Monday, July 14, 2008

The Chosen Ones - Chapter 1.3 - Bada Bing

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The Chosen Ones – Chapter 1.3

Perfect timing always takes a bit of planning. I spent far too much time drifting about before docking the boat, but there were reasons for that. While the army of the damned went searching around every back road looking for me, I knew that some business would have to still be conducted. I wasn’t too concerned with the two scumbags that I knew would be working the docks. Underlings, who probably never even talked to anyone above a Captain, but it, would be a couple of notches on the belt that would piss off John and his cronies. Right now all the Captains would be at home with their families, perhaps a bit afraid of what had happened earlier. More likely than not, they aren’t though, since they always fancy themselves as the special few that are above it all. Scoring a couple of kills in the work zones though would start to disrupt business all the same.

These people run their operations like some sort of demented army. The boss will place their best “earners” into positions of important that they call “Captains” or Capo’s” which are also known as the “Made men” in the criminal organization. These are the people that count when it comes to vendettas and wars etc. There are other “Made men” under them but most of them are the petty criminals that do all the work, and although they consider it an insult, they are expendable. I haven’t actually killed anyone who has “Made man” status, but my father is about as close to being one as there is. He was the gangs “Token Jew” which they all seem to have as a tribute to the way crime was organized in the first place. Most people seem to think that the crime families were all psychopathic Italians who didn’t care much for life, but it was when they combined their forces with the Jews in New York, that crime officially became “organized.” My godless asshole of a father had been rather proud of this fact and spent many a drunken night explaining it to me when he was done screwing whatever whore he had brought home and put in the guest house. I’m still ashamed I let that man live to be old actually.

Usually you couldn’t get a boat near the major shipping docks, but I had very intimate knowledge of how these particular docks worked. The great advantage of the twelfth century mentality of my father and his friends is that it will never change for a moment. Shipping docks in general are a wholly owned subsidiary of the mob despite anything those screaming politicians cry about terrorists. It might be a good thing realistically since the mob is far behind the archaic nature of terrorists, and don’t see the profit in it. If the government truly was in charge of the docks they might be blown up constantly. I’m just slipping in between ships to abandon this boat and deal with a couple of union representatives. These two won’t know me from Adam, but they will simply assume that I have things that are being snuck in for fun and profit. That was who I stole the boat from anyway, but I forgot to murder him. It was an ethics issue actually because I didn’t know if he was a fucking wop scumbag or just a bootlegger. Of course if I had to kill him I wouldn’t have cried too much about it.

If my old man could have seen me now, feet up, eating corn flakes out of the box and waiting for the signal lights telling me that the coast is clear. He’d probably be really proud of me if I actually was smuggling in something precarious. I guess realistically I am, but that something precarious is me, and I’m not really here to make a profit. Of course there is the small chance that the smuggler I stole the boat from might have gotten word to the powers that be, and they could be laying out the perfect trap for me as I was sitting there. The danger in it all happens to be a bit intoxicating, but it is a nice night to sit in a boat on the river.

As I finally saw the three flashes from the signal light, telling me to pull the boat in between the two large scrap boats I started laughing to myself. This could just happen to be too easy, but either way I don’t care. I’m not even sure if these guys are a part of John’s crew or Mario’s crew. This is one of those “joint areas” that these criminals share with each other out of “respect” for lack of a better word. Mario was the one that set this whole ordeal in motion actually so sooner or later I have to start working down his people too, but I wanted that phase of the game to start after Mario started seeing the lengths that the “Crazy Fucking Jew” as he so lovingly called me, would go to prove a point. Mario, of course happens to be one of those bastard half brothers of a real crime boss that so happened to be in charge simply because the rest are in the joint now a days. I have to admit, I would have voted for Giuliani both times if I had been in the country, for the way he beat down the mob. I seem to be running ahead of myself again, and I apologize.

It will probably be hard for me to tell who these crew members belong to since it has been a long time out of the loop, but it doesn’t matter. You simply shoot the dice and hope for the best most times. If Mario is forced to ask John what is going on, then he would probably have a coronary. Despite the fact that he does have some blood which doesn’t follow that pole of a family tree that his stupid half brothers were blessed with, he is still quite neurotic. It’s much of the reason that I am finally home to do what God wouldn’t. If left to his own devices perhaps a good strike will force his tiny little brain into thinking that a war is going down between the two families and I can sit back and instigate, but these two families never seem to get each other’s Captains and as I am proof of, they usually kill more innocent bystanders than family members. Yeah that is how it all happened this time around, but we will get to that in a bit. I’ve just about reached the dock as this part of the tale is going.

