A young male lurched forward abruptly, coughing up copious amounts of crimson liquid as he fell to his knees. He looked up to see the smiling face of his second-in-command, someone whom he had trusted for so long. He had hoped that his subordinate wouldn’t attempt anything stupid, like what was going on now, but apparently he wasn’t doing nearly enough to subdue the menacing character that now was attempting to take full control. The second-in-command even had a following who wanted him to be the new leadership.
“****!”
The now dominant leader sent a blaring kick upwards to connect with his face. The dropping pant leg caused a whistling sound as the powerful attack landed, shattering the lower part of the boss’s jaw. It wasn’t as though any less damage would have been taken. He wasn’t exactly the strongest looking individual, and could even be considered a stick in certain instances when his metabolism used to be higher. A nearby porch-light flickered a few times, and gunshots could be heard all over the city. The ex-boss lay there, groaning in pain. He could tell that this was the first and last time that he would be crossed by his own subordinates. He grimaced. It was painful enough trying to think, much less move. He had made so many poor decisions in his life. This was truly the only thing that he thought he would be able to do right, even if it was for a short time. “You b-bastard,” he stammered, coughing up more blood midsentence, “Roderick, I’m going to kill you.”
“This will be the permanent end of your career. I have grown restless, following your complex rules and indecisiveness. You have wasted some of our men as if they were mere pawns-“
Typical Roderick; speaking like he actually cared about the Family. It’s just like him to make a bold speech like this.
“-and now, here we are. You, pathetically lying there, waiting to die.”
He motioned to his underlings.
“Lift him up. I want to see the look on his face when I kill him.”
The two others that had stayed by Roderick’s sides like dogs went over to fulfill the commands. Orion felt the strength of the two as they picked him up. They were incredible, fit to be the right and left hands of the new boss. He had something similar to that, until
Roderick betrayed him. Being a scrawny boss, the bulk he produced allowed for some easy leverage in many situations. One could easily see the muscles flexing as he fought or did even basic tasks through his Mafioso suit.
He had a split second before they would have complete hold of him. Orion burst forward in a last fit of adrenaline, knife in hand, grimacing as he tried to shake off the wounds he had received. The two began to chase after him, but they had no need for Roderick had his silver revolver in hand. Orion’s eyes widened, noticing the firearm that blocked his advance. Some sleeping birds hurriedly flew away as two bullets were fired. The former boss fell to the ground. In excruciating pain and completely exhausted; blood painted the grass maroon. Panting, his vision clouded as he faded away.
It was over. All of his hard work was over. He didn’t even need to look to see that Roderick was leaving; he could hear the boisterous laughing of victory.
“That **********,” he thought. A branch cracked nearby as if someone had stepped on it. A voice appeared next to him, and he instantly could recognize that tone. The tone he had listened willingly to for so long. He couldn’t see anything, with the street lamp dying completely. It drew closer, and he could tell that he was squatting down to hear whatever the ex-boss would have to say.
“I-I’m sorry. I couldn’t fulfill my promise…I’m so sorry,” he cried, the salty tears cleaning the fresh blood from his face. The last time he had cried was looking at his grandfather lying in a casket as a child.
He sighed, “It can’t be helped. You did your best, and that’s all I could have asked for. I know you wanted to be able to last the whole ordeal, but even you need help surviving sometimes. That’s what made you good in the first place, your ability to take everything for the family. Thank you so much for being that, my friend.”
The lamp flickered more, enveloping them in a dimming ray of light. Orion had already passed, his wounds finally taking his life. The man, identity covered by the night, stood next to him, tears leaking out of his left eye. His face scrunched up, eyebrows furrowing. Gritting his teeth, he grasped the dirtied hilt of the blade that lay on his belt. Drawing it swiftly, it slashed the weak metal that held up the lamp in two, severing the chords that produced the electricity. The lamp post fell loudly, shattering and producing darkness once more.
He bent over, and picked up the dark green hilted blade that was still situated in the dead mans hand. It was engraved with his full name, and the name of the mafia family he belonged to. Folding the blade back into its socket, he placed it in the left inside pocket of his black suit coat.
“What was once mine to give has been given back…”
“Heyo, Ryker!”
The unusual voice carried throughout the hallway. There was a slight difference in tone than the upperclassmen, and they seemed to have noticed. A few of them had turned to look where the annoying underclassman was, and gave him a few shoves as he scurried by. A taller individual spotted the lanky, greasy teenager, enthusiastically shaking his hand.
“Hey Orion, how’s it going?” said Ryker.
“I’m at school, so nothing less than shitty.”
“You know, if you tried a little more, you might actually be able to accomplish something,” Ryker replied, poking fun at him. He was right. Orion wasn’t dumb, but his grade point would never tell you that. He never tried in life at all, only wanting to do as he pleases, regardless of what’s good for him.
“I actually want to enjoy my life, not sacrifice it to the standard way.”
It wasn’t unusual for them to exchange a philosophy if it to whatever subject they were on. That’s how it seemed to go for a majority of the conversations between Ryker and his closest friends. One on the outside wouldn’t really expect them to be the most philosophical, either.
“We going over to Julius’s house this weekend again?” Ryker asked curiously.
