Through The Deep (893 hits)
Category: NoneLabels: The_Malleys
Rating: 0.75 on 24 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by Axolotl .58 (View user info) at 2006-08-25 11:58:14 EDT
"This is fucking stressful."
Well-put, thought John Malley, as Don McMichael dug his nails into his arms and repeated: "Stressful, I tell you."
John, Donald, and Ashley were in the intensive care center of Hackensack Medical Center, thirteen days before Christmas. Lying in a bed before them was John's only surviving brother Peter, a gunshot wound through his head.
"Doctor Foster said he would recover," Ashley Malley said, holding onto her husband's arm. "Well...that he would probably talk again. It's okay, John...Peter won't die."
"Michael will," John sighed, looking at his brother's comatose frame, weak and frail. "Dimiglio demanded Michael's body, along with Paul's. We're going to have to come to an agreement."
"I don't look forward to that," Donald breathed warily.
* * *
The sit-down was scheduled to be held in Carmine Galantro's spacious Kearny home, four from each side. John Malley, along with Don McMcMichael and the two O'Duinens drove down silently to Kearny and entered into the house. Don Dimiglio and Carmine Galantro were seated in the living room on couches, with the elderly Dane Ciceri and stereotypical mobster Sylvester Augusto.
"Let's get the facts straight," Carmine said as the Irish representatives took seats. "Two days ago, two of your men and one of ours ambushed a truck in Harrison for the purposes of assassinating Christopher Virgino, a capo of our family. Instead, Robert Petroso, a made man, was killed in the fight. One assassin—Peter, your brother—was shot in the head and incapacitated. No repercussions will be taken against him."
"Thank you for your generosity, sir," John Malley said through gritted teeth, staring at the obese Dimiglio, disgustingly pleased at the predicament.
"However," Carmine continued, adjusting his reading glasses. "The Godfather demands the deaths of Michael Brecher and Paul Ciceri."
"I see," John said. Dane Ciceri sighed; he was Paul's father.
"What do you think of that?" Dimiglio asked, laughing in a low voice. "Give me two bodies, and you will be forgiven. There is no other way."
"Are you forgetting why they went after Virgino?" John retorted. "Virgino attacked my son."
"Are you confessing to ordering Virgino's death?" Dimiglio asked.
John paused, and said, "No. It was their idea."
"They killed a single made man of yours, how can you justify demanding two deaths of made men of ours?" Don McMichael asked.
"A point I myself brought up," Dane said, evidently trying to defend his son. "This must be done equally."
"Exactly," Dimiglio answered. "Renegades from both families killed Petroso, therefore, both families must pay. Michael and Paul will die."
There was an awkward silence, in which Virgil stared at Dimiglio in utter hatred.
Carmine cleared his throat and started, "The Godfather states, however, if one fugitive betrays the other and kills him, that will suffice as repayment."
"Oh, that's how it's gonna work?" Virgil erupted, pointing at Carmine. "You greaseballs are going to get Paul to kill Mike, and take out two birds with one stone?"
"Calm down, all this stress..." Don warned ineffectively.
"Fuck you, mick, you can't even begin to defend yourself on this one," Dimiglio responded coolly. "You know you're wrong, and Michael will scream before he dies."
"No, fuck you, cocksucker," Virgil shouted, standing up and waving a finger at Dimiglio. "You're not going to extort us for the blood of our friends, Paul is just as guilty in this. You absolve both of them, or—"
"Or what?" bellowed Dimiglio.
"Calm down, please," Carmine said in no more voice than a squeak.
"Since we obviously can't solve our problems, I think I will leave," John said, standing up angrily. "We'll discuss this later. Until we decide a course of action, any of you lay a finger on Brecher, and you will be repaid in war."
"Always war with you, John," Dimiglio sneered. "So violent. So needless. Get out."
"Let's go," John said heavily, calling the rest of the Sullivan family up. They exited the Galantro house, leaving the four Italians to themselves in the living room.
* * *
In a few days, there had been no word from either side. Paul Ciceri and Michael Brecher were buried deep in hiding, and John Malley and Dimiglio still refused to speak to one another. Tensions were high between the two families.
