The Russos 1 Read online

  Both Mac and I could see that they were both in great pain. Your dad drank his pain away and Johnny lost himself in a long line of lovers. I tried talking to both of them. They both told me there was nothing wrong.

  They never have talked to me, Angelo, so what am I supposed to do?"

  "What about Mac? He's Dad's best friend. Did he try talking to him?"

  "Mac knows Johnny and your dad maybe even better than I do. When I spoke to Mac, he told me that there was nothing anyone could do about it. He wouldn't say more than that."

  The car pulled up now in front of the coffee shop.

  "It's been cleared for our meeting," Pepi told him as Angelo eyed the crowd that was sectioned off by barriers on the other side of the street.

  Frank stood up in the window and raised a hand as they got out of the car. People in the crowd screamed, "Pepi...Pepi...!" The security man ushered them quickly inside the doughnut shop.

  A beautiful woman with upswept hair stood up.

  She stared at Angelo and shook her head. "Wow, I know whose son you are. You certainly look like your father. If he were standing here, I would swear I was seeing double."

  Pepi ruffled Angelo's hair. "Such a curse, eh, kid?" he teased, and Angelo blushed a little.

  Frank introduced Francine Thompson, and they all sat down. A gushing waitress came over and set steaming mugs of coffee in front of Pepi and Angelo, gazing longingly at Pepi.

  Frank practically shooed her away. "I promised her your autograph later, Pep, for keeping a low profile, you know. I had to rent this joint." He motioned to the girl. "You can refill mine and the lady's."

  She hurried over with the coffee pot. They waited until she had refilled Frank and Francine's mug, and then resumed talking.

  Pep took a breath. "So, Ms. Thompson, what's the situation with my brother?"

  "Your brother has to be the most stubborn, uncooperative client I've ever had. He won't tell me dick, if you'll pardon the expression. He wants to see Johnny, and that's it. He told me he likes it in there."

  Angelo lowered his head and then banged his forehead on the table a couple of times.

  Pepi was growing enraged. "I'll talk some sense into him later today. What in hell is wrong with him? Did he give you anything at all you can work with?"

  She shook her head. "I asked him why he confessed and he told me because he shot Johnny. I asked him if there was a struggle for the gun...was it self-defense...accidental? He won't tell me anything. I don't know what to plea.

  "There are witnesses already being called, guests at the party that night who heard Drake and Johnny arguing. In the DA's mind, it's open and shut. Drake was drinking, he was angry at his brother, they argued, Drake took out a gun and shot Johnny in the head. Then he walked around in a daze, ended up at the police station and confessed. How much neater can it be? On top of that, Drake gives me nothing. He has no intention of taking the stand and based on the confession, I'll have to plead guilty unless he tells me otherwise."

  "Given the fact that he confessed that night at the police station, is there any chance that...?" Angelo asked her.

  "Look, the confession is verbal. He never signed anything, which is good. He walked in, said "I shot my brother," and collapsed, but if he doesn't help me, that declaration will be what the jury is going to focus on when it comes time to make their decision, along with the gun and the witnesses. Now," she pulled out a sheet of paper from her leather binder and laid it on the table, "there is one positive note. I received this from forensics this morning. There are two sets of fingerprints on the gun: Drake's and Johnny's. This indicates that there was a struggle."

  Pepi wanted to cry. An image of Johnny and Drake struggling with a loaded gun came to his mind. What the hell was happening to his family?

  When no one said anything, Francine continued.

  "That's good, because we could go for accidental or self-defense. Maybe Drake never meant to kill his brother. Maybe he was going to shoot himself, and Johnny tried to stop him."

  Pepi gasped. Angelo met his uncle's eyes, and Frank shook his head. "What in the world...?" Frank began.

  "No," Angelo raised his hand. "Uncle Pep and I were just talking about that. Dad's old girlfriend Nancy, remember her, Frank?"

  Frank rolled his eyes.

  "Ya, well, she told me that Dad put a gun in his mouth last year, scared her to death."

  "Excellent," Francine murmured. "We've got to find this girl. Nancy what?"

