Accidental Mobster Read online

  Accidental Mobster

  By: M.M. Cox

  IISBN: 978-1-927134-90-0

  All rights reserved

  Copyright © Sep. 2012, M.M. Cox

  Cover Art Copyright © Sep 2012, Brightling Spur

  Bluewood Publishing Ltd

  Christchurch, 8441, New Zealand

  www.bluewoodpublishing.com

  Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or shared by any electronic or mechanical means, including but not limited to, printing, file sharing, and email, without prior written permission from Bluewood Publishing Ltd.

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to my husband, who inspires me, to my children, who are the best of me, and to my parents, who always believe in me. I thank God every day for the beautiful life he gives me with all of you in it.

  And a special thanks to Alyssa, who helped me remember what high school is all about.

  Chapter 1

  I slam the bathroom door and stare in the mirror as the blood from my head blurs what I see. The sticky fluid irritates my eyes as I struggle to calculate the size of the gash above my right eyebrow. I can feel the blood pumping through my forehead, sending a pulsation of pain with each beat. The person in the mirror looks like a character from a horror movie, and really, I’m not surprised. In fact, my life has been a nightmare tonight, and it wasn’t all that great before I dashed in here, blood streaming down my bruised face. The bathroom I’m standing in as I try to calm my breathing is one of the four rooms in the small house in Ridley, New Jersey, which is the only place that I have ever called home. Tonight, the dark interior of this ratty structure can’t be blamed on the night that is creeping slowly in the windows. Instead, I think the gloom is a product of the drama that has just played out in my living room. What I have experienced is a bad dream—but real—and the cut on my forehead proves it.

  Because the house is so small, hiding out in the bathroom is pointless. But I’m sure that someone will be coming for me at any moment. Adrenaline is still pushing through me as I jump into the bathtub and hunker down. My body fills the cracked porcelain structure, and I vow I’ll make anyone who comes for me drag me away, yelling and kicking. I refuse to leave without a fight. My butt is already feeling tender from my rigid position on the cold ceramic. But I’m not going anywhere—someone is coming for me, and I’m not going to make it easy. I try not to think about the string of events that brought me to this point, but I can’t help myself. The evening ended with everyone leaving the house—and me—behind. Principal Doonesby left the house with a concussion. Del, my dad, left with a pair of handcuffs affixed to his pudgy wrists. My mom left with screams of hysteria, upset over the scuffle that resulted from her own constant selfishness.

  She and Mr. Doonesby have been flirting for months. I was well aware of their gettogethers, and I had rolled my eyes at my mom’s flirtation and ignored a situation I could do nothing about. I wouldn’t be surprised if they were secretly dating. But my dad, an appliance salesman at the local Save-Much, is a jealous guy, and he did not like the idea of battling the middle-school principal for his wife’s attention. Dad’s uncontrollable temper is often followed by equally uncontrollable fists.

  My mother’s shampoo bottle sits beside my left shoulder. It’s an expensive brand that she swears makes her hair look and feel like a movie star’s. I’ve never seen any difference—her hair is always poofy, dry, and bleached of any natural color. I knock it off the edge of the tub and then hug my shoulders. I’m so angry at her.

  My thoughts are racing. I’m fifteen and only a week away from my freshman year of high school. I’m not scared—I’ve been involved in a few scuffles in school, always ready to give an underdog a little extra help. My best friend Reggie and I are on the wrestling team, and we have a knack for the sport. Because I often find myself standing up for the kids who are bullied, I sometimes get teased for being a “Boy Scout,” but overall, the middle school experience hasn’t been too painful. I’ve heard a few girls call me “cute,” even though I don’t care much for my black hair and green eyes. But none of the girls have much use for a kid as poor as I am. Well, if I was poor then, I’m less than poor now, with neither Dad nor Mom giving me any indication that they will return anytime soon.

