Entropy (880 hits)
Category: NoneLabels: The_Malleys
Rating: 1.33 on 21 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by Axolotl (View user info) at 2006-05-26 10:49:09 EDT
The area around Voorhees funeral home was not accustomed to such displays of power, but the black limousines and well-dressed businessmen and representatives filing into the funeral parlor had scared the town into staying far back from the events. Undercover policemen and FBI agents followed the mobsters into the home, but no one disturbed them over their identities. It was the way Jackie would have wanted it.
John Aidan Patrick Sullivan
A Loving Father, Husband, and Leader
You Will Always Be Our Jackie
August 2nd, 1935 - April 23rd, 2005
Jackie Sullivan lay in a casket in the far corner of the warm, expansive room. The corner arrangement had freed up space for flowers and mourners; rows of chairs faced Jackie's grim body, and men chatted in adjoining rooms. Jackie's bullet wounds were thankfully mainly in his back, and to the naked eye he looked undisturbed, just sleeping.
"I'm so sorry, Mary, love," the stately grey Virgil O'Duinen told Jackie's grieving widow, embracing her. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. He was a good man, Jackie."
The three capos: Malley, O'Duinen and McMichael, were all seated up front with a weeping Mary Sullivan and Jackie's two dour sons. Johnny-boy Sullivan was the nominal underboss of the family, a rubber-faced cartoonish character with exaggerated speaking, while his older brother Mikey was a light-haired Wall Street businessman.
Michael Brecher, Jackie's consigliere, sat down behind John Malley with his wife and children, and said, "The heads of the five families are here to pay their respects. Who's going to greet them as acting boss?"
"I will," John said, starting to stand up.
"John, I think I have seniority," Donald McMichael said, looking hungrily at John beneath his lidded eyes. "Don't cause a conflict, it's the man's funeral."
"Do it together, John," Brecher said, attempting to be as conciliatory as possible. John and Donald stood up, leaving Virgil with Mary, and walked to where the heads of the Five Italian Families stood up against the wall.
"My honorable friends," McMichael said, picking out Bonasera Gambetta and kissing his gilded ring. John Malley shook hands with Giacomo Giaquinto, and they greeted Robert Delfino and Vito Lucarno together. Carmine Galantro, don of the Dimiglio family said nothing.
"We offer our condolences, my Irish brother," Bonasera Gambetta said in a low, sincere voice, clasping McMichael's shoulder. "Jackie was an honorable leader."
"He was the best leader we ever had, sir," Malley said to the aging, all-powerful godfather of the Gambetta Family.
"Shall we pay our respects?" Don Giaquinto asked. "I must return to New York soon." Four dons left to say goodbye to Jackie, leaving Malley and McMichael with Carmine Galantro. Carmine Galantro was a large, flat-nosed man in a black jacket. He was bald as a cue ball, not even hair at his sides, and he resembled a large, overgrown baby from his lack of hair.
"My condolences, and apologies," Carmine said in a hushed tone. "I understand some ill-guided associate from my family was the cause of this death. The Dimiglios will be more than happy to reimburse you...and my trusted captain, Paul Ciceri, will see to it that the perpetrator is brought to justice."
From one of the adjoining rooms Paul Ciceri walked out, carrying a small bottle of water. He smiled, resembling Michael Stipe, and stood side-by-side with Don Carmine.
"Say what you want, you elderly liar," Don McMichael hissed. "We know who this was. If it's war you want, consider yourself an enemy of the Sullivan family. Jackie's death has not stopped us. It makes us stronger. Don't come to me with your apologies, your regrets. And especially don't think any sum of money can make us forget Jackie Sullivan."
"You are Donald McMichael?" Carmine asked, his lips curling. "Acting boss, in Jackie's absence, I presume?"
"Aye, I am," McMichael said, spurred on by Carmine's assumption. "Please leave, Don Galantro. I trust you have no further business here."
"As you wish, godfather," Don Carmine replied, bowing slightly to the pair. "Paul, let us go. I feel we're not loved here."
As Carmine and Paul walked back out toward the exit, Carmine said, "That McMichael...have him shot as well. Nothing goes unavenged."
While the capos of both families confronted one another, Michael Brecher slipped aside for a few quick words to Jason Sporran. Sporran was sitting rigidly on the edge of an aisle, nervously watching Jackie as though he might rise from his coffin.
"Hey, Jay," Michael said in a fatherly tone to the young assistant.
"Hi," Jason mumbled. "I'm sorry for you condolences."
