Somewhere in the USA when the mob ruled the streets

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Somewhere in the USA when the mob ruled the streets

Postby Nathreee on Tue Jul 14, 2009 3:34 pm

It's just past six o'clock and Mama Lulu's diner is quiet. At the table in the corner by the window, two scruffy old men are enjoying a glass of wine and a game of checkers. Mama can be heard in the kitchen; she's singing "Vogliatemi bene" in her loud soprano voice. Tony the Pitchfork is collecting used glasses and plates from the empty tables. His black T-shirt fits a little too tightly around his bulging muscles, but his stainless white apron is tied around his middle with care. His nose looks like it was once broken, but his eyes have a rather sharp look in them. As he returns behind the bar, he dusts the only decoration that adorns the diner's flowery wallpapered walls: the pitchfork that earned him his nickname.
The bell chimes and the "we are open" sign clanks against the glass as the door opens and a mousy man wearing a long, grey raincoat enters and wipes his feet on the mat. The sounds echo through the diner again when he closes the door behind him. Tony looks up from the dirty dishes and smiles. "Hey Lucky."
Lucky runs a hand through his thinning hair before he approaches the bar and climbs up on a stool. "Evening Tony, how is business?"
"What do you think?" Tony raises an eyebrow. "At least Mama is in a good mood today." Laughing, he reaches for a glass and pours Lucky some gin. "And how is your business?"
Lucky doesn't answer, he's nervously searching the pockets of his coat. After a few seconds, he seems to calm down again as he puts a pack of cigarettes and a wad of money down on the bar. He flashes Tony a timid smile as he lights a cigarette with his shaking hands.
Mama's puffy hand suddenly wrenches the door to the kitchen open and her round silhouette fills the doorway. She looks around the diner for a moment and her eyes light up as she sees the mousy man on the barstool.
"Lucas! I'mma making carbonara, you wante some, no?" She exclaims in her heavy Italian accent.
Lucky nods. "Yes, thank you Mama."
"Bene!" As she slams the door shut again and continues her singing, Tony smiles. "Carbonara..." He licks his lips.
Holding his cigarette between the fingers of his left hand, Lucky is searching his pockets again with his right. From an inner pocket he produces a yellowed notebook which he puts down next to the wad of money before bringing the cigarette to his lips. The diner's door opens noisily and a young couple comes in. As Tony shows them to a quiet table and takes their order, Lucky thumbs through the notebook in front of him and unwraps the wad of money to make several stacks, which he carefully counts.
Tony carefully opens the kitchen door. "Mama, two pizzas with salami and pepperoni."
"Si, Antonio."
With a worried look, Lucky picks up one of the stacks in front of him and counts it again. Tony opens a bottle of beer and takes a large swig of it as he leans against the bar. He studies Lucky for a moment. "Are you short?"
Lucky shakes his head and reaches over the bar. "Lemme use the phone, please."
Tony picks up the big black telephone from under the counter and puts it on the bar, chuckling at his own joke. "Of course you're short, you're only five feet two."
"Very funny." Lucky mumbles as he fingers the numbers on the telephone. His eyes shift nervously from the stacks of money to the notebook and back to the telephone as he sucks on his cigarette, waiting for someone to pick up. Tony watches him as he goes back to washing dirty cups and glasses.
"Hello Whitey? Oh, you're his secretary? Sure lady, whatever." He sounds little annoyed. "Listen, this is Lucky... just Lucky. Mr. White knows me... Ok, just let him know that I talked to Vito... The Vito with the big moustache... Mr. White knows who that is, capiche? ... You know what? Just pass me Mr. White, will ya? ... Sure he is, lady. Just pass the phone to him." Lucky puts out the cigarette and drums his finger on the bar. "Whitey! Yeah, it's Lucky. Listen up, I talked to Vito today and... Exactly!" Lucky nods fervently and rolls up the stacks of money as he listens to the telephone. Finally he replies: "I don't know why you keep asking me. You know that's not something I can arrange." Suddenly his face flushes red and he looks up at Tony. "I don't like the sound of this, Whitey... He's a dangerous kid, Tony and I don't like him much."
Tony frowns as he arranges the clean glasses neatly on the counter. "What's going on, Lucky?"
"Ok, alright already. I'll ask him... Yeah, see you there." Lucky puts down the phone and takes his cigarettes, the money and the notebook back into his pockets. He casts a nervous look at the kitchen door and says: "You gotta ask Mama the night off, Tony."
Tony nods. "I see."
Last edited by Nathreee on Tue Jul 14, 2009 3:44 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Re: Somewhere in the USA when the mob ruled the streets

