No Honor Amongst Thieves Read online

  He was a cook. A measly cook in the back of a deli. A cook had come into my home and made me beg for my life. I didn’t know why that bothered me so much at the moment.

  “You cooked this?” my father asked Marcel, having already cut into his steak.

  Marcel nodded once. “I did, sir.”

  Daddy looked to Leo. “You make your aide cook?”

  Leo chuckled. “Cel started out as a cook. I think I remember him telling you that last night, but I understand because of last night’s events how it may have slipped your mind.”

  Daddy nodded as he chewed. He closed his eyes like he was in his heaven. “Best goddamned piece of steak I’ve ever had.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Marcel replied.

  “I don’t want this,” I spoke up looking at my food. “I didn’t ask for this.”

  “Baby girl, I could have sworn I heard you ask for chicken Parmesan,” Daddy said to me.

  He thought I was talking about the food, but I wasn’t. I caught myself as I was about to have a nervous breakdown.

  I knocked the plate on the floor. “I didn’t fucking ask for this,” I snapped as I stood.

  I looked Marcel in his eyes. He knew what I was referencing but kept a stoic look on his face.

  “I’m sorry, Ms. Lanfair. Maybe I misunderstood what the server told me. Would you like something else perhaps?” he asked me.

  My eyes watered.

  Daddy asked, “You okay, Sabrina?”

  I didn’t want to come off as the typical, emotional woman. “I’m fine. Just hungry, and this one got my food wrong. Excuse me,” I said, then turned to head downstairs to the bathroom.

  Once I was inside the small bathroom with only two stalls, I threw water on my face. I snatched a fistful of brown paper towels to dry it.

  A cook . . . A fucking cook had me bent out of shape. He was not the boogeyman . . . was he? He was just a fucking lackey for the Giulio family and a cook.

  It was safe to say that seeing Marcel in this way did nothing to take away from the fact I knew he was a killer; at least, he had killed Antonio. Still, in my mind, it helped to humanize him. I was so lost in my thoughts that I almost jumped out of my skin when the bathroom door opened.

  I expected another woman to walk in, perhaps one of the wives, but when Marcel walked in, I whipped around from the mirror and backed against the wall. We played the staring game for a long while. His eyes had an uncanny glare in them. They were pitiless. I wondered if the man even had a soul with the way his eyes cut into me.

  “I’m not afraid of you,” I told him.

  “Good. I don’t want you to be. Fear makes people do stupid things.... Like, I don’t know . . . talk.”

  His voice, anytime I heard it, always settled over me. It was penetrating, nice even, but it also meant I couldn’t trust him. Any other time, if I had been paying attention, his looks would have appealed to me. He was an exotic shade of chocolate. Tall, mysterious eyes that held a sadness about them; one you wouldn’t see if you weren’t paying close attention. He walked with purpose, yet took slow strides like he had all the time in the world.

  “I told you I wouldn’t say anything, so why don’t you leave me alone?”

  “You have to stop.”

  “Stop what?”

  “Stop reacting a certain way around me as my boss picks up on every little thing, and we can’t have that,” he said moving closer to me.

  I had nowhere to run as I had already backed into the wall. He’s a cook, Sabrina. Merely a cook. You don’t have to be afraid of him, I told myself.

  The closer he got to me, the more my adrenaline spiked. My fight-or-flight instinct kicked in, and I decided flight was no longer an option. Before he could reach me, I lurched forward and smacked him. I hit him so hard I scared myself. I gasped in shock, then realized that I was fighting back. In my own little way, I was fighting back. I didn’t have to be afraid of him. I didn’t have to become powerless anytime he was around.

  “I’m not scared of you,” I said again.

  “If you say that enough, it’ll eventually become true, even to you.”

  For some reason, it seemed as if he got a kick out of seeing me ruffled. I felt that he was sarcastic, so I lashed out at him again. I smacked him again. At least I tried to. He caught my wrist and forced me back against the wall.

