an excerpt from

Domestic Vigilance:
One Nation
by Mark W. Boyer

PRELUDE

“As a kid growing up on these streets I witnessed things that no child should ever have to see, things that no one… at any age should ever have to see, but at the time it was the way things were, we were told to look the other way… so we did. Now these atrocities are common events. This city is now a place where the criminal-minority continually take advantage of the innocent majority. Not only do they rule our streets, they rule this nation. The very laws that our fathers and forefathers put into place to protect the innocent have now become so badly twisted by the scum and the lawyers protecting them that they have lost their true purpose. The hands of our law enforcement officers are tied, making it impossible for them to get a foothold on the problem. They are limited with what they can and cannot do because of the restrictions placed upon them by bureaucrats that have no idea how to deal with this sort of crisis. These same bureaucrats turn a blind eye and sit back in the safety of their fortresses and campaign for their next election.

Meanwhile the officers that are working for them in the trenches, the very men and women that help them get elected each term are paying the price on the streets with their lives and the lives of their families and friends. They are told to go out and wage war against crime, but they are not given the proper weapons, equipment or authority to fight a war… let alone to win one. I have studied it, reviewed and looked at it from every angle, it’s absolutely insane and beyond comprehension.

We are told to trust in them and our laws, to allow the justice system to work. The justice system was not designed for battlefield conditions. Any idiot can see that it will not work. A grave threat requires a grave response. We here today have proven that we are willing to risk our lives for what we believe in. This is why I’ve called you here to this city… to this room. All of us here have volunteered without question, to put our lives on the line time and time again in order to protect this country of ours and to give Americans their rights to freedom. While we are all over the world fighting for these rights and these people, we have another enemy, a parasite that has been living and getting stronger right here on our homeland. They live to serve one purpose and that is to oppose in complete contradiction, against everything that we are fighting to protect. I am not going outside this country one more time to fight an enemy that may or may not be a future threat… not when we have the deadliest enemy we could ever face right here walking our streets. He has infiltrated our justice systems. He has ruined our schools, to the point where even if our children wanted to, they are unable to gain a decent education.

This enemy is poisoning our nation and slowly killing millions of innocent people every day with illegal drugs, tactics and weapons, and getting rich while doing it.”

Lassiter paused, taking a breath, regaining his composure. He was visibly distraught.

“This enemy has us outnumbered a million to one. I may die tomorrow, next week or a year from now, but I have never been so willing to serve my country, nor have I believed in a cause more than I believe in this one. I refuse to go another day looking the other way.”

Those who hate you don’t win unless you hate them.

And then you destroy yourself.

                                                               Richard Nixon

Chapter One

A rendition of Frank Sinatra’s Come Fly With Me softly played in his subconscious slowly infiltrating his dreams. Instinctively he pulled the bedsheets up tighter to his chin burrowing himself deeper into the old mattress. A faint smile turned up the corners of his mouth as the melody drifted closer, initially from the far outskirts of his mind then seemed to grow louder and even closer yet. As reality began to set in, he opened one eye. The music still played on. He was tired and his body was exhausted from a full shift at work. He rubbed his eyes and stared at the digital alarm clock in disbelief. In turn, it stared back at him uncaring and unblinking from the nightstand. It displayed 6:56 am.

Still half asleep the attractive young man untangled himself from his sheets, then calling upon the last of his willpower crawled out of bed fighting back an unrelenting yawn that could not be suppressed. Stretching his aching muscles as he walked, he staggered down the narrow hall toward the origin of the music. He had been asleep for less than three hours. Dressed only in a pair of worn, loose fitting, baby blue colored boxer shorts Joey stood there gazing intently at his older brother, John, who sat comfortably at a small cluttered table off to the side of the kitchen. He was engrossed in the morning paper, eating breakfast and singing off tune along with the crooner.

Joey remained in place rubbing sleep from his bloodshot eyes still trying to gain his bearings while his mind still fought to absorb what was taking place.

“See, I told you you’d like him. He’s pretty good right?” He finally spoke.

“Yeah, he ain’t bad, know what I’m saying? He’s got style, I give him that.” John replied with an exaggerated New York accent.

“The dude sings all the old standards. I bought the CD from him last weekend and I’ve downloaded most of his music. I’m telling you John, you and Michele need to go check him out before he splits town. She’ll like him.” Joey shook his head shaking the remaining remnants of the sleep cloud from his brain.

He had never been able to just jump out of the rack and start his day the way John could do. It took him a few minutes and at least one cup of coffee, to rejuvenate his senses. Especially when he was getting by on three to five hours of shut-eye a night. It wasn’t anything out of the ordinary for the line of work he had chosen by any means. It’s just the way things were.

“What, are you his agent now?” He asked picking up the CD case. It displayed a single photograph of a tall good looking lanky young man with close facial hair, sporting a fedora pulled low on his forehead. He was standing in a soft spotlight upon a dimly lit stage behind an old style, oversized, chrome microphone. Across the top of the case it simply read, Jukebox 337, Lee Edward Seaman.

337, what the hell was that, his gang affiliation? John thought.

“Nah Man, he is a pretty cool guy is all. I’m just trying to help him out. Why do you always have to be such a cynical Dick?” Joey laughed. “If you’ll recall it wasn’t that long ago I was trying to find my calling in life.”

His kid brother really did have a soft spot for everyone. “All people really want is a chance.” He always says. The streets had taken their toll on John, hardening his compassion years ago. He had witnessed too much and had his hand bitten way too often while extending it out to help the less fortunate.

A love song came on next and John began to mockingly serenade his younger brother.

“You know, if your girlfriend wasn’t so smoking hot, I would seriously be questioning your manhood at this moment?”

“Yeah, but she is.” He shot back smiling.

“Yeah, she is that.” Joey agreed.

