Blood Ties - A Magnolia Novel Page 14

  None of them said a word to each other as they waited. Everything surrounding the murder of Ray-Ray that needed to be discussed, already had been. The day his death was announced by a somber police detective, Caesar played the dutiful uncle and had Carmine drive him over to their house, sitting and listening while watching them scream and cry. Once the outbursts were over, Caesar offered to take justice out of the hands of the legal system and arrange for the killers to die slow, painful deaths. Franco was all for the idea, but Carmella balked, which had actually surprised him. Out of the pair, Carmella was the hard one, a tough-as-nails broad if ever one had walked the earth. After all, they grew up under the strong heel of the same father. There were no warm fuzzies inside the walls of the Calvanio manse. Only harsh, painful lessons about life, honor, and loyalty. Carmella didn’t even shed a tear when her three sisters died on the same day in a car accident. Nor did she show any outward emotion when her mother and father passed not long after. The one and only time Caesar had seen Carmella cry, up until she heard the news about her son, was at the funeral for their grandfather.

  So, Caesar had been shocked when Carmella said no to the hit. Instead, she wanted the killers to experience the humiliation of arrest, a very public trial, their dirty laundry broadcast to the entire world. Watch them squirm in front of the judge, knowing they would spend the rest of their lives living like caged animals. Smile with satisfaction at their distraught family members when their sentences were handed down. Of course, after Carmella’s valiant little speech, she went back to her spiteful broad roots. Said if the justice system failed to hand out a guilty verdict, she wanted her son’s killers brought to her so she could dispatch them.

  Within minutes, the service began. As the priest conducted the somber ritual, Caesar fought hard to control his own emotions. The shiny, black casket at the end of the aisle, draped in an enormous spray of gardenias and roses, started to blur, finally disappearing. It was replaced by the ornate, white casket he’d picked out for Romella, and next to it, sat the tiny, pink casket that housed their final, unborn child.

  Caesar couldn’t stop his hands from shaking, even after clasping them together so tightly, his knuckles throbbed from the pressure. Though he’d grown accustomed to seeing the ghostly figure of his wife appear during the day, almost craved the interaction just so he could see her face, pretend Romella was still alive, it was quite another to be faced with her casket. It was a cold, slap in his grizzled face that she was, in fact, dead. A heaviness of regret and sadness slammed into Caesar’s chest.

  “You don’t deserve to be here, Caesar. Neither does Carmine.”

  Caesar had to force his body not to jump at the sound of Romella’s gravelly voice. It sounded muffled, distant. All wrong. It wasn’t the same sweet, tinkling voice from his dreams. The one his ears yearned to hear from the glorious lips of the woman he’d loved. It was raw, raspy, and full of accusatory anger. Caesar couldn’t control the shudder of fear tingling through him when it dawned on him Romella’s voice was coming from inside the casket less than twenty feet in front of him. Blood filled his mouth as Caesar clamped down hard on his inner, bottom lip, to keep his groan of agony inside.

  Inside his mind, he answered his wife. “Romella, please. You don’t understand. I had to. Ray-Ray’s actions put all of us at risk. I had to stick to the code to keep us safe.”

  The casket lid made a strange sound as it opened. The creak of the metal drowned out the organ music, and set his nerves on fire. In petrified horror, Caesar watched it pop up, pushed by the bony, gnarled fingers of Romella. The enormous diamond engagement ring he gave her the night he proposed glinted under the cathedral’s lights. In seconds, her corpse exited the slender tube, the flowing dress Casear had picked out for her to be buried in, no longer white. It was stained with a mishmash of drab colors, and hung in tatters around her rotting body. Romella’s once magnificent mane of black hair was in knots, held together by putrid flesh. When she opened her mouth to speak again, her jawbone creaked. Plumes of yellowish, thick liquid spewed out of her mouth, flowing down the bones in her face, landing on the filthy dress. The stench of her crossed the distance between the two of them in seconds. Caesar felt lightheaded and nearly passed out. Romella’s corpse moved over to the small casket of their daughter.

