Chapter 28

It's hard for a man to resist a woman who wants him. It's harder still for a man with a small man's inferiority complex to resist a prostitute who comes back to him because she's never been loved like he loved her and she doesn't want money, she just has to have more of him. And if the man is predisposed toward flights of egotistical fantasy, all the better, it makes her job much easier still.

The woman who had been so helpful in getting Nick's team in the first time served the same function the last night of Benjamin Sapperstein's life.

She met Nick, Salome and several of Nick's 'specialists' at the back door.

"Good evening, Monique. He give you any trouble?"

"No sir and he was more than willing to give me the code to disarm the system when the Chinese food arrived. Of course, he was already real mellow by then."

"Good, then it went just as we planned. Get dressed and get out of here. You've done a marvelous job and I won't forget it."

"So my brother, he's gonna be okay?"

"His time in Huntsville State Penitentiary will be like a vacation. You have my word. You also know what happens if you ever talk."

"Yeah, and I ain't in no hurry to die. You got nothing to worry about Mr. Philouma."

"That's good. Lenny, escort Monique home. Monique, I'm having Lenny stay with you until you're on the plane and on your way out of the country, just like I've had him staying with you since this began. I can't afford to have anything happen to you. You take care."

"Thank you, Mr. Philouma. I appreciate it."

The large man who answered to 'Lenny' and Monique exited out the back door.

"Alright, you all know what to do. Come on Salome, let's do this thing."

The jumpsuited figures, with their slippers, gloves and hairnets separated as Susan and her patron went to the bedroom.

"The joys of recreational pharmaceuticals," Salome exclaimed, looking over the naked figure on the bed. She brought out the fur-lined restraints from her bag and applied them to his wrists and ankles, linking the two sets behind his back with a length of nylon-shrouded chain. Then with Nick's help she rolled him onto a plastic sheet and centered him on it.

She went back to her bag and came out with a small brown bottle labeled 'Rush'. "Good old amyl nitrate ... or whatever the fuck the exact mix is in this shit ... poppers for papa." She opened the bottle and carefully waved it close to Benjamin's nostrils as he snored away. As the sleeping man drew in another deep breath of the stimulant she reached down and slapped his exposed testicles.

Benjamin's scream set Nick's nerves on edge, but he figured the asshole was at least due one good shriek from the abuse he'd just suffered.

When Benjamin Sapperstein came fully awake and was about to yell, he found himself pausing, almost involuntarily.

The little girl who'd slapped his nuts was standing next to his bed, dressed in a Catholic schoolgirl outfit. Even after his recent systemic shock, his cock gave a twitch at the sight of her, one foot up on the bed showing that under the skirt, there was nothing but a naked pussy, staring him in the face, the white blouse tied off above her waist, gaping open to expose her small, puffy-nippled tits. She was very pretty, her heart-shaped face framed by her short brown hair and the obvious juxtaposition of innocence and carnality oozed forbidden sensuality.

"Boss, even if they like big-titted blonde bimbos, I can still make 'em pant," the young girl said, giggling.

It was then he realized three things: the little twitch his cock had given was becoming a full-blown erection, he was very securely restrained, and there was somebody else in the room with them.

That somebody looked vaguely familiar. He was dressed in an Armani suit, with rubber gloves and a hairnet. And he was clipping something bag-like on to the side of a silenced pistol.

Benjamin Sapperstein had a flash of insight at that moment. He realized these people were here to kill him, and that Margo was somehow responsible.

:"Look, whatever my wife is paying you, I'll double it, triple it! I'll forget I ever saw you and her, just take my money and let me live!"

"You're suffering under several very large misconceptions, Dr. Sapperstein," Nick said. "The first one is that I'm some cheap hit-man your wife hired to kill you. My name is Niccolo Philouma, Dr. Sapperstein. That make things any clearer?"

"Yes sir ... I'm sorry sir. But surely there's still some way we can do business together."

"I'm afraid not, Benjie. Do you mind if I call you 'Benjie'?"

"No sir, not at all."

