Chapter 37: A Shadow of Doubt

Declan took Jalen to his office, furnished with a large mahogany desk overlooking a cigar lounge. They sat by the lounge, facing each other.

"Do you care for some food?" Declan asked.

"No need," he replied.

Declan pointed at the cigar box laid on the table. "Do you smoke?"

He shook his head.

"Then surely you would have some wine."

"Some fruit juice would do. Apple Juice."

Declan chuckled. "To each his own." 

Then the mobster placed an order for him through the intercom before walking to a cabinet beside his desk and retrieving a black bottle of wine.

"Now this is rare," Declan said, caressing the wine bottle as if it were a fragile toddler. "A Lambrusco Grasparossa from the outstanding 1992 vintage that's been perfectly cellared for three decades. I implore you to try some."

After receiving his gesture of approval, Declan popped the cap, a fruity aroma tinged with alcohol riding the air, then poured two glasses of wine.

Then Declan raised his wineglass, a stern expression on his face. "This wine, like our organization, represents tradition, quality, and patience. Come on, pick up your glass."

As he raised his glass and clinked it with Declan's, the mobster said. "Salute. To new beginnings and mutual respect."

Then they both drank from their glasses, savoring the wine.

"What do you think?" Declan asked, immediately after he dropped the wine glass.

"Not bad," he said, but poured himself a much bigger portion.

Both men chuckled as they enjoyed the vintage wine. Somehow, he left the apple juice untouched.

"Now, let's get down to business," Declan said, his smile fading. "Why did you help me? For all intents and purposes, I owe you my life. Had you not done what you had done, I was destined to rot in prison." 

He leaned back into his cushioned chair. "You opened a 30-year-old wine bottle for me. That makes this a special occasion. Tell me why and I might let you know my reasons."

"I see. You are a schemer, like me. Holding your cards to your chest," Declan grabbed a duffle bag that Jalen just noticed and placed it on the table. Then he unzipped it, revealing bundles of cash. "You see, respect is the cornerstone of our organization. Without it, we have nothing. Respect for each other, for our traditions, and for the work we do. I can never repay you in a thousand lifetimes for what you have done for me. But I hope to try, however meager my efforts may be.

"That's 300 grand. The reward I plan to give you is about 2 million; clean, in some overseas account. But times are hard now. The Black Book's territory has been shrinking daily."

Jalen pulled the bag closer and sifted through the many hundred-dollar bills, a triumphant glint in his eyes. It was unfortunate how seeing this much money made him happy. Yet, what else could he do? 300 grand in cold, hard cash stared back at him. Still, this wasn't what he wanted, but he knew Declan had more to offer.

"Take the money. It's yours, and I'll send you the rest when times are easier. Or… you can stay back. Work for me and make a hundred times that amount a year. What do you say?"

Hundred times?

"What does working for you entail?" Jalen asked. He read up on how mafia family organizations functioned. So he more or less knew the general way things work. But The Black Book was a new age syndicate, formed from the ashes of the last great war in New York City. The prospects of working under someone sat wrong with him, but he was willing to play ball for now. There was much he had to learn.

Declan returned to his desk and retrieved a leather-bound book. "You enforce The Black Book's will. Be it extortion, murder, debt collection, business dealings, stock trading, drug dealing, you name it. If it makes money, that's cool by me. Stay away from brothels and sex work. In this day and age, law enforcement takes that seriously."

"I thought you people never dealt drugs."

"Look at me," Declan said, shrugging. "Fifty years ago, a made man wouldn't even have considered proposing me to get made. Yet, here I am, underboss of The Black fucking Book. Times have changed, Jalen. The amount of fucking dough drugs bring in can't be ignored. If you do, the other gangs will carve you up easily, backed by mountains of drug money. If you join me, in no time I'll propose you to the boss, personally. Get you made. Money, women, anything you want will be yours. You just have to play it smart. Like my boss. Not me." Then Declan leaned in. "Look, I know you have abilities. Abilities that separate you from the common soldier. I do not plan to disrespect you with debt collection or extortion. No! But I understand that my men outside this room won't take likely to a new guy, wet behind the ears, usurping them. I ask that you exercise patience. Your time will come."

"I'm in." He pushed the duffle bag back to Declan. "So what do I get for joining? Health insurance? 401(K) benefits?"

