I Kill Monsters: Fury (Book 1) (20 page)

Jennifer wondered if her brother wasn’t
somehow involved in the drug trade. But didn’t drug dealers drive
fancy cars? And Boone, the little seven-year-old boy who got off
the plane at JFK International Airport with Jennifer and her
parents and moved into their modest home in Queens, had never owned
a car or possessed a driver’s license in his life. Even today,
Derrick had picked Boone up at the train station and drove him
over, and when it was time for him to leave tonight they would drop
him off at the same station and he would get on the train and go
back to whatever his life was.

“No big family vacation, huh?” asked Boone,
pouring himself a cup of coffee.

“Not this week,” Jennifer’s husband answered.
“The kids started school this week.”

“Already? Damn.” Boone looked at Jill. “Hey,
what are you, in the first grade now?”

“Second.” Bea said it proudly.

“That’s right. I forgot, you’re like
super-smart and all.”

“Did you like school, Uncle Boone?”

“Me? School?” Boone snorted. “No. I hated the
place. But you know what I wish now?”

“What?”

“I wish I had paid better attention and not
been so busy trying to get in trouble.”

“You got in trouble at school, Uncle Boone?”
the little girl looked like she couldn’t imagine it.

Boone looked at Jennifer and they shared a
smile. “Once or twice.”

There were many mysteries and things Jennifer
didn’t understand about her sibling, and she chose not to pursue
them. To do so risked alienating him.

Jennifer didn’t kid herself that her
brother’s business, whatever it was, was shady. And whatever it
was, her kids were the recipients of Boone’s largesse. Every time
he came to visit—which wasn’t as often as Jennifer would like—Uncle
Boone would hand his sister a roll of money on the side, telling
her it was for the kids’ college education. Derrick did quite well
downtown, but she didn’t tell him about the money she got from her
brother. It wasn’t that Derrick would have been insulted. He would
have been concerned about where the money was coming from.

Jennifer had her concerns as well, but again,
she wasn’t going to start asking questions about an arrangement
that had unfolded over the years.

“We’re looking at going to Europe this winter
when the kids and Jen are off from school,” Derrick was saying to
Boone. “You should come with us.”

“Europe, huh?”

“We’re thinking France and Italy,” added
Jennifer.

“We’ll see.” The way he said it Jennifer knew
he wouldn’t be coming with them. She didn’t think her brother had
ever left the States since he’d arrived as a child, much less
gotten outside of New York City much.

“Make a muscle, Uncle Boone,” asked Greg.

Boone held up an arm, pulled back the sleeve
of his FUBU rugby shirt, clenched his big, ugly fist and squeezed.
His biceps contracted and popped up off his arm, a split in the
middle.

Greg laughed and clapped and wrapped both of
his little hands around his uncle’s enormous arm.

“How much can you liff, Uncle Boone?”

“I can lift an elephant.”

“No you can’t!” The kid laughed.

“You’re looking bigger than last time,” noted
Jennifer.

“Been taking my vitamins,” replied Boone,
then reached down to his baggy jeans and retrieved his pager. He
looked at the screen. “Okay if I use your phone?”

“Help yourself,” motioned Derrick.

When he had left the room, Greg turned to his
mother. “Mommy, when I’m all gwown up, I wanna have big musscels
like Uncle Boone.”

“I’m going to have to get going,” Boone said
when he came back into the room. “Work.”

“Everything okay?” Jennifer asked.

“Yeah, everything is fine.”

“Give me a minute,” said Derrick. “I’ll get
my keys.”

“Can I come wiff you daddy?” pleaded
Greg.

“You do me a favor, okay kid?” Gossitch asked
Boone as they walked down the street in the oppressive humidity of
the afternoon. The two old men seated on the sidewalk in lawn
chairs looked like they had always been there. “Do us both a favor
and keep?”

Boone just nodded.

Gossitch had picked him up at 125th Street
and drove them into Queens.

“
Buongiorno
,
Signor
,” Gossitch
greeted the old men, both of whom smiled up at him.

“
Salve
,
Franciso
.” One of the
two, his hands resting on the handle of his cane, replied. The
other man nodded and smiled.

“
Fa
caldo
,
no
?” Frank
asked and the other man, still nodding, rasped back, “
Fa
brutto
tempo
.”

