GrayOldFart
Really Really Experienced
- Joined
- Oct 22, 2012
- Posts
- 340
Alonso Macchi stepped out of the Cadillac, caught his Lieutenant's gesture, and followed the man's lead to the back of the warehouse. There, leaned against a garbage dumpster, was the body of his negotiator; the man's face, and presumably his body, had been beaten severely before a bullet had finally been put through his brain.
"Small caliber," the Lieutenant said, looking to the back of the dead man's skull. "No exit wound. They didn't want to make a mess on their carpet, I guess."
Alonso gave the other man a sharp look, but he knew that the comment was made for a reason. His Lieutenant had told him that sending this particular negotiator to talk to Pacelli would be a waste of time. "The man had no respect for out people. He doesn't agree with the concept of don't kill the messenger. With all due respect, Don Macchi ... you know who we have to send if we are going to get Don Pacelli to talk ... instead of pull a trigger."
The home was massive and sat at the shore, looking out upon a quiet portion of the Atlantic. The Family had, over two decades, purchased every acre of beachfront in sight, as well as every piece of property in a half mile arc around the mansion. Homes were torn down or moved or converted to serve as both home and station for the men protecting Don Macchi and his family. He was well protected here. As the door to his den opened and she walked in, he thought to himself, She's well protected here. How can I send her out there...?
"Please, sit," he said politely, gesturing to the antique leather chair that only he and she had ever been allowed to sit in. He could still remember her as a little girl, standing -- jumping -- up and down in it, asking him to read another book or give her a piece of candy. With all those treats, sneaked to her behind her mother's back, Alonso was surprised that she had grown up to be such a beautiful, well shaped young woman. "I have something to ask of you. Something ... something that may save the Family from ruin."
His daughter had a concerned look on her face, but he assured her there was nothing to worry about. He offered her coffee and pour the hot liquid into a pair of antique cups. Then, he talked to her about something she'd never heard before.
"Your mother and I decided even before your birth that you would not be involved in the Family business," he said, his tone very serious. "We have shielded you from our business affairs, but you are a smart girl. You read the papers ... surf -- is that the word, surf? -- surf the internet. You have heard the stories about our Family ... heard about the police charges ... heard what the press says about us ... calling us organized crime ... thugs ... murderers."
He hesitated to sip at his coffee before continuing. "I will not lie to my daughter. There have been times when ... when I had to do things that some people would consider ... wrong. But I have people who depend upon me. Hundreds, even thousands of people whose lives are ... they are good lives ... because of what I do."
He scooted forward in his seat, reaching out to take her soft, cool hands into his large, almost sweating ones. He had had some uncomfortable moments in his life, but he'd never been as nervous as he was right now, preparing to ask his daughter to go into harms way for something she knew little to nothing about.
"I have a ... let's call him a rival. He is causing troubles for the Family ... for the people who depend upon the Family. I have tried to talk to this man." He shook his head gently, but didn't explain any further about the failed negotiations. "I need these ... troubles to come to an end, or there will be ... I don't want to sound dramatic ... but there will be a war between our two Families. People will be harmed ... financially ... emotionally ... physically. Sweetheart ... people will die."
His stomach turned over just at the thought of anything happening to his daughter, but he could see no other option than to use her. He explained this to her. "Sweetheart, my rival ... Nicola Picelli ... he respects only one thing on this planet. Family. Not the Family ... but family."
He hesitated again, looking into her eyes and trying to smile but failing. With the death of his wife two years earlier to cancer and the deaths of his two sons -- each violent ends, and each hidden from their sister -- over the past decade, Alonso was alone ... except for his beautiful daughter. She was all he had ... which meant short of his going himself -- which would result in a bullet through the brain and the total collapse of the Macchi empire -- she was the only option he had left.
"I need you to talk to this man," he said, his voice cracking with emotion. "You will be perfectly safe. He will not harm you. He is not the type ... and, he knows it would mean open war in the streets with many dead on both sides."
