Paul woke tangled in sheets damp with sweat and twisted in knots, as if he had spent the night thrashing from a fever dream. The phone was blaring beside his bed. He couldn’t remember his dreams, but he was sure Audrey featured in them. He was sure Matrix had made an appearance, as well.
His hand found the phone and managed to bring it to his ear without him having to open his eyes. “Yeah?”
“What do you mean, ‘yeah’?” Joey’s voice. “Paulie, is that how you answer the phone? Not hello, but yeah?”
Paul sat up, suddenly wide awake. Why was Joey calling? He wasn’t supposed to be anywhere this morning, was he? No, this was his day off. It had to be something bad if Joey was calling this early. He checked his watch. 6:12 AM.
Joey laughed. “Hey, relax. I’m just bustin’ your chops.”
Paul forced a laugh.
“Listen, the reason I’m calling,” Joey continued, “is ‘cause I need you to do something this morning.”
“Sure.”
“What, you don’t even want to know what it is?”
“No. I mean, sure. Yeah, of course I want to know what it is.” It was too early for this.
Joey laughed again. “Good. I like your, whatjacallit, enthusiasm. Okay, listen, this is what I need you to do. Put on a good suit and head over to my old man’s place. Get there about nine.”
“Nine this morning?”
“No. Nine next Tuesday morning. Yeah, of course nine this morning. Why else would I be calling at this fuckin’ hour?” That laugh of his again, half smart-alecky and half drunken stupor.
“Okay, no problem.” Paul said. Of course it was no problem. He couldn’t very well refuse, could he? “I’ll meet you there at nine.”
“You won’t meet me,” Joey said. “I’m going to sleep. I’ve been up all night working. This is gonna be all you. It’s your chance to shine, Paulie.”
“What’s this about, Mr. Tag…Joey?”
“What’s it about?” Joey said.
Paul hated it when someone answered a question with a question. Not that he’d mention it to Joey, of course.
“It’s about what we talked about last night,” Joey said. “My old man wants to discuss the new position with you. Give you the job perimeters.”
“Parameters.”
“Yeah. Isn’t that what I said?” Joey sounded irritated now.
No, you said “perimeters,” you stupid illiterate shithead, Paul thought, and then worried he had accidentally said it aloud. Luckily, he hadn’t. Paul figured it would’ve been the quickest job promotion and subsequent firing in history. Only in his case, a firing meant literally that — the firing of a bullet into his brain.
“Anyway, he’ll discuss the job with you. And he’s gonna have a bunch of computer questions for you, too. The idea is, this new position is going to oversee a bunch of financial accounts. We’ll need top of the line stuff, high tech security that can’t be hacked. Lots of, whatjacallit, fire traps.”
“Firewalls,” Paul said.
“Yeah. That, too. So,” Joey said, “you think you can handle all this?
“Definitely,” Paul said. Right after I consume a half a dozen aspirin and a gallon of coffee.
Paul showered and the restless delirium of the previous night faded. He dressed in a navy blue suit, light blue shirt, and wine colored tie. A dab of styling gel, a quick blow dry, the Rolex, the pinkie ring, and his contact lenses. Finally, he was ready to face the world.
He stood in front of the bathroom mirror and said, “Okay.” And then again, “Okay.”
But it wasn’t okay. Not because he was going to see Joe Sr. It was because he knew Audrey would be there.
***
As was his custom, Joe sat at the head of the long, polished table in his dining room. Dominic had the seat to his right. A right-hand seat for the right-hand man. The Margolin twins sat across from him.
Peter and John Margolin were identical twin brothers in every way, down to their brown, three-piece suits and shag haircuts. They also both possessed an eidetic memory, which was why they worked in tandem. If one missed a vital piece of information, or even a bit of info that seemed insignificant, the other brother was sure to have picked it up and retained it.
Joe reeled off numbers corresponding to accounts and funds contained therein — Dominic wasn’t sure which. Joe was constantly transferring money to different accounts, as well as opening and closing them seemingly at whim, and the Margolin twins were in charge of keeping track of it all. As Joe spoke, one twin typed the data into a thin laptop, while the other wrote everything down on a notepad, using a form of shorthand only he and his brother could decipher.