The two “union guys” walked over to the tow ramp with their hands in their jackets. That can’t be a good sign really, because most of these idiots assume that they own the territory to which they perch. My common sense started trying to reel through some ideas just in case this starts to go badly, but it didn’t appear to need to go that way, as they both removed their hands to start roping in the boat. Dock guys whether they are wops or not usually are a lot skinnier than the fat hunks of dung that sit around the construction sites. Both of these two don’t appear to be too strong in either physique or odor. Even by usual standards they weren’t much bigger than I am. They were a bit timid though, which makes me think that they must be pretty new to this game. “We only have about fifteen minutes so start getting the stuff out,” the first of them said to me, as they both got on the boat.

I motioned to them both and said, “I’ll need some help then,” and started walking towards the under hold of the little boat. The trick here is to show no fear whatsoever like this is simply something I do all the time. That’s one thing you learn pretty soon about these people. Fear is something that all dogs recognize, and I have a leg up on that one as I could care if I live or die anyway. The cargo that they are looking for, which realistically I don’t even have a clue at this point about what it actually is, was on the boat when I got it. I just have to get them down to the freeze area, and get them to help with the frozen blocks of fish that conceals whatever the hell it is. They did follow me, and I showed no recognition of the fact that they still kept reaching into their jackets, as I opened the freeze hold and walked into it.

SLAM! Came from behind me , and then I heard the click of the lock to the freeze. I stood there looking at the door waiting for whichever of the two bozos did it to start making smart ass remarks about what genius’s they are. I didn’t have to wait long as they both appeared to get right up to the door to start their diatribe about brilliance. “You fucking asswipe!” the first one yelled at the door. He then continued because they never can stop themselves once they think they did something smart, “You really thought you could steal a boat and we wouldn’t know about it?” came out of his mouth like a pathetic Scooby Doo rerun, and he continued to yell taunts at the door. I of course waited to hear the other voice.

It came through the door just like I knew it would, “Yeah you …” but it never got a chance to finish. The second I heard that other voice come through the door, predictably right up against it, so I could hear it clearly, I kicked the door hard smashing both of their faces with it. My trusty .22 in my left hand fired putting the bullet square in the forehead of the bigger one. The force knocked him back to the floor, dead while my right hand that was holding my father’s Sig crossed over the outstretched left arm, since I wasn’t used to it yet I had to test it perched, to hit the other one square in the face. The thug hit the floor flailing because I had merely knocked his jaw off. The noises he was making were simply pathetic, as I stepped forward to fire into the side of his head.

I murmured to myself mostly, but probably to the two dead mooks lying on the floor, “I hate Sigs,” just before I started rummaging through their pockets. Neither of them had a wallet on them, which means they are Mario’s paranoid morons. I did get around ten grand in cash from them, and I took their God awful rings and jewelry off of them. The cash went into my pocket of course, but the jewelry will be joining the fish in the river. It’s simply the ethics behind it all, as I hope their families end up with squat. The smile it brings to my face knowing how their wives, if they had any will have to whore themselves out to the rest of the family, and try to feed their monkey children with no life skills. On second glance these two didn’t look very young, so perhaps that happy thought will get me through the night. In any regard, these two are being sorted into whatever place God puts scum.

Up on the deck I saw a pile of men gathering around to see what was going on that made so much noise. Longshoremen always mind their own business if you act menacing enough. The second I came walking up onto the deck, they all scattered, which was a good sign. It means that these two were sent to deal with me alone. They will probably make that mistake again since they really don’t learn to well, but I had work to do and really didn’t have time to stand around admiring the simple world around the wharf.

The engine fired up as easily as it had when I stole the boat. I wrapped the rope I had brought up from under the rear decking and fastened it to the throttle, and then up around the steering wheel leaving a long enough tail to reach onto the dock. The deck hands on the large boat behind this one were all standing on the deck watching me as I whistled Disney songs. My daughter loved Disney songs and had gotten most of them stuck in my head, so they always seemed to come out at times like this. I continued whistling as I walked onto the dock and started unfastening the ropes that held the boat to it. Each time I glanced around anyone that was watching immediately started concentrating on anything else. As I had said, they understood how to play this game, and they didn’t know if I was one of the “union representatives” or not, but definitely didn’t want to find out the hard way, especially as they were watching the usual dealings of “union representatives” to the theme from Aladdin.

I knew that I had a huge smile on my face as I stood there looking at the boat and holding the rope that I had fastened to the throttle, and through the steering wheel. This was a pretty cool idea actually, and I was even impressed myself as I had really just come up with it on the spur. I yanked the rope hard which in turn pulled down the throttle and jerked the wheel hard to the left at the same time, so that the boat shot out into the water. This seemed to be the time when everyone that had been watching assumed was best to scatter and stop watching all together. I didn’t though. As the boat shot out into the river, the throttle managed to lock into full, while the rope slipped away from the steering wheel. Assuming that it doesn’t hit a passing boat it should end up smashed against a mast of the George Washington Bridge, but I think I will be awarded a bonus thousand points if it makes it through. I casually started walking off the dock and into the general population still whistling the little toon that I had going through my head, and anyone that saw anything, saw absolutely nothing. Trust me. … to be continued

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