When There's Skin in the Game - "An ending you'll never see coming!"

Chapter 1

She’s Gone

It’s 1983 and I’m stationed in the “Footprint of Freedom”, Diego Garcia. An island in the middle of the Indian ocean and literally the middle of nowhere. I’d like to say that it’s a tropical island paradise but nothing could be further from the truth. It’s sweltering at 120 degrees in the shade, but thankfully, my office is air-conditioned. Diego Garcia is known to be a stopover for naval vessels to refuel and such however, it has a much lesser known purpose that holds many secrets. That’s the part I’m in charge of. Without divulging any classified secrets I will say that my unit is tasked to the majority of clandestine operations that take place from the western pacific to the Sudan. I was boots on the ground with my unit more than once and I have the scars to prove it.

What everyday civilians don’t understand is what has to take place behind the scenes and under the cover of darkness on virtually a daily basis. Yes, what we do keeps them safe but more importantly it allows them to walk through life without a care in the world and oblivious to the constant threat to our way of life. If the people knew what really goes on it would keep them up at night and the pharmacies would run out of sedatives. I am proud to be part of a unit that allows for my fellow citizens to enjoy comfort and peace. 

As unit commander I am responsible for the planning and execution of the various dark—aka black bag—ops. These ops are not unlike the stuff you would see on that TV show Impossible Mission. The unit is an eclectic roundup of rouges, misfits and outright hard cases, a motley crew at best. These are guys that by all rights should have been discharged from the service but for whatever reason they couldn’t be and they have nothing left to lose. That all being said this imperfect squad is a force to be reckoned with and all “Tier one” certed. Most of these guys refuse to take orders or to be under the command of what they unaffectionately call wussies and “Brass licker’s.” Fortunately for me I found myself in a position to earn their respect early on. I wouldn’t trade this crew for love or money. The rest is in a classified history book. I can’t say much more than that for national security purposes, my bosses at the DOD would have a cat. 

As I sit in my office reviewing the latest reports there is a knock on my door. 

“Come,” I blurt out, not really paying attention engrossed in my work. 

“Lieutenant Commander,” a shaky almost intelligible voice squeaks out. Ensign Sanders stands there, eyes wide, his hands trembling. 

“Yes Ensign, what do you got?”

“The Red Cross, it’s the Red Cross,” the young Ensign stammers. 

“Yeah OK. What about the Red Cross? Spit it out!” I say. 

“There’s a message for you from the Red Cross. Something about a family member.”

My heart sinks to my stomach. There is one thing that can bring a highly trained and combat hardened veteran to his knees quicker than anything else, a Red Cross message from home. I am no different. 

I stoically thank the ensign for the message and ask him to close my door on his way out. I immediately grab the phone and frantically start dialing numbers. No one is answering, not Mom, not my brothers, no one. This adds to my anxiety and I try to shake it off. I need to get home A.S.A.P. I call the airfield to find out when the next plane is leaving the island and inform the air Commander that I need a seat. He obliges and I pack my sea-bag. I can’t sleep and watch the clock until the 5 a.m. flight. 

****

After nineteen hours in the air I finally land in Pearl. Those MAC—Military Airlift Command—flight C130 transports are definitely convenient but certainly not built for comfort. I approach the ticket counter and I’m greeted by a lovely young gal who, under any other circumstance, would wind up being my dinner date. 

I gruffly exclaim, “Hi yes, you’re holding a ticket for Lieutenant Commander David Allen Winston, one way to Philly.” 

The agent looks for a moment. 

“Yes sir I have it here. The Red Cross booked it for you and it’s been paid for already. I do hope everything is OK with your family.” 

“No, no it’s not, but thanks.” 

She was trying to be amiable but I’m sore and tired both physically and emotionally exhausted and worst of all I have not been able to contact any of the family. 

The Red Cross message simply said that my sister was in the hospital and it didn’t look good and I needed to come home. I have no clue if she’s alive or dead and what even happened, frustrating to say the least. Only six more hours to go before Philly. I’ll try my twin brother Deno one more time before my flight.

Deno answers and huffs, “Yeah!” 

My heart races. “It’s Win.”

“Finally, bro. Where the hell are you?”

“I’m on my way, Laura is she—?”

Deno cuts me off. “She’s hanging on by a thread. You need to get home.” 

I let him know, “I’ll be landing in Philly at 7 a.m. I need you to pick me up. I have to jump on the plane. It’s final boarding. You can fill me in when you pick me up, love you bro.” 

Deno says, “See you in the morning. Love you back and be safe.”

