The Junkyard (from the beginning)
The Debt Man bites the dust
Barney stood outside the door In what the break room residents and Bitch-Boys
called The Velvet Hall.
‘Cause of all the blood and velvet thrown’ round here am I right? Barney thought.
Barney chuckled to himself, but he was dealing with no laughing matter. Barney
was a large Italian man who never really did his hair, just left his ruffled brown hair
out to the public, but he always wore a suit.
Barney first looked at his watch.
September 7 12:02 1974
They were late. Good.
The velvet hall was falling apart, if Barney had to be honest.
Actually, no. Whether a room’s falling apart or not is not an opinion in this case,
it's a fact.
The room was covered in some kind of woefully unattractive felt. It was a
darkish shade of velvet that was peeling off most of the walls, revealing a level of
cool grey concrete bricks making up the walls behind. Barney honestly didn’t think
that a house was legally allowed to be built like this, but the laws didn’t apply to
The Mafia. To be honest, Barney thought it more like the law moved around The
Mafia. There was dark wood coming out from the concrete walls to connect the
walls to the scuffed redwood panelled floor. Most of the floor was covered by a
long red carpet with golden tassels making the lining.
Barney could remember this room. It seemed to be cemented in his mind and in
that way it felt like home. He liked to pretend a lot of things were like home, since
he never really had one. He owned a smaller apartment now. He moved every
couple of years, too fast for his taste. But he felt comfortable in his apartment. He
didn’t care that much about the largeness of his home, he just had to feel like he
deserved it. Barney’s small conversation was interrupted by the clinking of
somebody's shoes down the hall.
Barney had been standing outside Harry “The Chair”’s door when Al and Ivan
entered into the hall. Al was Harry’s consigliere as Harry was head, and had been
the founder of the family oh so long ago. Al came dressed for business, and
always carried around this atmosphere of someone who knew what they were
doing, and to whom your presence was like a mere nuisance in their larger plan.
It’s why no one trusted Al.
Meanwhile Ivan was different. He carried anger on his back, like Santa and a
bag of toys. Ivan dressed in what seemed like a bare minimum, made you think
that he was busy and couldn’t scrape up the time to dress up for dealing with you.
Your presence was still pointless, just in a different more like, I don’t feel like it,
Ivan’s suit was jet black. Al’s was grey.
Al’s shirt was tucked. Ivan’s was not.
Barney observed the differences as the two turned the corner. Al walked in front
with confident strides, looking straight ahead. His mind seemed somewhere else.
Barney was a little sad he couldn’t see Al’s hair. It was hiding under a neatly
Jesus, how many pounds of hair gel you think that bad boy eat’s up! Barney
thought once more.
Meanwhile Ivan had nothing to hide. He left his bald head on display, but it
didn't take away from his rugged handsomeness.
SEXY SERIOUS! HA! Barney liked to make jokes, whether to others or himself.
He thought it helped leave what you did and what you do behind. Bleach the mind.
Ivan was a few inches taller than Al, and seemed preoccupied with the cuffs of his
suit when the two walked in. Barney’s job was just to let them in, and close the
door, and stand there. He was used as a sort of intimidating presence.
Harry’s office was lit up by a dim light emanating from the corner, Harry’s
favorite (and only) lamp. The rest came from an overhead lamp, with one dead fly
trapped inside. Barney thought, and Al knew that none of this light was being paid
for by them. The room had the same peeling walls, and a large cabinet with a
mirror against the wall with the door to the left of it. The wall next to it had a
window closed in order to keep off the light rain hitting it. That would end soon, at
least that’s what the weather man had said in the morning forecast. Barney always
watched the news. Harry sat at his desk. That was about all the decorations in the
room, except of course, for the stressed Luigi Fetta squirming in his chair in the
center of the room.
Harry was a strange old man. He seemed more like a machine to Barney. Harry
didn’t show his emotions unless he needed to, and he expected other’s not to
show any around. He thought fear, happiness, they held you back. Harry also
demanded allegiance, commitment. That’s why Harry needed sacrifice.
Luigi “The Debt Man” Fetta was hard to find, like any other Mafia member, but his
family had done a particularly good job hiding him. Al had been the one to get him.
Before this Al and Harry knew only three things about Fetta. Fetta was good at
killing, Fetta never disposed of the body, and Fetta had OCD.
