Author's notes: Is anyone still out there? ;)
I'm back! Thanks to everyone on AO3 and FF-net who've written reviews. I haven't had a chance to respond like I've wanted, but trust that I have read them all.
This chapter was tough, mainly because we're now wrapping things up. The next chapter will conclude the mystery/plot, and the two chapters afterward will be ending and epilogue. I will likely post every 3-4 weeks right now due to the nature of my schedule (new house, job, etc., etc.). Don't worry - I will finish this :)
Chapter 62: Memento Mori
Luigi stared at the sepia-colored reflection above the sink in the vacant men's room. Instead of his soiled black clothing from the previous night's invasion of Columbia University, he saw his image vested in a crisp, cream blouse, tan pants, and suspenders. Shaking his hands dry, he lifted them to the mirror, exposing an empty, ringed left hand and an unadorned right hand clutching a silver rosary. He studied the older reflection carefully; unlike the man's contemporaries or the descendant wiseguys of New York, the Sicilian did not carry a weapon nor did he carry himself with the haughty arrogance common to Bensonhurst gangsters that his grandson so loathed. The young Brooklynite gazed into the man's dark eyes, which alternated between bright, star-like sparks and opaque swirls of cynicism. Finally, he spied his grandfather's slightly slumped posture, a silent concession of defeat to time and tradition.
Is that my fate? he wondered. Am I going to become Luigi Rigassi, the mafioso?
Embrace the thunder, echoed a distant voice.
He felt a warm, yet comforting sensation from his tattoo. His shirt sleeve being too snug around his arm to let him roll it up and inspect the vibrant coloring, Luigi visualized it in his mind. To his surprise, the bird did not remain on his skin, but instead flew around the corners of the imaginary space, expanding and flapping its wings while vocalizing its presence. It flew for what seemed like hours before releasing a final squawk, then landing gently on his left shoulder. Though he could see its large talons, he did not feel their knife-like sting. Their eyes met – both identically blue with flashes of lightning.
Do not give up who you are, spoke the thunderbird. You are you, Luigi Gabriele; tradition does not make the man.
The plumber blinked to find himself in the empty men's room. His eyes shifted to spy his proper reflection in the mirror. Collecting himself, he slowly made his way into the hospital hallway where Matt and José were waiting for him. "Okay, I, uh, used some of the favors that Dad, Uncle Gene, Sam, and I have collected throughout the years. Uncle Gene's using his connections to contact our friends," explained Matt.
"And that includes Fat Tony?" asked Luigi.
"Yeah. We're not sure just how much this will help, but it's something."
He nodded, biting his lip over the uncertainty of reinforcements from the underworld. "José, did you find anything out about the Plaza?"
The detective's lips flattened into a grim line. "While I was working with security and NYPD to evacuate non-essential patients and staff, I overheard on the police radio that there was an explosion at the Plaza. Mario, DK, and the others made it out just before, but the Fire Department is making sure that there wasn't anyone left behind. I don't know if they're on their way or are still there."
"Goddamnit!" hissed the plumber underneath his breath. Twisting anxiously in a circle, he pinched the bridge of his long nose, mulling over his options which were spiraling from bad to worse with every passing minute – no LCN, no Mario, no Pete, and no DK. "Alright," he finally conceded. "Let's get as many people out of here as we can. We won't be able to move Uncle Sal or Uncle Joe, and frankly, it's probably safer for everyone involved if we don't. Polina wants Sal and I dead. We are her targets, and she's already proven that she'll stop at nothing to kill us. As for Joe, she'll use him again, so he's better off here. Maria, Peach, and Daisy won't leave. And," he sighed heavily, "she'll use them, too, if they're spotted and captured."
"Agreed," said José with a nod.
"I hate asking this in a fucking hospital of all places, but how much ammunition do we have?"
Shrugging, the Latino replied, "Not much. And we don't want this place to turn into a shooting gallery."
"Would she risk that, though?" inquired Matt. "If her goal is to take over the Moranos, she has to live long enough to assume control or, at the very least, stay out of jail. And the U.S. isn't like Sicily; she can't go hiding in the mountains, save certain places in the Rockies or the Appalachians, to avoid capture."
"I wondered that, too," his second cousin concurred. "With Vinny and Junior dead and her support within the Russian mafia waning, how feasible is a takeover at this point? Why not just escape to Greece or wherever with Kariolis? She's already gotten revenge on the Moranos by killing Jackie and Tommy. And as for Mario and I ... Well, it's not like we could follow her overseas."
José shook his head. "Spite, maybe? Leave the Morano family in ruins by making sure that the remaining heirs are all dead."
"Yeah, maybe," he rasped skeptically. "In your investigation, José, did you ever come across the name 'Armando Rosetti?'"
Searching his memory, the detective frowned and shook his head a second time. "Nah, Lou. We ... didn't even know that your maternal uncle had been Mafia until the last day or so. We knew of 'Il Mietitore,' but like everyone else, we thought it was some bullshit urban legend. And frankly, his existence wasn't part of our investigation. We were more interested in Slaughter, Pichler, and the money pipeline between the union and the Moranos. Anything prior to the 2000s wasn't in our scope."
Luigi nodded. "Father Rosetti was the parish priest at St. Rosalia's until 2011, I think. He died a year later. I don't know the full story, but when Uncle Joe and I were being held prisoner by Polina and her thugs, I heard her mention some shit about Rosetti and Uncle Sal not getting along. Joe confirmed that. Rosetti may have also helped Polina and Marco Bowser try to kill me back in '95."
He blinked in disbelief. "Wait a second, Lou. Are you saying that ... an ordained priest was in the Mafia?!"
"It's definitely, uh, possible, Detective," interjected Matt sheepishly. "I did read something in the Daily News about the Genovese boss's brother being a priest. You know, up in the Bronx? I mean, hypothetically. While he may or may not have been made, anyone can be an associate if he, uh, makes enough money or serves another 'useful' purpose. Kind of like ... Salvatore."
Grumbling an incredulous pija and a variety of other swear words, José then stared at the Coloradan. "Is nothing sacred to you people? The priests and preachers were the ones who did give a damn, at least when I was growing up."
As he let out a disappointed exhale, the tall plumber held up a hand. "We could spend all day trying to figure out Rosetti's role, but we don't have that time. Right now, we need to plan for the inevitable. Polina will come. For whatever reason, she needs Sal and I out of the picture. Possibly Pete, too. And the only way that happens if she organizes a hit at the hospital."
José crossed his arms. "That's what frightens me. Security teams are in position, so either she'll come in guns blazing or she'll try to sneak into the hospital."
"Given the appearance of Miles's new nemesis, I'd bet on the latter. I don't see her using terrorism to gain notoriety around the world, strangely enough." Glancing meaningfully at the police detective and the Colorado mafioso, Luigi announced, "We're going to let her. If she doesn't interfere with the remaining hospital staff and patients, we'll give her what she wants."
Both men blinked, disbelieving what they had heard from their colleague and second cousin. "Are you crazy, maje?!" exclaimed Hernández. "She'll kill you and Father Sal!"
The plumber chuckled a little. "Yeah, though she's tried to kill me three times – that I know of," he joked. "She doesn't seem to have a good track record."
"Dude, why would you give her the opportunity for a fourth try?!" Matt protested. "She may be a screw up, but even screw ups eventually succeed if given additional chances!"
He nodded leisurely. "I agree. And no, I don't relish dying or," he snorted to himself, "being a hero. But this guy who shot Sam and apparently took out part of the Plaza ... Miles says he's the real deal. Like him. We're up against that. We've evacuated who we can, but there are innocent people still here! I ..." Swallowing over his anxiety and fatigue, Luigi's voice dropped to an almost whisper, "I know Father Sal. My Zio Sal. I know he was ... Il Mietitore because he was forced. That Salvatore and the current Father Sal Rigassi would want us to save the innocent. He would want us to save Giuseppe, Maria, Daisy, her family, Peach! I don't want those drones to take out innocent, immobile people because we decided to hide. That's real cowardice. That's ..." he glared pointedly at Matt, "the fucking Moranos who couldn't be bothered to protect their family!"
"Alright, Lou, alright," José conceded with a reluctant bob of his head. "I'll give instructions to our guys to allow her inside."
Luigi wiped his mustache. "Good. Let's, uh, also move Joe and the others behind reinforced security. If we present her with Sal and I, she'll be less likely to take hostages. However, I'd rather not chance it."
"You got it," responded the detective, putting a hand on his shoulder, prior to stepping away to coordinate the new plan on the police radio.
Turning to his visibly uneasy second cousin, he spoke, "Matt ... I want you to stay with ..."
