A Most Tall Woman

♠

It was just another typical night for the Vegas of late. The criminal lifestyle was as prosperous it had never been before, and as it would only rarely be again, since the days past the departure of the families who were at this moment governing it.

The Sin City was a raging firefly igniting from within with the promise to illuminate the Mojave, or consume itself attempting. Gangsters from all corners of the nation gathered by, like moths to a lamp. And greed, vanity, lust and death, were all part of the show to which everyone wanted a ticket to, just so they could savor the appetizing profits of the organized crime constantly undergoing in here. Nobody was innocent, and only a select few were immune from being consumed by the furnace which powered this machine. Such right however would only come to those who had their duties tied with a big family.

What for those without the ties, the respect, or even the habit of being in Vegas would be the unusual, wasn't so for the inhabiting family members, which had all three. Of these, Jones had settled himself to break the monotony of visiting his usual business points and instead meet with the many friends he had made in the house of Villainy Inc, in their headquarters. After hearing Shinni tell a creepy ghost story to Joy, TonyCastelli, DesireeKaira, James and some others, our gangster felt he too could add to the mood set by his friend or at least utilize it to entertain everyone further:

♦

This one’s about a man I once knew, during the early days of my career as a gangster. Quite the influential Boss in Chicago. He was a close friend to The Fox, Johnny Torrio, by the time he was still running what business would be had in the windy city. He was also very influential in what success I had in the line of work I chose. And I can’t place any of the conversations we had, while working as a factotum for him, to not have been key instrumental pieces to my formation as a businessman or even a man for that matter. That is, up until the last time I spoke with him.

This man was called ‘Domenico Santora’, best known as Santo or simply Dome, and this is the story of his death, as he told me the last time I saw him. You see, Dome was being assaulted by a very strong superstition, which I didn’t make much case of at the time he told me about it, but that I later came to attest as being truthful. Now, I’m not the superstitious kind to believe in the supernatural, and if there’s any faith or certainty I may have searched for in a God I have only ever found doubt. Yet this story, is the reason why I often try to be kind to old widows if I come across one. As I know them to pray so much, I hope that while I’m in my doubt, they may find the time to pray for me and put a good word with whatever god they talk to.

Anyways, this happened a few years before Tony here invited me to be his associate, in New York. Three months before Santora’s death, I was and would be living in Chicago for at least another year when I heard my former employer and mentor suffered a very mild stroke which had been recurrent and was in the state of becoming more so, and ever stronger. This affected me a great deal, as I had an immense appreciation for him and what he represented. I mean, he was a testy, ruthless old crook of a man who if allowed to, would rarely leave out a chance to destroy someone else’s business for his own gain. But you see, he had manners and valued his principles more than his life. If he had to tell anyone what was on his mind, he would be very frontal and always had strong arguments to support his stance. Even if sometimes I found him to be wrong, I could never not feel a sense of pride on how he could overcome someone else’s reasoning and impose his own.

♣

So I went to his house on the very next morning, on a cold foggy Friday. And even at the early hour, there was a strong committee of at least eight gangsters in his living room. Some standing, others sitting around the central table, they all looked at me as an intruder when I was escorted inside by one of the bodyguards. At the head of this table was Santora himself, who looked at me briefly as he generally would, without hinting anything, and just continued what he was saying before I arrived. He was focused and had this motivated tone in his voice which was known to carry the deliberation of long and intense hours of reasoning. He issued instructions on changes due to happen while a young man to his left wrote hastily. I quickly realized he was setting up shop for his own departure. And after a few more minutes he got up at some cost and came to me with his arms open.

He greeted me in the Italian way and hugged me briefly before giving out the last instructions to the room behind him, and walked me through his house. Talking as we moved he started to tell me this apparently new problem, which prolonged itself into the cushioned sofas of his office.

“You finally found the decency to come and see me. I was starting to think I would only get to see you again by the time you were sent to hell. Well, never mind that. There’s something very wrong and very bad happening to me, and I'm not talking about my brain having hiccups, no these are the symptoms of a malaria. I get it though, what is due is due, we all pay for the treacheries we commit on ourselves and onto others, one way or another. And I'm way overdue on settling both. But to think I’ll be the last savoring rejoice of every smaller man I've crushed under my sole and allowed to keep on breathing. With their prayers the only hope to find a revenge, they sure must believe my fare with the boatman will soothe their bitter frustration of a life. They can’t wait… Ah! Fuck them, I’m digressing! This is not what I wanted to...”

I had just taken a glass of brown from Santora’s bar and was now standing in the middle of his office while he sat in one of the sofas. He seemed to be winding about a request of some sort, which wasn’t typical of him. Still he seemed like the same old Boss I knew by the way I saw him talking to his under-bosses, and I felt that it was just the subject and not his condition that was clouding his mind. I remember interrupting him to say:

“Damn sir, this is good stuff right here. Sad to see you don’t have the usual Irish whiskey though... Listen, whatever unfinished business you may have, ye’know. I just need a shopping list. Write their names down, and I’ll make sure these bitter enemies of old won’t have the time to laugh your passing. For the good time’s sake, let me ease your consciousness.”

