The Boss of All bosses, Part IV

In Part IV, Santo Inantinelli stands as the unchallenged kingpin, with the world resting in the palm of his hand. But power this vast comes at a steep price, and he will stop at nothing to secure it!

The Boss of All bosses, Part IV

A Novel by: Johnson MaganaXX

Now… let’s begin.

In an undisclosed location, as Antonio Fucarino, recited a grave oath, a burning picture of a holy saint in his cupped hands turned into ashes.

Antonio was 46 years old, 210 lbs., five-foot-nine degenerate, with brown hair and brown eyes. Several well-dressed, hardcore looking made men lined up to give Antonio a hug.

They each kissed him on the cheek, and shook his hand. These men were all there to congratulate him. For the lucky Fucarino, it was the most memorable moment of his life. Antonio was now the newest member of an exclusive secret society.

After serving twenty-four years of faithful, loyal service to the family, Antonio became a made-man in the Manorelli crime family. First, Antonio was a major high-end car thief, moneymaker, then he became a professional hit man for important mobsters throughout New York. Antonio’s life style brought him to the top.

Antonio’s orders were to rendezvous with Gaspar Lamont. Gaspar was a buck wild cowboy figure. Gaspar enjoyed killing those that fell behind on their payments by slamming them in their heads with a rusty screwdriver.

Gaspar was not an attractive fellow. He looked, and acted like a mobster. He was in his early fifties, short, pudgy, weighed 186 lbs., had gray-black hair, and black eyes. He had a look on his face, as if he was pissed off most of the time. Gaspar, an ambitious captain, ruled over all operations in New York for the Manorelli crime family.

Gaspar waited for Antonio at a prearranged spot in the bustling 42^nd Street, Grand Central Station in midtown Manhattan. As a captain, Gaspar was a man that had more than one hundred-sixty men under his belt. These men illegally made millions upon millions of dollars every year for themselves, and sent a nice portion of their earnings to the new boss of the Manorelli crime family, Bobby Facciolo.

Bobby was in his mid-fifties. He was five-foot-eight, 328 lbs., with blue eyes, and grey hair. When Gaspar finally saw Antonio, he gave him a strong handshake, a hug, and a kiss on his cheek.

They both walked down 42^nd street. Antonio, almost ten years younger than his captain, tried to keep up with him. Antonio knew never to initiate any small talk with Gaspar. Among New York Mafiosi, Gaspar was battle-tested. He was a stand-up guy, a good fellow, that was much feared, as well as respected.

In Gaspar’s presence, it was best to answer his questions directly, and to carry out his commands without any hesitation what so ever. If he told you to do something, you had better do it, because Gaspar Lamont gave no one chances. You messed up once, under his command, and you are dead.

Several blocks at 37th street, Gaspar introduced Antonio to a bulldog-faced man named, Frank Abate. Frank was there to drive them to another secret location.

Frank, in his early fifties, stood five-foot-seven and weighing 164 lbs. He had brown hair, and light brown eyes. Frank was an important soldier, responsible for handling the Manorelli crime family’s extensive, extortion and loan sharking rackets in New York’s garment center. Frank drove them to a house in the Ridgewood section of Queens.

He pulled up in front of a house. He turned the engine off, and looked straight at Antonio.

“Good luck,” he said.

Antonio waited. The slow passing of time, made him nervous. He kept his cool, and calmly waited for what will come next.

“Thanks,” Antonio said to Frank.

Once inside the house, Antonio could tell that there were two other well-dressed men sitting down in the living room. Both men were waiting to be summoned to go into the kitchen. When Antonio’s turn came up, he became a bit aware of his surroundings, more than ever.

Antonio was in the zone of killers, the minute he was introduced to the boss of the Manorelli family Bobby Facciolo.

Bobby sat with several other members of his crime family. Bobby sported a very mean and serious look on his face. Without going into any major details, Bobby nodded his head at Antonio, and offered him his warm, shaky hand. Antonio shook his hand.

Antonio looked at the men sitting down with Bobby and he nodded his head at them. Like every other made-man before him, Antonio was possessed with overwhelming nervousness. This night Antonio seemed to be a very lucky man.

“You know why you are here?” Bobby asked.

Antonio had thoughts of one of them shooting him in the head, yet outside of his imagination, Antonio knew he was safe.

“No,” he replied.

“I really don’t know why I’m here.”

“You’re going to be with us now,” Bobby said.

“If you are asked to kill you do it, if not, you will die.”

Antonio’s trigger finger was pricked with a pin by Gaspar Lamont. A few drops of Antonio’s blood were dropped onto a saint’s picture. The picture was burnt in his cupped hands. He passed the picture from one hand to the other, until it turned into ashes.

With a wicked smile on his face, Bobby removed a towel that covered a gun and a knife, which lay on top of the table.

“You live by these,” he said, “and you die by these, if you betray anyone in this, or any other family. I do not give a fuck about outsiders. You just can’t betray anyone in this family.”

Finally, Bobby made Antonio repeat an old version of the mafia’s holy oath: “If I betray my friends and my family, may my soul and the souls of my children completely burn in hell, like this saint.”

After the ceremony was complete, Bobby got up from his chair, as if nothing had happened, as if he had just sat down and had a cup of coffee.

“Now,” he said, “everybody stand up, and hold hands. At this moment our door is open for Antonio.”

Everyone stood up, as obedient soldiers, ready to go to battle. Bobby looked at Antonio for several long seconds.

“Antonio,” he said, “inside of our world, inside of this family, we have very old school, strict rules. Breaking any one of them,” Bobby pointed at Antonio, “will cost you your life. While you are a member of this family, you will not get involved in the sale of narcotics. We also do not fuck around with phony money that looks real. That’s why we all earn to keep away from shit like that.”

Bobby thought a bit.

“We don’t fuck with stolen checks,” he said, “bonds, we just don’t do it. Leave that to the Latinos and the niggers, which is what they do best. And you must respect this family, because it, from now on comes first.”

Bobby’s voice got serious.

“If you are ever called to come in, and you refuse to do it, you will be killed. With me, there will be no second chances. I am taking my time in telling you all this, because we all here believe in you. Now… there are other families that are in business with us, which you must also extend the most respect to, always.”

Bobby pointed his hand at himself.

“They are like us… we are like them. Together we control efficiently. Do you know what efficiently means?”

Antonio nodded his head up and down.

“Then you won’t have a problem understanding anything I just said to you.”

Bobby continued talking about the family rules to assure Antonio’s future success in the family. Bobby was a real caring boss, which cared to spend most of his time with his men.

“You could forget about disrespecting anyone in this family. We do not stand for shit like that. We retaliate over shit like that. It is necessary to understand that we are a band of brothers, and this family must be kept a secret.”

Bobby gave Antonio a serious look.

“In the outside world, outside of this life, we do not know each other to be who we really are. No. That would not be fun, would it?”

Bobby raised his eyebrows.

“Then everybody would know who we are. We are not targets. We are a fucking money making machine. And now, you can wet your beak, as much as you want.”

Bobby pointed at him.

“I don’t want shit from you, and you can’t go around saying that you’re paying me off or anything that has to do with you, me and money. Now I only expect a bit of warmness, during the holidays, preferably Christmas Day. And, I only accept cash.”

Bobby grinned.

“Respect the members. Respect their wives and daughters. If any disputes rise up that you or any other members cannot resolve you must immediately go to your captain, Gaspar Lamont.”

Bobby gave him all the details.

“You never, ever put your hands on any one in your family or other family members. You are to maintain yourself with respect at all times.”

Bobby pointed at Gaspar.

“When your captain here calls, no matter what time, or day, or night, you must respond immediately. This family comes before your very own. If your mother is dying in the hospital, and we send for you, you immediately come to us. Your wife is giving birth, and we send for you, you come to us, because, Antonio, we always come first. You never discuss anything about this family with members of other families.”

Bobby made a gun with his hand, reached over, and pretended to blow Antonio’s brains out.

“If you do not abide by these rules, you will be killed. Now everybody sit down.”

Everybody sat down.

Bobby said, “This family’s door is now closed.”

Sure, joining the mafia came with its hazards, but there were no shortages of applicants, ready to submit themselves, for the sake of living the life. Antonio’s life in the mafia will come with financial success.

Meanwhile, by now, people all around were saying, “Big Will, the new guy on the block, he’s one of us, a good fellow. He’s in Albert Hanna’s crew.”

Even though Albert Hanna, a very powerful captain himself, had not put Johnson Maganaxx on record, and made his bond with him official, many people in the underworld began to associate the two of them.

Because Of his tremendous greed, Johnson knew that he had Albert where he wanted him. Albert did not care. Albert got over on Johnson no different than he got over on others.

Greed blinded Albert to the fact that Johnson, a.k.a. Willie Shaffer, could possibly be an FBI agent or Johnson played his role very well.

Johnson started telling some of the people Albert trusted the most that for a very low price he had many counterfeit Supernote bills in different denominations that he needed to sell.

Several days later, early in the morning, at a café in little Italy, Johnson met up with Albert. Johnson showed him about a dozen huge diamonds that he had.

“So you’re interested?” Johnson asked.

“Maybe, you can help me sell these rocks. We can split the money.”

Albert looked down at the huge, glistening diamonds on top of a black velvet handkerchief.

“Sure,” he said, “I’m interested.”

“If you are, I can get lots more.”

“That’s great.”

Little did Albert know that all the diamonds were the property of the FBI. The diamonds were just a little amount of all the vast things that the FBI had seized throughout their years of many investigations.

Albert picked up a few diamonds off the black velvet handkerchief.

“What do you want for all of this?” he asked.

“You sell them, we go fifty-fifty.”

Albert put the diamonds down.

“That shit sounds great,” he said.

“I was just thinking, Albert, since this is all my stuff, we could do seventy for me, and thirty for you.”

Albert took pity on him. Albert settled for the smallest cut, knowing for sure he would get Johnson on the next swindle, and make it all back.

“Okay,” he said.

“The next time the larger piece is mines.”

They both left little Italy and Johnson drove away, as they talked more about the quality of diamonds.

Albert wanted to show off his power a bit.

“Pull over right here,” he said, when they were in front of an expensive jewelry store, in Massapequa, Long Island.

Albert got out of the vehicle. He went inside the jewelry store, and came out within a few minutes.

He got back in the car, and Johnson drove away. Albert had a diamond encrusted platinum Rolex watch in his hand.

At the next stop of the light, Albert handed Johnson the watch.

“Here,” he said.

“Take this. It’s for you.”

Johnson took the watch. He looked at it, and then he put it on.

“I don’t know what to say,” he said.

“Hey,” Albert asked, “were you ever with any mob family?”

“The only family I ever had was my parents.”

“You know what I did for you, Will?”

Johnson looked at the watch.

“No. Tell me.”

“From now on, you’re with me, and my family.”

Johnson acted as if he was not in shock. In reality, Johnson was in shock to have gotten that close to Albert in his investigation. Johnson ultimately passed the test.

He totally convinced Albert, and everyone in the mob life, that he was nothing more than a common hustler, Super notes dealer, and slash jewel thief. There were no questions asked. Johnson was now Albert’s man.

“That is great news. I won’t let you down, Al.”

Albert got real close to him at one of the light stops.

“Do you know what being down with us means,” he asked, “Will? Jesus, you can’t be that dumb.”

As time went by, Albert made Johnson his official driver. Albert felt he needed to be next to the man that was making him huge amounts of money. Johnson drove around for as long as Albert got tired. Johnson also provided Albert money to pay for his gas, his breakfast, lunch, and dinner, all while Albert was using him badly, but Albert did not care.

Johnson was just one of thousands of men that fell in the dangerous hands of dark and vicious men like Albert. The thing that was good about Johnson was the fact that in front of Albert he acted very stupid, as if he did not know the rules of the Mob life. Johnson needed to convince Albert that he was the real thing.

“No,” he replied, “really, you tell me, Al. What do you really mean?”

Johnson, wired for sound to the max, wanted Albert to boast about the life. Johnson wanted to capture everything on tape, as they spoke. Albert snapped his finger at him, as he always did, so as Johnson can pull over as soon as possible.

Up ahead, Johnson took the spot after he saw a van pull out of the spot. He wondered what Albert had in mind. What Johnson feared the most was if Albert told him to strip down.

Johnson’s superiors advised him, that if he was ever in a situation where he was put on the spot to reveal what was under his clothes he should act as if he was having a massive heart attack.

When Johnson heard that, he started to fear more for his own life, but he did what he was told. They strip Johnson of all his clothes and find a transmitter, wires taped down to his body, small cassette tapes, and even a recorder, he better have a heart attack. If not, who ever found him out will make sure to end his life faster than his fake heart attack.

Instead of Albert searching Johnson down to look for suspicious proof of him not being who he said he was, he just always robbed him. This time around, Albert treated Johnson, as if he was one of his own.

Actually, Johnson secretly did not like Albert, but he acted as if he truly loved him. That truly confused Johnson’s personal life to the max, in ways he could not just shut down. At times, Johnson thought everything he was doing was all a huge waste of time, but he did his job the best he could.

Johnson was dedicated to his dedication of being the best FBI agent. During his time as an undercover FBI agent, Johnson hardly thought about his corrupt pals, all led by me.

His other life was like Johnson’s hobby. Johnson was always working so he had no time to think about me.

Johnson felt the best he ever felt around Albert, as Albert laid it all down.

“You’re untouchable,” he said, “my friend. No other family can come near you, Will. You belong to us now.” Albert ginned.

“It doesn’t matter who it is, you can’t be touched.”

Albert thought for a second.

“Will, you know I didn’t know your last name till last night? It’s Shaffer, am I right?”

Johnson looked at him. He wondered what Albert was talking about, and then it all came to him, on what role he was suppose to play.

“Yeah,” Johnson said, “right Shaffer.”

“Will,” Johnson stood quiet, and waited for Albert to speak, “you’re in. You belong to us now.”

Like every story in every book, Johnson succeeded at infiltrating the Mafia, by being an official associate of the Mafia. Now Johnson was down with Albert.

The decision passed the commission and it was approved, as Albert’s decision to let Johnson earn for the Sidona crime family, on a connected level. Johnson could not wait to see his superiors.

Johnson and his Superiors met up in secret locations other than the office. The meetings would take place mostly inside of motel rooms. Johnson felt disappointed when his superiors decided to shut down his whole idea of going full force at the Mafia.

Johnson knew it was a good idea to go after the mafia with everything he had, but his superiors were not about to go for it.

His superiors only said, “Shut this case down, right now. It’s over, Johnson.”

Johnson’s supervisors told him what every other supervisor out there would have told him, that there were not enough men to cover, so many agents involved in the case. Johnson felt that his hard work was not being appreciated. How could they not allow him to keep going undercover, after wearing a wire, every single day for three and a half years among the Sidona crime family? There was a meeting with Johnson’s FBI handlers, on why the case should be shut down completely.

The handler’s higher-ups said that since they had identified the boss and all the major players in the Sidona crime family structure, they did what they could, as far as they could. Johnson was pissed off and it started to show in his work ethics.

Johnson was so close to becoming a real made member of the Sidona crime family, but his supervisors would not allow him to go forward with the idea. Johnson knew it was not too late. What Johnson felt like doing could make him loose his job.

How could Johnson get away with playing both sides of the chessboard? It hurt him more to think that it took him such a short time to almost get made, and just like that, lose it all in a blink of an eye.

Because of Johnson’s deep undercover investigation, the FBI had in their hat, the Sidona boss, his underboss, the family’s consigliere, several captains, and most of their soldiers. To the supervisor’s higher-ups all they knew was that they had the whole Sidona crime family structure. Johnson came a long way, yet he was a dreamer. Johnson dreamt that he could get much more information, if he was a made member of the Sidona crime family.

In Johnson’s dreams, he saw himself vouching for many other undercover FBI agents, on the down low, from New York, and across the country. Johnson, like anyone else imagined that if the five crime families were taken down by the forces of the FBI the underworld would lose total respect for them.

Johnson wanted to try it. By this time, Johnson was not himself. It was as if Johnson had turned into Albert, and all he wanted to steal was the opportunity to go get made.

Johnson knew well which motel room his secret FBI handlers were in. The handlers were exchanging ideas, on what to do next. Johnson walked into the motel room.

“I want to fucking be made,” he said to them.

Both of Johnson’s handlers looked up at him, and smile at each other. They both mentally agreed that Johnson should take it to the max, until he was made and beyond, but they had to follow orders also, or suffer the consequences from their own superiors.

Both handlers, just to be on the safe side, recorded themselves telling Johnson, that he must keep away from the Sidona case, and that the case was over.

Now, as real FBI agents, not caring if they lose, just to prove a point, all they could both say to Johnson was, “If you get caught doing this, Johnson, we both didn’t tell you to do it. Okay?”

Johnson simply nodded. Johnson had a feeling of excitement in his heart.

“Now,” one of the handlers said, “go after the five crime families, and hope they catch you doing it, after you have caught everybody. Maybe you’ll be a hero for giving them more than they asked you to give them.”

Johnson could not believe what he was hearing.

“Are you guys fucking high?” Johnson asked.

They had to be, because the FBI higher-ups would never have authorized Johnson to get the work force to pull something as big and costly as that. Only two secret FBI agents, Johnson’s handlers, knew what Johnson was about to do.

Besides, both of the handlers had a gut feeling Johnson might not come back from his desperate mission. That was why, they as a joke, told him to do it. They both knew that he would never come out of the Sidona crime family’s world alive.

In addition, if Johnson did pull it off, he would still be a dead man, if he was ever found out to be an FBI agent. However, in Johnson’s mind, with Albert vouching for him, there was no doubt that he soon was going to be a made member of the Sidona crime family.

After several secret meetings, Johnson’s handlers started to notice changes in Johnson.

Especially, when Johnson’s handlers asked him, “What are your thoughts on bagging, Albert?”

Johnson took his firearm out of his waist holster, chucked it at the TV set, and he walked out on them.

Johnson’s handlers understood his stressful behavior, and decided not to tell anyone that Johnson was becoming more like them (The Mob), and less like an FBI agent.

For a slight moment, it seemed as if Johnson Maganaxx might be playing both sides of the board. Could Johnson leave the FBI to be a full time gangster? Johnson surely could not be a part of both sides for too long?

Johnson’s superiors gave him a few weeks off with full pay, until the indictments started coming down. Johnson went after Albert, because he knew Albert would bring him straight to the boss of the Sidona family. Maybe, instead of firing Johnson, the higher-ups would understand that this was what needed to be done.

Johnson decided to risk his life. Either he was going to continue being an FBI agent, or a part of the Mafia.

Like clockwork, one day, Albert told Johnson, the magic words, “Get ready.”

Johnson started to cry, when Albert commanded him, “Get dressed, Will. Make sure to throw on the best suit you have. It’s time.”

For the first time, when Johnson walked over to the car to open the door, Albert got in front of him.

“Give me the keys,” he said.

“I’m driving.”

Johnson was in shock. As long as Johnson knew him, Albert never drove. Johnson always drove him everywhere.

For the occasion, Johnson wore a gray-black, twelve-hundred dollar suit. The suit made Johnson look like Albert’s counterpart. It was time. While the FBI were busy doing other things to turn up the heat on the entire Sidona crime family, Albert, for the first time, drove Johnson, a.k.a. Willie inside of an exclusive house in Upstate New York.

The house was owned by Antonio Speciale, a well-known and feared soldier of the Sidona crime family. This was the first time Johnson was at his house.

Albert and Johnson walked into the living room. There were several other well-dressed men there. For a second, Johnson thought about what these men would do to anyone that they caught wearing a wire, recording the whole scene.

Surely, it must be death on sight, no matter what! Johnson did not care. Whether he was wearing a wire or not, he knew how to keep cool.

Albert and Johnson sat down on a $6,400.00 couch, upholstered in Italian silk. Johnson could see that they were calling one person at a time to go down into the basement. The whole time Johnson cried within himself. Tears flowed down his face.

Albert handed him a handkerchief.

“Okay,” he said.

“Wipe those tears off your face. Don’t worry. We all had to go through this once.”

Johnson had never been so scared in his life. There was no way to get out of the house. A very well dressed man, with a serious look on his face, walked into the living room. He walked up to Johnson.

“Willie,” he said, “come with me.”

Johnson looked at Albert.

“Go with him,” Albert said.

Johnson was too wound up to focus on anything in the house. All he thought about was how comfortable the silk couch was. Johnson got up and walked away with the man. The man, with a simple nod of his chin, showed Johnson a door, which led down to some kind of basement level.

“Go,” the man pointed down the stairs, “down there.”

Johnson walked down a dark staircase. As he slowly walked down, it got much lighter and lighter, until he saw into the room. The room was very dim, and smoke-filled. He saw a big long table. At the head of the table was the boss of the Sidona crime family, Joey Sidona.

Counter clock wise, sitting next to Joey was his underboss, Jim Abadinsky. Next to him was his consigliere, Angelo DA Nico.

Soon Albert came down the stairs, and joined them, as he took a seat next to Angelo. A few men that were called before Johnson were also sitting down at the table. Albert saw Johnson still standing.

Albert pointed at an empty chair next to the boss and said, “Sit next to Joey, Will.”

“Sit down Will,” Joey said.

“Sit down over here next to me.”

Joey got to the point.

“Do you know why you are here?” he asked.

Johnson kept on saying the name Willie Shaffer repeatedly to himself. Johnson did not want to forget who he was supposed to be.

“No,” he replied.

“I don’t know what I’m doing here.”

“Do you know everybody here?” Joey asked.

Johnson looked at everyone sitting at the table.

“Yes,” he replied.

“I know most of them.”

“Do you like most of the men here?” Joey asked, with a serious look on his face.

“Of course I do,” Johnson replied.

“Do you know that this is a secret family?” Joey asked.

Johnson nodded his head up and down.

“Yes,” he replied.

“In this secret family,” Joey boasted, as if he was selling him some top quality insurance policy, “there’s one way in and only one way out. You can never come back from this. You can never get out of this family as long as you are alive.”

Joey looked at his men, and then he looked back at Johnson.

“You understand so far?”

Johnson replied, “Yes, I understand.”

Joey needed to be sure about him, so he asked him a bit more, “Would you be loyal to this family, and make it the first thing in your life?”

“Yes,” Johnson replied.

“Which finger would you pull the trigger with?” Joey asked.

Johnson showed Joey his right index finger. Albert got up off his chair, and walked up to Johnson.

“Stand up,” he said.

Johnson stood up. Seconds later, Joey stood up, Jim stood up, and so did Angelo. Everyone else stood seated. Albert got a hold of Johnson’s right index finger. He pricked it with a pin, until he drew blood out.

“Shit.” Johnson pulled his finger back.

“So… this was all I had to do to be a part of this family? That was easy.”

Joey and the men looked at each other. Joey looked at Johnson.

“Strip him,” he said to his men.

Joey let the vicious dogs out of the gate.

“He’s wearing a fucking wire!”

Albert wasted no time. From the back, he grabbed Johnson in a chokehold, while Joey and everyone else present threw Johnson a massive beating, looking for proof of his official disloyalty.

They made sure not to give Johnson a chance to get up. Together, they beat him up, until Johnson did not move anymore. They stopped for a few seconds to gather their breaths, and then they beat and kicked him, into an even more stupor state.

Years of Johnson waiting to fight back, yet when it came around to it, he just gave in and took the beating. Johnson hoped that they would keep him alive, straight out of pity. Johnson got his wish, but this time, he was all by himself.

No one was going to burst through the front door, and save his life. Johnson knew it. It was Joey’s last kick, and several savage punches to the face, that knocked out Johnson completely, and made his bloody twelve-hundred dollar suit worthless.

Johnson’s bright white shirt gleamed no more. Not even a slight bit of movement came out of Johnson’s body. The thought that they might have killed him, was what kept them from forcing themselves to go any further. Besides, together, they had enough. They each also had a lot of blood on them, especially Joey, went overboard, in over beating Johnson.

In the end, they broke two of Johnson’s ribs, and three of his teeth were on the floor. They stripped his unconscious body down to his underwear. He had nothing! He was not wearing a wire at all. He was clean, from the bottom to the top.

Jim was the first one to confirm, “Joey, this man is clean.”

Joey pointed at Johnson’s barely moving body and shrugged his shoulders.

“Oh, well. Pick him up,” he said.

“Sit him down. I want to see his fucking face.”

Jim and Albert lifted Johnson up off the floor. They both sat him down next to Joey. Johnson was bleeding from his nose and from a huge gash under his left eye.

A closer look and it was obvious that Johnson’s nose, eyes, ears, and his mouth were bleeding. Johnson slowly breathed in and slowly breathed out. Joey knew that Johnson was still alive.

Maybe, Joey had a reason for doubting Albert’s request for wanting his pal, Willie Shaffer, made. Albert took a seat.

“Albert,” Joey said, “Willie is one of us now.”

Albert went into his pocket and pulled out a picture of a saint. Albert grabbed both of Johnson’s limp arms, and extended them on top of the table. Albert opened Johnson’s hands and then he cupped them. Albert put the picture in both of Johnson’s cupped hands. Johnson was still unconscious.

“Fucking burn it,” Joey said.

Albert lit the picture up in Johnson’s cupped hands. The picture caught on fire. Blisters started to form on Johnson’s both hands. Johnson woke up in pain. Albert held Johnson’s hands still.

“Don’t you fucking move, pal,” he said.

Johnson woke up feeling as if he was a different man. The entire Sidona family watched him come to life. Johnson was not mad. Jonson felt drained of all his energy. It was as if a bolt of lightning had slammed him down to the floor.

About this time, Johnson came to the realization that a minute ago this special clan of thieves had just thrown him a massive beating. Johnson wondered how they all could be so calm, and so collected, after what they had just done to him. Johnson was so in shock that he was being made, he did not even feel the pain that much, but he felt it.

