Liability Claims (892 hits)
Category: NoneLabels: The_Malleys
Rating: 1.2 on 13 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by Axolotl .88 (View user info) at 2006-05-18 16:00:16 EDT
"It's nice to have a friend that can help you out like this," Ashley said to her husband as he drove down Route 17, getting ready to turn off at the exit.
"Yeah," John Malley agreed, putting on his blinker. "Nothing too much, he and Jim were just going to take a look at my car's battery. You'll be okay driving home yourself after I pick up my car from Brecher's?"
"Of course," Ashley replied.
"Has Nick been thinking?"
"Well even though he's a football player, he still always thinks, he can't help that," Ashley said slyly. Seeing the grin on John's face, she said, "He's nearly decided. He wants TCNJ, though I always though he'd fit in at Villanova, it was nice enough back in 1982 when I was there..."
"Villa-no-fun, I used to call it," John said, pulling into Brecher's Car Shop's lot. "I had the chance between Loyola and Drew...frankly, Loyola seemed like it would have better parties."
"Wonderful example you are," Ashley smirked, unbuckling her seatbelt and stepping out of the car. "I see your car over there. I'll wait until you get it from Mike."
John Malley called out, "Hi, Mike! I'm here!" and stepped around the lot to see his car, outside the open garage door in the late March sunlight. The silver Lexus was just the way John had left it...except for a brutal dent stretching across the front-passenger-side door, out of the line of sight from the main road.
John stared at the huge dent for a moment; it looked like the car had been kicked by a pissed-off horse, from the damage done. Jim Brecher walked lazily out of the open garage while John continued to examine the wounded car in shock.
"Yo, Johnny," Jim said. He was wearing a t-shirt emblazoned with a saying blatantly promoting his skills at oral sex, and had on his regular red gym shorts that were so short on his blindingly pale legs that they could have been from his 5th-grade CYO basketball days.
"You do realize that I'm not paying you for this axe wound on my Lexus, Jim?" John said, pointing at the dent in the car.
"Axe wound?" Jim said obliviously. "Oh. That's no axe wound, some jackass backed up into your car and wrecked that whole side. Pretty stupid of him."
"And I'm sure as hell not paying for this!" John said more forcefully, standing to his full height. "I'm just telling you that!"
"Don't be a dick, it's not my fault," Jim snorted. "Talk to the asshole who couldn't be bothered to check his rearview mirrors."
"Hey," Mike Brecher said, stepping out of the garage. "Everything all right, John?"
"Your brother says I should pay for this!" John exclaimed, showing Mike the dent in the car. "That's bullshit, it happened in his lot, his responsibility."
"Eat me, fucker," Jim sneered, walking back into the garage. "I'm done with this job anyway."
"I'm sorry, John, I can't control him," Mike said soothingly as John angrily kicked his car, the massive dent remaining unchanged.
"I'm not paying for this, Mike," John snarled, aggressively stabbing a finger at Mike. "You and Jim take care of this with insurance, I'm going home."
John got back into his car, and his bemused wife did the same. As John quickly swerved out of the parking lot, Mike ran his hands through his hair and leaned back against the damaged vehicle.
* * *
The Ciceri crew controlled large swaths of Passaic and Essex County, with half their profits going to Don Carmine Galantro of the Dimiglio family. There were four Ciceri brothers and a Ciceri father, all with positions of power: though Ian Ciceri was a lowlife drug dealer and Jonathan Ciceri was a incarcerated ex-pimp, the Ciceri name still commanded respect. Ignacio Ciceri was a soldier in the Dimiglio family, under his brother, caporegime Paul Ciceri. Their father Dane Ciceri was underboss to the Dimiglio family and Don Galantro.
Paul Ciceri sat back in his chair at his office in Clifton and listened to Jim Brecher's proposal, straightening his collar again and again idiosyncratically. Antonio Delgado looked on in some pride, having just been made Paul's consigliere. The room was entirely empty except for the three of them.
"So you're interested in becoming a Dimiglio," Paul said after Jim had finished speaking. "We can accommodate you there, I have no problem with an ex-Sullivan in my crew. You might not be able to get made, though. Only Italians."