  Hands above my head, in a firm, nonthreatening manner, he spoke. “Think about this; if I truly wanted you dead, I could have done it twice now. All I’m asking is that you relax around me. I don’t want to have to pay you another visit, because if I do, this time, I will kill you,” he said.

  I swallowed. His lips were so close to mine, I thought I was breathing for him. I was confused for a few seconds. Wasn’t sure if I should have been attracted to him or repulsed. I noticed crazy things about him at that moment, like the way his eyes had darkened, the piquant woodsy-like scent in his smell, the perfect line of his goatee, his breath. It smelled like spearmint. Was I crazy? Had I lost it? I guess my mind wanted to take notice of anything other than the fact he had again gained the upper hand.

  My chest heaved up and down.

  “Will you leave me alone then?” I asked him in a shaky voice.

  “Maybe” was his simple answer.

  Chapter Four

  Marcel

  I kept my distance, watching her because girlie was on edge as is, and a brotha knew when one kept shaking a bottle, that shit would explode. I had already tested her by showing up in her place. I needed to determine whether I had made a mistake in letting her live. When she showed up in the restaurant, I knew that she was coming.

  I needed to be clear about something. When I was told to take someone out, I never asked the justification or reason behind it. Yeah, in the case of the mayor, I put two and two together while I was at the party, but it wasn’t something I cared about because it wasn’t my place. I learned well from Senior Giulio, and I had a protocol to follow. Don’t ask and don’t care.

  My joy came in after everything went down, and the news confirmed the mayor’s death. That was all I cared about, that clean kill. But back to Sabrina. I wasn’t sure what type of chick I was dealing with, which was why I followed her in the bathroom after she wigged out. I stood back from her, blocking the exit, studying her.

  When I got too close to her, she had messed a brotha up. I wasn’t mad about it, but it had me feeling some type of way like I couldn’t understand why she was so afraid of me. I wasn’t the nigga who had kidnapped her or tried to rape her. If anything, she should be standing there singing my praises and thanking me. But I mean, not everyone thought like me.

  But yeah, pressing her against the wall, I then let her go after she swung on me too many times for my liking, I kept my distance. I had peeped that she was on some hit-a-nigga shit because she was reliving her ghost. Again, I wasn’t offended by it. Kind of enjoyed the fireworks, just as long as she kept her mouth shut and didn’t slip out and say the wrong thing.

  Which was why I said, “Maybe,” when she asked if I would leave her alone.

  Pushing off the wall, I shrugged my shoulders and moved to walk out the door.

  “That’s not an answer, though,” she said while keeping her distance.

  “I thought you were smart,” I responded looking over my shoulder.

  “Don’t insult me,” she whispered harshly, anger mixed with fear caused her dark skin to flush a slight red.

  “Ditto,” was all I said walking out and heading to the kitchen, saying over my shoulder, “Try the Parmesan. It’s not poisoned, I promise. I’ll bring you out a fresh plate.”

  Her expression amused me, but her body language let me know that she was still on edge. While heading to the kitchen, I found myself walking up to Leo, who stood around tasting the food and dictating to several of the cooks in the kitchen.

  “Cel, come holla at me for a minute,” he said holding out a hand as he usually did when throwing an arm on the shoulder of the one he addressed.

/>   Feeling the weight of the arm on my right shoulder, I kept my cool. I wasn’t fond of being touched, but debating that with my boss’s son wasn’t going to be on my agenda for the day.

  “We appreciate the delicious food you laid out for us,” he stated as we walked out of the kitchen.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  Cooking became a talent that I had no idea that I would get good at doing. Whenever I got my hands on anything food-wise, all of my attention turned into creating something not only tasty but, also, visually appealing to the eye. I never thought a simple deli that eventually turned into a bistro deli café would give me the avenue to flex my artistic skills, but it did. Murder and cooking both gave me a simple pleasure, and both were an outlet for my artistic side.

  I could hear Leo talking about nothing until we stepped into Senior Giulio’s office, and he closed the door.

  “We need your services again,” he said, rounding the desk where his father normally sat.

