Blood Ties - A Magnolia Novel Page 8

  Ruth answered instead. “Nope. I made him sell them last year ’cause it was gettin’ to be too much for us to handle alone. Pricey, too. Feed prices have skyrocketed. It’s a real shame.”

  Junior started to say something, but was interrupted by loud barking coming from Karina’s room. Karina yelled out, “Uh, can someone please grab Ranger’s leash for me? It’s either in my car or in the living room!”

  LiAnn started to move toward the hallway but Junior stopped her. “I got it, dontcha worry none. Know right where it is. Saw it this mornin’ ’fore I went out to feed the chickens. Besides, I want to see if she’s droolin’ yet. She might need someone to wipe it off her face. Maybe give her a cold wash rag to help cool her off.”

  With a playful wink, Junior disappeared down the hallway. LiAnn sat back down next to her mother. She could sense she wanted to say something, but seemed a bit nervous to begin. Considering the conversation they were just having, LiAnn figured it must have something to do with Mr. Pickard, so she asked, “How’s Mr. Pickard holding up, Mom? Did he fully recover?”

  A shadow of sadness made the creases and wrinkles in the frail skin around Ruth’s face more pronounced. Ruth snuck a quick glance to ensure they were alone, then lowered her voice. “Oh, he recovered from his injuries to his body, but the one to his heart, no. Never seen a man turn into such a husk of his former self so quickly.”

  Perplexed, LiAnn cocked her head and replied, “His heart? What do you mean?”

  Ruth hesitated, her hands clasped together in a tight knot on the table. “Well, you remember Cecil’s wife passed on years ago, right?” LiAnn nodded her head and motioned for her to continue. “After she died, it was just Cecil and his son, Steve. No more kin left in the family. Steve, well, he never married and Cecil was an only child after his baby sis passed on. So, they were all each other had left. When Cecil nearly died, Steve went into a frenzy.”

  LiAnn tried to bring up fuzzy memories of stories about Cecil and Steve. A random one popped up. Steve was a recovering alcoholic. “Oh no, did Steve start drinking again?”

  “Yes. Hard. Three weeks after Cecil was released from the hospital, Steve was killed in an accident. Rolled his truck off Highway 35 after pullin’ a bender. It’s just a miracle he didn’t kill or hurt anyone else.”

  “How awful!” LiAnn forced her voice to remain quiet, shocked by the news, and the fact neither parent had told her any of this earlier. Then again, her parents were old school to the core. Conversations about such emotional things never happened over the phone or in letters. If the subject matter was a difficult one to broach, or would elicit a painful response, it was not discussed until the parties were face to face.

  Ruth leaned in and motioned for LiAnn to do the same. “After that, Cecil just gave up. He quit talkin’ to anyone, includin’ your daddy. Less than two months after Steve’s funeral, Cecil sold all his property and moved to that retirement community in Hot Springs. Told us he couldn’t stand bein’ around all the things remindin’ him of his past. I tell ya, it’s been hard on us all. You know he and your daddy are quite close.”

  LiAnn saw the pain reflected in her mother’s cloudy blue eyes. “Is that why Pop started making noises about moving into The Magnolia House? To be closer to Cecil?”

  Ruth let out a long sigh while she stared out the window. “Partly. The other part is guilt. The way your daddy sees things, he owes Cecil.”

  Confused, LiAnn asked, “Owes him? What do you mean?”

  Unable to stay seated any longer, Ruth rose and went to the sink, pretending to wash already clean dishes. “The day Cecil went out in the woods, your daddy was supposed to go with him. He didn’t because the truck wouldn’t start. He spent most of the day tinkerin’ with it before he got it runnin.’ Your daddy just can’t get past it. Thinks it’s somehow his fault his friend got shot. He ain’t never said that, but I can see it in his eyes. All those years they watched each other’s back durin’ the war, keepin’ each other alive, out of harm’s way, don’t seem to matter none. Even after all this time, your daddy still feels it’s his job to watch over Cecil.”

  “Now, that’s just crazy! Pop needs to lay the blame right where it belongs, which is on the shoulders of the cowards who shot Cecil. Good grief, Pop could have been shot, too!”

  “He don’t see it that way. He thinks he coulda talked their way out of the pickle. Maybe could’ve kept Cecil from spoutin’ and sputterin’ and they coulda left without blood bein’ shed. I told him I thought that was a load of swill, but it’s stuck in his craw. Ain’t nothin’ gonna dislodge it.”