“Jones my boy, I do not care for a solution, nor absolution, even if you were a goddamn psychiatrist or a bloody priest, which you are neither. I do not suffer of consciousness and I doubt my soul would already be damned by the time I was a child, which is when this whole thing starts.

No, this I wouldn't dare, as I haven't for the last forty years, to share with just anyone. And yet it has been a weight on my shoulders which sagged the bags under these eyes past the limits of what amount of exhaustion can be perceived. I must delay you for as long as this story deserves to be told, the very beginning. And I ask that you do not make much of an impression on yourself of what I’m about to tell you, and rather just lend me what best I know you capable of my young friend, listening.”

“Sure seems like ye’re about to pass me a curse old man.” I laughed but I was uneasy at this point already, so I took a strong swig of my drink and attempted to lighten up the mood: “Don’t worry Santo, I’m not superstitious. Heard it gives bad luck.”

“Alright listen, you know I’ve never been a coward. There has not been an affront I’ve turned my back to if not out of respect, or for it’s insignificance. And there’s yet to come a man whose challenge went up to the point where my fists or my piece were required, to which I haven’t delivered either or both in person. Even if I feared it could be my undoing.”

“That much is true.”

“Yet. I don’t know if by fate, curse or from having heard some scary tales as my cousins would tell them... And laugh if you want, but I have the most overwhelming aversion and horror of coming across a tall woman alone at late night if it so happens that I am also alone. I could probably face the worst kind of thugs under any condition! But if it’s only myself in the darkest hour of the night, and a tall woman, waiting, creeping. I can’t explain it to you. But I know she does.”

“That’s... Very specific. I can’t say I ever had the opportunity to be in such a position…”

"But I have! And to my unluck that this happens, of everyone, to me. Which only infuriates me further.”

(...)

Seeing as his friends were glued to his story and waiting for something more conclusive Jones decided to continue, as Santora was saying:

♠

“You can’t imagine how I’d feel at these moments, waves of awe would possess my mind with the idea of souls from the underworld and all the invented tales of sinister fatality, which made me laugh at any other time, would come into being and invaded my senses. I would haste my passe without giving myself the luxury of distraction until I saw myself at home or as far away as possible from these women. And of course that once I felt the safety of my place or the company of somebody else, I would feel ashamed and laugh of my own madness. Trying to feel some consolation on the fact that these meager women whose probable addiction, disease or disaster were keeping them outside of their houses at such late hours, deserved more than my sickening. And that I would do better to just give them some change if they so asked for it. Yet the next time I was faced with the same circumstances, I would react all the same, as if by the distance between one and the next episode or for their lack of actual consequence, my self-reprimand and newfound attitude were but gone beyond forgetfulness."

"It so happened however, and this is the reason why I’m telling you of my affliction, that about a year and a half ago I was coming out of this gambling house, where I’d meet with some of my associates for an end of the week business meeting, at a very late hour. Later than usual at least, as I was having the most unlucky night and ended up losing more than I thought I could see returned to my pocket. Which didn’t happen and only prolonged my stay to the point of my own shame. And as I was walking back home, with the cold biting my legs and carrying that night’s losses at my back, I noticed that in the street I was at, very close from me then, and in front of a closed door there was a very tall, very old woman standing stiffly as if made of wood, right in my trajectory."

"And this woman, this hideous creature fixated her lash-less eyes on mine with such a cunning and impish gaze that I felt as if two knives were trespassing my skull, and from this she couldn’t refrain from drawing out the most horrible disguised scorn of a smirk from her teeth-less mouth… Ah, the brevity of this moment was already too much too bear, even if she wasn’t the most repugnant creature I had seen in my life." 

"She was tall and her exposed shoulders were as gaunt as they were wide, and as she leaned her big disheveled head down at me I had for this brief moment a vision which I haven’t been able to forget ever since. The fixity and the roundness of her withered eyes were like those of an owl, and her beetling nose protruding from between them was not enough of a distraction to deviate my focus from the black gap she had right in the middle of her denture. I am yet to see anything so hideously ugly as this old bonny giant of a woman, and at the same time the magnitude of my terror at this moment shadowed, or at least make me believe that all prior encounters with lone women in the night streets were but a shadow of this fateful moment. My instinct knew this woman is what I'm saying, and I felt as if she had been sniffing for me since my birth.”

♣

“Why didn’t you shoot that old hag of a witch?”

“Oh it wouldn’t have crossed my mind, I was blinded by terror and the only remaining amount of discernment I could summon out of me demanded that I instead pretended indifference. Wouldn’t she recognize me at that moment was my only hope, lest she decided to follow or attack me. I was powerless and I knew it. My gun wouldn't make a difference. My house though, was at the end of this lifeless street in which only me and this cursed specter were, and after getting past her every echo of my stepping was cast as if it was drumming for a sudden turning moment in one of those movies of suspense. But I had to be smart, I couldn’t haste my pace nor hint that this had been more than just a casual encounter. I had to pretend to be myself, and just make as much distance as I could in the most natural way."