Orion’s face shifted into its awkward questioning position, and replied, “yeah…I think so? I’ll ask him.”
“Alright, cool. I needed to text him about something anyway.”
The two continued to walk together, talking about various subjects. Orion swung a white earbud around his finger, occasionally hitting freshmen every so often. It was kind of humorous, not because they got hit, but because he was a freshman no more than seven months prior.
The voices of the friends had changed from serious to entirely astounded. Julius took his shot, landing the eight ball into the back left pocket, successfully taking the lead in a two hundred game rivalry versus his friend. The other five examined the present that had been shown to them by their friend and leader in excitement. Each item was beautifully engraved with their names, and the name of the family. Their boss looked at them contently, knowing full well what they had gotten into, and what their future held. Orion’s face was lit up. He loved switch blades, and this one had his own name and favorite color on it. Although he knew he wasn’t his boss’s greatest friend, he felt an especially strong connection, and could envision himself in whatever role that the boss could put him in. He spoke, the words flowing off of the tongue like that of a world-renowned public speaker, “I have gifted you these items for several reasons. I wish that you take great care of them, and if you so choose, then I would be nothing other than honored for you to do so. I want you to never lose sight of what I envisioned, and I thank you for taking up arms with me.”
He stood there at the front center of the pool table, arms crossed. His voice resonated throughout the cold, exciting basement. He hadn’t looked more determined than any of them had witnessed prior. It was glorious. They all cheered, turning the music back on and continuing their “party.” A few drinks popped open, cards were dealt, pool balls cracked like thunder. Smiles spread from cheek to cheek as they enjoyed their time together, as a family. The boss disappeared for a moment, taking the steps to the backyard. He stood there, looking up into the night sky. On the phone that sat idly next to he played a piece of pure beauty. The irony behind the name, the flow of the notes, the artistic nature of the piano calmed him down.
“Boss, what are you doing? Why aren’t you downstairs celebrating with us?”
Orion had stumbled up the stairs to retrieve him, so they could all enjoy the time together. Ryker looked at him seriously, almost glaring at him from the darkness of the night.
“You see, Orion, there is one thing you need to understand. I cannot take breaks, I cannot party. I cannot enjoy my free time like that anymore. I must be one step ahead, always calculating, always thinking about the next move. You may take the break. You’re going to need it. Starting now we will begin our next job. Be prepared, because we are going to put ourselves on the map.”
Orion stumbled back a little. The tone in Ryker’s voice was different than he had heard before; it blended in almost perfectly with the music behind him. The piano danced along the edges of his dark, low tone. He looked back to the rest of the yard, and took a puff of the lit cigar. Orion continued to stare at him, in awe of his boss. The porch light flickered a little, and then shut off completely. From then on, all he could see were the embers of the smoke, nothing more. Ryker spoke once more,
“Go back inside. Drink. Party. Be merry. I’ll see you tomorrow. Tell the rest that I wasn’t feeling well and decided to go home. You’ve been great to me, Orion, and I look forward to cherishing the next decade with you and the others. The present I gave you should only be used when you need it the most. I know how much you love those kinds of knives, and it will be the best you have ever owned. Take care of it. ”
Orion nodded slowly, moving a little. The porch light flickered back on, and he turned to look at Ryker. He was already gone. The friend could hear the sound of a car engine speed away as the boss left. Orion went back inside, yelling happily as he ran down the steps.
He sat there, silently. The flow of the music directed his dancing heart and stuttered breaths. It was his favorite classical piece, Nocturne Op. 9 No. 2, one that he spent hours listening to while doing various different tasks. It was soothing, and the boss and it blended together nicely, complimenting each-others ways. The broken down house creaked and moaned, its paneling shivering in the wind. They embraced each other, but were bitter enemies, trying to fight against the roughness of the other. He moved another piece forward; the king. It wasn’t a standard play. He’d usually move a pawn or two before actually using any important pieces. He’d even use the strategy in which all the pawns move forward, and adjust the cavalry as such. This time was different. This time, the king would follow in conjunction with his own army. The king would fight to keep his kingdom safe, to protect against the enemy in front of him. After confidently moving the leader forward, a hand a reached out of the shadow of the dimly lit room, coming from a chair situated across from Ryker. He couldn’t make out his features, but he was rather big. The hand was more rugged, and tinted a peculiar crimson color. It pushed the queen forward, moving to a position that ultimately put Ryker into checkmate. It didn’t work. Again. He hadn’t won a single game since they started playing.
The song stopped, the flow being cut abruptly, leaving them in complete silence. Ryker sighed. He looked at the figure. “I should probably get going,” he said. The figure nodded and motioned his hand toward the door. Ryker hadn’t wanted to stay for too long. His family was in the largest fight of their lives. The rival gangs had accomplished their goals, and conjoined together into something much more organized than they were prior. This had posed a problem to the Soli Oscure. They, unlike the others, were organized, timely, and strong. The others only had strength and followers, not really doing anything that had been scheduled or set up. Now they were a threat, and were fighting against the quickest rising mafia family in Michigan history. Ryker grabbed his blade, the red and black hilted katana that was nestled into the carrying bag hanging from the coat hook. “Hopefully Orion hasn’t gotten himself into too much trouble, or I’ll have to bail them out again.”
