Chapter Six
Tony woke in the morning with his shirt unbuttoned and wondering how that hell that happened. During the night he must have done, though he didn't remember being that drunk, although he was drunk. As he attempted to sit up, he smelled a hint of Ziva's distinctive perfume in the air. It was called Spikenard and it had the scent of myrrh, cinnamon, and iris. He loved it on her because her skin always tasted of cinnamon, sweat, and citrus to him and the perfume paired with that perfectly.
"I must be imagining things. She couldn't have been her last night. Jesus, DiNozzo, you are missing her more than you thought you would," he said.
Getting up with a headache that was pounding at his temples and on top of his head, he shuffled into the bathroom and took a long and very hot shower. When he got of the shower, the first thing he did was stare at himself in the mirror. He had a nice bruise under his left eye, but little damage on his beyond that on his face. Mainly his torso took a beating, but thankfully he avoided any cracked or broken ribs. Wrapping a towel around his waist he exited the bathroom. On the bed was his smart phone. It blinked alerting him that he missed a call, so he picked it up and played the call he missed.
"Anthony, good to have you in the city visiting. It's been years. Today at Pellegrino's at three, so we miss the lunch crowd and avoid the dinner crowd. We'll eat and talk," Vincent said.
Three o'clock then he was going to see Vincent. Uncle Vincent, Vincent The Butcher, one of the only members of his family on his father's side that he had a decent relationship with and he was the capo of the Family. He smiled. No wonder I became a cop. His cousins, Vincent's sons, Paulo, Vinnie, and Johnny, even went to see him play football and basketball at Ohio State. Lunch and a talk. It was a start.
NCIS
Tony dressed in a Hugo Boss wool and mohair grey suit with a white shirt and red silk tie along with a Bruno Magli Mikko loafers. Since it was a grey, rain threatening day, he wore his black Burberry trench coat. After telling Mullen and Fornell that he was having lunch with his uncle, he took a cab down to Mulberry Street and Pellegrino's. Paying the cab driver, he exited the cab and entered the darkly lit multi-tabled restaurant. In the back near the kitchen sat four men who had guido bodyguard written all over them. A few tables over sitting all by himself was Vincent in a custom tailored blue suit was his uncle Vincent.
Walking to Vincent's table, his uncle got up and gave him a warm hug then pulled his nephew away at arms' length to get a good look at him. Vincent was two inches shorter than Tony, growing thick around the middle, with his greying dark hair and electric blue eyes.
"You're still handsome, though you look nothing like your father. He thinks himself a Don Juan still, but you're a good look boy," said Vincent. "Sit."
After taking off his trench coat and draping it on an empty chair, Tony sat down across from Vincent.
"A federal Task Force, really, Tony?" said Vincent with a smile. "What the fuck, you couldn't get a job as a fucking assassin to take me out."
Vincent laughed at his own comment.
"Very funny, Zio," laughed Tony.
"Hey, I thought you'd appreciate it. You always had a sense of humor, Tony," Vincent said.
"I needed one," smiled Tony.
"Yeah, I know, kid," Vincent said.
Vincent waved his hand and a waiter came waltzing over.
"I'll order for us," Vincent said.
"Sure, Vincent," said Tony.
Vincent looked at the waiter: "We'll each have an order of baked little neck clams. He'll have the Linguini Alla Sinatra with the scallops in the red sauce and I'll have the lasagna. We'll both have a Glenlivet 18 on the rocks."
"I'll be right back with your drinks and appetizers," said the waiter, who hustled off.
"I'd lie to you and say that your father sends his best, but the man hates you," he said. "You'd think you treated him like shit instead of visa versa."
"I know, Zio," Tony said.
"I've missed you, Tony," said Vincent.
"I've missed seeing you, too," said Tony, "but it's tough being a cop then a federal agent and maintaining a relationship with Vincent The Butcher."
"They still use that fucking nickname, huh?" Vincent smiled. "the FBI really needs to leave the past in the past."
"You earned, Zio," said Tony.