The table was stacked with platters of breakfast food: scrambled eggs, toast, bagels, bacon, sausage, pancakes, butter, cream cheese, and blueberry syrup. A glass and chrome dining cart sat against the far wall, holding a carafe of coffee and a pitcher of orange juice, along with glasses, cups, and saucers.
Dominic had helped himself to a cup of coffee and some dry wheat toast. He wasn’t much of a breakfast eater, but Joe had insisted Dominic eat something. Dominic had even let himself get talked into eating half a grapefruit.
“So fresh, like it was just picked off the tree,” Joe had assured him.
Joe himself didn’t eat but merely sipped from a glass of orange juice. The Margolin twins, however, acted as if they couldn’t consume the food fast enough. They ate with one hand while copying down information with the other, occasionally stopping long enough to ask a question of Joe or to shovel more food on their plates.
Despite the twins’ voracious appetite, a mountain of food remained on the table. Joe always had his cook prepare too much. Dominic thought it was an enormous waste, but the few times he had brought it up to Joe, the old man had waved him off.
“Better to have too much than not enough,” Joe would always say. And that would be the end of the discussion.
As Joe conducted his business, Dominic drank his coffee, ate his toast, and regarded the twins. With their wide-lapelled suits and dated haircuts, they could have stepped straight from a publicity shot of New York’s Studio 54, circa 1975. As odd as they were, the family entrusted them with hundreds of millions of dollars and, more important, enough background information of Joe’s illegal enterprises to put him and the rest of the family behind bars until the next ice age.
Placing so much trust in two individuals gave Dominic pause, but Joe didn’t seem to worry over it. Rumor around the family’s inner circle — the small group of people who knew of the twins’ existence and job duties, which included Dominic, Joey, and maybe a handful of security personnel — was the twins were Joe’s nephews. Another popular rumor was Joe had them specially grown in an underground lab somewhere. Dominic was partial to this one, probably because he was the one who’d started it.
Abruptly, Joe stopped and said, “That’s enough for today.”
Each twin froze, one hand suspended over their laptop or notes, the other with a forkful of food between their mouth and plate. They put their forks down and rose in unison, each attempting to pack the remaining bacon and scrambled eggs between slices of toast. His mouth overflowing with half-eaten food, one of them said something unintelligible to Joe. Joe must have understood him because he nodded solemnly at the man.
Once the twins were gone, Joe said, “The kid you recommended for the rooftop security. John, is it?”
Dominic nodded. “They call him “Little John.”
“He left at seven. I think he’ll work out fine.”
Still dressed in silk pajamas and a burgundy robe, Joe hardly seemed to have the energy to change out of his sleepwear anymore. Dominic could remember a time when Joe was never seen in anything except a perfectly tailored suit. The white hair was immaculately coiffed, but his face was etched with fatigue.
“But you still didn’t tell me why I had to replace the last person that worked that shift.”
Dominic said, “The last man had roving eyes. I took care of it.”
“Good. And I trust the new man won’t have such problems?”
“No, otherwise he wouldn’t be in that job.”
Joe laughed. “I love you, Dom. After all these years, you’re still the cocky, arrogant young man you were from day one.”
“Maybe more so.” Dominic took two onion bagels from the basket on the table along with a serrated-edge kitchen knife, and sliced the bagels lengthwise.
“What’s on your mind this morning, Joe? We just talked last night. Is this new business?”
“There’s someone I want you to meet,” Joe said. “He should be here momentarily.”
Dominic unwrapped a block of cream cheese and cut two hefty slices. He placed them individually on the bagels, then cut them in half. He saw Joe’s expression.
“For Manny. He hasn’t had breakfast yet.”
Joe nodded in acknowledgement.
“Who’s the guest of honor?” Dominic asked.
“Cooper Jacks.”
Dominic paused and looked at Joe, whose expression bore a glint of amusement. The old man actually enjoyed springing this on him.
“Crackerjack? Since when does he work for the family?” Dominic held his temper. Maybe Joe was kidding. It wouldn’t be the first time. He could tell by Joe’s demeanor, however, that it wasn’t a joke. Joe was already shifting into defensive mode.