As everyone sat down, they each focused on Johnson. For sure, Johnson Maganaxx was now a new made member of the Sidona crime family.

“Okay,” Joey said, “I am going to take my time with you, Will, until you master all the rules of this family.”

Joey smiled at Johnson.

Joey’s respectful nod guaranteed Johnson his long support.

“If you ever talk to anybody about anyone in our family you will be killed,” he said.

Jim said to Johnson, “Go, and kiss Joey on both sides of his face, Will.”

Johnson slowly got up, and walked up to Joey. The men were ready, just in case Johnson got out of order. The men found nothing threatening about his very, awkward slow movements. Johnson walked up to Joey and kissed him on the right side of his face and then on his left side.

Joey wiped the blood off both sides of his face with the sleeve of his suit. Johnson went around and he kissed the rest of the men that sat at the table, until he came back to Joey.

“Will,” Joey said, “sit down.”

As soon as Johnson took a seat at the table, everybody else stood up and held hands. Johnson was the only one not holding hands. For a few seconds Johnson felt left out.

“We open this door for Will,” Joey said.

Every one lets go of each other’s hand.

“Stand up, Will.”

Johnson stood up, and joined hands in the inner circle.

Joey agreed, “Now the door is closed on, Will. From here on, you are with us, and you will die with us.”

Joey told Johnson everything. Joey acted as if he had all the time in the world with him.

“Will,” he said, “we’re not the only family out there. Besides us, there are four other families.”

Joey smiled.

“I don’t expect you to remember all this, but you will have to, in order to live among us, and them.”

“Sure,” Johnson said with a fake smile pasted on his bloody face, “whatever you say, Joey.”

“From now on,” Joey went on letting Johnson know the secrets he had let all his men learn throughout the years, “the man you answer to is Albert here.”

Joey pointed at Albert.

“You do everything with him.”

Joey went on and on about more rules Johnson had to learn in order to be a productive member of the Sidona crime family.

Afterwards, upstairs in the living room, they had a party.

By the time Johnson was home safe, he could not wait to see his FBI co-workers. Johnson was going to tell them that several masked men broke into his place and beat him up.

Johnson dropped his body down on top of his king size bed and that was when he decided that he did not want to be an FBI agent anymore. Jonson thought that the mob life was not bad, as long as a member followed the family rules.

Even though they gave him a beating, which Johnson refused to go to the hospital for, he still thought that they had more respect for him than his FBI co-workers did. All Johnson needed was a little bit of rest and some time to think.

The FBI office superiors fell for Johnson’s story. The whole time Johnson told them nothing, but lies. They told him to get medical help and to stay home for four to six weeks, with full pay, of course. Did Johnson pull it off? Was he still an FBI agent, while being a made member of the Sidona crime family?

Joey told him personally to take his time from the family and that he should come back after he was 100 percent healed from the beating they had all put on him.

About a week later, Johnson went to go see Albert. Albert was happy to see him. He knew Johnson was still healing from his wounds. Albert took Johnson with him to Italy. Albert wanted to introduce Johnson to men that were more powerful than he was. Johnson could not believe all the information that he had gathered.

Because Johnson was now a made-man, no one suspected that he was recording everything they were saying to him.

Johnson was in. Johnson recorded everything, names, and crucial conversations, all because he had passed the Sidona test. And by this time, Johnson had collected so much information on his secret investigation of the Sidona crime family.

He finally had enough information to bring down the entire five New York crime families. In a matter of a short time, Johnson placed undercover FBI agents within all the crime families, which he vouched for them as connected people.

By the time Johnson went back to work, his superiors did not say anything to him, they just kept away from him. Johnson did his entire time sitting behind his desk, without anyone getting close to him, or saying, if he was all right.

Once home, Johnson laid in bed and thought, “Will this be the final ending of the mafia? Because, once we know the names of each and every one of them, and know where they’re at, and know their devious crimes, the game is over!”

The captain of the Vagans crime family, Paul Santino, had nothing to worry about, when his boss, Sam Vagans sent for him, because he was one of the family’s biggest money earners.

Paul was five-foot-six, 278 lbs., with black hair and brown eyes. A joyful, loyal fat man, which pulled hits strictly for his boss, all along while bringing in millions a year from his dozen or so steak houses, and huge multiple level night clubs, throughout L.A. and Chicago.

Robert Cafaro the Vagans family consigliere, on orders of Sam, picked Paul up. Robert was five-foot-seven, 195 lbs., with light brown hair, and brown eyes. No dialogue was exchanged as Robert drove Paul to his destination. It was too early in the morning.

Robert drove Paul to a house in Upstate, New York, where Sam and his underboss, Frank Balagula awaited his presence. Frank was five-foot nine, 208 lbs., with black hair, and black eyes.

At the sit-down, as soon as Paul saw Sam and Frank, he walked up to them, shook their hands, and kissed them on both sides of their cheeks.

Present at the sit-down were the boss, the underboss, the consigliere, and in the kitchen, there were a few more made men. Sam never had a problem with Paul, so that was why he gave it to him straight.

“Do you know that this is going to be the second time this drunken fucker,” Sam said, “in your crew…”

Paul cut in, “What are you talking about, boss?”

Sam slammed his fist down on top of the table. Paul went back a bit. Paul understood that Sam was pissed off. Paul needed to consider Sam first. Sam was a man that rarely repeated himself.

Paul straightened his posture, and kept a respectful look on his face the whole time. Paul knew the rules. Paul stood quiet and accepted what he had coming. Time stopped at the table, as Paul waited for Sam to initiate conversation.

Sam had to be hard on everyone in his crime family. Sam was never the type of boss that ever gave any of his men any breaks.

“Don’t fucking interrupt me,” he said.

“I’m fucking talking about, Greg Lamorte!”

“Greg?” Paul asked, with a soft tone in his voice of disbelief.

“Yeah,” Sam replied, “that motherfucker. You know who the fuck I’m talking about!”

Off the record, Paul knew what happened between Greg and Ruben down at his bar. As long as Sam did not ask, denial was much, much better and very much safer.

“Yeah,” Paul asked, “what about him? What’s up?”

Sam wondered if Paul knew what he was talking about. He did not care, as long as Paul knew whom he was talking about.

“Fuck you mean,” Sam raised his hands in the air, “what about him? This is the second time that Greg fucks around with a good friend of ours, in your fucking bar! And I don’t know how the fuck you don’t know about this recent shit.”

Paul defended Greg.

I know Greg,” he said.

“He’s part of my crew. What did he do now? He’s a good earner, real Cosa Nostra—you know that.

“Never mind that, what did he do now shit. This is not a fucking baseball game, three strikes and you are out, bullshit. You are the fucking captain of this family, and you should be taking care of business. Unless,” Sam busted out a very wicked smile, “you want me to take care of him myself?”

Paul smiled, and realized that he should not have smiled.

“Get that smirk off your fucking face. I’m serious here, Paul. You tell that cock sucker that he has been warned.”

Sam passed his index finger slowly across his throat.

“No more fucking chances. Tell him that he better fucking start…,” Sam thought for a second.

“Paul, look… you know I don’t like doing this shit, but I have to, because I’m the fucking boss. I can do anything I fucking want. And you fucking now it. And as long as you follow orders, so can you. You know that?”

Sam made a gun with his hand.

“He fucking should have been whacked the first time that prick Greg acted up, but the consigliere of this family gave him and you a fucking pass. Look, I’m here to make business… not friends, Paul. And… you know that. So… you also get no more fucking passes.”

Paul gave Sam a respectful smile. He nodded his head up and down, and agreed with Sam for the quickness.

“You tell Greg he better start following the fucking rules. The rules are for everybody. Besides, who the fuck does he think he is?”

Sam made a gun with his shaky hand.

“Look, we can end his life, and yours, with two bullets, which only cost two fucking dollar. You understand what I’m trying to tell you, Paul?”

Robert just sat there, listened, and never interrupted Sam.

With a respectful tone in his voice, Paul spoke out for Greg, “But Sam, Greg is Cosa Nostra. Plus, he’s a great earner.”

Sam said, “Paul, for now… fuck all of that Cosa Nostra shit. I know he’s Cosa Nostra. And I also know that he a good earner. But… I really hope I don’t have to remind you again. We live by our fucking rules! You tell him to get his shit together, or else he will die. And… so will you”

“Sam,” Paul said, “it’s the drinks. I guess he drinks way, way too much.”

Sam leaned over.

“You guess?” he asked.

“Well I guess you better go talk to him yourself, or you won’t be guessing anything anymore, because you’ll be in a fucking box, six-feet under. Do you now fucking understand me, Paul?”

Sam pointed his finger at Paul.

“I better not see you here again, because of Greg Lamorte. You understand me?”

Paul wiped the sweat of his forehead with his hand. Paul did not know what to say, and knew he had to say something fast.

“Yeah,” he replied, “I got it, Sam.”

Sam pointed at the door.

“Now… get the fuck out of here, Paul, and go make me a lot of fucking money.”

For a few seconds, Paul’s body froze up. He could not move. He knew he had to pick up his game or someone in his crew was going to get whacked, starting with him. All he could think about was how mad he was at Greg.

“Well… what the fuck are you waiting for, Paul? Get the fuck out of my face!”

Paul slowly got up off the chair. He walked away and exited the house.

Robert got up off the chair.

“And where the fuck are you going,” Sam asked.

Robert fixed up his tie and replied, “I’m going to take Paul home.”

“Okay,” Sam cracked his knuckles.

“Come back when you’re done. I have something important I want you to set up.”

“Sure. I’ll be back soon.”

Robert walked out of the house. He drove Paul back to his house in Long Island.

A few days later, just after noon, a secret meeting took place in Atlantic City. Only three out of the five New York bosses were present. They each had the same reason to be present. In front of each participant, baskets of fresh fruits and pitchers filled with water. The pitchers on top of the long, solid oak table were made of the finest crystal.

In the huge conference room, Frederico Colando, Joey Sidona, and Bobby Facciolo, enjoyed their fine imported Cuban cigars. Frederico Colando was five-foot-ten, 160 lbs., with black hair, and brown eyes.

Bobby was pissed off. He flicked his cigar with his finger and the ashes fell on top of the table.

“First of all,” he said, “I don’t know about you guys, but I am tired of giving this Santo, slash boss of all bosses, fifty percent of everything I make. I mean really, who the fuck does this guy think he is?”

Bobby spit on the floor.

“When his father was alive,” he said, “we only paid him 10 percent. Remember those days?”

“Yeah,” said Frederico, “how could we forget his father? Maybe… maybe this is how his father wanted it to be.”

Bobby slammed his fist on the table.

“Bullshit!” he said.

“What fucking happened to Tommy, as soon as this Santo character came into town?”

Frederico said, “Tommy is not here, because he thought he was more powerful than what was giving him the power.”

“And what the fuck does that mean?” Bobby asked.

“What the fuck are you trying to say by that?”

Frederico leaned forward, and let them know how he felt.

“Guys,” he said, “we need to be focused. Why mess things up? We have a great thing going, all of us.”

Bobby flicked his cigar ashes on the floor. “Focus my ass!” he said.

“Together we use to make millions a year. Now it only seems, as if we’re bringing in way, way less.”

Joey cleared his throat.

“Yeah,” he said, “were paying fifty percent and I bet you any amount of money, that Vito and Sam aren’t paying Santo shit.”

“No,” Frederico cut in.

“I don’t believe that. They have to be paying him something.”

Bobby spit on the floor.

“Well,” he said, “not fifty percent! That’s for fucking sure!”

“Whatever it is,” Frederico said, “it’s obvious that we have nothing to do with that. Hey, wasn’t I the one that said let’s go look for him? Now he grew up on us.”

Frederico pointed at Bobby and at Joey.

“You and Joey here did not want to look for him,” he said. “Thinking back, maybe if we did try to look for him, he would have considered it, and taken a much lesser piece from us. Much less.”

Frederico put his hands up in the air.

“This is what it has come down to.”

Federico shrugged his shoulders.

“Now what are we going to do? What can we do?”

Frederico took out a cigarette and lit it up.

“After all, he’s the fucking boss of all bosses. He probably has this room bugged, listening to everything we’re saying, right now.”

Again, Bobby’s fist crashed down onto the table, which was typical Tommy Manorelli style.

“That faggot, fake boss, isn’t listening to shit,” he said.

“What are we going to do?”

Bobby made a gun with his hand.

“We’re going to kill him! That’s what the fuck we’re going to do. And after that, we don’t have to pay him shit.”

Bobby spit on the floor.

“We pay him nothing! Get rid of him first, and then we get rid of Sam and Vito.”

Meanwhile, to tighten things up, before they could drop a major bomb on the Mafia, Johnson’s FBI superiors put him back to work. This time around, Johnson had to get proof of the hiring of a hit man, before the Sidona case officially closed down.

It was not going to be that hard. Johnson was now a made member of the Sidona crime family with a free Mafia pass in his back pocket. What made him most dangerous was the fact that he was also an FBI agent.

After 3:00 PM, in the steamy confines of a sauna at an exclusive gym, Johnson met with Joe Amisi, the underboss of the Manorelli crime family.

Joe was short, five-foot-five, 280 lbs., with balding grey hair, and beady light brown eyes. Joe wanted to meet up with Johnson inside the sauna. Joe did not want anything he was about to say being recorded. They both sat in the sauna, only wearing a towel on. The sauna was so steamy it was hard for Joe to see Johnson.

Albert Hanna arranged the meeting between Johnson and Joe. When the steam thinned out, Joe shook Johnson’s hand. Joe kissed Johnson on both sides of the face. Johnson did the same.

“Congratulations on being made, Will.”

Joe handed Johnson a USB memory flash drive.

“All the information you need is inside this. You give that to your man and he will know what to do. Tell me, how does your man want to get paid?”

Johnson thought for a few seconds and replied, “Cash. He would like to get paid in cash.”

Joe agreed. Joe took both his hands and wiped the sweat of his plump face.

“I’ll give him half now,” he said, “five hundred thousand. The other five hundred thousand, he gets that after the job is done.”

Johnson looked down at the flash drive.

“Anything else you need?” he asked.

Joe looked up, thought for a second and said, “Oh, and make sure to tell your man to cut off the guys hand off at the wrist. I want you to bring me the hand that has the tattoo S.I. written on it, with his huge, fancy pinky ring still on it.”

Joe waited for him to talk, but Johnson stood silent, and breathed in the steam.

“Will,” he said, “you understand me?

“Sure,” Johnson replied.

“Are you sure that’s it?”

“Yeah,” Joe smiled with content, “that’s all, my friend.”

Johnson had a curious look on his face. He got up, shook Joe’s hand, and then he exited the sauna.

By now, Johnson was living the mafia lifestyle. His luxurious condominium was in the midtown section of Manhattan. The type of place a made man should be living in. All supplied to him by his superiors at the FBI. Living two lives, Johnson was lucky he was not married. His face and body gradually healed up, as he continued to give the FBI their eight hours a day. Afterwards, Johnson went back to his condominium.

Johnson sat all night behind a computer. From his living room, he played online chess with the best players from all around the world. Johnson decided to skip the chess. He wanted to give all his undivided attention to the flash drive that Joe had given him.

On this night, he was not an FBI agent. He was Willie Shaffer a soldier for the Sidona crime family. The shock of Johnson’s life came when he looked through the flash drive. As Johnson looked through it, he was in shock and curious when he saw pictures of me.

Under the pictures were dates and locations of where I would be at for the entire month. They had everything. “Holy shit, that’s crazy. They want to kill, Santo. This can’t be happening.”

Johnson was confused. On one hand, he was not going to give me up, and on the other hand, he was an FBI agent doing his job. “Now what the fuck am I going to do?” Johnson put his right hand on top of his head. “Shit,” he woke up to the reality of what was happening, “I have to tell Santo.”

Johnson’s thoughts ran in different directions. This was information that he could not show his superiors, because they would know about me. However, on the other side of the coin, if I did not die, Albert would be the first one to get it. They would go get Johnson, right afterwards, and the FBI would only get one of the five New York crime families. They will definitely whack out everybody Johnson vouched for, just in case. What a life. Johnson was pissed off.

Johnson did not know what to do. He needed to act very fast. He turned the computer off. As he fell asleep on the couch, he built a mental master plan. He made up his mind that he was not going to say anything about me to his supervisors.

He still had to figure out how he was going to convince those that paid half of the money for the hit, that I was dead.

After the meeting with Joe in the sauna, Albert gave Johnson a briefcase to pay for the hit. Inside of the briefcase was five hundred thousand dollars. A half a million dollars in the back of Johnson’s trunk, yet the money was not even real. The money was counterfeit.

The Manorelli crime family was not going to give up one million dollars of their own money to have me killed. They paid the Sidona family three hundred thousand dollars in real one hundred dollar bills, for one million dollars in counterfeit money.

The Colando, Sidona, and the Manorelli bosses made up a rule amongst them, “Once Santo is dead, we pay tribute to absolutely no one!” So far their plan was working. All they had to do was sit back and wait for the good news of my death.

Several nights later, inside of an up-scale restaurant Kimberly said to Edison, “So what is it that you really do?”

Edison put his right hand up to his chest.

“What I do for a living?” he replied.

“I sell cocaine. You know that.”

Edison smiled.

“When you met me I was selling coke. I’m still selling coke right now, and if you don’t want to be around me…”

Kimberly shook her head and smiled.

“No,” she said.

“It’s not that.”

The next day Edison surprised her. Edison handed Kimberly a set of keys to her very own condominium in Manhattan. Kimberly did not know what to say. Her mouth opened up, yet no words came out. From that point on, she kept quiet. Kimberly moved into the condominium. She decided to celebrate her birthday party in the condominium.

Kimberly’s birthday party was jammed packed with all kinds of friends especially those from her casino job. At a table of eight, Kimberly introduced her closest friends to Edison.

As the music changed to something more upbeat, everyone got up from their chairs and began to dance in the dance area. Edison and Kimberly enjoyed their time together. Seconds after everyone got up from their chairs, Carmine Riccobono approached the table and sat down. Carmine wanted to give Kimberly her birthday gift.

Carmine showed Kimberly a gift box. The loud music drowned out Kimberly’s words.

“What is it?” she asked.

Carmine replied, “It’s for me to know and for you to find out.”

Edison gave Carmine a dirty look.

“Yeah,” he asked, “so how long have you known Kimmy for?”

Carmine nodded his head to the beat of the music.

“She’s,” he replied, “She’s my girl…”

Carmine smiled, as he handed Kimberly her gift. Edison was tempted to punch Carmine in the face, but he did not want to look as if he was jealous.

Carmine leaned forward and kissed Kimberly on her cheek. Kimberly opened the box. Inside the box, there was a bracelet jammed packed with diamonds.

“She’s my girlfriend’s sister,” Carmine said to Edison.

“Oh,” Kimberly said, “Carmine, you shouldn’t have.”

Edison looked at the bracelet.

“Yeah,” he said, Carmine, you shouldn’t have.”

Edison looked at the people dancing.

Edison looked at Carmine and said, “Yeah, so Kim and I are happily together. How about you Carmine, do you have a girlfriend? You look like you have at least a few.”

Carmine pulled up his shirtsleeve, and showed Edison that he had the exact same bracelet as the one he gave to Kimberly.

“I added more diamonds to hers,” he said to Edison.

After checking out his own bracelet, Carmine looked at Edison.

“And yeah,” he said, “I have a girl. I have a girl for everyday of the week.”

Kimberly blushed away from Edison’s jealous radar.

“So what is it that you do for a living,” Edison asked Carmine.

“Oh,” Carmine replied, “Kim didn’t tell you what I do?”

Edison shook his head.

“No,” he said.

“She never talked about you… at all.”

Carmine put his hand on his chest.

“I’m a successful doctor,” he said.

“Stop!” Kim said.

“Stop lying, Carmine.”

She put her hands in the air, as if that was going to make carmine tell the truth.

Carmine pulled a vial of cocaine out of his pocket, and snorted some.

“No,” he said.

“I’m kind of in the coke business.”

“You sell or buy?” Edison asked.

“Well,” Carmine replied, “it’s not really me. I just happen to know the right people.”

Edison curious to know where he could find quality stuff pumped Carmine with more questions.

“So… you know people?” he asked.

Kimberly got up off the chair, and kissed Edison on the lips.

“I’ll be right back, sweetie” she said.

“I’m going to put this marvelous present away.”

Edison winked at her, as she walked away.

“I’ll see you,” he said, “after I am done talking to my man, Carmine, right here.”

She said, “Take your time, baby.”

Kimberly left them both together so as they could privately talk about business.

“Carmine, I didn’t want to say anything in front of Kimberly, but I know you.”

“Yeah, I know you too. We both met at that New Year’s party.

“So how long have you been in the coke business?”

Carmine stopped, and thought for a second. “Oh,” he replied, “I’ve been doing this shit for many years now, but I’m not the man.”

Carmine went to take another sniff from his vial. Carmine looked at it, and right away, he knew that it was almost empty. Edison tried to save the day. Edison went into his inside suit pocket, pulled out a small vial filled with cocaine, and he handed it to him.

Carmine looked at the vial.

“Oh,” he said, “thanks. I kind of ran out of my personal shit.”

Edison kept a smile on his face.

“Well,” he said, “I’m afraid that one day I will also run out.”

Carmine sniffed more than half of the vial, and then he offered it to him. Edison with a wave of his hand refused to take the vial.

“No,” he said.

“Thanks. That’s all yours.”

Without hesitation, Carmine dangled the vial of coke in front of Edison’s face.

“You do it or I’ll walk, my friend.”

Edison took the vial. He knew that Carmine, in some way or another, was testing him.

Carmine said, “It’s the only way I can trust you.”

Edison took the vial and sniffed it all. Carmine stuck out his hand and Edison shook it.

“Okay, Edison, now I trust you.”

Edison took back his hand.

“The plan is simple,” he said.

“We need to tap into a coke pipe-line so big, so we’ll never run out of coke.”

“So people will come to us, when their out of coke, right? I mean, because we’ll still have the product.”

“That’s exactly what I’m talking about.”

Edison went into his inside suit pocket. He pulled out another glass vial filled with coke, and he handed it to Carmine. Carmine cracked a smile of relief.

“Why thank you. As I was saying…”

“What were you saying, Carmine?”

Mentally, because of all the cocaine, Carmine was somewhere else, and Edison was equally tweaking. Carmine was the first one to snap out of the few second delay.

“Oh,” said replied, “yeah, I know this big time guy, out in Bushwick, Brooklyn. He can surely help the both of us out. And all I have to tell him is that you’re my girlfriend’s sister’s boyfriend.”

Edison straightened his tie out, as if he was looking at an invisible mirror.

“Yeah,” he said, “whatever you say, Carmine. Let’s do it.”

“Sure. We have to make this happen.”

“Make it happen, Captain.”

Carmine got up and walked away from the table, when he saw Kimberly approaching the table with two drinks. As he passed her by, Carmine winked at Kimberly. Edison felt as if he was the luckiest person with a coke dream. Carmine had the right connections to make this dream come true for Edison, yet would Edison want to ever wake up?

Carmine had an idea. He wanted to take Edison to see the man behind the curtain, the real Wizard of drugs. Eventually, Carmine and Edison made plans.

A few days after they both had talked, at 3:00 PM, Carmine picked Edison up from 34th Street, Pennsylvania Station, in New York City. Carmine drove Edison to Long Island to a town called Baldwin. The address was 666 Sunrise Highway. Carmine and Edison got out of the car, and walked inside of a regular looking house. From the outside, the house looked nothing out of the ordinary, yet inside was another story.

They were expecting Carmine and Edison’s arrival. A huge Colombian man at 286 lbs., all dressed up and nowhere to go, opened the door for Carmine and Edison. For safety reasons, the man pointed a machine gun at them. Ruben was the only one that was sitting down on a couch in the sunken down living room.

Ruben was watching a war movie by himself. Besides the heavy-set guy that opened the door, there were six more Colombian men in the house. They each were armed with pistols, shotguns, and various machine guns.

Ruben stopped looking at the TV, and looked up at Carmine and Edison.

“Both of you sit down,” he said.

Carmine and Edison sat down on another couch that was across from the one that Rubin was sitting on.

Ruben cleared his throat.

“My name is Ruben. Remember, we all met in that New Year’s party.”

Edison stared at Ruben and said, “Yeah, you’re right. I remember you now. What a small world this is.”

“Well,” said Ruben, “I guess this is a small world. Carmine here was telling me all about you, Edison.”

Edison looked at Carmine and then at Ruben.

“Yeah,” he said, “what did he say?”

“He said that you’re a respectful man that could be trusted. He also said that you have the man power to get rid of lots, and lots of product.”

“So he told you all that about me?” Edison asked.

“Yes,” Ruben replied, “he did. I was thinking. Maybe you can help me out.”

“Sure,” Edison said.

“How can I help a person like you out?”

“If Carmine here is right about what he says about you,” Ruben said, “then we’re all going to make a lot of cash.”

“Sounds good to me,” Carmine said.

Ruben put his hands in a praying position.

“Look, I think we can all do business together,” he said, “so I asked Carmine here to bring you to me. As you can see,” Ruben looked at his armed men, “I’m a serious person.”

“So I see,” Edison said, as he looked around the room.

“So how’s your coke business going so far?” Ruben asked.

“It’s going real good,” Edison replied.

“Now, I’m just looking for a good connect. I’m trying to make some serious cash, while I broaden my horizons.”

Ruben did not think of it twice. As long as they both remained loyal to him, Ruben was willing to give Carmine and Edison all the cocaine they needed to start out.

“I heard a lot of good things about you,” he said, “Edison. I can give you both everything you need. All I want from you both is loyalty. And you both can never sell for yourselves.”

“Well,” Edison said, “I guess we’re in business then.”

“You know what you both should do?” Ruben said. “Come back tomorrow. We will talk more then.”

As Carmine and Edison drove away from the house, there was a silence in the car

“That’s one scary dude, Carmine.”

