To Risk Your Arm (1013 hits)
Category: NoneLabels: The_Malleys
Rating: 1.53 on 22 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by Axolotl (View user info) at 2006-04-27 08:52:09 EDT
Episode 1: The Malleys http://www.ubersite.com/m/87184
Malley and Brecher drove through Hackensack's gridded streets, lined with apartments and businesses. They continued down to the more industrial section of town, with empty lots, smoky air, and the rocky, swampy ground by the Hackensack River. There were many whitewashed warehouses and abandoned buildings along this stretch of the town, and the noise of the Teterboro Airport could be heard. Brecher drove along a section of the polluted Hackensack River, near a car warehouse with an empty lot before it, about fifty yards wide.
Brecher pulled into the empty lot and stopped the car. Across the lot was another car, out of which two men were emerging.
Chris O'Duinen was a broad, muscular black-haired man, now pulling a shotgun out of the trunk of his car. His sister was Mike Brecher's wife, and they were related by family. Tim Clancy was a skinny redhead with wire-rim glasses, a baseball bat in his hand. They were evidently waiting for something.
"Yo, Chris, Tim," Malley called out. The two men waved in reply, and stood to one side of their car, slightly crouched.
"Hold on, boss, stay where you are," said O'Duinen. "We're waiting for Augusto's men."
They waited for a few minutes, and sure enough, a white truck bearing the name Augusto pulled into the lot. It slowly entered the parking lot, exiting the deserted industrial street and parking in a wide space in front of the warehouse.
It was time to do what they had come for. John Malley drew his .40 silverballer from his shoulder holster, and Brecher pulled a 9mm from his pants, clicking off the safety. Brecher and Malley hung low behind their own car, waiting for O'Duinen's signal. Across the lot, Tim stroked his baseball bat, while O'Duinen pursed his lips and armed his shotgun.
"Wait," Malley breathed as Alphonse Malone, a soldier of the Augusto crew, stepped out of the truck's driver seat, tall and sleek in a black track jacket. As he walked lazily to the back of the truck, Chris O'Duinen stepped alongside the truck's opposite side, Tim Clancy at his back, bat in hand. Malone seemed tired, almost bored as he stood in front of the truck's rear.
Malley and Brecher waited, crouched under their car; Malone opened up the back of the truck and stared inside.
With that, Tim Clancy leaped out from the opposite side of the truck and swung his bat at Al Malone's head, dropping him to the floor with a loud crack. Malley and Brecher jumped up from their concealed spot and ran across the lot, guns out. "Clancy, Brecher, stay on guard," Malley said.
"No! What are you—" Malone yelped as Tim smashed the bat against his kneecaps.
"Quit it, Tim," Malley growled. With one final crack to his forehead, Tim stopped the beating. Malone lay on the floor, bleeding from his nose and mouth. Brecher and Clancy stood to either side of the truck as O'Duinen and Malley opened up the sliding door and looked inside.
Inside the truck were bland brown boxes, ordinary and unremarkable. Chris O'Duinen jumped in and drew a switchblade; he cut one of the boxes open. Inside he saw tons of ammunition and clips, and cartons of smuggled cigarettes lined the back of the small truck. "Paydirt," he called back to Malley. "We'll see if Galantro will miss this."
"Nice," Malley said, pointing his gun at the asphalt ground. "All right, get out of there. We have to bring this back to Jackie in one piece."
"What the fuck—?" came a distant voice.
"Who said that?" Malley muttered, his hands grabbing the butt of his gun.
"Porcelli!" Tim Clancy cried from outside the truck. A gunshot rang out, and Malley's eardrums shivered.
PJ Porcelli stepped out of the vacant warehouse on the back of the lot, along with another crew soldier. He was the nephew of Carmine Galantro, Don of the DiMiglio family, and was tall and young, carrying a smoking pistol in his hand. Tim Clancy was cradling a perforated elbow, leaning against the truck.
The lot was silent for a moment. Porcelli turned up his nose, and tightened the grip on his gun.
Raising his arm with the speed of a professional, Brecher fired first, and grazed the other soldier's stomach; the man fell beyond the doorway, and Porcelli disappeared from sight behind the opening. A shell clattered on the floor.
"Wait, and keep your guard up," Malley said. Chris O'Duinen helped up Tim, who was shaking as the blood ran down his arm.
Malley looked around; his three men were still standing anxiously around the back of the truck, with a Mafiosi lying unconscious and beaten on the ground. Where would Porcelli go...
With a bang, a silver Lexus tore out of a side door of the warehouse, Porcelli at the wheel. His determined face was hard set on getting out of the lot any way possible, and he burned rubber past Malley and his three men.
"I'll see you in hell, you..." Chris O'Duinen growled, aiming his shotgun. With an almighty blast, the front wheels of the Lexus were shredded with shot, and the car screeched to a halt. Trying to work the brakes, Porcelli turned the car around with a metallic shriek, leaving a trail of blackened rubber on the asphalt.
"I'll deal with this," Malley said, walking straight toward the driver's side door, his gun drawn. Porcelli opened the door and fell out, still entangled by his seatbelt.