  He flipped through papers and then reached under the desk to pull out a yellow writing pad.

  Ripping off a sheet and folding it with his finger, he handed it to me, then sat down to watch me read it. “You did well, and we’d like that same clean-cut precision used again.”

  Several names were listed, as well as addresses, descriptions, ages, locations, and then some were written in Senior Giulio’s script. Leo was speaking in codes because he knew that if anyone had bugged the restaurant as a whole, then we all would be caught up. But back to the paper, I knew that it was the latest hit list.

  A few of the names were familiar to me, high-name businessmen associated with specific politicians who had been blocking the rise in the game of Leo and several of the men in the dining room. For me to devote my time to take these people out in ways that were not obvious and that were timed right was an important task that I happily accepted. Memorizing everything on the paper, I ripped it up and handed it back to Leo, who burned it immediately.

  “A’igh . . .” Before I could finish my response, I quickly cleared up my lingo. “Of course. I’ll take care of it as soon as I’m able.”

  “Good. Now with the unfortunate death of the mayor, there is a high possibility that my schedule will change. That means the same for you.” Leo stretched his legs, then dropped his hands on the arms of the chair he sat in. “You’ll have to prioritize your work here as our senior chef and your work for me as an aide. Is that going to be too much for you?”

  Shaking my head, I continued standing where I was. “No, it’s not. It’s an honor to be given this chance. All I wish to do is to continue making this restaurant into something lasting in respect to your father and your family. Taking on this job will allow me that.”

  “I like those words. You know your pay grade just went up, so go celebrate that. We won’t need you in the kitchen as much, which I was hinting at, but if you find the time, and you have that itch to cook, you’re always welcomed to do you,” Leo said with a smile on his face.

  “Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind.” Stepping back, I moved toward the door.

  Leo shifted in his position and stood. “I have to get back to the dining room.... Oh yes. Along with your change in position, the restaurant will be going through some changes as well. That is why Mr. Lanfair’s daughter is here today. You’ll be handing out the financial itinerary sheets to her now.”

  “That strange chick?” I laughed, then nodded. “All right.”

  “She did strangely flip the fuck out, didn’t she?” Leo said with a grating laugh. “Kind of pretty, but shaky. She might not be a fit for us, but we’ll see. Pops is adamant about her employment.”

  “I heard you all say she came highly recommended due to how well she is with finances,” I added as a sly reminder. “You all said that she’s about loyalty and isn’t for everybody, right?”

  Having Sabrina here was of interest to me now as well. Not because of the help she would be able to provide for the bistro, but because I’d be able to see if she could keep that trap shut.

  “That’s what Dad said, but we’ll see. If that shaky shit happens again, we might have to disassociate ourselves from her,” he replied, walking my way.

  That was all the information I needed to know. If little momma could get her mental in check and keep her head above the water, then there would be no problem for the Giulio family, or for me. We walked out of the office speaking about the affairs of the restaurant. In my mind, I was repeating the names and info attached to those names and not truly paying Leo any attention.

  When we ended up back in the dining room, I saw the men all enjoying their meals. It seemed that they all had seconds, and I slyly watched Sabrina without anyone noticing. She was timidly eating and discussing what she needed if she was going to be working as a financial assistant to the family.

  As Leo took his seat, his father clapped a hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently in fatherly respect, then looked my way. “Marcel! The food . . . I know Leo told you. Grazie di tutto!”

  Giving a respectable nod to him, saying, “Thank you for everything,” I smiled. “Prego, Senior Giulio.”

  For anyone watching, they would assume that I was being respectful, and I was, but I was also signaling that it was time for me to leave to handle business.

  My boss returned his smile and said, “Good kid,” as I quietly backed out of the room.

  While I headed to the back of the restaurant, I removed the white smock around my waist, then headed to the lockers where I kept my duffle bag. Snatching it, I exited, scoped my area, then hopped in my simple black Infinity, an upgrade from my busted 1992 Impala that I was sleeping in when I was homeless. Heading away from the bistro, I cut through traffic and wrapped my way around Atlanta to make it to my unassuming high-rise condo. After arriving at my place, I undressed, showered, and changed my clothes, then headed back out.

