(4) Cairo [minor nsfw] Two parts til The Malleys is over... (811 hits)
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Submitted by Axolotl || ltoloxA (View user info) at 2006-10-31 11:08:34 EST
The basement of the Malley household had previously belonged to Tom Malley, John's father. After Tom's death in early 2004, the house had officially been willed to John. John had some bad memories of the basement though.
It was in the basement that John had witnessed his first murder—his dad and Jackie Sullivan had tied up a man to a chair sometime around 1971 if John's memory served him correctly—and they had shot him to death as John peeked in from the stair. It was in this basement that John and Virgil O'Duinen met, planning how to avenge Junior's death.
"My guys tell me one of Galantro's clowns by the name of Vincent Tabano left the state after Junior was killed," John Malley said, with a map of New Jersey and New York unfolded on the desk. "I'm going up to the Catskills to track him down, I have spies on him. I'm going to kill him myself. While I'm gone, you're the boss of the family."
"I will serve with honor," Virgil replied.
"Don't get ahead of yourself," said John. "I'll have my cell phone on, call me if you need any help dealing with Galantro."
"You got it, boss," Virgil said. "And about Chris Virgino..."
John paused, and answered "You have permission, but do it quick. Make it a quick death."
"My guys say he's away in Maryland for the whole weekend. I'll hit him Monday night when he gets back."
The basement door banged open, and light flooded the dim cellar; Virgil's hand jumped to the pistol at his waist. John turned so that his body was in the shadows, and his daughter's legs appeared on the stairs, then her waist, then her torso and head. John knew what was coming.
"It's been a month, dad," Alexa said, her voice shaky. "A whole month. Have you even started looking for him?"
"I told you, Alex, I've got a guy on it," John said, annoyed; Virgil presumed this hadn't been the first time they were having this conversation.
"You've said that for a whole month, dad, why can't you find him?" Alexa begged. "Ask Mr. Brecher, where did he go?"
"Who?" Virgil asked in a low voice.
"Jeff, her boyfriend," John replied in exasperation. "Alex, Jeff wandered off into the boardwalk and got lost, and said he'd take a bus home. Michael went home without him."
"You're such a liar, dad," Alexa said angrily. "Why would he get out and take a bus?"
"The hell do I know? Maybe he was mugged and killed. Asbury Park is kinda ghetto-y these days."
There was a tense, pregnant pause, and Alexa turned back up and spat "Fuck you, dad."
"Alexa!" John shouted. "Get back down here! Get down...and...uh, fuck it. Buried under the boardwalk, more like."
"You go, John," Virgil said, unsure. "Get a break from the madhouse for a while. Enjoy yourself up in the Catskills, I've got it covered here. Virgino dies Monday night."
"All right...if you need me, call me," John said, walking up the stairs and beckoning Virgil. "Be careful, especially with everything..."
And John left.
Monday night rolled around, and around ten o'clock at night, a white Cadillac pulled up in front of a small suburban house in Nutley, New Jersey, a few blocks east of the Garden State Parkway and west of the Bloomfield Creek, off Center Avenue. The sky was dark, and Christopher and Virgil O'Duinen sat in the car in front of the blue-shingled house, sitting in silence.
"What did you think of the Sopranos last night?" Christopher asked his dad.
"Can't believe they ended a season like that," Virgil grunted. He sat quietly a few seconds more, and then got out of the car. "Hand me the you-know-what in the trunk. Do it quick, don't you want to get the guy who killed your brother?"
Christopher got out and walked around to the back, opening the trunk and removing several components of a long M1 Carbine rifle. Virgil grabbed the pieces and began putting the parts together, while his son Chris stood awkwardly against the car.
"Michael was the last guy to see Junior, and the only witness to his death..." Chris said.
"Yeah? So?" replied Virgil gruffly, snapping the magazine in.
"I don't know...what if it wasn't Virgino who hired Collins? What proof do we have? I've known Michael for years, but lately...I don't know..."
Virgil stood in stately silence for a minute, adjusting the sights and calibrating the trigger pressure. "Chris," he barked. "I don't think. I follow orders. That's what I learned in the Army, in 'Nam. That's what my job is when O'Quinn and Connolly were my bosses, and when Jackie was my boss, and now that John Malley is my boss, I follow what he says. He says Chris Virgino must die, it's simple as that."
"Dad, this is personal," Chris said unctuously. "They say Virgino called the hit on Junior, but how do we know that? How do we know he should die?"
"We don't..." Virgil answered, for the first time with a note of sadness in his voice. "Get in the car, in the driver's seat. I'll be back in a minute."
Virgil began marching up the front lawn, peering into the lighted living room of the Virgino household. Chris Virgino was sitting in an armchair, reading The Record, and listening to the stereo. Paul Anka's voice was reverberating outside. It was a warm summer night, and the windows were open. Virgil raised his gun, leaning it against a bush, and collecting his thoughts.
