Blood Feud in Golden Sand

Prologue

Antonio Bianco’s late model sliver Mercedes glittered under the noon-day sun as it glided through the grand arched entrance of Saint Agnes Cemetery.

Haunting images flashed before his hooded, brooding eyes. Once again, he found himself huddled behind the worn, musty cranberry-colored sofa in his boyhood home in Cliffside Park, New Jersey, trying to stop his body from quaking. Frightened by the dream he’d had the night before that something awful was about to happen to his father.

Passing beneath the craggy, weathered fieldstone arch, he noticed an unprepossessing middle aged man with his hair combed back, clad in a caretaker’s uniform.

Stooped-shouldered, the man sat motionless in an old cream-colored golf cart on the side of the road peering down at the crumpled piece of paper in his hand.

A bemused smirk snaked across Bianco’s face. He couldn’t help wondering what sort of a man would choose to spend his days in a graveyard.

He stopped his car, lowered the window and asked, I’m looking for the grave of Enzo Bianco?

Wait a minute, the caretaker blithely said, reaching for a tattered folder lying on the seat beside him.

lt’s been a while, Bianco said, shamefaced, his dark eyebrows pressed together.

The caretaker nodded, knowingly.

l don’t remember…

After fumbling through his papers, the caretaker raised his droopy eyelids, pointed his long thin index finger and said in a weak voice, After you park, walk to the fifth row.

Bianco ran his hand over his thick black wavy hair and nodded. He was too ashamed to admit that it was the first time he’d visited his father’s grave since he died.

The caretaker glanced back down at the paper in his hand, and continued, Walk halfway down. It’ll be the third one on the left.

Thanks, Bianco said with a cursory nod, as he slowly drove toward the parking lot a short distance away.

After bringing the car to a stop he rested his head on the top of the steering wheel. So much had changed since his father’s death. He couldn’t believe he was already forty. The same age Enzo was when he had passed away. Why hadn’t he come sooner?

As soon as he asked the question the answer flew in his face. He knew that the moment he saw the grave the painful past would come flooding back, as if a dam had burst.

He lifted his head and stared straight ahead. He’d expected his life

to be different. Would he succumb to the same fate as his father, to be

struck down by a heart attack in the prime of life? Was he living on borrowed time?

He opened the door and deliberately pushed his muscular frame out of the car. A chilly northern wind whipped his face, hinting of the impending winter, stripping the few remaining leaves from the trees.

Though the sun was strong, he glanced up at it with piercing, emerald eyes, his father’s eyes.

As he reached inside the car for his overcoat he heard his thoughts above the pebbles crunching beneath his feet. Amazingly, the wind seemed to blow away the intervening years. A shroud of sorrow crept over him as the pages of his life again turned back to that hot June morning he held his dying father in his arms.

He turned and began to walk slowly toward the grave with his head

cocked to one side.

Seeing his father’s gravestone, he bowed his head as the final death scene played out before his eyes.

A shiver ran through him, and he stumbled.

He threw out his hands to keep his balance, instinctively shifting his weight from one leg to the other like an old, sick buck struggling to stand upright.

Dazed, he stooped in front of the grave, made the sign of the cross and whispered, Why did he have to die? Things could have been so different.

He knelt down at the foot of the grave. The inscription chiseled on the gravestone caught his eye, Here lies a truthful man, a thoughtful man, who loved his family … and loved life.

Hiding his face in his hands, he wept as he heard the echo of his father’s voice calling out his name, Antonio, Antonio ...

Looking up to heaven, he stood up and arched his back with a sigh. His lips quivered when a cloud blocked the sun, and he said through chattering teeth, Papa, I’ll always love you. I miss you so ...

He closed his eyes. The cold wind caused his face to become rosy. He was not a man who cried easily. He had always prided himself on his self-control. However, when he looked back down at the grave, he grew weak and his knees gave way. He fell back down onto the hard ground with a loud thud and blurted out, I’m sorry I couldn’t keep the family together.

When the moment passed, he painstakingly lifted himself up and wiped the tears from his eyes.

Moments later, he grudgingly stepped into his car and drove away. Grief marked his chiseled features, as he stared intently at the road ahead.

Glancing at the cemetery arch in the rear view mirror, Antonio re- called how he had awaken to the smell of fresh brewed coffee on that fateful Saturday morning his father died. From his second story bed- room he could smell the eggs and bacon Enzo was frying in the kitchen below. It was the first day of summer vacation, a glorious day with the promise of a long and fun filled time ahead. He lay motionless on his bed gazing at the shafts of sunlight piercing the yellow curtains, bathing the room in a golden hue. He’d promised his father that he would help him build a flagstone patio for one of his customers. He was looking forward to working with his favorite cousin, Nick Santuchi. Nick was Enzo’s business partner. Antonio looked up to Nick like he was an older brother. Nick was seven years his senior, six-foot-two, and as strong as an ox.

