Annihilation Read online

  ANNIHILATION

  Alfonzo

  Volume VI

  COPYRIGHT August 2012 S.W.FRANK

  All rights reserved. No portion of this work may be stored in a retrieval system or used without the author’s written permission.

  Author’s Note:

  All characters and events are fictitious. Any likeness to anyone living or dead is purely coincidental and a product of the author’s vivid imagination.

  DEDICATION

  This is a special dedication to the wonderful readers in my intimate inner circle on facebook whose support throughout writing this edition was invaluable. Tiffany Edmonds, this is a birthday gift to you, I hope you enjoy. Allysen, many kisses. Lucie, always the tortoise, glad you caught up. My pix lady, Nicole J. hot dang, you have an eye! Sammantha, you are music. Christi, enjoy the gift. Andrea, Geovonna, Asia, your discussions are always fire. Deloris, Evelyn, Lillian, Natisha, Kim, Deramise, Yesenia, Dana, Cynthia, Crystal, Ruby, Toia, Janee, Susan, Msprissy, Vanessa, Latanya, -Wow thanks for staying up late to hang with me as I rant incessantly during the process. I cannot list the entire inner circle, yet you know who you are and thanks for believing in Alfonzo’s story.

  To Arc, Brab, Monique and all the book clubs, bloggers and people who discovered this story and shared their find. This is dedicated to all of you readers who have written kind words of encouragement and were thoroughly entertained.

  Of course, most of all thanks to my family, you are the soul of me!

  -Umwah

  ‘A destruction, an annihilation only man can provoke, only man can prevent.’

  -Elie Wiesel

  ‘It will not be rafting waters of a tearful sea which drown me; it will be the red pools of love’s blood which will be my destruction.’

  -Selange

  ‘A man gets one chance at this life thing, waste yours if you want, but I’m unleashing hell-fire and brimstone to preserve mine and the people I love.’

  -Alfonzo

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Prologue

  WASHINGTON, DC: Two days before Darren Serano’s abduction.

  DSS Agent Timothy Moore walked these streets in the Washington, DC, Columbia Heights neighborhood for over three years now. He knew it like the back of his hand. He’d bought one of those historic brownstones near the NW quadrant. He liked the area and the Victorian architecture which reminded him of home. He was a Boston native, through and through. He couldn’t get rid of the accent, a Bostonian drawl he liked to call it; something his wife Lisa found endearing for some good stroke of fortune. She was from Jersey, and they too had a certain unmistakable vernacular that once you heard it, you’d think ‘Jersey.’

  He stopped at the corner, patiently waiting for the pedestrian sign to light up and flash WALK. He could’ve jogged across the street but he was a cautious man. Too many anxious motorists nowadays, running red lights or speeding through yellow. In fifth grade his best friend Ronnie got hit by a car. They were at the curb, just like he is now when Ronnie decided it was all clear and didn’t want to wait for the light. He stepped into the cross walk, made it a few steps then ‘wham’, he got thrown into the air. The car knocked him right out of his sneakers and he landed head first in the street. Timothy could not forget the grisly sight. It was bad!

  The light changed and WALK flashed a brilliant green. He put out his foot and heard the car before it appeared. It sped from around a corner straight at the spot where he would’ve been –in the crosswalk, just like Ronnie and he froze.

  The car screeched to a halt and the backdoor flew open. There was a gun aimed at his face, “Get in!”

  Before he could react, there was a shove from behind him and what he believed by the shape of it, a gun pressed against his spine along with a warning, “Don’t do anything stupid, get in the car.”

  Timothy entered the car and was sandwiched between the two men with guns, wondering if it had been a sign, that today of all days he would think of Ronnie and death.

  One of the men pat him down, found his service revolver and it was illegally confiscated, then the man on his left spoke, “When you met with Roberto Benaducci in Venice, what did you speak about?”

  The agent frowned. So, this was about his case. He expected problems in the field but not blocks from his home. He’d never considered the possibility of anyone coming to his door. He was always careful; apparently he hadn’t been careful enough. When he did not answer, a fist smashed into his face and the blood which ran from his eye came with stinging pain. He hadn’t been socked like that since High School and feeling the blow brought memories of another unpleasant experience. High School consisted of a bunch of kids, bullying and intimidating each other. A male coming of age amid his peers, but these weren’t kids. He knew who they were; American mobsters and relatives of Roberto Benaducci. What he didn’t understand is why they were asking him about their kin and hadn’t gone straight to the source?

  “Ask Roberto what we talked about?” He replied boldly. “Kidnapping is a long stint in jail fellas.”

  “We’d ask him if we knew where he was. Now answer the question or you’ll find yourself wearing women’s panties the rest of your life!” The man said as he pointed the pistol at Timothy’s prime source of pleasure.

  This threat encouraged the agent to talk, “We asked him to do a favor for the agency, but he reneged and skipped out on us.”

  “What was the favor?”

  The zesty Latin eateries, coffee shops and grocery stores were moving by like frames in a film. He wasn’t going to make it home this evening or any other for that matter. He’d seen their faces. The one pointing the gun between his legs was Tony Giannakos, Roberto’s American cousin and a man responsible for a dozen or so rub-outs. He was into loan-sharking, gambling, prostitution and murder. Anything illegal, Tony Giannakos usually had a hand in it.