"Put your head on my shoulder..." sang Paul Anka from the stereo as Chris Virgino flipped the page of The Record. Virgil O'Duinen stared down the sights of the M1 rifle, choosing his target carefully.
"Hold me in your arms, baby..."
Virgil pulled the trigger, and a loud crack sounded through the yard. Virgino whipped his head back, blood spraying from his shattered head onto the wall behind him. With a soft plop, his right eyeball landed on the hardwood floor a couple feet away from him.
Virgil waited a few seconds, making sure that the shot through his eye socket had killed Virgino, and then sprinted down the lawn. The O'Duinens were gone before they heard Mrs. Virgino scream.
* * *
"Yeah, we killed him," Virgil growled. "We take responsibility for Virgino's death. Think of it as payback for what he did to my son Junior."
"Payback? According to who?" Carmine roared, pounding his fist on the table. "We had nothing to do with Junior you single-minded obsessive retard! Ask Michael Brecher what happened, ask how he watched your son die."
Virgil was acting boss of the family in John's absence, and at his side were Donald McMichael, Pyotr Goluboy, John Broadus and Michael Brecher himself. Before them on the other side of the opulent Manhattan living room was Carmine Galantro, Giacomo Gambetta, and two of Gambetta's grim-looking soldiers. Carmine's faithful lieutenant Chris Virgino had been buried two days before.
"How dare you accuse me!" Michael burst. "Carmine, I know you've had it in for our family for years, and you suggest it was I?"
"Go tell the fucking FBI how you blew Junior's brains out," Carmine retorted.
"Fuck you, you piece of shit," Virgil growled, pointing at Carmine. "Talk about my son like that, you cunt."
"What were you doing at Junior's house anyway, you prick?" Carmine barked. There was a terse pause.
"Answer this retard, would you, Michael?" Virgil needled.
"United front," whispered Michael.
"Yes...answer it," Gambetta said in a godlike tone.
"Let me see your goddamn wire! Let's see how you're talking to the feds!" Carmine hissed, pointing at a bulge in Michael's chest. Michael furiously pulled off his sweater and unbuttoned his paisley shirt, showing a crucifix. He slapped his sides, patting himself down and displaying there was no wire.
"I'm not wearing a wire, I'm not an informant, and I didn't kill Junior!"
"Please, sirs!" Pyotr begged. "Talk like men! Hung Lee came to my club in Queens yesterday, and caused a fight, to drive me out of business. He or one of his men, I don't know, they shot a patron. Please, Godfather Gambetta, Hung Lee is a criminal!"
"Hung Lee is free to do whatever he pleases," Carmine snarled. "He works for me. What, what are you gonna do about it? Kill him? Acting boss Virgil, what do you say?"
"John specifically requested that no action be taken against Hung Lee," Virgil replied, a tone of defiance in his voice.
Carmine smiled gloatingly and said "Exactly. The day you kill Hung Lee is the day that I—and the five families—unleash a shitload of firepower on the pathetic crowd of greasy culchy micks you call a family. Where is John, anyway? I prefer dealing with him. He has a weaker spine."
"John's away on business," Virgil said. "Either that, or he's just too tired of watching you suck on Gambetta's cock."
"That's it! Get out of this building!" Gambetta roared, banging on the table. "All of you, out on the street."
"This meeting's a joke anyway," Michael spat, turning around with the rest of the family. "I'll see you in hell, Carmine."
As they left through the large mahogany door, Carmine called out "You'll get there first when John finds out about your private radio program to the feds."
"Just has to have the final word, doesn't he?" Michael sighed, aware that the eyes of the rest of the family were on him.
* * *
A few miles west down the highway from the town of Cairo was the Fern Cliff, a hotel in East Durham, Upstate New York. The grounds were beautiful, with expansive grounds, shuffleboard sets, fields, cliffs, and creeks. The grounds didn't end, but merged with the surrounded wilderness; the large Irish population in the Catskill area coexisting with nature. Beneath a stone bridge leading into the Fern Cliff was a rocky, clear creek, leading through the gullies of the mountains and joining with the Catskill River, then the mighty Hudson River, continuing two hundred miles onward to New York harbor, and out into the shimmering Atlantic.
John Malley waded out of the creek, leaning against the riverbank and aiming his weapon into the brush across the field. He was sure he had seen movement here in the meadows under the Fern Cliff hotel.
A frog leaped into the water, and John started, jumping into combat mode and aiming his gun down at the frog. At that instant a bullet bit into the tree bark above him. It was Tabano.
John spun around, cursing himself for losing concentration, and fired across the meadow at the dark shape running through the bushes. To his expectations, Tabano's shots came back at him, ricocheting off the slippery rocks in the creek and digging into the ground.
