again.
“So you took him down?” Mikey said. “Where does Mox come in this at?”
“Fuckin’ Sunny screams out his name before he starts shootin’ up the place.”
The Old Man looked at his eldest son. “Mikey, what you think?”
“I don’t know, Pop. Sounds kinda funny to me.” Mikey tried to make light of the situation. “I mean, why would Mox get drunk Sunny to do a hit for him? It just doesn’t make sense to me.”
“It makes perfect fuckin’ sense, Mikey. That fuckin’ moulie wants to start a war!” Vito argued.
The Old Man had heard enough. “Cool it, Vito,” he cautioned. “Here’s what we do.” He turned to Mikey. “Vegas is coming up in a few days, see what Cleo has to say about this. Until then, sit tight.”
A dim-witted expression came over Vito’s face. “Too late.”
“What do you mean too late, Vito?” The Old man questioned.
“It’s too late, pop. I sent, Hulk.”
“Ahh, nah, Vito! What you go and do that for?” Mikey steamed.
The Old Man struggled to stand up from his chair. He was furious. He wasn’t afraid of Mox, but he had so much respect for Cleo, that he didn’t want to harm him. Let alone go to war with him.
He slung Vito a look that spoke volumes and then faced his eldest. “Mikey. Get Tommy on the phone. Tell him we got a problem.”
TWELVE
“Chris, make the next right, and then a left at the stop sign.” Cleo directed, sitting in the back seat of his favorite livery cab.
The town car slowed at the stop sign and Chris hit the left blinker.
“One day I might be able to own one of these nice houses back here,” he dreamed.
“Nothing’s impossible, Chris. If you work hard enough I’m sure you can get anything you want.”
The cab cruised at a moderate 15 miles per hour down Tall Spruce Circle in Kensington Woods. It was one of the wealthiest areas in New Rochelle, New York.
Cleo sat back staring out the window at the placid scenery. He wished his life could be as simple as some of the families in this community, but it wasn't, and now it looked like it was going to get worse.
“One twenty-one Kensington Circle, sir.”
He pushed the door open and hopped out the Town car.
“Aight, Chris, I’m good.” He said, peeling a crisp hundred dollar bill from his stack.
“You sure you don't want me to wait, Cleo?”
“Nah, go ‘head. If I need you, I’ll call.” Cleo replied.
Cleo hurried down the driveway to Mox’s 3500 square foot estate. Usually, when Cleo got to the front door it was open because Mox would see him on the surveillance cameras. Today it wasn’t, so he rang the doorbell.
“C’mon, Mox open the door.” He whispered. Then he rang it again.
After two more rings he stepped back to get a view of the second floor and yelled. “Yo, Mox!”
A shadow moved behind the blinds and then they slid open.
Mox was standing in his robe, holding his AK47 trying to see who the fuck was yelling his name. Noticing Cleo, he rushed down to open the door.
He barely passed the threshold and Mox was already screaming.
“They killed Kim!” He slammed the door shut. Mox clenched a bottle of Perrier Jouet in his right hand.
“What the fuck are you talkin’ about?” Cleo was confused. He followed Mox into the living room.
“Fuck them spaghetti head muthafuckas!”
“Mox, I told you now wasn't the time to be startin’ a war. We can't afford that right now.”
Mox looked at Cleo like he was crazy. “I ain’t start shit. They kill one of ours, we kill one of theirs. You know how this game is played. Kim didn’t deserve that.”
Cleo was still lost. “Hold up...hold up. I don't know nothing about Kim or none of that shit. What the fuck happened at Pellegrino’s?” he questioned.
“Pelle, who?” Mox laughed, but it wasn’t a joke. He took a swig from the bottle
“So you took him down?” Mikey said. “Where does Mox come in this at?”
“Fuckin’ Sunny screams out his name before he starts shootin’ up the place.”
The Old Man looked at his eldest son. “Mikey, what you think?”
“I don’t know, Pop. Sounds kinda funny to me.” Mikey tried to make light of the situation. “I mean, why would Mox get drunk Sunny to do a hit for him? It just doesn’t make sense to me.”
“It makes perfect fuckin’ sense, Mikey. That fuckin’ moulie wants to start a war!” Vito argued.
The Old Man had heard enough. “Cool it, Vito,” he cautioned. “Here’s what we do.” He turned to Mikey. “Vegas is coming up in a few days, see what Cleo has to say about this. Until then, sit tight.”
A dim-witted expression came over Vito’s face. “Too late.”
“What do you mean too late, Vito?” The Old man questioned.
“It’s too late, pop. I sent, Hulk.”
“Ahh, nah, Vito! What you go and do that for?” Mikey steamed.
The Old Man struggled to stand up from his chair. He was furious. He wasn’t afraid of Mox, but he had so much respect for Cleo, that he didn’t want to harm him. Let alone go to war with him.
He slung Vito a look that spoke volumes and then faced his eldest. “Mikey. Get Tommy on the phone. Tell him we got a problem.”
TWELVE
“Chris, make the next right, and then a left at the stop sign.” Cleo directed, sitting in the back seat of his favorite livery cab.
The town car slowed at the stop sign and Chris hit the left blinker.
“One day I might be able to own one of these nice houses back here,” he dreamed.
“Nothing’s impossible, Chris. If you work hard enough I’m sure you can get anything you want.”
The cab cruised at a moderate 15 miles per hour down Tall Spruce Circle in Kensington Woods. It was one of the wealthiest areas in New Rochelle, New York.
Cleo sat back staring out the window at the placid scenery. He wished his life could be as simple as some of the families in this community, but it wasn't, and now it looked like it was going to get worse.
“One twenty-one Kensington Circle, sir.”
He pushed the door open and hopped out the Town car.
“Aight, Chris, I’m good.” He said, peeling a crisp hundred dollar bill from his stack.
“You sure you don't want me to wait, Cleo?”
“Nah, go ‘head. If I need you, I’ll call.” Cleo replied.
Cleo hurried down the driveway to Mox’s 3500 square foot estate. Usually, when Cleo got to the front door it was open because Mox would see him on the surveillance cameras. Today it wasn’t, so he rang the doorbell.
“C’mon, Mox open the door.” He whispered. Then he rang it again.
After two more rings he stepped back to get a view of the second floor and yelled. “Yo, Mox!”
A shadow moved behind the blinds and then they slid open.
Mox was standing in his robe, holding his AK47 trying to see who the fuck was yelling his name. Noticing Cleo, he rushed down to open the door.
He barely passed the threshold and Mox was already screaming.
“They killed Kim!” He slammed the door shut. Mox clenched a bottle of Perrier Jouet in his right hand.
“What the fuck are you talkin’ about?” Cleo was confused. He followed Mox into the living room.
“Fuck them spaghetti head muthafuckas!”
“Mox, I told you now wasn't the time to be startin’ a war. We can't afford that right now.”
Mox looked at Cleo like he was crazy. “I ain’t start shit. They kill one of ours, we kill one of theirs. You know how this game is played. Kim didn’t deserve that.”
Cleo was still lost. “Hold up...hold up. I don't know nothing about Kim or none of that shit. What the fuck happened at Pellegrino’s?” he questioned.
“Pelle, who?” Mox laughed, but it wasn’t a joke. He took a swig from the bottle
Similar Books