“Where is Michele anyhow?” he asked glancing down the cluttered hallway that led to John’s master bedroom. Its door was propped wide open. Joey could see the unmade bed within lay empty.

“Well she isn’t here.” He paused. “And thank god she isn’t, seeing that you seem to enjoy walking around the place half naked, with your junk on display. A little tip from your big brother…you may want to consider switching to briefs, know what I mean?”

Joey looked down at himself and nodded. “Yeah, sorry I guess I do need to be more mindful.” He replied adjusting his boxers. “So where is she?” he asked again with a smile.

“If you have to know she is in Chicago for a sales conference. She’ll be returning Sunday.”

“Another conference? Man, you gotta be crazy letting someone that hot out of your sight as much as you do. Know what “I” mean?” Joey chided.

“The way I see it, she has had five years to make up her mind to dump my sorry ass. If you haven’t run her out of my life by now I am fairly confident that she can tolerate just about anything, and isn’t going anywhere, anytime soon.” He laughed.

“You may have a point.” Joey agreed. “Or she just may be in love with a certain someone, who is just too afraid to ask the big questions and she is waiting him out?”

“You let me worry about my business and you worry about yours.” John stated.

“What? You? I was talking about me.” They laughed. “Besides I miss her. This place just isn’t the same without her around. Look at it it’s a pigsty. You really suck as a housekeeper.”

“Screw you little brother, besides she doesn’t even live here and she has her own place or do you forget?”

“I know that’s another thing. Why do you make her keep her own place when she spends ninety percent of her time over here?”

“Okay… change the subject, so why’d you get in so late last night? I thought your shift ended at midnight?”

Pulling up a chair he sat across from John at the cluttered breakfast table. On it sat an accumulation of two days worth of old newspapers, used paper plates and pizza boxes full of dried out crusts. The charming young man, Joseph Jenkins, twenty-five years old had moved back in with his older brother, back into the townhouse where they had grown up as children. He was sleeping in the same bed now that five years ago he vowed to never return. Since moving back in, two and a half years ago, he continued living out of three suitcases. John constantly told him he was crazy to do so, and to just get comfortable because this was every bit Joey’s home as much as it was his. In Joey’s mind, however, it was his way of assuring that this was a temporary situation. In all honesty, and if the truth be told, financially he could have moved out over a year ago. He simply liked being with family. He needed it right now.

Jonathan Jenkins was a Sr. Detective with Brooklyn’s police departments’ Seventy Sixth Precinct. He had been assigned there for more than sixteen years. He presently served with their Special Crimes Unit Task Force. John had almost singlehandedly raised Joey and their middle brother Lassiter after their father had been murdered twenty years ago. Their father who was also a police officer, was killed by a fifteen year-old drug addict on a routine arrest barely five blocks from their home. This cruel act of violence had left their mother, Maggie, and the three brothers to fend for themselves. She did the best she could before she passed away from cancer eight years later. Joey was fourteen at the time. That was over ten years ago. Their mother was never the same after their father was killed. John Sr had been such a virtuous man, always so full of life and righteousness. He led by example, not words, something that those who knew him could not help but recognize and immediately admire. The day his life was so needlessly snuffed out it left a void in their universe that could never be filled, especially mother’s. It left her always distant and sad. This made John the father figure by default.

In so many ways John was the spitting image of their father. He was a ruggedly handsome man. He possessed the dark curly hair and strong features that were unmistakable trademarks of the Jenkins family. John was also the person that friends, family, and teachers confided in from an early age and turned to him for help or advice. It was no surprise to anyone, when a then young John Jenkins followed his father’s lead and became a member of the New York City police force. His bond with John Sr. had left him with a fascination for law enforcement.

From an early age, John could remember sitting at the dining room table listening to his father talk about his day. In a young John’s eyes, his father was a super hero. His interest seemed to intensify as he got older. He was drawn to it. It was now his life and to all of those who knew him well, it was just as obvious that he also was very good at it. He had received countless citations and recognitions as a Police Officer over the years. Even now as a Detective he was considered one of their elite. Subconsciously it may have been his way of maintaining that connection with their father and finishing what he had started.

Lassiter the middle brother, five years Joey’s senior, inherited his good looks and piercing deep blue eyes from their mother’s side of the family. He too possessed their father’s passion for justice, but always on a broader scale. Lassiter was born with what seemed to be, an uncanny ability to always out think and out wit his opponents. It was amazing to watch him compete, regardless of the venue, football, basketball, chess… it didn’t matter. Lassiter was continually two steps ahead of his closest competitor.

John remembered asking him once when Lassiter was a teenager.

“How do you do it?”

“Do what?” was Lassiter’s response.

“Always find a way to win or get open or make the big play?”

“I don’t know John, it’s hard to explain, it’s almost like I can see things before they happen.”

John gazed at his brother he could see that he was searching for additional words.

“Maybe see isn’t exactly correct, it’s more like I can feel what is going to happen and I can sense something inside me telling me to move right or move left or duck. It’s hard to explain.”

Lassiter looked up to see John staring at him intently, absorbing his words.

“You think I’m a freak now or that I’m making this shit up right?”

“No, no… actually it makes  more sense than me just thinking you are the luckiest asshole on earth.”

They never spoke of the subject again, from that day on John would sit back and watch in awe, as Lassiter only got better as he got older.

Unlike John, from a young age Lassiter always wanted to get away from the city. He gut always told him that he stood a better chance of survival in the hostile areas of the world, where as an American he was hated and not wanted, than he would ever stand right here in the city. He may have been right.