  LiAnn let out a grunt. “Well, I’ll just convince him otherwise. Almost sounds to me like he is suffering from survivor’s guilt, or something like it. I mean, I understand how close he is to Cecil, but none of what happened to him Pop could have stopped.”

  LiAnn didn’t get a chance to finish her thoughts. The conversation was interrupted by Karina and Ranger bursting into the kitchen, followed by her father.

  “Watch out, rabid dog on a leash. Geesh, I forgot how much he hates strange men!” Karina yelled. In a flash and with a loud bang of the screen door, Karina and Ranger exited the kitchen.

  LiAnn exchanged worried glances with her mother, but let their previous topic of discussion disappear.

  9

  The Decision

  Caesar hung up from his conversation with Nick, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Though it had taken several years of grooming, Caesar knew he had Nick right where he wanted him. After he had him commit murder, he knew Nick would never be able to turn on him. How could he? Nick was a member of the club now. The Killer Club.

  He stared down at the disposable phone in his hand and almost laughed out loud. Nick had always been a wimpy man. A blowhard afraid of his own shadow. He did have one redeeming quality, and it made controlling his strings so simple, a child could have done it–his family. Nick Shonnert was a morally bankrupt slime-ball on most levels, but his weakness was his wife and kids. Caesar worried a bit when Nick’s wife left him, fearing it would be the catalyst that gave Nick the courage to go to the police. Caesar had Carmine put surveillance tails on Nick for the first two years after the divorce, and for a while, it seemed Nick was just like every other divorced man in the world. He’d turned into a sad drunk, a habitual visitor to porn sites on the Internet and a few strip clubs on the seedier side of town. Things changed six weeks ago. Carmine noticed a change in the demeanor of Nick and reported it to Caesar.

  When Carmine told him Nick was suffering from numerous physical ailments, and his attitude had changed over to quiet and despondent, Caesar went into action. Decided it was time to solidify the ties with blood, which is exactly what happened the night Nick blew Ray-Ray’s brains out.

  Caesar leaned back in his chair and lit a cigar. Thoughts of The Prick slipped away, replaced by the events leading up to his nephew’s unexpected departure from the world. As the fragrant vapors curled above his head, he thought about the early phone call several days before that sealed Ray-Ray’s fate.

  Caesar’s wonderful dream interactions with Romella, frolicking along the sun-drenched sands in Tahiti, hand-in-hand while the warm water lapped at their bare feet, ended with one shrill screech. The cell phone on the nightstand wouldn’t shut up. He groaned and rolled over, sliding on his glasses. His anger spiked when he noticed the clock read five-thirty a.m. Caesar growled with anger because only one caller had the number, and the balls to call him so early.

  “What the hell do you want? Better be worth my time. You interrupted a great dream.”

  Carmine didn’t let the nasty response bother him and replied, “Well, if it wasn’t for your crazy, drugged up nephew in trouble with the law again, I wouldn’t be bothering you.”

  Irritated, Caesar sat up and flicked the bedside lamp on. He wished Franco would’ve shot blanks into Carmella. Their only son was like a bad case of acne: unwanted, impossible to get rid of, and left ugly scars behind. He barked int
o the phone, “So what’s Ray-Ray done now?”

  “Fucked-up. Big time. It seems the money we pay him ain’t enough to feed his addiction. He decided to try his hand at yet another illegal venture. Thought stealing copper wiring from a construction site for the new hotel on Central Avenue seemed like a grand idea. The idiot actually severed part of his index finger while cutting the wire and then took off running. Left his damn finger behind. When the crews came in the next morning, they knew immediately they’d been robbed. The moron actually went to the emergency room. Told the doc on duty he cut off his finger trying to fix his car. Once he got stitched up, he flipped out and checked himself into a dive motel off Central, and then called me. Guess he figured I would go softer on him than his parents, or you. By the sound of his voice, he was flyin’ higher than a kite.”

  Caesar rubbed his forehead, trying to massage the dull throb behind his eyes. “Jesus, Joseph and Mary!”

