I haven't written anything for a while so this is just stretching the fingers, as it were. Nothing much to it, and I'd almost class it as fan fiction...
A Blade To Mourn By
I don’t do well at funerals. Don’t get me wrong, working for the Mob means I’ve seen my fair share of death, but it’s always different when it’s one of your own. Louis ‘Jersey Lou’ Anders had been part of the Scharlach family since way back, a real old-school enforcer, and there had been no-one better with an ice pick.
I’d brought his favourite spike to the funeral, hoping to slide it in amongst the floral tributes on top of the casket, but couldn’t get close enough. Lou and me were family, of sorts. He took me under his wing when my old man split and was what you might call ‘hard but fair’, except without the ‘fair’. I loved the old ******* to bits. The guy was my rock, my fixed point, one of the immortals.
Pancreatic cancer.
Lou put a .22 under his chin and pulled the trigger. Neat, no mess, skull left intact. The Coroner knew better than to mention ‘suicide’ in his report and so Louis Dominic Anders got the Catholic burial he deserved.
St. Saviour’s On The Mount, at dusk. Lou had requested a sunset send-off and for once the weather played ball. We got a clear view of the sun dipping below the horizon while standing by the graveside. It was tough but I held it together.
Afterwards we drifted out into the carpark. A slender figure stepped out from behind a bowyer; it was Bryce, Little Tony’s go-to guy when he wanted someone whacked. Bryce was a former CIA hitman who’d jumped ship before he was ‘retired’. The guy was a damn ghost – so high on everyone’s ‘most wanted’ he never appeared in public.
We shook, my eyes brimming with tears. “He would have appreciated the gesture, man, you being here.”
Bryce slapped my back. “Lou was good at what he did, no question. A man like that, I had to pay my respects.”
I stood back and wiped my eyes. The other Made Men standing nearby pretended not to notice. Bryce laid his hand on my shoulder and steered me over to where Little Tony and Hector, his driver, stood by the limo.
Little Tony smiled his greasy, insincere smile and gestured towards the open front passenger door. “Give you a ride back into town, Pauli? It’s been a hard day for all of us.”
I shivered and wiped my nose. “Just give me a minute, boss?”
Bryce stood aside as I turned and blundered across the road and through the bushes, only stopping when I reached the guard rail. St. Saviours was built on a scarp slope and this was the steep side – it fell away in a series of narrow terraces with tombs set into the hillside, a long drop to street level. I fumbled in my pocket for a fresh handkerchief and my hand closed around the worn wooden handle of Lou’s ice pick.
Behind you.
I half-turned at the sound of the voice before realising it was in my head, like when you talk to yourself.
Bryce stood there, looking at the city spread out beneath us. “The Family struggles to control this, their piece of turf, and for what? In the end all a man can hope for is a little dignity and respect. And an easy death.”
I drew the ice pick from my jacket and stabbed him, up into his heart. It was like watching someone else do it. Our eyes locked.
He didn’t show surprise or anger or fear. “Neat. And almost painless. I could kill you in the time I have left, but that would be…vindictive.” He pulled free and leaned on the low guardrail for support. “The funny thing is I always wanted to try skydiving.”
And he was gone; Armani in free-fall.
I stared at the ice pick in my hand. The blood on the spike seemed to evaporate or be absorbed into the metal, but that had to be a trick of the light. I didn’t feel confused, more numb, detached.
He would have killed you. There is still danger. Keep me close to your skin and all will be well. Act quickly.
It all seemed so logical, so reasonable. I slid the pick up my right sleeve, straightened my tie, and returned to the car. Little Tony and Hector seemed relieved to see only one man emerge from the bushes, then tensed up when they realised it was me.
My boss tried not to frown. “Bryce taking a moment to enjoy the view, or what?”
I shook my head. “He’s making his own way down.”
“Uh-huh, well, we best make a move. Get in.”
“You were going to have me killed, boss, and that’s a fact. Nobody in their right mind gets into a car with Bryce, especially with him sitting behind you.”
Hector took a step towards me but Little Tony stopped him with a frown. “That’s crazy talk, Pauli, just grief running your mouth. Look, maybe you need to take a few days-”
“I’m the last one. The last one saw you murder Ruby Meyers. Lou always said you hated that, knowing I could rat you out.” I snorted. “Like I’d ever squeal.”
Tony dropped any attempt at bonhomie. “Who’d you think you’re talking to, you two-bit hood? I’m a Capo, I run the whole lower East Side, and trigger-men like you are a dime a dozen.”
“I quit, retire, call it what you want. I’m gonna leave and you’ll never see or hear from me again. I won’t go to the cops, out of respect for the Family, so all you have to do is let me walk away.”
Again Hector took a step towards me and again Little Tony stopped him with a frown. He wiped his lips. “Take a hike. Take a hike and forget you ever heard the name Scharlach.”
