The Hit

BLUE NOTE JAZZ CLUB  
New York, New York  
   
“What are you drinking on ma’am?”  
   
Zaniyah lifted her head.  
   
“I’m sorry. Yes, I will have a white wine.”  
   
“Yes ma’am.”  
   
Zaniyah watched Marcus and his date rise from their table.  
   
Both walked over to the exit door.  
   
Marcus looked over at Zaniyah.  
   
Two pair of eyes locked.  
   
Marcus turned away. He and his date walked out the Jazz Club.  
   
Zaniyah paid for her drink. She looked back over at the door and smiled. She lifted her drink from off the bar-top and walked back to her table.  
   
CARBON’S ITALIAN RISTORANTE  
Manhattan, New York  
   
Francine looked out the window and then looked over at Marcus.  
   
“You are on a very nice roll. I heard this Italian Restaurant serves very good food.”  
   
“Nothing but the best beautiful.”  
   
Marcus opened his car door and stepped out. He waited for Bobby or Darion to come and park his vehicle. He noticed the Rolls Royce limousine obstructing the valets from seeing any other vehicles needing to be parked.  
   
Marcus slammed his car door close. He walked up to the driver side of the limousine. He tapped on the window.  
   
Carlito pressed the automatic window button.  
   
The window dropped several inches.  
   
“Good evening sir. Is it any possible way to pull this vehicle around the corner so it could be properly parked? Your vehicle is hindering the rest of our vehicles from being serviced by a valet.”  
   
Carlito pivoted in his seat.  
   
“Sir, there is a darkie at my window asking me to move my vehicle.”  
   
“Tell him to blow you. This vehicle is not moving until my daughter arrives.”  
   
“I guess you heard that.”  
   
“Oh you want to play that shit.”  
   
“Man fuck you.”  
   
Carlito pressed the button to the window.  
   
The limousine window rolled up.  
   
Marcus turned and walked back to his vehicle. He opened the door.  
   
“Francine, I need for you to step out the vehicle. You may meet me inside the ristorante, and tell Mr. Ramo, Marcus said to seat you in the private dining area.”  
   
Francine looked at the rear of the limousine parked in front of Marcus’ vehicle.  
   
“I will meet you inside and be careful out here.”  
   
“Not in my vocabulary. I’ll see you inside momentarily.”  
   
“Okay.”  
   
Francine opened the door and stepped out of Marcus’ Land Rover. She pushed the door close.  
   
Francine walked to the entrance of the ristorante.  
   
Marcus waited until Francine entered the ristorante. He shifted his gears to reverse and then back up; he shifted his gears in drive. He aligned the front of his vehicle and slowly drove up to the rear of the limousine. He floored the gas pedal.  
   
“What the fuck!”  
   
Carlito’s cup of coffee spilled from out his hand; burning his groin.  
   
“Shit.”  
   
Carlito swiped his hand at the hot liquid. He threw the empty coffee cup down inside the cup holder.  
   
Marcus moved the limousine forward.  
   
“Dammit, do something!”  
   
“Mr. Delaro, this fuck is pushing the vehicle forward!”  
   
Carlito looked at the four way intersection the vehicle was approaching. He twisted the key inside the ignition and shifted the gears of the limousine in reverse.  
   
Marcus gave his vehicle more gas power.  
   
The black chrome grill across the front of his vehicle leaned against the rear of the limousine.  
   
The limousine glided forward.  
   
Mr. Delaro looked out the back tinted rear window.  
   
The tug-of-war of tires burning rubber on the concrete sounded deafening.  
   
“Dammit, just drive off!”  
   
Carlito placed the gears of the limousine in drive. He drove off and scurried the limousine around the corner  
   
Mr. Delaro looked back out the tinted rear window. He turned and rested his back against the seat.  
   
“These crazy New York, motherfuckers.”  
   
Bobby stepped from behind his podium. He walked to the curve side.  
   
Marcus pulled his vehicle in front of the ristorante. He withdrew the key from out the ignition, opened the door, and stepped out.  
   
 “Impressive work man, thanks.”  
   
“You didn’t see a thing.”  
   
Bobby cleared his throat.  
   
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”  
   
“Good, keep it that way.”  
   
Marcus tossed his vehicle keys to Bobby.  
   
Bobby caught them. He got inside Marcus’ vehicle, and then pulled the door close. He plugged the key inside the ignition and then drive off.  
   
Marcus walked to the entrance of the ristorante, pulled the door opened, and entered.  
   
