Observation
‘If you make listening and observation your occupation,
you will gain much more than you can by talk.’
Ram’s POV
Steady.
Steady hands, soldier.
I check the scope. Windage. Barometric pressure. Range. Check. Air temperature. Check.
Target is 1500 yards away. Chatting with other insurgents. I’ve been watching for days. They’ll leave, he’ll stay.
They leave.
I pull the trigger.
Next target.
Woody’s coming down with a cold. I can tell. He’s swallowing constantly and attempting to pop his ears. Amusing. He seems to come down with a summer cough or cold every year. I make a mental note to get him some Emergen-C and ask Ella to up his Vitamin C.
Hal’s at the bridge trying to schedule men. Steph’s at the beach with Hector and I know she’s having fun. We’re glad. We’re losing our minds here. Summer colds, one injury, and this ‘assignment’ are wearing Trenton thin. On the plus side, since she’s out of the field, injuries are at record lows. Just one right now. We’re thrilled and hoping this continues once she’s fully trained.
Manny’s out, on ‘assignment’ he says. OK. I can’t wait for Manny and Hal to admit that Ranger is running a domestic. He has to be. Those two, and Hector, disappear without warning all the time and I’m left running the office. I’m a lot of things, but stupid is not one of them. The USMC Scout Sniper Training School taught me well. The training was intense and the designation ‘Sniper Scout Qualified’ was earned. I can pick up on things others miss. There’s nothing worse than thinking I’m missing a marker, a detail, which is why I was about to lose my mind during the test period. I was trained to pick up details in an instant. I couldn’t figure out why I was missing the threat against Steph.
I stand and stretch. Mary Lou’s information is spot on, as usual. I decide to join the takedown team for George Koslock. I need a break.
Man, mid-30s, black fedora with a red feather. Tan pants, professionally hemmed. Blue check shirt. Pinkie ring. Wedding ring. Scuffed brown boots, well worn and loved. Estimating 5’10”, 165 pounds.
Woman, 20s. Fake tits. Fake tan. Expensive orthodontia done as a kid. Tight white dress with cut outs. Fake Ferragamos. Just fake. No nose work done. Italian? 5’7″, 120.
Woman, early 30s. Flat sandals, tight blue jeans, great ass. Coach purse, wedding ring, white tank top, aviator sunglasses, SHIT! Mary Lou. I amend the description. CO’s best friend. Built like a brickhouse. Happily married. Accompanied by older woman, late 50s, early 60s. Khakis, white-shirt, thin wedding ring, tight perm. No resemblance. Mother-in-law? I see Lenny in this woman.
Cal is with me. If I have to do surveillance without Woody, then Cal is the next best option. Cal can be absolutely silent, which is good. I loved working with him when I was head of the monitoring unit. Cal declined to take it over, saying he had no interest in management. That’s why Woody is the head. I didn’t want to promote my partner (didn’t want to hear accusations of favoritism) but Trenton office, by and large, doesn’t operate like that. You get promoted on merit around here. My brothers are loyal men and we all get to see each other’s actions or reactions every day. Woody was the next best choice, so he took it. Cal prefers not being in management and he and Woody work well together.
I’m scanning every man on the street and I nod at Cal. Man and woman just entered Giovichinni’s. My phone beeps.
George is at Giovichinni’s. ML.
Thanks, ML. I spotted him. I want to tell him that, as a general rule, trench coats in the summer make you look guilty of something, even if you’re innocent. I strap on the hardware and wait. I estimate 30 minutes.
I’m right.
We strap George down and climb in.
Sandals with a three inch heel. Peep toe, red polish. Bare legs. Denim skirt hitting mid-thigh. White tank top and a silk overshirt. DD cups. Hand at chest, no ring on finger. Thin gold necklace with crucifix. Plump red lips, fresh lip wax, black hair teased up. Pretty dark brown eyes.
I amend the description. CO’s best friend. Connie Rosolli. Rosolli crime family. I nod as we pass and she waves.
Connie’s POV
Ram’s just caught George Koslock. No stunner there. George is as thick as two short planks, but he’s a good wheel man.
I sigh and call Uncle Lou. George was in his crew and he’d been told not to get caught.
“Zio?”
“Costanza?”
“Yes, zio. George was caught.”
“Thank you, Costanza.” Click.
I continue to my car. Seeing Ram has made my day. I don’t know why I’m so interested in him (besides the fact that he’s gorgeous), but I guess it’s because he’s the only RangeMan, besides Ranger, who I know can speak more than 10 words. ML says he spoke to her. Twenty-three words total. She was gloating but she told me that the RangeMen will talk if they start the conversation.
Great, Mary Lou. Thanks. Now what the hell do you expect me to do with that information? What reason does Ram have to speak to me? Manuel I’ve spoken to, since he’s now the head of Bonds Enforcement. Hal I speak to regularly. Ram?