"Thank you ... you may continue to call me Mr. Philouma. I can't do business with you because I promised your wife justice. That's what she asked of me ... justice. She wanted me to find the two men who beat her lover severely, almost to death, were intending to beat her other lover as well. She asked me to find out why. She didn't want leading questions or tortured confessions ... she wanted the truth. She placed herself deeply in my debt for the truth.

"And they told me the truth ... and then a friend of the man you tried to have killed broke both their necks like he was opening bottles of beer ... and did so with as little remorse. The hooker who set you up with them, found you men who'd kill for money? She did what you told her to ... took the money and left the city." As Salome put a towel over Benjamin's mouth, Nick reached down and opened a cooler by his feet, carefully lifting something out of it. "I got this from some friends of mine in Las Vegas, special delivery, this morning."

Benjamin was looking at Darlene's severed head, rimes of ice, like a light snowfall, covering her cheeks, frosting her hair, eyebrows and eyelashes. His bowels and bladder were lost to his control.

Nick put the head back in the cooler, and closed it. He wrinkled his nose at the stench coming from the bed and waited for Benjamin to stop screaming before he continued.

"Now then, Benjie, there are two ways the rest of this evening can go. The first way is that my boys finish their work here in your home, Salome here gets you hard, fucks you, I chain her to the bed and a couple of my boys come in here and make your final hours on this earth very, very painful. See, they'll be doing their best to make it look like a Columbian drug lord is wreaking his vengeance upon you, and that always involves a lot of torture. I mean, I don't generally have that much trouble with torture, kinda comes with my family's business, but these guys? They make me big time queasy. The Columbian I'm framing for this will be here, leaving forensic evidence everywhere, and then he'll be killed in 'a minor altercation' with some of my boys. When the police investigate you, they'll find this little girl, who can't identify anyone as they wore masks, evidence on your computer that you're a pedophile, lots of kiddie porn, an apartment on the south side that records will show you've been renting for years, filled with evidence of child molestation. And of course there'll be evidence of drug use everywhere. Your reputation, your family's name, ruined beyond repair ... I hate to think what it'll do to Nelda, your poor mother. It'd probably be a kindness if I arranged an accident for her, just to spare her too much shame. I mean, I'll let her endure a week or three of it, but then I'll probably have mercy on her, have her killed. Any irregularities in the little picture I'm painting will be handled by my many good friends on the police force.

"Do you have any doubts, Benjie, that I can make all that happen?"

"N-N-No sir, Mr. Philouma."

"Good, good ... or, the evening can go this way. You enjoy a last, semi-private fuck with the delectable Salome, nobody'll ever know about it, my people remove all the so-called evidence of your pedophilia, your drug abuse, you write out a nice little suicide note telling your wife you're sorry, nothing specific, just that you're very, very sorry, you get in a nice warm bathtub and slit your wrists. I'll sit with you until you're gone.

"Which do you want it to be?"

As Nick sat and watched Dr. Sapperstein go through the end of his 'denial' phase and into 'anger', he checked his watch. Even where this piece of shit was concerned, Nick was not completely heartless, he had some time to allow him to process the fact of his own imminent demise ... some time, but not too long. He took a short break, leaving the gun with Salome and strolled out into the rest of the house as Benjamin raged impotently on the bed, squirming in his urine and feces, checking to see how the others were doing.

The rest of his people were finished, or very nearly so. He stood and watched while the subtle signs of drug abuse were planted in the house. He knew his frame-up wasn't good enough to fool federal investigators, or even particularly diligent city detectives, but they weren't who was going to get the case. The men getting the case were Family assets, seldom used and reputable enough to insure no one looked too closely. The paramedics that would get the call, pronounce on Benjie, one way or the other, and take Salome away were Family assets as well. She'd disappear from the hospital, a not at all uncommon occurrence where underage prostitutes were concerned. They had no desire to become guests of Child Services, so they found the cracks in the over-stressed system and instead of falling through them, crept out through them. It probably meant a six month vacation for Salome, something else he'd end up picking up the tab for, but such was life. No one who mattered would ever get a good look at little Suzie Raymond, or discover her secret.

