“Keep the change, my friend.”
“Grazie signor.” The owner stated and smiled, happy to have made a profit of 80 dollars.
Tony Marinetti opened the door to the Tagore and welcomed the air conditioning of the expensive car, leaning back in the seat and feeling the cool air drying the sweat off the skin. He cooled down for a minute. New York heat was something else, that was for sure. It was thick in the air, extremely humid and no fun at all. It was scorching torture. He decided to take his 100% Italian suit jacket off, neatly placed it on the seat next to him and opened the top button of his crisp white shirt, allowing the tie to drip a little lower. Feeling more comfortable, he took one of the brown boxes and knocked on the glass divider between the front and back seats.
The tainted glass slowly sank and the face of his driver appeared in the back mirror. He nodded at the Keiser and spoke in Italian. “How can I help sir.”
“At the moment, just take me back to the Four Seasons Enzo, and in the meantime you can munch on this pizza slice considered the best New Yorker since 1966 apparently.”
Enzo the driver chuckled. He thanked his boss for the box and couldn’t help himself from sharing the amusing fact. “You know this place has been open for just under 6 months, right boss?”
Tony scowled and glanced out the window back into the Italian walk in restaurant and precisely at the owner behind the till, looking out for the next customer.
“Fucking scammers.”
Enzo chuckled again and the two bit into their slices simultaneously, enjoying the greasy food New York had to offer.
The traffic was worse than London’s, Tony decided. It was havoc. Cars did not follow motoring laws. Drivers just passed wherever they could, no regards to lanes or zebra crossings. Traffic lights were their bibles. It was crazy. Tony didn’t know why he was so in shock. He killed people in his profession, trafficked drugs in return for a salary and paid politicians for unfair favours. Yet this astonished him.
Tony had finished the slice, tossing the crust back into the box and closing it, dropping it next to his legs. He reached for the tin box in his suit jacket on the other seat and fondled a cigarette out, lighting it instantly. He smoked. Enjoying every breath dirtied with smoke, the touch of the bud between his fingers and the soft burn at the back of his throat. Then there was the exhale, the smoke surrounding him. It was art. An act of class that survived time, forever part of history and certainly in Tony’s future.
It took them a solid 90 minutes until the beautiful Tahoe halted in front of the Four Seasons hotel, a valet firmly opening the jet black door of the SUV and allowing Tony to step out. Tony nodded to the man and slipped him a few notes of cash.
The Four Seasons was exquisite, Tony must admit; shiny marble covered the entire entrance leading up to the reception area, behind which two beautiful women offered their help to the customers. What Marinetti liked about this place of stay was that not many had access to it; prices inflated and interior not intended for family visits. It was for bachelors and bachelorettes, young entrepreneurs or rich couples. A cluster of elites. Tony enjoyed the sense and atmosphere of professionalism that accompanied such an audience.
He nodded to the receptionist, who briefly glanced at him then back to the elderly gentleman she was serving, and called the lift. Waiting for it, he thoughtlessly checked his phone. No message. His upper lip twitched with frustration and he pocketed the device again. It took far too long, he thought. The information should have been with him a few hours ago already. What was Ray doing.
The interior of the elevator encompassed a four-walled mirror, a box of buttons – up to 45 floors – lit up in sapphire and the floor was colour in a sparkly gold, as was the ceiling. He pressed the button for the TY Warner Penthouse on the top floor and the black display flashed red. Tony swiped his key card and the flashing turned into green and the doors closed shut imminently.
Vivaldi was playing vividly in the background, at a quiet and sensible volume, through the speakers and Tony appreciated it. Unaware, he absentmindedly toyed with a cigarette bud, rolling it between his fingers and squeezing it between the index and thumb. He wasn’t nervous, just anticipating the arrival of crucial information. He had come to New York with one move in mind. One play that he was certain will bring the Vicentis to their knees. If the message he was so anxiously waiting for wouldn’t consist of what he required, than he must think up a complete new strategy. That wouldn’t be a problem for a strategist and chess player like Tony, but he nevertheless did not want to give up on the best move possible.
The heavy doors glided against the metal wheels and opened, the reception of the penthouse emerging behind the gold doors. Tony palmed his forehead and entered the expensive stay sighing. He threw the jacket over the arm of a leather chair, ridden the black tie and unbuttoned two more of his slim-fit shirt’s buttons. It hugged his muscular frame and the size of his arms, the width of the shoulders and the tough chest combined with the narrow waist truly made him appear superior. His hand went through the thickness of his hair, pulling it back, and he fixed himself a cold whiskey on the rocks. Still squeezing a brown cigarette bud, he sipped on the alcohol, feeling it flush his system, and gazed out the high windows permitting an incredible and luxurious view of the skyscrapers that landmarked New York City.
Impressive, Tony thought. There was beauty among the chaos. That was New York. Not for the many, but the few for the view.
A vibration interrupted his thoughts. He reached for the phone and quickly read the message. It took his eyes mere seconds to skim read it and when he reached the final full stop, he chuckled out loudly. He held the whiskey glass up in the air and smiled devilish.
“Cheers to you New York, the big apple of opportunities.” He clanked the glass against the multi-glazed window and downed the liquid. “My very own Queen.”
**
The clock struck 9pm. It was a Saturday night, people were out and the streets were experiencing a flooding of mass alcoholics ready to club all night long, until the crack of dawn and beyond. From underpaid teachers to underage students, from loners to jocks, rich to poor. Saturday night didn’t discriminate. It welcomed everyone of all backgrounds, as long as the cash for the drinks were advanced. Surely a few brawls will explode too.
Tony had changed suits. This time he wore an all black suit, shiny Italian shoes with a clean leather belt and a very dark blue shirt, which he had tucked in and unbuttoned enough to allow a sneak peek at his inked muscular chest. A scripture. A verse from the bible.
His thick black hair was slicked back in a messy way and he looked his age of twenty-something year old. He looked and smelled expensive. He slipped a gold ring with a black stone on his pinkie finger, an Omega around his wrist and the tin box of expensive cigarettes on the inner pocket of his jacket right across his heart. Not forgetting the most important part tool – perhaps the one with the most value in his life – the clean Beretta.
From the time he entered the penthouse until now, he had taken apart the sleek gun, which had caused the deaths of countless men, cleaned it, brushed it, wiped it with a specific material and put it back together. He treasured it.
Tony Marinetti called for the lift by pressing the button and pinged a message to Enzo, his driver. The ride down was far quicker than the ride up earlier, certainly felt so. He stepped across the spacious and luxurious reception area, two new females now behind the desk, clearly working the night shifts, their eyes trailing on Tony Marinetti and his large frame.
It was a quick transaction. From the spinning doors straight into the open door of the Tahoe held open by Enzo in leather gloves.
“Where to boss?”
“Club Brass.” Tony stated nonchalantly, glancing out the window and placing his chin on the palm of the hand.
No reply from the driver, the tinted glass acting as a divider rose up and quietness enveloped the large backroom of the SUV that was covered in bulletproof windows and metal, as well as equipped with tires that could resist the shot of a bullet or two. It was completely illegal and not registered with the authorities. But not like a man whose profession was like Tony’s would care. That was the least of his worries.
The journey was quick, considering the high-end club was located in Manhattan and only a few blocks away from the Four Seasons that Tony was staying at. The city looked different at night. The skyscrapers appeared taller and more impressive, the lights adding a unique charm to the streets and a new atmosphere rolled out onto the roads. It was a different experience and Tony liked it. If he didn’t love London as much, he may consider to relocate. He certainly understood why this is considered one of the greatest cities in the world. The city that never sleeps.