“I’m glad you understand my position, Andrew. It’s not easy. But I know you can see the benefit of talking this out.”
“Absolutely, sir.” Forbes was willing Skinner to drink the coffee.
Skinner ran his tongue over the front of his teeth.
Forbes wondered if the fucker was ever going to drink the damn coffee. He exhaled as Skinner picked up his mug and took a couple of large gulps.
“Listen, I set aside the next few hours to get this situation resolved, okay?”
Forbes shrugged.
“But we’ve got a change of plan. We’re headed down on Air Force One to Florida. Leaving in forty-five minutes.”
“I’m going, I assume.”
“That’s right. So, we’ll have to reschedule this chat to this evening, when we return. Ten o’clock?”
“Works for me.”
“You need to heed this advice. Leave, and we can deal with this situation.”
Forbes nodded. “I think you’re right.”
Skinner drank the rest of the coffee, licking his lips. “Nothing personal, kid.”
Forbes smiled. “It’s business, right?”
“That’s all it is, son. It’s just the way of the world.”
Fifty-Two
The breaker’s yard was located on contaminated wasteland in New Jersey. It was run by two Hells Angels. But it was owned by Peter’s childhood friend, now capo of a New York Mafia family, Luigi Bonafessi. He was a twenty-first-century John Gotti. He also had a penchant for designer suits and flashy gold jewelry. But both Mafia men shared the same fearsome reputation.
Bonafessi had climbed the ranks quickly. He started as a street thug. His notoriety for beatings and killings grew. He came to the attention of the head of the family. He became an associate. Then he was initiated, and became a made man. A Mafia “soldier.” A few years later, he was a capo. Head of the crew.
McNeal had heard of the guy. Peter, by contrast, knew the mobster well. He had hung out with Bonafessi throughout elementary school on Staten Island. Schoolyard fights, him and his friends. Italians versus Irish. Italians and Irish versus Blacks. Then they had gone their separate ways.
Bonafessi had turned to crime when he was a kid. But throughout everything, he and Peter had kept in touch, off and on, over the years.
Jack McNeal squirmed, deeply uncomfortable hanging around with such people. He knew they were animals and would kill you as soon as look at you. But, in his current predicament, turning a blind eye was the only option. He knew the favor would be called in some time down the line. That was a given.
He and Peter watched as the car got picked up by a crane and dropped into a steel crushing machine. It was a matter of minutes before it was pulped and ready for scrap.
Luigi shook Peter’s hand and then Jack’s. “Nice to meet you, Jack. I’ve heard a lot about you. Good things.”
Jack forced a smile.
“Listen, don’t worry. It’s done. We’ll bury it. None of this happened.”
Peter said, “I owe you one, Luigi.”
“I don’t call in favors unless I need to. Buy me a nice drink when we meet up, huh?”
Luigi turned his gaze on Jack. “Stuff happens. I respect you for reaching out to us. We all need a helping hand from time to time. I try and help out people in my neighborhood.” He patted Jack on the shoulder. “You don’t have to have sleepless nights about this. I wish you well.”
“Appreciate that,” Jack said.
Peter smiled. “Tell your dad I hope he gets better soon.”
“He’s a tough old dog,” Luigi said. “He’s like your own father. He’ll never leave Staten Island unless it’s in a fucking box.”
Peter smiled again. “We’ve got to go, Luigi. I owe you that drink.”
Luigi cocked his head in the direction of the pulped metal. “Luigi can make anything disappear. You just need to ask nicely.” The Mafia guy laughed as two of his men stood watching from a distance.
The brothers took the short walk back to Peter’s car. Jack was lost in his thoughts as they drove back to Manhattan. He and his brother were killers. No better than Luigi and his crazy family. They parked around the corner from Jack’s tiny apartment on West Third Street.
Jack showered as Peter bagged his dirty clothes and put them down the garbage chute.
Jack put on a fresh set of clothes. He had always wondered why people like cops, who were supposed to uphold the law, went bad. Now he knew. Stuff happens. Life is messy. People are fucked up.