Sal Gabrini: Just The Way You Are (2 page)

Sal wanted
to run out of that door and apologize to his brother.
 
Above any human being alive, he loved
Tommy.
 
But Tommy was so damn by the
book.
 
He was so much their father’s son
that sometimes Sal enjoyed twisting that knife.
 
But he loved Tommy, and hated to see him in pain.

Sal tossed
his condom into the trash and pulled up his pants.
 
“Get lost,” he said to Luddie.

“Maybe your
boys want some?” Luddie said, rubbing it in.

Sal looked
at her as if he couldn’t believe her backtalk.
 
“I said get lost!” he ordered again.

Luddie
continued to smile, but she knew Sal and his temper.
 
She pulled up her panties, pulled down her
skirt, and left.

“Shit, shit
and damn!” Sal yelled.
 
“Why the fuck did
you let him back here, Frankie?”

“I tried to
stop him,” Frankie said as he, Carve, and Dukes made their way toward Sal.
 
“I told him you were finding us a private
room for the meeting.
  
But he didn’t
want to hear that.
 
I tried to stop
him.
 
Didn’t I, Dukes?”

“You tried
to stop him.”

“Didn’t try
all that hard,” Carve said.
 
“But you
tried.”

“Three
months without pay,” Dukes said.
 
“I
can’t live three months without pay!”

“Me
neither,” Frankie said.
 
“You’ve got to
talk to your brother, Sal.
 
You’ve got to
make him see reason!”

“I don’t
have to do shit,” Sal said with a frown.
 
“Who do you think you’re talking to?”

“So what do
we do now?” Carve asked.
 
“We didn’t
steal those drugs.
 
Cap wrong for
suspending us over that!”

“Don’t even
try that,” Sal said.
 
“We’ve done worse
shit than lifting drugs. Shit that should have got us fired years ago.
 
And Tommy knows it.”
 
Then he exhaled.
 
“But you’re right about one thing.
 
We’re innocent this time.”

“So what do
we do?” Carve asked again.

“Find those
motherfuckers who snatched that stash and get our drugs back.
 
If we’re going to get suspended for something
we didn’t do, we’re going to at least get the fair market value for those
goods.”

Sal’s men
smiled.
 
And nodded.
 
They were like a gang of four, like a family,
and Sal was their leader.

But it
wasn’t easy to smoke out thugs who didn’t want to be smoked out.
 
It required rounding up every snitch they
ever worked with to get any kind of intel.
 
It required working their street contacts to the bone.
 
And even then, it would take nearly two more
weeks before they got their first big break.

Sal and his men
piled into their old school bubble Chevy and drove to a slum on the backside of
Seattle.
 
The hangout was an old building
masquerading as a Drycleaners.
 
When Sal
and his men began driving toward the dilapidated building, they couldn’t
believe it.
 
“A Drycleaners on a dead end
street in the middle of nowhere,” Frankie said.
 
He was driving.
 
Sal sat on the
front passenger seat beside him.
 
Carve
and Dukes sat in back.
 
“What the fuck
kind of sense does that make?”

“Who says a
thug needs sense?” Carve asked.

“They had
enough sense to hide from our asses,” Sal said.
 
“They had enough sense to steal our stash,” he added.
 
Then he ordered Frankie to stop the car just
short of the front of the building.

Sal and his
men got out quickly.
 
It was wintertime
in Seattle and all four wore leather jackets and gloves.
 
Sal also wore a skullcap on his head.
 

They went to
the trunk, pulled out lead pipes in case they could settle this without
gunfire, and then headed into the building.
 
They were officers of the law.
 
They
were card carrying members of the Seattle Police Department.
 
But this wasn’t about policing.
 
This was about street justice.
 
Their brand of justice.

As soon as
they entered the Cleaners, an old Chinese man moved in front of them.
 
He was nothing more than a front, a pawn, and
Sal and his men knew it.
 