"No way!" he barked. "Dad thinks I'm too physically weak to handle this, to do what most ... soldiers do. And maybe ..." he gulped with a nod, "maybe I am. But it's what you said: those who stand by and do nothing are the biggest cowards of all. I'm staying with you, cuscinu."
The Brooklynite smiled and took a few shuffling steps to place a hand on Matt's left shoulder.
From the back of the unmarked NYPD vehicle, a handcuffed and secured Lucas watched almost helplessly as DK shouted orders to various officers and detectives on scene. Mario, Pete, Bowser, Miles, and Yoshi stood nearby, their attention swapping between the smoke floating from the eighth floor into the morning air and pointed glares at the skinny Manhattanite. Eyeing the lieutenant, Bowser suddenly nodded at Mario and Pete, who quickly made their way to the car and two uniformed officers.
"Yo, give us two minutes?" asked Mario. The officers nodded eagerly, knowing that anything Lucas said would be admissible in court. One entered the driver's side to roll down the prisoner's window. The man in the rumpled purple suit rolled his eyes at the menacing Brooklyn plumber and caporegime. "Aight, Lucas," he began irritably, "you can keep your mouth shut and let the Crazy Bitch kill Luigi and take the Bowser kids to Timbuktu. I hear you think he's your best friend. But for bein' best friends, you certainly are willing to let him die. And for what? You're not gonna enjoy that one-fifty that you, Pete, your father, and I assume Vinny stole. You're done, shit-for-brains. You'll be lucky if you get out of prison before retirement. Luigi never did anything to you. So ... do the right thing and tell me where your father and Polina are."
Lucas sneered and faced forward.
As the portly man inhaled to use his best sergeant's voice, Pete cut in, "Did you see what your father just did? Hmm? He doesn't give a flying fuck about you! I feel bad for you – genuinely. No parents to intervene, no one to guide you. But why does Luigi have to pay that debt? I'm willing to help you get ... retribution, Lucas. Against your father. I'll give it to you, in spades, if you help us."
He merely snickered in response.
"Goddamnit, what do you want?!" Mario finally yelled. "Unless you wanted to get blown up!"
"Mario," called out Yoshi's voice. The two men twisted their heads toward the approaching Yoshi and Miles, followed by an angry-looking John Bowser. They stopped a few feet shy of the squad car and motioned for Mario to come closer. Signaling to the officers that he would return in a moment, the plumber marched over to the Brobot Boys and crossed his arms expectantly. "He's screwing with you, man. We've, uh, done some reconnaissance on the prick. He won't respond to authority figures. That's why he hates you, Pete, and Giuseppe. Probably hated your father for the same reason. He's going to make youse beg, but not for the things you think he wants."
Mario arched an eyebrow as DK and Pete joined the group meeting. "Meaning?"
Acknowledging DK with a quick look, Yoshi continued, "I don't know the legal ins and outs, but I think he will help us. If we feed his ego. I think I know who he would tell."
"Who?" inquired the lieutenant attentively.
"Daisy," answered Miles. "For some reason, he's wanted her attention since California. This summer. I'm not sure if it's some juvenile crush on his part or an all-purpose incel misogyny, but he's constantly involved her whenever possible."
His dry, thin-lipped grimace morphing into outrage, the mustachioed man started to object when DK raised his right hand slightly to interrupt. "We need him to talk. The probability of Polina going to the hospital is ... greater than I'd like. There was already an attempt made on Salvatore. This morning." Each man, Bowser included, displayed various expressions of shock and horror. "We're out of time."
Yoshi purposefully walked to car where the man remained seated, staring down the street ahead of them. "Look, Lucas, I already know you won't tell any of us what you know. Hell, I don't even know if your father put you up to be the decoy. But Polina's on the way to the hospital. That's where Luigi and Daisy are. You don't want to tell us? Fine. But I think Daisy might want to prevent Luigi's death." Waiting several seconds, only to be presented with the tall man's stony silence, the physicist turned away in frustration and prepared to accept defeat.
"I don't know where my dickhead dad is," the Manhattanite suddenly uttered, halting the young man's trajectory. "And no, Sushi, I didn't volunteer for bomb duty! Some fat, wacko neckbeard strapped me to that thing!"
"Okay, Lucas," growled DK, "then tell us where Polina is. What is she planning?!"
"Screw you," he bit out. "Look, I saved Daisy and Weegie!" The Wrecking Crew rolled their eyes and muttered a series of invectives, which he ignored. "And you're right – I'll tell her. I won't tell any of you assholes."
"Fine, Yoshi and Miles have her phone number," retorted Pete, who was rapidly losing patience with the prisoner's obfuscation.
"Nope!" he sneered arrogantly. "No, I will talk to her in person. Or at least when I am at the hospital."
"You're out of your fuckin' mind!" exclaimed the now incensed Mario. Lifting his previously balled hand, he shouted, "Nah, you're not going near that place!"
Lucas shrugged nonchalantly. "Just like the, uh," he sniggered, "Burger King commercial, have it your way." While the man began whistling the corresponding television jiggle, the round man lunged forward to grab him; DK, John, and Pete immediately restrained him.
"You motherfucker!"
"Mario, stop!" the caporegime hissed, yet not without sympathy. The Wrecking Crew glowered hotly at the giggling man in the lilac suit. "Remember our main objective: protect our family. Right?" Having collected himself from Lucas's taunts, his blue eyes connected with Pete's brown ones, and he nodded curtly.
"Alright, let's proceed to St. Luke's ASAP." DK then addressed the officers in the police vehicle, "Unfortunately, we're bringing this piece of shit along. But whatever you do, make sure he cannot escape. He does not set one fucking foot or nose outside of this car. Got it?" Once they had accepted their superior's order, the lieutenant motioned for them to accompany him to the four-door black SUV. Mario hopped into the front passenger side as Miles, Yoshi, Pete, and Bowser filed into the double backseat. Engaging the police siren, DK pulled away from the front of the Plaza and, breaking the speed limit, negotiated the moderate Manhattan traffic to merge onto Amsterdam Avenue; every few seconds, he eyeballed the rearview mirror to ensure that the other two police vehicles were in pursuit. The line of cars made their way to West 114th Street; thanks to the sirens, a fifteen-minute drive was reduced to roughly seven minutes. Arriving at the cross streets and entrance to Mount Sinai, which had been renamed in the past year and which many New Yorkers still referred to as St. Luke's, they noted that both the NYPD and FBI were unobtrusively present, per José's request to avoid bloodshed and panic. The lieutenant turned off his siren and, plucking his radio, commanded the line of vehicles to do the same. "The Crazy Bitch will probably know we're here. But I figure that if she's insane enough to start shooting up a hospital, hiding won't matter," he rasped. Parking across the street from the main sliding doors, he waited until their escort stopped behind him, exited the SUV, and marched to the car inclosing a nonchalant Lucas.
Miles and Mario slipped out of the black vehicle and arrived at the lieutenant's side a moment later. The latter nodded at the officer to lower the window. Miles selected a pre-entered phone number, then handed his Linux phone to DK. Mario loomed over the smirking Manhattanite, who raised his eyes to the partly cloudy sky. "It might be a nice day for a walk."
"Don't press your luck, shithead," DK snarled. He held up the phone. "Here's Daisy's number. I'll press the call key, and you'll talk. On speaker."
He huffed and rolled his eyes. "I believe there's a constitutional amendment stating that 'cruel and unusual punishment shall not be inflicted,' Lieutenant. I'm not your dog."
"Lucas, I'm pretty sure that, if the Founding Fathers had met you, they'd have made an exception. Now talk!"
The prisoner made a series of high-pitched, Chihuahua-like barks as DK bit his lip and pressed both the call key and the speaker. "Hello? Miles?" spoke Daisy's voice. "Is everyone okay? We heard –"
"Daisy, this is Lieutenant Kendricks. We are all accounted for, so don't worry. But I need you to listen carefully; we have, uh, someone who would like to talk to you. I'm going to put him on now, okay?"
DK reluctantly held the phone to the laughing Lucas who saluted, "Ah, Her Feistiness, the Queen of the Amazons. How are the plans for the feminist world domination progressing?"
"Lucas!" she hissed, a lioness-like warning accenting her reply. "What the hell do you want?"
His brown eyes shifted to Mario and Miles. "Now, now, is that any way to treat your, uh, boytoy's bestie? Besides, I have some ... information that may be of use to you and Weegie. I figure you have him by both chain and balls, so he should be around, probably around your finger."
"Oh?"
"Don't you need to, uh, say something? Hmm?" he taunted, inwardly taking pleasure at the building anger visible on Mario's and Miles's faces.