  Carmine lowered his voice, “Ain’t just some pissant misdemeanor charges this time, Boss. Copper theft is a felony. The cops have his finger and my source tells me a lab technician shoved a Popsicle stick in the bloody stub, rolled it on a fingerprint card, and up popped Ray-Ray’s prints. Ray-Ray will be looking at serious prison time. They’ll probably charge him with commercial burglary, too. All that means trouble for the whole lot of us. Noses will start sniffing around in places we don’t want them to.”

  Unable to stay still, Caesar threw back the covers and started pacing. His first instinct was to have Carmine tell him where the little panty-stain was hiding, and then pay him a visit. Beat his face into a bloody pulp for being such a worthless piece of trash. A shameful disappointment to not only his mother, but to the entire family. Shove all his teeth down his throat so he could choke on them. The boy had potential in his younger days but ruined his brain with his addiction to heroin. Franco and Carmella had spent untold amounts of money on the boy over the years, sending him to one high-priced rehab clinic after another. He’d come out, all apologetic, ready to “live life straight” then get yanked back into the lifestyle for one stupid reason or another. The most recent cause to run to the needle was his breakup with his on again, off again whore, Renee Clements.

  Caesar found himself in the den, his fingers maneuvering the dial on the safe with nimble ease. He could hear Carmine breathing on the other end of the phone, waiting with the patience of a saint for him to respond. On autopilot, Caesar thumbed through his notepad until he found what he didn’t realize he was looking for until it slapped him in the face.

  “Carmine, come over and have some coffee with me. Now. We need to discuss a few things.”

  Without a word in response, the line went dead. He knew within ten minutes, Carmine would be at his doorstep. Caesar ambled over to the espresso machine and flicked the switch. A wicked smirk kicked up the corners of his mouth as he stared at his chicken scratch on the yellow-lined paper: cuore, polmoni, fegato. He’d just filled all three orders with one body, and solved the pesky problem of his nephew’s addiction.

  Once the coffee finished brewing, he watched out the window as the first glimpse of sunlight peeked through the trees. The sound of Romella’s sweet voice rang through his mind.

  “No, Caesar. He’s family. Think about how it will destroy Carmella. And Franco. It’s wrong. Please, don’t do this. Ray-Ray is the closest you will ever have to a son.”

  Inside the walls of his mind, Caesar answered the haunting voice of his wife. Then he should have thought about the extreme consequences to his actions. Blood ties or not, he must atone for his mistakes.

  Caesar’s memories were cut short by the chime of the doorbell. He had never been so happy to hear the sound. Reliving the painful interactions in his mind with Romella made his chest feel tight. Heavy. He glanced down at his watch, wondering how long he’d been lost in his thoughts. Another thing about getting older he hated: the loss of time. Age seemed to bring memories of the past to the center of his mind, more often than dealing with the present. He didn’t have time for the nonsense. Surprised it was after ten thirty, he made his way to the front door, a terse grin on his face. Carmine would just have to wait for him to finish getting dressed.

  With a quick peek through the peephole to ensure his visitor was who he’d expected, he unlocked the heavy doors and let Carmine inside. Not a word was spoken between the two old friends, but he saw the fleeting glimpse of a question at the casual attire behind the eyes of his most trusted confident. With a slight nod of his head, he motioned for Carmine to follow him upstairs. When they reached the top step, Caesar finally spoke. “Have some fresh coffee while I change. The stuff is amazing. Shoulda’ bought one of those single-cup machines ages ago.”

  Carmine moved over to the sitting area at the front of the expansive bedroom while Caesar tugged off his sleepwear and began to dress. “Mmm, smells wonderful. Hazelnut?”

  “Of course. Oh, and make sure to use the fresh cream, not the flavored packets. Makes all the difference in the world.” Once dressed, Caesar walked over to the other dresser and slipped on his cuff links. “Sorry I’m running late this morning. Age may bring wisdom, but it also deposits slowness.”

  From the corner of his eye, he watched Carmine fix and then take a hefty sip of steaming coffee. “Hey, boss. No need to apologize. I’m enjoyin’ this hot treat. It is fantastic. I’m gonna go get one of these fancy machines after work today. And watch them cracks about age. We ain’t but two years apart.”

  Caesar attached the last cuff link, hiding the pain of the action from his face. Though he hadn’t been properly diagnosed because he refused to let some quack poke and prod around, he knew his stiff fingers and swollen joints were from arthritis. Ignoring the drumming, dull pain, he moved over to the mirror to adjust his tie.

