Post by Deleted on Oct 27, 2022 21:31:40 GMT -5
Yankee Stadium
The Bronx
New York City
Pulling off the street into a parking garage, I navigate the old Lincoln through the turns and into a vacant spot.
“Where are we?” Frankie asks from the passenger seat. After receiving his ‘77 Trans Am earlier the excitement just about wiped him out and he fell asleep on the way here.
“Somewhere in New York,” I reply to him with a hint of sarcasm as I send a text to my wife, alerting her of my position in the garage.
Killing the engine, Frankie and I file out of the car and stretch out a bit just as Lauren and the gang stroll up on us.
“Are you gonna tell me where we are?” he asks as he wipes the sleep from his eyes.
Without answering him, I open up the gigantic trunk on the Lincoln and pull out Frankie’s Gerrit Cole jersey and toss it over his head.
“Where do you think?” I ask with a growing smile.
He pulls the jersey off his head and it takes him a few seconds to come to the realization.
“Awww you son of a…” he says as he excitedly slips his arms through the sleeves. “You said we didn’t have time in the schedule!”
“Yeah well I lied,” I say to him with a rub of the top of his head.
"What else are you lying to me about?" he asks. "You're probably not even my real dad."
“Be sure to thank your Mom,” I tell him with a laugh. “She’s the one that put this part together.”
“Ayy little mate,” Seb greets the boy.
“Happy birthday sweet boy,” Sloane says to him.
“Hi,” he says while beaming from ear to ear. “Thanks everyone.”
“Ready to go watch stupid baseball?” Lauren asks him.
For a moment, he doesn’t answer. Then buries his head against Lauren and wraps his arms around her. She looks up at me with a slightly confused look… which for Lauren is kind of a resting face. Saying nothing, I just wink at her.
“Thanks mom,” he says sweetly.
The game is a disappointing one for Frankie and that’s unfortunate. Dominating Astros pitching has virtually shut down the Yankees lineup going into the bottom of the seventh. Frankie is pissed. Sitting behind home plate, he’s been yelling at the umpire for his strike zone and bitching incessantly at the Yankees lineup that can’t get it done.
“Dad, I need to pee,” he says as the Yankees come to bat.
“But you’re…”
“I’m really not gonna miss anything,” he argues. “These guys couldn’t hit their way out of a wet paper bag.”
“Okay,” I relent.
“Where you goin’?” Lauren asks.
“Frankie gotta take a leak,” I reply as I stand up.
“I’ll come with you,” Seb says as he stands up.
“Yeah me too,” Corey says.
“Well okay,” I say as we start up the steps. “Guess its a sausage party then. Hooray for me.”
With the game not in between innings, people are scarce as we enter the bathroom. The four of us begin to relieve ourselves while Frankie finally stops bitching about the game.
“Can I try out for baseball again in the spring?” Frankie asks as he looks up at me.
“You sure you want to?” I ask him. “You tried last year and you couldn’t hit the ball.”
“No,” he agrees. “But I’m okay with the glove.”
“Yeah, you are.”
“And I can throw okay,” he says somewhat defensively.
“You quit on your team last year,” I remind him. “Against my advice.”
“I know,” he says sadly. “They were picking on me because I couldn’t hit.”
“Well what makes you think it’ll be different this year?” I ask the all important question.
“Hey hold on, there’s people in here,” says an obnoxious man as he enters the bathroom, drawing the attention of all four of us.
“I don’t know,” Frankie says. “But I thought maybe I can pitch.”
“I’m not gonna tell you no,” I say to the boy. “But I want you to really think about it. Come the new year if you still want to, we’ll start throwing and get your arm built up if that’s what you want.”
“Yeah in a minute,” the nondescript obnoxious New Yorker says as he retreats into a stall. His voice is familiar. Why?
“Thanks dad,” Frankie says as we finish up and wash our hands.
“You guys mind taking him back to our seats?” I ask of Seb and Corey.
“Yeah mate,” Seb replies.
“Sure thing,” Corey says.
“What you got?” Seb inquires.
“I’m gonna get us all some hot dogs,” I answer. To which Seb nods. He and Corey exit with Frankie as I hang back drying my hands. After the trio is out of sight, I swing the door open and let it close before quietly retreating into an empty stall a few spots away from the obnoxious man with the familiar voice.
“They’re gone, now talk,” he says into his phone. “Nah that’s kneecaps.”
Quickly, I peruse my auditory memory bank for that familiar voice.
“I don’t fuckin’ care bro,” he says. “Take the son of a bitch!”
Finally I hit on it.
“And then I want your sons…” I hear in my head.
“Call me later,” he says in his thick accent.
“And then I want your sons…” I hear again in my head.
“Yeah the fuckin Yanks are blowin this thing anyway,” he says and I hear it again. “And then I want your sons…”
C'mon, Thad! THINK!
"And then I want your sons..."
Got him.
