(5) The Sand on the White Shore (The Malleys is nearly over) (881 hits)
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Rating: 1.5 on 15 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by Axolotl || ltoloxA (View user info) at 2006-11-01 11:31:35 EST
Agent Ross clicked the record button and spoke into the microphone. "This is the last testimony of Michael Brecher."
"Makes it sound like I'm gonna die," Michael joked, sitting back in the FBI offices in Paterson.
"Approved to submit as evidence in the RICO case against the Sullivan Crime Family of Newark, Paterson, et al, and also against the Dimiglio Crime Family of Newark, Jersey City, et al. Proceed, Mr. Brecher. Carmine Galantro?"
"Carmine Galantro is the boss of the Dimiglio family," Michael said, his voice more haggard. "I have a whole list of accounts and photographs tying him into illegal drug running and prostitution, as well as protection rackets from Pennsylvania to Long Island. Some wise guys said that he killed Carlo Dimiglio as well, but I don't believe it."
"Virgil O'Duinen and Donald McMichael," Agent Ross prompted. Agent Fiumfreddo looked into the interrogation room through the glass window, observing the proceedings.
"Christ, Virgil..." Michael muttered. "What can I say? He's a crazy fuck. Let's see...he was an accomplice in the deaths of Patrick Coyle, he personally killed Christopher Virgino, and he shot a Ku Klux Klan guy out west. That's what I can remember, at least. McMichael...well, there was this young guy of ours, Josh Blades. He caused problems, so McMichael shot him in the head and put him in a coma. He's been in a coma for over a year now..."
"Continue," Ross said impatiently.
"Donald McMichael murdered Dan McCourt, and Damon Petri," Michael blurted out. "He also tortured Raymond Ventry. He cut off his nipples and strangled him and shoved a cloth down his throat until he vomited, and he beat him—and—"
"Calm down, just continue. This is the final reckoning."
"He didn't kill Raymond though, that was Paul Ciceri," Michael said, feeling dizzy. All the blood of the last ten years seemed to be cascading down on him.
"Who killed Ciceri?"
"I did," Michael replied. "I waited until he came home from shopping, and I waited on his porch with a gun. When he put the key in the lock...I killed him."
Agent Ross leaned forward and said "John Malley. One last name, tell us what we need to know about John Malley."
"John Malley is a murderer," Michael said regretfully. "He killed Anthony Porcelli, Nick Fernandez, Barry Ranier, and Dane Ciceri. He ordered the deaths of John Sullivan, Shawn Vasquez, Irene Vega, Emilio Pierro, Dan McCourt, Antonio Delgado, Michael Sullivan, Vinnie Delvecchio, Chris Virgino, Hung Lee Kim, and Jeffrey Nolan."
The names fell off Michael's lips with ease, as though he was confessing to a priest. Their faces flashed before his eyes, and he envisioned them all at the moment of passing, their horrible realizations that their young lives had all been cut short.
"Quite a list of names," Agent Ross exclaimed, someone surprised. "Hell, I could connect eighty percent of the murders in the last ten years to John or Carmine. This is only a small slice, right?"
"Right."
"Thank you, Michael Brecher. You've served your country well, and your time is up. The FBI has got it from here. Keep safe."
* * *
John Malley turned his car down Schuyler Avenue and raced down the hill toward the broad expanse of the Meadowlands stretching out before him. He could smell the swamps and creeks from the car, and he spun out across from Carmine's large out-of-place McMansion on the edge of the wetlands.
He stepped out of his car, shoving a derringer into his sleeve and arming his .45-caliber pistol, marching up the front lawn of Carmine's house, coming home to his kidnapped daughter. He was going to find her, or spray Carmine's brains all over the interior of his spacious home.
As John walked up the front steps, the door opened. John aimed his gun as the door swung wide, revealing Vincent Tabano, standing there cool and calm. "Carmine's expected you," Tabano said. "Come on in. He's in the living room. It's important, just go."
Still training his gun at Tabano, wondering how he had gotten down to Kearny, John Malley inched inside Carmine's house. He had been there several times before, and noticed that a lot was changed. Many of the pictures and vases were gone from the wall, packed into cardboard boxes.
"My wife left me," Carmine called out from the kitchen, his voice echoing on the bare walls. Something was seriously wrong. John started down the hall, bursting into the kitchen where Carmine was sitting at the table, looking out the window.