He’d never forget hearing the dish crash to the floor, as it fell from his father’s hand. He had jumped up and ran down to the kitchen, where he’d found Enzo sprawled in a heap on the black and white checkered linoleum floor, clutching his chest in a silent scream.

He’d shouted his father’s name, then fell to his knees and pressed down on Enzo’s barrel chest with both hands. He began to breathe into his mouth, just as he had learned to do at school.

Again and again, he desperately struggled to breathe life into his father.

Sobbing, Antonio grievously lifted his father’s limp torso and cradled it in his arms. He buried his face in his neck and screamed, No papa. Don’t die. I need you. We all need you.

Grief-stricken, he rocked his father’s body back and forth, crying out in pain. Enzo was a mighty oak standing strong, protecting the family through the storms of life. Antonio could sense his life would never be the same.

Antonio placed his shaky fingers over Enzo’s eyelids and gently closed them.

Enzo had repeatedly told Antonio that he wanted him to take over his construction business after he graduated high school, despite Antonio’s disinterest in the business. And since Antonio was the oldest Enzo had said that he would become the head of the family when he died. However, Antonio had never taken him seriously. He’d always thought his father would live forever.

Ever since he could remember, he’d been able to predict impending doom. Like the time his best friend chased a football into the street, and was hit by a speeding car and killed. He’d dreamed about it the night before. Why wasn’t he like other people? Was he cursed?

He took his eyes off the road and peered intently into the rearview mirror. Gone was the glint of curiosity that compelled him to search out a future for himself, as if life was a great adventure. The grand, exciting dreams of success that had given him hope as a young man seemed to grow more distant with each passing year. His grandfather had once told him that in the heart of every Italian was a river of fatalism, whose current led toward an ocean of acceptance. What else could he do but accept his fate. Accept it, and deal with it as best as he could.

Caroline, Antonio’s adulterous wife of thirteen years had left him a year earlier, violating a custody agreement, in effect kidnapping their thirteen year old son, Adam. In a farewell note Caroline had stated that taking Adam was her way of punishing him for wasting the best years of her life. It was as if she had plunged a dagger into his chest, and ripped out his beating heart. He’d hired a private investigator to find them, but so far he’d been unable to locate them. Gazing thoughtfully at the road ahead, he couldn’t help but think how much each person’s life is determined by forces beyond their control. In an instant, he saw himself old and surrendered, fated to live out his final years without love, without hope, with loneliness gnawing at his heart. Was that his destiny?

Chapter 1

The next morning Antonio Bianco threw his black leather luggage bags into the trunk of his car, jumped behind the wheel and sped away from the Turnpike Hotel. When he’d decided to quit his job, as vice- president of a major public relations agency headquartered in New York City, the president of the company, and many of his co-workers, had chided him for walking away from a six figure salary. What made matters worse was that his fellow workers had somehow heard how he’d left the office early one Friday afternoon and caught his wife in bed, moaning, legs spread high in the air for the next door neighbor.

A sly smile creped across his face, when he recalled how he’d run down to his study to fetch his .3 8-caliber revolver. Though by the time he’d returned his neighbor had climbed out the bedroom window and ran home. He had pointed the gun at Caroline. He’d been so close to putting out her lights. Why hadn’t he pulled the trigger?

The months leading up to the divorce seemed endless. His days were filled with deadlines and decisions, while Caroline always had one excuse or another why he couldn’t see their son, Adam. He couldn’t understand how Caroline could be so vindictive. His life had become unbearable. More than once, her behavior had caused him to lie on the living room sofa in the dark with a revolver in his mouth ready to pull the trigger.

Living in Ridgewood, New Jersey, rubbing elbows with high- powered CEO’s and presidents of major corporations, had given Antonio the feeling that he had arrived. However, his house was full of memories; he invariably saw his son in every room. Although his neighbors seemed understanding enough, their pitiful stares bore a hole in his soul. And when Caroline ran off with Adam, Antonio decided to sell his home and leave New Jersey.

At the entrance ramp of the New Jersey Turnpike he furrowed his brow, stared into the sunlight at the row houses hugging the highway, and said in a quiet voice, l’ll never go back to that grave again.

Then he punched down hard on the accelerator. He was sure his fa-

ther’s soul had gone to a heavenly place, no slab of granite could hold it

down.

