Chapter 20
20
BENNY
I overreacted when Daisy didn’t explain where she was on the night she stood me up.
I don’t like secrets—ironic for a guy in my line of work, I know. She’s not cheating. she’s not the type. If she’s keeping something from me then she’s got a good reason. I just flipped out instead of listening to her. I keep trying to tell her that, but I’m pretty sure she’s blocked my number at this point. If she wanted to talk to me, she would have by now. I want to explain myself and have a chance to reconcile. She’s shutting me out. I have to trust that we’ve both grown up, and she’ll hear me out eventually.
I wait another week, thinking every day she’ll decide it’s worth trying to talk about hard shit and work it out. Day after day she doesn’t contact me. I’m a man of action and have to do something. I know where to find her.
First thing one morning, I walk in to Snip when it’s just her and one other stylist. I catch her eye, and she gives the same startled look as when we ran into each other at the bodega right after she moved back. Like she wants to make a run for it.
Clapping eyes on Daisy again should feel like victory, a relief at least. But she looks like shit. Worry surges through me—I’m used to adrenaline, but this is the opposite, a rush of dread and regret that presses down on me.
Before I say a word, she shakes her head, lips pressed together.
“I could use trim. You got time?” I say.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she says shakily.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Just please don’t come in here anymore.” She won’t look at me, and my plan to get her to talk with me while she cut my hair is shot to hell.
“You know where to find me,” I say.
After I stop at the office, I head to one of our warehouses. I set up a meeting with the dissident faction. I’ve got to smooth things over before we have a major rift. Dad’s got lunch with an old pal of his so I have a couple hours to work some diplomatic magic. One of my guys brings in aluminum pans of food from the car. Nobody’s in a mood to negotiate on an empty stomach.
I greet the guys who show up right on time, wearing cheap suits and flashing big guns when they tuck their hands in their pockets to look around.
“Classy shit, Benny,” Grigo says.
“Thanks, I set it up myself,” I grin at him. “How you been?”
“Ah, ya know, makin’ bank and stirring up shit,” he says, shaking my hand.
“Have a seat. I know it ain’t the Ritz, but we got food from Rico’s.”
“Sweet. You remember my nephew, Patrick,” he says, indicating some kid that looks about nineteen with his suit sleeves too short.
“No way, Patrick’s a little kid. This is a man,” I say, clapping him on the back. “How old are you now?”
“Graduated high school last year,” he says.
“Welcome to the family,” I say and we take our seats. They have about sixteen men with them to my seven. Mine have training and skill, while they’re showing numbers thinking to intimidate.
“I want to break him in on the ground floor of the business,” he says. “Let him learn the ropes. That way, he knows what’s going on. Now, did you bring us here to eat subs and shut us up with a bunch of shit about how essential we are to the organization?”
“Nah,” I protest. “We gotta work some stuff out. I like a good meal, sit down, and take our time. My dad’s the lay down the law kind, I know.”
“No shit,” he says. We’re just tucking in to our food when my phone goes off. I’m tempted to ignore it, but I check the ID. It’s got to be urgent for anybody to call me during this meeting.
“Yes,” I say, testy.
“The shipment. They popped it,” a voice says. There’s noise in the background. I go to Gino who lifts an eyebrow. “Somebody nicked our shipment,” he confirms. “We need to go deal with the fallout. I’ll let you know what we find, if there’s anything left.”
“I need to make an appearance,” I say.
“Yeah,” he says. “Let them know the boss is in charge.”
“Exactly,” I say.
I go tell Grigo what’s up. He doesn’t act smug like he’s behind it or expected it, which reassures me. Unless he’s a better liar than he used to be. I apologize that I’m called away on another matter and ask them to enjoy the meal or take it with them. We will reschedule, I promise, but my mind is already on the shipment. I know which one it was, the load of heavily concealed bump stocks we were moving down to Florida. This is bad.
When I get to the warehouse where the shipment was mean to be unloaded repackaged and trucked out, there’s already a swarm of my guys there. I want to know who’s behind it, and I want the cargo back. If those things fall into the wrong hands, I think in horror, they could end up part of a mass shooting. Not that the people we were selling them to are the most peaceful guys, but the clients are running them to rebels in an oppressive regime, people who are fighting for their freedom, not guys who want to shoot up a crowd of innocents.
I feel sick to my stomach at the thought, and then I remember years ago, Daisy telling me, if you don’t want the bad guys getting illegal guns, don’t run guns. Get out of it, otherwise you’re another villain with excuses.” It didn’t give me pause at the time. We were teenagers and I didn’t think about anything that deep. Now it makes me wonder if she was right all along, if maybe there were ways to run this business without smuggling for arms deals.
It takes all of five minutes to figure out who’s behind this. “I gave that bastard first pick of the meatball subs just now,” I mutter to myself. I dial Grigo’s number.
“How you doing?” he asks with a laugh.
“I want my shipment.”
“Cool. I want your job. Nice suit, destined to lead, clean hands…” he says.
“My hands are anything but clean. If you wanna meet in the alley like when we were kids, settle this like men, I can afford a new suit. Although I gotta good dry cleaner that can get blood out.”
“Maybe you’ll give me his name, I could use a good cleaner,” he quips.
“Where’s my shipment.” It’s not a question. It’s an order.
“Ask your dad,” he says darkly and hangs up.
If Grigo took advantage of my father’s condition, I’m going to need more than just a dry cleaner.
I take the bait and dial my dad’s phone. It picks up on the third ring but it’s a woman’s voice, “Jesus, Benny, he’s dead!” she wails and drops the phone.
I track the location and see that they’re right outside the restaurant where he was meeting a friend for lunch. It hits me in the throat. I heard the truth of it in her cry. My dad’s gone. Just like that, brutal and instant.
I tap two guards and get in a car. We arrive at the scene right after the ambulance, which was a formality. Both men were dead, gunshot wounds to the torso and neck in a drive-by. It all went down at the time of our supposed negotiation meeting, orchestrated as a distraction while the shipment and the don were both removed. I don’t hear a word anyone says to me, the pounding of my pulse in my head drowns everyone out.
My first job is to get a lid on this fast. I don’t want an all-out Mob war. I’m in charge and I’m going to make it known, with my bare hands if necessary. If Grigo thinks he’s just messing with a rich boy in a nice office, he is forgetting our history. I came up the ranks eliminating any problem as callously as you’d pull a weed out of your yard. That’s what I’ll do now, reminding them who they’re fucking with.