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Broadside (1238 hits)

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Labels: The_Malleys

Rating: 1.76 on 21 reviews (Rate this item) (V)

Submitted by Axolotl .97 (View user info) at 2006-05-05 08:45:17 EDT

"You've got to be kidding me," said Peter Malley, slamming his hands against the table of Malley's Irish Pub. "This is just...you have to be mentally ill, Jim,"

Jim Brecher shook his finger at Peter, his other hand on the shoulder of the prostitute he had brought into the bar. "Not at all, Petey. This can earn the family a mint. We set up the racket in the back of your bar, Candy can turn tricks at a hundred a go—"

Candy, a snaggle-toothed woman with stringy red hair and a tight leather jacket turned up her nose in disdain. "A hunnerd a head? Fuck that, yo."

"You just...my brain is going to explode," Peter Malley said rubbing his temples. "You do this shit to me constantly. Get that girl out of here, I swear, I'll go straight to Jackie."

"Listen," Jim Brecher said, rapping his knuckles smartly on the table. "We have the gambling markets cornered, and are running heroin to the soulless animals in the projects in Newark. What else do we have to do but hooking? We gonna let the Dimiglio's have all of that?"

"Yeah," Candy said, mimicking Jim Brecher's finger shaking.

"Do I hear the lovely voice of Jimmy Brecher?" asked Pat Coyle, stepping out of the back room. He was feeling better, though the shock of Dickie's death had shaken him. Seeing Candy standing there, he shook his head, and said, "Thank God the store is closed, the customers would feel awkward. Who's the girl?"

"She's our ticket to big money!" Jim said, making a fist. "I'm beginning a prostitution ring, starting right here in this pub."

"Like hell you are, you gel-haired prick," Pat Coyle said, standing next to Peter Malley, his partner, in solidarity. "Lose the ho, and get out of my sight."

"Don't call me a ho!" Candy said, folding her arms and pouting. "You're a ho."

Peter Malley looked like a younger version of his brother John, but his brother-in-law, Pat Coyle, was a tanned, muscled dealer in the gambling rooms behind the counter. Coyle had bright green eyes, the product of colored contacts, and kept a black book in his pocket of the people who owed him money, and who he owed money to. He made a fortune for the Sullivan family betting on horse races, sporting events, and even minor poker games in the back rooms.

"Know what? Wait here," Coyle said, pointing at Jim Brecher. "I'm calling O'Duinen."

"Go ahead, call him," Jim said, making a rude gesture. "Tell him that his crew is losing money."

"Call me when they get here, I need a drink," Peter Malley said, stepping behind the counter.

* * *

The snow began to fall on the early January day as John Malley stepped into Victor Paulie's office, prepared to do what he was going to do.

"Hello, John!" Paulie said joyfully. He was at his desk, filling in a spreadsheet on his desktop computer.

"Hey, Paulie..." John answered, his voice trailing off. "How's work been?"

"Same old, John," Paulie replied. "Mike Brecher's a good worker, but his brother Jim is off somewhere right now, skiving off. Work's been good, it's been good...take a seat..."

"Have you heard the news from Jackie?" Malley asked curtly, remaining standing. "FBI Agent Ross has been looking around the family's bank accounts, and other agents have been active arresting associates down in Newark and Paterson."

"Ah," Paulie answered, not looking up from his computer screen.

Both men kept a tense silence for a few seconds, Malley standing with his hand resting on a bookshelf, and Paulie tapping out letters on the keyboard. "I'm more of a search-and-poke kind of guy," Paulie said, prodding his keys in an unprofessional way. "I never really learned to type, you know—"

"Why are you making me tell Jackie?" Malley asked in a high, angry voice. "You traitorous bastard, you've sold out our family."

Paulie stopped typing and stared at the screen blankly for a moment, as though he hadn't heard Malley.

"How long have you known?" Paulie asked emotionlessly.

"Since December. I haven't told Jackie yet, but now I see you've been giving out a lot of information, haven't you, you pathetic son of a bitch!"

"Shit, Malley, they had me!" Paulie exclaimed, slamming his fists on the keys. "I had to tell them something! I can't just keep feeding the agents lies!"

"Why did you flip in the first place, Paulie?" Malley asked regretfully, shaking his head.

"You should know," Paulie said in a low, vicious tone, breaking away from the screen and staring straight at Malley. "It's your own goddamn fault. After you murdered Anthony Porcelli last summer, the feds investigated, and they found me! They had me, John, what could I do? What am I, but a simple car body shop owner?"

