I own this city. I give this city its life and breath. I am the both the heart and the cancer of this place. Nothing goes on here that I dont know about. If I don't give the okay, then there is nothing. This is the Machelli family's territory, and I just happen to be the Boss. I alone have the power to make a man untouchable. Invincibility is released through the movement of my tounge. One would be foolish to believe that because I live in the upper room of a run down bar, that I am to be overlooked. It is a mistake mostly made by two bit thug-wannabe's from out of town, but I see to it that it is a mistake only made once. I am the order in this city. Without me there would be anarchy, and I refuse to live under such conditions.
My family moved to America from glorious Italy back in the 20's. Its amazing, and fortunate for me, that we have been able to keep a pure blood line even since then. I am 100% Italian. Some of the best guys I have ever met have been mixed with something somewhere down the line, and for that reason they can't be Made Men. Only 100% pure, the best of the best will do. My father and my mother tried to earn an earnst living and do everything on the up and up; real squares, when i think about it. But me, I always knew that life wasn't for me. I was always into getting want I wanted by any means neccessary. I was a real wiseguy. Now I am running a modern day empire. There was no public election in this town. My vote was the only one that mattered. The law...they were a joke. I had the entire force in my pocket. Its amazing how much memory loss a little money filled suitcase can cause to a precinct. I was the Boss because i believed in respect, order, and taking care of people. You gotta know how to treat people in this world. Everybody has their price. The cops seem to miss 80% of the kocain and heroine that comes through this town on a monthly basis. Why, you may ask? Because they know its mine, and to interfere with my business would be a very disrepectful thing to do. If anybody makes a move on my girls or my product, it is always the last thing that they do. You cannot mess up the order of things around here. I simply won't allow it. Every pimp, drug dealer, politician, police officer, and even butcher owes me favors around here. I take care of them, and they take care of me. Its a very simply, yet efficient relationship.
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As I cooly glided in the dimly lit bar, cigarette smoke filled my nostrils. “This is the place,” I thought. I glanced around and only saw a few patrons. It was still early. In a shadowy corner there was a woman wearing a red dress and an expressionless face. Our eyes met. “I’ve got work to do,” I thought and looked away. As I was sitting down at the bar, a glint of light caught my eye. In the reflection of the mirror I saw it. Under the bar was a M1014 Combat Shotgun. It was a semi-automatic, made by the Italians. Currently it was only used by the U.S. Marine Corps. Under that I spotted a box of flashbangs. This was no ordinary bar.
“So what’ll it be?” The bartender interjected.
“Jose Cuervo and keep it coming,” I said. After downing 8...or maybe 9 shots, the bartender asks,“What kind of work do you do?”
“Some call me an old fashioned cowboy, but I’m a simple bounty hunter. I also do other odd jobs if my wallet calls for it. Here’s my number if you ever have anything that needs doing.” On my second try I swiped a pen off the bar and wrote my number on a cocktail napkin. The bartender said nothing but pocketed the napkin. I stopped him from pouring me another drink, “Time for a Prairie Oyster,” I said. He made it. "Bottoms up." I downed my drink and headed out. As I meandered up the sidewalk, I decided it was time to give the juvenile delinquent a call. “Yo kid."
“Yeah well I'm still gonna keep calling you kid. Listen, I need some information on the bartender.”
“Busy with what?”
“Why are you investigating all the tenants? Wait a second…my alarm clock!”
“Michael you son of a !”
click. He hung up. The power didn’t go out last night, it was him! Next time we sparred I’d be sure to kick him in the face for that. Lost in thought I entered the Wrath. Piercing dark brown eyes and a hesitant smile greeted me.
“I, ah, I’m looking for someone.” The smile vanished.
“Follow me,” she said. The next thing I know, I was sitting in a small room smoking a pipe. She sat across from me, legs crossed, eyes closed, letting sand run out of her hand.
“This is real mystic and all but uh, do you have anything to eat here?” I said. A growling stomach was her reply. “…I see.”
“The blue-eyed thief will appear with the rolling dice. That is what I see.” There was something different about her voice, I couldn’t place it.
“You, swimming bird,” she said.
“Huh?” I said.
“The swimming bird will meet a woman; the bird will be hunted by this women and then….death.”
“Heh, one more time.”
“What’s that?”
“I was killed once before, by a woman.” I got up.
“…you take women too lightly my friend.”
“On the contrary, catch ya laters,” I replied. I put the peace pipe down and headed for the door. At the cash register I stopped. I didn’t know if she was expecting payment so I threw down a 10 and stumbled back out into the world. “I wonder where there's gambling.”
Looking at the door, I wondered if the chipped nine was originally a six, just upside-down. Probably. Probably if I went downstairs I would find the door with the missing number, a demoted three digit apartment staring sadly at the empty hallway. Maybe one day out of the week someone passed that lone door, maybe they noticed the missing number. Maybe not. Now, here on my door several floors up, it looked disfigured and curved at a careless angle. Like someone had nailed it up there without really watching. Someone who had hurried down the hall right before I stepped out of the elevator. Someone who wouldn't be back later to straighten it. Someone who would see me on the street around town, laughing on the inside because of the crooked, false number nine.
"Stop it, Maria," I warned myself. There was no use getting worked up over somthing as insignificant as a metal number. A terribly crooked and tarnished metal number. A horribly twisted and dented -- "No, you spent too much money getting here just to wimp out now. So, stop it. The number nine, that's all it is." Suddenly, the door behind me opened, and my neighbor from #983 slipped past me and down the hall. Great, just what I needed, to be assumed crazy by Kevin, especially when he at least seemed relatively normal. "Wonderful, good job, Maria," I told myself as I unlocked the door and looked glumly, and for only the second time, in on my dingy apartment.