Postby Nathreee on Tue Jul 14, 2009 3:43 pm

"Would you turn down that music?" The little car lurches as Lucky rips the wheel, taking a right turn into the harbor district.
"But it's the King!" Tony protests.
"I don't care what kind of shoes he wears, just turn it off!"
"Alright, ok!" Tony turns off the radio and crosses his arms. "Spoilsport." He mumbles.
"Yes, I am." Grumbles Lucky as he turns the car into an alleyway and stops behind a rather large black sedan. Then he gets out and starts to check the pockets of his grey raincoat. Tony slams the car door shut. For a moment, they look at each other. Tony seems calm, but his muscles are bulging under his jacket as he scratches his head. Lucky is sweating and his hands are thrust deep into his pockets.
Together they walk towards the front of the black sedan. As they approach, the door opens and a man in a white fur coat emerges. He's wearing large blue sunglasses and a lot of shiny golden jewellry. Lucky nods at the man, but then looks around the alley, to make sure no one else is there. Tony extends his hand to the man. "Whitey, good to see you."
"I wish I could say the same." They shake hands as Whitey looks at Tony. "Are you ready for this?"
Tony grins. "I'm with you all the way."
Lucky cautiously follows them as they proceed towards the entrance of a warehouse in the back of the alley. The door is opened by a hairy man with a bushy black beard who looks at the three men and silently lets them in. The Beard beckons them through the warehouse, past a truck and a conveyor belt to an office at the side, where three more men are waiting.
Whitey smiles warmly as he approaches the man with the long moustache dressed in a grey suit without a tie. "Vito! So nice to see you!"
Vito squints at him. "Save it, pimp."
Lucky swallows, looking at the Beard, who crosses his arms as he blocks the doorway. Tony grabs Lucky by the shoulder and points to the young man with the long hair and the motor jacket to Vito's left.
"Isn't that ...?" Tony whispers.
Lucky nods. "Yep. Bennie. I hate that kid. Now shut up. Let Whitey do the talking."
Vito points to the beefy bald man on his right. "You know my brother Gio, right?"
Whitey smiles again and steps forward to shake his hand but Vito moves between them, bringing his face only inches from Whitey's chin. "Gio has been wondering what you have done with his money."
Retreating, Whitey raises his hands, the open palms up. "Vito! I thought we could talk about this."
"Really? Then why did you bring your muscle?" Vito sneers.
Gio lets out a short laugh that makes the belly under his dirty shirt shake. "Muscle? Those two?"
Tony attempts to lunge forward, but Lucky grabs him by the arm. "Control yourself!"
Whitey snorts. "You said we were going to have a friendly conversation, so I brought my friends."
Gio cracks his knuckles. "The money, white boy! I don't wanna talk about anything else."
"I told Vito about the money already!" Whitey sighs audibly.
Vito shakes his head as he moves to the desk and lights a cigar. "So you're not going to change your story?" The click of his lighter echoes through the silent office. As he blows out a puff of smoke no one speaks. The men exchange tensed looks. Lucky watches Bennie as he is straightening the collar of his jacket. Tony leers at the Beard still standing in the doorway with his arms crossed. Whitey licks his lips as he looks at Gio, who is now cracking the knuckles of his other hand.
Vito sighs. "I guess we have nothing to talk about then."
Gio grins as Bennie and the Beard suddenly pull out their guns."I'm going to enjoy this, white boy."
"I doubt it." Whitey takes off his sunglasses and puts them in his inner pocket.
As Gio lunges forward to punch Whitey in the face, a gunshot rings in the air. Gio falls to the floor with a dull thud. Shocked, Vito stares at Bennie and his smoking gun. Tony suddenly spins around, knocks the Beard with his head against the wall and wrestles him to the floor. Lucky crouches down and rolls Gio over to look at the shot wound. "Dammit Bennie, if you've killed him..."
"I haven't." Bennie replies confidently. "I hit his thigh."
Lucky examines Gio for a moment and then rises to his feet. "It's painful, but he should be fine."
Whitey moves towards the desk and takes the cigar out of Vito's hand. Vito, still stunned, stares at him, his jaw hanging open.
"Two things, Vito." Whitey says as he sucks on the cigar. "One.You will get your money when I'm done with it. Whitey Bear keeps his promises, but doesn't like to be threatened. Two. Do some research before you hire a guy. Bennie is my cousin."
Tony pulls the Beard away from the door so Lucky and Bennie can move past. As they leave the office, Whitey smiles. "Oh and three. You have nice taste in cigars. See you around, Vito."
If you're curious about my life: http://nathreee.livejournal.com
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