  What will happen to me? Some stranger will probably be appointed to look after me, unless Mom decides she is still capable of being a parent—a thought that almost makes me laugh. I know I’m more capable of taking care of myself than Mom will ever be. Reggie’s family might let me stay for a while, but they are poor too. No, life might be better if I’m on my own. The thought of freedom excites me, but that’s when I hear the noise I’m expecting—a knock on the door. I don’t answer the knock. I don’t even move from my spot in the bathtub. But the intruder comes looking for me anyway. Figures.

  “Hellooohh! Danny? Danny Higgins? You here?” The loud, harsh voice is that of a woman; the nasal quality is like ragged fingernails down my back. I shrink down into the tub at the unpleasant sound. My family does not have many friends, but anybody would have been better than a stranger. A stranger means only one thing: Mom has called it quits on being a parent.

  Maybe if I keep quiet, this newcomer will give up quickly and go away, but somehow, I know this is too much to ask. I hear high heels clacking on the worn linoleum, a sound that belongs to someone not easily discouraged. The house isn’t big; whoever she is, she will eventually find me.

  “Danny?” The voice whines like a teenage girl, although the gravel-like quality confirms the woman to be much older. “Danny? I know you’re in here. I know you’re scared. I’m here to help you.”

  I don’t need your help. I haven’t even seen her yet, but the thought of going anywhere with this woman is worse than the prospect of staying with my mom. I scoot down even further in the bathtub. Please don’t find me. I’m better off alone. The shower curtain rips open. A tall lady with a stern, straight nose and massive plasticframed glasses stares down at me. She quickly attempts a sympathetic expression, but I think she looks like a hungry seagull. I have the feeling that I am a fish she is about to snap up for lunch.

  “Danny! Oh, my poor boy! You must be so scared.” She kneels next to the tub, looking like a creepy clown in her plaid skirt suit.

  I jump up, not wanting the harsh voice and smoky breath in my face, and I shrug. “I’m fine.”

  She stands up, taller than I am. “You’re in the bathtub—”

  “I was going to take a shower.”

  The woman is probably pushing six feet tall. I only come to her chin. “Well, I’m Barb Kluwer. I’m from the DA’s office,” she says smugly, like she deserves an award for it. “I’m here to make sure someone takes care of you.” She means to sound nice, maybe even comforting, but I still feel like a hunted animal. She almost sounds like she wants to do away with me.

  “I’m fine,” I say. “I’ll just wait for my mom.”

  “Oh, honey, your mom isn’t coming—” Her voice trails off. She has finally noticed the large gash on my forehead. “Oh, goodness!”

  I slap my hand to my head and wince from my touch. “It’s nothing,” I lie. “Just a scratch. If you’ll move out of the way, I’ll clean it up.” I know I sound rude, but I’m not trying to make friends—not with a six-foot woman who looks like a Scottish bagpiper. She moves to block my path, hands on her hips. Everything about the woman is big. I am not intimidated by her, but I’m not going to push her out of my way. My dad might have trouble co
ntrolling his fists, but I would never hit or push a woman—Mom at least taught me that much.

  “I said, I’ll take care of it! But you need to move.” I repeat, feeling my face heating up. I have no patience for this woman. I don’t know her, but I hate having her here with her fake sympathy. And all that plaid is hurting my eyes, annoying me. I try to move past her, but she shifts to block me again. I feel my skin prickling with fury and barely keep myself from shoving her.

  “Danny, I’m going to take you to the hospital.” It is an order. I stare into her eyes, channeling my stubbornness. “I will take care of it, all right? Just leave me alone! I need some space right now!” The shower walls feel like a cage. My back is to a corner and she is closing in on me. My temper is rising too fast—if she doesn’t move, I am going to do something we will both regret.

  Her face morphs from a look of fake compassion to one that is much less friendly. Her stern features grow angry; she is obviously a woman who expects to win.

  “You’re going to the hospital,” she says coldly, no longer making an attempt to be nice.

  “I have been appointed by the district attorney to look after your well-being, and we will be giving a statement to the police concerning your father.”

