"We gonna do this shit every time, kid?"
"I ain't your kid," Martin all but spat at him as he opened his sandwich and held it in front of his face, "You call this a fucking melt? You need cheese for it to melt!"
"You want extra cheese," the cook pointed at the menu," You order extra cheese!"
At the table, Jamie and Donte's conversation continued without missing a beat. At this rate, it had become a tradition that Martin would order the Frisco melt, with no extra cheese, and complain about the lack of said extra cheese. In his defense, it was a bit plain.
"You might as well stay here," Donte shrugged, "I'm just saying, ain't the point of moving to the city to be in the city?"
"It's not the same," she pulled the newspaper away from him, "See, it says right there that I can be in the city in like fifteen, twenty minutes."
"I heard you," Donte took a bite of his sub, keeping his complaint of it being almost all bread with just a few cold cuts to himself.
"Besides," Jamie said as Martin finally joined them at their table, "Y'all need to be looking for a fucking job too."
"He's already busy painting some white motherfucker's fence," Martin scoffed, plucking one of Jamie's fries which drew a dirty look.
"Finished up last Thursday," Donte sucked his teeth, "You're talking shit but that was good pay, wouldn't mind a few more jobs like that."
"Ain't no real money in that," Martin shook his head.
"Ain't real money in what you're doing either," Jamie quipped.
"I'll show you how real my shit is," Martin pulled out a wad of cash and threw it towards Jamie's face.
As expected, the fiery redbone didn't take kindly to this, reaching across the table and tried to slap his face but failed to connect, drawing a laugh out of Martin. Jamie got up and grabbed her drink to throw it at him but Donte quickly got up as well, taking it out of her hand and pushing her back down to her seat.
He managed to calm them down with some stern looks but they had already gotten the attention of the entire restaurant, including its owner.
"Get the fuck out of here!" yelled one of the workers as two guys -- apparent cooks -- came from the kitchen.
"We're leaving," Donte said as he grabbed Martin by the arm and guided him to the exit, careful to keep Jamie at a safe distance as well.
"Fucking moolies!" said one of the workers from the back of the restaurant.
"What'd you call us?" Jamie snapped back in the general direction of the cashier, not sure who it was that said it.
Both Jamie and Martin redirected their anger away from each other and towards the workers as they started to approach the two workers and the cashier that were now just a few feet away from them.
"Donte, get them the fuck out of here. It's the same bullshit as always with this one, fucking waste. I don't want to see them back here again."
"I got it," Donte reassured him but when he went to grab Martin's shoulder, all he saw was the flash of a chrome object being pulled from the back of his waist.
"Yeah, bitch!" Martin yelled out as he waved the gun in front of the workers, swaying it from side to side.
"What the fuck?!" Donte screamed out as Jamie quickly ran out of the store along with all of it's other patrons.
"Don't fucking move, don't fucking move!" Martin continued to yell to the co-workers as he got closer to the cash register, "Hey sweetheart, put the fucking money...."
Martin looked around and emptied out the cardboard box on the cash register counter that held the napkins, "Put the money in there!"
"I can't open it!" yelled the cashier, a fair-skinned girl that was perhaps straight out of high school. The two other workers that had came from the kitchen just stood still as Martin rotated from pointing the gun at the cashier and then to them.
"Make a fucking order then," Martin instructed, "Let me get a frisco melt with extra cheese, honey!"
Martin got a kick out of his joke, a joke that only him and Donte would understand. Donte was in no laughing mood as he contemplated bailing on his friend or perhaps even disarming him. He knew that if he left, there was a good chance that those two guys would make a move on Martin and likely result in at least one of them getting shot, if not killed.
The cashier frantically placed the order, which opened the register and soon enough, she placed about $80 dollars worth of bills into the cardboard box.
"Let's fucking go!" Donte yelled out as he took a peak out the window. The mass exodus from the restaurant had drawn attention but nothing major yet as people were sort of wandering closer to the restaurant, not sure what was happening. As soon as Donte turned around to see what Martin was up to, he let off a gunshot into the back of the restaurant followed by a deep, roaring laughter before making a dash to the exit.
…
"You're going to cause trouble," he strained out of his seat, using the tablecloth that was previously on his knee to wipe the corners of his mouth.
"I'm serious," Joey insisted as he placed a hand on her shoulder, "This was one of the best meals I've ever had, I swear it on my life."
"Stop it," the elderly woman blushed, "I hardly had any time to finish up, you're just teasing me."
"With all due respect, I don't kid around when it comes to food, Mrs. Palmieri. Come on, just look at me. Does it look like I've missed any meals?"
"You're welcome any time," she smiled as she started to clear the table but Bobby, her son in law, quickly got up.
"Boys," Bobby commanded, "Help your nonna out, I want everything spick and span when I get back, okay?"
"What about Andrea?" Leonardo complained.
"Enough of that," Dominique chastised their youngest, "Get to it now."
The women and the kids cleaned up as Bobby and Joey headed to the backyard.
"I see why you married into this family," Joey lit a cigar.
"You're telling me?" Bobby patted his stomach, "She cooked every day when Dom was pregnant with Junior, gained about thirty pounds and still trying to fight it off."
"It's all in the sauce," Joey replied, "These new broads, they don't fucking respect the sauce. I mean with Monica, God bless her heart, she cook it straight out the can but thinks I don't fucking know."
"No shit?" Bobby shook his head.
"I ain't married her for her cooking either so what the fuck am I complaining about?"
Bobby nodded in agreement, taking out a cigar of his own.