“Who are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about, Ruben.”

“I told you.”

“How the hell did you meet a guy like that, Carmine?”

“Oh, that’s a very long story.”

“I have time…”

“Alright, well, him and I…”

By this time, Paul Santino the captain of the Vagans crime family finally sent for his solder, the grouchy, alcoholic, Greg Lamorte.

Paul personally called him himself at his home in Queens.

“Greg,” Paul said, “you know you’re being sent for,” Paul talked to Greg, as a team player, “So you better be here tomorrow or else.”

“Paul,” Greg said, “you know I would be there, but it’s my wife. She is having my baby. I promised her that I would be by her side.”

Paul could not believe what he was hearing. Paul knew that if Greg did not show up, as he was told to do, he could not help him anymore.

“No,” Paul insisted.

“Forget that shit. You better show up tomorrow.”

Greg had already decided that after his baby was born, he did not want to be a part of the Vagans crime family anymore. Sure, Greg made up his own rules, as he went along, but how long would that last, playing the game by his rules, instead of following orders from his actual crime family?

“Paul, I just can’t make it.”

“What the fuck do you mean, you can’t make it? Don’t ever tell me you can’t make it. Greg, listen to me carefully. Are you drunk now?

“No. I’m not. For the first time, I’m not drinking. So, I know what the fucking I’m saying here.”

“Greg, please, listen to me. You know our family comes first, Pal.”

“Yeah, but…”

“Yeah, but nothing, you must… you better be here at 3:00 PM sharp! And you better not make me wait!” Paul hanged up.

Johnson called me up. We both decided to meet some place quiet, some place safe. Johnson arrived fifteen minutes early, and saw that I was already waiting for him inside a café in little Italy. A bit after 6:00 AM, Johnson sat down at the table with me. We both shook hands. Johnson slid the USB flash drive across the table.

I looked down at the flash drive.

“What’s in it?” I asked.

“All the proof you need.”

“What do you mean?”

“The Sidona crime family has sanctioned a hit on you.”

“Get the fuck out of here. Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Yeah, and they asked me to carry the hit out for them.”

“Are you… you’re going to kill me?”

“No. They asked me to find a hit man to do it for them.”

“Don’t they know you’re FBI?”

“No. I infiltrated their family, somehow.”

“Holy shit, get the fuck out of here. Oh my God, so you are the new made guy, they are all talking about?

“I won’t tell if you won’t tell. They only know me as…”

“Willie…,” I said.

“Willie Shaffer.”

“How the fuck do you know that?”

“I’ve got ears, my friend. I know more than what you think I know.”

“Well, I guess you do.”

“Who else knows about this?”

“I haven’t told anybody. The FBI does not even know. So, what the fuck are we going to do?”

“You tell me. You’re the one that got this far. Now you have to try to get out.”

Johnson thought for a few seconds.

“Look, I have several friends,” he said.

“They’re with the CIA. I’m sure they can definitely help us out. They are used to dealing with things like this. Don’t worry, from here on, I got this.”

“Hey, Johnson thanks for coming to me first.”

“Hey, what are friends for.”

Johnson thought for a second.

“I’m curious. Why does the Mafia want to kill you? Is there anything I can help you with? Anything you want to tell me that can shed some light on all this darkness?”

I shrugged my shoulders.

“No,” I replied.

“I’m okay. I don’t know why the fuck the mob would want to come after me?”

Within a few days of us meeting at the café, I gave Johnson a piece of paper. The paper had the time and the location of where the next high-level mob meeting would take place.

“Take this,” I said.

“See what else you could find out.”

Back at the FBI office, everything seemed to have changed, as soon as Johnson got there. Johnson saw his supervisors conversing with their higher-ups. The whole time Johnson could not get me out of his mind. By the end of the higher-ups stay, they assured Johnson all of their support.

Because Johnson knew where the next mob meeting was going to be at, he went ahead, dressed like a UPS worker, and placed a bug under the main table, where he knew each of the leading bosses would be sitting at. The house was empty, when he placed the bug.

By the time the three New York bosses arrived at the Long Island home, Johnson, and agent Smith were already outside of the house in a white van. They started to record everything. Johnson and Smith both put on their headphones and heard Bobby Facciolo’s loud mouth loud and clear.

“That’s it!” Bobby said.

“We did it! Soon this piece of shit Santo will be dead! If he’s not fucking dead already!”

“And then we don’t have to pay Santo shit,” Frederico Colando said.

“That’s right,” Joey Sidona said.

“We should’ve done this a very long time ago.”

“Don’t worry,” Booby said.

“Soon he’ll be dead, and we’ll be free from this motherfucking boss of all bosses. Now, let’s go eat something.”

Outside, in the van, Smith looked at Johnson with a curious look on his pale face.

“Oh,” Smith said, “we got these motherfuckers. They are talking about a hit that is coming up. You heard that, right?”

Smith took off his headphones.

“By the way, who’s this Santo guy, anyway? I think he’s the one they intend to put the hit on.”

Johnson took off his headphones. He was going to talk, but he was going to make sure that Smith knew nothing about me.

“How the fuck should I know?” he said, “This is why we are here to investigate these motherfuckers. This Santo guy, I mean… he is probably a nobody. You could forget about him.”

Johnson’s curiosity about me overwhelmed him. The only thought that came to his mind was that maybe my people gave the mob a lot of coke, and now the mob does not want to pay me, or vice-versa.

A few days later, like before, Johnson called me up. We both decided to meet up at the same café, in little Italy. Again, Johnson arrived fifteen minutes early, and saw that I was already waiting for him. Johnson sat down at the table with me, then he shook my hand. Johnson slid a small tape cassette across the table.

I looked down at the cassette.

“What’s this now?” I asked.

Johnson replied, “It’s more proof that the mob wants you out for good.”

“Any reason why?”

“Something about, how they don’t want to pay you anymore. Think, you must’ve did business with one of these guys, and now they want you out of the picture. For good… so as they don’t have to pay you, and your men shit.”

I took the cassette, and put it in my inside suit pocket.

“Remember the meeting?” Johnson asked.

“Well, my partner and I were outside of the meeting in a van. We managed to get the whole meeting on tape.”

I was very curious, and hoped Johnson could tell me more.

“So, who’s against me?” I asked.

Johnson thought for a few seconds.

“Like three bosses?” he replied.

“Who can possibly be against me?”

“The boss of the Colando family, the Sidona boss, and the boss of the Manorelli family. For sure, they want you dead… right now.”

“Are you fucking kidding me? Are you sure?”

“Yeah, that’s what it looks like. Listen to the tape.”

“Now… why do you think they would want to kill me? What the fuck did I do to any of them?”

Johnson did not want to push the why issue. He decided not to ask me any questions that might reveal more than what should be revealed.

“You tell me,” Johnson asked.

“It seems like you know them… better than I do.”

“And what do you mean by that shit?”

“Forget about it, my brother… forget about it.”

That same day, when I went back to my Long Island Estate, I was very pissed off, when I heard what was on the tape cassette. I felt betrayed, but I also knew that being the top number one man was not an easy life to live. I needed some time to think about what I was going to do.

Deep down inside, I could not believe it, but listening to the tape cassette a few more times, only reassured me that I must strike back, as soon as possible. I dropped my tired body onto the couch, and I closed my eyes. I only wondered what my father would do if he were in the same situation.

Two days later, I met up with Johnson in the same cafe. This time I slid an envelope across the table. Inside of the envelope were the names, pictures, ranks, and the addresses of more than 164 men in the Mafia, including the three bosses that were opposed to my existence.

“Listen to me carefully, Johnson. I want you make sure nothing happens to the ones I have written in red. Fuck the rest of them. This ought to make your job easier.”

Johnson took the envelope and put it inside his jacket.

“Sure. I understand.”

“I’m serious, Johnson. I do not want any of my people touched. I don’t care what you do with the rest of them, but do not lay your hands on any of my people. Tell me… tell me you know.”

“Yeah, I know. Do not go after the ones in red. So… you make sure to tell them all to take off,” Johnson tapped on the table, with his index finger, “right this very fucking minute. Tell them to take off, and not to come back… for at least a year or two.”

“I’ll tell them. You just make sure you don’t forget what I just told you.”

“I won’t, my friend. I won’t. You have my word on it. I will not go after the ones in red. Don’t worry. I won’t ever let you down.”

Johnson shook my hand, smiled, and then he exited the café. After he left, I had a deep feeling that Johnson knew what he was doing.

A few days later, Johnson, with the help of three of his CIA friends, got a hold of me. Their job was to make me look as if I was dead. The three CIA agents did not want me to know who they were, so they cover their faces with bandannas.

The four of them took me out to some field in Upstate, New York. They poured fake blood all over me, and took several Polaroid shots of me, looking as if I had been shot several times in the back of the head and body.

The CIA agents even provide a severed right hand. I took off my six-carrot pinky ring, and handed it over to the agents. They wanted to provide the hand with a bit of jewelry to see how it looked, before they tattooed the severed hand with the same S. I. initials that was on my hand.

According to the pictures, I was dead.

Several nights later, in an up-scale Manhattan restaurant, Johnson met up with the Sidona family captain, Albert Hanna.

After dinner, they got down to business.

“So,” Albert said, “what do you have for me, Will?”

Johnson went into his inside suit pocket, and pulled out several bloody Polaroid pictures. With a look of accomplishment in his face, Johnson handed them to Albert.

“You make sure Joey gets these,” he said.

“Make sure to tell him the job is done.”

Albert looked at the pictures, and then he looked up at Johnson.

“What else did you bring me?”

From under the table, Johnson pulled out a black gift bag. He put it on top of the table.

“Here,” he said.

“Make sure Joey also gets this.”

Albert picked up the bag, and looked inside.

“What the fuck, is that his a hand?”

Johnson shrugged his shoulders.

“Hey, what can I say? That’s what Joey said he wanted me to bring back.”

With a couple of nods of his head, Albert agreed with him. Albert looked inside the bag.

“Yeah,” Albert went into his inside suit pocket, “okay. The other half of the cash is in the back of my trunk.”

Albert pulled out a set of car keys. He handed them over to Johnson.

“What are you driving, Al?”

Albert put the bag on the floor.

“I’m driving the black Benz. It’s out in the parking lot.”

With a fulfilled feeling, Johnson got up. He knew for sure that Albert fell for the old Santo is dead trick, but would Joey, and the other bosses fall for it?

Johnson shook Albert’s hand, and kissed him on both sides of his face.

“Thanks for the food, Al. Make sure you tell Joey it was a pleasure doing business with him.”

“Sure, I will.”

Without saying anything else, Johnson walked out of the restaurant.

Outside, in the parking lot, Johnson found Albert’s black Benz. He opened the trunk, and took the briefcase out. When he opened the briefcase up, he saw that it was filled with stacks of hundred dollar bills. With a satisfied look on his face, he closed the briefcase, closed the trunk, and then he walked away with the briefcase.

The time came when Edison went back to see Ruben at his Long Island home. When Edison finally arrived, several of Ruben’s armed men greeted him in. Edison sat down on the living room couch.

Sitting next to Ruben was a man named Steve Ficano. Steve was five-foot-eight, 175 lbs., with black hair, and brown eyes. He had a medium build, and a dark complexion.

“Edison,” Ruben asked, “how’s it been?”

Edison shook Rubens hand, and nodded his head at Steve.

“It’s been going pretty good,” he said, “so far. I have no complaints.”

“Great,” Ruben said.

“By the way, I want to introduce you to a good friend of mine. This here is Steve.”

Edison shook Steve’s hand.

“What’s up Steve?” he said.

“It’s good to meet you.”

“The pleasure is all mines,” Steve said.

“Edison,” Ruben said, “Steve here helps me run things, all the time, when I’m not in town. If you ever need anything and I mean anything, and I’m not around, Steve here can help you get whatever you want.”

“Sounds good to me,” Edison said.

Steve went into his inside suit pocket. He pulled out his business card, and handed it to Edison.

“Take this,” he said.

“You call me before the week is over. We have something very big coming up. Hope you can handle it.”

Edison looked down at the business card.

“Sure,” he said.

“Carmine and I can handle anything. No problem at all.”

Edison shook Ruben and Steve’s hand. He got up and exited the house.

Before the week was over, Edison gave Steve a call. He arranged to meet up at Steve’s house in Freeport, Long Island. Edison knew that Steve was serious, when Steve took him into one of the bedrooms, and showed him a hundred kilos of cocaine that were on top of a king size bed.

“Edison,” Steve said, as he pointed at the bed, “you’re going to take these hundred kilos with you, right now. I don’t care where you put them, but you have to get them out of my house, right now. You think you can do that without fucking it up?”

Finally, Edison’s opportunity knocked, and he was there to open the door.

“Hell, yeah, Steve,” Edison stared at all the cocaine, “I think I can stash all this shit somewhere. No problem.”

With a smile on his face, Steve nodded his head.

“Alright, you call me tomorrow. I will let you know what we have to do next.”

Steve shook his hand.

“Okay?”

“Okay.”

Within no time, to distribute the mass amounts of cocaine, Edison and Carmine joined forces. Since the ones that were paying for the kilos were men that Ruben knew well, they both knew that they would not have any problems whatsoever.

Everybody in the circle got a piece of the action. For each kilo of cocaine that Edison and Carmine sold, they each got two thousand dollars a peace.

Because I made sure Ruben’s business flowed, safely, without any interruptions, from others trying to move in on his business, even I got a cut of the huge profits.

Ruben gave me four thousand dollars for every kilo that came into America. I made millions of dollars just off the distribution of cocaine alone, in America. The more money I made the more powerful I became. Another good reason why three out of the five New York bosses wanted me dead, and out of the equation.

In my inner circle, wealth and popularity came with a huge price. It was not like Edison, Carmine or any other person that was involved could just take off and go on his own private vacation.

In the inner circle, if anyone took off, without any explanation, the minute he surfaced, he would be murdered. A day, two days, was enough for the authorities to turn a person into a cooperating snitch.

The only time anyone could go on a vacation was when we all went on vacation… together.

If anyone went missing for a day here, a day there, a week here, a week there, best believe the inner circle knew exactly, where he was, and possibly, whom he was with. The only time Edison and Carmine cut the strings, and took off on their own, was when the big top bosses of Colombia send for them.

The bosses of Colombia, whom Ruben got all his supply from wanted to meet the men responsible for making them wealthy beyond their dreams. This was a privilege for both Edison and Carmine.

One night Steve asked Edison and Carmine to meet him in his favorite nightclub, The Copacabana. This meeting was just to have a couple of drinks and talk.

Inside the club, the loud music assaulted their ears, and slightly obscured their voices. Beat after beat, with the blinking lights going on and off at rapid speed Steve looked as if he was dancing himself, as he tossed two first-class round trip tickets to Colombia on top of the table.

“Both of you guys are moving fast,” Steve said.

“Take them, two first class tickets to Colombia.”

Edison asked, “So when do we leave?”

“You both leave tomorrow night,” Steve replied.

“Tomorrow night?” Carmine asked.

“Yeah,” Steve replied, “tomorrow night. You guys have a problem with that?”

“No.” Edison said, as he looked at Carmine, and then he looked back at Steve.

“We both don’t have a problem with that, because tomorrow night, we’re going to Colombia, baby!”

Now back at Johnson’s Manhattan condominium the feeling became overwhelming, as in the living room, he flung stacks and stacks of hundred dollar bills into the air.

“That’s right! Fuck the FBI! I’m a fucking millionaire!”

With so much money on the living room floor, it was going to take him at least an hour to pick all the money up.

Meanwhile, Greg Lamorte, Paul Santino’s soldier, in a bit of a rush, headed to the hospital. Greg went inside the hospital’s gift shop, and bought some flowers. He walked inside of an elevator, and then walked out on the maternity floor. He found his wife’s room number, and then he walked in to see her holding onto their baby boy.

He sat next to her on the bed.

“Baby,” he said, as he placed the flowers on top of the bedside table, “I got here as fast as I could. So how are you feeling?”

She handed him the baby.

“I feel like shit, but other than that, I’m very happy. Wow, you got here very fast.”

“What? Nothing was going to stop me from seeing you, and our baby, nothing at all, because I love you.”

“I love you too, Greg.”

Now in Colombia the Colombian bosses were smart. They wanted to meet Edison and Carmine. They knew that Ruben could be busted at any time on a drug charge and go away for a very long time or like almost everyone in the drug game, he could take a few bullets in the back of the head.

The Colombian bosses wanted to be very tight with Edison and Carmine, not because they both had the cocaine distribution in New York totally locked down, but just in case something bad ever happened to Ruben.

Edison and Carmine flew commercial down to the Bahamas and then by private jet to Bogotá and stayed for exactly six days. The both of them felt naked going in there without any weapons. They both trusted Ruben, but they both never trusted anyone one hundred percent, not even each other.

Edison and Carmine got off the private jet and loaded into a pearl white bullet proof Mercedes Benz AMG with the windows completely blacked out. Living in the Bushwick section of Brooklyn, Ruben was conservative with his spending. Ruben lived as if he was not filthy rich, as if he was trying to keep off the feds radar.

When Edison and Carmine went to Bogotá, they both saw where Ruben put his real money. They pulled up to Ruben’s modern huge mansion. The first thing they both realized was that Ruben was much richer than they both thought.

When Ruben walked in with Edison and Carmine, it was as if the president of Colombia had arrived. Several people took their entire luggage and brought them inside the mansion. The inside of Ruben’s mansion was something out of a movie, with floor-to-floor ceiling windows all around. The respect the people showed Ruben, and both his guests, was overwhelming. To Edison and Carmine, it was a mark of power.

The next morning Ruben, Edison and Carmine, accompanied by two security cars behind them and two more ahead, went out on a tour of the city. Each security car was packed with men holding onto high-caliber weapons.

“How long before we get to where we’re going?” Edison asked Ruben.

Ruben turned to Edison and replied, “Four hours.”

When they finally arrived at a huge compound, there were armed guards almost everywhere with military-issued AK-47s and mini-machine guns, and some walked around with huge machetes holstered on their sides. The three of them walked to a courtyard where there were a few metallic tables.

Sitting at the tables, besides Ruben, Edison and Carmine, there was also Omar Rodriguez. Omar was five-foot-six, 160 lbs., with dark brown eyes, gray-black hair, dark complexion, and a stout build. His brother Carlos Rodriguez was five-foot-nine, 186 lbs., with the same color of eyes and hair as his brother, yet Carlos was much muscular.

Also at the table were Antonio Escobar and his right hand man Alonso Santana. Antonio was six-foot-five, with brown hair and brown eyes. Every one present felt Antonio’s powerful presence.

Antonio covered his eyes with the back of his hand from the powerful sun that beamed down upon them. There were plenty of cold, mixed drinks to quench their thirst. Antonio kicked Alonso’s leg under the table. Alonso nodded his head at Edison and Carmine to let them know that he was paying attention.

Alonso, known for having killed thousands of men for his Patron, Antonio, was known as the grim reaper. He was Five-foot-one, 154 lbs., with black hair and light brown eyes. Anyone who would look at him once would think that he was a punk, but he surely was not. Murderous, was what many people called him. Edison looked at the men, as they kept silent. He looked at Ruben, and put his hands up, as if he was trying to ask Ruben, “So, what’s the deal?”

“So,” Ruben said to Edison, “what do you think of Colombia so far, beautiful weather, right?”

Edison nodded his head in agreement.

“Colombia is a beautiful place.”

Carmine also agreed.

“Yeah,” he said, “I really like it here. The weather is beautiful. However, I bet you did not bring us here to talk about the weather. Am I right?”

“Yeah,” Ruben took a sip of his strong cold drink “you’re right. Here, this is the best place in the world. Hey, I would like to introduce you guys to some of the other guys on our team.”

Edison said, “Sure.”

“Well,” Ruben said, as he pointed at the men, “sitting down on our right is, Omar Rodriguez. To his right is his brother, Carlos Rodriguez. Also with us, we have Antonio Escobar, and his right hand man, Alonso Santana.”

Ruben looked at Edison, then at Carmine.

“And together, these men and I are here exclusively to give you both all the help you need, whatever you both need, really.”

“Sounds great,” said Edison, as he sipped his drink, and waited to hear more than how Colombia’s weather was.

“Really,” Antonio said to Edison.

“We’ll give you both everything you need, as long as you both are responsible for everything we give to you.”

“No problem,” Carmine said.

“And how about if any of us runs into problems with anyone in New York? Do we both have all of your protection?”

“Well,” Ruben said, knowing well that he had me on his side, “from now on, anyone that fucks with you two has to fuck with all of us.”

“For real?” Edison asked.

“We got your word?”

“Trust me,” Ruben wiped the sweat off his sweaty face.

“If any of you guys run into any kind of problems in New York, don’t worry, we’ll take care of it.”

“What else?” Edison asked, knowing that there was much more to know.

“Simple,” Antonio replied.

“We want to move like sixty thousand kilos a month. For each kilo that the two of you move, you will get two thousand… no, you’ll get three thousand dollars.”

Antonio paused.

“Once you guys hand over the coke to our Colombian friends in New York, you get the money. From the money you both get, you both take your share. The rest of the money you give to Steve.”

Antonio nodded at Ruben.

“Steve will give the money to Ruben here, and Ruben will bring all the money to us, any questions?”

“No,” Edison looked at Carmine then at Ruben.

“We get it. How can we forget something like that?”

Antonio asked, “Are you both sure?”

“If the man says that he is sure…” Carmine cut in, “then he is sure. He’s positive, hermano.”

“Yeah,” Edison nodded at Antonio.

“We’re positive. Trust us.”

“Very well then,” Omar said.

“Since you both get it, let’s eat.”

Carlos said, “Let’s make a toast.”

They all raised their glasses up.

“Here’s to our successful future,” Omar said.

“Much success…”

They all said, “To our successful future. Much success!”

Back in New York, the murderous Vagans captain, Paul Santino was fed up with his soldier, Greg Lamorte, because Greg did not show up for the sit-down. Though he was a bit, ruthless, a shark that followed the trail of blood, Paul was old school Cosa Nostra.

Yes. Believe it or not, he was the type of man that would give his soldiers a break, here and there, once in a while… instead of killing them.

But, this time, not only was Greg warned once, and he was given a pass by the consigliere of the family, and his life was spared, but he refused to come in, when the captain of his family, under the orders of the boss Sam Vagans, asked him to.

Paul was a pretty fair captain, but to not show up, when he himself called you… under the order of his boss, that was a death sentence.

Once Greg’s baby was born and he held him in his arm, even though he knew that the Vagans crime family came first in his life, he made up his mind to take his wife and child and disappear forever.

As a soldier of the Vagans crime family, Greg did his own thing, and most of the time, he came around when he felt like it. Other times, he just flat out refused to come in. For a while, Greg made up his own rules, as he walked among his murderous crime family.

Greg thought he was special. He thought that he did not have to pay the boss homage, or suffer the consequences, as the rest of them did, when they got out of line.

Paul called the consigliere of the family, Robert Cafaro.

“Yeah,” Paul said, “Greg never showed up. I waited for him and…”

“What the fuck do you mean,” Robert asked, “he didn’t show up. What the fuck, Paul! It’s your fucking responsibility to make sure he shows up! Is this… quit Cosa Nostra week? Say no more. He’s fucking done, Paul! He’s fucking dead! And there’s nothing you can do about it.”

The following night the underboss of the Vagans crime family, a fat jolly old man, Frank Balagula, had a sit-down with the boss of the family, Sam Vagans. They both met up at an exclusive restaurant in Manhattan. The meeting was to talk about what they were going to decide to do with the slacker, slash alcoholic, slash fake earner, Greg Lamorte, for not showing up when called in, not once, but several times.

“I had enough of this Greg guy,” Frank said.

“We keep calling him to come in, but he never seems to show up, yet he is still hanging around, and he is still earning. Sam, what do you think we should do about this guy? He has been warned several times, yet he does not seem to give a shit. Fucking guy has balls, a lot of balls.”

Sam thought for a few seconds. He looked up at Frank and said, “Fuck him. He has to go right now.”

Sam raised his eyebrows.

“He should have known better. From here on, everything that belongs to Greg now belongs to... what’s that other soldier’s name?”

“Who Dave? What about him?”

Sam nodded his head and said, “Yeah, that guy, Dave Kilikatos. Give all of Greg’s rackets to Dave.”

“What about Greg, Sam?”

“I said… kill him. Make him a fucking memory.”

“Who do you want in on this?”

“Give this hit to Dave. I hear him and Greg are childhood friends.”

Frank asked, “Anything else?”

Sam wiped his mouth with a napkin.

“No. That’s it. That will be all.”

A few days after Edison and Carmine arrived from Colombia, Steve gave Edison a call.

“Hey,” he said, “what’s up, Edison? Did you and Carmine enjoy yourselves in Colombia?”

“Man,” Edison replied, “we had the best time of our lives. Oh, my God, you should see the women down there. They’re very beautiful.”

“Listen to me,” Steve said, “I want you and Carmine to go down to my house in Freeport, Long Island. The key to the front door is under the mat. Upstairs, in the bedroom, you’ll find a thousand pieces.”

“Anything else?” Edison asked.

“Yeah, Steve replied, “when I get home tonight, they better not be there.”

“Don’t worry,” Edison said, before Steve hanged up, “they won’t be.”

Edison and Carmine took all of the cocaine out of Steve’s house, and headed towards one of their stash houses. Everything had to be perfect. With all the material they were given, Edison and Carmine did not take any chances.

On the road, two spotter cars, one in front, and one behind their van, made sure Edison and Carmine got to where they had to go safe. Their sole purpose was to make a lot of money, without any possible interruptions.

Once at the stash house, in Middle Village, Queens, Edison drove the van into the garage. With a click of a button, the garage door closed, and the security team drove away. All Edison and Carmine had to do was make sure that four groups of people got two hundred and fifty kilos each, without them both ever meeting the buyers.

