Hope is the Last to Die

By Paul Albano

Con artist Jimmy Ford has coerced, stolen, and cheated. Now, in the aftermath of an unspeakable chain of events, Jimmy lands in Naples, Italy, to clear his conscience and dismiss the poisonous notion of inevitable misery from his life. He seeks the help from his cousin Nina, who resides in Naples, all while keeping the truth of what really brought him to Italy away from Nina for as long as possible. But past lives are difficult to forget, and old tricks are even harder to dispose of as Jimmy accidentally witnesses a brutal act committed by the local mafia, the Camorra. Aiding him through his initial struggle of what to do next is Arianna, a woman who is a prisoner of a failing relationship and whose life ambition is to find happiness and beauty. It is only when Jimmy decides to use his con artist tactics on the Camorra do both he and Arianna try to discover a lost hope in their respective lives. What stands in their way of success are past mistakes, which pull along familiar friends and foes as Arianna and Nina inadvertently get tangled into Jimmy's greatest web of lies and deceit in order to not only save himself but his new love and old. Hope Is the Last to Die shines a unique perspective on the Neapolitan saying "La speranza è l'ultima a morire" as this crime thriller examines how one man attempts to battle fate while taken on a journey through the past, along the present, and into the future of a protagonist the literary world has not seen since Jay Gatsby and a conclusion that will leave readers utterly shocked.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Jul 16, 2020
• ISBN: 9781647015275

Book preview

Later—Jimmy

He wakes up and sees the predawn shades of blue bleed through the thin curtains and splash onto the white bedsheets covering half of his naked body and all of hers. He rolls over and spots the alarm clock malfunctioning, blinking midnight in skeletal red numbers. The gold watch he had taken might still be in the safe on the opposite side of the bed. He doesn’t bother setting cloudy eyes on it as he surprisingly remembers he never even locked the safe. The watch is surely gone.

Good riddance.

Chimes of laughter in the hallway startle him, and he begins to wonder if it’s actually much later than he initially thought. He motions out of bed, unsure if it matters that he slides across the cool mattress with caution. She may not even be alive. Shuffling past the opened briefcase on the desk with the bills and powder pouring out of it, he continues to question whether the early morning orange has cloaked the town and bludgeoned it with premature heat after each step of trepidation he takes toward the window. If it has, he’s in more trouble than what’s already surrounding him in the room.

Hesitating, he takes hold of the curtain with two trembling fingers and glides it to the left. Considering the moment, he does a good impression of a relaxing sigh.

All blue outside. Not a speck of orange.

He stares at the concrete buildings, a few of their windows glowing with early risers like him. The road in front of the hotel is quiet, and still, much like the sea, it extends toward. He catches his own reflection for a moment but is quickly swept away from the room and tossed into a memory.

The wind suffocates his face as the strong gusts from the water blow through him. He tastes the salty air on his lips, feels the wet sand nestle under his fingernails. Next to him, her waves dance wildly in the thick air. She wears sunglasses to hide the bruise draped over her left eye. Several others riddle her body, but he hasn’t seen them yet. Regardless, she’s beautiful, but he can only focus on the words she murmurs into his ear.

This is the perfect place to hide a body, she says and manages to crack a smile.

He blinks his eyes and rattles his head. He’s back in the hotel room.

He peers at the soon-to-be crowded gray street below him and now realizes why windows like these can’t open. It’s a long way down, and briefly, he wishes he could experience the freefall and the supposedly sudden regret just before impact. His eyes close and he leans forward, his forehead pressing against the cold glass and leaving a greasy residue when he lifts it off.

Before he raises his weighted eyelids, he is taken away once again.

The bar is beginning to awaken from its midday activity as patrons return to their workplaces or homes, the appearance of happy hour preparations beaming in his eyes. Across from him is the old man with the black fedora. The old man’s frail hands fish through his jacket pockets for a cigarette and lighter. Just as with the woman, he can only focus on what the old man says to him in his graveled voice.

"We all know how the other half lives, the privileged elite. Well, this is how we survive, Jimmy. And if we can’t, then this is how our half dies."

Back in the hotel room.

He opens his bloodshot eyes and turns back to the bed. The bedsheets still cover her body from the neck down. Her auburn hair sprawls out on the pillow perfectly like a rare symmetrical web. He believes, perhaps tricks himself into thinking, one of her feet wiggled and causes his neck to twist in the direction of the suitcase, to focus on its contents. Maybe she didn’t move after all. Maybe she can’t anymore.