This is not a problem with Italian men. Italian men talk. They love to talk. They talk so fucking much they talk themselves to jail.
I realized what my uncles did at five. A bit young to figure it out, but I assume watching a man get sodomized in your basement because he’s late with his ‘protection’ payments for the third time would make anyone grow up. I wasn’t supposed to see it, but I’d been napping upstairs. My parents were out shopping. My older sister was supposed to be watching us. She was doing her nails when I slipped by her.
Now that I’m older, I’m a bit disturbed that I didn’t have much of a reaction. Either my uncles were good liars or I truly didn’t understand what was going on. I just understood my uncles were very dangerous men.
My uncles run our section of the Burg and my dad is the Family lawyer. They make sure he keeps his hands clean so he can defend them. The Italian Mafia is alive and well in Trenton, NJ. We socialized with the Hungarians when we had to but mostly because they were Catholic and we were Catholic. The Poles were OK, if nothing else was available. My grandmother said they bred like rabbits, which I found funny even though I had no idea what that meant at the time. My mother didn’t find it so funny, but then she was working on child number eight at the time. Tina and I are determined to never serve as brood mares. Tereza is doing enough for both of us. Assumpta has done her duty too.
Non-Catholics and blacks were forbidden. They were going to hell; no need to be tempted to join them. Lula bemuses my entire family. She’s both black and Baptist, but she’s loud and funny and takes no shit so, oddly enough, of all my friends Dad likes her best. I’ve often wondered if my Daddy was one of her customers but I’m sure he wasn’t. Lula tends not to speak to people she fucked when she was on the streets. She goes to my parents’ house and debates my dad on food and politics. They’re ardent Democrats and can debate policy for hours. Dad likes her ‘unique’ perspective, especially since Lula will occasionally throw him a curveball, like her stance on drug policy. She always puts away more than him and he likes that.
“Time was a woman ate like a woman. She didn’t starve herself. A man likes having something to hold onto.”
I believe it. All of us are sturdy Sicilian stock. I’m careful about what I eat. Between pregnancy and genes, my family runs from solid to fat in two meals.
I grew up watching my uncles’ protection racket. Unlike most Mafia men, they didn’t hide it from us. Nope, they were clear about the fact that they were made men. I learned how to read men by watching the ones in my uncles’ crews. I know the cheaters, the liars, the whores, and scoundrels. I can spot a man with an addiction at a thousand paces. Not much gets by me.
Men are an open book because their needs are simple. Food, sex, sleep, entertainment. Sometimes you can combine two or three of the four elements and that will lead to the fourth. Otherwise, watching two women covered in chocolate lick each other wouldn’t be so interesting to them.
I developed early, which should have made me an object of interest in the Burg. Problem? My uncles. Linda Scarpa once said that she never said anything about crushes or boys because they wouldn’t last long after. ‘They went into a club and they beat him bad, and for what? I was kissing him.’ Clearly her dad’s crew and my uncles had read from the same playbook. Boyfriends were told to keep their hands to themselves. Kissing was forbidden. Sex was not on anyone’s mind. So boys stopped being interested in me. I mean, with three enforcers ‘chaperoning’ my dates, it wasn’t as if they were going to get to touch my chest.
The Rosolli girls became known as ‘Untouchable’ for more than the obvious reasons.
We were sick of it. We weren’t getting to act out on our desires or crushes. Until my wedding, I’d never even been allowed to hold hands with a boy. So I married. My wedding, to Tony, looked like it was inspired by Connie Corleone’s. I had hundreds of guests, lots of flowers, a bright sunny day. I was 18 and I was in love, I thought. It was what you did. If you wanted to lose your virginity, you got married. Did I love Tony? I don’t know, but I was curious about sex and smart enough to know that marriage came first, especially if you were the daughter of a ‘Family’ like mine.
All of the ‘Untouchable’ Rosolli girls were virgin brides. We had no other choice.
Everyone in town discussed Steph’s ‘deflowering’ because it caused a dilemma. The Plums weren’t active but her cousins and uncles (the Plummeris) are. They wanted revenge for the slight and loss but Morelli’s godfather was a capo. Two mob families going head to head? Burg suicide. Some said Steph should have kept her legs closed. Others said that was the problem with marrying Hungarians: randy animals. Still others thought she led him on.
Opinion was pretty much that Steph was old enough to know better. She should have kept her legs closed. Morelli did what virile Italian men interested in a pretty girl do. He got laid. His problem? No discretion. That was the part everyone sided with Steph over. It was one thing for Morelli to have sex with her. It was completely disrespectful for him to brag about on the walls around town. She was a good Italian Catholic girl. He ruined her reputation.
