Erotica Harem

Hi, Jon! Still enjoying this story!

Title:

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Chapter 6

Author: Jon Michaelsen...

Plot:
The plot thickens! In this chapter we are introduced to a new character, Carmine Galloti, a mob-boss in Atlanta that owns the bar where Jason, the murdered man, danced. His henchman Stewart brings him the news of Jason's murder. Stewart is very nervous, but Carmine tries to keep him calm. Stewart tells Carmine that Johnny another dancer, who was close to Jason hasn't been seen for several days. Carmine sends Stewart to find him.

Meanwhile, Sgt. Parker is continuing to investigate the murder of Jason. He is not getting much help from his homophobic cop friend, Vincent Perelli.

Setting/Scene:
Present day Atlanta.

Style & Voice:
First, the chapter is told from Carmine's POV. The second part is from Sgt. Parker's POV.

Characters:
We are introduced to Carmine Galloti, who is discussed above. We meet Stewart, one of Carmine's henchmen, who is basically just a slave for Carmine. He is obsequious because he is afraid to be anything else.

Another new character is Vincent Perelli, a tough, aged, homophobic cop. His lines were very indicative of someone who is clueless about gay lifestyles and wants to remain that way.

Carmine's sex slave Matt and the homeless man that found Jason's body were present but only as peripheral characters.

Grammar:
Not many at all! See comments below:

Carmine Galloti stepped from the fashionable penthouse onto the wide terrace forty floors up, sipping imported coffee in the morning sun. He wore a light Sergio Tecchini warm-up suit and comfortable Armani slippers, a folded Wall Street Journal tucked under his arm. Sucking in a breath of fresh air, he shuffled to the set of wrought-iron table and chairs tucked in the southeast corner between clusters of terra cotta planters brimming with greenery. The cool, early March breeze skirting the high-rise was a bit nippy for native Georgians but not to him. He hailed from the great, windy city of Chicago, living most of his life in the bitter climate before escaping to Atlanta eight years earlier on the premise of lucrative business opportunities. He found the weather far more desirable and much to his partiality. [ How can he find the weather much to his partiality?] Southerners were such wimps.

He had been awake for the last hour. Usually, he would be sleeping since business often kept him from home until four, sometimes five in the morning. The call which disturbed his sleep was from Stewart, the thug he charged with managing the operations of his enormously popular Metroplex night club on Spring Street, the largest and most successful of his business ventures to date. Stewart sounded harried and insisted on meeting with his boss, alone. He’d arrive within the hour.

A sleek, gym-toned, young man with light blond hair and perilous blue eyes joined him on the terrace, running his hand through his tousled mane and stifling a yawn. The annoying call had stirred him as well, though his need for rising was more subservient than self will. Carmine enjoyed having him around. The boy learned quickly and seemed eager to please. It had taken him less than a week to memorize the morning routine: freshly ground coffee, two bagels lightly toasted, served with a generous portion of garlic cream-cheese, complete with a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice. Perfect!

Matt didn’t know the nature of the call but he must have sensed the urgency. Carmine was in a foul mood as he bounded through the penthouse, mumbling about nothing, cursing about everything. The newfound lover had kept his distance, knowing to leave well enough alone. In the short time he’d been a guest at the sumptuous penthouse suite, he’d learned of the great benefits of silence. Speak only when spoken to, the golden rule. There were several hot young studs poised for the chance to luxuriate in such lavish quarters, all waiting patiently for him to make that first, crucial mistake. [ Those bitches! LOL ]

The bell rang and Matt swooped in to welcome the guest. Stewart brushed through the unit and onto the terrace, taking a seat across the table from his boss. Matt disappeared, but returned shortly with another hot cup of coffee for the gentleman.

“Matt, why don’t you run off to the gym,” Carmine said, sipping his brew without glancing at the young man. It was not a suggestion. “Stewart and I have business to discuss.”

In a flash, Matt was gone. Silence is golden.

