Chapter 3 - The Shadow on Tenth Street
By the second week of October, the agency nurse had been permanently dismissed, her agency threatened with a municipal license audit that Dominic initiated with a single phone call to the director of public health. In her place, a new routine had established itself in the row house on Passyunk.
Every afternoon at three, the door to number 44 would click open, and Elena would come down with Leo. She had agreed to take a weekly salary from Maria—not Dominic—after the old woman had weaponized her own Italian guilt, claiming her joints were too stiff to handle the heavy iron pots without a young girl’s help.
Dominic found himself driving his black Escalade down Tenth Street more often than his corporate office required. He would park under the rusted awning of the vacant fish market across the street, his engine idling, his eyes fixed on the second-story windows where the light from the kitchen threw Elena’s silhouette against the glass.
“You’re lingering, boss,” Rocco Miller said from the passenger seat. Rocco was thirty-two, had a broken nose from his days in the amateur boxing leagues, and could read Dominic’s moods better than anyone else in the crew. He was currently cleaning his fingernails with a steel toothpick, his eyes scanning the sidewalk for any sign of the local lookouts.
“The neighborhood is changing, Rocco,” Dominic said, his hands resting on the leather steering wheel. “The kids from the North Side are coming down past Washington Avenue. They think because Pop is sick, the territory is open for negotiation.”
“It’s not the North Side kids I’m worried about, Dominic,” Rocco said, nodding toward the corner of the block where a battered, rusted Chevy Malibu with Delaware plates had been idling for the last twenty minutes. “That car’s been here three times this week. It belongs to a guy named Jimmy Vance. He’s a low-level collector for the independent sportsbooks out in Chester.”
Dominic’s jaw tightened. Vance.
“The girl’s name is Elena Vance,” Dominic muttered, his green eyes locking onto the rusted Malibu like a hawk tracking a field mouse.
“Yeah,” Rocco said, his tone turning serious as he set his toothpick down. “Jimmy is her ex-husband. He did eighteen months in Rockview for aggravated assault before the marriage fell apart. The word on the street is he lost twenty grand of the Chester syndicate’s money on the pro football games last weekend. He’s looking for a liquidation strategy, Dominic. And he knows his ex-wife has a clean record and a child who needs a signature for a social security survivor benefit from her grandfather’s estate.”
Dominic didn't answer. He reached down, shifted the Escalade into drive, and pulled out from beneath the awning with a slow, heavy surge of power that left a cloud of gray exhaust against the wet brick wall.
“Rocco,” Dominic said as they cleared the intersection.
May you like
“Yeah, boss?”
“Tell the boys on Tenth Street to keep their eyes open. If that Malibu stops within fifty yards of my father’s steps, I want the tires gone before the driver can even open his door.”