"And so I did for what I had counted to be at least some 30 steps when I had the most sudden and horrible idea, of turning my head so to be sure that my antagonist was not following me. The effort and commitment such action would take required some amount of reasoning of course, to fight my fear I knew it was necessary to ensure myself that it was unfounded before anything. And had she followed me I knew then myself to be doomed BUT if she hadn’t then, I knew my superstition was nothing more than that. And oh my good lad, this giant woman was right behind me. She had been following me with silk stepping and was almost on top of me when I turned."

"Why would she follow me? Was she just an old woman that perhaps understanding my fear decided to play with me? I didn’t know but I just decided to run away like a little boy and I didn’t stop until I reached the end of the street, and as I did my fear vanished and when I turned I didn’t see her anywhere. I could see the whole extension of this road from where there were not close turns she could have made, so I knew her to be hiding next to some door as she was when I first met her. And soon as it was frequent for cops to pass by that place on their night patrols, one came over and I had both me and him walk towards the next turn checking door for door whether she was around or not, and not having found her I deduct she must have entered one of the apartments."

"I moved out not long after that episode, to this house, but the very next day my brother died.”

♦

At this point Santo asked me for a drink which he downed as a child drinks the sweetened syrup that will cure his cold, and after having rested his mind he continued:

“If this was the end of the story, would you say much of it?”

“... I would probably think something but I wouldn’t make it out to be the omen I think you’re trying to.”

“And I wouldn’t as well, had the story end at this point. There is nothing of supernatural in an old bawd wondering in a craze during the night in a street know for it’s less prideful services. And I wanted to believe for a while that this story was just that. But if some months ago I would have given some of the life-time I believed to have for the certainty of never finding this old woman again. I would now more happily give away the small remainder I still know to have for a last moment with her.”

“What? Why would you?...”

“To kill her Jones!

(...) 

It was one of those nights when everyone was looking for entertainment and as always they thought what would be a better entertainment than listening to Shinni's ghost stories. Even though James recently left the HQ in order to serve Klejnot and expand their business he was never missing from their usual gatherings. 

Shinni was sitting at the head of the table meanwhile the others were sitting all across the room. Joy was sitting on the counter not paying too much attention to the story but flirting with James who was laying on a couch. TonyCastelli was sipping from his cocoa milk waiting for Jasmine to finish her cookies. DesireeKaira was trying to follow the story but the clock was always distracting her. Jones was supposed to arrive at any moment and he promised not to come empty handed. He said he would bring a surprise. 

The child inside Desi had a very curious nature so instead of following Shinni's story line she was busy imagining what kind of gifts Jones would bring them.

The knock on the door followed by Jones entering the living room pulled Kay out of her thoughts. She stood up and for a split of a second she actually seemed excited. But it was all shattered the moment she saw Jones empty handed.

She put on a grumpy face and sat down on her chair letting the disappointment show on her face.

You are late! She nagged Jones who was puzzled by her hostile attitude. 

Ah, yes. He said awkwardly. I was caught up with something.

Desiree had no intention to keep the conversation going so she turned to Shinni and pretended to listen to his story.

Soon after he finished his ghostly talk, Jones expressed his wish to tell them one of his friend's experience too.

To add to the mood set by Shinni or at least utilize it to entertain everyone further. He said.

At that point everyone was happy they won't have to hear the stories about the bathroom door swinging or the shadows on the walls told over and over again so they showed their support and excitement for Jones's story.

It better be a good one! Tony warned Jones with his mouth full of freshly baked cookies.

This one’s about a man I once knew, during the early days of my career as a gangster. [...] Jones started his story with a smile on his face.

While the first part of the story was being told, Desiree was feeling deceived. The story seemed authentic given all the details Jones was giving but there were no ghosts or scary things involved. After Shinni's mild stories she wanted some action, real ghosts appearing from under the bed, or grabbing your leg from under the water while you are bathing. Those were the things Desi was expecting to hear. Jones must have seen the expression on their faces which were screaming we want some action because the events he was revealing started becoming more and more scary and intense.

She was tall and her exposed shoulders were as gaunt as they were wide, and as she leaned her big disheveled head down at me I had for this brief moment a vision which I haven’t been able to forget ever since. The fixity and the roundness of her withered eyes were like those of an owl, and her beetling nose protruding from between them was not enough of a distraction to deviate my focus from the black gap she had right in the middle of her denture.

DesireeKaira was now squeezing Jasmine's arm as she was visualizing everything Jones was describing. TonyCastelli stopped munching his cookies and was gulping. Joy and James forgot everything about their flirts and had their eyes glued to Jones. Shinni was looking at Jonesy with admiration. He felt like there was finally someone who understood his pain. He knew Jones was relating someone else's experiences but that didn't stop him from feeling closer to him.

And oh my good lad, this giant woman was right behind me. She had been following me with silk stepping and was almost on top of me when I turned.

At that point Desiree's eyes were closed and her hands were covering her ears. The story became too intense for her but the curiosity wasn't letting her go to her room. She felt like she had to know how things ended and what happened to the woman and Jones's friend. So she patiently waited for him to continue the story.

To kill her Jones!