Turns out he knew a guy who knew a guy, and was able to find Fetta from a
pharmacy, getting his under the counter drugs to hide his disorder. In The Mafia
you can’t have things holding you back. You need to be sharp as a tack. That’s
why Fetta needed his meds. Al was able to figure out that the pharmacist knew
one of Fetta’s many addresses. From there Al had access to the New York
Housing Database and found Fetta’s fake name, then tracked it down to Fetta’s
current location. They waited for what, nine days for the ambush? But they had
him now and though Al was proud he found Lar’s (the fat fuck who ran the Attoney
family) best man, that was in the past. You couldn’t bring ghosts into an
Ivan walked forward when he came in the door while Al went left past the
cabinets, turning like a comet around a planet, and pulled the tape off of Fetta’s
mouth as he walked past. Fetta jerked his head forward with the pulling of the tape
and gasped for air. Al looked smug, and with a certain parental disappointment.
“What are you a fucking mouthbreather?”
Fetta looked back up from the ground with quite a lot of effort to exacerbate a
short weezy “Ha freakin’ ha.” His face was worn out and tired. They normally
screamed at this point. But Fetta knew what he was doing, because in a place like
this it’s about dominance and control. Where the most dominant seems like the
one in control, and the one who expresses control whether they have it or not
asserts dominance. If you lose it in an interrogation, you lose control. Harry had
gotten where he was now because he never freaked. Never. Without missing a
beat, Al walked up to hit Fetta. His jaw snapped back as well as his head, now
facing the ceiling.
“No chandelier? I expected better from being in the big guy’s office.” Fetta
smiled revealing some blood on his teeth and a gold tooth on the right side of his
mouth. Al was ready to hit him again, but Harry interjected and took back the reins
he had before the two walked in.
“So you know how the game’s played.” Harry held a cigar that he must have
been smoking before, and he pushed it deep into the ashtray while keeping his
gaze on Fetta. Fetta might not have been able to see it, but he must have had to
have been able to feel it.
A nice play. Al thought
“Good. Then let's skip the chit chat and to get the meat, if you know what I
mean. We want information. You don’t want to die.” Harry continued to speak. Ivan
was still behind the chair and slammed the back of Fetta’s head.
“Pay attention.” Ivan muttered. Fetta looked at the ground. It was smart, would
make others feel like he was thinking, and it would hide his face. Even showing
your face was a danger, might show a little anger, a little fear, and sharks can
smell blood from miles away. Harry had tried experimenting with masks, but it
never worked, shows fear to your rival of being discovered. Masks were viewed as
complete child's play today.
“You’ve killed sixty three from our count.” Harry read from the now pulled out
files now open on his desk. Showed he didn’t care, makes interrogated afraid they’
re losing control, and then they lose more than they already thought they lost, Al
thought before Harry elaborated. “Twenty three were ours.”
Ivan put a hand on Fetta’s shoulder making Fetta lift his face up to look at
Harry. Things were going fast, since fast things were at hand. Al still smugly
leaned against Harry's desk looking.
“You’re good at what you do Fetta. Real good.” Harry said, looking up from the
file the same time as Fetta finally looked at him directly.
Fetta 0, Us 1, Al thought.
“But there’s one thing this file doesn't say. One I had to figure out. You care.
Care ‘bout what you do. It’s not just business to you,” Harry continued. Al walked
forward and pulled the switchblade out of his suit pocket.
Ivan then grabbed Fetta’s hair pulling him back to look at the ceiling again. Now
it was Al’s turn to talk.
“That was your mistake Debt Man. Business is business. Not life.” Al switched
out the blade. Fetta was serious, but mostly emotionless. They had him in a
vulnerable position, who knew what face to put on here. But Al knew Fetta was
dedicated to his work. He would come back, it was just at the moment he was
thinking. “So you lose your business…” Al paused.
“You lose your life.”
Fetta stayed for a second, stuck in the past. Then he laughed. He knew Al was
hinting at some sort of oncoming doom. That made him laugh harder.
“Oh, oh… You love to bluff. If you--” Who knows what Fetta was going to say
next. Barney had the feeling not even Fetta knew. Fetta looked surprised and was
only able to look at the blade sticking out of his chest when Ivan let go of his head.