  Frank looked at Pepi.

  Pepi searched his memory. "What was her name... Nancy...Nancy Dobson...that's it...Dobson. That's it!"

  "The famous fashion model?" Francine wrote down the name. "She'll be easy to find. Will she testify to that, you think?" She was looking at Angelo.

  "Don't ask me. I hope so," Angelo replied. "Ms. Thompson," he said suddenly, "think I can see my dad?"

  "I'll call over and ask. I think it's up to your father."

  Angelo nodded as Francine opened up her cell phone. Pepi stood up and looked at Angelo. "I'm going with you," he said.

  Frank looked up at the two young men. "I'm going to stop by the hospital. I got some stuff to go over with Mac. When are you planning on going by the studio, Pep?"

  "Soon, Frank. This week, I promise."

  Frank stood and squeezed Pepi's arm. "Talk some sense into Drake, will ya? We need him."

  "After this, do you think we can really save the band, Frank?" Pepi blinked.

  "The fans are standing by you, Pep, they don't believe that Drake would shoot his brother in cold blood. We're going to hang on, kid. I promise if we get through this, you'll be up there on stage again, stronger and better than ever." There were tears in Frank's eyes.

  Pepi thanked him just as Francine Thompson finished talking on the phone.

  "Drake will see you," she said. "You can go right over."

  "Thanks, Francine," Pepi hugged her. He felt close to her for some reason, even if they had only just met.

  Angelo shook Francine's hand while Pepi picked up a napkin and began to write his name.

  He looked over at the young girl at the counter.

  "What's your name?" he asked.

  "Carol," she replied shyly.

  Pepi wrote 'To Carol' on top of 'Love, Pepi', walked over and handed it to her. "Thanks," he said, winking. "Great service."

  She grinned and took the napkin from him, watching as he filed out after the younger man who looked a lot like Drake Russo. Wow, what a day, she thought.

  Outside, Frank's cell phone rang. "Oh, what now?" he groaned, taking it out of the inside pocket of his suit jacket.

  It was his personal assistant, Jenny.

  "Frank, sorry to bother you, but I should tell you that some woman has been calling here for the last three hours. She sounds really freaked, like she's hysterical or something. She insists on speaking to you...something about kidnapping her son and calling the police. I thought I should tell you."

  Frank sighed. "Okay, thanks, Jen, I'll take care of it." Frank held up a hand to Francine, who was just about to drive off in her car. She waved and roared out of the parking lot.

  He motioned to Pepi, who was getting into the limo.

  Pepi stuck his head out and Frank came over and slipped into the car beside him.

  "What is it?" Pepi asked.

  "Sandra...she's been calling my office. She's freaking out. You sent the private jet for Johnny's son?"

  Pepi sighed. "You want me to take care of this, don't you?"

  "Look, I hardly know Johnny's ex. God, they were divorced so fast, I hardly even remember her. Why is she calling me?"

  Pepi shrugged.

  Angelo glanced over at Frank, who was looking a little frazzled. "Maybe I should get Mom to call her. They were best friends. What do you think?"

  Anxious to pass the buck, Frank and Pepi both nodded.

  "Great," Frank said, opening the door. "Just do it soon before she has the police knocking on my door."

  "Give me
your cell phone, Uncle Pep," Angelo said as Frank stepped out and walked over to his own car.

  "Wait a bit, will you, Carter?" Pepi told his driver.

  "We're going to make a call before going over to the jail."

  "Yes, sir," he replied.

  Angelo dialed his house. There was no answer. "I thought maybe she went home. She must still be at the hospital. I'll try her cell phone."

  Pepi nodded.

  "No answer. What's Mac's number?"

  He rattled it off. "He's probably at the hospital, and he usually has his phone." Pepi said.

  On the third ring, Mac picked up. "Ya," he said.

  "Mac, Angelo. Look, is my mom nearby?"

  "She was. She's down in the cafeteria with your grandmother right now. Want me to get her?"

  "No. Look, have her call me. Uncle Pep sent the jet for Johnny's son, and his mom is freaking out. Frank is panicking, as usual and I think Mom should call Sandy and calm her down."