"Speaking of complaining, our friend Bruce is crawling up my ass."
"Again?"
"It never ends with that one," Joey waved his finger in front of Bobby, "I mean the thing with his brother, I understand the man might still be shaken up but you've got to drop your balls at some point and be your own man."
"Hey, we always knew it was going to be something, right?"
Joey paused for a moment, taking in what Bobby had just said. He chomped on his cigar some more, taking in a few puffs before resuming the conversation.
"The devil you know," he raised his eyebrow in agreement, "Anyway, one of his joints on the east side got robbed, some fucking deli or something."
"On the east side? Across the bridge?"
"I know," Joey scoffed, "I had to give him something and nobody was fighting over that pile of shit so I figured it'd be a good way to get him earning."
"We thinking Casella, maybe?"
"What? No, fuck no. It was two fucking moolies, had some chick with them, I think. That's what Bruce told me anyhow at six o'clock in the fucking morning."
"He called you at six o'clock in the morning over a deli being robbed by a couple of fucking shiners?"
"He's an unreasonable man," Joey quipped, "But fuck it, we're here, right?"
"I'll handle it," Bobby patted Joey on the shoulder.
The Moolie of Port Town.
The Moolie of Port Town.
Last edited by Soapy on 06 Aug 2022, 07:02, edited 1 time in total.
-
Captain Canada
- Posts: 2186
- Joined: 01 Dec 2018, 00:15
The Moolie of Port Town.
We back. Let's get this shit.
The Moolie of Port Town.
lemme get a frisco melt with extra cheese!
The Moolie of Port Town.
top of the morning top of the morning top of the morning top of the morning
dickhead behavior smh
The Moolie of Port Town.
"Where the fuck is my jacket?"
Charlie continued to mumble to himself as he lifted item after item out of the laundry basket, throwing each one back in with disappointment that was rapidly turning into anger.
"It was right there on the couch," Charlie said to no one in particular, taking a step back to get a better look and see if he had maybe missed it in his hurry.
"I already put some clothes out for you," Sofia managed to get out between burping Francesca and cooking up her own breakfast, avoiding the occasional oil splatter.
"I'm not wearing that shit," Charlie scoffed as he took another peak inside of the bedroom to see if maybe it had been hiding in plain sight, "It ain't fucking mass."
"Why not?"
"It'll look fucking ridiculous."
"No, you won't. I've seen all of the guys dress like that sometimes, my brother, Mike, all of them."
"If it wasn't clear enough," he let out a sigh as he saw his hoodie hanging on top of the door that led into the bathroom, "I'm not your fucking brother or anybody else. What the fuck do you know about Mike anyway?"
"I've known him since I was a kid," she protested. The sun had barely risen and while she wasn't necessarily game for one of his jealous induced fits, she was already tired of his shit for the day.
"I don't need a fucking shirt and slacks to drive your father around all fucking day."
"Maybe if you dressed better...."
"I'd what?" Charlie stopped her, a bit out of breath as he bent over to put on his shoes, "Get an extra tip, a pat on the ass and a 'atta boy' at the end of the day?"
"You dress like a lackey," she placed their child down, "You are a lackey."
"You've got some fucking nerve," Charlie shook his head as he rose to his feet.
"We can't keep living like this," she said as she held her hands up, "My brother has a two-bedroom, Charlie, all by himself, with no fucking kid and look at us. We can't even fuck anymore without waking up the baby. I cook and clean and do laundry in the same fucking room."
"What do you want from me, huh? We were doing alright when I was doing my own shit," he spat back.
"Yeah," she rolled her eyes, "We were some fucking Rockefellers."
"I didn't see you complaining about the trips to A.C. and all that good shit," Charlie placed his index finger right in front of her face, "But no, you wanted something different and now I'm here and we're here so you made the decision, sweetheart, I just drove the fucking car. And your brother? Puts Fran to fucking shame with how tight his lips are around your old man's titty, doesn't he sweetheart?"
The blank stare that the 8-month old gave Charlie amused him, causing him to smile but not for long.
"So what? We're just stuck here forever? I might as well go down to the fucking shelter then."
"Always so fucking dramatic," Charlie grabbed his wallet, watch and keys, "Maybe if your father wasn't such a fucking pussy and let me do what I'm actually good at, we'd be doing better."
"That's my father you're talking about."
"Yeah," Charlie headed for the door, "And I'm your husband."
…
The loud knock on the door awoken Donte out of his sleep. He quickly got up from his bed and stared out of his window, looking for any marked police cars. It had to have been past midnight and Auntie Jenny rarely had visitors at this time of the night.
There was a knock, followed by another. Maybe this wasn't the cops after all, maybe this was Martin, perhaps even Jamie? What if this was the two guys from the restaurant, looking to get payback? Surely, they wouldn't knock. They didn't look like the knocking type.
The flickering of the living room lights sent a chill down Donte's spine as he heard footsteps. He didn't want his aunt to be greeted by a shotgun blast but he wasn't looking forward to it himself either.
"Who is it?" Who?"
"It's your booty call!" the person on the other side yelled out.
Donte heard the door open and that's when he stepped outside of his room to the sight of his uncle.
"Why you making all this damn noise?" Jennie complained as she walked away from the door, "I'm guessing he's here for you since he damn sure ain't here for me."
"I always loved you Jennifer," Bobby laughed as he gave her a hug but she shooed him away before returning to her bedroom, "The man of the hour."
Donte sheepishly walked up to him, wiping the crust out of his eyes, "What's up, uncle Bobby?"