When he returned to the bedroom, Benjie was a sobbing mass on the plastic sheet atop the bed. Salome was sitting in the chair, the pistol in one hand, the other furiously masturbating herself.

"Please Mr. Philouma, please ... I don't want to die."

"Very few people ever really do, Benjie," he said, walking over to the bed. "I've known Carol Riley for years; I know she doesn't want to die. I've just recently become acquainted with Harry Grimes, I like him a lot, and I know he doesn't want to die.

"But none of that meant anything to you when you arranged to have them killed, so don't expect me to care too much about how you feel on the issue. You're going to die, tonight, either here in this room or in the bathroom right behind that door. That's a fact. There's no stopping it, no bargaining your way out of it. I'm very familiar with your financial assets, courtesy of preparing for tonight, and trust me, even if you liquidated everything, you don't have enough money to buy a pass from me. You've got a lot, and Margo will enjoy it, whatever she ends up doing with it, but this is a matter of honor, Benjie. That's something I don't expect you to ever understand. No amount of money could buy your way out of this.

"So accept the fact that you're going to die ... in the next few hours ... and decide how you want to go. Do you want to die screaming in agony, or quietly fading away in a nice, warm tub? I'll want your decision very soon now."

He walked back to stare down at the masturbating Salome.

"Goddamn, you really are a twisted little bitch, aren't you?"

"Yeah ... yeah I am ... if you'd had to fuck ... some of the people I have ... and do some of the things ... I've done ... you would be too ... will you move?" she asked, panting. She paused a moment for breath, "You're blocking ... my view ... of him."

Nick took the pistol back from her and watched as she got off on Benjie's pain and agony. He was sobbing quietly to himself, a pitiful excuse for a human being, lying there naked on the plastic sheet. Nick thought about how in reality, there was no place he'd rather be than at home with Randy, curled up in his arms, preparing himself emotionally for the funeral of his brother the next day. Instead he was here, playing psycho-drama games with a mewling little coward not fit to clean shit off the asses of Carol and her friends.

He cocked back the slide of his 9mm, chambering a round and making sure the brass catcher was firmly attached. Moving to the side of the bed, carefully avoiding blocking Salome's line of sight, he squatted down and, holding the pistol to Benjamin's kneecap, at the ready, he looked into Benjie's eyes.

"Benjie! BENJIE! Time to make your decision. If I have to shoot out your knee it's going to hurt, a lot. Do you want this to go easy or hard? I mean I'd love to be able to give you all night, hell, all day or however long it takes to come to terms with your imminent demise, but I don't have that much time. You see, I've got to get some rest before I bury my brother later today. I believe if a man kills his brother, the least he can do is show up at the funeral on time looking properly somber. The 'on-time' part's going to be hard to manage if I don't get to bed soon, so I'm afraid I'm going to have to rush you. Now, torture or suicide?"

"You ... you killed your brother?"

"Had him killed, yes I did, and that little girl masturbating to your obvious emotional distress over there was the assassin. She's very good at a number of things, killing unsuspecting men and women being among them. And she really enjoys it, gets off on it in fact. But that's all beside the point, the point here is do I call my boys in, or do you go quietly?"

"Mr. Philouma, I ... I'll take the easy way out."

"That's a wise choice, Benjie, a wise choice. Now then, would you like me to have Salome clean you up a bit, give you a last fuck before you go?"

"That'd be nice I suppose ... although I'm not really in the mood ... kind of understandable, I think."

"Yes it is, but trust me when I tell you, she could get a rise out of a dead man. You're not going to be any challenge for her at all."

As Salome did her thing with the freshly-cleaned Benjie, Nick sat in the living room, listening to the faint sounds coming from the bedroom and called Randy on his digital cell.

"Hey lover, did I wake you?" he asked.

"No ... just laying in bed, reading 'The Valachi Papers' ... again ... and wondering how I ended up in love with a 'wiseguy'."

"Part of what I love about you is your sense of humor, Randall ... of course, it would help if that'd been funny. You know that kind of talk makes me nervous, even with the scramblers we have on these things."

"Sorry ... how's it going?"

"The deal should be closed in the next hour, hour and a half ... we're taking a last break from the negotiating table before checking everything and getting down to the signing. Sorry I have to work late."