"Our counselor!" Malley said, his voice rising. "You were deep in the family, Jackie's own advisor and aide! You should have denied, what proof did they have?"

"You don't know what it's like to be hounded everywhere you go by people who can have you arrested, beaten, thrown in jail for years!" Paulie said, emotion welling in his bosom. "I have a family, John. I wouldn't have sold out Jackie for anything but that. They knew that the murder was linked to me, that I was an associate of crime. They would have had me, and my family would be without a father and a husband."

"And you betrayed your other family," Malley said spitefully.

"John..." Paulie pleaded, sinking into his chair. "Have mercy..."

"You've made your choice, Paulie. You're dead to me," Malley said, moving toward the door. He quickly stepped out, leaving a frightened Paulie in his office, shielding his face against the bullet he expected to quickly come.

* * *

Christopher O'Duinen and his brother Virgil walked into Malley's Irish Pub, expecting trouble. Seated in a booth by the wall was a young lady, evidently the prostitute in question, and Jim Brecher and Pat Coyle were arguing by the bar.

"You're working against the interests of the family!" Jim shouted, banging his hands on the bar.

"Your very existence works against the interests of the family!" Coyle hissed. "Jackie has repeatedly said no to your requests to move into—this certain sector!"

"Hey..." Chris O'Duinen said, dressed in a leather jacket and undershirt, tight against his pectoral muscles. His hook-nosed, dark-haired brother Virgil circled around the table, and moved in on Jim.

"This dickhead is trying to set up some perverted...never mind, just get rid of him before Jackie finds out," Coyle said, throwing up his hands in frustration. He turned and walked over to the door bar, where he opened the door and shouted up the stairs, "Petey! The boys are here!"

"Yeah, walk away, you fucking traitor," Jim Brecher said, pointing his finger accusingly at Coyle's back. "Come back when you have the balls to talk to me like a man, and I'll turn your asshole inside out. What—" Christopher and Virgil had encircled him and trapped him between the bar and a restaurant table, staring at him coldly.

"Causing problems, are we?" Chris asked.

"No, I—"

"We suggest you take your lovey, and leavey," Virgil snarled in Jim's ear.

"You think you can intimidate me?" Brecher asked, infuriated. "Suck my dick, and get out of my face, you cocksuckers."

As he turned to try to push his way out, Chris grabbed his wrist and twisted his body around. "Remember who's a made man, and who's not, Jimmy-boy," Chris said as Jim stumbled on his feet, knocked off balance.

"Chris, you traitor—"

At once, Chris and Virgil seized Jim's shoulders and slammed his face down on the restaurant table; Candy, the prostitute, stood up quickly and left with some muttered cursing. From the foot of the stairs, Pat Coyle watched Jim shaking as his face was pressed against the tablecloth.

"I don't know who the fuck you think you're talking to," Chris O'Duinen said, forcing the squirming Jim down. "But it ain't me or Virgil. Whatever you're puffing on that's got you thinking that we wouldn't put a bullet in the back of your head, spit it out and sober up, jackass."

Jim didn't say anything, but grew still, his face blank and soulless on the table. Chris gestured to Virgil, and they let Jim up.

"Guys, we're all buddies here," Jim began, rubbing his arms. Virgil punched him hard in the stomach, and Jim doubled up, falling against the bar.

"Get out," Virgil grunted. Jim staggered back to his feet, running into a chair and sighing slightly. He made his way out of the pub, and the door closed hard behind him.

* * *

It was evening in the Malley household, and the family, including Jackie, was sitting down to dinner. In the dining room of the Ridgewood house, John Malley and Jackie Sullivan sat at the heads of the table, while their wives Ashley and Mary sat by their sides. Nick and Alexis, Malley's children, were on the opposite of the wives.

"Can you pass me the ham, Mr. Jackie?" Alexis asked, holding out her hands. Jackie handed her the platter of honey-glazed ham, and Alexis thanked him.

"So I was saying," Jackie continued. "I was thinking of taking up a charity to help out the tsunami victims in Indonesia, around there. Using donations from all of my employees."

"Does that mean the managers as well?" Ashley Malley said wryly, gently elbowing her husband. Jackie chuckled.

"It certainly does, Ashley," Jackie answered. "Good lord, this is good wine."