The person that always delivered the coke to the four groups of Colombians was a guy by the name of, Mariano Inzirillo. Mariano was five-foot-eight, 185 lbs., with black hair, and brown eyes. Mariano was a trusted, battle-tested soldier in the Yannone crime family.

Just to make it easier on Edison and on Carmine, and so I could be very close to my cut of the now millions of dollars, being made, Vito exclusively picked Mariano to secretly deliver the coke to the Colombians. What mattered most was that Mariano passed on all the money up to Edison and Carmine.

In the garage, Edison and Carmine, inside the van, saw their path, and they both took it.

“So where is Mariano meeting this Colombian dude at, Carmine?”

“He’s supposed to meet up with him in some diner in Brooklyn.”

“What are you scared of, Carmine? Mariano probably has done this hundreds of times. Step-by-step.”

Edison thought for a second.

“You know how these Italians are? They live and die by a fucking code, called Omerta. Mariano leaves the car with all the shit in it, in some parking lot of some diner, and then he lets some wet back Colombian get it.”

“Wow… that’s a good idea. We’re lucky we don’t have to do that part.”

“We sure are,” Edison said.

“How about if the Colombians decide to rip us off? What then?”

“Impossible. They will get boxes of bullets sprayed on them, if they do.”

Mariano’s job was simple. All he had to do was deliver the cocaine and get the money. Once he got all of the money, he had to give it to Edison and Carmine.

When Mariano entered a late-night dinner, he sat down opposite a hardcore looking Colombian. The first thing Mariano noticed was the deep scar across the Colombian’s pimple riddled face.

For a moment, things looked as if they were going to go smooth. Mariano looked at the Colombian, fixed his tie, and then he purposely spit on floor.

The Colombian downed his coffee, as if he was in a bar, downing the strongest drink. He took Mariano’s actions as a sign of disrespect.

“Come on,” the Colombian asked.

“Do you have a problem doing business with me? Don’t fuck with me,” he slid hid index finger across his throat, “because I’ll slice your fucking throat open, amigo.”

The Colombian shook his head.

“You should start learning to stop wasting my fucking time,” he said.

“We are either going to do business, or not. But you’re not going to fucking sit in front of me, and waste my fucking precious time.”

Mariano slid a set of car keys towards him. The Colombian looked down at the keys.

“What the fuck is this?” he asked.

“Where’s the fucking coke, man?”

Mariano was not only a great intimidating leader, he was also a confident talker. It was in his nature to let those around him know, by force, that he was the one always in charge.

“We’re going to do a little trade,” he said.

“If I did my homework correct, you brought a lot of money with you? It’s in your car, right?”

The Colombian was thinking about what he was going to tell him.

“Fuck that,” Mariano said.

“You don’t fucking ever threaten me.”

Mariano looked around, as if to make sure no one was watching them.

“You give me your fucking car keys, and you can have mines. When I’m sure that you gave me the right amount of money, I’ll bring you the other half of the gravy, capishe?”

The Colombian did not understand what Mariano was trying to tell him, so he went on the defense, “Gravy?” he asked.

“Half? What the fuck are you talking about? If you give me half of the drugs, you’re only going to get half of my money.”

Mariano wanted to smack him up a bit, yet because he was pressed for time, he chose to see the deal go through.

“My dear,” he said, “Dominican, Mexican, Cuban, or Colombian, whatever the fuck you are, I don’t give two fucking shits about what you think, or what you want. Do me a fucking favor, don’t bitch to me.”

Mariano spit on the floor.

“You made a fucking business deal with us. Now… now you are going have to deal with me, and the way this shit is going to go down. You fucking understand me now, amigo?”

The Colombian felt disrespected. He leaned forward.

“What the fuck did you say?”

“My Mercedes Benz is parked outside in the parking lot,” Mariano said, as he looked at his own suit with pride.

“I bought the blue Benz to match this blue suit. Half of the gravy is already in the trunk.”

Mariano paused.

“When you come back with my car, I’ll give you the other half. That’s the only way you’re going to get it all. You understand me?”

One way or another, the Colombian wanted the deal to go his way.

“Let me fucking get this straight,” he said. “You want me to give you all my money now, and you’re only giving me half of the coke?”

“You got it,” Mariano smiled, “Colombianito. Take it, or leave it, or else.”

The Colombian pulled out a firearm from his waistband, pointed it at Mariano and said, “Or else what, bitch?”

With a smile on his face, Mariano went into his inside suit pocket. He took his time, and then he finally pulled out a live grenade.

“Please,” Mariano said, “don’t ever fuck with us. We will fucking go crazy on you, and all your dumb fucking spic friends. Do not start pulling shit out on me now, because, I will blow us both the fuck up. I have nothing to live for. How about you, you want to live?”

After he looked at the grenade, the Colombian had second thoughts. He put the weapon back into his waistband, pulled out his car keys, looked at the grenade, and then he slid the keys across the table.

The Colombian was in shock, but not surprised.

“Okay… okay… no problem. You win… this time. Look, you sick fucking bastard, all the money is in the trunk. I drive the red Mercedes Benz, with the license plate that says, COWBOYS. You can’t miss it.”

The Colombian thought for a second.

“The money is all there.”

Mariano swiped the Colombian’s car keys off the table, as if he had just pulled a devious magic trick. He got up, and left the grenade on top of the table to add flavor to his exit.

The Colombian kept his eyes hypnotized on the grenade. He wondered when it was going to blow up. And nothing was going to separate him from the thought of how he had been pretty much forced into a situation, which he had no choice but to give up all the money for half of the coke.

“Oh,” Marino said before he exited the place, “by the way, you have an hour to bring back my fucking car. I want you to park it right where you fucking found it. I’ll do the same.”

Mariano was glad that everything was going as planned, and going his way.

“Only this time you’ll get the other half of the gravy. It will be in the back of your trunk. Simple shit.”

Mariano pointed at him.

“So don’t fuck it up. Do not be late. And don’t ever make me wait for you. You have an hour to get back here. If you’re even late, one minute… you will fucking die.”

The Colombian pointed at the grenade.

“What the fuck are you going to do with this?”

“Keep it. It’s my gift to you.”

A few sweat drops glided down the Colombian’s face, as he saw Mariano exit the dinner.

Meanwhile, inside a car garage, Edison, and Carmine, sat inside of a car and talked.

“Tell me,” Edison asked, “have you ever been arrested?”

Carmine thought for a second, until what he wanted to say came to mind.

“I did six years,” he replied, “and four months, up at Clinton Correctional Facility.”

“What did you go to jail for?”

“I was in for strong-armed robbery.”

“Wow,” Edison shook his head, “that’s a lot of years.”

“Nah, there’s people in there that are never going to see the light of day. Therefore, doing six years, eight years, ten years, that is nothing. I’ll tell you this much, if I ever get caught out there again… I’m not going back to jail.”

“What would you do?”

“I don’t know, Edison, but if I’m surrounded, I promise you, I’m not giving myself up.”

Carmine mimicked an explosion with both his hands.

“I rather blow them and myself up, with a fucking bomb, strapped to my fucking body.”

“Man, Carmine, not for nothing, but I’m starting to realize that you’re really fucking crazy. Would you really do something like that? I mean… blowing yourself up, and everyone around you, man… that’s some crazy, next level shit.”

“You better believe it, Edison. One click of a button, and they’re going to have to chase me down in heaven.”

“Man, I think you’re really fucking crazy. Tell me, where do we go from here?”

Carmine thought for a second and said, “Let’s go to a strip club!”

“Well, I guess we’re going to my strip club!”

The both of them were not on the road for more than fifteen minutes when a black Impala, cut right in front of them. They were pulled over by two of the town’s worst, greedy, undercover narcotic officers, named Bill Conner and Dave Seagal.

Both officers, with guns in hand, jumped out of their vehicle.

“Don’t you fucking move!” Dave shouted.

He was a fast moving, fast thinking, five-foot-eight, 190 lbs., with brown straight hair and green eyes. Bill was five-foot-seven, 170 lbs., with blond hair, and blue eyes.

Without any witnesses around, both Bill and Dave took full advantage of the moment, as each of them put their firearms up to both Edison and Carmine’s heads. At first neither Edison nor Carmine knew that both men were narcotic officers of any kind. They both though it was some kind of robbery, indeed, it was a robbery of a different kind.

Edison and Carmine put their hands on top of the dashboard. Together, Bill and Dave were known for shaking down hi-end drug dealers.

“Open the fucking trunk right now!” Bill shouted.

Dave walked to the back of the vehicle, as the trunk popped open. Inside, Dave saw what looked like six kilos of cocaine. Dave took his pen and popped a hole through one of them.

He put the tip of the pen on the tip of his tongue and tasted the white powder.

“Yeah,” he said to his partner, “we got these motherfuckers!”

Bill walked over, looked in the trunk, and saw the six kilos. Bill went up to Edison, and he put his weapon up to his head.

“You both have two choices,” he said. “One, you both go to jail for the six bricks that’s in your trunk or two, you give us four-thousand dollars a month, every month, and we’ll let you guys walk, right now.”

Dave went up to Carmine, cocked his weapon back, and pushed it up against his head.

“Or three,” he said, “we could just fucking kill you both right now, and take all your fucking shit. So, what’s it going to be, cowboy?”

Edison and Carmine had no choice but to pay up or layup. They were hijacked by the law. With a single nod, they both, agreed to pay the officers the four-thousand dollars on a monthly base.

The officers said not a single word, as they both jumped into their vehicle and drove away. Edison and Carmine both had a feeling that, one day or night, something like that was going to happen. They just never thought, in a million years, that it was going to happen, between them and a couple of greedy men, with badges.

“I can’t fucking believe, in a million years… that just happened to us,” Carmine said.

“Don’t worry. We will talk about it later. I’m fucking pissed off too.”

Inside of a strip club owned by Edison, he and Carmine sat down on a couple of stools and ordered some drinks. Minutes later, two of the club’s buffed bouncers walked up to Edison.

One of them whispered in his ear, “Come with us, boss. There’s something you ought to see.”

Edison downed his drink. He got up and walked away with them. Carmine forgot about what just happened to him and Edison, the second he pushed a few hundred-dollar bills inside a dancer’s bra.

“This is for you, baby,” he said.

Meanwhile, both bouncers escorted Edison into his private upstairs office. They closed the door behind them, and they both walked away.

Inside of the office were two more bouncers, Charles and Thomas, and a man. The man was a bloody mess. He was sitting down in a chair, all tied up. He looked as if they had been beating him up for hours.

Charles and Thomas were burning the man’s face and neck with cigarette butts. They both stopped burning the man, as soon as they saw Edison with an unsatisfied look on his face.

“This motherfucker,” Charles said, “right here, tried to offer me fifty-thousand dollars, so he can come up in here and kill you.”

With his mouth tapped up, the man was not saying much. A few begging sounds were mumbled behind the duck tape.

Thomas showed Edison a paper bag filled with packs of hundred dollar bills.

“Here’s the fucking money, Ed,” he said.

Edison looked inside the bag, saw all the money, and then he walked up to the supposed killer. He wanted to find the underlying cause of everything.

“So what’s up with you?” he asked, “Why do you want to kill me? I don’t even fucking know you…”

The man mumbled a few words. Charles showed Edison an automatic firearm with a long suppressor on the side.

“We also found this on him,” he said.

“And the suppressor was in his pocket.”

Charles hit the man twice in the face with the weapon.

“So what’s the real story here?” Edison asked both the bouncers.

Charles hit the man again.

“A few nights ago,” he replied, “this fucker came up to me at the front door, and offered me money.”

Edison grabbed a chair, sat right next to the man, and looked at him in the face.

“So what happened next?”

“Well,” Charles replied, “this motherfucker said that he would give me fifty-thousand dollars, if I let him in the club with a gun.”

Edison said, “Now you know I don’t allow guns in my place.”

“Yes,” Thomas said.

“We all know that.”

Edison said, “Let me talk to him…”

Edison, as if he was giving him a lip waxing treatment, ripped the tape from across the man’s mouth.

“Please, no. No,” said the man, as a few of his teeth dropped from inside his mouth onto his lap.

Edison asked, “This isn’t Halloween. So what are you supposed to be, a hit man or something?”

Edison pointed at Charles.

“Out of all of my men,” he asked the man, “why did you go up to Charles here?”

The man stood silent.

“Who are you working for? Who sent you?”

The man accumulated a lot of spit in his mouth, and he spit Edison in the face.

“I guess,” Edison said, “you’re telling me you don’t want to talk?”

Edison looked up at Charles, as he wiped his face with the cuff of his suit. Since the man had not brushed his teeth for quite a while, his spit stunk up Edison’s thoughts.

“Maybe,” Edison said, “you can give light to this dark situation, Charles?”

Charles thought for a second, and then he spoke, as if all of a sudden he remembered everything.

“Well,” he said, “he came up to me. He wanted to know, if he could bring in a gun. When I asked him why, he said, he wanted to bring in a gun to take you out. It’s obvious he must’ve thought I didn’t know who you were.”

Edison said, “Really? He told you he was going to take me out?”

“Yeah,” Charles replied.

“I was just testing him. I asked him who? He said you.”

Edison was curious.

“But why did you wait all this time to tell me?” he asked.

“And why would he tell you that he’s going to kill me?”

“Because,” Charles replied, “we wanted to catch this fucker for you first.”

Charles punched the man in the face.

“Now he’s here. I guess he thought he could trust me.”

“Don’t tell me,” Edison asked.

“And that’s when you took the money, and decided to warn me about it?”

“Well,” Charles replied, “yeah, Boss.”

“Brilliant. Did you make him tell you who sent him?”

Charles replied, “No.”

“Well,” Edison looked at Charles and Thomas, “let me tell you both something.”

Edison pointed at the man.

“You both fucking keep beating him like this, long enough, and he’ll tell you that he acted alone in the JFK assassination. Besides,” Edison got up off the chair, “I have to go. Tina with the big tits is up next.”

Thomas held the bag of money up in the air.

“What do we do with the money, Boss?”

“All of you could split the money. Just make sure,” Edison, pointed at the man, “you guys get rid of this piece of shit, right here first.”

Edison headed for the door.

Charles said, “Hey, Boss…”

Edison looked back, “Yeah, what’s up?”

“Thanks a lot.”

“Don’t mention it. Now get back to work.”

As soon as Edison exited the room, Charles smacked the duck tape back on the man’s bloody mouth. Charles, with a wicked smile, sat in front of the man. He went into his own pocket, spit the man in the face, and then Charles pulled out a pair of pliers out of his pocket. He showed the pliers to the man.

The man started to squirm, knowing that soon the megaton pain was coming.

“Now,” Charles said, “you are going to tell us who sent you or else, I’m going to start with…”

Charles did not end his sentence. He just ripped the tape off the man’s mouth, put the pliers in his mouth, and then, with the help of Thomas, Charles started to pull the man’s teeth out, one-by-one. The man’s loud screams were heard from outside the office door.

A month later, Edison, and his now better half, Carmine decided to go to a club in Manhattan. They both sat in the VIP section. Both Bill and Dave, the crooked, undercover, narcotic officers, drunk out of their minds, danced towards them. Their intentions were to collect money from Edison and Carmine.

The officers sat down with them.

“You guys have something for us?” Bill asked.

Edison handed him a bulging envelope filled with hundred-dollar bills. Bill opened the envelope. He flipped through all the bills, twice. Bill nodded his head at his partner, and stuffed the envelope in his inside jacket pocket.

“Like the pimp says to his bitches,” Dave said, “keep it coming.”

Carmine, though he hated the idea of handing over the money, he cracked a smile of pure hatred at Bill.

“Okay,” Carmine said, as he crossed his arms.

“Whatever you both crooks say. So, what’s your name?”

“Are you writing a fucking book,” Dave asked.

“Look, you both just keep the money coming every month. You understand me?”

“Sure,” Edison replied, “we understand you. You don’t have to worry. The money is all there.”

Both officers got up. They danced away from the table.

Edison looked at Carmine.

“This is bullshit!” he said. “What part of the fucking game is this? Tell me… did we just get robbed? Tell me again… why the fuck do we have to pay these motherfuckers?”

“It’s all a part of doing dirty business.”

“Business,” Edison grabbed his crotch, “my balls. You’re telling me that the money that we’re taking for us is being taken from us? No way. This can’t be happening to us.”

“Don’t worry. I haven’t said anything, but I’ve been on it. I spoke to Steve. He said he was going to take care of everything, everything.”

Edison banged his fist on the table and said,

“Steve! What the fuck is he going to do? The last time we both went up to talk to him, he brushed us the fuck off.”

“Yea,” Carmine tried to convince him, “but he said he was going to take care of everything.”

Steve did take care of everything. All he had to do was make one phone call, and that was it for the two crooked narcotic officers. Once Steve told Ruben that Edison and Carmine were being shaken down, Ruben talked to his Colombian partners, in Colombia.

They told Ruben that New York was my town, and that it was wise to talk to me first. Therefore, Ruben met up with me to talk about it. By the end of our conversation, Ruben and I already knew what to do. I assured Ruben that the problem was going to be taken care of.

“Don’t worry,’ I said, “I’ll take care of everything. Trust me…”

A couple of nights later, I had a sit-down with Vito.

“So,” I asked, “what do you suggest we do with these two crooked cops? I suggest we do away with them. What do you think?”

Vito, thought for a second. He knew very well what my suggestion meant.

“Well,” he replied, “they are narcotic officers.”

“Yes,” I cut him off, “but they are both dirty.”

“Then,” Vito thought for several seconds, “let’s make them dirtier. Are you thinking what I am thinking?”

I nodded my head up and down.

“Vito,” I said, “go get me the Iceman.”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

Vito got in contact with the Iceman. Within no time, the Iceman knew what he had to do. Vito found the Iceman drinking his ass off inside of a club. The Iceman was not use to taking out the law, but he never made a mistake, and got somebody that he was not supposed to get, on an order.

This up-coming hit was something he needed to think out well. There was no way that both narcotic officers were going to take any more money from any one under my protection, ever again.

“Make sure,” the Iceman said, with a convinced look on his face, “that both the officers get the money they ask for.”

“You mean,” Vito asked, “you want us to pay them?”

“Yes. Pay them. As soon as they both get out of there, I promise you that will be the last time they will ever take money from us, ever. Mr. Ice, we trust that you will do the right thing. We are hoping that you can make this one look, as if two dirty, drug-dealing officers finally got theirs. You got that?”

“I always do. By the way, tell Santo I said hello.”

“Sure,” Vito got up from the chair, “I will,” shook his hand, and then he exited the club.

The Iceman planed everything out, as he always did. The next time both officers went to pick up the envelope filled with money, the Iceman was already waiting for them, inside of their vehicle.

As both Bill and Dave entered their car, and Bill turned on the ignition, the Iceman, wearing plastic gloves, pressed two firearms up to each of their heads. Both officers looked in the rear-view mirror, and noticed that both weapons had built in suppressors on them.

“Don’t you both fucking move,” the Iceman said.

He pushed Bill’s head forward with the weapon.

“You, drive the fucking car.”

“Who the fuck are you?” Bill asked.

“Don’t talk,” the Iceman replied, “Drive.”

“Where the fuck are we going?” Bill asked, as he looked at his partner.

Dave thought for a second, and then he came out of his silence.

“Do you know who the fuck we are?” he asked.

“Shut the fuck up,” the Iceman pushed Bill’s head forward again with his weapon.

“You, keep driving.”

Bill did what he was told. After a few minutes of driving through Mid-town Manhattan the Iceman knew it was the perfect time to make his move.

“Turn here,” the Iceman said.

Bill looked at Dave, then he made the turn into an abandoned alleyway.

Dave did not believe that the Iceman would dare kill two men on the side of the law.

“Well,” he said with a cocky smirk, “what the fuck are you going to do now? Kill two decorated narcotics officers?”

“Shut the fuck up,” the Iceman said.

“And give me all the fucking money.”

“You’re,” Bill said with relief, “you’re going to rob us?”

“Dude,” Dave said, “there’s no fucking money.”

“Give me the fucking money!” the Iceman demanded, his voice cold and unyielding.

He knew one of them had it.

“Hand it over!”

“Bill?” Dave said.

“Okay,” Bill said, as he went into his inside jacket pocket.

Bill pulled out the envelope, looked at Dave, and then he passed the envelope back to the Iceman.

“Here,” he said.

“Just don’t do anything stupid, or you will pay dearly.”

Without a warning, the Iceman shot both officers twice in the back of their heads. The Iceman grabbed the envelope out of bill’s hand. He leaned back, and holstered both weapons. He stuffed the envelope in his waistband, and then he thought for a few seconds.

He went into his inside suit pocket, and pulls out a black eyeglass case. He opened the case up to reveal several bags of pure heroin.

He put the case on his lap, thought for a second, and then he pulled out a drinking straw from his other front pant pocket. The Iceman pulled out a bag of heroin from inside the case. He opened it up, and then he pushed the straw through the heroin, until the straw was filled with the powder. He tipped the straw on his index finger, until the heroin formed from the bottom to the top in the straw.

He put the heroin bag back in the case. He leaned forward, and then he tilted Bills head back.

The Iceman put the straw in his own mouth, put the front of the straw inside Bill’s nose, and then he blew the powder up Bill’s nose. The Iceman did the same thing to Dave.

After that, the Iceman went into his inside suit pocket, and pulled out two small, solid blocks of pure cocaine. He put the blocks of coke in each of the officer’s front pant pockets. He closed the eyeglass case, puts it away back in his inside suit pocket, and then he exited the vehicle.

Several nights later, Ruben, Steve, Edison, Carmine, and I went to an underground club, filled with different rooms, in the Wall Street section of Manhattan. Inside, we talked among each other, and tried to get to know each other more.

“Oh my God,” Carmine said.

“You guys know that everybody is doing coke because of us?”

Edison said, “Indeed.”

Ruben looked as if he was about to say something. Everybody paid attention.

“What can I say,” he said. “We’ve got the best shit in town.”

A few nights later, Sam Vagans came to me for permission to have Greg Lamorte killed.

My answer, “I don’t know any fucking Greg Lamorte. Fuck it. Whack him. Whack them all, if they don’t follow your command.”

We shook hands.

“I just wanted to pass this by you,” Sam said.

I put my hand on top of his shoulder.

“No,” I said.

“From now on, you don’t have to run anything passed me. You can whack whomever you want.”

I paused.

“I don’t care, as long as fifty percent of your family’s earnings go to me.”

“Thanks a lot,” Sam said.

“This life really means a lot to me. I didn’t get this far for nothing.”

“Yeah,” I said, “me too. Me to…”

At exactly 6:40 AM, on a Sunday morning, Greg Lamorte received a phone call at his home. The call was from his childhood friend, Dave Kilikatos. Just like Greg, Dave was also a made member of the Vagans crime family.

Dave was five-foot-seven, 175 lbs., with black hair, and brown eyes. The night before, Dave’s captain, Paul Santino had asked him to get rid of his best friend, Greg. What could Dave do? Just when Dave was trying so hard to rise up in the Mafia world, this was his big break.

If Dave killed his best friend, Greg, everything that Greg was in control of would belong to him. Dave knew the consequences. If he refused to do what he was told, he would be the one that would get killed first before Greg, no question about it! Paul gave Dave a job and he had to do it. It was that or death.

At the time of the call, Greg was in bed with his wife and their newborn baby. His wife did not bother to ask him who it was. She was used to many men calling the house at all hours of the night.

Greg put his eyeglasses on, and picked up the phone.

“Hello,” he said.

“Hey,” Dave said, “you up? Come on. Wake up. I know it’s early, but you promised me that you were going to look at them gold Rolex watches. I have ten Presidential watches with your name written all over them.”

In the worst time ever, Greg’s greed got the best of him.

“Okay,” he said, “Dave. Where are you?”

“I’m parked right outside your house.”

“Give me ten minutes. I’ll be right out.”

“Don’t worry. You take your sweet time.”

Once Greg got inside Dave’s car, Dave handed him a gold Presidential Rolex.

Greg put the watch on.

“So, how much do you want for all ten watches,” he asked.

Dave could not believe what he was about to do. However, he had his orders, and he was not going to turn back.

“For you,” he replied, “because you’re my best friend, I’ll give you all ten of them for sixty-thousand.”

Greg stared at the watch on his wrist. His greedy heart could not refuse. He wanted to have the rest of the watches in his possession.

“I’ll give you fifty-thousand,” he said.

Dave wanted to make it seem as if he was not trying to get ripped-off.

“I know,” he said, “its way too early in the morning, but I’m not going under fifty-five.”

“Okay… I’ll give you the fifty-five,” Greg said.

“You have a deal.”

“Dave, I’ll give you all the money tonight.”

“Sure, but you need to take the watches now.”

“Where are they?”

“You’re in luck. I’ve got them in the back of my trunk.”

“So, pop the fucking trunk.”

Dave popped the trunk open, like clockwork, they both got out of the vehicle.

Greg looked inside the trunk, and saw that it was empty.

“So, where the fuck are they?” he asked.

Though it was early in the morning, Dave looked around for any possible witnesses. When Dave saw that the coast was clear, he pulled out a firearm with a built in suppressor.

“I love you bro,” he said.

Greg thought for a second and it finally hit him. He was about to die.

“But, Dave…” was all he said, before Dave pumped several shots in the back of his head.

Dave pushed him inside the trunk, and took the watch off his wrist. He pumped several more shots into Greg’s head, and several more shots into his body. Dave shut the trunk, got in the vehicle, and then he drove away.

The next day Sam sat in his office, as he talked to his underboss, Frank Balagula.

“Tell me something,” he asked, “Frank? Why do I have to ask you, if a piece of work was completed?”

Frank thought for a second. He knew exactly what his boss wanted to hear.

“If you’re talking about Greg Lamorte,” he replied, “you won’t be seeing him around anymore.”