"You tell me," Bobby said as he sat down on the couch with his eyes fixated on his nephew, "Did I ever teach you how to order at a deli? I'm serious, did I? I must have missed it, mea culpa. You scope the joint, you see, see what people are ordering, what smells good. Don't go for any weird shit, you know, like stick with the basics. A chicken parm, some cold cuts perhaps, can't go wrong with ham and cheese, you know. You ask the gentleman behind the counter 'how much?', he answers, you take out your wallet and you pay the man."
Donte just stared back at Bobby, not uttering a single word.
"You didn't think I knew or are we just going to act like you don't know what I'm talking about?"
"It wasn't..."
"Wasn't what exactly?"
"It wasn't planned," Donte sighed as he kept his distance.
"Not shit it wasn't planned," Bobby laughed, "I'm sitting here, aren't I?"
"How did you find out?" Donte asked, trying to piece together exactly how much trouble he was in and with who.
"It wasn't exactly the Lufthansa," Bobby lit a cigarette.
"I swear it was only like $50," Donte pleaded, "Maybe $75, I'll get it back to him, I'll make it right."
"It ain't about the money," Bobby explained, "How do you think it looks when friends of mine, friends of ours are getting robbed in broad daylight? There was a gun, shots fired, it's real ugly. I always told you, you have to keep it classy, above board. People don't like people that do work like this, it's very dirty work, kid."
"I'm telling you," Donte continued to beg, "It just got out of hand, we didn't mean no disrespect and we had nothing to do with nothing, you know that."
"I do," Bobby got up, "They don't so you need to go and tell them that."
"Tell who?"
…
"It's almost seven o'clock."
"I know," Robbie continued to chew on his dip, "He's on his way."
"He said 6:30," Bruce held his watch in front of Robbie which ticked him off but he kept his frustration to himself, "You can't count on a man to show up on time, you can't count on him at all."
"He told me to pick you up at 6:30," Robbie corrected him.
"What the fuck does that mean?"
"The meeting wasn't for 6:30," Robbie shrugged, "I picked you up at 6:30 so it stands to reason..."
"Stands to reason?" Bruce swung his hand in disapproval before giving Robbie his back, "It stands to fucking reason."
A few moments passed before headlights shun on the dimly lit trailer, causing Robbie to spit out the rest of his dip and go the door, opening it as he stood in the doorway. In came Bobby who paused for a moment before continuing to enter the trailer, this time with Donte behind him.
"Bobby, what the fuck? It's seven o'clock." Bruce redirected his frustration towards Bobby, giving Robbie a much needed reprieve.
"So?" Bobby pulled out a chair and motioned with his head for Donte to sit down.
"You said 6:30," Bruce insisted, "I've been waiting."
"He ain't picked you up at 6:30?" Bobby looked at Robbie who has an exacerbated look on his face.
"I did," Robbie replied.
"He did," Bruce confirmed, "But...."
"It don't matter no way," Bobby patted Bruce on the back before taking a seat behind his desk, "I'm here now, ain't I?"
"With him," Bruce pointed, "The motherfucker that stole from me."
Donte wanted to open his mouth to defend himself but the look on Bobby's face let him know it wasn't time for him to speak, at least not yet.
"If you knew his mother," Bobby teased, "You wouldn't blame him."
"This ain't funny," Bruce quickly shot back, to which Donte silently agreed.
"From my vantage point," Bobby laid back in his chair, "It was just a big misunderstanding, right?"
"Yes, sir." Donte finally spoke, his voice cracking a bit as he had kept his mouth shut the entire ride over to the other side of the bridge.
"What you need to understand is that you need to make this right," Bruce insisted as he approached Donte, "You're the one with the gun?"
"He's not," Bobby answered for him, "Robbie, take a hike, huh?"
"You got it," he nodded before complying.
Once the doors closed, Bobby motioned for Donte to come sit down directly in front of him. Bruce did the same, placing all three man within three feet of each other.
"Tell him what happened," Bobby instructed Donte, "Go on, you're good."
"We.....we weren't trying to rob the place," Donte explained.
"You trip and robbed it? Wow, a real fucking special one this one is."
"It wasn't like that," Donte pleaded, "We were just eating and things started being said..."
"Real mean things," Bobby added with a small laugh that he couldn't contain, "Things that would make your grandmother, blush, it was abhorrent behavior Bruce, really, it was."
"I'm serious," Bruce cut him off before turning around to face Donte, "So what, you decide to shoot up the place?"
"The person I was with....they pulled out the gun and at that point, he just panicked and.....we didn't even shoot at anyone, the gun just went off honestly."
"So now it's we? So you did shoot?" Bruce pressed him.
"What? No, no, it was just one gun."
"Where's he now?"
"Who?"
"Jesus Christ, your lord and savior. The guy with the fucking gun, ditsoon, who else?"
"I...look, we can pay you back, with interest. I just need a couple days, maybe a week and we'll make it right, okay?"
"So you didn't shoot the gun?" Bruce continued.
"No, sir."
"But someone did?"
"Yes, by accident."
"So who accidently shot the gun?"
"Does it matter?" Donte asked, shrugging his shoulder causing Bruce to swiftly slap him across the face.
"It do if I'm asking, don't it?!" Bruce flared up, drawing a sigh out of Bobby.
Donte's face was warm from both the slap and the embarrassment. Donte wasn't the biggest of guys but next to Bruce, he looked like a giant and was several decades younger. Bruce's nicely kept hair and finer clothes didn't give the impression he knew how to fight either but yet, all Donte could do was bite his inner lip which was already slightly bloodied.
