The Lone Gunman Theory (983 hits)
Category: NoneLabels: The_Malleys
Rating: 1.2 on 13 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by Axolotl is sunburnt (View user info) at 2006-07-11 12:38:52 EDT
The Malleys has returned, BobLola.
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"My dad wanted me to talk to this pederast online," Alexa said, logging onto her instant messenger. "He was after my dad's friend's daughter. You know Mike."
"What are you going to do, lure him somewhere?" Jeff asked, looking over her shoulder as Alexa messaged the reputed pedophile's screen name.
"The industrial park in Saddle Brook," Alexa replied, smacking her lips. "He's going to trap him, and like, call the cops. It's pretty cool."
"All right, let's see," Jeff said as Alexa typed in her message and hit send.
* * *
"Fore!" Carmine cried, swinging his club.
With a beautiful click the ball whirred into the air, almost floating in the clear blue November sky. The little white ball plunked down onto a grassy slope, falling short of the green and rolling down into a shallow pond.
"Tough luck, Carm," Virgil O'Duinen said, picking up his bag. "I'll meet you by the next hole."
"Sure," Carmine said, leaving his 7 iron down on the grass and walking over toward the pond. He reached the edge, and looked down to see his ball near the edge of the pool. Carmine carefully stepped down onto the water's edge, taking effort to not get his shoes wet.
Carmine grunted as he stooped over to pick up his ball. As he grasped the small white golf ball, he felt a knee smash into his ribs. Carmine choked and keeled over into the pond, groaning in pain into the water as his attacker kicked his stomach.
"Virgil, is that—" Carmine choked, pulling himself up and wiping his eyes. He opened up his eyelids and saw the determined face of Phil Blunt, tall and wearing black, a silver pistol at his waist. Phil's fist connected into Carmine's face, and Carmine fell into the water.
Phil knelt on top of Carmine, pushing him down into the water, forcing his head beneath the surface. Carmine struggled and flailed, holding his breath and kicking with all his might. Phil held carmine down hard, but Carmine rolled out onto the grass.
"Virgil!" Carmine cried, but Phil got on top of Carmine again. Facing one another, they grappled by the water's edge, soaking wet, their teeth gritted.
"It's over, Carmine," Phil hissed. "No one's going to help you." Carmine's eyes darted to the pistol at Phil's belt, and he desperately lunged out and grabbed it. Phil pushed down hard, choking Carmine's neck, bringing his knees into his stomach.
Carmine pulled the trigger, and Phil coughed, falling flat. He rolled off of Carmine, and sank into the water, still holding onto the boss' shirt. Carmine slammed the barrel beneath Phil's ribs and fired twice, turning the water around him red.
Phil fell below the surface and Carmine angrily stomped down on Phil's crotch with his waterlogged leg. Phil attempted to rise, moaning like the swamp creature from a '50s horror movie, but Carmine held down Phil's shoulders, waiting until the bubbles stopped flowing from his attacker's mouth.
Carmine let go and sat back on the grass. He coughed, feeling numb and cold, his stomach bruised. Virgil O'Duinen appeared over the rim of the pool, and looked down at the scene, golf club held like a sword in his hands.
"Carmine, you okay?" Virgil asked.
"Yeah...help me up..." Carmine muttered. "Dimiglio's man...tried to put my head under the water..."
"It's okay, we're going home," Virgil said, pulling Carmine upright. "We'll golf another time, okay?"
"Dimiglio..."
* * *
Zuckerberg Industrial Park was a collection of beige pastel warehouses by the convergence of two major New Jersey highways. Its low-level buildings were secluded, uninhabited, and hidden from view; perfect spots for both a rapist and a killer.
"Stand right here, by the wall," John Malley said to his daughter Alexa. Alexa leaned against a concrete wall and folded her arms. She was wearing shorts far too short for November weather, and her boyfriend Jeff nervously looked on.
