Part 2

---

It was still the worst of times.
 
 
Joe La Fiamma regained consciousness and felt three pairs of hands transporting him out of a car. He didn’t know at what point of the beating he’d passed out but the last thing he remembered was Levon’s head, bleeding.

*Oh, God!   He pleaded, silently. *Please let him be alive! Don’t let him end up like Ricky!

As if his prayers were being answered right there, Marco Cerutti’s unmistakable voice cursed in Italian right behind him.

“We shoulda killed the other one, Carlo, he saw your face! ‘sides... he’s a pig, just like this one!”

“I don’t care what he saw or didn’t see, Marco! Who am I gonna send Joseph’s pieces to if I kill’im? Chicago is too far away! Besides... I swore by the memory of Aunt Ann Marie... even you know how much I loved her!”

“Givin’ your word!... That was your first mistake!” Cerutti sounded really mad. “Why’d you do it anyway? It’s not as if it matters what “The Rat” here thinks, does it? He shouldn’t even be here! You shoulda blown his damned head off hours ago!”

“That’s MY prerogative!” Carlo raised his voice for the first time. “I am in charge here, don’t you forget that, and if I want to keep “The Rat” alive a few hours more, I will!... if I want to cut off all his fingers before offin' him I will! If I want to shoot’im, or cut’im, or hit’im or divide’im into multiple parts... I... Will!...Is that clear?”

“Sure, boss. No problem!”

Joey heard a metal door being opened right in front of him. He tried to open his eyes, but he only caught a glimpse of the place before the thugs brought him inside a small room and dropped him on the floor. The air escaped from his lungs and a huge wave of pain threatened to overwhelm him. He felt like dying just then but he didn’t even have the strength to do that.

They slammed the door closed and left him in total darkness.

Hours later when Joey came to, he found himself being poked on the ribs with the tip of a shoe. By the time he fully regained consciousness, the man who’d been standing beside him had given up and was on his way out.

“He’s still out cold!” he told someone outside.

“You’re sure he ain’t dead?” asked that someone.

“No, I checked, He’s still breathin’. I guess you hit him harder than you thought.”

“Nah!” the voice said cheerfully. “I beat the crap out of him totally on purpose!”

They both laughed as the door closed again, muffling the noises.

*Laugh it up, you bastards!*  Joey thought from the floor. *Let’s see who laughs last!*

He took a deep breath to prepare himself and then attempted to sit up. A whole diversity of aches filled every ounce of his body. He hurt in places he didn’t even know he had, and his head pounded with a vengeance. If there had been light, the room would have been spinning.

But although he’d already been beaten more than in his whole high school years, he didn’t feel as bad as he knew he should. Odd.. he thought.

The young man straightened himself on the floor, testing his muscles. Everything seemed to be working. His ribs were sore and he was sure at least one of them was cracked, but other than that his bones felt unbroken. He counted ten fingers, ten toes, two ears and two eyes. Given the circumstances, one could almost say he was fine.

Slowly and painfully Joe moved around the room, trying to figure out where he was. His hands were tied in front of him but his arms were movable. He used them for support and kept moving. The place was small and completely empty. There were no windows and only one door. This didn’t look good.

Exhausted, even by so little movement, he leaned back against the closest wall and slid to the floor. Closing his eyes he focused on his memory. He’d seen a little bit outside the room, it was big, looked like a warehouse, but smelled strange, like the countryside, like... cattle.

He tried to relax and listen. Total silence, except for the two idiots outside. Where could he be? For all he knew he could be miles away from Houston, or around the corner from the bank. This was frustrating! Somehow he had to get out of there!

But, how?

Lundy was alive, that much he knew. Marco Cerutti had been decent enough to confirm it for him. He remembered Marco, he’d been there... that time. But Levon, was he okay? Had he gotten help in time? And then, Why hadn’t the backup team arrived? Why hadn’t the alarm on the bank gone off? Why had Carlo kept him alive?

Well, he knew the answer to that one. Revenge. After all, Joe had sent the bastard to jail for at least thirteen years! He must have been holding a big grudge for that!

*Thirteen years!* he thought, *Not enough! The bastard should have been left to rot in the slammer forever!*

For the first time since this whole thing had started, Joey allowed himself to think about Ricky. His friend, his brother. For thirteen years he had been carrying his old friend’s suffering on his shoulders. A long time to think about it, to regret, to wonder.

It had been his fault... or, had it? God! He couldn’t start with that again! It had been a whole gang, but it was Carlo who attacked Ricky. He was the one who pounded on his head with a baseball bat, leaving him the way he was. Carlo had done it! Joe had been a useless, bleeding mass on the floor.

Ricky would have died if the cops hadn’t found them, but for the good it did! He was left a vegetable. Joe’s heart constricted at the memory of his friend’s eyes locked in space, a catatonic state he couldn’t escape. Neither of them could.

Half-dead, half-alive, poor Ricky Pirelli! All because his best friend Joe La Fiamma didn’t take a death threat seriously. If only he could go back in time...

The lock on the door brought him back to harsh reality and he braced himself. He knew who was coming.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
 

“Joseph, Joseph, Joseph!” DiSanti’s patronizing tone had become unnerving. “So, how does it feel to be a hero?”