Paul was a very professional-looking man with closely cropped hair crowning his round, boyish face. He had a wide nose and minimal stubble, and looked like a schoolchild that had dressed up in a tailored Italian suit. He was a hardworking, decent man, but like John Malley, he could still be a fierce killer.
"I'm leaving the Sullivans because I'm never going to get made," Jim said, his eyes cold and threatening. "You gotta be kidding me."
"Don't worry, Jim, I have the same problem," Delgado said cheerily, crossing his legs. "I can't even pass for a white guy, much less an Italian."
"You're a regular Eddie Murphy." deadpanned Jim.
"I hope you're not trying to say all black people look the same."
"Things can change, though..." Paul Ciceri interrupted, not noticing Delgado's remarks. "I was able to make Antonio my personal consigliere even though he was black, due to a loophole in the codes of the family. Even if we can't find a loophole for you, I might get Carmine to make an exception."
"Would people want to work with me?" Jim Brecher asked hesitantly. "I mean, I was pretty deep in with Jackie."
"Did you know anything about those two guys outside my house about two weeks ago?" Paul asked, his tone suddenly sharp.
"I wasn't involved," Jim said defensively. "It was Johnny-boy Sullivan and Mick Viggo. Johnny-boy got arrested trying to mess with you, Mr. Ciceri, but Don Jackie bailed him out. One of your guys put a couple rounds in Viggo's head a few days later."
"I must say, in between your family killing Porcelli and Nile Jones, and with this attempted attack on me, Jackie's not been in my good books," Paul said cautiously. "Or Godfather Galantro's, either. To my understanding, a small war is going on between our associates...already the bodies are piling up. Adrian Beckett, Mick Viggo, my personal friend Nile Jones..."
Jim Brecher felt Paul Ciceri's eyes boring into him, not daring to tell him that he had been the one who had murdered Nile Jones.
"Mr. Ciceri, I want to join your family!" Jim said, clasping his hands together as though in prayer. "Please, allow me! I will do whatever it takes, but I want your approval!"
"There ought to be a test," Antonio Delgado said.
"Yes...a test..." Paul said with a smile. Paul reached into his desk, still staring into Jim's eyes. Jim shivered in uncontrollable fear, as Paul pulled out a thick, heavy .45 Magnum from the desk, holding it out in his hands.
"James Brecher...for the Dimiglios...will you kill your don, Jackie Sullivan?"
* * *
"Ding dong, Jackie-O," Jim Brecher said, opening the door for Don Jackie Sullivan, who stepped in confidently, shaking Jim's hand. "How's it hanging, Gramps?" Jim was in his undershirt and gym shorts, and even Jackie was dressed casually in a jean jacket and khakis.
"Well, until those bastards at the pharmacy fill out my Viagra prescription, hanging is all it's doing," Jackie beamed, not missing a beat. "You have the payments?"
"Yeah, it's in the back office, let's head over," Jim said, gesturing for Jackie to follow him. "I got this eight thousand from this spook in Passaic, this gangster. He was in some trouble with the police, as usual, but I helped him out, so now I've got monthly payments from these thugs."
"No need to make broad racial comments," Jackie said, stepping into the back office where Nile Jones and Reed had been murdered. A television in the corner was tuned to CNN, showing Michael Schiavo giving an interview. "I don't mind black people, it's just that my organization is ethnically Irish. I have black associates and enforcers. I like blacks, and gays...even though the stereotype of an old wrinkly like me is that we're racists."
"You like gayboys?" Jim said, licking his lips. "You'd better pay me to keep quiet—I might have to take back my eight thou!"
"Ah, let 'em marry, what do I care? It's their business." Jackie said as Jim switched off a television that was broadcasting coverage live from the Vatican. "It's a shame about the Pope. John Paul was a good man. You know, the Dimiglio's consigliere, JP Galantro is named for him."
