* * *
An hour later, Mitch and I were land bound, both of us staring out of the window of the helicopter that shuttled us back and forth. Per our usual, once close to landing we became quiet, absorbed in our own thoughts, dread putting up a barrier to anything but our own anticipation. The job offered us freedom; going home always served as a reminder of things we’d rather not be reminded of.
Violet or Mick usually picked us up in their 1972 Ford LTD Country Squire Station Wagon, either Peter or Paul in tow.
On this occasion, Violet came screeching into the parking lot, shells popping up from behind the tires as she made her way toward us. Her face was hidden, but there was no doubt that it was her. She was the only one who could make a station wagon screech.
I hiked my bag higher on my shoulder, and we reached her just as she reached us. Mitch sat up front; I took the spot beside Peter in the back seat.
Peter and Paul were almost identical. Only two factors separated them—their builds and their eye color. Peter was older. He had height and weight on his side and eyes that reminded me of Mitch. Paul was smaller; he was younger, but his eyes were the same color as Mick’s.
If I let my thoughts linger too long on the logistics of it all, my stomach flipped.
Peter faced me, his smile showcasing crooked teeth. He started moving his head back and forth, rocking his body. “Yo,” he said, pulling a Mitch-like face. He stuck a finger up his nose, pulled out a green glob, and pointed it at my mouth. “Want some, buddy?”
At least, I think that’s what he said.
“No thanks, kid. I ate before we left.”
Affirmative. He giggled and ate the green glob.
“Stop that right now! Gross!” Violet gagged, looking at him through the rearview mirror. “Did you do that as a kid?” She glanced at Mitch. “Eat your boogers?”
The yearning in her voice couldn’t be ignored.
Mitch shrugged and then grabbed for the cigarette behind his ear. “Nah, that was your husband.”
The anger in his voice couldn’t be ignored.
Being in the car with the two of them made me feel like I was on their private roller coaster ride, one seat behind, waiting for the moment we all flew off the track.
Mitch lit his cigarette, not caring that the kid was in the car, and then rolled down the window. He bent forward, pulling up his bag, blowing out a ring of smoke as he did. He retrieved a cassette from somewhere deep inside, pushing it in the player. “Black” by Pearl Jam started to play.
Peter bopped his head harder, giving me a serious look.
This had become routine when Violet picked us up; it seemed music was a way of communicating for them. He always sang to her as we drove, she always listened, and depending on the nature of the song was how she’d react.
Eddie Vedder began the first line of the song. Mitch sang along, his voice so close in tone that I had a hard time distinguishing between the two.
“Her legs spread out before me…as her body holds still,”Mitch sang against the verse that was being sung.
I knew damn well that wasn’t the line, though after he sang it, I could see how the lyrics could be misinterpreted. But Mitch knew the song by heart, had sung it many times before when he led his own band, Poisonous Dawn. He was ad-libbing, sending his secret message.
Violet’s knuckles turned white with the pressure of her hands around the steering wheel. She licked her lips and her gaze flickered to his waiting stare every so often.
Fuck. This is toxic. No wonder the kid eats his boogers.
I smiled at the kid. I felt sorry for him. My childhood was not ideal. I had a mother who called herself Maggie Beautiful for the hell of it and made flighty seem legit. And a father, Lucious Leone Fausti, who had been in line to lead one of the most infamous and dangerous crime families—theFausti Famiglia—in history before he killed a woman and her unborn child, driving drunk in a rage. How ironic, for a man who drove racecars for fun.
TheFausti Famigliamade the five main crime families in New York look like petty criminals.In Italy and beyond,they ruled just as a monarchy would, and were known for their generosity and their ruthless ways. One hand balanced the other.
To claim the heart from a man’s chest while it still had a beat was their signature. This only happened if it was personal. If it were business, they’d show mercy and put a bullet through your head and get on with it. Or have you stand against a lion in his own yard without a weapon.Your choice.
Stand like a man or die like a coward.
To the world theFausti Famigliawere considered royalty, and they operated like any proper monarchy would, with rules and regulations—all dictated by their king and queen, their nobles. But beyond the golden gates, what the rest of us knew to be true lived in the darkness.
The inner workings operated more along the lines of the savage Panthera leo. The lion. They chose this animal for a reason when they wanted to prove how ruthless they could be, even amongst themselves. It had become a symbol of their ways, along with the desecration of one of the body’s most vital organs—the heart.
