Mafioso Read online

  The driver repeated the same action, putting on gloves and he gripped a 9mm with a matching silencer. They were dressed in all black, and being stealthy and lethal was a common thing for them. They were being paid a lot of money for this particular task. It hinted to them that this was personal. Bugsy wanted it handled with proficiency, and they were the epitome of adept killers. The area was clear, and they coolly climbed out of the vehicle and approached the house. They ascended the front steps but quickly disappeared into the backyard. They briefly scoped the area and spotted the motion lights, bars on the windows, and a steel door. The situation wasn’t going to be a problem for them. With the right tools, they disarmed the door and slid inside the home undetected.

  They were like shadows as they moved from the kitchen and ascended the stairs to the bedroom where Tarsha was sleeping, but they didn’t see Wacka in the bed with her. There was supposed to be two targets.

  The room was dark and still, and the first gunman took aim at the body under the bed sheets and fired—Phwet-phwet, killing Tarsha immediately in her sleep. Then, chaos erupted—Bak! Bak! The gunfire came from the closet and struck the first gunman in the chest, pushing him back into the hallway. Wacka had been too late to save Tarsha, but he wasn’t going down without a fight. He held the automatic awkwardly with two hands and was able to get off a couple of shots. The second gunman unloaded a barrage of shots into the closet, riddling it with bullets. He glanced back to see his partner on the ground. He rushed forward to make sure Wacka was dead. But he wasn’t. Wacka burst from the closet firing his gun wildly, but his accuracy was off without a proper grip. He’d gotten lucky with the first rounds, but the second shootout proved difficult. The gunman took cover behind the door frame and Wacka snapped.

  “You come for me, muthafuckas! Here I am! Come get some! Come get some!” he madly screamed.

  Bak! Bak! Bak! Bak! Bak!

  He continued to shoot at his attacker, splintering the door with bullets. Just a foot away was the body of his baby’s mother, shot in the head. He had the second gunman pinned down behind the door. He was ready to blow his head off.

  “Fuck you! Fuck you!” Wacka shouted. “I’m right here, muthafucka!”

  And then it happened. Three bullets rapidly slammed into his chest and lifted him off his feet and dropped him on his back to the bedroom floor. He was gasping for air, and his deafening heartbeat thumped in his ears like thunder. His chest was coated with blood. He knew this was his end; there was no escaping it this time. Wacka didn’t know the first shooter was wearing a bulletproof vest and, after regaining his composure, had a clear shot of Wacka’s insanity.

  The killers coolly approached their victim. Wacka was still alive, barely, and his fading eyes locked in on the two hitmen hovering over him. He showed nothing but contempt for them in his grizzly stare. He could feel his body fighting not to die, but the blood loss was massive and he could feel his vital organs shutting down.

  Gurgling off his blood, he managed to get out a harsh, “Fu-fuck you!”

  They had no words for him. The second gunman aimed his weapon at Wacka’s face and shot him twice at close range. It would be a ghastly mess for homicide to clean up.

  When the men turned around to leave, they were immediately taken aback by a small child gazing upon them in shock. The boy stood in the threshold of the bedroom dressed in his pajamas and clutching his teddy bear. He didn’t scream, but his young, innocent eyes were glued to his parents’ murder scene. He had seen their faces. He was a witness to his parents’ murder. The killers glanced at each other and spoke with a professional gaze—like grasping for the shortest straw. Then one did the unthinkable. He lifted his gun and fired, shooting the boy in the face. His young body crumbled at the threshold of the bedroom. It was a savage act, but Bugsy had said he wanted everyone dead.

  The killers left the scene and headed back to New York. They called Bugsy and told him that everything had been taken care of—Maxine no longer had a problem. But there was one snag. They killed a young boy—their son.

  “Fuck!” Bugsy uttered.

  “You said everyone inside the house.”

  “I know,” said Bugsy. He sighed heavily. “But not a fucking kid!”

