I knew that today would be a busy one, my days always were. I had sevral "business ventures" to pursue, and even more wrongs that needed to be righted. Being the Boss isn't an easy job. Every now and then I would take a well deserve vaction. Maybe out to Vegas to blow some cash, or mabe back to Italy to pick up to Pastrami. I liked having options. I knew that I was going to have some time to relax later on that night, so I told my right hand man to Lefty to go to the buther shop and buy a New York Strip for $650 on the best piece of meat in the shop. I had been eating this same piece of meat now for three weeks straight and it hadn't disappointed me yet. It was just simply better that all its competion, so it proved to be a worth while investment. The butcher was a real okay guy. He was a beast of a man, and he had no problem choppin up body parts. This much I know from personal expirience.I had him do me a couple favors a while back. I never told him exactly what "animal" it was that I needed him to cut up, and he didnt ask either. Thats just the way I like it. You see, Oscar understood the order of things. He has a few relatives in Columbia who just happen to be good friends of mine, so I tried to make sure that nobody screwed with the poor bastard. But as far as I was concerned, he was a good guy.
When Left came back back and told me that the deed was done, I decided to go downstairs to the bar and see what I could see. Was there any potential customers for my gus to take care of, where my girls making me any money, there was always something to be done. I didnt too much like to get my hands dirty. I have people for that. Those days of me being in the trenches are over now. Im too old to be muckin around in the jungle with these animals. Now, I order, they execute. That is just the order of things. I've grown far too accustomed to the lion's den to leave now. The trick to being the king of the jungle is simply making sure that everyone knows that your the king of the jungle. Some times these young guys get a little too over zealous though. They think with their hearts and not their head. Thats why I got Lefty. Everyone comes through Lefty. Lefty is a stand up guy, and me and him go way back. If he sees any young lions among these scavengers, then we take em' and groom em' and tame em'. If they are anything like I was, then the fire in their eyes and the hunger in the pit of their soul simply wont allow them to be tamed; so I have them taken care of. I hate to see the good ones go, but to let them go may be to bring about my own downfall. Im a business man, and young hungry lions simply arent good for business.
As I took a shot of my usual (Bourbon, straight up) I noticed a women in the bar with some bright red heels on. She was a big woman, but you would be surprised how many requests I got for the mammoths. Well, time to see if I still got it.
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Oscar Alcazar
The place was packed. Without the back room, his butchery wouldn't be in business. But was it worth the drama? The fights, the arguments, the deals, the tension ... Oscar chuckled. He knew the answer. Yes. It was worth every penny.
He thought back to that afternoon, when little Slick had popped in. Oscar had slipped him a few bills for something or other. It didn't really matter. Slick was a good guy. That's how things worked to Oscar. The key word was reputation. If you did good, and didn't do nothing stupid, Oscar had your back, as long as you drop in every now and then. You do Oscar a favor, he does you one. Simple, really.
He stepped out front for some fresh air, catching Mrs. Floggsbottom's eye as she trundled past. He liked her. She was quirky. Amusing. Coming the other direction was Grandma Pearl, "or Miss Pearlie to you," she would tell him. Pearl bought a week's supply of kosher meat every weekend. She was one of his most loyal customers. She even gambled a bit, "when she was feelin' frisky."
As Oscar turned to squeeze back through the door, he glanced at his shattered window. The glass itself was no biggie. He'd have Alexander fix it up. The boy needed a job. The story behind it was the real problem. It was another threat from Manuel, the pitiful crack dealer across the street. He thought his Columbian heritage earned him status in the community. Oscar knew the real meaning of status. Status was being a man, being honest, being forthright. Status meant no severed fingers on doorsteps. Manuel had a lot to learn. Oh well, Oscar thought. He wished their Columbian connection could make them brothers, not enemies. But if Manuel wanted a war, he'd get one. Oscar had Machelli on his side. They'd been exchanging favors for years.
Back inside, Oscar's grubby fingers tossed a few slices of roast beef back into the fridge. Damn, that was from Marissa's morning sandwich. He had to stop leaving food out. He chucked the slices out onto the sidewalk. A bird would get them.
The freezer's chill nursed his grimy skin as he brushed past a dangling pig carcass. There was commotion in the back room. Nothing new there. Not too long ago a bounty hunter had chased his man out the front door. And before that, a nice woman by the name of Elizabeth had completely decked a guy. The fun just didn't stop.
At 3:30 Oscar closed up shop, courteously moving his guests toward the door. He'd count their money in the morning. A big guy needs his shuteye. The Kosher Carriers truck was scheduled for 7:30 in the morning.
Shattered perceptions
4:00AM
"SHIT!!!!"
As if jerked from a trance, Robert is jolted out of sleep. A moment later the sound of glass shattering reaches his ears. Followed by the sound of loud music being turned louder.
Getting up, Robert slowly looks around trying to remember where he is. As the pale moon lights the room, his memories of who and where he is sink back in. Remembering the sound that awoke him, he crosses the room to the the window. Opening the window, Rober cautiously pokes his head out.
Looking down he notices a broken wine glass, an expensive one. Realizing that glasses don't throw themselves out of windows anymore, Robert looks to the left hoping to catch the thrower. What he sees is a lot more than he bargained...
A woman is leaning out of her window- naked.
Her hair whips around her face as she exhales another cloud of smoke. With the moon reflecting off of her pale skin, she looks almost angelic. The drink that she takes from the wine bottle (Also expensive, Robert noticed), reveals a carnal hunger in her. A hunger for something better wine and cigarettes...
As suddenly as she appears, she is gone again. Realizing that there is no chance of him getting back to sleep, Robert takes out a single cigarette from his pack. Lighting it slowly, he turns his attentions down to the lower ends of Washington Heights.
