MOB SISTERS - Part V - 11. -- Laura

11.

Laura, her baby daughter Diana, and Frank Gantry were sharing a large flat in Soho. Laura had never been happier: she was with the man she had always desired and loved, she had a strong sense of her own identity, she was a mother and a successful entrepreneur — she had it all. Still, there was always the spectre of Sam Scardelli.

Even if Frank hadn't come into her life, she could not have continued with Sam. One good reason she fell out of love with him was her dislike of being controlled. She was a powerful woman with a strong will, and could not stand someone overseeing her. She was into a far better mode without Sam than she ever could have been with him.

While finishing out his jail sentences, Sam had ample time to brood. He had been betrayed and lost face. He tried to prevail upon Laura's sense of duty as a mother, saying they should be together for their child's sake. She told him there was someone in her life; she told him again. It was as if he didn't hear. Laura was his, she belonged to him, she had humiliated him. Even so, he could forgive her more easily than Frank Gantry. She would come to her senses; the true guilty party was Gantry; the problem of Gantry would have to be taken care of.

Making matters worse, Frank had taken over a Hollywood studio that was building an offshore casino on territory that Sam had a proprietary interest in. Sam had once held an option on the land -- negotiations had dragged, and his jailing had halted things. In the meantime Frank went in, got all the clearances and necessary permits and put the deal together. To add insult to injury, some of the money to finance the deal came from a bank controlled by an old Chicago crony of Sam's.

Laura dreaded Scardelli's release. Finally, just before his sentence was finished, Sam appeared to accept the inevitable. "I know it's been a long time. You had a life to lead," he said, "and you have my blessing." Despite his words, Laura didn't trust him. He could have something up his sleeve. But there were matters to discuss, not the least of which involved their child. Ultimately, they would have to meet and talk.

Shortly before Sam's impending release, Laura and Frank were staying at Frank's condo in the Bahamas. Frank's brother Tom, who looked so incredibly like Frank the two were often mistaken for twins, would be arriving after their departure to use the condo for the following week. Frank was heading for California, while Laura was finally going to Chicago to meet Sam. Neither she nor Frank liked the idea, but they knew that sooner or later, little Diana, at least, would have to be discussed.

Sam Scardelli had a score to settle. Laura was with Frank Gantry, the same stronzo who aced Scardelli out of two business deals, a land development deal and slot machine concession representing millions in potential profits. The ladrone would pay. More than anything he'd ever wanted, Sam wanted Frank's balls on a platter, and he had a hit man from Sicily, a zip named Orlando Gentaccia, ready to oblige.

"Farlo fuori," Scardelli hissed, waving his Montecruz panatella at the swarthy, mustachioed zip. "Take him out."

That very afternoon, Gentaccia boarded a plane for the Bahamas. Gaining access to the Gantry cottage early that evening, he waited in darkness until his victim opened the door. Then he pounced, hit the guy on the head with a blackjack, tied him up, gagged him, and turned the volume on the radio up.

The thundering buildup of the Beatles' Hey Jude began, as following instructions from Scardelli, Gentaccia revived Gantry with smelling salts, so the caffone would be fully aware of his punishment.

"Hey, Jude," Paul McCartney sang, as Gentaccia ripped open Gantry's trousers. When he flashed the stiletto from his jacket, Gentaccia confronted the look of stark terror that came over his victim's face. He would never forget that look.

Then with one swift stroke, Orlando Gentaccia, Sicilian zip, sliced Gantry's balls off, neat and clean. Gantry fainted before it was done. Gentaccia finished the job with a silenced .38, then scooped up Gantry's bloodied testicles, as per Scardelli's instructions, and hung a "Do Not Disturb" sign on the door. Paul McCartney was still singing.

It could be a couple of days before anyone would become suspicious and try to enter the place and find the mutilated, de-balled body.

Making sure no one saw him, the zip got the hell out. He flew to Miami first, Gantry's mushy testicles beside him in a picnic basket, packed in ice, so they'd stay nice and fresh for the next leg of the trip to Chicago.

What he didn't know was he'd got the wrong man's balls.


Laura arrived in Chicago. Sam had to understand it was over; she loved Frank, the man she'd longed for all her life. Sam and she would make visitation arrangements. They had a lot to straighten out.