"I enjoyed it myself," Mary Sullivan, a stately woman of sixty-eight agreed, nodding in approval at the snifter of red wine.

"It's a shiraz, from Australia," Ashley said. "Originally from Shiraz, in northern Iraq. They're called whiz-bangers in Australia."

"Iraq? That explains why they're called whiz-bangers," Jackie said, sipping at the shiraz.

"Oh, we're talking about politics now?" Nick Malley said with a smile. "Mom, hide the good plates before we start throwing them at each other."

Jackie laughed warmly, and said, "Nick, I expect you to be president one day. Isn't that right, Malley?"

"Nick's a very intelligent boy," Malley said proudly. "He listens to reason."

"No, we won't talk politics," Jackie said concedingly. "Nick, I hear you're interested in paintball. I could procure some paintball guns, or set up some games, if you ever wanted to with your friends. I know a man who runs things like that down in the Meadowlands."

"That would be awesome, Uncle Jackie!" Nick said, looking enthusiastic. "I'm a pretty good shot."

"Let's hope you'll never have to shoot at a real human being, with a real gun," Jackie sighed. "Don't join the army. I'm not being unpatriotic, but when my brother came back from Vietnam, he was in a bad state..."

"He's the one who died last summer?" Alexis asked.

"Indeed he was," Jackie said, almost reminiscing.

The dinner ended, and Ashley led the company into the living room, while Mary offered to clear the dishes. Alexis ended up clearing up after the diners, leaving Jackie and John in the dining room.

"Lovely dinner, if I do say so myself, John," Jackie said in a bubbly tone. "Give my regards to the chef!"

"Jackie," Malley began. "I hate to spoil a good mood. I really do. But there's some bad news...I feel guilty even for saying it, but it must be said."

"What is it?" Jackie asked, concerned.

"Paulie is an FBI informant," Malley said in a strained voice. "I found out a while ago, but only a few days ago I confirmed it."

Jackie's face crumpled as though he had been struck in the stomach. "Not Paulie...?"

"I'm sorry, Jackie, I'm so sorry," said Malley, ashamed that he had hurt Jackie so. "He had his excuses, like they always do. Do you remember when we found that Terry McGuinness was with the police?"

"Yes," Jackie said faintly. "But Paulie...anyone but him, I'd rather. My heart...you must be wrong..."

"When have I lied to you?"

"I'll do it myself," Jackie said, his face downcast. "I want you with me though. And Brecher, he's a loyal soldier. We have to purge this from our midst...even if it is my counselor, Paulie, Paulie..."

Malley looked over Jackie's heaving shoulder and caught notice of his sixteen-year-old daughter Alexis scraping food into the garbage, her ears perked up, and a confused look on her face.

"Let's go into the living room, Jackie," Malley offered, putting an arm around his boss' shoulder. "We have more of that Shiraz if you like..."

The rest of the evening Jackie didn't say much, and when it was time to leave, Jackie seemed to have aged beyond his sixty-eight years. His face appeared to be lined more deeply, and his youthful voice had been replaced by a low, steady voice most unlike his usual self.

"Are you all right?" Malley asked as the Sullivans parted the dinner.

"It's been a lovely evening," Jackie said, biting his lips and clasping Malley's hand. "Thank you for dinner. Thank you for the dinner, Ashley!"

"Goodbye Uncle Jackie!" Nick called out. Alexis simply waved goodbye to the departing couple. With that, Jackie and his wife walked down the front steps and out toward their car. The engine ignited, and Jackie Sullivan drove away into the night.

Episode 1: The Malleys http://www.ubersite.com/m/87184
Episode 2: To Risk Your Arm http://www.ubersite.com/m/87242
Episode 3: Innocent Until Proven Guilty http://www.ubersite.com/m/87289
Episode 4: Roulettes http://www.ubersite.com/m/87511

-----

I'm working on a detailed MS Paint map of North Jersey and NYC, just as a reference for the stories of both The Malleys and After the Pandemic.

User Reviews

Submitted by Axolotl (user info) at 2006-06-22 16:36:32 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0

Submitted by BobLobla (user info) at 2006-06-22 14:42:56 (#)
Ranking: 2

I loved everything except for this line "Good lord, this is good wine."

Too much 'good' for me

that is all...

------

Intentional wordplay on the part of Jackie.

Submitted by BobLobla (user info) at 2006-06-22 14:42:56 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2

I loved everything except for this line "Good lord, this is good wine."