She sighed as if resisting the urge to gag. "Okay, I'm sorry, Lucas. I am listening to you."
"See? That wasn't so hard, was it? Anyway, some fat neckbeard douchebag strapped me to a bomb. Even fucking wore a fedora that, frankly, didn't fit his fat head. The guy's a nutjob; he wanted to, in his words, 'entertain Mario and his band of retards' until something-something. I don't know; I wasn't really listening to his nonsensical soliloquy."
"That's too bad," she replied flatly.
Lucas shrugged as much as he could handcuffed and stretched his long legs along the empty space and seat next to him. "I know, right? He's the best computing badass, yada, yada, yada, waa, waa, waa. It was boring. He's working with the Crazy Bitch, though I'm pretty sure that Daddy Dearest put up the hourly. Or however he's being paid. Now, I haven't a clue where the hell she went, but she's got a girl-boner for the Pretending Priest. I honestly don't get it. The guy's a priest; he's into little boys, not crazy foids."
Mario, Miles, and DK stared incredulously at him. "Look, we know all of this, Lucas. Do you have any information about your father or Polina?" queried Daisy with barely contained annoyance.
"Jesus, you're impatient!" he fired back. "Must be a Jewish thing. What happened? The hospital ran out of bagels and lox?"
"Lucas!"
"Alright, alright! I overheard the My-Little-Pony-Cuck on the phone. I think he was talking to the Crazy Bitch. Something about 'compromising Epic security.' Like any security system could be epic, especially that guy's!"
Miles rolled his eyes. "No, you unbelievable asshat! He was talking about Epic, which is a storage system that's used in healthcare. How the hell you even passed the Sec+, let alone the CISSP, is beyond me. It stores information like records and ..."
"... Location. Patient locations! Shit!" finished DK, whose dark eyes grew larger with every word. Handing Miles's phone to its owner, he stepped away to make a phone call to José.
"What else did he say, Lucas?" coaxed Daisy's voice from the audible call.
Sensing that his statement was useful to the NYPD and Luigi's posse, he relaxed in his seat to allow his ego to expand. "Well, let's see ... Not much else, honestly. Although ... he did say that his payment was due quite soon. Crypto, I'd imagine. As for Daddy Dearest, I'm sure he's on a plane to Athens by now. He likes to fly out of JFK for some reason."
"And that helps us how?"
"Hey, I'd think you'd want to catch him – he's far worse than I am! He actually wanted to kill Weegie! And in my defense, I didn't know that until the dinner with the Russian psychos."
There was a pause on the other end. "Go on," she finally said in a skeptical tone. "How did your father get mixed up with terrorists? How did you really find that video of Marco Bowser?"
At this point, Pete, Bowser, and Yoshi exited the SUV and approached the group gathered around the phone, whereas DK was still speaking with José and the IT office inside the hospital. Lucas glanced at the remaining three men who seemed eager to either listen or beat him. He debated on whether to continue playing canary, though a pointed growl from the edgy John Bowser made the decision for him. Better to remain in police custody rather than be killed by either Bowser or his father. "My father's wealth," he commenced in a low voice, "is all arms dealing. He works for the highest bidder – the Greek government, the U.S. government, the Mafia, Hezbollah, you know, whomever. I honestly don't know what he was doing in the '80s – ask your buddy, Pete Morello, about that. All I know is that I was volun-told by Daddy Dearest to befriend Luigi, then ..."
"Then, what, Lucas?" Mario glared at Pete, who stayed silent, and leaned in slightly toward him.
He sighed. "Daddy Dearest didn't like me actually being besties with him. You know the rest."
"Do you know the name 'Armando Rosetti?'" the woman asked.
Lucas frowned in surprise. "Rosetti? Isn't he another of those pedophile priests? Why the fuck would I know him?"
"You may not know him, but your father does," barked Mario. He turned his head suspiciously to Pete, "And I suspect you do, too. Enough with the omertà bullshit – we don't have the time for that shit anymore. Is he one of yours?"
The caporegime scrubbed his day-old stubble on his chin. "Sort of," he answered. "Rosetti's family is old Mafia. And I do mean, old. Back in Sicily, the first or second sons of made men either became made themselves, like Zio Luigi, or they joined the church. You guys know that the Catholic Church was the lending office and de facto administration of Italy, especially in periods of upheaval, which were frequent. He wasn't made himself, but he had family members who were. But he ... was always tangential. He didn't get involved in our activities. Not directly."
"So he was an associate?" conjectured Miles.
Pete nodded. "Yeah, you could call him that. As a priest, he was a special kind of associate. Normally, a made man could whack or collect pizzi from associates – no questions asked. Except when the associate was a big moneymaker – think Meyer Lansky – or a clergy member."
Mario's blue eyes widened. "That's why Sal became a priest – he couldn't be touched, even as a runaway made guy. No hitman would want to assassinate a priest, at least in America. That's the deal Pops made with youse, wasn't it?"
He gave a small shrug. "Sal ... was put in an untenable situation. He was lucky, fortunate, at the expense of the rest of ... let him escape, though everything has a price. Your father and your uncle ... all knew that. But Mario didn't fully understand the consequences."
The plumber shook his head slowly. "And lemme guess: none a-youse ever bothered to explain it to him?" When the Denverite failed to respond, he spat, "Yeah, didn't think so."
Pete's brown eyes hardened. "Do you honestly think Mario Masciarelli, superhero of New York's Fucking Bravest, would've listened?! The alternative would've been to whack Sal. To keep the peace between the DiScalas and Moranos."
Laughing mirthlessly, Mario muttered, "Slimy sonsabitches."
"Yeah, Sergeant Major Dickerson," interjected a sneering Lucas. "See, your family sucks bigger cock than mine. And that's saying something. No wonder why Weege needed someone. Needs someone. Mark my words, Maa-rio: your asshole cousin here, also known as Sheriff Shitkicker, will get the innocent little doe killed. I wouldn't put it past him to get Luigi killed so that he can become King of Brooklyn. Unfortunately for him, the Rocky Mountain Emperor has no clothes! Thief and murderer!"
"What the fuck did you say to me, you little shit?!" hissed the capo as he advanced to the window, yet Bowser and Yoshi moved to block his path.
"Temper, temper, Petey Boy," the tall man jeered. "See, your friend the lieutenant needs my ass. I'm right now more popular than you. So you can't waterboard me this time. I get my say, you shitkicking fuck!"
"Except my bullshit detector is going off," echoed Daisy's voice from the speaker.
"Waa? Why ... Why would I lie? I'm in police custody! I got," he scanned the group surrounding the car, "six – no – eight guys wanting to kick my ass. So lying ... isn't exactly a good move!"
"Precisely," she deadpanned. "See, I believe you were strapped to that bomb. I even believe that you didn't know of Rosetti. But I don't believe that you've volunteered all of what you know. Why speak to me and not Luigi? You're the ruse, aren't you, asshole? You know precisely where the Crazy Bitch is."
"I don't!" he insisted, though the Wrecking Crew and DK, who had concluded his phone call, detected a faint hitch in his tenor.
"Bullshit, you little weasel!" John glowered. "You better tell us whatever the fuck it is you're holdin' back!"
Lucas shrugged once more, shaking his head more emphatically. "I honestly don't."
"I have a theory. Call it my imagination," the auburn lioness resumed evenly. "You want me to feed misinformation because, well, you want power over me. You don't 'know' where Polina is, and you're supposedly trying to help us all. Except that you and your father intended that seventy-five million dollars to go to some purpose, which you risked your life to hide in Dubai, only to risk your skin again by using a Russian-issue malware to retrieve it. A malware program that you and George stole from the FSB. I wonder if you're not trying to set your father up, once Polina presumably kills Luigi and Salvatore. Because her only option is not only to kill them, but also him." The Manhattanite kept silent, refusing to answer. "You were giving Polina time to infiltrate the hospital, weren't you?"
Eight pairs of eyes pierced through the prisoner's body while he faced forward.
Exasperated with the man's stonewalling, Mario took two large steps toward the car and reached inside to grab him by the lapels. "Listen, you fucking prick! If Luigi gets even a papercut from this shit, I will rip your limbs from your worthless corpse! Now where the fuck is the Crazy Bitch?!"
Twisting his head to put his nose inches from the irate plumber's, the tall man chortled, "Ouch. I bet the blonde chick said that multiple times in the sack, eh, Dickerson?"
Before Mario could manhandle the cackling man, Daisy called out, "Mario, basta. He won't tell us. He wants us to get riled up so that Polina has the upper hand. But what he didn't count on was Luigi himself."
The plumber shot daggers at his prospective target, then shoved him back into the seat. "What do you mean, Sfacciata?"
