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Mar 29 - 01:19:34
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At the foot of the mountain Started by: HarryBoulder on Sep 25, '21 02:20
Lying on the couch, Harry listened to the upbeat ballad on the radio as he stared at the wall. The ashtray, posted on the small table in front of him, was a graveyard of cigarette butts, all very recent. He had been sitting there all afternoon, listening to the Mike Morrison radio show, smoking and drinking whiskey. He felt a twinge of pain in his head, but decided to ignore it and continue drinking. Fuck it. At some point, his eyes strayed from the wall and found the radio. The upbeat music created a bizarre contrast to the way Harry was feeling that night. 

The radio had been a "gift", very important and memorable in Harry's life. It was a very beautiful piece, the wood finish all varnished, the black buttons, the stations marked in the center, mapped circularly like a compass. But that wasn't why it was special. In fact, that radio symbolized a different time in Harry's life. It had been a bribe from some local smugglers, from the time Harry was in the NYPD. 

It felt like it was decades ago, but just a couple of years earlier, Harry was still active as an NYPD officer. It had never been a brilliant career and, to tell the truth, Harry had already entered the force as a crook. His personal motto had never been to serve and protect anyone but himself and his own. He had become a policeman for personal gain. In a way, it was a position of power. And he enjoyed it.

During his years on the force, Harry had committed more offenses than many criminals. He was known in every corner of New York's underworld. He turned a blind eye to smugglers and drug dealers in exchange for a weekly fee. He took bribes from thieves to look the other way as they raided jewelry stores downtown. Fuck, Harry even extorted shopkeepers in his area, offering them his protection! He was practically a mobster. Although Harry considered himself a very honorable man, "protecting" the community, beating up rapists and any man who dared to hit a woman near him, his situation got so bad that it crossed the threshold of corruption, even by NYPD standards. And, of course, as nothing goes unnoticed, Harry was finally kicked out of the corporation. His superiors hushed up the case, that was the kind of attention they didn't need, and Harry didn't cause any fuss either and just disappeared for a while.

That was two years ago. In the meantime, his wife, who apparently didn't know about his activities, had left him, going to live with her mother in New Jersey and taking their daughter with her. That crushed Harry and he started drinking more than usual, depressed. He rarely left his apartment and, little by little, spent the money he had saved from his years as a policeman, on booze and hookers. Money from his private retirement fund. Dirty money, mostly.

Now here he was, thinking about it all. What perspective did he have? How long would he live like that? He was a man, dammit. He couldn't live in mourning forever, or living in scorn to hide his pain. He had to do something.

His eyes now found another object. Equally important and memorable. Just like the radio. His old pistol, beside the ashtray on the table in front of him. 

Was that the solution to his problems?
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The next morning, Harry woke up with his head exploding. It had been a long, excruciating night. Although drunk, he had given a lot of thought about his life. For the past few weeks, he had been thinking a lot, actually. When a man is at rock bottom, there comes a point where he knows he has to change. Harry knew that now. So he got up and took a cold shower to wake up completely. He shaved and dressed in his best clothes, which honestly wasn't a big deal. He hadn't bought new clothes for two years now. It was a gray suit, a pale blue shirt, and a black tie that didn't match at all. He put on his wristwatch, his pistol in his waistband and walked out into the street.

Harry was known in the neighborhood. When he was in public, he used to "wear his mask" and became a very nice man. A seemingly happy and normal man. Since his days as a policeman, it had always been like that. He was a well liked guy, some even thought he was a funny guy. But there was nothing funny about his appearance, though. Harry was a bruiser. Tall and strong, he was intimidating. An interesting mix. The kind of brute who helped old ladies across the street in the neighborhood.

As he walked through the streets, he encountered some familiar faces.

"Hey Harry, how are you? I haven't seen you in a while!"

And to everyone, he responded, kindly, and continued on his way.

Harry finally came across the building he had been looking for. He hadn't left his apartment that morning for any bullshit. Nah. He knew what he had to do. There was this mobster that was on the rise in the neighborhood. Harry had been hearing about him a lot lately.

He was now walking up the stairs towards the building's entrance door. It had been a while since Harry had felt so alive. After much consideration, he had finally found a north. A plan.

A man stepped forward and reached out his hand, touching Harry's chest and stopping him, putting himself between him and the door.

"Where are ya goin'?" said the man, almost as tall and strong as Harry.

Harry looked down at the man's hand on his chest and back at him. Finally, he relaxed and smiled, trying to control himself.

"I'm here to see Sisyphus." he finally said.

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While the man moisturized himself with some premium gas that his goons has stolen from a gas station a few miles down the road, which was said to have healing properties, there was a sound right outside of his bathroom. Without even so much as a knock, his fourth in command, who went by the name of simply 'Jones' came bursting through with a cigarette of all things held firmling in between two of his fingers, which given the circumstances could have very well been a death sentence for everyone involved had it been lit.

<font color="#BBBBBB">"What the fuck, Jones? Who told you to come in here?" </font>

"There's someone here for you, boss. He says he goes by the name of Harry."

