FIGHT (17 page)

“Come on, we’re leaving,” he told August.

“Do we pack?”

“We don’t have time to pack.  We’re just leaving.”

August reached under the couch and pulled out Zoggy.  Something told him he’d never see this place again, and he wouldn’t risk being separated from his first friend.

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Gabe stopped at an ATM in a well lit district of Boston’s financial sector and withdrew $500.  He wanted a hotel for the night, as he plotted his next move, and he didn’t want to pay with a credit card that the Filippos could trace.  Back in his Benz GL, he whipped out his phone.

“I need to make an important phone call, and I need you to be quiet.”

“Okay,” August agreed.

He called Victor.  He’d thought more about the intrusion into his apartment, and he was convinced that the Filippos were the likely culprits. Victor answered after the first ring:

“What can I do for you, son?”

Though Gabe despised the title, he was glad to be called ‘son’ tonight.  It meant they were on good terms, and right now he needed the Family’s muscle.

“My apartment was broken into by two guys.  I don’t know who did it, but I think the Filippos are behind it.  Also, I drove through Watertown tonight, and I can confirm that Luke’s right.  The Filippos’ men are everywhere, on every street corner, under every street lamp.  They got goons, tons and tons of goons.  I think they’re expanding, and I think they tried to pay me a visit while I was out tonight.”

“Where are you now?”

“On my way to a hotel, with cash on hand.”

“Smart move.  Stay low for a couple of days.  Feel free to use the Swiss account for anything you need.”

That offer meant Victor was definitely pleased with him.  The Swiss account was the most secure one the Family had, and it contained the bulk of the Family fortune. 

“We’ve got to do something about the Filippos horning in on our turf,” Gabe said, pretending to care about the Family’s business, when all he really cared about was using the Adelaides’ forces to protect him and August.

“We will.  I’ll look into it, son.”

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Bruce sat in his office with his left leg folded across his lap so he could massage his ankle.  His colitis flare had activated his arthritis, and his ankle’s skin looked like it was stretched around a growth.  He moaned, as he tried to force some of the tension out of the swelling.  In the back of his mind, he hoped for a resolution to his arthritis, after the colitis was gone.  His operation would probably happen soon, he guessed, though he didn’t know when Gabe would arrange to pay the rest of the money needed for his surgery.  He wanted to believe he’d soon no longer have colitis, and, if he was lucky, he might not have some of its worst complications. 

He’d made peace with taking the mob’s money.  He knew they’d come by their money illegally, but he reasoned it was past time to see that cash spent on someone who wasn’t a career criminal.  It seemed like karma had tipped its hat in his favor.  He also wasn’t (very) worried about Gabriel Adelaide trying any funny business during his time at St. Knox’s.  Dorsey had promised him cover to make sure he came through the surgery safely.  The hospital would be packed with cops 24 hours a day for as long as he was there.  He truly felt like this surgery could be the life changer he needed.  And it might help August. He and Martha no longer talked much about adoption: they were too worried about the kid’s immediate safety.  Knowing he was with Gabe sent chills up their spines that neither could suppress.  The possibilities were too frightening to even consider.  More than once they’d considered contacting Sara to ask how he’d been abducted, but they decided the “how” didn’t matter. 

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Sara parked her Honda in the Ringers’ driveway and made her way to their front door, proudly carrying a bag full of toy blocks.  She’d finally remembered the blocks she’d promised August weeks ago.  That time now felt like another lifetime ago, before her worry about the mob, before finding her home vandalized, before discovering the cash stuffed in her purse (which she’d turned over to authorities), and before her reconciliation with Bruce.  So much had transpired between then and now that she surprised herself by remembering the toys. 

She rang the Ringers’ doorbell, with a confidant smile.  She still had it: that ability to remember the little things in life that pleased kids.  She warmly anticipated August’s shy smile awaiting her.

Gina spied her through the front door’s circular lookout.  Yesterday, she’d cashed both Gabe’s check and one from the state for pretending to take care of August, and she had no intention of giving up that golden goose by letting this nosey social worker know that the kid was no longer here. She’d been expecting this visit for some time.  She knew Sara stopped by once a month, and it had been a little over five weeks since her last visit.  She’d been practicing what she’d say, and she didn’t worry about Bill contradicting any lie that she told. 

“Sara!  Good to see you! Come in!”

“Thanks, Gina.  Good to see you in high spirits.  I finally brought these for August,” she said, lifting the open bag to indicate the blocks’ visible tops.

“He’ll love ‘em,” Gina replied, secretly planning to trash them as soon as Sara left.  “Too bad you just missed him.”

“I did?  Where’d he go?”