“Jesus Christ what t--” Fetta tried to scream but Al had already left briskly
striding out. Barney also left closing the door behind him leaving only Ivan, Harry,
and the soon to be deceased. Ivan had stuck the syringe with tranquilizer far into
Fetta’s neck, and Harry simply watched. He would bleed to death soon enough.
“We don’t like to hear the dead talk…” Harry whispered as if only talking to the
musty air in the room. This time, it was Harry who smiled.
Ivan dragged Fetta’s body out of the hallways and outside. The building was on
some random highway in some pretty deep wood. Getting a body to a car would
look suspicious. Well in the light. The street light in front of the house was long
gone. Al had helped Ivan pull him down the halls and out to the garage but didn’t
go further than that. Claimed it was too cold out. Ivan called him a pussy and
proceed to leave the building. Outside were four cars. Outside of Ivan’s the young
Boomer smoked his cigarette.
The Boomer had been Ivan’s boy, assistant, and in a way son for many years
now. If Ivan was doing something, it was likely he was bringing the Boomer along.
Ivan began to speak in italian:
“You know you’re not supposed to smoke in front of me, right?” The Boomer
continued to look at the ground for a moment and then looked back in Ivan.
“Yes.” He took another puff almost immediately after.
“Show some respect and anyway,” Ivan dropped Fetta directly behind the car,
and looked back at The Boomer, finishing his sentence. “Cigarettes are for
women.” The Boomer laughed at Ivan’s joke. “Now you gonna help me or what?”
Ivan asked, but in a more demanding tone. The Boomer stood and threw the
cigarette across the ground. He went around the car.
Ivan and The Boomer drive down memory lane
Ivan sat with his “son” in the seat next to him. He had seen The Boomer on the
street. No one noticed him, so Ivan thought it best he did. He was poor, and had
dimples. He was either lost or abandoned. He spoke Italian and English, at least
according the the scrawlings on the cardboard sign sat next to him. He had a little
blood on his coat.
Ivan looked and saw potential, and so he crossed the street to head right for the
boy, even with the cars going past. They would stop for him. He knew they would.
People did notice Ivan, standing out as the only person wearing some sort of
informal business attire in weather like this, but the boy was the one who really
noticed him. Ivan stood for a second, pulling a cigar out from the inside of his coat
and lighting it, not looking down at the person at his feet sitting in his shadow. The
boy spoke first whimpering a soft “Signo--”
Cutting him off Ivan pulled the cigar out of his mouth, and began to speak in
fluent Italian. It was one thing to speak first, but it was another to interrupt the one
who spoke first.
“You speak English?” Ivan still didn’t look at the kid, only staring down the alley.
The kid noticed how the sun glinted off his glasses. The kid followed the lead.
“Yes. Sir what would you like from me?” He was now speaking English, but he
seemed to have some trouble. Ivan had a feeling the kid didn’t know much
English, but he was trying his best anyway. Seeming smarter puts on a brave
face, but Ivan knew at the moment he was afraid. If recruitment was to go right the
boy needed to be afraid. Ivan finally looked down again at the boy.
“Riches or wishes, your choice.” Ivan was proud of the play on words he’d
come up with. It wasn’t a very Ivan thing to do. “Come.” And Ivan began to leave.
The boy paused, and then did as he was told.
He looked back at The Boomer (the kid’s current name) and how he was
different. He wore a black suit with a tie, a dark fidora, and a Hawaiian shirt. He
had apparently been sent to America with his father, as his mom died due to crime
connection all the way back when. Dad apparently had cancer. Figured out and
decided it best his son went to the land of promise before he died. He only lasted
a couple months, and he had blown most of his money on the tickets. “The
Boomer” still loved his dad, and he forgave and idolized him. He made a sacrifice.
If he had died back in Italy, well “The Boomer” wouldn’t have boomed at all.
For a while The Boomer didn’t have a name, but he soon got the name changed
when he caused the boom. He found the man who killed his mother. He wouldn’t
be where he was now if his mom hadn’t died. But she did. And the man who was
responsible was coming to New York, and so the moment he stepped on American
soil, he would remember. The Boomer would make him remember.
That man was going to hell and “The Boomer” was going to pay his debt to the
devil. He watched them start up. He saw the individuals take residence in a nearly
abandoned building. He saw them grow their roots secretly in the drug market,
and it made the fire inside him burn brighter. Ivan advised him to stop, not to
attack, told him it was too dangerous for one man to take down a mob. Every time
he got the same answer.