  “Do not try to condone your actions by blaming another, darling husband. I know that is your specialty. After all, you blamed me for years for not being able to provide you a child. Remember? Even after the doctors told us to quit trying, that my body just couldn’t handle bearing children, you pushed on. Because it was what you wanted. To hell with anyone else’s wants or needs. It’s always been about you. Always. Nothing and no one stands in the way of The Cat. And drop your facade of mobster, you old fool. You ran like a frightened kitten when you left Attica, and climbed into bed with that worthless Jap. You don’t live up to the oath you took. The one you swore to uphold. Family. Please. Just because you brought a few relatives with you to help run your pathetic schemes, doesn’t make you a Godfather. Believe me, your precious grandfather is beyond livid about your decisions. Thinks you are weak. A pussy. One who should never have been brought into the family. He had quite a lot of things to say to your father about that bad decision when he arrived. Lit into him for allowing you to carry his name. You have shamed the Calvanio name, even in eternity.”

  Unable to stop them, warm tears leaked out from Caesar’s eyes as he watched the rotting corpse of his wife float down the aisle toward him. Her outstretched arms held the mummified remains of their last child out to him. He cringed at the sight, closing his eyes. Caesar was overwhelmed with emotions by the hateful words coming from his beloved wife. Never, in all their previous interactions, had she spoken to him with anything but love, kindness. Though Caesar knew he was experiencing yet another break in reality, it pained him beyond belief to listen to Romella’s accusations.

  “Lies, Romella. All lies. I do honor my oath, and my family, every day! We left a dying industry and created a new legacy. One that has provided not only a comfortable living, but has benefited others. Nothing has gone to waste. I’ve made sure of that. These people, they were at death’s door anyway! I kept them from suffering a slow, agonizing death. They couldn’t take their wealth with them, so what’s the harm in what I’ve done? You are wrong. Don Tomaso would be pleased with what I am doing. I know it. Doesn’t matter who my partner is, or whether he is part of the Family or not. Business is business. And please, don’t be angry with me. You know it’s not true. You wanted children, too. You said you did. You wanted to keep trying. I…never blamed you! I love you, Romella. I miss you every day. You know that! Haven’t been with another since you left me.”

  The garbled cackle from Romella surrounded Caesar, filling his heart and mind with sadness and regret.

  “You can lie to yourself all you desire, darling husband. But not to me. Though my eyes have rotted away, I still see. I know everything. You are losing your marbles, husband. One brain cell at a time. You realize that, right? All those blows to the head, first from your extended family, and then from your cellmates. Your brain is turning into mush. If it weren’t for Carmine, you wouldn’t have survived your stint in prison. Or, don’t you remember that? Remember how much you owe him, your fucking life, and the awful ways you’ve repaid him? Oh, and our bed hasn’t always been empty. You may not have remarried, but you certainly haven’t been faithful. A little trick I’m sure you learned from your whoredog father. Holes to fuck don’t count as cheating if no emotions are involved, right? Isn’t that what he taught you? I believe those were the exact words he said to your slut of a mother, right before he killed her. I know you remember that night–even though you were young. You were cowering in your room. Heard it all.”

  The memory of the night he’d all but forgotten roared up from the deepest recesses of his mind. The images made his head swim, releasing the pent-up, childish fears he’d fought for decades to hide. Caesar couldn’t take much more of h
er taunting. “Romella, please. Why are you doing this to me?”

  “Are you begging, Caesar? Asking for mercy for your evil ways? Pleading for the pain to end? Ha, it won’t do you any good. Reaping what you’ve sown, that’s what is happening to you. Oh, you are such a hypocrite! Even Carmine thinks you are some sort of saint for remaining faithful to me. Ha, the joke’s on him. How do you think he’d feel if he knew you screwed the only woman he ever actually had feelings for behind his back? For years? That you were the one who set up her car accident so she wouldn’t break off their relationship by telling Carmine that she’d not only been boinking his best friend, but she carried his child? That her heart, lungs, liver and eyes lived on in others, and your own nephew had been the one who killed her? Bet he wouldn’t be your lap dog anymore, would he? Do you really think your precious Don is proud of that? Do you believe he would approve? Oh, and your pathetic decision to involve more outsiders into the folds of your so-called family–bad idea. Nick Shonnert and Lucas Hill should never have been brought in. Period. You broke the first rule of family bonds, Caesar. If he were alive, do you think Don Tomaso would have agreed with those choices? Trust me, the answer is a resounding no. He can’t wait for your arrival, which by the way, will be soon. Actually, none of us can wait. You know, all the people you’ve fucked over during your wretched life? The ones you sacrificed for one pathetic reason or another? Do you think your cohorts Franco and Carmella, will be able to forgive you for what you’ve done? The answer is not just no, but Hell no. You sit there, all pious and full of feigned concern by their sides, knowing full well what you did. One day, it will all come to light, right before your end. We all are waiting. Waiting for our turn with you down here. Ray-Ray, your father, and the rest of your family have enjoyed exchanging notes about you, and have a lot planned for when you get here. We all do. You have a lot to answer for, darling husband, and not just from me. The Piper is coming soon, and the price is hefty. Very hefty.”

