Mama’s Gone Read online

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  February 1997 1

  2

  1973 3

  4

  1994 5

  6

  7

  8

  1995 9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  1996 20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  January 1997 28

  29

  30

  31

  32

  33

  34

  35

  36

  37

  February 1997 38

  39

  40

  41

  42

  43

  44

  45

  46

  47

  Review this Book

  Other Books by the Author

  Free Extras

  About Leopold Borstinski

  Mama’s Gone

  by

  Leopold Borstinski

  Text copyright © 2019 by Leopold Borstinski

  Published by Sobriety Press

  Cover design by James, GoOnWrite.com

  ##

  The right of Leopold Borstinski to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to real people or events is purely coincidental. Published by Sobriety Press. No part of this publication may be reproduced in whole or in part, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise without written permission of the publisher. Any person who does any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

  This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. For information regarding permission, contact [email protected].

  ISBN 978 1 9997705 5 6 Kindle Edition

  For more information please visit LeopoldBorstinski.com

  ##

  FEBRUARY 1997

  1

  ZING. ALICE FIRST heard a whizzing noise and then felt a sharp movement of air - way before she saw anything. And then it was all too late. She turned to her Mama sat to her left as the woman’s head hurtled backward. The red circular mess where an eye once was. The blast of brain and skull that splattered the wall. Bobby threw himself toward Mary Lou to protect her from the assault, but there was no point.

  He scurried over and lay on his dead wife as Alice hit the deck. Nikolay drew his revolver almost before the bullet flew through Mama, Alice thought. Lara Mikhailov dragged him down to the floor. Nobody in the room was above window height and there had been no fourth shot.

  “Anyone else hurt?”

  Three shots, one dead. A professional hit for sure. Worthy of the great Arnold Roach, may he rest in peace. Alice held her snub nose ready for action and Bobby cradled Mary Lou in his arms, rocking them side-to-side in the first moments of his grief.

  Alice glanced at Bobby and looked at Nikolay. Had his gun been out before the zing? Couldn’t be certain of anything right now. Events unfolded around her and she felt completely estranged from them. Despite the body lying near her feet, Alice didn’t believe Mama was dead. She saw it was true, but it meant nothing to her. Like the world stopped still and she carried on breathing - only she continued on the sidelines as everything flowed ever onwards.

  Nikolay’s bodyguard, Mikhailov edged to a window and cautiously inched her head to spot the sniper. Nada. Nikolay Markov spoke to her but Alice couldn't discern a single word - still trapped in her time-slipped bubble. His mouth moved again but his expression became more aggressive. Angry.

  “What just happened?”

  “We know nothing of this. My mother’s been killed. You think I’d do that? To my Mama?”

  Alice found a pistol lying in her hand, which she must have taken out of her handbag. An unconscious action. She glanced round and Bobby had let go of Mary Lou, holding a revolver. Someone would pay for killing her Mama.

  2

  FATHER CARMOODY BABBLED on and, even though all his words were extolling his Mama’s virtues, Frank wanted him to stop. To just shut his pie-hole. He had no right talking about his Mama because he didn’t know her. How could anyone take this man in a frock seriously?

  “Mary Lou Lagotti, may she rest in peace, was a mother, a wife, a business woman. But above all she was a human being who died in tragic circumstances. She leaves behind two beautiful children - Frank Junior and Alice - as well as Bobby, her dutiful husband.”

  Mutterings and nods from the congregation echoed the priest’s words.

  “She joined our community nearly thirty years ago and she quickly became a fabulous contributor to our local charities. As her children grew older, and her business activities thrived, Mary Lou grew as a force for good in Palm Springs.”

  More mutterings and Frank heard his sister sob again. She had done her best to keep it together as the assembled throng entered the building, but now her salty tears were annoying him. Again. He was tired of her and the way she acted as though everything was about her. This was Mama’s funeral: not another place for Alice to be the center of attention.

  Frank looked round at the sea of strange faces. Who were these people who’d turned up in his Mama’s memory? They shouldn’t be here. This was a private moment. He didn’t want Alice or Bobby there either, but he had no choice. He put up with them because they were family. As for the rest of the congregation? Fuck them and the horse they rode in on.

  ALICE COULD NOT decide if it had been yesterday or last week when person or persons unknown shot her Mama. Everything was a blur. People talking around her, at her, about her. But nothing seemed real. Like a movie playing out in her head - only with actors stood in front of her as the folks she knew - apart from the priest who’d popped out of a hole in the ground almost before Mama stopped breathing.