"Luigi is calling the shots."
"What?!" everyone, including Lucas, cried.
"And I – we inside – are standing behind him."
Mario angrily snatched the phone from the stunned Miles's hand and growled, "'Ey, you listen here, Sfacciata! Tell Weegie that I'm comin' inside. He ain't goin' up against that bitch by himself! No way in hell!"
They heard Daisy sigh. "No, Mario. You need to stay outside and keep Lucas from fucking us over. You, Pete, Miles, and Lieutenant Kendricks need to locate Bowser's kids. And if we invite everyone back inside, there's a good chance that Polina could take hostages. That means Joe, my parents, Maria, Matt, Sam, and Peach are all at grave risk, in addition to myself and Salvatore."
"Yeah, that's why I need to get in there!" he argued. "He's my brother! My family!"
As the woman began to form a retort, they heard two pop-pops in the background, gasp, and the beep-beep of the disconnected call. DK's eyes expanded, and he raised his radio to his lips. "Come in! What's going on in the ICU?"
There was no reply.
"L-T," shouted one of the officers, "something's jamming our radio signals!"
Overhead, they heard a whirring noise; looking up, the police and Wrecking Crew spied four drones forming a square roughly a hundred feet above the roof of the hospital. "Triple-F's using those drones to create a field of interference. You probably won't be able to communicate worth two shits," explained Yoshi.
"Not bad, huh?" snickered Lucas. "Enjoy the ass-fucking."
Luigi sat in a visitor's chair inside Salvatore's seventh-floor room, having ordered José to move Joe, Maria, Daisy and her family, Peach, Sam, and several critical patients to another part of the hospital. Matt slowly entered the room, tablet in hand. "There are a few drones outside; my guess is they're causing the interference. Most of the equipment is connected directly to electricity, so they shouldn't be affected. But that means Polina's coming or is already here."
"Probably," agreed the plumber. "And is the family safe?"
"Yeah," he responded with a nod. "José and Maria ... thought it best to lie to Giuseppe so that he wouldn't fight to get to you and Salvatore. He thinks you were moved with Sal, Daisy, and her parents." Swallowing a little, he added, "Daisy ... spoke with your brother, my father, and that shithead Lucas. They didn't get much out of him. But ... this guy – Rosetti? Apparently, he's old Mafia. That's what Dad said. It's still not clear just what he was doing with George Kariolis. I don't even think Lucas knows."
He rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I'm not surprised. Lucas's always been ... opportunistic. He doesn't like to actually work or know what's going on around him. Not unless it benefits him somehow." Clearing the fresh beads of sweat from his brow, he gazed at the skinny Coloradan. "You know, it's not too late to leave. I can ..."
Matt shook his head. "No way, dude! I won't leave you by yourself. Speaking from, uh, a historical point-of-view, that's the worst place to be in. That's how ... your grandfather got killed back in Palermo."
Flashing a faint smile, Luigi rasped, "Thanks ... cugino." His regard then fell upon the perfectly immobile middle-aged figure in the twin bed. Despite the danger, the trauma surgeons all insisted on keeping Salvatore under sedation to allow his body to recover from the gunshots and blood transfusion. The machine continued to breathe for the unconscious man as if he were one step away from death. Whether it was due to the coma or his faith, the Sicilian seemed at peace, unafraid of his fate.
"Has there been any change?" he heard Matt whisper.
"No. The doctors are going to keep him sedated for the next day to give him time to rest. He lost a lot of blood, and there's still a worry of internal damage. Thankfully, the bullets didn't puncture a lung or any vital organs."
As the skinnier man took a chair next to his cousin's and continued to talk about Salvatore's status as well as those of Giuseppe and Sam, the bedridden Sicilian found himself under a cool, greyish New York sky surrounded by dry leaves of every color – vermillion, lime green, mandarin, coffee, and a faint peach. Instead of his usual priest's garb, he found himself in a plain, navy-blue autumnal coat, a sweater underneath, black slacks, and brown shoes. From the backyard of his family's house, he saw a variety of 1980s and 1990s-era Toyotas, Acuras, Saturns, and Hondas parked along 17th Avenue. His brown eyes caught the sight of two boys – one muscular teenager with his mother's curly hair, a red shirt, and a Mets jacket and the other elementary-school age with the wavy mane of his biological father and a green coat – playing with the leaves that had fallen from the large tree in the corner. The teenager smirked, then dropped a large pile of red, brown, orange, and green leaves on his little brother who yelped, whining in Italian and English that his fratello was being a jerk.
"Mario, che cosa stai facendo adesso?" he heard himself say to the unrepentant boy. "Stop picking on your fratellino."
"Ah, come on, Zio – Weegie is being a little weenie. He's starin' at the leaves instead of raking 'em, and I ain't gonna do all of it!"
"Aight, aight, basta. Both of you will bag up the leaves, huh?" He picked up the large rake that Luigi had been using and finished the task, the young boy holding the trash bag open so that his maternal uncle could push them inside. Salvatore's eldest nephew yawned dramatically, giving his kid brother a chin flick when he thought he had escaped prying eyes. The older man rolled his eyes, commenting in English, "Niputi, you're not as cagey as you think you are."
Having bagged up the leaves and setting the full black garbage bag in the corner, Salvatore escorted the two boys inside, ordering them to wash up for dinner. As he began to boil the penne, the kitchen telephone rang loudly. Muttering softly, the Sicilian unhooked it and brought the receiver to his ear, stretching the cord as far it could go to keep an eye on the stove. "Yeah. Yeah, hi, Mario. Stai bene? Yeah, okay. The bambini were cleaning up the yard. Yeah. Yeah? Another shift? Don't you get, I don't know, special privileges as the engineer? It's a Saturday, and you've already worked six days in a row! Alright, it shouldn't be a problem. No, I'll make sure Mario does his homework." Sal moved to the second pot filled with a deep-red tomato sauce and, stirring it to keep its temperature even, snorted, adding, "Smartass tried to BS me the other day that his math teacher gave 'em all a freebie. Let him pass through the tunnels. Yeah ... No, Luigi always does his – you know that. He's lonely, but he's got his friends. He's got Daisy. Yeah. Yeah, I'll talk to him. Believe me, he won't be such a stick in the mud about P.S. 911. He should be home soon. Alright, ti voglio bene. Ciao." Hanging up the receiver in the phone tray on the wall, he proceeded to chop and fry the eggplant and prepare the bechamel sauce. Upstairs, he could hear the rumbling of the Beastie Boys' "Shadrach" from Mario's stereo, followed by Luigi's shouting at his older brother to turn the music down. A minute later, he heard loud flatulence, Mario's cackling, and the younger boy's whimpers. Before he could beseech the Almighty for an extra dose of patience to handle his nearly seventeen-year-old nephew's antics, Sal heard a familiar commercial truck pull up into the driveway and immediately relaxed. While sliding the pasta dish into the oven, the front door opened to reveal a tall, spectacled figure dressed in a long-sleeved green shirt and blue jeans; closing the doors behind him, Giuseppe ambled tiredly into the kitchen and sat at the table, enjoying the lofty smell of garlic, tomato, oregano, and basil.
"Buonasera, Tesoro mu," greeted Sal, a hint of a smile passing over his features. "I fratelli Masciarelli – sempre al lavoro, ventiquattro ore su ventiquattro. Anche nei fine settimana."
The plumber rolled his eyes at him. "That's how it is in New York now – building a life means workin' your fingers to the bone." Glancing around the house, he asked, "Dov'è mio fratello, Turiddu? Alla caserma?" Still focused on dinner, the Sicilian wordlessly shrugged in response. "Like fucking always. He knows he's got us, the selfish fuck! Anch'io lavoro duramente, ma torno sempre a casa per cena!"
"Basta, Tesoro. Mario e Luigi sono come i nostri bambini. E poi, lo dice la legge …"
He crossed his arms hotly. "They are ours, Turiddu. And I know what the law says. All too fucking well." Sighing, he murmured, "Bensonhurst's our home. Even if that means ... hiding in plain sight."
Salvatore raised an eyebrow at his companion. "Well ... Mario's graduating in a year and a half. He'll be working full-time with the union. God willing, I'll have my PhD done in a year, maybe two, so I'll be able to open my own clinical practice. The Diocese will help. We'll have a bit more income. That means we can send Luigi to ..."
Blue eyes blazing, Joe raised his finger at the shorter man. "You've been fuckin' talkin' to Jumpman again! Luigi's too young to be thinkin' about that! Oh yeah, let's send him off to a genius factory in Manhattan or, fuck, Jersey so he'll be especially alienated! He's a bambino – è il nostro! He belongs at home with his family, and you know it."