So at seventeen Lassiter Jenkins went down to the Bronx Armed Services Recruiting Station to explore possible options. The next thing they knew he had enlisted in the United States Marine Corps as an infantryman. He was never predictable. A week later he turned eighteen, a week after that he was gone. While in the Corps, Lassiter once again exceeded all expectations, including those he placed upon himself. The training all seemed second nature to him, feeding an internal sense of fulfillment. He was a master at interrogation, intelligence, survival, special operations, as well as many other unmentioned specialties. Shortly after his second enlistment he was approached by a nameless organization and was asked to join a uniquely skilled government unit. His brothers were never exactly sure what Lassiter was doing or even where he was. They were only certain that he was no longer in the Marine Corps and that whatever he was doing now, he either wasn’t able or chose to never speak of it. Once every few months John and Joey would receive a generic package in the mail full of trinkets and artifacts from some obscure corner of the world.  It would always be weird shit, a snow globe from China, a dried Monkey penis from Thailand, a pocketknife from Australia, etc…. Never did it have any rhyme or reason to its contents and never a return address or so much as a note saying hello. But they always looked forward to receiving it and always knew it was Lass’ way of saying, “I’m thinking about you.” They had a special bookcase that was filled with the miscellaneous assortment of knick-knacks. Once every year or so, when they least expected it, Lassiter would miraculously appear. He would stay two, maybe three days if they were lucky. Long enough to get caught up on local events. Then as mysteriously as he would appear, just like a ghost, he would be gone again. Lassiter was never one for goodbyes.

The third brother was young Joseph, or Joey he was affectionately called by his siblings. Joey was the youngest of the three Jenkins boys. He was never as certain of his future endeavors the way his older siblings had been. He never felt the so-called calling as they did.

People however loved Joey for Joey had their mother’s deep-rooted compassion for humanity.

Joey loved people.

He loved the city.

He loved life and lived it to its fullest.

He missed his mom.

With him being the baby, she and he were always the closest. They were inseparable. John and Lass would bust his balls calling him mama’s boy. Joey was always actually okay with that. His siblings were old enough to have developed a bond with their father before he was murdered.

Joey could only remember his mother. So “Yeah”… he was a mama’s boy. After a three-year fight with cancer he and John were with her the day she passed.

Lying in her bed in the bedroom that John now occupied. Where she had spent the last two months of her life, just too weak to get out, she called them both in. She was smiling and looking better than she had looked in weeks, if not months. Joey thought that maybe the medicine was beginning to work and was finally reversing her symptoms. She held their hands tightly in her nimble fingers that once had been so strong.

“Promise me that after I have gone you boys will stick together.”

“Mama, don’t talk like that.” Joey pleaded. “You aren’t going anywhere any time soon.”

The look she gave him told him different. Her eyes shone out below the pink bandana she wore on her head. Radiation treatments had claimed her once head full of dark flowing hair.

“Shhhh… Listen to me. I am, my precious boy. I can feel my spirit getting lighter, if that makes any sense?”

Tears welled up in both their eyes.

“Oh, it’s okay.” She tried to reassure him. “I’ll be fine, trust me on that one. I need to know that my boys will be okay you hear me? You tell Lassiter to watch his back or he’ll have to answer to me.”

“Yes mama.” John squeezed her hand.

“Now promise me that my three tough Jenkins boys will be there for one another.”

John knew she was speaking to him regarding her Joey.

“We promise.” They conceded.

Then with a twinkle in her eye, that same look she used to have when she was up to something, she pulled Joey’s hands to her lips kissed each one gently. She looked directly at him then whispered sternly in his ear.

“You go and make me proud now boy. It’s time for me to go visit your Papa.” Joey felt the remnants of her strength enter his hands into his body. It was warm and electric.

Suddenly her face beamed with a happiness the brothers had not seen on her face in years. She looked like the mom they used to know, then with the warmest of smiles she closed her eyes exhaling softly. It was more like a sigh of relief.

Just like that she was gone. It was as if she had drifted off for an afternoon nap. He would carry that memory with him forever.

They were pleasantly surprised two days later, when like the ghost he was, Lass appeared for her funeral. They had no way of contacting him or notifying him of their mother’s passing, so they were relieved to have him back. He always had a way of appearing when they needed him.

“So how was duty last night?” John asked his little brother while chomping the large spoonful of Captain Crunch he had just shoveled into his face, a stream of milk dripped down the left corner of his mouth leaving a wet spot on his clean T-shirt.

“Shit!” he mumbled wiping at the stain, his efforts only managed to make the spot bigger.

“Same ole bullshit!” Joey laughed as he watched John’s antics. “Bro any idea when they are going to put me on an assignment with some real teeth? This late shift is for the birds.”

Joey reached for the box of cereal.

“You know I was thinking, I know initially I said not to, but you can put in a word for me if you want?”

“An assignment seriously, what are you even talking about? You haven’t been in the game two years…  and you’ve been promoted twice. You have nothing to complain about. Hundreds of officers would love to be in your position right now.” He reminded him. “Besides I told you when you made the decision to come on board that I would not interfere and I meant it.”

“No offense big brother, but this is me we are talking about. It’s been two years four months and I have been promoted only once. Honor grad in the academy doesn’t count in anyone’s eye’s but yours.”

“You spoiled little pansy” He prodded. “In six months they are going to allow you to take the detective exam. That is absolutely unheard of where we come from.” He shook his head in disbelief. “You are actually complaining now? You just wait, you pass that test then you will really have plenty to complain about. I can make you that promise. That is if you pass.” John emphasized.

“I’ll pass. Count on that and it cannot come fast enough.” He said sitting back.

Joey stretched and yawned. Looking outside he could see the breaking sun winning its battle over the early morning cold. The night frost was already burning off around the windows edges. He hated the cold but couldn’t imagine the city without the winter months. The two just went together.

Reaching into the box of cereal he stuffed a handful of Captain Crunch into his mouth.

“Oh yeah” he mumbled. “I ran into an old friend of yours last night.”

“I can’t imagine.” John answered, expecting some sarcastic anecdote. “Whomever might that have been?”