The old man
began speaking a combination of Mandarin and broken English that was
undoubtedly alerting the boys in back that they had unwelcomed guests, but
Frankie covered his mouth before he could give them the full story.

Sal and his
men then pushed the guy aside, and Dukes kicked open the door in the back of
the cleaners.
 
Their perps, five young
thugs, were cutting dope when the door kicked open.
 
Some reached for their weapons, some ran out of
the backdoor.

Sal and
Dukes dropped the lead pipes, pulled out their weapons, and the two men who
stayed raised their hands in surrender.
 
While Frankie and Carve began beating them down with pipes, angrily
asking where was their cut, Sal and Dukes ran out of the backdoor to chase the
runners.
 
But they didn’t have to chase
them far.
 
They ran through a narrow
alleyway that led to a house.
 
A
dilapidated, two story, wood-framed hundred-year-old house.

Dukes wanted
to keep running, but Sal pulled him back. “It’s could be a trap,” he said.

“So what are
we gonna do?” Dukes asked.

Sal was
looking around, sizing up their surroundings, and thinking about that next
move.
 
Then he realized the only thing
they could do.
 
“We’re going to do what
we always do,” he said.

“Which is?”

“Smoke their
asses out.
 
Only this time literally.”

Dukes
smiled.
 
He knew exactly what Sal
meant.
 
“I’ll get the cans,” he said, and
ran back through the alleyway and into the back of the cleaners.

But when he
ran inside and saw the state of the two thugs Frankie and Carve had beaten
down, he stopped in his tracks.
 
“Damn,”
he said.
 
“Y’all had to kill’em?”

“It was kill
or be killed,” Frankie said and Dukes looked at him.
 
Frankie was stone cold.
 
They always suspected it.
 
This was the first time Dukes was able to see
it for himself.

But Dukes
had a job to do.
 
There were three thugs
left to tame.
 
So he ran to the trunk of
their car, grabbed the gas cans, and ran back to the big house out back.
 
Frankie and Carve were already there.

“Any
movement?” Dukes asked Sal when he arrived.

“They’re
still in there,” Sal said.
 
Then he
ordered Frankie and Carve to take the gas cans, run through the woods to the
side of the house, where there are no windows, and spread the gas up on and
around the entire house.
 
Sal and Dukes
kept their guns drawn and covered them as they did what they were told.

“They killed
the other two,” Dukes said to Sal as they watched the scene from the alley.

Sal looked
at Dukes.
 
“What did you think they were
going to do?” he asked.

“Beat’em up
surely.
 
But to kill’em?”

“They’re
killers.
 
What drug dealer you know who
isn’t a killer too?”

“But they
didn’t have to kill’em,” Dukes insisted.

“If they
would have let them live,” Sal asked, “guess what they would do to us?”

“What?” Dukes
asked.

“They would
hunt us down like wounded animals and kill us.
 
What do you think?
 
You leave no
stone unturned, boy!
 
My Uncle Paulo
taught me that.
 
Revenge has to be a
one-way street.
 
Because if you leave any
room for a fucker to get out of that jam, you’re leaving room in a coffin for
yourself.
 
You’d better remember that.”

Dukes
swallowed hard.
 
He was a crooked
cop,
he’d be the first to admit it.
 
But he never thought of himself as a
murderer.
 
Now, thanks to his association
with these fools, he was.
 
“I’ll remember
that,” he said.

When Frankie
and Dukes completely circled the house with gas, Frankie and Carve both lit
matches and tossed them into the stream.
 
They then ran for cover.
 
The fire
erupted immediately.
 
Far more powerfully
than any of them had expected.
 

And it
smoked those thugs out of that house faster than they had expected too.
 
The thugs came running out of that house,
screaming and shooting, but it was already too late.
 
They ran right into fierce flames that
engulfed them.
 
They didn’t stand a
chance.

“That’ll
teach those fuckers!” Frankie yelled.

“They won’t
be snatching any more of our drugs,” Carve added.