"Every fucking jamook I cut up deserved what I gave them. Never hung a good man up by his feet, Tony, even though there were a few I wanted to, like the fucking paperboy who kept throwing the newspaper instead of dropping it off," Vincent said.
"I know that about you, Vincent. Tough guy, murderer, but a good guy. Now my father is a different story," Tony said.
"I agree. Your father does have a cruel streak. You know he doesn't deserve you, kid," Vincent said.
"Thanks, Zio," Tony mumbled.
"Come non detto. Don't be humble, kid. You fucking raised yourself and you've become a good man. You have a lot to be proud of," Vincent said.
The waiter came with the drinks and the clams. He placed them down and left. Tony sampled the clams. He shook his head in appreciation.
"So, you're here to take on the Five Families," said Vincent.
"Actually, I'm here to stop a war. Tommy Scalia is trying to become Boss of all Bosses and that can only be done with the removal of a lot capos and crews," Tony said.
"Fuck him," said Vincent as he swallowed a clam. "Stay out of this, Tony; it's going to be bloody, really bloody. Don't get in the middle of this."
"You could avoid a lot of bloodshed if I take down Scalia and his crew before much more killing is done. It would be the smart way to handle this," said Tony.
"He's not the type who goes to jail; he's the kind you bury, Tony. You gonna kill him for me, huh? I don't think so," Vincent said.
"No, you don't think s. Let's us bury him, Vincent, instead you. I can do this. You know if you people are fighting then innocent people are going to die. I've got to stop that from happening, Zio," Tony said.
"I know. And I've got to do what I have to do, Tony. Right now there is now Capo di tutti capi. If I wanted it, it would be mine, but things have been quiet so we haven't needed one. This might change things. Now can we share a nice conversation while we eat rather than talk business," said Vincent.
"How are Anna and your daughters doing?" asked Tony.
"The women, good idea to talk about them. They are beautiful, nagging, and make life worth living," said Vincent.
"And your comare, Theresa?" asked Tony.
"You remembered Theresa," Vincent smile appreciating his memory. "She is still sexy and uncomplaining. And you, Tony, are you still sample a new one every night?"
"Nah, I think I found a single woman I can love. Just her and no one else," he said.
"So, you found some to love. I'm happy for you," Vincent said.
The waiter came and took the used plates away. He left them to talk.
"You look like someone has smacked you around," remarked Vincent.
"Westies," said Tony.
"Fucking Irish," growled Vincent. "Do you want me to send some guys over to whatever fucking bar these bastards are in and smack them around?"
He loved that Vincent thought his men could easily kick the shit of the Irish. More than likely the fucking crazy Irish would kick the shit out of Vincent's men, get drunk, and then get shot in the head because they were too drunk to defend themselves.
"Hey, I have a dollop or two of Irish blood," said Tony.
"I know. You get your green from that fucking Celtic blood. You mother was a beautiful woman. Too good for your father," said Vincent.
"I agree," Tony said sipped of his Glenlivet.
The main course arrived and the two men continued in the family talk until the coffee and rum cake arrived for dessert.
"I love rum cake. I'm not supposed to have it as often as I do but it too good to say no to," Vincent said.
"Scalia?" Tony changed the subject.
"Business, huh?" he said. "I was hoping to you'd drip this."
"Yeah, business, Vincent. We need to talk about it because I'm not getting out of your business."
"Okay. I am calling for a summit of the capos of the Five Families. I'll mention your suggestion about letting the feds handle Scalia," he said.
"Vincent, really think about it. The feds take down Scalia and his people then they will be crowing about it for a while. They'll be off your case and out of your hair for a while. It makes good business sense," said Tony.
"You are smarter than my fucking sons. You would have made a great Don, Anthony. You got style, charm, intelligence, and I know you can be a fucking cold hearted bastard when you want to be. Sometimes I really feel like kicking your father's ass for failing you," Vincent said.
"I'd never have been the Don, Zio. It's just not me," said Vincent.
