic! What are you doing here?” she asked
while walking toward me with her arms open. I stooped down and kissed her soft,
wrinkled cheek. She always smelled the same for as long as I can remember, a
mixture of rose perfume and cigarette smoke. She released me from her hug and I
held up the envelope.

   “I have some paperwork to review and thought I’d
do it here. How are things going?”

   “The phone has been ringing like crazy, what with
those reporters and all. I told them you were too busy, but they’re insistent.
Nosy too. Asking about your love life and if you’re single.  What does that
have to do with you being a hero?” I chuckled at her indignant tone. My mug
shot had gone viral and had not only the news interested in interviewing me,
but the gossip sites too. They wanted to know who the good looking “hero” with
a questionable background was. They were desperate to figure out if the
organized crime rumors were true or if I was just successful on my own merit
with running the multiple businesses that carried the Grabano name.

   “You can give those messages to Dante. He’s
taking care of it and things will blow over in a few days. Keep holding them
off; you’re doin’ great,” I said and walked down the carpeted hallway to what
was technically my office.  It was rarely occupied. Our accountant resided in
the only suite that was used almost full time.

I peeked my head in to say hi and he glanced up at
me from his laptop before jumping in surprise. “Dom, did we have a meeting?”

   “Nah, just needed to the quiet of the office. How
are things going?”

   “Good. I’m glad you’re here though. Someone
reached out about renting the space at that condo building. Do you still have
plans or want to lease it out?”

   “Don’t lease it. With all the shit going on, I
haven’t had a chance to finalize plans.” Natalie wasn’t in any position to
think about the gallery idea and I didn’t want to pressure her now for a
decision.

   “Got it. I’ll wait to hear from you.”

   “Good, also there are a lot of people prying into
the businesses right now, make sure everything is buttoned up tight.

   “Yes, sir.”

I stepped back out into the hallway, making my way
to my office. It was as impersonal an office as you could get. Aside from a cup
of pens and a stapler on the mahogany desk there was a closed laptop. Two
generic paintings, like those found in hotel rooms, hung on the walls, but they
were easily ignored in favor of the view. A large window looked out over the
city facing the Delaware River. A yellowish haze hung lower than the clouds,
dimming the sun. This was a typical sight in the summer and it only got hazier
as the days got hotter, trapping exhaust, dust and other pollution like the
city was under a dome.

I dropped the envelope down next to the laptop and
sat down in the leather chair, stretching my legs out before me underneath the
desk. Tilting my head from side to side until my neck let out satisfying
cracks, I settled in to learn all about Special Agent Doug Phillips. Uncle
Marco was always big on Sun Tzu and the Art of War, while I didn’t understand
or bothered at the time to appreciate it, I did now. Quotes like “Know thy
self, know the enemy” and “Let your plans be dark and as impenetrable as night,
and when you move, fall like a thunderbolt.” were his favorites. While I didn’t
want to be a cold and crazy leader like Uncle Marco, I did know I needed to be
less impulsive and more strategic in order to stay ahead of the Feds.

Doug Phillips was 38-years old and a graduate of
LaSalle University where he was on the pre-law track. Instead of going to law
school after he graduated in 1998, he entered the workforce and it didn’t take
long for him to join the FBI Field Office in Philadelphia. He started there in
March 2000 and had been steadily moving up the ranks to his current position as
head of the Organized Crime Task Force. He married his college girlfriend,
Julia Cooper, in 2002 and they had two children; a 10-year old son named Jacob
and an 8-year old daughter named Madison. Johnny even enclosed copies of the kids’
latest school pictures. I gave the pictures a cursory glance then moved on.

Special Agent Phillips had a few accolades in his
personnel file; one of them being a leadership award for contributions
involving the shutdown of the Latin Kings in Philadelphia. I remembered when
that shit started going down. I had just graduated high school and Uncle Marco
was tense that summer as he waited to see if the organization was going to get
roped caught up in the charges.         

The Phillips family lived in a colonial style home
in a neighborhood of similar looking homes where lawns were well maintained and
I bet everyone cleaned up after their dog took a shit. Guaranteed there was at
least one neighbor who noticed everyone’s comings and goings. If we made a trip
out to West Chester for a visit, we’d need to blend in.

I don’t know how he did it, but Johnny had even
figured out where Phillips banked and had hacked in there too. As I read
through the latest bank statement, I noticed every weekday morning there was a
transaction for the coffee shop located on the first floor of the federal
building. I grinned at this discovery. Doug Phillips was a creature of habit
and now I could surprise him with a visit, but I couldn’t be in his face. Not
only was I going be entering the building that housed the FBI field office, but
it neighbored the U.S. Department of Justice, the U.S. Federal Courthouse, U.S.
Secret Services and the Federal Detention Center. Eyes and cameras were
everywhere and I generally avoided this entire area.