In Jersey City on a Saturday night in December, Dimiglio was tending his rabbits, relaxing from his work. Outside in the hall, Carmine paced nervously, trying to rehearse his well-remembered lines.
Carmine Galantro walked into Carlo Dimiglios private bedroom, where the immense mob boss sat in relaxation, surrounded by paintings of all the dogs he ever owned in his life. Dimiglio's rabbit was chewing on kale in its cage.
"What took you so long with my hot water bottle?" Dimiglio barked. "Do you want an old man to die of cold?"
"Of course not, sir." Galantro replied calmly, handing Dimiglio the hot water bottle.
"You're truly useless," Dimiglio grunted. "Have Paul Ciceri and Michael Brecher surrendered yet, or will we have to rain a shitstorm on the Sullivans?"
"About that, Godfather," Carmine asked hopefully. "Don't you think you could change your mind? Paul's a loyal captain, and I can vouch for Brecher's character. They both deserve second chances...after all, John Malley granted Chris Virgino a second chance."
"Fuck off with you and your pussy shit," Dimiglio said. "Paul Ciceri's head will be mounted on my door. Michael Brecher...I'll make his skull into a drinking goblet, and fuck both their wives at once."
"I'm sorry to hear that," Carmine said. "Lie down, relax. I'll have their bodies in the morning, Godfather."
Dimiglio laid back on the bed, and Carmine reached for a pillow to fluff. As Dimiglio closed his eyes, Carmine pressed the pillow down across Dimiglio's face. Climbing onto the bed, Carmine pressed his whole body weight down on the pillow as Dimiglio kicked furiously.
"Gonna go to heaven...gonna see the Lordy, and Nicolo, and Mamma..." Carmine said, closing his eyes as Dimiglio's muffled screams filled the room. "Gonna see Jesus, and all the guys you killed over the years...and Jesus is gonna ask why you killed them...and you won't answer because you're too important to talk to anyone but your fucking rabbit..."
Dimiglio's kicks grew convulsive, and slowed down. "...and then you're going to burn in hell for the rest of eternity," spat Carmine, forcing the pillow down hard, making sure Dimiglio was gone. Carmine got up, and called, "Come in!"
The tall, dark-skinned Sylvester Augusto and the elderly Dane Ciceri walked into the room from the hallway in which they had been waiting. "He had a stroke," Carmine said sadly, touching Dimiglio's blue, lifeless face. "Died just like that."
"Just like that," Dane Ciceri agreed. "Can I call John Malley?"
"Yes," Carmine said proudly. "Tell him Michael and Paul are safe to return. There's no need for further bloodshed."
* * *
"You know, I always thought I'd die peacefully," Michael Brecher said quietly. "Like John Malley's dad. He died—well, not peacefully. He choked to death from emphysema...but I could never imagine myself being murdered."
"Let's not talk about that, Mike," Paul Ciceri replied, pulling on a jacket to keep himself warm in the freezing, unheated motel they were hiding in.
"I just always hoped I wouldn't be murdered..."
"Hey, Mike," Paul said, voice haggard and low in the early hours. "I'm going to the Costco in Clifton to pick up some groceries for my family. I told my bro Iggy to come by this morning as well, I'll try and meet him there. Do you want to come?"
"To come with you?" Michael asked, toying with the idea.
"Iggy says he can protect you as well," Paul clarified. "I'm just going to see my kids and wife, and bring them food."
Michael shook his head, saying, "No...you go, Paul. See your family, and stay safe. I'll stay here."
"Here," Paul said, pulling his 9mm Sig Sauer out of his jacket and dropping it on Michael's bed. "Take it. I'm going home to my kids unarmed..."
"All right," Michael mumbled. "Good luck, Paul."
"I'll see you soon, then," Paul said, pausing before he opened the door. Taking a look back at Michael, he pushed the door open and left the motel room. Michael immediately grabbed the Sig Sauer and went into the bathroom, pulling open his cell phone.
Michael clicked the safety off the gun and sat down on the toilet, putting the barrel of the gun between his lips, his heartbeat slow and calm. Closing his eyes and grinding his teeth against the metal pistol, Michael dialed John Malley's number.
Fourteen miles away in Ridgewood, John Malley's phone rang shrilly. John shot up in bed, seizing the phone; it was five-thirty in the morning. "Hello?" John asked.