  The life of a hit man wasn’t glamorous for me. Yes, the money I made gave me certain perks, but, overall, a brotha didn’t live in a mansion somewhere in the cut. Nope. I had my simple two-bed condo that overlooked Atlanta. I paid my HOA fees like everyone else, and I kept a low-key lifestyle as not to stick out. I liked my life that way, and I wasn’t trying to shake it up for anyone.

  After getting Sabrina out of my head, thinking about how easy it was for me to break into her penthouse, I pulled up into an unassuming brick building that was attached to one of the meat package joints that Senior Giulio owned. Across the street from it was my second spot, where I handled all my work. I pulled up into the brick building’s garage, got out, and then took the hidden tunnel way down that led across the street to my spot.

  Once upon a time, this place was used during the Prohibition to transport illegal booze and other wares. Now it was my place of business. Clicking lights on, hip-hop started to play once I made it into my building. Several strides in had me walking past two huge boards. One a whiteboard with my awesome penmanship on it, and another board with various names linked to pictures. Some of the images had red crosses through them. Others had bull’s-eyes on them. Each picture was connected through a string pinned near them.

  All around me was my simple world, and I felt more at home than I ever felt since living in Atlanta. Going through my routine of undressing, I dropped my things and headed to the open concept chef kitchen I had in my loft. Pulling out a beer from my refrigerator, I walked to my computer, pulled out a notepad, sat, and began clicking and writing.

  I liked to jot down everything given to me by the Giulios, which is what I did as I looked up every person on the list. My head tilted in curiosity about one specific name. This guy was a football player for our local team, the Nightwings. As I looked up information, I laughed as it dawned on me. Just like Antonio, who I’d killed two years before, this guy, Paul Watts, was rumored to disappear in the hood from time to time. Strangely, every time, as if on cue, the streets would begin talking about street runners coming up dead and missing kilos of dope.

  Printing o
ut Paul’s picture, I chuckled while studying the dude’s face. Brotha was a clean-laced-looking cat. About the same height as me. Stocky, a crisp, lined haircut, wide jaw, the color of dark ochre brown, and known for his aggressive personality on the field. Dude was preppy tough and only 22 years old. I remembered that the city was hyped to get his ass straight out of the college draft. Nigga was killer, but he was also known for his hate of kids in the streets scraping by and banging just to make a life outta nothing.

  I’d never forget hearing him label every young black man that might live near, or in the hood, or who visited the hood, “weak thugs.” Shit pissed me off for days, but I was thankful to our local news for outing his ass for self-hatred, considering he came from the hoods of Boston. His only saving grace was that back when he was 10, he was picked to voucher into a private, Irish-based school.

  From how he acted, spoke, and how he always kept a blonde on his side with an interesting set of tits and fabricated ass, I understood that this fool wasn’t operating on a normal level. He was about some self-hate and trying all he can to be what nonminority society wanted him to be. Go! Bojangles! That’s what I thought about him, but shit, that disrespected half of the good Bojangles did in his life, so I didn’t want to disrespect that.

  But anyway, now, I had him on my list.

  Taking the printed pictures of my marks, I made notes on my map of Georgia and then pinned them to the zone. Stepping back, I made me a cup of coffee from one of those pod machines, then went back to thinking about what would be the best course on taking down an athlete who might have a drug problem. I also thought about several shit starters around Atlanta, two more political marks, and would need to keep an eye on an aide who happened to work for Mr. Lanfair.

  From the marks on the original notes shown to me, I knew that these people on the lists were not just Senior Giulio’s; they were also people every man at the table today had issues with, which amused me. Adjusting my hardening dick, I grinned. I had some people to take down, and a nice amount of money to make in the process. I needed to time this all just right and keep it all clean, but I knew that I could do it; I just needed to pick a day and time to get it going.