“Let’s get
back to that cleaners and round up what we can of their stash, and then get the
hell out of here,” Sal ordered, and they all turned to leave.

But Dukes
turned back, just to make sure all three men were down.
 
What he saw stopped him cold.
  
“Sarge, look!” he yelled, pointing at the
upstairs window of the burning house.

Sal and the
men turned and looked too.
 
When Sal saw
a child, a boy that was no more than five or six, standing at that window,
crying, his heart dropped through his shoe.

“No!” he
yelled and began running toward the house.
 
But Frankie, Dukes, and Carve had to pull him back.
 
It took all three.
 
But Sal fought against them.
 
He fought with all he had.
 
But he knew it was a battle already lost.

The house
was already consumed in flames.
 
It was
already falling apart.
 
There was no way,
no way on earth, to save that child.

And he gave
up trying when the flames shot out of that upstairs window like a backdraft,
and the child, that innocent baby, disappeared.

Present Day

“Mr. Gabrini
must really love her,” Curtis Kane said as the Aston-Martin turned into the
parking lot of the Vegas law firm.
 
He
and his co-worker, paralegal Barbara Jiles, were just getting out of their own
cars.

Barbara
looked at the Aston, and then looked at Curtis.
 
“What makes you say something like that?” she asked.
 
“Because she looks happy?
 
Because she doesn’t look beat up? I don’t get
it.”

“Because of
that car he bought her!” Curtis responded, in his usually excited way, as they
grabbed their respective briefcases and walked toward the sidewalk.
 
With its convertible top down, revealing
pearl-white leather seats, the Aston-Martin was a sight to behold to
Curtis.
 
“When I grow up, I’m going to
get me a car just like it.”

“News
flash,” Barbara said, “you’re already grown and can’t afford it now, and won’t
be affording it later.
 
That car costs
more than your house, child.”

“A man can
still dream,” Curtis said.

“A man
can.
 
You, on the other hand.”

Curtis
dismissed Barb’s putdown with a wave of the hand as the two assistants watched
their boss, Gemma Jones-Gabrini, get out of the Aston-Martin.
 
Like them, she was African-American too.
 
But the similarities ended there.
 
Gemma was tall and sleek, with long legs and
plenty of curves on a very slender frame.
 
Her ass was the biggest thing on her body, and she wore it well, Curtis
thought.
 
She was rocking a blue suit
with a pencil skirt that hugged that ass.
 
If he wasn’t gay and she wasn’t married to a mean-ass mobster like Sal
Gabrini, he’d be all over her.
 
But given
the limitations, he was more than happy to admire her, and her bad ride, from
afar.

He was also
curious, along with Barbara, about her presence.
 
It was early morning, and Curtis and Barb had
just arrived at work.
  
They were
supposed to be there.
 
What they didn’t
understand was why their boss was there.

“It’s almost
nine o’clock,” Barbara said to Gemma.
 
“Shouldn’t you be in court giving your closing arguments?”

Gemma
stepped onto the sidewalk beside them.
 
“Judge Rileo had to preside over an emergency hearing on a different
case,” she said.
 
“We’ve been pushed back
until tomorrow.”

“That’s not
good, is it?”

“Not for our
client, not at all.
 
He’s pissed.”

“Hey, boss,”
Curtis said with a smile.

“Good
morning, Curtis.
 
How are you?”

“Not good,”
Curtis admitted.
 
“We’re highly upset
with you.”

Gemma,
surprised by the nature of the subject change, looked at him.
 
“Upset about what?”

“About you,”
Barbara said, “and what you did.”

Gemma didn’t
have to think about it.
 
She knew she
hadn’t done a thing to either one of them.
 
“I’m sure I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about.”

“Is it true?”
Barbara asked.

Gemma
frowned.
 
“Is what true?”

“We heard,
through a little birdie that shall remain nameless, that you and Mr. Gabrini
are expecting your first child together.
 
Is it true, Gemma?”

