Armed And Dangerous

CABONI’S ITALIAN RISTORANTE  

Manhattan, New York  
 
“Would you like something else to eat, beautiful?”  
 
“Marcus, I’m stuffed to capacity. There is nothing else getting in this dress.”  
 
“Save some room for me later on.”  
 
“I promise.”  
 
Marcus scooted his chair back and stood. He walked around the table.  
 
“Can I have this dance?”  
 
“You certainly can.”  
 
Francine lifted her white dinner napkin from off her lap, and placed it near her China plate. She scooted her chair back, clasped her hand in Marcus’ hand, and stood.  
 
Marcus walked Francine to the middle of the ristorante. He circled her waist and pulled her against his body.  
 
“I had a very very nice time last night in your bed. In the shower, and in this bed this morning.”  
 
“Why do you make it seem as if you’re not going to be lying in my bed in the future; more so, like later on, after I take my beautiful woman out to dinner, and no more excuses beautiful woman?”  
 
“Marcus, I like you, maybe more than I am supposed to, however, after today this can’t be. There is too much opposition between us.”  
 
“Marcus, you promised me the next time we ever went out, you will leave these behind.”  
 
“I’m sorry, baby, what was that.”  
 
Francine reached inside Marcus’ suit jacket; she linked her arms around his waist. She felt his two guns behind the waistband of his pants.  
 
“These.”  
 
Her palms gripped the back straps of both his weapons.  
 
Marcus looked down into Francine’s soft dark-brown eyes.  
 
“You know, I never leave home without them.”  
 
He kissed her on the lips. He leaned down and whispered in her ear, “I will make it up to you under the covers, much later on.”  
 
“My anger may last throughout the entire night.”  
 
“Under the covers, I guess, I will be the one begging for your forgiveness.”  
 
Marcus pulled Francine’s body closer. Although his mind was thinking of another woman.  
 
BIRCH COFFEE SHOP  
 
Manhattan, New York  
 
Carlito walked out of Birch Coffee Shop. He took a sip of his coffee. He noticed the black tinted Escalade SUV parked in the same spot for over an hour. He dug inside his suit jacket pocket, and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. He lifted a cigarette from out the packed confinement and placed it between his lips. He returned the pack to his side jacket pocket. Carlito walked across the street. He walked past the vehicle.  
 
The window on the back passenger side was slightly rolled down.  
 
Carlito glimpsed two men dressed in black coats sitting, and at the moment one was conversing, with someone in the front seat. He turned and walked back toward the vehicle.  
 
Carlito knocked on the front passenger window.  
 
Salado pressed in the button to the passenger side window.  
 
The window dropped.  
 
“State your business old man.”  
 
Carlito looked at the passenger sitting in the front seat, and from what he could see another passenger sitting behind the driver with a black skull cap on his head, and a black pair of gloves donned on both hands He looked down at the two pairs of black gloves laying across the cup holders between the driver and passenger seat. He looked into the passenger’s eyes.  
 
“Do you have a light?”  
 
“No, and keep it moving.”  
 
Salado pressed in the window button from the driver side.  
 
The passenger side of the window rose.  
 
T-Bone looked over at Salado sitting behind the wheel.  
 
“Man are you fucking crazy, that dude saw my face.”  
 
“As well as Miguel, Jose, and mine. Now quit fucking worrying; you sitting over there getting your adrenaline all pumped up for nothing. You best to save that shit for when the times calls for it. The old bastard probably have cataracts, and can’t identify shit.”  
 
Carlito walked down the street and rounded the corner. He threw the cup of coffee and cigarette down on the pavement. He hurried back to his limousine. He held the key remote up.  
 
The limousine doors automatically unlocked.  
 
Carlito opened the front door and reached inward for the telephone inside the limousine. He lifted the receiver from off the mounted cradle, and pressed in a numerical button.  
 
CABONI’S ITALIAN RISTORANTE  
 
Mr. Delaro felt his cell phone vibrating on his hip. He moved his suit jacket aside, and lifted his cell phone from off his hip clip. He slid his cell phone up and looked down at the telephone number.  
 
‘”Excuse me ladies.”  
 
Mr. Delaro rose and walked to the front foyer of the ristorante. He pressed in the okay button, and then placed the cell phone up to his ear.  
 
“Yes, Carlito.”  
 
“Mr. Delaro, it’s a hit.”  
 
“Carlito, what the fuck are you talking about!”  
 
“From what I could see, there are four Mexicans parked in an Escalade just around the corner of the ristorante in black long coats, and gloves. I’ve also noticed the tail end of that vehicle has been parked in the same spot for over an hour.”  
 
“Damn.”  
 