  Mac started laughing.

  "What?" Angelo demanded.

  "Well, just that it might make things worse. Those two...at the end, they were like oil and water. But, I'll tell her to call you as soon as she comes upstairs."

  "Okay, Mac. How's Uncle Johnny?"

  "The same, no change."

  Angelo sighed. "I'll see you later."

  "Ya, you too."

  Angelo shut down the phone and met Pepi's eyes.

  "You go in. I'll wait for Mom's call in the limo. They won't let me take the phone inside. I'll come in later."

  "Okay," Pepi nodded. "Carter," he rapped on the window.

  Carter slid open the glass door which divided them. "Yes, sir," he responded.

  "Take us over to the jail now, please," Pepi instructed.

  "Right away, sir," he said and the limo immediately began to roll.

  * * * * * *

  Tony's eyes widened as he scanned the city of Los Angeles from two thousand feet in the air. The plane had been gradually descending over the last ten minutes and Kevin Cochrane, the man who met him at the airport, was pointing out certain things about the city below them that he thought the young man would find interesting.

  "It's a huge city." Tony shook his head, sitting back now in the leather swivel chair.

  "Over ten million people," Kevin commented.

  "Was founded in 1781 by the Spanish."

  Tony looked around him. He had never been on a private jet before. This one was mind-blowing. There were two of these black leather chairs with matching sofas, one sitting on opposite sides of the room. In the arm of each chair were built-in CD players with headphones. There was wall-to-wall carpeting, a fully stocked refrigerator and a widescreen color television with DVD. In the corner sat boxes of compact discs and videos. In another room separated by curtains were four sets of bunk beds and wall-to-wall closets, with a toilet and shower. For a boy from small town Ontario, this was luxury like he had never seen before.

  Tony didn't dare touch any of the high tech equipment that surrounded him, even though Kevin Cochrane told him to go ahead and do whatever he pleased. He was just too nervous. Instead, he concentrated on the man who kept him company on the flight. Kevin Cochrane was a middle-aged, balding man with an earring and a potbelly. He laughed a lot and made off-color jokes, most of which Tony didn't get. When Tony asked him if he was a musician, Kevin roared with laughter and just about fell off his chair.

  "I can't carry a tune, let alone a note," he replied, slapping his thigh. "Actually, I'm the band's personal gofer."

  Tony had narrowed his eyes. "Personal what?"

  "Gofer. Basically I do anything that doesn't fit into someone else's unionized version of their job description."

  "I guess locating long-lost sons is one of those things," Tony murmured.

  Kevin sobered for a minute, and then reached over and patted Tony's knee. "I know it's got to be hard, kid, all this and Johnny in the hospital and all. It'll be fine, believe me."

  Tony nodded and looked out the window.

  Their conversation turned to other things after that.

  Kevin told him stories about things he had done for the band from time to time. Tony laughed when he told him that Mac Hayes had called him once when they were in Jersey to go all the way to Chinatown in New York City in the middle of the night to get egg rolls at this restaurant he really liked. The owner of the restaurant opened up especially so that Mac could get his egg rolls.

  Time passed quickly with Kevin, too quickly, what with his humorous anecdotes, and before Tony knew it, the plane was lowering in the air and Kevin was pointing to the L.A. freeway.

  Tony was sitting back in his chair now, his eyes closed. His heart was beating hard in his chest. He didn't want to get off this plane, didn't want to step into an alien city or meet these famous strangers who were his blood. He wanted to go home; home to Sam, and to the life he had just two days ago.

  A voice came over a loudspeaker, instructing them to fasten their seatbelts.

  Kevin fastened his and looked over at Tony to make sure his was fastened.

  "Kev," the pilot said casually over the mike, "I'll be putting us down in that airstrip in back of L.A.X, you know the one. I've phoned ahead to alert the limo driver. He's on his way now, but there's quite a bit of traffic on the freeway. It's moving pretty slow down there, so I'm thinking that he's going to be a few minutes late. I radioed the tower and I'm just waiting for clearance to bring us down. See ya on the ground."

