Chapter 3 Three

Alone in her suite at one of those rooms in the building of The Westmont which contained more than a dwelling unit, Frances contemplated the view of the deepening shadows that made New York a city of ghosts. It made no thought of her how the night beautifully became art in cities, for she was looking at it without much interest. Her mind was on the other thing, the thing that kept her up that night. She glanced at her watch and she figured it was already eleven in the evening. She was thinking about Fargo with mixed feelings. Somehow, when he was still alive, Frances wanted him dead.

It is though whenever Maximo Fargo comes into her mind, rage is expected to pulse through her veins, feeling not just a hint but a flash of irritation. But now that he is already dead, anger was no longer within her.

Frances yawned, still staring through the window that the darkness had given a mirror-like quality. Her thought shifted to her partner, wondering what he was doing...whom he was with. Her right arm supported the elbow joint of her left which her fingers covered the glass of wine. She sipped onto her glass and it immediately supplied heat to her throat down her stomach. Then abruptly, over the door, the loud ding dong! echoed. She pivoted her body and slowly walked towards the door. She wasn't expecting a visitor, for that reason, she took a grasp of her Glock 22 as she peeked through the peephole. Assured the person was not a threat, she put her gun back to her holster and opened the door as a smile began to appear in her lips.

"Sam!" she exclaimed and covered the woman with her arms in front of her. They rubbed their bodies against each other as their grasp tightened. Then the woman pulled herself away from her and confiscated Frances.

"What are you doing here?" asked Frances as she bent down to carry Samantha's backpack. It was her close cousin, Samantha Erich.

"I'm here on a vacation," answered Sam. Frances guided her to her apartment and placed Samantha's backpack over the couch. She then sat down and laid her back against the sofa.

"Do you want something to eat or drink?" asked Frances, looking at her.

"Perhaps a glass of juice wouldn't hurt," uttered Sam. Frances nodded and went to the kitchen.

"You should have told me you're coming, I should have waited for you at the airport," said Frances over the kitchen, making a juice for Samantha.

"Then it wouldn't be a surprise," answered Samantha as she looked around.

She was one of those women who wore clothes decently. Just looking at her outfit you'd figure the heritage of being a church woman. Covering her was the blue shirtdress with flowers printed all over it.

"I thought you were asleep already," said Samantha. Frances came back from the kitchen with a glass of orange juice in her hand.

"I couldn't. I didn't drink coffee or something, I guess I had a dose of insomnia," answered Frances.

"Besides, if you believed I was asleep why would you come in the middle of the night, don't you think you'd disturb my sleep?"

She handed it carefully over to Sam, trying to not spill it off. In the same manner, Sam reached the glass. Frances sat on the caramel colored sofa next to Sam. She waited for her response as Sam took a long sip of the juice. The cold and sour taste slid through her throat leaving a trace of its acidity. She then pulled the glass from her lips as she let out a deep and long exhale of satisfaction as if she had been restricted to drinks for thousands of years.

"This tastes good," said Sam, savouring its aftertaste.

"Are you alone?" asked Frances

"No, I'm not," she answered at the exact moment she ended.

"I'm with Jeffrey."

"How come he's not with you?" wondered Frances.

"He's with his friend, he'll be here soon," answered Sam. Frances went over to the kitchen and took a bag of chips and went back to the sofa to sit down.

"Why did you come back here anyway?" asked Frances, tearing the side of the plastic. She then offered it to her.

"Vacation. To be honest, we should have flown here two weeks ago, but Jeffrey's mom got sick so he had to look for her," answered Samantha between bites of chips. Frances nodded in satisfaction as she shoved for the food.

"So how's the Philippines?" asked Frances. Sam fixed her position with the side of her body propped by the pillow. She crossed both her legs and turned to face her.

"It was nice. The people there are so hospitable," she answered.

"What I love about the Philippines is the dish. I like adobo, you know? The meat with soy sauce and vinegar on it...I love it."

"Was Jeffrey's family good to you?" asked Frances.

"Yeah, they were actually. I like the way they eat ...they only use their hands, you know–" she paused when a puzzled look was on Frances.

"No, don't get it wrong...they wash their hands before they eat," Samantha clarified. Frances then nodded. After a few moments of talking to each other, the doorbell rang. They both paused and they shot a gaze at the door.

"Is that Jeffrey?" asked Frances. Sam shrugged her shoulders.

"I don't know, he told me he'll be coming on twelve and It's not twelve yet. The doorbell rang again but this time it rang twice. Frances walked towards the door, her hand on the gun. She narrowly looked through the peephole. She was then puzzled. The guy was wearing a white shirt and a cap. He was carrying a box and he darted glances at the hallway.

"Who is it?" whispered Sam. Still looking through the hole.

Frances answered,

"It's a pizza guy, I didn't order a pizza,"

"Oh, I did."

She ran towards the door and she pulled to open it. She took the pizza from the guy and went over to the sofa.

"Are you not gonna pay him?" she called after her as she hurried away to open the box.

"I don't have cash here...maybe you have some, I'll pay you later," she shouted as she took a slice of the pizza. Frances sighed and reached for her wallet from the pocket of her pants.

"How much is it?" she asked.

"14 bucks," the short guy answered. She slipped cash out of her pocket and handed it over to the guy.

"Thank you," said the man as he folded the money. Frances closed the door behind her and went back to the sofa.

"You owe me one," she pointed at her and sat down.

"No I don't. You were the one who paid for this and I'll be the one spending some cash for tomorrow," answered Samantha, taking a bite of her pizza.