  A gasp of air and another wave of sadness washed over her, engulfing Alice in a deep melancholy. Bobby held her hand but gave her no solace. Nobody could. She wished she had a partner - somebody to be with, who’d hug her and convince her everything would be all right. But she was alone as she stared at the sealed coffin. Although she wanted to confront the reality of her experience, she couldn’t bring herself to think about what was in the wooden box. That was a thought too far. Even contemplating the coffin itself made her want to cry again.

  She tried to turn round to see who was here and staring at her, but that required her to let go of Bobby’s hand and she didn’t have the mental strength for that. Better to ignore the throng behind than lose her lifeline. Her connection with the living.

  The priest droned on and each word continued to have no impact on Alice at all. She barely focused on what he was saying, so engrossed in her personal misery.

  The sound of glass and the thunk of the bullet whizzing and landing in her darling Mama. Alice was assaulted by another wave of tears.

  1973

  3

  MARY LOU SETTLED into her new role as the business partner of Pasquale and
Fabio, representatives of the West Coast mob. The previous year she’d proven her worth taking out a local heroin dealer and also whacking a made man from the East Coast outfit, Charlie Pentangelo.

  Now she had full control of the Palm Springs trade, Mary Lou wanted to stretch her reach further than the Watts district of South LA. She recalled one of her earliest conversations with Pasquale and thought today was a good time to mention it. The three were sat in an empty warehouse, all cars parked round the back so any passerby could be forgiven for believing nothing was happening.

  “Business is going well, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Sure. Profits are up and stable.”

  “I was thinking about Hollywood.”

  “They make great movies there.”

  “Last year, you talked about an opportunity we could work on together.”

  “I did.”

  Beat. Pasquale smiled as he teased Mary Lou. The prospect appealed of being the main supplier of cocaine to the movie moguls and their minions. While it might not generate the sizable profit afforded by selling small bags of brown crystal to the impoverished and desperate in the projects, there was kudos attached. And sideline businesses could arise servicing the needs of the rich and famous, whose tastes and interests were traditionally esoteric and often illegal.

  “I’d like to crack open the Beverly Hills safe with you.”

  “And how do you know I’ve not pursued this with anyone else?”

  “My people have asked around and no-one has mentioned your name. So either somebody else is dipping their beak in this trough or you are very discrete. I reckon it was worth asking.”

  Pasquale grinned and glanced at Fabio, who returned the favor.

  “Would be great to break ground with you on a new venture.”

  “Good news. After the first year of operation, we should stick to our fifty-fifty split. On this occasion, I propose funding the start-up out of my end, so I would like sixty per cent of the profit to cover those costs.”

  Pasquale sat and stared at her for thirty seconds. Then he leaned over and whispered with Fabio awhile. They finished discussions with a mutual nod.

  “Mary Lou, you make me laugh. With all due respect, when we first met, you demanded terms because you were putting your sweat on the line. Now you seek an accommodation because you have made money with me and want to protect yourself from unexpected financial downside.”

  She remained silent because Mary Lou understood she should let Pasquale speak until he was finished before responding. This three-piece suit with olive skin in front of her was one of the most powerful men this side of Vegas.

  “And, to be honest, I’d seek the same if I was in your position. Tell you what, I’ll lease you back the necessary labs, equipment and people. That way, you make the financial commitment you already seem keen to invest. However, we share the risk because they will be my resources until you pay me off after the first year. That is how I believe partners should behave and it is how I would like you and I to do business, Mrs. Lagotti.”

  Mary Lou hoped Pasquale would play ball, but she hadn’t expected this level of generosity. They shook hands and the deal was sealed. Now she could measure the high currency she held in Pasquale’s eyes.

  HAVING RETURNED TO her four-bedroom Palm Springs mansion, Mary Lou played with the twins for an hour before she left them in the capable hands of housekeeper Irma and headed to the Country Club. She sat in her usual booth with her back to the wall, so she could survey the entire room with one glance. The red leather furniture was fading but none of the patrons seemed too bothered.

  The place prospered because it catered well for its diverse community. There were the ladies who lunched, their men who talked business when they weren’t in LA tending to their commercial interests or fucking their mistresses - and the occasional golfer as well.

  Milton Frazzini sat down opposite her just as a waiter delivered her coffee.

  “I’ll have one of those too, Pete.”

  The man had been the first to take her criminal talents seriously when she’d hit town after Alice and Frank Junior were born. They’d prospered together - Milton was an effective completer but had a poor track record for succeeding with his own projects. With Mary Lou’s brains and his organizational skills, they managed an extensive area of LA’s heroin trafficking.

  Once Pete left the vicinity, Milton wanted to find out about the morning’s conversation.