"If your father had handed raising you over to me when your mother died, I'd be in Florida retired right now and you would be the Boss of Bosses, Anthony. But because he is a babbo sometimes, you are a fed and I have to talk business with you like you are a fucking stranger," Vincent sighed. "We'll see about Scalia."
"Think about it," said Tony.
"Vediamo," said Vincent.
Vincent stood up and dropped two hundred dollars on the table then he gently slapped Tony's cheek. He smiled at Tony then he and his four men then walked out of the restaurant.
Tony grabbed his trench coat and walked out of the restaurant. There was a slight drizzle of rain. He started walking down the crowded street of Mulberry Street with is shops and restaurants and vendors. A NY police car with its siren and lights on sped through a cross street. If there were ten million people in New York City then there must be another million tourists. Although he wasn't best buddies with the men and women who wore the NYPD blue, he had to admire them as they busted a nut for the good citizens of the city.
Tony started walking towards the Chelsea Hotel. He doubted that Vincent was going to take his advice, which meant it was time for them to start going after Scalia. They needed to collect his known associates, his top crew, and his right hand man and anything else they could learn about him. Besides the murders that had been committed lately, there had to be more than they could pin to his ass and put him away.
A half a block behind him Michael Rivkin walked stalking Tony. Deputy Director David made it clear that he wanted Agent DiNozzo removed. He didn't want to lose his last child to this man. Ziva belonged to him and to Mossad. And Michael felt like she only belonged to him, too.
NCIS
Malachi sat at a table by the window in Doc Watson's on 2nd Avenue between 77th Street and 78th Street. It was a serviceable pub, not too fancy, which sold food and had a loud atmosphere, which worked well for spies. Loud atmospheres meant people really didn't listen to other people's conversations because they had hard enough time hearing their own. Ziva entered the restaurant and saw Malachi and headed over to the table and sat down.
"I am hungry," she said.
He waved a buxom waitress over.
"Miss, can we have two draft beers. I'll have the turkey club and...," Malachi was cut off by Ziva.
"I'll have a Reuben sandwich and I want to substitute the onion rings for the French fries," said Ziva not even bothering to look at the waitress.
The waitress walked away with the order.
"Where is Michael?" she asked.
"I have no idea, Ziva. He is working his own agenda," Malachi answered.
"He is a wild card, Malachi, and I want him under control," said Tony.
"I will try, but I have no idea what his real orders are from your father," he said. "Now do you want to hear what I've found out about the Five Families?"
"Okay, fire," she said.
"I think you mean shoot, Ziva," said Malachi.
"Do not correct me, Malachi, or I will embed a fork on her forehead. Now speak, Malachi," she hissed.
"Okay, it appears that it isn't any of the Five Families that sold the weapons to terrorists but a rogue group who are trying to move in and take power," he said. "Unfortunately, I don't have much information on this group because Interpol is not really kept abreast by the FBI or NYPD."
"But Tony probably does know about these rogues and who they are," Ziva said.
"Talk to him, Ziva. I will deal with Michael. You talk to him and get us intel that we can work on and get this assignment over and done with. I don't let this and I don't like being here," Malachi said.
"I will talk to him," Ziva sighed. "I don't know when but I will."
The waitress dropped off their draft beers and quickly moved away.
"I want the name of the leadership of this group so we can eliminate them then get head up to Montreal by train and back to Tel Aviv," he said. "I wish I had been sent to Iraq or Afghanistan to keep an eye on things, but, no, I get this damned assignment. If I don't handle this correctly, my life and career are in shambles."
"Yes, well, I want my life back, too, Malachi. I no longer want to these kinds of assignments. I am no longer right for them," she said.
"Mossad is your life, Ziva, or is it?" Malachi asked.
"I am no longer sure, Malachi, if I want to be," she admitted.
"This DiNozzo has turned your head. I believe he has melted you heart. I would like to meet this man," he said.
"I do not want him hurt, Malachi. He means too much to me," said Ziva.
"I know I have to deal with Michael and make sure he stays away from Agent DiNozzo," said Malachi.
The waitress brought over their sandwiches.
