Trick and Treat (707 hits)
Category: NoneLabels: The_Malleys
Rating: 1.85 on 12 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by Axolotl (View user info) at 2006-06-16 14:26:14 EDT
It was a grim night in Dimiglio's Jersey City office. Sitting in his chair like an obese Roman Emperor, stroking his rabbit, Carlo Dimiglio issued the final orders.
"Go to Carmine Galantro first," Carlo Dimiglio said. Michael Sullivan, Antonio Delgado, and Paul Ciceri listened intently. "Kill him. He will be alone. Paul Ciceri can leave, but stop in Nutley to pick up Brecher and Dan McCourt. They know where and when to find John Malley. Kill him as well."
"And witnesses?" Michael Sullivan said with minimal concern. Dan McCourt perked his head up, having not thought of that. Michael Brecher exchanged glances with Paul Ciceri. "John and Carmine's family?"
"Kill them as well. Use silencers," Dimiglio said, stroking the rabbit in his lap. "John Malley has a dog. Put an ice pick in his throat, so that his brothers Peter or Willy can discover it."
"We will do it tonight," Michael said. "Thank you for this opportunity, godfather. My brother blesses you from heaven."
"Thank you for the money, Godfather Dimiglio!" Dan McCourt said excitedly. "I bought a great new convertible!"
"Go with glory, and with God," Godfather Dimiglio commanded. "Let peace and concord be on your minds as you carry out my will."
Sullivan, Delgado, Brecher, Ciceri and McCourt stood up. "Do not fail," Dimiglio said in his icy whisper.
* * *
It was a dark Friday night in late October on the Jersey boardwalk. Pat Coyle walked down a dark Sheridan Avenue in Seaside Heights, breathing in the cool sea air. He was glad to get out of his motel room, even just for a little while. Pat nodded silently to a young woman walking on the sidewalk, who cautiously stepped out of Pat's way.
"Hello," Pat said with a smile. The woman was in her thirties, with dark hair, and she looked nervous. She smiled briefly and walked briskly away from Pat.
Pat could smell the sea air just a few hundred yards away, over the boardwalk and down on the beach. Seagulls cawed overhead, the soft crash of waves on the sand like an eternal echo on the air.
"Hold it, Pat," a voice said, approaching from behind him. "John Malley sends his regards."
Pat knew this day would come, and he slowed down his pace, aware that a gun was aimed at the back of his head. Everything seemed so much more intense, his breaths, the glow of the moon, the salty air...Pat Coyle raised his head, not wanting to die, but wanting to die like a man if he had to.
"Who is that?" Pat asked.
"Willy. I'm John and Peter Malley's brother," replied the voice. "I've got a gun."
"I expected..." Pat replied, coming to a complete stop. He hoped that the woman he had passed and said hello to might be calling the police. "Are you going to execute me here, or take me somewhere?"
Willy Malley tensed the grip on the silenced .38, picking a point behind Pat's ear. Now that he fully got his mind around the situation, he was unsure what to do. He had Pat Coyle where he wanted, and the chances of anyone hearing the muffled pop signifying Pat's death was minimal. The body, though...
"Stay where you are," Willy said sharply. "Don't move."
"I'm not," Pat answered, sensing Willy's hesitation. It had worked months ago back in August, who said it wouldn't work now.
Bringing to bear every practice from high school track, Pat Coyle dug his feet to the ground and kicked off between two cars, running into the street. Willy cursed and fired the gun, the bullet striking and chipping off the sidewalk.
Pat ran back the way he came, toward the woman he had said hello to. She was turning around, alerted by the bullet, and looking at Willy. Pat zigzagged awkwardly as Willy fired twice more, hitting the grass and gravel around the houses and motels.
"Hey!" the woman called out as Pat ran for his life down Sheridan Avenue. Willy leveled his gun and fired wildly down the road. The young woman fell to the ground like a stone, and Pat disappeared down a side street. Willy had lost his prey.
Willy made his way down the sidewalk to where the woman lay prostrate, clutching her neck and kicking her feet. His heart sinking, Willy saw that he had shot her through the throat with his .38, and her head lay in a bloody pool.
"No, no..." Willy gasped as he sunk down to cradle the woman's head. She looked up at him in fear and loathing, and kicked her leg involuntarily. Her eyes went blank, and she expired, Willy still holding her in his arms. Willy bent his head and began to weep.
* * *
Paul Ciceri and Michael Brecher walked purposefully up John Malley's driveway, feeling the guns in their jackets. It was eleven o'clock, late Monday night, Halloween.
