1st-2001 Bad Blood

Cathy Barrett is a legal secretary with one of the nation's largest law firms. She is also a singer, currently touring South Florida as Sophie Tucker, "The Last of the Red Hot Mommas." Cathy lives happily and compatibly with a very handsome male Bichon named Bailey. She is an avid reader and writer of mysteries -- loves Lawrence Block and Michael Connelly. Her short story Courage Says Its Prayers was published online by Orchard Press Mysteries in November 2001.

Tony "Antonio" Parenti was not happy. He sat scowling at the head of the table, his piercing black eyes studying each face at the large circular table. Everyone looked respectfully back at him; from the sons of his family to his faithful soldiers. They saw a tall, thin man in his seventies, with a thick mane of white hair. But even with the white hair and the lined face, no one thought age. They thought power. They knew as gentle and understanding as he could be, he could be cruel and merciless.

"This is not good. How could they know we were interested in that building? How?"

"The Scarpella's are sharp, Pop, and they got friends in high places" Carlo, his youngest son offered.

Tony stood up, wincing with pain from his arthritis. "Something is not right. I can feel it. I can taste it. Some kind of sabotage? I say it here to my family and closest friends. All of you have been with me, or your fathers before you, for years so of course I accuse no one here. But what?"

Tony looked at Sammy with disdain. He saw an overweight, sloppy man who was continually perspiring; his only good feature, his black curly hair. He waved his hand at him, as if he were shooing away a fly.

"The whole clubhouse and our home were checked two weeks ago. What are you talking about?"

"You never know, Pop. We're just double checking," Sammy answered, his face going red. I'm forty years old and he can still get to me.

Tony smiled at his middle son, Joseph, his favorite. Smart as a whip. A handsome boy, tall, with Tony's firm chin and muscular build, and his mother's beautiful brown eyes. He would take Tony's place one day as Don of the Parenti family. It should have been his eldest son, but Sammy was undisciplined and could not accept responsibility. All he thought about were women. Tony had to bar him from his nightclubs because he couldn’t leave the dancers and the pretty waitresses alone.

"Murray and I go back since childhood. I trust him like I trust you. He's been a faithful attorney to this family. Always," his father answered.

Joseph sat back and pondered the situation that prompted this meeting. The Parenti family had inside news that the city commissioners had plans to clean up the downtown area from the gangs and homeless and build it up with quaint antique shops and chi-chi outdoor restaurants. The news was known only to them. They decided to buy an old building in that location. The very next day they called the realtor to make an offer and were told that the Scarpella family, their adversary for years, had purchased the building.

And just two months ago, one of their best soldiers had been hit. The police ruled it a hold up gone bad, but the Parenti's knew better than that. Two shots straight to the head with a .22? It had all the earmarks of a mob hit. They knew it was the Scarpellas', but without proof and not wanting to risk a blood bath between the families, they let it go. Maybe a year or two later, they would pay this insult back, but not now.

"Keep your ears open. Notify me if you find out anything," Tony said, getting up from his chair. His son Joseph ran to his side to help him.

"No. Your mother would kill me. She's making my favorite lunch today. Peppers and eggs. Join me."

"Oh. That's right," Tony said, taking his son's face in his hands. "Everything okay? You find a nice girl to marry yet?"

From the back of the room with his hand on the doorknob, Sammy watched them. First, he felt that familiar emptiness and hurt, but then his heart filled with envy and anger at Joseph. He knew his father favored Joseph and would name him his successor one day. But it was he, Sammy, who had done all the dirty work. Joseph has never even done a hit. His hatred for Joseph was as visceral as a sexual encounter for it filled his whole body with such emotion that he shook and his cheeks were flushed. He walked out the door. Yeah, Pop should know the whole story on Little Joey.

"No. I gotta go upstairs and pack," Sammy answered, looking at a fat and shapeless woman. He couldn't believe she had ever been pretty.

"Where are you going this time? What's her name?" Carmela said, her lower lip trembling, her arms reaching out to him.