Deno and I both grew up enduring an identity crisis. No one really gets it unless you have experienced being an identical twin. We were identical in every sense with slight exceptions. I was always a bit taller and had a bigger frame but Deno was five minutes older and he never let me forget it. Anyone outside of the family and very close friends would have never even noticed the difference, hence the identity crisis. As life unfolded it wasn’t long before I realized that no one ever saw me for me. I was always just one of the Winston twins. Factoring in that Deno and I were the end result of a failed attempt by our parents to reconcile from a separation, well let’s just say that we were not a welcomed surprise. Dad bounced as soon as he found out. 

I think my brother was a bit more savvy and devious than I was at an earlier age. While I was still trying to fit in he was securing his position in the desired groups and would not want me as part. I got it, he was defining himself outside of the twin zone. But it left me an outcast and to find my own way. I know that most twins will tell you that they were thick as thieves growing up and inseparable. Nothing could be farther from the truth for us, we were highly competitive with each other and always vying to have the spotlight for ourselves. In essence, sibling rivalry personified. I do believe that our constant competition was born out of a vacuum of affection and attention. Eventually we would put all of that behind us and form an unbreakable bond —TPF Twin Power Forever - - but that would be a distant and almost elusive vision. 

****

Deno picks me up at the airport. He doesn’t even need to say it. I can see it in his eyes and in every fiber of his being but he says it, 

“She’s gone, Win.”

I feel like someone kicked me in the gut. I can’t breathe, my knees go weak and I lose my footing, Deno catches me before I hit the ground.

“I got you, bro,” he whispers. 

I have to sit for a minute to regain my composure. I want to curl up in the fetal position and cry but there is no time for that. We make it to the car and point it towards home. 

Two hours north to our sleepy little hometown. Plenty of time for Deno to fill me in on what happened now that I can focus again. 

“OK,” I say. “Give it to me and don’t leave anything out. What the fuck happened?”

“Well there’s not a lot to tell. We don’t have all of the answers yet. Laura was at her club on Friday night like every other night and out of nowhere gunshots rang out. She was hit twice. We don’t believe she was the target. The police think she was collateral damage in an attempted mob hit that went bad. She had lost a lot of blood and one of the bullets pierced her lung. She fought like hell for two days but there was too much damage. That’s all we know so far. Unfortunately, the witnesses are too scared to talk and half of the local police are on the take. We will probably never know the truth.”

“Yes we will. I can’t let this stand. Laura deserves justice or at the very least vengeance. Leave it to me.” 

Loss of a loved one, especially one so close, is practically inconsolable. The anger that follows in most cases has no one single target, it exists until it doesn’t. In a case like this one where there is a target, someone at fault, a prey to be hunted, the need for recompense is real and all encompassing. I know they say the road to hell is paved with good intentions but right now I have no good intentions only retribution for whoever did this. I want accountability, requital, I want vengeance and I can’t see past it. There will be no consolation for me until I have this closure. 

Laura Lee Giacomo, my sister and one of the most amazing human beings on the planet, was a self-made woman. Oldest of five siblings and the only girl Laura was formidable and nothing short of a miracle. At the tender age of fourteen she was diagnosed with a brain tumor. She overcame all odds and kicked that thing in the ass. She was relentless and tenacious. After she recovered her love of life and affection for people grew exponentially. Christmas was her favorite time of year. She loved everything about it but I think that the giving spirit was her favorite part. Laura’s joy was found in the joy of giving to others. 

The Christmas cookies she made every year without fail would always tickle the taste buds. The smell of anisette that filled the air when she baked would permeate my nostrils and trigger an ecstatic effect knowing that they were almost ready. When they were finally ready Laura would allow us a couple of cookies each and then stashed the rest away for Christmas. As children Deno and I would go on a cookie quest to find the baked treasure. Once in a while we would get lucky and find them but when Laura would find out we didn’t feel very lucky. At any cost it was worth facing her wrath. 

On her eighteenth birthday she took our grandfather’s last name. Not only did she want to honor him but she felt more like a Giacomo than a Winston her whole life. Our old man took off when we were kids and Laura never forgave him. She looked more like a Giacomo anyway, long dark flowing hair and a Roman nose. My mom jokes that we all have a Roman nose, it “roams” all over our face. 

