That Kind of Funeral

I wish that I could tell you it was that kind of funeral.

You know, the kind where the mourners, a splotch of black spread out on the grass beneath rain-soaked skies, wrestle with their flailing umbrellas but keep their solemn faces focused on the wreath-adorned mahogany coffin. Where the priest drones on about ashes to ashes while the now even wealthier widow wipes an errant raindrop from her sculpted face, careful not to dislodge her fluttering fine lace veil.

Surely Frank deserved no less.

But it was just me, the gravediggers, who appeared eager to get back to shelter, and him. And the drenching rain.

The man who appeared to be in charge pointed at the soggy funeral straps at the edge of the grave, and the others grabbed hold, groaning as they lifted the pine box clear off its pallet, the casket seeming to float, with only the slightest movement betraying their strain. The man then took his time sliding the pallet off the grave top, careful not to fall in himself, his well-worn boots leaving large, muddy prints collecting water.

Slowly, the men lowered the casket into the grave, careful to avoid the freshly exposed sides of the old pit. The deed done, they stood there, hands on their shovels, looking at me. “Do you wish to say a few words?” the pallet mover volunteered, a sly smile on his face.

I shook my head, silent, and grabbed a shovel to help. He nodded, and the men dug into the earth pile in earnest, heavy lumps of wet clay landing on the casket with loud thumps. Soon, the casket was fully covered, and he lifted his hand. “Enough.” He put down his shovel and turned back to me.“The earth mover will do the rest,” he said, pointing at the nearby machine that must have dug out the grave the night before.

“As we discussed?” I fished the bills out of my pocket and held out my right hand for a handshake, hundreds folded in. He did a double-take, then shook the hand, not a dick contest but the solid, firm shake of someone who works with their hands. Kept the Benjamins.

I nodded my appreciation, then held my hands up to the rain, palms wide open. The large droplets smashed against the already caking layer of grave dust, each drop a tiny crater splash. I watched them splash, paying little attention as the voices of the workers receded, the water running up my sleeves and down my neck, until a distant lightning strike broke me out of my reverie.

“Oh, like you suddenly care,” I told the sky. Then got into the car.

#

It didn’t take long for her to call. The window wipers were thrashing back and forth, working overtime to try and keep any visibility at all through the windshield of Frank’s Benz, which I was busy racing up the lonely suburban road, putting as much distance between me and San Michele’s as possible. I’d just turned up the volume, Jagger introducing himself, when the hands-free interrupted the beat.

“Jesus, Gina.” We’d agreed to use burners; mine was lying right next to me in the console. But she called his phone. I paused for a moment, decided nothing could really be safe. Fuck. “Yes,” I said, and hung up. Goddammit. The burner rang next.

“Oh, Tommy, don’t be mad,” she said. “Isn’t that better anyway? There’s a record of me speaking to him now? An alibi?” Her voice did what it always does: melted my anger away. I wanted to say nothing. But said “Right.”

“It will be just like we agreed before,” she said. “He visited his dad’s grave. Then drove off. Car abandoned near Teterboro. Probably went down to Mexico, to party with his whores.” She chuckled. “And then, who knows… Tommy, you there?” she asked when I didn’t answer right away.

She was so dangerous. “Just remember what you have to tell the guys, Gina. Or the Feds,” I told her. “Don’t you go speculating or nothin’. Don’t say Mexico. Just say he told you he has to go away for a while on business. Or they’ll start suspecting something.”

“Sure, Tommy, sure… But when will I see you, hon?”

Her plaintive, tiny kitten voice formed a pit in my stomach. So dangerous. “Gina, we talked about this. Not for a few days. I have to be seen with the guys, sharing in their confusion, and then start lining up support from Brooklyn and Staten Island.” I sighed. “Taking you out on the town is not in the cards.”

Her voice turned suddenly throaty. “How about taking me right here in Frank’s kitchen, Tommy?” She giggled.

“You’ll be the death of me, woman,” I said, exasperated, and hung up.

#

It wasn’t a whisper that started it. More like a warm breath, the kind that no one else would notice, and yet makes you doubt your sanity and go, what, me?

“I’m going to fix myself a drink, Frank, you want anything?” she said, and he waved her off, the dismissive gesture of a man who knows this woman stays with him for one reason, and one reason only. She didn’t offer one to me. You don’t offer one to the hired help.

“How’s that thing going?” Frank asked me. “I told Jimmy to back you up if anything.”

Jimmy was the veteran in the organization, if not the heir apparent. I’m the up-and-coming star. Always being tested. And “that thing” was a particularly sensitive debt that needed collecting. Some distant relative.

“No need for Jimmy, boss, I’m taking care of it. Should be resolved soon.”

He took out a Cuban, and I lit it for him, putting the lighter down on the table when the cigar finally caught.

That’s when she walked back into the room, Cosmo in hand. It was hard not to follow those swaying hips, but I did my best to focus on Frank. I was almost relieved when she sat down.

She took out a cigarette, and I thought about it. Decided against it. My shoulder didn’t even twitch.