"I'm cryin' more over Johnny Cochran, and that Terri Schiavo bitch," Jim said coarsely. "Hey Jackie...imagine this scene in heaven...the Pope and Johnny Cochran are gang-raping Terri Schiavo, you know, the Pope's putting his 'feeding tube' in her mouth, and Johnny is saying 'if the dick don't fit, you must feed the bitch.' And Terri's there, all just mumbling and groaning. Wouldn't that be hilarious?"
Jackie laughed in spite of himself. "So who do you think the next Pope's going to be? I'd guess that Nigerian fellow."
"You and blacks..." Jim chuckled, reaching below his desk and feeling for his Magnum. "The money's right here, Gramps."
"Good," Jackie said, turning toward one of Jim's posters on the wall depicting a woman being penetrated anally with the caption: "Think Anal Sex Hurts? Try Pushing Out a Baby! Practice Safe Sex!" Jackie laughed, looking over the poster.
Just as Jackie was about to comment on the poster, he heard a click behind him. It was a sound that was intensely familiar to him: a gun being cocked. Though Jackie had rarely killed a man personally since he became Don in the early 1980s, the noise rang in his ears like the trumpets on Judgment Day.
"Jim..." Jackie said hesitantly. "You know I never meant to offend you, right? Jim, I trust you, I love—"
Jackie turned around slowly, and in a flashing blur of light, Jim Brecher fired his Magnum from the hip, and Jackie Sullivan shivered and fell onto the desk. As he slipped off, the papers on the desk came with him, spreading everywhere. He fell among the myriad business documents, the reams of papers burying him in a shallow cairn.
"Is that all it takes, Pop?" Jim yelled out savagely, waving his smoking gun like a madman. "Is that all it takes to put old Grandpa Jackie down? Where's your goddamn—"
Jim sunk to the floor and threw stacks of papers aside, scattering them everywhere. The floor was a mess now as Jim fumbled with Jackie's Rolex, pulling off the watch and shoving it into his pocket. Jackie leaned his head back, his eyes closed, hands gripping his stomach, and let out a soft moan.
"Nice watch, Gramps," Jim muttered. "Let's get this ring..."
Jim began to pull on Jackie's diamond wedding ring, an expensive piece. It remained firmly stuck to Jackie's finger. Jim grunted, straining on pulling the tight gold band off.
"Fuck it," Jim said, standing up and placing his gun on the desk. "I'll get the grease, or a knife. You better hope for the grease, Grandpa."
Jim walked over to the door, and quickly stepped outside to the garage next door, grabbing a can of axle grease. As he reentered the office, Jackie was nowhere to be seen on the paper-strewn floor, and a pang of terror shot through his heart.
"Yo, Pops? Did someone steal you?" Jim asked, walked between the desks.
Jackie stood up from behind the central desk, the bullet hole in his shirt revealing a Kevlar jacket. Jim's shot had sunk into the jacket, but had not broken the skin. As Jim tried to sort out what had just happened, Jackie calmly raised the gun that he had picked off the table.
"Wait, Jackie—!"
Jackie fired, and shot Jim Brecher under his right breast, blowing a red hole in his undershirt. Brecher coughed and reeled back, slamming into the table and wall. Jackie grunted and stood on his balanced feet like a great dinosaur above his prey, and aimed his gun.
"You didn't think I'd come here unprepared, you fucking snake?" Jackie shouted, his voice wheezing from the blow to his rib cage. Jim looked utterly surprised, his eyes bulging wide, nearly popping out of his skull.
As Brecher began to slide down the table, Jackie shot him in the stomach, again and again pulling the trigger and tearing through his intestines and organs like rice paper. "You ballless coward," Jackie gasped, as Jim Brecher leaned back on the table, his eyes wide.
Jackie shot Jim in the groin, the bullet whizzing through his scrotum and skidding his testicular mass onto the floor and back wall; Jim fell off the table, four bullets in his stomach and one in his chest.
With the sigh of an exhausted parent, Jackie backed up into his chair and sat down amongst the blood-sprayed papers and file cabinets. "Oh, Jesus..." Jackie muttered, letting his gun hand fall limply at his side. In just a few fiery, violent seconds, the tense air had broken and replaced with gore and death.