“Is he fucking dead?!” Sam asked.

Frank’s fast thinking lead him to say, “By now he should be.”

“Should be?”

“Don’t worry about it. He’s gone.”

“Well he better be, because if he’s not, I’m going to kill him myself, and then I’m going to fucking kill you, before I kill Dave!”

That same afternoon, Ruben, Steve, Edison, and Carmine, drove to a Bentley car dealership in Manhattan. They were celebrating their sudden success. In less than a half–an-hour, Ruben drove off with a red Bentley, Steve with a white one, Edison and Carmine stuck with the black Bentley to match their black Adidas jump suit.

By this time, the only ones that knew I was still alive were, Ruben, Steve, Edison, Carmine, Johnson, Vito, Sam Vagans, a few others, and finally yet importantly, the Iceman.

Besides these men, everyone in the underworld thought that I was dead. The Manorelli, Colando, and the Sidona bosses were finally happy that they did not have a boss to kick anything up to.

Vito and Sam set up a meeting with the other three New York families. Vito and Sam wanted to get something straight with them.

The meeting was inside of an exclusive, underground club in the Wall Street section of Manhattan. The five Bosses sat in a room and listened to some Frank Sinatra. Vito, without warning, pulled out a remote control out of his inside suit pocket.

Vito held the remote up to a huge 65” plasma TV, and then he pressed the ON button. A few seconds after, my face was on the television. The music stopped playing. They all heard my voice, as Vito pointed the remote control at the TV and put the volume up, so as everyone could hear better, clearer.

“Oh,” I said, “by the way, just so there won’t be any confusion, as to how things will run after I’m gone,” Sam looked at Bobby and shrugged his shoulders, as if he did not know what was going on, yet he knew.

“I took the liberty to make this video, just for you guys to have something to remember me by. Well, here it goes…”

I paused for a second, and then I came alive.

“At the point of my death,” I said, “Vito Yannone will become the new boss of all bosses. All my money, power, and all the respect my name carried, will be handed to him, and him only.”

Bobby, Frederico, and Joey’s mouths dropped.

“What the fuck,” Bobby said.

“Holly shit,” Frederico said, as he looked at Vito.

“Congratulations, Vito.”

Bobby looked at Frederico, and wondered, why he was congratulating Vito?

Joey said, “Can you believe this shit.”

With smiles on their faces, Vito and Sam looked at each other, they looked at me up on the screen, and then they looked at the other three bosses. Vito and Sam knew very well that the other three bosses were in shock of Vito’s promotion.

Sam said, “Now you’re the man, Vito.”

Vito gave the men his best grin.

“Anyway,” I said, “as soon as Vito becomes the boss of all bosses, his family will no longer be called the Yannone family. It will be called the Inantinelli family. If by the time only four of you, because Vito is dead, are watching all this now, Sam Vagans will be the one to take the power of being the boss of all bosses. His family will be the Inantinelli family, instead of the Vagans family.”

I paused.

“Therefore, I hope Vito is alive, if he is congratulations, Vito. The Inantinelli crime structure will be as follows. The boss of the new Inantinelli family will be the one that use to be Vito’s underboss, Nicolo Jacuzzo. Therefore, Nicolo is the boss. The consigliere, Thomas Gulino, is now the family underboss. And so on, until Nicolo makes a connected person into a made member of his family. If you people have any questions, go to Vito. Any problems go to Vito. By the way, from now on, sixty-percent out of each of your families will be handed over to Vito, as a tribute to his rise in power, and to a sealed deal. If any of you do not understood what I just said, then start this video tape over. By the way, thank you all for your cooperation. Good bye, Cosa Nostra.”

Frederico, Bobby, and Joey got up.

“Congratulations, Vito,” the three of them said, as they, all pissed off, walked out of the room, and out of the club.

Frederico, Bobby, and Joey got the message. Vito turned off the television, and placed the remote control down on top of a glass table.

“So,” Sam asked Vito, “what do we do now, Mr. boss of all bosses?”

“We… we fucking celebrate!”

However, the truth was that I was still alive. I was the one who sent Vito in with the video tape to keep the other bosses believing that I was dead. I wanted the three cowardly bosses to know, and to believe, that Vito was the new boss of all bosses, and I wanted them to respect that. Above all, I wanted them to respect Vito. While Vito became the man, I remained behind the shadows as the boss of all bosses.

Months went by. The more time passed by the more money Edison and Carmine made. The power of our inner circle grew.

By this time, everyone in the inner circle was wealthy, beyond their wildest dreams. Together Edison and Carmine accumulate property in the five boroughs, worth more than sixty million dollars. The result of selling tons and tons of cocaine in New York.

Even people associated with the mob put a lot of hard work in, just to get to the very top. There were these three vicious looking brothers, each wearing different kind of deep facial scars, which everybody in the underworld of crime kept away from. The three brothers, Oscar, Carlitos, and Fosters Palamara, were similar in comparison, yet very different in character.

Each stood about six-feet-two, 240 lbs., with brown hair and hazel eyes. After years of failed planning, they each stumble on the perfect plan. They soon found out, that they were able to do anything in life, as long as they stuck together.

The three brothers went through their devious plan, over, and over, hundreds of times in their sick, devious, diabolical minds, until they each decided that it was time to bring it out of their heads, and bring it out, full-blown into reality.

These three professional jewel thieves made a lot of money. They traveled from their hometown in Middle Village, Queens, throughout the entire world.

The three brothers were connected to the now supposed Inantinelli crime family, through a made member named, Giulio Luparello. Giulio was a fat, jolly and degenerate gambler. Giulio always bought the valuable stones from them and handed them to his family captain, Salvatore Mosca.

Within minutes, Oscar, Carlitos, and Fosters, entered a massive vault. With some state of the art, high-tech CIA equipment they cracked open the vault. As the vault door opened they each walked in and stared at the hundreds of perfectly lined up safe deposit boxes.

Fosters put his can of beer up to his mouth and took two long gulps. He knew very well, he should not have taken off his gloves on the job.

“Holy mother of, Jesus,” he said.

“Are we paid?” Carlitos asked.”

Oscar said, “What the fuck are we standing around for? Let’s get really paid!”

In silence, they each looked at one another and realized that they had hit the jackpot. They each opened their backpacks. They reached in, and pulled out miniature, circular explosive detonators.

As if time did not matter, they each placed the detonators on all of the locks of the safe deposit boxes. After the three of them were done rigging every single box, Oscar pulled out a remote device from one of the pockets of his tactical vest.

Oscar signaled at his brothers to stay back.

“Shit,” he said, “will you both fucking move back a little.”

Carlitos and Fosters moved back a few steps.

Oscar cracked a smile.

“No,” he said.

“I’m just kidding.”

Oscar put his hand up in front of his own face, as if to cover himself. He pressed a button on the remote device. A red light appeared on every single detonator.

“Open sesame,” he said.

Oscar pressed another button on the device. When the detonators exploded, all the boxes popped open. They each knew they had all the time in the world. Therefore, they were going to take their time. Casually, they each walked from box-to-box taking every single valuable looking content from inside of all the boxes.

Within no time, they had emptied out all the boxes tossing everything into huge zippered sacks. Fosters took a few seconds off to gulp down the rest of his remaining beer. He went to work, until his sack, and backpack were filled up. He closed the sack, the backpack and put the empty beer can in the front pocket of the backpack.

“Booooo!” Carlitos said Fosters.

“I got you! You little bitch!”

Because Carlitos went behind Fosters and tried to scare him, in all the rush, Fosters forgot to zipper up the front pocket of his backpack.

Fosters put on his backpack.

“What the fuck are you trying to do,” he said, as he pushed Carlitos back with both of his hand.

“Scare me? You cannot scare me. I am untouchable. You hear me, you fake fuck?”

Carlitos pushed Fosters back.

“Man,” he said, “shut the fuck up. You think you are all that. You’re full of shit, man,” Carlitos thought about the beer can.

As a real brother, he warned his brother to make a decision.

“And you better not forget to leave that fucking beer can up in here, or else we’re going to see how fucking untouchable you really are. We cannot leave any kind of prints behind, Mr. no glove wearing… know what the fuck I mean, my no making mistake brother? Man, it is what keeps us living… keeps us alive. We stick by the rules and everything is going to be okay, my untouchable borother.”

Oscar went around collecting his tools, as both his brothers, like always, argued it out.

Fosters turned around and showed Carlitos the front of his backpack.

“Don’t be stupid,” he said.

“I just fucking put the can inside my backpack. What, you want to check me, faggot?”

Carlitos wanted the plan to go as planned, and he was crazy enough to start getting rid of any witnesses, if something went wrong.

“Are you fucking sure?” he asked.

“Of course,” Fosters replied.

“I’m sure.”

“Then why you’re not wearing any gloves,” Carlitos asked.

“We said no fucking prints, Fosters. Now put your fucking gloves on, before you touch something else.”

Fosters went in one of the pockets of his tactical vest and pulled out a pair of disposable gloves.

“What?” he asked.

“You want to search my fucking bag?”

“Man,” Carlitos said, “you’re fucking stupid. I cannot talk to you. I’m just trying to put you on, brother.”

Carlitos paused.

“You’re the one that always acts as if we are not together.”

“Fuck you mean by that shit?” Fosters asked.

“Man,” Carlitos said, “fuck you.”

“Fuck me?” Fosters said.

“No! Fuck you!”

Carlitos walked up closer to Fosters, and got up in his face. He pushed Fosters down on his ass. Fosters got up, and got ready to come at Carlitos.

Oscar took notice, and got in between the both of them.

“That’s enough!” he said.

“What is wrong with you both? You both are fucking brothers! What is really going on with the both of you? You both act like two little kids.”

Oscar pointed at himself.

“Am I the only professional one here!”

Carlitos and Fosters stood quiet.

“We have to get the fuck out of here!” Oscar said.

“Both of you get your shit together, right now! And let’s get the fuck out of here!”

Carlitos stepped back a bit. He took a deep breath, and realized where he was. At that moment, all he wanted to do was get out of the vault.

“Oscar,” he said, “I just don’t trust this motherfucker. He thinks everything is a fucking joke.”

“Who,” Oscar asked Carlitos, “Our brother, Fosters? Fosters just came back into the game. He did ten years.”

Oscar made sure his backpack was zippered up shut. He put his zippered sack, filled with jewelry, over his shoulder.

“I know he has a drinking problem,” he said.

“He could have been out of jail in less than three years, if he would have talked, on the both of us. But he didn’t! He didn’t! Now that’s a man’s man.”

Oscar looked at Fosters.

“If Fosters fucks up,” he said, “and gets caught out there, he’s willing to take the consequences. No matter what stupid shit he does.”

Oscar paused for a second, and then he stared at Fosters, “Isn’t that right, Fosters?”

Fosters smiled at Oscar.

“I never do the crime,” he said, “if I can’t do the time. Know what I mean?”

“Now that’s what the fuck I am talking about, my brother” Oscar said.

“See, Carlitos, don’t do the crime, if you can’t do the fucking time. Now let’s get the fuck out of here.”

“Whatever,” Carlitos said.

“Fuck you both.”

“Fosters,” Oscar said, “make sure you don’t forget that beer can. Take that shit with you.”

Fosters winked at Oscar.

“I got this, man,” he said.

“No problem. No problem at all, because you know I’m fucking untouchable.”

“Alright,” Oscar said, “Fosters the untouchable. You and Carlitos, let’s get the fuck out of here, and go fucking celebrate!”

The three of them walked out of the vault leaving every single safe deposit box empty. They each walked out with their backpacks, and took the zippered sacks, also filled up with Jewelry, with them.

They left nothing behind. Almost, except for Foster’s empty beer can that was left back on the vault’s floor. It was not Foster’s fault. The can slipped out of his backpack, when Carlitos pushed him down.

The rainy night gave them the perfect cover. Once inside their white Mercedes Benz AMG, Oscar sped away, and dipped to the right, into the highway.

“That’s what I’m fucking talking about!” Oscar said.

“Isn’t that right, Fosters?”

“Sure,” Fosters replied, “I don’t do the crime, if I can’t do the fucking time, brother!”

“Of course,” Oscar said.

“I know what the fuck you mean.”

Oscar turned to Carlitos then he focuses on the road, “You see Carlitos?” he said.

“You have it all wrong. You’re picking on the wrong man.”

“Whatever,” Carlitos said, as he looked back at Fosters, and then at Oscar.

“Fuck you both. I know what the fuck I feel.”

In the back seat, Fosters opened his bag to admire the flawless bits of diamonds.

“Fosters,” Carlitos asked, “what the fuck are you doing back there, anyway?”

“I’m inspecting the goods,” Fosters replied.

“Do you fucking mind?”

“Of course,” Carlitos replied, “I mind. You better not be helping yourself out to some shit back there.”

Carlitos put his right index and middle finger up to his own eyes, and said, “I’m fucking watching you my brother.”

“Watch all you want,” Fosters said, “you fucking cock sucker. What are you going to do to the Fosters? Nothing!”

Fosters got mad.

“You’re going to search me?’ he asked.

“You fucking pussy. You fucking faggot!”

“Man,” Carlitos said, with a grin on his face, “you’re doing coke again, right? If I think you are taking shit back there, I’ll fucking strip your ass, if I have to.”

Oscar wondered why his brothers were not happy after the job they had just pulled, and had gotten away with.

“Again with you guys?” Oscar asked.

“What the fuck is up you guys? Can’t you guys get along, for at least a night? Every day, every night… it’s the same fucking shit.”

Carlitos cracked his knuckles.

“Fuck this getting along shit,” he said.

“I don’t even like this motherfucker back here. Do you know he fucked my wife? That is why she and I are not together, because of him. I got kids you know.”

Oscar felt as if he was hearing the same broken record, over, and over.

“Yeah,” he said, “but we’re brothers.”

“Yeah,” Carlitos said, “and what the fuck does that mean to me? I’m not about praising motherfuckers. I’m about making fucking money, you got that, my brother?!”

Carlitos got a bit too loud. Oscar decided to calm him down.

“Calm down, brother,” he said.

“We’re all about making money, most definitely.”

“Oscar,” Carlitos said, “I trust you, but I just do not trust this motherfucker back here. The thing is, he thinks he is smarter than the both of us. And you know how much I hate that shit!”

“Man,” Fosters said, “you talk a lot of shit, Carlitos. You’re just a fucking hater.”

Fosters pointed his finger at Carlitos.

“And you know it’s true,” he said.

“Who the fuck do you think you are? I was pulling hits, when I was twelve, thirteen!”

Fosters got a bit too loud.

“You are nothing but a mother fucking lazy bum!”

Oscar could not take it anymore. He hit the brakes, turned off the highway, and pulled over the second he saw a perfect parking spot.

Oscar looked at Carlitos, and then looked at Fosters from his rear-view mirror.

“Please,” he said, “will you both shut the fuck up! You’re both giving me a headache!”

Fosters said, “You know he fucking started it. He started the whole fucking thing.”

Carlitos looked back at Fosters and pointed his index finger at him.

“No,” he said, “my brother.

“You fucking started this one!”

Carlitos thought about the empty bear can.

“Anyway, where the fuck is that beer can of yours? I want to see that shit right now, or else…”

“Or else what?!” Fosters asked.

Carlitos pulled out a firearm from his holster, and pointed it at Fosters.

Oscar pulled out a similar firearm and pointed it at Carlitos.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” Oscar asked Carlitos.

“Are you fucking out of your mind? Stop pointing that gun at your brother!”

Oscar put the gun up to Carlitos head.

“Put the fucking gun down. Now! That’s our fucking brother back there!”

“Man,” Carlitos said, “fuck this blood brother shit. I want to see it!”

Carlitos cocked the gun back.

“I want to see the fucking beer can, right now!”

“You…,” Fosters said, “you’re pulling out a gun on me? You’re really are a fucking pussy.”

Fosters grabbed his crotch.

“You want to see what? What do you want to see?!”

Oscar turned to Fosters and said, “Fosters, do me a favor. Show this motherfucker the bear can, before I get pissed off, more than I already am. I’m fucking losing my temper here!”

“Fuck!” Fosters said.

“Okay! Okay!”

Fosters put his hand inside the front of his backpack. In shock, he realized that the bear can was missing. And though the beer can was not in his backpack, like it should have been, he still looked for it anyway. Fosters put on a sorry smile. Foster’s brothers looked at each other then they looked at Fosters.

Foster’s brothers felt that they were left with no choice. Fosters thought that because they were his real brothers that it alone was going to get him by.

“Wow,” Fosters said.

“You both are not going to believe this…”

“Fuck,” Oscar said, as he stopped pointing the gun at Carlitos, and pointed it at Fosters, “what are you talking about, Fosters? Talk to me!”

“It’s,” Fosters said, “It’s not here. I must have dropped it, inside the vault. Shit! God damn it!”

Oscar cocked his gun back.

“Are you sure,” he asked, “you left it behind? Fosters! Talk to me!”

“Yes,” Fosters replied, “of course, I’m fucking sure. I must have dropped it by mistake. Maybe we can go back.”

“Man,” Oscar said, “just keep checking. I told you to fucking take that shit with you? Check it!”

“Check for what!” Fosters said.

“It’s not here! I just told you both, I must have dropped it in the fucking vault. It must have fallen out of my bag,” Fosters pointed at Carlitos, “when this fucking pussy pushed me down on the floor.”

Oscar looked at Carlitos, and knew what had to be done.

“I’m sorry,” Oscar said to Fosters, “we both now have no choice. You… you fucking broke the rules!”

“Better luck next time,” Carlitos said to Fosters.

“Wait,” Fosters said, with one hand in front of his face, as if to shield him from the bullets, and the other inside the backpack.

“Wait!”

Both Oscar and Carlitos shot Fosters, until they both ran out of bullets. Fosters took his last breath, with his hand still inside the back pack, as if even after death, he was hoping that for some miracle the beer can was going to appear.

Oscar drove off, and got on the highway again.

“Shit,” Oscar said.

“I don’t know about you, but I can’t hear a damn thing. Now what the fuck are we going to do? They’re going to find that fucking can.”

“They find it. They get his prints. And eventually, he will lead them to us. And that shit is not happening to us!”

“What a stupid motherfucker!”

“I told you he was weak.”

“Shut up… just shut up.”

They both put their weapons back into their holsters.

“You’re not so smart yourself, buddy.”

“Well,” Carlitos said, “right now I feel much smarter than Mr. Untouchable back here.”

“Let’s get the fuck out of here, before people start getting suspicious.”

“What the fuck are you talking about, there’s no one out here?”

A few days after they had gotten away with the jewel heist of the century, Carlitos was caught out there in his basement apartment in the Bronx. The boss of the Vagans family put a contract out on the three brothers, for never reporting to, Giulio Luparello. None other than the Iceman took control of these three hits.

As Carlitos came out of the bathroom, the Iceman jumped him. He tied Carlitos up with an extension cord, and then he shot him twice in the back of the head executioner style, no mercy.

The Iceman stopped looking for Fosters, when a couple of fishermen, found his body inside of a fifty-gallon drum, floating in Rockaway beach. By the time the Iceman caught up to Oscar, he was like two days late.

Oscar took off with everything. He flew all the priceless gems, diamonds, rubies, and Safire’s to a man out in Brazil, named Diamond tooth Charlie. They called him that, because he had a diamond embedded in his tooth. They called him, Mr. Diamond for short. Mr. Diamond was about five-foot eight, 150 lbs., with brown hair and black eyes.

Two silver briefcases were exchanged for two of the same. Two filled with jewels, and the other two filled with cash. Oscar walked out of Mr. Diamond’s penthouse with the cash.

Before Oscar left the penthouse, Mr. Diamond made him an honest offer to make constant money. In better terms, he made Oscar an offer he could not refuse.

“I have a whole lot of things going on for me,” said Mr. Diamond, “in New York. Maybe, you can come work for me.”

“Doing what? Stealing more rocks?”

“No. I need a guy that can pick up money for me.”

Mr. Diamond paused.

“That’s all. I need a guy who has no problem collecting all my money.”

“There won’t be any problems. I can assure you that.”

“Then you got the job. How does a thousand dollars a day sound?”

“Sounds great, I’m in.”

“How about taking a guy out, once in a while?”

“For two thousand dollars a day,” Oscar said, “I’ll do whatever you want. Anyway, I’m use to putting people out for nothing.”

“Then from here on you’re my man.”

They both shook hands.

“Welcome aboard, Oscar.”

Inside the FBI office, Johnson Maganaxx and several other agents listened to tape recordings. Whatever the case, Johnson was not going to give the FBI any extra information that could possibly lead any of them to anything worth investigating.

Johnson was willing to give everybody up, but he knew deep down inside there were those, that he could not say anything about.

Inside of Bobby Facciolo’s New York City office, Joe Amisi and Fulgencio Papa listened carefully to what Bobby had to say. After six straight shots of Johnny Walker Black, Bobby’s talk did not make any sense.

Joe, his underboss, with a hidden grin, made fun of his babble. On this day, everything was different. Bobby was not playing any games.

Fulgencio absorbed every mumbled word, knowing for sure that in between the lines, still stood some code between him and his boss.

Fulgencio was five-foot-five, 146 lbs., with brown hair, and light brown eyes. He was your typical loyal consigliere. He was an important man in the Manorelli crime family structure.

Joe smiled at Bobby.

“Hey,” Bobby asked, “what the fuck are you smiling about, Joe? Just because I am drunk does not mean I do not know what the fuck is going on. Besides, can someone tell me why the fuck is every one afraid to put a hit on this new supposed boss of all bosses?”

By now, Bobby had nothing but straight hatred for Vito Yannone.

“Vito,” Bobby said, “Vito, Vito! We have to pay him sixty percent? I have to drink, just to get this motherfuckers name out of my head. Otherwise I’m going to fucking go bananas!”

As if that was the only thing Bobby had to worry about. Agents Johnson and Smith were parked right outside of Bobby’s office building. The agents were recording Bobby’s entire conversation.

The agents stayed extra quiet and listened in. They both looked at each other, when they heard Bobby mention about there being an actual boss of all bosses.

Next, they heard Joe, as he asked, “Hey, Boss, isn’t he our boss?”

Bobby poured himself another drink and gulped it down.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” he asked.

“All we do is let Vito wet his beak.”

“I’m saying though,” Joe said, “don’t you think he’s been drinking a lot, for a long time now?”

Fulgencio looked at Bobby, yet he did not make eye contact with him. Bobby sat down on his chair behind his desk, made out of solid mahogany.

He looked at Joe with anger in his eyes.

“You,” he said, “Joe, do me a favor. Get the fuck up out of that expensive chair, and get the fuck out of my sight! I do not want to see you for now.”

Joe remained seated with a fake smile on his face. He thought Bobby was just kidding.

“Boss,” he asked, “are you serious?”

Bobby slammed his fist down on the desk.

“Of course I’m fucking serious! You fucking heard me! What the fuck are you waiting for? Get the fuck up! And get the fuck out!”

Joe looked at Fulgencio, and then he cracked another fake smile. Bobby took out a firearm from his desk draw. He cocked the gun back, pointed it at Joe, and then he shot him several times in the chest. Joe fell back in the chair. Fulgencio, in shock, took a few steps forward.

“And where the fuck do you think you’re going?” Bobby asked.

Fulgencio stayed still. He turned around, and faced his boss.

“I thought you were going to shoot me too,” he replied.

“Shoot you?”

Bobby put the gun on top of the desk.

“Why would I shoot you? Is there any reason why you should get shot up?”

Fulgencio looked down at Joe’s motionless body.

“You have a problem with what I just fucking did?” Bobby asked.

“Well, boss, I just think maybe you should get used to using a suppressor.”

Bobby smiled. He picked up the phone. Bobby called his family captain, Gaspar Lamont.

“Hey,’ he said, “Gaspar, just so you know, Fulgencio Papa, is going to be our new underboss.”

“What happened to, Joe?” Gaspar asked.

“Oh, you won’t be seeing him anymore. By the way, you have yourself a good night.”

“Yeah,” Gaspar said, “boss, you have a good night too.”

Bobby hanged up the phone.

“Hey,” Fulgencio said, “boss, thanks a lot.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Bobby pointed down at Joe’s body.

“Oh,” he said, “by the way, make sure you get rid of this piece of shit for me. You have a good night.”

“Sure, boss. Don’t worry I’ll handle it.”

Bobby puts the gun in the draw. He gets up and heads for the door.

Before Bobby exited the office, he stopped and said, “Oh, and stop calling me boss.”

About a week later, Oscar and his right hand man named Cano went to the Copacabana nightclub, in New York City. They both went to dance, and have a couple of drinks.

Cano was thin, five-foot seven, 150 lbs., with black hair, and brown eyes. Within a half an hour, one of Mr. Diamond’s workers named, Goldito approached Oscar. They called him Goldito because he was a fat overweight man, with brown hair, and black eyes.

“Oscar,” Goldito said discretely, “You and your man have to get the fuck out of this club, right now.”

“But we’re about to get some drinks?”

“I said you have to get out of here, now, not later.”

“Yeah, but why?”

“You see that table, right behind you, with like eight people?”

Oscar looked behind him. He saw the crowded table of seven men and one woman, drinking the night away.

“What about them, Goldito?”

“Well, Mr. Diamond’s people are coming in right now to shoot up everybody that’s sitting down at that table.”

“For real, they are getting these motherfuckers?”

“Yeah, right now.”

“Okay,” Oscar thought for a second, “let me tell my man. We will be out of here in a few minutes.”

“You both better do that. I will see you later.”

“Sure, man. Thanks a lot.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Goldito walked away. Oscar walked into the dance floor, and saw Cano dancing with two beautiful women.

He walked up to Cano, and tapped him on the shoulder.

“Yo,’ he said, “Cano, they’re about to shoot that table up, over there.”

Oscar pointed at the table.

“They’re about to kill everybody. We better get the fuck out of here.”