My family was evenly divided. The women were completely on Morelli’s side in saying Steph should have kept her legs closed. Steph was, and is, known for having more curiosity than sense. She didn’t scream rape and, had Morelli not decided to try his hand at graffiti, no one would have known.
The men in my family would have killed Morelli or made him marry me to make up for the slight to my honor. Frank Plum’s unwillingness to defend his daughter’s honor was considered odd and unmanly.
When Steph ran Morelli over, it was considered just compensation and honor was restored. The Burg calmed down and life went on. I know Steph doesn’t know, but Morelli’s godfather, ‘Sunny’ Sunucchi, convinced him to accept the broken leg and keep his mouth shut. He, personally, was ready to deliver harsher punishment to Joe. Steph is still an Italian and she’d been dishonored by him. I think that’s why Joe’s hung on so long. Joe loves her and he wants to marry her, but Sunny is still disappointed in Joe and expects Joe to ‘make it right’ with Steph. Joe knows what that means.
Tony wanted a traditional Mob wife. Cook, clean, have babies, fuck on demand. I’d been raised to expect this and for the first few years I didn’t complain. I didn’t want to. Sex was everything I’d hoped. Tony was great in bed. After five years married, everyone decided it was time for me to start having babies. I was thinking about going to college; Tony was thinking baby names. So we started trying to have a baby. After two years, we were still trying but I had my AA in Business Admin. My mother went to Mass and said prayers for my womb and Tony regarded my period as a personal affront to him.
“Again? This is ridiculous! Maybe you need to lay on your back a little longer. Let my boys get a good swim in.”
Asshole. After another year we saw a doctor, who declared me healthy.
Tony had a low sperm count.
He was insulted. That’s when our problems started. While I was flat on my back with a pillow under my hips, trying to let his boys ‘get a good swim in’, he was out fucking anything he could get his hands on trying to prove he wasn’t the problem. Six mistresses, one wife, no babies before Uncle Jimmy found out.
Mafia code states that Tony should have been killed, but I knew better. Moving from wife to widow as an Italian would have been hell. I would have been required to say prayers for his soul and pretend to mourn him. Dating would have been nearly impossible. No thanks. I took a page from Stephanie Plum Orr’s book and made a (quiet) stink.
The beatings Tony received were vicious. I smiled over the broken leg both times. Tony gave me every fucking thing I wanted in the divorce, my (brand-new) car, the house, and all the money in the bank accounts (that he tried to move and hide from me). I had no needs. I made a deal with my uncles: I did the right thing. I married, he cheated. This time, I’m dating and you won’t stop me. Otherwise, I leave New Jersey entirely. My mother wasn’t having it so my father intervened. I was serious about the threat, he knew it, and he called his brothers off. Just in time; they had another ‘husband’ lined up for me.
By the time the divorce was settled, I was 26, moving out of the Burg and looking for something to do.
Ram’s POV
Steady.
Steady hands, soldier.
I check the scope. Windage. Barometric pressure. Range. Check. Air temperature. Check.
Target is 1500 yards away. There are two vulnerables nearby. One is awake, moving furtively. The other is frightened, watching the door and attempting to distract the target.
I wish Steph would stop. I could get a lock on Scrog if she quit that. At this distance, with this small a field, I can’t afford a single mistake.
“Sinclair?” Earbud.
“I can’t, sir. She won’t stop moving. Also, the minor is awake.”
Silence. Ranger’s worst nightmare. His daughter will witness his death.
Thirty minutes later, the apartment door opens. Scrog fires. Ranger goes down. Julie fires. Scrog goes down. Steph screams. Julie looks ready to shoot again.
I’m watching this through my scope. I want to take Julie out and buy her a rifle.
Next target.
My first gun was a .260 Remington. Hunting isn’t a passion in Montana. It’s an obsession. Everyone has a gun. You’re a weirdo if you don’t. I remember a kid whose parents moved from Vermont to Montana and he didn’t have a gun. His parents believed that guns led to gun violence.
No one in the neighborhood had much to say to them.
As an adult I see their point but I don’t. I won’t get into the politics of it except to say that people kill people. I can kill you with a spoon if need be. Quit blaming the tool. Blame the person. I don’t see a movement to ban spoons.
My father took me out with my .260 for my first deer hunt. I bagged a 10-point deer my first time out. I honestly thought my dad was ready to get me my first drink and my first girl for that achievement. I was only eight. After that, you couldn’t keep any kind of ballistic weapon out of my hand. I did all the chores my mom wanted done in order to get rimfire so I could practice. Dad bought me a bow and I learned to fire a long bow and a recurve bow. I even had a boomerang and I’m deadly with it.
