Honor Among Thieves

Elle Pepper

January 2006

For the first time in this whole thing I actually considered running. But where would I go? My right hand, the one I use for almost everything, was broken, badly broken, and if I went to the hospital or a clinic, I knew DiAmbrosi would catch me. And then I would get a visit from Him. Even those of us who knew the Executioner didn’t speak of him, we didn’t want to tempt fate.

I could see myself standing in front of the Clinic, waiting to get seen. The black car would come up from the south, it always did, off of pine or Calhoun. Driving slowly, with the top down, it would stop right in front of me. That was it, you got in, and came to him, or he drove off, and came to you later. The second option was more…uncomfortable.

Clinic. This was Thursday, the day I went to visit my sister Lilly at the hospital across the street from the clinic. We had committed her shortly after Papa’s grisly death, she didn’t understand that time had passed; and probably still didn’t. God, this would be the first week since I had been out that I wouldn’t see her.

I still saw her as the little girl I had carried down the stairs of the house, out into the bright sun. Along with my brother, a catatonic, bloody mess. And that was when I had made my choice. I had found one of the cars that the men had come in, and driven to the police station to find my Godfather. I don’t know if I really planned to turn myself in. But I finally figured, I had been the weaker brother, it was time for me to grow some balls and step up. So I did.

I wondered what lie my brother would tell her. I hated him, had for a long time, but I did get his word on that one thing. No matter what happened, he would take care of her. I was the one who paid for her constant care. I visited every Thursday, I had to; she was my little sister.

"Father, forgive me," I leaned on the car. The window between us made me feel only slightly safer. I knew he could and would kill me, and I wondered how I would be able to do it. Had dad known? Had DiAmbrosi? Had DiAmbrosi ordered the hit on dad?

"What happened?" The two words pled for some sort of explanation of why such a good boy would kill his own men.

I looked down at my hands. The first two were justified, they shot at me first. But what about Sammy? I remembered the little snitch, he’d threatened to go to DiAmbrosi, I had panicked and shot him. I remembered The sargassi brothers I’d paid for them to be shot. DiLuca, I throttled him after I got the information I wanted. There were too many more to count. So I told him what I had believed.

"It started as blood, Matt." was all I could say. "I had found those sons of bitches, and then...." I didn’t know what else to say. How do you explain when you stop thinking about anything and just kill? I shrugged. "It got complicated." I finished lamely.

DiAmbrosi looked up at me; I guess he was thinking the same thing. I had made a power play. I had tried to take over the family when my boss showed what I believed to be weakness. I was a traitor. "Tell Geo I went willingly." I repeated.

His head bowed as he nodded again. He didn’t speak and I was glad. I knew anything else he had to say would only make this harder on both of us. It was always hard to read him because of those damn glasses. They hid his eyes from the world. For as long as I had known him, Mr. DiAmbrosi had worn those glasses. Everyone knew them. They were his calling card, his mark of favor, and his mark of disfavor also. They made him look like he didn’t give a damn if you lived or died.

On anyone else, dark green frames would have been an anomaly, but on him, they were natural because they had always been there. There had only been one time I had seen him without those glasses; the day I had earned my stripes. Someone had attacked Mr. DiAmbrosi to get to Geo and, without hesitation I had emptied the clip of my Eagle into the guy.

Mr. DiAmbrosi had hired me on a few years before as Geo’s personal assistant and driver. I wasn’t stupid; I knew what was really being asked of me. The same thing asked of any Mafia driver. Namely, keep your hands on the wheel, your eyes on the road, your ears on the radio and your mouth shut. Don’t talk unless you are addressed, and never ever reveal what you see in the rearview mirror. And if you know how to drive well, that is a bonus.

Mr. DiAmbrosi had smiled at me, another rarity. And it was that day when he gave me his other mark of favor. Something a DiMartelli hadn’t earned since my father had been my age. "The name’s Matt." The green eyes had told me that this one word was a secret between us: A secret that could save my life, or end it. I found out later that Mr. DiAmbrosi was a man of his word. If he gave you his name, he trusted you with everything.

Men who hadn’t earned the right to call him by his name and did so anyway usually got a very cold reception. DiAmbrosi had a glare that could chill your blood even through the glasses. It was one I recognized. He was a man who knew a hundred ways to kill you before you got to the door. And, to make matters worse, he had carte blanche in the family to do whatever he felt necessary to ‘keep the peace.’ If that meant people died, so be it.