He still doesn’t know.

All he knows is maybe he doesn’t want to move anymore either. So his feet guide him to the suitcase. His fingertips caress the loose white powder sprinkled on the cheap semiglossy wood. He tilts his body to the desk, his nose an inch away from its snowy surface.

He’s not moving anymore, but he doesn’t snort.

Jimmy cries in the hotel room in Sperlonga, Italy.

Before

As he ran with it in his right hand, he heard Gordy’s voice remind him what needs to be done.

You’ve seen how they act, haven’t you? They set their trap and wait for however long until something gets caught in it. But when that happens, they still wait…and watch their captive struggle and tangle itself even more, making it easier for them to feast on the trapped rewards. I need you to be like one of them, Jimmy. I need you to be a spider.

Jimmy entered a suffocating phone booth as he snatched the necessary amount of change from his pocket while Gordy’s words finished echoing through his mind. The coins dropped into the antiquated hunk of machinery. His fingers jittered as they tapped the cold metallic numbers. With each passing ring, a shrill of uncertainly coursed through him and ended its journey in his right hand.

He looked away from the numbers and scanned the surrounding bumper-to-bumper covered streets and jam-packed sidewalks, all cloaked with troubles he wished he possessed. Another late night at the office ahead. Another client making the man earn his money. What to do with the kids this weekend? How to explain another missed dinner to the wife? Will the coffee stain come out this time, or will another two hundred have to be dropped at the store for a replacement?

Jimmy shook his head and tried to refocus on the ringing but was captivated by a homeless man with the generic tin cup rattling change, the perfect picture of disparity pedestrians dismiss instantly. Jimmy held his gaze and saw the preponderance of failed attempts at success imprisoning the homeless man to his temporarily spot on the sidewalk before retiring to another brisk night under the bridge. Jimmy also saw a gold watch wrapped around the man’s left wrist and wondered how such an item ended up there. Clearly the homeless man lacked just as many brains as dollar bills. A quick trip to a jeweler would have him swimming in more than enough cash to keep his simple mind at ease. Jimmy snarled and returned his full attention back to the ringing.

Yes, said a gravelly voice. The payphone also scratched out billiard balls clashing together and another round being bought by a regular looking for the favor to be returned his way soon after.

Immediately, Jimmy could picture Gordy adjusting himself nervously in his chair, awaiting either no news or bad news. Gordy didn’t believe good news existed, much like happiness. Whenever a delightful tune is sung, it’s only a matter of time before its superficial joy deteriorates and reveals its true disdainful presence.

I have it, Jimmy replied and started to pant lightly. He glimpsed at the top of the glass case and felt more heat puncture his skin. The phone booth grew hotter, and beads of sweat began to form near the coast of his black hairline. Jimmy didn’t want to let go of what was in his grasp nor the phone, so he allowed the sweat to begin to stream down his tan skin and puddle on his bottom lip. I have it, Gordy, he repeated and licked the sweat away. Jimmy glanced at those passing by the booth too close for comfort and realized he should lower his voice the next time he spoke.

All right, Gordy answered. He did indeed adjust in his seat moments prior to a weak smile etching into his old face. No need to fully smile yet. Nothing remotely good began to happen. And even if it did, something sinister would be hiding behind it. Bring it here, and we’ll discuss what happens next. Remember, Jimmy. Let those who need to struggle do so. There’s no helping the stubborn.

Jimmy replied in a nod Gordy never saw, though his silence sent the same message of understanding nonetheless—another thing Gordy believed in. Silence is better than replying or asking. If you ask too many questions, you risk eventually asking the wrong ones. And that sure can fuck things up, especially in their business.

I’ll see you in a few, Jimmy said and started to break the phone away from ear, slightly adhered to the skin by sweat and humidity.

Oh, and Jimmy?

Jimmy retracted his arm, and the moistened black plastic squished against his skin. Yeah?

Remember this too. You can be doing this for her, not just yourself or for me.

Which her Gordy was referring to was unclear to Jimmy at the moment. His eyes rested upon the homeless man now collecting a dollar from a hand stretching out of a silver BMW. The gold watch caught the sunlight at the perfect angle and shot a beam of white into the phone booth, directly into Jimmy’s eyes. But he didn’t look away. He welcomed the light and the tears it caused to flow down his hot cheeks and mix with the sweat that already laid a moist path.

You there? Gordy’s voice called out.