Declan chuckled. "No, just a giant target on your back." Then he pulled a photograph hidden in the pages of his notebook and handed it to Jalen. "That's your first order of business. His name is Aldo Romano. He was one of my trusted Caporegimes. When shit hit the fan, he turned informant. Turns out he is hiding in Athens, a small town in Alabama. The FBI didn't even have the decency to put him under witness protection. Find him, find out what he knows, and ice him." 

He flipped the photograph, finding the exact location it was taken written in fine handwriting. It turned out Aldo Romano uploaded the photo to his social media. He could only scoff at the utter carelessness.

"Since it's your first job," Declan said. "I could give you some men."

He shook his head. "No, I work better alone."

"When you're done, we'll have anoth—"

The door busted open. Somehow, Declan found a pistol and leveled it at the doorway. When the mobster saw who entered, Declan dropped the gun, a look of disdain on his face. "I could have fucking killed you."

"You know that flimsy gun can't touch me," a woman said, stepping in, her guards not far behind. She wore a silk black dress that was sheer, her modesty only covered by the dress' frontal floral frills. Her left arm, mostly covered in tattoos, was partially concealed by a fur coat that emphasized her elegance.

She strode up to Declan, staring down at him, her eyes cold and calculating. The underboss stood so that they could look each other in the eyes, his gaze just as cold.

"The Don made a grave mistake sending you down here," she said. "Now people spit on our name. Do you have any idea how important reputation is in this business?"

Declan's stern gaze gave as much as she could dish. "I've been in the game for thirty years, Zora. I know what I'm doing."

Zora snickered, circling Declan like a predator. "Thirty years for this bullshit. With the prospect of coming here to clean up your mess, I patrolled your streets. Would you believe my luck when I ran into the feared Metal Shadow, laying waste to another operation of yours? When the boss grows inevitably tired of you, I'll be the one to put a bullet between your eyes."

Zora's gaze then fell on Jalen, her eyes widening in response. "Now, who made this chocolate cake?"

She sauntered over and sat beside him, her eyes licking him up.

"Back off, Zora. He's my associate," Declan said.

"So? That doesn't change things one bit," she said, her eyes still devouring him. "What's your name, gentleman?"

"Jalen," he said.

"My, Jalen. Has anyone ever mentioned that you have the most beautiful eyes?"

He narrowed his eyes, his lips pursed in disbelief. This did not deter Zora, however, who leaned in closer, her sheer dress revealing everything to him.

"Don't believe whatever lies Declan fed you," she said. "The life of organized crime is far from glamorous, with money thrown at you or droves of women vying to get into your pants. It is a brutal, painful, and short life. You either end up with your brains blown off or you'll be buried in prison." She whispered into his ear. "Come back to Harlem with me. I'll take very good care of you." Her leg rode up his groin. From her giggle, he could tell she felt his reaction.

He had to cool the steam off somewhat with some wine. But she grabbed his reaching hand, almost pulling him away with her.

"I'll admit. That's a tempting offer," he said, not budging from his seat. "But I have a counter. If you are so interested in me, stay back in Hermosville. Then you can spread those legs for me anytime you want."

Zora's jaw dropped. Her guards stepped forward but halted after she raised her hand.

"Very well, Jalen," Zora said, getting up while still smiling. "You can't say I didn't try. In a year, I'll be back. If you are still alive, I hope to revisit this conversation."

❊ ❊ ❊

Jalen eyeballed the photograph against the backdrop and it matched perfectly. He stood before the very diner where Aldo Romano's picture had been taken. It turned out that Aldo Romano's daughter was the photographer who had uploaded the photo to her social media, expressing her joy at spending quality time with her dad. He entered the establishment, and with the sun directly above, the diner was bustling with customers. Despite the crowd, he found a seat at the bar, and it didn't take long for a server to approach him. Fate played a cruel twist, as it was none other than Aldo's daughter who came to serve him.

"Hello, what can I get for you?" she asked.

"A burger," he said. "Though you'll have to recommend a good one for me. And some apple juice to drink."

"How about our signature special? Triple beef patty, smoked bacon, and Monterey Jack cheese. You'll love it, hun."

Later, the monstrosity of a burger she served him was fit for a king.

Talk about special, he thought. A special way to spend my money.

With undeniable excitement, he savored every bite of the large burger. By the time he finished, the diner had emptied somewhat, only half the patrons about, so Aldo's daughter, Bianca, as it appeared on her name tag, came over.

