The crowds had only increased by the time the early morning sunlight had begun to warm the brick walls and cobblestones in the small streets of the North End. The larger streets, if any street in the North End could be considered large, were still full of emergency vehicles, police cars and a few large dark SUVs.

  These belonged to la Famigilia and were used for separating those at the very top of the organization from the indignity of having to walk amongst the community during trying times like these. For now at least, they would ignore what was being said and spread amongst the bystanders gathered on the streets.

  Once they knew what had happened and who had done it then things would change. There would be justice and then there would be respect once again for la Famigilia but that would take time and it would be costly for all involved.

  The old man from the café sat in the back of one of the two SUVs idling out in front of the bakery. A lifetime of unfiltered cigarettes had ruined his lungs, and he knew that even a minute inside the smoky bakery would rob him entirely of what little breath he could manage. He sat and waited for the others to return and while he did, he thought about what should come next.

  There was no other path, no other way to turn after this night. News of what had happened would spread down the coast and this evening they would all be laughing at them. New York City, Atlantic City and even those organizations in Miami and Montreal that he would hardly ever spare a thought on would now all be mocking them. The Boston family was very much at risk becoming an object of widespread scorn and ridicule.

  Fausto sighed and reached for a cigarette and then put the pack back in his pocket. He couldn’t smoke in the car. The head of the family forbade it and he certainly wasn’t going to stand outside and smoke in front of the crowd. He would wait then and he closed his eyes and went back to thinking about what to do with Giorgio.

  They would talk to him soon and Fausto wanted to be sure that they would get every bit of information they could from him. They had to, their only other option was the old woman and he wasn’t sure if the old woman would even be cooperative. The last thing la Famigilia needed now was to be accused of being heavy handed with an old woman, even one as wretched as Nonna Conti.

  Amongst the crowds of onlookers, Justin was taking carefully angled shots into the bakery. As he worked he checked his display screen to make sure he was getting what he wanted. So far the most promising picture had been a shot through the broken window with a shallow depth of field. The Rosetta Bakery sign above the shattered glass and the greasy smoke stained brick all stood out against the dark, scorched interior inside.

  With the early morning sun stabbing into the blackened bakery it made the inside of the building look like it had been occupied by the devil himself. The side of the bakery had given him another picture that was almost just as good.

  Justin had taken a shot from across the street while an older woman dressed all in black was pointing to the side wall. Her face was both animated and fearful, and in the photo her finger appeared to be almost touching the word Cursed that had been etched into the brick somehow. He hadn’t had time to check his photos form the car lot but he was confident there were some good ones there as well.

  As he moved through the crowds he listened carefully and occasionally made notes. Justin knew enough about the community to know not to bother talking with the older residents. They would not tell him anything but the younger ones, most of them were happy to talk to him and in a short while he had the makings of a great story.

  What they told him told was frankly unbelievable and it bordered on being absurd but the photos he had taken would be enough to run the story. More than enough, and he had enough direct quotes from bystanders to justify the wild claims he had heard. Let the readers think that this community had gone nuts, it would only serve to help his story.

  He packed up his main camera with his lenses and hurried back to his car, he had a few hours to get his version out before anyone else would be able to do so. He needed to be first, he would worry about the finer details later.

  Justin was hopeful that if he did a good enough job and served what ever purpose his contact had in mind then perhaps, he would feed him some more leads. It did not seem to him like this was going to be an isolated incident, especially not when la Famigilia appeared to be the target.

  “So what are you thinking about now? What are you looking forwards to doing next?”

  Paul was sitting at his dining room table across from Amos. Alanah had experienced a euphoric adrenaline rush at the used car lot and had been in an ecstatic mood on the way back to Paul’s house. They had stopped for some take away breakfast food and by the time she had finished half a croissant the young girl had begun to hit the wall.

  Her reserves of energy and adrenaline were spent, and she had been up all night. As soon as they had gotten into Paul’s house he had set her up in the guest bedroom and she had fallen asleep almost immediately.