“Alright,” Cano said, “give me a second. I want to get these two girl’s numbers.”

“No,” Oscar said, as he grabbed onto Cano’s arm, “We have to get the fuck out of here, right now!”

“Okay… okay…”

Oscar walked away from him, and headed towards the exit. Seconds later, Cano walked up to the table that was about to be shot up.

“Hey,” he said to one of the guys at the table that he knew well, “get the fuck out of here, they’re about to shoot this table up.”

After that, Cano walked out of the club. Whether Cano knew it or not, he just messed up a perfectly planned hit.

While all this was going on, Johnson’s FBI superiors gave him a late order to go with Smith, and arrest the Manorelli crime family boss, Bobby Facciolo. In addition, to be arrested was Bobby’s new underboss, Fulgencio Papa, for the murder of Joe Amisi, which they had it all on tape.

The FBI superiors were certain that either Bobby or Fulgencio would flip, when confronted with murder charges. They also wanted to know more about this boss of all bosses character.

Now back outside of the Copacabana club, Oscar was waiting outside, when everybody inside of the club started running out, pushing each other out of the way.

About a minute later, Goldito drove up in front of the club. He had a pissed off look on his face.

When he saw Oscar he said, “You, get in the fucking car.”

“Yeah, what’s up, Goldito?”

Oscar got inside the vehicle.

“Man,” Goldito said, “you fucked everything up. I should’ve never told you shit.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“What am I talking about? You fucking let them guys at the table know what’s up, that we were coming for them. Nobody knew but you. You fucked up the hit.”

“No,” Oscar said, “I didn’t tell them shit. I only told Cano about it…”

Oscar saw Cano outside of the car.

“Hold on. Let me talk to Cano.”

Oscar got out of the car and he walked up to Cano.

“What the fuck did you do, Cano?”

“Nothing,” Cano replied.

“I just told my man at the table to leave from the table, because there was going to be a shootout, but I didn’t know you were talking about their table.”

“Of course you knew, because I fucking told you! That shit does not matter now.”

Oscar pointed his index finger at his face.

“You should’ve fucking kept you fucking mouth shut!”

“Man, Oscar, I am so sorry.”

“You’re sorry?

Oscar walked away from him and walked over to Goldito’s car.

“Yeah,” Oscar said to Goldito, “we fucked up, but it was just a big mistake.”

“A mistake? How can you make a big mistake like that? You’re in deep shit, man. Our boss wants to see you, right now.”

“Right now?”

“Yeah, he wants to see you, fucking right this minute.”

“Please, you got to help us. Tell him it was all a big mistake.”

“My boss doesn’t want to hear that shit. He wants to see you, and that’s all to it.”

Oscar did not know what to say.

“Alright,” Oscar said, as he got inside Goldito’s car.

“They’re going to finish me off, right?”

“I don’t know, man. You fucked up. You fucked up big time. I don’t know what they’re going to do to you.”

Within minutes, Goldito drove inside of a parking lot. Parked inside, was a white Mercedes Benz, and a long black stretched limousine. Three ruff looking men got out of the Benz.

Goldito looked at Oscar, with no remorse and said, “Now get the fuck out of my car. And pray that they don’t fucking kill you, and your friend.”

Oscar opened the door, and then he got out. Scared and all, he bravely walked up to the three men.

“Are you Oscar?” one of the men asked.

“Yes,” Oscar replied.

“Come with me,” the man said.

The man walked Oscar to the limousine, and opened the back door. “Get the fuck in,” he said.

Once Oscar got in the limo, the man closed the door.

Inside the limo, Oscar saw me, the boss of all bosses. I was just sitting there by myself having a drink. I gulped down my drink, and then I looked at him. I was going to kill him myself, and then I had a much better idea.

“Are you scared of me?” I asked.

“No.”

“Well, you should be. Tell me… why did you fuck my shit up? Why did you fuck up the hit?”

Oscar, out of respect stood quiet.

“Don’t you know,” I said, “I’ve been after these motherfuckers for several months now. By the time we finally found them, you fucking bring me right back to where I started, with nothing. I don’t like nothing…”

“Look, man, I am truly sorry.”

“Okay. I believe you. You find them for me. I’m looking for a guy and his wife.”

I handed him two pictures, one of a man and the other of a woman.

“You find them, you kill them both, and then you and I are good. If you do not kill them, than you and I are not good. You understand me, Oscar?”

“You’re telling me,” Oscar pointed at both of the pictures, “you were going to kill a crowd of people, just to get to these two?”

“Of course, that’s how I get down, James Brown. That’s how I do my thing, leave no fucking witnesses behind.”

I took both pictures off Oscar’s hand.

“Excuse me,” I said, “for a second. You and I did not meet, just by coincidence. I believe it is not fair, if I do not tell you personally, that that is how I get down. I put it on everybody that thinks they can put it on me. I fucking kill them.”

I handed him back the pictures.

“Those two stupid motherfuckers, right there, thought they were going to just walk away, into the fucking sunset, owing me thousands, and thousands of dollars, no way. That is bad for my business. It is not just about being weak that we can’t except, it’s about other people even beginning to think that we are showing weakness.”

I paused for a moment.

“But, it’s up to you, and your friend… to make this happen. Listen to me. It took a long time, for us to earn our respect, in New York City. And, if we want to keep it, as much as you, and your friend, want to keep your lives… we got to show some class. Am I right?”

I gave him a mean, but respectful look.

“Now, it’s very easy. A simple walk in the park. You get rid of them, as soon as possible, or else there is no business me knowing you. You understand what I mean?”

Oscar did not have a clue as to where he was going to find the couple that I was looking for, but he had to tell me something, if he wanted to keep on living.

“Give me about a week,” Oscar said.

“I swear, I’ll find them both.”

“Great. When you do it, let us know. I will pay you a lot of money, if you take both of them out. Now,” I pointed at the door, “don’t go forgetting what you have to do. And, now you can go, Oscar.”

Oscar got out of the limo. He realized that my men were still outside waiting for him to leave. Oscar walked over, and got inside of Goldito’s car. Goldito drove out of the parking lot.

“Hey,” Oscar asked, “who the fuck was that guy?”

“He is the mystery boss. He is murderous. I bet you he told you to take care of the both of them, for fucking things up on him.”

“How did you know that?”

“I know that, because you’re in my car, instead of fucking dead. He just gave you a chance to earn your life back. Just a few minutes ago, you thought you were going to die, yet here you are, looking very much alive. Knowing well that you were given this one chance to live, because of what you said you were going to do, is your lifesaver right there.”

Goldito thought for a second.

“You see, that’s what the boss does. He will give you a chance, but if you blow it, make no mistake, you will never get the chance to get that chance back. I know you understand me. Believe me, he’ll take very good care of you. Nevertheless, if you do not come through for him, and do what you said, you were going to do, he’ll definitely put a contract hit out on your life, for real. No doubts about it, he will make sure you die. And also your friend, with his big fucking mouth.”

Goldito kept silent for a few seconds.

“And he’ll probably tell me to kill you both. So… you, and your friend, go and do what you said you are going to do, or I will have no choice but to toss this motherfucking world apart, just to look for you both. And when I find you, I’ll probably have to fucking chop you both up real good, just to make my point clear. So, you better come through, because now you have no choice in the matter.”

Goldito made a gun with his hand.

“It will relieve your stress to know that killing them both is for flavor, but you could also find them, and hand them up to us. As soon as you find the both of them, you give me a call. If we have both of these motherfuckers in our possession, we could deal with the boss.”

Goldito exposed to him exactly what he does.

“Without them, for sure, he is going to want us to go get you, and Cano. Therefore, you better come through, because we never missed a target, until you both came along, fucking shit up on us. But we understand each other now, and that is what is most important, that you know that if you both fuck up, you’re both going to die, because I’m going to surely have to kill you both.”

“I got you. Don’t worry. I understand you, very clear.”

Afterwards, Oscar and Cano went to an after-hours bar to get drunk, and think about what they were going to do to stay alive. Four o’clock in the morning, and instead of results, they both got drunk.

Oscar put both pictures on top of the table, and he pointed at the both of them, “Oh,” he said, “Cano, we’re fucked. If we do not find these two motherfuckers, we are going to have to go to Alaska, or something. They’re going to try to find us, and kill us both,” Oscar banged his fist on top of the table, “all because you’re a fucking fuck up, with a fucking big mouth!”

“I-I swear to God, if I knew this would happen…”

“Shut the fuck up! I am done with you.”

Oscar got up. He went into his pocket, pulled out some money, and he threw several twenty-dollar bills on top of the table. Cano got up, and grabbed onto his arm.

“Please,” Cano said, “don’t go. I’m as good as a dead man, without you. I’m fucking scared, Oscar. Look, I know I fucked up…”

When Oscar looked at Cano’s hand, Cano let go of his arm.

“Please,” Cano said, “I have a baby daughter. She said my name, Oscar. My name…”

Cano started to tear. Oscar thought for a second then he sat back down. Cano wiped his tears with the collar of his shirt, and then he sat down.

“Please,” Cano said, “I’m really sorry. You were right. I fucked up. I should’ve kept my fucking mouth shut.”

“I hope you know that we’re both fucking dead. So, we might as well wait for them here to come get us, or we can do this Alaska shit, and be out.”

Oscar picked up the bottle of Jack Daniels, poured Cano a drink, and then he poured himself one.

“You have any fucking suggestions, before they really find us? And put a bullet in each of our heads?”

Cano wasted no time. He silently thought this one out, and knew, that his and Oscar’s life depended on it.

About a minute of silence, and sipping some Jack Daniels, Cano thought of a good idea.

“Okay,” Cano said, as he took a swig of his drink, “I think you should hear me out. The girl, I know how we can get a hold of that bitch.”

Oscar’s whole senses woke up, as if he also had a good idea.

“Cano, where the fuck is she now?”

“She has a nickel a day coke habit and I know who her fucking dealer is.”

“Damn, you’re really fucking dumb. Aren’t you? Why the fuck didn’t you say that shit in the first place?”

Oscar picked up both of the pictures, and put them back in his pocket.

“My man,” Oscar replied, as he sipped his drink, “that’s all we need. We find this bitch, and she will lead us to her husband, no problem. So this is what we’re going to do…”

“Just tell me what we have to do to stay alive.”

Oscar picked up the bottle, poured Cano a drink, and then he poured himself one.

“We’re going to find this girl’s dealer,” Oscar said.

“And then what?”

“Simple. We wait for her to go to the dealer. She cops her shit, they separate, we grab the bitch, and then we both bring her to these people.”

“Now that sounds really good.”

In the morning, about 8:00 AM, Cano, sweated like a pig, as he drove Oscar to the Bushwick section of Brooklyn. He parked across the street from the dealer’s apartment building. For three days, they both camped out across the street from the building.

At about 10:36 PM, on the third night, Cano spotted the girl going into the dealer’s building.

Oscar was just about to fall asleep, when Cano tapped him on the shoulder.

“Wake up,” he said. “There she is. That’s her. That’s the bitch… right there.”

Cano pointed her out.

“She just walked inside the building.”

Oscar barely caught a glimpse of a person entering the building.

“Is that bitch by herself?” Oscar asked.

“Yes… all by herself.”

“Park in front the building. When that bitch comes out, I’m fucking grabbing her.”

“Let’s do this shit.”

Cano drove up to the front of the apartment building. Oscar got out of the car. He could not contain himself, so he threw up on the sidewalk. Oscar was not playing. He pulled out a firearm from his waistband, checked to see if the gun was loaded, and then he walked towards the building steps. All he knew was that he was grabbing the first girl that came out of the building.

The second he sat down on the building steps with the gun on his lap, hidden by his left hand, the girl came out of the building, with a satisfied look on her face.

As she walked down the steps, Oscar got up, and put the gun up to her ribs.

“Don’t you fucking move, you skinny, junkie bitch.”

Cano got out of the car. Cano opened the back door, and Oscar pushed the girl in the back seat, and he got in with her. Cano closed the door. He got in the car, looked back to see if Oscar got the right girl, and then he drove off.

The girl looked down at the weapon in Oscar’s hand.

“Do you mind,” she asked.

Oscar pulled the trigger back.

“Be quiet,” he said.

The girl, a brown-haired woman, looked as if she used to look pretty at one time, yet the drug abuse, wore her looks down to a nub. She looked as if she was over forty years of age, yet she was only twenty-four. She was a tiny thing, about 100 lbs. of pure skinniness.

No more than four-feet-eight inches tall, she was known for having a bitchy attitude.

“So,” she asked, as she kept her eyes locked on the weapon, “what the fuck do you both want? I don’t owe you guys anything?”

“We don’t want anything from you,” Oscar replied, “but we know a guy that does.”

She shook her head.

“No,” she said.

“You’ve got the wrong girl.”

She acted as if she was brave, but in the inside, the fear was slowly killing her.

“Who? I don’t owe anybody shit.”

“Yeah,” Oscar replied, “well, when you see him, you tell him what you just told me. I want you to know this is business, and personal.”

“But what guy are you talking about?” she asked.

“look, you guys got the wrong girl, so I think, you should let me go.”

“Yeah,” Cano said, as he looked at her through the rear-view mirror.

“You’re the fucking skinny, junkie bitch we’re looking for.”

She shook her head.

“No,” she said.

“You’ve got the wrong girl.”

“Do me a favor,” Oscar said, “will you shut the fuck up? Don’t worry. You’re going to see him in a few.”

Scared and frightened, she trembled in fear of her life. Deep down inside, she wanted to scream, but with Oscar still pointing the weapon at her, she had second thoughts. She had no choice, but to keep quiet. With nothing else she could to do, she accepted her destined fate. Other than stay quiet, she did not know what to do.

About two hours later, several of my men met up with Oscar and Cano to take the girl. My men blindfolded her, handcuffed her hands behind her back, and then they tape up her mouth. They threw her in the back of their car, and drove away.

Satisfied, Oscar and Cano shook hands.

“I hope everything goes good,” Oscar said.

“Yeah, it will. At least we got one of them.”

“Let’s hope you’re right, Cano, because if you’re wrong, well, it was nice knowing you, pal.”

The next morning in Oscar’s house, in Jamaica, Queens, he was in bed when a loud banging on the door woke him up. When he went down to see who it was, he was in shock to see me, just standing there, in my four-thousand dollar costumed made suit.

Behind me were my two loyal enforcers, Jaero Gomez and Pedro Sanches. They were two huge tough looking men. Jaero was six-foot-three, 238 lbs., with black hair, and light brown eyes. Pedro was six-foot-four, 260 lbs. of pure muscle, with brown hair, and light green eyes.

“What the…” Oscar replied.

“What are you guys doing here? How did you guys know where I live?”

“Can we come in?” I asked.

“Sure,” Oscar replied, “but how did you guys know where I live?”

“Oh,” I said, “we know everything.”

“Come in,” Oscar said.

“Make yourselves comfortable.”

Both my men and I walked in. We all sat down in the living room.

“So,” Oscar said, “what’s up? What did you guys really come here for?”

I went into my inside suit pocket. At first glance, Oscar thought I was going to pull out a weapon on him, but when he saw my hand, he noticed that I only pulled out a thick white envelope.

“Here,” I said to Oscar.

“We only came here to give you this.”

“What’s this?” Oscar asked, as he took the envelope.

“It’s the money I promised you,” I replied.

“Well, thank you. Thank you very much.”

“My name is, Santo. Santo Inantinelli. If you ever need anything, anything at all, just give me a call. My number is inside the envelope.”

Both my men and I got up. I shook Oscar’s hand, and without saying another word, we walked out of Oscar’s house.

A few nights later, Ruben celebrated his birthday party at the Plaza Hotel, in New York City. He invited everybody.

While everybody was dancing the night away, Edison walked up to Ruben.

“Ruben,” he asked, “who the fuck is that guy, right there?”

When Ruben looked at who he was talking about, he noticed that Edison was talking about me.

“Edison,” Ruben replied, “do me a favor, whatever you do, make sure you don’t fuck with that guy, right there.”

“Yea, but who is he, really?”

Ruben thought for a second and replied, “He’s a guy you really don’t want to fuck with. He has the cash and the power to put contract hits out on every single one of us at this party. So please, stay the fuck away from him. You hear me?”

“Yeah, I hear you.”

Edison was not going to give up. His curiosity beckoned him to find out more about me, so he walked up to Steve.

“That guy over there,” he asked, “dancing with that pretty Asian girl, what’s up with him, Steve?”

Steve looked, and saw that he was talking about me.

“Who?” Steve asked.

“That guy over there?”

“Yeah, him.”

“My man, you don’t want to fuck with a guy like that. That is Santo Inantinelli. I secretly heard he is like everybody’s boss or something. What do you want with a guy like that? What you should do is go dance with one of the girls at this party. Why do you want to know about a guy like that for? You want a fucking war on your hands?”

“No. I don’t.”

“Then don’t fuck with him. Don’t even look at him. Trust me. You don’t want to be on his radar.”

Steve walked away from him. He walked up to a red head, and he started dancing with her. Edison took one more look at me, thought for a second, and then he walked up to the bar to get himself a drink.

By this time around, I was responsible for the majority of murders throughout the five boroughs. At times, it just seemed the obvious, I was an unstoppable force to be reckoned with.

Two nights later, at about ten something, Oscar and I went by ourselves to a restaurant in Mid-town, Manhattan to celebrate our new friendship.

After the meal, the waiter, by mistake, spilled a bit of wine on my suit.

“Hey,” I said, “watch what you’re doing.”

“Oh,” the waiter said, “I am so sorry.”

Oscar looked up at the waiter and said, “When you’ve got some time, can you bring out some seltzer water. Maybe, we could clean the stain off.”

The waiter tired of taking orders all night said, “Sir, this is a restaurant not a dry cleaners.”

“What the fuck did you just say?” I asked the waiter.

“You heard me,” the waiter replied.

Oscar stood up.

“Do you have a fucking problem with us?” he asked, as he walked up to the waiters face.

“No,” the waiter replied.

“I really don’t.”

“No… You don’t have a problem with us?” Oscar asked, “or no you don’t want to help us out?”

The waiter was confused.

“What?” he asked

Oscar pushed the waiter back hard with both of his hands.

“Say what again! You fucking heard me,” he said.

Seconds later, a husky restaurant manager walked up to the table, with a curious look on his pockmarked face.

“Gentleman,” he asked, “what seems to be the problem here?

I stood up and faced the manager.

“And who the fuck are you, pal?”

“Who the fuck am I?” the manager asked, as he kept his voice down.

“I fucking run this restaurant.”

Oscar said, “The only thing you’re running now is your fucking mouth, pal.”

The manager pointed at the exit and said, “The both of you clowns get the fuck out of my restaurant, before I call the police.”

“The police?” I asked.

“The police are not going to do anything special for you, my friend. Fuck around, and I bet, you might not make it home tonight.”

“No,” the manager said.

“But the police will get you both the fuck out of here.”

I smiled, looked at Oscar, threw money on top of the table, and then I pushed the manager out of my way.

“Get the fuck out of my way,” I said.

“Before I make you my bitch.”

The manager fell down on the floor.

“Come on Oscar let’s get the fuck out of this place.”

“That’s right,” the manager said, as he got up off the floor, and wiped himself off.

“Beat it!”

Oscar and I exited the restaurant.

Outside the restaurant, I said to Oscar, “Do me a fucking favor…”

“Sure, anything you want.”

“I’m out of here. I’m going to take a cab. I want you to wait till this cock sucking manager gets out of this place.”

I made a gun with my hand.

“As soon as he does, I want you to fucking let him have it.”

“That will be my pleasure,” Oscar said.

“Don’t you worry? Next time I see you, I will take very good care of you. Okay, Oscar?”

“Don’t worry about this cocksucker. He disrespected me too. So, this one is on me. It’s on the house. Know what I mean?”

“Yes, of course. You be safe. I’ll see you soon.”

“Okay, later, bro.”

I hailed a cab, got in, and then the cab drove away.

After 4:00 AM, the manager came out of the restaurant by himself. He was tired. He thought that he was going back to his wife, and four daughters. Little did he know that he would never see any of them again? His time on Earth was up, all because of some misunderstanding.

The manager walked to the back of the restaurant parking lot. He was in shock, when he saw a man, sitting on top of his brand new Lexus.

“Hey,” the manager asked, “you, can you get your bum ass off my car?”

When he walked up closer to his car, he realized that it was Oscar.

“So,” the manager said, “it’s fucking you again. Didn’t I fucking throw you and your little friend out earlier from my restaurant?”

“Calm down,” Oscar replied.

“I just wanted to apologize to you.”

“Man, what the hell do you really want?”

“Do you know how I knew this was your car?”

“No. You tell me, wise guy.”

“Your license plate says NUM1MAN. I put two-and-two together, and I knew it meant number one manager. Was I right? Of course I was right.”

“So? What are you, some kind of nut job? What the fuck you want from me? Are you crazy?”

“No… Not really. Tell me the truth. Are you really the number one manager?”

“Yes… yes I am.”

Oscar pulled out a firearm with a built-in suppressor.

“Well,’ he said, “not anymore.”

Oscar emptied the weapon out on the manager’s body and head, then he walked away from the scene.

As time went by, I trusted Oscar so much, that I made him my main enforcer. From there on, wherever you saw me, Oscar was there, right next to me, guarding me, and himself.

I was not a man who got upset for just anything. However, one night I got really pissed off, when I sent two of my enforcers to pick up my Asian girlfriend, and they brought her to my Long Island Estate, looking as if she had gotten beat up.

Both my enforcers found her inside her Manhattan condominium on the kitchen floor. Her ex-boyfriend had beaten her up, because she refused to be with him anymore. She was tired of his abusive ways. A tear ran down my face, as I held onto her tight.

“Oscar,” I said, “I want you to find her ex-man, I want you to make him suffer the way he made her suffer. Then I want you to shoot him in the fucking face, until you fucking run out of bullets. You hear me?!”

“Yes, I’m getting that motherfucker, right now.”

Oscar exited the estate. He knew exactly where he was going to find him. One night my girl told him where her ex-boyfriend lived. She was very drunk. Oscar was also drunk, but he never forgot her ex-boyfriend’s address.

His friend Cano drove him to Kew Gardens, Queens. Cano parked right in front of the man’s house. Oscar got out of the car, holding onto a Mac-11 Uzi. He walked up to the guys door, kicked it down, and then he walked in.

From inside the car Cano heard several Uzi bursts, and then Oscar came out of the house with blood all over his face. He got back inside the car, wiped the blood off his face with a handkerchief, and then Cano drove off.

The next morning, Oscar drove me to Steve’s house in Upstate, New York. The three of us sat in the living room, and had some drinks. Steve excused himself to go to the bathroom.

While Oscar was alone with me, he asked, “What’s up with Steve?”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“He looks like a fucking faggot. There’s something zesty about him that I just don’t trust.”

“What do you mean?”

“I said he looks like a fucking faggot. Look, man, I don’t know. More than a fag, he just looks like a big-time rat to me. I don’t think you should trust that man. I mean, look at him, he looks weaker than weak.”

Oscar paused.

“He looks as if he’ll put all of us in prison one day.”

“Oscar,” I said, “I know how you must feel, but we need this faggot on our side. I do not want anything to happen to Steve. You understand me?”

“Yeah, I understand you.”

I paid Oscar very well. With all the money he was making from me, he did not need Mr. Diamond’s money offer. Besides, Oscar was with me now.

By this time, Oscar had a couple of houses in Miami, Puerto Rico, one in Upstate, New York, and another two houses in Jamaica, Queens. He bought himself several expensive cars. The more money that came in the more Oscar spent, yet he was never broke.

One day, Oscar went to visit me in my Long Island estate, for some drinks.

“I want you to go to Tremont in the Bronx,” I said to him.

“Remember that guy I was talking to you about from the Bronx?”

“Who are you talking about?” Oscar asked.

“That guy, Joseph Martinez?”

“Yeah,” I replied, “that’s the fucking guy. I want you to go and see him. Bring him ten kilos of coke.”

I looked at a calendar that was in front of me on top of a table.

“In two weeks, you go back again to collect my four-hundred thousand dollars from him.”

“No problem. I’ll bring my man Cano with me.”

“Sure. Bring him along.”

Cano drove Oscar up to the Bronx. When they arrived at Joseph’s house, they gave him the ten kilos. Joseph promised them that he would give them all the money in two weeks.

Now after the two weeks went by, Oscar and Cano went back to the Bronx to collect the money from Joseph. Instead of the money, Joseph only had a big story.

“Listen,” he said to Oscar, “you tell Santo that if he wants all his money, that he should give me more stuff on credit.”

Oscar got pissed off.

“And where the fuck is the money for the last shit we gave you?” he asked.

“Look,” Joseph said, “I don’t have the money, right now. You tell Santo he’s going to have to wait for it.”

“You mean you need more time?” Cano asked.

“Well, yeah…”

“For what?” Oscar asked.

“So you can fucking rob us again?”

“Look,” Joseph said, “he’ll get all his money, as soon as I get more shit. You understand me?”

Oscar asked, “The question here is do you fucking understand me?”

“Yeah, I understand you.”

“Well, you better, because I am coming back. And you better have all our money.”

“Whatever.”

Oscar did not want to say anything else. He just wanted to kill Joseph right there on the spot, but there was one man he needed to see before he did. He and Cano got in the car and then Cano drove off.

Oscar came back to my house.

“I think Joseph is trying to give us the run-around,” he said.

“I don’t fucking trust him. He said that if you want all your money back, you have to give him more coke on credit.”

Oscar made a gun with his hand.

“I was going to take him out right then and there!”

Oscar got a bit too loud. He realized that he should take it slow and take it to another level. The decision was made to teach Joseph a valuable lesson that he will never, ever use.

“What do you think we should do?” Oscar asked.

“Well,” I replied, “you know what to do? Kill him.”

“It’s done.”

