Page 61 of Forgetting the Enemy
“Where’s Pop?” I ask him.
“He’s with your mom,” Marco says.
“Where? Shouldn’t you be with them?” I ask.
“Well, yeah I should, but Domenic shooed me away.”
“He what?”
Marco chuckles. “He wanted somealonetime with your mom. I swear your parents have turned into a pair of lovesick teenagers.”
I hold my hands up to my ears. “Ahh… Don’t tell me any more.”
Marco continues to laugh. I can’t help but laugh too. It’s just so weird seeing my parents like this. I guess they are making up for lost time. Pop spent so many years working on making the family what it is today, I guess he and Mom never got the chance to just be in love.
Ricco comes in and asks, “What’s so funny?”
Marco shakes his head and says, “Nothing, man.” He looks at me, and I nod. I don’t need him to be sharing my parents’ business with everyone on staff, even if it is Ricco.
“Whatever,” Ricco says. “Vince is on his way. He says he wants you to take the lead on this, but he wants to tell those fuckers face-to-face that he gave the order for the hit and it was not initiated by the Vitalis.” He pauses and turns toward Marco. “Some of us still work around here,” he says smartly, causing Marco to laugh even more.
Forty-five minutes later, Vince is at my office and we’re ready to head to the watershed. The property really doesn’t have a real watershed—well, not anymore. It was a real watershed, but years before I was born—actually, I think it might have been my grandfather—had it converted into a torture chamber. It is where we take those who have crossed the family to interrogate them. And believe me, these interrogations are not for the weak at heart. They’re menacing and brutal, and many times afterward, I question my humanity.
It’s the ultimate price for going against my family in any way.
When we get outside, there are three golf carts parked in the driveway waiting for us. Vince, Ricco, and I get in the first one, and Gio and his men follow in the other two. I told Marco to stick around the house. Pop may be indisposed, and the threat may have been captured, but I still want Marco and his men at the house for backup, just in case.
Ricco, taking the lead, drives down to the watershed. As most watersheds go, this one is much bigger than you would expect. My grandfather had it built so that he could encompass more people anddevicesinside. We still call it a watershed, but in all actuality, it’s a small house.
Ricco opens the door, and the pleasure of seeing Armino and Carmine standing in the center of the room, far enough apart, and with their arms suspended in the air by heavy-duty chains is immensely satisfying. The chain retracts and is strong enough to hold close to a thousand pounds. Right now, their feet are flat on the floor, but with one push of a button, I can change that.
Back in my grandfather’s day, the art of interrogating someone was drastically different than the methods Pop and I use. Basically, the watershed is intimidating enough that all the devices my grandfather had placed in here serve their purpose without ever being used.
First off, the most familiar piece in the room is the rack. This device dates back to medieval times and was designed to dislocate every joint in a human body. It is believed to be the most painful form of medieval torture. It has a wooden frame with two ropes fixed to the bottom and two more to the top, all of which are used to bind the victim’s hands and feet. As the handle on the end gets turned, the victim is stretched until their limbs are dislocated. I believe in many cases, even after the limbs were dislocated, the handle was still turned, thus completely tearing the limbs from the body.
To the right of the rack is the wall of torture. Well, that’s what we call it. Hanging on display, we have rope, whips, heavy-duty pliers, Tasers, a drill, an over-sized pair of scissors, and a Heretic’s fork. It’s pretty obvious what most of these items are used for, such as de-nailing, tongue ripping, and drilling. The fork is a metal device with two opposed bi-pronged forks attached to a belt. One end of the fork is pushed under the chin, and the other is pushed against the sternum, with the strap securing it to the victim’s neck. The victim is then suspended from the ceiling and hung so that they can’t sleep, knowing if their head drooped, their throat and chest would be pierced.
We’ve never had to use any of those items on the wall—nor the rack—but they sure have worked to intimidate just about anyone who has been brought in here. On the other side of the room is the Sicilian Bull, the family’s most intimidating and prized torture device.
The bull is a device designed by the ancient Greeks. It’s a simple concept of torture but offered one of the most diabolical executions. It was made entirely from bronze and is the same shape and size of an actual bull, housing a hollow chamber in the belly of its body. The victim is locked inside of the chamber. A fire pit is set underneath the belly of the bull, heating it until the victim inside roasts to death.
As if the bull wasn’t brutal enough, it was also designed to channel the screams of the victim through a series of pipes and out a set of holes on the bull’s face. The gruesome acoustic apparatus transforms the desperate screams so that they sound like a bull’s bellowing. I can’t even begin to imagine. We’ve never used it during my lifetime.
But like I said, these items are mostly for show. Walking into a room like this can make even the most loyal rat talk. And it’s what I am about to get from the two fuckers who are hanging from the ceiling.
“Gentlemen,” I say when I walk into the room.
They both look up and see my boys and me walking toward them. When Vince walks in, I truly see panic in their eyes. Although they fear my family and me—after all, we were the ones they tried to kill—they are still members of Vince’s family. Their actions, organizing a hit without their Don’s approval, well, just doesn’t sit well in our world.
“Carmine, Armino,” Vince says. “Isn’t this a surprise seeing you both here?” Vince pulls a chair up and places it right in front of the two hanging men. “Michael and I want to have a chat with you.” He sits. I have to say, I’ve never seen Vince like this. He’s usually the quiet one, but perhaps he’s learned more from his father than I thought. I’m not complaining. It’s usually good to have a good-guy–bad-guy routine working for you in situations like this.
I grab a chair and place it next to Vince and sit down. “You boys comfortable?” I ask, just to be a dick.
They both stare at us, not saying a word.
“So this is how it’s gonna go. Vince and I are gonna ask you some questions, and you boys are gonna give us honest answers. If you don’t”—I look around the room—“as you can see, we have many ways to ensure you do. Understood?”
They both nod hesitantly but don’t speak.