"I'm sorry to have to put you through so much stress. First Paulie disappears, and then Jim Brecher...and you had to see those two guys killed in the back room."
"Yeah," Jason said warily, having a suspicion that 'disappeared' meant being buried at the bottom of the Passaic River.
"Just quit, Jay," Michael said sympathetically. "You're a smart young man, I'm sure you could get a better job somewhere else. Hey, isn't McDonalds in Hackensack looking for some non-illegal-immigrants?"
Jay smiled weakly, and Michael felt a bit embarrassed. "Just a joke, kid," he said quickly. "I won't think any worse of you if you leave. You don't have to deal with the Family again. I'll throw in a bonus, too."
"Thank you, Mr. Brecher," Jay said, looking a little cheerier. "I'll...resign then, I guess. Should I go?"
"Go. And stay safe."
Jason Sporran shook Mike's hand thankfully, and walked briskly out the funeral parlor door, not looking back. At least it was one more worry off of Brecher's back.
* * *
"I'm sorry, John," Ashley Malley said, hugging her husband. "I know how you loved him."
"He's always been there for me, Jackie," John said with gritted teeth, trying to hold in his tears. "He was with my dad in the hospital the day I was born, he was like a cool uncle, almost...I know what he was and what he did for a living, but if there was just..."
"Jackie Sullivan was a good man, a brilliant man," Ashley said soothingly. "Don't doubt that. I miss him as well..."
"It makes me think about my own death..." John said reluctantly, trying to appear nonchalant. "I mean...I can't die, I don't want to just let go. I want to live, like anyone else...but with all this..."
"What?"
"I keep wondering, will I be next?"
* * *
"All right, let me just say I have no interest in becoming Don, got it?" Virgil O'Duinen said. "Let's just calm down...do what Jackie would have wanted."
"This son-of-a-bitch is pissing on Jackie's grave by having the audacity to assume that the Don's sons won't even inherit his role!" snarled Johnny-boy Sullivan, pointing a finger at John Malley. "Remember who's the underboss here!"
"Easy, John," Mike Sullivan said coolly, patting his brother on the shoulder. Mike and Johnny-boy eased back in their chairs, now being watched by every capo and soldier in the entire council.
"Well, my original plan," Michael Sullivan said softly. "Was that since John and I were Jackie's two children, we could take over the family together. A joint operation, you see? That way, the family is not controlled by a dictator, and it is passed down Jackie's bloodline."
"Our family is meant to be run by a dictator," Don McMichael said pointedly. "Councils? Legislatures? Petitions? What the hell is that? We do our business controlled by one boss. Though you're underboss, Johnny-boy, it's mostly a figurehead. As Virgil does not want to accede Jackie's position, I feel, as the highest-ranking caporegime, that I should take over—"
"You'd love that, wouldn't you?" Johnny-boy sneered at McMichael.
"One man must run the family, and it doesn't necessarily have to be passed through Jackie's children," John Malley said. "I must admit, I would be happy in control of this family—as would our senior cap Mr. McMichael, and our consigliere Mr. Brecher—but I'm open to debate."
"If this is meant to be a royal family, like," Michael Sullivan said diplomatically. "It should be hereditary. Me and Johnny-boy balance each other out. We'd do this well. John, Donald, Mike...don't you want to follow Jackie's wishes?"
"If Jackie's wishes were being followed, I would be the Don," Michael Brecher said sharply. "He wanted me because I'm neutral. You're arguing over who's taking control of the Sullivan family, but I'm uncontroversial."
"Do you believe this shit?" Don McMichael snapped.
"Calm down, guys," Virgil O'Duinen warned. "It's academic."
"Brecher, I don't think so," John said angrily, ignoring Virgil.
"Whoa, where the fuck you getting this from?" Johnny-boy said to Brecher. "How dare you say I'm not honoring my own father's wishes, you selfish bastard! The man is dead, and you're quibbling over his kingdom?"
"It's because it's worth quibbling over," Malley said to Johnny-boy. "Sit down. We'll decide this based on merit."
"One thing's for sure," Michael said, waving his finger. "No matter who takes over this family—the name is still the Sullivan family. I don't want to hear the Malley family, the Brecher family."
"Fucking kraut," Johnny-boy said bitterly to Brecher.
"Today is Thursday," Don McMichael said authoritatively. "By Sunday, May 8th, there will be a new Don of the Sullivan family. By God, I hope it's me, but we must decide by then."