Yeah, Jimmy said, finally turning away from the light. Or had the light turned away from him? He wasn’t sure about that either, though he had a hunch about one sudden mystery. The her. I’m on my way.

Good, was all Gordy said before hanging up.

Prior to leaving, Jimmy reached into his pockets for his car keys and etched four uppercase letters into the metal shelf, jutting out just below the phone: ADIH.

Yeah, he said and sighed. As usual.

Jimmy vacated the phone booth and never welcomed the thick heat encasing the city more than that instance. His right hand abruptly pulsated. Even for being as light as it was, the long trek across the city caused it to do a number on his palm. Carefully, so to avoid the risk of it opening in front of the hundreds he now joined—physically at least—he exchanged it from one hand to the other. A red thick strip cut across his right palm. Had he really held it that hard? If what Gordy planned was becoming a reality, Jimmy had no choice but to choke the handle until it reached the old man, until it found the safe and secure hands of a sucker—or three this time.

As he walked in the midst of the traffic littering the sidewalks to the bar, he was now all too familiar with, the her dug deeper in his mind, as she had always been there to begin with. During the day, she nestled. At night, she haunted. Regardless, it was for her, that it being the life Jimmy might have chosen to live. Other times, it’s the life he might have been forced into as a means of survival. He couldn’t live like those brushing past him. He surely couldn’t die like them either. When he thought of death—all too often, though he would never admit it—only two ways could halt him from allowing it to pester his mind. One involved a gun. The other was to think of her. And since Jimmy had never owned a gun (he was too afraid of the possibilities it presents him), the latter was always the forced choice. But thinking of her triggered him to see what he became and what he has had to do. And the vicious cycle that his depression bestowed upon him began its psychological revolutions yet again, with him in the center, the focal point of his own misfortunes and misery.

Yes, his actions were done for her, and a small nugget of anger nudged its way inside Jimmy as he recalled Gordy saying he could be doing it for her. It had always been for her. It’s always been for himself too, he must admit. Survival is the word Jimmy told himself late at night when the nestling shifted into haunting. Survival.

She might have known it then. She might not. But one day, she would understand. She would understand how Jimmy lived for her. She, too, will have known it was done for her.

It was done for Clementine.

Now—Jimmy

He walks among them but will never be a part of them. When he nudges in between their oncoming arrogance of constant dissatisfied success and their yearning for more than is necessary, they know he is different just by his touch. He doesn’t need to utter a word of the work he’s involved in. The black leather jacket, a pair of tired red eyes, and greasy hair dangling just over the ears give them enough reason to assume, not to mention the way he holds it in his hand close to his body. It’s the way men carry something that harbors the secrets of a life that’s taken a darker path. They want no part of it, nor does he. But some aren’t given the fortune of options.

Jimmy wakes up just in time to feel the plane hit the tarmac. He peers out the small plastic rectangle at the false hope of something refreshing and inviting to become steady in the window. Jimmy knows it is a fallacy, and before he can even exit and see her face, the morbid truth he thought he left in America seems to have temporarily followed him across the ocean.

Some paths are already laid out for us. A straight shot into that darkness of the other half. Jimmy knows he’s belonged here for too long. Acknowledging just how long only makes it worse for him. That’s when he thinks of the gun, the one that awaits him somewhere on the path. He knows he will be able to reach for it at some point. What he’ll do with it, Jimmy isn’t quite sure yet. He will wait, nonetheless. Sometimes, however, he can’t wait any longer, and that just about kills him too.

But for now, he can’t kill himself. He has to get off the plane, put on a pretend smile, and tell her everything is all right. No need to claim his luggage. The black bag stuffed above his head is all he brings, is all he needs. The more things he packed, the more terrible memories he presumed would follow. So he dumped the suitcase out, snatched a duffel bag from underneath the bed, and shoved in the essentials. That’s all Jimmy needs, the essentials. Anything else, he can just buy here to try to dilute the past.

Maybe that’s not a bad thing, he thinks, filing into the narrow aisle and off the plane.

He’s never exited a plane like this before. No long, unstable walk into a terminal. Instead, the passengers unload themselves right on the tarmac and walk into the small terminal ahead of them. It is not his first time here, so he knows to fish for his passport just as he enters the building where she waits for him behind a few closed doors. Jimmy hands over his passport, hears a grunt (it must be due to his name), and takes back the little blue book.