"Hey, hey, hey. This is just a conversation," Bobby tried to ease tension, "No need for all of that, is there? This is my nephew we're talking about here."
"The fact he's your nephew is the reason why we're even talking about this! I can't have this," Bruce replied, "You wouldn't fucking have this, Bobby. Not with your shit."
"Donte," Bobby addressed him, "Go outside, warm the car up for me, won't you?"
Donte froze for a minute, unsure of the true meaning of that statement. It wasn't lost on him that someone else was already out there and as scared as he was right now, at least he was next to Bobby. He looked into Bobby's eyes and found some warmth in his command and followed suit.
"This kind of shit didn't happen under Vincent," Bruce barely waited for the door to close, "You see how it looks? It's bad enough I got to split the shit with a fucking kid and now with my half, this shit is happening? And you telling me not to do anything about it?"
"Come on," Bobby tried to reason, "What are we talking about here? A couple kids acting stupid, didn't know any better and they'll make the guy whole, even apologize. You want that? I'll have him cleaning the fucking kitchen for a whole month, no pay. You come out even better that way, let everyone know that you're tough but fair."
"No one is going to pay for protection," Bruce got up from his seat and started gathering his things, "That doesn't protect. You came to me, promising a fix for this and I don't see one so I'll have to handle it myself."
"Handle it yourself?" Bobby laughed, "What are we doing, Bruce? Come on, come on, sit down. Sit down, Bruce, come on, don't do this. Not over this. You're going to make a big deal about this?"
"It is a big deal to me," Bruce countered but acquiesced and returned to his seat, "If Vincent came to you...if Michael, even fucking Michael, you would have handled this before the fucking sit down."
"The kid is off limits," Bobby lowered his tone, "It's end of discussion right there. The other one, I'll handle that. I promise, the whole package, not a single thing from you, on the house."
Bruce was still pretty fired up but he started to collect his breath and by extension, his thoughts. He nodded in agreement, "Sam needs to be made whole, immediately."
"Who the fuck is Sam?"
"The guy that owns the shop," Bruce was once again annoyed.
"Of course," Bobby pulled out his wallet, "Two sounds good to you?"
"I think he'll be happy, it was probably a slow day."
"I'll even add a little extra, for you. For your troubles, coming out here, this time of the night, dealing with this. I told him on the way here, it ain't right, you can't conduct business like this but you know, with them, it's different."
"He needs more than that, I like the idea of putting him to work, knock the laziness out of him."
"I'll send him over to, huh, Sam's tomorrow, he can work him as long as he wants. He's a good kid, Bruce, he just got some edging that needs to be done."
"Sam's got enough workers," Bruce grabbed his things once again, "Send him my way."
"For what?"
"Can he drive?"
"Yeah, he can drive. What the fuck are you on about?"
"You gave Lorenzo to Michael," Bruce straightened out his coat, "You owe me one."
"I didn't give shit to no one," Bobby scoffed, "Zo is his own man, he wanted to work for your nephew, fuck you wanted me to do?"
"I need a driver Bobby," Bruce turned his back to him, "8 am sharp, every day, you know the address. Ever since that movie, I always wanted a little colored one."
Charlie continued to mumble to himself as he lifted item after item out of the laundry basket, throwing each one back in with disappointment that was rapidly turning into anger.
"It was right there on the couch," Charlie said to no one in particular, taking a step back to get a better look and see if he had maybe missed it in his hurry.
"I already put some clothes out for you," Sofia managed to get out between burping Francesca and cooking up her own breakfast, avoiding the occasional oil splatter.
"I'm not wearing that shit," Charlie scoffed as he took another peak inside of the bedroom to see if maybe it had been hiding in plain sight, "It ain't fucking mass."
"Why not?"
"It'll look fucking ridiculous."
"No, you won't. I've seen all of the guys dress like that sometimes, my brother, Mike, all of them."
"If it wasn't clear enough," he let out a sigh as he saw his hoodie hanging on top of the door that led into the bathroom, "I'm not your fucking brother or anybody else. What the fuck do you know about Mike anyway?"
"I've known him since I was a kid," she protested. The sun had barely risen and while she wasn't necessarily game for one of his jealous induced fits, she was already tired of his shit for the day.
"I don't need a fucking shirt and slacks to drive your father around all fucking day."
"Maybe if you dressed better...."
"I'd what?" Charlie stopped her, a bit out of breath as he bent over to put on his shoes, "Get an extra tip, a pat on the ass and a 'atta boy' at the end of the day?"
"You dress like a lackey," she placed their child down, "You are a lackey."
"You've got some fucking nerve," Charlie shook his head as he rose to his feet.
"We can't keep living like this," she said as she held her hands up, "My brother has a two-bedroom, Charlie, all by himself, with no fucking kid and look at us. We can't even fuck anymore without waking up the baby. I cook and clean and do laundry in the same fucking room."
"What do you want from me, huh? We were doing alright when I was doing my own shit," he spat back.
"Yeah," she rolled her eyes, "We were some fucking Rockefellers."
"I didn't see you complaining about the trips to A.C. and all that good shit," Charlie placed his index finger right in front of her face, "But no, you wanted something different and now I'm here and we're here so you made the decision, sweetheart, I just drove the fucking car. And your brother? Puts Fran to fucking shame with how tight his lips are around your old man's titty, doesn't he sweetheart?"