The dim light in the room flickered off as he hit the switch, enveloping the figure in pure darkness, just the way he had always been. The door shut, and Ryker was on his way to exemplify his duties as the boss in the shadows once more.
“Who the **** are you?” Roderick said angrily towards the figure leaned against the wall.
A small flame suddenly appeared after the figure struck a match, and proceeded to light the skinnier cigar that lay in his mouth. He was taller than Roderick expected, standing about four inches above him. He took a puff, and calmly blew it outward. The man stepped out of the darkness, revealing himself. His hair was a little disheveled, and the redness in his face was noticeable from constant tears.
“The question is not who the **** I am; the question should be, who the **** do you think you are?”
The man’s voice carried over him, punching Roderick in the face with the anger-laden tone. One could tell the man was extremely livid just by observing the way his sharp green eyes cut through the new boss of the largest mafia family around. One of his subordinates spoke up, stammering as he did. He couldn’t even keep his language composed in front of the man, whose arms were crossed as if he were a disappointed father.
“D-d-d-don’t talk to the Boss like that! You don’t want to make an enemy out of-
Before he could finish his sentence, the gutsy subordinate looked down to notice a long, black katana had found its way into his neck, the same one that was just at his hip merely a second ago. Roderick wasn’t given much time to counter, or even notice what had happened. He moved so fast that he thought that he was still looking at the man who had appeared from the darkness. The man spoke again, repeating himself,
“Now, answer my question, Roderick, who THE **** do you think you are?”
He pulled the longsword out of subordinate’s neck, giving him a chance to finish his sentence. Blood released like a geyser as the metal came out swiftly. He couldn’t speak, having his vocal chords severed, but he managed to mouth his final word,
-us.”
Roderick hadn’t moved an inch, finding himself clenching his fists in rage. He was ready to scream in fury at the man who had killed his new second-in-command. Spineless as that subordinate was, he was worth the promotion; his intelligence was used to provide for his boss’s cause. Roderick had liked him, especially his keen sense of humor that always found him a laugh.
“No, let me tell you who the **** you are. You are Roderick Gustav. A pawn of the Soli Oscure Famiglia, a man who worked his way up being a ruthless killer, including murdering his own boss. What is that position he gained from that? Well, Roderick thinks that it is the boss of the family. However, there’s a slight problem with that, can your dumb ass guess what it is?”
The basement they were in now smelled completely of the cigar the man was smoking. Roderick gritted his teeth, and managed to speak, “the position is not the boss of the family?”
The man turned his back to the angered boss, sheathing his sword and taking a seat in one of the folding chairs that surrounded the small table. He took another puff of smoke before throwing the cigar on the ground and stomping it out. The embers sizzled as they were eradicated.
“You’re completely right,” the man replied, “It’s not the boss of the family. When you killed Orion, you killed my figure head, who also happened to be a good friend of mine. Now tell me, smart one, how do you think that makes me, the real boss, feel?”
Roderick stopped. His palms had grown sweaty as he realized his mistake. But was it really a mistake? Was killing his boss, and gaining an immense amount of power really a mistake? Just because Orion was his figurehead doesn’t mean he had to be. Roderick began to reach inside his jacket. The man shifted his position, placing his hand on the katana’s hilt. He glared at Roderick again, and said, “I don’t think you wanna do that, bud. Regardless of what you pull out, you’re going to lose this battle. I’m not in a good mood, so I suggest you be a good little boy and listen to me.”
Roderick smiled. He had this guy right where he wanted him. He continued to pull out the object he was holding onto. He spoke aloud, making sure that not a word was missed. “You know, I took care of some of the police who were getting too close to our operations prior to us meeting in this basement. I was going to have a discussion with my hierarchy on how to move forward, but this was just too perfect. One of the men we killed, who should have a tag on his toe right now, gave me this fine note. As you can see,” he showed the red seal to the man, “I haven’t opened it yet, but he told one of my men to ‘give it to your boss.’ I assumed that meant me, considering I hold power now, but I can now verify that this is meant for you.”
He paused. It seemed like it lasted a lifetime. The man knew who Roderick had killed. The anger could now be easily seen spread across the boss’s face as the dim light flickered a little. On its second flicker, he was already at Roderick’s neck. The sword was drawn and whistled as it flew towards the cocky interim boss. The blade stopped short of his neck, making sure that Roderick knew he meant to kill. He sounded like the freight train from hell. He ripped the paper from his clutches, and slashed open the seal. Roderick looked over his shoulder as he read it.
“Who’s Ryker?” he asked in confusion. He didn’t have enough time to mutter another word as he found his head on the ground. How pitiful. He had come to kill this man before he found out who he truly was, because if he had found that out, he would have put more of a notch in his plans than he thought. He had no idea how to run a mafia family, and acted like a thug a majority of the time. He really screwed everything up for Ryker. From killing the policeman who would become the local Chief of Police, to the other countless lists of things Roderick did in the span of no more than three months. ****. He even screwed up the politicians.
“What the hell did you do, Roderick?”
“Hey hey hey, no need to get anxious here. We’re all friends? I’ve been doing exactly as I’ve been instructed to, no need to do anything hasty.”