  Amos wasn’t tired and Paul, who was becoming fascinated with the taciturn young boy, had taken the opportunity to learn as much as possible about his mindset.

  “I am thinking about you right now. I can tell that you are very interested in me and that your focus is almost entirely on me.”

  Paul stared at Amos for a moment. “How do you know that exactly?

  “You have just a couple large beetles on your head right now. They are alert but also quite still. I can tell that you are not distracted like most other people are.”

  “Can you take off your glasses?”

  Amos removed his sunglasses and folded them into his front pocket and then fixed his gaze onto Paul once again. The effect was unsettling; his eyes were now all black with no color to the irises at all. He would have to always wear his sunglasses, both indoors and outdoors, if he didn’t want to frighten anyone Paul thought.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  “What do you see now?”

  “Your beetles are more alert, they look like they sense danger, but they are not moving yet. You are much more composed than everyone else.” Amos stared at Paul for a long moment and then, seemingly at random, he went on.

  “Randy thinks the same way as you do”.

  “And what are you thinking about doing next? Do you want food or sleep or something to distract you?”

  Amos said nothing for a while and then spoke in a halting fashion. “I don’t think about what is happening next anymore. When I want to eat, I find something to eat. When you ask me to do something I do it.”

  His black eyes stared at Paul. “I remember wanting to do things, feeling happy or mad or even sad. I don’t feel like that anymore, but I see those emotions on everyone now. I can hear their heart beating.”

  “I can see tiny muscles just barley twitch on the corners of their eyes when they lie.”

  “People lie all the time.”

  Paul stared back at Amos. “Are you getting weaker, do you think that you are dying?”

  “I think the things I used to feel are now becoming things that I can hear and see…. but they don’t mean anything to me.”

  “What would happen if Alanah left today and never came back. Would you feel sad?”

  His response was instant and abrupt.

  “No.”

  Giorgio stood fidgeting, standing a respectful distance away in front of Don Luca’s desk. He was in the back room of Peron’s barbershop which served as Don’s office. The barbershop allowed for his men to come and go at will and provided a ready guard at the front door to insulate him from any troubles.

  Don Luca came and went from the rear parking lot that was also always well guarded.

  Fausto had picked up Giorgio and brought him to the office just over an hour ago. He came in through the back door which was a bad sign and then he was made to wait over thirty minutes for Don Luca to arrive. Another bad sign.

  Now the big chef stood in his rumpled dress shirt, untucked and hanging over his slacks and still wearing his old sneakers. His broken toe would not allow for any dress shoes for a while yet to come. Fausto and Don Luca were staring at the monitor on the desk.

  “I think it is this one.” Don Luca jabbed his index finger on the screen.

  “No Don Luca, this is not a touch screen. That is your wife’s laptop at home.”

  Fausto took the mouse again and maneuvered it with a slow determination as he squinted at the screen.

  Tap, tap, tap the old lieutenant punched the keyboard with one finger and Don Luca waited patiently. Decades of loyal service allowed Fausto to plod along at his snail’s pace.

  He did nothing fast anymore but everything he did, he did with a careful consideration and he did not make mistakes. The head of la Famigilia understood the value of loyalty and experience and he patiently waited as Fausto looked on at the computer screen.

  “No….it’s not this one…..let me see…..no….”

  Tap…tap…tap…tap…..click…..tap….tap…

  “No, it’s not that one either. Lemme call Maria, she knows where she saw it….”

  Beep….beep…….beep…

  The wait was excruciating. Giorgio just stood there waiting. He had been standing in this spot for over thirty minutes now. Don Luca had arrived and he had just ignored him and now this.

  He had no choice. He would stand here until they decided to speak to him.

  He waited another ten minutes. The conversation with Maria took half of that time until Fausto was sure he had found the story. It was Justin’s story, published just a few hours ago on the website of the Boston Globe. It would be on the front page of the paper tomorrow, but the web version had already spread far and wide.

  “hmmmnn….This is not good, this is not acceptable, how did this happen.”