"So am I ... which option did he go for?"

"He's going for the buy-out ... but then again, I never really thought he'd have the balls for the hostile takeover."

"Well, try to hurry it up some or else we'll have to skip breakfast and motor if we want to make that funeral."

"I cannot believe you just paraphrased 'Heathers' in reference to my brother's funeral."

"That's part of why you love me."

"Because you're fucking certifiable?"

"Ahyup."

The bath had been drawn, Benjie had written his suicide note with a shaking hand, had several stiff drinks and had gotten himself situated in the tub with the help of one of Nick's computer technicians, who were already through with their part of the job. Nick sat on the toilet with the gun, watching. The stereo in the bedroom was playing a selection of soothing classical CDs on 'repeat'.

As the time came for Benjamin Sapperstein to take his life, Nick was not surprised that he was having problems doing so. The pathetic, whining craven lacked the ability to hold up his end of the deal. Nick sat in silence, watching Benjie fiddle with the scalpel for a good fifteen minutes before calling the tech back in.

He handed him the gun. "Cover him."

Carefully holding both wrist and blade beneath the water, Nick guided Benjamin's hands through first a long deep incision up the inside of the right arm, then repeated the procedure on the left. As the scalpel dropped to the bottom of the tub, Nick carefully removed his rubber gloves over the tub, turning them inside out to avoid dripping on the floor, put them in a plastic bag and donned another pair.

Nick sat with the dying man, talking with him, watching the light slowly fade in his eyes as the pinkish tint of the water in the tub continued to deepen in color, its speed lessened by the periodic draining of part of the water and the adding of more hot water.

"You know, it's so fucking funny," the dying man said after his foot fell back into the water from turning off the tap.

"What is?"

"This is the way my sister Anna died ... of course she didn't have a mobster helping her. All she had was a fifth of Crown Royal in her belly and the broken bottle to saw her fucking wrists open."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"Don't be ... she was weak. That's what Mother always said about Anna ... about Lise as well. Did you have any siblings ... other than the one you killed?"

"Yes, two others ... sisters, Paula and Rosetta, we call her Rosie."

"They still alive? Mine are both dead."

"Rosie is ... married to a nice man that we keep as far away from the Family as we can ... she always was the rebellious one of us. Paula ... well, Paula is still around."

As if he hadn't heard him, Benjamin went on. "Yeah, good old Anna did this and Lise wrapped Mother's Mercedes around a bridge support at about a hundred and twenty. The only thing that outweighed the alcohol in her bloodstream was the cocaine."

"How'd you feel about that?" Nick asked.

"Didn't feel much of anything, really ... like my father used to say when one of us would get tired and want to stop running or playing tennis or whatever. 'If you can't hang with the gang, go home you little crybaby and thank you for playing'. He was a real son-of-a-bitch, my father. We all hated him...

"Mother always said I was the strong one ... and now this. Now I end up looking as pathetic and weak as my sisters. Useless bitches, really..."

Nick watched the man in tub talk about his life and thought how much he wanted to bandage the man's wrists, get some whole blood into him, take him to a nice secluded spot and spend days inflicting real pain on him. The thought of the little bastard screaming in unendurable agony brought a smile to his face.

"Is something funny, Mr. Philouma?"

"Not really, Benjie ... I was just thinking how much I want to put a glass rod up your urethra and then slam your dick with a mallet ... for a start ... then I'd want to get nasty."

"I'm surprised that cunt didn't ask you to do that, and a lot worse ... talk about a useless bitch ... you remember the definition of 'bitch' as opposed to 'slut', don't you, Mr. Philouma?

"A slut fucks everybody ... a bitch fucks everybody but you ... I bet she fucked you to get you to do this to me..."

Nick had worried that during this final conversation there would be revealed some glimmer of humanity that would cause him to regret his actions. As Benjamin Sapperstein neared the end and kept talking, Nick realized his fears were groundless.

"Shoulda ... had 'em all ... killed ... took my chances ... with the police ... instead o' goin' ... for revenge."