“He’s at a friend’s birthday party.  One of his pals from school is celebrating at a pizza place, and a bunch of kids from his class went.”

This shocked Sara.  She’d never known August to have friends.  And attend a birthday party?  This sounded totally out of character, but in a good way, one that pleased her.  She was eager to believe it. 
Finally
, she thought,
he’s coming out of his shell.
 

“Well, he’ll have a gift himself when he returns,” Sara laughed. 

Sara was more at ease with Gina these days, since the possibility of the Hudsons’ adopting August had fallen through.  She’d sensed that Gina hadn’t been keen on the idea of August leaving, but she’d chalked up such sentiment to emotional attachment, oblivious to Gina’s true attachment.

“I’ll be sure to give these to him when he gets back.  I don’t want to keep you, seeing as how he’s gone at the moment,” Gina offered.

“It’s no problem. I’m in no hurry.  I hate to mention this, since everything seems to be going so well, but, um, you haven’t noticed any strange activity have you?  Like the kind we talked about last time?”

Gina knew exactly what kind of strange activity Sara had in mind, but she feared Gabe and she liked his money.

“No, nothing’s new around here.  Same old, same old.  Things have been pretty quiet, actually.”

“That’s good to know.  If you think you see anything out of the ordinary, don’t hesitate to call me.  Seriously.  And don’t worry, I’ll never think you’re being paranoid.  I’ve had some strange things happen to me recently.”

She expected Gina to ask about the strange things that had happened to her and was surprised when Gina didn’t.

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Billy Mulkin was a Family associate and damn proud of it.  Only eighteen, there weren’t many jobs he qualified for. But even if other opportunities came along, he’d turn them down. Serving as a glorified errand boy for the Adelaides was his dream job.  He liked the secrecy, the seriousness, the stature of his position.  Being an associate meant he was trusted to do grunt work for the mob.  He helped burn down businesses, when “clients” didn’t pay their insurance premiums.  He loved arson, he had an aptitude for working in the dark, and he quickly learned all the jargon, codes, and signs to stay discreet in retaliatory work.  He was a natural at crime, and, had he been Italian, he might’ve been a candidate for the rank of made man.

When Billy told his friends and (now ex) girlfriend he worked for the Family, the announcement caught their attention.  It felt good to be employed for such locally famous people.  Many of his high school classmates had finished school and gone off to college, with dreams of working for Fortune 500 companies.  Billy knew that kind of stuff wasn’t for him.  He’d never had book smarts.  But in this world, he didn’t need book smarts, and he more than compensated with brute force.

A year ago, at seventeen, Billy had been approached by Victor’s brother, Ronald, as he was walking home from another miserable day of his junior year.  Ronald was seated in the back of his Rolls and making his rounds in Southie, when he saw the drifter-looking student who had an expression somewhere between sullen and pissed off.  Ronald ordered his driver to follow the kid.  Billy, who’d just learned that day that he’d failed a sufficient number of math tests to keep him from graduating next year, was shocked to see a limo trailing his slow gait.  Southie wasn’t known for its wealth, and he knew a car this expensive was carrying someone far more prestigious than anyone his unemployed alcoholic of a father or his mother, a night shift worker at a greeting card company, might know.  He watched the sleek automobile nearly pass him and then keep his stride, when the last window in a long row of several windows reached him.  Billy walked side by side the car’s last passenger’s window long enough to stare into it, wondering who the hell was following him and why.  When the tinted window came down, Billy saw a guy well dressed in expensive attire. The guy propped his right arm on the car window’s edge, and Billy caught a glimpse of the many gold rings he was wearing.  The car, the suit, the rings… it was the largest (and most flagrant) display of wealth he’d seen up close.  Billy’s face showed his fascination, and this pleased Ronald greatly. 

“Name’s Ronald.  Ronald Adelaide.  Why don’t you get in?”

With that simple invitation, the car stopped, a door seemingly opened on its own, and a seat in the back facing Ronald Adelaide appeared.  It was Billy’s chance, his lucky break, his excuse to no longer care about not passing math, not passing eleventh grade, or not passing anything else.  Billy got in, and the car sped away. 