Here we take justice in our hands Ivan.
Even Harry told him off. But “The Boomer” would not stop. They took the one
he loved, so win or lose he knew he would come out dead or alive and proud. So
Ivan thought it best he got help. Ivan was that help.
First he started picking people off, but he realized it was too dangerous, and it
in short was what the then “Boomer” thought to be stupid. He needed to have
presence. He would be heard and he would be feared. So he started blowing
clubs and drug labs to shreds. He blew ‘em up if he could and lit ‘em on fire when
he couldn’t. To watch someone's life burn to shreds, The Boomer finally felt like he
had power in this world. Then Jimmy “The Breaker” came. The long nights would
come to an end. Harry’s Mafia told The Boomer to keep going. They were on the
verge, if not, in one of the inner Mafia’s biggest drug busts. When The Boomer
blew one up, another two came along. Harry called it the hydra effect. But The
Boomer was looking for something greater now. True revenge.
It took two and a half days in order to wire up the building. It took three point two
seconds to blow up a collapse to the ground. It took nineteen minutes for the fire
department to put out the flames. It took only seventeen for the tally of zero to be
finally decided for the number of survivors.
Ivan and the Boomer were there for it all.
Ivan goes to the junkyard
Ivan had always come here to dispose of the body. He hated doing it but there
was a sort of accomplishment knowing there were still things in this world he could
get rid of. Meanwhile, The Boomer was not a fan. Of course he never told Ivan
“The Commie” that. He thought it always smelled like gas, and while that reminded
Ivan of his first house in Little Italy, it reminded the Boomer that even dead body’s
can smell better than this “Shit”. The Boomer grabbed the gun from the glove box
as he left the car, but before he closed the door, Ivan told him to get the body in
Italian. Ivan was trying to teach the kid Russian, but for now they would talk in
Italian for serious things like this.
Fetta had been tied underneath the back seat with tape, and the knife had been
removed from his chest. Blood dripped down to the floor beneath him. This was
Ivan’s little thing. He loved going to the junkyard for the lack of police activity, and
when it was unlikely the police were to search you, you went for convenience.
Plus if your meat tries to make a move you’d see him.
The Boomer took the knife out of the glove box to take Fetta out. He moved to
the back and began to cut. About a quarter of the way through the thick layers of
tape,The Boomer was interrupted once more by three snapping sounds. The
Boomer knew exactly what that meant. He dropped the knife and pulled himself
out from under the back seat of the car.
“You must be kidding me I--” Ivan put his hand up to pause the Boomer who at
the moment was speaking English. Ivan responded in Italian. English was
“I'm not. Close the door.” Ivan was standing about a couple feet from the car
and now turned around to look at the boy. “Check the door. I’ll look around the
inner”. He was referring to the inside of these catacombs of various garbage. The
Boomer looked to his left and saw a dead squirrel. He then turned around to go
back the way they came from and murmured under his breath loud enough for Ivan
The Boomer walked kicking a crushed empty a can of Campbell's tomato soup.
What kind of loser gets Campbell’s and doesn’t get chicken. The Boomer didn’t
look up. He was bored and was sure that no one else was here that he didn’t
know about. He was also upset that he didn’t bring a coat. Too cold. Thought we’d
be here for five minutes. Five minutes he said. Five! But look where we are now. It’
s Ivan’s stupid “hunter senses”. Tells him he’s heard something. I didn't hear
anything. But no it’s all Ivan, Ivan, IVAN. Jesu--. The Boomer’s thoughts were cut-
off as the can he was kicking hit some stump. He looked up from the dirt path that
he and Ivan had come in on. When they had come in, they didn’t just close the
gates, they locked them with a chain. It didn’t look that suspicious. He looked up to
see something he didn’t expect to see. Trees. He had walked about a minute out
of the junkyard without noticing.
Which is impossible since the fence that divides the junkyard and here is
locked. And closed.
Then The Boomer looked back. He paused for a second. The gate was
completely open like Heaven’s golden gates, and the chain lay broken directly in
front of his feet.
Fetta was meant to be dead. He was not. He was meant to bleed out. He woke
up before that though. He was meant to be sedated until he bled out. Ivan had
missed his blood stream.
