Authors: Clever Black
“What are you going to do?”
“I’m just gonna talk to our neighbor friend woman to man.
We adults have a way of getting, getting our point across to even the
most stupid of people we encounter. And that man is stupid and should
not be feared.”
“Okay. I’m sorry I let you down, momma.”
“You didn’t let me down, son. You were only caught off
guard. It’s okay, baby. Now, there’s pancakes downstairs,
and Spoonie and Tyke are near about ready to go and harass Kimi and
Koko, but they can’t do it without you, son.”
“I’m not in the mood. Can we just go and help Kimi and
Koko today?”
“Well,” Naomi said as she smiled proudly. “Someone’s
ready for a job already.”
“I can do it. I wanna do it.”
“Okay. We’ll, umm, we’ll get you started tomorrow
and I’ll join you and your sisters so you can learn how things
go.”
“I can’t wait,” Walee said with a smile.
The incident with the family’s nameless neighbor had seemed to
bring about a certain maturity within Walee in Naomi’s eyes and
she liked it a lot. Kimi and Koko were to the point that they were
constantly asking their mother for more responsibility, and with
Walee coming on board now, Spoonie and Tyke were sure to follow, and
that meant that Kimi and Koko could move up in the family’s
business. Naomi knew exactly the job she would begin training her
middle daughters for, but that was a way’s off. Her immediate
goal, however, was that of rendering an apology from her neighbor on
behalf of her youngest son.
After pulling out a new outfit for Walee, Naomi got up and left his
room, intent on confronting her neighbor. She was halfway down the
grand staircase when she met Doss, who was ascending the stairs with
a somber look on his face. “What now?” she asked through
a sigh.
“Lucky.” Doss said sadly.
“What about him? He’s making progress,” Naomi asked
happily.
“Baby? My father called. Lucky had a stroke this morning.
Doctors said it was a blood clot in his brain. My father said they
tried, they really tried, but they couldn’t save him. Lucky
died at six twenty this morning during surgery.”
Naomi sat down on the stairs and cried her heart out. This was a
crushing blow—and an unexpected one to say the least. She’d
visited Lucky the week before for a second time, had spent several
days with her friend and he seemed to be doing fine, even regaining
movement in his fingertips.
“We buried Mildred a little over a week ago,” Naomi said
through tears. “Now we have to give Lucky a home going?
Junior’s a mess and Francine is sick. Mendoza? How’s he
dealing with things?”
“As best a man could given the circumstances. Me and the big
three will be away for a while after Lucky’s funeral to handle
things in Saint Louis. We have to maintain business and get back at
those responsible for disrupting the order of things and killing our
friends.”
“I understand, Doss. But be careful. We’re dealing with
an animal—this Carmella woman is an animal.”
“We’ll get her soon enough. Soon enough, baby. Umm, I’m
gone make some calls and get things set up with Eddie and the boys
over in Saint Louis. We’ll notify the family during lunch.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
GOING OUT IN STYLE
“
And now…the end is near…and so I face…the
final curtain…my friend…I’ll say it clear…I’ll
state my case…of which I’m certain…I’ve
lived…a life that’s full…I’ve traveled each
and every highway…and more...much more than this…I did
it…my way…”
Lucky’s funeral was one of the biggest Cicero had seen since
the celebration of Zell’s death back in 1992. A long line of
cars, those of mourners, followed the lavish light grey hearse that
held Lucky’s body as it cruised down Twenty Third Street one
last time. A loud speaker was atop the car, intertwined with the
countless bouquets of flowers planted on the roof of the hearse, and
Frank Sinatra’s song
My Way
blared loudly as scores of
mourners stood by on both sides of the pavement paying their respects
by singing along with the lyrics and tossing more flowers into the
street.
Mendoza trailed his son’s hearse, his eyes wet with tears as he
eyed all the people who loved and respected his son. He pulled
Francine, who demanded to be a part of the ceremony despite her
illness, close to his heart as the song played on
.
