lickquidsecksy
Really Experienced
- Joined
- May 13, 2020
- Posts
- 255
A black luxury sedan moved silently down the rain-slicked streets of Chicago's lake shore drive, heading north. Wheels hissing over wet pavement, the inside of the car contained three men. Two sat in silence, staring straight ahead out their windows. One sat flipping through a phone, chuckling to himself.
"The internet is a wonderful thing Tony," the man flipping through his phone finally said.
Across the screen scrolled pictures of teenage girls, some blond, an occasional redhead with freckles, all laughing and goofing around and doing what kids that age do. They were the sort of photos you'd find in a wallet back in days of paper photos...and wallets. However, to the man viewing them, each was more charged than the last.
The man was Marco Maroni. A short list of friends, and the few men in this city he paid reverence to called him "Polpetto", which meant meatball, and was a playful term his mother used to call him. It stuck with those from the old neighborhood and, the scant few of them who were still alive could call him that to his face. Anyone else calling Marco Maroni "Meatball" could be assured an interesting death.
"How so boss," Tony said. He wasn't really asking because he wasn't really listening, but he knew better than to ignore, or appear to ignore, anything his boss said.
"I find out I have a problem at the same time I find out how to solve my problem."
"That's good boss."
"Ohhh," he said, getting to the summer vacation swimsuit photos. "If we had this in the old days...fuggetabout it." Marco drew on that last word, almost singing it, then laughing at his joke.
The girl in the photo was slim and, apparently short. She took a lot of pictures holding her phone over her head so Marco couldn't really tell, however, in the swimsuit photos, her hip came up to about the height of the picnic table she was standing next to, maybe about five feet...one, two? Nope, he decided, five feet if she was even that tall.
Her hair was jet-black, almost bluish in some pictures, and her eyes were the color of a still sea, grey in some, green in others, dark or light blue in a few. It was the eyes that got Marco if he was being honest (he wouldn't, he'd say it was the tits...which the beach photos also showed to be exceptional) since they reminded him of the house he grew up in next to the sea.
As the car made its way into the high-end neighborhoods north of Chicago, liquor stores and billboards gave way to trees and stores dedicated to selling cruelty-free dog food. The sedan pulled into the parking lot of a rental hall. The parking lot was nearly full of cars and the music inside could be heard thumping against the windows.
Noting a white and gold Lexus, Marco instructed his driver to pull in.
"Moose, park here."
"Yes sir boss."
"The internet is a wonderful thing Tony," the man flipping through his phone finally said.
Across the screen scrolled pictures of teenage girls, some blond, an occasional redhead with freckles, all laughing and goofing around and doing what kids that age do. They were the sort of photos you'd find in a wallet back in days of paper photos...and wallets. However, to the man viewing them, each was more charged than the last.
The man was Marco Maroni. A short list of friends, and the few men in this city he paid reverence to called him "Polpetto", which meant meatball, and was a playful term his mother used to call him. It stuck with those from the old neighborhood and, the scant few of them who were still alive could call him that to his face. Anyone else calling Marco Maroni "Meatball" could be assured an interesting death.
"How so boss," Tony said. He wasn't really asking because he wasn't really listening, but he knew better than to ignore, or appear to ignore, anything his boss said.
"I find out I have a problem at the same time I find out how to solve my problem."
"That's good boss."
"Ohhh," he said, getting to the summer vacation swimsuit photos. "If we had this in the old days...fuggetabout it." Marco drew on that last word, almost singing it, then laughing at his joke.
The girl in the photo was slim and, apparently short. She took a lot of pictures holding her phone over her head so Marco couldn't really tell, however, in the swimsuit photos, her hip came up to about the height of the picnic table she was standing next to, maybe about five feet...one, two? Nope, he decided, five feet if she was even that tall.
Her hair was jet-black, almost bluish in some pictures, and her eyes were the color of a still sea, grey in some, green in others, dark or light blue in a few. It was the eyes that got Marco if he was being honest (he wouldn't, he'd say it was the tits...which the beach photos also showed to be exceptional) since they reminded him of the house he grew up in next to the sea.
As the car made its way into the high-end neighborhoods north of Chicago, liquor stores and billboards gave way to trees and stores dedicated to selling cruelty-free dog food. The sedan pulled into the parking lot of a rental hall. The parking lot was nearly full of cars and the music inside could be heard thumping against the windows.
Noting a white and gold Lexus, Marco instructed his driver to pull in.
"Moose, park here."
"Yes sir boss."