"Where's my daughter? Where is she?" John barked, holding the gun an inch from Carmine's turned head. He looked around, staring John in the eyes down the barrel.
"John...I don't have your daughter," Carmine said soothingly, looking into the gun. "I called you because you were about to kill my friend Mr. Tabano over there. I had to distract you somehow..."
"You motherfucker, how could you do that to me," John shouted, his veins bulging, pressing the gun in at Carmine's temple. Carmine looked unfazed, almost pitying John. In a low, sad voice, Carmine said:
"John, calm down. There's something important you need to know, let me explain everything. You might want to sit down."
John took a seat next to Carmine, holding the gun a foot from his head. Carmine looked like he was going to protest, but shook his head.
"Godfather Gambetta has ordered a hit on you, John," Carmine began. "As revenge for the death of Hung Lee Kim. You disobeyed him and may have sparked a huge war between the families, but instead of war, he decided to take you out. Within the next week, a hitman will ambush you on the way home from work."
"Why are you telling me—?"
"Listen to me!" Carmine said hastily, a note of warning in his voice. "It doesn't matter, it means fuckall. In about ten minutes, the FBI and police will be hear to arrest my ass and bring me to jail for the rest of my life. They're making sting arrests on me, Tabano, Gambetta, and a hell of a lot of people from your family."
John stared at Carmine, replacing the gun in his holster, at a loss for words.
"I don't have a lot of time..." said Carmine. "I think Virgino might have been an informant, I don't know. They've been building up a case against our families for the last ten years, and I think it's all coming to a head."
"Shit, Carmine," John muttered. "For both of us? What...I just can't..."
"But there's also a rat in your crew," Carmine pointed out seriously. "He's been talking to the feds for six months. My crooked cop, William Diciccio, is the guy who warned me of the arrests, and he said he's seen your rat all over the FBI offices in Paterson."
John breathed heavily through his nose. "All right...I think I might know who you're talking about. Give me a name."
Carmine opened his mouth as if he were going to say something, but he heard the sound of a car pulling up outside, and the blood drained from his face. "Get out! Get out!" he said, pulling John up. "They're here for me! Go out the back, quick! Don't get caught here!"
John panicked, kicking open the back door and rushing out. As he ran toward the Meadowlands, he heard Carmine yell, "I'm sorry, John, do what you can!"
John sprinted in a long arc around the neighboring house, his footsteps falling across the early-morning grass. As he cleared the second house, he looked down the street to see four police cars and a SWAT team van, officers with submachine guns swarming around the house. They were calling out unintelligible commands through megaphones, training weapons on the door.
John ran down, back to his car, getting in and watching the horror before him. Carmine and Tabano walked out of the door, and the officers steadied their guns. John recognized Officer William Diciccio walk toward the two condemned men. Carmine and Tabano spoke softly, kneeling on their grass.
"I'm really gonna miss the football games at Giants' Stadium," Carmine said with intense regret.
"So am I, boss," Tabano replied, lying flat-out on the walk.
The SWAT and FBI swooped down on the two men, handcuffing them and pulling them up, reading them their rights and hurriedly dragging them down toward the curb. Agent Ross and Agent Fiumfreddo shoved them into separate cars, guarding them with pistols and machine guns the whole way. Within five minutes, Carmine was gone, and the FBI was inside his house, investigating the site.
John pulled out of the street, dazed and nauseous. He needed his most trusted men together. He needed Michael, Virgil and Donald...he needed do to one last thing.
* * *
In Ridgewood, just a few blocks from John Malley's house, there was a park around Indian Lake, with a jungle gym for kids, and fountains shooting water into the sky. Beyond the safety of the playground was a long expanse of sparse forest, where John Malley walked, surrounded with Michael, Virgil, and Donald.
"Carmine said the hitman was here, a little further on," John said.
"Yeah, he lives in a house just over the Saddle River," Virgil stated. "We're heading in through the backyard to take him out."
They walked on through the woods, summer grass under their feet. Michael breathed in the thin air, smelling the waters of the Saddle Brook near by.
"Just on a bit further, this guy Morganson is just a little while further," Virgil said.
They passed beyond a hill, and onto a broad sand riverbank. The shallow river was in front of them, encapsuled in shadow by the eaves of the trees. Above on a narrow cliff was the backyards of some houses, but it would be impossible to get to.