"She'll be all right?" Jeff asked. "I mean, we're trying to lure someone here, right?"
"She's my daughter," John said, stepping away. "I know what I'm doing. Step back and don't make a noise."
John and Jeff walked back from Alexa, and waited. The Park was quiet, the only sounds coming from the highways. It took under ten minutes for Vinnie Delvecchio to arrive.
Delvecchio was a tall man in fairly good shape, around his mid-thirties; he had slick black hair and wore a tight black sweater and jeans. As he walked toward Alexa twirling his keys, he smiled. Alexa smiled back.
"You must be Alexa," Vinnie said pleasantly.
"Vinnie," Alexa replied, looking far less confident. A pang of guilt ran through John Malley's heart.
Vinnie and his daughter began talking, Vinnie drawing ever closer to her. John peered out from behind the warehouse to see Alexa looking at him, pleading with her eyes to end this. It killed John inside to see this scumbag so close to her, knowing what he wanted.
"Mr. Malley...?" Jeff asked hesitantly.
John stood up and unholstered his gun; Jeff drew back. John walked across the small lot toward Vinnie and his daughter and said, "Alexa, go take a walk back to the car with Jeff."
Vinnie whipped around in shock, and Alexa darted out of his grasp, running back past her father. John cradled the butt in his hand as he moved in on Vinnie, who was backing up. Behind Vinnie, Michael Brecher and Alex Collins emerged from the warehouses.
"I...officer..." Vinnie addressed respectfully. "I believe this is entrapment, and no crime was committed."
"I'm no officer," John sneered.
Alex broke into a run, his orange extension cord whipping through the air like a bola. He swung the cord around Vinnie's neck, pulling Vinnie back, choking him. Michael Brecher stepped in front of Vinnie and punched him in the face, his claddagh ring leaving a bloody heart-shaped imprint on Vinnie's cheek.
John turned around, and saw Alex and Jeff still standing at the warehouse, looking at Michael bring a pistol down hard into Vinnie's skull. "We're calling the cops on this guy," John yelled back. "Go to the car, you two."
Jeff and Alexa quickly retreated to their car. Michael viciously pistol-whipped Vinnie as Alex continued to choke him, John just looking on. Blood poured down Vinnie's face as he sank to his knees, his nose broken in four places.
"Remember me? Remember my daughter, you motherfucker?" Michael said in a low, seething voice, kicking Vinnie in the face. He brought his foot hard into Vinnie's mouth and shattered his white teeth. "Fucking cocksucking pederast, we'll call the cops all right. We'll be the fucking judge and jury and goddamn executioners as well."
"End it, Mike," John said calmly.
"Fuck," Michael said, turning his back. Alex dropped the extension cord and Vinnie took in a deep, shaking breath. He looked up, and Michael turned around, repulsed at Vinnie's shredded face. His one eye was blinded, and his mouth was a sea of blood.
"Please, I never meant harm," Vinnie moaned, his voice rasping. "I never harmed her, I never touched her. I never did anything, never...call the cops, let them take me in, please guys, don't hurt me."
"End it, I said," John growled. Alex pulled out a silenced pistol and aimed it at Vinnie's head.
"Oh God, don't let him kill me, oh Jesus," Vinnie whimpered, tears mixing with the blood on his face. "Why would...oh, I never meant harm. Don't kill me, just call the police, I'll go away, I'll leave the state—"
Alex squeezed the trigger and shot Vinnie in the forehead. His face went blank and he fell onto his stomach. Alex hovered over him and fired into the back of his head. The shots came out as muffled pops, the silencer vibrating with the recoil of the gunshots.
"He's dead," Michael said obviously.
"I pimped my own daughter out for this bullshit?" John Malley said, disgusted with himself. He turned around and walked back toward his car. "You deal with this dead body."
* * *
The next day, John Malley and Michael Brecher sat down at a table in a Jersey City restaurant to speak with Chris Virgino, Don Dimiglio's right-hand man. Two made men of the Dimiglios, Christian Delcordero and PJ Porcelli, sat on either side of Virgino, looking like they were made of stone.