"Hey, John...how are ya?" Michael said, wincingly.
"Fuck you."
"John..."
"Fuck you, Michael, and I never meant that more in my life," John said in a low voice, trying not to wake his wife.
"John, I gotta ask your advice," Michael persisted. "I just want to talk..."
"My advice is to hang up and pray that Dimiglio decides not to force me to provide him with a body," whispered John bitterly. "You and Paul stay put. I'm hanging up, Michael."
"John, I'm scared," Michael choked. "I don't know what to do, I'm torn—"
John put the receiver down and hung up the phone. He lay back down next to his wife, falling asleep. A blur of images passed through his mind...they were in a schoolyard, him and Michael. Schoolchildren were playing hide and seek all around, and Michael was smiling.
A flurry of gunfire rang out, and Michael fell. Paul Ciceri appeared, standing over Michael's body and shooting him in the head—John cried out—the phone rang.
"Hello?" John said, waking suddenly from his nightmare.
"Yo, John," said Don McMichael on the other end. "Got good news. Carlo Dimiglio died a few hours ago in his sleep. Stroke, they say, blood clot in his arteries. He's dead, John. Michael and Paul should be safe."
"God, that's awesome," John Malley said, groaning in relief. "We know this is true?"
"Dane Ciceri just called me," Don replied. "He's happy his son's going to come home all right. Call Michael, tell him that it's okay."
"I'll do that, thanks Donald," John said. He immediately disconnected and dialed Michael's cell, still caring not to wake his wife.
"Hello," said Michael's voice on the other line. "I'm not here right now to take your call, please leave your name, phone number, and a brief message, and I'll get back to you as soon as you can. Thanks for calling."
"Michael, where are you..." John asked, his heart sinking.
In the seedy Bloomfield Motel, all was quiet. Michael was gone, and so was the gun on the table. The doors were all locked, and the phone was abandoned on the bedspread.
Paul Ciceri was walking through the aisles of the Costco in Clifton, NJ, paranoid that behind every shelf of bulk-packaged Gatorade bottles was a tall man in a suit with a gun ready to take him out. He needed to provide for his family, he was the father, he thought. He left the store in the early hours of that cold December day with two bags of groceries; milk, bread and cold cuts.
Paul Ciceri's house was on Starmond Avenue in Clifton, just off the main road. It was here in the early hours nine months before that John Sullivan had been arrested drunkenly trying to kill Paul. The street was peaceful and serene at 7 o'clock in the morning, just as the snow was beginning to melt.
Paul was happy to see his old house again, if only for a second before he had to go back into hiding. A bag of groceries in each hand, Paul ascended the steps to his porch, dropping them in front of the doorbell.
"Hey," called a familiar voice, stepping around from the dead azalea bushes. Michael Brecher walked up the porch steps, a grocery bag in his hand.
"Michael...you came after all!" Paul said happily, smiling in spite of himself.
"I couldn't abandon a friend," Michael said, his eyes glimmering as he reached into his bag.
"Let me just open the door," Paul said, turning a key in the lock. "Hope my wife doesn't wake up."
Not a word was spoken as Michael Brecher pulled Paul's own gun out of the grocery bag and aimed it at Paul's head. Paul quizzically looked up, uncomprehending, and Michael closed his watery eyes. A gunshot exploded on the small porch, sounding like the trumpets before the final judgment to Michael's ears.
Paul Ciceri fell backwards, expressionless, his key still in the lock, his body falling across the bags of groceries. Michael groaned as he fired again, tendrils of gunsmoke wafting into his nostrils. Michael felt like vomiting, like crying, and most of all like putting the gun to his own head and joining his friend on the porch.
Michael took off his jacket and laid it across Paul Ciceri's top half. There was an ocean of blood on the porch, and more on Michael's hands. Dropping the gun atop the jacket, Michael walked down off the porch and into the snow. Leaving behind Paul, Michael climbed into his car and drove down Starmond Avenue, away from the scene, and back into hiding.
http://www.ubersite.com/l/the_malleys
User Reviews
Submitted by Axolotl (user info) at 2006-08-26 02:17:47 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by paint_it_black (user info) at 2006-08-26 00:46:26 (#)
Ranking: -2
This was just weak,
do you really think 'toughguys' or gangastas speak like this?
honestly do you?
its like as if the godfather ( and yeas I have watched them) was dumbed down and made for a straight to video classic.
wheres your comeback nowe?