Joey didn’t bother to answer, he didn’t want to talk to Carlo anymore than he wanted to have a tooth removed without anesthetic. Instead he locked his gaze on the open doorway, he needed to find out where he was.

DiSanti leaned on the doorframe, partially blocking the view, and studying his prey’s responses. “Oh, now, don’t be sad, Joey!” He smiled. “At least you managed to actually save this one, although I sincerely don’t know for how long. You know I usually don’t leave a witness alive! I have an image to protect.”

Joe bit his tongue, he wouldn’t give DiSanti the satisfaction of seeing him angry. He peeked outside, there was a door on the far side of the warehouse. It was closed.

“Joseph!” the tone became slightly irritated. “Don’t go autistic on me, it doesn’t become you.” Carlo took a Swiss army knife out of his pocket and started playing with it. “I remember you being a little strange, as a kid, but this self sacrificing thing? And worse! For a dumb Cowboy? It just don’t suit you, Joseph, not by a long shot!”

Joey kept silent. Let Carlo talk until he wore out his throat. After thirteen years, nothing the creep said would upset him anymore.

“Why did you do it? Is it that you finally fell in love with the locals? Or is he your new best buddy? Strange that you already bonded, Joey, after all, everyone knows you tend to switch partners a lot these days!”

The remark hit a nerve, Joey closed his eyes for a second as anger rose within him. *Stay in control!* he told himself. Anger subsided a bit when he focused on the outside.

“Oh, yeah! That’s right!” Carlo continued his monologue. “I’ve been keeping tabs on your miserable life, although I lost you a couple of years ago. I guess that’s when you fell... exiled to this Southern Sauna-Town.” He laughed again. “Must be a bitch! Huh? That’s what you get for always doin’ things to upset the family, you dumb ass, a ticket straight to Nowhere land.”

Now, why didn’t that bother Joe? He wondered. Amazingly, instead of making him angry, Carlo’s words were almost amusing. The idea of his hated old enemy doing research on Joey all the way from his jail cell seemed to him a bit obsessive. Especially since Joey hadn’t given a damn about what happened to Carlo from the moment the jail door slammed shut after him.

DiSanti laughed one more time, apparently amused himself at Joey’s lack of response. He stared at Joey’s blue eyes for a second and took a deep breath. Yes, he would enjoy killing the rat. He would enjoy in very much. But first things first.

Carlo stepped outside for a moment. Joe used that moment to fully absorb everything his eyes could see. The place didn’t seem to have many windows, but it was big. Outside the room there was a table with chairs, a big pile of boxes, empty space and that door way over there. Maybe it was another storage room, maybe it was a way out...there was no way to know.

Before he could come up with a plan, DiSanti was back, carrying a familiar piece of clothing: it was Joe’s gray jacket. Switching the knife open, the man approached Joey and kneeled beside him. La Fiamma refused to allow fear to overcome him, even when he knew exactly what DiSanti was going to do to him right now.

He breathed, and relaxed.

Carlo laughed yet one more time. “Still playing the hero, Joey?”

A surge of stubborn Italian blood helped Joey keep his head focused.

Carlo frowned. “Have it your way, La Fiamma, I’ll hear you begging me to kill you in no time.”

*Fat chance!* thought Joey.

DiSanti grabbed Joe’s right forearm and, almost carefully began cutting. Joe bit his lips refusing to let a single cry out. His heart quickened, he felt sweat drops on his forehead, the pain was sharp but not unbearable. He kept his eyes locked to nothingness. Carlo smiled as he held Joe’s arm above the garment. Blood poured out of the wound, spilling on the jacket, staining it and soaking it until, after a minute that felt like a century, DiSanti finally stopped.

Joe’s heart kept racing but he didn’t even look at his attacker. He wouldn’t give him that pleasure. He knew what Carlo was doing, it was an old ritual before killing a captured enemy. Soak his clothes in his blood and throw them in the mail. Joe knew his jacket wouldn’t arrive in Chicago until after he was dead. He wouldn’t want to be there when Uncle Mikey opened the package.

After that, Carlo called his thugs. “Bandage the mute’s arm here! We wouldn’t want you to bleed to death on us now, Joseph, would we?” He laughed. “Then kick him around a little until he finds his tongue.”

Joey braced himself. They obeyed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As incredible as it seemed, Joe found himself still conscious after the beating. He’d pretended to pass out, hoping the thugs would buy his act. Fortunately, they had. It was amazing, Joe thought. Two years before he would have been intensive care material after all that kicking, but right now, he just felt like he did after a normal Texas style arrest in any bar, ranch, house or crime scene around Houston. He felt like hell. Could it be that in two years, Houston had hardened him?

Maybe it had been all the rough times around Lundy, his partner’s temper seemed to get them both in trouble more times than not.

His partner.

Joe had a moment of reflection. With Levon, out of immediate danger, he saw no point in sacrificing himself to that idiot Di Santi. Screw his Italian ways! Joe wasn’t going to let it happen.

He moved his body, ignoring the pain, and realized his hands were no longer tied together. That gave him freedom to check the room some more, find a way out. The sooner he did that, the sooner he could kick Carlo’s butt for good.

*We’ll see who gets the last laugh, DiSanti. We’ll see.*

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
 

Where the hell is he? Levon hit the table one more time in frustration.

