(3) He Hath Given His Only Son (New uber fiction, please read) (1155 hits)
Category: NoneLabels: the_malleys
Rating: 1.8 on 12 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by Axolotl || ltoloxA (View user info) at 2006-10-30 11:47:14 EST
John Malley cleared his throat, suppressing his nerves as he stared across the stony sea of faces. All of the Five Families and their leaders were there, as well as two tall mustached men from the Korean mob. Carmine Galantro looked icily in John's directions as he began to speak:
"On Thursday, May fourth, Pyotr Goluboy and Arcady Ilyanich were run off the road in New York City," John Malley said evenly. "They both sustained minor injuries in the wreck. Both Godfather Gambetta and Godfather Galantro concede that this was committed by Hung Lee Kim, a Korean—mobster, to put it bluntly, in the pay of Galantro. Agreed?"
"That's true," admitted Galantro, his hands folded. He turned to the Korean delegates and whispered something to them.
"At a discussion the next day, it was agreed that the Koreans and the Dimiglio family wouldn't interfere in my Russians' business, and that Galantro would pay the Russians forty thousand dollars in recompense for their injuries and damage to the car." said John Malley. "At Elmwood Park on Wednesday, May tenth, this money was to be paid by Dimiglio's captain Christopher Virgino and an associate of his, Marcus Toussaint. Agreed?"
"Where are you going with this?" asked Godfather Delfino, sounding bored. "We know the situation, tell us what's changed."
"On Wednesday, May 10, my men showed up to collect their money," John continued, pointing his finger at Galantro. "They never got it. They were trapped in their cars and pumped full of bullets by Galantro's men. I ask you—honorable Godfathers—is this a way to conduct business between associates? Is this ethical?"
"Defend your actions, Don Galantro," Godfather Delfino said.
"If I may point out," Carmine began, standing up and adjusting his glasses. "The large-scale ventures of the Korean syndicate in Manhattan and Queens far outweigh the miniscule profits that the Russian Mafiya procures in New Jersey and the Bronx. The Russian encroachment into New York is also an insult to Boss Shin Hahn, who is here with us today."
Shin Hahn, a pleasant-looking Korean man, nodded while Carmine continued. "Furthermore, after the senseless massacre of four of my best men last December near Ridgefield was a far greater crime than the killing of a single disobedient Russian. How will my family survive without the profit from Korean ventures?"
"I for one side with Galantro," Godfather Gambetta said stoically. "Who is in favor of Don Galantro?"
Four out of the five family bosses quickly said "aye," while Don Robert Lucarno remained silent for a moment, and then agreed with a nod and a motion of the hand.
"Your case is meritless, John Malley," Don Gambetta said with a wry smile. "But thank you for coming to us...instead of dealing with it on your own. You are dismissed."
Letting no outward emotion show, John Malley and his men angrily left the room, leaving the council. Their case had been a failure, and there was nothing they could do against the Koreans, or Carmine. It was a loss.
* * *
"Describe the death of Paul Ciceri," said Agent Ross coldly. Michael looked out the window on downtown Paterson, and sighed.
"Carlo Dimiglio was after us, me and Paul," Michael began shakily. "He said he would kill us. I didn't want to die...so I would turn him in and try to save myself. It didn't work. Dimiglio had a heart attack and died, and I killed Paul Ciceri without knowing it was pointless."
"Care repeating that?"
"I killed Paul Ciceri."
"Continue."
"They came for us," said Michael. "Paul's brother and dad, and two other of Carmine's men. They came at us in the Meadowlands, and we fought back .Chrissy O'Duinen and Donald McMichael were hurt—bad—they were shot. But all of Carmine's men were killed."
"What you're telling me, it's the truth, right?" Agent Ross said, looking professionally skeptical.
"Why would I lie?" Michael exclaimed. "The more I cooperate, the more I can be done with all this shit. Just making sure—my wife and kids will be able to come with me when I enter witness protection?"
"Sure, sure..." Ross replied airly. "All right, Mike, you can go now. Take care of yourself."
Michael grabbed his sweatshirt and exited the FBI offices, making his way down the office building's elevator and out onto Martin Luther King Boulevard, Paterson, New Jersey. The smell of oil and pollution lingered in the air in the trafficked downtown neighborhood, and Michael opened up his cell phone and he made his way toward his car.