Becoming a crack shot is like anything else in the world. Practice, practice, practice. I spent hours in blinds stalking elk, deer, bears, whatever was on during hunting season. It wasn’t really about the kill. It was the process. The kill is anticlimactic. It’s the end of the fun. Learning to sit still and be patient was the fun part. Knowing that the elk couldn’t see or hear me, that I could’ve killed it an hour ago or 10 minutes ago, that was the skill. That’s what I took pride in.
Hitting the target is anticlimactic.
The Marines consider themselves riflemen first. It’s in their ethos, the very founding of their branch. Fine. I’m Army infantry and I’m a crack shot. My superiors noticed. I wasn’t a hot head. I never missed. I was patient in a firefight and in a wait and hold position.
“Specialist Sinclair, have you considered Scout Sniper School?”
I’m at parade rest and hiding my happiness. “Sir, yes, sir!”
“Have you applied to attend?”
“Sir, yes, sir!”
My reputation got out. My superiors pushed my application forward. The happiest day of my life (so far) was the day I was selected to attend the Marine Corps Scout Sniper School.
The first component of training was marksmanship. This is the part I nearly flunked and the part I take most pride in passing. I hate math, and marksmanship was all about the mathematics, the physics of shooting. I was ready to lose my mind but the longer it went on, the more I understood. They were teaching me the theory behind what I did naturally in the field. By the time we were tested, I was doing the math in my head. I understood the effect temperature had on bullet trajectory. We practiced what we were learning in the range and I was able to apply the mathematics to what I was doing to the field. I got it.
The second component was observation. This was something I honed there. In short, the idea was to quickly sum up a situation in a glance. They would put a tray of objects in front of you, give you ten seconds to look, then cover it and ask you to describe everything you saw. You couldn’t just say “rock, paperclip.” Oh no, that would get you flunked out. Correct answer? “Gravel, pea-sized, black with white dust covering. Silver, metal wire, bent in two oval shapes.”
Anal much? Possibly, but I’ve spotted skips while driving down the road because I’m always cataloguing. I’m always making a mental map of what I see. I prevented 61 insider burglaries when I was in monitoring because I always caught the inconsistencies. Doors latched loosely or incorrect, cabinets and drawers not locked, alarms not set. I prevented another nine insurance frauds because I was always able to show that the owner purposely left the security of the business at risk.
The final component was stalking. This was my childhood all over again and I breezed through this so fast the instructors were astonished. I could lie in the field for hours, for days without appearing to move. The shot was anticlimactic. Learning to stalk/walk was harder but I finally learned how to move silently.
It’s a skill I love to practice. Someday Hal will figure out how I do it. In the meantime, I’ll think about not sneaking up on him anymore. Last time he screamed like a girl.
“Captain Mañoso, this is Corporal Sinclair.”
I’ve heard of him. Army Ranger. Legendary. I hope he chooses me. I’d consider working with him the high-point of my military career.
He’s looking at me as if to strip my soul. “Not good enough.”
My eyes widen. What the fuck!
“You asked for the best. He’s better than that.”
Damn skippy I am. Mañoso is still looking at me, unimpressed. He turns to the man behind him, a mountain of a man, black, 6’6″, 300 pounds of solid muscle. Somehow, Mañoso doesn’t even look dwarfed standing next to this guy, even though he’s a good six inches shorter.
“¿Qué te parece?” (What do you think?)
“Confiado, inteligente, paciente. Llevete lo a él. Él puede tomar decisions por sí mismo. Usted no tendrá que estar arriba de el.” (Confident, smart, patient. Take him. He can make decisions on his own. You won’t have to be on top of him.)
Crap. I understand Arabic but that’s Spanish. I haven’t been sent south yet so I haven’t had to learn it.
Mañoso hasn’t stopped looking at me. Finally he nods. “Fine. I’ll take him.”
I meet the rest of the members of this troop. Santos, Brown, the mountain is LaPierre, and Teigs. Santos is loud and insane but I’m not fooled. I’m being tested and I guess I pass. Brown is quiet but I get the feeling he might be the most dangerous one in this group. Teigs is staring at me calmly.
“Navy SEAL.”
“My condolences.”
Everyone smiles. Teigs stares at me then nods. “My last partner got shot in the head.”
“Again, my condolences. I like my head. I’ll keep it down.”
“Please do.”
Mañoso gives us the scenario. Fallujah. Insurgent cell. My job? Scout. Kill without alerting anyone to my position.
It was the first time I served with Ranger while on active duty. Teigs died. Ranger took that hard. I took out six of the enemy but Teigs was my spotter. He realized he had a sniper on him just a moment too late.
He failed to keep his head down.
I was two feet away and I couldn’t move. Ranger and the team opened cover fire so I could retrieve his dog tags and his body. For the first time in my life, I abandoned position but that was a man’s body out there. His life. His eyes open to the sun.
I took out his killer three hours later. I assumed Ranger would never want to see me again but I was wrong.
Tank came to see me. “Good job.”