“Calm down, Lundy!” Carol told him. All the raving and ranting couldn’t be good for his health.

“I can’t, Carol!” He turned to the office window searching for answers in the late afternoon sky. “I’ll be damned if I let that Italian S.O.B. vanish into thin air like this!”

Carol gave Lundy a stern look, Joe Bill and Esteban looked up from studying their respective work files in surprise.

Lundy felt the sudden silence behind him oppressing. He glanced around the office and realized what he’d just said.

“No, I ain’t talking about La Fiamma!” he assured the audience.

Joe Bill shook his head. “This time!” he muttered.

Levon didn’t answer. His attention went back outside. Where could that creep have taken his partner? So far, the whole police department, as well as the highway patrol and the Texas Rangers, were on a lookout for the criminals. No luck. Could DiSanti be a descendant of Houdini? He went back to his chair and sat. His head was beginning to hurt again.

He thought about calling Chicken for the tenth time that afternoon. His good friend had promised to investigate everything he could about any new Italian scumbags in town, with every single lowlife he was acquainted with. Until now, he’d had no luck.

Before Levon could call, Joanne entered the room with the latest information. It wasn’t good. Apparently every single record of Carlo DiSanti’s existence had been conveniently misplaced. Even medical files. The only proof that the guy had even been born were his birth records, and it had taken the special investigations office all day to find them. Something was very wrong here.

How could somebody just disappear like that?

It was as if he was protected by the devil.

-By the devil.-

“Of course,” Levon stood up. “Everything falls into place. Someone at the *Mob* must have erased DiSanti's records. That's why no one can find anything!”

Joanne sighed. What to do? She was losing hope faster than the sunlight was leaving the sky. Soon, the day would be over and, with it, Joey’s chances of being found alive faded out.

Lundy thought about it for a while. Then he spoke his mind.

“You know what? The way we’ve been doing things is wrong. We’ve been treating this case Texas style, you know, with logic!” Lundy pointed out, “This guy not only is an unbelievable bastard, he’s also an Italian unbelievable bastard. That means he thinks different, he does different things for different reasons.

“So, what are you saying?” Beaumont saw where this was going, “You think we should treat this without logic?”

“No, Joanne, I’m saying that to get Carlo DiSanti, we’re going to have to start thinking like Joe La Fiamma.”

“I guess he would have a different angle, he always does!” she said nodding, “But, what do you suggest?”

What would La Fiamma do? Of course, he’d do what he always did when uninvited guests popped into Houston. Levon came to a conclusion. He was going to have to make the call soon anyhow. He didn’t like the idea of having a conversation with a known mobster, much less to deliver bad news, but the man was, after all, his partner’s family. His next of kin, so to speak.

“Damn!” he said out loud. “I guess it’s time to call him.”

“Who?” Carol asked.

“Uncle Mikey.” Levon replied, taking the phone. “He’s gotta find out soon, anyway. Joe’s his nephew, so maybe he’ll be willing to help us, I’m willin’ to bet he knows a bunch of stuff about this DiSanti guy.”

“Joe’s uncle?” Joe Bill asked. “As in -Don Corleone-?”

Levon nodded. He dialed the number he had once hoped he’d never have to and asked to talk to the man he’d hoped he’d never have to meet. The Texan tapped the table nervously. How would he say it? How would start? How would the guy take it?

A very Italian accent broke the silence.

Levon closed his eyes and started speaking.

“Uncle Mikey?” he said, unsure. “My name is Levon Lundy, I’m callin’ from...”

“What happened to Joey?” the man interrupted him surprisingly quickly. A shadow of worry could be heard behind his voice.

So the guy did give a damn about La Fiamma!

Lundy sighed. “That’s the thing, sir,” he leaned back in his chair, “We don’t know.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“What happened?” Joe Bill asked a confused Levon Lundy.

“I ain’t sure.” He said, rubbing his tired eyes again. “I told him everything that happened. He was really mad! But when I mentioned DiSanti’s name, Uncle Mikey just went postal on me! He started swearin’ and yellin’... just like La Fiamma does. I tell ya’ there ain’t no doubt in hell they’re related. Then the connection was broken.” Levon looked at his friends, confused.

“You think he...?”

“I don’t know what to think, Joe Bill!” Lundy lowered his aching head.

Suddenly, the phone at La Fiamma’s desk started ringing. Levon raced to it and answered.

“Sergeant Levon Lundy?” asked a heavy Italian accent.

“Uncle Mikey!” Levon felt relieved.

“Listen up, sergeant.” The man was obviously trying to keep his anger in check, “I’m going to tell you everything there is to know about Carlo DiSanti, but first you tell me what you know.”

“I’m sorry to tell you this, sir, but we don’t know much of anything.” Lundy said sitting down. “The only thing I can tell you is that he started talking to Joe about someone called Ricky, and then he took Joe away... he didn’t put up a fight.”

“I imagine he didn’t. They had a gun pointing at you, didn’t they?”

“Yes, they did.” Levon closed his eyes at the images from the tape came back to his mind.