“Remember ole Mops?”

John’s smile suddenly disappeared. He dropped his cereal bowl on the table, its contents splashed onto the morning paper in front of him. He leaned forward in his chair.

“What did you say? What do mean? You saw Mops?”

“You remember Mops, asshole Vinnie the Mop from the neighborhood?”

“I know who the hell he is. What do you mean you ran into him, Where?” John stared at him intently, milk droplets settled onto his unshaven chin. Under different circumstances this would have been quite comical.

“Yo Chill Big Brother.” Joey pushed his chair back. “What is this all about?” He was surprised to see John’s reaction so intense, but seeing that he wasn’t playing he continued with his story.

“Mookie and I had just responded to this domestic violence call over in Brownville. Some old lady beat the shit out of her drunken husband. Messed him up good too I tell you. On our way out Mooks and I we were shooting the breeze by the car going over the paperwork when this black Sedan comes pulling up real slow.”

“Ole Mooks was ready to dive in the dirt thinking it was some kind of drive-by. You shoulda seen him.” Joey was laughing now remembering the look on his Sergeants face. “He had his gun drawn ready for a shoot out.”

At the time all Joey could think about was Barney Fife in the Mayberry classics scrapping for his one bullet.

Sgt Phillip Mulkowski had been Joey’s trainer and now partner from the day he graduated from the academy. Mulkowski had requested him personally. Everyone just called him Mookie. He had shared the same seat with John senior more than twenty-five years ago only in reverse roles.

“Then the back window rolls down and Ole Mops poked his head out like a lost turtle.”

“Was he looking for directions? What the hell did he want?” John persisted.

“No, actually he didn’t really want anything. He pulled up on us all pimp style riding in the backseat like he was some kind of royalty along with his entourage. He asked me straight out if I was your little brother?  I remembered him from back in the day and I called him Mops. He didn’t seem to like that too much. I guess he goes by Vincent now?”

“So, it was just a meet and greet in the middle of the night?”

“Sort of, he said he had heard that I had followed in your footsteps by joining the force and that Dad would have been proud.”

“That’s it? That’s all he said? You are sure?”

“Yeah John, he also said hello to Mook who didn’t give him the time of day, then he asked me to tell you hello. He said you two needed to get together to catch up one of these days. That was it. Then he just drove off.” An awkward silence filled the room. “What’s the deal Johnny? What’s up?”

“You just watch your back with Mops. The guy has always been bad news. Now that he has a little power he is even more dangerous” John said, more to himself than to anyone.

Then as if an afterthought he lectured.  “And next time you follow Mooks lead you dumb ass. He has been doing this longer than both of us. He’ll keep you alive.”

“You gonna let me in on this John?” Joey pleaded half heartedly, but John knew he was serious. “So what’s Mops into these days. Mooks says he’s Mafia now? Is that true?”

“Hell no!” John cut him off. “Not this one. Not now. The question is more like what isn’t Mops into these days? Let’s just say that he is very connected and very, very dangerous. You just stay as clear of him as you can right now and Promise me little brother….if he contacts you again, You will let me know ASAP.”

“Yeah of course, sure thing” Joey said, then added “You know, there was one more thing that I found odd.” he remembered

“What’s that?”

“Well there was another man in the car with him, but I never got a look at his face.” He said trying to replay the encounter in his mind.

“Who was he?”

“Like I said, I didn’t see his face. I did see his hand. He was holding a wine glass in his left hand. I found the whole seen a bit strange. You know, two men out cruising together at one in the morning, in the back seat of a limo sipping wine, kinda strange to me.” He chuckled. He could tell that John was waiting for him to hurry up and get to the point.

“Anyhow, I could see that he was missing tip of his left pinky finger. It had no fingernail, just smooth and shiny. But it was his voice that sounded familiar somehow. I remember thinking when he spoke that I had heard it before, but I didn’t give it a second thought until you made a big fuss about it just now.”

“Heard it? This other man spoke to you Joey?” He had John’s full interest.

“Not really to me, but as he was driving off I heard this other guy say to Mops, I assume he was talking to Mops. There may have been others in there for all I know. He said. “See, I told you that was the little Fuck” then I heard them laughing.” Joey paused then said. “At the time, it made the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. I know that I’ve heard that sadistic laugh before.”

Chapter Two

Vince Maladano halted his descent halfway down the vintage Victorian staircase. He was wearing an expensive custom designed black silk robe and matching slippers, his dark hair was slicked back and an unlit cigar protruded from his mouth. Vince was a good-looking man in a highly flamboyant very over the top kind of way. He possessed a natural athletic build, with strong features, pale skin and dark eyes that rivaled the blackest of onyx. Raised primarily up on the streets, his family was never one to live by extraordinary means. His father spent most of his time in and out of prison while his mother did what she could to support her illegal drug addictions, most of the time via prostitution. Growing up young Vincent was an afterthought and that was stating it kindly. He was left to tend for himself from a very early age. He once heard from a local drug dealer, that the secret to success was to find a niche that everyone needed and then be able to fulfill those needs successfully. For some reason these words etched themselves into his damaged brain. Their were those who swore he was protected by black-hearted guardian angel looking over his shoulder that enabled him to get away with crimes that the average person could never pull off under any circumstances. Yet, time and time again Vince was able to do the impossible. He would kill someone in front of twenty witnesses, yet no one could remember his face. He would shoot someone on surveillance tape, when the police reviewed the footage that section would be magically erased. Vinnie known as Mops the clean up man, was truly one blessed sadistic patron of the back alleyways.

Vincent stopped to observe two members of his crew standing at the opposite side of the room in front of the large picture window. The sun would be rising in thirty minutes or so lighting the entire room. The men were intently surveying a dark sedan parked half a block down the street and though its headlights were not on its engine remained running. It had been parked there most of the night. In actuality, only one was looking out the window the other had his shoulder pressed against the plush satin curtains framing the window smashing them to the wall. He was sipping a cup of coffee as he spoke to the lookout in front of him. The coffee drinker was rambling on one hundred miles an hour, something about the Jets and what he would do if he were the manager.