  “No!” Caesar wailed out loud. With his eyes still closed, he reached forward and grabbed the thick wood of the pew in front of him. When he felt a warm hand touch his back, his eyes flew open, expecting to see Romella’s ruined face inches from his own. Instead, it was Carmella’s.

  “I know, I know. I miss him too, Caesar. He loved you as much as you loved him. He was such a good boy. Such a good boy,” she choked out, wiping the tears from her face with her other hand. “But we will get through this. Ray-Ray’s death will not go unpunished. We all will make sure of it. The Calvanio clan takes care of things. Always.”

  Caesar raised his head and looked at the end of the aisle. Sure enough, the black casket that housed the remains of his nephew was back, the pallbearers in place, ready to carry him from the sanctuary. His eyes swept the expanse of the church, but no sign of his dead bride and baby remained. A shudder of disgust made his mouth and body tremble. Caesar swallowed hard, put his arm around his sister, and nodded in agreement. The entire Calvanio/D’Nucci clan watched with somber eyes and silent mouths as the casket was carried out to the waiting hearse. They followed behind it, out into the bright, summer sun.

  Carmella and Franco left Caesar’s side to shake hands and greet the few people in attendance at the front door. Caesar shoved his shaking hands deep inside the pockets of his pants, casting one last, wary glance to the sanctuary. His thoughts about the dreamed interactions with Romella were interrupted by Carmine.

  “These things ain’t never easy, especially when it’s family. I need a drink, and pardon me for saying, but it looks like you do, too. Shall we?”

  Caesar took a deep, cleansing breath, shaking the visions from the morbid encounter from his head. He was starting to slip more and more, and the breaks in reality were arriving faster, and lasting longer, than before. The past interactions with his wife had never, ever been so vivid, or disturbing. Caesar would need more than a drink, he would need an entire bottle, to rid himself of what just happened. With a nod of agreement, he turned and said his goodbyes to Franco and Carmella. In seconds, he and Carmine were walking to their vehicles, on their way to their favorite bar, The Regency, for what Caesar knew would be an epic drunk.

  Less than ten minutes later, a solemn Caesar and Carmine walked inside the dimly lit bar, the smell of stale cigarette smoke and body odor coating them like a blanket. As they walked to the back of the bar toward their favorite spot, Carmine gave a slight nod to the bartender, who quickly prepared their standard drinks. For a Saturday, the place was unusually quiet. Only a few lonely souls were interspersed throughout the place, sipping on their drinks in silence. The pool room was empty, and the jukebox was quiet. Once at their designated spot, Caesar and Carmine slid into the cool faux leather seats and watched Billy deftly balance the full tray of brandy and whiskey to their table. When Caesar noticed a familiar face at the end of the bar, his face betrayed his internal thoughts.

  Carmine recognized the look of annoyance and followed Caesar’s gaze. “Oh, shit. Not expecting to see him today. Hope he didn’t notice us when we walked in.”

  Caesar slid out a crisp, one-hundred dollar bill from the folds of his pockets and handed it to Billy, after he set the tray down in the middle of the table. Billy gave him a small grin, turned, and walked back to his spot behind the massive wooden bar. Once out of earshot, Caesar replied, “We couldn’t get that lucky. Damn. He’s sloshed. Hope he hasn’t been running his mouth.”

  Neither men looked up when the hesitant footsteps drew closer. They both smelled the stench of booze on Nick Shonnert while he was still ten feet from their booth. “Sorry I missed the funeral. Hope Carmella and Franco forgive me, but I just…”

  Nick’s voice trailed off as he lowered his body in the seat next to Carmine. Caesar ground his teeth in disgust, wishing he could just grab the heavy bottle of brandy and slam it upside the Prick’s bald head. He’d never seen the man intoxicated before, and was used to Nick scurrying around like a petrified mouse when around him. Seemed the alcohol gave the bastard some balls. Instead of wrapping his hands around the prick’s neck, Caesar kept his hands otherwise engaged by pouring himself a double. He tossed the drink down his throat with one huge gulp. As the liquid burned down his esophagus, Caesar began to mentally plan out the death of Nick the Prick Shonnert.