Uncle Mikey paused for a while, like if he was trying to gather his thoughts. “All right,” he finally said, “It goes back to thirteen years ago. Ricky Pirelli was Joey’s best friend since they were both children. They argued and fought all day long, and they were as different as night and day, but you couldn’t find a friendship like theirs anywhere, any time. They would have died for each other.”

Lundy felt how all his remaining energy seemed to leave him as the simple statement hit him right in the face. *They would have died for each other!* Uncle Mikey had said. Did the man realize that his nephew had given his own life to save Lundy? God! Why did this have to be so difficult?

Uncle Mikey went on. “DiSanti worked for his father, a bookie who used to anticipate the outcome of the games a day in advance, you know what I mean? Carlo had a gang of imbeciles who liked to fix the final scores by breaking legs... or worse. Joe and Ricky played basketball at school, and they were real good. They got the team to the national championships, you know? They both were working on scholarships to go to the Air Force academy.”

“Joe wanted to be a pilot?” Levon asked. A glint of recognition came to the back of his mind as he remembered of Joey’s constant sad glances at the clouds.

“Yeah. I guess he always has. Haven’t you noticed the way he looks at the sky?”

“Yeah, I have.” He fell silent.

“So, anyway, DiSanti wanted to fix a game and went to Joe and Ricky the night before. He threatened to hurt them real bad if they didn’t cooperate. Of course, they didn’t. Instead they did the unthinkable... they went to the cops.”

“Oh, my!” Levon exclaimed. That was too daring a behavior for a teenager, but then, it was Joe La Fiamma they were talking about.

“Exactly!” Uncle Mikey continued. “Not a smart move. I know. But Joe has always been that way, and Ricky was even worse. They refused to let anyone manipulate them for any reason. They were fearless. Of course, the cops told them they would protect them and the kids believed it... big mistake!”

“Two nights later, Joe and Ricky were taken out of their beds at night. I was out of town otherwise I wouldn’t have allowed it. The cops were asleep in that police car they’d put outside the house. When I think about that I wanna kill them!”

“I hear you.” Replied Levon.

“They beat them up real bad, sergeant, broke many of Joe’s ribs and his left arm. And then it happened: Carlo DiSanti offered Joey his life in exchange for Ricky’s. Of course he refused. Then he said he wouldn’t kill Ricky if Joe kissed his shoes. Ricky begged him not to do it, not to give DiSanti the satisfaction. Joe felt immortal, I guess Ricky too.”

“So, he didn’t do it” Levon said sadly.

“No, he didn’t. They kicked Ricky until he passed out. Then Carlo took out a baseball bat and slammed it on Ricky’s head over and over, Joe was forced to watch, then they kicked him too. Then the cops arrived. Joe was saved, he spent three weeks in the hospital, but Ricky...”

“Was killed.” Lundy said.

“No, worse!” the man corrected, “He was left half alive, but his brain stopped functioning. He’s been in a catatonic state for thirteen years. Broke everyone’s heart, especially Joey’s, it’s a sad thing. He never forgave himself, even if his testimony sent DiSanti to jail. There was no more talk of fly school after that, only sadness and promises not to let things like this happen again. Joe became a cop. Everyone knows it was because of Ricky.”

Another silent pause allowed Levon to take the information in. This explained a great deal about his partner and made the need to find him a dozen times stronger.

“Sergeant Levon Lundy,” the Italian’s worried voice came again. “I will do everything I can to find out what DiSanti is up to and who he knows in Houston. But I have to tell you, if Joey’s still alive he won’t be for much longer. You have to find him!”

“I’m trying to, sir,” Levon said, “We all care a lot about him here.”

“So do I,” Uncle Mikey’s voice was more than worried, he sounded like a heartbroken father. Levon’s feelings toward the man softened.

“I don’t intend to give up! I will find him!” he promised.

“I know you will, Levon Lundy, Joe speaks highly of you. I know the kind of man you are.”

Levon couldn’t answer.

“I’ll call you back, sergeant. Ciao.”

He hung up.

Levon closed his eyes, feeling his headache growing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
 

It was late at night. The huge warehouse was cold. It was an old place, big enough to hold a small plane inside, and no city noises could be heard outside but, rather, peaceful quiet. The night air smelled like cattle, they were obviously on the countryside.

Joey’s hands had been tied to two posts leaving him like a chained slave in a dungeon. He could see a lot more of his surroundings now, there were a few high, small windows, two big, but always locked, doors, a red car and a Van parked over there. It was a huge place, but secure enough. Right in front of him, Carlo and gang were sitting on various chairs, watching TV, drinking beer and having tons of fun.

They had found a way to bring “The Rat”, as they called him, into the party. Joe didn’t find it a bit funny.

The Knicks were playing against the Celtics on a basketball game that seemed to go on forever. Although the Celtics were more than twelve points behind, it was Joe who literally felt the pains of defeat because with every point scored by the Knicks, Marco gave the prisoner a shock of electricity.

They had beaten him up pretty good before tying him. Still, Joe didn’t feel as bad as he should, an upside to his current situation, which he considered strange, but didn’t show... he wasn’t stupid.

Then they had started with that little game of basketball and Joe wished they had stuck to the beating. How could a bunch of retarded thugs think about so many different ways to torture someone? Between Carlo’s psychological taunting and Marco’s physical blows, Joey’s whole being had been hurt again and again for hours, or was it days? He didn’t know, he was confused.