  I laugh harshly. She doesn’t want to help me—she has her own agenda that includes getting me to tattle on my dad. Maybe I should report what my dad did, but this woman is out of her mind if she thinks she can force me to do it. “I don’t care who you are,” I say, unable to control my rage. “I am NOT talking to the police! I wouldn’t do anything to get my dad in trouble.”

  Her face twists, her expression furious. “Your father is already in trouble. He hit you. You are obligated to give a statement.”

  Desperate to gain the upper hand, I give her a nasty smile, hoping to test her patience even more. “I’m not obligated to do anything. This cut on my head was my own fault. I don’t blame my dad for what happened.”

  My words are a pin to her balloon. “You don’t blame your dad? You don’t BLAME your dad?” She is spitting her words, and I wipe some of her saliva from my cheek. “Your father is a violent man. A bad man,” she hisses. “The principal of your school has been very badly hurt. Even if you don’t say anything, your father won’t be safe. There will be incriminating evidence and charges against him.”

  “But it won’t be from me. And besides, I’m not sure if Mister Doonesby will be willing to give you a statement. He’s got a reputation to protect, you know?” I stand as tall as possible and return Barb’s glare with all the confidence I can gather. I know that if she works for the district attorney, she is looking for a slam-dunk case, but I am not going to give her one. Inside I am trying to bury the hurt of what my dad has done to me, but I am not going to show Barb any weakness. I have already been beaten once tonight; it’s not going to happen twice.

  Her voice is trembling with barely contained fury. “I think you will change your mind.”

  The statement is definitely a threat. “If you want to end up living with a decent family, you had better do as I say. I can make sure the county social worker finds some foster parents that have some harsh ideas about raising kids.” She sneers at me, resembling a gargoyle that I keep on top of my computer.

  I feel a quick wave of panic as I realize that this lady holds my future in her gnarled hands. Nothing could be worse than being placed with cruel foster parents. Even being poor with my unhappy parents would be better than living with heartless strangers. I now understand that Barb is going to use her power over my life to blackmail me into ratting on my dad.

  She seems to sense my sudden panic, and her gargoyle smile triples in size. “That’s right, Danny.” Her voice is low and menacing. “I have the authority to make your life completely miserable if you push me. So, if you don’t do as I say, you may regret it.”

  “Or he may not.”

  A new voice fills the small bathroom. A man I have never seen before stands in the tight hallway right outside the door. In the darkness, I can see the man is not tall, but his body is lean and imposing—he certainly is more than a match for Barb Kluwer. His eyes are the only facial feature visible at the moment, and I can tell he is angry. I stand motionless in the bathtub, unsure if this new stranger is someone I can trust. But I hope he is, because so far, Barb is turning out to be a crappy person, and if it comes to a fight, I’m siding with the new guy, not the woman standing in front of me.

  “I’m sorry—who are you?” Although her smile falters, Barb makes an effort to look confident, lifting herself to an imposing height, her high heels making up for any inches she lacks naturally. She is certainly taller than the man, but height alone is not going to give her an advantage.

  “I’m here for Danny.” The man moves into the light as he speaks, his voice carrying a strong Jersey accent. He appears to be in his mid-forties, with a weathered face that has years of experience etched in tiny wrinkles around his eyes and mouth. He is good-looking and seems genuinely calm and confident, whereas Barb is struggling to appear composed. The man’s words give me goose bumps—I can feel them on my arms as I hug them tighter around my body. I do not know whether to be frightened or excited by this stranger’s claim on me.

  “Well, sir, I am also here for Danny and I believe I have the law behind me.” Barb smirks at the man, obviously gaining more confidence in her court-appointed role. “And you still haven’t told me who you are,” she accuses, as if the man has committed a crime for which she would be more than happy to arrest him.

  But Barb’s confidence can’t change the cool self-assurance of the man. “Well, that’s all great,” he says. “But I believe my authority will surpass yours. Danny is coming with me.”