"Jackie..." choked Jim, his hands clutching his stomach. His white shirt was pure red now, and his eyes were unfocused. His grimaced face revealed his agony, and blood pooled on his flat navel area.
With his last bullet, Jackie raised his gun and shot Jim through his throat. Jim grabbed at his neck, aspirating on his blood, and fell over, under the table. Around him, all the papers and carpeting were bright red with the oxygen-rich blood from Jim's pierced lung.
Jackie Sullivan slumped on his chair, the smoking gun limply hanging in his right hand. His clothes were sprayed with some of Jim Brecher's blood, some of his own. A deep, penetrating pain lingered in his abdomen, as though there was a poisonous ulcer deep inside.
"Oh, Jesus..." Jackie sighed again, his lips beginning to tremble. He dropped the gun, and stared across the room into Jim's fluttering, lifeless eyes, greyed over like cobwebs clouding his retinas. He stifled a sob, feeling as though his heart had been broken.
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
Episode 5: Broadside - http://www.ubersite.com/m/87564
Episode 6: Under the Influence - http://www.ubersite.com/m/87706
Episode 7: Broken Glass - http://www.ubersite.com/m/87745
Episode 8: Off the Face of the Earth - http://www.ubersite.com/m/87999
User Reviews
Submitted by BobLobla (user info) at 2006-06-22 15:13:51 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by Beano312003 (user info) at 2006-05-19 08:36:18 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by Axolotl (user info) at 2006-05-19 08:05:12 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by Dead_0hi0_Sky (user info) at 2006-05-18 23:06:35 (#)
Ranking: -2
No Comment
----
Woo retaliatory -2s!
Submitted by georgemichael (user info) at 2006-05-19 04:47:02 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
"Things can change, though..." Paul Ciceri interrupted, not noticing Delgado's remarks. "I was able to make Antonio my personal consigliere even though he was black, due to a loophole in the codes of the family. Even if we can't find a loophole for you, I might get Carmine to make an exception."
______________________
Paul Ciceri looked in his mafia handbook, turning to the section 'loopholes'.
END THIS SHIT PLEASE
Submitted by Dead_0hi0_Sky (user info) at 2006-05-18 23:06:35 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
No Comment
Submitted by Axolotl (user info) at 2006-05-18 17:10:59 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by professorfuckface (user info) at 2006-05-18 16:33:02 (#)
Ranking: 0
you're thinking of ron jeremy
-----
Ron Jeremy is a jew. One of your OTHER favorite groups.
Submitted by Axolotl (user info) at 2006-05-18 17:05:53 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by MyNameIsTim (user info) at 2006-05-18 16:47:51 (#)
Ranking: 2
best one yet. flowed nicely, didn't even have to think about reading it...the action just took place.
what's mike going to think of this?
----
Mike hates to argue with John, because even though they're friends, John is at a higher rank.
Jackie's survived his assassination attempt, and though everyone's glad to have Jim gone, it'll shake up the family greatly.
Submitted by MyNameIsTim (user info) at 2006-05-18 16:47:51 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
best one yet. flowed nicely, didn't even have to think about reading it...the action just took place.
what's mike going to think of this?
Submitted by professorfuckface (user info) at 2006-05-18 16:33:02 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
you're thinking of ron jeremy
Submitted by Axolotl (user info) at 2006-05-18 16:28:13 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Submitted by professorfuckface (user info) at 2006-05-18 16:13:23 (#)
Ranking: 0
I've always loved that picture, it has presence
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Submitted by retrospect (user info) at 2006-05-18 16:12:12 (#)
Ranking: 2
mario is pimpin. i didnt read this, maybe i will read the whole series at once.
----
We must find the Real Mario. The pudgy, short Italian man with a fluffy mustache.
Submitted by professorfuckface (user info) at 2006-05-18 16:13:23 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
I've always loved that picture, it has presence
Submitted by retrospect (user info) at 2006-05-18 16:12:12 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
mario is pimpin. i didnt read this, maybe i will read the whole series at once.
Submitted by Axolotl (user info) at 2006-05-18 16:06:18 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Wrong picture.
Who has Springsteen's new album?