"Get outta here, you old cow," Sammy shouted as he pushed her aside and made his way up the stairs. He was out of breath by the time he reached the bedroom. He got the suitcase out of the closet and chose some shirts and pants from his tropical collection. He'd be in Palm Beach by five o'clock tonight.

Sammy then called a cab and made his way down the stairs. He could still hear his wife crying when he shut the door. He settled his three hundred pound plus body in the back of the cab, one primary thought on his mind: It's gotta be done right. Nothin’ can go wrong.

Joseph felt that familiar cold sweat and the racing heart. He could feel his whole body trembling as soon as he hit the street. It has to stop; it has to stop! If his father ever found out, it would break his heart. It seemed like such a minor thing a year ago. A little grass, an occasional snort. Now the veins in his arms told the story.

"I'm at the Monarch Hotel. Can you come here? I only got one fix for you now. I'll have the rest tonight. You know, things have been tight."

The Monarch Hotel was fifteen minutes away. By the time Joseph got there, he was soaked in the pain of an addict. He entered the hotel and walked quickly to the elevator. He pushed the button for the fifteenth floor and made a left when the door opened.

Dave handed him the bag. In his haste, Joseph pulled the needle out and dropped the bag.

"Hey. I'm paying for the room," Dave said, picking up the bag. "Get on the bed and make yourself comfortable."

Joseph climbed into the bed. He tied the elastic band around his left arm. His hand was shaking, but he found the vein. He lay back on the pillow, waiting for that familiar relief to wash over his body.

"Tonight. Where should I meet you for my supply?" he asked the dealer, his lips feeling numb.

"Hey! Don't worry about tonight, Joe. Enjoy this. It's on the house. You won't need another one."

Joseph tried to protest, but he felt his whole body going numb, and his mind retreating into a dense fog.

New Yorkers woke up to an October morning that was crisp and clear, with no promise of Indian summer. It was fifty-five degrees; the temperature having dropped ten degrees overnight. Sergeant James Carrigan looked out the window of Room 1521 of the Monarch Hotel wishing he had worn a jacket this morning. He was waiting for the coroner. The housekeeper had found the body. He looked on the bed at the stiff. Too bad. Young guy. Father's not going to be happy, but I'm not going to make the call. Let the hospital take care of it.

"Hey, Jimmy," Lou Ross, the coroner said, putting his bag on the chair, "Christ. It's freezing outside."

"Yeah. And there's a full moon tonight so you better grab yourself a nap this afternoon."

"Yeah. The needle on the floor; look at the veins. No pulse. I give you an A on cause of death. If you get sick of the uniform, you can join me at the morgue."

Carlo was coming down the stairs, heading for the living room. The housekeeper stopped him by touching his arm.

"Mr. Parenti? Can you get down to Roosevelt Hospital? When you get here tell the front desk to buzz me. I'm Dr. Keene."

"What do you mean the hospital? Your mother ..." he said, his face turning white.

"No. It's not Mom. They said it was Joseph. They wouldn't tell me nothin’. They said we'd get the story when we got there."

"I said I will go and I'm going alone. Mario will drive me. Don't say a word to your mother or anyone else until I call you."

Carlo sighed. He knew it was useless to argue with his father. "Okay. Ask the desk to buzz a Dr. Keene "

By the time Tony got to the hospital he pulled himself together. On the ride over, he knew what he must do. What he had always done to survive in this life. When he was a boy in the mountains of Sicily, the blizzard of '35 hit their little town. It was so cold, his grandmother died of hypothermia, and he had lost a finger to frostbite. Whenever he found himself in desperate situations, he pictured that bitter cold encasing his heart and mind. He knew what the cryptic telephone call from the hospital meant: that Joseph was probably dead. His favorite son. Gone. He would plan his vengeance after they buried him. He couldn't think of that right now. He had to be strong for his wife and family. He walked to the desk and asked for Dr. Keene. In less than a minute a man dressed in green scrubs came out of the elevator and approached him.

"I'm Dr. Joe Keene," the medical examiner said, with eyes that were sympathetic but professional. He had done this many times. He took Tony's hand.