  “The boy was a witness.”

  “Fuck it—collateral damage.” Bugsy convinced himself.

  He was blinded by the experienced pussy of a seasoned cougar. Although he was somewhat broken up about the kid, he had to charge it to the game. He justified that it was the boy’s parents that put him in danger—just as his parents put Gotti, Bonnie, and Clyde in harm’s way.

  ***

  Maxine was sitting and reading in her apartment when she got the phone call that she had long been waiting for.

  “You don’t have to worry about that problem anymore. It’s been taken care of,” said Bugsy.

  She was ecstatic. It was the best news she’d heard in a while. But she kept cool and nonchalant. She simply replied, “Thank you.”

  “I told you, I got your back.”

  “Are you coming by to see me tonight?” she said.

  “Not tonight, maybe tomorrow. I got some things to take care of.”

  “Okay.”

  Their call ended. Maxine stood up and walked toward the window and stared out at the city. She sighed with titanic liberation. A huge weight had been lifted off her shoulders. She couldn’t help but to smile like the Cheshire Cat. She wanted to celebrate, but she drew a hot bubble bath and submerged herself into the large tub with a glass of white wine and peace of mind. Her problem was officially dead—literally—and she could finally put her past behind her.

  Enjoying the soothing, warm water and her opulent bathroom, she hollered, “Free at last, free at last, thank God Almighty, I’m free at last! Don’t fuck with me, bitch.”

  She lingered in the tub and drank the wine and let her body soak. No more secrets, she told herself. Well, except the secret affair that she was having with Bugsy. The boy was a fantastic lover. He made her toes curl every single time they had sex. But she knew she had to put that to bed and soon. If Scott ever found out about them, her life would once again be in jeopardy.

  ***

  Baltimore city police cars flooded the urban street with their blaring sirens and lights. Homicide detectives and crime scene techs meticulously investigated every square inch of the crime scene. The medical examiner concluded that the family had been killed a few hours ago—they were in the early stages of rigor mortis. The looky-loo’s crowded behind the yellow crime scene tape that encircled the area. Word had traveled through the community that, along with the parents, a child was killed. It was heartbreaking news.

  The media came to report on the murders, especially because of the young child. It was headline news, even for a murderous city like Baltimore—a child dead in a bloody home invasion. Reporters swamped the area with their cameras and microphones, filming the scene and interviewing witnesses. They wanted to know how old the child was and about the parents’ backgrounds.

  Pulling up to the hectic scene in their Dodge Charger were Tarsha’s two cousins, Speedy and Trick. They stepped out of the car and were shocked to see the heavy police activity in front of their cousin’s home.

  “Yo, what da fuck happened?” Speedy asked someone.

  “Home invasion—they killed the parents and their son too,” said a neighbor. “Shit is all fucked up.”

  “Muthafucka!” Trick yelled in disbelief.

  Speedy and Trick looked at each other and they both felt some guilt. Though they didn’t kill Wacka and Tarsha, they were two of the attackers who robbed them and took everything they had. Neither felt any remorse for torturing and beating Wacka and Tarsha, nor the psychological damage threatening their son would cause. They were stick-up men; that’s what they do.

  The couple was flashing too much money and showing off too many nice things in a ci
ty that was hungry to take it. Speedy and Trick felt that they were owed something more than the peanuts being thrown at them. So they decided to take action and take what they felt was rightfully due—everything.

  But this? The entire family killed, even their son? They both figured it was over that same paper.

  Both men climbed back into the Charger and drove toward the interstate. Later, they would load up the trunk of the car with a bag full of money, jewelry, and guns. Speedy and Trick were ready to leave Baltimore and set up shop in another state. It was time to move on. Their cousin was dead and they wanted to get far away from the city—maybe Atlanta or Charlotte. The south seemed like a good place to start over with their newfound wealth.