"We'll meet tomorrow evening, and Saturday, if necessary," Malley said in exhaustion. "Let's all take a break for now."
Johnny-boy and Mike Sullivan stood up, as did McMichael, Malley, Brecher and O'Duinen. Together the two Sullivan children walked out, leaving the other three in the room.
"You know, their dad always was disappointed in them," McMichael remarked nonchalantly.
* * *
Sixth-period bell rang, and the seniors of Ridgewood High School began to shuffle down toward the cafeteria to go to lunch. Nick Malley and his friend Brad walked side-by-side into the lunch hall, making fun of the new teacher, Mr. McWeeny.
"Hey, faggot," hissed an abrasive voice, shoving Nick's shoulder hard and throwing him off balance. Nick turned to see Austin Virgino, a dark-haired senior, surrounded by a pack of his friends. His uncle was Christopher Virgino, a capo of the Dimiglio family, and he was known to flaunt his expensive iPods and electronics his family's position netted him. His other uncle was the late Anthony Porcelli.
"What the hell, Pelican?" Nick replied aggressively, using the nickname given to Austin for his beak-like nose.
"My uncle told me that your uncle Jackie got killed," Austin sneered. "I bet he screamed before he died."
"Leave me the fuck alone," Nick said, shying away from a fight. "We graduate in two weeks, asshole, just leave it."
As Nick and Brad cautiously walked into the cafeteria, Nick felt a jabbing pain in his back. Stumbling to his knees, Austin plucked a sharp fork out of Nick's back and said, "Hey, Nick, your dad killed my uncle, didn't he? How about I kill you? How about it, faggot?"
Nick turned around on his heel, his face frozen in hatred. He slapped the fork out of Austin's hands and grabbed onto his throat, jerking him toward the ground. Austin struggled to free himself, but Nick kneed Austin in the stomach.
"Touch me again, Pelican, and I'll make sure my dad gets you next," Nick whispered as Austin's friends shouted and backed away. "Got it?"
Nick threw Austin to the ground and quickly strode away toward his table before any teachers noticed anything. If his dad had taught him anything, it was to stay away from trouble.
* * *
Don McMichael walked out onto his front lawn to grab The Record for his girlfriend before the sprinklers were turned on. Just as he stepped outside in his blue bathrobe, his stomach bulging from the threads, Marcus Toussaint and Josh Blades turned the corner onto his block in Lyndhurst, New Jersey, just on the edge of the Meadowlands.
"I'll go out," Toussaint said from the passenger seat, putting on a ski mask and sliding a bullet into the chamber of his unsilenced .38.
"Take him, before he goes back inside," Josh suggested with some anxiety. Toussaint opened the door and leaped out of the car, his heavy jacket and mask strange in the warm weather. Without a word of warning, Toussaint raised his gun; McMichael's jaw dropped.
Marcus Toussaint opened fire, his bullets sparking on the pavement near McMichael's feet. McMichael yelped in pain as his thigh burst open in blood, sending a shock wave rippling across his robe. McMichael grimaced in self-preservation and dived behind a car, Toussaint following him as he crouched close to the ground.
"Get him quick!" Josh exclaimed, slipping into the passenger seat to try to see what was happening. Toussaint sprinted along the side of the car and emerged onto the street side, his pistol out. McMichael leaped up from alongside his car and swung a heavy fencepost into Toussaint's head, making a sickening crack and splashing blood across the trunk.
Trying to keep balance on his perforated leg, McMichael picked up Toussaint's discarded gun, and walked to the passenger seat, his bathrobe billowing around him in the windy morning. Halting at the front passenger window where Josh Blades stared out at him, trying to pull a gun out of the glove compartment, McMichael leveled his pistol and fired twice, blowing Josh's brain out onto the dashboard.
As soon as McMichael pulled the trigger, a sharp blow to the back of his leg brought him to his knees. Toussaint had thrown the fencepost at McMichael's wounded leg, adding a vicious slice to keep the bullet hole company. McMichael fell, dropping the gun underneath the car.
Toussaint stumbled around the car and flung himself into the driver's seat. "Get back here, lad!" McMichael roared, lunging under the car to where he dropped his gun. Toussaint gunned the engine and backed up, slamming the bumper of the car into McMichael's head and crushing his leg with the back right wheel.
Slamming his pedal to the floor, Toussaint drove out of the space, running over McMichael's leg again, and screamed down the road, leaving Donald McMichael lying in his own driveway, his shot, slashed and crushed leg bloody and pain flooding his senses.