"Is there anything else I can get you?" she asked.
"No thank you," Ziva said.
The waitress moved on to her next table.
Ziva took a bite of her Rueben and smiled. She remembered the first time she had one of these sandwiches was at a deli with Tony. He explained to her that in the United States this was what was considered Jewish food. Corned beef and tongue sandwiches and pastrami and salami sandwiches; this was his idea of Jewish food. It made her smile.
"Why are you smiling?" Malachi asked her.
"Because Tony makes me smile," she answered.
"Yes, I definitely have to meet this man," said Malachi.
NCIS
Tony was walking on 20th Street between Fifth and Sixth Avenues when he heard the loud growl of a motorcycle. Most occasions he'd ignore the sound, but in New York City, he felt his life was constantly in danger. He turned in time to see two people on a Yamaha motorcycle. The rider and the passenger each had a black helmet with black visors obscuring their faces, which immediately made Tony feel hinky. The fact that the passenger had a Spectre M4 in his right hand only solidified his feeling that someone wanted him dead and dead now. Just at the same time the passenger started to fire his weapon, Tony dove behind a Chevrolet Volt. Thirty rounds ate up the windows and metal of the vehicle.
Tony came up shooting taken out the passenger with three shots in the back and then blowing out the back wheel of the motorcycle causing the rider to plow into the engine of a parked SUV. The rider was then thrown off the bike and was propelled head first through the front window of the vehicle. Tony took quick inventory of his surroundings and the damage that was done. A woman and a man walking near him were done and bleeding from gunshot wounds. He pulled out his smart phone and first called 911. Next, he called Fornell then he waited.
With those calls made he rushed to the injured sides and started to give first aid as best as he could. In the background he could hear police sirens whooping and whining. The NYPD were on their way and ambulances were on their way. It didn't look like either the man or the woman was fatally injured, but they were injured and it was his fault. He hoped that Fornell and the Task Force showed up quickly. As much as he respected the NYPD they were going to have a field day with him.
NCIS
He sat in an interrogation room with two NYPD detectives glaring at him. With handcuffs binding him he was made to feel like a convicted criminal rather someone in law enforcement. They had decided on playing bad cop and worse cop. He had no idea what precinct he was in, but only hoped Fornell found him soon.
Once the police showed up and they caught a loud of his name, they treated him like the devil incarnate. Within minutes he was forced into a patrol car and driven off to be interrogated by the two men in front of him.
"DiNutso, just fucking admit that this is about some vendetta that your Family is involved in?" growled the older white detective.
"I hate bad cops and I hate bad fed even more," the African American detective tossed at him.
"I hate silent films. I love talkies. As a matter of fact I'm kind of a film junkie, but I just never got into silent films," said Tony.
"They were mafia and you are a prince of the Genovese Family, so fess up, DiNutso, this a hit out on you because of your father and uncle," said the white cop.
"Answer him," his partner barked.
"Do you two practice this bad guy bad guy thing?" asked Tony.
"I know you are dirty," said the white detective.
The door opened and Mullen and Fornell walked in.
"Get those cuffs off of him," shouted Fornell. "He is FBI and he is clean. Cleaner than you two pieces of shit."
"I want the keys now to unlock him right now or a break someone's arm," growled Mullen.
The African American detective tossed him the keys to the handcuffs. Mullen unlocked them and then tossed the cuffs and key on the table. He glared at the two detectives.
"You touch my man here without real cause and I'll have your badges," threatened Fornell.
"Some guidos try and kill him and he takes them out and you fucking try and railroad him," Mullen said through clenched teeth. "I'd love to meet you bastards off duty somewhere so we can discuss police procedures."
"It's okay, PJ," Tony spoke up. "They're misguided not dirty."
"They should be beat cops," said Fornell.
"It's okay, Tobias. Let's go. I need a shower," said Tony.
"Sure, there nothing important being done here," said Mullen.
They three federal agents strode out of the interrogation room and then defiantly walked through cops and detectives alike until they were out of the precinct. Tony was once again reminded why he hated visiting New York.