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| voi, me e tre | Started by: Kleighton on Jul 16, '08 00:56 |
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Hunched over the sink Kleighton looked at herself. Her eyes blood shot, sleep, sleep was good, but she could sleep when she was dead. That might be soon. She aggressively freed her hair from the tight bun it had been in, letting it fall around her shoulders. Smirking at herself she looked dangerous with those brilliant blue eyes of hers. She placed her hand on her forehead and took in a deep breath. Stabilizing herself Kleighton sat down on the plastic toilet seat. The airplane hit a wind current and turbulence kicked in tossing Kleighton into the wall. She could hear the 'please fasten your seat belts' ding outside of the little bathroom. Surely a knock from one of the stewardess would come soon. Don't worry about them. Kleighton told herself and got down to business. She pulled a few pieces of paper out of her purse and went over the names again. Damn it. She cursed under her breath and became discouraged again. There was no way, NO WAY, she'd be able to find everyone on this list by herself. Everything really counted on her Chicago source. Although her source had been out of the game since she was born, it was her last and best resort. Just then impatient knocks were stressed on the outside of the door. A muffled voice was telling her to please return to her seat. Yes just a minute ma'am. I'll be right out. Kleighton slid the list back into her purse and fixed her hair in the mirror. She gave the flight attendant an unpleasant face after she freed herself from the small confinement and took her seat. Looking out of the small double lined plastic window Kleighton counted her stars and hoped she would help. |
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The plan landed with a thud and Kleighton almost jumped out of her seat. Did the plane crash? Are we dying? She said wide eyed to the stranger sitting next to her who just looked at her like she was crazy. Kleighton looked out the window and saw the glimmering lights of the airport. They had just landed, what a hell of a way to wake up. As the man that sat next to her stood up and waited to slid into the main aisle Kleighton grabbed his wallet out of his pocket. Mr. Business Man's wallet was heavy, she smiled and grabbed her bag from the over head compartments. It always made her smile when she first got off a plane and saw all the signs for people that were to be picked up even if she wasn't one of them. Kleighton bypassed the escorts, news stands and baggage claim and went straight out to the taxis. She picked one that looked the most like he knew what he was doing. Kleighton has always appreciated taxi drivers. They really helped America move and she'd never be able to do that job, but still she had no time to diddle daddle around while the driver got lost. The car pulled up to a small sewing shop. It looked a little grimy from the outside, the puddle Kleighton stepped into when she got out of the cab didn't help the matter. Inside though was a different story. The place was crystal clean, organized, clutter free. A little old women sat behind one of the machines and when Kleighton approached her she didn't look up. Ma'am I'm looking for the women that owns this shop. Is she in? A few seconds longer then Kleighton wanted to wait the old women looked up and shook her head. So she's not in? When will she be in again? Maybe this was the wrong place, but she swore she had the address right. The women said something, but it was a bit of a word blur with her thick Italian accent. Really? Can't I just get a break? Kleighton asked the old women who just shook her head and went back to whatever work she had been doing. Turning on her heals, Kleighton was just about to walk out of the store when she heard a very familiar voice behind her. |
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| Reply by: Kleighton at Jul 16, '08 00:58 | |
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She had just resigned to the fact that it was going to be another ordinary, nothing-out-of-the-blue type of a day. With a sigh she put down her pen and pushed the small business ledger away from her across the desk and allowed her eyes to wander over the space of her office. The walls were white, peppered with framed photographs of her family, friends and school days. There was a tiny door leading to the main lobby of the shop. Slowly her eyes passed over mountains of fabric heaped upon her desk and finally settled on to her tiny, second-hand sewing machine. When Marietta Rossi had first embarked on the adventure of owning her own seamstress business, she had imagined it more glamorous than it was turning out to be. Designing dresses and creating new and daring fashion statements. Certainly not ledgers, hired help and looking for ways to quickly pay her landlord this month's rent. 'Maybe I can get daddy to pay for it,' she caught herself thinking before quickly shaking her head. No. No help from her father. Not this time. This was one mess she was going to have to get herself out of on her own. The hum of a sewing machine beyond the door to her cramped office signaled to her that her assistant, her aged neighbor Agata Vitti, was working tirelessly to finish the hem on the pants Mr. Guardini had brought in. A pang of guilt hit Marietta as she realized she would have to try and explain to the old, Italian mother of five that her weekly pay was going to be a bit late... again. Screw me, the twenty something muttered, sighing heavily and exhaling through her mouth heavily. No, this was definitely not the life she had planned out for herself. Leaning back in her chair she briefly closed her eyes and ran her hands over her pale face. In debt. Not speaking to her father. No marriage proposals in sight. Best friend missing. A sharp stab of grief washed over her and she promptly stifled it with a sharp bite to her tongue. 