The City councilmen scurried backwards. He was extremely frightened like the rat he was, but for good reason. The boss himself had come knocking on his door, threatening all sorts of terrifying things. He might lose an extremity, or his whole family, he wasn’t sure. Granted, he had never heard of the boss being this cruel, but it wasn’t like he had ever met him face to face. He just accepted the dirty money, and thought nothing of it, voting the way they wanted him to. But this was different. This guy was now telling him that he needed some city funds to disappear, and for him to make that happen. Well, it wasn’t really telling him, it was more like ordering him with a gun to his head, but the point was that it was different than what he expected. All they did before was purchase his vote, to have influence in the way the city was run. They started yelling at each other about something that didn’t pertain to him, possibly because the cops were on the trail, but he had no idea.
“I do have one question,” he said, knowing full well what the consequences would be.
Roderick looked at him, angrily.
“What is it, Councilman Whithers? I’m not in the mood for anything other than a yes to my request.”
“W-well, you see, sir. I just want to know why you’re asking this all of the sudden. You’re past requests weren’t demanding at all. What happened?”
Roderick stared at him for a second. He was trying to process the idiotic question that was presented before him. He snapped his fingers. Two of his men walked towards the councilman, and picked him up. Carrying him over to a nearby table, one of them brought out a small metal hammer. The man’s eyes widened as they thrust him onto the table and held him down as he squirmed like a worm freshly plucked from the morning soil. They held down his arm, making sure his had was completely vulnerable. They looked toward the boss for their answer, and they received the nod they were looking for. He smiled, and brought down the hammer on the crying politician. The dogs from other houses began to bark as they heard the cries from the man as his entire hand was broken. The henchman released him, only to pick him back up as he lied on the ground writhing in pain. Roderick stared at him again, and spoke confidently, “any more questions?”
“No,” Whithers replied as he gripped his hand, tears streaming from his eyes.
“Good. Then let me be clear about this once more. The money you give cannot be going to the police department. That’s it. Those are my only qualifications. I’m so tired of these weak gangs. The police are the only ones who give any decent competition.”
Whithers looked at him in rage.
“You’re no better than those thugs,” he spit at him.
A leg came flying into the man’s red, bearded face. He landed on the floor as he fell unconscious. Roderick put on his suit coat, and began to travel back to the streets. He was done with such an annoying pawn, a man that would never be truly respected. There were truly only two kinds of people whom he respected: those who could defend their position above him, and a rival that gave him a run for his money. Everyone else was merely a rat waiting to take his cheese out from under him.
Ryker sighed, moving to the table that was situated in the middle of the table. He sat down, lighting up a cigar, and placing his smart phone down on the edge. The crisp piano played as he pulled out the switchblade he used for situations like these. The room reeked of blood and sweat. The dim light continued to flicker, so much so that it could give even the most patient person an extreme annoyance. Ryker got up, a puff of smoke following him. He cautiously searched around the room for a candle. To his chagrin, he found a rather long one, which would hopefully give off a spectacular light. He danced a little, enjoying the flow of the classical piece as it played aloud. Taking the lighter to the candle, he was now given a more stable means of reading the parchment that was presented to him by the headless thug lying on the ground, the crimson from his neck pooling. The boss threw the knife at the lightbulb, causing it to explode. How pointless it was to even exist. The nicotine from the Dominican cigar helped him soothe his nerves.
“You big ****ing dumbass. You ruined it all. You ruined the politics, you ruined the influx of members, you ruined the police, you ruined the hierarchy, you ruined the system, you even ruined my goddamn blade with your dirty blood. You, of all people, had to come in and be the ******* that nobody really wanted. You killed my rival, who was legitimately my only enjoyment out of the police force. You killed my figurehead and friend. You threatened my politicians into things that I didn’t want them to even do. You killed some prostitutes, some underground gamblers, some of the things that generate us money. How despicable. You did whatever you wanted, and I couldn’t do anything to stop you. All within three months. I had planned most of this from the very beginning. The ways that detective would catch some of us, the ways he would rise up in power because of his persistence, the ways he would become the chief of police all because of his drive. The politician would help my image, setting the ground work for what may be the most prosperous time in city history. Then I could move onto the state level, and so on and so forth, all at an early age. You’re a fool, Roderick. You’re a power hungry bastard, and now I’m back at square one.”
He got up from his seat. Reading the letter on the way, tears began to leak from the vacant ducts. He hadn’t cried in a while. This policeman had figured it out. He was never trying to catch him! He had noticed that the shadow boss had an entire plan of his own. He did everything for the sake of that plan, including the letter. He read the last part aloud to himself as he sat down in the cold metal chair as the song began its conclusion.
“Don’t worry, bud. I know that I’ve been chasing you down for years, and how you’ve helped me succeed. I thank you, and so does my family. They know about you. I told my wife about what I had discovered. She would like to meet you sometime, and if you’d like to stop by, I’d be honored for you to meet my family. However, my son is in high school now, and he’s wanted to be an officer/detective since he was young. Keep him around. Have him take my spot. Lead him down the righteous path. Once you’ve accomplished your mission, I’ll be waiting here, along with anyone else who dies along the way, and we’ll lead you to wherever the judges decide you go. Good luck. Save us.
Sincerely,
Officer Medly.”