"How is Dimiglio doing?" John asked.
"Recovering," Virgino answered.
"Did you hear about what happened to Carmine in Lincoln Park?" John said.
"Yes..." Virgino said, sounding pained. "One of my soldiers, Phil Blunt. He was acting alone, there was no support from Dimiglio. I understand Carmine killed him in self-defense...saved us the trouble. There will be no sit-down between the factions."
"Ah...lone gunman theory..." John mused. "I supposed if Phil had succeeded, you would have had to Jack Ruby the kid."
"No need to joke about this," Virgino replied with a straight face. "Especially not when another of our men are missing. Vincent Delvecchio?"
"What, did Dimiglio send that one after me?" John smiled. "I heard of him, never met him, I think. I heard he was a child-toucher."
"Vinnie was a good man," snapped Christian Delcordero. "Bite your tongue, the man is missing."
"It's not my business what happened to Delvecchio," John said. "Witness Protection?"
"It's funny," Virgino said coolly. "Especially since Mr. Brecher was angry at Delvecchio for impurely touching his daughter. I'll admit, Vinnie had problems. But I guess you wanted vengeance, did you?"
"How do you know that?" Brecher asked.
"I have sources," said Virgino. "Where did you bury his body?"
"I did not kill Vinnie Delvecchio," Michael said, shaking his finger. "And you don't know what it feels like to see your flesh and blood victimized like that. I was going to call the cops on him, but I couldn't find him."
"We don't know what it's like?" PJ Porcelli sneered. "You don't know what it's like to see your father's body, shot to death in his own car. Have you ever lost a close relative, someone you loved, to this kind of violence?"
"No, I have not," John Malley replied.
"Maybe you'll see that in the future," said Porcelli. "I know you killed my father, John."
"I was under the impression you wanted me here to discuss the attempt on Carmine Galantro's life," John said, unmoving. "Not to bring up ancient grievances and accuse my friend of killing your child-molesting underling. Go back to Dimiglio and tell him to pull his own plugs, we're not involved in this, and we don't appreciate accusations from a man who tried to have an innocent family killed."
"As you wish," Chris Virgino said, standing up. Delcordero and Porcelli stood up as well.
"And another thing," John said, pointing at Virgino's chest. "You might be acting boss of your 'family' or faction or whatever the fuck while that aging cunt Dimiglio is pissing in a bedpan, but you address me as Godfather or Boss, or at least Mr. Malley. I'm not your fucking equal, Chris."
Chris Virgino looked into John's gleaming eyes and nodded, composing himself. "As you wish, Mr. Malley."
"Thank you, Chris," John replied, shaking Chris Virgino's hand and stepping back. "Let's go, Mike." Michael Brecher and John Malley exited the restaurant.
"That bastard's got balls of brass," Delcordero remarked.
"Who the fuck does he think he is?" Virgino muttered. "Dimiglio will be furious. John's untouchable..."
"Michael Brecher isn't," Porcelli said. "As much as I'd like to see John dragged behind my car and shot, we can't kill a boss. But since it's nearly confirmed that Brecher clipped Delvecchio..."
"I'll run it past Dimiglio," Virgino said in interest. "I'll think about it."
* * *
Pat Coyle lay down in his bed in a Bloomfield motel Monday night, back in New Jersey for the first time since August. He felt safer than he had in months, knowing that Godfather Dimiglio was protecting him.
He had talked to Dimiglio on the phone just that day, driving up from the Shore. "Wait in Bloomfield," Dimiglio had said. "I will send Vince Tabano to protect you and take care of you. Tabano will be your guard and connection to the outside world. It is unsafe for you here."
Pat considered picking up the phone and calling Peter Malley and his old family, the people he knew before he disappeared. He hated knowing that rumors were probably circling about him as he lay there.