“Man died.” I stared into the distance, unwilling to cry.
“Men die. It happens to us all. He died protecting your back. He died a hero and a soldier. Don’t cheapen his death.”
I looked at Tank and nodded. I understood.
“In war, the heroes always outnumber the soldiers ten to one,” he said quietly. He clapped my back (someday, Tank will get a sense of his own strength) and left.
I know now that Tank is the primer. He checks to see if you’re ready to have Ranger talk to you. Ranger appeared an hour later. I was cleaning my rifle. He merely nodded for me to follow him.
“Where are you from?”
“Montana.”
“Tell me about it.”
I looked at Ranger. Are we going to do each other’s hair after this, sir? Ranger smiled faintly. “You don’t have enough hair for me to style. Tell me about Montana.”
It was the first time I was certain Ranger could mind-read.
I started telling Ranger about Montana, the wide open space, the stunning landscape. He listened as I talked. Every time I wondered if I should stop, he looked at me and nodded so I kept going. Finally, an hour later, I was talked out. I was ignoring the tears dripping down my face.
Ranger whirled into my path, forcing me to stop.
“I’ve never seen anyone with your skills. Steady in a gunfight, good at the details, patient. You laid in the baking heat for hours.” Ranger stared at me. “If Teigs had had your training, he would be alive now. You never moved, never fidgeted. I wondered if you were even alive because you never appeared to breathe.
I watched the insurgents. They were panicking because you were picking them off one by one and they couldn’t figure out where you were. It was impressive. You were more than a sniper. You were Death, and for a group willing to dish it out, they didn’t like taking it.”
I smiled faintly.
“Teigs’ death is my fault. I was told you were better than the best but I believe in ensuring every man has a partner to watch his back. LaPierre watches my back. I should’ve allowed you to decide if you needed a spotter. You didn’t need him, did you?”
I shook my head no.
“I have another assignment. I’d like you to remain. You choose how to carry it out.”
I decided instantly to stay. I would follow Ranger until he left the service. When I left, he invited me to join his company in Trenton.
We’ve divided the work again. I’m handling the branch budget while Zip takes care of the bonds enforcement and investigations work. Steph’s clearance starts tomorrow. I’m pathetically grateful. Manny’s a depressed wreck. I drag him to the gun range every day and force him to practice. He was good before. He’s damn near a crack shot now. I start handing him single-action rifles to slow him up and make a mental note to up the rimfire ammunition budget for the year.
I’m not crazy. Steph’s been reading the SOPs, cramming them for days. Her eyes are bloodshot and she’s nervous. This will never work.
“Yo, Manny.”
“Yeah?” Dead eyes. Not good.
“ML called. Large contingent of men in SUVs and all-black outfits just stopped for gas in Bordentown.”
Hal walks in with Steph. “I’m hearing the same thing, plus men checking into Homewood Suites in Princeton.”
“Yeah, that’s what I’m hearing too,” Steph says, looking worried. “Mom, Val, ML, Connie, Lula, Gazarra, Grandma, everyone’s calling.”
“Gazarra?”
She nods. “Trenton PD is wondering if there’s some big bust we’re doing that they haven’t been informed about.”
I send a mental finger to all of Trenton PD.
Steph chews her thumb for a moment then calls ML.
“Mary Lou?”
“Hey! Everything OK?”
“I think so. The men you’re hearing about . . . ”
“RM-ATL silkscreened in the shirts. The guys in Princeton have RM-NYC on their ball-caps.”
Talk about making a splash. They need reminders in how to move silently and not leave a trace.
“Thanks ML.” Click.
Hal looks at me and Manny. We have faint smiles.
“I have a twenty on Tank and Bobby calling them here for Steph’s clearance,” Manny says.
“They were supposed to clear her. No one else. Just them,” Hal replies.
I smile. “Change in plans. Multiple men, different branches, no one could say anything was rigged.”
Hal sighs. “Time to call the sneaky bastards.” He flips a coin and calls Danny. Coin was unnecessary. The bromance is strong in those two.
Now we know. Steph’s glancing at the SOPs again and I’m done. I can’t watch her obsess over this.
“Steph?” I’m in the Lion’s Den and I get the usual expression. A combination of annoyance, amusement, and frustration. I smile and she calms down. She knows I love her.
“Put the SOPs away for a night. I’m sacrificing myself. Let’s go watch a rom-com.”
Bingo! She perks up immediately and she’s ready for the movies in minutes. We hit the theatre and watch a Bradley Cooper movie. I swear off any movie with Bradley Cooper after Steph swears I look like him. She laughs and says the difference in the two of us is my eyes are bluer and I know how to shave. I rub my chin and remind myself to get a haircut.