"Joe, relax! P.S. 911 is in Brooklyn – not in Manhattan or New Jersey! A subway ride away! He'll be home for dinner and weekends." Wiping his hands on a clean dish towel, the olive-skinned Sicilian spun to face his stubborn lover who stared him down, refusing to give an inch. "It's not about what's best for you or me. It's about what's best for Luigi. Non è una gara a chi piscia più lontano, huh?He needs friends, people who can relate to him. He's isolated at St. Luke's, Tesoro! And Monsignor Rosetti and Bowser aren't helping! You know what's been happening!"
"Yeah," he deadpanned. "I want Rosetti's head on a pike, too. I don't give two shits that he's a priest. And if Bowser steps one foot near us, Mario will end that fucker. But what do you want us to do, Sal? We're trapped here. We can't move."
He exhaled, then took four steps to the table to run a thin, bony hand through Giuseppe's dark brown curls. "He that cannot endure the bad will not live to see the good." Stroking his thick strands, Sal brought his lover's head to his chest and murmured, "I'm scared, too. But Luigi has to go to P.S. 911. Your brother's right this time; our niputellinu is stronger than any of us think."
"Luigi's my son, Turiddu. Askin' me to sit idly by and do nothin' ..."
"I know," he replied evenly while turning over his left hand to trace the line etched into his palm. From behind the embracing couple, the oven timer buzzed loudly. Rotating and reaching out to shut it off, the shorter man's brown eyes expanded in cold shock at the flashing 9:11 of the digital clock.
Luigi and Matt sat watching the former's motionless uncle when a shrill ringtone interrupted the silence. As each young man reached into their pockets, a group of four security officers and hospital staff took off in a run down the hall. The plumber held up his buzzing phone to his cousin who eyed it like a venomous snake. Following a second's hesitation at the unknown caller ID, he pressed the green telephone and speaker buttons. "Hello?"
"Still the gullible child, I see," growled a feminine alto. "Didn't anyone tell you not to answer calls from an unknown person?"
"Except, Polina, we unfortunately know each other. I'd ask what the fuck you want, butagain, unfortunately, I think I know the answer to that one," he deadpanned.
Polina giggled coldly. "Well, you may be a lot of things, Luigi Masciarelli – wimp, coward, faggoty like your uncles – but you aren't stupid."
"You know," he began while pacing back and forth across the room and holding the phone flat on his palm, "here's what I don't get. I have no interest in the Morano family business. None. And I think you've probably figured out that Carlo's about as effective as used car oil. So why not just take over? As I see it, you've won. Why waste time on me? And Sal? He may not even make it. So, why not ride off with your new lover to Greece, Lebanon, Iraq, or wherever?"
"Fair point ... in theory," the Bowser woman responded. Her recipient and Matt exchanged a puzzled look. "See, I probably could waste that Rocky Mountain ... what was Lucas's name for him?" They heard a brief lapse, then she continued, "Yes, Sheriff Shitkicker. And I could let nature take its course with Father Ass-Bandit. However, you and your shithead brother are a problem. That fat fuck Mario should've died that day and not my husband. Inopportunely, the U.S. Government grew wise to my husband's ... side business. And as for you, Loo-wee-gee, it'd have been easier for everyone if you'd have just expired back in '95. The Brothers Mario – two giant pieces of shit who refuse to flush!"
"Hey, I call it 'service with a smile,' bitch!" Matt's eyes widened at his cousin's retort. "Let's finish this. I'm frankly getting sick of these games, Polina. You want me? I'm in Sal's room. But I think you knew that, too. You can stop by St. Luke's, get that hand looked at."
As the Denverite's mouth gaped open at the man's audacity, they both heard a guffaw from the phone. "You talk confidently for a boy who hides behind his fat fuck of a brother, his two ass-ramming uncles, and even that little treasonous shit ninety-nine percent of the time."
Luigi laughed soundly and, bringing the phone closer to his lips, snickered, "Sweetheart, they ain't here! So, why don't you cut the bullshit, already? I'm getting bored."
"Well, I'd hate to keep your skinny ass waiting," purred Lady Bowser. "Meet me on the roof. Five minutes. Come alone. And if you don't show, you green-wearing gutless wonder, my new associate will activate a little surprise somewhere around the hospital. I'd hate for there to be ... fireworks. You understand?"
"Yeah, perfectly," he answered in a clipped tone.
"See you in five. Ta-ta."
Whereas the plumber simply put the phone back in his pocket, Matt exclaimed, "Luigi, don't do it! It's almost certainly a trap, and I don't have my equipment or Sam to help us."
He glanced at his unconscious uncle. "If I don't go, tens, perhaps hundreds of people will die. That includes Uncle Joe, Uncle Sal, Daisy, Peach, Maria, and Sam. And any one of them would do it for us. Besides, I wasn't lying to her, Matt. I'm tired of the Rigassi-Morano bullshit. This," he made a circle in the air with his right index finger, "Mafia crap has been my life. I didn't get a choice in that. But now? I do. And I want to move forward. With Daisy. With Mario and the rest of my family. This ends here!"
Giving Salvatore's hand one last squeeze, Luigi walked out of the room toward the elevators to the upper floor and the rooftop, Matt trailing two steps behind him. As the plumber jabbed at the "12" button, a visibly annoyed José sprinted to them; the former turned to face his colleague when his eyes enlarged at the flash of auburn hair in the corner of his left eye. "Lou, no offense, but your girlfriend's a royal ladilla. She absolutely refuses to stay with the others!" he griped at Luigi's soundless demand for an explanation.
Daisy eyed the men and, putting her hands on her hips, retorted, "I am not just sitting on my hands while Polina comes to kill us all! I think she's ..."
"... Coming," finished her boyfriend softly. "Yeah. That's why you all need to go now! I gotta get to the roof, otherwise the Crazy Bitch's gonna blow us all to hell!"
His lioness, José, and Matt gave him looks of incredulity and stubborn refusal. Luigi huffed a wordless rejoinder, though he continued to watch for the arrival of the elevator. After a moment, the detective called out, "You still got your bulletproof vest on, right?"
Without taking his blue eyes off the doors, he said quietly, "Yeah, why?"
Bending down to his ankle, José lifted his right jeans pantleg, pulled out his backup gun, and extended it to his former boss. "It's not a Sig, but it's enough. Take it. I guarantee you that woman's bringing hers." Nodding, Luigi accepted the small handgun, tucking it in the waistband of his pants at the same time that the elevator dinged and doors opened. He stepped inside and pressed the button to close the doors, anticipating their fading figures, only to be surprised and dismayed at the three people forcing their way into the lift. "Lou, I'm a police officer; I can't let you go alone. Not without backup."
"And I won't let you go alone!" Daisy added firmly, intertwining his right hand with hers. "No chance in hell, Luigi Masciarelli!"
"You're part of the family," echoed Matt. "The Rigassi family."
Allowing the doors to close and the car to start its ascent to the twelfth floor, the plumber asked in a resigned voice, "Where're Mario and the others? Are they safe?"
"Yeah, Lou. They're outside, I think. There are drones circling the hospital. Lieutenant Kendricks has sealed off the area. Mario and Morello were trying to get in, but he's not allowing it right now."
"Kerido, Lucas is outside, too. He's ... Well, frankly, I don't know what he's up to. But if I had to guess, he's trying to play three sides – ours, his father's, and Polina's."
"Interesting," Luigi mused. "If Polina and her new IT guy are here, then I wonder just where the hell George went?"
The elevator came to a gentle stop, its doors revealing a vacant twelfth floor. Swallowing harshly, the tall Brooklynite exited, his three companions flanking him, and proceeded down the hallway to search for the access to the rooftop. José signaled one of the lone security guards to accompany them. A moment later, they arrived at the door; unholstering his weapon, the detective gestured for the man to unlock it as well as for Daisy and Matt to position themselves a few feet away. Moving his radio to his lips, he whispered, "Yo, L-T, come in."
"We hear you, José," responded DK over the speaker.
"Polina's on the roof. She's demanding to see Luigi; there's a bomb somewhere in the hospital."
Silence fell upon the line. "Shit!" the lieutenant finally hissed. "We ... we'll try to get into the building ASAP, but until then ..."