The two men were Stu Gallo and Andrew “Andy” Moretti, they were two of more than a dozen henchmen that reported directly to Vincent Maladano.

Stu a very ominous man, standing six foot seven nearly three hundred pounds was immaculately dressed as always. He had clean cut auburn hair, soft blue eyes and a face riddled with the scars of battered youth. Stu was a giant of very few words, never having much to say. Abandoned by his parents when he was eleven Stu had always been large for his age and had been picked on while bouncing from one foster home to another because of his gentle disposition and seemingly slow wits. Ten years ago Vinnie encountered him by chance on the streets. It was Mops that recognized the potential within, bringing the giant on board and training him to be his personal bodyguard. In Stu’s mind, Mops generosity knew no limits and he would be forever in his debt for everything for his employer added to his new life. Stu had been reborn under Mops tutelage. No one dared mess with him now.

Those days were long over.

He was respected, people got out of his way when he walked down the street and catered to his needs when he went out. Shortly after coming aboard, Mops generously helped him track down and kill his birth parents. It turned out that they had been living in the city within forty-five minutes of him his whole life. “They chose to allow him to suffer and be bullied rather than come to his aide as Vinnie had done.”

Mops explained to him that they needed to receive justice for all the mistreatment of his youth and be held accountable for all they allowed happen to him. In order for Stu to receive closure and for peace to be restored in his life they needed to be introduced to the pain he had felt.

Vincent had been right. Together they made them pay for his lifetime of torture and loneliness. In Stu’s mind, he owed Mops everything and vowed to repay him for his generosity by keeping him safe and if necessary sacrificing his own life for that of his savior. The way he saw it, they protected each other. He was a robot that followed orders without questions. He was now Vincent’s number one protector, chauffer and enforcer on his crew answering only to him and no one else.

Andy, on the other hand, had been with Mops since the old days. They ran the streets together as kids. He had clung to Vince’s shirttails and rode them all the way to the top, doing his dirty work without ever once receiving recognition or credit for his services. Why he stayed was anyone’s guess. Vince treated him like an abused dog. He was a small thinly built man, all of five foot seven, one hundred and sixty pounds. Andy had a nervous disorder that made it impossible for him to stand still for prolonged periods of time. His clothes hung loosely on his slim frame always appearing to be a size too large. Andy hated confrontation, but was constantly unsuccessfully struggling to win Vincent’s adoration at every turn. When Vince was “Made” last year he gave Andy an honorary spot on his crew as member of his security team slash errand boy.

“So,” Vince shouted. “Is this what I’m paying you for?” He called out from the stairs as he continued his descent stopping sharply on bottom step.

Startled, Andy jumped. “Oh hey Vince! No, I was just grabbing a cup of coffee before I headed back out. Cold out there you know?” he laughed nervously. Stu still had not so much as flinched. He had detected his master’s presence minutes prior. He was as solemn as a statue, fixated staring out the window, an eagle locked in on it’s prey.

“Come here Andy.” Vince said under his breath, in voice barely loud enough to be heard.

Obediently Andy placed his coffee cup on the rich oak antique end table, but not before placing it on a coaster. He had done that once before without a coaster and you would think he had tried to violate his mother or something, Vince about broke his arm. With a shaking hand he carefully placed his cup on the coaster then scrambled over to Vince. He stood there nervously staring at the ground before his friend, like the obedient dog he was, awaiting his next command.

“What did I just ask you?” Vince said, removing the unlit cigar from his mouth, placing it in the pocket of his robe. This time there was an abrupt tone to his voice as he stepped down directly in front of Andy. He stood inches away. Vince could smell the stale scent of drug store cologne and hair gel as he glared down upon him.  This made Andy even more uncomfortable, but he knew that he dared not move.

“What? What do you mean Vinnie?” Then catching himself “I mean Vince, err , a, Vincent.” He was getting rattled. Just as Vince knew he would. Just as he had done the one thousand times before when he had done this to him. It was a constant game of mental torture that Vince loved to play with his lifelong friend. It brought him great pleasure to make him squirm.

“I’ll speak slowly. What part of my question did you not understand?” Then he slowly repeated. “What the fuck” he paused “Did I ask you?”

“I’m not sure…uh? You mean about what do you pay me for?”

“Yes!” Vince stated, rolling his dark dead eyes as he crossed his arms. His forearms slightly brushed Andy’s chest. He saw his friend swallow hard. Moving close to Andy’s face he reached out and stabbed him forcefully in the throat with the extended index finger of his right hand. Andy, not expecting the blow, took a step back and fell to one knee grabbing his neck.

“Did I ask you for a Fucking weather report?” he barked.

“Uh, No Vinnie, uh Vince, I was just getting some coffee and I.” He tried to speak, regaining the breath that had been so abruptly forced from him. Vince cut him off mid sentence.

“Listen to me.” Vince was yelling now. His face was crimson as the veins in his forehead visibly protruded.  “I don’t pay you to hang out in my Fuckin kitchen drinking my Fuckin coffee. If you are up here shooting the shit, then who the Fuck is watching the east gate? Get the Fuck outta here now. GO!” He pointed to the door.

“Sure thing Vince.” Andy was scampering, grabbing his gloves and coat that were draped over a chair by the main door, all the while he was mumbling to himself in a barely audible tone.

“Tommy said he’d keep an eye on things while I came up for a cup of coffee. I was only gonna be gone a minute.” he was still mumbling. Andy looked at his coffee cup resting on the coaster where he left it on the other side of the room behind Stu on the oak end table. He bit his lower lip thinking and for half a second he considered the possibility of retrieving it, but quickly decided against it, even though he knew without a doubt, he’d certainly catch hell for leaving the cup behind.