But maybe she saw something in my eyes. “Can you light it, sport?” she asked, and then “Oh, never mind” before I could answer, and leaned over the table to grab the lighter. And seemed to breathe something into my ear...

Only two weeks ago. And now Frank was dead, buried under another man’s name, a shot between his eyes.

Maybe he shouldn’t have been so dismissive.

#

“Nah, do I look like I’m out for a nice family dinner?” Jimmy said, shaking his head and waving the bottle of Montepulciano away. “Something harder,” he called after the hurried waiter. “And coffee beans.” He turned to me. “Tommy, I’m telling you, something’s not right.”

I fished a green olive off the plate, sucking the meaty part off the pit. The trick was not to overdo it and look too concerned. But not too dismissive either. “He’s disappeared like this before, right?” I said, hoping my shrug wasn’t too much. I nodded for him to fill my shot with the sambuca. “What does Brooklyn think?”

I knew it was a mistake the moment I said it. Fuck. Something dangerous flickered through Jimmy’s eyes. But he forced it away, giving me a wide grin. “Brooklyn, eh, Tommy? A bit early for that kind of talk, I would think…” He shook his head. “The guy never brought the coffee beans. Is he new or something? Oh, there he is.” His hand went to his pocket, tensing me up, but it was just his cigarette lighter. “M-may I?” the waiter stuttered. Jimmy paused, hand hovering in mid-air, then looked at the man’s long barbecue lighter. “Sure,” he said with a nod, putting his own away. “For Tommy here, too.”

The flame had barely a chance to peter out when Jimmy picked up the shot glass. “Salute.” He took a sip, then crushed a coffee bean with his teeth. “Good stuff.”

“Salute,” I responded in kind, hoping I wasn’t too loud. The blood surge that had rushed upward moments ago beat my ears like a drum. “Meant nothing by it, Jimmy.” Weak, but the best I could do on the spot. My mouth suddenly dry, I chased the sambuca with a generous gulp of Pellegrino. I should try and get ahead of this. “So you don’t believe he’s in Mexico? Then where?” Jimmy shook his head, shrugging, and I felt the menace recede. Maybe I’d just imagined it.

“I don’t know,” he said. “Gina says he told her he has to go away for a while… She thought he might be running from an imminent arrest, but the Feds haven’t been by.” He downed the rest of the sambuca instead of sipping it, then poured himself another one, and pointed at my shot glass. “You?” I nodded, and he refilled it. “Nothing from our boys in blue, either.” He leaned in. “United front if something happened, huh, Tommy? No sense in letting others decide for us.”

The sense of menace flooded back in. Jimmy was making a play. So quickly? Why?

I picked up the shot. “Salute.”

#

She jumped on me as soon as I closed the worn-out Motel 6 door, pushing me back against the wall as she drowned me in her lips. “We did it, Tommy,” she said when we finally came up for air. She stood back, face still just inches from mine, and brushed my right cheek with the back of her hand. “My Tommy. So clever. No one suspects.” I stayed silent, unable to break away from those wide-open grey eyes, the slow sweep of her long black eyelashes freezing me in place.

I shook my head to clear it, swallowed. “Did anyone see you? We have to be careful.”

She pursed her lips and pushed me back, turning away. “I had brunch with Flo, then went shopping.” She sat on the bed, took out a cigarette, lit it. “No one saw me leave the mall, I made sure.” She glanced at her watch. “And no one will bat an eye if I’m back home in an hour or so.” She patted the bed to her side. “Come on, Tommy,” she said, a cat toying with her mouse. “We don’t want you nervous.”

I took a quick peek through the window shades. Gina’s convertible stood out like a sore thumb amongst the Camrys and the F-150s in the parking lot. But probably not the first time this lot had seen a convertible.

“You talked to Jimmy?” I asked her as I sat down next to her. “How did he seem?”

“Shhh,” she said, putting her finger on my lips, grabbing the neck of my t-shirt, and pulling it upward.

I grabbed her by the hands, stopping her, my t-shirt halfway up, then let go. “Gina, I’m serious.”

“He was like the prick he always is.” She laughed as she turned to me, her right hand landing between my legs, and grabbing. “But not like this one.” She looked at me, eyes narrowing, challenging me to remove her hand. “Are we going to do this, cowboy? I said an hour.”

My phone rang. “Rescued by the bell,” Gina said, giving my shoulder a playful shove. I got up, dug the phone out of my pants. It was Jimmy. Answered with a “Yes?”

“How soon can you get down here?” came through the line. “Something’s come up.”

I stood, dumbstruck, possibilities ricocheting in my head like pinballs. Already. “… Tommy, you’re there?”

“Here, here,” I managed finally, turning back to the window. Checked outside. No new cars. “You were breaking up. What happened?”

“Not over the phone, Tommy. My place, sixish.” He hung up.

I put the phone away. “He suspects something, Gina.”

She shrugged, started unbuttoning her blouse. “Let him. He’ll find no proof, you made sure of that, didn’t you, Tommy?” She was wearing a black lace bra. I stared at it, stupefied. She chuckled, turning for me to help her unclasp it. “Seems like you’re up for this, after all, cowboy.”