Boone followed Gossitch through a nondescript
screen door and a small vestibule which let out onto a vast room
with a pool table, a bar, and a couple of fans spinning
overhead.

There were five other men in the social club
aside from themselves.

“Frank.” Dickie Nicolie was wearing spotless
white tennis shoes and a black track suit. He wore a gold crucifix
on a chain on his neck. He held his hands out and embraced
Gossitch.

“Dickie. How’s the family?”

“Well. All things considered. And you?”

“I can’t complain.”

“Frank’s guy.” Dickie nodded to Boone, who
nodded back.

“Frank, can we talk?”

“That’s why I’m here, Dickie.”

“Great, come on over to the bar. Dooles’ll
fix us a drink. Hey, Dooles—Frank, what are you drinking?”

“Whatever you’re drinking.”

“Dooles, give us two Makers Mark.”

“Boone,” Johnny Spasso announced by way of
greeting. Inside the social club Spasso had taken off his
microfiber rain coat. Two pistols hung butt-out under his arms in a
dual shoulder rig. He leaned on a pool stick.

“Spasso.”

“Sully, Carmine, you guys know Boone,
right?”

“Sure we know Boone.” Sully was chewing on a
toothpick. “Don’t we, Carmine.”

Carmine snickered.

“Wanna play some eight-ball, Boone?” Sully’s
invitation lacked any semblance of warmth.

“Nah, I don’t play fag games.” He looked at
Spasso. “No offense to you.” He meant it. Spasso nodded.

“What’d he just say?” The toothpick looked
like it was going to drop out of Sully’s mouth.

“Take it easy there, pal.” Boone held up a
hand. “Sorry about that. My doctor says it’s my tourettes. I can’t
help myself. Sometimes I just blurt shit out.”

Spasso smirked.

“Thanks, Dooles.” Dickie picked up one of the
two whiskeys on the bar. The bartender, Dooles, moved down to the
other end of the bar and busied himself with something.

Gossitch sipped his whiskey.

“What’s going on, Dickie?”

“Frank, let me cut to the chase, yeah?” When
Gossitch nodded, Dickie continued. “What do you know about this
broad your guy—Jay—is dating?”

Gossitch cocked an eyebrow. This was the
second time in twenty-four hours someone had talked to him about
Jay’s choice in women.

“Not much really. He hasn’t been coming
around a lot lately.”

“Since he started seeing her?”

Gossitch thought about it before he answered.
“Yeah, maybe, sure. My guys are big boys, Dickie. You know what I
mean? I don’t make them bring their dates home first.”

Dickie laughed. “I know how you are about
your crew, Frank.” The mobster turned to lean his back against the
bar, spreading his hands to encompass the room and the men in it.
“I’m the same way about mine. Protective, right? Like a
father.”

“There something I need to be protective
about, Dickie?”

“Nah, it’s just…” Dickie faced the other man.
“Look, Frank. How long we known each other?”

“Don’t know. Long time.”

“Yeah, a long time, and you know, what we do,
it isn’t all that much different is it?”

Gossitch didn’t disagree so Dickie
continued.

“It’s a question of scope, right? I mean,
your guys work
for
you, they answer
to
you. My guys
work for me, they answer to me. But, see Frank, one way in which
you and I differ? I also answer to those above me.”

“Where’s this going, Dickie?” Gossitch placed
his glass on the bar.

“You seen Johnny, yesterday, at that…that…I
don’t know what to call it. Well, that broad your guy is dating?
She was doing some work for us.”

“You mean…?”

“She was the other woman at the shoot. The
one no one found.”

“The fluffer,” surmised Gossitch.

Dickie looked into his whiskey. “She calls
herself Tatianna. I met her, once. Beautiful broad. Exotic, from
eastern Europe or some shit. But strange, definitely strange.”

“Strange how?”

“Can’t put my finger on it. Now, that’s not
all that odd in itself. A lot of girls who get involved in the
industry are off their rockers. Either when they get started,
definitely when they’re finished. It’s the nature of the
business.”

“You think Jay’s girlfriend is somehow,
what
? Responsible for the murder of those men?”

“Murder? Frank, you saw it. It was a
massacre…and no, I don’t know that she’s responsible. What I know
is that this broad was supposed to be on scene and guess what?
She’s gone.”