“Are you still talking? Shut your fucking hole and get outta here, Now!” Vince was screaming moving again towards his friend.

In Andy’s haste to exit, he slammed part of his coat in the door. There was a long pause as Andy decided his next move while Vincent watched on. Suddenly the door quickly partially reopened, the jammed material was hastily pulled out and the door slammed closed a second time. Vince smiled to himself as he walked over and sat down in the big leather recliner. He looked over at Stu. During all that commotion the big man had not moved.

“Stu.” Vince said softly, his composure back under control at the flick of a switch. There was a practiced smile of contentment upon his face.

“Yes sir,” he immediately replied in the same soft tone echoing that of his employer.

“Did our friends make it by last night?” he asked, referring to a surveillance vehicle that had been observing his residence practically every night on and off for the past six months.

“Yes sir, they pulled in about three ten AM, right after you got home and have been there ever since.” He reported matter-of-factly. “And as usual no one has gotten in or out of the vehicle.” he added.

“I hope they fucking freeze to death out there. Not to worry… they’ll be gone soon.”  He could hardly wait, he thought to himself.

“Who loves you Stu?” Vincent asked out of the blue.

“You do Sir.” He was answered on cue.

“Who am I Stu?”

“Vincent Maladano greatest and kindest man on earth.”

“That is right. Who else loves you Stu?”

“No one else Sir.”

“Why is that Stu?”

“Because nobody else could ever love a freak like me.”

“That’s right Stu. No one else could love a freak like you. I’ll always take care of you.”

“I thank you Sir.”

Stu?”

“Yes sir.”

“Bring me that cup of coffee will ya?” with his cigar back in hand he pointed to the steaming cup that Andy had rushed out and left behind moments ago.

“Yes sir.”

Vincent gently took the coffee from Stu’s massive hands, breathing in its fresh aroma. He took a sip leaning back in his chair and closed his eyes.

“Ahhhhhhh! Andy always could make a good cup of coffee.” He said aloud to no one in particular.

Chapter Three

“Are you sure that’s all he said?”

“Rob, what he said isn’t even the point.” John clarified. “He knows we are watching him. He knows we are watching him.” He repeated pointing to Rob then back at himself. “He was sending me a message.”

“How much have you told Joey?”

“As little as possible and I want to keep it that way. Joey is stubborn and will want to get involved. I am not going to get him mixed up in this right now.”

“Don’t you think he is already involved?” His partner reminded.

“Listen to me. No. I am not getting Joey involved in this. I made sure he knows enough to steer clear of that piece of shit and to call me asap if he ever hears from him again. That is all he needs to know right now. We clear?”

“This is me you’re talking to partner, chill the fuck out.” Rob said.

“I’m sorry man. There is something about that son of a bitch that get’s to me and he knows it.”

At the station Detective John Jenkins was updating his partner, Robert Freeman, with the events of last nights encounter between Maladano and his brother.

Detective Freeman transferred in from out west to partner with John on a case that was receiving national attention seven years ago. The two meshed well together from the start. When the case was resolved Freeman ended up staying permanently in New York. Robert’s laid back California attitude seemed to counter well with John’s by the book sometimes abrasive demeanor. They managed to feed on each other’s strengths, making them both stronger as a team. Freeman’s charm and good looks made him an asset. With Rob being single, John and his girlfriend Michele exerted great effort playing match maker, but to no avail. Rob, also former military Army Special Forces, never felt right about committing to a woman while be associated to a role that entailed so much risk and demanded so much of his time. He couldn’t understand how others could pull it off. He had seen too many good men die or had seen their families pay for their involvement on the force. So his relationships were always short term at best.

The duo had been watching Mops closely for almost a year now. He was a fast rising player in the Mob syndicate.

He was one most would declare better left alone, and unfortunately for them, there were those high-ranking officials within the police force that felt the same way. On more than one occasion they had been given strict instructions to back off Maladano. Which they would do for a week or so, but then something would go down that would draw their attention right back to the criminal.

The Jenkins brothers and Vincent had some common bonds growing up. They were raised in the same neighborhoods and briefly attended to the same schools. There was even a time when they hung out with the same crowds. That was years ago, back before Vincent dropped out of school, started dealing and hanging out with the bad elements on the street full time.

As teenagers they once worked together at a local deli, which is where he got the nickname “Mops”. Vince was always intelligent but he was never good with people, so the owner, Mr. Cirino kept him in the back cleaning, stocking and straightening up. Whenever someone would spill something on the floor or make a mess that needed addressed, Mr. Cirino would yell for young Vince in the back.

“Mops” get your ass up here.” He would say.

Vince would get so angry with them calling him Mops. Mostly they only did it behind his back. Even at a young age his temper was out of control. Later when he got tied up with the wrong crowd, the name resurfaced for a much different reason. He was still doing clean up jobs, but word on the street was that he was doing it for the local crime syndicate, small timers at first, however his reputation quickly spread. Mops was good for getting your point across. When someone was behind in debts or needed inspiration to cough up some money, they would call for Mops.

“So why the show last night with Joey?” Freeman asked.

“It’s Mops way of letting us know that we are getting too close or we are getting under his skin. It’s his way of sending me a message to back off.”

“How do you want to handle this?”

“Not sure.” John said putting his hands to his temples, as if attempting to massage his brain would increase the blood flood and thereby miraculously inspire a fix all answer. “Not sure.” He repeated.

Surveying the room one could see a years worth of information gathering on Maladano, as well every other top crime boss in the area.