"He was a drug addict. When you identify the body you'll see. Come with me, sir."

Dr. Keene pushed the Down button on the elevator. When the elevator doors opened, Tony read the sign: Morgue.

He was led into a large room that smelled of disinfectant. The doctor nodded to another worker who was dressed in green with a mask on her face. She nodded back at him and opened a drawer. Tony took a deep breath as they pulled the sheet off the body. It was Joseph. Tony walked over to the body and embraced his son. He kissed him on the cheek and took another deep breath.

"I'm so sorry, sir," Dr. Keene said, pointing to the tracks on Joseph's arms. "If you'll come to my office, I have some questions and some papers for you to sign."

Tony turned and watched him go to his office. Even though he was in his place of ice, he felt the tears. He breathed deeply and placed his left hand on his son's chest. He said a prayer, thinking of all the loved ones he had said goodbye to in his lifetime. None affected him like this moment. His hands traced his son’s cheek and hairline and memories cascaded in his mind.

He remembered when Joseph was a little boy. He came to Tony and asked, "Why does Grandpa call me Giuseppi? My name is Joseph."

"Giuseppi means Joseph in Italian. Now, you can be called, Joseph, but the greatest composer of opera, Giuseppi Verdi, cannot be called Joe Green.

Tony stepped back a little and gasped when he thought he felt his son's hand twitch. He heard footsteps and turned around to see Dr. Keene at his side.

"It happens. The corpse is moving towards lividity and rigor mortis and sometimes you'll see a movement. Now, if you'll come over here to this table, I have these papers for you to sign."

Tony moved like an actor in a movie. Part of him knowing that he was in this sad and horrible place where all hope and love were for naught; the other part moving calmly in a dream-like state of shock.

"Dagonese Funeral Home," he answered, his hands shaking and the tears still falling.

Tony started walking towards the big double doors to get to the elevator, but something brought him back to his son. He looked very closely at the face and body. The blue tinge that had shadowed Joseph's face seemed to be fading. My imagination; my deep hope. He turned and saw that Dr. Keene was leaving and walking out the double doors. He called him.

"Do I call the funeral home or did you make the arrangements? I believe they know me.

The next few hours were a blur. Dr. Keene calling a bevy of doctors; all of them examining the phenomena of his son's waking from the dead. Dr. Keene, for some reason, embarrassed. Not until his son was safely placed in a private room with two of his personal guards did Mr. Parenti ask for a meeting with all the parties who were privy to this information.

"Do you know who I am?" he asked the doctors and staff gathered in the conference room.

There were nods of assent and whispers to those who did not know. When this was done, they all nodded. The fear on their faces said that they knew who he was.

"Someone has attempted to kill my son. I do not want anyone to have the information that he is alive until I find out what happened. Is that clear?

"Mr. Parenti. Our apologies for this terrible mishap. If you would bear with me a few moments, I would like to give you a brief explanation."

"What do I care for any explanation. It just makes me angry. What if I had been away and his mother was given this news and she had come here to identify the body."

"There are things that happen that defy reasonable answers to you, to me, to anyone. Please."

"The police were first called to the hotel. They found your son lying on the bed. He had no pulse and appeared to be not breathing. He was totally unresponsive and showed no other vital signs. His skin was bluish. The officer in charge called the coroner. The coroner sent the body to our morgue.

"I know all that. But he's alive. If I hadn't been here to identify his body, he might be on his way to the embalming room."

"I understand, Mr. Parenti. I've only seen one other case like this and I've been practicing medicine for thirty years. You see, his pulse must have been severely slowed by the drugs. They checked his neck and wrist for a pulse and looked for signs of breathing. Finding none, they checked his skin, which was turgid. He was dead, they decided, and instead of starting cardiopulmonary resuscitation, they notified the state medical examiner's office. Based on the officer's description, the medical examiner told them to bring him here."

"We've established the-err, heroin," the doctor said reluctantly. "I think it was mixed with a strong muscle relaxant that slowed the heart and pulse so that he appeared to have no vital signs. That's inconclusive right now. We should be getting the tests back by the end of this week."

