Stolen Secrets Page 3

  WITH THE SUCCESS OF USING fate to decide what state I was going to live in, I decided to let it roll as I passed a kiosk with a city map on it. I closed my eyes and let my finger fall on the Plexiglas. With an area selected, I grabbed my bag. Stepping onto the busy loud street, cabs were lined up as far as I could see. A tall man with a whistle, dressed in a police uniform, yelled and waved for a cab driver to hurry and get his passenger in his car. I waited in line until I realized this wasn’t the way things were done. Jumping as high as I could, I hailed a cab.

  “Where to, Miss?” The driver was Bernard according to the city-issued ID taped to the glass partition separating us.

  “Staten Island, please, Sir.”

  “Please and sir, such pretty manners to match a beautiful face. Not something I see every day,” he commented as he turned back around.

  “Thank you.” Manners had been instilled into me from birth. Mom would take me to tea houses all the time, until her passing. I learned every adult was Sir or Ma’am. I doubted that would be something I could lose.

  “Well, the fifteen dollar toll for the bridge is part of the fare.” Fifteen dollars for a toll bridge? I’d never paid money to cross a little old bridge. “No problem.” As if I had another choice.

  The driver clicked a few buttons and then radioed he was in route to the Island.

  “You visiting family?” He glanced at me in the rearview mirror. His gray ‘newsie’ hat was worn in spots and covered his head and silver framed glasses, looking to be from the seventies.

  “No, Sir. Moving to the neighborhood.”

  “Oh, really, which street?”

  Fuck, I hadn’t thought of this. How can I answer his question and not raise suspicion?

  “Sir, did you ever wake up and wonder what life would be like if you packed a bag, jumped on a plane, and just let the wind steer you?”

  He glanced up again as he switched lanes to take the exit for the bridge. “Sure, I’ve thought about it. Never did anything about it, though.”

  The bridge came into view, showing me the size, and thus the reason, for such a steep fare.

  “Well, I have. Could you drop me off in a good, safe neighborhood with plenty of restaurants and businesses I can easily walk to?”

  Bernard told me to stay on the north end of the street and not venture out much past dark. He and his wife of forty-five years, Edna, lived three streets over.

  “The area is pretty safe, but youse can’t ever be too careful.”

  I would need to work on my accent, blend it in better with the thick dialect of New York. I could do this. I’ve survived getting away from hell, I can do anything. Once we arrived at the hotel, I paid the cabbie and thanked him profusely for his help. Checking into the hotel was quick and while taking in my surroundings, I noticed a bank across the street. I figured I would get settled into my room first, then run over there and check it out.

  Crossing the street and not getting run over was a bit of a feat. Drivers used hand signals I’d reserved for showing behind Corey’s back when he angered me, the same way I waved hello. Yet another difference I would learn to accept.

  First National Bank of Staten Island looked much the same as any bank I had ever visited. A security guard stood at the front, welcoming each patron as they stepped through the glass doors. Polished wood tables aided members in filling out deposit slips, or holding purses and baby seats. Marble floors directed the eyes to a bank of tellers waiting to help with their banking needs.

  “Can I help you?” The lady, who sat at a welcoming desk as I entered, looked pleasant enough. Her hair was in perfect order, her dress suit matching the other tellers.

  “Yes, ma’am. I would like to open an account.”

  Karen, per her name plate, directed me to another desk on the other side of the room. I thanked her then walked over to where she’d indicated.

  “Hello.” This woman’s smile was as fake as the acrylic nails on her fingertips and her hair a little too red to be real. None of it mattered to me, though, so long as she was able to help me open up an account.

  “Hello. Karen,” I pointed behind me, “…said you could help me open an account.”

  The smile increased, although it was now more forced than before. “Of course! I just need identification and at least twenty-five dollars to open the account.”

  I took my eyes off her long enough to remove the check and my real ID from my wallet. Handing her both items I watched bemused as her eyes widened while looking at the check. She glanced at my ID and then at me, before she motioned for me to have a seat.