"There's no going back," Michael said. "If we fail, we'll both be executed,"
"I know," Paul replied solemnly. "I'm willing to risk that for John, and for you."
Michael took a deep breath and rang John Malley's doorbell. "Thank you, Paul."
Inside, John Malley walked down the bedroom stairs, checking the digital clock as he walked down. As he made his way down the steps, there was a rustling on his living room couch. He stepped further down and saw Jeff Nolan on his couch with a hand up his daughter's shirt.
"Jesus Christ," John muttered, walking to the doorway. Jeff seemed to jump three feet in the air, but John ignored him and opened the door. Paul Ciceri and Michael Brecher stood side-by-side in the doorway, looking grave.
"You're in danger, John," Paul said. "You and your family must leave immediately. There was a plot by Dimiglio, and men are coming tonight to assassinate you."
"You?" John said. "A soldier of Dimiglio's family? And why are you here, Brecher?"
"Godfather Dimiglio offered me the chance to help kill you," Michael said, feeling the words spill out of his mouth. John stood in the doorway, silent and unmoving.
"And you went to Dimiglio?" John hissed, quickly grabbing Michael's shirt. He felt under his shirt across his bare skin and frisked his crotch and armpits for wires. "You went to Dimiglio to have me killed, with Ciceri?"
"John, John, I'm not wearing a wire, I'm not with Dimiglio," Michael said, his voice cracking as John shook him violently, painfully trying to root out a bug. "John, you're in danger. Please, get your family out. Michael Sullivan's coming..."
"John, I'm with Carmine," Paul confessed. "I went to Dimiglio to save my life. Michael Sullivan, Antonio Delgado and Chris Virgino support Dimiglio, and so does Raymond Ventry. He's a traitor, John."
John stood in the doorway for a long second, holding onto the frame for support. "How long have you known Sullivan was in the area?"
"A month," Michael said. "John, you need to get out of here. I swear, Dimiglio said he would kill me if I didn't cooperate, but Paul and I have to save you."
From back in the living room, an effeminate voice piped out. "Everything all right?" Jeff Nolan asked.
John walked into the living room and said, "You two need to leave, now."
"I'm sorry, Mr. Malley," Jeff Nolan said nervously, pulling himself into a sitting position. "I'll—can I—I won't cause trouble, I don't really have a ride home—"
"You don't understand," John Malley said in forced calm, turning his head toward the stairs. "You need to leave. Get your mother. Jeff, people are going to die, you need to be safe."
There was something about the fright in John's voice that sent a chill down Jeff's spine. "Sure," Alexa said, pulling herself to her feet. "Nick's away at college, it's just mom. Dad, what's happening?"
"Get your mother," John ordered. Alexa sprinted up the stairs, and disappeared from view. Paul Ciceri and Michael Brecher walked into the dark house, and Paul gave a slight cough. Within two minutes, Ashley Malley was down the stairs, sleepily trying to figure out what was going on.
"Take the car to Glen Rock Motel," John Malley said, clasping the keys in his wife's hands. "You, Alexa and Jeff. Stay there until I call you. You have your phone?"
"Yes, John," Ashley breathed. "John, what's going on? Why's Michael—"
"We're in danger, just do as I say," John interjected. "You'll be safe in Glen Rock. I'll call you when you can come back."
"John..." Ashley said, looking into her husband's eyes. John Malley breathed deeply, the long-dead feelings of sadness welling behind his eyes. Ashley knew blood might be on John's hands before morning, and that John might not survive the night.
"I love you, Ashley," John said, kissing his wife. "Go, now. Be safe, I'll call you."
"I love you too," Ashley responded. "Come on, Alex, Jeff." She walked purposefully out the door toward the driveway, while John, Paul and Michael stood in the living room.
"Let's go," Paul said. "Behind the bushes."
While Ashley Malley pulled out of the driveway and drove down Linwood Avenue, the three defenders of the household crept across the pitch-black suburban road and stationed themselves behind a bush. In dead silence they watched and waited, struggling to stay awake, until a car's engine heralded the assassins' arrival.
An unmarked car pulled down the street and parked in front of the Malley residence. The doors opened, and John Malley cursed silently as Dan McCourt got out of the back seat, a silenced pistol in his hand. Antonio Delgado stepped out of the passenger side, and the unwelcome form of Michael Sullivan emerged from the driver's side door.
