The Gatekeepers Read online

  The Gatekeepers

  A.P. Fanene

  Cover Art Designed by Crystal Gypin

  Copyright: November, 2019 CPP Publishing©

  All Rights Reserved

  Dedication

  In loving memory of my close friend and Masonic brother, Charles Chase Edward Yates II.

  “Many people can help you when you’re in a dark place but the only person who can keep you from backsliding to the darkness is yourself.” – Chase Yates

  September 6, 1989 – October 25, 2019

  Prologue

  The Storm Before the Calm

  In a somber suburban neighborhood in North Jersey on a windy spring afternoon, the streets are serene with the subtle coaxing of a dog barking and the low humming engines of cars slowly passing through. It was during the wet and muggy moments before the turn of the season; when calmness blankets a small town and prepares it for a period of new life. With all of these beautiful distractions taking place in one harmony, one would never know that, in a basement on the east end of this small town village, much of the polar opposite was occurring and any sign of a calm moment ceased to exist.

  A man’s head met with a concrete wall with a loud and deafening crunch.

  “Ahg! Jesus Christ! Jesus Christ! Fucking Jesus!”

  The battered man screams in agony as the giant pin stripe suited makeshift gentleman clutches him by the throat and pounds his face into hamburger meat with the hard gripped handle of a 44 magnum pistol.

  His wife screams as his head is met with the wall for a mountainous second blow. She pleads, “What do you want!!!? Why??? What do you …?”

  Her face is met with the cold and steely backhand of the second suited man in their home’s basement. He tapes her mouth shut and binds her hands. The giant one speaks in a very Italian manner.

  “How long has it been, Rich? How long has it been since we extended a fuckin helpin hand in your direction and got dick in return, eh?”

  “Please….I have people that owe me….I can g…..”

  A loud crunch follows Rich’s pleading. It’s the sound of a knee being introduced to a hardwood bat.

  “Gah! God help me! Oh my God! What do you want from me?” the man pleads.

  The smaller man, who is holding the wife, speaks up.

  “We want what the fuck you owe us, you snakey little shit faced bastard”, he tells him in laughter, followed by the kissing of his cringing wives cheek leaving salty tears on his lips.

  “We’ve been here three different times, Rich. Three. Two times, you had a mishap. Three….you’re a lying sack of shit. I don’t like to be lied to Rich. Neither does my friend over there putting the second honey moon on your dame.”

  The couple locks eyes in glassy horror. They know that they are at the complete mercy of these men.

  “Here’s what we’re doin’, Rich. Have a seat.”

  A burly foot wrapped in silk rams into Rich’s chest and sends him flying into the chair behind him. The large man then binds the wounded suburban home owner to a tattered kitchen chair with nylon rope. After Rich was bound, his assailant reaches for a large plastic case that’s been sitting ominously in the corner of the room.

  “Rich, we never really want it to come to this, ya know? I think we’ve been more than fair to you.”

  He grabs a rag from his pocket and shoves it into Rich’s mouth. Rich’s gagging starts strong and then he settles. He convulses in fear as he sees the giant man pull a power drill from the case. The man squeezes the trigger to give some juice for intimidations sake.

  “To do this to us in person is no less than a slap in the face to our family. I don’t like to get fuckin slapped, Rich. YOU HEAR ME, YOU COCK SUCKIN’ LITTLE PRICK?” he screams as he punches Rich in the face. He then uses the drill to cut the crotch from Rich’s pants, exposing his testicles to all in the room.

  The large Italian looks into the eyes of his victim as he places the tip of the drill on the fleshy holder of his manhood. He was about to act when he heard the basement door open. To both tenants shock, their two children, a boy and a girl, enter the room and stop cold in their tracks.

  The wife begins to make loud noises; noises someone who is wearing tape on their mouth shouldn’t be able to make. Her captor pushes his pistol to her temple.

  “What the fuck is wrong with this fuckin broad?! You havin’ a fuckin seizure? You possessed? You like how I rough you up? Huh? You frothin’ at the gash right now? Ha-ha-ha! I got that way with women.”

  He rips the tape from her mouth as she pleads, “Please, not in front of my children! My family! Please not in front of them! They don’t deserve this, sir.”

  The large one stares at the kids for a moment. He speaks to smaller one, “Hey, Ven, you see anything standin’ over there?”

  Ven looks at the children and smiles, “Nah, Merc. Not a soul”

  He places the tape back over her mouth.

  “Me neither,” Merc replied as he presses the drill down harder.

  Whimpers from the parents and screams from the children intertwine with the sound of the power drill.

  “Just know this, Rich. I’m not the greedy type. This is for my family. But as far as makin’ my day, this is all the fuckin payoff I need.”