"No! Wait! Let me out!" Porcelli gasped, trying to escape from his seatbelt, hanging a foot from the ground out of his buck-peppered car. Malley walked toward the car, his pistol out, leaning down to get a good look at Porcelli. Tony Porcelli looked back, his eyes resigned and hopeless.
Malley fired once, and hit Porcelli in the back of the head, splattering blood across the dashboard. Just to make sure it was done correctly, he fired his pistol three more times, surgically striking him though the head and the base of his neck.
As the gunshots echoed across South Hackensack, Malley turned and replaced his gun in his jacket.
"Fuck," O'Duinen muttered, helping a wounded and groaning Tim Clancy to his feet. "We just fucking whacked Galantro's nephew."
"He saw it coming," Malley said, holstering his gun. "Leave these fuckers here. Timmy-boy, you're going with Brecher in the truck, I'll take my car, and Chris, you take yours. Let's get the hell out of this lot. Meet back at Vickie's."
With barely a collective nod, each of the men went their way.
* * *
Lodi, New Jersey was the heart of Jackie Sullivan's organized empire, and also the home of Brecher's Car Repair, owned by Victor Paul, the defacto capital of the kingdom. It was located in a largely Italian part of the county, and the reason for that was that Brecher wasn't part of the family by blood. He had married Joanne O'Duinen nine years earlier, and had given the use of his shop to Don Jackie Sullivan.
It was to that shop that Brecher, Clancy, O'Duinen and Malley all drove after their seizure of the mafia's shipments. The car repair was located on a large road in the commercial part of the town, and it possessed an extensive collection of secret offices and rooms at the back of the garage.
Malley stepped out of the car, and immediately met Chris O'Duinen. "Get Clancy upstairs, me and Brecher will talk to Paul," he said. When the Augusto truck arrived in the garage, and then transferred to Jackie Sullivan's "hidden" garage, Brecher helped out Tim, and Chris O'Duinen took him upstairs to have the flesh wound in his elbow taken care of.
"It went well," Malley said as he and Brecher walked through to the main garage.
"One casualty," Brecher said. "I do get nervous on these kind of things, boss. I hope Jackie doesn't mind we shot the Dimiglio Godfather's nephew."
"Jackie hates Don Galantro," Malley replied. "With a passion. Anything we can do to piss off Galantro is good in Jackie's book."
"My father-in-law Virgil," Brecher said, leaning against a paint-stripped car. "I was talking to him last week, he was telling me how it was growing up during the mob wars back in the 1940s, with the Gambettas, and Delfinos, and Dimiglios."
"Worried that I might have just started a war by removing the back of Tony Porcelli's head?" Malley answered with a grin.
"His uncle is the Don...not worried, just...concerned," said Brecher, staring off into space. "You don't think Jackie would mind—?"
"I run the tightest crew in the entire Sullivan family, and I know that even if he minded, Jackie won't touch me over it."
They stood there side by side, against the stripped car, looking out the open garage door onto the street, where the traffic breezed by.
"It would take a lot more than that to start a war," Malley said. "Back in the 80s, when I was just a made man, the underboss of the Dimiglio's, a guy called Serafino, was kidnapped on Jackie Sullivan's orders. Arguments over the drug trade, you know...anyway, the kidnappers were stupid, and when Serafino gave 'em some lip, they slashed his throat. And this was Don Galantro's trusted advisor, you know."
"What happened?" Brecher asked.
"Jackie hadn't been don of our family for more than two years, and people didn't trust him too much," replied Malley. "He needed to look decisive, so he and a steaming mad Galantro had a meeting, and Jackie took a strong stand, but soothed Galantro. No one else got killed, and people began to respect Jackie as a leader."
"Yo, how did you do?" called a loud, abrasive voice. Jim Brecher, Michael's brother, walked into the main garage. He was thirty-one, six years younger than Brecher, and part of the McMichael crew, but still a pain for Jackie Sullivan to deal with. He caused many problems, both in his role as assistant manager of Brecher's Car Shop, and as a soldier of the Sullivan family.
"It went well," Malley said, for once in a good mood around Jim. "We jacked a shipment of arms and cigarettes from Galantro."
"You smoke any of those Dimiglio bastards? You lay a little lead down in 'em?" Jim asked, pounding his hands together.
"You're worse than my son," Malley said as Victor Paul walked in. Paul was a grey-haired businessman in his late fifties, with a narrow face and a thin white beard. "Hey, Paulie!"
"How're you doing, Malley? Brecher, nice to see you back," Paul greeted. "You want me to take care of that truck back there for you?"
"Yeah. Turn it into a nice profit for Jackie."
"I got you covered!" Paul said, giving the thumbs up. "Jimmy, get with me. Let's strip apart this truck."
Paul and Jim Brecher slipped into the hidden garage, with Paul saying, "Brilliant job, just brilliant!" Brecher and Malley were left alone in the large garage, surrounded by cars and motorcycles in various states of disrepair. The air smelled of oil and chemicals, and there was a twenty-year old assistant called Jason working on a carburetor on a long metal table in the corner.
