Last Will and Testament of Chino Primo (eBook)

Chapter 2:
Club Passion, Embrace the Rush

Chino was pregaming for the night, looking out the window of his car, the “War Pony,” his 1988 Chevrolet Monte Carlo SS that was considered his prized possession, left to him by his Uncle Renzo before his death in 1994. The car was so slick. It had a black exterior with red trim and chrome rims with a red interior and bucket seats. Chino took excellent care of the War Pony. From the car, he saw the line of excited clubgoers waiting to enter Club Passion that was almost two blocks long. Chino parked in the garage one block from the club. Chino was always excited to bartend. He would make anywhere from three hundred fifty to five hundred dollars a night in tips plus his shift pay working at Club Passion. During the day, Chino was focused on his acting career, taking acting classes and going to auditions and therefore, only working Friday and Saturday nights. His favorite part of being a bartender in one of the hottest nightclubs in Upstate New York was walking past all the club goers that were waiting in line to get in. Chino walked casually and confidently looking handsome and dapper wearing perfectly black hemmed dress pants, polished black dress shoes, white dress shirt, and black satin vest with matching bowtie. Some people in the crowd started to wave and smile, throwing him greetings such as “Yo, Chino. What’s good?” or whispering to each other things like “That guy is the best bartender.” The recognition fueled Chino’s energy, getting him primed and ready to rock it out. By the time he reached the club door, Chino was dialed in. His two goals when he began bartending were to make money and make good memories. Club Passion was a multilevel club with a capacity of three thousand. There were three bars, but the main bar was where all the bartenders wanted to work because it brought the highest earnings—up to eight hundred to a thousand a night. Then there were the two additional bars upstairs. One staircase led to the party bar, positioned near the DJ booth, and the other led to the VIP bar.

This was where Chino Primo worked. Chino ran up the stairs to the VIP bar. He could hear Gordo, the only barback for the whole club, replenishing his bar with ice and glasses. Gordo was nineteen years old, only a few years younger than Chino, and was a stoner skater kid from Gardena, California. He lived in Newburgh while attending the Culinary Institute of America in Hyde Park. Gordo’s dream was to run his own successful restaurant. Gordo worked extremely hard for Chino because he knew Chino would tip him out fifty dollars at the end of the night. Most of the bartenders only gave Gordo twenty bucks and were rude and mean toward him. What made this working relationship even sweeter was that Gordo had become Chino’s weed connection. Gordo would get strong weed sent to him via UPS from Northern California.

“All set, Chino Primo," Gordo affirmed. “I changed the Coors Light keg and air tank for the Heineken keg. I also put extra cans of cranberry and pineapple juice in the sink at the end.”

“Outstanding G! Not bad for a guy from Gardena,” Chino smirked.

This comment always made Gordo laugh.

Chino turned on his laser focus, reminding himself of M&M, making money and memories. As soon as he became old enough, Chino went to Frank’s Bartending School in White Plains and become a certified mixologist. Chino was made to be a bartender, especially in a popular nightclub. Chino had been bartending at Club Passion for almost two years, and it had served its purpose very well. Between Chino’s talent and good looks, he had always made money. He always dazzled the crowd effortlessly with his bartending style that was quick, clean, and efficient. The income Chino made bartending allowed him to focus on acting and going on auditions during the day. Chino’s dream was to become a successful and impactful actor for his generation. Chino took his acting dream very seriously. Constantly watching favorite movies such as The Pope of Greenwich Village, Mean Streets, and Blood In Blood Out, Chino would memorize different monologues and would perform them from the heart with such emotional weight. When he spoke, he embodied the message emotionally, spiritually, and mentally. A beautiful congruence of epic spoken word.

Chino had fifteen minutes before he went live. He ran through his pregame ritual. He made a mental check to see if anything else was needed and then organized the speed rack the way he liked it.

It was at this point that Vinny held his quick meeting, which he called a skull session, in the VIP bar to go over the layout for the night, followed by breaking out an eight ball of coke and doing lines on the glass table. The security team consisted of Vinny, followed by second-in-command Nicky Boost, then the rest of the coked-out and steroid-pumped soldiers—Bug, Jo Jo, and Frankie Dimes.