"We got this, Lieu," he affirmed. Ending the transmission, José glanced at Daisy and Matt. "You guys are unarmed civilians. I don't care if you," he glared pointedly at the Coloradan, "are a Mafia badass in Denver, but you'd be a sitting duck against her gun or guns. You aren't crossing this line." To emphasize his point, the policeman dragged his boot across the floor in front of them. "But we do need our guys to start looking for that bomb – if it exists. Or at least figure out a way to disrupt those drones so that Lieutenant Kendricks and Mario can get inside. Get the message downstairs. Alright?" Using his softened blue eyes and mouthing an I love you, Luigi pleaded with the reluctant woman to do as requested. Daisy let out a feline-like rumble of protest and, conveying a nonverbal vow to her lover that she would return, spun on her heel to alert the security teams; his likewise unenthusiastic second cousin shadowed her to the elevator. Once they had disappeared down the hall, José drew his weapon and gave Luigi a firm nod.
Attempting to ignore the surge of adrenaline and cold fear, the latter gently pushed the exit open to the cool, sunny Manhattan air. Step by step, he trembled across the beige-colored platform, scanning panoramically for the crazy blonde Bowser; dragging his eyes upward, the plumber spied four drones flying sixty, perhaps seventy feet above the top of the building. Eventually, he halted near its midpoint to keep a discrete distance on all sides while retaining the ability to retreat. After taking several deep breaths to calm himself, Luigi noticed that the rooftop was deserted. Was this a trap? What was she doing?
"Hey, you said five minutes, Polina!" he shouted to the empty space. "You called me a coward! Well, here I am!"
The only answer that came was the soft whoosh of the autumn morning breeze.
Luigi twisted on his right foot, debating whether to return to the exit, when a feminine voice boomed, "Sorry to keep you waiting, Gutlessly Green." Immediately, he searched his surroundings for the blonde, only to face air, birds, and drones.
"Ironic!" he exclaimed. "I'm here, but you're not. Show yourself!"
"In due time. But in order to make sure that we aren't disturbed ..." There was an electronic click; the plumber's blue eyes widened, realizing that she – they – had electromagnetically sealed off his escape route. Running to the door, he tried in vain to turn, twist, and pull at the handle. "An insurance policy. I want this to be a show that your fat-fuck of a brother and the rest of your shit famiglia will never forget!"
As his lips parted to ask what she had meant, two of the drones that had been circling began a rapid descent. Luigi crouched down, covering his head with his hands; whereas his breathing became ragged, expecting the bangs of fired bullets, the machines decelerated to a float thirty feet above his head. Gradually, he stood to his feet to eye them directly; out of the corner of his left eye, he observed that the remaining two had not moved. Instead, they commenced a solemn, though melancholic melody of cellos and strings. He watched the seemingly fixed drones, then engaged his auditory sense to assess the composition.
He felt like a passenger aboard the R.M.S. Titanic.
"I thought some background music would be nice," Polina stated after a few minutes. "You're a smart boy; I'm sure you recognize the tune," she chortled gleefully.
Luigi continued listening, noting the familiar, militaristic build of brass and strings. Then came the telltale drums and trumpets of the first few chords of La Marseillaise set to a classical overlay. His eyes grew large and, muttering an oh shit, dashed for the nearest cover.
While Lady Bowser cackled, Mario, Pete, the Brobot Boys, John, and DK squinted at the sky and rooftop from the street level; the music and woman's voice were audible from two to three hundred feet away. "Where the hell is that coming from?!" hissed the lieutenant.
"I'm guessing the drones are acting as speakers in addition to killing machines," Yoshi replied sardonically. "And why am I not fucking surprised that the Crazy Bowser Bitch chose the 1812 Overture?"
From inside the police car, Lucas rolled his eyes. "You did catch the 'Crazy Russian Bitch' part, right, Panda Express?"
Without missing a beat, the physicist snapped, "Yeah, you'd know, Sloppy Seconds."
"Oh, you're just pissed off that Weegie likes me better."
He rotated a half-turn and, faced with the simpering tall man, balled up his fist at his side. However, Mario and Miles slid between him and the snorting figure. "Never mind him!" cried the elder plumber. "I gotta get up there! Can youse do somethin' about those fuckin' things in the sky? If I had a rifle, I could maybe hit 'em."
Miles, who had placed his laptop on the hood of the SUV and was typing various commands, shook his head. "Goddamn this guy! I'm trying, Mario!"
"Yo, Miles!" The blond engineer briefly glanced up at Yoshi to indicate that he was listening. "Maybe we don't need a full-on hack. That'd take time, right? Let's try to interfere with the transmission. We just need to give Mario and Lieutenant Kendricks time to get inside. Less is more?"
He paused his work at the computer, then briefly grinned. "I've got an idea. Triple F can't do dick about radio waves. Lieutenant, I'll need access to some of the systems inside St. Luke's. It'll be perfectly safe for humans and living beings inside and out here. The laws of physics are about to fuck him in the ass."
Picking up his radio inside, DK nodded. "You got it, kid."
Atop the hospital, Luigi squatted next to a wall while Polina's drones continued to blare Tchaikovsky's famous composition. The building percussion and crescendo of the French national hymn heralded the inevitable cannon fire and destruction of Napoleon's four-hundred-thousand-man army. In a second's time, he fingered the handle of the gun tucked into his pants. The woodwinds and strings had come to a deceptive respite. He decided to open fire just prior to the cannons' first volley. If she wanted to play war with drones, he might as well burn the motherfuckers to the ground.
He heard the trumpet sound La Marseillaise.
It was nearly time. Carefully, he removed the gun and switched off the safety.
Polina cackled once more, and he growled at the re-emergence of her voice. "Before I blow your worthless paisan ass halfway across Manhattan, do you have any last words? Last pleas for your life, Greenie?" He kept quiet, to which she groused, "No? Nothing? How fitting."
Trumpets, strings, and tuba. He scanned the sky one last time for the location of the drones, then leapt to his feet, shooting at the closest, which was about twenty-five feet overhead; as the entire block heard the recorded cannons boom, the first two bullets hit their intended target. The second drone rapidly descended and returned fire; a series of sparks trailing him, Luigi ran behind another wall, blindly aiming his weapon from his cover and pulling the trigger. The next two bullets missed completely; he naturally corrected its trajectory and fired again, this time clipping the machine on the left side and sending it crashing against the roof's edge. A third drone took position nearer the tremoring plumber, sinking in time with the building conclusion of the overture. The music's volume increased with respect to Luigi, causing him to wince in pain. Crying out from the amplified decibel level and the anticipated kill shot, he shut his eyes.
Abruptly, the music terminated. The Brooklynite looked at the third drone, which had lost control and rapidly sailed downward onto the platform; the fourth whirred and floated over Amsterdam Avenue. Unwilling to wait for them to regain functionality, he pointed the gun at the third and destroyed it; gunfire from street level eliminated the final device. After exhaling relief, Luigi ambled to the edge of the rooftop so that he could see the police cars, smashed fourth drone, and three figures dash inside. As he pivoted and headed in the direction of the panicked bangs at the door, he heard the imminent whirr of a helicopter behind him. Twisting on his ankle, his pupils expanded at the sight of an enraged Polina holding a gun. He felt the rip of shoulder muscle and tissue and slam of his back against the pavement prior to hearing the bang of the bullet. Focused on the fresh agony of his wound, he did not see the helicopter stop just above the rooftop and the woman gingerly climb down. Holding a Beretta awkwardly in her left hand, the blonde in a black suit and sunglasses mechanically sauntered to the supine plumber. She loomed over him with a cold smirk.
"Now we're even. My right hand hurts like a bitch thanks to your shit shooting skills, Greenie." She squinted at the exit, behind which several bangs and shouts of Luigi's name could be heard, and shouted, "Your friends can't do shit, either!"
Luigi gulped to refocus his mind. They could still get the door open. "P-P-Polina, j-just a-a-answer me ... one th-thing." She raised her eyebrow in silent curiosity. "Wh-Why ... R-Rosetti ... K-Kariolis?"
She snorted disbelievingly while rolling her eyes. "That's what you want to know?" He gave her a faint nod. "Well, it could be worse, I suppose. Rosetti's old Mafia. Your maternal uncle wasn't the only mafioso who hid in the Church. He's a born and partly-raised Sicilian, which made us – he, the late Vinny DiScala, and I – natural associates. And as for George, well, money and power are old bedfellows. Satisfied?" He bit his lip to suppress a cry of pain. "Anyway," she trained the gun to his head, "arrivederci, Luigi. Time for you to join your grandfather and father in hell. Say hi for me, huh?"
The door crashed open; Polina quickly lifted her Beretta to defend herself from the incoming bang from a police-issue Sig Sauer, whose ammunition slammed into her chest and knocked her to the ground. "Luigi!" screamed Mario, who ran toward his injured brother. Guns drawn, José and DK stepped cautiously onto the platform; an unarmed Bowser three steps to their rear.