In the distance, she heard a clock tolling the hour and at that moment she shuddered, not from wind or cold but from an instinctive foreboding. It was like that old wives' tale about somebody walking on your grave, Laura thought. Prescience, an ungodly bellyhunch, that was what it was. She rejected the feeling, put it out of mind as she headed to the Ambassador East.

Strange, how vastly different she felt about Scardelli now than in the beginning. As much as she had once thrilled at Sam's extravagant gifts, she now saw them as ploys to bind her to him. Despite having helped her, Sam had tied up her life, made her feel beholden. She was finished with that now.

"Motherhood becomes you," Sam said, his snake-like eyes narrowing at the sight of Laura.

She was wearing a simple pink dress that emphasized her winter-tanned body. Her luxuriant dark hair cascaded down her shoulders, her eyes gleamed with depth and happiness. To Sam, she was more beautiful than ever, as sensual as before, but with a greater maturity and happiness that made her even more irresistible than he remembered.

He looked a lot older, Laura thought, older and worn. He had booked them a private dining room in one of his favorite spots. "I wanted to make this a very special event," he said, "because you're very dear to me."

Laura took a sip of wine. Her eyes clouded over. "Thank you for everything, Sam. Thanks for understanding, and thanks for being my friend." It sounding hollow. But it was over and she had to say something nice.

He said, "Anytime." The stub of a fat cigar clamped between his teeth, he made a chopping motion with his hand, then squinting, asked about Sapphire Bay. How was it going? Laura told him there were problems, no one understood why. Sam nodded and for a moment seemed to contemplate her in a peculiar manner that was almost scary. Then he reached for an antacid pill and took it with ice water. The reptilian eyes were steady. A nerve throbbed silently in his cheek. His eyes held their intense focus. He rubbed his hands; his jawline hardened and his brow seamed. The conversation continued as though things were normal between them. He said he accepted her decision, that he wished her happiness.

She had outgrown this relationship even before Frank reappeared in her life and they made the commitment. It was dead, although she would always feel an attachment for Sam, but now she wondered how he could have been such a part of her life for so long. She knew she'd loved him, but how different, how much fuller were the feelings she had for Frank.

Sam sipped a shot of Sambucca, contemplating her slowly, as his fingers drummed on the table. He'd had the chef prepare a cooked to order specialty, Sam said. He couldn't wait to have her try it.

In the kitchen, Armando Morini, the chef, took the package from its waxed paper and unwrapped the newly arrived testicles, soft and pulpy, still bloody. He put them under the water to rinse, donned plastic gloves so as not touch the gentle fleshy folds with his own bare skin. He ran the water over them for a full minute till they were thoroughly clean.

Then he poured some Progresso olive oil to heat the griddle. He let the flame get red hot before turning it to low. He placed the balls on the pan to brown lightly on both sides, flipping them after simmering one minute to lock in flavor and juice, to give that delicate crusty quality.

In a separate pan he heated the herbs and spices, mushrooms, garlic, parsley, fine herbes, chopped celery, half a carrot finely grated, oregano, a dash of cinnamon and fresh basil. Saute lightly. Ah, delizioso! This is the way to prepare a man's balls.

He let the whole concoction simmer for 3 minutes in a delicate, specially prepared salsa di pomodoro, very light, very fresh -- purissimo. After that he placed the balls in the oven to bake at 350 for 10 minutes. He brought them out on a silver platter garnished with greens. Laura smacked her lips and picked up a fork. Testes parmigiana, Signora — sprinkle on a little Romano, salt and pepper to taste. Delizioso!

"Mangia, mangia," Sam urged.

And Laura did. "Mmm," she said, looking up from her plate, "what is this? I've never had it before."

"A once in a lifetime specialty — mangia, mangia!"

Sam watched Laura with satisfaction, seeing her eat the sauteed, baked testicles, smiling to himself when she remarked she was expecting to talk to Frank soon.

"Telefono per lei, Signora," the waiter said, beckoning Laura to the phone.

"That must be Frank now," Laura said, rising. She'd left word he could phone her here.

When she returned to the table, she was visibly shaken. "Sam — something terrible has happened," she said. "That was Frank calling — "

"Frank?" Sam turned ashen, like he'd seen a ghost.

"Frank's brother Tom Gantry was murdered. Oh, Sam, it's so horrible — they cut Tom's balls off."

Sam choked on his cigar and his elbow accidently spilled Sambucca all over his pants.