  “The favor, what was it?” Tony cocked the gun back and pressed the barrel against Timothy’s testicles. “At the count of four, bye-bye. One…two…“

  “We had him fish around for information on Giuseppe Dichenzo and his associates.”

  Tony laughed, men like the agent here always required motivation to divulge information. It didn’t take much. A man would speak in tongues and give up his mother once you threatened his prized dick. “Roberto wouldn’t cooperate with you scum, how’d you get him to do it?”

  It was evening, people were out on the streets, yet he was certain many failed to witness the abduction. They drove along Sherman Avenue and he noticed they were heading in the direction of I-68W.

  Timothy responded. “We told him if he cooperates, we’ll cut his old man some slack for harboring a fugitive.”

  “You mean my brother Benny, right?” Tony asked. Benny was his older brother who skipped town prior to an upcoming murder trial. Roberto supplied the forged passport, a
ssisted Benny once he arrived in Italy and set him up with some cash, but his brother didn’t stay long, he knew the feds and the DSS would come searching there and disappeared.

  “Yeah.”

  “So you put a wire on him?”

  “We had it in his watch. He was supposed to meet us later and he never showed up.”

  “Well, he’s missing. We haven’t heard from him in over a week.”

  “We don’t have him.”

  Tony squint. His eyes were mean slits of pure hate for law enforcement. Anybody trying to come between his money and freedom were public enemy number one. He never understood cops. Why go chasing people you can’t catch or when you do they don’t stay in lockdown for long? The pay wasn’t worth the effort to get out of bed in the morning. Top it off; many of these guys got whacked on the job. They never returned to their downright modest homes or families and to Tony it was an occupational hazard, definitely not worth the pay.

  The car moved fast. They were almost out of the DC area. “You’ve got your answer, what next?”

  Timothy shouldn’t have asked the question because he received an immediate response. The plunging of sharp metal pierced his skin with a sickening sound. He heard the blade slipping in and out of human meat; almost like a ripping noise and felt the pain with each carve of his flesh. The pain seared him initially, and then it dulled. Dying this way brought a weighted sensation to his body and his head became light. The loss of blood contributed to the light-headiness. He saw blurry swirls of everything and knew he was dying when the heaviness subsided and his body became air. Yeah, he’d worried about getting hit by a car most of his life, yet that’s a hazard of walking on the street. He bled out like a butchered animal right there on the seat. The last words he heard were, “I hate cops, but that prick Giuseppe and the Diaz estraneo, I hate even more. Fuck it, we wipe ‘em all out, the women, too. Let everybody know we mean business and we don’t take orders from other men!”

  His cousin Vito, nodded. “About time we do away with those parrasitti!”

  CHAPTER ONE

  ‘A MAN, WHO WON’T DIE FOR SOMETHING, IS NOT FIT TO LIVE.’

  -MLK

  Alfonzo raised his head. The pokes and throbs of pain alternated in various sections of muscle and skin. Nico pound on him, that’s for sure, yet he hadn’t broken one bone in his body. He suspected the dude only wanted to leave bruises as a reminder to Alfonzo who held the ass-kicking title among the trio. His hooded eyes absorbed Nico’s blood-stained nose. The blood dripped in tiny droplets to his chest. Nico used the back of his hand to wipe his nose and the action only served to smear a line of red across his cheek. The man stood erect. His chest rising and falling with very controlled breaths. Nico was a man in optimum physical condition. Like, Alfonzo, Nico was accustomed to brawls and winning. They’d settled it hadn’t they? Alfonzo got the opportunity to knock Nico around for his betrayal and Nico battered him for all the years he babysat his wild ass. The hate part was gone and residual anger remained. How could he despise a downtrodden man, when he’d won in the end? He had his woman, his kids and gained a newfound wisdom. He was stronger for going through the pain. The unrealistic expectations were gone and he removed Selange from the pedestal. He loved her, but this love was unconditional. It had to be; she was fallible and had weaknesses just like all men. He forgave her, because their history earned her a pardon and he granted it, one was due. Nico, he refrained from killing, for now. He did so as a reprieve for a once very trusted friend in crisis. The fact they were cousins did not alter his choice. He decided it, the moment his mother appeared with the paternity results. He would never forget the lesson he learned; which is always keep an eye on his woman and two on his men.

  He listened to Nico talk. His ears twitched at the news of the abduction and a ransom request for one hundred million dollars. Some dumb bastard snatched a hit-man’s kid for money he’d never spend. He thought about his four children and glanced toward the house, where somewhere hidden behind the large home a celebration was underway. Music and innocent squeals of joy were heard, yet he couldn’t smile. He wanted to, but all he thought about was a picture. It was a Nobel Prize winning picture taken during the famine in Sudan in 1994. They’d shown it in his Ethics course back in college. Heated debates were held about that damn photograph that day. He remembered saying to the professor, “Any sonovabitch who could walk away under those circumstances should be shot dead!”