“He doesn’t like to be called ‘Crackerjack’, from what I’ve been told. I just bought his contract a few days ago. Joey had come to me.”
“Joey.” Dominic slapped his hand on the table hard enough to make the dishes rattle. “I knew it.”
“Now, Dom—”
“I don’t get it, Joe. You know your son isn’t cut out for this. Up till now, you always made decisions for him, backed by my opinions. Whenever he struck out on his own, he’s always failed. And you were always there to clean up his mess, backed by me again. Now, you’re letting him make all these high level decisions.”
“Dominic,” Joe cut him off with a stern tone. “Stop it.”
Dominic sat back in his chair and folded his arms. The disapproval in Joe’s voice had bothered him.
Joe said, “You know that I think of you like a son. But Joey is my son. My only son. He’s my flesh and blood, and you know how much weight that carries in our business.”
Dominic nodded reluctantly. He knew it was true, not that he agreed with this level of thinking. Being related to a great leader did not necessarily mean that an heir inherited such traits. In Joey’s case, in fact, Dominic believed just the opposite had occurred.
“I want Joey to be in a position to eventually step into my shoes. You’ll always be an important and vital part of the family. You know that.”
“But?” Dominic said.
“But Joey has to be the figurehead. I would like for the both of you to work together. Dominic, with your instincts and knowledge, and Joey’s heritage, the two of you, together, could accomplish so much.”
Dominic shook his head. “You’re dreaming, Joe. Your son and I hate each other. You know that.”
“I know you’ve had some difficulties in the past.”
“So why are you pushing for this?”
Joe’s gaze became distant and his voice dropped an octave. “It’s become increasingly clear that I have to prepare for the inevitable. I’m not a young man anymore.”
“Are you sick, Joe? Is that what this is about?”
Joe waved him off, but the defeated posture he was slinking into told Dominic the answer. The man was too pale, too weak-looking lately. Even now, he didn’t seem like the old iron-willed dictator that had first brought him into the fold. He looked more like a frightened old man, one who realized life had not only caught up with him but was threatening to overrun him.
“Joe, maybe you should talk to me about this,” Dominic said, thinking he’d like to know what to expect and, consequently, plan for any contingency. He had known this day would come. He had just hoped for few more years to prepare. He also wondered if Joey knew, but doubted it. Joey was too self-absorbed to notice anything beyond the tip of his nose.
“Not yet,” Joe said. “But soon. In the meantime, please honor my wishes.”
“Fine,” he said. “Okay. You’re the boss. Whatever you say, I’m behind it.” He stood and picked up the two bagels. “I’ll be around if you need me, Joe. I’ve got a few stops to make today. Call me if anything comes up.”
“If you wait a few minutes, Mr. Jacks will be here,” Joe said. “I could formally introduce you.”
He could swear the old bastard was trying not to smile, which made Dominic grin.
“Nah,” Dominic said. “Why ruin an otherwise perfect day?”
They both laughed, and some of the tension deflated. As Dominic walked out, he stopped by Joe long enough to give him a reassuring pat on the shoulder. It was his way of letting the old man know he could still be counted on. He didn’t think Joe would ever doubt him; that wasn’t the point of the gesture. The point was to let Joe know Dominic wasn’t mad at him. Joey, however, was another story.
As he made his way through the house, thoughts of retaliation against Joey occupied his mind. Could he organize a preemptive strike? No, it was too late for that. Joe had already signed off on Joey’s cockamamie ideas. Could he undermine it somehow? Make Joey look bad to the family, which in turn would possibly embarrass Joe enough to make him want to distance himself from his idiotic offspring?
When Dominic reached the front foyer, movement at the top of the stairs drew his attention. Audrey watched him from the upper landing. They stared at each other for a long moment. She descended the stairs, moving slowly, deliberately, each step a purpose.
She was dressed in a thick, pink bathrobe. Her legs and feet were bare. Wet and shining in the morning light, her hair was brushed over one shoulder. He caught the scent of her shampoo. It smelled of apples and cinnamon.