While Sisyphus didn't tend to pay a lot of attention to most of the mob, seeing as how most will be dead or behind bars after only a few years of action, he had heard of the man who was once a prominent corrupt cop on the force. Some say that he had even killed a few men using his badge as cover, but none of that was ever proven in any courts. 

"So, Detective. What do I have the pleasure of meeting you for?"

Wiping the gasoline from his chest, he put on a robe and stepped away from the bath that had been running only seconds ago. He was planning on taking a plunge, but this conversation would have to be done without the pleasures of soaking getting in the way of business. Grabbing the cigarette from Jone's hand, Sisyphus dropped it to the floor and crushed the tobacco into the expensive tiling he had put in his own personal bathroom-- it was from Greece, or something.

"Get out, Jones. As for you, Harry. Do you have news for me?" 

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Harry extended his heavy, massive hand towards Sisyphus, seeking a greeting. He grimaced into a grin, his teeth yellow from years of smoke, as Sisyphus squeezed his hand firmly. Then, disappointed, he saw Sisyphus drop Jones' cigarette to the ground. A pity, as he was dying to smoke one himself, although the smell of gas still lingered in the air.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Sisyphus. Sorry if I'm interrupting...something."

Though he always sounded kind, his thick, husky voice always sounded very steady, no matter who he was talking to. He took a quick look around before continuing.

"I'm afraid my detective days are behind me, now, Mr. Sisyphus. So behind I can't even see them anymore. Memories, just memories. Speaking of which, I hope I never harmed you in any way back in the day, Mr. Sisyphus. I certainly don't remember. That would make this visit highly inappropriate, right?"

Harry laughed wildly at the idea. In fact, his memory wasn't bad at all. He knew very well where he was and where he was stepping. Athough indirectly, Sisyphus had already benefited from Harry's poor police service in the past.

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While there weren't many faux pas that one could make in the underground when having enough power, there was still a line of rules that Sisyphus liked to keep for himself to follow as to keep himself a bit humbled. One of the largest was to never do business while in the room that you shit.

"No, there was nothing important going on. Tell me, Harry. Can you see any wrinkles on my forehead?" slathering a bit more gasoline above his brows, the man scrunched his face a few times in an attempt to show off his age. Before the imposing man could respond however, Sisyphus had already moved on and began walking towards the bathroom door and out into one of the many rooms in his headquarters. There were a few guys inside, but they knew, as if on cue, to all leave once the man entered and took a seat on his favorite speaking chair.

"Every man needs a good place to do business, and this is mine. It's swept for bugs three times per week, both figurative and literal, so it is one of the cleanest in the nation." Sisyphus let out a sigh of relief once his ass hit the expensive leather cushion and wiped off the gas from his body before handing an imported cigar to Harry. "It's from some fuckin' high end place. Smells great, but to me it tastes like shit. You can have it. Call it a sign of respect since you have me so curious over here."

When the cigar left his hands, he held Harry's arm for a moment and stared at him with a pretty intense gaze. Sisyphus didn't like making a habit of having feds in his house; even ones no longer on the force, but maybe this would be a good arrangement? He let go of his grasp after inspecting the Boulder's hand for any sort of listening device and then backed off back into his seat.

"You can't blame me for being a little apprehensive. So, tell me. What did you want to talk with me about?"

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Harry settled into the fancy armchair, and seeing Sisyphus hand him a cigar, he hurriedly reached out to take it. When the man grabbed his arm, despite his instincts, Harry maintained an almost impeccable control, except for his raised eyebrows. After a moment he fully recovered from his surprise and when Sisyphus released his arm, he leaned back in the chair.

"I don't blame you at all, Mr. Sisyphus." Harry paused and placed the cigar under his nose, sniffing the pleasant aroma. Satisfied and grateful for the gift, he nodded before continuing. "In this line of work, you wouldn't be where you are if you weren't careful."

The big man paused again as he tucked the cigar into his jacket pocket. He would save it for another time. Then he looked at Sisyphus again. Despite his past and the reasons that brought him there, anyone could tell that Harry looked extremely comfortable, sitting across from one of the most influential gangsters in town. The kind of confidence you only see in certain types of men.

"Mr. Sisyphus, you certainly know that I didn't leave the police force through the front door. And, to be honest, if they hadn't kicked me out, I would still be there today. What I want you to understand is my motivations. How a man makes a living, to me, never made a difference. Cops and criminals are two sides of the same coin and I have always believed in the peaceful coexistence of both sides. Violence is not good for anyone, don't you agree?"

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There was a lot of poetic waxing going on by the Boulder, who had seemed to be honing in on the duality of man. While this could be an interesting conversation to have in polite conversation, there was very little politeness going on with Sisyphus right now who had been dealing with a lot of issues on his street corners and even within his organization. While he didn't want to let on that there were power struggles and stolen money happening all over his businesses, he did want to see if all of the stories of Harry were fables or not.

"Well, it sounds like you're coming here for work. Am I wrong? Tell me though, what would you do if I told you that violence was good in certain scenarios? Would you believe me?"