Too much 'good' for me

that is all...

Submitted by Ballare (user info) at 2006-05-11 04:13:05 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1

No Comment

Submitted by Stagger_Lee (user info) at 2006-05-11 02:05:05 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2

http://www.ubersite.com/u/Stagger_Lee/l/noir

Submitted by FuckTheArmy (user info) at 2006-05-06 05:33:52 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1

Good.

But there's a lot I missed.

Why? It's a sequel, and I didn't find out til the end. That's why +1 and not -1.

Submitted by Axolotl (user info) at 2006-05-06 00:47:48 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0

Everything you ever wanted to know about Axolotl
User id: 19539
Registered on or around: 2005-06-08 17:12:08
# Messages posted: 156
# Reviews written: 3484
# Times these posts have been reviewed : 4333
# Hits: 135699
Average rating of all messages: 1.48

Submitted by Axolotl (user info) at 2006-05-05 17:20:35 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0

I know what you mean and I've been changing around a few of these, just the dialogue and some minor words. The first few were a bit unpolished, but it's getting better. I still have no idea where I'm going with this, I'm creating the plot as I go along, so it might seem a bit disjointed.

Submitted by JonnyX (user info) at 2006-05-05 15:34:45 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1

I have to say, I am not digging this whole Sopranos thing going on here.

The dialogue feels awfully contrived, like you are trying to shove as many adjectives in there as possible.
What I am trying to say, is that your narrative style is conflicting with your actual dialogue - does that make any sense?
At least, that's how I feel.

I'm trying to be honest for you dude, you know I like your stuff.

Submitted by Axolotl (user info) at 2006-05-05 12:27:02 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0

Definitely better

Submitted by sicosemen (user info) at 2006-05-05 11:53:45 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2

Just F.Y.I. I was fingering my asshole while reading it and I couldn't decide which felt better.

Submitted by ghola (user info) at 2006-05-05 11:10:59 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2

+2 i'm done with finals!!!!!!!!!!!
W00t!

Submitted by Axolotl (user info) at 2006-05-05 10:57:46 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0

Submitted by DCWoody (user info) at 2006-05-05 10:32:31 (#)
Ranking: 2

Everyone outsied Ireland calls it Gaelic the Irish themselves call it Irish.

According to some Irish comedian guy.

---

Driving through Donegal is hard, all the signs are in Irish, and the roads are bad. It's okay to write in Irish, but when most people speak English and can't read it...

Submitted by DCWoody (user info) at 2006-05-05 10:32:31 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2

Everyone outsied Ireland calls it Gaelic the Irish themselves call it Irish.

According to some Irish comedian guy.

Submitted by shadow (user info) at 2006-05-05 10:18:56 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2

whew it's early for a read like this. Nicely done.

Submitted by Brdn_Nkd (user info) at 2006-05-05 10:15:02 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2

No Comment

Submitted by Axolotl (user info) at 2006-05-05 09:33:50 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0

Submitted by MyNameIsTim (user info) at 2006-05-05 09:21:46 (#)
Ranking: 2

nicely done.

i don't know if this is possible to research...but do they use the stereotypical italian mob words in the irish mob? "don," "made man," "signore" etc?

seems like there should be equivalent words in gaelic that they'd use...

but i don't know.

still sweet.

----

Made man isn't so much an Italian term, and they refer to Jackie as boss, don, or godfather of the family.
The pervasion of the Italian mob in culture leads to them using Italian mafia terms, but I'll research some Gaelic ones as well.

Submitted by MyNameIsTim (user info) at 2006-05-05 09:21:46 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2

nicely done.

i don't know if this is possible to research...but do they use the stereotypical italian mob words in the irish mob? "don," "made man," "signore" etc?

seems like there should be equivalent words in gaelic that they'd use...

but i don't know.

still sweet.

Submitted by simple_catalyst (user info) at 2006-05-05 09:20:04 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2

Submitted by Axolotl (user info) at 2006-05-05 08:48:27 (#)
Ranking: 0

A red dog jumped over the purple fox-cow.

======

nice series as well.

Submitted by Merlina (user info) at 2006-05-05 09:12:59 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2

Good work..

Submitted by DCWoody (user info) at 2006-05-05 09:00:37 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2

I'm liking this series.

Submitted by Axolotl (user info) at 2006-05-05 08:48:27 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0

A red dog jumped over the purple fox-cow.