  The glint of faded gold from his wedding ring in the reflection caused a wave of sadness to settle over him. He’d be forced to remove it soon, before his finger swelled to the point the band cut off his circulation. Even though he’d removed nearly all of the memorabilia of his time with Romella, including photos, her clothes, little gifts she’d given him over the years, Caesar couldn’t find it in him to let go of the symbol of their unity. It would be like losing her all over again. His dreams of his beloved wife were more and more frequent now, and the one he had only hours ago was still fresh on his mind. He swallowed hard and forced his hands to stop shaking.

  “Boss, you okay this morning? You look tired. Trouble sleeping?”

  “Don’t ask questions unless you want truthful answers.”

  Carmine prodded. “When have I ever? I’m serious though. The bags under your eyes are a dead giveaway. You could pack a week’s worth of laundry in them. It isn’t about our last job, is it?”

  Caesar took a deep breath and walked over to the coffee pot. He busied his hands with preparing another cup, ignoring the heavy weight of the question hanging in the air. Carmine didn’t push for a reply. He simply sat down in his favorite chair by the window and waited, sipping his drink. If he’d have been anyone else, Caesar would have lit into him for asking such a personal question, poking an unwelcomed nose into his private life. But Carmine had been by his side ever since they were fourteen year old toughs running the mean streets of Brooklyn and then occupying the same cells when sentenced to time in Attica. No other soul, not even beloved Romella, knew him better.

  Drink in hand, Caesar turned and joined his friend in the sitting area. He took a long, slow pull of the stout coffee and stared out the window. The view over the expanse of the entire city of Hot Springs was spectacular. His plush surroundings were lovely and inviting, the brotherhood with Carmine strong and comforting. But it wasn’t enough. Not any longer.

  “I think it is time to change my morning view. Someplace with warm sand, aquamarine water, and sunsets so vivid, they bring tears to the eye.” Caesar noticed the enlarged, blue veins on his hands, covered by thinning skin full of ever-growing dark brown spots. The knuckles were red and ugly today. When di
d I get so old?

  Carmine’s eyebrows lifted in response, but his voice didn’t betray his thoughts. “You forgot tanned, toned hot young things in skimpy bikinis. That’s always the best part of the beach, at least to me. So, what tropical locale are you thinking for a vacation? Dominica? Bahamas? Oh, what about Tahiti? Those exotic Polynesian beauties with all that thick, black hair…”

  Despite his mood, Caesar couldn’t help but smile. “You always were a sucker for young ones, eh, my friend?”

  Carmine patted his rotund midsection. “Yep. All it takes is a few minutes under the sheets with an eager companion to make a man feel twenty again. You should try it sometime. It might wipe the grimace off your face.”

  Caesar chortled. “There are more important things in life than ejaculation, Carmine. Besides, I wasn’t referring to a vacation. I’m thinking about a more permanent change of scenery. You hit the mark when you mentioned Tahiti. It is the perfect choice for a multitude of reasons.”

  A wide smile appeared on Carmine’s face as he set down his coffee mug. “I must disagree, Boss. It’s in man’s nature to stay young through pelvic thrusts. Keeps the back limber and skin supple. How do you think I’ve remained such a stunning portrait of manhood all these years? And, I knew it would be Tahiti because extradition back to the U.S. is not on their law books, and you have a thing for dark haired beauties. But, a permanent move? After all our hard work building our business, you want to leave now? We may be in our seventies, but we aren’t ready for the pasture yet. Your treasure chest may be full, but mine still needs some trinkets before I call it quits. This is about Ray-Ray, isn’t it?”

  Caesar never said a word in response. He wasn’t sure what he should say. How could he explain what was really on his mind without sounding like some pathetic, mentally disturbed old fool? He could just imagine the look of confusion, the blank stare that would cross Carmine’s face if he mentioned the dreams of his dead wife had crossed the line into reality. How Caesar saw her, plain as day, in various spots inside the house. At first, she was just an ethereal glow but recently, she not only took on solid form, but started talking to him. Carmine wasn’t a deep thinker. He lived fast, quick and for the moment. Carmine enjoyed his role as the muscle in their relationship. He liked to fancy himself as the reincarnation of old-school hit men, enjoying each kill and drooling in anticipation for the next one. When he wasn’t using his brawn in service of Caesar, Carmine listened to the voice of his smaller head between his legs.