Jaws of the Godfather

By K.G. Godel

During a prison escape attempt, Don Franco Malvozzi, an infamous mobster, is marked for death by the criminal associates he had trusted most.
A year later, investigative journalist Carroll Holden discovers that the conspirators in his unsolved disappearance are turning up decapitated, dismembered, and chewed to pieces—all murdered close to the sea.
The organization now led by Malvozzi’s executioners hire professional hit men to hunt the unknown assassin as the body count rises, while one step behind them, the reporter and the police seek answers to the enigma: who is avenging Don Franco Malvozzi with the modus operandi of a shark?

• Language: English
• Publisher: K.G. Godel
• Release date: Feb 3, 2020
• ISBN: 9780463381946

K.G. Godel

K. G. Godel resides in British Columbia, Canada.

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JAWS OF THE GODFATHER

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This is a work of a fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional. Any similarity to actual persons or events, past or present, is purely coincidental.

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JAWS OF THE GODFATHER

Humanity must perforce prey on itself like monsters of the deep.

King Lear

Act 4, Scene 2

Chapter 1

The great fish had its mouth of serrated triangular teeth wide open, threatening to devour the corpulent head of Don Franco Malvozzi as he sat in his prison cell and waited for justice. The fifty-nine-year-old mob boss leaned against the torn and creased photographic poster of the great white shark breaching the ocean, a gift from his wife to help distract him from the dull monotony of incarceration.

The aquatic beast was also a symbol of his forceful personality. Just as the sea creature would ravenously thrust from his watery element into a lethal alien domain to hunt food, so too would Malvozzi exceed all boundaries to achieve his ambitions. His life was a testament to predatory ways, having graduated from juvenile delinquency to armed robbery, extortion, and murder before his eighteenth birthday. By twenty-five he was running his own crew, and in another ten years had established a crime family that was respected and feared. It took the power of a nation’s government to finally restrain him.

A skinny yokel convicted for drug trafficking lay stretched out on another bed in the cell listening to the mobster’s latest sermon, which was helping to make him drowsy.

So the Roman Emperor was on vacation see, Malvozzi said, and one afternoon, while he was sleeping on the beach, a man sneaked up behind him. The old guy opened his eyes and saw a huge fish dangling in his face. The man said: ‘Hey Emperor! Look at this big fish I caught! Cosa enorme! Isn’t it something?’ The Emperor was so impressed he wet his pants. He ordered his soldiers to hold the man down and rub the fish against one side of his head until the scales ripped all the skin off. The man says after it: ‘Lucky for me I didn’t show him the giant crab I caught too.’ The Emperor had the soldiers get the crab and used it to rub off the other half of his face.

And the point? his tired listener asked.

Malvozzi shook his head, irritated by the question. He impatiently explained, Idiot, the point is don’t try to impress the boss, and don’t ever think you can get the last word.

His cellmate remarked, I heard the prisoner executed the other day had crab legs for his meal.

So what?

Nothing. Just telling what I heard.

I don’t like crab, Malvozzi stated blankly, running his fingers through the gray hairs on his scalp. He shifted his body to expose the shark picture behind him. He stared at it.

Though if I had to be a fish, I’d be a shark.

What about a whale? the sleepy convict mumbled. It’s bigger.

They don’t have knives for teeth, the crime boss replied. He gestured at the poster, Look at this brute, cuts through a steel net like it’s nothing. No cage can hold him.

The other prisoner began snoring.

Malvozzi gave him no further thought. The incarcerated hoodlum was just a guppy in the big pond of criminals, not even clever enough to be a picciotto. Moreover, the mob leader had something else to think about. Important news would come the next day in the exercise yard.

The night shift sentry was walking along the corridor of the cell block with his hard-soled shoes. The rhythmic tedious echo that reminded the prisoners of their subjugated status could be menacing to some and infuriating to others, but for Malvozzi it was soothing like a lullaby.

He went to sleep under the shark image and dreamed of his freedom.

It was late morning when the mobster paced the concrete of the outdoor enclosure in the company of Paulie Tosto, one of his close business subordinates. Both men were serving life without parole. Or rather, that was the decree by the system they did not recognize.

It was well known that Malvozzi maintained control of his empire from inside the prison and that Tosto would relay instructions and reports between his chief and the organization’s underboss Luigi ‘the Beak’ Nasato.

But they could just as easily have been discussing a sports game or yesterday’s dinner and the guards were not paid extra for supervising their conversations.

As the pair passed one of the patrols they switched from chatting about the cold weather to another matter.

It’s all been arranged. Midnight, day after tomorrow, Tosto informed him in a quiet voice. By dawn you and I will be out of here and far away.

You sure about this guard? Malvozzi probed cautiously.

Sure I’m sure. He’s a hick, bad eyesight, only sees the color green.

His boss surveyed the distant watch towers where prison officers caressing sniper rifles circuited the catwalks. Three years in this fucking box, he muttered. I can’t wait to see Sophia’s face when I show up at the door.

His wife was the greatest of his possessions. She was half his age, beautiful, intelligent, of cool temperament but passionate in the ways that mattered. Devoted and strong, infinite was her patience and understanding. He had classical-style portraits of her done in oil and marble, worthy of display alongside a Raphael or Bernini.

Malvozzi knew that his incarceration was an especially cruel suffering for her and he vowed to show his appreciation by even more extravagant gestures to enshrine their love. Before his sentencing, he had a private meeting with Nasato and his consigliere Antonio Renzi. Among the points of discussion was Sophia’s personal bodyguard. They agreed to entrust her protection to his favorite caporegime Umberto Ferrera, who had demonstrated exceptional loyalty and efficiency for over ten years. And yet, despite his confidence in him, Malvozzi solicited periodic clandestine reports on the younger man’s conduct just to be sure he made no inappropriate advances towards his special responsibility. They were always exemplary. If they had not been, a burdensome weight would have been removed from Ferrera’s shoulders and from between his legs.

Nasato and Renzi kept the family and the organization operating smoothly in his absence but the boss yearned to get back in full control. A breakout was daring. Never had such an important figure escaped from prison, as impossible a task as attempting to rob Fort Knox.

New York would not approve but it mattered little to him what they thought. He would defy anyone to be free and reunited with Sophia. Consequences and practical reality were trifle concerns.

During the next 24 hours time crawled at an agonizingly slow pace and Malvozzi regarded the common inmates and guards with the same estimate that a weary forest traveler gives the dead leaves falling in his path: insignificant nuisances to his destination.

The hick cellmate complained of stomach pains due to something he ate at breakfast (more precisely, a noxious substance slipped into his food), and was transferred to the prison infirmary. This allowed Malvozzi to be alone at the pivotal hour. The wing of the corridor was unusually dark, allegedly caused by an electrical problem with the overhead lights. The mobster knew this to be another convenient circumstance accomplished by a bribe. At 11 pm, while most of the inmates slept, the crime boss was wide awake and listened for the footsteps of the indifferent guard fading into the next block.

He got up from his bed and crept towards the jail door. Malvozzi gripped the bars and tugged. The door was unlocked. The godfather smiled in farewell towards the poster picture of the shark.

He slipped out and across the corridor where Tosto was waiting. Silently, his companion motioned to a partially opened utility door.

They entered through it, skulking down the stairway within, careful to avoid making sounds with their eager steps.

Four levels below, there was a man standing in shadows by a sign marked BASEMENT LEVEL. He wore the uniform of a corrections officer but one glance at his cruel gaunt features by the dim light indicated to Malvozzi that the man was completely lacking in principles.

You got the money? the guard asked in a blunt manner. Tosto