After the movie we go out for an ice cream. Steph looks confused by my willingness to buy her a sugary treat but I asked Ella. Nothing will calm her nerves faster. Steph enjoys her cone and sighs happily. I smile.
Now she’s ready.
Steph’s clearance went like a breeze, as we knew it would. The live fire action? Bobby took me to the side and said he wanted me to work on a course of training for men in the company. We need more snipers and if I can teach Steph military tactics at that level, I can teach any man. I grin. Bobby is proud of my work for the company and is asking me to teach more men my skills? This has been my fucking year!
Atlanta and NYC have to go home Friday, so we decide to party like rock stars Thursday night. I googled pictures of Bradley Cooper and gave Steph some credit. My eyes are bluer but I can see that missing a few days shaving may actually help my appearance. I’ll give it a shot. I’m in my suit and I’ve left plenty of buttons open on my shirt. I’m a hairy beast and the look is working. Marcus is laughing and calling me Wolverine. I flip him off. I’m getting laid tonight. Screw him.
I arrange a massive party room in Atlantic City. I ask Candy to work with me on this. We’re celebrating the CO’s passing, yes, but we’re also having a party for toppling Boston. Marcus grins and adds that we’re also celebrating Atlanta’s crown in bonds enforcement, which makes Zip flip him off. We’re not celebrating that; Bobby is planning a separate party for them with an open bar. Mack grins and reminds us that NYC has the crown for redecorating. At least I think that’s what he said. I understood ‘fucking’, ‘slumlords’, and ‘redecorating’.
Hal looks ready to scream at the reminders. Candy kisses him and every man wolf whistles at him. Hal, Danny, Candy and Cindy are going out to dinner to celebrate their win and NYC is loaning us some men for the night. Bobby and Tank are handling the bridge overnight. When the NYC men arrive, we’ll leave.
I remember to ensure everyone toasts the CO first tonight. She made this possible.
The girls in Atlantic City know me. I’m here enough, at the tables, losing and winning in equal measure. Vince is grinning. He can count cards and he’s slick enough not to get caught at it. We make sure we lose, or break even, enough for the casinos to wonder but not bar us.
We’re at the same casino but a bigger room than we were in last time. Junior is grinning. Every man from Trenton, who was at Hal’s party, is grinning. The rest of the branch is excited. They know I handled ‘talent’ tonight and every man is hoping I found another Candy. Hot body, brilliant mind, and hot in the sack. Hal is loved and hated in Trenton. Lucky bastard. If he ever fucks up with Candy, most of the men won’t allow him a second chance. They’ll bury Candy in interest.
Hal isn’t Ranger. You’ll know pain with Hal. Ranger? Your family will receive word of your death.
The Atlanta and NYC men look unimpressed until the party starts. Then jaws drop, men shuffle in discomfort and Trenton proves once again that we reign supreme in all things, including finding top quality talent for an evening’s entertainment. The girls here are amazing. I picked a great selection. Blonds, brunettes, redheads, white, black, Hispanic, Asian, there’s something for every man’s taste. Candy made sure a few of her former colleagues who really need the money are included, but it wasn’t pity selection. They’re still hot.
We remind the guys these women are professional dancers, not prostitutes. Tip well, remember that sex is their prerogative, and don’t ruin Trenton’s name.
Halfway through the night I assess the room. It’s like a Roman bathhouse in the here and we aren’t ashamed. We’ve hidden Junior’s pants and he’s not ashamed. He’s walking around flashing his dick everywhere. We take pictures and send them to Hal; he texts and asks why we think he wants pictures of his partner’s dick. He has to look the man in the face tomorrow. Trenton, as a rule, doesn’t wear underwear and most of us are down to button downs and smiles. We play much better poker than this but we’ll do anything to make it seem like we’re losing. Don’t want the ladies butt naked and feeling used. We’re willing to take a few off for the team.
Military ethics. Yeah, your platoon mate is naked and his dick is on salute. Who gives a fuck? Yours probably is too, so stop looking. Marcus is trying to duck eager fingers (hahaha! Married men. Fraidy cats.) and Mack’s looking like he’s in seventh heaven.
“Yo, homie, is this how Trenton bruhs really get down? Shit, Imma get you the stacks for my b-day. Handle that!” Mack’s completely naked and the chick on his lap is grinning.
I laugh and pass the tequila. I didn’t understand shit and I’m in my socks.
A/N: Mack sentence? Translation: Is this how the Trenton men party? Damn! I’m going to get you the budget for my birthday party. Organize that for me!
Connie’s POV
Vinnie is in his office. Harry just left. The screams of pain were amusing. I called Hal to see if they got that on tape.
Yup.
Ten words exactly. I’m going to break him at some point.
Vinnie is whimpering in pain and Harry merely nodded at me as he left. I nodded back. I know where he’s headed next.
