Innocent Until Proven Guilty (798 hits)
Category: NoneLabels: The_Malleys
Rating: 0.85 on 17 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by Axolotl (View user info) at 2006-04-28 09:23:57 EDT
Episode 1: The Malleys http://www.ubersite.com/m/87184
Episode 2: To Risk Your Arm http://www.ubersite.com/m/87242
"John, honey," Ash Malley said one cold, snowy December evening. They were in the living room, and her husband John was watching his DVD of the Sopranos on the big-screen TV. "Jackie Sullivan called me today."
That got her husband's attention. He paused the show and turned to look at his wife. "The boss called you?" Malley asked in some hesitation. "What did Jackie want?"
"You know how he's having a large conference on December 18th, next Saturday," Ash said. John nodded. "He wants to know if your cousin Alex can stay at our house."
"What, Alex Collins the hit man? Absolutely not, Ashley," John said, furrowing his brow. "He's not coming into our house, not with my two children. Why, what did you say...?"
Ashley shrugged her shoulders and said, "I didn't think anything of it. I told Jackie of course he could stay, we had a spare guest room and—"
"Come on, Ash!" moaned John Malley. "Tell me about these things before you invite contract killers into our house!"
"God knows enough have been here already, John, I don't know why you hate him so much," Ashley said, rolling her eyes and walking back into the kitchen. "I already told Jackie yes, and you know he likes to have his plans set perfectly."
"Jesus..." groaned Malley, checking his watch. Two days away, and then Alex Collins, the killer, would be in his guest bedroom. All he could do was get some sleep.
* * *
The phone rang, breaking the night silence and John Malley's deep sleep. He shot awake, startled by the loud ringing, and grabbed the phone before Ashley, sleeping next to him in the darkness, could wake up.
"Hello? Who is this calling at—" he checked his bedside digital clock. "—three in the goddamn morning?"
"Hey, John..." came an anxious voice. "It's Dick James."
"Dickie? Dickie?" growled Malley. "Why the hell, at three in the morning, are you calling me?"
"Listen, John, I'm down in Atlantic City, and I'm in trouble," Dick said over the phone. "I'm trying to get control of this casino, it's a big bidding war, and Iggy Ciceri's down here. I think he's going to try and kill me. He's been following me, I don't—"
"Ciceri's down there?" Malley asked, his voice in a whisper. "Shit. We killed one of his crew mates last September, Tony Porcelli."
"What?" Dick hissed into the phone. "Fuck, he's going to kill me! Tell Jackie, I just tried him, but he's not picking up. I called Paulie, but his line is busy, for god-knows-why reason."
"I got it, Dick," Malley answered. "Be careful."
* * *
Malley stepped out of his car and walked into Brecher's body shop. The young apprentice, Jason, was minding the store counter for customers, while Jim Brecher was standing guard at the back door, leading to the secret offices.
"Yo, Johnny," Jim said, switching hands with his cigarette and grasping Malley's palm. He smiled and said, "You look good today, you look so good I could fuck you. Meeting starts in twenty, okay?"
"Thanks, Jim," replied Malley, walking through the back door. He was well skilled at ignoring whatever Jim Brecher had to say.
In the back, across the hall, was Victor Paul's office, into which Malley entered. Paulie was sitting at a desk, on the telephone.
"—left onto the main road, and down. The auto shop is on the left. Brecher's Car Repair—" Paulie was saying. He caught sight of Malley in his office door and his face turned pale. "—yeah. Yeah. I gotta go. Really, I'm—going. Goodbye."
"Who was that?" asked Malley as Paulie hung up the phone.
"Just—a customer, a customer," Paulie replied, looking shaken. "Jackie's in the back."
"Have you heard? Dick James ran into some trouble in AC," Malley said, standing waveringly in the doorway, looking around the office. It looked disheveled, most unlike Paulie. Paulie himself looked a little off, worried.
"Yeah, I heard. He called me this morning," Paulie said, playing with a ring on his middle finger.
"Called me, too," Malley said, starting to feel suspicious. "He said he tried you in the night, but your phone was busy."
"Must've left it off the hook again," Paulie said hastily. "I'm gonna go find Jackie. Hold..." His voice trailed off and he quickly walked out the door.
"Dammit, Vic," Malley said to himself. "Don't be so secretive."
Malley walked over to the desk; behind a plaque that read VICTOR C. PAUL, MANAGER, was his phone. Wrestling with a slight pang of guilt, Malley picked up the telephone, and clicked into the recent call list.
Dec 18 04, 02:49AM 201-555-0428 Smith
Right before three in the morning, Paulie, Jackie's trusted right hand man had been on the phone with "Smith." Feeling daring, Malley dialed in the number, and placed the headset to his ear.
"Hello, Federal Bureau of Investigation, Bergen County, how may I help you?"
"Who the fuck—?" Malley spat, slamming the phone down. He stared at the office desktop, frozen for a moment. Some footsteps could be heard coming down the hallway.
Paulie had been on the phone with the Feds...the thought raced through Malley's head, repeating over and over. Had he been passing on information? Maybe he had been just trying to bribe an agent to ease pressure off of the family...no, bribing was done in person.