I made a point of brushing past Hector and walking around to the far side of the car.
Place me in the wheel arch and I will do the rest.
Both Little Tony and Hector looked away, as if hearing something I couldn’t. I ducked down and jammed the ice pick in place, point against the tyre. I figured the puncture would keep them from following, keep them off my back, give me time to jump the first bus out heading for the coast. I started walking.
Twenty paces down the hill and I had the shakes. Killing Bryce, the voice in my head – I didn’t need a bus outta town, I needed a one-way ticket to the funny farm. You don’t leave the Mob, except in a box or through witness protection, and here I was disrespecting my Capo, big style. There would be consequences.
The single-track access road was a lazy switchback winding down to street level. I’d barely reached the first corner when I heard the limo behind me – so much for the master plan hatched by my alter ego. I stopped and turned around. To my left was a smooth rock outcrop with no place to hide, to my right a leg-break drop.
The car appeared; Hector behind the wheel, Little Tony leaning through from the back. Hector gunned the engine and drove straight at me. I stood there, waiting, caught in the headlights.
The front near side tyre burst – exploded – in a welter of rubber fragments. The nose dipped and dug in. The rear slewed round, brushing the stone parapet aside like a kid’s building blocks. For a moment the limo hung there, see-sawing on the edge.
Then it back-flipped out of view.
I walked forward to the parapet. The car bounced and tumbled down the slope, ending up on its roof. There was no fire, no explosion, but I knew no-one was walking away from the wreck. I turned away.
The ice pick lay on the roadway.
I could have passed it by, kicked it over the edge, let sleeping dogs lie. Instead I bent down and picked it up, looked at it. It was just an ice pick.
You have nothing to fear - this will be deemed no more than a tragic accident. Bryce will be included in the list of casualties, apparently thrown clear during the descent.
My voice was a hoarse whisper. “What are you?”
Rust never sleeps but metal lives on, in a new form, in a new age. I am an instrument of death, of sacrifice, and you will be well rewarded for wielding me in the service of our master.
“I, I don’t understand.”
Then let me explain.
It was like a punch to the heart; hyper-awareness, euphoria, a reckless arrogance way beyond the hardest coke-fuelled rush. I bayed at the night sky, words busting from my lips, unbidden.
“Blood and souls! Blood and souls for my Lord Arioch!”
Evil never dies, it merely rests.
I sank to my knees, my mouth sour with the taste of bile.
And I have slept long enough.
A Blade To Mourn By
I don’t do well at funerals. Don’t get me wrong, working for the Mob means I’ve seen my fair share of death, but it’s always different when it’s one of your own. Louis ‘Jersey Lou’ Anders had been part of the Scharlach family since way back, a real old-school enforcer, and there had been no-one better with an ice pick.
I’d brought his favourite spike to the funeral, hoping to slide it in amongst the floral tributes on top of the casket, but couldn’t get close enough. Lou and me were family, of sorts. He took me under his wing when my old man split and was what you might call ‘hard but fair’, except without the ‘fair’. I loved the old ******* to bits. The guy was my rock, my fixed point, one of the immortals.
Pancreatic cancer.
Lou put a .22 under his chin and pulled the trigger. Neat, no mess, skull left intact. The Coroner knew better than to mention ‘suicide’ in his report and so Louis Dominic Anders got the Catholic burial he deserved.
St. Saviour’s On The Mount, at dusk. Lou had requested a sunset send-off and for once the weather played ball. We got a clear view of the sun dipping below the horizon while standing by the graveside. It was tough but I held it together.
Afterwards we drifted out into the carpark. A slender figure stepped out from behind a bowyer; it was Bryce, Little Tony’s go-to guy when he wanted someone whacked. Bryce was a former CIA hitman who’d jumped ship before he was ‘retired’. The guy was a damn ghost – so high on everyone’s ‘most wanted’ he never appeared in public.
We shook, my eyes brimming with tears. “He would have appreciated the gesture, man, you being here.”
Bryce slapped my back. “Lou was good at what he did, no question. A man like that, I had to pay my respects.”
I stood back and wiped my eyes. The other Made Men standing nearby pretended not to notice. Bryce laid his hand on my shoulder and steered me over to where Little Tony and Hector, his driver, stood by the limo.
Little Tony smiled his greasy, insincere smile and gestured towards the open front passenger door. “Give you a ride back into town, Pauli? It’s been a hard day for all of us.”
I shivered and wiped my nose. “Just give me a minute, boss?”
Bryce stood aside as I turned and blundered across the road and through the bushes, only stopping when I reached the guard rail. St. Saviours was built on a scarp slope and this was the steep side – it fell away in a series of narrow terraces with tombs set into the hillside, a long drop to street level. I fumbled in my pocket for a fresh handkerchief and my hand closed around the worn wooden handle of Lou’s ice pick.
