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Writer, soldier, thinker, and science fiction lover. I just can't seem to find a way to divide my adventurous self of constant outdoor activity and exercise from my nerdy self playing games and going to conventions. So why not just be both?

 I am a young professional living out of Tallahassee, Florida for the past five years. I have been on a deployment with the United States Army and continue to work outside of my other occupations to better myself mentally and physically. My passion for writing is driven by my passion for everything I find entertaining in life, and of course by my friends and family.

Friday, January 22, 2016

Mad-Dog

 "I don't want him just dead, I want him, his family, his friends. They all need to suffer." Cigar smoke lingered, stagnant in the small dark enclosed room. The smell of cheap whiskey on the breaths of each of the three men who had gathered around the table. Somewhere above them a celebration was still occurring, but here on the table only business was to be discussed.
 "Well boss," Sonny spoke combing back his hair, "we can get our boys on him tonight."
 "No, no you aren't hearing me." Tony Gambono said pinching at the smoke in the air in front of Sonny. "It can't be one of ours." Tony pulled his sport coat tight in his seat hiding the sweat stains on the shirt underneath. "They'll know then, no we need someone new, an outsider." Sonny pressed his lips out as he shook his head down in silent agreement.
 "Pops, there's talent out there. One name comes to mind, Vincent Greene, people call him Mad Dog." Tony Jr., unlike his father, was slim and untouched by the grayness of age.
 "A Mick?"
 "Dad, he's known for his ways."
 "It's true." Sonny spoke through his thick fatty lips. "Mad Dog got the name for a bar fight, bit and tore a guy's cheek right off like a rabid dog."
 "Great, that's not a résumé." Tony punctuated is words with his cigar at Sonny.
 "Pops, remember the McClellan family? Each one of those was his work. Mick or not, he's a cold blooded motherfucker."
 Tony leaned back in his seat, he took a heavy puff from his cigar and let the smoke leave his mouth on its own. The thoughts and memories rolling around in his cranium. Sonny sat with his elbows on the table, his fatty lips pushing out under his dark slick hair. Junior leaned back, his coat and vest unbuttoned, along with his tie pulled down and his button undone to relax in the stuffy room. Both watched Tony as he put images to words in his head.
 "The McClellan hits, those were the ones that ended with the ax hit?"
 "That's how it ended, sort of." Junior flicked his wrist at his words, toss them off in the air.
 "It's not entirely it. Mad Dog took out most of them pretty cleanly. It wasn't until the last one,  the wife and kids were home." Sonny bobbed his head and shoulders back and forth justifying the situation. "So he, took the old man's fire-ax to the rest of the family." The crime had made national news. Many began to speculate it was the work of a serial killer on the loose. The pieces of the family were scattered about in the rooms where he had done his work. The police were positive that in such a mess they would find something connecting a killer, but nothing ever came from it. After about a month the news moved onto more recent tragedies and horrors to report and the McClellan hits died with their victim's savage deaths.
 "Now that is the type of man we need." Tony poked the air with his cigar. "Someone who isn't afraid to get dirty. Really dirty. Is he working for a family?"
 "Not really, there's some Irish peddler's he does business with, but not one of the families."
 "Get him to me."
 "I got him boss." Sonny stood leaving the table with the two Gambono men to their own tinkering. 
 Sonny drove for hours hitting small shitty bars he knew the Mad Dog frequented. Making a call to several others would have been easier and faster. But given the situation, he knew Tony didn't want the word out that he was planning a major hit. Nothing traveled faster than bad news than gossip. And even in the underworld that was true. A single man smoked a cigarette outside, a tall lanky bald man wearing an overly large leather coat far too hot for this weather. Inside the bar was occupied by several obvious regulars. One guy sinking as he continued to drown himself . A presumably single woman, far past her prime, was relishing in the inebriated lustful attention she was receiving.
 A single short stocky guy wearing a white button up shirt, green suspenders and dark jeans at on a stool which was covered by his dark coat. A tall glass with only half of a thick foamy drink sat before him. His elbows were rested on the bar, sleeves rolled up above his elbows. He watched reruns of the year's baseball game on the television above. Sonny took a seat next to the man, and ordered a beer for himself. Outside was visible through a single barred window near the back facing the back lot. A Florida storm was sweeping in, and the haze and clouds dipped the city in a blood red.
 "Of all the gin joints in this slum hole, you walked in here."
 "Well, I heard it was a good place to find some a hard worker." Sonny said bobbing his head back and forth on his shoulders.
 "Depends on the business. But good work is hard to find, especially in this economy."
 "Well, fortunately we are business men." The beer arrived and sat before Sonny as he leaned on one elbow to look at Vincent.
 "But good work also isn't cheap."
 "My esteemed colleagues are known to compensate their workers well. I think you'll find their benefit package is very enticing."
 "I didn't know Mr. Gambono was expanding his enterprise."
 "Mr. Gambono is a very busy man, he always has a venture that needs some work to get it off the ground. Would you care to discuss the business with him?" Sonny's lips pursed but they only stuck out more, Vincent grimaced at the look of the constant fat lip on the wiseguy next to him.
 "Yeah, I'll see him. Let's finish our drinks first."
 Not having to go hunting down for anyone cut the drive's time back significantly. Driving through a an open rod-iron gate where only one man stood leaning against a stone pillar reading they pulled into the wide from yard. Short but liberal grass grew along with inlet stones laid to make walk ways. Tony had just stepped out onto the porch as the they climbed out of the parked car. Tony has adjusted his cuffs but his shirt was still unbuttoned under his fresh looking coat.
 "Dad's in the study." Sonny's only response to Tony was his signature head bobbing back and forth with his fatty lips pushed out. The front door opened with ease as the two entered to meet with the head of the Gambono family. The study was immediately to the left of the entrance through the front door, much to Vincent's disappointment that he wouldn't get a chance to see the extravagant interior of the second floor that was teased by the massive stairs leading up.
 The room burned the eyes with acidic smoke, almost as much as the walls stained with the cigar smoke and the fresh cloud that billowed from Mr. Gambono. Fortunately for Vincent, and Sonny, both were well accustomed to smoke of many varieties, and the smoke neither irritated or concealed much for either men. Vincent took note in his mind that the desk before Mr. Gambono was relatively empty. A calendar was present, some pens, a lamp, and a statue of Atlas which was a poor reproduction. Likely bought in a supermarket, and on clearance.
 "Please, have a seat." Vincent eagerly took the opportunity to not remain standing any longer. The dark wood chair creaked under his weight, Vincent was near positive the chair was just well concealed plywood made to look expensive. The combination of his observations made his eyes want to wander and find other illusions.
 "I am sure my associate discussed with you some work I need a contractor for?"
 "He did, although he did not have the details."
 "You must know of my work. I've been attacked by the sharks in the media, of course they were sent after me by conmen, conmen with police protection."
 "I am very aware of your social standing."
 "Then you may very well have heard of Danny Mendola. He and his thugs like to pretend to be made men. All they are, are a bunch of scoundrels. Cheating at business every chance, they thrive off a rising monopoly. Monopolies aren't good for business."
 "I know of Mr. Mendola."
 "How does $5,000 sound? Adequate compensation for you work?"
 "A whole contract?"
 " Of course not. What am I? A cheap sweatshop owner? A person."
 "So Mendola, an his close business partners?"
 "The Mendola family, business partners, and associates. All of them, need to understand this is my work and I do not take kindly to anyone stepping in on my business. You'll be given an advance, but the rest does not come until your contract is up. Basic business."



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