Mr. Carlito looked over at his daughter and her friends seated at his table. He did not have Tango or Domenico’s presence to account for, and he left his weapon in the fucking limousine.  
 
“Shit.”  
 
Mr. Delaro slid his cell phone close and rushed back over to the table.  
 
“Zaniyah, I need you to take your friends and go into the ladies’ room, and wait for me, and dammit do not come out.”  
 
Mr. Delaro, looked over at the door. He looked back down at Zaniyah and her seated friends.  
 
“Hurry, now dammit.”  
 
Zaniyah followed her father’s eyes. She turned back to face her father.  
 
“Father, what’s going on?”  
 
“Now dammit, and no questions asked.”  
 
Zaniyah quickly rose from her chair. Rosalina and Martinez rose from their chair and followed.  
 
“Quickly ladies.”  
 
All three ladies ran in the direction of the ladies’ room.  
 
Mr. Delaro lifted the four steak knives from off the white tablecloth and slipped two in each side pocket of his suit jacket.  
 
“Waiter!”  
 
The waited lifted his head. He placed the order in front of his patrons down on the table. He placed the circular silver serving tray under his arm and rushed over to where Mr. Delaro stood.  
 
“How could I be of assistance sir?”  
 
“I need you to get your men inside at once. There is a grave matter that may endanger all of us.”  
 
“Pardon me sir.”  
 
“Get Mr. Ramo out here, and now dammit, now!”  
 
PRIVATE DINING ROOM  
 
“Wow, it appears there is an unsatisfied customer out there asking for better service, or his money back.”  
 
“Excuse me beautiful.”  
 
Marcus rose from his chair and hurried to the door. He opened it and walked out. He saw his Uncle Ramo walk over in the direction of an irate customer.  
 
“What can I do for you, Mr. Delaro?”  
 
“A hit is about to occur in this ristorante. I need you to get your staff in from the outside, and barricade all the doors.”  
 
“Is this some kind of fucking joke, no one does that gangster shit any longer? If you think you’re going to get this ristorante over some bogus shit of having someone shoot up my joint, think again.”  
 
“I swear if something happens to my daughter, because of your foolishness. You will not have to worry about someone shooting up this ristorante, because I swear I will kill you myself.”  
 
“Uncle Ramo, is there a problem here.”  
 
“Yes, this fuck is stating someone is about to hit this ristorante.”  
 
Mr. Delaro turned toward Marcus.  
 
“You are the fuck who tried to push my fucking limousine into traffic.”  
 
Mr. Ramo looked from Marcus and then to Mr. Delaro.  
 
“You two know each other.”  
 
“No, but this fuck almost….”  
 
Jose shot inside the front window on the ristorante  
 
“Dammit, everyone get down.”  
 
Marcus, Mr. Ramo, and Mr. Delaro dropped to the floor.  
 
“What the fuck is going on!”  
 
“Dammit, I told you I’ve been advised there is a hit out on me.”  
 
The patrons at the neighboring tables rose from his or her chair and dropped to the floor.  
 
A barrage of bullets penetrated the interior of the ristorante.  
 
Marcus turned over a table.  
 
All three men shielded their presence behind it.  
 
Salado and T-Bone barged inside the ristorante and started shooting.  
 
Jose jumped through the shattered window. He lifted his Colt AR-15 rifle and aimed it where Mr. Delaro was located. He the squeezed the trigger.  
 
Numerous bullets split the top of the table; some of bullets ricocheted from off the surface.  
 
IN THE LADIES’ ROOM  
 
Zaniyah held her hands over her ears.  
 
All three woman screamed.  
 
THE PRIVATE DINING ROOM  
 
Francine and several others locked themselves in the private dining room.  
 
The male patrons barricaded the twin doors with tables and chairs.  
 
“Marcus, oh my God.”  
 
Francine covered her mouth in regards to his possible safety or demise.  
 
THE MAIN DINING ROOM  
 
Marcus looked around the ristorante. In the course of the rampage. He heard the ear-piercing screams, glass being broken, debris sailing through the air, men hollering for no one to more. Marcus inched his head up.  
 
A bullet whizzed past his head.  
 
“Shit.” Marcus ducked his head back down. “These fucks are not playing, they mean business.”  
 
Marcus lifted his glock from behind his waistband.  
 
“Uncle Ramo, I need for you to somehow get this man over to the bar and shield both of yourselves.”  
 
“Wait a minute dammit! It’s four of them and only one of you.”  
 
“I do my best work, alone. Go, I’ll cover for you two, go.”  
 
Marcus inched his head up. He pulled back the trigger of his glock and returned open fire. He hit Jose in his upper arm.  
 