  36

  Maxine sat in the visitation room feeling nervous but looking sexy in her classy wrap dress, the top showing just enough cleavage to excite her man. But in reality, she didn’t want to be there. She didn’t want to see Scott, but she tried her best each week to sit through the visits with him. Whenever he would hug her or squeeze her hands, she would cringe inside. She would sit there talking to Scott and she would be thinking about Bugsy. Had she fallen in love with his son?

  “I missed you, baby. Has Bugsy been taking care of you like I asked—looking out for you?” Scott said.

  Oh, he was taking care of her, all right. He took care of her the other night, had her legs around him, his dick swelled inside of her, and he came inside her so hard that she felt her pussy was going to drown in his semen.

  “Yes, he’s been taking care of me,” she said.

  “That’s good,” he said.

  Again, visions of Bugsy’s thick dick and his long tongue plunging inside of her induced daydreams. She managed to smile for Scott and put on a show for him. But this was the same muthafucka partially responsible for half her life being taken away from her. All types of ill feelings swirled around inside her head. A nigga locked up brought back all types of animosity. How could she forgive him? How did she forgive him?

  “You okay, Maxine?” Scott asked her.

  “I’m fine,” she replied dryly.

  “You seem different—like you here, but you ain’t here,” Scott said with suspicion in his voice.

  “Baby, I’m here. I’m always gonna be here,” she said with a thin smile.

  Scott stared at her closely. She looked beautiful. Her eyes were sparkling and she had this radiance—but for what? And her irritability toward him didn’t go unnoticed. He studied her actions and lingered on her every word. When he saw her, she was glowing about something, and he felt it wasn’t about him. When he gave her a deep embrace at the beginning of their visit, Maxine felt a little healthier in his arms than she should have. She was eating well, it appeared.

  Also, she wasn’t talkative. She seemed aloof and distracted by something else. Scott was a seasoned vet. He knew Maxine’s feelings were someplace else. His conclusion was that she was fucking another man. But he had no proof yet. The fact that she had stopped wearing her engagement ring was another red flag. She kept saying it was lost, then misplaced, and that it was probably somewhere in the penthouse. It had him vexed. He continuously jumped down Bugsy’s throat each week. “Find out who she’s fucking!” he would growl. “I wanna fuckin’ know who’s in my home!”

  Calmly, Bugsy would reassure his father that Maxine was clean. He informed Scott that she spent majority of her time indoors, and no one went to see her. He advised his father that he was becoming paranoid. Scott somewhat believed his son. Maybe he was overreacting. Bugsy was their only line of defense. He had to instill into his father’s head that Maxine was a good woman and he had nothing to worry about.

  “I love you, baby,” Maxine said sincerely. “And I miss you so much.”

  Maxine had to keep up the show for him. She found herself slipping and thinking about Bugsy too often, and she could feel that Scott was noticing something was wrong.

  “I don’t know what to do without you, baby. I’m lost,” she added. Her eyes started to water and Scott looked at her with empathy.

  They held hands across the table. He squeezed her fingers into his and said, “We gonna get through this, baby. I promise you. I’ll be home soon.”

  She smiled. “I just want to be with you again.”

  “I know. I want you too.”

  Scott took a deep breath and stared into Maxine’s eyes. He knew why he fell in love with Maxine. Since the beginning she was die hard for him and she was smart. He felt that maybe it was the money that had Maxine worried and feeling distant. She didn’t have access to anything he owned. Am I being petty? he thought. Why didn’t he trust her? He knew that she was a good woman and he didn’t always treat her as such—especially over twenty years ago. He’d put money before their relationship and had children with her best friend. He made a vow to himself that he was going to make it up to her once he got out. It would start with having Bugsy give her fifty thousand dollars to buy herself something nice to cheer her up.

  “Baby, I need to use the bathroom,” she said.

  “Again? You just used the bathroom less than a half-hour ago.”

  “I think I might be coming down with something.”

  “You getting sick?”

  “I don’t know.”