I managed.

#

Scenarios played out in my head as I drove. What could Jimmy know? I’d been careful. Careful. The boss could walk in any minute, for all he knows. Why make this move? Why now? Something wasn’t adding up.

It was getting dark by the time I pulled into his circular driveway, a quiet suburban cul-de-sac. The driveway was empty. He must be home alone, his car in the garage.

I glanced around. The street looked deserted. Checked the ankle gun. The Glock was, as always, in my shoulder holster, under the suit. He’d know I was carrying. Checked myself in the visor’s mirror, combed a stray curl. Sighed. No use delaying the inevitable.

He answered the door himself, sports suit on, no visible piece. “Come in, come in, Tommy, make yourself at home.” He pointed at a pair of leather slippers lying next to the entrance and shrugged apologetically. “Here, put these on, you know how she gets about the floors, marone.”

I bent down to get the slippers.

And woke up in a dimly lit room, my head splitting. I tried to move my hands. Useless, the plastic straps that tied them to the chair just dug into my skin. Legs were tied too.

“Oh, look who’s decided to join us!” Jimmy was seated across from me, about five feet away. He motioned with his hand, and his goon jumped to light his cigar. “Go and check if he’s really up, Angelo.”

Angelo practically sprinted to oblige, crossing the distance in three quick steps and smashing my lips with his right. Bracing myself didn’t help.

I spat out bloody saliva, noting the plastic sheeting covering the basement. Looked at Jimmy. He chuckled and took a puff. “I told you, the floors.”

It wasn’t looking good. I was probably dead anyway. But maybe…

“What do you want, Jimmy? Why go through all this if you just wanted to kill me?”

His phone chimed. The tell-tale chime of a video doorbell. “Ah, our surprise guest,” Jimmy said, beaming, and motioned for Angelo to go get the door, then turned back to me.

“I just need to clear up a few details, Tommy.” He took another puff on his cigar. “Like where you put our Frankie, for instance. Or did you dispose of him? No? Well, Brooklyn will want their answers either way.” He fished out a pocket knife, flipping it open, and started cleaning under his fingernails. “You know what I mean?”

Someone was coming down the stairs. Not Angelo’s heavy steps but a lighter, stiletto knock. She stopped at the bottom, cursed as one of her heels caught in the plastic, tearing it. “Fuck’s sake, Jimmy…I asked Angelo to make us some coffee,” she added when she saw the questioning look on his face.

Gina. Still in the same blouse and dress as I saw her just hours ago. Fucking great.

Jimmy chuckled at the look on my face. “Surprise guest, like I promised, Tommy.” He turned back to her. “Gina, I think our friend here thought he’d figured all the angles. Or maybe he expected Frank.” He laughed out loud.

She snorted. “Yeah, not bloody likely. But he still hadn’t told me where, Jimmy. And you…” She paused, patting his hand. “And we,” she emphasized, “we need it, for Brooklyn. Ugh, this damn shoe.” She bent down and picked up her left shoe, checking the heel.

“Indeed, we do, hon,” Jimmy said with a nod and a wink, smacking her ass playfully. “Indeed, we do.” He turned back to me, playing with his knife again. “So, Tommy, are we going to do this the easy way?”

I spat again. “Fuck you, asshole.”

He shrugged, spreading his hands. “I tried,” he said with an exaggerated sigh, to no one in particular. “Well, Tommy,” he said, starting to get up, “you know what happens next…”

What happened next was almost too quick to follow. Gina appeared to stumble, catching Jimmy’s shoulder with her right hand, her forward momentum driving her heel straight into his left eye, as if by accident.

Jimmy made no sound as he collapsed back into his leather chair, dead on the spot.

She lifted herself off his body with a disgusted “ugh”, then shook his shoulder to double-check. Satisfied, she pushed him off the chair, and he landed on the floor with a loud thud. Then she kicked off her other shoe and bent down to pick up the pocketknife. I watched her float over to me, barefoot, knife in hand, still not entirely sure if I was predator or prey.

But she got down on her knees in front of me, making quick work of the straps. “Oh, don’t you worry, Tommy, Angelo knows,” she said when I gave the stairs a worried look. “But it was more fun this way, no?” She patted my cheek again, just as she did a few hours ago at the motel. Leaned in to look at my split lip. “You’re not mad at him, are you, hon?” she asked. “He had to. Let me kiss it and make it better.”

She kissed me, hard, not letting go as I stood up, grabbing her face in my hands, pulling her up with me. Truth be told, I wasn’t entirely sure what she enjoyed more, the kiss or the taste of fresh blood. Did it matter?

She stepped back, a satisfied grin on her face. “There, all better.” She turned to point at the dead lump of flesh that had been Jimmy less than a couple of minutes ago. “I’m going to miss these Louboutins,” she said, shaking her head. “Now, what are we going to do with the body?"

I wish that I could tell you it was that kind of funeral.