Outside, Vince Tabano's hulking form could be seen walking toward the motel, and Pat felt safe. His old life was gone, and there was nothing he could do except smile, smile, smile.
* * *
"Hey, Paul, how's it going?" Michael asked over the telephone, sitting on his basement couch, the only place in the house he could have privacy.
"I'm fine myself, Mike," Paul replied. "How's your family?"
"Well, John Malley's still angry with Dimiglio, they were threatening a war...Virgil O'Duinen passed a bladder stone, painfully, from what I hear...Don McMichael got caught cheating on Alyssa, and there was a bit of a fight..."
"I mean your real family," Paul said wryly.
"Oh..." Michael breathed. "Well, I've started smoking again, and Joanne isn't too pleased...business is at a new low over at the car shop in Lodi, and it doesn't help that Willy Malley's on Zyrtec for depression..."
"You sound worried, Mike," said Paul.
"Yeah, but it is what it is, you know...how's everything over at your house?"
"Carmine tells me Pat Coyle's back..." Paul laughed grimly. "We'll see for how long. John will lose his mind, I'm sure, if Pat is killed by someone other than him."
"It's always something between the families," Michael sighed. "Never a moment's peace, it's always either John or Carmine bullshitting about who accidentally shot who, or who dented who's car..."
"Is John a good man?"
"I suppose...I don't think John respects me enough," Michael Brecher, the last sentence rushing out of his mouth, regretting it as soon as he spoke it.
"Michael, dinner is ready," Joanne Brecher called down from upstairs. "I hope you're not smoking in the basement, Michael."
"I gotta go, thanks for listening," Michael said. "I'll see you soon, Paul."
"Sure, you too, Mike..." Paul answered, feeling strangely happy. It put things into perspective in his mind, somewhat. Paul hung up the phone and continued writing in his memoirs.
User Reviews
Submitted by Beano312003 (user info) at 2006-07-13 07:54:15 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I can't see owt wrong with this kinda writing.
Submitted by Axolotl (user info) at 2006-07-11 23:28:30 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by Kaelic (user info) at 2006-07-11 16:35:16 (#)
Ranking: -2
Very topical ... faggot.
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She died over a year ago. Apparently you either can't understand sarcasm, or are on your period you little pissant.
Submitted by MyNameIsTim (user info) at 2006-07-11 16:48:44 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
and still liking.
Submitted by MyNameIsTim (user info) at 2006-07-11 16:48:32 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
i'm still reading.
Submitted by darko (user info) at 2006-07-11 16:43:28 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by Kaelic (user info) at 2006-07-11 16:35:16 (#)
Ranking: -2
Very topical ... faggot.
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LOL. Did you see what he did there? He took the comment that YOU left on HIS post and gave it back to you with a -2. Then, to top things off, he add faggot to the end! Bart appreciates guys like these on this site, if only I had followed his shining example my ratings would not have been banned.
Submitted by Kaelic (user info) at 2006-07-11 16:35:16 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
Very topical ... faggot.
Submitted by Axolotl (user info) at 2006-07-11 15:29:53 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by professorfuckface (user info) at 2006-07-11 12:41:41 (#)
Ranking: 0
WOW that's very intresting
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Must be an Australian thing.
Submitted by Axolotl (user info) at 2006-07-11 15:29:33 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by darko (user info) at 2006-07-11 13:04:29 (#)
Ranking: 0
did you see hte plagirism post?
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Which one is that?
Submitted by c1ndy (user info) at 2006-07-11 13:41:46 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by darko (user info) at 2006-07-11 13:04:29 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
did you see hte plagirism post?
Submitted by BobLobla (user info) at 2006-07-11 12:55:26 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
AWESOME
Submitted by professorfuckface (user info) at 2006-07-11 12:41:41 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
WOW that's very intresting
Submitted by Axolotl (user info) at 2006-07-11 12:39:05 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
jiui!