"Do you ever wonder what life would be like if we weren't with Jackie?" Brecher asked.
"Eh, sometimes. Why? You have regrets?" Malley replied quickly.
"My daughters are getting to that age where they really start to wonder what I do for a living," Brecher said with a resigned sigh. "I don't know what to tell them."
"Tell them you're in waste disposal, it's true," Malley said. "We waste people, and then we dispose of them."
He chuckled at his joke, but then became suddenly sober. Sighing, Malley said, "I told Nick when he was around fifteen. Don't worry. But tell them before they see anything..."
"Such as?"
"I learned my father really wasn't a stock trader the summer of 1974," Malley said, looking slightly older by the second. "You wouldn't remember Scott Connolly. He was one of our underbosses, very involved with the betrayal of Don O'Quinn."
"I've heard this story," Brecher said, folding his arms. "You heard your dad and Jackie Sullivan shoot him in your basement as an act of vengeance for O'Quinn. That's what I don't want for my daughters."
"Tell them soon," Malley said. "Tell them that we're good men, but we make difficult choices."
"I don't know, John," Brecher said. "It's like the sex talk. It's the truth, it has to be told, but after you tell them they look at you like you're a criminal."
"We are good men," Malley affirmed, clapping Brecher on his shoulder. With that, Malley left Brecher to his thoughts, going outside the store to make a cell phone call to Jackie Sullivan.
"Jackie," Malley said into the mouthpiece.
"Hello, John," same the sweet, kindly voice of Don Jackie. "Have you any good news for me?"
"We have the truck," Malley answered.
"Ah! Wonderful," Jackie said in almost a whisper.
"Tony Porcelli was there," Malley continued, feeling afraid of telling Jackie now. Maybe Brecher was right, and Jackie would be angry.
"Was he?"
"We shot him to death in his car."
"Ah," Jackie said, his voice falling. "Don't worry, John, I'll take care of things. I'll keep the police in a good mood and keep you out of trouble, if you left any evidence. But thank you anyway, for my truck."
"You're welcome, Jackie," Malley said, his heart rising. "I'll see you tomorrow at the compound."
"Give Ashley my regards! Goodbye, John!" finished Jackie in a friendly tone.
Feeling better, Malley pocketed the phone and stood on the sidewalk for a moment looking into the sky. Aside from the revenge killings, Jackie was such a nice man.
User Reviews
Submitted by BobLobla (user info) at 2006-06-22 14:19:03 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
AWESOME.
Must...Read...More
Submitted by Axolotl (user info) at 2006-05-28 22:42:08 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/AMT_Hardballer
Submitted by Axolotl (user info) at 2006-05-28 22:36:22 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by rad1101 (user info) at 2006-05-27 03:34:36 (#)
Ranking: 2
whats a silverballer?
-----
A silverballer is a type of semiautomatic handgun, seen in the Ps2 game "Hitman: Contracts"
Submitted by DonovanMD (user info) at 2006-05-27 03:50:06 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by rad1101 (user info) at 2006-05-27 03:34:36 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
whats a silverballer?
Submitted by Axolotl (user info) at 2006-05-11 08:13:12 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
The first two weren't very good. I should have done them better.
Submitted by Ballare (user info) at 2006-05-11 04:15:23 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by Stagger_Lee (user info) at 2006-05-11 01:51:36 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by Beano312003 (user info) at 2006-05-10 06:05:34 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by electrictoothsyndrome (user info) at 2006-04-29 00:31:24 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
No Comment
Submitted by Axolotl (user info) at 2006-04-27 20:15:55 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
DERP
Submitted by The_Cyst_Master (user info) at 2006-04-27 13:58:54 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
http://www.ubersite.com/m/38008
Submitted by simple_catalyst (user info) at 2006-04-27 13:23:55 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by Axolotl (user info) at 2006-04-27 13:13:04 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
FISHER
Submitted by Axolotl (user info) at 2006-04-27 12:27:41 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Maywood's very close by, and it has a high Irish population...I think Saddle Brook is as well.
Submitted by MyNameIsTim (user info) at 2006-04-27 11:01:02 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
i still think having lodi as the center of the mob world is just fucking silly.
one other thing i didn't get - so malley and his crew are just chilling in this parking lot, looking all gangish, and the truck still pulls up and parks? it wasn't really clear how that scene worked. maybe it will be if i read it again. but then i'll have had to read it twice to get it.
still good.
Submitted by Shlongy (user info) at 2006-04-27 10:09:35 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Needs more something or another...
Submitted by Merlina (user info) at 2006-04-27 10:02:34 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by karates_badboy (user info) at 2006-04-27 09:49:44 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
a 2...1 for it being genuinely good, and another 1 for mentioning towns i hang out in or drive thru every day.
Submitted by Axolotl (user info) at 2006-04-27 09:13:54 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
wO)0WOo!o
Submitted by CaptainThorns (user info) at 2006-04-27 09:00:31 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Good stuff.
Submitted by DCWoody (user info) at 2006-04-27 08:56:14 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
No Comment