Now, as the game continued, Joe’s mind was so weary he found himself silently cheering for the Celtics. Marco and Carlo drank their beers in one gulp. Then they threw the empty bottles at Joey’s still form. Couldn’t they please give it a rest? Why didn’t Carlo end it once and for all? Couldn’t he just kill him?

That was a dumb question, Joe.

The handsome features on La Fiamma’s face were now hidden behind bruises and marks. He felt sick at the smell of his own burned flesh marked by Marco’s electric shock device. His head pounded, his eyes hurt, but it was his heart what ached the most as more and more old memories continuously attacked him.

A newcomer, seven-foot six, rookie from New York, scored yet another daring three point shot. Joey braced himself as Marco Cerutti gave him a savage shock that sent the worst wave of pain he’d felt that night through his body. If he’d been someone else, Carlo would be so much closer to his goal of making him beg. But it was Joe la Fiamma they were dealing with, he’d be damned if he let the bad guys win even if he ended up dying in silence. He’d had enough of Carlo DiSanti for a lifetime. He wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. He owed it to Ricky... he owed it to himself!

The Celtics felt the end near as victory became further and further. They couldn’t let that happen! Boston’s pride and honor was on the line! They started making an effort and began scoring.. once, twice.. one more time and they would be on a roll! Marco opened another beer as the whole gang began rooting, momentarily forgetting about “The Rat!”

“The Rat” thanked God in silence, for the chance to rest.

Ricky. The memory of his old friend constantly returned to his weak mind. He closed his eyes trying to push the anguish away but the guilt he’d been harboring for years came trough like thunder. Maybe he should just let Carlo kill him. Maybe it was pointless to keep fighting for a life that didn’t deserve to be lived. Maybe it was time for payback...

What would Ricky say?

For thirteen years his guilt had driven him to do many stupid things. Thirteen years in which he hadn’t been to visit Ricky once. He couldn’t, he was unable to look his half-dead friend in the eye.

So Joe spent his time trying to make something of himself, be a good man, live up to everyone’s expectations. He tried so hard! Joe La Fiamma had spent the best part of his life doing everything he could to bring justice to the ones who needed it, never lowering his head, always standing up to the bad guys... that’s how he’d ended up exiled to Houston Texas with a price on his head. But he didn’t really regret it, no matter how much he complained about it.

He’d found a friend. The friend he’d been needing for so long. Someone who knew him well enough to know that arguing was Joe La Fiamma’s daily bread, that’s the way he’d always been! Someone who could keep up with him, someone as good and noble as himself, with higher goals than average, ready to do whatever it took to make things right. Someone who was worth giving up your life for!

Who cared that his friend lived under a worn out Stetson all the time? Who cared he listened to weird music and ate weird food? Who cared he ‘talked strange’? He was worth it. He had been worth it. Nobody would change Joe’s mind on that.

Even if he forgot his partner’s birthday!

Who cared?

Ricky would be happy for him. He knew his old friend would forgive him for hanging out with The Lone Ranger, he’d laugh in his face, actually, and they both would be happy. But Ricky would never allow Joe to give up and let Carlo kill him. Never!

Joe clearly remembered that night, as Carlo threatened them. He could almost hear Ricky’s voice telling him not to lower himself to DiSanti’s level, not to do what he said. Ricky would have spit in Joe’s face if he had. Now, it didn’t seem as important. That morning, Levon had been bleeding on the floor and Joe had done it in a second. It wasn’t that big a sacrifice! It was a stupid thing! It had saved his friend’s life!

Another two-pointer from the Knicks brought another painful shock, just as the truth hit Joe’s soul. It wouldn’t have been the same thirteen years ago. Carlo would have still done it. No matter how many times Joe had kissed Carlo’s shoes, Ricky would be in that hospital or worse.... He’d be dead. And Joey would be a thousand times more bitter.

It wouldn’t have made a difference. At least this way, DiSanti didn’t win. Not completely, anyway. And he wouldn’t win now, either. Joey didn’t even feel the next electric shock, his mind racing with powerful feelings, his heart beating more freely, his soul finally beginning to heal.

The guilt trip was over. Joe La Fiamma took a deep breath, tied up, beaten and bleeding, and forgave himself for Ricky. Then he forgave himself for everything else. Then he forgave his family for abandoning him, he forgave Uncle Mikey for cutting him out, forgave his old friends for deserting him, his girlfriends for not keeping up with him, his old partner for dying on him.

And at the end he forgave Lundy, his friend, for the constant little problems, for the past week and finally for forgetting his birthday.

Joe felt his heart relaxing. The Celtics could forfeit the game if they wanted to for all he cared, it didn’t matter. He was finally free.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next morning arrived and the police were no closer to finding Joe at all. Chicken had been to everyone, asking questions and collecting favors. Finally, someone said something useful and he immediately called Levon.

The informant was a street vendor who specialized in electronics with shady backgrounds. He said one of his business buddies had sold fifty sets of Japanese home video games to a couple of Italian guys. He said they had paid with brand new money, the kind you get from the bank.

Fifty video games! Where was the logic here? What were they planning to do?

Joe Bill and Esteban investigated the video game manufacturing company and found out that they had shipments of products being delivered all over the country. Only in Houston, they had twenty stores selling their games.