He looked away for a moment, realizing that his last statement was the most honest -- and most graphic -- thing he'd ever said to his daughter about the Family business. He looked back to her and asked, "Can you be strong ... be brave ... and talk to this man in my stead?"
"Small caliber," the Lieutenant said, looking to the back of the dead man's skull. "No exit wound. They didn't want to make a mess on their carpet, I guess."
Alonso gave the other man a sharp look, but he knew that the comment was made for a reason. His Lieutenant had told him that sending this particular negotiator to talk to Pacelli would be a waste of time. "The man had no respect for out people. He doesn't agree with the concept of don't kill the messenger. With all due respect, Don Macchi ... you know who we have to send if we are going to get Don Pacelli to talk ... instead of pull a trigger."
The home was massive and sat at the shore, looking out upon a quiet portion of the Atlantic. The Family had, over two decades, purchased every acre of beachfront in sight, as well as every piece of property in a half mile arc around the mansion. Homes were torn down or moved or converted to serve as both home and station for the men protecting Don Macchi and his family. He was well protected here. As the door to his den opened and she walked in, he thought to himself, She's well protected here. How can I send her out there...?
"Please, sit," he said politely, gesturing to the antique leather chair that only he and she had ever been allowed to sit in. He could still remember her as a little girl, standing -- jumping -- up and down in it, asking him to read another book or give her a piece of candy. With all those treats, sneaked to her behind her mother's back, Alonso was surprised that she had grown up to be such a beautiful, well shaped young woman. "I have something to ask of you. Something ... something that may save the Family from ruin."
His daughter had a concerned look on her face, but he assured her there was nothing to worry about. He offered her coffee and pour the hot liquid into a pair of antique cups. Then, he talked to her about something she'd never heard before.
"Your mother and I decided even before your birth that you would not be involved in the Family business," he said, his tone very serious. "We have shielded you from our business affairs, but you are a smart girl. You read the papers ... surf -- is that the word, surf? -- surf the internet. You have heard the stories about our Family ... heard about the police charges ... heard what the press says about us ... calling us organized crime ... thugs ... murderers."
He hesitated to sip at his coffee before continuing. "I will not lie to my daughter. There have been times when ... when I had to do things that some people would consider ... wrong. But I have people who depend upon me. Hundreds, even thousands of people whose lives are ... they are good lives ... because of what I do."
He scooted forward in his seat, reaching out to take her soft, cool hands into his large, almost sweating ones. He had had some uncomfortable moments in his life, but he'd never been as nervous as he was right now, preparing to ask his daughter to go into harms way for something she knew little to nothing about.
"I have a ... let's call him a rival. He is causing troubles for the Family ... for the people who depend upon the Family. I have tried to talk to this man." He shook his head gently, but didn't explain any further about the failed negotiations. "I need these ... troubles to come to an end, or there will be ... I don't want to sound dramatic ... but there will be a war between our two Families. People will be harmed ... financially ... emotionally ... physically. Sweetheart ... people will die."
His stomach turned over just at the thought of anything happening to his daughter, but he could see no other option than to use her. He explained this to her. "Sweetheart, my rival ... Nicola Picelli ... he respects only one thing on this planet. Family. Not the Family ... but family."
He hesitated again, looking into her eyes and trying to smile but failing. With the death of his wife two years earlier to cancer and the deaths of his two sons -- each violent ends, and each hidden from their sister -- over the past decade, Alonso was alone ... except for his beautiful daughter. She was all he had ... which meant short of his going himself -- which would result in a bullet through the brain and the total collapse of the Macchi empire -- she was the only option he had left.
"I need you to talk to this man," he said, his voice cracking with emotion. "You will be perfectly safe. He will not harm you. He is not the type ... and, he knows it would mean open war in the streets with many dead on both sides."
He looked away for a moment, realizing that his last statement was the most honest -- and most graphic -- thing he'd ever said to his daughter about the Family business. He looked back to her and asked, "Can you be strong ... be brave ... and talk to this man in my stead?"