  She hurried to the nearest bathroom. The COs were watching carefully. Scott sat there and pondered. Once again, he strongly felt that something was off. He tightened his fists on the table and his eyes narrowed into an angry gaze. He hated to be made a fool of. He knew when someone was lying to him, and it wasn’t what Maxine was saying as much as her body language. Yes, she knew all the right things to say to throw him off her trail, but using the bathroom twice in a half-hour and her inattentiveness spoke volumes. Even the outfit she wore today, was it to distract him?—to show her cleavage to take attention away from her lying eyes?

  Maxine returned looking a bit under the weather.

  “You okay?” he asked her coolly.

  “I’m fine.”

  “You sure?”

  She nodded.

  During a moment of silence between them, Scott came up with an idea. The visitation room had two vending machines and he instructed Maxine to get him some Planters Honey Roasted Peanuts. She did. Scott opened the package and ate a few peanuts, but the aroma of the nuts suddenly made Maxine nauseous and Scott fixed his eyes on her. Her rapid nausea told him everything he needed to know—she was pregnant!

  “You fuckin’ whore! I’m gonna fuckin’ kill you!” He lunged at Maxine with the insanity of a demon.

  Maxine flew back and jumped out of her chair just in time, away from his murderous grasp. She was shocked by his sudden outburst of rage. He had seemingly lost all control. His eyes danced with madness.

  “I’ll fuckin’ kill you! You’re pregnant, bitch! You think I wouldn’t find out!” he screamed.

  Scott’s wild actions sent the room into panic. Other visitors and inmates stared at the ensuing squabble with wide eyes, and the corrections officers hurried to restrain Scott and regain order inside the room. They grabbed Scott forcefully and dragged him away from a frightened Maxine and back into detention.

  Maxine was astounded. Things went from good to ugly in a heartbeat. But she was more surprised by what he shouted to her—pregnant! She couldn’t be pregnant, and at her age. How would he know before her? She stood there in the room bewildered and placed her hand against her stomach.

  Pregnant?

  ***

  Bugsy sat in the visitation room and waited for his father to show up. When Scott came through the doors, the look on Scott’s face told Bugsy that something had happened. Although Scott had caused a scene the day before, his clout and reputation served him well. The warden had overlooked the incident, as long as it wouldn’t happen again. Scott promised the warden that it wouldn’t and requested a visit with Bugsy.

  The heat o
f rage and betrayal was pouring from Scott’s body. As soon as he sat down opposite his son, he leaned in closer to rattle off his demands.

  He angrily whispered to Bugsy, “I want that bitch Maxine dead.”

  Bugsy leaned back. “What? Why?”

  “Nigga, don’t fuckin’ question me. I gave you a fuckin’ order and I want you to carry it out. That bitch is pregnant and I ain’t the daddy!”

  “Pregnant?” Bugsy was stunned. “Did she tell you this herself?”

  “Nigga, what I tell you? I want her dead. I could see it all over her, the bathroom trips and the nausea, the plump breasts and flushed face. I put six kids into your mother. I know the symptoms.”

  Bugsy did everything in his power not to show his shock or fear. Maxine was pregnant, supposedly, and he knew it was his baby. But he couldn’t show nervousness in front of Scott. The man was masterful at picking up on body language and facial expressions.

  Scott glared at his son like he was the anti-Christ. “You ignorant muthafucka, you’re not doing your job watching her or you’re lying to me. Either way, you fucked up! And I won’t tolerate disobedience.”

  Bugsy quickly found himself in a difficult position. Scott continued to rant, saying, “I want that bitch tortured until she gives up the baby’s father, and I want him dead too.”

  “Pop, let me talk to her and see what’s up. Maybe you’re wrong.”

  “I told you, find out the father and you get rid of her now—her and the baby, or I’ll hammer you down, muthafucka! That’s a direct order, so don’t fuckin’ defy me!” he said with unquestionable authority.