The shallow and vapid creature bleeding his life out in the tub before him had no regrets about what he'd done beyond being caught. There was nothing else in his mind but concern for himself as at last the repeated additions of hot water failed to warm him, even as he was having trouble summoning the strength to manipulate the large handles at the end of the tub with his feet.

His final words confirmed completely Nick's opinion of him.

Nick, confident that there was no way Benjamin could stop his own demise, or even struggle, leaned over and said, "Oh, by the way, there was a third way this evening could end ... you die in this tub and I leave all the evidence in place. Your reputation and your family name are ruined, poor Nelda will never hear the end of it ... and I won't be merciful and have her killed since I'm pretty sure she's at least partly responsible for the piece of shit you grew up to be ... that's the way this evening is going to end."

Benjamin replied, "I don't care ... about that ... I just don't ... want to ... suffer."

"Benjie ... your wife didn't fuck me ... I'm gay ... I did this because she asked for justice, just like I said."

The look of surprise and disgust that flickered across his victim's face amused Nick no end, and shortly thereafter he watched the final glint of light fade from the eyes of Benjamin Sapperstein.

"May God in his infinite mercy look upon you with a kindlier eye than I am capable of," Nick said.

He got up and with the help of his crew finished the final bits of scene-setting for the police, then binding Salome to the bed, reminded her to start her screams around 6 AM to catch the neighbors awake and moving about. If the police hadn't been called by 7:30, her man Danny was going to break down the door, setting off the alarm as her 'pimp' came looking for her. He would flee the scene 'upon discovering the body' and given the neighborhood the police would be there very quickly.

Then Nick and his people left the house as quietly and covertly as they'd come and drove off into the pre-dawn darkness.

After the various members of his team had gone their separate ways, Niccolo Philouma was as alone as he ever was. Two bodyguards in the front seat, the privacy glass raised between them and him, sitting by himself in the back with no place to run to escape himself.

Was this what his life was going to become? In the past several days he'd had his brother killed and killed another man himself and when he thought about it, he really didn't feel much of anything about either of them.

Was he becoming some sort of monster, killing without feeling? How could he look at the deaths of his brother and Benjamin Sapperstein as nothing more than, how would Eddy put it, 'pest control'?

He had lied to the dead man ... he hadn't been exposed to much torture. There was a lot of the family business that he hadn't seen yet, the hard side of it. Thankfully Benjamin wasn't the first man he'd killed ... throwing up at this scene would've been most inconvenient. More than anything else, he wished his 'Uncle' Tony were around to talk to, but wishing didn't make it so.

However, the next best thing was available...

The arm that snaked out of the pile of covers on the bed just so happened to be Carol's, pulling her cell phone back under those covers.

"What?

"Okay ... yeah ... gimme a few ... no, not a problem, not a problem.

"Okay, asking me to solve riddles, that may be a problem ... oh yeah, I know where you mean ... shouldn't take me more than a half hour or so. See you there."

She slid out from under the covers into the room, stumbling about, trying to find her clothes in the dim light coming in between the drapes.

"Who was that, where you goin'?" Kelly asked from the other side of Margo's sleeping form.

"Niccolo ... he needs to talk ... I'll be back ... well, I'll be back when I'm back. Kisses and hugs."

"Hugs and kisses," Kelly said as she tucked her head back in close to Margo's shoulder.

Carol finished dressing and then went downstairs to catch a cab.

The lake had always been one of Tony's favorite places to go.

During the day, he'd walked the paths filled with bikers, skaters, joggers and power-walkers, soaking in the sheer exuberance of life as he strode along in his suit and tie, fedora perched jauntily atop his head, cane tapping briskly. At night he'd strolled those same trails, enjoying the evening and the cool breezes from the lake, not-so-secretly hoping that some 'young socialist', as he called them, was stupid enough to pick him for a wealth redistribution scheme. Between his own skills with a gun, and his boys, never too far away, no such attempt had ever come anywhere close to succeeding, and several potential life's of crime had been curtailed, one way or another.