“And that’s that…”

That same night, Oscar went to the Bronx, and knocked on Joseph’s door. This time Oscar brought with him one of my enforcers, Jaero Gomez. Jaero, by this point, had racked up at least two hundred bodies to his name.

I always thought he had serial killer written all over his face. I always knew he was going to give me trouble, as soon as I met him. So, instead of killing him, I brought him into my team.

I met Jaero when I use to pull hold ups back in my street days. He was a battle-tested, one-man army, and that was why Oscar chose Jaero to go with him.

This time Oscar wanted to teach Joseph a valuable lesson. There was nothing else to do. Joseph needed to die and Oscar and Jaero were the ones that were going to kill him.

As soon as Joseph opened the door, he thought Oscar was there to give him more coke, because he opened the door with a greedy smile on his face.

Instead, Oscar put a gun right up to Joseph’s face.

“Don’t fucking move,” Oscar said.

“Where’s your fucking wife?”

“She’s… she’s in the bedroom.”

Oscar and Jaero pushed Joseph back into the house. Joseph knew they were serious, when he saw Jaero holding onto a machine gun.

“Jaero,” Oscar said, “go upstairs, and get his fucking wife… now.”

Oscar forced Joseph to get on his knees. He screwed a suppressor onto his weapon, and put it to the back of Joseph’s head. The bad smell of shit and piss took over what ever oxygen was left.

Oscar placed his index finger and thumb on his nose and pressed down on his nose, as he took breaths in and out of his mouth.

“What the fuck,” Oscar asked, “you shitted on yourself?”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to…”

“Tell me, I just want to know. Why do you make us do this shit to you?”

“I have a problem.”

“Your fucking problem is that you are too fucking greedy!”

Jaero screwed a suppressor onto his weapon and carefully slowly walked up the stairs. He, slowly walked into the bedroom, and when he saw Joseph’s wife, he shot her with several bursts of his weapon. The bullets hit her body and head. She did not have time to scream, as she fell back and slammed onto the ground.

Jaero came down the stairs with blood all over his face.

“That’s it,” he said, as he looked down at Joseph, and a big smile transformed on his face.

Jaero pointed his weapon at Joseph.

“The bitch is dead. This motherfucker is next.”

Joseph looked up and saw all the blood on Jaero’s face.

“Please,” he said, “no, no, no, don’t kill me. I will give you all the money. I have all of it… it’s all here.”

“Yeah,” Jaero asked, “so where the fuck is it?”

“Where’s the fucking money?”

Joseph pointed towards the kitchen.

“It’s in a garbage bag,” he replied, “under the kitchen sink. The money is all there.”

Oscar asked, “How much money is in there?”

“There’s a half a million dollars,” Joseph replied.

Oscar was in total shock.

“A half a million dollars?” he asked.

“You mean you had the fucking money the whole time?!”

“I’m-I’m so sorry,” Joseph said, “really.”

“Yeah,” Oscar said, “me too. Me to…”

Oscar looked at Jaero, they both looked at Joseph, and then they both shoot Joseph to death. They took the money, and then they walked out of the house. They got into the car, and Jaero drove off.

Afterwards, Oscar went to see me. This time he brought me the half a million dollars. Oscar dropped the garbage bag filled with money on top of the kitchen table. I looked down at the bag. The first thought that came to mind was that they brought Joseph to me in several pieces.

“What’s this?” I asked.

“You brought the fucker to me in pieces?”

Oscar shook his head and pointed at the bag.

“No,” he replied.

“That’s all of your money… and then some.”

“I asked you about, Joseph?” I said.

Oscar thought what he was going to say before he spoke.

“Oh,” he said, “he and his wife are dead.”

“Know what I like about you the most?” I asked.

“What’s that?”

I pointed at the bag.

“Your fucking loyalty,” I replied.

“You know, you could’ve taken all this money for yourself, and I probably wouldn’t have known anything about it, but you didn’t. You brought it straight to me.”

I thought of a nice gesture that he could remember me by.

“I love that loyalty shit. No… You keep the money. It’s all yours.”

“Don Santo, I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything. Just take the money. It’s all yours.”

I put my hand on his shoulder.

“A gift from me to you,” I said.

“I appreciate all of this hard work you’re putting in for me. This is how I want to repay you. Civility needs to be rewarded, or else there is no use for it.”

Oscar understood very well. He took in a long fresh breath of air. Holding back his emotions, he gave me a big hug. He grabbed the bag off the table and then he shook my hand.

Before Oscar walked out the door I said, “Respect is everything. Are you willing to die for that shit?”

Oscar nodded his head up and down.

“Some may think I am crazy,” I said, “but I am not crazy. I just refuse to be played by anybody. Remember, in this game, you let someone play you, you are through. I rather die than get played for a fool. There will be moves that I must make…”

I waved my hand.

“My moves might look as if they are the wrong moves, but I promise you that, in the end of the fucking game, I will be alive, because I made the right decisions, which led me to making the right moves.”

By this time, due to my vicious killing spree throughout the five boroughs, Ruben, my supposed business partner, took it upon himself to cut me off from getting any more profits of the cocaine. I was very upset and knew that Ruben would have to see it my way, or else. The phone call said it all. After Oscar left, the phone rang. I knew very well who it was.

“Yeah,” I asked, “who’s this?”

“This is Ruben. Listen, man, I don’t mean any kind of disrespect, but there has been many, many murders going on lately. Many of my men are being targeted for murders that your people are committing. My men don’t want to go to jail, so they start talking.”

Ruben stood quiet for a second.

“They talk,” he said, “so I have to kill them. I can’t fucking do business like this. I’m running out of men here, for Christ sake!”

“So,” I said, “what are you trying to say, Ruben? What the fuck are you trying to tell me? You think this is a job that you can just quit from?”

“Are you threatening me, don Santo?”

I started to realize that everything was happening very fast for me to react to it. I tried to get a grip of myself. By this time, I did not remember when was the last time I saw my girlfriend.

Now, I was not interested in love. I only wanted to get rid of Ruben for good. I should have never started dealing with him. Something told me that he and I were going to get into some shit down the road.

“You just keep bringing in the stuff,” I said, “and you and I will be okay. You do not, and then it is obvious that I do not have a partner anymore. And if you’re not my partner, you and all your people, right now, must better get out of my town.”

“You are threatening me,” Ruben asked.

“You take it how you want to take it. You just don’t call me, and tell me it is over. I say when it’s fucking over, not you!”

“Besides,” Ruben paused, “I didn’t make the decision. The decision came from above me. So what the fuck do you want me to do?”

“I want you to keep the mother fucking coke coming in or else, you, and all you friends, better start packing up.”

“You know what, go fuck yourself, Santo! Stick this town up yours, and your mother’s ass.”

“Dude,’ I said, “I better not see you or any of your men again. From now on, you are my fucking enemy! You understand me!”

Ruben hanged up the phone.

“You’re dead!” I said.

“All your fucking men are dead! Who the fuck do you think you’re fucking with, bitch?!”

Ruben thought I had gotten too hot to be in business with. On the other hand, I was very pissed off at Ruben, but I did not care. I had already become good friends with one of Ruben’s main guys, named Carlos Rodriguez. Not only was he one of Ruben’s main guys, but Carlos was a blood relative of the powerful Rodriguez family, in Colombia.

When Oscar heard the bad news, about Ruben cutting us off, he came to me to see what I had to say.

“What’s up with Ruben?” he asked.

“I heard Ruben doesn’t want to give us any more coke.”

“Man,” I pushed the air with my hands, “fuck, Ruben. We do not need him. We can get everything we need from Carlos.”

“Yeah, we can surely do that.”

When Edison went to see Steve at his Long Island house, Edison wanted to know the truth.

After a long time of making huge amounts of money with the coke, Steve said, “It’s not my fault that we’re not going to have any coke for a while, besides we can all now go on a vacation or something.”

Edison wanted to know if he still had a hold of his position.

“But tell me why nothing is coming in,” he said.

“It’s all because some big boss doesn’t want to agree on something. Hey, I’m just guessing here. I don’t know all the details.”

“But what the fuck does that have to do with us?”

“I already told you. The Rodriguez family does not want to send us anymore product, until Ruben settles everything, with some big shot in New York.”

“Yeah, alright, I can wait.”

“Well, you better, because we now have no choice in the matter.”

A few days later, Oscar went to see me in the penthouse of the Plaza Hotel in New York City. Six in the morning and the first thing Oscar noticed was that I was pissed off, and drunk out of my mind.

I gulped down my drink and threw it across the living room. I smashed a 65” plasma TV screen. I calmed myself down by taking a few deep breaths. Why rack up a hotel bill for no reason. A second after I thought about the bill, the TV came crashing down off the wall. I thought it was funny, but it was time to get serious, and time to get murderous.

“Fuck them all,” I said, knowing well I had Oscar’s full attention.

“You know this Ruben motherfucker is stopping every ones money flow.”

“Yeah,” Oscar said, “but you said it yourself. You do not need him. You have Carlos on your side now. That’s Omar Rodriguez’ brother, which is all you need. You have Omar and Carlos on your side.”

Oscar paused.

“So it’s still business as usual. All you have to do is pay Carlos for the forty-six hundred kilos, and then you can go in business for yourself. You do not need Ruben. Once you pay for it, you do not have to share its profits with anyone. So you don’t need to go to war with them.”

“What?” I said.

“And let them think that they can pull that shit on me, whenever they please. Hell no!”

“Carlos is not like Ruben,” Oscar said.

“Carlos is trying to help you.”

“Well,” I said, “sometimes you need to take everybody out, and start from the beginning. Take all of their shit first, and then take them the fuck out, one by one, until there is no one left.”

Oscar thought I was joking, but I was not.

“What are you talking about?” he asked.

“Are you talking about taking out your connect?”

“Yes!” I replied.

“All of them must go! We need to kill all these motherfuckers now!”

“But why?” Oscar asked.

“Carlos and Omar have been nothing but good to you.”

“Never mind that why shit,” I said.

“As soon as Carlos gets here, I’m going to kill him myself! And we will take all his shit!”

I spit on the floor.

“When they come to me asking about, what happened to Carlos, I’m going to say that I already gave him the money. And I never seen him after that. That is all I know.”

I touched my temple with my index finger.

“Think about it,” I said.

“They’ll have no proof, whether I gave him the money or not. You are my proof that I did. And that you seen him leave here in one piece.”

“Hey,” Oscar said, “no disrespecting you or nothing, Santo, but if you do that shit, they will come after you, me, they won’t stop coming after us, until we’re all dead. You know that, right? You really don’t need to do this, Santo.”

Oscar thought for a second.

“Besides, you have everything you need.”

Maybe Oscar knew something I did not know.

“Oscar,” I asked, “who the fuck is going to come after us? Don’t you know how powerful we are now? Like I said, it’s done, and he’s dying.”

I struggled to find the right words.

“Because fucking Ruben thinks he can all of a sudden tell me what to do, I’m going to kill that laid-back farmer, and let him, and everybody know how I get down. Then I am going to say, if they come to me, that I already gave Carlos the money. That is all I know.”

I looked down at the TV and regret breaking it.

“I just want to know one thing?” I asked.

“And what’s that?”

“Are you fucking with me, or against me?”

“No, Santo. I am with you all the way, till the finish line.”

“Now that’s what I like to hear. Let’s kill this fucker, and leave his body parts on the streets.”

Oscar thought for a second. He started to realize how crazy I was. He wondered what his future would be like if he followed the path of destruction with me. He knew that once he went through that dangerous door with me, he would never come out alive.

Though Oscar knew he was risking his life, he decided to take the game with me to the next level.

“Okay,” Oscar said.

“Let’s kill this motherfucker.”

“Let’s fucking do it!”

In a world where drugs equals profit, even the CIA were profiting from the shipment of my newest cocaine load, coming in next. These unknown CIA agents got wealthy, within months of their CIA stardom, working in secret, specifically for the most prominent drug cartels around. They did not become wealthy for that. It was because of who they really were.

From the beginning, CIA agents Sebastian Knoxx and Damien Charles made a promise to stick together, no matter what. At 6’2” tall each, and packing 190 lbs. of pure cut-up muscles, one could tell that they worked out religiously.

Sebastian had brown hair and brown eyes, while Damien had blond hair and baby blue eyes. You could say they were two attractive alpha-males. Both Sebastian and Damien had grown up with FBI agent Johnson Maganaxx. They were all childhood friends.

Now, way before Sebastian and Damien became full fledged CIA agents, together, they created a perfect project, for their successful future, unlike any science project they had ever built.

At the age of 16 Sebastian, Johnson and Damien were drunk one night, and high on a lot of LSD. Together, the three of them name their project, “PROJECT FREEDOM”. For this was all they ever want to be, free.

At the age of 17, the three of them, for no apparent reason at all, ran away from their family, and friends. They took off, a few nights before Halloween.

On Halloween night, they each threw on some masks and costumes, and the three of them, with the help of magic mushrooms, dipped in LSD, started to kill people at random, without ever being caught.

At the age of 24, the three of them enlisted in the U.S. Army. Together, they loved blowing things up, but they just wanted to go back home, so as they could try their military combat skills, on the unskilled public citizens of the world. Even after they got out of the Army, they always had the feeling that they were still at war.

As they each got older, they did not see much of one another. Sebastian was in jail for wepons possession. Johnson was trying to get his life in balance, by killing more people, and Damien, well, he also just kept on with his killing spree, yet this time around, he used his military combat skills, and forensic science skills to stay away from the authority’s radar.

Eventually, Johnson also became obsessed with killing people. He thought that by killing more people, and getting away with it, everything was going to be just fine.

On the night that I rescued Johnson, in that back alleyway, Johnson, completely stopped killing people. He decided to change his life for the better, all because of one night, when he went out to kill someone, he was the one that almost got himself killed. If it were not for me, he would have surely been dead, and Johnson never forgot that.

Damien stood in the killing game, yet this time around, he started getting a lot of money, per each person he killed. Three years later, he slowed down a bit, when Sebastian got out of jail.

Sebastian, Damien, and Johnson also became full-blown Freemasons, which they made bonds with many powerful lodge brothers. They had protection from deep levels of the military, high members in the Illuminati, and with powerful men in the Vatican.

Along with high, and mighty, powerful government individuals, sealed with special approval, they had the power to protect nearly anyone in the world, with the cash to pay for their supposed, special immunity plan.

Training themselves to become ghost assassins, Sebastian, Damien, and Johnson, slept for only three hours a day. Most of the time, they each stood in their basements, shooting at the most tiniest objects, they could find, while jacked up on liquor, ecstasy pills, LSD, and mushrooms dipped in LSD. Where only a tiny piece, a crumb, would have them mentally flying sky-high, yet somehow, they learned how to control their feeling, and their emotions.

This was how they each always went to work, always high, except for Johnson. He only got high when he was with Sebastian and Damien, because they had a lot of controlling influence on him.

Sebastian and Damien took advantage of the fact that they were not being watched. This was mainly why they both did what they wanted, when they wanted. They earned their freedom stripes, kept their mouths shut, and that was how they survived.

In their earlier years, the three of them, were masters of the surveillance game. For many years, they left a blood bath behind, and no one seemed to know anything about it. They were simply three of the most vicious serial killers that never seen a day in jail, for all of the murders they had committed.

The authorities surely turned their heads, when it came to investigating Sebastian and Damien. It seemed as if they were getting away with their killing spree and their major transportation of drugs for known drug cartels throughout the world.

For many years, CIA agents, Sebastian and Damian, were lining the pockets of the men that were watching out for them, so as they would never be bothered, and soon the cash flow quadrupled.

They never actually sold, or distributed drugs themselves. What Sebastian and Damien would do for individuals that were in the drug market, was make sure that their drugs came in safely, by flying it from Columbia to America. That was all they did.

Certain higher-level individuals within the secret government knew what Sebastian and Damien were doing, yet because they were paying them off, nobody said a single thing about it.

There was a time, when a DEA agent walked right up to the President, Ronald Reagan, and told him to his face, “Do you know that I have proof that several CIA agents in the field, are selling, and bringing in lots of cocaine into this country?”

The President looked him in the eyes.

“Really,” he said.

“I had no idea about that.”

The president simply walked away from the complaining agent, without saying another word.

Several days later, that same DEA agent, as he, his wife, and his six kids ate breakfast at their Connecticut home they were all blown up by a bomb. The bomb was so powerful it completely damaged the foundation, and completely wiped out several other homes, with their families still in it.

Overall, besides the talkative DEA agent, and his family, many others lost their lives, on that average, beautiful, Sunday morning, all just to get one man. After that, there was a huge shortage of people reporting about their surroundings, especially to people they should not be talking to.

At times, it seemed obvious that some secret, powerful force was helping Sebastian and Damien escape, murder charges, and the major transportation of drugs, every single time. Sebastian and Damien were very smart. They constructed a safe pipeline to go back and forth with tons, upon tons of drugs, without ever being caught. One may say that they were both very high paid, successful couriers.

For a stupid outrageous price, if a corrupted individual or some drug cartel had tons of drugs that needed delivered, or anything for that matter, Sebastian and Damien, would deliver it for them.

Many would say yes to the price, because they wanted to feel the power they got from real Government immunity. It did not matter what Sebastian and Damien would do. They walked around with the control to take a situation, that was about to happen, and make it, as if it had never happened.

Nobody knew anything, only them. Sebastian and Damien gave a lot of money to the Mormon Church and they never missed a single Sunday going to church themselves. It was not known, whether they were actually Mormons themselves, but they would always be seen going to a Mormon church, almost every single Sunday.

It was not that they were religious it was that they were using the church to hide. No one knew that Sebastian and Damien were official CIA agents, slash hit men, and drug runners.

After all, both agents did not hang out with just anyone, nor did they tell anyone that they belonged to the CIA. Most of the time, Sebastian, Damien, and Johnson, spent their time together, hanging out in each other’s houses, when they were not out there working.

More than Johnson, Sebastian and Damien, both loved their jobs. At times, they would both play jokes on each other, but they were each smart enough not to take anything serious.

They never watched television. They trained themselves to block the negative feelings out, and only get the best out of life, through thinking only positive thoughts. Just because Sebastian and Damien were not being watched did not mean that they stopped watching who they were being paid to watch, as CIA agents. They were loyal to their jobs, yet they used their CIA credentials to do whatever they wanted on the side.

There was this one particular night that started it all. It was Damien’s fortieth birthday. He and Sebastian popped an ecstasy pill each and they drove around looking for weak drug dealers, so they could rob them blind.

After that, looking for more action with huge profits, and some time to wind down, they parked their car, and walked into a bar called MAK’S, in the Williamsburg section of Brooklyn.

Inside the bar, they met two more down-low CIA agents, named Davidson and Remy, which were sitting down at a table drinking with FBI agent Johnson.

Davidson and Remy were different in many ways, yet they seem to think alike. Davidson wore a beard, while Remy was always clean-shaven. Davidson was 5’6”, 175 lbs., while Remy was much taller at 6’2”, and much heavier at 240 lbs. Davidson had brown eyes and grey hair. It was balding to the point where he had barely anything on top, while Remy had blue eyes, and black thick hair. Together, the five of them felt untouchable. All and all, like always, they had a great time together.

That night, the five of them, while drunk out of their minds, created a perfect plan for making themselves wealthy. They were going to help drug cartels, and other high-end corrupted individuals out, by providing a service, for all of them.

Within a week of these agents meeting up in the bar, with Johnson’s help, they were already in business. Johnson, instantly, was the man. He was the go-between me, and the four CIA agents.

I used the four CIA agents that I had never met to bring me the forty-six hundred kilos of pure cocaine coming all the way from Columbia. This was a huge secret, which the FBI, the CIA higher-ups, and high-level individuals within the Government knew about, but they refused, under penalty of death, for it to be known. They all were, somehow, someway, secretly on the take.

Besides, those in power within the secret government needed all the drug money they could take, so as they could keep on funding all their ongoing, space, and secret black projects.

Without all the drug money, they could not gain their wicked, technological advancement into the future, and other countries might surpass them. Might sound stupid, yet this was the way they thought. So one could see how they must keep the drug trade an ongoing thing, until some other force, stronger, takes it out, completely.

The four CIA agents were not amateurs. They had the perfect fall guy to do all the dirty work for them. They had a battle-tested, mystery man, rumored to be a billionaire, and CIA.

The four agents paid him very well, in the millions, per flight, just to keep his mouth shut. His only down fall would be, that if he ever talked about what was really going on, or decided to steal from them, they would surely put a contract hit, out on his life, and his entire family, and most of his friends too.

Actually, they told him in his face, “If you ever fuck up on us, Dom, we’ll blow you out of the sky.”

His name was Dominick Spencer, but they called him, Dom. He was the best pilot money could buy. He was also a loyal, dedicated 33-degree Mason, military astronaut, slash CIA. Dom was born somewhere in Nebraska.

He was in his early fifties, 5’6”, 180 lbs., grey hair, blue eyes, light skinned, and always wore glasses, because without them, he might as well be blind. What irony, him becoming a pilot. Dom was the owner of several of the fastest planes ever built.

Whatever invisible force, which was funding these secret, dirty air trips, paid Boeing, and several propulsion engineers, and scientists, which were already working on UFO like designs of several, tremendously fast crafts, huge amounts of money, in the billions to invent, and finally build a craft non-like no other in the air.

Dom was the buffer in between the four CIA agent’s dirty trips, carrying cocaine from Columbia to America, without ever having a single glitch of a problem at all. Dom was a shaker and a mover. He never carried any kind of weapons, not even a single pocketknife.

All Dom did was fly drugs back and forth. His expertise came from knowing whom within the government to bribe. Because of this, his trips went as smooth as a silk, woven with anonymity.

This time, Dom was in charge of picking up my huge shipment. It was simple. Dom, being deep into all his mental remote-viewing techniques, planned the entire trip in his mind first. Once the trip was perfected in his mind, he got into one of his fastest planes ever built, and as fast as he got in, he took off.

He flew from Fort Lauderdale, Florida, to and from Mexico, to Rio Negro, Columbia. Dom picked up my huge shipment from Columbia. He then headed to a CIA protected airport in Yucatan, Mexico. Once there, Dom delivered the entire shipment of cocaine to Oscar.

Oscar’s job was to get the cocaine, and bring it all to me. As soon I had all the cocaine in my possession, I still kept my word.

Carlos arrived at my house to pick up the money. I just smiled at him, and let him in. I greeted him, gave him a drink, and I waited to take him off guard. When I thought the time was right, I put a firearm to the back his head, and blew his brains out.

His only problem was that he trusted me too much. In his own way, Carlos had love for me. I knew what goes around comes around, and as Carlos took his last breath, I wondered, when I was going to take mines.

As I stood over him, I started to silently cry. The more I wiped my tears the more they ran down my face. I was not scared at all. I just knew that the minute I pulled that trigger, it was a matter of time, before the Colombians found me, and executed me on the spot. But I was not going down without a fight.

By the time Carlos’ chopped up body was found in the back of an alley way, in Brooklyn, word was sent out by his brother, Omar Rodriguez, that his brother’s murder, would not go unpunished.

“I want him dead!” he said, as tears ran down his face.

From that point on everybody had turned against me. Ruben, the Rodriguez cartel, everyone was at war with me.

Ruben called me up, and this time he told me exactly how he really felt, “My man,” he said to me, “wherever we catch you, we’re going to fucking kill you. All of you! You wanted a fucking war, well, now you fucking got one! You watch your fucking back motherfucker, because we are coming after you! Right now!”

Ruben said no more. As soon as he hanged up the phone, my mind went into full battle mode. If a war was what Ruben, and everyone that was against me wanted, then a war was what they were going to get. I was ready for them.

I went to see the Iceman, for what may possibly be the last time. I dropped an envelope on top of the table.

“Mr. Ice,” I said, “if something ever happens to me, I want you to take out all the people I wrote down for you in this envelope.”

The Iceman looked down at the envelope.

“Is my name in there?” he asked.

“If it was,” I replied, “I would not have given it to you.”

“I see. What about…”

“Money?” I said.

“Inside the envelope, you will find a set of keys to a house, I own. The address is also inside. There’s ten million dollars, in the upstairs bedroom, walk-in closet, it’s all yours.”

I put my hand on top of his. A battle gesture that only meant to say, “Be careful,” without saying a word.

“What else?”

“That will be all for now, Mr. Ice,” was all I said, before I got up, shook his hand, and walked away from him.

Ruben wanted to make a move on me, as soon as possible, but because of how powerful I was, he did not know how to go about it, without losing his life, and the lives of his many loyal men.

He went back to Columbia to have a sit-down with the Rodriguez family. The Rodriguez family wanted to see me take my last breath, but they had no idea how they were going to get at me. After all, I was the boss of all bosses.

They talked. Within minutes, they all decided that the best thing to do was to destroy all my business in New York. Since the Rodriguez cartel, had connections with key figures of authority, throughout the country, they decided to sick, like a hungry dog, the authorities on me, and everybody they knew I was doing business with.

Less than a week later, Steve drove around, Long Island looking for parking. Though Steve preferred to have gotten struck by a bolt of lightning, DEA agents, FBI agents and the local police struck out of nowhere, blocking all of Steve’s paths. Steve got nervous, and hit the redial button on his phone.

Edison picked up on the other end.

“Edison,” he said, “they’re all over the place! Get out! Get the fuck out now!”

It was Ruben, and the Rodriguez cartel in Columbia, that personally set Steve up. With the power that the Rodriguez family had, they set it up where their people would not suffer the same fate as Steve. No matter what Steve said about Ruben, or the Rodriguez cartel, they had a free get out of jail pass.

Earlier, Ruben had called Steve to set him up. He told Steve to bring drugs, and weapons to a secret location. When Steve was on his way, Ruben alerted the proper authorities, so as they could take Steve out of commission. As soon as they found the drugs and weapons that Steve was supposed to deliver to Ruben, the DEA arrested him on the spot.