If I liked Barnyard, I might warn her but this is 30 years of karma catching up with her ass. She earned every minute of whatever they plan to do to her.
I start working for Vinnie at Uncle Jimmy’s request. He and Harry hate each other and the uncles want to know what is going on in Vinnie’s operation. It combines the Plummeris (getting even aka hitmen) and the Scarvettis (loansharking). If Harry is using it to launder money, they want to know.
Getting hired is easy. I just walk in. Lucille is sitting at the counter, doing her nails.
“Vinnie in?”
“You here about the file clerk/office manager job?” I nod. Lucille stares at me and nods. “Congrats. All yours.” She hops off the stool, picks up her purse and leaves.
Vinnie walks out 10 minutes later. I’m sitting on the stool filing my nails. He walks right past me without looking.
“Lucille! I need the file on …” Vinnie finally looks up and notices me on the stool. So far I’ve learned that Vinnie is not observant. “Who the hell are you?”
“Connie Rosolli.”
His eyes widen. “Why are you here?”
“I’m your office manager.”
“The hell you are!”
“Your wife says different.”
Second thing I’ve learned: Vinnie fears his wife, or at least her dad. He swallows hard. He knows he has a problem now. I’m a different Family and I’ve been hired by his wife. He’s stuck.
“Fine. You know how to do this?”
“Nope. I know how to answer phones and take messages. What else you need?”
“Can you pass a background check?”
“Yeah.”
“Fine. I’ll teach you everything else.”
That’s my first day. I sit and answer the phone while he organizes his office and gets things set. Finally, he begins teaching me the ins and outs of running the bonds office. A lifetime as a mobster’s niece and a car salesman’s wife means I’m just as sneaky as him, so I quickly realize that Vinnie isn’t a front for anything. He’s a slimy little piece of baggage but the bonds office is successful due to his hard work, a good understanding of people, and his father-in-law’s backing. This is meant to keep him busy.
Then I hear about the duck obsession. I don’t understand it at first. So male ducks have a corkscrew dick. So what?
Then I learn that excites Vinnie. Twenty minutes later, I see the results.
“Where’s the rest of it?” I’m unimpressed. I know Vinnie is Italian, but this is the least impressive dick I’ve ever seen. Granted, it’s dick #2 but still. My ex-husband’s biggest virtue was that he lived up to the ‘Italian Stallion’ stereotype.
“Believe me, it feels better inside.” Vinnie grins, moving closer. I smile and push him into his chair. He stands, works his pants down to his ankles, sits back down and starts unbuttoning his shirt.
“You wanna keep it?” I smile and lean over him. Vinnie looks nervous but excited. I move swiftly and plunge my nail file into the seat of his chair, centimeters from his dick.
Vinnie pisses himself.
“Wag that at me again and I won’t miss.”
Vinnie swallows hard. I walk out, leaving the nail file in place. It’s the last time Vinnie and I ever discuss his dick.
On the personal front, dating sucked. I couldn’t see why everyone enjoyed it. I guess my good Catholic girl upbringing hadn’t worn off yet because I couldn’t manage it. My first date after my divorce was at Mancini’s. I’ve learned better since then but he suggested it and I agreed, thinking we’d get great service because everyone knew me. I was all of 26, still kinda innocent and stupid.
We were visited by everyone in the place over the course of the evening. By the time Uncle Jimmy came over to ‘chat’, I realized what a massive mistake I’d made. Even worse, so did my date. I could see that there wouldn’t be a second date.
“Everyone here seems to know you.”
I shrugged. “Family restaurant.”
“Your family?”
“Yeah.” You have no idea how accurate that is.
He looked around. “No offense, but I get the feeling that I’m expected to propose at the end of the evening.”
“They wouldn’t be disappointed if you did.”
That was our last date.
Date two was out of town. Lesson learned? Always drive my own car. I refused to sleep with him and I wasn’t letting him finger me just because my half of the date totaled over $100. He left me on the side of US 1.
He was injured in a ‘freak’ accident and I heard he nearly lost his dick because of the number of infections from the catheter.
Dates 3-15 were similar disasters that taught me various lessons: Always have cash and an extra credit card. Always have a cell phone. Always have a weapon or be prepared to use your purse as a weapon. It’s OK to ask what they do. It’s not OK to have to listen to their whining/complaining/bragging all night. Bringing your kids on a date is unacceptable. Being late is unacceptable.
I hit 28 and wondered if I’d ever see an orgasm again.
Then I met Michael. Oh god, even thinking of him reminds me of how great he was. I’m not saying I was cynical at that point; I’m saying that I assumed he would be another asshole.
He wasn’t Italian. He wasn’t from New Jersey. He was a day-trader from Philly who knew how to dance, enjoyed Italian cuisine, and liked long walks at the riverfront. He liked my sexy lingerie and heels.
I immediately warned my family off him.