“Why, Mr. Carelli,” she said once she reached the bottom of the stairs and was finally standing before him. “What a pleasant surprise. Did you come by to see Joe, or…?
Her robe was open at the top, revealing a lot of cleavage. Dominic kept his eyes locked on her face.
“Or what?”
She shrugged, causing the robe to open a bit more. “Or did you come by for another reason?”
Suddenly, she was right there, encroaching on his personal space. So close, he felt the stirring of her breath on his chin. All he would have to do would be to bow his head, and their lips would meet.
“I’ll say one thing for you, dollface,” he said softly.
“What’s that?” she whispered. Her eyelids lowered, and her head tilted to the side.
“You’re not subtle.”
He looked at the exposed part of her chest, his gaze lingering on a smattering of freckles in the cleft between her breasts. Then he pulled her robe closed and he turned away.
When his hand touched the front door’s knob, she asked: “The guard on the roof. Why did you get rid of him? Was that for Joe? Or for me?”
He gave her a wink. Let her read into that whatever she wants, he thought. Then he opened the door and walked through it.
Outside, Manny leaned against the Caddy, sipping from a thermos of coffee and engaging in conversation with the daytime doorman.
“Hey, chief.” Dominic called out.
The doorman turned, young guy, Dominic couldn’t recall his name, with dark brown hair and a lump near the bridge of his nose from an improperly set break.
“Yeah, Mr. Carelli?”
Dominic walked down the front stoop. “You’re supposed to be up here guarding the door and watching the street, not down there shootin’ the shit with my driver.”
The guard hustled back to his post by the door.
“Hey, Dom, don’t be too hard on him,” Manny said, low so only Dominic could hear. “It was partly my fault. I started talkin’ to him first.”
“That’s not the point, Manny,” Dominic said. “These guys have been getting too lazy lately, which means they’re getting sloppy. Which means it could come back on us somehow. We can’t afford that.” He handed Manny the bagels. “Here. I brought you breakfast.”
“Dom, you’re a lifesaver. I was starvin’.” Manny hurriedly unwrapped the napkin and took a bite from the first bagel.
“Slow down, big guy,” he told him. “Chew your food properly. You’re gonna give yourself indigestion.”
“I figured you’d want to get on the road,” Manny said with a mouthful.
“No,” Dominic said. “We’ll hang out here for a few minutes. I’m waiting on someone.”
Dominic looked up and down the empty street and pretended to smoke a cigarette. He never actually inhaled, just kept it in his mouth and exhaled. He liked the appearance of smoking and the action of keeping busy during idle times such as these. He liked, too, that it made him seem more human if he smoked. The men looked up to him more, simply because he displayed an affectation for a vice.
“Want a bite, Dom?” Manny held the second bagel out, having polished the first one off.
“No, thanks.” He dropped the cigarette butt on the sidewalk and ground it out with his heel. He glanced up at the doorman who displayed an unnatural interest in picking lint off his coat.
“Hey, knucklehead. You alert up there?” Dominic asked.
“What?” The man straightened up and looked around. “Yeah, Mr. Carelli. I’m alert.”
“Good. Pretend like you’re surveying the area. Okay?” Dominic turned away and said under his breath, “Christ.”
In the distance, a loud rhythmic thumping mixed with a screeching caught his attention. He fixed his gaze up the street. A red Corvette whipped around a corner and headed in their direction.
Dominic recognized the music coming from the car. It was speed metal. To Dominic’s musical sensibilities, it sounded like a fork caught in in a garbage disposal.
The Corvette was candy-apple red with gold rims, smoked glass, and a running light around the personalized license plate, which read: JACKS. The car slowed to a stop across the street from them and bucked once as the driver came off the clutch too quickly.
Manny said, “What the fuck is that?”
“That,” Dominic answered, “is Cooper Jacks.”
“Fuckin’ Crackerjack?”
The deafening music stopped, and the driver’s side door opened. Jacks stepped out of the car and immediately smiled. Dominic plunged his hand in his pocket to keep it from involuntarily grabbing his gun.