"Leave Malley to me," Michael Sullivan said, just loud enough that John could hear it. The three assassins made their way up toward John's house, and Dan McCourt produced a key. With John Malley shaking his head in disbelief, they entered the house.
"I can't believe it," John said, leaning against the bush. "I could have died...my family..."
"We have to act," Michael said desperately. "And we can't fuck it up. We know where to find Dan McCourt, and Paul knows where Delgado is...Raymond Ventry is in on this."
"We'll interrogate him tonight," John said. "Call Don McMichael and Virgil O'Duinen. Find out where Michael Sullivan is hiding out."
"I'll take care of Delgado," Paul Ciceri said, standing up. "I'll leave your family to your own justice. Carmine and I can purge ours. Good luck, John."
The three assassins came out of the house, exiting with an angry, disappointed look on each of their faces. Michael Sullivan furiously entered the car and slammed the door. Dan McCourt looked foolish as he rushed back up the drive to re-lock the door, then barreled into the back seat once more. The car engine revved, and the vehicle sped down the block. The family had been protected.
"Paul...I can never repay you for tonight..." John said, grasping Paul's hand.
"Don't worry about it," Paul smiled. With that, he walked back down the block toward his car.
* * *
Raymond Ventry walked out of his house toward his car, furtively concealing a handgun in his jean jacket. He wore black gloves to avoid any of the gun oil to get on his immaculate hands. As he confidently clicked open his locks, he noticed that his tires were all flat...Great long slashes had been cut into the wheels, as though by a knife.
As Raymond pondered this and realization dawned on him, a heavy bat struck him in the backs of his legs. Raymond yelped and reached for his gun, drawing it and firing into the air. Another attacker knocked him to the ground and he felt a baseball bat crush his fingers.
"Happy Halloween, cocksucker," growled the voice of Don McMichael. "You're in for a rough night."
Virgil O'Duinen and Don McMichael lifted Raymond up and began to drag him on his broken legs back up toward his house. Raymond looked over his shoulder to see Michael Brecher and John Malley, both holding guns, following them.
Virgil and McMichael pulled Raymond into his own house, tossing him by the basement door. Raymond's house seemed old-fashioned and bare, with only necessities in the furniture. "Nice fucking place!" Virgil exclaimed upon spotting a Lord of the Rings replica ring on the coffee table. "Ain't that shit charming? Fucking nerd, I'll fit your balls through that ring."
Don McMichael grabbed Raymond by the shoulders and brought him down to the basement. While Virgil went down, John held Michael back. "It's not going to be pleasant, Michael," John said. "I hope you have a strong stomach."
"I'm okay," Michael replied uneasily. They marched down the steps to find that McMichael and O'Duinen had secured the traitor Raymond to a wooden chair, his hands tied behind his head to the chair's bars. His ankles were being tied to the legs, and Raymond was spouting profanity and threats.
"You try me, Donnie-boy," Ray spat. "You were lucky once, but Michael Sullivan will be around again."
Don McMichael seized a crowbar from a nearby toolbox and whacked Ray in the head. Ray slumped in his seat, stunned. "You know where Michael Sullivan is, Ray?"
"Fuck you, McMichael."
Don McMichael punched Ray in the face, the crowbar leaving a red line on the skin. Ray coughed, and McMichael hit him again, cracking his nose. As Ray screamed for mercy, Michael Brecher turned away, feeling uncomfortable.
"Cut off his nipples," Virgil suggested casually, watching the proceedings. Taken by an idea, Virgil picked up an orange extension cord and twisted it around Raymond's neck as McMichael cut open Raymond's shirt. His chest was tan and shaven, and McMichael spat on it in disgust.
Knife in hand, McMichael pressed the blade against Ray's skin as Virgil let go. Ray's face was bright red, and he breathed deeply and painfully as McMichael punched him hard in the stomach to get his attention.
"Is he in Passaic County?" McMichael snarled, digging the knife into Raymond's breast.
"Fuck, yes, in Paterson!" Raymond screamed. "God, no, don't cut off my nipple!"
"Give me an address!" McMichael screamed back, Ray's blood running down his hands. "Give me an exact fucking address or you say goodbye to your left tit, you piece of horse shit!"
Raymond hesitated, his face shining with tears and blood. Don McMichael's face contorted in fury, and he ripped the knife down, tearing Raymond's nipple off his body. Raymond shrieked, kicking his legs wildly and slamming the chair legs as blood ran down his stomach.