The blank stare that the 8-month old gave Charlie amused him, causing him to smile but not for long.
"So what? We're just stuck here forever? I might as well go down to the fucking shelter then."
"Always so fucking dramatic," Charlie grabbed his wallet, watch and keys, "Maybe if your father wasn't such a fucking pussy and let me do what I'm actually good at, we'd be doing better."
"That's my father you're talking about."
"Yeah," Charlie headed for the door, "And I'm your husband."
…
The loud knock on the door awoken Donte out of his sleep. He quickly got up from his bed and stared out of his window, looking for any marked police cars. It had to have been past midnight and Auntie Jenny rarely had visitors at this time of the night.
There was a knock, followed by another. Maybe this wasn't the cops after all, maybe this was Martin, perhaps even Jamie? What if this was the two guys from the restaurant, looking to get payback? Surely, they wouldn't knock. They didn't look like the knocking type.
The flickering of the living room lights sent a chill down Donte's spine as he heard footsteps. He didn't want his aunt to be greeted by a shotgun blast but he wasn't looking forward to it himself either.
"Who is it?" Who?"
"It's your booty call!" the person on the other side yelled out.
Donte heard the door open and that's when he stepped outside of his room to the sight of his uncle.
"Why you making all this damn noise?" Jennie complained as she walked away from the door, "I'm guessing he's here for you since he damn sure ain't here for me."
"I always loved you Jennifer," Bobby laughed as he gave her a hug but she shooed him away before returning to her bedroom, "The man of the hour."
Donte sheepishly walked up to him, wiping the crust out of his eyes, "What's up, uncle Bobby?"
"You tell me," Bobby said as he sat down on the couch with his eyes fixated on his nephew, "Did I ever teach you how to order at a deli? I'm serious, did I? I must have missed it, mea culpa. You scope the joint, you see, see what people are ordering, what smells good. Don't go for any weird shit, you know, like stick with the basics. A chicken parm, some cold cuts perhaps, can't go wrong with ham and cheese, you know. You ask the gentleman behind the counter 'how much?', he answers, you take out your wallet and you pay the man."
Donte just stared back at Bobby, not uttering a single word.
"You didn't think I knew or are we just going to act like you don't know what I'm talking about?"
"It wasn't..."
"Wasn't what exactly?"
"It wasn't planned," Donte sighed as he kept his distance.
"Not shit it wasn't planned," Bobby laughed, "I'm sitting here, aren't I?"
"How did you find out?" Donte asked, trying to piece together exactly how much trouble he was in and with who.
"It wasn't exactly the Lufthansa," Bobby lit a cigarette.
"I swear it was only like $50," Donte pleaded, "Maybe $75, I'll get it back to him, I'll make it right."
"It ain't about the money," Bobby explained, "How do you think it looks when friends of mine, friends of ours are getting robbed in broad daylight? There was a gun, shots fired, it's real ugly. I always told you, you have to keep it classy, above board. People don't like people that do work like this, it's very dirty work, kid."
"I'm telling you," Donte continued to beg, "It just got out of hand, we didn't mean no disrespect and we had nothing to do with nothing, you know that."
"I do," Bobby got up, "They don't so you need to go and tell them that."
"Tell who?"
…
"It's almost seven o'clock."
"I know," Robbie continued to chew on his dip, "He's on his way."
"He said 6:30," Bruce held his watch in front of Robbie which ticked him off but he kept his frustration to himself, "You can't count on a man to show up on time, you can't count on him at all."
"He told me to pick you up at 6:30," Robbie corrected him.
"What the fuck does that mean?"
"The meeting wasn't for 6:30," Robbie shrugged, "I picked you up at 6:30 so it stands to reason..."
"Stands to reason?" Bruce swung his hand in disapproval before giving Robbie his back, "It stands to fucking reason."
A few moments passed before headlights shun on the dimly lit trailer, causing Robbie to spit out the rest of his dip and go the door, opening it as he stood in the doorway. In came Bobby who paused for a moment before continuing to enter the trailer, this time with Donte behind him.
"Bobby, what the fuck? It's seven o'clock." Bruce redirected his frustration towards Bobby, giving Robbie a much needed reprieve.
"So?" Bobby pulled out a chair and motioned with his head for Donte to sit down.
"You said 6:30," Bruce insisted, "I've been waiting."
"He ain't picked you up at 6:30?" Bobby looked at Robbie who has an exacerbated look on his face.
"I did," Robbie replied.
"He did," Bruce confirmed, "But...."
"It don't matter no way," Bobby patted Bruce on the back before taking a seat behind his desk, "I'm here now, ain't I?"
"With him," Bruce pointed, "The motherfucker that stole from me."
Donte wanted to open his mouth to defend himself but the look on Bobby's face let him know it wasn't time for him to speak, at least not yet.
"If you knew his mother," Bobby teased, "You wouldn't blame him."
"This ain't funny," Bruce quickly shot back, to which Donte silently agreed.
"From my vantage point," Bobby laid back in his chair, "It was just a big misunderstanding, right?"
"Yes, sir." Donte finally spoke, his voice cracking a bit as he had kept his mouth shut the entire ride over to the other side of the bridge.
"What you need to understand is that you need to make this right," Bruce insisted as he approached Donte, "You're the one with the gun?"
"He's not," Bobby answered for him, "Robbie, take a hike, huh?"
"You got it," he nodded before complying.
Once the doors closed, Bobby motioned for Donte to come sit down directly in front of him. Bruce did the same, placing all three man within three feet of each other.