  15

  Breaking out of Prison

  Lucas Hill was a nervous wreck. He stood in the middle of his small, dirty kitchen, and stared at the pair of Dockers and the dress shirt hanging on the back of the dining chair. Last night, when he put them there, he’d made up his mind he would attend the funeral of his one-time friend, Ray-Ray D’Nucci. But that was when he’d been half-drunk and safe inside the walls of his apartment. Between the blaring sun streaming through the kitchen window and the stout cup of coffee in his hand, Lucas waffled on his decision. When drunk, he’d cowered in his room and reminisced about the early years with Ray-Ray. How much fun they’d had together when young bucks. All the women they’d bagged, the numerous times they took Ray-Ray’s Corvette out and smoked any and all competitors who dared to challenge the crazy Italian to a race. Sneaking into the expansive liquor cabinet late at night at Ray-Ray’s parents estate, the parental units completely oblivious to the two boys outside in the pool, laughing and stumbling around, trashed on overpriced hooch.

  The truth was, Lucas missed his friend, and all the gorgeous girls who would drop their wet panties when around the young stud. For some reason, southern girls drooled over Ray-Ray, with his dark curls, naturally tanned skin, and of course, his money and willingness to throw it around like it was confetti. Ray-Ray had been a chick-magnet for sure, and the magnetism was so strong, sometimes the fallout landed on Lucas’s dick. Honeys weren’t attracted to him, unless he waved a fistful of cash at them first. Lucas missed those times, certainly not the horrible nightmare he’d been living in the last few years.

  Once sober, the warm memories of a life long-since passed, departed. Cold, hard reality slapped Lucas awake earlier, along with a
throbbing headache and a queasy stomach. He didn’t want to go to the stupid funeral. Seriously, what was left to bury? Lucas wasn’t quite there, but was close to being happy the drugged-out fool was dead. Ray-Ray loved to party in his teens, but when he discovered heroin, he turned into a strung-out junkie. The habit started not long after he’d gotten his ass stomped to Hell and back by his own uncle and his freakish goon. In a way, Lucas did feel sort of sorry for Ray-Ray. Sort of. After all, his own flesh and blood nearly beat him to death, and used him as a courier of harvested body parts. How could Ray-Ray not have turned into a raging addict? Even Lucas teetered close to the edge sometimes. So far, he’d been lucky his nerves were calmed by bud and booze, and a good piece of ass. Unfortunately, the later hadn’t occurred in months. Lucas needed to remedy that–soon. His hand was only capable of so much, and his balls ached to be emptied.

  The queasiness in his gut doubled while he pondered whether to say screw it and go for a ride, or get dressed and attend. If he didn’t go, how would he explain his absence to his boss? From the beginning, the Devil had given him a long list of strict instructions to stick to, including never to been seen together out in public. Hot Springs was a fairly small town, and if, by chance, Lucas happened to bump into his boss out in public, no eye contact was to be made. No acknowledgement at all. He had been told by Carmine to “turn tail and leave” and make sure to remain calm. He’d followed the instructions to the letter, but Lucas was torn about whether he should today or not.

  Lucas’s job as a courier was done without personal contact from his boss, and he was beyond thrilled that was the case. Being near the man in person made his guts burn and his blood pressure spike. The phone call to alert him to a new mission always arrived from a random number, with the caller (Carmine, he figured) asking if he could talk to Rachel. Lucas always gave the same answer, “You have the wrong number.” Then, he would get dressed, head to the funeral parlor, uncover the truck, grab the note that contained directions to his destination, and be done. Lucas never even had physical contact with the person who he delivered the organs to. He would simply drive to the location, arrive at exactly the appointed time, do a loop through the parking lot, and then go to the nearest gas station and wait. Watch for a car to pull up, blink its lights twice, and then Lucas would exit the truck, put the cooler in the truck bed, go inside and buy a bottle of water (with cash, of course), and when he returned to the truck, a suitcase full of cash sat where the cooler had been. He would drive back to the funeral parlor and leave the suitcase under the front seat, go home, and a few days later, find a plain manila envelope full of cash in his mailbox. The old gangster was beyond obsessive when it came to keeping his identity hidden and his old bag of bones out of prison, and by default, it had kept Lucas safe as well.