My mom and dad got hopeful. My sisters were jealous. Michael was everything you could dream of and he adored me. He was great in bed. He didn’t have any kids or diseases. He was respectful and patient. He greeted Tony with a fist to the face and my uncles fell in love with him.
Everyone loved him except Tina. She was suspicious and her suspicion kicked off my own. I started noticing little quirks that didn’t add up. How was it that someone who was a day trader didn’t understand the market? Couldn’t give me investment advice right then and had to ‘think about it’? Didn’t appear to have a day trader account at one of the big websites? Wasn’t eating Tums with every market swing?
Still, we dated for three years and I brushed off my doubts. I was starting to think about marriage when Tina set a trap for him with my uncles. She came over and quietly started talking about a Mob hit my uncles had been involved in. I was curious and asked for all the details, so she told me everything.
We met later and she told me that everything she’d told me was fake. Too many of my uncles’ low-level soldiers were getting taken in and put away. The Family suspected me. She suspected him and she told my family that I was a Rosolli first. I’d put his ass six-feet under before I sold the Family out. They agreed to set the trap to see if it was me or Michael talking.
I immediately went to my uncles and told them my suspicions. They were disappointed but grateful to see that I was still loyal to the Family. They were willing to forgive me if it were true that he was false.
A month later, the FBI hauled me and Tina in for questioning. My day trader was an undercover agent and my entire house was bugged. I was considered the easy way into the Family; it was clear I was outside the Family business, not connected in any way to their dealings, but still close. I was a niece. I was a way in. Plus, my father might deal to keep me out of jail.
Tina saved us all. I’m 36 and haven’t really dated in the past five years. I’m a Rosolli. I’m tainted for life.
No one has ever found Michael’s body but, if you listen very closely in the Pine Barrens, you can still hear the sound of his screams. I know where his body is buried. He was screaming my name as he died.
The gossip about Joyce begins almost immediately. Harry, in conjunction with a few of his pals, bought Joyce’s debt from her ex-husband. They presented her with the paperwork in her apartment and told her that she had to start working it off immediately. They weren’t waiting for her to land Allen Rusconi. You owe the Mob, you pay the Mob. Joyce starting panicking and trying to negotiate, but by the time Harry and his pals left, Joyce had worked off $80. They didn’t consider her that great a lay and decided to price her at her worth.
$14,920, with rapidly accruing interest, to go.
Joyce’s Craigslist ad is an embarrassment. I immediately take a screenshot and forward it to everyone I can think of. ML calls immediately.
“Oh my God . . . ”
“I know.” I’m still grinning at the screen.
“Is that really her rate?”
“Yeah. $100 an hour.”
Shocked silence on the other end. “Part of me says I should feel bad—”
“As a woman, knowing that another woman has been forced into prostitution, we should feel bad. One of our best friends is an ex-hooker. But Joyce isn’t a woman. She’s a leech, a parasite, and a bitch. She’s getting hit with a lifetime of bad karma and dirty deeds done to others. She’s used her body to make her living her entire life. Now, she’s really using her body to make her living.”
“I know.” I hear ML’s giggle. “Steph’s gonna love this.”
Speak of the devil. My phone beeps.
“Hey, my phone just beeped,” ML and I say in unison. “OK.” I click over.
“Where’s Joyce’s corner!?” Lula yells, laughing. “You gotta get a picture of that shit for me!”
I laugh. “Let me call you back. ML has Steph. Let’s get on one big call.”
Ten minutes later, all four of us are on the call. I emailed the Craigslist website address to everyone and we’re all staring in shock. Joyce has been posed in her panties and bra, with one of Harry’s cronies pulling her hair and holding a riding crop next to her body. She looks like a bad BDSM ad but her rates for all sex work are right next to it.
“I wanna feel bad,” Steph says, laughing, “but I can’t. She’s spent a lifetime trying to ruin me. Now she’s getting screwed and, like me, it’s personal and she can’t do anything about it.”
“Well, as the only ex-ho on this call, I’ll tell you right now, I don’t feel bad. Joyce liked to make me feel like shit. Now she’ll understand. Besides, she got priced at $100 a pop. If she’s smart, she turns one trick a night for the next year and she’s done. She paid off her debt. Shit, if you gotta sell the goods, sell hard.”
“Why didn’t they just let her be a stipper?” ML asks.
“Who’d you rather look at?” I reply. “Joyce’s 30+ year old sagging ass or Candy’s 20 year old firm tits and ass?”
We’re all quiet. We’re all Joyce’s age (or older in my case) and with the exception of Steph, none of us is strip pole worthy.
“By the way, Vinnie got it too.”
Three gasps. “What happened?”
“I’m not sure yet. He’s still crying. I’ll let you know when I find out.”
I wonder if they corkscrewed his dick.