"Why? What's with tomorrow?" she asked.

Leashed from the black fences, the organization had kept the terrifying dogs unfed, unloved, and hostile. Presumably it was to keep burglars and strangers away from the mansion. The eight thousand square feet mansion was located in a remote location and guarded with several armed men. Huge-sized house built of lyson stone with the darkest color one could ever see. The man opened the gate when a black vehicle stopped in front. His head popped out of the window only to be seen by the man. He drove his vehicle in and got out of the car.

"Caesar!" said Benedict, stepping out of the main door. Caesar turned to him and smiled.

"What brings you here?" asked Benedict. He was tall, well built, handsome and dark.

"I came to see the boss," answered Caesar, pulling his shade away from his eyes. Benedict quivered his head in a gesture of welcome.

"Come," said Benedict, guiding Caesar through the inside.

"I have heard that the organization was the one who killed Fargo," said Caesar, as they walked through the dining room.

"That's right," he answered.

"He attempted to assassinate the boss."

They went inside a small room and in front of them was a circular staircase that led them through another room but quite wide. They walked up one flight of stairs to the next floor.

"How was the boss?" asked Caesar.

"Fortunately, he was unharmed," he replied promptly.

"Did you figure out who attempted to kill him already?"

Benedict stopped and put a strange smile on his lips.

"We haven't...but I have an idea who"

"Who?"

He remained smiling as though the suspect was in his grasp. He moved a bit and was dangerously near Caesar.

"I am aware of what you're doing Caesar," he whispered, still smiling. A look of puzzled thought was on Caesar as he tried to keep his calm. Benedict knew from the start that Caesar wanted to be boss, so profoundly he wanted him dead.

"I have my eyes on you everywhere you go. The station, your house, your mother's house," uttered Benedict as he walked within steps, encircling Caesar.

"Do you really think a cop like you can replace the boss?" asked Benedict. Caesar tried to keep himself calm even though his anger was boiling up.

"You're a smart guy, Caesar. If I was you I'd stop such nonsense," he said, then after that he turned away from him. Caesar nearly lost his temper and held unto Benedict's wrist, turning Benedict to face him.

"If you are aware of this, then why won't you kill me?" he asked in a low voice as though he was whispering.

"You're a great threat, that is correct. But you, being a member of the family is also a benefit for us. Your account of your knowledge on whatever the law would venture to stop us...is a great assistance."

Benedict pulled his arm from his grip.

"But that doesn't mean I'm not gonna kill you if you'd do something stupid."

He left Caesar standing, gritting his teeth as Benedict walked towards the door. Benedict stopped in front of the door and knocked on it. The door opened unveiling the boss seated over the table. Caesar followed Benedict towards the room. It was a comfortably furnished room. A regular business-office-looking room. Surrounding the crime lord were three men with their guns.

"Caesar," the raspy and low voice came from the crime lord's mask. It was the head mounted voice changer microphone that made his voice different. Caesar held his hand and he moved his lips near the boss's finger.

"What might be your purpose for being here?" the boss asked.

Caesar glanced at Benedict then to the man in front of him.

"But before you answer that question, take a seat."

Caesar pulled the chair in front of him and he sat down.

"Do you want a drink?" the man asked. He didn't wait for Caesar's reply.

"Benedict, give this gentleman a bottle of the hard stuff," he said.

Still looking at Caesar, he stepped back and reached for a bottle of brandy and glass from a hanging cabinet. He opened the bottle and poured the glass. A troublesome look was within Caesar's face when he stared at the brandy filling the glass. Benedict offered him the glass but Caesar didn't accept it immediately. He was troubled from what Benedict had told him earlier was still firm in his mind.

"So what brings you here?" the boss asked promptly, staring at Caesar as he reached for the glass.

"I just wanted to know how you are doing," answered Caesar, looking at his bottle.

"Grazie per essere un ragazzo così premuroso," the boss uttered.

"But I am no harm at all, thanks to Benedict for saving me. If he didn't I'd surely be dead right now."

Caesar nodded his head, still looking at the glass. The boss shifted to silence.

"That's not the reason why you came here, is it?" the boss asked. Caesar hesitated to answer but he then answered.

"One of my companions in the station has been asking about the case of the organization Godfather, longing for your death," Caesar answered.

The boss nodded satisfied.

"And why is the man longing for my death?"

"She believes that it was the organization that killed her father,"

"What's the name?"

"Frances Mitchell,"

"Frances? Is she–"

"Yes Godfather, she is a woman."

The boss shot a glance at Benedict then to Caesar.

"What do you want me to do?" the boss asked.

"Eliminate her, Godfather," he answered abruptly.

"That's the work of idiots, Caesar. My family's name does not kill women or even beat them up–"

"But Godfather she is a threat," his voice grew harsh. He then apologized to the boss for his manner.

"I understand your anxiety Caesar. But killing her wouldn't completely eliminate the family's treath. I have a better plan than killing her,"

"What is it, Godfather?" he asked just after the boss finished.

"What makes a woman weak, Caesar? Is it their thin arms or their tiny muscles and fists? Is it because femininity isn't used for battle? Or perhaps is it because they are less physically strong?

Neither of the three makes a woman weak, Caesar," the crime lord explained.

"What makes a woman weak is their feelings, their emotions. Women get so easily consumed by love and she is no different from the others,"

"Godfather, you mean?"

The boss glanced at Benedict. Then he turned back to Caesar.

"Romance is the key Caesar, Romance," he answered. Caesar finally drank his glass and smiled.