IT WAS A GREAT MOMENT. Carl looked at Tommy and smiled, with that sadistic smile of a killer, put the cigarette back in his mouth, looked at the body of the guard lying next to him and said with difficulty between drags:
— Are you ready, son?
On the other side of the door were the leaders of the main gangs and families of New York, perhaps they were just discussing deals, playing poker or they could be, as Benedetti suspected, joining forces to take down Capretti, at the time one of the main arms smugglers in the city, among other things.
Old families, survivors of the golden age of the Italian Mafia, and black gangs that emerged from the ghetto faced each other in a strange meeting. They were like big and small dogs discussing how they were going to bite each other. All this commotion between them could be normal, since countless terrorist attacks happening in the country would turn all the attention of national security to themselves, leaving the way free for simple "internal problems" like themselves. But something smelled bad and Carl could have sworn he knew why...
If it was because of the incident with Smithson, Palermo would have resolved everything directly with him...
But why bring together so many different groups?
Why would they try to hide such activity from him?
They would find out, and they would find out right then.
Carl Benedetti took the cigarette out of his mouth again and threw it on the floor, blew his smoky breath of nicotine into the air and said to the young apprentice:
— You go first, you're better at talking than me. I'll cover for you.
— Okay — replied the succinct young man, slender and with flowing black hair.
THE PLACE WAS AN OLD QUAY, made up of huge warehouses built with clay bricks from the decades of steam, carefully kept with an abandoned appearance. Cautiously, Tommy slowly opened the heavy iron door of the room that the deceased man was guarding and took a few steps inside, looking at each of the men who wore more expensive suits than his salary could buy in a whole year, Benedetti followed him.
The smoke from cigarettes and cigars formed something like a fog in the place and seemed to embrace the thick red brick beams that raised the building, giving the lair an even more uncomfortable air to the insane young man who was going crazy to death in the fragile, poorly planned incursion.
A murmur of low voices sounded along with the clinking of whiskey glasses and seemed to confirm the old war dog's suspicion that there was something conspiratorial. After the creak of the old door opening and a few steps of the two intruders, a chorus of weapons being drawn joined the ambient sound, every firearm there was, in a few seconds, its aim turned towards them. Carl was holding his old silver Colt Anaconda, Tommy just walked ahead with his hands in the pockets of his cheap jacket, as if he were entering a party with friends.
— Good evening, gentlemen. — Tommy said with a deep mix of seriousness and sarcasm — Forgive me for the rude interruption, I feel as if I interrupted an important celebration.
— Who the hell are you? — asked one of the old criminals sitting at the large rustic table dirty with cigarette butts and with the wood covered in stains caused by the alcohol from the drinks.
After grunting a loud throat clearing, he muttered:
— Times have really changed, now any kid with his ass smelling of milk thinks he can come in here, in the middle of the meeting, make jokes and leave as if nothing had happened! One of the henchmen who were around the table approached the old man and said:
— The one behind is Carl Benedetti, Capretti's old dog, the one in front must be a puppy...
The old man looked up, laughed out loud and said:
— The dog and his puppy!
After that, he placed his golden revolver on the table and motioned for his henchmen to stay where they were. The other mobsters laughed and mocked the controversial situation.
— Now I'm curious, — continued the old man in a joking tone — let him talk, I want to hear what this poor devil has to say to us — then he shouted to Tommy — You, boy, talk before I shoot you in the ass!
Carl wasn't just following Tommy, as the conversation unfolded, he eagerly counted how many armed men there were in the place. It was a considerable number. When the count was finished, he whispered quietly enough for only Tommy to hear:
— I can't do it alone, you'd better start…
— As I was saying, I have the impression that you gentlemen are in an important meeting — said Tommy — We came here to find out what it's about, because if the subject is a reason to celebrate, Anthony Capretti also has something very good to celebrate.
— Capretti? — shouted another man who was also at the table, the head of another organization, with Russian features.
— And what does he expect by sending you two here, a little invitation to the tea party?
Everyone laughed heartily; contempt for the name Capretti was not something common until then. This fact showed that they really seemed to have an elaborate plan to end the organization's work. The man, holding back his laughter, continued:
— Now tell me, what's so good about him celebrating that he needs to come and tell us?
Tommy looked at him from afar, smiled and replied:
— Your deaths.
That's when he took his hands out of his jacket and one of them was carrying a grenade, with the pin already loose, falling to the ground. The silence at that moment was so overwhelming that it was possible to hear the pin click on the old, damp cement floor. The expressions of those men changed to one: wide eyes and furrowed brows. Open-mouthed, they barely knew what to do.
Carl couldn't contain himself, even nervous, he enjoyed these situations. The young man liked to confuse his adversaries and simply dropped the explosive at their feet. At the first bounce of the bomb on the ground, he kicked it up into the air, flying right in the middle of them.
The scene seemed to happen in slow motion, where each frightened look and expression of terror composed a poem of terror and despair. Some fell from their chairs trying to escape, others knocked over their companions as they desperately scrambled, consumed by fear. Meanwhile, Tommy jumped behind a beam for cover and drew his 9mm pistols. As Benedetti's apprentice, he was becoming a two-gun shooter.
The explosive reached the terrified group and, since enough time had passed, it exploded high above, destroying everything it could reach with immense violence. The few who escaped the onslaught were shot by Carl Benedetti's bullets, and if anyone survived, Tommy took them down with his own. A masterstroke.