The Moolie.
Posted: 05 Dec 2018, 22:51
"Could you please speak up so that the microphone will pick it up, sir?"
The old man brooded before scooting up in his chair, clearing his throat.
"Donte Mollicone."
"Mr. Mollicone, what was your relationship with Mr. Charles DiMio in the 1980s?"
"We were friends," he shrugged as he sunk back into his chair.
"Please speak into the microphone sir,"
He was clearly agitated as he once again crept up closer to the microphone, "He was my friend, ma'am."
Every time he spoke, Donte would pull out a handkerchief to wipe off the spittle that dripped from his mouth onto his beard. The questioning went on for about an hour, maybe even an hour and a half and Donte was clearly exhausted. He would sometimes lean on the table or hold his head up with his hands, often being distracted and asking for the attorneys to repeat their questions only to answer them with a slurred, incoherent sentence. Their patience soon grew thin with the doddering old man as they demanded that he sat up straight, spoke into the microphone and be clear with his answers.
It was a sight to behold, especially given who Donte Mollicone. Who he was.
....
"They always skim on the fucking cheese," Martin said in disgust as he slapped his half-eaten sandwich on the counter.
"Just get extra cheese then," Jamie looked at Martin with a puzzled face, "You complain about that shit every time."
"That's what they want you to do," Martin waved his finger in her face.
She didn't take kindly to his mansplaining and smacked his hand out of her face. Using the same left hand, Martin pressed his palm against her face and as she tried to slap his hand away again, he just applied even more pressure. Jamie got up and grabbed her drink but a single stare from Donte returned order to the chaos.
"Always fucking playing," she said as she sat down and returned to eating her soggy fries, the same ones she always complained about.
"What about this?" Donte turned the newspaper around to show Martin the job listing for some painters.
"I'm not painting no white man's fucking apartment," Martin scoffed, "You on your own, boss."
"It says two people," Donte insisted.
"He can't read," Jaime quipped, drawing a sour look from Martin but he left it alone.
"You need to start coming outside duke," Martin let out a chuckle as he waved the newspaper away, "It's real money out here, not no fucking piece of change."
"You ain't seen a dime yet," Jaime continued to antagonize Martin but he refused to take the bait.
"She's right," Donte tossed the newspaper in front of him, "You keep talking about being ten toes down, all this other bullshit yet you still eating dollar burgers with us and rocking the same fake chains you had when I met you."
"Fuck outta here," Martin sucked his teeth, "I'm building a fucking enterprise, I'm not no dummy that's going to spend the first few bit of money I have."
"Is that what we're calling you being Bernard's lap dog?" Jaime finally managed to under his skin.
"I ain't nobody's lap dog, bitch!" Martin swiped his hand against her drink, causing it to spill on her as he got up and put his hands on her neck.
Donte quickly got up and broke them up but they had gotten the attention of the entire store, including the owner of the restaurant.
"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!"
"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.
"Let it go," Donte tried to calm them down 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 Dante 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.
The old man brooded before scooting up in his chair, clearing his throat.
"Donte Mollicone."
"Mr. Mollicone, what was your relationship with Mr. Charles DiMio in the 1980s?"
"We were friends," he shrugged as he sunk back into his chair.
"Please speak into the microphone sir,"
He was clearly agitated as he once again crept up closer to the microphone, "He was my friend, ma'am."
Every time he spoke, Donte would pull out a handkerchief to wipe off the spittle that dripped from his mouth onto his beard. The questioning went on for about an hour, maybe even an hour and a half and Donte was clearly exhausted. He would sometimes lean on the table or hold his head up with his hands, often being distracted and asking for the attorneys to repeat their questions only to answer them with a slurred, incoherent sentence. Their patience soon grew thin with the doddering old man as they demanded that he sat up straight, spoke into the microphone and be clear with his answers.
It was a sight to behold, especially given who Donte Mollicone. Who he was.
....
"They always skim on the fucking cheese," Martin said in disgust as he slapped his half-eaten sandwich on the counter.
"Just get extra cheese then," Jamie looked at Martin with a puzzled face, "You complain about that shit every time."
"That's what they want you to do," Martin waved his finger in her face.
She didn't take kindly to his mansplaining and smacked his hand out of her face. Using the same left hand, Martin pressed his palm against her face and as she tried to slap his hand away again, he just applied even more pressure. Jamie got up and grabbed her drink but a single stare from Donte returned order to the chaos.
"Always fucking playing," she said as she sat down and returned to eating her soggy fries, the same ones she always complained about.
"What about this?" Donte turned the newspaper around to show Martin the job listing for some painters.
"I'm not painting no white man's fucking apartment," Martin scoffed, "You on your own, boss."
"It says two people," Donte insisted.
"He can't read," Jaime quipped, drawing a sour look from Martin but he left it alone.
"You need to start coming outside duke," Martin let out a chuckle as he waved the newspaper away, "It's real money out here, not no fucking piece of change."
"You ain't seen a dime yet," Jaime continued to antagonize Martin but he refused to take the bait.
"She's right," Donte tossed the newspaper in front of him, "You keep talking about being ten toes down, all this other bullshit yet you still eating dollar burgers with us and rocking the same fake chains you had when I met you."
"Fuck outta here," Martin sucked his teeth, "I'm building a fucking enterprise, I'm not no dummy that's going to spend the first few bit of money I have."
"Is that what we're calling you being Bernard's lap dog?" Jaime finally managed to under his skin.
"I ain't nobody's lap dog, bitch!" Martin swiped his hand against her drink, causing it to spill on her as he got up and put his hands on her neck.
Donte quickly got up and broke them up but they had gotten the attention of the entire store, including the owner of the restaurant.
"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!"
"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.
"Let it go," Donte tried to calm them down 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 Dante 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.