  “This is bad, very bad. Who is gonna pay for all of this Fausto? Who?”

  Fausto finally looked up at Giorgio. He had ignored the man since he had pointed at the floor and said “wait here” before walking out to the shop at the front to wait for Don Luca.

  “Well Giorgio. You had better tell Don Luca everything. Don’t skip nothing. I’m gonna be listening and if you miss any of the details that I’ve heard from the others involved it’s gonna be bad for you.”

  Giorgio had been planning this conversation for days now. He knew it was likely to be coming sooner or later after his restaurant had been destroyed and the cash and the product had disappeared.

  It didn’t go as smoothly as he had imagined and he stumbled through his recount of the last few months.

  It was bad. There was no other way to put it. He had kidnapped two young boys and he had cheated a young girl at his restaurant. By doing so he had put the family at tremendous risk by having outsiders around.

  “All to save a little money……. did we see any of that money Giorgio? Did we?”

  He had no answer to Fausto’s question. They all knew the answer anyway.

  “So then this girl….has her boyfriend come and rob you? They beat you up and take your money and your gun and you say nothing to us? You start looking for them on your own and you put up your own signs on our behalf? On Don Luca’s behalf?”

  Fausto walked slowly around the desk towards Giorgio as he was talking. He held his hands behind his back and he could not have appeared more nonthreatening, just a kindly old gentleman asking some questions in a soft, slow voice.

  The closer Fausto got to Giorgio the more terrified the big chef became. He wondered if he would lose control of his bladder if the much smaller man got any closer.

  Fausto had a fearsome reputation. It was well known that he would always catch a lie and then if he did, he would make every effort to make sure that he was getting the truth. Lurid stories of torture and dismembered bodies over the years were commonplace with Fausto along with his devout loyalty to The head of la Famigilia.

  “So all of this is because of you Giorgio? You get the old woman involved to target children with her black magic rather than come to me? You would do this to us?”

  “No, no….I didn’t. Nonna’s nipote saw the sign and then he saw the two kids by chance. He tried to grab them and they beat him up and got away. She took it real bad and went lookin’ for them. I had no idea. I tried to tell her to stop. You gotta believe me.”

  “So you spoke to Nonna Conti. What did she say? What did she do?”

  “No…I spoke to her daughter Alessia. She is better at handling the old woman….”

  The look from Fausto made Giorgio stop mid sentence. The small man looked at Giorgio with a sudden intensity.

  “So this is what you have done then. You put us all at risk. You lost the restaurant. You lost product. You lost money and the police are involved. That costs us more money.”

  “Now we lose the bakery and our car lot gets hit too and everyone will be laughing at us Giorgio.”

  “All because of you.”

  Don Luca stared hard at Giorgio. He knew what was coming but felt no pity for the man.

  Fausto walked to the door to the shop and opened it and gave a nod to the two men waiting outside.

  Giorgio stood in front of Don Luca with his head bowed. He didn’t know what to expect next. He had told the truth but it had been pretty damning to his cause.

  At this moment he offered nothing to the family, he was just a liability. He had caused nothing but problems and he was struggling to think about what exactly they might do with him.

  Moments later he felt a pair of strong arms grab him from behind while a coarse hood was pulled over his head. A wet cloth was shoved into his face and while he wondered why it had such a sweet smell to it he lost consciousness and crumpled onto the floor.

  Fausto had been using a Chloroform soaked rag for decades now. It was quick, reliable and it didn’t make a mess. The chemical was hard to buy unless you had the right connections but this was not an issue for Fausto.

  Giorgio was pushed onto the side of the carpet where he had been standing and then the two men, with a fair bit of struggle managed to roll him up in the carpet and seal it all with two rolls of construction grade blue tuck tape.

  Two more men came in from the back and helped the original pair load the heavy carpet into the waiting van. As the men left for the pier Don Luca made his usual joke about how “this time, the fishes get to eat an authentic Italian Sushi Roll”.

  The men laughed, they always did. It helped to break the tension.