He and Carol had gone there often, and they'd spent hours walking together or sitting on a bench, watching people while Tony made up stories about those they saw. They'd listen to the musicians, busking for people's spare change, and if Tony thought them any good at all, they'd receive a 'Juliana musician encouragement grant' ... anywhere from a twenty to a couple of hundred's in their hat or instrument case. If they were really good, Tony'd give them one of his business cards with the address of a club owner or agent on the back, along with a note urging the aforementioned to 'give the kid a listen'.

His business cards read simply "Tony J. — Nosy Old Man", but such was his reputation among musicians all over town that no one ever doubted that what they'd been handed was a shot at their future, if they were smart enough not to fuck it up.

So when Nick had told Carol to meet him "at that big fountain where the nosy old man did his star-search thing", although it had taken a minute or two for her sleepy brain to put it all together, she'd no doubt exactly where he'd meant.

When she got out of her cab on Lakeshore Drive next to the fountain with its arc of benches on either side, one of Nick's men was already there, waiting on her. She took her hand off the straight razor in her pocket and walked over to him, waving at the taxi driver as he pulled away.

"He'll be back around in a few," the man said to her.

"Seems like he's becoming a shark," Carol said. "Never able to stop moving or he'll die."

The bodyguard looked down at her in surprise. "Yeah, there are very few places he can stop right now."

"And about to be fewer still, I'd imagine. Hi, I'm Carol," she said, thrusting her hand up towards the guard.

He smiled. "Izzy'," he replied, shaking her hand.

"Izzy? A member of the Family with the somewhat Jewish nickname of 'Izzy'? What, did your parents hate you?" she asked, smiling back at him.

"Nah, Mama was just on a biblical kick, named me Israel; Papa was out of town on business ... by the time he got back it was a done deal. So I ended up with a choice, go by 'Israel', which got shortened to 'Izzy', or go by my middle name."

"Okay, must be some middle name ... I'm almost afraid to ask."

"Infantina."

"Oh I am so sorry..."

"Yeah, so am I ... so it's 'Izzy'."

"Right, 'Izzy' it is. Did you ever get even with your mother for that?"

"Course I did ... I didn't become no priest, did I?" he replied, grinning.

Fifteen minutes later she was in the back of Nick's car, sucking down a coffee from an all-night coffee bar and studying her host.

"Nick, what am I doing, riding around the city with you way too goddamn early in the morning?"

"I needed someone to talk to ... I needed to talk to Tony, actually, but as he's no longer with us, I decided to talk with the person who knew him best."

"Surely your father or some of the other old-timers-"

"Don't kid yourself, Carol. They knew him as a 'Family man'; they knew that side of him, but he always said that was a mask he wore to play the cards life had dealt him. Not that he was bitching about the hand he'd been dealt, but you and I both know where his heart truly lay and it wasn't in being an enforcer or anything else associated with the Family. He really had no use for 'this thing of ours', except perhaps for the money and power it brought him. You and Tattie were the people who knew the real him the best, and out of the two of you, much to Tattie's regret, you knew him better than she. So put on your 'Tony hat' and talk with me ... I'm kind of fucked up tonight."

"You know, it's funny, awhile back Tattie and I were talking about Tony and his assertion that immortality is the sum of all the bits of ourselves that we leave behind us when we go. I guess it's time I put my bit of Tony's immortality to use. Of course I'll do whatever I can."

As Nick described his fears, Carol found it easy to listen with Tony's ears, to answer with Tony's voice. It wasn't as if he possessed her, it was just that he continued to live on so vividly in her mind that she knew what he'd find significant, knew how he'd answer.

"Niccolo, hypothetical question: what if tomorrow it turns out that it would be very beneficial, but by no means essential, for the Family concerns if Harry and Margo and all their family and friends disappeared. What would you do?"

"Goddamn, you sound like him ... okay, not a goddamn thing. Good peoples' lives are worth more than benefits to the family business."

"Congratulations, you got nothing to worry about; your soul's very much intact. Your father would have them ... I mean us, killed. And I'm not saying he wouldn't feel regret about it, but he'd have it done, just the same. You're in good shape. You answered your own question with your response. 'Good peoples lives' ... or in a loose definition of the word, 'innocent' lives, that's the key."

"Who am I to judge?"