  The check was for fifty-thousand dollars. Payout for the largest life insurance policy I was able to take out on Corey without a health exam. My plan was to deposit a few hundred dollars of the money stored in my room, into this new account every week so as not to arouse any suspicion from the officials.

  “I’ll have to verify this check. I will be back with you shortly.” She rose from her chair and adjusted her short skirt.

  I watched her scurry into an office in the corner of the room. A man glanced up when she walked in, smiled at her, and allowed his eyes to roam over her body. He nodded his head several times at what she had to say. She shifted her legs and he, of course, watched, most likely dreaming of colored panties, and whether she wore any.

  The man took the check from her then proceeded to make a phone call; I’m assuming to verify it wasn’t fraudulent. Once he finished the call, he told the redhead something. She nodded her head, walking slowly out of his office and shaking those hips of hers for his benefit. Some women are so predictable, using their bodies to lure men into a trap, and then, when things go south, they question why the guy chose to step out on them. I wanted a man who would love me for who I was, not the way I would look next to him. He needed to appreciate how I made his life better, and not how much I could shake my ass.

  “Ms. Covington?” Her voice was syrupy sweet, hands laced at hip level, and she wore a smile full of admiration and professionalism. Apparently, having my check verified had changed her opinion of me.

  “My boss, Mr. Daniels, would like to handle your account personally. If you would follow me.”

  Her attitude had changed so much in just those few minutes. She was a ladder climber, using whatever means she had to get ahead, no doubt using her figure and face to get into Mr. Daniels’ good graces. Girls like her sickened me. They never took the time to think about what happens once their looks fail them, nor did they have the ability to take care of themselves.

  “Thank you.” Following behind her, there was no sway in her hips for me. Should I have been disappointed she was only interested in my money?

  Curtis Daniels, branch manager, was already standing as I neared his glass walled office. It was amusing to watch him adjust his tie and do a quick breath check; he wanted to impress me. I’m sure it was my girl next door image and not the fifty grand I wanted to deposit into his bank that had him interested.

  This Mr. Daniels, or Curt, as he requested I call him, attempted to give me his card no less than three times before I left his office. Asking just as many times if there was anything he could do for me. I thanked him one final time as my stomach rumbled enough to remind me I hadn’t eaten in a while.

  With a final goodbye to Curt, I made my way toward the doors. While placing my wallet in my purse, I failed to notice the large man wall until I plowed into it. His big hands on my shoulders rocked me back a little as I snapped my head upward to see his face. His dark eyes shined brightly in the lighting of the bank. His suit was a bit rumpled, but was still a nice suit. Dark hair, nearly black, was combed slick to the sides of his head. The hair at the top stood straight up in a stiff spike. There was so much product in his hair I doubted it would’ve moved in a hurricane.

  “Hey, watch where youse going!” I hated guys like him. Probably a douche when it came to actual conversations. His rudeness was not worth a retort and I continued on my way. The concierge at the hotel had told me of
a little Jewish deli around the corner which I was dying to get to. “Don’t let Simon talk you into a full sandwich. Tell him Joey sent you.”

  Brownstone homes sat majestically on either side of the street. How many families were settling down for dinner? Kids doing homework at kitchen tables and dads kissing mothers as they returned from work. The family fantasy ended for me when the third or fourth girl came forward claiming Corey had fathered their child. After that, I never wanted him to stick his dick in any part of me.

  Kosher’s was a busy storefront, and I inhaled the wonderful aroma of cooked meat and onions when I entered. Rolls of cured meats hung from the ceiling while breads and boxed crackers greeted customers by the small register. Photos of famous celebrities who had dined there in the past lined the walls. Some I recognized, others I didn’t. A simple menu board hung over the counter; two men in the back called out orders to the workers behind them. The guy in front of me, who seemed to know everyone in the place, made a comment about a local sports team being, “A bunch of bums.”