Pop along with Nana were the ones who helped raise us. All of us identify more with our Italian heritage than with the Welsh side anyway. At twenty-one years old Laura moved to New York City to continue her career as a prominent nightclub disc jockey. It wasn’t long before she had her own nightclub. Like I said, a self-made woman. She was the essence of a free spirit and being in the same room with her was nothing short of intoxicating. She had that kind of effect on you and everyone loved her for it, I mean everyone. Needless to say, she parlayed that into one of the most successful nightclubs in New York City. Everyone wanted to be there which, to our present dismay, included the local gangsters. Now she’s gone and this world will be a lesser place for it. 

To say that my relationship with my sister has left an indelible mark on my life would be an understatement. Laura’s influence has been one of the things that literally shaped the man I have become. Not to say that we saw eye to eye on everything or agreed on all philosophies but her acceptance of others views and tolerance for individualism was nothing if not cutting edge, she was way ahead of her time. She knew people and what made them tick and she imparted this talented perception to me. 

It’s not as hard as you would think to figure someone out. It takes time to develop but once you can separate yourself out of the equation and simply focus on the other person you are then able to pinpoint their “hot buttons” and what makes them tick. Laura was an expert at this and it served her well. She showed me how to tap into my empathy and compassion to better serve others and myself. 

Growing up in this era, compassion and empathy have not been the focus of most men. They would do well to adapt this talent, this exceptional skill. Thanks to Laura I have been able to use this in every area of my life and it has, as it did for her, served me well. Most of all she gave me the gift of freedom. Not freedom in the conventional sense but inasmuch as we are all prisoners of our own mind and our own hangups. Laura lived above the fray when it came to such antiquated notions. Her absence in my life will leave a vacuum, a hole that can never be filled. I will not rest until I have avenged her. 

Laura’s funeral was one of the largest events in our valley’s history. There wasn’t a venue large enough to host the thousands of people who wanted to say their final farewells to this iconic figure so lots were drawn for entry. Walking into the funeral home I am overtaken by a wave of floral aroma from the vast ocean of flowers. They are beautiful and Laura would have loved them. Funeral homes have always had an ominous effect on me. Something about looking down and seeing someone you’ve known and loved all of your life motionless and cold; it’s surreal. I was able to have my moment alone with her before the services started. I stare at her open coffin for what seems like hours before I am able to formulate the words. 

Hi sis, I want you to know how sorry I am that I wasn’t here to protect you. You deserve so much better. You have always been and will forever be my ray of sunshine, my guiding light. If it takes my every last breath, know that I will avenge you. I love you with all that I am my dear sister, I’ll see you on the other side.

I kiss her on her forehead and say goodbye. 

After the funeral the line of cars going to the cemetery was three miles long. Roads had to be shuttered and the entire police force was out guiding and controlling traffic. It was an amazing sendoff for an amazing human being. She would have loved the attention. God rest her. 

It’s only been two days since the funeral and I have to go. I’m running out of time on my emergency leave and I need to know. I already know the what, where and when but now I need to know the who and the why. Time to head to New York City and do some digging since the local L.E.O. ‘s – Law enforcement officers – either don’t care or have been bought off. Deno insists on coming with, but I tell him it’s more important to stay here with mom. She’s an absolute basket case and she’ll need Deno to prop her up. The other brothers have to head back to California soon.

****

New York City, the town that never sleeps. I make my way to the local police precinct that is handling the investigation into the shooting at the club and my sister’s murder. I don’t anticipate that my visit here will be overly productive. It’s pretty much common knowledge that the law in this town is owned and controlled by the mob. I can only hope that somehow, someway there is still one good cop that can help, I need answers. 

After a grueling two hours I am faced with the realization that my initial instinct was correct. It seems that the investigation is stalled. There are no eye witnesses or any forensic evidence to follow up on. It is all I can do not to come undone and wreak havoc on the entire station. They must think I’m a clueless squid. No eye witnesses in a club with approximately 300 people? No forensic evidence? I guess the shell casings  vanished into thin air. These ass- clowns are a complete waste of time and space. 

I was able to acquire the most important piece of information they had, the real perpetrator. One of the talents you need in the Navy is being able to read backwards and upside down. It’s a skill needed to be able to write on plot boards but it also comes in handy with everyday situations. I was able to get a glimpse of the file and there it was in black and white. Just more proof that the cops are on the take. It’s time to go see Uncle Aldo and get some real answers. 

This is going to be a shit-show. Growing up we weren’t even allowed to say his name in Pop’s presence. When my grandfather’s family immigrated to this country back in the early 1900’s they came through Ellis Island—I’ve been and have seen my pops name in the book—and when sevePop saw the statue of liberty it had a profound effect on him. See, the reason my great grandparents wanted to leave Calabria was to get Aldo away from the mob element. Aldo was older than my Pop and was already headed down a dangerous road. Unfortunately that only got worse in America. The family settled in the Bronx and Aldo quickly gravitated to the local mobsters. 

