Chapter Fourteen
Andre Palermo sat off to the side in his father’s office, which was decorated with portraits and group pictures. Antonio in his glory days. Surrounded by city officials. Large families. At weddings and church and backyard parties. Always wearing bright colors. An old timer sitting in Southie Boston and living the life of a Miami South Beach, without the sun and glamor and entourage.
The news from Tony at St. Mary’s had a mixture of good and bad news. While pacing around the spacious office with disproportionately small windows, the Bluetooth earpiece flashing violet blue lights, Roberto DelPero received and relayed bits of information that were arriving piecemeal.
“The good news is there is more than one,” Roberto said after he finished his third conversation with Tony.
“More than one what? More screw ups?” Antonio said looking at his son, who sat with half the size of his usual self.
The self-confidence had evaporated from Andre’s body. The memory of the little time he spent in jail had transformed his theoretical understanding of what it meant to be a tough guy. Had his friends and family seen how he reacted to the intimidation directed at him, they would have been ashamed of him. Instead of being feared because of his family heritage, he would have been on the receiving end of ridicule. They would have called him a wuss or punk pussy. And that would have been the end of him.
For the first time in his adult life, not counting the times when he got into fights when he was in elementary and middle schools, there had never been a time when Andre was genuinely scared for his life. Now that deflated ego and life depended on the rescue of his father.
“The girl was pregnant,” Roberto said, with a tone of voice that made it seem a commonplace issue as if it were the expected discovery in the body of a girl.
“Jesus Christ! Pregnant?” Antonio exclaimed.
“What is more, there are obvious signs of aggression and they found fluids on and in the body.”
“What the hell are kids doing with their lives these days? For Christ sake!”
Antonio was beside himself thinking about he might have reacted had it been his daughter that died. He concluded that, in the limited and snap judgment decision-making approach of his, he would not have been able to bear the grief. The embarrassment would have been intolerable. And the anger would have probably driven him to kill someone. He wondered, too, in the same breath if the Crawford’s were that kind of a family. He knew very little about them other than they were second generation Holocaust survivors. Some of his elk couldn’t stand Jewish people, simmering in their anti-Semitic prejudice and resentment imported from decades ago. Antonio was different. He believed otherwise. He admired every prosperous Jewish family he encountered. Believing them to be hardworking with an inclination to protect and defend their own. Just like him and his ancestors from Sicily.
“Time to talk, son. What do you have to say for yourself?”
What Andre had heard had shocked him more than he was prepared to admit. The central dilemma he faced was he couldn’t recall fully what he might have done in his drunken state. He couldn’t say for sure if he met Alyson before that fateful night. Of course, he had seen and admired her. He had talked and flirted with her. The question was if there was ever a time when he acted on his attraction for her. The inescapable problem was, although Alyson wasn’t the one to frequent campus parties, he couldn’t absolutely be certain. He did see her last night. That was the issue.
“I swear, dad. This is horrible. I would never do anything like that.” Andre said, overacting his eagerness. He wanted his father to believe him.
“You have done your family harm, son. That is the simple truth. Disgraced the family name. Period. What for? You had the whole world in your hands. A regular life all your cousins would have killed to have. And what do you do with it? You piss it all away. For what? Are you that fucking stupid? Isn’t there any blood left in your brain or you have permanently transferred everything to your dick? You are lucky this is not like the old times.” Antonio said to his son.
The three years until that point had been relatively peaceful. Antonio had a hunch there was a big wave around the corner. His gut feeling had been telling him something wasn’t right. And sure enough, they weren’t alright at all. In fact, there was serious trouble.
“When do they have results on the tests?” Antonio asked Roberto when he walked back into the office. He had stepped off to use the restroom.
“DNA results will arrive tomorrow. We will know soon enough.”
“Who do we have to help?”
“Pulling some strings at the Station. Word is the family has asked for the details of the girl’s injury, the pregnancy, and the police investigation to be kept secret. They don’t want any of it to come out.”
“Have we dealt with the Crawfords before? I can’t remember if our paths has crossed at any point.”
“Nothing I am aware of. By all measures, they are a reclusive family. That is not to say that they won’t seek justice for the wrong that was done to their daughter.”
“We need to prepare. Do you think we should send him away until things cool down?” Antonio said, pointing towards Andre. He knew the first evidence they had the police were going to march directly to his house. He won’t have room to negotiate and maneuver.
“That is probably not a bad idea,” Roberto said.
“Go and pack your things. You are leaving tonight,” Antonio ordered Andre. The decision was made as quickly as it was considered. He would be sent to New Jersey and lay low until the dust settles.
“Tonight?”
“No question. Cousin Viny will go drive with you.”
Roberto studied the general mannerisms of the young man. It wouldn’t shock him if he were implicated somehow in the crime. There was a lack of hardness about him though that gave him hope he wouldn’t be the one to kill the girl. Maybe sleep with her. Even slap her here and there. He had seen killers in his days. Cold blooded killers. Even accidental killers. Either way, it was a good decision for the kid to be sent away, at least temporarily, he thought.
As was always the case with Antonio Palermo, facts are internalized quickly, and grand decisions are made on a dime. When Roberto came back the next morning for an in-person update, because Antonio had a perverse dislike for speaking on the phone, they had moved into the next phase of the war waged to protect the prodigal son. To this day, the office space where most family business was conducted from was regularly swept for any kind of surveillance devices. Old habits die hard. Any other person would have been given a pat down before sitting to talk with the Don of the family. Roberto was family, and he was accorded with the signature welcome ceremony of broad-chested hugs and kisses on the cheeks and forehead.