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Someone sounds a little bitter, I thought you were quitting Uber? I live in North Jersey, people speak like this. Of course, being that you're an excellent and accomplished writer...
Everything you ever wanted to know about paint_it_black
User id: 27718
Registered on or around: 2006-07-06 02:08:37
# Messages posted: 18
# Reviews written: 209
# Times these posts have been reviewed : 1359
# Hits: 34045
Average rating of all messages: -1.06
Submitted by paint_it_black (user info) at 2006-08-26 00:46:26 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
This was just weak,
do you really think 'toughguys' or gangastas speak like this?
honestly do you?
its like as if the godfather ( and yeas I have watched them) was dumbed down and made for a straight to video classic.
wheres your comeback nowe?
Submitted by Axolotl (user info) at 2006-08-26 00:32:25 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by KindaNews (user info) at 2006-08-25 14:28:16 (#)
Ranking: 0
"Let's get the facts straight," Carmine said as the Irish representatives took seats. "Two days ago, two of your men and one of ours ambushed a truck in Harrison for the purposes of assassinating Christopher Virgino, a capo of our family. Instead, Robert Petroso, a made man, was killed in the fight. One assassin—Peter, your brother—was shot in the head and incapacitated. No repercussions will be taken against him."
Your dialogue is weak. YOU are the storyteller, not your characters.
Characters further story more in terms of behavior.
Once you start giving them chunks of exposition like this, you lose the reader.
This type of dialogue is called "on the nose", and it is to be avoided at all costs.
With your writing skills and formative years, you would be well served not to take seriously the type of circle jerk critiques that infest your reviews.
It can stifle your growth as a writer, and set you back years.
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First thing: circle jerk? Every time I post one of these it gets spammed by georgemichael or ets or whysenheimer or whatever idiot troll is out there.
I'm not writing this seriously, it's to entertain people on Uber, and I make a point to keep all of these under 6 pages in word to not lose people's attention. I write this for people like Boblola, who are somehow able to look past the miniscule errors in the story to appreciate it.
Would this site belong to you? http://www.kindanews.com
Submitted by KindaNews (user info) at 2006-08-25 14:28:16 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
"Let's get the facts straight," Carmine said as the Irish representatives took seats. "Two days ago, two of your men and one of ours ambushed a truck in Harrison for the purposes of assassinating Christopher Virgino, a capo of our family. Instead, Robert Petroso, a made man, was killed in the fight. One assassin—Peter, your brother—was shot in the head and incapacitated. No repercussions will be taken against him."
Your dialogue is weak. YOU are the storyteller, not your characters.
Characters further story more in terms of behavior.
Once you start giving them chunks of exposition like this, you lose the reader.
This type of dialogue is called "on the nose", and it is to be avoided at all costs.
With your writing skills and formative years, you would be well served not to take seriously the type of circle jerk critiques that infest your reviews.
It can stifle your growth as a writer, and set you back years.
Submitted by Axolotl (user info) at 2006-08-25 12:58:59 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Wait, was this the title of that song from Crash?
Submitted by Axolotl (user info) at 2006-08-25 12:55:17 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by BobLobla (user info) at 2006-08-25 12:47:21 (#)
Ranking: 2
Is Jeff gonna come out of nowhere and kill everyone and take over all the families?
Or is he a undercover cop?
I LOVE THESE SO MUCH, I will probably cry when Virgil bites it, i really like him. Maybe it is because i have a short fuse too...
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Right now, Jeff's just a pain in John Malley's ass, and an unwelcome intruder. He's 19, so don't expect too much from him. Virgil's my favorite too, I based him off my uncle and with the same kind of personality and temperment.
Submitted by Axolotl (user info) at 2006-08-25 12:53:05 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by Kaelic (user info) at 2006-08-25 12:49:01 (#)
Ranking: -2
Sorry dude, 16 or not, this wasn't that good. I hope this -2 doesn't solidify any hard feelings between us.
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Somehow I would doubt your words, especially when they're in disagreement with these others. However you wish to delude yourself.