Behind you.
I half-turned at the sound of the voice before realising it was in my head, like when you talk to yourself.
Bryce stood there, looking at the city spread out beneath us. “The Family struggles to control this, their piece of turf, and for what? In the end all a man can hope for is a little dignity and respect. And an easy death.”
I drew the ice pick from my jacket and stabbed him, up into his heart. It was like watching someone else do it. Our eyes locked.
He didn’t show surprise or anger or fear. “Neat. And almost painless. I could kill you in the time I have left, but that would be…vindictive.” He pulled free and leaned on the low guardrail for support. “The funny thing is I always wanted to try skydiving.”
And he was gone; Armani in free-fall.
I stared at the ice pick in my hand. The blood on the spike seemed to evaporate or be absorbed into the metal, but that had to be a trick of the light. I didn’t feel confused, more numb, detached.
He would have killed you. There is still danger. Keep me close to your skin and all will be well. Act quickly.
It all seemed so logical, so reasonable. I slid the pick up my right sleeve, straightened my tie, and returned to the car. Little Tony and Hector seemed relieved to see only one man emerge from the bushes, then tensed up when they realised it was me.
My boss tried not to frown. “Bryce taking a moment to enjoy the view, or what?”
I shook my head. “He’s making his own way down.”
“Uh-huh, well, we best make a move. Get in.”
“You were going to have me killed, boss, and that’s a fact. Nobody in their right mind gets into a car with Bryce, especially with him sitting behind you.”
Hector took a step towards me but Little Tony stopped him with a frown. “That’s crazy talk, Pauli, just grief running your mouth. Look, maybe you need to take a few days-”
“I’m the last one. The last one saw you murder Ruby Meyers. Lou always said you hated that, knowing I could rat you out.” I snorted. “Like I’d ever squeal.”
Tony dropped any attempt at bonhomie. “Who’d you think you’re talking to, you two-bit hood? I’m a Capo, I run the whole lower East Side, and trigger-men like you are a dime a dozen.”
“I quit, retire, call it what you want. I’m gonna leave and you’ll never see or hear from me again. I won’t go to the cops, out of respect for the Family, so all you have to do is let me walk away.”
Again Hector took a step towards me and again Little Tony stopped him with a frown. He wiped his lips. “Take a hike. Take a hike and forget you ever heard the name Scharlach.”
I made a point of brushing past Hector and walking around to the far side of the car.
Place me in the wheel arch and I will do the rest.
Both Little Tony and Hector looked away, as if hearing something I couldn’t. I ducked down and jammed the ice pick in place, point against the tyre. I figured the puncture would keep them from following, keep them off my back, give me time to jump the first bus out heading for the coast. I started walking.
Twenty paces down the hill and I had the shakes. Killing Bryce, the voice in my head – I didn’t need a bus outta town, I needed a one-way ticket to the funny farm. You don’t leave the Mob, except in a box or through witness protection, and here I was disrespecting my Capo, big style. There would be consequences.
The single-track access road was a lazy switchback winding down to street level. I’d barely reached the first corner when I heard the limo behind me – so much for the master plan hatched by my alter ego. I stopped and turned around. To my left was a smooth rock outcrop with no place to hide, to my right a leg-break drop.
The car appeared; Hector behind the wheel, Little Tony leaning through from the back. Hector gunned the engine and drove straight at me. I stood there, waiting, caught in the headlights.
The front near side tyre burst – exploded – in a welter of rubber fragments. The nose dipped and dug in. The rear slewed round, brushing the stone parapet aside like a kid’s building blocks. For a moment the limo hung there, see-sawing on the edge.
Then it back-flipped out of view.
I walked forward to the parapet. The car bounced and tumbled down the slope, ending up on its roof. There was no fire, no explosion, but I knew no-one was walking away from the wreck. I turned away.
The ice pick lay on the roadway.
I could have passed it by, kicked it over the edge, let sleeping dogs lie. Instead I bent down and picked it up, looked at it. It was just an ice pick.
You have nothing to fear - this will be deemed no more than a tragic accident. Bryce will be included in the list of casualties, apparently thrown clear during the descent.
My voice was a hoarse whisper. “What are you?”
Rust never sleeps but metal lives on, in a new form, in a new age. I am an instrument of death, of sacrifice, and you will be well rewarded for wielding me in the service of our master.
“I, I don’t understand.”
Then let me explain.
It was like a punch to the heart; hyper-awareness, euphoria, a reckless arrogance way beyond the hardest coke-fuelled rush. I bayed at the night sky, words busting from my lips, unbidden.
“Blood and souls! Blood and souls for my Lord Arioch!”
Evil never dies, it merely rests.
I sank to my knees, my mouth sour with the taste of bile.
And I have slept long enough.