Gemma
relaxed, and then smiled.
 
“Oh, that,”
she said.

They
couldn’t believe it.
 
“It’s true?” Curtis
asked, ready to do his happy dance.

Gemma
nodded.
 
“Yes, it’s true.
 
I’m pregnant.”

“Oh, Gem!”
Barbara said, and she and Curtis both hugged her vigorously.
 
It would be her first child and they were
elated for her.
 
Gemma was grinning
because they hugged so hard.

“How far
along are you?” Barbara asked, as they released her.

“Almost four
weeks,” Gemma said.

“Mr. Gabrini
must be beside himself with joy!” Barbara said.

But Curtis
disagreed.
 
“I don’t know now.
 
He just found out that Crazy Rudy Balotti is
his son.
 
He might not want another kid.”

 
“He may not want another kid like Rudy,”
Barbara said, “but he wants Gemma’s kid.
 
What man wouldn’t want Gemma Jones to have his baby?”

“I can name
plenty men, Barb,” Gemma said with a smile.
 
She was often amazed at how much they believed men wanted her when, to
Gemma, there was absolutely no basis in reality for such beliefs.

“How’s he
treating you now that you’re pregnant?” Barbara asked.
 
She liked Sal Gabrini, but didn’t like the
way he neglected Gemma sometimes.
 
“Like
a queen, I hope.”

Sal had
changed a lot, beginning with his decision to stay in town more often, but
Gemma never went that deep with her staff when it came to her marriage.
 
What they knew was what they overheard
somewhere else.
 
It never came from
Gemma.
 
“He’s been treating me just
fine.”

“I hope you
plan to treat me just fine,” Curtis said, “on my birthday.
 
You aren’t the only one going to have a big
day this year.
 
My birthday is coming
up.”

Gemma smiled.
 
Leave it to Curtis to find a way to make her
pregnancy about him.
 
“That’s good,” she
said.
 
“I think.”

“And you
know what?” Curtis asked.
 
“The best
present in the world would be for you to give me the day off, and the keys to that
superfine car of yours.
 
Just for that
day, mind you, but you don’t know how happy that will make me feel.”

Gemma smiled
and began heading for the office door.
 
They began heading that way too.

“I know you
think I’m kidding,” Curtis said as they walked.
 
“But I’m not.
 
The keys for a day,
that’s all I’m asking.
 
For my birthday,
not just any day.
 
I’m sure Mr. Gabrini
wouldn’t mind.”

“Then you
don’t know men,” Barbara said.

“Since I am
a man,” Curtis said, “albeit a gay one, but a man nonetheless, that’s an odd
thing to say.”

But Barbara
meant what she said.
 
“What man you know
would spend that kind of money on a woman and then turn around and let another
man enjoy it?”

“He doesn’t
have to turn around at all,” Curtis said.
 
“Who says he has to even know?”

“So you want
her to go behind her husband’s back?” Barbara asked.

“If it’ll
get me those keys for a day,” Curtis responded, “that’s exactly what I want her
to do!”

“Are you two
finished discussing me as if I’m not here?” Gemma asked.
 
“Or would it be more appropriate to change
the subject?”
 
Gemma was smiling, but
they knew she wasn’t kidding.

“I vote for
a subject change,” Barbara said.

Curtis,
however, never went down without a fight.
 
As Gemma’s secretary, he prided himself on his dogged loyalty to his
boss, and his dogged advocacy for himself.
 
“So I won’t be getting anything for my birthday?
 
Is that what you’re saying?”

“Asked the
grown-ass man who still thinks he’s a kid,” said Barbara.

“The day off
is doable,” Gemma said as they made it up to the office door.

“And the
car?” Curtis asked excitedly.

“Not so
doable,” responded Gemma.

Curtis was
deflated as he unlocked their office door.
 
“Well at least I’ll get a day off with pay,” he said.
 
“That’s better than nothing.”

“With pay?”
Gemma asked, half-jokingly.
 