Since Steve was considered to be the weakest link in the inner circle, they knew that it was a matter of time, before he flipped on everybody to save himself.

With over fifty kilos of pure cocaine in the back of his trunk, and several machine guns, he and his freedom were through. With the time he was facing, Steve knew he would never come out of jail, unless it was in a casket. Therefore, the best thing for him to do was to talk, and talk he did.

Within no time, after Steve’s arrest, DEA agents busted through the doors of Edison and Carmine’s house. When the DEA, and local police, busted through Edison’s door, Edison was waiting for them in the living room. He was in the nude, on his knees, with both of his hands behind his head, and ready to be taken in. Edison did not resist, when the Agents threw him down on the carpet, handcuffed him, and took him out of the house.

As the agents walked him outside of the house, Edison was shot in the throat, by an unknown sniper. Edison died instantly. Whoever killed Edison did not want him to talk, so they silenced him for good.

When they busted through Carmine’s front door, and tried to look for him, they found him in the upstairs bedroom. Carmine also did not make a run for it. He was waiting for them to come for him.

Carmine also knew they were coming for him, because as soon as Edison got the call from Steve, Edison immediately called Carmine, and gave him a heads-up on the situation in hand.

Carmine knew it was time. When the agents finally found him, he was sitting on the tip of a king size bed, wearing a vest with a powerful bomb rigged to it. Carmine was drinking from a bottle of liquor, in one hand, and in the other hand, he was holding onto the bombs detonator.

“Don’t do it!” were the last words spoken in the house.

Carmine, with one click of a button, blew himself, all the agents, and the entire house up with the bomb.

Everybody that rushed inside of Carmine’s house died instantly. It was all Steve’s fault. Because of him, everybody was being hauled in. If Steve had kept his mouth shut, no one would have been caught out there.

The authorities knew nothing of the stash houses, the trips they knew nothing. No one could have imagined that Steve could have done what he did, because everybody considered him as family.

The authorities involved confiscated everything. All their expensive houses, cars, boats, planes, bank accounts jewelry, and all their properties, until there was nothing else to take.

Meanwhile, by this time, I had taken off. Except for Oscar, no one knew where I was. Next stop for Steve, because he gave up everything he knew on the inner circle, was the Witness Protection Program.

They tried to keep Steve safe at an undisclosed location. Eventually, he died a few days later, after someone had poisoned his plate of food. Whoever killed him knew that without him, they had no case, because he was the case.

A day later, DEA agents tackled Oscar in the lobby of a motel room, in Brooklyn. Inside the room, agents found dozens of weapons, and tons of ammunition. They asked Oscar many, many questions, yet not a single word came out of his mouth. Besides, Oscar knew that he was safer in jail, than walking around in the streets.

Eventually, Oscar pleaded guilty to twenty-four murders. Therefore, so he would not get the death penalty, he gave up everything he knew about the inner circle, and everything about me, the boss of all bosses.

Meanwhile, the whole time, Jaero hid out inside of a luxurious penthouse, on the Wall Street section of Manhattan. Nobody knew he was there, sniffing his wealth away. Without any of us, there to stop him, he tried to end his life, one sniff at a time.

One night, he sat down on the couch, and dunked his nose into a mound of cocaine, on top of the living room table. The Iceman was kind enough to let him get a few last sniffs. He lifted up his Uzi machinegun, and pumped several bursts of bullets into Jaero’s head and body.

Jaero’s face dropped on top of the cocaine. The mound of cocaine went from white to dark red, as his blood mixed together with the cocaine.

The Iceman walked out of Jaero’s place, with a hypnotized look on his face. I gave him a list of people he had to take out, so he did what he did best, search and kill. He was on a mission, and he was not going to stop, until it was over.

For several straight rainy nights, the Iceman waited for Ruben. He picked Ruben’s lock, and patiently waited inside of the apartment. Ruben, blinded by his confidence, was unaware of his impending doom.

Ruben went to his apartment to take some of his things, and head back to Columbia, yet that was what he thought he was going to do.

Ruben stepped into his apartment. He walked in the living room, and was in shock to see the Iceman, sitting down on the couch. When Ruben walked closer to him, the Iceman pointed the gun at him.

Ruben stopped moving.

“And who the fuck are you?” Ruben asked.

“How the fuck did you get in?”

The Iceman pumped several bursts of bullets into Ruben’s body.

As Ruben fell back, his limp body slammed head first onto a glass table. The Iceman got up off the couch, and walked over to Ruben’s body. When he noticed that Ruben was still alive, he pumped Ruben’s head and body with another burst of bullets. Without wasting any time, the Iceman exited the apartment.

Because of FBI Agent Johnson, the mafia was completely dismantled. Once the cases were created, the Assistant U.S. Attorney presented evidence aimed at one hundred sixty-four men, from the New York five-crime families, before a federal grand jury, which indicted all the suspects.

Included in the pot, were the Sidona boss, the Colando boss, and the Manorelli boss. For some reason, Vito Yannone and Sam Vagans seemed to have gotten away. They just disappeared… simply vanished.

Like always, they created an arrest plan under the FBI agents and the Department of Labor agents, which each agent was assigned to each of the one hundred and sixty-four members of the mob, and its leaders.

Repeatedly, over a hundred mobsters were asked the same question, “Who is this boss of all bosses? Where is he? How long have you known him?” Not one of them knew what the agents interrogating them, were talking about.

Unless they shared my identity with their family structure, out of the entire mafia underworld, only the five New York crime bosses knew who I was. Definitely, from all the family captains, down to their crews of murderous, dedicated soldiers, none of them even knew that I existed.

The bosses that had been arrested never said anything about me. They still imagined that I was dead, and that Vito was the new appointed boss of all bosses. Vito had so much respect. With the huge amount of power that Vito wielded, no one ever dared say anything about him, or about the Iceman.

It was, as if Vito and the Iceman vanished into thin air. The authorities passed them by, because they had no idea that they even existed. The authorities started to think that the information that Oscar gave them about a mysterious boss of all bosses, might be all lies, just to get him out of the death penalty.

It was not until Johnson stepped into the interrogation room, and started asking Oscar several questions himself, that things started to unravel.

Johnson walked into the interrogation room with a folder in his hand. Before he sat down, Johnson pulled out a wire, out of a small TV monitor, and the monitor went blank. Johnson did not want anyone hearing or recording his conversation with Oscar.

Oscar looked ruffed up a bit and that’s what Johnson focused on first, as he took a seat behind a table opposite Oscar. Oscar looked comfortable. For the first time, he smoked a cigarette, as he sipped on a cup of coffee, all black, and no sugar.

“My name,” Johnson said, “well, I’m with the FBI.”

Oscar took a few long pulls off the cigarette and then he looked up at Johnson.

“And what the fuck do you want me to tell you,” he said, “that I haven’t already said, like a hundred times to you guys.”

Johnson ignored Oscar’s comment, he looked at him in the face, and then he opened the folder up.

“Look, I was his main enforcer,” Oscar said.

“I was basically the only one he trusted. I was always around him… always. He could’ve let some men kill me, but, he gave me… the man gave me a fucking chance, and that’s why I am here. If it wasn’t for him… well, I guess I wouldn’t be here. Look, what the fuck do you really want to know, because, I have this deep feeling in my heart that… I don’t have no choice, but to tell you the truth. So… what the fuck do you really want to know?”

After Johnson finished going through the folder, he closed it.

He looked at Oscar.

“Tell me his name again?” he asked.

Oscar took a sip from his cup of coffee.

“Jesus Christ… How many times do I have to tell you guys?! His name is Santo! Santo! S-A-N-T-O! Santo Inantinelli!”

Oscar nodded his head up and down.

“He’s the one you want! He was the one that made me do everything. He’s the one that got me started…”

Oscar thought for a second.

“He’s the boss of all bosses! I swear to God… I’m honestly telling you all this, because I fucking really know him! What… you don’t fucking believe me either?”

Johnson hoped that Oscar was lying to him.

“Look, you don’t know shit!” he replied.

“You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about! As a matter of fact, you fucking snitch, I don’t even believe a fucking word you’re saying! No. I don’t fucking believe you! I don’t fucking believe it! No… It can’t be true… it can’t be fucking true!”

Johnson wanted to know for sure if Oscar was telling him the truth. For many men would say just about anything to get out of the death penalty. There was no way Oscar was talking about the Santo he knew.

Johnson wanted to press him for more information, possibly everything he knew about me. He had to make it seem as if he did not believe him, nor did he have any interest in me… at all.

“So… you fucking snitch, what are you fucking really trying to tell me here?” Johnson asked.

“Talk to me!” he pointed his finger at him.

“Look, Snitch… I’m not fucking playing with you anymore. You’re really fucking up my day, and my head up. So… don’t fuck with me! I want answers… Now!”

Johnson could not wait to hear what Oscar had to say.

“Not for nothing, Snitch, but you already cut yourself a sweet deal just to save your own fucking ass. Everyone now knows that you’re a fucking snitch. A fucking rat. Now… you fucking know what happens to snitch-ass rats… like yourself, in prison? Listen to me… you’re done. Your life is over, as soon as you walk out this door. And you know it. So… just tell me the fucking truth, before you get shanked-up. Because, I fucking promise you that you will be killed in prison… before you even see the judge. But… are you seriously telling me there’s one guy out there who’s the boss of everyone—including your dumb, snitch-ass?”

Oscar turned the cigarette off in the ashtray. He was pleased.

At last, there was someone that believed in his story.

“Yeah,” Oscar replied, “and the motherfucker is so powerful, he’s probably your bosses’ boss. Look, pal, he is the one you really want, not me. I’m just a small peanut in the bag you are holding.”

Oscar made a gun with his hand, he stood up straight, and then he made a fist.

“Look, out of all of them, he’s the one with all the power. That’s for sure… And, I tell you all of this… the truth, because I know my destiny. But… do you know his? And better yet… do you know yours? Because… he is a man that… will never allow himself to be caught. To be stopped… ever. Besides, he is not the boss of all bosses for nothing...”

Oscar paused, and knew, no, he was sure, that he had no more time left on Earth.

“Just think about it,” he continued on, “if such a man did exist, God knows what he had to do to get to the powerful level that he has gotten to. Wake up! The man that you are actually looking for… and have always been looking for, the man that you have always dreamed of catching, has been in your face… the whole time! The whole fucking entire time!”

Johnson was in shock. He never did know the magnitude of how powerful I really was.

“Are you sure,” he asked, “Oscar? Because,” Johnson slid his index finger across his throat, “if you are not we have many ways to make you tell us the truth.”

Oscar thought about all the people he had killed. What bothered him the most, though he never said anything, was killing his own brother. Oscar knew the minute he pulled the trigger, that if he did not kill him, someone else would. In Oscar’s mind, he thought that by killing his own brother, he was freeing him.

Oscar lived with the thought that he took his brother out of his misery. Instead of the path of death, though he knew he would never get out of prison, he now wanted to walk on the path of life, even if he was not free.

He gulped down his coffee.

“No.” he said, “Don’t you fuck with my deal, because I am going to tell you everything. One night, after one of his huge Christmas parties, he and I got wasted.”

Oscar paused for a second. He thought back, and a memorable moment came to mind.

“Yes,” he said, “with Santo Inantinelli himself. He told me everything.”

When he heard Oscar say that I told him everything, Johnson wanted to know more.

“So,” he asked Oscar, “what happened next?”

Johnson was confused. If Oscar knew that I knew Johnson, why did he not mention it to those that interrogated him before Johnson did?

“Who are the people he talked to you the most about?” Johnson asked.

“Santo never talked to me about his friends,” Oscar replied.

“He only talked to me about his enemies. I could just talk to you about everybody that I know, through him. Everybody I met…”

“What else?” Johnson asked, without making Oscar feel, as if he was being interrogated.

“He said his only real best friend was this guy. A guy that he once had defended years ago. Santo told me, he saved the guy’s life.”

Oscar sounded sincere.

“I wanted to be around him. His world made me feel safe.”

Johnson was touched. He knew that the guy that Oscar was talking about was him. At the same time, he had a reason to be pissed off at me. Johnson had a deep feeling inside. He thought that if I was his real friend, I would have been honest with him. He also had the feeling that Oscar knew who he really was, and his huge involvement with me.

“Well,” Johnson got up off the chair, he got up close to Oscar’s face, and stared into his murderous eyes, “now it’s all over. Up it up. Where the fuck is he? Where is Santo right now?!”

Like clockwork, Oscar with a smile on his face, agreed it was time to lead Johnson behind the wizard’s curtain.

“And he told me,” he said, “that if I ever had to snitch him out, that I should only talk to you, and only you, Johnson.”

Johnson looked down at the folder, looked at the door, and then he looked at Oscar, and smiled.

“Funny, he said, “I never told you my name.”

“You didn’t have to,” Oscar whispered.

“Because I already knew who you were. He is hiding out in his house, in Ridgewood, Queens. The address is…”

Without a second to loose, Johnson, without saying another word, picked up the folder off the table.

“Know something,” he said, before he exited the interrogation room, “I don’t believe you, and neither will anyone else. You better stop talking about this invisible boss of all bosses, before you get yourself into a situation, you may not know how to get out of. Remember,” Johnson tapped his temple a few times with his index finger, “we may not have your mind, but we now have your body. You could have your deal, but you better be very quiet, pal, because many people never come out of prison alive.”

Johnson’s words became reality.

On the day Oscar was supposed to discuss his case with his lawyer, as he was taking a shower in prison, another inmate that Oscar was getting to be friendly with stabbed him up multiple times to death.

Meanwhile, early in the morning, teams of agents fanned out across the New York and New Jersey area. They moved in and arrested all the mobsters. They also held search warrants for the recovery of all stolen items of the stuff they had given away, or sold to the mob, during the intense investigation.

Once Johnson filled in the blanks, he destroyed the mafia’s stronghold in New York, and in New Jersey.

When the FBI agents went to Albert Hanna’s house, he died instantly of a heart attack. Albert did not believe the agents, when they told him that Willie Shaffer was really FBI agent Johnson Maganaxx.

At first, Albert did not believe them. He saw the truth with his own eyes, when an agent tossed several pictures of Johnson on top of the glass living room table.

All the pictures had Johnson, along with other agents, wearing official FBI jackets, holding up their FBI badges. One of the pictures was of Johnson being sworned in as an FBI agent.

At this point, every mafia suspect was in total shock, when they found out that Willie Shaffer was an FBI agent, named Johnson Maganaxx. Out of all the suspects that had been caught, seven of them committed suicide, right in their jail cells. They were either too old, or they were just not going back to jail.

The remaining mobsters that were in hiding banded together and they eventually put a contract hit out on Johnson, one million dollars to whoever finds him and kills him.

Last but certainly not least, Johnson went after me. He wanted to be the first one to find me, because there were a few serious questions, he wanted to ask me, before I was taken in.

When Johnson arrived at my house, he noticed that he was the first one there. The front door was open, and with that alone, Johnson had a feeling, that I was expecting him to come in. Johnson pulled his firearm out of the holster, he slowly pushed the door open, and then he carefully walked in.

So no one comes in, or tries to make a run for it, Johnson made sure to lock the door. He took a few steps forward, and that was when he noticed that I was standing in the living room.

I was holding onto a drink, and had my back turned.

“I had a feeling,” I said, “sooner or later you would come for me, Johnson. Of course, it had to be Oscar that told you where I was. So, what’s on your mind, my brother?”

“We’re not brothers, Santo. So turn around, and get your fucking hands up. Now I know who the fuck you are!”

I turned around, and faced him.

“So… you do?” I asked.

“You finally know who I really am?”

“Yes,” Johnson replied, “I know who the fuck you are. Oscar, your main enforcer, told me everything. He did it just to save his own snitch-ass.”

Johnson had a feeling that we were both alone, but he still got a better grip at his weapon to make sure.

“So… you’re the boss of all the fucking bosses,” he asked.

“Well, you used to be.”

I took a long gulp of my drink.

“Don’t forget,” I said, “you owe me one, remember?”

“I spent all this time fucking serving you, so I don’t owe you shit! I bagged all those motherfuckers for you because I really believed in you, bro! Loyalty, remember?”

Johnson cleared his throat and spat on the floor.

“And you’re all of their boss? I thought you were just a fucking drug dealer.”

“Bro,” I said, “you’ve got some fucking nerve. I put excitement in your fucking dull life! All those guys you are talking about, I gave them all up to you, in a silver platter!”

There was no way I was going to convince him. In a way, Johnson had a point. But in my world, loyalty came first.

“Yeah,” he said, “but you’re their fucking boss!”

“So! Who gives a fuck?”

When I went to take my last gulp from my cup, Johnson walked up to me, and smacked the cup off my hand.

While he kept his weapon pointed at me, he took a few steps back.

“I do!” he replied.

“I give a fuck! I thought you said you were just a fucking drug dealer!”

Johnson gathered his thoughts for a few seconds.

“You fucking lied to me! You have been fucking using me the whole entire time!”

“First of all,” I said, “I never told you I was a drug dealer. I just happen to be around all that shit. Let us be reasonable here. Do you remember your promise?”

I reminded him.

“You said that if I ever needed your fucking help, anything at all, that I should just give you a call.”

I put my hand inside my suit pocket. Johnson took a step forward.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he asked.

“You keep your fucking hands, where I can see them!”

I pulled out my cellular phone and pressed its redial button. Johnson thought I was going to do something to try to escape.

“Man,” he said, “I swear to God, you do something stupid, and I’ll shoot you down like a fucking dog, right here, right now.”

Johnson’s phone on his hip started to ring. He knew that I was the one calling him.

“Well,” I asked, “are you going to pick it up, bro? I’m fucking calling you right now.”

Johnson’s phone rang, until it went to voicemail.

“Well,” I said, “I thought you said you’ll do anything for me, if I was ever in trouble. Please, bro, help me out.”

I took a step forward and threw him a military salute, “and I’ll fucking salute your ass.”

Johnson dropped my saluting hand, with his hand, and then he pushed me back hard.

“Don’t… don’t you fucking salute me!” he said.

“Get the fuck back! You don’t deserve a fucking salute.”

“Come on,” I said, “now you see how you are. You fucking promised me. I should’ve let them niggers rape, and kill your fucking ass!”

“Shut the fuck up! Shut up! You have no fucking right to bring that shit up! I know you fucking helped me, but now they know… they know who the fuck you are. How the fuck can I help you now, you dumb motherfucker?”

“First of all, watch your fucking mouth. You don’t fucking talk to me the way you want to, because you’re pointing a fucking gun at me. I just need you to let me go, Johnson, for old time’s sake. I promise you will never, ever see me again. Okay?”

I had a deep feeling that he was not trying to hear anything I had to say, nor did he intend to let me go.

“Why are you really doing this? Hey, I was just doing my fucking job!”

“And so am I!” he said.

“So… get your fucking hands up! Don’t make me have to shoot you!”

I was mad. Because he had his weapon pointed at me, Johnson thought he was above me. I looked at my phone, looked at him, and then I smashed the phone on the wall. The phone was already in pieces, before it hit the floor. I did what he told me to do. I put both my hands on top of my head.

“Come on,” I said, “I know you have the power to let me go. Just tell them, you couldn’t find me.”

I paused.

“You owe me this one. Now do for me, what you did for Ruben. Just… let me fucking go, bro.”

As all this was going on inside, outside, a team of FBI agents, were positioning themselves to crash through the door.

“Come on,” I said.

“What the fuck do you think? You think you’re going to fucking get something special, for bringing me in?”

I chuckled.

“You’ve got nothing special coming to you. Now, you let me go, and I will fucking make it worth your while. I will make you a rich man.”

I rubbed my index finger, middle, and thumb together.

“Now… you let me go, and I’ll fucking give you fifty million dollars. I hid the money in the garage. It’s under the fucking ground.”

I waved my hand in the air.

“Just take it. Take it all. All you have to do is, just let me go, now.”

“Man, you’re fucking dreaming… fucking delusional. The game is over, Santo. You’re fucking done. And there is nothing you, or I can do about it.”

“No,” I said.

“This game is never over. And I have so much fucking power, and money, I will never be done.”

“Yes… you’re completely done. And the fucking game is over now.”

Johnson walked over to me, a tear glistening in his eye. Without a word, he snapped the handcuffs onto my wrists. The sound of agents crashing through the door echoed behind him.

“You fucking promised,” I whispered at Johnson.

“Fuck you,” he said, as he handed me over to several agents.

The agents walked me out of the house, and put me in the back of their car.

In a huge auditorium, Johnson was pissed off. He was not in any mood to except any kind of award. He kept his cool, and with it a big, big secret.

Johnson was awarded with the Department of Justice Attorney General’s award for excellence in law enforcement for penetrating the five New York crime families. With the award, he was also handed a five hundred dollar check.

Johnson looked down at the check and thought to himself, “I can’t believe I fucking risked my life for only five hundred dollars, and a stupid metal.”

A bit of frustration started to settle in. However, what no one knew was that Johnson had an ultimate plan, on how to get more out of it, before he walked away from the FBI completely.

Whatever Johnson was going to do, he had to act very fast. When no one was looking, he walked out of the auditorium.

After I was sentenced to various life times in prison, two veterans of the U.S. Marshals drove me away to escort me to prison.

About a half–an-hour on the road, two black Cadillac Escalades with their windows blackened out, confront the Marshal’s car.

The supped up trucks blocked the Marshal’s car in. Within seconds, five men, wearing ski masks, jumped out of both of the trucks, each holding onto high-caliber weapons. The five men rushed up to the Marshal’s car. Without any hesitation, they shot through the windows, and killed the both Marshals.

One of the men took his sweet time, as he walked over to the back passenger side, and he smashed the window with the butt of his weapon.

He reached inside, opened the car door, took a step back, and then he got in position.

He pointed his weapon at me.

“You!” he said. “Get the fuck out of the car! Now! Get the fuck out! Now!”

I slid out of the car. My only thoughts were of how the Rodriguez family finally had the guts to take me on face to face. I thought I was going to be executed on the spot.

“Turn around!” he said.

“Turn around!”

I did what I was told. I turned around, and wondered, which one of them was going to shoot me first. Instead, the man took off my handcuffs. I looked at both of the dead Marshals, and then I looked at the five men.

“Who the fuck are you guys?” I asked.

The man that took the handcuffs off me pulled off his ski mask. When I turned around, I realized that it was Johnson. He and his friends found me, because on his laptop, since we drove out of the courthouse, Remy was tracking one of the U.S. Marshal’s cell phone the whole time.

The five of them decided to kill two birds with one stone. They first went to my house in Ridgewood, Queens. When they arrived, they started to break my garage floor, until they found the fifty million dollars, all in hundred dollar bills. The money was in a waterproof box, and all the money was wrapped in plastic. It was all there. Then, they headed to complete their major mission of rescuing me.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” I asked.

“I thought you fucked me over.”

“No. I didn’t. And I hope you didn’t think I would ever forget what you did for me,” said Johnson, “when I was younger. I never did. And I promised to myself, I never will.”

Johnson thought for a second.

“How could I? No… I never will. Ever since you saved my life, you have been nothing but a motivating inspiration to me.”

“Johnson,” I said, “I risked my life to save your fucking life, when I could’ve kept it moving.”

“I Know,” Johnson said.

“I know what you fucking did for me, and that’s why I’m here.”

Johnson looked at his friends and then at me.

“That’s why we are all here.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Why now?”

Why?” Johnson replied.

“Because, I fucking owe you one. And I always keep my fucking promises, bro.”

“I don’t know what to say, Johnson. The money…”

“Don’t worry. I already took all the money. How do you think I paid these CIA guys two million dollars each to help me get you out of this situation your in.”

Johnson looked at each of the four men. They each, one by one, took off their masks, and revealed their identities as, CIA agents Sebastian, Damien, Davidson, and Remy.

My reputation did precede me, but if I made a wrong move, they would shoot me down like a dog. Johnson and the men looked up in the sky, as if they were waiting for something, and then they focused on me. They wanted to get a last look at the legend of the world.

“Santo,” Johnson said, as he pointed his weapon at my face, “listen to me. We do not want to see you again… ever.”

Johnson looked up in the sky.

“You better disappear, fucking vanish, because if you get in our radar, you’re through. You will die. Now, we won’t ever come looking for you, as long as you do not try looking for us.”

“You got yourself a deal,” I said.

“Thank you.”

I looked at his men.

“All of you.”

Johnson got closer to me, and whispered in my ear, “Now we’re fucking even, don Santo.”

I nodded my head.

“Alright then,” I said.

“You take care of yourself, and your friends. You all get home safe.”

Seconds later, a black, unmarked, military helicopter, was seen descending at a very fast pace. The helicopter was being flown by CIA agent, Dom. He hovered the helicopter inches away from on top of one of the Escalades.

Johnson, Sebastian, Damien, Davidson, and Remy, climbed aboard the helicopter. Johnson looked down at me, he shot me a respectful smile, and then he slowly saluted me. I returned the salute.

Johnson tapped Dom twice on his shoulder.

“Now,” he said, “let’s all get the fuck out of here, and spend some money!”

Dom took out a cigar from his shirt pocket. He lit it up, took a few long pulls, and then he took off, as smooth as he came in. Smoking his cigar, not thinking about tomorrow, Dom loved the fact that this was the easiest two million dollars, he had ever made. Not bad for six minutes, and four seconds of work.

I looked around and saw that the coast was clear.

I went inside the Marshal’s car, took one of the marshal’s firearms out of his holster, and then I cocked the gun back. I took the Marshal’s wallet from inside his suit pocket. The wallet contained his shield, identification, and over a hundred dollars. I put the wallet in my pocket, and then in a bit of a hurry, I got out of the car, and ran away from the scene.

With my vast fortune in the billions conveniently shielding me, that marked the end of one life and the beginning of another. However, like a smooth cat with endless charm, as long as I could pay the price, I was confident I had more lives to spare.

THE END