“Hey, everybody, looks who’s in the building, Marcus.”  
   
Mr. Ramo, walked over to where Marcus waited. He grabbed his nephew and Godson around the neck, and fisted the top of his head. He kissed him on top of his head.  
   
Mr. Ramo let Marcus go.  
   
“Man that shit worked when I was what, sixteen.”  
   
“You’re never too old to forget the past.”  
   
“Was there a gorgeous woman who walked through these doors?”  
   
“Yes, she’s seated in the private dining area.”  
   
“Thanks man.” Marcus looked around the crowded ristorante. “I see it’s a nice crowd up in here this evening.”  
   
“Thank goodness for that. For some unknown reason. There has been two arson fires to the ristorantes on 134 and 137 street.”  
   
“Yeah, I’ve heard and no suspects has ever been caught.”  
   
“The word on the street is that someone is snatching up unoccupied real estate at cheap prices, or buying out the current owners.”  
   
“Have you been approached?”  
   
Mr. Ramo did not respond.  
   
“Uncle Ramo, have you been squeezed to sell this ristorante.”  
   
“It’s been mentioned in passing. However, since your father sold it to me, than it stays in Manhattan and in this family.”  
   
“My good man,” Marcus patted his uncle on the shoulder. “Let me talk to you later. I have to earn some brownie points to get into the skins this evening.”  
   
“Youngsters.”  
   
“Guilty. Later man.”  
   
Marcus palmed his goatee down and walked in the direction of the private dining room.  
   
Mr. Delaro entered Carbon’s Italian Ristorante. He glanced around. The only establishment standing in his way of building his future casino. Mr. Delaro walked over to the maître’d.  
   
“Yes. Could you tell Mr. Ramo, Mr. Delaro is out here and would like to speak to him in regards to a private matter?”  
   
“Yes sir.”  
   
The maître’d bowed and walked away.  
   
Mr. Delaro did not know why the former owner did not sell it to him last year when he offered him a hefty price.  
   
Colored people and their fucking principles he thought.  
   
Now he has to deal with another fuck standing in the way of his future. He was on a time line, with his overseas investors; which he knew will most likely pull out of the deal without showing the development of groundbreaking, in addition, he would stand to lose a lot of money, and then the bank will forfeit on the loan.  
   
MR. RAMO’S OFFICE  
   
“You want me to stay Mr. Ramo?”  
   
“No, I got this, and I’m sure the bartender could use some assistance.”  
   
“You got it Mr. Ramo.”  
   
Bart walked over to the door and opened it.  
   
Mr. Delaro stood at the threshold.  
   
Mr. Ramo stood.  
   
Bart walked out Mr. Ramo’s office.  
   
Mr. Delaro entered Mr. Ramo’s office and pushed the door close.  
   
“You could have a seat.”  
   
“I’m good enough to stand, and what I have to say, shan’t take long.”  
   
“As you please.”  
   
Mr. Ramo sat down.  
   
“What could I do for you Mr. Delaro?”  
   
“I will like to know, have you reconsidered my offer to sell this establishment?”  
   
Mr. Ramo sat back. He slightly swung his chair side-to-side, and then sat up. He bridged his fingers together on his desk.  
   
“Like I told your other two employees. I am not, and I must repeat myself, I am not interested in selling my ristorante.”  
   
Mr. Delaro walked around Mr. Ramo’s office.  
   
“You have been here for what, thirty-nine years.”  
   
Mr. Delaro glanced over at Mr. Ramo.  
   
“Yes, and if it’s up to me, it will be forty.”  
   
Mr. Delaro glanced up at the wall. He looked at the shine of framed pictures of celebrities who have entered through the doors of the ristorante.  
   
“Frank Sinatra, one of my all-time favorites.”  
   
Mr. Delaro turned and looked over at Mr. Ramo.  
   
“Nice history, but it’s time for you to move on. You are standing in the way of future progress.”  
   
“Yes, is that what you told Mr. Kiloton or Mr. Florio, before their establishment were somehow burned to the ground, and then your fucking suits and ties show up and offer them half of what their ristorante was worth to sell?”  
   
“I am no arsonist.”  
   
“No, you just hire someone to do you dirty bidding.”  
   
“I will make this simple. You do not sell this ristorante to me yours will join those two others.”  
   
“Get the fuck out of my office!”  
   
“Not so fast, I do have reservations here this evening. I think I will enjoy my last meal here. Good day Mr. Ramo.”  
   
Mr. Delaro walked over to the door. He reached down for the doorknob.  
   