Two weeks earlier, Antonio had booked a midnight flight to Jacksonville lnternational Airport to attend his mother’s funeral. Vera Santoro had supposedly died from a stroke in her ocean-side condominium in the upscale community of Ponte Vedra Beach. Upon returning he wrote letters to his brothers, Luciano and Salvatore, and to his sister, Maria, informing them that he intended to live in Vera’s condominium until it was sold. Vera had remarried ten years earlier and retired to Florida with her new husband, Mario Santoro. However, Mario had been hit and killed by a drunken driver three years earlier, while crossing A1A. Vera had lived alone ever since.

Three days later, Antonio recognized the columned entrance of Golden Sand and parked his car in one of the spaces in front of the lobby. Stiff from the long drive, he slowly climbed out, stretched his arms high above his head and took a deep breath.

The heat was suffocating. He glanced around the parking lot. All he wanted was a cold shower and a good night sleep.

Peering down at his wristwatch, Antonio popped open the trunk and pulled out two suitcases.

He picked them up and began to walk slowly toward the ten story white stucco building. He was happy that he’d sold all his household belongings at auction. He knew they’d never fit into his mother’s con- dominium.

Half way there he turned and saw Hiram Zucker’s metallic grey BMW speed around the corner and fly over the entrance ramp. He’d met Zucker at his mother’s funeral. Zucker’s wife, Miriam, and Vera had been best of friends.

Earlier that week, Antonio had telephoned Zucker to tell him approximately when he would arrive.

The car jerked to a sudden halt, and Zucker jumped out and strutted toward Antonio, his bulging belly bouncing in a quick, jerky motion with each step. He was almost as round as he was tall, with pudgy cheeks, and a nose that spread across his face.

Antonio reached out and vigorously shook Zucker’s meaty hand. How are you, Mr. Zucker?

"How was your trip? Zucker asked with a smile.

Exhausting.

You’re right on time.

I don’t like to drive long distances, Antonio said with a dismissive wave of his hand.

Please, call me Hiram. I’d like us to be on a first name basis.

Sure. Antonio nodded. He referred to Mr. Zuker by his sir name in deference to his age. He was old enough to be his father.

My wife’s expecting you. She’s prepared a fine dinner.

Antonio nodded and wiped the sweat from his brow.

I hope you like brisket of beef?

You shouldn’t have gone to all that trouble.

It’s no trouble. Besides, we want you to feel at home.

Antonio smiled graciously. That’s very kind of you.

Zucker gazed into the distance with a faraway look in his eyes, Vera was such a vivacious woman.

Antonio bowed his head. He didn’t want Zucker to see him cry. Yeah, she always kept herself busy.

I still can’t believe she’s gone.

I miss her dearly ... Antonio’s voice trailed off as his eyes welled up with tears.

Zucker placed his hand on Antonio’s shoulder. Come on, let’s go inside.

Antonio nodded. He couldn’t help but think that at any moment his mother would come walking toward them with an exuberant smile. I’ve taken the liberty of inviting someone special.

Antonio gave him a sideways glance. Who might that be?

A friend of your mother.

Antonio stared straight ahead. He didn’t know want to say.

It’s really not my place to tell you, Zucker sighed, looking up at the cloudless, azure blue sky.

Slack-jawed, Antonio abruptly stopped and let his suitcases drop to the hot asphalt with a thud. Tell me what?

I guess the chore falls on my shoulders.

Antonio planted his feet on the ground and placed his hands on his hips. He examined Zucker’s deeply tanned face. I don’t understand?

Zuker’s face turned into a worrisome frown. Your mother told Miriam that she was going to tell you.

Tell me what?

Zucker pushed his knuckled fingers through his thinning hair. Vera had taken a lover.

She what?

Zucker shook his head with a manly grin. Your mother was a hot blooded woman with a zest for life. But I’m sure you already know hat.

An incredulous look crept across Antonio’s face. My mother was sixty-five years old.

Martinez seems nice enough.

Martinez, Antonio said with a curious stare.

Emilio Martinez.

Antonio grimaced. She never told me?

She was afraid you wouldn’t understand.

Antonio tilted his head up and rolled his eyes back.

Zucker shoved his weathered hands into his dark blue cotton trousers. Vera was careful about who she was with.

Antonio’s intense green eyes studied Zucker’s craggy features. "I

don’t understand?"

The woman in 22.

What about her?

Zucker hesitated, then said, Maybe I shouldn’t say this, but I’m sure you’ll find out sooner or later.

Find out what?

It’s a little known fact that after menopause women aren’t afraid of getting pregnant anymore.

What are you getting at?