It was getting complicated.

They continued looking for clues but nothing turned out. Finally, the stress took his toll on Levon and he started to lose it.

“Stay in focus, Levon, or I’ll cut you off this investigation!” Joanne told him.

“I’m going to talk to Chicken.” He said as he bolted out.

The drive to Chicken’s restaurant proved a little bit enlightening. Levon knew he needed to keep thinking like Joe La Fiamma.  Where would he go?, Who would he ask?, what would he think... and, of course how would he reason it?

After a good conversation with his old friend and a couple of beers, Levon realized how complex, Joe's thinking always seemed, and how it was really very simple. Go to the most logical place for this or that type of person, get the answer, don't beat around the bushes, ignore politics and ceremonies... and that's that.

“He has a way of doing things Levon, just like you do.” Chicken pointed out.

“Yeah, but he thinks so different!” Levon was frustrated.

“I know!” The huge black man smiled at his friend. “That’s why you two make such a good team!”

Levon lowered his head, slowly letting out his breath. “I gotta find him. Chicken. He don’t deserve what’s happening to him.”

“No, he doesn’t.”

“We’ve never been in complete good terms, it’s true, but...”

“I know, Levon.” Chicken understood. He was the one who knew both men the most.

“I don’t understand something... Yesterday, he said I didn’t care...”

About what?

“The job, I guess. I’ve been partying a lot... and I ditched him Saturday night. But I mean... It’s been so long since I’ve been able to share some time with an old friend. Someone I can talk to and share my feelings with without having to fight about it, you know what I mean? Greg, I can bitch with about my partner and how he drives me crazy! Not to mention that I can remember Caroline with him, ‘cause he knew her... I need to talk with someone who doesn’t complain about every Texan cell I have, someone who ain’t...”

“La Fiamma.” Chicken finished for him.

“Yeah, Someone besides La Fiamma.” Levon took a long sip of beer, some new regrets forming inside him, “You think I made it too obvious?”

“Well, he didn’t say anything to me.”

“La Fiamma never tells anyone how he really feels, unless they force him to.” A sickening feeling formed in Lundy’s stomach as he imagined what Carlo could be doing to his friend right now.

Chicken bowed his head, obviously thinking the same thing. Lundy felt his head was going to explode.

“Oh, Man! Chicken!” He finally exclaimed. “God! I was wrong. I never intended to hurt him!” Levon closed his eyes. “I must set it straight with Joe, Chicken, no matter what.”

“Of course,” Chicken reassured his friend. “Levon, you’re a very smart man, and all that thinking will eventually get you exactly to the truth. You’ll find him, I know it!”

Lundy leaned back and rubbed his face, he was exhausted. He felt as if life was putting him on trial. He glanced at his concerned friend across the counter.

“Thanks, Chicken”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
 

Meanwhile, back inside his little prison, Joey had recuperated a little bit from last night. All the abuse had left its mark, but determination and courage moved him now. He would get out and he would make Carlo pay, or his name would cease to be Joseph Anthony La Fiamma... because he’d be dead.

He commanded his body to move, ignoring the sore muscles and the painful stings. Going through every inch of the room’s floor he was finally rewarded with something, a piece of metal, small and sharp, like a knife. Great! He had a weapon. Now with a little imagination and some work, when Carlo got back from wherever he was and came inside for Joe, he’d defend himself.  Time to get nasty.

As I said, this was an old warehouse, abandoned and very, very wasted. Joe went through every inch of the room’s walls until he finally discovered a hole. He cleaned it with his piece of metal and light came inside. Wonderful! He peeked through it and could see large amounts of nothing outside, a tractor (probably broken) and some huge wooden pieces, like a destroyed shed.

He sighed. It was clear that he was way too far from civilization to just run off. He needed a plan B. Get out, get them by surprise, and steal their car.

*Yeah, that sounds like an idea. But, how?*

He could wait until they came inside again and use his made-up knife-like device to escape. Right?

It could work, but of course, nothing is that easy. He approached the door and listened, a couple of voices held, for once, an interesting conversation. It was Marco Cerutti and Tony, another one of the thugs. They were making plans, oblivious to the fact that Joe could hear them, or maybe they didn’t care.

They were talking about a big cargo train, on the other side of town. There were some packages of Japanese video games filled with cocaine. Talk about a game prize! The shipment had been sent from one drug dealer to another and Carlo had decided to intercept it when it passed through Houston and steal it. He’d bought fifty new video games and was going to switch them. The drug dealers would go at each other and never know what happened.
 

*What a stupid plan!* Joey thought, *Carlo DiSanti hasn't changed a bit. He's still the same moron he was thirteen years ago!* Of course, nothing would please Joey more than to see Carlo in the hands of the drug dealers, but the policeman in him is very strong too. He knew he had to stop that shipment and get the dealers, as well as the moron. If only he was free.

He remembered the door across the warehouse and his newly found weapon. A plan started to form in his still weary Italian mind.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Levon was tired as hell, waiting for his call to get through to Chicago. Uncle Mikey had been unavailable for hours and Lundy started thinking that maybe, even with all his resources, Joe's powerful uncle hadn’t been successful. He started thinking about other people who could help inside Joe’s family and sadly came up with no one. He didn’t know of anyone who seemed to care as much about the young man as his uncle The Mobster.