The airport is far too bright for Jimmy at this time. His flight left the United States at three in the afternoon—yesterday. He was surprised to have felt such an intriguing feeling when the plane left sunlight and entered darkness, only to find light again just prior to landing. Seeing Paris from above at night was surely the highlight of the getaway so far.

Is it a getaway, or something more permanent? Jimmy sighs and marvels the thought as he crosses through one set of double doors and being blinded by more of the same white beams illuminating the blank walls. He scans the bare conveyor belts that will soon present passengers with their luggage in an untimely manner. Another set of doors are on his right. He peeks through the tiny window and catches glimpses of a crowd.

Here we go, he mutters to himself and pushes the doors open.

Sunlight shoots into the lobby of the airport through a wall of windows. Smiling faces sting him as he searches for her. He sees signs with family names all ending in vowels being wiggled in front of him by limo drivers sporting olive skin and thick black mustaches. Children jump up and down as though a celebrity is about to greet them instead of a family member they’ve hardly seen.

Jimmy adjusts the duffel bag on his shoulder and begins to circle around the crowd. Maybe she is caught in traffic, or perhaps the flight landed far too early for her. She is always one to be punctual, as far as Jimmy can remember. No matter, he does not feel worried at the moment. In fact, he does not feel a thing, as though a well-deserved numbness has shielded his body from emotion in order to prevent the sensation of depression from penetrating him. He does not care that he is not feeling joy about seeing his cousin for the first time in years, as long as the disappointment he’s grown to accept as his personal innate sentiment is kept at bay.

Cugino! Jimmy hears in a familiar voice and turns his head in the direction of the abundant sunlight he knows he’ll have to adjust to.

Nina Corrini, slender with her auburn curls draped over her shoulders, glides toward Jimmy before lunging at him and pecking his stubble cheeks with kisses.

"Cugino! It’s been too long!"

Jimmy cracks a smile while noticing her English has improved. The thick accent is replaced by only a few vowels stressed unnecessarily.

I know, Jimmy says shamefully. He had promised his cousin to visit every couple of years. Two stretched into five, and five stretched into almost never. I can’t believe twelve years have gone by. He looks at every inch of her. You haven’t aged at all, still the gorgeous Nina I tell everyone about.

Nina smiles and rubs her cousin’s arm. "Very kind of you, cugino, but we both know I look thirty-five because I am thirty-five. Same as you. Siamo lo stesso. Do you remember?"

Jimmy nods but does not care to admit his Italian has diminished over the years. "Siamo lo stesso. We are the same."

"Giusto, Nina replies and weaves her arm around Jimmy’s. Do you want me to take your bag?"

No, Jimmy says. It was supposed to be lightweight. Leaving, it seemed like nothing. Now, the weight has begun to build up, and he wonders if it’s just because he’s carried it all this time or if the memories have found a way to creep into the zipper compartments.

When they exit the airport, the early morning heat gently touches his skin. It is far different than the humidity back home that attacks you after one step outside. The air smells foreign to him, and he enjoys breathing it in. Nina gazes at him and begins to laugh.

You like the way my country smells? she asks in between giggles.

Without getting too deep into the reason he called her to say he was coming, Jimmy tells Nina a simple Yes.

You’ll like the food even better, Nina proclaims.

They reach Nina’s Mercedes, a white Kia Soul—looking vehicle, which appears to have all the bells and whistles nestled inside. Nina opens the back of the car and instructs Jimmy to put his bag in. He does and attempts to close the door.

No, no. Watch this, Nina says as she pushes a button, and the door swings down on its own.

Show off, Jimmy snickers. You know what a—

"Sì, Nina replies sassily. Now get in. Facciamo colazione."

Jimmy plops in the car, turns to Nina, and raises his eyebrows.

She smiles and clarifies. Let’s get some breakfast.

Jimmy nods in approval and starts to feel the numbness wear off, replacing itself with slightly positive rejuvenation. It’s far too dangerous to be completely positive. He knows this all too well from youthful mistakes brought on by a naïve understanding of how life operates. Slightly positive will do just fine for now, but it is short-lived.

As Nina navigates the Mercedes out of the airport parking lot, Jimmy’s eye set upon a woman standing on a sidewalk stretched in front of a McDonald’s, appearing to be waiting for a taxi. Her face is hauntingly familiar to him, not to mention her hair—appearing as though streaks of blood flowed along the strands of black. But it cannot be her. Impossible.

She’s dead.

Jimmy closes his eyes, hoping it’s just those memories that inevitably tracked him down to play a trick on him. He shoots his eyelids open, and she’s gone.