  Tony looked over at Kevin Cochrane. "Will we go straight to the hospital?"

  Kevin looked back at him. "That's my instructions. Did you want to...?"

  "No. Take me where I'm supposed to go. Will my aunt be there?"

  "I think so. I really don't know much about it, kid. Your uncle told me to meet you at the airport, bring you on the plane and then accompany you to the hospital in the limo. That's all."

  Tony nodded.

  The person he was less nervous about meeting was his aunt. He hoped she would be in the car and that they could talk a little bit before he met Pepi Russo or Mac Hayes. These were famous people, people he had seen on television, and on videos. To suddenly be face to face with these people and interact with them was overwhelming. As for meeting his father, that was a completely different story.

  His father, the famous Johnny Russo, was a stranger to him, a stranger in a coma who might die before he ever had the opportunity to ask him why he had abandoned his only son. Johnny Russo, this godlike person who sang and played guitar alongside his brothers, always seemed more fantasy than real...

  Johnny Russo, who he had spent hours pretending to be, strumming on an invisible guitar and singing through empty toilet paper rolls.

  He and Sam made up such fantastic stories. One of their favorites was when the two brothers were being chased by crazed fans, and they were forced to run and hide in scary places like underground cemeteries, which was really the upstairs closet at the Ashman house. Sometimes Johnny would get kidnapped by fans or evil rival musicians, who were jealous of their success. Sometimes they were aliens or monsters from hell. Drake, who had magical powers, would always rescue Johnny and they'd just manage to get to the concert on time. Mac, who they took turns portraying, would always be frantically looking for them. The fans would be screaming and stomping their feet, and then Tony and Sam would burst into the room as if they were running out onstage.

  Sam would put on one of the Russo Brothers songs, and they would start moving and lip-synching. The fans would go wild, and the two brothers would smile secretly at each other as they performed, because only they knew what demons they had to fight to get to that concert. Later, they would tell their adventure to Mac, who would hug them with relief and scold them for running off and getting into trouble.

  But he was no longer a child pretending to be a rock star. As soon as he stepped off this plane, Drake and Johnny Russo would no longer be the fantasy characters of his boyhood. Drake Russo was a real man, sitting in a real jail
, and he had no magical power in which to escape or rescue his brother.

  * * * * * *

  Janet ran a hand through her hair, avoiding Mac's eyes. She didn't want to have to do this.

  Mac held out his phone. She pushed it away.

  Sophia watched the exchange, and then got out of the chair and walked over to where Mac and Janet stood in the corner of the waiting room.

  "What is happening here?" she demanded. "Is it something to do with Drake? I have a right to know."

  Janet rolled her eyes at Mac and then turned to her ex-mother-in-law. "Sophia, this has nothing to do with Drake. Drake is seeing a lawyer today, that's all I know. We'll know more when Pepi gets back." She wanted to add, "Now get off my back," but she didn't.

  Sophia wrung her hands. "I don't understand why Drake won't see me. I just can't..."

  "Sophia," Mac placed his hand on her shoulder and walked her away from Janet, "why don't you go in and sit with Johnny. Talk with him. Some say that people in a coma can hear you, and that it helps to bring them back."

  He had her halfway down the hall now.

  Janet watched them. The way Mac bent his blond head close to hers, the comforting sound of his voice as he spoke so gently to her. God, she should have held on to that one.

  Sophia nodded at Mac and then continued on to her son's room. Mac came back to Janet, and again held out the phone.

  "Why me?" she whined.

  "You were her best friend. Look, call your son, will ya, he's waiting to go in and see Drake." Mac placed the phone in her hand and gave her a meaningful look.

  When she began dialing the number, Mac walked down the hallway toward Johnny's room.

  Her son picked up the phone immediately.

  "Mom?"

  "I know what this is all about, and I..." Janet began.

  "Mom, listen, Sandy is harassing people at the studio. Frank is shitting bricks. She's talking about kidnapping and suing and stuff. How old is this kid, anyway?"