About nine months ago, around the time Lauren and I first got together, I was in Paris for the XWF and she was back here in New York for FIGHT. Separated by the Atlantic, her gambling ways caught up to her. Of course she was a dumbass and wouldn’t use a Sportsbook. Instead, she got tied up into some New York Underground shit and they beat the fuck out of her.
After returning home, I started making preparations to go to war with the New York mafia. It’s a very dangerous game. The equipment you saw in my warehouse was all procured for that eventual war. What’s easy to forget, because I don’t bring it up too often, is that I’m the biological grandson of a mafia loan shark. Alister Henry and I don’t really see eye to eye on many things but the one thing we both want… is everything. Albeit, for very different reasons. He wants to take down the mafia in order to strengthen his position and become the kingpin. I want to take them down, because they’ve threatened and beaten my wife more than once. And they’ve started threatening my son.
I’d tell you to ask Easton Alexander how well it works out when you hurt my kid, but he took his ball and went somewhere with far lesser talent.
I’d tell you to ask Cypher how well it works out when you aid someone in hurting my kid, but he’s behind bars.
I’d tell you to ask the Ares Project what its like to come for my sons head… but I blew them off of the fucking map and none of them are left alive to tell you about it.
I’d tell you to ask the man who beat up my wife while I was working in Paris, but when I found him, he didn’t live very much longer.
Pretty? Yes.
Arrogant? Certainly.
Loved by most? Absolutely.
Hated by many? For sure.
I am a fighter. I was born a fighter. I lived my life as a fighter. When you threaten my family, I’m coming for your head and I’ve been far more successful in that regard than not. I’m not at all saying that taking on the mafia will be easy. It most certainly will not. We will reign victorious and suffer defeats, I have no doubts about that. I’m not naïve to think that I have all the answers, for there are questions that have not yet been asked.
When the Duke’s strike back, we do it with a vengeance. We do it with no regard for our personal safety. We do it because it’s the right thing to do. We do it because it’s the only thing to do. We do it quite simply, because we have to.
“And then I want your sons…” I hear in my head one more time as I exit the bathroom quietly. Lingering in wait, I start viewing a menu just across the way. The man exits the bathroom and gets in the beer line. Casually, I make my way to the hot dog stand that’s only about five deep, sure to keep one eye on the man that told Lauren he wanted our sons head. After receiving my order, I start to make my way back to our seats with the man just ahead of me.
I walk slowly behind him. As I follow him, part of me wishes I’d have done something right there in the bathroom. We might be vengeful, but at the same time, we’re not stupid. Doing something in public with security and the NYPD crawling all over the place, that’s not when you take your shot. The man takes his seat a few rows behind us and one section over.
For now, I push him to the side and return to my friends and family.
“What took so damn long?” Lauren asks as she quickly grabs a weiner from the box.
“Something came up,” I tell her as I try and position myself in such a way that I can keep an eye on the man while pretending I’m just comfortable.
“Like what?” she asks.
“I’ll tell you later,” I reply as I lean forward. “Sloane, would you like my huge weiner?”
“Oh my God, yes please,” she replies unwittingly.
Yeah, I knew what I was asking. I did it purposely. In response, Seb side eyes me. Hearing all of this, Corey just sorta looks on in bewilderment.
“Seb?” I offer as Sloane puts my huge weiner in her mouth.
“No,” he says with a scowl.
“More huge wieners for me!” Corey says as I hand him the box.
“You gonna tell me?” Lauren asks quietly. Look, I know the perception. That she’s aloof. That she’s dumber than a box of rocks. That she has no discretion whatsoever. While in a lot of cases all of that might be true, it’s not entirely true in every circumstance. Most of it, be design. She’s been by my side long enough now to know when there’s something… less than legal… on my mind.
“See that guy over there?” I ask.
She pokes her head up and behind my back. “What guy?”
Taking a quick peek, to verify I turn back toward her. “Next section over, four rows from the front.”
Her eyes scan slowly, but then she finds him.
“Son of a bitch,” she mutters under her breath.
“Just follow my lead, okay?” I ask. She nods her agreement. “Tell Sloane what’s up.”
Lauren leans to her right, whispering to Sloane. Sloane lifts her head up a moment and looks at Lauren before leaning toward Seb and filling him in. Seb looks at me and nods once.
“Give her your keys,” I say to her as I turn to the left to talk to Frankie. “Bud, you’re gonna go with Seb, Sloane and Corey, ok?”
“Okay,” he says as his Yankees continue to frustrate him. “Wait, why?”
“Me and your Mom gotta go do something,” I tell him as I spy the mark quickly.
“Thad and Lauren make a porno,” Frankie quips, causing me to laugh a bit as I lean to Lauren. "Part 69."
“Burner,” I whisper.
She quickly digs into her purse and retrieves my burner cell. Dialing a number, it rings three times. Entering a particular nine digit code activates all GPS locators, and sends out a ‘go’ signal to my grandfather Alister Henry, and a man named Joey Bats. Joey is Alister’s most trusted ally. Despite the work I was doing as my grandfather’s ‘collector’, Joey and I became pretty good friends.
It'll be nice to catch up.