Jimmy sighs relief, Nina taking notice.

I know. You are so happy to be here. Her words escape through a gigantic smile.

Even after coming here often as a child, Jimmy is still impressed by the pride Italians have for their country. No matter how good or bad things might be, they love it here and want others to love it as well.

I… I am happy to be here, Jimmy says, and that sliver of positive rejuvenation returns because he isn’t lying to Nina.

As the Mercedes turns onto the highway leading away from the airport, a taxi pulls over to the side and waits for a woman to exit a McDonald’s. She does so, rushing down a slight hill with a small brown paper bag swinging in her hand as her red-and-black hair flutters in a warm breeze.

*****

Nina waits for the metal gate to fully slide to the left before driving her beloved Mercedes onto the private property. The sun is completely overhead now, the heat reaching heights Jimmy is not accustomed to just yet. He rolls down his window and peers out at the tall apartment buildings that appear to have been dropped randomly. It isn’t like the complexes back home, organized and boring.

You live in one of these? Jimmy asks, keeping his eyes on the apartments.

"Sì, Nina responds. I do very well for myself these days, cugino. You will like it here."

I believe I will, Jimmy says quietly to himself and grins, only grins.

Nina drives furiously up the winding paths and finally grabs a spot in front of the glass doors leading into her building. Jimmy gets his bag and follows his cousin into her apartment.

A short flight of marble stairs faces him. They ascend it along with a much longer group of similar stairs before Nina turns to the sole door on the left, unlocks it, and pushes the hefty piece of wood open.

"Benvenuto!"

Jimmy keeps the grin on his face and enters the apartment. A spacious living room is to his left with a typical European kitchen of fancy cabinets and an equally fancy backsplash to his right. Ahead of him is a wide hallway with a bedroom on each side, narrowing as it reaches a third bedroom.

This can be your bathroom, Nina announces and points toward the narrow section of the hallway. I never use it. She takes Jimmy by the hand and shows him the bedroom to the right of the bathroom. And this is your room.

Jimmy faces a queen-size bed with a red-and-gold-striped comforter placed atop of it. The closet space is overwhelming but will make use of some of it somehow so to not offend Nina.

Thank you for—

No, no, no, Nina interrupts. Grazie. Quando sei qui, è grazie.

"Um, I only caught grazie."

Both laugh together and immediately feel as though the time apart has not been years but months or even weeks. Jimmy’s laughter diminishes first, and a morsel of guilt nudges its way inside him.

I shouldn’t be laughing like this, he thinks. Not after what happened.

"I said ‘when you are here, it is grazie.’ Okay?"

Jimmy nodded. "Sì."

Va bene. Hai fame?

"Fame is hungry, I think, Jimmy mumbles. No," he says loudly. Grazie, he adds smirking and gazes at the bed. The cornetta filled me up.

Nina traces his gaze. All right. You should sleep now. Tonight we will eat good food.

And more espresso? Jimmy kids. He can still taste his first one on his lips and can immediately understand why everyone here drinks four or five daily.

Certo! Nina exclaims. Get some rest. I will wake you later. She slides the wooden door closed and disappears from view. Her semicontagious smile is gone and leaves Jimmy to his dangerous thoughts of disparity to keep him company.

Jimmy stares at the black duffel bag, debating whether to take out the sloppily folded clothes or save the chore for later. He finds himself tilting toward the mattress and tells himself he’ll get it done before he and Nina go to dinner, but questions whether the postponement is out of fatigue or fear. He knows he cannot go the duration of his stay without unzipping the bag, without it possibly spilling out memories. But perhaps he can go today without doing so.

Just give me one day to forget, he pleads while closing his eyes, unsure if it’s to himself or to the reason he is there in the first place. His fingers weave through his hair until finding his eyes. He plunges his fingertips into them. His throat closes up, and a tear escapes him. Jimmy takes a deep breath and pushes that choked-up feeling back down inside where it belongs, where everything belongs—except for the fear. The fear always finds a way to conquer Jimmy’s strong effort to keep it all bottled up.

The fear of a constant sadness digging its sharp teeth into him.

The fear of a relapse of depression can happen at any moment.

The fear of loneliness penetrating his life, even when Cassidy is by his side.

He’s heard one too many times that a man cannot escape his problems, that sooner or later they will find him and be worse than ever, almost as if they’re punishing the man for even attempting to run away. He knows he is not a good person, not after the things he’s done. But he also