There was a long pause; John fixed himself in place, leaning his gun hand on the mud. It was supremely dark, and only the shadows of the trees were visible, mixing with his enemy. Above him, a strange glow illuminated the sky beyond the treeline...it couldn't be New York, or Albany? The Aurora?
At that moment, John's cell phone rang, shrieking its signal out into the forests. John cursed silently and leaped off the bank, answering it quickly, lest the noise and flash alert Tabano. "Who is it? Who—?"
"John," answered a muffled voice. "Today is Monday, June twelfth, 2006, the last day of school for Holy Angels Academy. Your daughter Alexa did not come home from school today, and undoubtedly her mother is searching for her, calling her friends, trying to get the courage to call you and tell you that she is missing..."
"...who is this?" John asked feverishly.
"We have your daughter, John. Carmine Galantro has your daughter. Maybe you'll think before assassinating our men in their own houses. You know where to find Carmine."
"The fuck?" John erupted, suddenly unconcerned with the silence.
"If you ever want to see Alexa outside of a casket again, return to New Jersey now." The voice finished with these words and hung up.
John ran through the woods, up toward the bridge and away from Tabano, dialing again into his cell phone. He needed to get back immediately, he had to make the calls...
"Virgil?" John yelled into the phone, running down the highway. "The hit on Hung Lee—call it in, now."
"John, are you crazy?" came Virgil's lackadaisical reply. "Why are we doing—"
"Carmine has my daughter," said John fiercely. "Take out Lee, I'm coming back to New Jersey now."
The line went dead. Virgil was pale and sat back in his chair, in the blood-stained living room where his son died. What could he say? He was a morbid person.
* * *
Hung Lee Kim knelt down and pressed the mulch deep with his bare fingers. Ungloved hands were the best way to feel nature. It was June, and Hung Lee pruned his garden, planting seeds of carrots and sunflowers, praying to God, Buddha and the Sun that their fruit would be prodigious.
Above, the sun hung low in the early-morning sky, dawn having just broke over the broad Palisades cliffs. The high-rises of Fort Lee and Cliffside Park cast shadow down on the Overpeck Valley, where Hung Lee sat, praying and tending to his plants, his loves.
The gate creaked open quietly, but Hung Lee didn't hear a sound. He grabbed his trowel and scooped a hearty clump of oxidized soil and patted it down around a row of acanthus seeds. He whistled softly, as silent footsteps fell across the grass behind him.
A kitchen knife glinted in the air, plunging straight downwards and deep into Hung Lee's neck; Pyotr Goluboy seized Hung Lee's shoulders and forced the knife, pushing it further and further past his collarbone. Dark red blood ran down Hung Lee's soil-caked apron and down Pyotr's fingers.
Hung Lee looked up at the heavens and struggled to escape the death-embrace, but Pyotr dragged the knife, slicing his throat with the precision of a scalpel. With one final cut Pyotr ripped the knife out, spattering blood over the rich soil.
Hung Lee fell to the ground, bleeding out his final moments onto his seeds and his hearty mulch. Pyotr left through the gate, the way he came, leaving the knife stuck in the ground, wiped clean of prints. The blood coursed out...onto the grass, slippery with dew...Hung Lee was born to fight, but he closed his eyes and let death take him...
A cloud passed in front of the sun. Hung Lee expired on the grass. Coming down the Palisades Parkway was John Malley at full speed, heart throbbing in anguish, trying to get home to his daughter.
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 http://www.ubersite.com/m/95111
Part 4: Cairo
Part 5: The White Sand On the Beach
Part 6: Finale
User Reviews
Submitted by BobLobla (user info) at 2006-11-01 22:31:00 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Glad to be entertaining...
http://www.ubersite.com/m/61502#2202043
Submitted by Stagger_Lee (user info) at 2006-11-01 22:08:37 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by Wildman (user info) at 2006-10-31 21:40:20 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
sweet
Submitted by Axolotl (user info) at 2006-10-31 12:32:11 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by professorfuckface (user info) at 2006-10-31 12:27:02 (#)
Ranking: 0
put a robot in your story then I might read
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A robot made all the cars, does that count?
Submitted by professorfuckface (user info) at 2006-10-31 12:27:02 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
put a robot in your story then I might read
Submitted by Axolotl (user info) at 2006-10-31 12:24:12 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by BLITZKREIG_BOB (user info) at 2006-10-31 11:53:49 (#)
Ranking: 2
But whom killed him and why?
-=---
REVENGE
Submitted by BLITZKREIG_BOB (user info) at 2006-10-31 11:53:49 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
But whom killed him and why?
Submitted by hour_man (user info) at 2006-10-31 11:16:19 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Still good
Submitted by Axolotl (user info) at 2006-10-31 11:09:06 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Above is shot of Christopher Virgino, killed June 4 2006 Nutley NJ