The first time had been yesterday after tripping along the street from the SMARTA station with my six boxes, avoiding sidewalks to the frustration of the drivers around me. "Deal!" I had muttered angrily at the woman on the sidewalk who looked at me strangly. "Everyone has their oddities, some of us are just odder than others." I then traipsed through the front doors of Washington Heights and along the hall, making the largest arc possible around the banged up vending machine that stood sentinal in the lobby, if you could even call it a lobby. The room was dim and sticky. I wanted my hand sanitizer, too bad it was still sitting on the bedside in my parents' house. Too bad it was all the way in freaking Columbia. But, hey, I had a cousin here somewhere, albeit a distant one. Maybe he could lend me some.
I stepped inside and dropped my keys on the floor because I hadn't found a table for my whopping three rooms yet. "You need furniture, Maria," I said as I turned to shut the door behind me. A little, dirty tabby kitten looked back at me. "Hey, kitten, care to join me in my insanity?" I asked gently. No reply. "Well, come on in, it's not like anybody else is taking up space, and I sure don't need three rooms to myself. My boxes only take up twelve feet. Well, twelve feet squared and a bed." I pushed the door wider, and the kitten wandered in, looking bemused and somewhat spacy. "You can keep me company while the oddities of this shady building wander the halls at wee hours of the morning, kitten. Maybe you can even sit on my shoulder when I walk into that bar down the street. Maybe your cuteness will stay their guns, as I'm sure they are carrying something, don't ask me how I know." The kitten just stared at the wall. "We'll make a great pair, but, first, a job the human."
No reply from the cat. "You need some milk." Silence, but it was a relaxed one. "Canned milk. Don't worry, though, Maria will get you some."
The phone dropped to the floor. Elizabeth crossed her arms as she began to pace the room. Her options were limited - now more than ever, but the facts remained.
'There's Mal,' she thought, 'the psychotic Private Investigator who stalked me across the country — because he couldn't take no for an answer. And my car—’
She paused.
‘Out of the picture, tainted by a tracking device. … there's no way out,’
She sighed.
‘And no way back.'
Elizabeth reached for her coat and headed out the door. She couldn't sleep. Not now. She needed to face him ... somehow, but she needed back up.
Without a second to loose, she pulled out her cell phone.
“Hello?” Mal answered.
“Meet me at Oscar’s in fifteen.”
“Liz, is that—”
“Order the New York Strip.”
Elizabeth ended the call as she crossed Bucher Drive. She noticed the police station, but notice it was all. Besides they weren’t at the top of the food chain. Mr. Machelli owned this town, which was the exact fact Elizabeth was counting on.
“Elizabeth,” Oscar smiled. “What can I get you tonight? A little filet mignon for the lady?”
“Tonight, I need a New York Strip.”
Oscar’s eyebrows lowered.
She slid him the fifty bucks as he led her to the back.
“Where’s Mr. Machelli?” she asked.
Oscar was kind enough to lead her to him. “Mr. Machelli, this is Elizabeth Farraday. She—”
“Do you need me to take care of someone, Ms. Farraday?” Mr. Machelli asked, continuing to watch the night’s activities. “I’ve seen a stranger hang around your car for too many hours in my parking lot. Malcolm’s his name, isn’t it?”
“Yes,”
“Is that him now?” He asked, noticing the newbie walking into the ring.
Malcolm was the same as he had ever been. He wore a tweed suit and a black collar shirt, a brown fedora in his hand.
“Yep,” she said softly. “That’s him.”
“Do you want him—?”
“No, just far out of town. Leave me a tab for the gas."
He nodded.
Elizabeth tried to leave the ring without causing a scene, but it was no use. As she slipped past Malcolm, he smiled. “Elizabeth,”
“Malcolm,” she said, quickening her pace.
“Elizabeth!” he called, turning.
Silence fell around them, as they were beginning to appear more entertaining than the bids.
‘It’s now or never,’ Elizabeth thought.
“Where are you going?” he asked.
“Home,” she said, turning to him.
“Back to Cali? Great,” he smiled. “We should have lunch sometime.”
Elizabeth scowled at him.
“What are you going to do, Liz?” he laughed. “Hit me?”
Elizabeth sighed, turning away as if she was going to leave.
“Oh, right.” He continued. “You’re the girl who couldn’t hurt a fly.”
The crowd ooed and hissed as they watched the encounter.
Without a moment’s pause, Elizabeth turned around and punched him square in the jaw.
He dropped like a dummy.
'Luckily you're nothing more than scum,' she thought.
Elizabeth squatted beside him as he blinked into consciousness seconds later.
“Liz?”
“Soggiorno I’inferno via da me.” She said slowly and clearly, before turning to leave.
The crowd parted to let her through.
“Liz?” Malcolm called as he slowly began to rise. “Liz — what did you say?”
“Stay the hell away from her, that’s what!” Mr. Machelli laughed as his associates circled around Malcolm.
The cool night air was refreshing as Elizabeth walked out onto the street. She could sleep. It was resolved. She could write again. Upon entering her apartment, she glanced at her laptop.
“Tomorrow,” she said, making her way to the kitchen sink.
As the hot water ran over her hands, she felt as if she was washing away more than the dirt and blood of the evening. She was clearing away a chapter of her life — a resolution.
‘But everyone knows,’ Elizabeth recalled. ‘It’s our past that comes back to haunt us.’
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