"Donnie!" cried Alyssa, McMichael's girlfriend, rushing out from the house in her pajamas, seeing McMichael unconscious in the road, his calf crushed gorily. "Jesus, Donnie! Are you all right?"
Don McMichael blearily opened his eyes, peering out behind a haze of pain, and fell into blackness.
Episode 1: The Malleys http://www.ubersite.com/m/87184
Episode 2: To Risk Your Arm http://www.ubersite.com/m/87242
Episode 3: Innocent Until Proven Guilty http://www.ubersite.com/m/87289
Episode 4: Roulettes http://www.ubersite.com/m/87511
Episode 5: Broadside - http://www.ubersite.com/m/87564
Episode 6: Under the Influence - http://www.ubersite.com/m/87706
Episode 7: Broken Glass - http://www.ubersite.com/m/87745
Episode 8: Off the Face of the Earth - http://www.ubersite.com/m/87999
Episode 9: Liability Claims - http://www.ubersite.com/m/88086
Episode 10: To Tell the Truth - http://www.ubersite.com/m/88306
User Reviews
Submitted by BobLobla (user info) at 2006-06-22 15:40:38 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by Axolotl (user info) at 2006-05-31 15:17:18 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
I definitely recommend East L.A. on Washington Avenue in Hoboken. Great Mexican food.
Submitted by MyNameIsTim (user info) at 2006-05-31 12:13:36 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by leilani (user info) at 2006-05-26 11:19:24 (#)
Ranking: 2
you should go to 5th avenue deli in lyndhurst.
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the only time i'm EVER in lyndhurst is to either a) drive through it on the way to hoboken, or b) to go hit on some nasty guidette sluts at Whiskey Cafe when it's not shore season.
Submitted by Steve1989 (user info) at 2006-05-30 06:42:31 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
To be able to write this - you must have no life you boring, miserable twat. Go and stick your head between your legs jump into a sharks mouth and die - Bloody Loser
Submitted by Axolotl (user info) at 2006-05-29 22:43:24 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Why, that is correct Genko. How astute.
Submitted by Genko (user info) at 2006-05-29 21:37:06 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
The rating directly below this one was written by a homo.
Submitted by Steve1989 (user info) at 2006-05-29 17:29:19 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
PURE SHIT
Submitted by Happily_Agnostic (user info) at 2006-05-27 02:12:40 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
for the image...
Submitted by CaptainThorns (user info) at 2006-05-26 15:24:30 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
WTF I'M NOT READING ALL THAT
Submitted by Axolotl (user info) at 2006-05-26 13:42:58 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2006-05-26 13:08:54 (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by Dead_0hi0_Sky (user info) at 2006-05-26 11:28:59 (#)
Ranking: -2
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Douchebaggery, perfected.
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Eh, I don't mind that much. Once a douchebag, always a douchebag, I've come to expect it.
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2006-05-26 13:08:54 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by Dead_0hi0_Sky (user info) at 2006-05-26 11:28:59 (#)
Ranking: -2
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Douchebaggery, perfected.
Submitted by Doodles (user info) at 2006-05-26 13:07:10 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
What hapopened to the .88 thing?
Submitted by ih8u2man (user info) at 2006-05-26 11:47:32 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Cool.
Submitted by Axolotl (user info) at 2006-05-26 11:36:13 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by Dead_0hi0_Sky (user info) at 2006-05-26 11:28:59 (#)
Ranking: -2
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I thought you left? Keep thinking you affect anyone by your meaningless -2s, you emo piece of shit.
Submitted by Axolotl (user info) at 2006-05-26 11:35:12 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by leilani (user info) at 2006-05-26 11:19:24 (#)
Ranking: 2
you should go to 5th avenue deli in lyndhurst.
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I'm not down in Lyndhurst too much, just every so often.
Submitted by kaos-king (user info) at 2006-05-26 11:34:44 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Didn't read it, but take this +2 anyhow...
Submitted by Dead_0hi0_Sky (user info) at 2006-05-26 11:28:59 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
Submitted by DrogoRoch (user info) at 2006-05-26 11:25:48 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I really enjoy this series.
Submitted by leilani (user info) at 2006-05-26 11:19:24 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
you should go to 5th avenue deli in lyndhurst.
Submitted by MyNameIsTim (user info) at 2006-05-26 10:59:27 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by Axolotl (user info) at 2006-05-26 10:49:56 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
By where I live.