Since then, he’d been handed jobs that more important lackeys (known in mob parlance as “soldiers”) didn’t want.  No matter: he never complained.  His youth, inexperience, and lack of career options kept him obedient to a flaw.   He’d proven to be the perfect kind of grunt worker. He performed a near infinite amount of shitty assignments and never asked to be promoted.  This caught the attention of Ronald, who liked to boast of his choicer recruitments to Victor.  When Victor, sipping scotch on his home’s third-floor balcony, eventually took notice of the young kid trimming his hedges on the lawn below, he silently conceded that Ronald was right: the kid was the perfect worker.  Below, Victor watched Billy trim hedges with inexplicable rage, a seething scowl, and gritted teeth.  The kid was angry for no apparent reason at all, and that was the kind of mindless anger Victor could use.  He’d mentally filed the kid’s presence away in the recesses of his mind for a future assignment.  Today was that day, the important assignment had finally come, and, today, when Ronald finally introduced Billy to Victor in the latter’s private study, Billy walked on cloud 9.  He didn’t have a high school diploma, but by God he was hot stuff in the Adelaide world, and he knew this because they told him.

“You’re exactly what we’re looking for.  You’ve got the head, the strength, and the dedication we need.  You pull this off, and we’re talking big money,” Victor promised.

Billy wanted to know what big money meant, but he was too nervous to ask.  It sounded impressive as hell, which meant it had to be a lot.  Victor went on:

“All you have to do is buy some crack.  A small amount.  And!  We foot the bill.  We’ll give you the cash to buy it with, so you won’t be out of pocket for any of this.”

As Victor explained the ease and simplicity of the assignment, Ronald was busy strapping a hidden camera around Billy’s waist, one that would broadcast everything Billy saw to a remote signal in a nearby van.  Everything Billy took in, every direction he faced, would be recorded for the Adelaides to see.  Billy felt like Agent 007.

“And you don’t have to worry about the camera, my friend,” Victor smiled.  “It isn’t noticeable.  Only a small part of it protrudes from the hole in the front of your shirt, and, since the lens is glass, no one will see it.  Our guys will be watching and listening to everything, and if you get into any trouble they’ll be there on the ready.”

“I won’t be in any trouble,” Billy said, with courage in his voice that he hoped Victor found impressive.

Victor did find the kid’s courage impressive, but not for reasons Billy suspected.  Victor’s smile broadened:

“Of course you won’t be in any trouble.  I’m sure you’ve bought pot before, and this is similar.  You just ask the dealer if can help you out and discreetly palm your cash in a direction that only he can see.  He’ll do the rest.  Once you have the goods, walk calmly back to the van that dropped you off and give the crack to the driver.  We want to test it to see what kind of stuff the Filippos are dealing.  Understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good man.  Good man,” Victor said, smiling and patting him on the shoulder.

Billy wasn’t scared of the Filippos.  He was much too stupid to be scared of them, because he believed Victor’s promise to have his back.   Walking three blocks north from where Charlie Unique’s van had dropped him off and into the official limits of Watertown, he tried to imagine what Unique was seeing on his closed circuit television.  It occurred to him that this assignment was the most attention any adult had ever paid to him.  All those afternoons walking home from school, and not once had Jerry (his dad, who he’d taken to calling by his first name these days) ever asked about school, his day, or anything else.  The most his mom ever said was, “Dinner’s in the fridge,” and in what Tupperware container he could find it in.  This new adult interest in his activities was addicting.  He felt more than just valued; he felt needed, and he’d never felt that before. 

Billy saw a big guy with his hands in his coat pockets standing stock still at the same moment that the camera in his shirt showed the big guy to Unique.  Billy could tell this was their man, because normal people didn’t wear coats in the summer.

“How’s it going, man?” Billy asked.  “Cool coat, by the way.”

Watching from his parked van, Unique sighed. 
Such a damn fool
.  You never tried to strike up a conversation with a dealer.  That was a basic rule.  An overly talkative customer gave the impression of a rat, a narc, a spy.  And, of course, that’s exactly what Billy was. 
He’s lying about having bought pot before,
Unique realized. 
Kid’s never bought anything before
.  Billy had just blown his cover and was too fucking dumb to know it.  He’d know it soon enough.  Several young guys, who’d been kicking a hacky sack a few feet away from Billy and the dealer, dropped their hacky sack on the pavement and made their way over.  Unique leaned back in the van’s seat, watching the small dashboard-mounted monitor and lit a cigarette.  He knew how this was going to end.  Victor and Ronald Adelaide had forseen its ending as well.  Billy had been chosen because he was disposable.  High school dropouts were a dime a dozen, and replacing him would be as easy as driving down Southie while waving a few $20’s.  Victor hadn’t actually wanted to test the quality of the Filippos’ crack: he’d wanted to get a bird’s eye view of the precise number of thugs accompanying a typical Filippo dealer.  That would give him a pretty good indication of just how strong the Filippo force actually was.  Unique counted four associates with the dealer.  That was damn good protection and certainly more than the single guy who accompanied the Adelaides’ dealers.