“You have a week, and then I take matters into my own hands.”  
   
“Over my dead body.”  
   
Mr. Delaro pivoted.  
   
“If it must be done,” Mr. Delaro threw over his shoulder.  
   
He reached down for the doorknob and twisted it. He pulled the door open and walked out.  
   
Zaniyah and her two friends had their cars parked.  
   
Zaniyah did not see her father’s parked limousine. She was hoping he had a change of heart and stayed home. Tonight was about her and her friends, and the day she has had. She needed the relaxation, and strangely Marcus’ arm, who at the time, was probably making love to another female, calling her his beautiful woman when he nutted in her over and over again.  
   
Damn she needs to move on she thought.  
   
Zaniyah remembered the strange encounter with the handsome, but ruthless man who invaded her art gallery earlier with a demand for a crate. A crate, her assistant or she could not locate.  
   
“Rosalina, I think she’s going on a mental trip again. Zaniyah.”  
   
“Forget you two, and I heard everything you two said.”  
   
“Sure you did. Girl come on. You know your father likes punctuality.”  
   
Zaniyah, Rosalina, and Martinez walked to the entrance of Carbon’s Italian Ristorante.  
   
Mr. Delaro looked down at his Rolex. He looked over at the entrance door of the restaurant. He then looked over at the maître’d seating several patrons.  
   
Zaniyah, Rosalina, and Martinez walked into the ristorante. They strolled over to the maître’d.  
   
“Good evening Miss. Delaro. Your father is expecting you, as well as your company.”  
   
The maître d stepped from behind his podium.  
   
All three woman followed him.  
   
Mr. Delaro rose upon Zaniyah and her friends approaching his table.  
   
“Father.”  
   
Mr. Delaro leaned over the table and kissed his daughter on her cheek.  
   
“Good evening ladies.”  
   
“Good evening Mr. Delaro,” Martinez acknowledged.  
   
“Good evening Mr. Delaro, it’s very nice to see you, sir.”  
   
“Thank  you dear.”  
   
Everyone took a seat.  
   
Mr. Delaro reclaimed his seat.  
   
“I was for sure you were not coning since I did not see Carlito out front.”  
   
“Some idiot, forced the limousine out of my parking spot.”  
   
“I’m sorry father, I’m not following you.”  
   
Zaniyah looked over at her two friends.  
   
Some black. There was a man, who forcibly maneuvered my limousine almost into the intersection.”  
   
“Did you get a license plate number?”  
   
“Unfortunately not, he forced the limousine forward from behind. That’s way I forwarded you about these…these so-called people in New York.”  
   
“Well, it’s behind you, and hopefully, you can enjoy the rest of your evening with your daughter and her friends.”  
 
PRIVATE DINING ROOM  
   
“Marcus.”  
   
“Yeah baby.”  
   
“Are you okay, you seem reserved this evening?”  
   
“I have a lot on my mind.”  
   
“Is there anything I could do to assist that mood?”  
   
“Yes, keep that thought in mind.”  
   
Marcus winked at Francine.  
   
AROUND THE CORNER OF CARBON’S ITALIAN RISTORANTE  
   
“Is everybody strapped?”  
   
Salado pulled out the magazine of his 9mm semi-automatic weapon. He pushed it back up inside the magazine well.  
   
“Yes, I’m ready. Salado, maybe we should postpone this plan. Domenico and Tango are still recuperating from some black guy hitting them both up.”  
   
“This hit is going down tonight. We have the perfect opportunity and the perfect time. For once, the old man is not held up in his mansion, and once Domenico heals.  He will be named to sit at the head of the Delaro table on behalf of the late Mr. Delaro.”  
   
“I do feel you on that Salado. And now that we have a supplier ready to ship the Coke in, I’m down. To be truthful, the old man is getting too soft for the times, and for the cravings on the streets.”  
   
“Wait a minute, I have to second that postponement. I say we hold off on the hit, this shit just don’t feel right. And according to the lookout. His daughter and some other females are with him, and the rules are, no women, and no babies.”  
   
“Man this isn’t no Scarface movie. This shit is reality son, and the hit goes down tonight after we get the word.”  
   
“Man, just remember once we bring the war, no turning back.”  
   
“We already pledged our loyalty to Domenico and he has pledged his loyalty to the Russian cartel. You won’t feel bad after we're dealing and reaping the benefits of the green Benjamins.”  
   
“Then let’s do this man.”  
   
   
 
Copyright©SKC-2023