They had identified a total of 5 major players at this time, with Mops being the newest addition. He was raised to mob boss barely one year ago, after the untimely demise of Lou “The Turk” Patrino. It was said that Lou was unable to conform to the times. He was old school and didn’t like the direction he was being forced and was continually pushing back. It was time for fresh blood.  Mops was the right hand man for Sam “The Man” Trupiano, who some would say, that at one point, was the most brutal of them all. Unlike most Made men Sam never minded getting his hands dirty. It was the thrill of the kill that he enjoyed. His specialty had always been knives when he was coming up. John remembered that Sam liked the personal touch that he would give to each job. Over the past ten years he had managed to recreate himself into very legitimate businessman in New York, as well as internationally. Somehow he had managed to make his criminal past simply disappear as if it had never existed. He had the press in his pocket, most likely every judge in town as well. His apprentice Vincent Maladano was a perfect protease. He was highly intelligent, without a conscience and he learned fast. Mops had quickly developed a well-earned brutal reputation, and was respected on the streets. A word from Mops was a good as a word from Sam “The Man” himself. So when the time to replace the Turk arose there was little doubt as to who would be filling that dark void.

There was also little doubt in John’s mind that Mops had orchestrated the entire scenario with the Turk, all the while making Sam think it was his idea. Of this John had no doubt. The stink of Mops moniker could not be missed.

The circumstances of the Turk’s death had Vincent’s twisted signature all over it. It was a message to all. It made headlines nationwide. Apparently in a warehouse fifteen miles from this very precinct, down near the Docks, the Turk and seven members of his crew decided to strip down to their underwear and commit suicide, each in their own unique morbid style. They found the Turk twenty feet off the ground hanging by his neck swinging from a rafter on an electrical cord with a suicide note written in crayon stuffed down the front of his boxers. Below him, four members of his crew had been divided into two groups each sitting back to back on the ground not ten feet away from their leader. They were displayed to appear that they simultaneously placed pistols in their mouths and blew their own brains out all over each other.

Two others, found on their knees, were laid out as though they had committed Hari-Kari, the ancient ritual suicide performed by shamed Samurai warriors. Each had a two-foot blade entering their abdomens and exiting five inches out their backs. Both were wearing the expensive name brand leather belts from their dress trousers around their heads as makeshift headbands. The Turk’s driver and personal bodyguard was found in the car, parked just outside, still sitting behind the wheel of a luxury sedan. He was wearing pants but stripped from the waist up. There was one end of a three inch industrial hose lodged in the tailpipe of the vehicle the other end had been shoved about eighteen inches down his throat, autopsy showed that it had occurred while the poor wretch was still alive, knocking out numerous teeth and shredding a large portion of his tongue and esophagus in the process. There was a sarcastic message that was meant to be from the driver written in his own blood on the inside of the windshield.

It simply read “Goodbye cruel world” punctuated with a smiley face.”

Even though John and his partner had no proof to substantiate a claim, because the place was wiped clean and of course no witnesses to be found, they knew it was Mops. They had no doubt it was Mops. Only he had that type of twisted humor and the remorseless brutality that it would take to devise and carry out such an act. And only Mops was in a position where he could receive the authorization from Sam to pull this off and walk away without blowback from the agency. So due to the lack of evidence at the scene they were prematurely directed by the department to back off, which they did, reluctantly.

Well for the most part, at least officially.

Unofficially they would take turns tailing Vincent and his crew and watching his every move from a distance. It was sort of their “off the record” hobby.

Behind John now were two wall-sized maps, four foot by five foot, of New York City covering the back bulkhead of their specially assigned office. It had once been a conference room, then storage room, before they personally converted it. The maps were detailed with colored pins and post-its, each representing a significant fact or detail. Each related death or even suspected related death was represented with a colored pushpin at the location of the event. Each color, if applicable, represented which of the five crime families they felt responsible. Even the ones they suspected were mob or gang related but weren’t sure who was to blame had its own color, Black.

Each pin had its own folder that could be found, if you knew where to look on one of the desks before it. In each folder were the details of that specific murder, death or event along with the notes and comments of the two detectives. Every post-it had notes scribbled on it with a piece of significant information. There was colored string attached to the corresponding colored pin that outlined the area of each respected crime boss’ territory. The maps had been divided in five stringed out sections representing the five boroughs within.

In the Bronx there was Bruno Lombardi. He was born and raised in this area and was as hard as the streets he controlled. His main source of income was weapons, drugs and gambling. He was pretty lenient with his enforcement, as long as he received his cut of the take. He was feared but was respected on the streets. He was a straight up wise guy.

Bruno was also the sub-Lord of the Latin Assassins, a local gang thousands strong. The Latin Assassins were manufacturers and distributors of illegal drugs and narcotics as well as weapons dealers up and down the East Coast. Once small timers they managed to merge and unify virtually every Latin Gang under one umbrella. Under Bruno’s guidance they had grown into a thriving organization that dealt fear and intimidation all across the northeast.

In Queens they had Carlo “The Gentleman” Marino. Like most mobsters of his stature he was always well dressed. It may have just been the fact that he was the oldest of the crime bosses, especially now that the Turk was out of the picture, so he tried to compensate by dressing young. He would wear the open neck dress shirts under an Armani jacket with the diamond encrusted gold chains and an overdose of gray chest hair that only a sixty four year old Italian man could accumulate. Money laundering, numbers running and prostitution were his specialties. His entourage always included two or three scantily clad buxom young women that would laugh at his every attempt at humor. His gang affiliations were the Saints and the Enchanters of Queens.

Staten Island was represented by, Sir Demarco Columbo. He ruled with an iron fist and was seldom seen outside the security of his estate. Demarco was a hard man of Middle Eastern descent but possessed very strong ties to Sam and his connections from Italy.  He had a crew of gorillas that he regarded as his enforcers. If someone needed to meet with him to conduct business, they needed to put forth the effort to come to him. There were only a handful of pictures of him known to be in existence, and John and Rob managed to take and be in possession of one of them.