Jacks was a few inches taller than Dominic, probably six one or so. His hair was bottle blond showing dark at the roots and pulled back into a ponytail that flipped over his shoulder at the turn of his head. He was rail thin, too; his clothes hung loosely on him. And his clothes…
He wore a mustard yellow blazer over a light blue tie-dye shirt and blue jeans, and a gold loop in his left ear. When he smiled, Dominic glimpsed a gold tooth.
To top it off, Jacks was wearing white dress shoes. Dominic shook his head. Jesus Christ. White goddamn dress shoes. He returned Jacks’ stupid smile with a look of disgust.
“It’s good to see you, Carelli,” Jacks said.
“Wish I could say the same, Crackerjack.”
“Cooper Jacks,” he said, emphasizing it. “Not Crackerjack. You know I hate that name.”
“Yeah, I know.” Dominic smiled. “So how the hell did you manage to worm your way into this job?”
Jacks was hopped up on something. It was evident in his dilated pupils and the jerky movements, his head bobbing and his eyes constantly roaming. He might’ve just been over-caffeinated, but Dominic sensed it was more than that.
Jacks said, “I’m good, of course. I had fourteen kills last year.”
“How many of those were you paid to kill, and how many were bystanders?”
“Hey, you know. This profession ain’t for the weak,” Jacks said. “Sometimes you got civilian casualties. What can you do?”
Dominic said, “One of those civilian casualties was a kid. You proud of that, Crackerjack?”
Jacks laughed abruptly and shook his finger at Dominic.
“You,” Jacks said. “You’re testing me. Trying to see if you can push my buttons.”
Dominic said, “I thought you liked being a free agent. Why do you want to join the family?”
Which he knew wasn’t entirely true. Jacks was a free agent because nobody could stand to have him around full time. Nobody, apparently, except the one person in the world more annoying than Jacks: Joey.
“Well, Carelli, it’s true I did like flying solo. But Joey Tagliani made me a very generous offer.”
“Hey, Crackerjack. Are you even Italian?”
“One quarter, on my mother’s side.”
“What are the other three quarters?”
Dominic watched his expression, saw Jacks fight back anger, then ultimately lose the battle.
“Hey, Carelli, what the fuck business is it of yours? Huh? And stop calling me Crackerjack. It’s Cooper Jacks.”
“I know what your name is, asshole, and I got your number, too.”
He saw the look in Jacks’ eyes and the twitch of his fingers. He knew the man wanted to go for his gun, was weighing the idea in his mind, tempted to do it despite the consequences. Probably wanted to so bad he could taste it. Jacks secreted anger in waves of heat, palpable enough to see it shimmer across his face. His hand twitched again, and Dominic waited. As soon as the hand moved, Dominic was going to draw and fire.
He sensed Manny watching as well. Manny didn’t carry a gun mainly because Dominic wouldn’t let him. Manny’s hands were too big and clumsy for a handgun. If the need arose, there was a double-barreled sawed-off shotgun underneath the front seat. Not that he would need back-up in this case. The shooting would be over before Manny could get the car door open.
“You keep pushing me.” Jacks was focused now, not bouncy and sporadic like before. “You keep pushing me, motherfucker.”
“And what?” Dominic stepped to him. His hand, his gun hand, was out of his pocket. He flexed his fingers.
“I’m faster than you, Carelli. I can outdraw you.”
“Think so?”
Actually, Dominic figured it was probably true. He pictured Jacks standing in front of a mirror, practicing his quick draw technique. And, he was rumored to be fast. Lightning fast.
Unlike Jacks, Dominic wasn’t concerned with speed. For him, it was all about precision. Take out the target as quickly and quietly as possible, and not in front of witnesses. He likened it to removing a brain tumor: excise the diseased portion while leaving the healthy part intact.
It was the Cooper Jacks of the world who gave the profession a bad name. Jacks liked to make noise, liked witnesses, liked everyone knowing when he was on a job. He used ten bullets when only two were required. He would take out his target and anyone standing next to them, and thought his recklessness made him more dangerous.
Dominic was polar opposite. He never involved anyone who wasn’t in “the game,” meaning, if they weren’t part of the criminal life, he took great pains to protect them. His ideal outcome of a job was for the target to disappear without a trace. No “civilian casualties,” as that idiot Jacks stated. He found it better for his reputation; it made him appear mysterious, a shadow figure, and hence, infinitely dangerous. It caused rumors to be generated about him, kills accredited to him he had nothing to do with, stories of his exploits to be embellished and exaggerated.