"Tell him what happened," Bobby instructed Donte, "Go on, you're good."
"We.....we weren't trying to rob the place," Donte explained.
"You trip and robbed it? Wow, a real fucking special one this one is."
"It wasn't like that," Donte pleaded, "We were just eating and things started being said..."
"Real mean things," Bobby added with a small laugh that he couldn't contain, "Things that would make your grandmother, blush, it was abhorrent behavior Bruce, really, it was."
"I'm serious," Bruce cut him off before turning around to face Donte, "So what, you decide to shoot up the place?"
"The person I was with....they pulled out the gun and at that point, he just panicked and.....we didn't even shoot at anyone, the gun just went off honestly."
"So now it's we? So you did shoot?" Bruce pressed him.
"What? No, no, it was just one gun."
"Where's he now?"
"Who?"
"Jesus Christ, your lord and savior. The guy with the fucking gun, ditsoon, who else?"
"I...look, we can pay you back, with interest. I just need a couple days, maybe a week and we'll make it right, okay?"
"So you didn't shoot the gun?" Bruce continued.
"No, sir."
"But someone did?"
"Yes, by accident."
"So who accidently shot the gun?"
"Does it matter?" Donte asked, shrugging his shoulder causing Bruce to swiftly slap him across the face.
"It do if I'm asking, don't it?!" Bruce flared up, drawing a sigh out of Bobby.
Donte's face was warm from both the slap and the embarrassment. Donte wasn't the biggest of guys but next to Bruce, he looked like a giant and was several decades younger. Bruce's nicely kept hair and finer clothes didn't give the impression he knew how to fight either but yet, all Donte could do was bite his inner lip which was already slightly bloodied.
"Hey, hey, hey. This is just a conversation," Bobby tried to ease tension, "No need for all of that, is there? This is my nephew we're talking about here."
"The fact he's your nephew is the reason why we're even talking about this! I can't have this," Bruce replied, "You wouldn't fucking have this, Bobby. Not with your shit."
"Donte," Bobby addressed him, "Go outside, warm the car up for me, won't you?"
Donte froze for a minute, unsure of the true meaning of that statement. It wasn't lost on him that someone else was already out there and as scared as he was right now, at least he was next to Bobby. He looked into Bobby's eyes and found some warmth in his command and followed suit.
"This kind of shit didn't happen under Vincent," Bruce barely waited for the door to close, "You see how it looks? It's bad enough I got to split the shit with a fucking kid and now with my half, this shit is happening? And you telling me not to do anything about it?"
"Come on," Bobby tried to reason, "What are we talking about here? A couple kids acting stupid, didn't know any better and they'll make the guy whole, even apologize. You want that? I'll have him cleaning the fucking kitchen for a whole month, no pay. You come out even better that way, let everyone know that you're tough but fair."
"No one is going to pay for protection," Bruce got up from his seat and started gathering his things, "That doesn't protect. You came to me, promising a fix for this and I don't see one so I'll have to handle it myself."
"Handle it yourself?" Bobby laughed, "What are we doing, Bruce? Come on, come on, sit down. Sit down, Bruce, come on, don't do this. Not over this. You're going to make a big deal about this?"
"It is a big deal to me," Bruce countered but acquiesced and returned to his seat, "If Vincent came to you...if Michael, even fucking Michael, you would have handled this before the fucking sit down."
"The kid is off limits," Bobby lowered his tone, "It's end of discussion right there. The other one, I'll handle that. I promise, the whole package, not a single thing from you, on the house."
Bruce was still pretty fired up but he started to collect his breath and by extension, his thoughts. He nodded in agreement, "Sam needs to be made whole, immediately."
"Who the fuck is Sam?"
"The guy that owns the shop," Bruce was once again annoyed.
"Of course," Bobby pulled out his wallet, "Two sounds good to you?"
"I think he'll be happy, it was probably a slow day."
"I'll even add a little extra, for you. For your troubles, coming out here, this time of the night, dealing with this. I told him on the way here, it ain't right, you can't conduct business like this but you know, with them, it's different."
"He needs more than that, I like the idea of putting him to work, knock the laziness out of him."
"I'll send him over to, huh, Sam's tomorrow, he can work him as long as he wants. He's a good kid, Bruce, he just got some edging that needs to be done."
"Sam's got enough workers," Bruce grabbed his things once again, "Send him my way."
"For what?"
"Can he drive?"
"Yeah, he can drive. What the fuck are you on about?"
"You gave Lorenzo to Michael," Bruce straightened out his coat, "You owe me one."
"I didn't give shit to no one," Bobby scoffed, "Zo is his own man, he wanted to work for your nephew, fuck you wanted me to do?"
"I need a driver Bobby," Bruce turned his back to him, "8 am sharp, every day, you know the address. Ever since that movie, I always wanted a little colored one."
Last edited by Soapy on 06 Aug 2022, 07:11, edited 2 times in total.
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Captain Canada
- Posts: 2186
- Joined: 01 Dec 2018, 00:15
The Moolie of Port Town.
The plot thickens.
The Moolie of Port Town.
stupid cotton pickers smh
The Moolie of Port Town.
"You sure this is decaf?"
"Yes," Donte quickly caught himself, "Yes, sir."
"It don't taste like it," Bruce remarked, setting the cup down.
"I thought they all tasted the same," Donte lightly shrugged, "Ain't that the point?"
"The point is," Bruce pushed the coffee away, "I don't think this is decaf. It's not hard, boy, just get the coffee and the coffee cake, I don't ask for much."
