Joey D'angelo sat on his leader's mattress, his face a serious scowl as his Sicilian brothers filed into the pod. Pancamo stood over them, one leg propped on the chair by his bed and a bit worked up himself over the incident in the cafeteria. The second Seggio shut the door, Joey blurted his concern.
"Alvarez has to go. He's screwing with Petey's head and we all know Petey's head has been fucked since Adebisi anyway. Motherfucker has to die!"
Pancamo appeared thoughtful before nodding.
"That shit at lunch was too far," he agreed.
"Schibetta's lost his mind. Again."
Finally, Chucky was getting it.
"I'll do it," Joey was eager to volunteer.
He'd wanted to airhole that spic ever since he'd first compromised his pisan. Taking advantage of a clearly weakened mind. It was like fucking with a retard. Petey was no better than O'Reily's brother at this point!
Nino would roll over in his grave if he saw this shit.
If he saw what had become of his son--of the Schibetta name here in Oz. Joey had to admit, he was taking the disgrace very personally. Nino had been like a second father to him, taking him into the business when he'd had nothing. He and Dino, (god bless the Ortolonis) had been like Nino's own blood. The elder Schibetta had shown them love, shown them guidance and when it was called for, he'd set them straight with some tough love. Dino in particular'd had a problem with his temper. On more than one occasion it had gotten him into hot water. But Nino had always made him lie in his own bed. Face the consequences. Man the fuck up. Which was exactly what Peter needed right now.
But after today it was clear that Petey wasn't up for the task. Not like he was before, in the old days running after Dino and Joey wanting to be a tough guy too. He'd never been a true brawler the way they were (nobody could out-box Dino) but then again he'd never really had to be, given who his father was. Nino hadn't allowed him into the grittier part of the business, letting him handle the money laundering and minor drug affairs. But the hardcore shit? The wetworks? He'd left that to Dino.
Joey remembered Petey bitching about it once, insisting he was every bit the man that his father saw in Dino. Well Adebisi had proven that not to be the case. Now Petey would never be a man again.
At least not as long as Alvarez was around. If Joey was going to look out for his pisan, keep him from becoming the Em City cum dump then something had to be done.
"You just busted him up in front of everybody, Joey. He ends up dead who do you think they'll look to first?" Don reminded him.
He didn't give a fuck.
"They can look all they want but who's going to jabber?"
Don didn't respond. Chucky did.
"He's right. You're too hot right now. If we waste Alvarez we make sure you have the tightest alibi."
Okay, he could work with that. As long as he got to do the deed.
"Cool, you guys can vouch for me--"
"Don't be stupid, we ain't credible in the eyes of the hacks," Chucky cut him off.
"Especially after what went down at lunch. We need somebody the hacks will trust. Who got no reason to back us up."
That was actually a good idea.
"Who the fuck would the hacks trust in here?" Seggio scoffed.
There was silence as the mobsters thought about it.
"Beecher is pretty clean," Donny suggested.
"Plus, don't he owe us for Schilinger's kid?"
Chucky nodded.
"Yea but we need to keep our distance from him. I swore nobody would know his connection to that."
Joey glanced out the pod and into the unit. He spotted a few homeboys but knew not to consider them. Those moolie fucks weren't to be trusted.
"Morales got no love for Alvarez," Seggio noted.
"But I doubt the spics would back us over one of theirs. Even if they dropped him."
Chucky seemed to agree.
"Yea, plus we got business with him. Don't want to fuck that up on account of Alvarez."
He folded his arms, looking thoughtful.
Joey spotted O'Reily reentering the unit with a pissed off look. The hack behind him didn't look any better. Well he was definitely not an option.
"What about those old fucks, Rebadow and Busmalis?" Donny suggested.
Bingo.
The group of Sicilians watched Busmalis leaving the laundry room as they spoke.
"Him," Joey agreed, pointing with his chin.
"He's easier to spook."
Not to mention more sane. He didn't walk around professing a direct line to God like the other one did. It was a wonder the old prune wasn't in the psych ward where Peter had been.
"All right," Chucky concluded, "It's settled. When he gets outta the hole, Alvarez is done."
Joey couldn't be more pleased.
0_0
Miguel lie on the floor, clasping to the distant voice of his familia. He'd been talkative the entire time, making random statements about any and everything that came to his mind apparently. Not that Miguel was complaining, he found comfort in it. In just the sound of his voice. The hacks had yelled for them to shut up a long time ago but after a few minutes they were gone back to doing whatever the fuck they did and the two inmates were calling out to each other again..
It wasn't normal conversation. Instead Peter would blurt out that he hated instant mashed potatoes. That he'd never been to a moolie barber. That he hated wearing sunscreen. Miguel, playing along adding that he never liked Oatmeal and that he missed the rain. Peter missed the rain too.