Jose’s Colt AR-15 rifle fell to the red carpet.  
 
“Fuck you.”  
 
Jose lifted his leg, pulled up his pants leg, and then lifted a Beretta 32 caliber pistol from out his leg holster. He aimed it down at the table and fired multiple rounds at the table Marcus hide behind.  
 
Marcus reached his gun around the table and fired off. He peeped from around the overturned table. He rose and fired a cessation of shots. He ran and dived behind a wall. He rolled onto his stomach, aimed his weapon, and shot Jose in his stomach.  
 
Jose landed backwards on his backside.  
 
“Fuck, I’ve been hit,” he yelled out to Salado. He looked down. He held his stomach. “That fucking nigger got me!”  
 
Marcus released the clip from out the magazine well of his glock to the carpet; he dropped his glock inside the side pocket of his suit jacket. He lifted his 357 Magnum from out his waistband, checked the chamber, and then closed it.  
 
Mr. Ramo, and Mr. Delaro quickly ran from around a wall and over to the bar.  
 
Salado lifted his 9mm semi-automatic weapon.  
 
Mr. Ramo looked over at the door.  
 
Salado fired at Mr. Delaro’s temple.  
 
Mr. Ramo pushed Mr. Delaro down to the carpet.  
 
Mr. Ramo was hit in the upper arm. He reached up and covered his wound; he joined Mr. Delaro behind the bar.  
 
“You all right.”  
 
“Fuck no! I thought this shit was behind once I did my tour in Afghanistan.”  
 
“You got a weapon.”  
 
“Yes, look on the last shelf, under the stack of white towels,” Mr. Ramo stated. “Sss,” he grimaced in pain.  
 
Mr. Delaro crawled on all fours over to the far end of the lower shelf. He lifted the stack of towels and removed a 45 Colt Revolver. He checked the chamber and then closed it. He lifted a towel and threw it at Mr. Ramo.  
 
“Wrap that around your shoulder, and thank you.”  
 
“Fuck you Mr. Delaro.”  
 
“My words exactly, Mr. Ramo.”  
 
 “You got the weapon. What the fuck you waiting for?”  
 
Mr. Delaro inched to the tail end of the bar and peeked his head around. He pointed the weapon and aimed it at the leg of T-Bone. He fired off a shot.  
 
A bullet grazed T-Bone’s ankle.  
 
“Fuck you old man.”  
 
T-Bone aimed his sawed off single pump shotgun down at the bar.  
 
Marcus lifted his 357 Magnum, aimed it, and shot T-Bone in the right side of his temple.  
 
T-Bone’s weapon dropped out his hand; his body fell forward.  
 
Miguel pointed his 9mm PPK, and ran over to the bar. He fired off several rounds into the Cherrywood bar structure.  
 
Mr. Delaro sat against the bar shelves. He waited, counted to ten, and then kissed the barrel of the revolver; he peeped back from around the bar. His vision came in contact with a pair of black denim jeans. Mr. Delaro looked up.  
 
“Bye Bye. I’ll tell Domenico, you’ll see him in hell.”  
 
Miguel lifted his 9mm PPK and aimed it down at Mr. Delaro’s head.  
 
“Fuck you to hell, you piece of shit.”  
 
The bullet of Marcus’ 357 Magnum pierced the back of Miguel’s skull.  
 
Flesh blasted out; splattering against the broken mirror behind the bar. Blood seepage decorated the top of Mr. Delaro’s scalp.  
 
Miguel dropped to his knees and then fell forward. His weapon rested under his body.  
 
Mr. Delaro looked from around the bar He looked over at the two dead men, and the other sitting against a wall, holding an open bleeding gash to his stomach.  
 
LADIES’ ROOM  
 
The bathroom door was opened.  
 
A man walked into the ladies room. He walked over to where Zaniyah sat. He yanked her up by a handful of her hair.  
 
“Stop it, you’re hurting her.”  
 
Rosalina pulled on Salado’s hand.  
 
“Get back you stupid cunt.”  
 
Salado hit Rosaline with the blunt of his gun across her face.  
 
Rosalina fell backwards against the door of a stall.  
 
“You animal,” Martinez screamed out. She spit at Salado’s feet.  
 
“You try me, you just might like it.”  He looked down at Zaniyah. “Now you, you’re going to bring me a lot of money from dear old daddy.”  
 
“Get off me, you’re hurting me.”  
 
“Not as much if you do not tell us where that fucking crate has disappeared too.”    
 
Martinez ran over to Rosalina’s still body. She looked up.  
 
“You will not get away with this.”  
 