As I watched him open the door as if to get out, it hit me just how appropriate this was. It had started with him and I. The fact that I had used my position as his friend and the Don’s bodyguard and driver to blind him to what I was doing. What was worse, at least to him, I had lied. My betrayal wasn’t just against my Don, but my sponsor also. I knew how things went, if I had sat tight he might have given me permission later, when things weren’t so testy. But I had to be a hotshot and make a move. I had to prove I was a man. DiAmbrosi was good at his job, I knew that, but I had bet against his ability to do his job, and I had lost. I made out my smoke and paused to look around a moment, still stalling.

We had parked behind a familiar building. It was the apartment they had taken me away from almost fifteen years ago. I smiled a bit at the irony. This was where it had started, with him and me, here, in the heights. 132, East Cedar Springs, #4. My room overlooked this courtyard, and I had seen the green convertible drive up, Mr. DiAmbrosi at the wheel. That was shortly after Papa’s bloody execution. I shivered. That had been a bloody day.

He didn’t look like he was ready to get out of the car, and I heard the window on the passenger side roll down as I stepped away from the car. I peeked in through the window of the apartment. It had been cleaned, painted, and then left alone. But as I looked inside, I still saw the room the way it was when I had last left it. Blood spatter across the celing, a crow-bar, dad’s weapon of choice, leaned against his chair. He was slumped forward, his upper body resting against the coffee table, and the air still smelled of blood, sweat and cordite.

I pulled away from the window and glanced back over my shoulder at DiAmbrosi who still sat in the car, his feet on the ground, staring at me through the open passenger window. I saw one hand drop, and knew he was reaching for his gun in case I tried to flee. I turned my back to him, giving him an open shot, an out.

I had given my word. I knew that The Queen of Heaven was going to personally kick me down to hell for betraying my Family, and that alone made me sad. No, that, and the fact that either way I was breaking my word. Either I lived, and broke my word to this man, or I died and I broke my word to poor Lilly. I took a deep breath to ward off tears.

And now that man that I had always known as a protective influence rose from the car, intent on a more sinister purpose. The gun in his hand, I knew was not for my defense. I did smile weakly when I saw he had downgraded from his normal Eagle he carried to a 9 mil. He smiled, following my line of sight. "Why should I add insult to injury, Vince?" his voice grew soft. "You still know what you did."

I nodded my understanding, crossed myself, and knelt. He vanished into my blind spot, and I bit back a cry of fear and regret. "No," My voice was stronger than I had intended. "Not in the back Matt, I’m not a coward." Nothing happened for a moment, "Please Matt, not in the back. I don’t want to die alone."

He moved back into my line of sight, understanding my request. I knew I was going to die, I knew who was going to kill me, I was willing to face it head-on, that’s what the move said, but also, that I was just as human as any other man. I was willing to die for my crimes, as long as I knew I wouldn’t die alone. If he was behind me, he could walk away as I lay dying and I would never know if he stayed. At least this way the last thing I would see was a friend.

He blinked and I realized that I wasn’t looking at his glasses, but rather the jade-colored eyes that they hid. His eyes showed far too much emotion for this line of work. And at last I understood his need of the glasses. To hide the view into his tortured soul. That even, fierce gaze drove my eyes to the ground. He was fighting to maintain this aloof air, I guess so he would be able to do what was required of him.

This was his one weakness. I could see him fighting tears I knew he would never shed. And I wondered, for a moment, if he had been forced to turn a blind eye to Papa’s death. To deny him a reprieve the way I was forcing him to deny me one.

He slowly closed his eyes, I guessed to pray for strength, and when he opened them again he was different. I can’t explain, but it is as if two people occupied one body. One who could kill you without a second thought, and one who would rather stand in your place.

The jade eyes that looked down on me had lost some of their hard edge. And I realized that in this, he was giving me a gift, even if it meant cursing himself. Here, in this last moment, he was baring himself to me. He was showing me who he really was without the mask I had always seen. This was Matthew DiAmbrosi.

One look into his eyes said that he didn’t enjoy this, as many people said. This was a grim and deadly business he knew well, but it was not what he liked. His green eyes begged me to understand as he held me in his gaze. Something about that look calmed me, taking the tremor from my body.

Perhaps it was that this strong man, this man I had known for so many years was giving me the one thing in death that he had denied me in life. That here, now, in this place, he considered me his equal. And it wasn’t something done to mollify a man who was dying. I’d seen him do something grudgingly. No, this was a gift. He honored me with this small sacrifice.

At last, I saw the man who had protected my Don for who he really was; a man, not a ghost. Not a force to be feared, but a shattered old man, in a middle-aged body, forced into things he would rather not do. I knew from those eyes that he had made similar choices before. That he would live because others died. But I also realized what he left unsaid. That if I asked, if I used the favor I had left with him, he would die in my place. If I told him not to kill me, cried ‘Stop,’ he would. And he would willingly face whatever penalty came with it.

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