The Sereano Family, Chapter One Options

[hrobert16]

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WARNING
This story contains graphic language, violence, racism against blacks, Cubans, Mexicans and Italians and many other things that could offend someone. While I do not share these views, they were necessary to make a realistic portrayal of modern Mobster life.
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The car was late. The car was always late. Thing wouldn't have been so bad if Jimmy didn't have a meeting with Mikey in the morning or if the drop-off wasn't taking place in one of the darkest streets during one of the darkest hours. He was tough, but this was Cartel turf and they weren't necessarily on good terms with one another. Those f**king Columbians didn't care who they killed, either. As long as they got their money and their drugs, they were satisfied.

The darkness seemed to shower from the sky, the only light source being a street light two blocks down, just visible from his location between two dumpsters in the alley. Cartel members didn't come here often, but it would be just his luck that they would pick now to do so. He was armed and so were the men he was supposed to be meeting, but the Columbian's trade relied on violence.

Anyone who saw him would be suspicious. He still wore the suit from the meeting he had with the Detroit boss earlier in the day. He had come in to help negotiate a partnership with Sereano, who was pleased. He hadn't wanted to attend, but he had to go as backup for one of the crew leaders. Not many of these "peace meetings" were deathtraps, and most bosses who organized such a move were knocked off under the orders of the Commission, it still happened and everyone had to be prepared.

Headlights finally spilled over the darkness, almost blinding him as the vehicle slowly approached. He reached into his suit jacket, pulling a nine and keeping it at the ready. He still couldn't identify the vehicle, whether Cartel or one of their own. It pulled to a stop a few yards from him and he emerged. Three men made their way out of the vehicle, all dressed in tuxedos.

"Jimmy, its us. You can come out." He did, putting his gun away and lugging the briefcase toward the Sereano associates.

"I can't belive Danny sent me here without any f**king backup." He said, approaching the men and setting the briefcase on the hood of the black Ford. Releasing the fastenings, he lifed the lid.

"Three grand, your cut. Any problems, you take them to the skipper." It wasn't any disrespect, it was just that Jimmy had no hand in any of the Family business. He didn't control what got packed into the briefcase, he just controlled who it was delivered to.

"Thanks, Jimmy. Tell the skipper we hope to work with him again in the future." Jimmy nodded and that was it. Twenty f**king minutes of waiting and the meeting took two. The men piled into their vehicle and Jimmy got back into his place between the two dumpsters, waiting five full minutes after they drove off to get back to his car and get the hell off the Cartel territory.

* * * * *

Daniel Sereano got the call only moments after the meeting had went down. Jimmy hadn't f**ked up and everything had gone smoothly. He'd asked Tarino to send backup with the kid, but the f**king sorry excuse for a capo hadn't done anything of the sort. He'd worried for the kid's safety all night. Cartel members didn't stand a chance against three or four of his guys, but only one was like a sitting duck. A beacon calling every Columbian knife-wielding mother f**ker and begging them to turn the up-and-rising mobster to ribbons.

The office door opened slightly, causing Danny to turn around and look in the direction. Tommy Legasi poked his head in, the fabric of his black, Gucci professional suit.

"Sam Riciardi is on the phone for ya, skip." Danny gave his consigliere a nod and the younger man slipped back, pulling the door closed. He grabbed the phone.

"La Terazzo, Danny Sereano speaking." There wasn't any response for a moment, only the sizzling of a grill of some kind.

"Yeah, it's me." It was the voice of Salvatore 'Sammy' Albarano, the boss of Cleveland. Although Cleveland was really small time in the business now, they still had a seat on the Commission for some reason no one really understood.

"Yeah, so?" Danny said in a moderate and demanding voice. He really had to admit to himself, he didn't like the guy. Sammy was the only boss that wasn't full-Italian, which was an extreme rarity that had only happened twice before. There was good reason, though. Most of the shit-ant hick excuses for Italians had abandoned the old ways. The days of the Lonardo crew were over. Cleveland was just another city that had fallen to the will of the law.

"So you know that meeting we're supposed to be at?" Danny's heart skipped a beat, but he replied anyway. He didn't like Albarano, but the man was no fool. He had to know that the line was possibly tapped.

"Yeah, what about it?"

"Well, the location has changed. We're meeting in the back of a convenient store near our place, though you would have to turn the city upside down to find it."