Fetta was meant to be dead. He was not.
Fetta decided he should make some sort of decision, but he didn’t know which
one or what. He needed to think.
Ivan thought it was cold, but he didn’t mind. He walked quickly cutting through
the cold wind as he went around the paths he knew so well. The reason he didn’t
notice the cold was not fear, but stress. Things could only get worse from here
and Ivan knew it.
He was careful around every corner, and looked backwards on occasion to
make sure he wasn’t being tailed. Ivan didn’t walk with his gun out in the open. If it
was the police and he was caught, he would be screwed. This was unlikely, as the
highway was extremely long, and Ivan noticed no one behind them when they
were driving. And he would have been able to notice if there was a car planted in
the woods. Ivan didn’t feel like thinking about it for much longer, so he invested
himself in walking faster and being more attentive than he already was. His hand
was deep in his coat, and while it was sweating, it had a tight grip around the
handle of the gun.
Fetta thought he should evaluate what was happening. Yeah, gain info. It made
sense to him. He was meant to be dead and he was on drugs. That was what he
already knew, but where was he now? He had never been abducted, but they
were trained. But not for this. They were taught how to get out of minimal to no
restraints and escape a trunk. I mean, normally you were meant to be dead, so
why be restrained?
Well he was meant to be dead. He was also restrained. Based on his view,
Fetta figured he was somewhere in the back, but not in the trunk. He presumed
under the chairs. Fetta focused on his head. His head was tied to the bottom of
the seat with a black piece of duct tape. He slammed his head down with all his
might, unsticking his head from the seat, and almost knocked him out as he hit the
ground that he thought should have been farther down. That’s when Fetta saw
opportunity. There was a good sized cut in the tape rolled across his lower body. It
went form about ankle to knee, the cut. Then he saw a glint of something on the
floor. It was familiar enough for him to see what it was in about a second. There
was a beautiful knife right next to his feet. Fetta grinned.
The Boomer knew the next move. He dug through his pockets looking for it. He
knew Ivan had his. Holy shit what if they know he’s in there! Shit! The cuss words
continued in his mind as he investigated his pockets. Then everything sort of
stopped. All The Boomer could hear was the sound of crickets from the wood. He
left the walkie talkie in the glovebox
And so the Boomer began to run. Dirt flew behind him and he almost fell due to
the fact control over his thoughts and emotions had flown out the window when
the walkie talkie wasn’t in his pocket.
C’mon you’re almost to the car. C’mon faster. FASTER!
He finally turned the corner and run to the passenger side door, pulling it with
such vigor it reached the point in which it could no longer pull out. He slid in and
began to tear apart the glove box and contents. Then he finally saw it far in back
and pulling it out he knocked out nearly everything else left in the box. He was
able to yell a short “Iv--”
Before he felt the back of the blade directly on his neck.
“Move over the emergency break and on to the driver side. You even make a
move to take this thing out of park you can kiss your ass bye-bye.” The Boomer
could feel Fetta’s breath surround his head, and felt as if he could feel the
vibrations from his voice. The Boomer did as he was told.
Ivan was nearing the end of the trail and preparing for his comeback when his
walkie talkie blasted out the short lived Ivan from The Boomer. He stopped dead in
his tracks. Boomer sounded stressed.
“Boomer!” Ivan let out a controlled yell. Then Ivan heard the first steps. He
could have promised he saw a blur. Whether it was the police or not, Ivan pulled
the gun from his pocket. He was worried for his safety at the moment. Ivan kept his
lips closed and walked with caution to follow the corner the blur had come from.
When he turned the corner, he saw footprints on the ground. He followed them
before taking a left and catching the blur take another turn. Ivan walked faster
now, and he sweat more. He was afraid, but he didn’t show it. He had lost track of
where he was now.
“Boomer? Do you copy? Any info?” Whether it was the cold or the fear that Ivan
hadn’t felt in a long time, Ivan’s voice shook and quivered as he spoke. The
Boomer didn’t respond. Ivan continued and thought he was getting closer and
closer. Then he took a wrong turn.