"Decaf coffee," Donte muttered under his breath.
"What?"
Luckily for Donte, Bruce's attention was quickly diverted as he stood up, dusted himself off and straightened out his polo shirt. He gave Donte a stern side eye, prompting him to do the same, clearing the table in the process as well.
"Fabio," Bruce forced a smile, "Glad you could make it."
"Who passes on a 10 o'clock tee time?"
His hair was suspiciously jet black and perhaps the only man that Donte ever met that took greater care of it than Bruce. While Bruce was meek in stature, Fabio was almost statuesque and had all the makings of a varsity athlete, which he was reputed to have been quite a good one. The man behind him was solid in that regard as well.
"We're ready for you gentlemen," the kid couldn't have been more than sixteen, maybe eighteen but was dressed to the nines, as usual. Standing next to him was another similarly dressed teenage boy, holding two bags of golf clubs. They led Bruce and Fabio into the cart, replacing their day-to-day lackeys that were now milling around on the terrace that oversaw the entire golf course.
"You don't smoke, right?" Charlie asked as he patted down his pockets.
Donte shook his head before extending his hand out, "Good to see you again."
"They're rubbing off on you," Charlie laughed before eventually shaking Donte's hand.
"What you mean?"
"The handshakes," Charlie sat down, motioning to one of the staff to come over, "Acting like we're members of some rotary club."
"You mean country club?"
"Same difference," he shrugged as the waitress arrived, "Let me get a coffee with a kick."
"It's a bit early for that," she replied with a very familiar tone.
"It's early for a lot of things," Charlie swayed his head from side to side, "It don't mean I don't want it."
"What about your friend?"
"He'll have the same," Charlie placed his hand on the back of her knee.
She giggled, almost like a schoolgirl before walking away.
"Like I was saying," Charlie changed how he was seating to now face Donte.
"The rotary country club."
"Yeah," Charlie collected his thoughts, "It's like guys like us, we don't need the hoopla and the slick back hair and the suits, you know?"
"Guys like us?"
"Come on," Charlie sucked his teeth, "I heard about the deli, it was amateur shit but took some balls, broad daylight and everything."
"It wasn't like that."
"What was it like?"
"I guess it don't matter," Donte wanted to change the subject and the waitress arriving with their coffee was just what he needed, "Thank you, miss."
"I'll leave a generous tip," Charlie continued to toe the line but she didn't catch his bait and he let go but not without taking another long glance as she left, "I'm just saying, D, I respect the game, that's all."
"And they don't?" Donte was still intrigued by Charlie's comments of 'guys like us'. Sure, they drove quasi-important men around and from their limited encounters, he liked the cut of Charlie's jib and the feeling appeared to be mutual but besides that, the similarities stopped in Donte's mind.
"Look at them," Charlie lifted his chin slightly towards the golf course, "They're playing dress up and swinging sticks. They do a collect every now and then but the real shit? The shit that puts money into people's pockets? Formula and diaper in the fucking pantry? You can't get that in here, that shit's out there."
"What kind of shit is that? The real shit."
"You know all about it. If you don't have it, you take it. And if you do have it, you get some more."
"You make it sound easy," Donte smiled.
"It is," Charlie shot back, "If you're doing it right, with the right people."
"Why aren't you?"
"Why aren't they is the real question. They like their Sunday dinners too much, going to mass, confession. Real house cats, this bunch."
Donte was careful with his words and even his thoughts. Despite their similar allotments in life, he didn't have the luxuries that Charlie had. Charlie was a lot of things Donte wasn't and could never be.
"If it's money to be earned," Donte took a sip, "It's a shame to leave it out there."
…
"I'm all full, Aunt Dom. Really, I got no space left," Robbie flashed a smile which thwarted her efforts to pour the rest of the minestrone into his bowl.
"I made it just for you," she kissed him on the forehead, "The kids barely touch it so make sure to take the rest with you before you scamper out of here."
"I don't scamper," he -- gently -- defended himself, "Bobby keeps me real busy is all...which I don't mind...I like it, it's good."
"You don't need to beat around the bushes with me," she had a wry smile on her face, "He's already out there waiting for you, go on. I'll pack this up for you."
Robbie obliged, grabbing his coat on the way out and putting it on. He tightened it as a gust of wind smacked up against his face just as he started going down the porch steps.
"It ain't even that cold," Bobby teased him, passing him his cigarette before pulling it back, "Don't need your mother calling here."
"She knows I smoke now," Robbie revealed, "Can only keep so many secrets, you know?"
"Tell me about it," Bobby passed it over this time, "No problems during your trip?"
Robbie shook his head, "We don't get no problems no more, all that's been ironed out."
"Good," Bobby started walking away from the porch and Robbie followed him, "I need you to fix another problem."
"Which variety?"
"The permanent kind," Bobby pulled out a piece of paper from one of his coat pockets.
"Anything else?"
"No need for a scene," Bobby paused, "He's been hiding out so assume he's packing and likely paranoid, with reason."
"Want him to show up?"
"Preferably not," Bobby answered, "Just need this to go away, the less noise, the better."
"Can I ask?"
"You always do," Bobby patted Robbie on the face, "He stuck his hand in the wrong cookie jar."
"Yes," Donte quickly caught himself, "Yes, sir."
"It don't taste like it," Bruce remarked, setting the cup down.
"I thought they all tasted the same," Donte lightly shrugged, "Ain't that the point?"