Pop, for the most part, disowned the New York side of the family. He wanted nothing to do with nor to be associated with anything gangster. My aunt Dottie was the only one who had contact with that side of the family, unbeknownst to my grandfather. She would tell us stories about Uncle Aldo. I think she romanticized that lifestyle but the stories were always exciting. I myself deferred to Pop. I wanted nothing to do with it either but now it seems unavoidable. 

My grandfather, Amadeo Giacomo—Angy to his friends—wasn’t built that way, he was repelled by “The Life” and chose military service instead. His service would be one of the defining factors in my own choice to join up. The first world war was raging and Pop joined the army at 17. He wanted to go and fight for his new found country and the opportunity it gave his family. After the war he discharged from the army and turned right around and enlisted in the US Navy. Of course he wound up in the second world war as well but his time in the Navy, which taught him his trade and future vocation. He rose to the rank of Chief petty officer before his retirement from service. He became one of the finest tailors in the city. Angy’s skill and attention to detail were rivaled by no other. As soon as he was able, Pop relocated. With his wife and children in tow he journeyed to northeastern Pennsylvania and settled in a little town nestled in the Wyoming Valley. 

The Giacomo name rose quickly to prominence within his given trade and was highly respected. Angy Giacomo was the “Go to” guy if you needed the best in tailoring. Pop did all of the uniforms for the local military and for all of the local law enforcement, everyone knew “Angy the Tailor.” Amedeo Giacomo was a stubborn man to say the least but he earned his right to do things his way. I remember when I was a kid, maybe 10 years old, and Pop was driving down the road, we were heading to the track, he loved the pony’s. The thing was, he literally had the emblem of his Cadi fixed on the center of the line between the two lanes. 

I exclaimed, 

“Hey Pop, pick a lane!” He replied, without missing a beat and in his broken English and heavy Italian accent, “Davey, I paya my tax. So whena I drive I takea my half of da road otta da middle so nobody scratches my car.”

All I could do was laugh hysterically. My pop, you either loved the guy or hated him and he didn’t care which. Oh and just for clarity, Pop and my mom were the only ones who got away with calling me Davey. 

There was another time when a prominent motorcycle stunt man was doing a show at the local race track and needed some work done on his costume. He walked into Pop’s shop and threw the costume on the counter. This guy was famous by the way, his costumes were not much different than the ones worn by the king of rock and roll himself. Pop took one look at this guy and his costume and exclaimed, 

“Youa geta the hell outta my shop you long haired hippy freak!” The guy was shocked and tried to tell my grandfather who he was but Pop didn’t give a shit. He quickly grabbed his stuff and headed for the door. Thank God my grandmother was coming out of the back room in time to see what was happening and she called the fellow back in. 

“Angy, don’t you know who this is? This is the famous motorcycle guy who is starring in the stunt show at Pocono Downs.” Long story short, Pop did the rush work he needed and they became friends. My grandfather was most assuredly one of a kind. 

I arrive at the local social club that my uncle owns and I’m treated like royalty from the moment I walk in. I’m escorted to a private back room and there he sits in all of his glory. Aldo “The twitch” Giacomo was a surly type, the quintessential mobster, just like the ones you see in all of those gangster movies. He is short in stature but stocky with no neck and a bulbous nose and a florid face. He has a right eye that twitches when he talks to you, it’s unnerving. Hence his nickname “The Twitch”. I swear these guys all go to some kind of school to learn how to be a gumba. It’s almost like a game to these guys, yeah great, gumba games and now I have to learn how to play. 

Aldo greets me with a kiss on the cheek and a stiff half hug. Aldo starts in with his gruff and raspy voice, 

“So sorry to hear about Laura. Didn’t tink it proper to show at the funeral with the whole family and all. I sent flowers doe, hope you’s got em.” 

I tell him thanks, they were beautiful as I think to myself, I’m going to have to learn a whole new language while I’m here. 

“Uncle, I need to get right to it. I need to understand how this can happen in your town. As I hear it Laura was under your protection. I know who was responsible and so do you. Why has nothing been done? I’m already under the gun here, I’m on leave from the Navy and my time is almost up.” 

Aldo clears his throat, “Slow down dare nephew, I know you hurtin’ but deals have been struck and compromises had to be made. I ain’t got the juice round here like I used to since that whole Donnie Domino ting. I didn’t have no choice. It’s done. But I’m willing to help if you got some of your genius iders.” I didn’t.