"I am going to my son's room. I cannot digest all of this right now," Tony said as he walked out the door.

He called his home from his son's room and told Carlo that everything was all right and not to say anything to anyone, especially his wife.

"You don't have to understand, you imbecile. You will say nothing! Do you understand that?"

Tony then signaled to his two personal guards, whom he had known for years, to leave him alone with his son. He sat there, staring gratefully at his beautiful son. An hour later, Joseph opened his eyes and spoke for the first time.

"I feel a little groggy but at least I know the truth. You've been so good to me. I'm so ashamed."

"I don't care what you are or what you've done. I just care that you are here. That you are alive."

Joseph told his father softly and contritely about his descent into the hell of addiction that separates all addicts from those they love and all things they hold dear.

"I-I can't remember everything," Joseph whispered, tears streaming out of his eyes.

"The last thing I remember is the drug dealer, Dave McNulty, telling me that this would be my last fix. Somehow I see Sammy's face leaning over me, but everything's jumbled. I'm probably hallucinating."

Sammy stood on the patio of his room at the Boca Raton Hotel looking out at the beautiful turquoise ocean. Palm trees swayed. Sun shined. But Sammy's mood was black as he talked on his cell phone.

Sammy heard the click on the other end. His face was wet with perspiration even though the air conditioner was going full blast. Did his father know anything? What the hell was happening?

Sammy got to his father's townhouse on 95^th and Central Park West that evening at seven thirty. Mario, his father's henchman, met him at the door. Just looking at Mario would strike fear in the heart of any man. He was a huge man; over six foot three and around two hundred seventy-five pounds. But his most forbidding feature was that scar, that hideous scar that ran from the corner of his mouth to his eyebrow, and his black eyes that were like a shark's, showing no humanity.

"As I said, change of plans. He had to meet someone at the club and told me to bring you there," Mario replied, opening the door for Sammy.

It took them an hour to get to the club, which was located near the Catskills on the lake. The club was active during the summer, with people out on boats and bike riding. But now, at the end of October, it was deserted. Sammy was confused. Why the club?

Dead leaves, tossed by autumn winds, made an eerie crackling sound as they walked to the door of the club. Only one light burned on the second floor.

"I'll wait here for you," Mario said, gesturing for Sammy to walk up the stairs.

Sammy walked up the steps of the grand staircase, huffing all the way, some of it weight, most of it fear.

"The Scarpellas were involved. We hit them this afternoon. The father, the sons, and most of their soldiers. The rest are working for our family."

"Do you remember when you were a little boy and we had that small kennel of Golden Retrievers?"

"Remember what I told you? That if deformities or bad blood is found in any of the pups of a litter, this genetic flaw must be destroyed?"

Sammy gasped when he saw his brother, Joseph, walking towards him holding a .45.

"No. You canceled that flight and took the next one because you wanted to make sure the job was done," his father answered.

"You see, I remember everything clearly now, "Joseph said. "It was the drug dealer, Alfredo Scarpella and you. I remember what you said."

"You said, 'Goodbye Papa's little boy. Now I will be head of the family. The Scarpella family and the Parenti family will merge together.' "

"We talked to the drug dealer. He confirms this. He told us everything right before we killed him," Tony said, in a soft but chilling voice. "Give the gun to me, son. I must destroy this monster."

"No, Pop. It wouldn't be right for you to do this and I have to do my first hit."

"Women do not understand such things. They see nothing but love and beauty in pups and children. They wouldn't understand bad blood. The men must take care of it. Joseph?"

Mario heard the boom of the gun. He bounded quickly up the stairs, anxious to get the body of the traitor and dispose of it in the lake. An hour ago, he had driven all around the lake property, making sure none of the chalets or cabins were occupied. There wasn't a soul around. Then he got the boat ready for a task that he would enjoy. He had always known that Sammy was defective, a scourge on the family. Mario smiled when he walked into the office and watched Tony embrace Joseph and kiss him on each cheek. Until the end of his days, he would proudly serve the Don and his successor.