Satisfied with the new information, I tucked the
paperwork back in the envelope, making a note to give Johnny some extra cash
for doing such an outstanding job. I said goodbye to Estelle and left the
office. It was getting close to 4:00 and people were beginning to head home for
the day so the elevator stopped at almost every floor. A few women smiled at me
after looking me up and down. I ignored them and stayed at the back, standing
with my eyes straight ahead seemingly unaware of my surroundings, but really
hyperaware of who was on the elevator with me because you never knew.

One my way back to my condo, I called Aunt Gloria
and placed an order to go. When I told her who it was for, she assured me it
was on the house. I navigated through rush hour traffic and didn’t notice any
company on my tail. After a quick workout at the gym in the basement of my
building, I showered and made my way over to Franco’s Restaurant. Bianca’s
older sister, my cousin Francesca, was lighting candles on the tables, which
already had guests even though it was fairly early.

   “Hey Dom,” Francesca called out, crossing the
room to give me a hug. “Mom has your order out back and she wants to see you.”

   “Cool,” I said and followed her through the two
dining areas, what used to be a living room and dining room when the building
was a family home, to the swinging double doors that led to the kitchen.

   “How do you like being the manager now?” I asked
her. She had graduated from Rutgers across the river in December and had taken
over management of her parent’s restaurant. It was supposed to be a
semi-retirement for Uncle Franco, but he still worked 60-hours a week.

Francesca laughed, throwing her head back, making
her tight black curls bounce. “It’s a glorified title, Dom. You know who the
boss really is around here.”

I grinned at her, knowing that Aunt Gloria still ran
the show. We pushed through the doors and Gloria spun around, a wooden spoon
dripping with marinara sauce in one hand.

   “Oh, Dom!” she dropped the spoon back in a
bubbling pot and pulled me into a hug, “such a big day with Grant coming back
to us, yes?”

 I squeezed her back and she released me. “Yes, Aunt
G. He’s going to be okay.”

   “Thank God,” she said, making the sign of the
cross. “Here, you give this to Natalie and make sure she eats every bite. That
poor girl…” Aunt Gloria’s lower lip trembled and her eyes grew watery. “Oh, and
I made up two other plates; one for Anna and the other is for Miranda. I also
made you a calzone with meatball. Sneak some garlic knots to Grant, that boy
lost too much weight.” She handed me a paper bag that weighed about twenty
pounds. I set it down on the worn butcher’s block and pulled out my wallet, but
she swatted at my hand, refusing payment.

   “This is what family does, Dom, you know that,”
she admonished me before turning her attention back to the giant six-burner
stove.

   “Thanks, Aunt G. I’ll make sure everyone eats.” I
kissed her on the cheek and waved goodbye to Francesca. My stomach was already
rumbling in response to the smells wafting up from the bag.  

I drove around to the rear of hospital, noting as I
passed the front entrance area that the media presence wasn’t as heavy as
earlier. The waiting area on Grant’s floor wasn’t a circus anymore either. I
didn’t see a single member of my family loitering in the halls. As I was
getting ready to enter Grant’s room, the door swung open. Natalie jumped in
surprise when she saw me standing there and she let out a nervous laugh.

   “Jesus, I wasn’t expecting you to be right on the
other side.”

Holding up the brown paper bag with “Franco’s Restaurant”
stamped on it in black ink; I asked her if she was hungry.

   “Is that what I think it is?” she asked.

   “Yup, you’re favorite made by Aunt Gloria
herself.”

   “I’m starving! Go sit in the waiting room. It
won’t be fair to eat this in front of Grant. He’s on like a Jell-O, broth and
saltine diet. I was on my way to the bathroom.”

I watched as Natalie walked down the hall to the
public restroom, briefly wondering why she didn’t use the one in Grant’s room,
but shrugged it off. While she was gone, I convinced Miranda and Anna to join
us for dinner since Grant was passed out.

Taking over an unoccupied corner of the waiting
room, I pulled four chairs together around a small table, moving the collection
of magazines to another table. Within seconds of placing the containers of food
out, Natalie walked in.

   “Oh my God, I could smell the garlic down the
hall. I didn’t realize how hungry I was!” she sat down next to me, pulling a
container towards her. “Eggplant parmesan? I love your Aunt Gloria. She’s like
my spirit animal.”