Em Cal didn't go home straight away. After sending V.K. McMahon the photo of Amarico's body followed by the info that Amarico had gave him prior to killing him, he headed straight to a bar he regularly attended called The Se7en Spades. He drank glass after glass of Jack and Coke, shot pool with a couple of bikers he was on good terms with, slapped a couple of girls on the bottom, and wiped the floor with a guy who foolishly picked a fight with him, trying to impress his girlfriend. All in all, it was a good night.
It was nearly dawn when Em Cal went home. He hopped into the shower. Then, he lit up a Winston and read several dime novels before falling asleep on the couch.
It was around the afternoon. Em Cal went to Dirty Dan's Diner, where he had 3 Italian beef sandwiches and multiple helpings of blueberry pie a la mode. He was in the middle of paying his bill when he spotted a corpulent, ruddy faced man, wearing a sweat suit, pushing an ice cream cart across the street from Dirty Dan's. That struck Em Cal odd. It was in the middle of winter, not the type of season to sell ice cream. Then again, there were nothing but odd balls in Titan City, and Em Cal nearly dismissed the man, when he took another glance at him, and a jolt of recognition hit him in his stomach. It was Pasquale Ferraioli, aka Paulie Knuckles , the under boss of the Saracino family.
Em Cal watched Paulie for a while. For the first five minutes, nothing happened. Then, a filthy shabby looking man walked up to the cart. Em Cal watched Paulie give the man something that didn't look a hell of a lot like a popsicle. Em Cal observed Paulie for a little longer. More people started coming up to the cart. Em noticed these customers were giving Paulie bills of 50 or 100, too much for some popsicles.
Em Cal decided that he's seen enough. When Paulie started to move up the street, he went outside and stalked him up the street. When he was close enough, he cleared his throat loudly. The minute Paulie recognized him, he looked as if he was going into cardiac arrest.
"Holy shit, Em Cal," he said, his double chins quivering. "Whatta you doin' around' here? I thought you were retired!"
"Relax you fat son of a bitch, no need to act all erratic," said Em Cal. "As for what I'm doing around here, that's none of your damn business."
He looked at the cart. It said Bravissimo's, with the letters colored like the Italian flag.
"In the ice cream business, huh?" he said. "How's that working out? I bet you're doing a better job at selling cheap flavored ice on a stick, than you do as a made man."
Paulie smiled, but there was nothing cheerful about it. It was more like open contempt.
"I'm a damn good seller. As a matter of fact, I'm making a fortune. Money has been flowing in the three fold."
Had Em Cal been a little less observant, he would have not heard the emphasis on the world, three fold. He kept his face impassive, and said with false airiness, "Glad to hear it. So, aren't you gonna offer me some of your product, Paulie?"
"Never thought my former enemy would be buying my merchandise." said Paulie with an arrogant smile that made Em Cal want to rip his head off. "You got the green?"
Em Cal pulled out a wad of 100 dollar bills.
"Whoa, that's not chump change, pal," said Paulie. "What're you doin' these days? You're not working for V.K. McMahon again are you?"
"Oh no, I'm retired for good," said Em Cal. "I'm into the singing business now."
"You? A Singer?" said Paulie disbelievingly. "What type of music do you specialize in?"
Em Cal's eyes were full of icy green laughter as he pulled out a Kimber Sapphire Ultra II and said in a low dangerous voice, "Doo Wop!"
Before Paulie could pull out his own gun, ten bullets entombed their selves in his chest and stomach. People screamed and scattered as the fat man hit the ground, blood effusing from his fatal wounds. Acting quickly, Em Cal, with every bit of strength it took him, dragged Paulie's body into a nearby alleyway, put it between two dumpsters, and took a picture with his cell phone, sending it to McMahon and leaving another message. Then, he went back to the ice cream cart, and opened it. Sure enough, bags of Triple Effect, this time in powder form in baggies and balloons, were inside the cart. There were actual popsicles inside, just incase someone really wanted one.
Em Cal took the bags of Triple Effect, and pocketed them. Then he got on his V-Rod, and went back to his apartment, where he flushed the Triple Effect down the toilet. He called S.D.'s house afterwards. After five rings, Angela's annoyed voice answered the phone.
"Hello?"
"Angela, it's Em Cal, is your brother home?"