They went on until Miguel calmed, until their voices grew hoarse--Miguel's first on account of his scene in the cafeteria.
Hours melded together and neither knew whether it was still day or night. Mealtimes were the only indicator that time was actually passing. Miguel refused his food. He wouldn't take a bite or drink an ounce as long as he was here alone and naked.
I'm not alone. I got Schibetta.
His familia.
He turned on his side, facing the doorway. Who would have guessed after all he'd been through, the shankings, the riot, El Cid, and Glenn that a Sicilian would be the one person to actually give a fuck? The same Sicilian he'd once helped Adebisi poison in a failed attempt at an alliance.
Shit. He'd forgotten about that.
Compared to the other things Oz had driven him to do, it had paled in comparison. At least Peter had walked away with his life...with his eyes.
Don't think about that!
Forcing the thoughts, the image of blood and Rivera's screams back, Miguel clutched his head and groaned. He would focus on the present, like Sister Pete had said. He couldn't change the past.
Unfortunately the present saw him cold and naked in the hole. On display for LoPresti or any other hack who wanted a piece of his ass.
They wouldn't have it this time.
He would listen out, stay awake all night if he had to. Nobody would be coming in to touch him tonight.
"Fucking broccoli gives me gas," his familia blurted from outside.
They better not touch Schibetta either.
"Brussel sprouts are little green shits!"
Miguel would hear if someone opened these loud ass doors even if it was down the way. If Peter needed him, he would be ready to beat down his door, scream his fucking head off, call all types of attention to the place so that rapist fuck LoPresti wouldn't have the chance to touch his friend.
He would protect him.
That conscious thought resignated with the young Latino suddenly and he sat up. Schibetta was his to protect. From LoPresti, from the bikers, from the Nazis and the Homeboys. From El Norte. And if the Sicilians ever turned on him, from them too.
Schibetta is mine to protect...
0_0
Len Lopresti stabbed into his lunch, a microwaved meal he'd grabbed without thinking that morning. It was simple; some chicken and mashed potatoes with corn, a poor excuse for a brownie wrapped in plastic. Nothing to rave about but it would get him through the day in this hellhole. The shift was half over at least.
He sat across from fellow officers, Hinds and Ferguson as they discussed their boring home lives. Hinds's wife was nagging him about a new sofa. Ferguson's kid was failing English. Lopresti was praying if his life ever got that dull he'd be put out of his misery by one of the useless shits in B block.
He was contemplating doing just that with his fork when Sean Murphy entered the breakroom. Their eyes met and he instantly knew some bullshit was about to occur.
This is about fucking McManus. About what I told Glenn.
"Lopresti, a word?"
Even Rivera would see the tension were he still here. The other officers certainly seemed to and quietly excused themselves. Murphy took a seat in the vacated spot directly across from him, his eyes level. Len waited for the other man to speak first.
"We've been working together long enough for you to know I'm not the type to beat around the bush. So I'm just going to ask you flat out. What the fuck did you say to Glenn about Tim and Alvarez?"
Here we go.
"I told him the truth, that McManus is giving him too much leeway and maybe it needs to be looked into."
He'd implied more than that. The words "inappropriate" and "special attention" may have been used. Murphy saw right through him.
"Don't bullshit me here. I know we may not always agree with Tim's methods but you know damn well there is nothing going on with him and Alvarez!"
Did he? McManus was showing him an awful lot of attention lately. Overriding disciplinary actions. Undermining other officers' authority for him.
"What I know is that I caught the same sick animal that gouged another COs eyes out with a knife the other day and McManus snatched him right out of the hole. He sent him back to work detail--in the same fucking infirmary where he got the damn knife! And that's after he yanked him out of the hole for fighting Hoyt before that. So you tell me what I'm supposed to report to the warden when he asks me about Miguel Alvarez."
He had to have some kind of arrangement with McManus to be protected like that. Sure the unit manager was a panty waist but even he wouldn't be that delusional. There was a reason behind it and Lopresti needed to know what it was.
Had Alvarez seen him during the riot? Witnessed his deal with Burns? Did he know about his connection to the brotherhood? And was he feeding that intel to McManus?
"Come on, Tim is the same guy who came back to Em City after being shot in the riot and gave those fuck-ups a council. He forgave Omar White for stabbing him. You have to do better than that," Murphy remarked.
Lopresti took a bite of his chicken, making sure to chew it slowly as an act of bravado. He wasn't intimidated. Murphy saw the challenge and sat back.
"You want to know what I think?" the older CO asked quietly.
"I think Tim asked one too many questions about you and the riot. It got you rattled. And seeing how Glenn feels about Alvarez anyway this was your perfect opportunity to shut it all down."
He's just speculating. He doesn't know.
"I think Tim was on to something. And you think so too otherwise you wouldn't have tried to get rid of him with your bullshit allegation. But your mistake is you underestimate how well some of us know him. And how hard some of us would fight to clear his name."