My uncle continues, “You just stay close and if you really want chure’ vengeance kid you gonna haveta embrace the darker side of your Italian heritage. Capiche? You Pop is rollin round his grave bout now, God rest him.”

Aldo was absolutely right. I’m going to have to embrace the side of my heritage that the rest of my family has worked so hard to get away from. There is no other way, I need to learn everything I can from Aldo if I’m going to even attempt to level the playing field. I know I’m going to need more time to put it all together. I need to go to DC and see if I can secure more leave time so I can pursue these animals. 

****

At the Navy yard in DC I’m hoping my former skipper can help with an extended leave request, Regular channels have met with friction and a resounding no. Captain Ed Flint, well now he’s a rear admiral but back then he was a Captain and I was a Lieutenant Junior Grade on an old battle frigate the USS Dan Meyers FF 1010 a Knox class frigate and one of my first sea duties. Skip is currently the director of the Office of Naval Intelligence, no doubt he’d be the secretary of the Navy by now if he weren’t so stubborn. He and I developed a relationship, actually he became my mentor and a father figure to me. Edward Alfred Flint at 6’8” and a fit 250 pounds is a force of nature, a true man’s man. 

The skipper’s menacing stature is intimidating and he is the type of man that you move out of his way as he walks toward you. It is difficult to walk behind him as well because his gate is massive and you have to double step just to keep up. He doesn’t take any shit from anyone, including his superiors, he always speaks his mind and that never plays well in military politics. I was completely in awe of this man. It’s not only his domineering features but he is the type of leader that commands loyalty, he doesn’t have to demand it. Whether you like him or not –most are terrified of him – you respect him. I personally would jump in front of a bullet for this man. He left an unerasable mark on my life. Skip didn’t like many people but we hit it off. 

I’ll never forget when I crossed the equator for the first time. There is an initiation for anyone who has never crossed the equator before called the Shellback initiation. Prior to crossing you are considered a Pollywog, then once you’ve crossed and gone through the “Gauntlet” you are considered a Trusty Shellback. I lead the first ever Pollywog revolt on our ship. I lead a group of other Pollywogs to steal the Shellbacks shillelagh’s. The shillelagh was the weapon of choice for the upcoming initiation. They were fashioned with old fire hose and duct tape and when I say they left a bruise on your ass, I’m being kind. When the Shellbacks found out I was the proverbial ring leader they decided to break me. They made me go through the initiation three times. They were getting ready to send me through for the fourth time when the Skipper intervened on my behalf. I think that was the moment he decided to take me under his wing. 

Now he’s my only chance to extend this leave and put this thing to bed so Laura can rest in peace. Entering admiral Flint’s office, I follow formal etiquette. “Permission to enter sir!” I announce with a firm voice. 

Skip says, “Stow that shit, sailor, as you were. Good to see you, Lieutenant. Oh sorry it’s Lieutenant Commander now, huh. Sorry to hear about your sister Win, an absolute senseless tragedy. How can I help?” 

“I’m trying to get an extension on my emergency leave but I’m hitting a brick wall. I need more time.”

“Why Win? Exactly what is it you’re doing that you need more time?”

“I’m on a personal mission to bring justice to those who killed my sister. I have my answers but I need more time to prove it.”

“You know Win, you’re never going to be able to prove it, not with those guys in that city, it’s never gonna happen.”

I was speechless, it was like he already knew the details but that’s not possible. 

“I can’t approve more leave time and not to be insensitive to your plight but here is your next duty assignment.” 

The admiral hands me a packet marked “EYES ONLY.. That usually means it is sensitive material. I was used to that. To my chagrin I had come to him for help and he brushes me off and hands me a new assignment like nothing has happened. Not to mention that I was still technically attached to Diego Garcia, I was confused to say the least and a little pissed. I opened the packet and read through the info. 

“Well?” Skip asks.

I get up from my chair and walk over to his shredder. I place the entire packet in the shredder and as soon as it goes through I walk to the door. 

“Commander!” Flint shouts. 

I salute him and turn to walk out and from the corner of my eye I can see him. 

The skipper shakes his head. “You know Win, this could be it for you, watch your six.”

“Roger that, Skip.”

There comes a time when good men have to do bad things in order to reset the balance and even the playing field. 

This was a credo I had picked up early on in my military career. I guess it came with the territory for the kind of work I was tasked with. Maybe it’s just a justification but I believe it to be gospel. I need to embark on a fact finding mission and who better to advise me than Uncle Also.

                 GET YOUR COPY NOW!