"Those houses are too far up," Michael remarked. "How are we getting up there?"
"It's all right, Mike," John said coolly.
There was an awkward pause, and Michael walked a few paces forward onto the white sandy riverbank, staring up at the sky peeking out from the branches above.
"...There isn't any Morganson here, is there?" Michael asked, finally realizing the answer. Before he could turn around to look back at his friends, he felt the steel barrel of a cold gun at the back of his neck.
"You fucking piece of shit, I knew it all along," Virgil hissed. "You killed him, you killed Junior...he was innocent in this! You sold us out like Judas, you fucking snake!"
"Virgil, please!" Michael cried, Virgil grabbing his throat and turning him around, putting the gun against his eyelid.
"Virgil please?" he spat. "Fuck you, Michael. I can't believe I let you marry my daughter, and you pissed all over our bond. What happened to the partnership? The friendship? When you saved Donald's life...you're a liar, and I'm going to kill you!"
"No!" Michael begged, his eyes leaping to John and Donald, pleading for help.
"Yeah, I will!" Virgil said, shaking all over. "I'll...you said to Gambetta you're not wearing a wire, you're not an informant, and you didn't kill Junior. You lied on all of them, you lied to me...how could you do this? My son in law...I hate you, I hate you...you should never have joined the family..."
Don McMichael reached inside his jacket for his gun, and immediately burst into tears. Virgil rounded on him, yelling "Donald, you're nothing but a pussy. You're a bitch, Donald. You came hear with me like the rest of us, and you're going to kill this...this, Michael, like the..." his voice trailed off into the cool summer air around him.
"I can't do it," Donald choked. John said nothing, staring straight at Michael, boring into his soul, his face unreadable. Michael looked back at John, lifting his arms in prayer.
"John, I needed to leave," said Michael. "Let me go, and I'll never testify at any trial. They won't be able to catch you. Let me go out west, to Los Angeles, and I'll take care of things there. Send me to Boston, to Philadelphia, anywhere, and I'll stay away. I'll never have to see you again, and I'll never betray you. Believe me, you gotta believe me, with all my heart, John, I didn't mean to do anything by it. The FBI got me, and I had to testify, or they'd arrest me for killing Paul. It snowballed, John, I couldn't do anything else. John, I know you, you know me, please, forgive me..."
Before Michael had reached the end of his speech, tears were pouring down John's face, and his body was shivering in pain. His hands were clasping a gun at his waist, but his heart was throbbing with an iron chain around it. John had never cried in his life, not when his father died, not when his mother died, and not when he had thought his kids were in danger. Michael's clear blue eyes asked for forgiveness, begged for release.
"What the fuck?" Virgil roared. "John, what's with you? Are you going to help me kill this bastard or are you going to stand there crying like a bitch?"
"Virgil, maybe..." John said, holding his gun up. "I don't know...we've known Virgil for years, how can we do this...? We can let him go, we can let him go into witness protection."
"Virgil," Michael pleaded. "Tell me, Virgil, was I a good husband for your daughterat least? Wasn't I—at least that, if nothing else?"
Virgil sighed and dropped his gun to his side. "Yeah," he said grudgingly. "You were...you were a good husband, I guess. And I don't regret you joining the family, I take that back...I love you, Michael, but this is..."
"Has our friendship meant nothing?" Michael asked, and John Malley's face turned red, anger shooting across it. "Everything we've gone through together, twelve, thirteen years...I've saved your lives, I've married into your families...and you're going to kill me..."
"Michael," Don warned.
"Please guys...not here..." Michael begged, turning around quickly.
"Michael," John said, his smile fading as he shook his head. "You're unbelievable." With his last syllables, John Malley raised his gun and shot Michael in the chest.
Michael Brecher jerked back as the bullet struck him, his eyes popping. He seemed to fall to the sand in slow motion as Virgil O'Duinen and Don McMichael leveled their guns and fired their pistols at their damned friend. The fusillade of gunfire echoed off the trees, fading into a whisper over the babbling creek.
Michael Brecher fell onto the sandy banks of the Saddle Brook. His eyes were as wide as the four holes over his heart, and as blank as the cloudless sky above them.
"It's a relief," Donald said, wiping his eyes and feeling infinitely calmer.
"Our friendship," John remarked, face twisted. "He should have...bad card to play, right Virgil? Virgil?"