  What better way to start fitting in here than by eating like a local? When it was my turn I ordered the house special, making sure to throw in what Joey had said about ordering a half and not a whole, and then took a seat to wait for the “best Reuben sandwich I’d ever tried”. The amount of people seemed to grow while I sat there and drank my coke. A little league team came bouncing in, no doubt celebrating a win, while a couple holding hands followed closely behind.

  I looked out the window just in time to see a delivery van pull up and the driver run into the store. He also knew everyone as he neared the counter and gave the man taking orders one of those crazy handshakes guys do these days. A second glance outside centered my attention to the logo on his van: Fiori in huge cursive letters, with the address and phone number of the shop. While my sandwich was being placed on the table before me, I took my cell out and snapped a photo of the information. I would contact the shop tomorrow and see if they had any openings.

  When I took my first bite of the corned beef goodness, I couldn’t help but close my eyes and moan. It turned out to be the best Reuben sandwich I’d ever tried.

  Today had been a good first day. I loved the fact every face I saw was a new one. With the exception of the douche at the bank, I liked the people of Staten Island. Tomorrow, I would wake up and find a job and a place to live; my own slice of a real life.

  “SO WE AGREE? MY DAUGHTER Tessa would make an excellent match for our Dominick here.”

  I hated being treated like a kid. The motherfucker knew I was sitting here looking at his ageing ass. His daughter was his kid when it benefited him. Years ago, he’d tapped the ass of some stripper at one of the clubs he owned at the time. She later turned up pregnant claiming the kid was his. When the stripper dropped the girl off at his house with his new wife and six-month-old son, he was forced to take care of her.

  Tessa was a good girl; attended church every time the doors opened and volunteered every summer in some deprived, third world country. She made the occasional appearance at social gatherings, but never turned my head.

  “No, Alex. You are the only one who thinks your daughter is a match for Nick. I know my son, and I care enough about Tessa not to expose her to the type of person he is.”

  Fucking old bastard, he knows I hate being called Nick. And who the fuck is he to talk shit on how I lived my life?

  “Tessa is a good girl, and a good woman can change the heart of any man. You know I’m right, just look at how Sophia changed you.” Gallo crossed my father’s invisible line. During these meetings, you never brought families into the conversation, especially my mother.

  “And when, if, she ever becomes a woman, I may consider her.”

  Gallo had dealt with my father enough in the past to know when he had offended my father. After placing his half full glass of scotch on the table, shaking hands with me, and then telling me he’d enjoyed seeing me again, he left.

  “Well, that shit was interesting,” I deadpanned, relieved my father hadn’t agreed to the union.

  “Don’t be so fucking smug. He’s right, she could whip your ass into shape.” Tossing his drink back, he settled into his leather chair. “You could do a lot worse than Tessa Gallo. Look, Dominick, when you take over this family, you have to show the men you’re stable. Having a good wife is a strong sign. I’m not saying you can’t have a girl or two on the side, too, though.”

  Smug bastard. I had to call him out on his little statement even though I already knew the answer. “Really? Mom know you fuck around on the side?”

  My mom was a tough bitch. She married my dad when I was five. My birth mother, Serena, died from cancer. When my parents married, it was because their parents told them pretty much the same thing mine were telling me. When she died, my grandfather made my father grieve for a year. Once the time was up, he began introducing him to different women. However, on what would have been my mother’s birthday, he stopped by a flower shop to get some to put on her grave. The girl working behind the counter caught his eye, so he asked her out. She turned him down, but he kept after her for several months. When she finally said yes, my father wasted no time getting a ring on her finger. The day they married, she took me to the side and told me she would never replace my mother, she would love me and care for me in a way she hoped would please my mother.

  It wasn’t long after I began to call Sophia ‘Mom’. As far as my father having a girl or two on the side, my mom would never have put up with it. She truly had his dick as a handbag and his balls as matching accessories. He loves her though; you can see it just by looking at them. He was lucky that way. It was something I would never have. I didn’t trust bitches like my dad did Mom. She was the last honest lady ever made.