Submitted by Kaelic (user info) at 2006-08-25 12:49:01 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
Sorry dude, 16 or not, this wasn't that good. I hope this -2 doesn't solidify any hard feelings between us.
Submitted by BobLobla (user info) at 2006-08-25 12:47:21 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Is Jeff gonna come out of nowhere and kill everyone and take over all the families?
Or is he a undercover cop?
I LOVE THESE SO MUCH, I will probably cry when Virgil bites it, i really like him. Maybe it is because i have a short fuse too...
Submitted by Axolotl (user info) at 2006-08-25 12:31:04 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by BobLobla (user info) at 2006-08-25 12:25:24 (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by Axolotl (user info) at 2006-08-25 12:01:17 (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by JMG114 (user info) at 2006-08-25 12:00:44 (#)
Ranking: 2
You've made me an offer I can't refuse.
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thanks
the first twelve stories are somewhat poorly written. Thirteen is when things start to be more together.
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Fuck that Ax, they are all awesome
-=-------
Maybe so, but to me as a writer I see little things, inconsistencies, stupidy on my behalf that I wish I could review and reverse. Part 13 is where things start to come together.
BobLola - the next entry is the end of season 4, and season 5 may start in september. Those will be the final 5 chapters, and perhaps a bit of an epilogue at the end.
Because I'm nearing the end of this massive series, expect major characters to die or to lose everyting.
Submitted by BobLobla (user info) at 2006-08-25 12:25:24 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by Axolotl (user info) at 2006-08-25 12:01:17 (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by JMG114 (user info) at 2006-08-25 12:00:44 (#)
Ranking: 2
You've made me an offer I can't refuse.
-----
thanks
the first twelve stories are somewhat poorly written. Thirteen is when things start to be more together.
==========
Fuck that Ax, they are all awesome
Submitted by BobLobla (user info) at 2006-08-25 12:24:34 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
+2
I FUCKING LOVE THESE
Submitted by Axolotl (user info) at 2006-08-25 12:23:12 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by polyamorousaj (user info) at 2006-08-25 12:15:18 (#)
Ranking: 2
WHERE IS THE BABY POST????
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Submitted by loki (user info) at 2006-08-25 12:14:30 (#)
Ranking: 2
I too see no baby pictures.
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weeps
it shall come tomorrow. I didn't know everyone was so eager. It will DEFINITELY come tomorrow.
Submitted by polyamorousaj (user info) at 2006-08-25 12:15:18 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
WHERE IS THE BABY POST????
Submitted by loki (user info) at 2006-08-25 12:14:30 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I too see no baby pictures.
Submitted by Axolotl (user info) at 2006-08-25 12:07:03 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by professorfuckface (user info) at 2006-08-25 12:04:12 (#)
Ranking: 0
it just does
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interesting logic
Submitted by Axolotl (user info) at 2006-08-25 12:05:44 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by scourge (user info) at 2006-08-25 12:04:31 (#)
Ranking: 2
this is not a collection of baby bashing screenshots
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ooo, I'll be doing that soon. I just have a single one more of these to finish up.
Then six more, then perhaps an 8-part prequel not part of the story.
And then goatse.
Submitted by scourge (user info) at 2006-08-25 12:04:31 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
this is not a collection of baby bashing screenshots
Submitted by professorfuckface (user info) at 2006-08-25 12:04:12 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
it just does
Submitted by Axolotl (user info) at 2006-08-25 12:02:30 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by professorfuckface (user info) at 2006-08-25 12:01:19 (#)
Ranking: 0
dude shut the fuck up
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You're not reading it, how does it hurt you?
Submitted by professorfuckface (user info) at 2006-08-25 12:01:19 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
dude shut the fuck up
Submitted by Axolotl (user info) at 2006-08-25 12:01:17 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by JMG114 (user info) at 2006-08-25 12:00:44 (#)
Ranking: 2
You've made me an offer I can't refuse.
-----
thanks
the first twelve stories are somewhat poorly written. Thirteen is when things start to be more together.
Submitted by JMG114 (user info) at 2006-08-25 12:00:44 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
You've made me an offer I can't refuse.
Submitted by Axolotl (user info) at 2006-08-25 11:58:50 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
One more to go...