'None of that. Think of something else,' she goaded silently, sitting up in her chair and opening her dark set of eyelashes once more to survey her 'kingdom'. Her green eyes lit with excitement as she spied the deep, midnight blue dress she had been working on just that morning. Rarely these days did she get hit with a wave of inspiration so brilliant as the one she felt now: pulsating throughout her chest and making her heart rattle in her ribcage. 'Balancing the money can wait,' she thought, scooting her chair closer to the sewing machine and picking up the colored smock. She examined it closely, the tip of her tongue poking out of the corner of her mouth in concentration. With an internal nod she laid the fabric out and kicked her sewing machine to life. Pulling her long, wavy blonde hair back behind her shoulders, Marietta leaned forward and began to shape the dress to fit the visual in her mind. It wasn't until minutes later that she began to notice something was off. Agata? Marietta called, the hum of the machine from beyond her office door mysteriously absent. Her ears perked up as she heard a different noise. Talking? But whom? Standing up the woman gave a little stretch above her head, smoothing her trousers and oversized shirt out before walking out onto the main business floor. A woman, looking to be about her own age, was just leaving the store. With a concerned look Marietta shot a furious gaze at Agata. Had she lost them a customer? Miss? she called, her voice somewhat shrill. Miss, can I help you? The figure slowly turned around and Marietta felt her heart leap into her throat before skipping a few beats. No fucking way... she said in surprise and shock. Her eyes widening she began frantically gesturing towards one of the empty chairs beside a sewing table. Kleigh! Where the hell have you been?! All the hurt, anger and loneliness she had been feeling since the disappearance of her best friend since girlhood seemed to dissipate into nothing but an overwhelming feeling of joy as her eyes worked over the figure of Kleighton. Her hands began to shake as she pulled out her own chair and sat down. Sit, sit, please. Don't leave! What are you doing here?! Her voice shook as she spoke and she quickly locked eyes with Agata. Giving a dismissive nod towards the woman she watched as the frail figure began speaking lowly to herself in Italian before picking up Mr. Guardini's pants and bustling off. Taking a deep breath she turned back towards her friend. Seriously, what happened to you? A moment of fury crashed over her and she clenched her teeth together in anger before she reached over and slapped the other woman on the arm. Not even a God damn goodbye? What was so important that you left in a hurry like that? |
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| Reply by: Marietta at Jul 16, '08 01:09 | |
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Kleighton turned and couldn't help but smile at her old friend. Marietta looked wonderful, glamorous even in this little shack of a business. She had always look great though, she had gone through puberty well, was both prom and homecoming queen and always had five boys chasing her. After taking the seat Tata, her own personal nick name for a sister of a friend, had urged her to take Kleighton couldn't shake her smile. The past, her past, their past swelled her brain. The plans they had, oh the plans. Happy to see me I take it. Kleighton smirked at Marietta and crossed her legs. She continued to ignore all the questions Tata was fling at her. Even though Marietta had always been the fashion-ist she didn't look very stylish today. I could say the same thing about you Tata. She said neglecting her friends pleads on what happened to her. What had happened to Marietta? Only wearing simple pants and a plain shirt. Really? Kleighton thought about what she wore today. A tight pencil skirt that was cut just above her knee, a tight blouse and a thick belt around her waist. The outfit clung to her boyish frame in all the right places. It didn't really matter, Tata was at work, if Kleighton worked in a place like this she also wouldn't put much into her daily dress. Marietta I'm so glad I've found you, you were one tough cookie to hunt down. It was like a spell had been cast upon her when she entered the shop. Kleighton had always stuck to her goals, business first pleasure later. Something was tugging at her. She wanted to tell Marietta why she left a few years ago, wanted to tell her everything. She stopped herself, this wasn't the time, she had business to take care of. Then when I entered this place and I had to deal with your...ah help? I was unsure, but then you came gracefully out and I knew it was you. You haven't changed a bit, but you've also changed so much. |
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| Reply by: Kleighton at Jul 16, '08 01:47 | |