"I'm okay," rasped the younger plumber, smiling slightly. "H-hurts l-like a b-b-bitch, though."
Seeing that the bullet had exited cleanly through his shoulder, Mario marched past his fratellino to confront the giggling, uninjured woman who, despite having dropped her gun only a foot next to her position on the ground, tottered to her feet unarmed. The soldier eyed her carefully. "Bulletproof vest. And as for you stupid dicks," she growled, "you still lose! You shoot me? This hospital goes up in smoke! You arrest me? Same deal. And you don't have the time for a complete search, assuming you'd even have a fucking clue of the bomb's location."
"What do you want, Polina?" demanded DK, activating his radio so that all officers in the area could hear them and hold their fire. "You can just walk out of here. Right now! What about your kids? Louie and Wendy?"
She glared at them. "Yeah, I could. And as for my children, they're in good hands. That," she gestured at Bowser, "piece of shit will never find them!"
"Fucking crazy bitch! Where are they?!" bellowed John, who had moved to stand to Luigi's right side.
Ripping off her sunglasses to display her cold blue eyes and ignoring her brother-in-law, she snarled, "What do I want? Maa-rrio's and the Rigassis' blood! I want them to pay for what they've done to my mother ... to my husband!" Polina tilted her head to a visibly enraged Mario and spat, "Leave no man behind, right, Green Beret? But you weren't too brokenhearted once you got the whore all to yourself!"
"I tried to save him!" he yelled, blue eyes flashing dangerously. "You weren't holding pieces of his fuckin' head in your lap, sweetheart! I did! Now enough a-this! End this now." His anger unexpectedly melted into fatigue. "Too many people have died already."
The blonde woman grimaced haughtily and crossed her arms to rebuke the plumber's ultimatum. "Or what? See, it's a Pyrrhic victory: arrest or kill me and your, uh, daddy's old firehouse buddies suddenly have quite the task on their hands; let me go, and, well, I'll inevitably come back to kill you. I'll even add a condition, just to prove my point: try to rescue Luigi, and I blow this place to hell." Though he remained otherwise still, an enraged Mario balled his fists at his sides; neither DK nor José lowered their weapons.
Bowser's brown eyes burned into his sister-in-law, and he shook his head slowly. "You really are a crazy bitch, Polina. Aside from leaving notes written in blood,do you honestly think Mario or the cops are just gonna walk away? Huh?"
Continuing to ignore him, she tilted her ominous gaze at the group of men. "I read somewhere that there are more than four hundred beds at St. Luke's. It's simple math; hundreds of people for one no-name plumber."
DK, John, José, and Mario exchanged an unreadable look. Assuming that the bomb existed, numerous lives were being measured against Luigi's. Whereas they mentally weighed their options, inside the doorway and out of Polina's sight stood a horrified Matt and Daisy, who were relaying the information to the first responders located downstairs and along the street, including Pete, Yoshi, and Miles. Several security officers and NYPD were sweeping the hospital and parking services for any incendiary or improvised explosive device, though no one had received any word of success. Via encrypted text, the five people debated whether the Bowser Bitch was being truthful; aside from the amount of material needed to destroy a multi-story brick building, the electromagnetic interference that Miles had generated would have theoretically disrupted or detonated any such apparatus. Much to their chagrin, the hacker pointed out that she could have armed it following the failure of the drone attack. Either way, the five agreed that, assuming there existed an active bomb, she would detonate it regardless of their capitulation. It was her only way of escape.
They were faced with a choice between obfuscation and terror.
Left with few alternatives, they elected to do both: evacuate as quietly as possible, then call Polina on her potential bluff.
While Miles deliberated on the best way to communicate their plan to Mario and DK, the aggrieved Luigi, who managed to turn his head toward his brother, murmured at his allies, "Go ... people ... immobile. They can't escape, bro."
Mario gaped at him, shaking his head. "No! We're a package deal, fratellino!"
"I'd listen to the Green Gutless, Maa-rrio," interjected Lady Bowser with a sneer. "All those old people, sick people, children ... They can't just leave, can they?"
"Shut up!" hissed the straining man on the ground. Summoning his limited energy, he stared meaningfully at the other mustachioed man whose body vibrated with unexpressed rage, "Package deal. But we don't know ... bomb is. I ... can manage. Can ... fight my own battles. After all, not ... Yank-Mees fan. John ... tastes ... shit."
John's eyes widened a little, recalling the conversations from several months' back. Nodding in forced derision, he barked, "Greenie, don't be a fucking pansy-ass! Crazy Bitch will blow the place, anyway!" Turning to face her once more, he spat, "You can't trust her! After all, she left her kids with Ma the minute she could! She don't care about family any more than I care about the Seattle Mariners!"
Her blue eyes narrowed at the tall redhead, taking them off the weakened plumber momentarily. "I'd keep my mouth shut, if I were you, Irish Trash. It was no secret that your father and pazz' of a mother favored my husband. Why?" She let out a hostile snigger. "Because you're a pussy, John. You've always been a pussy. It's no wonder how your four brats turned out. My children will be heirs to an empire." Chuckling once more, she clarified unnecessarily, "Once I waste Green Gutless here. Salvatore will die naturally, I think, and break Giuseppe's cancer-ridden heart."
The bartender retorted, "Yeah, how's that, Polina? Your drones are smashed to bits. You've got every sniper in New York City pointing guns at your empty skull! And I do mean it's fucking empty! Not to mention the FBI, Homeland Security, CIA, or fuck knows who else, given the shit that youse were into!"
"Bowser, you dumb fuckin' mick, enough!" yelled Mario. "You're gonna get us all killed!"
Growling like an angry wolf and blue eyes flashing, she thundered, "You think I came unprepared, Johnny Boy?! Huh?! The drones were a fucking prelude. My ... Well, our friends in the Middle East gave us a good deal on ... weaponry. All within a finger's touch."
"Middle Eastern weaponry, great," mumbled DK, though feigning the sarcasm to repeat it for the NYPD inside and outside the hospital.
"Enough of this!" interrupted the irate woman. "You have ten seconds to choose. Luigi or this hospital. Nine, eight ..." They refused to move, to which she pulled out a hand-sized tracking device. "Seven!"
At her count of six, DK and José began stepping backward in the direction of the door while Bowser and Mario stayed in place. "Go ... now!" they heard Luigi rasp. Whereas the first man started after the police officers, the shorter plumber did not budge.
"Three, Maa-rio. Two ..."
A shot rang out, and the top of the device in her hand ripped from its bottom. Stunned, Polina looked down at the halved apparatus, then jerked her head up in time to see a flash emanating from a hunched, collapsing figure and another bullet slam into her chest once more, leaving her gasping on the ground. Within seconds, Mario had crossed the gap between his previous position and her body, which was rolling to her left to seize the discarded Beretta. He leapt upon her left arm and, applying his weight, pinned it against the platform. The blonde squirmed in vain against the two-hundred-pound plumber, her right hand almost useless from Luigi's bullet in the tunnels. Her body, formerly taut, relaxed in defeat. Her opponent did not move; he continued to lean on her arm as they heard advancing footsteps. She grinned evilly at the back of his head; smashing her left heel on the hard surface to release a blade hidden inside her designer black and gold pumps, she rammed it into his leg. The plumber howled and slackened his grip to pull the shoe-knife out of his calf; Polina pivoted herself onto his back and, once again, reached for the gun, this time with her injured hand. Losing her balance in the pursuit of the weapon, Mario seized the opportunity to engage his core muscles and, like a hinge, to lift them both off the ground; he struck her in the face with his elbow and flipped her over his shoulder. Grunting from the impact, she achieved in triggering a second blade from her right shoe, which she flicked from her foot, caught with her right hand, and, despite extreme pain and weakness, jabbed into his side. She staggered to her feet and clawed at the nearby Beretta.
As José and DK raised their guns to shoot her, Mario, fueled by adrenaline and anger, obscured their line of fire by launching himself upright and wrapping his hands around the handle of the weapon as she pressed the trigger and missed his temple by a half-inch. The screaming Lady Bowser tried to swivel and stomp on his injured leg while pulling on the handle; anticipating the move, he used his upper body strength to step into her and twist the gun against her thumbs. The tug of war propelled them near the edge of the rooftop. Leaning into the gun, Polina flashed him a dark smile and let out a spray of saliva into his eyes. Resisting the natural inclination to recoil, knowing that it would be a fatal move, Mario clenched the Beretta harder and, reeling her into his body by a few inches, kicked and shoved her away with all of his available force. The weapon loosened from their common grip, and he secured it. Able at that moment to wipe some of the liquid of out his eyes, he glimpsed Polina's form falling backward and over the ledge. Rushing to jerk her back onto the roof, he grasped at air; his blue eyes followed her final descent to the sidewalk nearly one hundred fifty feet beneath them.