As Malley stood in shock, Jackie Sullivan's form filled up the doorframe. Malley whirled around in some tenseness and said, "Jackie! Boss...hello!"
"John, the meeting is starting," said Jackie in a kindly voice. He was not all that advanced in years, but he acted very grandfatherly and friendly. He had sleek grey hair, a thin mustache, and piercing blue eyes. His voice was high and lilting, and his teeth were all perfectly gleaming and straight.
"I'm coming," Malley said. The thought came into his mind to tell Jackie what he had just seen, but he pushed it out of his mind. Innocent until proven guilty...had Paulie really been passing on information?
"The rest are all here, including your cousin Alex," Jackie said, leading the way down the brightly lit hallway to the conference room. "I heard about Dickie Jim in Atlantic City, we'll have to send down some help soon."
The conference room consisted of paneled walls and a large oval table, around which were eleven men. There were three crews of soldiers in the Sullivan family; Don McMichael, forty-two, ran a crew, as did Virgil O'Duinen, Chris O'Duinen's father. Jackie's favorite crew was Malley's, however.
Jackie Sullivan sat down, and Malley took his seat at Sullivan's right hand. Around the table were Don McMichael, Jim and Michael Brecher, Virgil O'Duinen with his sons Chris and Virgil Jr., and Victor Paul.
Also at the table was John Sullivan, Jackie's son. Jackie had little respect for John, and saw him as a common thug. When Jackie had to hand over the reins of the empire he had built, it would be one of the caporegimes who took power, not the lank-haired, sickly-looking John Sullivan.
John Malley waved at his brothers Peter, a young-faced redhead in his late thirties, and Willy, a plump businessman with thinning hair. John's cousin Alex, a smiling straw-haired boy, was also present, next to Peter.
"All right, gentlemen, I'm sure most of you know that Dickie is in trouble," Jackie began, folding his hands. "Especially considering I'm sure he called most of you last night at three in the bloody morning."
The table laughed, and Jackie sat back in his chair, stretching out casually. Jackie thought a moment and instructed, "John Malley, take one of your crew and go help out the poor son of a bitch."
Biting his lip and forcing himself to adhere to his boss' demand, Malley said, "All right. Mike Brecher, I'm afraid that's you."
"Poor guy, I heard Iggy Ciceri is after his blood," Peter Malley said.
"It's all business," Malley answered. "All just business."
"Let's see...next order of business," Jackie said. "Alex Collins, I wanted you here for a reason. I didn't call you out of Miami just to say hello."
"Of course not, Mr. Sullivan," Alex said, his grinning face suddenly serious.
"Please, call me Jackie, everyone else does," said Jackie with a laugh. "Anyway, I need you to fix a leak for Calvin Delaney. Virgil can supply you with some tools, although I'm sure you've brought your own."
Alex opened up his jacket and showed Jackie a sleek silver pistol. "I'll fix a nice—pipe, for Mr. Delaney," he said, his bright, cheery voice now sounding sadistic. "What did he do?"
"Never-you-mind," Jackie said, looking down. "Just make sure I never see him again, nor anyone else for that matter."
"Yeah, bada-bing, bada-boom," Jim Brecher laughed. "Capice? Make sure that Delaney sleeps with the fishies, know what I'm saying?"
"Wiseass," Jackie said, smirking at Jim. "Too much of this Italian bullshit, all this Sopranos shit is going on. Giving our organization a funny reputation."
People began laughing, but Jackie silenced them with a wave of his finger. "I'm serious, people today respect the Dimiglio family more than us, because of this popular culture," he said. "And the popular culture is not good. People respect violence. Why, last September Johnny's kid Nick got in trouble for starting up a school mob!"
"Jackie, I'd appreciate you not—" Malley whispered.
"Fuckin' A, man," Jim Brecher said.
"They've got the markets for illegal shipments of arms about cornered as well," Virgil O'Duinen said. "We're lucky if we can jack a truck a month. Back in the 60s, we were rolling like kings."
"It's a big problem," said McMichael. "Kids today think they're all a bunch of tough gangsters, like, you know, that goddamn Fifty the Cent, or Tony Soprano. I'm not meaning your kid, John, but in general."
"I've talked to Nick about it," Malley said slowly.
"We have to make a concerted effort to take back our territory and rights from the Dimiglios," Jackie said. "But keeping our reputation intact. I don't want to be known as the leader of a bunch of thugs. On the other hand, we have to stay competitive. So far, our credit-card schemes and rackets in Atlantic City have been—"
"You know what?" Jim Brecher interjected.
"What, you genius boy? What do you have to offer us?" Jackie said with a sarcastic but good-natured laugh. The rest of the table stared sourly at Jim.
"We should get into prostitution, is what I think," Jim said. Michael, his brother, just turned away.
"We don't do that sort of thing," Virgil O'Duinen said, shaking his head.
"We do gambling in AC, we do drugs, contract hits, bid rigging," Jim said, throwing up his hands and looking at the rest of the table with passion. "Why not selling fucking? Like George Carlin said—"
"You don't even know what bid rigging is, you dumb shit," said Don McMichael. "Don't be a tool." McMichael was a big man, with a barrel chest and a thick neck. In contrast to the skinny, scrawny Jim Brecher, McMichael looked as though he could tear the latter limb from limb.
