36. Prime
PRIME
Marco Carbone’s corpse splashes into the Delaware, down south beyond where the Schuylkill dumps into the tidal reaches. It bobs once, briefly, before sinking beneath the dark water, in the deepest part of the river, far from anywhere he might be found.
“Hope you fucking rot in hell,” I murmur, all the ceremony Carbone will ever get.
The sun begins to rise as I boat back to my launch off Kelly Drive.
It’s a beautiful view, a crisp morning, a good time to wash myself of this fresh hell.
I think about Deanna, the terror in her eyes, her family beaten half to death.
Anger flares, but not so bright. Carbone’s already drifting away toward the ocean. He got what he deserved.
I anchor and tie off. Stellan’s waiting at the end of the dock with two coffees. I accept one and drink deeply. “When’s the last time you went on body disposal duty yourself?” he asks casually as we walk toward the path that winds back into the city.
“Not that long ago. A couple years back.”
“You’re getting soft.”
“Ah, go to hell. You’re a paper-pusher these days, boss.”
Stellan laughs good-naturedly and gestures toward the Art Museum. “You know, I love this part of the city. It’s not authentic Philly. It’s not the parts we grew up in. This is the tourist shit. But it’s the best of us.”
“Hope that’s not true.”
“Come on, look at this place. Filled with treasures and life and people.”
“I prefer the back alleys. I like the streets stinking with fresh bread early in the morning as the old bakers do their thing.”
“Less and less of those these days.”
I stop at a street corner. “You meet me this early to talk about how the city’s changing?”
He gazes toward the big buildings downtown and sighs. “That’s the thing though. It’s always changing, and it’s going to change even more. Did you hear how many men have flocked over from the Fontana outfit yet?”
“Last I heard it was around ten or so.”
“Now we’re up to twenty. Three Capos too, big shots, all complaining they hadn’t gotten paid out in full for months. Your friend Alfonso’s bringing them to me in fucking droves.”
“You trust them?”
“I don’t trust anyone, you know that, but they want to start earning again. We’ll put them somewhere safe.” He glances at me sidelong. “Maybe you could deal with it.”
I rub the back of my head. “This is my punishment, isn’t it?”
“Among other things, yes. You’re going to make sure these Fontana fuckers aren’t a problem. You’re going to weed out the ones who make trouble and promote the ones who are serious. Do it on merit.”
“Is there any other way?”
“There are too many fucking ways.”
The light changes and we start moving again. I catch sight of Stellan’s bodyguards keeping their distance, acting like regular guys out for a walk, but I know their faces. I wonder what it’s like, never being alone. He probably hates it. He would’ve despised it back in the day.
Stellan’s a good man though, even if he is dumping a pile of shit in my lap.
I more than earned it.
“I need to ask you something.” We’re getting closer to the Parkway now. More people are out. Bikers glide past, joggers stomp along. A young mom pushes her baby in a stroller at a power walk. Ahead, crowds are already forming around the Rocky statue.
“I figured you would.”
“Old man Fontana. He’s still alive.”
“You know the outfit’s finished, right? Now that the rats are abandoning ship, it won’t survive much longer. You don’t need to do anything to him but wait.”
“I know that.”
“You’re still going to ask me, aren’t you?”
“Let me kill him, Stellan.”
He runs a hand through his hair and shakes his head. “No.”
I stop walking. “What the fuck?”
“No, Prime. Because I’m not positive you plan on coming back from that hit.”
I drink my coffee and take a beat to steady myself before replying. I could snap at him, react like the old Prime would, but I’m not thinking short term anymore. My life doesn’t have a black spot past Fontana’s death.
“I want kids. I ever tell you that?”
Stellan snorts. “You’re lying.”
“I’m serious. You know how I grew up. The shit I went through. I want kids of my own and I want to spoil them rotten. I want to do it right, be a good father, give them a good life. Make up for some of the hell I survived.”
“You can do that without killing Fontana.”
“No, I can’t. I need to end it. I have to know it’s over.
It’s been eating at me all these years, Stellan, and maybe I don’t want to go down into hell after the old man, but I have to send him there.
Now’s my chance. The only one I’ll get, right now while he’s weakest. Please, Stellan, this is the last favor I’ll ask of you.
Give me permission to kill the old bastard, and afterward, I’ll focus on my wife and on getting her as pregnant as I can. ”
My friend smiles and claps my shoulder. “You make it sound so romantic.”
“I won’t do it if you refuse. But I’m asking you for one more thing.”
“Do it then. You have my blessing, so long as you find your way back after it’s over. I like that wife of yours. I’d hate to see you break her heart.”
“Never.”
Stellan says goodbye in front of the Art Museum. His driver’s waiting in a black limo. When he’s gone, I call Deanna, and she picks me up ten minutes later.
“How’d it go?”
“About as good as it could’ve.”
“Anything I should know?”
I lean over to kiss her neck as she navigates the narrow Philly streets. “Tonight, I’m going to kill Fontana. And afterward, I’m going to come home, and I’m going to fuck you until you’re pregnant.”
She laughs, flicking my chin until I back away. “Who said I want to get pregnant?”
“You don’t want a family?”
“I do, but I’m still young.”
“All the better. We’ll have more time to pump them out.”
“Prime!”
“I’m going to fill you with babies, Deanna.”
“God, you’re a psychopath.”
“Dozens of them.”
“Three. No more. And we’ll start when I’m twenty-six.”
“That’s forever away.”
“It’s long enough for us to travel, go to dinner, do all the dating things we never got to do, before we give our lives over to kids.”
“That’s a fair point.”
“Good.” She pats my cheek. “That’s my husband.”