“Have police identified the body?” He took a warm bagel from the basket on the table and gazed out across the clear, blue horizon. The city was breathtaking in the spring.

“Not according to latest news reports. I’ve monitored all the local television and radio channels. Nothing’s in the Journal or online either..”[delete period]

“It is Jason, isn’t it?” Stewart’s blank expression confirmed as much, as did his vodka-induced, bloodshot eyes. “Where’s Red?”

“I’d suspect in the Bahamas by now.”

He smeared the bagel with cream-cheese. “Have you eaten yet?”

Stewart grimaced. He’d probably not eaten much since learning of the killing and certainly not since the discovery of the body. “No, I’m not hungry.”

“You should eat. You look dreadful.” Carmine nibbled at the bagel’s edge, glancing over the top of the front page to the newspaper. He changed his tone. “Keep Red in the tropics for a while, preferably out of sight. Wire him the money he needs.”

Stewart chewed his lip. “You promised that Jason was only going to be roughed up a little, that’s all! Teach him a lesson, you’d said.” He licked his dry lips, lifting the cup of Jamaica’s finest. “Fuck, I knew this would happen! Didn’t I warn you to be careful?”

“The boy knew too much.” Carmine hissed, dispassionately. Besides, it’s better this way,” he girded. “Who would have imagined a kid with a body like that had brains? Certainly not me, and I’m not an easy one to fool.” He reached for a sip of coffee, savoring its delicious taste. “Not to worry though, his murder was made to look like he got bashed. Some poor sap jumped in the park.” He locked eyes on Stewart, the slightest hint of mistrust nagging at him. “It was a mistake trying to outsmart me, Stewart.” His eyes narrowed. “Don’t you consider trying the same.” Carmine drew a deep breath, a calming practice he’d learned from years of yoga classes. “Nobody screws with me. You got that? Nobody!”

Stewart nodded, shifting in his seat, knowing well Carmine’s power to make things -- anything -- happen. “What are we supposed to do now?”

“Nothing.” His tone was flippant, unconcerned.

“Nothing!” Carmine sensed Stewart wanted to tear at his throat. “Is that your answer? Are you completely insane? It’s only a matter of time before police identify the body, and then, what’ll we do, huh? The kid worked for you, Carmine! Or have you forgotten that one, very incriminating fact? By tonight, at least a dozen cops will be crawling over the club like maggots, asking all around. Business will suffer!”

“Business will be fine,” Carmine cooed, unflinching and bored with the conversation. “Jason was a dancer in my club who suffered a terrible tragedy, nothing more. I don’t see what the big deal is.”

“The big deal!” Carmine perched at the edge of his seat, his large feet balanced on the front tips of his imported boots. [ In the first paragraph, Carmine is wearing Armani slippers. Did I miss something?] “Someone is bound to reveal you two were …”

Carmine aimed a butter knife threateningly at his guest, halting Stewart’s words. “Anyone talks to the fucking cops about my private affairs, they’re fucked! You got that?” He turned his attention back to the bagel. “Now, see to it.”

Stewart spat at the ground. “What about Keyes?” he ventured.

“What about him?” Carmine took a bite of his bagel, chewing with his mouth open. “There’s no harm done as far as I can tell. We’ll proceed as planned. The Commissioners are forging ahead, so why the hell shouldn’t we?”

“But if Jason told someone --“

“Who would he tell? You fail to remember his partner-in-crime is also dead. There are no more loose ends, Stewart. Now relax. You worry too much for a man of your age. It’s no good for the heart.” He returned to perusing the morning paper. “I can assure you, everything’s under control. Trust me on this one. Now please, join me while I have another bagel.”

Stewart stared at his feet like a reckless teenager confessing a small crime to his parents. “One of the dancers hasn’t shown up for work the past few days. In fact, not since the night Jason was killed.”

Carmine lost his appetite. He tossed the bagel aside as though it were poisoned. The newspaper fell to his lap askew. “Why haven’t you told me this before now?” Stewart’s head lowered in silence. “Which one?” he demanded.