  He laughs as his finger squeezes the trigger and the power drill roars. A message is sent. A message not just to remember, but more importantly, to never forget.

  Chapter One

  Undeparted

  The echo of the thunder that evening was as unforgiving as the metal bars that slammed open to a cell in San Quentin State Prison. The cell itself seemed to contain more inside than the man within it. He sat on his plywood mattress and stared at the guard; holding a giant set of keys, that stood tall at his open cell doorway.

  “Time to clock out, Victor. Today’s the day.”

  Victor raised his eyes despite his lowered head. His half smile to the guard left its translation to the imagination. He slowly reached over and grabbed his notepad and the tin that contained his meager belongings. He then picked up his copy of the Holy Bible, which was tattered at the spine, and held his armful of possessions as he stood and locked eyes with the guard.

  “Let’s go.”

  As the guard applied chains to his ankles and wrists, another guard entered the cell and nodded for the ready. They briskly walked Victor from the heart of the facility to the front gate. His eyes passed on the mess hall one last time. “The homeless wouldn’t eat this whale shit” he thought. He passed through the courtyard where he spent most of his days either being a recluse or hustling the offenders in his dorm. “I was always a step ahead of those jerkoffs,” he thought to himself. It sounded almost as if he would miss them. In his version of reality, their entire existence was to make him money while he was incarcerated….. And…..in a long shot………maybe find a few hopefuls that could handle the old ways.

  “Here, take this”

  The guard at the gate shuffled the rest of Victor’s belongings into a small cardboard box. He then handed him 25 dollars in cash for cab fare.

  “Gate one, open”

  They stepped through the gate and Victor took a deep breath. He could barely believe that this was the end of the road. He got closer to the front exit. It was like having a dream except you can smell and taste and feel pain.

  He changed into a t shirt and jeans since his suit was long gone during his 20 year stay. He still had his shoes. He was content to have that.

  “Hey Sarge, you could have sold these shoes and bought your wife the life she deserves.” Victor spoke in a stiff tone as the guards scowled at him. “Ah, well, too little, too late.” Victor’s smile arose as quickly as the prison captain’s face crinkled.

  “Enjoy 2015, you geriatric fuck. Hope
fully Tomlin Acres needs a janitor.”

  The guard station erupted in laughter at the Captain’s jab.

  Victor smiled and spoke from the side of his mouth, “You’re a funny mutt, Captain Rollins. I betcha family loves it when you do a little diddy for them in the living room.”

  The captain curled his lips.

  “Fuck you, mob trash. Get this degenerate fuckin’ fossil outta my site”

  Victor raised an eyebrow.

  “Marcy and Jameson. Is that the names of your two children?”

  The captain’s eyes widened.

  “And isn’t Angela expecting soon? Wasn’t the name ‘Landon’ the name that the two of you were throwin’ around for the little bundle of nut butta?”

  The guard opened his mouth to speak and Victor cut him off.

  “Shut the fuck up. I know everything about you. About all of ya’s. Don’t think 30 years took away an ounce of fuckin clout, you fuckin stunad pieces of shit! I’m the same man you walked into this shit hole. Say goodbye as he walks out.”

  He grabbed his belongings and walked toward the main exit. The exit back into the public. The exit to freedom or the illusion therein.

  As he opened the door and stepped out onto the covered area of a rainy sidewalk, he gripped the money that was given to him at the gate. A cab had already been called and was waiting for him.

  “Congrats, where to?” The young driver blurted out.

  Victor and his belongings entered the backseat of the cab. As he shut the door he stiffly answered, “Take me to Drexel and Silva. And fuckin lay on it. I got shit to do.”

  The driver raised both eyebrows.

  “Sir, I’m sorry but this ride is gonna cost way more than 25 dollars”

  Victor squinted and smiled.

  “Tell you what. The place you’re takin’ me has the rest of the fare and enough to pay your bills for a couple of months. How’s that?”

  The driver said nothing. He immediately directed his head to the road in front of him and spun out the tires leaving the parking lot.

  While he rode in the back seat, the loud roaring of the worn down cab engine began to entrance him in his own thoughts.

  “I hope these pricks didn’t squeal,” he thought to himself over and over .I did my fuckin time. I paid the price” He gripped his tin of belongings tightly in his lap, “I swear if I’m the only one that didn’t flip, I’m gonna shit down their throats in front of their mothers.”

  Then he closed his eyes to rest them.

  Name: Victor “Vic” Vanitio

  Height: 6’3

  Weight: 235 lbs.

  Age: 53

  Family: Gio Dizio

  Specialty: Marksman, bank robbery, hit man, collection, hostile takeover

  Prison period: 1995-2015

  Offense: money laundering

  Three men take a walk they have been waiting an eternity for. The air was cool that day. The birds sang a lowly tune as the yard began to fill with rapists and murderers who gathered to watch these 4 men depart Folsom State Prison. Few were saddened by their departure. Many lived in relief under the illusion that their debts would disappear after the men had checked out. It was, however, what it was: an illusion.

