The Vendetta: And Other Diminutive Tales

By Dominick Forte

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• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Nov 21, 2011
• ISBN: 9781465392602

Dominick Forte

Dominick Forte is the author of The Redemption of Professor Evelyn, the story of a demonically possessed college professor, and The Reluctant Warrior, the memoirs of the Archangel Gabriel. He is a community activist and a former educator. Currently he serves as the Director of Marketing for New York’s premier men’s clothier Simoni’s International Fashions and is the co-founder and lead singer of Avenger, a Lower Hudson Valley cutting-edge classic rock band. He and his wife Bernadine reside in Cornwall, NY.

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Copyright © 2011 by Dominick Forte.

ISBN:          Softcover                                 978-1-4653-9259-6

                   Ebook                                      978-1-4653-9260-2

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

This book was printed in the United States of America.

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

Xlibris Corporation

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Contents

The Vendetta

Compromising Veronica

Love Potion

The Visions Of George

A Familiar Fish Tale

The Cook Gets Burned

Out Of Control

Azriel, Destruction Of All

Testing The Counselor

Serving Leviathan

Dedicated to John McNally and Frank Allen, friends and mentors and stalwart members of The Searchers, the best damn Rock and Roll band on the planet.

THE VENDETTA

I MET HIM in a popular night spot while I was tending bar and he was attracting women. He became a regular and I got to know him very well. He was a fascinating individual, handsome and charismatic. His signature look was the color combination of charcoal and burgundy. I never saw him wear anything but a charcoal suit accessorized by burgundy. He maintained a rich, bold presence, sartorially complemented by his copper-skinned complexion. He was the type of individual who stood out regardless of his surroundings.

We would talk. Never did we engage in a conversation terribly deep, just chit-chat about sports, the global economy, and women. He was always ready to offer his views and opinions on the fairer gender. It was obvious that he reverred them only to the extent that they were willing to gratify his lust for physical gratification. He was always surrounded by woman eager to flaunt their flesh. It made it worthwhile for a man to be in his company.

After a few weeks of his frequenting the club he offered me a position as his gentleman-in-waiting. I accepted. His salary offer of thrice my present wage was a pretty persuasive inducement. That and rent-free quarters with meals included sealed the deal.

The Lion’s Gate became his favorite grazing ground. It was a comfortable spot with a pleasant and easy ambiance. In the subdued lighting there was no mistaking him for a tall man with longish, wavy, dark brown hair, a creamy smooth, ruddy complexion, and a twinkle in his eye that intrigued women and made them come to life. The hint of an aurora surrounded his head and shoulders. He spoke softly in a deep baritone and had a presence about him which had a magnetic affect on men and women alike. Although he may have been engaged in conversation with a striking young lady at a cocktail table, the girls at the bar continually tried to make eye contact with him. He was that striking and compelling.

I was among those who found him a most interesting personality and I observed that although he always appeared to be very passive and nonchalant with his dates he was actually waging a relentless, aggressive campaign to seduce any woman with him. Although suave, cool, and detached, he was very focused and unwavering in the pursuit of his goal. In his mind anything short of conquest was unthinkable.

He continued to be a regular customer at the Lion’s Gate after I had left to go to work for him. Affiliation with him meant an entire change in my lifestyle. I was now free to spend my evenings pursuing social liaisons of my own. Unfortunately my responsibilities as his housekeeper, steward, cook, and butler made such demands on my time and physical energy that I had very little left of either for late hour activities. Still, being the servant of a man of Don St. John’s wealth, popularity, and prominence was a step-up socially for me.

My new boss had no problem maintaining his hedonistic lifestyle. On a typical evening, while nursing a Black Bush on the rocks with a twist of lemon, he paid little attention to the surrounding female scenery and, with his focus only on the attractive young woman he was with, he casually spoke of foreign trade. His date for that particular evening was a striking young debutante, Anna Donato, whose father was a member of the United States delegation to the United Nations.

After an active night of wild romping through forbidden fields with the dignitary’s daughter the Don returned her to her father’s brownstone apartment on W 72nd Street. The sun was coming up and when an angry father met the vehicle delivering his child and became enraged words were exchanged. The delegate was himself a man of conservative taste and a discreet lifestyle. He didn’t care anything about his daughter’s loose morals but was anxious to maintain a façade of aristocratic propriety. When he saw his daughter roll out of the vehicle in a rowdy and boisterous manner, he lashed out verbally into her date for tarnishing his innocent precious daisy.

The scene became volatile. Flying words led to flying fists, and with a considerable age advantage over the older statesman, St. John literally beat the old man senseless, leaving him lying on the sidewalk in a pool of his own blood. By the time the paramedics had arrived St. John had long fled. The girl’s father had fallen into a coma and before noon that day he succumbed to the fatal head wounds inflicted by the roguish ne’er-do-well.

This was the nature of the man. He had very little regard for anyone probably least of all himself. Young, brash, promiscuous, although very charismatic and popular, physically magnetic and socially infectious, it was now obvious to me that Don St. John was a very abusive man who enraged most people who had the misfortune of entering into his sphere. He was reckless, ruthless, and unconcerned with the consequences of his actions. He had cast his destiny to the winds long ago and bounded from one tenuous situation to another. He had any women he wanted but should a woman not be susceptible to his wiles, he had no interest in her. Why should I waste my time on someone without the good judgment to want what I have to offer, I once heard him muse, when there are so many happily willing to wait in line for me?

The scoundrel St. John was never apprehended for the early morning slaying of the delegate. In fact he was never even suspected. There were no witnesses except for the old man’s daughter and she was not about to finger St. John because by so doing she would expose herself to public scrutiny. The aristocratic class is usually very elitist and so appearances must be maintained even at the cost of breaches of justice. The girl was not willing to open herself up to the media and reveal herself as the wild, pleasure-seeking nymph that she actually was.

Months passed and St. John continued in his salacious, manipulative ways, gratifying his ego and libido at the expense of whatever female on whom he set his sights. On a