“
I’ve planned…each chartered course…each
careful step…upon the byway…but more…much more
than this…I did it…my way…”
As the song approached its crescendo, Mendoza and Francine both broke
down in tears. Losing their son was such an unexpected tragedy, but
given the nature of the business, it was an unsaid possibility that
had become a sudden reality that they were forced to deal with head
on. Mendoza couldn’t help but to reflect on the words Zell
Verniche` had spoken to him in August of 1992 as the hearse came to a
halt in front of
Eastside Bar
.
“
Fuck you asshole. And I mean that not in a disrespectful
manner, but in a comical one because you’re grateful for me
allowing you to do something that I feel may very well destroy not
only your crew, who I love so much, but your whole fuckin’
family. I’m, I’m not going to be around to see that
happen if it ever happens.”
“Never have words been so truer,” Mendoza said aloud.
“What was that, dear?” Francine asked as she dabbed
tears.
“Nothing, honey. Just reflectin’ upon words from a wise
old man who lived years ago,” Mendoza said as the chauffeur
opened the door, allowing him and Francine to step out under the
bright morning sun where they were greeted by numerous mourners, all
offering their condolences.
The Holland-Dawkins family trailed Mendoza’s limousine in three
separate limos of their own. All were wrought with sadness over
Lucky’s departure. He’d been an uncle to the kids, a big
brother to Mary, Martha, Twiggy, Regina and Siloam, and a loyal ally
to Doss. Blank, tear-stained faces sat in a daze behind tinted
windows as the caravan slowed to a halt.
Martha sat eyeing Naomi, who wore a pair of dark sunshades that did
little to hide the pain coursing through her heart. Martha knew Lucky
was a gangster, but she never fully understood what power the man
held on the streets. This was her first time visiting Cicero, but it
didn’t take long for her to figure out the weight forty-eight
year-old Faustino ‘Lucky’ Cernigliaro Senior carried on
the streets of the underworld at the time of his death. Lucky’s
funeral was like no other in Martha’s eyes. It was like a huge
parade, or the arrival of a beloved political figure or famous
athlete who’d returned to his or her respective neighborhood to
be revered by those who’d admired them for their
accomplishments.
Forty-three year-old Martha Holland had seen many a man, and woman
for that matter, get laid to rest in Jackson, Mississippi, but no
funeral she’d ever witnessed had been respected in the manner
in which Lucky was being sent home on this day. He was going out in
style in her eyes. For all those who’d died in Ghost Town, none
were celebrated in this manner—a street laden with flowers,
scores of people lining the sidewalks, music, t-shirts with Lucky’s
image on the front worn by quite a few and a procession of cars that
spanned two long city blocks. Martha saw the big picture, and in her
mind, Naomi, Doss, Dawk, Bay and T-top were all caught up in
something that was far bigger than she could have ever imagined. She
knew not what to say, and could only eye Naomi with a look on her
face that said, “
I understand your pain, sister.”
“
It is what it is,”
was the look on Naomi’s
face as she stared at Martha through her dark tinted sunshades for a
few seconds; she then let her head drift towards the window to stare
at the mourners, the sisters’ silent remarks towards one
another never being acknowledged, but understood nonetheless.
Naomi was grief-stricken. Lucky was her best friend; her first friend
outside of Kevin and Serena. The first kid who’d been kind to
her and never made fun of her race. Lucky in fact, upheld Naomi’s
heritage and celebrated in her triumphs. He was a wonderful friend in
her eyes. He’d introduced her to Doss, was godfather to all
eight of her and Doss’s kids, whom he cherished, and he’d
basically set Naomi on her journey to prosperity when he spoke on her
behalf to Zell when she’d wanted to exact revenge upon those
who’d nearly eradicated her family’s once-humble
existence down in Sylacauga, Alabama. It was fair to say that if it
weren’t for Lucky, the woman Naomi Holland-Dawkins was today,
and the Holland-Dawkins family itself, would not even exist. Naomi
sat reminiscing about the good times as Dawk walked up to the car and
opened the door.
The whole ride to
Eastside Bar
, Mary was wondering the reasons
behind Lucky and Mildred’s deaths. Naomi had given few details,
only saying he and Mildred was shot inside a bar down in Saint Louis.