He couldn’t hold them back. Clear drops of liquid soaked the shaking letter. Ryker scrunched up the paper and fell to the ground. The boss dipped his head and pounded the ground with his bloodied fist. In all the madness, he was honored by the words he had read.
“****!”
The now dominant leader sent a blaring kick upwards to connect with his face. The dropping pant leg caused a whistling sound as the powerful attack landed, shattering the lower part of the boss’s jaw. It wasn’t as though any less damage would have been taken. He wasn’t exactly the strongest looking individual, and could even be considered a stick in certain instances when his metabolism used to be higher. A nearby porch-light flickered a few times, and gunshots could be heard all over the city. The ex-boss lay there, groaning in pain. He could tell that this was the first and last time that he would be crossed by his own subordinates. He grimaced. It was painful enough trying to think, much less move. He had made so many poor decisions in his life. This was truly the only thing that he thought he would be able to do right, even if it was for a short time. “You b-bastard,” he stammered, coughing up more blood midsentence, “Roderick, I’m going to kill you.”
“This will be the permanent end of your career. I have grown restless, following your complex rules and indecisiveness. You have wasted some of our men as if they were mere pawns-“
Typical Roderick; speaking like he actually cared about the Family. It’s just like him to make a bold speech like this.
“-and now, here we are. You, pathetically lying there, waiting to die.”
He motioned to his underlings.
“Lift him up. I want to see the look on his face when I kill him.”
The two others that had stayed by Roderick’s sides like dogs went over to fulfill the commands. Orion felt the strength of the two as they picked him up. They were incredible, fit to be the right and left hands of the new boss. He had something similar to that, until
Roderick betrayed him. Being a scrawny boss, the bulk he produced allowed for some easy leverage in many situations. One could easily see the muscles flexing as he fought or did even basic tasks through his Mafioso suit.
He had a split second before they would have complete hold of him. Orion burst forward in a last fit of adrenaline, knife in hand, grimacing as he tried to shake off the wounds he had received. The two began to chase after him, but they had no need for Roderick had his silver revolver in hand. Orion’s eyes widened, noticing the firearm that blocked his advance. Some sleeping birds hurriedly flew away as two bullets were fired. The former boss fell to the ground. In excruciating pain and completely exhausted; blood painted the grass maroon. Panting, his vision clouded as he faded away.
It was over. All of his hard work was over. He didn’t even need to look to see that Roderick was leaving; he could hear the boisterous laughing of victory.
“That **********,” he thought. A branch cracked nearby as if someone had stepped on it. A voice appeared next to him, and he instantly could recognize that tone. The tone he had listened willingly to for so long. He couldn’t see anything, with the street lamp dying completely. It drew closer, and he could tell that he was squatting down to hear whatever the ex-boss would have to say.
“I-I’m sorry. I couldn’t fulfill my promise…I’m so sorry,” he cried, the salty tears cleaning the fresh blood from his face. The last time he had cried was looking at his grandfather lying in a casket as a child.
He sighed, “It can’t be helped. You did your best, and that’s all I could have asked for. I know you wanted to be able to last the whole ordeal, but even you need help surviving sometimes. That’s what made you good in the first place, your ability to take everything for the family. Thank you so much for being that, my friend.”
The lamp flickered more, enveloping them in a dimming ray of light. Orion had already passed, his wounds finally taking his life. The man, identity covered by the night, stood next to him, tears leaking out of his left eye. His face scrunched up, eyebrows furrowing. Gritting his teeth, he grasped the dirtied hilt of the blade that lay on his belt. Drawing it swiftly, it slashed the weak metal that held up the lamp in two, severing the chords that produced the electricity. The lamp post fell loudly, shattering and producing darkness once more.
He bent over, and picked up the dark green hilted blade that was still situated in the dead mans hand. It was engraved with his full name, and the name of the mafia family he belonged to. Folding the blade back into its socket, he placed it in the left inside pocket of his black suit coat.
“What was once mine to give has been given back…”
• • •
“Heyo, Ryker!”
The unusual voice carried throughout the hallway. There was a slight difference in tone than the upperclassmen, and they seemed to have noticed. A few of them had turned to look where the annoying underclassman was, and gave him a few shoves as he scurried by. A taller individual spotted the lanky, greasy teenager, enthusiastically shaking his hand.
“Hey Orion, how’s it going?” said Ryker.
“I’m at school, so nothing less than shitty.”
“You know, if you tried a little more, you might actually be able to accomplish something,” Ryker replied, poking fun at him. He was right. Orion wasn’t dumb, but his grade point would never tell you that. He never tried in life at all, only wanting to do as he pleases, regardless of what’s good for him.
“I actually want to enjoy my life, not sacrifice it to the standard way.”
It wasn’t unusual for them to exchange a philosophy if it to whatever subject they were on. That’s how it seemed to go for a majority of the conversations between Ryker and his closest friends. One on the outside wouldn’t really expect them to be the most philosophical, either.
“We going over to Julius’s house this weekend again?” Ryker asked curiously.
Orion’s face shifted into its awkward questioning position, and replied, “yeah…I think so? I’ll ask him.”
“Alright, cool. I needed to text him about something anyway.”
The two continued to walk together, talking about various subjects. Orion swung a white earbud around his finger, occasionally hitting freshmen every so often. It was kind of humorous, not because they got hit, but because he was a freshman no more than seven months prior.