"So what's a guy like you doing in this little old town?" she asked. "I haven't seen you here before."

"Well, I was just passing through," he said. "Thought I'd stop by for some lunch."

"You from Philly?"

"No, Jersey."

"Ahh, it's close. I thought I recognized that accent." She grabbed some silverware and started cleaning it when her manager passed by. "If you are staying for a few days, there's a boat show next week and my dad is participating. You should come."

"I don't think so. I'm short on time."

"That's too bad. Well, if you change your mind, you know where to find me."

He almost felt bad for the woman. She just kept digging her father's grave deeper. Since there was only one lake in the small town, he headed there. After a quick scan of the docked boats, he came up empty. So he waited, sitting high in a tree, on a hill that overlooked the lake.

Sundown brought good fortunes, as Aldo Romano strolled down the hill and pulled his boat out of the dock, delving further into the lake. The only lighting about were the street lamps that barely illuminated a few meters off their dockyard. He dropped from the tree and soared into the sky in a form that blended into the night. Then he gently landed on Aldo's boat before assuming his human form again. 

Aldo stood oblivious, by the steering wheel of his boat, with a cigar in his mouth, his gaze sweeping over the lake further ahead. The man was an avid fan of hip-hop, Jay-Z's The Blueprint blaring from his Bluetooth speaker.

A shame.

He pointed his Smith & Wesson M&P, recommended by Nikolai for its reliability, at the back of Aldo. "The Black Book sends its regards."

Aldo froze, his cigar dropping from his mouth. "Wait! Wait! Shit! Please don't do this, man. I have a family."

"Should've thought about that before turning."

"You don't fucking get it, man." Aldo actually began to cry. "Okay. Please, lemme drink a cold one before I go. I swear… I won't try anything funny."

Letting out a sigh, he beckoned the man to get going. Aldo grabbed a beer can from a small fridge and sat down, facing him. He half expected the man to reach for a hidden gun, but the resigned look and distant gaze in Aldo's eyes made him lower his own weapon. Aldo could savor his last moments while he pondered his next course of action. For the first time, doubt started to seep in. Not because he feared taking the man's life, but because it felt like an immense waste of his time, talent, and abilities, given who he truly was. Yes, Declan had urged him to be patient, but still. He would see this mission through and then reassess his options.

"Man, you're young," Aldo said after a long drink. "They didn't start them this young. Not since the 70s."

"I'm older than I look," he said.

"And I fucked Halle Berry on a bed laid with rose petals and twenty million dollars in cash," Aldo said, breaking into a contagious, throaty laugh that infected him. Afterward, Aldo tossed him a beer, urging him to drink as well. Then the man's smile faded. "That life, man. It's impossible to uphold the Omertà. I know I deserve death… for what I did. But not for my name to be shit on! You see, Metal Shadow made me an offer. It was either my daughter got life for felony murders she had nothing to do with." Aldo had to take deep breaths as his breathing became erratic. "Or… I'm sorry…or I bite the bullet and turn on my friends. My family. Declan. Stone-faced Nikolai. And I didn't even spill their whereabouts in the end, only little outfits here and there, you know. I had to give Shadow something! Now, Antonio Lombardi, that's who you should be after." Dropping the empty beer can, Aldo added. "You can kill me now. I'm ready."

"What did this Antonio Lombardi do specifically?"

"What? You don't know? Then Declan must be losing his touch. Antonio 'shitfaced' Lombardi is the stinking rat you ought to be looking for. If he were here, all the fucking fish in this lake would be floating by now."

"Yeah, where can I find him?"

"He was a cop. He could be anywhere in the world now under witness protection. Now make it quick. Aim right between the eyes."

Aldo dropped to his knees, his eyes tightly shut. However, he holstered his gun. When his quick death eluded him for many minutes, Aldo opened his eyes to regard Jalen, who had turned his back on him, evidently deep in thought.

"What? you suddenly got cold feet?" Aldo asked. "Come on, make it quick. You can do it."

As he gazed out of the boat at the distant shoreline, he said. "In school, they taught us that the British established Australia as their penal colony in the eighteenth century. Is that true?"

Aldo's brows furrowed with confusion. "Yeah. But the fuck does that have to do with anything?"

He pointed a finger behind Aldo, where a swirling cloud of space-warping mass had appeared.

"Beyond that portal is your personal penal colony. Though I must warn you, it is much bigger than Australia."