  “Ayoooo, Artie. Baby. These butt ugly shits are gonna miss us. Look at this. Jesus Christ, they came to mourn. Sub-human cunts. Ha-ha-ha-ha.”

  Silence rang throughout every building the trio passed through. The three made offensive remarks about their fellow inmates and their fellow inmates stood and said nothing. Their fellow inmates knew better.

  One of the prisoners spoke again, “What you guys gonna do after you’re out? I’m gonna go piss on an old lady. Maybe smack her dust bucket knockers around like speed bags, ya know?”

  The large one stopped and whispered, “I swear to Christ almighty if you don’t shut your goddamn yap, I’ll break your fuckin wrists into a ….”

  “Okay! Okay!” the first man yelped with hands up.

  The prison guard whacked the large iron door with a baton sending a noise that clanged throughout the metallic corridor.

  The skinny man trailing behind the pack spoke up, “I’m gonna miss the blue gums and their yap. Fuckin hysterical.”

  As the large inmate passes through the gate first, he turns to the guard and gives a magnified glare.

  “Are we clear?”

  A man in black slacks and a pink tucked in button down stepped toward the front gate. The guard extended his hand to receive an envelope. The guard quickly jammed it into his coat pocket and responded.

  “Yeah, clear.”

  “Everything in its entirety, capiche? “

  “Yes, Mr. Violendicio. Everything.”

  The man called Violendicio gave one last glare to the guards and the building surrounding them as he and his comrades picked up their box of belongings and proceeded toward the exit and to their freedom. As a gust of wind from the outside world sternly struck them in their faces, it was an instant extinguisher to any celebration of freedom. Despite their first impulses as free men, they already had a plan, and that plan consisted of work to be done. The first part of the plan was to make sure no one flipped. The second part was to find the ones who didn’t. The third was to always carry the obligation to kill the ones that did. These three principals were established long before the trial and sentencing of the three Italian gentlemen.

  “We need to get a cab” Violendicio told his associates.

  “Where should we go first, Merc?” Artie asked.

  Mercutio Violendicio looked at his golden Swiss made timepiece and pondered. His boisterous comrade interrupted his train of thought.

  “Not gonna lie, gents. I can definitely go for some whiskey and about a carton of the expensive grass sticks. The trash these yoms smoke here with the dried out lip dirt and dried out chewin tobacco and the microwave, like what the ever lovin’ fuck? Christ on the cross, it tastes like I’m suckin’ off some pie face’s rice burner dink machine. Disgusting”

  Merc grunted stiffly as he put his wrist down.

  “Fuck. We gotta hurry. News travels fast.”

  A taxi approached and stopped inches from the three men’s feet.

  “Who the fuck called a taxi?” exclaimed Artie.

  “I did. I know where we’re goin. It’s in Nevada.”

  Artie got into cab followed by Merc. The loud one sat up front.

  The driver adjusted his rearview mirror.

  “Alrighty, where we goin today, guys?”

  They exchanged looks between the three, with Artie’s face being the most insinuating.

  “What? What’s with the numb jaw?” Merc asked.

  “Merco, we been in that joint for a long fuckin time. Two dimes is a long bid in the can. Now you can’t look me square in the face and tell me that we shouldn’t put business aside for one night to participate in other very dearly missed activities.”

  Merc cracks a smile and shoots a quick nod at the man riding shotgun, “Oh yeah? Jonny? Are you on the same shit as this one? You been sellin’ dreams over here?”

  “Not gonna lie, Merc, I think our man here needs to push his meat mop down some pig’s dirty hallway tonight eh!”

  Laughter erupted among all four men. Mercutio leaned in toward the driver, “Change of plans, chief. Take us to a spot where there’s plenty of box and little chatter.”

  “And huge fun bags and pigtails. Do they look young?” Artie gleefully asked.

  Jonny laughed insanely.

  “Let’s get some face candy and this horny psycho a drain spot!”

  “Alright, come on, let’s go, kid”

  The noise filled car sped off into the distance. Three more are free. Three more remain but for merely a few more hours.

  Name: Mercutio “Merc” Violendicio

  Age: 41

  Height: 6’5

  Weight: 317 lbs.

  Family: Gio DIzio

  Specialty: Immense size and stamina, hit man, collection, clean-up, enforcer
r />   Prison Period: 1995-2015

  Offense: Money Laundering

  Name: Arturo Lussuri

  Age: 40

  Height: 5’11

  Weight: 210 lbs.

  Family: Gio Dizio