• • •
The voices of the friends had changed from serious to entirely astounded. Julius took his shot, landing the eight ball into the back left pocket, successfully taking the lead in a two hundred game rivalry versus his friend. The other five examined the present that had been shown to them by their friend and leader in excitement. Each item was beautifully engraved with their names, and the name of the family. Their boss looked at them contently, knowing full well what they had gotten into, and what their future held. Orion’s face was lit up. He loved switch blades, and this one had his own name and favorite color on it. Although he knew he wasn’t his boss’s greatest friend, he felt an especially strong connection, and could envision himself in whatever role that the boss could put him in. He spoke, the words flowing off of the tongue like that of a world-renowned public speaker, “I have gifted you these items for several reasons. I wish that you take great care of them, and if you so choose, then I would be nothing other than honored for you to do so. I want you to never lose sight of what I envisioned, and I thank you for taking up arms with me.”
He stood there at the front center of the pool table, arms crossed. His voice resonated throughout the cold, exciting basement. He hadn’t looked more determined than any of them had witnessed prior. It was glorious. They all cheered, turning the music back on and continuing their “party.” A few drinks popped open, cards were dealt, pool balls cracked like thunder. Smiles spread from cheek to cheek as they enjoyed their time together, as a family. The boss disappeared for a moment, taking the steps to the backyard. He stood there, looking up into the night sky. On the phone that sat idly next to he played a piece of pure beauty. The irony behind the name, the flow of the notes, the artistic nature of the piano calmed him down.
“Boss, what are you doing? Why aren’t you downstairs celebrating with us?”
Orion had stumbled up the stairs to retrieve him, so they could all enjoy the time together. Ryker looked at him seriously, almost glaring at him from the darkness of the night.
“You see, Orion, there is one thing you need to understand. I cannot take breaks, I cannot party. I cannot enjoy my free time like that anymore. I must be one step ahead, always calculating, always thinking about the next move. You may take the break. You’re going to need it. Starting now we will begin our next job. Be prepared, because we are going to put ourselves on the map.”
Orion stumbled back a little. The tone in Ryker’s voice was different than he had heard before; it blended in almost perfectly with the music behind him. The piano danced along the edges of his dark, low tone. He looked back to the rest of the yard, and took a puff of the lit cigar. Orion continued to stare at him, in awe of his boss. The porch light flickered a little, and then shut off completely. From then on, all he could see were the embers of the smoke, nothing more. Ryker spoke once more,
“Go back inside. Drink. Party. Be merry. I’ll see you tomorrow. Tell the rest that I wasn’t feeling well and decided to go home. You’ve been great to me, Orion, and I look forward to cherishing the next decade with you and the others. The present I gave you should only be used when you need it the most. I know how much you love those kinds of knives, and it will be the best you have ever owned. Take care of it. ”
Orion nodded slowly, moving a little. The porch light flickered back on, and he turned to look at Ryker. He was already gone. The friend could hear the sound of a car engine speed away as the boss left. Orion went back inside, yelling happily as he ran down the steps.
• • •
He sat there, silently. The flow of the music directed his dancing heart and stuttered breaths. It was his favorite classical piece, Nocturne Op. 9 No. 2, one that he spent hours listening to while doing various different tasks. It was soothing, and the boss and it blended together nicely, complimenting each-others ways. The broken down house creaked and moaned, its paneling shivering in the wind. They embraced each other, but were bitter enemies, trying to fight against the roughness of the other. He moved another piece forward; the king. It wasn’t a standard play. He’d usually move a pawn or two before actually using any important pieces. He’d even use the strategy in which all the pawns move forward, and adjust the cavalry as such. This time was different. This time, the king would follow in conjunction with his own army. The king would fight to keep his kingdom safe, to protect against the enemy in front of him. After confidently moving the leader forward, a hand a reached out of the shadow of the dimly lit room, coming from a chair situated across from Ryker. He couldn’t make out his features, but he was rather big. The hand was more rugged, and tinted a peculiar crimson color. It pushed the queen forward, moving to a position that ultimately put Ryker into checkmate. It didn’t work. Again. He hadn’t won a single game since they started playing.
The song stopped, the flow being cut abruptly, leaving them in complete silence. Ryker sighed. He looked at the figure. “I should probably get going,” he said. The figure nodded and motioned his hand toward the door. Ryker hadn’t wanted to stay for too long. His family was in the largest fight of their lives. The rival gangs had accomplished their goals, and conjoined together into something much more organized than they were prior. This had posed a problem to the Soli Oscure. They, unlike the others, were organized, timely, and strong. The others only had strength and followers, not really doing anything that had been scheduled or set up. Now they were a threat, and were fighting against the quickest rising mafia family in Michigan history. Ryker grabbed his blade, the red and black hilted katana that was nestled into the carrying bag hanging from the coat hook. “Hopefully Orion hasn’t gotten himself into too much trouble, or I’ll have to bail them out again.”
The dim light in the room flickered off as he hit the switch, enveloping the figure in pure darkness, just the way he had always been. The door shut, and Ryker was on his way to exemplify his duties as the boss in the shadows once more.