  Whoever this man is, he seems to know exactly who I am, even though he has yet to say anything to me. But at the moment, with Barb ready to whisk me off to some crazy foster family unless I give a statement against my dad, I am willing to take a chance on this stranger.

  However, Barb is not ready to wave the white flag of surrender just yet. “No. I don’t care who you are. I’m Barb Kluwer, the DA’s assistant, and Danny is my property.”

  The man’s coolness finally melts. He starts laughing, and it is so catching, I find myself chuckling, despite the fact that I really feel like shoving Barb toward the gaping toilet for calling me her property. I have no idea why the man is so amused or why I feel like laughing right along with him. But it feels good to laugh, whatever the reason. The man’s laughter fades, and he instantly becomes cool once more. “Well, Ms Kluwer, I’m not sure you would want your superiors to know that you promote foster homes that are less than kind to troubled kids, or that you are talking to Danny without proper authorization. Or you may not want your boss to know that you are blackmailing a child into testifying against his own father.”

  I flinch at being called a child, yet I am thrilled the man heard all of Barb’s threats. Barb cringes; she knows she is caught. She glares at the man, perhaps hoping that her hatred will be enough to destroy his confidence.

  “That’s a ridiculous accusation you’ve made,” she snaps. The man does not respond. All three of us know Barb has lost. “What would it take to make you walk away?” she asks in final desperation.

  The man shakes his head. “I won’t,” he answers. “When you go back to your office, you may want to have a chat with your boss about me. He may refresh your memory concerning who I am.”

  Her eyes narrow. “Who are you?”

  The man smiles as if he were having the most pleasant conversation of his life. “Why, Ms Kluwer, have I not told you?” He is grinning now, showing a full set of white, perfect teeth. “I’m Gino Vigliotti—Danny’s godfather.”

  * * * *

  I sit quietly in the passenger seat of a pristine Lexus SUV as Gino climbs into the driver’s seat. I still haven’t said a word to him.

  After hearing Gino’s name, Barb left the house with threats of revenge and legal consequences (and much to my amusement, she
tripped over the toilet as she hurried out of the bathroom).

  Gino grabbed a washcloth from the sink and cleaned the cut on my head with warm water. I stood completely still, unsure of what to say or do. I felt that I should say thanks or ask a few questions, but instead, I kept silent while the warm cloth cleaned the blood from my head. Then Gino grabbed another washcloth and pressed it to my cut.

  “Here,” he said gruffly, moving my own hand to the cloth. “Hold this until we get to the hospital.”

  At first I was alarmed. Was Gino also planning to make me give a statement concerning my dad? Had I been saved from one fire only to jump into another?

  Gino must have known what I was thinking. “We’ll just tell them you took a spill down the stairs,” he said. “I’d like to skip the hospital completely, but you need stitches.” He then took me gently by the arm and guided me to the vehicle in which I now sit, holding the cloth carefully to the cut on my head.

  I struggle to find words to say, but my mind is blank. I finally realize just how awful the events of the last several hours have been. And I have no idea what is going to happen next. The charcoal gray exterior of Gino’s Lexus is simple, but the inside is complete luxury. As I settle into the soft leather seat, I realize that I have never seen, much less ridden in, anything like this. I spend a few moments staring at the sleek GPS system mounted in the dashboard, which is only outdone by the DVD player situated a little further down the console. Everything is automatic—mirrors, seat belts, locks, windows, and seats—and the rear view mirror is outfitted with a compass and an outside temperature gauge. The most fascinating item to me, however, is the stereo system, which has an MP3 player plugged into an elaborate satellite radio. I have never known an adult who owned an MP3 player. The SUV drives smoothly, and I lean back against the seat.

  “Be careful, Danny,” Gino warns. “Don’t get blood on the seats.” I quickly sit up. Gino’s tone of voice is not irritated, just frank. I can appreciate frank. My dad has never said anything to me that did not carry a threat of violence.