"So long, Crazy Bitch," he muttered, wincing from his stab wounds.
Lowering their guns, DK and José secured the area and fired off a series of orders to their colleagues and subordinates – secure the hospital; look for incoming projectiles; civilians injured and need medical assistance.
Mario ignored the increased activity and instead hobbled to a slump next to Luigi who was in a semi-recumbent position, whispering his name. "I'm here, bro," he responded softly. "Package deal, remember?"
He smiled and joined their hands. "Yeah, fratello."
Three officers and a team of first responders ran onto the platform to treat the injured plumbers. Despite the former's attempts to keep them inside, Matt and Daisy dashed out of the building, Bowser trailing a step behind them, to examine their loved ones.
"We've got incoming!" shouted DK to the group. "Everyone, take cover now!"
Before Matt, Daisy, or Mario could ask what he had meant, their ears and eyes caught both a loud whooshing noise and a long, inbound projectile in the backdrop of the bluish-gray Manhattan sky. Three uniformed police officers and Mario each jumped upon a civilian – Luigi, Daisy, Matt, and John – to shield them as best as they could from the unavoidable explosion mere seconds in the future when, a couple hundred feet away, the missile abruptly rerouted its course and launched itself higher in altitude over the Hudson River. Half a minute later, the stunned group listened to it detonate out of harm's way above the water. Once certain that there were no more imminent rockets or drones, the police helped them to their feet. The EMTs wheeled two gurneys on scene; after carefully loading a weak Luigi first and keeping the frightened, protective Daisy at bay, they forced the resistant Mario onto the second, insisting that they needed to avoid any additional blood loss from the deep stab wounds, and, to the applause of the officers and bystanders, brought them to safety inside the hospital.
Luigi let out a faint moan, unable to open his eyes against the heavy, lingering fog of anesthesia. Somewhere to his right, he heard the rhythmic beeping of his vitals and felt the soft, narrow cushion of a hospital bed underneath him and a cotton blanket covering his legs and torso. Releasing another groan, this time out of frustration, he mumbled, "Daisy ... Mario ..."
A smaller, yet firm hand promptly took his. "Kerido, are you awake?"
"Daisy ..." he rasped once more, his eyelids still unable to raise. "Uh ..."
"Yeah, kerido," she confirmed softly. "How are you feeling?"
He hummed, rotating his neck toward her. "Mmm ... Groggy. Where am I?"
Bringing their linked hands to her lips, to which he purred, she whispered, "You're at St. Luke's. Polina shot you before ... Mario dropped her off the rooftop. Remember? The doctors said you're going to be fine. The bullet went straight through your shoulder. It'll hurt, but ..."
"... I'll live," he finished with a hint of a smile, "I remember now." His lips then fell into a single line. "Wait, w-what about Mario? He was stabbed. And the kids ..."
"Hey, hey! Calm down, meu kerido!" his lioness chastised, though not harshly. "Mario went to surgery, as well. They were pretty deep stab wounds. They stitched and sent him to recovery a few hours ago. Last I heard, Peach had her hands full." Sighing a moment later, she added soberly, "DK and José are looking for Wendy and Louie. Nothing so far. There is no sign of Kariolis – the father – or Miles's mystery hacker, either."
He gave a single, sad nod. "I'm sorry, cat-face. I tried ... I was more worried about Rosetti than finding out where ... I should've ..."
"Luigi, listen to me!" she commanded, immediately quietening his self-flagellation. "You ... and Mario, but you ... saved nearly four hundred people who were working, guarding, receiving treatment, or were otherwise in the vicinity of the hospital! In addition to your family, my parents, your friends, Prickie von Dickless, and I. DK and José will find them for you. Right now, you need to focus on recovering." Kissing the back of his hand, she said, "You didn't fail. You did the tough thing – the brave thing." The dubious man relented, squeezing her hand in a silent response. "Joe ... Salvatore ... Maria?"
Daisy brought the chair closer so that she could bring her face near his. "They're safe, sweetie. Lucia, Lucy, Adriana, and your aunt Maria arrived a bit ago. Tony and Paulie apparently stayed behind to care for your grandmother and the baby. Maria – your aunt – and Lucia came to check on you about two hours ago, but you were still unconscious. Salvatore hasn't woken up yet. Pete's with Sam. Matt, Yoshi, and Miles went for a food and clothing run, I think. My parents returned to the hotel for the same reason."
His sleepy blue eyes finally met her relieved amber orbs. "You didn't go?"
She shook her head, kissing his hand again. "I'm stubborn, Luigi Masciarelli. I wasn't going anywhere until I knew that you'd ... woken up. We have plans, you know."
He flashed her a toothy grin. "My cat-face."
Her brown eyes darkened possessively and primitively. "Plumber."
Leaning in to kiss her, he whimpered at the stab of pain in his shoulder, and he sank defeatedly back down onto the bed and pillows. The lioness closed the distance, her blush lips meeting those of the grateful man. As he was about to deepen their embrace, they heard loud, oncoming voices – an insistent man's and a protesting woman's – griping at each other in Italian. From the echoes in the hallway, Daisy and Luigi could make out the woman growl a non sei in buona condizione, to which the man replied vado, and she concluded with a scemo.
Luigi touched his nose to his lover's and sniggered, "What'd I tell ya, kerido? Better than RAI."
A visibly cross Peach maneuvered a resolute, yet fatigued and pale Mario, who was seated in a wheelchair, into his younger brother's room. "Buonasera," he greeted. "You're up, fratellino. I see you got the Sfacciata takin' care a-you. Or tryin.'"
Both women and the supine man rolled their eyes at his utterance. The blonde parked her spouse's wheelchair near the young man's bed, put a warm hand on Daisy's shoulder, and then gave a quick kiss on his cheek. "Cognato, I'm so glad you're awake."
"Thanks, Peach," he answered weakly. "Glad to see youse, too."
Heavily footsteps sounded near the room. Four pairs of expectant eyes fixated on the doorway; a few seconds later, a tired and hopeful John Bowser entered. "Yo, Plum-Scum. I figured that this particular room would be filled with visitors. So I ain't gonna be any different."
"Any word on Wendy and Louie?" inquired the bedridden man.
He shook his head. "No. Kendricks and Hernández are looking. They've put out an alert in Jersey and Nassau County, too. Last update was about two hours ago. There's no sign of them or George Kariolis. The NYPD's puttin' the screws to that skinny shit, but so far, it's turned up nothin.'"
"John, I'm sorry ... I should've ..."
The redhead held up a brief hand. "Save it, Greenie. That bitch never woulda told you shit. You saved the people that needed savin' right then. It was the right choice." He exhaled sadly, lifting his shoulders. "They'll find 'em. I gotta believe that. Any word on Father Rigassi?"
"Nah, John," replied Mario, who took Peach's hand. "It'll be another day, maybe two, before we know the extent of his injuries. Peaches talked to the operating nurse; it'll be touch and go."
Bowser nodded gravely, crossing his muscular arms. "It's a fuckin' shame. And now that Jackass and his brother are gone, the Moranos are going to be ... well, in a state of disarray. The other families are gonna move in like fuckin' vultures."
His blue eyes narrowing slightly and a hint of dread entering his voice, the elder plumber demanded, "The fuck are you sayin', John? That this ain't over?"
"Plunger, of course, it ain't over!" he hissed. "Fat Tony doesn't have the clout. Not yet. And Polina's bullshit game made Pete Morello a big question mark in the eyes of the other made guys. They're thinkin' he's either a coward or an informant. Plus, I doubt he'd up and move from Colorado to New York. Junior's dead. Vinny's dead. Joey Bernacchi's a possibility, but does he have the respect of the bosses? I doubt it."
"Fuck," swore Mario. "I don't know how much Pops knew about this tug of war. You heard Pete, Irish – he and Carlo let him agree to send Sal to the Catholic Church without tellin' him everything. But Rosetti, he's the last puzzle piece. He's dead, and the only other person who knows is near death himself. If he can say anything. Rosetti had something to do with George Kariolis. And if this ain't over yet ..."
"... Kariolis may try again," concluded Daisy. "But why? What would be the point? And where is that fat troll, Tony, anyway?"
As the five people internally considered the answer to that question, a bedbound man in the intensive care unit remained unconscious and motionless to the nurses and doctors who came in and out of his room. Externally, the machines breathed for him and provided badly needed hydration. Internally, the terrified man hid from the shadows of his past, all the while attempting to find the Rosetti Key to lead Luigi to P.S. 911.