• • •
“Who the **** are you?” Roderick said angrily towards the figure leaned against the wall.
A small flame suddenly appeared after the figure struck a match, and proceeded to light the skinnier cigar that lay in his mouth. He was taller than Roderick expected, standing about four inches above him. He took a puff, and calmly blew it outward. The man stepped out of the darkness, revealing himself. His hair was a little disheveled, and the redness in his face was noticeable from constant tears.
“The question is not who the **** I am; the question should be, who the **** do you think you are?”
The man’s voice carried over him, punching Roderick in the face with the anger-laden tone. One could tell the man was extremely livid just by observing the way his sharp green eyes cut through the new boss of the largest mafia family around. One of his subordinates spoke up, stammering as he did. He couldn’t even keep his language composed in front of the man, whose arms were crossed as if he were a disappointed father.
“D-d-d-don’t talk to the Boss like that! You don’t want to make an enemy out of-
Before he could finish his sentence, the gutsy subordinate looked down to notice a long, black katana had found its way into his neck, the same one that was just at his hip merely a second ago. Roderick wasn’t given much time to counter, or even notice what had happened. He moved so fast that he thought that he was still looking at the man who had appeared from the darkness. The man spoke again, repeating himself,
“Now, answer my question, Roderick, who THE **** do you think you are?”
He pulled the longsword out of subordinate’s neck, giving him a chance to finish his sentence. Blood released like a geyser as the metal came out swiftly. He couldn’t speak, having his vocal chords severed, but he managed to mouth his final word,
-us.”
Roderick hadn’t moved an inch, finding himself clenching his fists in rage. He was ready to scream in fury at the man who had killed his new second-in-command. Spineless as that subordinate was, he was worth the promotion; his intelligence was used to provide for his boss’s cause. Roderick had liked him, especially his keen sense of humor that always found him a laugh.
“No, let me tell you who the **** you are. You are Roderick Gustav. A pawn of the Soli Oscure Famiglia, a man who worked his way up being a ruthless killer, including murdering his own boss. What is that position he gained from that? Well, Roderick thinks that it is the boss of the family. However, there’s a slight problem with that, can your dumb ass guess what it is?”
The basement they were in now smelled completely of the cigar the man was smoking. Roderick gritted his teeth, and managed to speak, “the position is not the boss of the family?”
The man turned his back to the angered boss, sheathing his sword and taking a seat in one of the folding chairs that surrounded the small table. He took another puff of smoke before throwing the cigar on the ground and stomping it out. The embers sizzled as they were eradicated.
“You’re completely right,” the man replied, “It’s not the boss of the family. When you killed Orion, you killed my figure head, who also happened to be a good friend of mine. Now tell me, smart one, how do you think that makes me, the real boss, feel?”
Roderick stopped. His palms had grown sweaty as he realized his mistake. But was it really a mistake? Was killing his boss, and gaining an immense amount of power really a mistake? Just because Orion was his figurehead doesn’t mean he had to be. Roderick began to reach inside his jacket. The man shifted his position, placing his hand on the katana’s hilt. He glared at Roderick again, and said, “I don’t think you wanna do that, bud. Regardless of what you pull out, you’re going to lose this battle. I’m not in a good mood, so I suggest you be a good little boy and listen to me.”
Roderick smiled. He had this guy right where he wanted him. He continued to pull out the object he was holding onto. He spoke aloud, making sure that not a word was missed. “You know, I took care of some of the police who were getting too close to our operations prior to us meeting in this basement. I was going to have a discussion with my hierarchy on how to move forward, but this was just too perfect. One of the men we killed, who should have a tag on his toe right now, gave me this fine note. As you can see,” he showed the red seal to the man, “I haven’t opened it yet, but he told one of my men to ‘give it to your boss.’ I assumed that meant me, considering I hold power now, but I can now verify that this is meant for you.”
He paused. It seemed like it lasted a lifetime. The man knew who Roderick had killed. The anger could now be easily seen spread across the boss’s face as the dim light flickered a little. On its second flicker, he was already at Roderick’s neck. The sword was drawn and whistled as it flew towards the cocky interim boss. The blade stopped short of his neck, making sure that Roderick knew he meant to kill. He sounded like the freight train from hell. He ripped the paper from his clutches, and slashed open the seal. Roderick looked over his shoulder as he read it.
“Who’s Ryker?” he asked in confusion. He didn’t have enough time to mutter another word as he found his head on the ground. How pitiful. He had come to kill this man before he found out who he truly was, because if he had found that out, he would have put more of a notch in his plans than he thought. He had no idea how to run a mafia family, and acted like a thug a majority of the time. He really screwed everything up for Ryker. From killing the policeman who would become the local Chief of Police, to the other countless lists of things Roderick did in the span of no more than three months. ****. He even screwed up the politicians.
“What the hell did you do, Roderick?”
• • •
“Hey hey hey, no need to get anxious here. We’re all friends? I’ve been doing exactly as I’ve been instructed to, no need to do anything hasty.”