  The professor of course tried to deflect, denouncing violence and Alfonzo countered, “We live in a violent world. Are you in denial or fucking stupid?”

  The professor of course took offense and ejected him from the class. He got an A, though because he threatened to bust the professor’s mother-fucking ass. How the hell could you show a class a picture like that and not expect to elicit an emotional response? Even today, the image unleashes a firestorm of moral discussion.

  You see, this Nobel Prize photo from 1994 depicts an image of an emaciated young child on the ground struggling to reach a U.N relief site with a vulture sitting only a foot or two away, waiting for the child’s demise. The poor child was skin and bones, in obvious distress to any person with a heart. Its abdomen was distended indicative of starvation. The landscape was dry and the sun was bright adding further to the child’s precarious situation. Yet, the photographer offered no aid and snapped a goddamn picture instead.

  The photographer won a Nobel Prize for that picture, believe it? The suffering of an innocent child captured on film is worthy of a Nobel Prize. Yet, there isn’t a collective uproar from society, only intellectual debates on ethics and wimpy ass professors who’ll eject you from class for speaking forthright instead of being politically correct. What the hell is politically correct, since when is there correct politics? There’s nothing noble or honorable about politics; lying, stealing, opportunist, whore-mongering, war-mongering, moral-less, authoritarian, dictating assholes sitting around fighting over bullshit when people are hungry, unemployed and dying, what’s noble about that?

  Fuck, what anybody thought of him, he wasn’t living by their rules. Life isn’t governed by good. Nobel Prizes are awarded for depraved indifference in this unethical world. The photographer was as much a murderer as he; the only disparity is Alfonzo didn’t kill children. In Alfonzo’s mind a man has to stand for something and can’t be afraid to die in support of it. Children were a reason to put your life on the line. They were as helpless as the tiny soul in the famine-stricken Sudan. Vultures were at their backs, predators, unstable parents and those seeking to exploit their innocence. The photo journalist in defense of his actions, told reporters he was warned not to touch famine victims or risk contracting disease.

  Alfonzo straightened his back. Living in such fear, makes a coward of a man. He’d lay down his life for his family and blow holes through a sonovabitch who dared threaten them. Good or bad, Nico was family and what if this kidnapping was a prelude to something more?

  The predators that snatched Nico’s kid, ‘humph’, they were going to know fear and beg for death. Alfonzo would make sure of it. Anyone who abused kids or caused them harm weren’t fit to live.

  He touched the paper in his pocket as the huddle widened. He addressed Nico, “It’ll be another few hours before your family gets here. I’m going to have Lou put feet on the pavement in New York. Use the guest house and freshen-up, I have to talk to Selange, let her know what’s going on.”

  “There’s a surveillance camera in my ex-wife’s building. Send someone over to get it, can you do that?”

  “All I need is an address and it’s done.” Alfonzo retorted.

  Nico recited the address and Alfonzo committed it to memory. He’d have Lou pass it on to the guys in New York.

  Giuseppe rubbed his arm for the millionth time and scowled at Nico, “What you do to my arm, shit-head?”

  “Stop whining. It’ll be fine!”

  Alfonzo took in their appearance and if they looked bad, he figured he must look like shit, t
oo. “I have to go clean up before my daughter sees me. Nico, I’ll meet you in the guest house in an hour and we’ll finish the…” He was about to say more when he saw Nico’s eyes focused on something over his shoulder and Alfonzo spun around.

  Selange was running, holding the hem of that dress to prevent tripping on it. Her mane of curls hung loose from the ponytail, bouncing from one shoulder to the other as she approached. Her face was one of anxiety. Alfonzo frowned; his damn mother spilled the beans, hadn’t she? She reached the trio and her eyes roamed over their bloody faces. “You guys were fighting.” She put a hand to her chest to slow her breathing, “Goddamn fools, where is it, where’s the paternity results?”

  Alfonzo took the paper out of his pocket and she grabbed it, pouring over every word, just like he’d done. “Maria did this behind my back, how could she do this without telling me?”

  “I’m glad it worked out this way,” Nico said staring through her. He was sad, deep inside in a way but also relieved. He and Selange weren’t destined to be together. The paternity test only confirmed Alfonzo was her true love. Nico, well he was merely a temporary stand-in at a time when the rugged terrain in their journey became bumpy and the going got rough.

  Alfonzo scoffed, “You’re glad, why is that?”

  “Yeah, douche-bag?” Giuseppe instigated, itching to pop Nico in spite of his crisis for the insensitive statement.

  “Because you’re in love with Alfonzo, Selange,” he answered to the woman, “you always were. I shouldn’t have ever come between that. I dishonored my family.” He understood why the Circle of Protectors questioned his honor. He’d lost it, and they were giving him an opportunity to regain it. This was the test. Nico swore he would never relinquish his vows again. Breaking them showed the frailty of a man. His glassy eyes came to rest on Alfonzo’s stern face, “Sí, Alberti es mi padre, lo que significa que somos primos de sangre, pero siempre fuiste un hermano en mi corazón. Perdóname este pecado, hermano? Watch my family in my absence; these are my requests when I’m gone.”