"Oh, hey," said Angela, abandoning the huffy tone. "Yes, he's here, hold on a second...SAVIERO!"
For a few seconds, Em Cal heard S.D. and Angela exchange several diatribes before S.D. came to the phone.
"Yo, Cal, what's up?" S.D. said with his usual way of greeting.
"S.D., has Saracino called your phone?" Em Cal asked.
"No," said S.D., "why?"
"Discard it," said Em Cal. "I think I may have found a lead on how the Saracino's are distributing the Triple Effect drugs," said Em Cal. "I just bumped off an under boss for the Saracinos he was selling Triple Effect in an ice cream cart."
"Oh yeah?" S.D. said interested, "what did the cart say?"
"Bravissimo's," Em Cal replied. "Do you know that name?"
"Bravissimo's an ice cream shop that opened up just last month," S.D. said. "I don't know the exact street it's on, I've never been there. But I can find out for you."
"Okay," said Em Cal who found it hard to say, 'thank you'. "You know how to contact me."
"Sure thing," said S.D., before hanging up.
As Em Cal waited for S.D. to give him some news, he realized that he was hungry again. He made himself two large hoagies, which he washed down with several bottles of Dog Fish beer. Then he lit up a Winston and watched The Magnificent Seven.
It was nightfall by the time S.D. called.
"Hey, Cal, hear this," he said. "There's a Bravissimo's Gelato and Italian Ice shop right on Gotti Avenue in the Little Italy section of Titan City."
"Good job, boy." said Em Cal. "Tomorrow, evening, we're going to check the place out, do a little stake out. I'll come to get you."
"Ok, sounds cool to me, dude," said S.D.
"So, did you do what I asked you to do last night?" Em Cal asked.
"Yeah," said S.D. "Got the steel, new clothes, and I gave Angela some money, because I know I'm a pain in the ass to her."
"Well, if that's all, see you tomorrow," said Em Cal, hanging up on S.D. He gathered up his V-Rod keys, and left the apartment. If he were to do this stakeout, he couldn't do it with the V-Rod. At 6'9, he was instantly impeccable. He couldn't risk being spotted in former enemy territory.
The V-Rod pulled up in front of a ranch style home and knocked on the door. A few minutes later, a tall old man with a grizzled stubbled face and trifocals answered.
"Hey Earl, how the hell are you?" Em Cal said, clapping him on the shoulder.
"Good son," said Earl in a voice that had been abused by years of chain smoking. "You here to pick her up?"
That's what Em Cal liked about Earl. He didn't care much for idol chit chat; he kept the greetings succinct.
"Sure am," said Em Cal, following the old man to an oak garage door.
"Kept her nice and polished for you," said Earl, opening the door up.
Inside was Em Cal's second ride, a triple black '71 Hemi Cuda with chrome wheels and a license plate saying 'Badass'. He'd bought it shortly after being employed by V.K. McMahon, but seldom drove it. It was too much of a liability (Not too many people owned a 'Cuda, especially one with a license that said Badass). He kept it hidden in Earl's garage, and took it out only on special occasions.
"Thanks for keeping her, Earl," said Em Cal, handing the old man three hundred dollars. "I'll be back to pick up the V-Rod in the morning."
As Earl departed, Em Cal felt the well polished hood and said. "Hey, sweetie, did you miss me?" He got inside and started up the engine. It roared like an angry lion.
"I know it's been awhile," he said, "but I'll be gentle."
He turned on the radio, which was playing, Cowboys From Hell, and sped up the usually quiet streets, turning sharply around the corner.
The next night, Em Cal drove over to S.D.'s place in the 'Cuda. S.D. was waiting on the porch when he arrived. He was wearing an olive combat jacket over a white t-shirt, black jeans, and white Reebok hi-tops.
"Dude!" he exclaimed, getting in the 'Cuda. "This is one bitchin' ride!"
"Yeah, it's nice," said Em Cal, who didn't share S.D's enthusiasm. "You got your guns on you?"
S.D. took out a Walther P22 and a SIG Sauer P229. Em Cal nodded his head in approval.
"For once, you don't smell like 3 week old garbage," he said. "You're doin' good so far, boy."
"Thanks, I guess," said S.D. "So, what's the plan, boss?"
"You're going to go into Bravissimo's," said Em Cal. "Once you're there, you're going to ask for some Triple Effect."