Maybe all the fuzz in Chicago had kept Joe away from a family that really didn't appreciate having a cop as the black sheep. For the first time since he’d met Joe, Levon spent some time thinking about how hard life must have been for his friend, before and after he came to Houston. How that incident with DiSanti, all those years ago, had affected his whole life. He reflected on how much psychological load his partner had been carrying on his shoulders. Why hadn’t he ever talked to Levon about it?

Because he and Joe never talked, period!

Maybe Levon had been thinking Italian too much this day, but somehow a little light had been turned on, and a whole new part of La Fiamma's life was now getting clearer. So was his constant bad mood, his eternal whining about practically everything around him. It didn't seem so irrational now, but rather sad, like a childish way to evade a dark reality.

Joe was lonely and he felt it a lot, Levon had always known that. But under all the bitterness and the shallow responses he was a great man. A good man.

*And yet, He's still a pain!* Levon thought.

He gave up on the phone call. There was a lot to do.

“What’s on your mind, Levon?” Annie Hartung asked from across the desk.

“Oh, Annie, I don’t know.” He crossed his arms. “We’ve got a nice big piece of pie here, and not enough spoons.”

“I think the real question is: What can we do about it?” She replied.

“Well, Annie, I guess the real question is: What would La Fiamma think right now?” Levon wondered.

 Annie gazed lovingly at Levon, “He would think whatever YOU think, sugar, only simpler.”

Lundy gazes back at the sweet woman, she was always right. He shook his head. "Well, I think everything is too vague, the trivial information too much. We have to find a way to narrow the possibilities!”

In that moment, a messenger came inside the Major crimes department and asked for the person in charge of Joe La Fiamma’s case. Everyone turned around surprised. The boy carried a medium sized box addressed to the Major Crimes department. Joe Bill signaled an officer to hold the delivery boy for questioning and Levon opened the box.

Then he wished he hadn’t.

Inside the box was another smaller box and a note in an envelope that read a single phrase.

“Piece by piece.”

“Lord have mercy!” Lundy felt like he’d been shot. All the thinking like an Italian had sent the message to his brain really fast. A Mobster criminal... mobster methods. He tried not to go there.

Carefully, he started opening the second box, the smell of blood reached his nose and he stopped. He couldn’t do it, he dreaded what he could find inside.

Joe Bill grabbed Levon’s trembling hand and motioned him to stand back. Levon couldn’t move, the blond Texan was white as a sheet.

Esteban approached and quickly opened the box completely. The Mexican stood back in horror. There was a lot of blood on that piece of clothing! Who knew what was under it? He felt dizzy.

Levon’s heart constricted in fear, he paled even more and suddenly HAD to sit, or he would fall. He was still weak from the loss of blood and his head was killing him.

A feminine gasp sounded behind them, Joanne and Carol had just walked in to see the bloody package. Carol closed her eyes and Joanne lowered hers. She was a tough woman. With a commanding tone she took control of the situation.

“Carol!” She told her shocked companion, “Call forensics up here, right away!”

Carol obeyed.

“Gutierrez, you can step back if you want. Lundy, try to calm down, we don’t know anything for sure yet.”

He couldn’t speak, he only nodded.

The forensics team arrived in a flash and they started examining the box. Annie had her hands over her face, saying a silent prayer for dear ol’ Joey La Fiamma.

“It’s a jacket, Lieutenant, nothing more. We’ll take it downstairs to the lab.”

Levon let out the breath he’d been holding. How could DiSanti be so evil? So twisted?

Suddenly A phone call brought him back to reality. It was Uncle Mikey.

“Have you found him?” he asked

“Sorry!” was all Levon could say. He was still in shock.

“Damn! Well, I got some news for you, sergeant.” Uncle Mikey continued.
I have been looking into DiSanti's activities for the past few years all night long and I finally got something out of some guy who used to work for Carlo.”

Lundy didn't want to know HOW Uncle Mickey had gotten that "something".
 
“He said some things about some train schedules, Carlo had been asking about.” The mobster continued, “The train goes through Houston. It carries something from offshore but he didn’t say what. I’m sure he didn’t know. But there’s a name for you: Kimura.”

“Kimura?” Levon repeated. “Japanese! We may be on to something here!”

“Levon,” Uncle Mikey called him by his first name for the first time, “I have a feeling about this, I think you should look into it.”

“Yeah, sir, I will.” He told him. “But I need to tell you something else.” Only he didn’t know how.

“What is it?”

Taking a deep breath, he proceeded to tell him about the bloody jacket. It was Joe’s jacket, Levon had recognized it. There was a long silence following, and Levon thought that perhaps Uncle Mikey had hung up.

“Uncle Mikey?” he called.

“Levon,” a painfully dark tone in the man’s voice made Levon’s heart skip a beat. “My nephew is dead.”

“What?” He leaned on the nearest wall for support. “How do you know? He could be just playing with us!”

“It’s a common practice...” he stopped, like changing his mind. The truth was, Uncle Mikey didn’t want to aggravate his nephew’s best friend anymore. Lundy would find out eventually but poor Joey, he was dead for sure.