“Johnny.”

He knew the young tease well enough, medium height, dark hair, exceptional body, similar to Jason but too cocky for his own good. Those two had grown tight, in all probability, close friends by now. He pondered a possible connection but couldn’t figure one. Jason wouldn’t have confided to anyone, especially a fellow dancer. He was far too private, too self absorbed to make such a mistake. Doing so would have meant committing suicide.

Stewart labored. “It’s probably nothing. Coincidence at best,” he offered, weakly. “You know how these punks are, Carmine. They show up when it’s convenient for them, when they’re in need of cash, or kicked out by the latest boyfriend. You watch. He’ll be back soon enough, you’ll see.”

“Find him,” Carmine ordered. “See what he knows, who he’s been talking to.” He tilted forward, lending strength to his words. “You know what to do.”

Stewart nodded, reluctantly, nothing more than a formidable slave to the master. He stood and stared out across the balcony at the evergreen expanse too beautiful to describe in mere words. How in the hell had he gotten himself mixed up in such mess?

Carmine got up and crossed to the opposite railing, taking in the magnificent breadth of the horizon. A nephew by marriage to one of Chicago’s most notorious organized crime family’s, he’d enjoyed the richness such a life provided, including the cash needed to take residence in such a lavish penthouse, high above the city. The view from the platform was staggering, a mosaic of natural colors blending to create the perfect masterpiece. On his right was the jagged downtown skyline, awash in a haze of early morning sunshine. To the left were the teeming suburbs of the northeast. Stone Mountain loomed in the far distance, a giant bolder of solid granite seemingly out of place on an otherwise even plain. Directly before him and across the clear horizon, roughly six blocks from his Midtown high-rise, was Piedmont Park. He strained but could not see the area demanding so much attention this morning. No doubt police were hard at work, collecting evidence, sifting through the muck, bagging samples, taking photos, searching for hidden clues that might lead them to a killer.

They won’t find anything. Carmine had made sure of it.

***

Three ancient buildings stood directly in the center of Piedmont Park. Each crudely constructed of Georgian granite, semi-circular at the point where the asphalt trail angled and continued its dismal path through the north end of the park. Up the hill was Piedmont Road, abutting a multitude of high rise and low rise condominiums, apartments and converted older homes. Sprinkled among them were a few trendy restaurants and some neighborhood bars mixed in for added flavor. The backside of the tri-buildings anchored a small lake, sliced in half by a narrow walkway of fortified concrete and large granite stone. A semi-circular European gazebo jutted out from the center of the bridge offering passersby a chance to relax or a romantic gaze out across the water. The stone buildings on either side now contained public restrooms, converted sometime in the late sixties. The center portico held a plaza and entranceway to a large pool, which had closed the previous summer for much needed remodeling. Outside the wrought iron gates, a lone Emergency call box impaled atop a metal pole stood in stark contrast to the aged, gothic architecture of the bordering construction. Sitting on the curb below was the bum who had discovered body of John Doe.

Sergeant Kendall Parker joined the witness and his partner of three years. Vincent Perelli was handing the old man a steaming, Styrofoam cup of coffee. He held out a second cup to Parker.

“What’dya got, Perelli?” Parker asked.

Perelli stood five-feet, ten-inches tall and weighed just over two hundred pounds. A granite-faced, powerfully built man, he sported thick salt and pepper hair, a hard round face and bulbous nose. He’d been a cop half of his fifty-two years, the last eighteen in Homicide. He was on the fast track to retirement and counting the days, a couple more years left going through the motions. He’d commented numerous times that upon retirement his address would permanently be on Lake Altoona, snagging prize-winning bass. Parker prayed he’d not resemble Perelli once he reached the same age.

“Not much.” Perelli worked the muscles in his aging face. “Old man claims he was looking for a place to sleep and came upon the body. Says he didn’t touch anything, but I kinda doubt that. Made his way up here and called police asking for a reward.”