"Don't turn your head, Mike," said a familiar voice as Michael unlocked his car and put his hand on the handle. "It's me, Virgil Junior, I got a gun and a few questions."
"I was expecting you, actually," Michael replied, immediately breaking into a nervous sweat but keeping his body perfectly calm. "It's about the meetings with the FBI, right?"
"You admit it? You admit it?" Junior whispered hastily, stepping to look at Michael's face and aiming a small black gun at Michael's chin.
"John knows about it, calm down Junior," Michael said, opening the car casually. "There's a crook inside the bureau, he works with us...wanna meet back and talk about it somewhere? Your place is closer."
"Yeah...sure...you drive, though," Virgil Junior said, somewhat caught off guard by Michael's admission. "Let's go."
Before Michael got into the driver's seat, he texted Alex Collins on his open cell phone: "Get ready, it's time."
Michael pulled out onto Broadway and drove down toward the O'Duinen household in Lincoln Park. Junior settled in the passenger's seat, his gun still pointed at Michael's skull.
"Would you stop that, I can't concentrate on the road," Michael said in annoyance. "Do you really think I'm a rat?"
"Well..." Junior said, sounding very unsure. "I saw you with the FBI..."
"Have you told anyone about this?"
"No, Mr. Brecher, not at all."
They arrived and pulled up in front of the calm suburban one-family house outside Paterson, and exited the car. With any hope, Alex Collins, hitman professional, would be waiting inside, Michael though.
"Let's get into the living room," Junior said, walking into the lobby of the house. "My dad's at work right now, and my bro's still in rehab for his bullet holes."
"How is Chrissy?" Michael asked, but Virgil Junior stopped short; he had heard something. In the dining room, there had been a quiet scuffle of feet.
"Did you hear that?" Junior whispered, handing Michael his small black pistol and seizing a shotgun from off a rack of guns on the wall. "Someone's in the house! After Dad..."
"Calm down, Junior, it's probably the dog or something," Michael said anxiously, sensing his plan falling apart.
"We don't have a dog," Junior hissed, entering the hallway. "Cover me, I got this."
"No, no, no," said Michael, Junior striding quickly, arming the shotgun. He kicked open the door of the dining room and stared inside. The dim lights illuminated the figure of Alex Collins, his back to the door, a shining silver ACP pistol in his hands, reflecting back in a mirror in front of him. Junior raised his shotgun.
"Fuck!"
Alex Collins whipped around, covering his face, trying to leap across the kitchen table. His foot slipped, and he fell, and Virgil Junior pulled the trigger. Alex's body slammed into the table while the top of his head splattered against the shattered mirror; the kitchen table tipped over, the tablecloth falling across his body.
Michael groaned, raising his black gun. Junior knelt down by Alex's side, next to the upturned chair and laid his shotgun down. "Jesus fuck, he's one of ours," Junior said as Michael aimed the gun at the back of his head. "Ain't this John Malley's cousin?" Michael gritted his teeth and looked away.
As Michael fired, Junior stood up, and the bullet sliced open his buttock. He cried out and fell to the ground on his side, lying across Alex's motionless feet. "What the fuck, you gotta watch your aim," Junior said, beads of sweat on his head. It hit Michael—he thought he had fired by accident.
Their eyes met one another, and Michael tensed his grip on the gun. Virgil Junior was struck with the hard realization, and he made a lunge for the shotgun, vain and desperate. Michael fired twice; the side of Junior's head sprayed across the tablecloth and another bullet pierced his intestines.
"Oh, Michael, no more, please," Junior begged, blood streaming down his face, his ear missing. He seized the tipped-over chair and dragged it over his body, shielding his face from Michael's gun. "You know me, Mike, Mr. Brecher—you know me. Please, I won't tell...please don't, no more..."
Michael fired, shooting Junior through the head and neck through the chair's cushion. He fired again, and again, and Junior dropped the chair, his face a mess of blood and bullet fragments.
Alex Collins lay in a bloody mess under the table, half his head missing, and Virgil O'Duinen Junior was sprawled out next to him, his body riddled with bullets. Michael had one more shell in the chamber, and he knew who it was going to be for.
"Oh, fuck me," Michael whispered, looking at the mess. "Fuck me...no...Alex killed Virgil...I killed Alex." Michael envisioned a scene where he walked in on Alex shooting Virgil, and he heroically fought Alex to the death. But...he had to make it believable. The greatest treachery of his life needed a good alibi. Michael leaned against the wall and braced himself, aiming the gun at his face. With a deep breath, Michael pulled the trigger, shooting himself in the ear.