"No more cutting, please, for Christ' sakes!" Ray shouted, barely intelligible. "He's not even home right now, he's with Dimiglio in Jersey City! Don't kill me, don't kill me, don't cut off..."
"Why would I kill you when I'm having so much fun now?" McMichael snapped, slicing the knife down Ray's ribs. Ray screamed as the blade bounced off each bone in succession. "Give me a goddamn street address or I'll put this knife so far in your gut it'll clear out all the cum in your stomach, you prissy cocksucker!"
"House on the corner of Walnut and Maple," Raymond sighed, shivering feverishly. "42, I think. Right by Paterson Falls."
"Was that so fucking hard?" Virgil O'Duinen asked as if he were the good cop. "We'll tell Michael you said hello when we cut off his balls tomorrow morning for conspiring against a boss. I'm still undecided over what we should do with you, Ray."
"No, no, please, Jesus no," Ray begged as John Malley reached for the gun on the table. John clicked back the slide and aimed at Ray's head. "John, I didn't want to hurt your family, please...Dimiglio made me, I had no choice! He would have killed me!"
"He would have killed Brecher too," John said calmly. "But Brecher came to me. Goodbye, Ray."
John pulled the trigger, and the gun clicked. It was empty. Raymond moaned in relief. John took a crowbar McMichael offered him and said to Ray, "I'll pardon you for now, since you helped us so well. Your friend Dan McCourt?" John Malley asked, holding the crowbar in Raymond's face. "Don't expect him to live past tomorrow."
"Noo..." Raymond moaned. McMichael speedily raised his thick leg and kicked Raymond in the chest, knocking him and the chair over to the floor. Leaving him tied to the chair stuck on the ground, McMichael, Malley, Brecher and O'Duinen left the room, walking back upstairs. Raymond went limp, his mind blanking out, and fading away.
http://www.ubersite.com/u/Axolotl/l/the_malleys
[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[
This is a stick figure animation I made a few weeks ago of Season One of the Sopranos.
1. Emil Kolar
2. Brendan Filone
3. Fabian Petrulio
4. Jimmy Altieri
5. Chucky Signore
6. Mikey Palmice
User Reviews
Submitted by BobLobla (user info) at 2006-06-22 16:42:06 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
WICKED
Submitted by Axolotl (user info) at 2006-06-16 17:42:55 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by scourge (user info) at 2006-06-16 17:11:46 (#)
Ranking: 2
Thanks Ax.
--
Yeah boi
Submitted by scourge (user info) at 2006-06-16 17:11:46 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Thanks Ax.
Submitted by MyNameIsTim (user info) at 2006-06-16 16:21:25 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
this was one of the better chapters. flowed very well.
umm...i mean..."didn't get to read it, but the picture was perty. +1"
Submitted by Axolotl (user info) at 2006-06-16 15:30:43 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by ConorJS (user info) at 2006-06-16 15:07:36 (#)
Ranking: 2
It's confirmed... you beat off to the Sopranos.
Finally some fucking ACTion!
It's hard to write quality crime fiction, but this is pretty damn good.
Keep it up, tiger!
---
I've only seen the first season and the sixth, I'm at a loss for all the rest of it. Wikipedia is what I use for Sopranos information.
Submitted by Axolotl (user info) at 2006-06-16 15:30:03 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Right here, Scourge
http://www.fuck.org
Any more perverted links? I have a database.
Submitted by ConorJS (user info) at 2006-06-16 15:07:36 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
It's confirmed... you beat off to the Sopranos.
Finally some fucking ACTion!
It's hard to write quality crime fiction, but this is pretty damn good.
Keep it up, tiger!
Submitted by scourge (user info) at 2006-06-16 14:43:28 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
http://www.ubersite.com/m/89285#2025103
Ax, please give us a link to the photo mentioned in the link above. Thank you boy genius.
Submitted by livEvil (user info) at 2006-06-16 14:40:25 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
no time to read all that but the stick figures were cool
Submitted by Axolotl (user info) at 2006-06-16 14:36:28 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by Teephphah (user info) at 2006-06-16 14:28:14 (#)
Ranking: 2
Auto stick figure whackings +2.
Not that kind of stick figure whackings.
------
I will make one of massive proportions, with decapitated heads, fonts of blood, and peeners galore.
Submitted by Teephphah (user info) at 2006-06-16 14:28:14 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Auto stick figure whackings +2.
Not that kind of stick figure whackings.
Submitted by retrospect (user info) at 2006-06-16 14:27:14 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
i'm going to test my theory on this post, mmmmkay?