It came out the night before that both had been caught up in a
robbery. Mary, like Martha, understood that Lucky was a gangster, but
even she was beginning to wonder just how much of a role Naomi and
Doss played in the overall scheme of things as she exited the
limousine.
*******
Mourners filed into the bar to view Lucky’s body after the
family paid their respects. His coffin was placed at the end of the
bar in the center of the room. His body, which was decked out in a
tailor-made light grey silk suit, black shirt, and light grey tie,
black gators and a black velvet fedora, lay in peace as if he were
asleep, his hands lay gently on his lower chest, both pinky fingers
clad with diamond rings. No expense was spared on forty-eight
Faustino ‘Lucky’ Cernigliaro Senior, a well-respected
mobster who’d met the same fate that he’d dished out to
so many others before he himself crossed over into the afterlife.
A couple of hours later,
Eastside Bar
was filled with people
who’d come to pay their respects. Dinner was being served and
stories about Lucky’s life were being shared when forty-seven
year-old Finland Xavier entered the establishment decked out in a
black silk suit and his bald head polished enough to cast a
reflection. He walked through the barriers and stood before Lucky’s
coffin and wiped tears that had begun to form away from his eyes.
Like Naomi, Fin was heartbroken over the loss of his friend. To him,
Lucky was a stand-up guy, a great business man, and a fiercely loyal
friend. He would miss having dinner over to his friend’s home
with his wife, who’d also died in that tragic episode. “Cicero
will never be the same without you, il mio amico,” Finland said
as he patted Lucky’s hands and went to the back of the bar
where he met up with the rest of the family.
Fin sat with Mendoza, DeeDee and Doss and entertained a plate of
creamy lasagna and a T-bone steak while updating the men on the
operation. He’d just flown back into town from Seattle after
meeting with JunJie to discuss the family’s shipping
arrangements.
“Our associate in Seattle is getting nervous over this
impending war and wants a reassurance that we can still conduct
business throughout this process. He’s sending a shipment of
guns with the next delivery to help us out,” Finland remarked
as he stirred his lasagna.
“We have the new drop zone you established a while back,”
Mendoza remarked. “Our buyers are still willing to deal with
us, but not in Saint Charles and that is how we would rather things
go for the time being. And we most certainly could use some extra
firepower.”
“We have a rental home set up in Granite City for the time
being. Low key and quiet,” Doss said.
“Good,” Finland remarked. “We’ll give it two
weeks, see how it goes and I’ll report back to our man. The
thing that bothers me is the fact that our affiliates in Colorado are
also facing adversity. They had to bury one of their own and the
other? The other was fed to sharks inside a night club.”
“Fed to sharks?” Mendoza asked. “Who in the hell
does that?”
“Someone with a serious agenda if you ask me,” Finland
answered. “We’ve been in business for ten years now,
gentlemen. And given the nature of this occupation, this is about the
average time for a war to kick off in any organization.”
“Our affiliates,” Doss asked, “are they able to
handle their end of this thing? Because I have no doubt in my mind
that me and my family will come out on the winning end of our
battle.”
“They’re capable, but they don’t have much by way
of muscle.”
“We have plenty muscle despite our losses,” DeeDee said
as he leaned forward and rested his arms on the table. “I see
an opportunity to reap more profits for our unit. Tell our friends in
Colorado should they need our services we’re available—for
a price, of course.”
“Duly noted,” Finland ended.
“I got Junior on the job with those women who our guy in Fox
Park believes killed that Spanish girl Eddie told us about early on,”
Doss said. “It’s gone take some time because they’re
heavily guarded is the word. It may be next year before we get ‘em,
but we’re all on alert and on the offense looking to strike at
the opportune time. Business as usual for us. Tell your man in
Seattle that we still have a green light.”
“Will do. You know you guys may be battling for some time,
right? Years maybe before it’s all said and done.”
“It is the nature of the business, fellas. War is necessary.”
Mendoza said. “Takes heart to be in this business. And those
behind us have plenty of it. I don’t doubt them. Doss? This war
will be yours to finish, but me and your father are never far away
should you need counsel.”