"Yeah." Danny nodded, knowing full well that the man on the other end couldn't hear his head rattle. He understood.

"Danny, you there?"

"Just make sure the others know about this."

He hung up without a second thought. This was the fourth time in the passed week that the location of the meeting had changed. Someone in Albarano's crew was leaking information to the Feds, and everyone knew it. The truth was that Informants were getting hard to spot, all of them trained to trust no one. They couldn't off anyone without a valid reason, since there was only somewhere around fifty made guys in the organization.

Running a hand through his hair, Danny approached the large, framed map of the city. Our place referred to a large park where most of the "boss-to-capo" meetings took place for his crew, which would put the meeting at Gigi Banterelli's warehouse, not a common place for them to meet. This was big. The biggest thing that had happened since he'd been boss.

Danny made his way to the large couch on the other side of the room, paying no mind to a glass he knocked over. Running a hand through his slightly greasy hair, he sat down and folded his hands in his lap.

* * * * *

Mikey Santino kept his hands on the steering wheel, coasting down the dark and deserted road. It was amazing how quickly the main streets turned into nothing but but blacks and Cuban refugees after the sun disappeared behind Myrtle Beach.

He kept up the slow pace, not wanting to get attention from the wrong people. He was expendable in the organization and the higher ups weren't going to start an all out war against some nigger street gang over a soldier's death.

He finally saw him. Jimmy Gaccini was standing on the street corner at Broadland, waiting patiently. Patiently? f**k, the kid was practically checking his watch every three seconds. He stopped the car, waiting. The younger mobster slid inside, snapping at him almost immediatly.

"It's about mother f**kin' time." Jimmy complained, pulling the door shut. "You know how many f**king niggers have looked at my and probably thought about putting my blood on the street right there?"

"f**k you," Mikey started driving, now at normal speed. He felt a little tense. In the old days, wiseguys wouldn't give the black fucks a second thought on the street. This were very bad times. Everyone knew that the Sereano crew was headed for a war with the street gangs and it would just be a matter of time before the tension erupted into a full blown confrontation.....

.....the back window shattered in a hail of gunfire, Jimmy almost immediatly ducking for cover. Mikey ducked low, but kept driving, not even making an attempt to see what was attacking them.

"Mother f**k. I told you, I f**king told you."

"Shut the f**k up and shoot someone, eh?"

Jimmy opened the glove box, feeling around inside. "The hell? You don't keep a piece in here!?" Rather than waiting for an answer, he grabbed the wind-shiled scraper off of the floor and flung in backward out the window, unsure of what he was aiming for.

"We're comin' up on Zitto territory, relax." Mikey said, still staying low. If anyone pursued them into these area, he really pittied them. Johnny Zitto's boys were some of the best in the city and they were good friends of the Sereano crew.

He made a sharp turn, finally seeing it for the first time. A trashy convertable, two niggers in front, three in the back. They were showing no signs of letting up on their pursuit.

After another turn, they were pulling up quickly to Zitto's Posto Dello. Mikey popped the door open, getting out quickly and running for the cover of Zitto's. Jimmy followed not so far behind, but rushing through the door.

"Invitation only, boys." The bouncer for the club crossed his arms. "You aren't getting much further."

"We need to talk to Mr. Zitto, now." Jimmy said, giving the bouncer a sharp glare. "You're gonna let us through, or I'm gonna cause some problems."

"You don't want Mr. Sereano to get involved in this, do you pal?" Mikey asked with an obviously fake amount of curiousity. This did the trick.

"Get out that nine and make yourself usefull." Mikey looked toward the door, reaching for his own strap. "Blow the shit out of any black mother f**ker who comes through that door."

The convertable had made its halt just outside the club. If they were smart, they would have turned back. Of course, all five up them started strutting up to the entrance with their sweaty gang-bandannas and handguns. By this point, the bouncer had already called for club security over his radio and three wiseguys were on their way.

The glass doors came open, the gang members raising their guns. "Alright all tyou mutha fucka's...." The gang leader trailed off when he saw six well-dressed men pointing guns at their faces. Two of the wiseguys had even brough sub-machine guns.

"Get the f**k out and your 'homies' won't be bitching about having five of their 'homies' filled full of lead by some greaseball guinea pricks." Mikey warned. Surprisingly, they didn't have to be told twice.