The Boomer and Fetta
At the moment The Boomer had many things to think about. So did Fetta. The
problem was that it was dark, and in the back he couldn’t see Fetta. It’s hard to
see what someone’s thinking about when you can’t see their face. The Boomer
was now in the front and running out of time. He first had to think about whether
he could save Ivan. Then he needed to think about how much time he had. Then
he needed to think of what to do with Fetta. Before he could answer any of the
aforementioned plans, he realized he had no time to answer any of them. Fetta
commanded him to drive. He presumably meant in reverse. Instead The Boomer
went full speed directly into the pile of garbage in front of them.
Ivan looked at his surroundings. Behind him, the path he was on seemed to go
on forever. In front of him a crossroads with a large mountainous pile of garbage
between them. Ivan kicked a car tire by his foot. When he looked at the
crossroads again that’s when he saw the first one. The man stood in formal attire
in the crossroads split with arms outstretched. He wore a suit with a light shade of
grey stretching across it, and had a black tie with a white undershirt. But one thing
grabbed his attention
It was the mask.
It was mostly taken up by that perfectly shaped open mouth smile. It looked like
the ones the children made with the oranges. The small ovals of its eyes and it’s
brimming smile were filled in blue, while the rest was a comforting yellow. Overall
the mask made up a seemingly perfect circle, and from the angle he was looking
at it it blocked him from seeing any skin or hair. But there was one other thing.
On the top of his head the thing seemed to wear a comically-sized top hat that
started thin and got thicker as it went up. It wasn’t that tall, it was just tall enough
to be taken as odd.
Ivan and pulled the trigger three times. Nothing happened. He could have
promised he turned off the safety, but whether or not he did, the safety was on.
And so pulling back the hammer, preparing to shoot again, but right before that, he
was hit on the head with a bone mallet.
The Boomer and Fetta
Fetta went flying into the seat in front of him but not before trying to cut the
Boomer, who jolted his head the opposite way and down, so the knife only cut part
of the left side of his neck. The Boomer then hit the side window and was able to
turn around and kick the incoming Fetta, still in midair. Fetta attempted to take
another stab at the Boomer and being kicked went flying straight through the car’s
window, only leaving a bit more than half of him still lying in the car. The car was
still stuck with the backend in the air and when it dropped Fetta was flung almost
entirely inside the car. Taking another swing Fetta missed, still a little confused
and overloaded with adrenaline. The Boomer pulled out his gun and shot at him,
missing and hitting the window. But he didn’t miss. Oh no, he didn’t miss, he was
just moving his plan forward. The Boomer then reached to lock the car doors with
the gun still pointed at Fetta. Instinctively Fetta assumed he was wanted dead, like
he was meant to be. He jumped through the now broken front window as he
thought staying in that car would lead to a quick death. Then the Boomer pulled
out and began to drive back toward the open gates, leaving Fetta lying on the
trash pile. All the Boomer really needed was him out of the car. From there he
could leave, and from there Fetta would bleed to death.
The boomer finally attempted contact with Ivan after he was passt the gate and
entering the deeper wooded area. All he got in turn was static.
Now losing his balance, Ivan looked enough to notice how the other figure was
dressed. Same formal suit, different mask. The mask did have the same look
though except it had triangles sprouting out the sides, giving off the essence of a
sunflower. This time, the colors were inverted. In its hand it held a bone mallet.
Ivan wasn’t on the floor yet but he was falling, and the second hit was meant to
make him fall, but when the mallet came back Ivan pulled it down causing the
flower man to fall onto the floor. When Ivan looked back to the top hat man he was
swinging down a long and large bone saw cutting down on Ivan’s face and
causing him to lose his new-found balance. On the ground the top hat man went in
towards the heart with the saw, but Ivan proceed to roll over, not in time to avoid
the long cut across his stomach, but as he rolled over he swung his arms aiming
for the top hat’s face but instead got his caught as the top hat sent his foot directly
in to Ivan’s shoulder blade, put him in a locked position. The top hat then tried to
swing the blade directly into Ivan’s neck but Ivan brought up his hand and grabbed
the saw and gesturing it towards the top hat monster. When he was finally back on
his wobbly feet he was sent directly into a trash pile by a bone mallet sending itself
straight under his jaw.
Ivan leaned to his right before being hit in the back of the head. He lurched to
the side then came around slinging a punch. And then getting hit in his face and
falling right back. His vision was blurry, and he was about to fall to his knees
before he looked back at this tormentors. Everything was blurry, but it seemed as
if they no longer looked like the masked faces. One looked like Ivan’s old boss.