  “You know I don’t practice that.”

  My family was rich in tradition. I’d been taught this from the time I could walk. We didn’t go looking for trouble, but if trouble found us, we smashed it. Other families wanted to be a part of us, but we stayed true to blood. My father can trace his family bloodline back over three hundred years.

  “I know, Dad,” I admitted rising from my chair to get a drink from his bar.

  “I’m not saying you have to marry tomorrow, but by the end of the year, I need to see something developing.”

  And since I’m a smug bastard, rotten to the core, I chose to go for broke. “Easy, Dad, I’ll just ask Miranda or Marissa.”

  I knew he would react, but had no idea he would lose his shit. Before I could take a drink of my scotch, I found my back against the wall and the glass broken at my feet. My father had his hands around my neck, his face so close to mine I could see the whites of his teeth caps as he snarled his words at me.

  “I’ve told you before, boy, you don’t bring a common whore home to your mother!” With his last word, he pushed his palm into the center of my throat so hard I nearly blacked out from the pressure. He released me suddenly and I slumped to the floor, gasping.

  My father may be twice my age but he could still kick my ass if he wanted to. I knew it, but more importantly, all of his men knew how tough he was. Grabbing my throat, I rose from the floor. “Sorry,” I coughed. “I mean no disrespect.”

  Dad was taking a drink from his own glass as he turned his back to me. “I spoke with Patrick Malloy yesterday,” he commented while bringing his glass to the desk once again.

  “Really? I haven’t spoken to him since he called the meeting a few months back. He was trying to date a beautiful girl, great set of legs on that one.” I recalled the redheaded spitfire of a girl. She had balls big enough to interrupt a meeting when she’d had enough of his bullshit. Christi, I think her name was. I remembered thinking I needed a girl like her to keep around and bust my balls when I needed it. Now, if I could find a girl with her own act together, I’d consider marrying her.

  “Well, he’s engaged to her now, and get this…” Dad paused as a smile flickered across half his face. “Her father is a Chicago detectiv
e.”

  I nearly choked as I waited for him to say he was kidding.

  “You have to admit, Nick, Patrick has his head on his shoulders and his hand in every pot.”

  If Dad were waiting for me to hook up with an NYPD’s daughter, he would be waiting longer than a year. Dad didn’t see the way Malloy was lost in the essence of his girl. It was more than finding a girl to get him a connection with the authorities, he had handed Christi his heart and soul on a silver platter.

  “Find a good girl, or I’ll find one for you.”

  His word was stone and I knew what had to be done, whether I liked it or not. Maybe Tessa Gallo could be a freak in the bedroom?

  Leaving my father’s office, I loosened my tie and looked at my reflection in the mirror. I knew my dad was dead serious. He would find the cleanest, plainest, most virginal girl he could. Hell, it would take me a year and a crowbar to get between her legs. Forget about how long it would take to get her to do the dirty shit Miranda did for me now.

  I started my car, knowing the exact place I needed to be. I had something to give her anyway. I passed Anthony as he was getting into his car and flipped him the bird. He was on his way to visit one of the girls we kept on the payroll. She worked in a downtown bank and kept her ears open and her mouth at Anthony’s beck and call. I never touched the bitch as she was more fake than Marissa.

  Parking my car along the curb of the sidewalk, I clicked my key fob and took a look around, daring the punk ass motherfuckers who stood along the store fronts to steal my car.

  The thump of the base confirmed she was home. I never called or knocked; if I didn’t hear music, I knew she was out. Opening the door revealed her sitting with her legs crossed and a cigarette in her hand. Her robe was undone, the satin ties hanging to her side. She looked at me and then smiled as she put out her cigarette while sliding off the bar stool and making her way to me.

  Miranda was another girl I saw from time to time. She sold smack from her apartment and other things to make ends meet. Currently, the other things were on the living room floor while three guys I’d seen in here before watched and shot up.