“Carlo is a sick man, Levon,” the man continued, “So, I want you to do me two favors. Two very personal favors.”

“What are they?”

“First, I want you to find, shoot and cut into pieces the man who..., almost certainly, killed my nephew. Jail won’t be enough for him, and I surely don’t intend to let him live.”

Levon lowered his gaze. A favor for a mobster! Yet, this favor he would gladly do. “I promise, Uncle Mikey!”

“And second...”

“Yeah?”

“When the next package arrives,” he lowered his tone, “Don’t open it!”

Levon felt like a blow to his stomach. He hadn’t considered that. How would he endure all this stuff? He felt weak and weary already.

“It’s ironic, isn’t it?” Uncle Mikey talked again. ”That it happened precisely today.”

“Why?”

“I called Joey on Saturday to say Happy Birthday. To celebrate his life! Now I’m calling you to avenge his death!” He seemed sad and completely hopeless. Levon didn’t know what to say.

“Call me later. Ciao.” He hung up.

His birthday! Saturday, the night he’d left Joe behind to go party with Greg.

HIS BIRTHDAY!

So that was it!. That was the issue. Levon forgot his partner's birthday and all along he thought it was jealousy for his old classmate visiting. How could he be such an idiot?

He lost it again, this time severely. He kicked the desk in mad fury as the constant feeling of despair began to eat his heart.

Joanne tried to calm Levon down.

“It wasn't your fault, Lundy, Joe never talked about anything BUT himself all day long, except when it really mattered!”

She made him sit down, hoping she could come up with the right answers, “Last year Joe almost put an ad in the paper to tell everyone when his birthday was, remember? Maybe he thought this year all of Houston would know!”

“I should have remembered! I’m his partner!”

“And I’m his friend, but I didn’t remember either.”

“I can’t believe it, Joanne, where did I lose track?”

“Don’t think about that now, Levon, concentrate on what Uncle Mickey said about the train. Go investigate! Time’s runnin’ out!

“You’re right!” he stood, ready to go. “But he also thought we’d be too late.” He sighed as he adjusted his hat. “Maybe he’s right.”

*Maybe he is!* she thought, sadly.

He started to walk out.

Then, without knowing why, Joanne spoke again. “Maybe Di Santi’s waiting for his big score before killing him, Lundy, maybe we still have time!” She didn't really believe this, but something had to be done to settle his sergeant down.

He clenched his teeth. “Yeah, maybe.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Levon Lundy made the greatest effort in the history of mankind to keep from losing his mind over this whole mess, instead, he tried to concentrate on the information he got from Uncle Mickey. The mobster from Chicago really was concerned, and he had gotten more data in one night than Houston's whole police department. Lundy gave the man some credit, *He may be a mobster,* he thought, *But he is also a very good detective.*

Annie came in with some vague information about DiSanti's father having a phone installed in an office building downtown about twenty years ago. But the building didn’t exist anymore and according to Chicago’s Police Department, Mr. DiSanti was presumed to have died in a car accident, though the body couldn't be recognized.
 
Levon was really tired of being in the dark. Joe Bill and Esteban, who had been working all night too, also had nothing conclusive. Maybe everything had been a waste of time.

Yet, the Phone Company could have more information on the guy or something. He had to follow his instincts, he had to look into the train schedule thing.  He couldn’t lose focus here, his partner was counting on him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The late morning was cloudy, thunder roared in the distance *A storm... what better time for the surprise?* Joe thought inside his prison. But, how would he escape?,

Joe didn't have many options: He knew that, if he ran, he'd never get too far before the bad guys caught him again, being in the middle of nowhere and all. Yet, the city really wasn't so far away. If only he had a bike, or a horse like Lundy did, he could get away easy, like the Lone Ranger.

Joe silently laughed at the image in his head. He, on a horse! These thoughts led him to the day before, and the fight he had had with his partner, Joey wondered if it was the worst they'd had yet. It seemed that lately the two cops did nothing BUT argue all day, a fact that Lundy knew well also, Joe was aware of the fact that sooner or later they were going to have one disagreement too many.
 

Of course, Joe was patient, he had to be! In the last two years he'd gone all the way to his personal idea of "hell-and- back" living in Houston. The weather was hot, the people were strange, the food was too spicy, the city was too flat... too many pick up trucks... It was just, not Chicago. It was just not Home.

But what is home, when you don’t have anyone to go to?

Houston was his home now.

Life had been hard, with his family further away every day, being so close to Levon, starting to see him as more than just a work mate, but a friend. *You think you know somebody,* Joe thought, And then when the first high school buddy comes to town: boom! You get dumped, the work gets dumped, everything is forgotten, and your own partner forgets your birthday!*

Joe couldn’t believe how big a deal he’d made out of that one. How could he even consider it a problem now, after what had happened, after being face to face with his hated enemy again. After Carlo had almost killed Lundy. A forgotten birthday didn’t seem so important now, and Joey knew, it never had been in the first place.

*If I get out of this one, I won’t talk about it again, I promise.*

Without wanting to, Joe drifted away into a restless sleep. He'd been through quite a lot in so little time. He didn’t hear when Carlo DiSanti got back and decided to finish him off once and for all.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
 

On to part 3
Back to part 1