Parker smirked. “Checked his pockets?”

“Yeah, nothing but scraps of paper and a couple cigarette butts.”

The bum’s face was smeared with dirt and he smelled of urine and rotting clothes. He shook his head back and forth, agreeing with Perelli’s synopsis. “Have a uniform take him to the mission over on Ellis,” Parker snapped, lighting a cigarette. “Get him a shower, a good meal and some decent clothes. We may need him again later.”

Perelli motioned to a cop stationed in the distance. “What’d you see?” He asked, matching Parker’s stride as he headed back toward the crime scene.

“A body with a face of mush,” Parker murmured, shaking his head as he tossed the cigarette away. It hit the ground in an array of sparks before smoldering in the damp grass. “Clean cut, average height, white kid. Nice clothes, jewelry. Definitely not a street bum, for sure. No wallet, no cash, not a damn thing to identify him.”

“Could have been a mugging gone awry,” Perelli surmised. “How d’ya figure he ended up in the ditch? It’s nowhere near the walking trail or lake. Not like he was cutting through the park.”

“Search me. Killer could’ve just tossed him there. My gut says the kid’s been dead at least a few days, maybe a week. The body is swollen, large blisters on the skin showing early signs of decay. I’d guess the stiff drifted downstream because of all the rain we’ve had lately.”

Perelli agreed. “Yeah, my arthritis has been a son-of-a-bitch.” He slowed his stride, perhaps feeling the ache of old army injury. “More likely the Vic was cruising the park for sex, eh, Serge? Pissed off a dick, got knocked around a bit, wallet lifted, tossed into a fucking ditch with the rest of the garbage.” [ Is ‘the Vic’ cop-talk for victim?]

Perelli’s abhorrence for homosexuals hadn’t gone unnoticed. Parker scoffed. “Sex, Perelli? The victim’s overcoat was buttoned down to the knees!”

Perelli wrinkled his nose, pursed his chapped lips. “Yeah, and what’s that supposed to prove?”

“It proves he wasn’t having sex at the time of his death”.

Perelli rolled his eyes. “So, what are you now, fucking Sherlock Holmes?”

They shared a chuckle and walked in silence until they had reached the clearing, not far from the thicket of bushes concealing the drainage ditch where the body lay.

Parker spoke up first. “There hasn’t been a homicide in Piedmont Park in more than five years. Why the fuck does it have to be now? I was just making headway on a stack of old cases since coming back … and, now this! The media’s gonna go nuts.”

“Say it’s not murder,” Perelli chimed in, with optimism. They caught sight of two young men trudging their way. He disliked reporters but not nearly as much as his partner did. “Maybe this guy was drunk, you know? Stumbled through the park, got lost in the bushes and fell to his death. Happens all the time,” he finished, with a hint of sarcasm.

“It would take more than a sloppy fall to end up looking the way he did, Perelli.” He searched for the quickest way to escape the approaching hounds. “At any rate, it’s a suspicious death until we prove otherwise.” Slipping on dark shades, he said, “Shuffle your caseload, old buddy. This one’s bound to bring on some unwanted publicity. I’ll clear everything with the Lieutenant.”

By the time Parker finished the initial investigation, the sun had climbed high in the clear, blue sky. A break from the weekend rains had come after all, despite local forecasts to the contrary. The gentle breeze had since evaporated to an occasional gust, enabling temperatures to soar to an unseasonably, humid eighty degrees. Spring was a couple of weeks off but the Dogwoods and Pear trees were already bursting to life. News reports claimed the pollen count would skyrocket now that the rain had move out, no doubt the result of his itchy eyes. He glanced at his watch for the first time since arriving and noted that four hours had past. Perelli would stay on to finish up the details and keep order. His work done for now, he headed to the office to begin the endless stream of paperwork.


Just My Personal Opinion:
I'm still enjoying this story and am eager to keep reading!

Scott

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