It was one sick fucking crew. Evil as they come. Predators who had no mercy when it came to dishing out violence. Vinny was the ringleader, and because of his uncle, he had free rein to do anything he pleased. In fact, Vinny’s uncle was a silent partner in Club Passion because the owner, Spero, was a degenerate gambler and was in the hole for twenty grand in unpaid gambling debts. When Spero could not pay the money, Uncle Bruno gave Spero three choices: 1) pay him the money back by the following Tuesday; 2) I put your doctor in a higher tax bracket; or 3) make him a silent partner.

Spero had no choice because he knew that it was either the club or his life. So, at the end of each night, Uncle Bruno alongside two large men from his crew would come to the club and shake Spero down, not to mention the cut he was getting from all the coke, ecstasy, and speed Vinny and his Goon crew were selling to the clubgoers. Uncle Bruno made his presence known and got a nice taste of all the action. Spero was a mirage, like a scarecrow. He served his purpose well but had little value. Chino was sadden to see Spero lose total control of Club Passion. Chino was polishing the top shelf bottles while discreetly ear hustling Vinny’s meeting with the Goon Crew.

“Listen up! Anyone who does not listen or causes a problem tonight, get in there and take control. Stomp the motherfucker out. If you can’t take control, radio for backup and throw the jerk offs out of the club. And don’t fucking forget, if you have to give a beating, take them to the back where there are no cameras. Nicky Boost and Bug, you work the door. Frankie Dimes and I will be on the main floor. Jo Jo will work the DJ bar and VIP bar. Any questions?” Vinny finished, snorting a big line of coke. Then all the Goon Crew came together. Vinny put his hand out and the others stacked their hands on top of each other. Vinny screamed, “Who are we!” The rest of the bouncers yelled back in unison, “The Goon Crew!” Under his breath, Chino mumbled, “The dipshit squad.” A bunch of juice heads he thought.

“Hey Amy, bring up my water!” Vinny yelled from the top of the staircase of the VIP bar. Chino could feel his heart beating fast in his chest like a frantic hammer. His paranoia was kicking in. If this maniac only knew I’ve been banging his girl every time he takes the monthly trips to Florida with Uncle Bruno, I would be up a river without paddle. Chino knew he would be a dead man walking. He tried to forget about the rumors and stories he heard about Vinny—all the evil, violence, and killing. After all, it was in Vinny’s DNA. Chino knew the ramifications of being in this love triangle.

Uncle Bruno was feared and respected on the street, and with a powerful crew like the Barvano family behind him he was untouchable. Bruno aroused panic, pain, and terror in anyone in his presence. He was given the nickname “the mad hatter” for his brutality and enjoyment in killing people.

Amy came upstairs looking gorgeous, wearing tight black pants and an electric blue top. She handed Vinny his thermos of water with a fake smile.

“Thanks babe,” said Vinny.

Chino had his back turned, still cleaning the bottles. He discreetly looked in the mirror. Seeing Amy standing by Vinny’s side, Chino watched in astonishment how she managed to keep smiling and even kissed him before she went back downstairs, never making any eye contact with Chino. He couldn’t help but smile, thinking that maybe Amy should try acting.

A loud crash caught his attention. Gordo had been putting bottles of white zin in the back sink when one of them accidently fell from his hand. Gordo lifted his hand in shock and embarrassment.

“Sorry, Chino,” Gordo apologized.

“All good G, shit happens,” Chino dismissed with a wave.

Vinny came up to the bar like a bull in a china shop. He made a terrifying sight. Vinny stood there with the most sadistic look in his eyes with his abnormally large forehead and chin. His bulging muscles and the veins in his arms and neck looked like they were going to explode. It didn’t help that he looked like an evil ghoul dressed in all black. He was also wearing steel point black cowboy boots that made him look seven feet tall. Vinny’s signature move was what he called a boot party, kicking his victims in the head and body repeatedly and, as always, with no mercy.

Vinny looked over the bar and saw the shattered wine bottle on the floor.

“Who the fuck did that?” he growled.

Immediately, Chino answered, “I did. It was an...