  “We’ve got the green light to open up Beverly Hills. And the terms are better than I ever expected.”

  “Hollywood? I thought you had your eye on San Francisco.”

  “No, you made that suggestion and I nixed it. I’ve told you before, don’t confuse our business with your dick. If you want to visit your latest piece of tail in San Francisco then knock yourself out or tie her up - or whatever. But do it on your own time.”

  Milton always blushed when Mary Lou talked about his extramarital sex life. Thankfully, this was a rare occasion. It was her job to understand the weaknesses of her key people, so she needed to know what he was up to when he was away from Janet and the boy.

  Funny thing was that while Milton was off schtupping his floozy, his wife had something going with a local lad: Pete the waiter. She’d been letting him into her bedroom for over a year now. As a concerned neighbor, Mary Lou kept an eye on the goings and comings of Oakcrest Drive.

  “The time isn’t right for us to hop over to a strange town. There’s plenty of money to make nearer to home. Besides, I thought you might like the Hollywood Hills. It’d give you a tremendous opportunity to mix with all those A-listers.”

  “Huh?”

  “Where there are stars, there are producers. And where there are producers, there are...”

  “... girls who’ll do anything to get into the movies.”

  “And that’s your kind of girl, Milton.”

  “I can’t help the fact I’m attracted to the desperate and needy type.”

  “Your words, not mine.”

  “But you’re not disagreeing.”

  Mary Lou grinned and let out a small laugh which Milton echoed. This was going to be a fun ride.

  MILTON LEFT STILL smiling and Mary Lou waited for Bobby Trevisan to show before ordering any lunch. As if on cue, just as her stomach rumbled, the man walked in and sat down beside her. He squeezed her knee as he kissed her hello.

  “Kids okay?”

  “Reckon so, but I‘ve been in the summerhouse all morning. No raised voices and no sign of Irma, so all was fine.”

  Mary Lou gazed round the room and rested a hand on his thigh. They‘d been together a year and she trusted him with her children‘s lives. Now she was busting with excitement, but Pete arrived with their menus, so she waited until they‘d given their orders.

  “We‘ve got a new gig. It‘s all been arranged with our friend from the Hills.”

  A euphemism for Pasquale was always best in a public place - even one as private as the Country Club.

  “Great! What‘s the plan?”

  “I‘ll tell you when I have it figured out. Minimum we need is to liaise with Fabio as there‘s new product to process and locations to scout: we‘re running the studio snow express.”

  Bobby smiled and planted a kiss square on her lips. They had been investigating, plotting and planning for this caper over three months, day and night. Finally, it had come good and received Pasquale‘s blessing.

  The incumbent suppliers had grown lazy and relied on the movie producers to supply the dope to the stars, but the studio system was falling apart and a new breed of film maker needed a new breed of drug dealer. The Lagottis would go straight to the young brat pack and their enormous propensity to party and imbibe a cocktail of intoxicants. Bobby would resolve any disputes with the old guard using a high caliber revolver. You can take the man out of the mob, but you can‘t take the mob out of the man.

  The Lagottis and Pasquale were as aware as anyone that drugs were just the beginning. The parties nee
ded hosts and Milton was the guy to supply the right quantity of girls, eager to break into showbiz. Those that didn‘t make it onto a studio lot could be encouraged to deliver a performance or two in the underbelly of Hollywood and its porn palaces. Get the distribution right and even an average hardcore product could generate as much as heroin. No small feat.

  BOBBY PLACED A call to Milton after lunch and they met in the summerhouse forty minutes later. The drapes overlooking the pool were drawn for privacy to separate domestic and business life. The fifty-by-twenty-feet space was a mix of comfortable easy chairs, couches and formal working environment. Mary Lou installed a desk near her secured walk-in cupboard and armaments storage. Next year, she told herself she‘d install a safe - for the guns and the money. Until then, Mary Lou was the sole owner of the key to her secret wardrobe.

  Coffees poured and cigarettes lit, they set about organizing the snow express.

  “Fabio‘s runners will serve us well at the get-go until we‘ve made our own contacts. They‘ll know the cool places and the most valuable party hosts.”

  “The next task is to organize the parties. Create some happenings. And that‘s where you‘ll come into your own, Milton.”

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “The thing you do best: find some willing girls, who want to hang with the celebrities. And don‘t mind what they get up to with them when they‘re there.”

  Milton‘s expression was thoughtful for a spell and then his eyes widened as he got the joke. He loved to run call girls because he allowed himself to taste the merchandise which he never did with narcotics. The man lived in a moral sewer, but he had his principles, nonetheless. Whores, booze and gambling were fine but drugs were for the birds.