Irish bastard. He could be a problem. Lopresti swallowed his food before speaking again.
"You should watch yourself before making baseless accusations."
"Funny, I was going to say the same to you."
He clenched the fork in his hand.
"I got a unit full of guards that can back up my concerns. We all see how McManus has been with Alvarez these past couple of days."
"Too bad none of them saw where you were during the riot," Murphy remarked.
He doesn't know. He's just bluffing.
Even still, this conversation needed to end now along with any curiosity from McManus's butt buddy. And Lopresti knew just how to do it.
He wasn't the only one in the room with something to hide, after all.
"You know, Murphy, if I were you I wouldn't be trying to dig too deep. Officers with Sicilians in their glass houses shouldn't throw stones."
He recalled yesterday, seeing the head CO coming out of the old storage room with a flush faced Peter Schibetta. Now what could they have been doing alone in there?
Murphy had the nerve to look confused.
"What the hell are you talking about?"
Oh he was going for denial was he?
"Look, I'm not one to judge. You want to smuggle shit in, peddle drugs, sample some jailhouse pussy that's your business. We all got our vices. So maybe I forget what I saw yesterday, and you forget whatever goose McManus has you chasing."
The look he received from that warning wasn't what he was expecting. Murphy was supposed to be concerned, nervous even that his secret--whatever he'd been doing with Schibetta--had been discovered. Instead there was incredulity. Disbelief.
"You're joking, right? Tell me you're joking."
Lopresti wasn't. He knew what he'd seen.
"You're trying to blackmail me? Over Schibetta?"
Murphy's look of disgust was giving him second thoughts.
"I saw you two--"
"What? Coming out of a fucking room? What do you think we were doing?"
He honestly wasn't sure but it couldn't have been too kosher. COs didn't disappear in closets with inmates. Except maybe McManus. He'd revamped it for that annoying ass White after all.
"That's between you two. And maybe Glenn if you--"
Murphy was on his feet, his face a mask of revulsion.
"Is that what you were doing during the riot? Sampling prisoners?"
What?!
"You calling me a fag?"
Even if he was--which he wasn't--he'd sooner cut off his dick than stick it in any of these crazy fucks.
"I'm calling you a liar. And a bad CO. Can you even account for your whereabouts during the riot?"
Who the fuck did Murphy think he was, coming at him like this? Before he knew it, Lopresti was on his feet as well.
"Hey, I do my job! Ask anybody who they'd want on the floor with them if these fucks get out of line," he defended himself.
"Because that worked out so well during the riot," Murphy remarked smartly.
Lopresti had no retort other than the urge to pop him one good in the jaw. But what good would that do? He'd be suspended, possibly lose his job. And the Brotherhood would have to recruit another CO to their cause. It just wasn't worth it.
"You stay out of my way, Murphy. And I'll stay out of yours."
With that he went back to his lunch, ignoring the man still standing before him. For a moment it looked like Murphy wouldn't leave, his glare cutting through the younger CO with a righteous conviction.
Just when Lopresti decided enough was enough, that Murphy was about to be wearing microwaved chicken on his face, Sister Pete's arrival cut into the tension.
"Am I interrupting anything?"
Despite their animosity, both men dialed it down.
Even the baddest of men behaved in front of the sister.
"No, we're fine," Murphy forced out before turning to leave.
Lopresti watched his exit in silence, mentally making a note.
He would have to be a lot more careful with Murphy on his back.
0_0
"Just slip into his cell, slice the guinea fag and be done with it. It won't be the first time an inmate bit it in the hole. Hell not even the first wop."
It was late afternoon, the plan in motion. Work detail was finished leaving the inmates to their own devices. The two sat in the computer room, appearing to be utilizing the PCs.
"And how would you know? You weren't here for Ortoloni or Schilinger's son," his subordinate laughed.
The leader gave him an amused look in reply.
"I watch. I listen. I know more than you think. Like which hack has a gambling debt and desperately needs money. Or which hack is so far up O'Reily's ass he shits Lucky Charms."
The two inmates smirked just as CO Smith approached.
"Or which hack is just a greedy motherfucker looking to waste a a spaghetti eating whiteboy."
Smith stood in the doorway, not humored by his assessment.
"You got my money, hombre?"
"You do what I need and I got plenty more."
"Good."
The hack folded his arms, to appear authoritative rather than conversational. For roaming eyes of course.
"It looks like a suicide, comprende?" the gang leader cautioned.
His subordinate nodded.
"Guinea maricon couldn't hack it outside psych. Slits his own throat. Got it."
Pleased, he nodded to his lieutenant.
"It goes down tonight. In the hole. No witnesses. No dramatics. No fucking this up, Chico."
"No fucking up," Guerra agreed, happy to stick it to Alvarez in any way he could..
"Alvarez's bitch dies tonight."