Holding a pen now cautiously in his hands, he signed a slip of paper and handed it to one of his men who had just entered the room. Once he left, the conversation was able to continue and the inner workings of his family books would need to be opened just a little if there was to be any sort of connection made between these two men.

"There are people who believe that because we do not work within the view of the law, that they can do whatever they want. These people, would you agree, are bad for business?"

Another pause was forced on them both when yet another figure entered the room. This time, however, it was a man who had clearly been greatly injured. Blood was dripping from his forehead, and his eyes both seemed to be blackened by something of great force. While he was still able to stand, you could tell just by looking at him that he was not all there.

"This is one of the kids I have running certain contraband for me. Yesterday, he was attacked."

Pointing his gun towards the boy who couldn't be a year over twenty years old, Sisyphus sighed before standing up and walking closer towards him. 

"His only sin was working with money. My money. Now someone else has it. Can you see where I am going with this?"

Instead of reacting in a negative manner to the young man, instead the boss of The Absurd pulled out a small bag filled with cash and handed it to him before turning back to Mister Boulder who still sat in his seat.

"I take care of those under me, you see? But these people who took my money. They're not under me."

Hoping that he had made his point, Sisyphus walked back over towards where he had sat previously and slouched back down into the chair without saying another word. Instead waiting for his guest of honor to speak up with a conversation of their own, clearly he had came here for a reason and Sisyphus was still intrigued to hear what he had to say.

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Harry followed the sequence of events silently and with genuine interest. The first man to enter and then the second, especially the second, for whom Harry felt a kind of compassion. In other times, he would have felt contempt and shame, for witnessing someone presenting themselves that way in front of a superior. So weak. 

In other times.

Today, Harry was already a very experienced man and had seen too much of life to understand that nothing is as simple as it sounds or looks. During Sisyphus's speech, he would only nod his head or let out a grunt of consent. When he felt that it was his time to speak, he already had a lit cigarette between his fingers, and he shifted more comfortably in his chair, moving a little closer to the table.

"Mr. Sisyphus, don't get me wrong." He held up his palm for a moment, as if in apology. "While I believe violence is bad for business and for everyone involved, there are times when violence is the only possible answer."

He paused almost dramatically, taking a drag on his cigarette and letting his words echo in Sisyphus' head.

"You see, I am an ex cop. This fact alone can generate unnecessary animosity. This very meeting we are having now would be unthinkable in the minds of many men in our line of work. Closed minds, I'd say." He shrugged. "A shame. I've always considered myself a very fair guy back in the day. I've never lived in a good guys bad guys fantasy. Maybe you'll remember that."

Another brief break for a drag on the cigarette. Harry's eyes, however, didn't stray from Sisyphus's.

"But you are right, Mr. Sisyphus. You're right. And you are an open-minded man, I can tell. In fact, I'm here looking for a job. I have a set of skills that, I think, can be very helpful in your organization. And honestly, Mr. Sisyphus, I think you need me." He pointed his thumb back toward the door, where the bloodied young man had just exited. "This kind of thing can't happen. You shouldn't be worrying about that sort of thing."

Harry spoke in a very calm tone, his thick voice almost whispering the words. There was no false modesty in his speech, apparently he was really convinced of what he was saying, without making an effort to do so.

"You hire me, Mr. Sisyphus, and I'll make sure you don't have to deal with this kind of shit anymore. You'll find out I can be very persuasive. I can convince whoever your 'friends' are that they definitely can't do whatever they want in this town."

The big man leaned back in his chair again, moving slightly away from the table and taking another drag on his cigarette.
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While the potential of Harry was great, there was still a bit of a question in whether his old life would overlap with the new one. Could one truly go from being a cop, even a corrupt one, to running in the mafia? It was a query that could only be answered with experience and there was an abundance to be had right now with all of the issues that Sisyphus had been dealing with.

"We won't go into details about my problems, I am sure you understand, at least not yet, but for now I would like for you to handle these men. Take as many of my guys as you need and let them know that you are running the operation. They can speak to me if they dislike that, but I highly suspect that they won't be bothered." flicking through a stack of papers filled with names and numbers that didn't make much sense out of context, the man looked back down at his work and completely ignored whatever was going on in front of him. While Harry could possibly have a great future in the mob, it would take some convincing.

"and make it as sloppy as you'd like. My weapons are yours." 

The extra flourish would really speak volumes to prove that the ex-officer was serious. Murder was something that anyone with their heart still in civilian life would not feel comfortable with, so it was an extra important part of the task.

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Harry had listened to Sisyphus' words carefully. He wasn't there to play games, he was really looking for a job, something that would secure him, hopefully, a comfortable future, and maintain the adrenaline levels he was used to. Harry wasn't the type to settle behind a desk.

He took another drag on his cigarette and when Sisyphus had finished speaking he stood up, extending his hand towards the man, who glared at it before shaking it.

"Mr. Sisyphus, your problems are now my problems. Consider it handled."

And just like that, he turned and walked towards the door, opening it and leaving the man's office. He had a feeling he hadn't felt for a long time. The feeling of having a purpose, a mission. 

He felt alive.
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