“Who said it
would be with pay?
 
I said a day off.”

Barbara
laughed as Curtis looked sidelong at their boss.

“Didn’t I
say a day off, Barb?” Gemma asked, playing along.

“That’s
exactly what you said.
 
A day off.
 
A plain cake, in other words.
 
It’s Curtis who added the icing like he
always does.”

Gemma
laughed.

“Y’all wrong
for that,” Curtis said, not smiling at all, as he opened the door and let the
ladies in.
 
But their smiles dissolved
too when they saw the wreckage.

“What in the
world?” Barbara asked as they entered the lobby of the firm.
 
Chairs were overturned.
 
Papers from the file cabinets had been tossed
around the entire room, and the file cabinets were overturned.
 
And the once pristine walls had been
spray-painted with the words
The Law
Office of Bitch Jones-Gabrini
prominently displayed.
 
Gemma was floored.

“How did
they get in here?” Curtis asked confusingly as they all looked around
nervously.

“How should
we know?” Barbara asked.
 
“We just got
here too.”

“But is it
safe to be in here?” Curtis asked, looking around and suddenly jumping as if
somebody was behind him.

Barbara
looked at Gemma.
 
“It’s safe,” Gemma
said.
 
“But stay downstairs just in
case.”

“I’ll call
911,” Curtis said, heading for the office phone.

“No,” Gemma said,
pulling out her cell phone.
 
“I’ve got
it.”

Curtis and
Barbara began walking around, checking out the areas downstairs.
 
“Who would do something like this?” Barbara
asked.
 
“Kids maybe?”

“And look,”
Curtis said, pointing to a position on the wall.
 
“They snatched out the cameras.”

Barbara
hurried behind the desk.
 
The entire
computer controls were gone too.
 
Which
mean the hard drive cloud was gone.
 
“They took it all,” she said.
 
“These were no kids.
 
They knew
what they were doing.”

Gemma walked
away from her assistants as she pressed a button on her cell phone and listened
to the rings.
 
What was obvious to
Barbara and Curtis: she wasn’t calling 911.

She was
calling her husband, Sal Gabrini.
 
And
because he was taking a longer-than-usual time to answer, she knew there was
undoubtedly some situation at his office that had him tied up.
 
But he almost never let her phone calls go to
voice mail.
 
And he didn’t this time
either.

“If you’re
okay,” Sal’s voice came onto the line, “I’ll have to call you back.”

But Gemma
looked around her office, and especially at the writing on the wall.
 
She was not a nervous, needy person.
 
But this had unnerved her.
 
“I’m not okay,” she said.

Sal’s voice
changed from slight irritation at being bothered during an apparently stressful
time, to grave concern.
 
“What’s
wrong?
 
What happened?”

“Somebody
vandalized my law office.
 
At least the
entire downstairs.
 
I haven’t gone
upstairs yet.”

“And don’t
go up there,” Sal said.
 
“Get outside and
stay outside until I get there.
 
I’m on
my way now.”

“Thanks,
Sal.”

“You’re
packing like I told you to?”

Gemma hated
guns, but Sal made her carry one in her glove compartment anyway. “I’m covered,
yeah,” she said.

“Good.
 
I’m on my way.”

Gemma,
pleased to know that Sal was coming, ended the call.
 
When she looked up, her assistants were
staring at her.

“I guess
this is going to require Gabrini Justice,” Barbara said, “rather than 911?”

Gemma
exhaled, and remembered what Sal said.
 
“Let’s wait outside,” she said.

As Sal drove
up to his wife’s law firm, he saw Gemma and her assistants standing outside,
with their briefcases and purses sitting against the wall.
 
His heart squeezed every time he saw Gemma no
matter what, and now that she was carrying his child that feeling he felt was
tenfold.
 
She was his girl, and the idea
that somebody was trying to get under her skin with this bullshit she’d just
called him about angered him to the point of rage.
 
She didn’t need this shit.
 
Especially not now.