Ivan used to be part of the Russian mob and when he was captured by Harry and
his men in the Italian mob thought he could be of service. If he did them a favor.
He had to kill the conseierge of the Russian mob. Ivan knew they were abusing
him. They would kill him after, and so his only real choice was to go higher. The
only person above the right hand man was the big man himself. Overall Ivan did as
he was told. But there was one other person there. The other boy, There was the
true son. Ivan’s real son. The one he had to let go of so many years ago. Ivan let
go of one tear, and guilt built inside his heart.
Ivan goes back through the years
March 13 1:53 pm 1965
They wouldn’t make him a made-man. He was tired of it. They called him an
associate, when he did the job of a soldier. They were full o’ shit that’s what. Ivan
had been sitting in his car for a long time now. He faced an important choice. A
choice of family. Harry had offered Ivan a new venture. But it would take sacrifice.
Harry needed dedication if he were to make a non-100% Italian a made man. He
needed the innocent dead.
He was ready with his gun outside when the kid came out. The kid was his son.
His real son. It was three minutes before when the choice had to be made. In one
hand he held the ammo. In the other a handgun.
They hold you back Ivan. You have to destroy them.
That was what the gun said. It needed ammo. Harry always called the gun a
poison, a parasite really. It used you. It manipulated. Without it you could be
something, but when you picked it up you fucked yourself. But parasites aren't
But you can’t Ivan. You have to control. Life isn’t a game, and you’re no God
That voice was quieter. He couldn’t tell whether it was the ammo or his head.
Ivan this is your life now. You pussy out, you’ll regret it every day. You’re not a
nice guy Ivan, time you face it. There are demons but they make you better as
long as you’re the one in control.
CONTROL? You shoot him then you’ve lost it. Ivan he’s trying to walk you
backwards. Ivan you shoot the gun, you kill the boy, then the demons are you. You’
re no longer Ivan. You’d be so--
You’re gonna listen to that SHIT? Ivan believe. You need to jump. They all did
it, every one of them. That’s why they're here now, the ones who call you chicken-
shit. You’re not Ivan. Be the Russian. Throw up the red flag and FUCK ‘EM
Ivan. Be you. You have to be you or you’re stuck here. The voice paused and let
the statement ring out before continuing. Ivan do you not realize what you’re
doing? Barney has no control because he loves nobody, and the farther he goes
into desperation the farther he is from human. Al was called Al the half-heart
remember. He was pitiful because the gun controlled him. Bribed by blood Ivan.
But not you. Not y--
FUCK THAT. Your life is here and now. Fucking live it, Ivan. You have to or you’
ll be here. No one but your pathetic family you have to drag along, and all the
people who don’t know your name. Say your name Ivan, say it. SAY IT!
Ivan you don’t want to be the person he tells you you want to be. You can go
back. You may have trouble but your family will remember you as noble. They’ll
remember your name.
WHAT like your PATHETIC ASS FATHER? He did nothing for you.
He cared for you Ivan he ca--
Give in to what you want kid. You can be who you want. The big guy.
No Ivan. Be the bigger person. You shoot you quit life. You follow orders and
you’ll be filled with darkness and grief. Life isn’t just material. Nothing’s better than
the feeling of right. You know this isn’t right, Ivan. You know.
Police said it was devastating. The kid didn’t seem to have a dad, just his
gramma. The shot seemed to come from nowhere. No traces, no evidence. Perp
would never be found.
But Ivan knew. Ivan knew where the bullet came from. And that was his demon,
his ghost. It would haunt him for the rest of his days.
Ivan thought about this. Reminisced. Then the figure hit him again. Ivan would
be dead soon. He hated to admit it, but it was true. He would be burning in hell.
He wished… Wished he could go back. He had regrets, yes. He made so many
mistakes. He listened to the wrong person, to the wrong voices. He searched for
happiness, and seemed to kill it on the way. The faces looked at him, seemed to
observe him. He didn’t know who they were or where they came from. That made
them God’s men. People with a message. So he gave them one of his own. One
that would not fix his problems, and one that would not save his life. But it was one
that might be able to fix him.
“I’m sorry,” Ivan talked slow.
“I’m… So.. So so sorry…”
And then he was gone.