* * *
John Malley picked up the phone in his Hackensack office, observing that the caller ID indicated it was Michael Brecher's cell phone. He wasn't in too much of the mood to talk to the man who had caused so many problems, but he was in a forgiving aura.
"Hello," John answered, prepared for anything.
There was a pause. "John...John? Are you there?" It was Michael's voice. "I'm at Virgil's house. Some...someone shot him...and I'm shot...his son, Virgil."
"What? Michael..." John Malley said frantically, standing up. At that moment Virgil O'Duinen, the senior, walked by the door.
"Alex Collins was trying to kill someone...he shot Virgil and me, and I killed him...John, you have to come over..."
At a loss for words, John Malley speechlessly handed the phone to Virgil, who seemed confused. "Talk to me," Virgil said.
"Virgil, is that you?" Michael groaned. "Your son's dead...Alex Collins was waiting for us, and he shot him dead...and I killed Alex."
For a long unblinking moment Virgil said nothing, his mouth agape, cigarette hanging perched on his sticky lips. He moved his mouth, but no words were coming out; he was stammering to speak in a way that twisted John's gut. "I...is...is it...C-Chrissy or is it Virgil?"
"Virgil Junior, you gotta come over right away," Michael said, his mind racing. "I don't know, it might have been Virgino...I'm shot in the head, you gotta help me too. Call Joanne and Christopher, tell them..."
"Thank you, Michael," Virgil answered in an unnaturally calm voice. "Well...we'd better head on over to my place...pick up my son's body...tell McMichael to get over here with Broadus as well...you call Joanne...got that, John?"
John might have been the boss, but he knew better than to say a word to Virgil in this situation. As they walked down to the car, John dialed Joanne's number.
"Hi, Jo?"
"Hey, John, how are you doing?" Joanne Brecher, Virgil's daughter replied. "Just cooking dinner now, how's everything?"
She sounded so happy.
"Virgil, your brother—he's dead," John said bluntly. "Something went down, I'm not too sure. Your husband Michael's all right though, but he's hurt. We're going over to take care of things, stay where you are."
The sinking revelation that she no longer had a brother hit Joanne hard, and she staggered over to the sink and murmured "Are you sure...? Are you certain?"
"I'm sorry, Jo."
Joanne let the phone drop to the ground and vomited into the sink, choking and sputtering as tears streamed down her face.
* * *
The door to the dining room opened up and Virgil O'Duinen walked in, and Michael looked up at him. He was tall and birdlike, with crowning silver hair and a hooked nose upturned at the sight. The interior of the room was utterly coated in blood.
"Christy Jesus," Donald McMichael muttered, looking around at the carnage. Virgil stooped to inspect Alex Collins' body, his face contorted in rage as he felt the ragged wound around Collins' skull. His eyes turned to Virgil Junior, crumpled and shot to death under the table.
"Virgino did this..." Virgil hissed, his hands shaking wildly as he touched the four bullet holes in his son's head and neck. John Malley and John Broadus picked up Michael, wrapping gauze around the gunshot to his ear.
"It's okay, mate," Broadus said soothingly. "You did a good thing."
Michael's heart broke for Virgil, but he swallowed his guilt and fear and lied through his teeth. "Junior was taking cover under the chair, and Alex shot him, and whipped around and shot me. I had the shotgun, and blew his head off...I'm so sorry, Virgil...I was too late...too late..."
Virgil was silent for a moment. "Why were you with my son anyway?" he asked, still transfixed by his son's body.
The room turned to look at Michael, who stood paralyzed and wordless. "Well...I saw Junior in Paterson, just driving through..." Michael lied. "I...I, er, he asked me back to his place. He was worried, kept seeing strange cars driving by, said people might be scoping out his dad."
Like a tidal wave long dormant finally breaking on the shore, Virgil exploded, punching Michael in the nose and spraying blood down his chin. "Then why the fuck did you come back to this fucking house you no-good filthy cocksucking pig?" Virgil screamed, his veins bulging. John Broadus and Donald leaped in to hold him back, as Virgil cried, "My son! Oh, my son! This was your doing! This was you! I trusted you!"
For a moment Michael shivered, thinking that Virgil knew, and that he would be the next body on the floor. In that second Michael prayed to God, observing that after a life of denying God, he felt that he had to ask forgiveness, had to say something—but his prayers were hollow.