Salado held Zaniyah around her neck. He backed up to the door and fumbled behind himself for the door handle. He grasped it with the gun in his hand and pulled the door open. Salado stepped forward and pulled the door open wider. Salado backed Zaniyah out the ladies’ room.  
 
Several patrons dodged for cover.  
 
Salado walked Zaniyah out into the main dining room. He looked around.  
 
None of his men stood.  
 
Shit he thought.  
 
“Mr. Delaro, I have something that is valuable to you. One life for another.”  
 
Mr. Delaro peeped from around the bar. He saw the man holding his daughter’s neck in the crook of his arm.  
 
“Mr. Delaro,” Marcus hissed under his breath. If he had known the identity of the man who sent two people to scare him; he would have handed his ass to those Mexicans fucks.  
 
“Father,” Zaniyah cried out.  
 
Mr. Delaro placed the revolver down on the carpet and stood. He placed his palms up in the air.  
 
“Zaniyah.” Mr. Delaro turned to face Salado. “Please don’t hurt my daughter. I will give you anything you ask for.”  
 
“Your head and three million dollars.”  
 
Mr. Delaro looked at his daughter.  
 
Salado pointed the gun at Mr. Delaro’s chest.  
 
“You just couldn’t die old man in dignity and allow a real man to succeed you; no your tired ass had to hold on to how shit use to be. Well as they say, there’s a new Under Boss coming to town, and it’s about time we permanently retire the Head Boss.”  
 
“I wouldn’t do that, partner, it’s not worth it.” Marcus looked over at Mr. Delaro. “And neither is that bastard.”  
 
Salado pointed his gun at Mr. Delaro and then at Marcus.  
 
“Fuck you nigger.”  
 
“I can claim that, at the moment. Now you amigo, you have two options, well maybe the right one, and the option, are, let the beautiful woman go, you go to jail, plead guilty, and your sorry ass is looking at, what, about fifteen to twenty, or you meet your maker tonight.”  
 
“Not if I kill her first, fuck you.”  
 
Salado pulled back the hammer to his 9mm semi-automatic weapon and aimed it at Zaniyah’s temple.  
 
“The only person getting fucked tonight by me is that beautiful woman you holding hostage, and take my word, I’m a very jealous man.”  
 
Mr. Delaro looked over at Marcus.  
 
So that’s the nigger, who shot up his two men, and has been interacting with his daughter.  
 
Marcus read the shock of the revelation in Mr. Delaro’s eyes.  
 
“Mr. Delaro, I will deal with you later, and you will be getting a cleaning bill from your hired goons’ damage.”  
 
Zaniyah arched her eyebrows at the confession of her father’s ruthlessness.  
 
Several police sirens howled in the background.  
 
“This is your last chance my man to drop that weapon.”  
 
“Man fuck you!”  
 
Salado aimed his weapon at Marcus.  
 
Marcus shot Salado in the center of his forehead. He placed his 357 Magnum in the other unoccupied side pocket of his suitjacket.  
 
Salado fell backwards as his 9mm semi-automatic weapon was discharging.  
 
Zaniyah ran over into Marcus’ arm. She hugged him.  
 
Marcus hugged Zaniyah tighter to her body.  
 
“Are you alright my beautiful woman?”  
 
Zaniyah pivoted and looked down at Salado’s body. She turned back around in Marcus’ arms. She leaned up and kissed him tenderly and slowly on the lips.  
 
Marcus lifted Zaniyah’s chin and intensified the kiss.  
 
Mr. Delaro cleared his throat.  
 
Both inched their face back.  
 
“Thank you, and I advise you to go home, alone.”  
 
“Is my beautiful woman staking her claim?”  
 
“Yes, she is.”  
 
Marcus stroked Zaniyah’s cheek.  
 
“All right, you got me beautiful woman. After my boys and I wrap up this investigation here tonight. I will be all yours for that claiming.”  
 
“You won’t be disappointed; I’ll see you later on.” Zaniyah stepped back. She turned to face her father. “Father.”  
 
Zaniyah ran over to her father’s outstretched arms. She hugged her father tightly.  
 
“I’m sorry Zaniyah.”  
 
Zaniyah inched back and looked up into her father’s eyes.  
 
“It does not matter, I’m just happy you’re alive. Oh Rosalina, she’s hurt in the ladies’ room.”  
 
Zaniyah disengaged her presence from her father’s arms, stepped back, and then ran to the ladies restroom.  
 
“Why you mothafucka!”  
 
Marcus rushed over to where Mr. Delaro stood. He balled his fist and drew it back.  
 
Mr. Ramo placed his palm up catching Marcus’ fist.  
 
“Another fight for another day nephew.”  
 

Copyright©SKC-2023