Angelo Conti was Manhattan’s very own celebrity. He was an educated man with a Masters degree in business. He only mixed and mingled with the who’s who of the entertainment world. He owned theatres all across the United States and had a hand in a couple Broadway shows on the strip. If you dug deep enough you would see that he also was a major player in prostitution rings, drug trafficking, gambling and just about every other addiction that could turn a profit. Gang affiliation was the Vamps of Manhattan, as well as a few smaller gangs directly assigned to his payroll. This was a very deep seeded organization that in addition to the usual combination of drugs, guns and gambling also had political ties. Exactly how far up his reach extended was unknown causing the detectives to tread lightly and with extreme caution.

Then we had Mops, their very own Vincent Maladano of Brooklyn. Being only thirty-five years of age made him one of the youngest crime bosses in their short history. His street smarts and ability to act without remorse made him a quick favorite of Sam Trupiano over the past ten years. He was promoted barely a year ago after the demise of the Turk and had been under unauthorized close surveillance by John and his partner ever since. Vincent had also assumed the helm of the local gang know as the Hell’s Deputies. It was a multi-million dollar enterprise specializing in prostitution, money laundering, racketeering, weapons, drug manufacturing and trafficking.

It was their unofficial evaluation that all five crime-bosses reported directly to Trupiano. It was a connection that Jenkins and Freeman knew in their guts, yet could not openly discuss with their superiors. They were not quite sure what Sam’s role as the main figurehead entailed. If was for real, then there was no way of knowing how deep he could reach and they weren’t ready to risk their lives and lives of those around them on a hunch. On the surface he was very legit with businesses in every top city in the United States as well as numerous countries abroad. He sat on the board of a dozen nationally sponsored charities, Veterans organizations and was a guest speaker at major events for many established companies. He was the recipient of numerous awards for his contributions to charities, schools and the communities where he operated.  It was Mops that brought Trupiano back into their sights fourteen months ago. Nothing quite clicked yet, but they knew there had to be a connection. It was the only thing that made sense.

This cluttered wall unofficially represented the past thirteen months in the lives of Detective John Jenkins and Detective Robert Freeman, maybe consumed their lives would be a more appropriate choice of words.  Putting everything on the map for them to see was their way of making it real and keeping it fresh. Nothing simply got investigated, processed and filed. Solved or unsolved it earned its place on wall. It was a daily reminder that their work was not even close to being done.

                        Chapter Four

The front passenger window of the patrol car was down about half an inch. The two men sat in silence feeling the rush of the cold New York evening air rob the state issued vehicle of its warmth faster than it was being produced.

“I still do not understand the need for all the drama.” Joey asked again sharing his frustration at his mentor Phil “Mookie” Mulkowski.

Without responding this time Phil immediately pulled the squad car over to the side of the road with a jerk, unfastened his seat belt and exited the vehicle. He slammed the car door behind him. Joey could see that his partner was visibly upset.

Maybe he had pushed the issue a little too far this time? He thought.

He took a deep breath then he too got out of the vehicle. He saw Mook at the rear of the vehicle leaning against the trunk. He walked back and took a spot beside him, not sure of what he should say. Initially they sat there in silence for few minutes listening to the police radio watching the heavy traffic soar by. Occasionally, a car would blow their horn as they zoomed past, then finally Phil spoke.

“Listen Joey, you are a fine police officer. You are a natural at this line of work, just like your brother. Hell it’s in your blood. Your father had it and I can see it in you. You have a good heart and you actually care about these people we serve and what’s even more admirable is that the people genuinely see that in you as well. I’m not bullshitting you kid, that is really rare. Your father was a good cop and I ain’t shitting you when I say he would be proud of all that you have done. But guess what? Your brother is a good cop too. You understand?” Joey instinctively nodded his head in agreement.

“John has great instincts and a good head on his shoulders. He is well respected by most and hated by select few of others.”  He looked at Joey to make sure he was paying attention. He was.

“That’s a good thing, it means that he and Freeman are doing something right, even though they may be stepping on a few toes along the way. They aren’t yes men, but that can get dangerous, both on the streets and in house.”

Joey interrupted “I get all of that. Really I…”  Phil cut him off.

“No, I don’t think you do. If you did, you wouldn’t be getting yourself worked up over something that doesn’t concern you right now.” He clarified.

“Your brother is in the middle of something, just as you will be someday, if you don’t screw it up.” He reminded. “There are things that he can share and things he cannot. It doesn’t matter if you are his brother or the Pope himself. Sometimes what we know can hurt us kid, or it can hurt those we love or care about. This Mops is bad news, Real Bad. He always has been. Hell I busted that kid a dozen times when he was young. I didn’t like him then, Hell, to be honest with you, even when he was a kid that little shit gave me the creeps.”

Joey thought he saw Mooks shiver as the words left his mouth.

“You know what? I like him less even now. I should have shot that little bastard in the back of the head ten years ago and saved this whole city a lot of trouble. I mean what I say, Mops ain’t right.” Mooks tapped his index finger to his temple. “He has something loose, up here, but he isn’t a two-bit hustler anymore. You hear me?” Joey nodded again. The wind picked up sending a chill down his spine.

“He is connected now and he is dangerous. So trust John when he asks you to be careful and watch your back. Do what he says, not because he is your brother, but because he is a good cop who knows what he is talking about. Don’t go putting him in danger, or yourself by creating a problem where there isn’t one.”

“I’m sorry Mookie. You are right.” Joey agreed. “I just want something more exciting to do. No offense Mooks.” He amended, knowing that Phil had elected to work the streets his entire career.

“None taken kid, but remember, exciting ain’t that exciting if you’re dead Boy. Dead is just dead.”

Joey laughed nervously but he knew Mooks was right.

“You just have to do your time kid, that’s all.  It’s