The City councilmen scurried backwards. He was extremely frightened like the rat he was, but for good reason. The boss himself had come knocking on his door, threatening all sorts of terrifying things. He might lose an extremity, or his whole family, he wasn’t sure. Granted, he had never heard of the boss being this cruel, but it wasn’t like he had ever met him face to face. He just accepted the dirty money, and thought nothing of it, voting the way they wanted him to. But this was different. This guy was now telling him that he needed some city funds to disappear, and for him to make that happen. Well, it wasn’t really telling him, it was more like ordering him with a gun to his head, but the point was that it was different than what he expected. All they did before was purchase his vote, to have influence in the way the city was run. They started yelling at each other about something that didn’t pertain to him, possibly because the cops were on the trail, but he had no idea.
“I do have one question,” he said, knowing full well what the consequences would be.
Roderick looked at him, angrily.
“What is it, Councilman Whithers? I’m not in the mood for anything other than a yes to my request.”
“W-well, you see, sir. I just want to know why you’re asking this all of the sudden. You’re past requests weren’t demanding at all. What happened?”
Roderick stared at him for a second. He was trying to process the idiotic question that was presented before him. He snapped his fingers. Two of his men walked towards the councilman, and picked him up. Carrying him over to a nearby table, one of them brought out a small metal hammer. The man’s eyes widened as they thrust him onto the table and held him down as he squirmed like a worm freshly plucked from the morning soil. They held down his arm, making sure his had was completely vulnerable. They looked toward the boss for their answer, and they received the nod they were looking for. He smiled, and brought down the hammer on the crying politician. The dogs from other houses began to bark as they heard the cries from the man as his entire hand was broken. The henchman released him, only to pick him back up as he lied on the ground writhing in pain. Roderick stared at him again, and spoke confidently, “any more questions?”
“No,” Whithers replied as he gripped his hand, tears streaming from his eyes.
“Good. Then let me be clear about this once more. The money you give cannot be going to the police department. That’s it. Those are my only qualifications. I’m so tired of these weak gangs. The police are the only ones who give any decent competition.”
Whithers looked at him in rage.
“You’re no better than those thugs,” he spit at him.
A leg came flying into the man’s red, bearded face. He landed on the floor as he fell unconscious. Roderick put on his suit coat, and began to travel back to the streets. He was done with such an annoying pawn, a man that would never be truly respected. There were truly only two kinds of people whom he respected: those who could defend their position above him, and a rival that gave him a run for his money. Everyone else was merely a rat waiting to take his cheese out from under him.
• • •
Ryker sighed, moving to the table that was situated in the middle of the table. He sat down, lighting up a cigar, and placing his smart phone down on the edge. The crisp piano played as he pulled out the switchblade he used for situations like these. The room reeked of blood and sweat. The dim light continued to flicker, so much so that it could give even the most patient person an extreme annoyance. Ryker got up, a puff of smoke following him. He cautiously searched around the room for a candle. To his chagrin, he found a rather long one, which would hopefully give off a spectacular light. He danced a little, enjoying the flow of the classical piece as it played aloud. Taking the lighter to the candle, he was now given a more stable means of reading the parchment that was presented to him by the headless thug lying on the ground, the crimson from his neck pooling. The boss threw the knife at the lightbulb, causing it to explode. How pointless it was to even exist. The nicotine from the Dominican cigar helped him soothe his nerves.
“You big ****ing dumbass. You ruined it all. You ruined the politics, you ruined the influx of members, you ruined the police, you ruined the hierarchy, you ruined the system, you even ruined my goddamn blade with your dirty blood. You, of all people, had to come in and be the ******* that nobody really wanted. You killed my rival, who was legitimately my only enjoyment out of the police force. You killed my figurehead and friend. You threatened my politicians into things that I didn’t want them to even do. You killed some prostitutes, some underground gamblers, some of the things that generate us money. How despicable. You did whatever you wanted, and I couldn’t do anything to stop you. All within three months. I had planned most of this from the very beginning. The ways that detective would catch some of us, the ways he would rise up in power because of his persistence, the ways he would become the chief of police all because of his drive. The politician would help my image, setting the ground work for what may be the most prosperous time in city history. Then I could move onto the state level, and so on and so forth, all at an early age. You’re a fool, Roderick. You’re a power hungry bastard, and now I’m back at square one.”
He got up from his seat. Reading the letter on the way, tears began to leak from the vacant ducts. He hadn’t cried in a while. This policeman had figured it out. He was never trying to catch him! He had noticed that the shadow boss had an entire plan of his own. He did everything for the sake of that plan, including the letter. He read the last part aloud to himself as he sat down in the cold metal chair as the song began its conclusion.
“Don’t worry, bud. I know that I’ve been chasing you down for years, and how you’ve helped me succeed. I thank you, and so does my family. They know about you. I told my wife about what I had discovered. She would like to meet you sometime, and if you’d like to stop by, I’d be honored for you to meet my family. However, my son is in high school now, and he’s wanted to be an officer/detective since he was young. Keep him around. Have him take my spot. Lead him down the righteous path. Once you’ve accomplished your mission, I’ll be waiting here, along with anyone else who dies along the way, and we’ll lead you to wherever the judges decide you go. Good luck. Save us.
Sincerely,
Officer Medly.”
He couldn’t hold them back. Clear drops of liquid soaked the shaking letter. Ryker scrunched up the paper and fell to the ground. The boss dipped his head and pounded the ground with his bloodied fist. In all the madness, he was honored by the words he had read.
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