He was standing above Michael's body, feet sunk into the sand. Virgil looked down at his son-in-law, shaking and choking tears back, sobbing over the body. John holstered his gun and sighed, feeling a relief of stress through the kill.
"Michael, Michael..." Virgil wept, touching Michael's face. "I love you, I love you...forever, Michael, I love you."
"Let's go," John said, shaken. "I'll send Broadus back for the body."
Leaving Michael on the blood-slicked sand, the trio of friends—John, Virgil, and Donald—left the riverbank, walking back up through the park and through the trees of the Saddle Brook.
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 http://www.ubersite.com/m/95145
Part 5: The Sand On the White Shore
Part 6: Finale
User Reviews
Submitted by BobLobla (user info) at 2006-12-28 15:23:06 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by HotWillie (user info) at 2006-11-01 22:43:43 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by Stagger_Lee (user info) at 2006-11-01 22:14:45 (#)
Ranking: 2
Also, you work quite hard to raise the content level of this website, and that's a good thing.
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Ha ha. Good point. Stagger is a big picture type cat.
Submitted by Stagger_Lee (user info) at 2006-11-01 22:14:45 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
I agree with what HotWillie has said, mostly, in all but the rating. I rate you a little higher due to the fact that you are very young, and I want to encourage you to develop. Also, you work quite hard to raise the content level of this website, and that's a good thing.
Keep on keeping on.
Submitted by HotWillie (user info) at 2006-11-01 21:56:07 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
The reason this series is merely 'worth reading' in my opinion is because I don't see where you brought anything fresh to an overdone genre.
Your characters seem more like cardboard cutouts than real people who just happen to be in a very unseemly line of work.
That's the brilliance of the Sopranos and Brando's work in The Godfather. They are real, and the juxtaposition of the humane and profane is striking.
I never empathized with your characters, and that is a fatal flaw.
Your dialogue is sometimes a bit didactic, also.
Very ambitious series, however.
Good for you to be at this level so young.
Submitted by Tony_the_Tiger_is_a_Pedophile (user info) at 2006-11-01 19:21:40 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
just damn...
Submitted by Axolotl (user info) at 2006-11-01 17:12:31 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
shit
Submitted by Axolotl (user info) at 2006-11-01 12:49:11 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by hour_man (user info) at 2006-11-01 12:04:47 (#)
Ranking: 2
Very enjoyable series *applauds*
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thanks, still have the epilogue to go.
Submitted by hour_man (user info) at 2006-11-01 12:04:47 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Very enjoyable series *applauds*
Submitted by Axolotl (user info) at 2006-11-01 11:50:54 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by JonnyX (user info) at 2006-11-01 11:50:13 (#)
Ranking: 0
I love it that only my rating counts on this post so far.
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PFF was punished ;(
Happy that this is the next-to-last installment?
Submitted by JonnyX (user info) at 2006-11-01 11:50:13 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
I love it that only my rating counts on this post so far.
Submitted by Axolotl (user info) at 2006-11-01 11:49:36 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by professorfuckface (user info) at 2006-11-01 11:47:55 (#)
Ranking: 0
places with imported sand are depressing, they do that on adelaide beaches, it's just sad, might as well be walking around in a fishtank, or sitting in that little caravan in the middle of the junkyard in that movie labyrinth, you are that removed from reality
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What would the beaches be with no sand, just dirt and a coastline, or a straight cliff or what? I'm fair sure that the Jersey sand is natural in the river, definitely on the beacehs.
Submitted by professorfuckface (user info) at 2006-11-01 11:47:55 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
places with imported sand are depressing, they do that on adelaide beaches, it's just sad, might as well be walking around in a fishtank, or sitting in that little caravan in the middle of the junkyard in that movie labyrinth, you are that removed from reality
Submitted by Axolotl (user info) at 2006-11-01 11:40:51 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by professorfuckface (user info) at 2006-11-01 11:39:27 (#)
Ranking: 0
how can you have sand on a river, much less white sand
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They have that in New Jersey, in the park in Ridgewood, it's a real place. The certain section of the river is covered in sand, I used to go there with my dog.
Submitted by professorfuckface (user info) at 2006-11-01 11:39:27 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
how can you have sand on a river, much less white sand
Submitted by Axolotl (user info) at 2006-11-01 11:32:20 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Such a relief off my shoulders...it's all gone. All done.