One advantage of living on the 12th floor is that everything that happens around you can be seen.
Below, Robert observes a few people walking around. But something doesn't appear right...
There appeared to be three people walking. But the man in the middle's head is lolling forward...He's passed out. The two guys on either side don't appear to be taking this into consideration cause they're draggin him along. Behind them, a third guy is talking to the butcher, Oscar. Oscar is a big guy. His massive "physique" fills the frame of the door. But...
It's not the fact that the man Oscar is talking to is the heart of this town- Domonic Roberto Machelli that bothered Robert. It's not even the fact that the two are laughing as they pass a cig back and forth. It's the fact that there is a man being dragged away, bloodied, into a car, while these two chew the fat at 4:00 in the morning.
Not that Robert and his noisy neighbor (who has a shirt on now...when did she get back?) are supposed to be awake. Well Robert's condition allows for it but as for Chloe...
How did he know her name was Chloe? Did he hear it earlier that day? No...Only thing that he heard earlier were the screams of someone in the penthouse followed by the sound of feet running down the stairs.
Was her name really Chloe? Robert sighed... Looking down he noticed his cigarette had reached the filter. Pulling out a second, he reflected over everything that happened that day; more specifically in the last 10 minutes. Pulling a chair up to the window, he let the gentle breeze caress his face as he rested his head against the window.
This town had too much to offer and Robert knew that this was just the beginning of the ride; whether he would survive to the very end is what bothered him to most.
George Jefferson - The Battle
Jefferson stood on the rooftop of Washington Heights. It was raining heavily. Lightening flashed in the distance. Jefferson had been watching Oscar's for about a week now-it hadn't stopped raining since then. It had paid off though. It seemed like every criminal in the city hung out there, to join in on the illegal gambling that took place in the back. Tonight, Jefferson thought, he would strike at the heart of this criminal enterprise. Tonight he would announce officially to the criminal underworld that he was here. He surveyed the area. Clio Ford was closing up her flower shop and walking across the street, obviously quite irritated by the rain. Jefferson waited until she had entered the building. He climbed down the fire escape. More lightening in the distance; it was getting closer.
Jefferson pulled his mask over his head and shivered - the rain was very cold. He looked across the street. It was deserted. He darted out into the open and ran behind Oscar's shop. He could barely hear the sound of the activity inside over the pounding rain. Jefferson climbed on top of a dilapidated dumpster, then pulled himself up on the roof of the building. There was a little skylight in the middle of the roof - a nice touch, thought Jefferson. A little too nice for a butcher's shop. He peered down into the illegal casino. It was full of people. He recognized a few. There was Machelli, of course, surrounded by his goons. Jefferson would have to take him out first; fortunately he was just below the skylight. There was Marcus Manuel, the small time drug dealer; there was Grandma Pearl; Elizabeth Farraday was there, yelling at some guy; Lola Fontaine, dressed like a stripper; Oscar himself, of course; and others from around the neighborhood. Jefferson had unsheathed his sword and was prepared to strike, when he felt something cold and sharp on his neck.
Jefferson turned around abruptly and held up his sword. Lightening flashed, and the figure of Holger Vollsunger appeared. "I know you," Jefferson said. "You're the guy who owns that gas station down the street."
"I know you as well," Holger said. "I know that fighting you is the only way I can gain the honor of my ancestors and clean up this dirthole of a town."
"We both want the same thing," Jefferson said. "We should be working together. We shouldn't be fighting!"
"No," said Holger, ominously. "this is the only way. Defend yourself, George Jefferson, and defend your honor!"
Holger slashed at Jefferson with his huge, serrated sword. Jefferson knew if that thing hit him it would hurt, a lot. Jefferson blocked with his own sword; the two swords collided with a loud clang as lightening flashed and thunder rumbled across the city. Maybe my sword is real after all, thought Jefferson. The two sparred and parried across Oscar's roof. Jefferson had been practicing in his spare time, but Holger was still more skilled and larger. Jefferson was on the defensive as Holger swung wildly. The pounding rain only made his job more difficult. Jefferson was blocking every one of Holger's massive blows, but he was being pushed to the edge of the roof. It's time to change the game, thought Jefferson. He ducked Holger's blade and tackled him to the ground. The two warriors rolled across the roof. Holger got up a split-second faster than Jefferson, and Jefferson only had enough time to just barely block his blow; neither of them had noticed that Oscar's skylight was just behind them. They both lost their balance and fell through.
They landed on a roulette table, breaking it in two and sending chips everywhere. Lola Fontaine screamed. Jefferson stood up with a groan, and picked up his sword. Suddenly, Holger came out of nowhere and swung at Jefferson, narrowly missing him and cleaving another table in two. People began running and screaming. Jefferson was dodging Holger's massive blade. It missed him again and almost became stuck in one unlucky soul, who Jefferson only knew as "Lowride." "What is it with these freaks with swords? Kill them!" yelled Machelli. Gunshots filled the air as Jefferson leaped behind an overturned table. I've got to get out of here, he thought. He picked up a roullette ball on the floor and threw it at a light switch. The lights went out and more people screamed and ran out of the building. Jefferson kicked down the back door and fled into the night.
He ran across the street, breathing heavily. The police had just arrived, thankfully. Maybe some good would come from this after all. Still, Jefferson thought, he would once again have to be more careful. Basic criminals he could deal with, but he hadn't expected anything like Holger. Fortunately, Holger at least had a sense of honor, sort of; Jefferson wouldn't have to worry about him killing him in his sleep, or anything like that. Of course, he would probably have to face him again. Next time, though, Jefferson would be more prepared. He sheathed his sword and climbed up the fire escape.
The rain continued to fall.
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