"You came too late...you let Alex, you let Virgino kill my son..." Virgil said, calming down and leaning back against the wall; his eyes were dry. "Oh...oh God...Michael, I'm sorry...I don't know what came over me."
"I know, sir," Michael said, immensely relieved.
"I'm just...so...fucking...angry..." Virgil grunted, his arm twitching. "And we can't do shit about it because we're going to offend the five fucking families, goddamn them."
"You wait, Virgil," John Malley said, patting his underboss on the back. "This won't go unpunished. Chris Virgino is yours."
They stood there in that blood-drenched room for a few minutes, watching Virgil shake like an epileptic, his eyes twitchy and shady. John gripped his shoulders, breathing heavily through his nostrils.
"I just can't believe it...John, I just can't believe it..."
"I know, Virgil, I know..." John said comfortingly. "Soon...it's all over."
The Malleys is nearly over. Just three more segments, and this six-month series is put to sleep...
THE FAITHFUL
Part 1: Old Bones http://www.ubersite.com/m/94960
Part 2: Welcome to Asbury Park http://www.ubersite.com/m/95018
Part 3: He Hath Given His Only Son
Part 4: Cairo
Part 5: The White Sand On the Beach
Part 6: Finale
User Reviews
Submitted by Stagger_Lee (user info) at 2006-11-01 22:03:33 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
My favourite part so far.
Submitted by Axolotl (user info) at 2006-11-01 11:36:26 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by indoninja (user info) at 2006-11-01 11:34:38 (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by Axolotl (user info) at 2006-10-30 13:36:08 (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by indoninja (user info) at 2006-10-30 12:17:41 (#)
Ranking: 2
Why isn't hoboken labeled on the map?!?
That place rocks.
I was in East Orange this weekend, +2 for that.
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Hoboken is labeled on ONE of the earlier maps.
East Orange is a ghetto, what were do doing around there?
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wedding, I guess it was west orange then, because this town was pretty fucking far from a ghetto...
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West and South Orange are extremely rich, Orange is an allright town, but East Orange is bad. You lock your windows going through there.
Submitted by indoninja (user info) at 2006-11-01 11:34:38 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by Axolotl (user info) at 2006-10-30 13:36:08 (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by indoninja (user info) at 2006-10-30 12:17:41 (#)
Ranking: 2
Why isn't hoboken labeled on the map?!?
That place rocks.
I was in East Orange this weekend, +2 for that.
---
Hoboken is labeled on ONE of the earlier maps.
East Orange is a ghetto, what were do doing around there?
------------------
wedding, I guess it was west orange then, because this town was pretty fucking far from a ghetto...
Submitted by Tony_the_Tiger_is_a_Pedophile (user info) at 2006-10-30 19:00:50 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
great story
Submitted by Axolotl (user info) at 2006-10-30 16:56:20 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by JoeyG (user info) at 2006-10-30 16:43:29 (#)
Ranking: 2
As normal I just skimmed the first few parts, as I like to tackle the whole thing at once. Let me know when it's done, because I really like your stuff.
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It'll be done by the end of this week, thanks, I'll give you a shout.
Submitted by JoeyG (user info) at 2006-10-30 16:43:29 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
As normal I just skimmed the first few parts, as I like to tackle the whole thing at once. Let me know when it's done, because I really like your stuff.
Submitted by Axolotl (user info) at 2006-10-30 13:36:08 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by indoninja (user info) at 2006-10-30 12:17:41 (#)
Ranking: 2
Why isn't hoboken labeled on the map?!?
That place rocks.
I was in East Orange this weekend, +2 for that.
---
Hoboken is labeled on ONE of the earlier maps.
East Orange is a ghetto, what were do doing around there?
Submitted by indoninja (user info) at 2006-10-30 12:17:41 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Why isn't hoboken labeled on the map?!?
That place rocks.
I was in East Orange this weekend, +2 for that.
Submitted by hour_man (user info) at 2006-10-30 12:04:24 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Sweet
Submitted by Axolotl (user info) at 2006-10-30 11:49:14 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by professorfuckface (user info) at 2006-10-30 11:48:30 (#)
Ranking: 0
request denied
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omg hax0r
Submitted by professorfuckface (user info) at 2006-10-30 11:48:30 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
request denied
Submitted by Axolotl (user info) at 2006-10-30 11:47:29 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Halfed.