He allowed it to go on like that, unchecked, even stoking the flames himself when necessary. All to build his reputation. Because in this business, your reputation was everything.
At the moment, his reputation was furthest from his thoughts. Instead, he watched the bleach blond, trigger-happy, badly dressed joke attempting to stare him down. Dominic wanted to shoot him; God how he wanted to. He wasn’t a bloodthirsty man, but he craved it now. He pictured it in bright, vibrant colors, pulling his gun and shooting Jacks in the middle of his stupid face. He craved it so much, his hand trembled.
The moment was there, and then gone. Jacks smiled, though it appeared forced by the inordinate amount of time it took for his lips to assume the cheerful position. He threw his hands up.
“You’re testing me again,” Jacks said. “And I almost failed. Whatever problems you got with me, take it up with Joey. I work for him.”
“You work for Joe, not Joey.”
Jacks’ smile turned genuine at that remark.
“For now,” he said. “But one day that’ll change.”
He walked up the front stoop of the brownstone. Dominic watched the doorman let him in, then turned to Manny, who looked relieved.
“Jeez, Dom. I thought you two were gonna draw down on each other.”
“I thought so, too, for a minute,” Dominic replied.
“I didn’t think I could get to the sawed-off in time.”
“Probably not, big guy.”
Manny said, “Do you think you coulda got him before he got you?”
Dominic shrugged. He knew Manny wanted reassurance, but he didn’t believe in lying to his best, and probably only, friend.
“Crackerjack is rumored to be fast,” he said. “But Manny, I promise you this: If anyone’s going to kill me, it won’t be a piece of shit like that.”
“Well, he looks like he’s gonna be trouble.”
“No kidding.” Dominic moved to the Caddy’s passenger door. “Let’s go to Gino’s. I need to unwind.”
Manny picked up his thermos. “Hey, Dom? How come he hates the name Crackerjack?”
Dominic stopped with his hand on the door handle. He looked across the car roof at Manny.
“Jacks and I started off as low level workers around the same time, me with the family and him with another rival organization. Back then, there was more fraternization between the families, before the feds took a bunch of them out and Joe turned his family into a big business. Some of us would get together and trade war stories and complain about our jobs. Jacks was around, too. Luckily, I never had much contact with him, or I probably would’ve killed the asshole.”
Dominic considered his words a moment, then added: “Maybe it wasn’t so lucky. I should’ve killed him back then and done the world a favor.” He shrugged. “Anyway, Jacks found out everyone was calling him Crackerjack, and he liked it, at first. He thought it was a play on his name, or maybe because he was such a good shot.”
“He’s that good?”
“Nah,” Dominic said. “Like I said, he’s fast, but he’s not accurate. He couldn’t hit a target unless he was standing right next to it. But that wasn’t what his nickname was about. He was called Crackerjack because he’s like one of those cheap prizes you get in a box of Crackerjacks. You know?”
“Sure,” Manny said. “Like when you’re a kid and you buy it for the toy inside.”
“Right. But it was always some cheap, flimsy thing that was always a disappointment. That’s Cooper Jacks. The loud clothes, the flashy car… It’s just a colorful package, like a Crackerjack box. Underneath it, there’s just a cheap piece of shit you’re stuck with.”
Manny smiled. “Who gave Jacks that nickname?”
Dominic winked. “Who do you think?”
Author Commentary
Not much to say on this chapter.
Although Paul and Audrey make appearances, this chapter is very much focused on Dominic.
Joey makes a brief appearance (albeit over the phone). As always, he’s annoying. And as always, he’s fun to write.
Besides Joey, the things I especially like in this chapter are:
- The introduction of Crackerjack, who’s even more unlikeable than Joey.
- The look inside Dominic’s head, where we see how much thought actually goes into his position and his constant having to strategize to stay ahead of everything.
- Dominic making the bagels for Manny, which is a great indication of their relationship. They’re more than friends. They’re like brothers.