Page 12 of Claimed By the Don

“There’s been enough of this bullshit about corruption in the precincts that some of our oldest associates are making noise for a raise,” my dad says. “It’s extortion, pure and simple. They can’t stand a little heat from the media—newspapers and local newstalking about maybe some cops are on the take—” he chuckles, “I didn’t know there’s any that aren’t on the take! But they think they can get more money out of us. It’s bullshit,” he slaps the table for emphasis, startling everyone at the table.

“What do you propose we do about the demands?” Willa asked. Willa’s a cousin and high up on the chain here.

“We do this old school. We make an example of the first one with his hand out. That’ll shut them up,” he laughs.

The grim faces around the table match how I feel about that suggestion. I want to bang my head on the table in frustration. Instead, I wait for responses, including my father’s possible follow up. It’s too much to hope that he might have been making a tasteless joke and didn’t mean that homicide should be our first solution. I bide my time to take a temperature of the room.

“That’s your answer?” Willa says. “Kill someone you said yourself is one of our oldest associates on the force? This organization is built on loyalty. Without that, we’d descend into chaos. And you want to start up some friendly fire,” she says.

“Oh, I’m serious all right. You were still in diapers when I took this business over, so don’t act like you know it all,” he says.

I need to shut this down before it’s a free-for-all.

“If I can break in here for a moment,” I say, “maybe you can walk me through this, Dad? Is it Rick Morris?”

“Yeah, he was a good contact back in the day. About fifteen years ago he makes detective, I had a dinner for him and his wife to celebrate.”

“I think I remember. Was it at Nick’s?” I prompt.

“Yeah, the private room, did it up right. We had the veal piccata, got a big old tiramisu for dessert.”

“I remember that,” I say with an easy grin. “They have the best. Mom got onto me for taking too much.”

“You didn’t have manners when you were a kid,” my dad chuckles. “Those were good old days, Benny boy.”

I wait for it to dawn on him, for him to remember that his idea doesn’t match our history with a friend of the family. It takes too long to put it together. He shoots me a glance like he’s at sea, and maybe he’d like some help.

“I remember seeing him at ball games. Did he come to your birthday in November?”

“He couldn’t. His daughter was having a baby or a surgery or something.” He shakes his head like he can’t recall. “I need to give him a call. What time is it, Benny? This fuckin’ watch—” he taps his smartwatch with irritation. “If he gets off at five, we could play eighteen holes at the club.”

“After golf, you wanna go ahead with exterminating Rick or do we shelve that as plan b?” I say wryly. I know it’ll piss him off but that’ll cover the fact it flusters him to forget things.

“You watch your mouth, boy,” he says, his voice as chilling as when I was a kid, but now he needs me to protect him. I wait again, shuffle my notes a little to look uncomfortable and to draw eyes away from him. “Nobody’s gonna lay a finger on my old friend Ricky Morris. I guess we can talk about a raise for the guys on the force, the ones that have been with us a long time.”

I want to take about five aspirin and wash it down with a bottle of tequila. I love my dad, and I want to safeguard his legacy. Thatmeans running the show and letting him take credit, trying to cover for him for just a bit longer.

If that stubborn son of a bitch is the death of me, I won' t be surprised. I listen to reports on outgoing shipments and training for recruits. My gears are turning over how to make my father see the writing on the wall. His time as leader is ending and he’s embarrassing himself, leaving the organization vulnerable with his refusal to accept reality.

When the meeting is over, I trail after Dad into his office. “What?” he says, exasperated, “I let you sit on the meeting. I’m not gonna babysit you all day. I got shit to do around here.”

I remind myself he’s afraid of what’s happening to him to remind myself that I can’t square up and give him a piece of my mind.

“Dad,” I say, taking a seat, “you made the right decision, not popping Ricky Morris to make an example.”

“I know that. Did I ask for your opinion?”

“I did what I could to cover, but you know it’s a matter of time. We need to talk about this. Get a transition plan in place.”

“Transition my ass, you’re a vulture circling before my body’s cold. I’m not gonna go retire to Florida just to make way for you.”

“You can retire to Florida or the Jersey Shore, whatever you want. But you sure as hell can’t run an organization like this when you’re not at full capacity.”

“Have you done what I asked? Look into it see who’s poisoning me?”

“Nobody’s poisoning you. It’s a degenerative neurological condition. It’s not your fault, but there’s nobody else we can blame either.”

“My father never had this. It don’t run in the family.”

---