"Why do I have to go in there?" asked S.D. "And why do I have to buy Triple Effect?"
"To confirm my suspicions, you fucking idiot!" Em Cal said impatiently. "And as I've told you before, I'm too familiar with the Saracinos, they'd instantly recognize me. They're not that familiar with you and vice versa. So they'd be less suspicious. Wake up boy, put that brain to use."
He slapped S.D. in the back of the head. S.D. yelped and said. "Hey man, what the fuck?! You ain't gonna keep hittin' me, man. I'm not one of Bing Crosby's kids."
"Shut the fuck up," Em Cal said.
Bravissimo's was located between a Laundromat, and a sporting goods store It had an awning the colors of the Italian flag, and had in big letters of the same color, BRAVISSIMO'S GELATO AND ITALIAN ICE, painted on the glass window.
Em Cal parked the 'Cuda across the street from Bravissimo's. He then turned off the car and said to S.D. "Alright boy, you mission objective is simple. Go in there and see if they're selling Triple Effect. You blow this for us and I'll send a bullet so far up your ass, they're going to find samples of lead in your urine. You got it?"
"Yes, sir, I got it," said S.D. Em Cal heard a dollop of resentment in his voice. He probably was still upset about getting slapped in the back of the head.
"Alright, keep your guns loaded and get your ass out of here," said Em Cal bluntly.
Without a word, S.D. left the car. Em Cal lit up a Winston and called V.K. McMahon's phone. when he got the answering machine, he left a message.
"McMahon, this is Em Cal again. I'm calling to let you know I'm scouting out that place I text you about yesterday. You'll be hearing from me again if something develops."
S.D. took too long inside Bravissimo's. After his fifth Winston, Em Cal pulled out his .460 Ruger and proceeded to go inside himself, when he saw S.D. running back across the street, carrying a cup of gelato in his hand.
"Sorry I took so long," he said. "That place is packed.
"That's all nice," said Em Cal with a touch of impatience in his voice, "but I asked you to get Triple Effect, not buy ice cream.'
"I'm getting to that, Cal, chill out," said S.D. "It's inside the gelato, in powder form. That's why there were so many customers. They're ordering gelatos with 'the magic powder'. That's what I heard them request. I figured they were just talking about cocoa dust, until I saw one cat pay eighty bucks for the gelato. I paid a hundred and twenty for extra Triple Effect powder in this."
"Good job," said Em Cal. You can throw that shit away, now."
S.D. obediently tossed the Triple Effect tainted gelato out of the window.
And I think I saw a storage room full of Triple Effect." he said. "When one of the workers went inside the storage room, I saw those pill bottles Amarico had. Just got a quick glimpse of them."
Em Cal stood quiet for several minutes. He was thinking of what to do next, when he saw an ice cream truck pull up next to Bravissimo's. Tapping S.D., he continued to watch the truck. Pretty soon, two guys whom Em Cal knew were henchmen of the Saracino family, appeared from the van, carrying two large suitcase. They went inside Bravissimo's.
"That's the money they made from the Triple Effect, I bet," muttered Em Cal.
"No doubt," said S.D. "We should go in there and open their chest right now, Cal,"
"No, not this time, kid," said Em Cal. "At least not yet. I've already killed two men involved in the Triple Effect drug ring, it's too much of a coincidence to be random killings. Johnny might be a tad suspicious about those deaths if he hasn't already found out. We kill those two sorry asses now, Johnny will know somebody's on to his operation."
"So, what do we do?" S.D. asked.
"Start planning, boy," said Em Cal. "I have a feeling that this operation stretches beyond this ice cream shop here. We're going to come back here tomorrow. I think we should tail that van, see where it goes. And Bravissimo's, this place is going to burn. Maybe not tonight, but I'll be sure that it'll be reduced to charred cinder."
"I know a couple of arsonists who owe me a favor," said S.D. "I'll ring them up and wait for your clearance."
"Yeah, you do that," said Em Cal. "Well, I'm hungry, have you eaten?"
"No," said S.D. "Angela locks her refrigerator and tells me that the food's only for people who don't sit on their ass, getting high, all day."
"Where you wanna go?" Em Cal asked
"I do have a taste for chicken fajita wraps from The Crazy Clucker." said S.D.
"Crazy Clucker, it is," said Em Cal, starting up the engine again. "You know you're paying right?"