"The point is," Bruce pushed the coffee away, "I don't think this is decaf. It's not hard, boy, just get the coffee and the coffee cake, I don't ask for much."
"Decaf coffee," Donte muttered under his breath.
"What?"
Luckily for Donte, Bruce's attention was quickly diverted as he stood up, dusted himself off and straightened out his polo shirt. He gave Donte a stern side eye, prompting him to do the same, clearing the table in the process as well.
"Fabio," Bruce forced a smile, "Glad you could make it."
"Who passes on a 10 o'clock tee time?"
His hair was suspiciously jet black and perhaps the only man that Donte ever met that took greater care of it than Bruce. While Bruce was meek in stature, Fabio was almost statuesque and had all the makings of a varsity athlete, which he was reputed to have been quite a good one. The man behind him was solid in that regard as well.
"We're ready for you gentlemen," the kid couldn't have been more than sixteen, maybe eighteen but was dressed to the nines, as usual. Standing next to him was another similarly dressed teenage boy, holding two bags of golf clubs. They led Bruce and Fabio into the cart, replacing their day-to-day lackeys that were now milling around on the terrace that oversaw the entire golf course.
"You don't smoke, right?" Charlie asked as he patted down his pockets.
Donte shook his head before extending his hand out, "Good to see you again."
"They're rubbing off on you," Charlie laughed before eventually shaking Donte's hand.
"What you mean?"
"The handshakes," Charlie sat down, motioning to one of the staff to come over, "Acting like we're members of some rotary club."
"You mean country club?"
"Same difference," he shrugged as the waitress arrived, "Let me get a coffee with a kick."
"It's a bit early for that," she replied with a very familiar tone.
"It's early for a lot of things," Charlie swayed his head from side to side, "It don't mean I don't want it."
"What about your friend?"
"He'll have the same," Charlie placed his hand on the back of her knee.
She giggled, almost like a schoolgirl before walking away.
"Like I was saying," Charlie changed how he was seating to now face Donte.
"The rotary country club."
"Yeah," Charlie collected his thoughts, "It's like guys like us, we don't need the hoopla and the slick back hair and the suits, you know?"
"Guys like us?"
"Come on," Charlie sucked his teeth, "I heard about the deli, it was amateur shit but took some balls, broad daylight and everything."
"It wasn't like that."
"What was it like?"
"I guess it don't matter," Donte wanted to change the subject and the waitress arriving with their coffee was just what he needed, "Thank you, miss."
"I'll leave a generous tip," Charlie continued to toe the line but she didn't catch his bait and he let go but not without taking another long glance as she left, "I'm just saying, D, I respect the game, that's all."
"And they don't?" Donte was still intrigued by Charlie's comments of 'guys like us'. Sure, they drove quasi-important men around and from their limited encounters, he liked the cut of Charlie's jib and the feeling appeared to be mutual but besides that, the similarities stopped in Donte's mind.
"Look at them," Charlie lifted his chin slightly towards the golf course, "They're playing dress up and swinging sticks. They do a collect every now and then but the real shit? The shit that puts money into people's pockets? Formula and diaper in the fucking pantry? You can't get that in here, that shit's out there."
"What kind of shit is that? The real shit."
"You know all about it. If you don't have it, you take it. And if you do have it, you get some more."
"You make it sound easy," Donte smiled.
"It is," Charlie shot back, "If you're doing it right, with the right people."
"Why aren't you?"
"Why aren't they is the real question. They like their Sunday dinners too much, going to mass, confession. Real house cats, this bunch."
Donte was careful with his words and even his thoughts. Despite their similar allotments in life, he didn't have the luxuries that Charlie had. Charlie was a lot of things Donte wasn't and could never be.
"If it's money to be earned," Donte took a sip, "It's a shame to leave it out there."
…
"I'm all full, Aunt Dom. Really, I got no space left," Robbie flashed a smile which thwarted her efforts to pour the rest of the minestrone into his bowl.
"I made it just for you," she kissed him on the forehead, "The kids barely touch it so make sure to take the rest with you before you scamper out of here."
"I don't scamper," he -- gently -- defended himself, "Bobby keeps me real busy is all...which I don't mind...I like it, it's good."
"You don't need to beat around the bushes with me," she had a wry smile on her face, "He's already out there waiting for you, go on. I'll pack this up for you."
Robbie obliged, grabbing his coat on the way out and putting it on. He tightened it as a gust of wind smacked up against his face just as he started going down the porch steps.
"It ain't even that cold," Bobby teased him, passing him his cigarette before pulling it back, "Don't need your mother calling here."
"She knows I smoke now," Robbie revealed, "Can only keep so many secrets, you know?"
"Tell me about it," Bobby passed it over this time, "No problems during your trip?"
Robbie shook his head, "We don't get no problems no more, all that's been ironed out."
"Good," Bobby started walking away from the porch and Robbie followed him, "I need you to fix another problem."
"Which variety?"
"The permanent kind," Bobby pulled out a piece of paper from one of his coat pockets.
"Anything else?"
"No need for a scene," Bobby paused, "He's been hiding out so assume he's packing and likely paranoid, with reason."
"Want him to show up?"
"Preferably not," Bobby answered, "Just need this to go away, the less noise, the better."
"Can I ask?"
"You always do," Bobby patted Robbie on the face, "He stuck his hand in the wrong cookie jar."
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Captain Canada
- Posts: 2186
- Joined: 01 Dec 2018, 00:15
The Moolie of Port Town.
Oh we smoking on another pack huh
The Moolie of Port Town.
that pack potent