Chapter 3 - The Blood in the Rain
The rain came down in heavy, relentless sheets over the Holy Cross Cemetery in Queens.
It was four o'clock in the afternoon. The sky was the dark, bruised color of a slate tile, and the wind whipped through the bare oak trees surrounding the burial plot, rattling the black umbrellas held by the small crowd of mourners.
There were only twelve people present: Mateo, his elderly mother, three cooks from the diner, and my men standing in a wide perimeter along the gravel pathway.
I stood twenty feet back from the open grave, dressed in a long black wool overcoat, holding a plain black umbrella over my head. Beside me, untethered by any leash, stood Bruno.
The rain washed over the dog's dark fur, forming tiny, glistening beads that ran down his broad chest into the mud beneath his paws. He hadn't eaten since yesterday. He hadn't taken a drink of water. He simply stood beside me, his eyes locked onto the white casket as the cemetery workers slowly lowered it into the earth using heavy nylon straps.
Mateo Vasquez collapsed to his knees in the mud beside the pit, his mother wrapping her arms around his shaking shoulders as the first shovel of black earth hit the wood below with a dull, hollow thud.
I reached into my coat pocket, pulled out the folded crayon drawing, and walked forward.
The mourners parted silently as I approached. They were terrified of me—terrified of the rumors, terrified of the black-suited men standing by the black sedans along the fence line. But Mateo looked up through his tears, his face hollowed out by grief.
I knelt down in the mud beside the grieving father.
"Mateo," I said gently.
"Don Silvio," he whispered, his teeth chattering from the cold rain. "She was only seven. She never hurt anyone."
I pulled a thick, sealed parchment envelope from my inner pocket and handed it to him, along with the drawing protected inside a clear plastic sleeve.
"This was hers," I said, offering the drawing. "She drew it at the park. She was thinking of better days."
Mateo took the plastic sleeve with trembling fingers, pressing the image of the big black dog against his soaked chest, weeping uncontrollably.
"And this," I continued, pressing the parchment envelope into his hands. "This is the deed to your diner, free and clear of all debts. Inside is also a trust account certificate for two million dollars, established in Elena's name for a pediatric cancer foundation in the city. You will never owe me—or any man in this city—another cent for as long as you live."
Mateo stared at the envelope, then looked up at me with wide, disbelieving eyes. "Don Silvio... I don't understand... why are you doing this?"
"Because the debt was mine," I said, my voice rising slightly above the sound of the falling rain. "The rot was inside my own house, Mateo. And I am going to cut it out tonight."
I stood up, adjusted my coat, and looked down at Bruno.
"Come, boy," I said softly.
The dog looked at the open grave for three long seconds. Then he turned his head, walked over to Mateo, and gently pressed his broad, wet snout against the weeping man's shoulder. Mateo wrapped his arm around Bruno's thick neck, burying his face in the dog's wet fur for a moment of quiet, shared grief.
Bruno pulled back, walked over to my side, and sat down in the gravel.
We walked back to the idling Mercedes parked along the lane. Tony opened the rear door for me, his expression grave, his eyes reflecting the dark grey sky.
"Is everything prepared in Flushing?" I asked, stepping into the back seat.
"Yes, Boss," Tony said, closing the door behind me and climbing into the front passenger seat. "Paulie and Mike have been keeping him down there. The union rep from Red Hook was picked up an hour ago at his house in New Jersey. He's sitting in the room next to Marco."
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"Good," I said, leaning my head back against the leather headrest. "Drive."
The car rolled smoothly through the iron gates of the cemetery, its tires splashing through deep puddles of rainwater. Bruno sat beside me on the leather bench, resting his heavy jaw against my knee, his eyes fixed on the rain-streaked window as the city skyline rose up through the mist ahead of us.