"We don't do that, for precisely the reasons Jackie just said," said John Malley. "We're businessmen, not perverts. We have a reputation to uphold."
"I'm telling you, you're losing out on a huge market," Jim replied shrugging. "That's what I'd do."
"We'd be caught," said Malley, carefully choosing his words. "After all, we don't need the FBI on us any more than it already is..." He looked over at Victor Paul, who was looking away. "Right, Paulie?"
"Oh, of course," Paulie said with a worried glance at Jackie. "That'd be bad, wouldn't it?"
Malley and Paulie shared a second's look, their eyes piercing one another. Malley felt a sense of duty to tell Jackie that Paulie had been in contact with the FBI, he wanted to slam his fists on the table and shout it out...but he couldn't. Paulie was their consigliere, as some called it. He had served the family with honor for years...Malley needed more information.
Malley sat back and bided his time. He could wait a little longer.
* * *
It was Saturday night, and Alex Collins stood on West Central Avenue, in Dumont, New Jersey, waiting for a car to pull up. Outside the Staples, Alex spotted the license plate as the target car crossed the train tracks.
Kissing his pistol for luck, he crouched behind the bushes in the snow as the car pulled up. Calvin Delaney stepped out, unaware that he was about to have a leak fixed. He stepped out of the driver's seat, stretching his arms above him, his feet squishing the slush beneath him.
Alex stood up quickly and walked through the bushes, gun raised. Delaney, a tall tan man with thinning black hair, turned slightly around, startled by the sudden appearance of a man.
Alex Collins fired his gun five times in close succession, and a sound like firecrackers rang across the Staples center as the bullets cut Delaney to his knees. Into his chest were cut a patchwork of red bullet holes, and a shell in his thigh had brought him to the ground. His mouth hung open in shock, still open wide as he fell on his face toward the dirty snow in the dark street.
Just for the sake of professionalism, Alex moved a few feet closer and pointed his barrel at Delaney's head. He looked away as he pulled the trigger, splattering the snow with blood, and turned without a second glance to get back into his car.
As he put his gun back in his jacket holster, his hand brushed the three thousand dollars kindly old Jackie had given him for the hit. After all, it was just business.
User Reviews
Submitted by BobLobla (user info) at 2006-06-22 14:31:45 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by georgemichael (user info) at 2006-05-11 04:22:22 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by Axolotl (user info) at 2006-05-04 22:54:30 (#)
Ranking: 0
I'll just rework it.
___________________________
*world crosses fingers*
Submitted by Ballare (user info) at 2006-05-11 04:14:22 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by Stagger_Lee (user info) at 2006-05-11 01:55:34 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by Axolotl (user info) at 2006-05-04 22:54:30 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
I'll just rework it.
Submitted by Axolotl (user info) at 2006-05-01 13:10:03 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Maybe I'll continue this story. It doesn't seem too popular.
Submitted by Axolotl (user info) at 2006-04-29 10:16:43 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by Vengance (user info) at 2006-04-28 14:29:17 (#)
Ranking: -2
Fuck you.
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Submitted by electrictoothsyndrome (user info) at 2006-04-28 14:27:51 (#)
Ranking: -2
No Comment
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WEEPS
The vengeful -2s fall on me like an avalanche! What shall I do?
Submitted by electrictoothsyndrome (user info) at 2006-04-29 00:42:52 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
Stay out of my fucking business.
Submitted by Doodies (user info) at 2006-04-29 00:05:34 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Dialogue is kinda weak and unnatural.
A little too much exposition in it, too.
Could be an interesting premise, though.
Submitted by Axolotl (user info) at 2006-04-28 23:40:32 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
WOOO RETALIATORY -2s!
Submitted by skalors (user info) at 2006-04-28 12:33:11 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
That was gay. Fag
Submitted by Axolotl (user info) at 2006-04-28 11:11:48 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
I was going to continue the IRA, but decided not to.
I'll do a few more of these, and go back to Boshman and Weetman, maybe.
Submitted by littledan (user info) at 2006-04-28 11:08:27 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
You are one of my favorite writers on Uber right now. This and the IRA stories, they're damn good.
Submitted by Axolotl (user info) at 2006-04-28 09:59:25 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Hello, Mr. Fuckface.
Submitted by professorfuckface (user info) at 2006-04-28 09:40:25 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Stop writing boring stories. And I never thought about this, but I'm pretty sure there is some unwritten law in narrative writing that limits the amount of names used per sentence.
Submitted by MyNameIsTim (user info) at 2006-04-28 09:39:31 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
sweet. me gusta.
although i wish the whole morality thing was implied or shown rather than said. seems a bit contrived.
Submitted by Axolotl (user info) at 2006-04-28 09:25:36 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Yeah, Moe, that team sure did suck last night! They just plain
sucked! I've seen teams suck before, but they were the suckiest bunch
of sucks that ever sucked!
-- Homer Simpson
Team Homer