"You can get Viagra over the Intemet. And medical providers don’t

even ask about our sex life."

Antonio shrugged. I still don’t get it?

It’s part of the new face of HIV.

You mean to tell me that my mother was afraid of getting AIDS?

Clinicians don’t usually take the sexual histories of older people.

I didn’t know that.

Zucker frowned. They think we don’t know what a sexually transmitted disease is.

Antonio brought his hand up to his brow, and said in a cracked voice, We never discussed--

We’re a youth-oriented culture, Zucker snapped. We don’t like to think that our parents or our grandparents are having sex.

Antonio nodded. You’re right.

An AARP survey found that more than half of men and women age 45 to 59 reported that they had sex once a week or more.

A coy grin covered Antonio’s face. He’d never thought his mother

would have taken a lover.

Activists are concerned that too little testing has been done to see if there’s any adverse reaction between HIV/AIDS medication and traditional aging drugs.

So, … this Martinez fellow hooked-up with my mother?

That’s one way of putting it.

Antonio folded his arms tightly in front of his chest. l’m shocked.

Zucker bowed his head, and sighed It’s not easy to live alone. We had a man hang himself last year. He’d been depressed over his wife’s death for some time. The day before it happened, he told a neighbor his life was senseless without her.

Antonio pointed to the second floor. Getting back to what you were saying about the woman in 22.

She divorced her husband after twenty years of marriage. She was hesitant about re-entering the dating scene. So she chose a man she’d known for years.

And he had AIDS?

Zucker diverted his eyes, and said softly, All I’ll say is that she has a problem.

Uh-huh.

Zucker’s eyes galvanized on the late model gold Cadillac that had just entered the parking lot.

Antonio craned his neck to watch a short white-haired man swagger up to the entrance and push his way through the lobby’s revolving glass doors. His flat pointy ears and dark prowling eyes made him appear sinister. He could sense that his presence instilled fear in Zucker.

Zucker cleared his throat and looked back at Antonio. The percentage of those individuals with AIDS who are over 50 rose steadily in the 1990's. Today’s victims are now heterosexual, older and grayer.

Antonio grunted loudly and turned away. He couldn’t remember the last time he and his mother had discussed sex. He wondered if she had said anything about her lover to his sister, Maria.

You should be seeing a lot of him. Emilio lives in the condominium above Vera’s.

Antonio stared into Zucker’s protruding, brown mustang eyes, which seemed to be begging his forgiveness.

I’m sorry. I mean, … it’s yours now, Zucker stammered.

Hmm.

Zucker took a brown leather key case out of his pocket, and separated one key from the others.

Miriam will be disappointed if we’re late. She’s been preparing this meal all day.

Antonio’s shoulders drooped as he dutifully followed Zucker, asking, Don’t you think I should put my suitcases away first?

Can’t it wait?

I suppose so, Antonio said in a matter-of-fact tone. He wanted to go straight up to his mother’s condo. He wasn’t ready to deal with the legacy of wonton sexuality his liberated mother had left behind. He’d thought he knew her. Did she have any other secrets?

Chapter 2

The telephone rang.

Antonio’s eyes shot open.

He reached for the handset and hit the silver lamp that stood atop the night table, and it went down with a crash.

Who is it? Antonio asked with a gruesome look on his face.

Oscar Hawk, Mr. Bianco. Sorry to call so early, but there’s been a break in the case.

Antonio stretched to pick up the fallen lamp. There has?

Your wife’s been issued a speeding ticket in Fort Lauderdale.

Antonio swung his legs over the side of the bed, Florida?

That’s right.

Bending forward, Antonio asked in a raspy voice, So she’s living in Florida.

It seems so.

Antonio detected uncertainty in Hawk’s voice. He scratched his head and said in a raspy voice, We’ve been down this road before.

I sent someone to check out the address on her ticket, but it led to a parking lot in downtown West Palm Beach.

Apparently, she’s outsmarted you again.

l must admit this case has been a challenge.

What now?

I was thinking. Since you’re not doing anything, Hawk paused, then said in a slow melodious voice, you could drive down to--

There’s over eight million people living in South Florida. How the hell--

You might get lucky.

Groaning, Antonio ran his hand over his disheveled hair. When you told me Caroline applied for a job in San Jose, I left work and flew out to California.

I know.

I sat in a hotel room to the tune of two hundred dollars a day waiting for you to find her.

I thought--

I hired you, because I don’t want to spend my time chasing around the country. Frankly, I don’t know if I can afford your services much longer.

I see.

Antonio pressed his fingers against his temples, then deliberately forced out his words, Now that I’m not working.

There was a moment of