“Maybe she didn’t show up for work.”

“Possible. But that’s where I’d like to ask
you for your help. Could you talk to your guy? Find out about his
woman? See what he says? The family would appreciate it.”

“I’ll talk to Jay, Dickie,” said Gossitch.
“But I’ll talk to him because I value our relationship, you and me.
Not for the family, no disrespect intended.”

“None taken.”

“That other woman, the ‘Swallows’ one, her
man ever turn up?”

“My people are on his trail now,” confided
Dickie. “He’ll turn up. They always do.”

Gossitch nodded. They always did.

“Hey, I heard this joke,” Sully said to
Carmine and Johnny.

“Yeah, what’s that?” Carmine, his arms
crossed, asked.

“How many muscleheads it takes to screw in a
light bulb?”

“I don’t know, how many?” Carmine snickered,
looking at Boone.

Boone said, “I heard this one before.”

“Yeah, you know the answer to this, huh?”

“Yeah. One, because the other twelve are busy
fucking your sister.”

Sully’s face went red.

“You walked right into that one, Sull.”
Spasso sank a striped ball. Carmine declared, “That joke ain’t even
funny.”

“What else is going on?” Gossitch asked at
the bar.

“Ah, these fuckin’ Feds,” sighed Dickie.
“They’re gonna RICO me.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah.”

“They got anything can stick?”

Dickie shook his head. “You never know,
right? Gotta hope not.”

“What’s the—” Gossitch looked up,
“
administration
got to say about that?”

“They trust me, Frank,” said Dickie. “I
earned that a long time ago. If I gotta go away, they’ll take care
of me, of Maryann and the kids. I’m just getting kind of old to
think about going away for any extended period of time, you
know?”

“You’re the last of a dying breed, Dickie.”
Gossitch held up his glass. “You’re a man of honor.”

“Thanks Frank.” Dickie tapped Gossitch’s
glass with his own and both men drank. “Coming from you, that’s
something.”

“Hey, Boone,” asked Carmine. “It true
steroids make your dick shrink?”

Boone shrugged. “Don’t know. Why don’t you
ask your wife?”

“Boone thinks he’s a tough guy.” Sully
cracked his knuckles.

“Yeah, he’s really tough in here.” Carmine
nodding over his shoulder to the men at the bar. “Wonder what he’s
made of out on the street.”

“Anytime you fags want to play,” invited
Boone. “Let me know. I like to play.”

Spasso shook his head, considering his next
shot. “You guys…”

“Boone, let’s go.” Gossitch clasped Boone on
the shoulder. “Johnny, always a pleasure. Gentlemen.”

Sully nodded to Gossitch and said, “Hey,
Boone, we’ll see you later, okay?”

“I hope so,” said Boone. “Johnny.”

“Boone.” Johnny shot and sunk another striped
ball.

Boone met the old black man in a park a few
blocks from the record store. He’d have rather they’d met at the
store itself so he could have checked out Keisha’s ass.

It was a humid August evening and there were
a few people in the park. Young men shooting hoops, older men and
women sitting around small concrete tables with checker and chess
boards etched into them. In a little bit when it was less humid
there would be more people.

The old man sat at one of the tables. He was
turned in his seat, facing the park, his back to the towering chain
link fence. He sat with his cane across his knees in his
windbreaker. Boone didn’t understand how old people could be cold
on the hottest of days.

“Blind.” Boone greeted him as he sat down
across from the man.

“Mr. Mojo himself,” the old man smiled behind
his sunglasses.

“What you got for me, pops?”

“Never one much for pleasantries, was you
Mojo?”

“How’s that fine daughter of yours?”

“Okay, maybe we skip those then.”

Boone watched a guy on the court shoot and
miss. “Lot going on in this city of ours.”

“Sure is.”

“You bring your cards?”

The old man turned in his concrete chair to
face the young man.

“Yeah.” There was a little surprise in his
voice that Boone would ask. “Why, you want a reading?”

“I don’t believe that shit. But…I don’t know.
Yeah
.”

The man across from Boone reached into his
jacket and produced a deck of oversized cards.

“Let’s hear the question first.” He laid the
cards face down on the concrete table between them.