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Marietta couldn't take her eyes off of Kleighton. It wasn't as if she was attracted to her, oh no. She was merely entranced by the way the young woman held herself. Ages ago, when they had last seen one another, it had been the day after a raging house party. A party that would go down in infamy as one of the defining moments of their friendship. As Kleighton had left, laughing and falling down drunk, she had looked so young, innocent, carefree. The woman that sat before her was not that same girl. Perfect posture, a practiced smile, gorgeous clothing... Kleigh, you look absolutely beautiful. A grin spread across the blonde's face as she looked her friend over once more. Averting her eyes she stared downwards at her own appearance. Of all the days for her best friend to make a triumphant return into her life, it had to be the day she forgot to bathe. So! she called brightly, trying to change the subject of her thoughts rather than the one they were having. I'm glad you found me too. With a mocking expression upon her face she spread her arms in a wide, sweeping gesture- as if to show off her shop. You think I let it be well known that the great Marietta Rossi spends all her time here? Of course it was hard to find me. Her grin faded a bit as she studied the dusty corners of the room and the low-grade machinery. Yep... just living my dream. Playfully she stuck out her tongue and leaned back in her chair, assuming a position highly similar to Kleighton's, quickly rearranging her face into a look of seriousness. I know, I know, it's not much. Best I could afford on the small business allowance I had. Ended up going to college, y'know. After... Marietta was going to bring up the whole walking out on her thing once more, but as Kleigh had artfully dodged all her questions she instead let her old friend speak, listening with rapt attention to every word she spoke. 'She's back,' was all her brain could process repeatedly. Ah, yes. Agata, sorry about that, her voice said lowly, apologizing for the miscommunication it seemed her seamstress and Kleighton had encountered. Uh, she speaks Italian. Very little English. Still, works wonders with a sewing machine. Another goofy grin worked it's way onto her face as she stared back into the bright blue eyes of a girl she had come to regard, even in her absence, as her sister. You've changed too, you know? But you're exactly the same. Funny how that works out. Creepy, crawly nagging feelings were weeding their way through the back of Marietta's mind. As much as small talk was a pleasant change from her drab, one-sided conversations with Agata, the issue of her best friend's sudden flight and no-contact kept pressing itself to the foremost of her brain. Seriously, all chatter aside, she began, her voice turning low and husky as it filled with the gripping emotion that came along with abandonment. Why did you leave? We were going to... She cut herself off with a small shake of her head. You left. Didn't leave a trace of yourself behind. And now you're in my office and as much fun as it is catching up and pretending nothing bad ever happened, you hurt me, Kleigh. Her cheeks began to burn red in embarrassment. So this was a far cry from the joyous reuniting she had pictured and dreamed about for ages. It seemed in this instance emotion trumped all her composure. Letting her head tilt downwards her green eyes began to rove frantically around the floor, stopping momentarily to examine every stray bit of thread or wayward needle it found. Sorry. Anyway, what are you doing here? |
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| Reply by: Marietta at Jul 16, '08 02:15 | |
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It's really not a bad place Marietta, I'm sure your father is very proud. Kleighton's mouth went sour even at the thought of Tata's father, she was surprised she could even speak of him out loud. Her past was mixed with good and bad things, when she left Marietta it was because one of the worst happenings. There was bad blood, literally, between Tata's father and herself. She let her friend continue and each time she brought up that day and the days after Kleighton left she could only only lower her brow a little and bite her lip lightly. There was nothing she could say to explain why she left. That was a lie, there were things, but she swore she'd never tell Marietta about them. She slipped a smile onto her mouth, her hands both clenched into fists at her side and her heart full of emotion. The thing between Marietta and herself ate away at Kleighton daily. She was successful to push it out of her mind most days, but sometimes it snuck back into her thoughts. Today was the hardest. Sitting right in front of her best friend, Kleighton could hardly keep from opening her mouth and spilling her guts. I know I hurt you and Marietta I can't even express how sorry I am that I did that. I've never wanted to cause you pain. She paused, her cheery face had slipped away and had been replaced with pain. Her face mirrored Tata's, they hurt for the same and different reasons. Maybe she could tell her about what happened, but then Kleighton remembered that she needed Marietta's help and if she told she may might be turned away . I can't give you clos.... The sound of a window crashing in erupted behind Kleighton. Soon after the first the third window's glass clattered to the ground. She quickly grabbed Tata and pulled her down to the floor with her. Even if it was an accident, kids playing with rocks in the streets, Kleighton was trained to always be safe. The third shatter made a sewing machine crumble in front of them. This was definitely not an accident, those were bullets soaring past them. Kleighton turned to Marietta and spoke very clearly to her. Do you have a back door? |
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| Reply by: Kleighton at Jul 16, '08 21:14 | |
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The quelling feeling inside her chest was beginning to overwhelm her. One glance at Kleighton's face showed that the distance and time that had come between the two young women pained her in the same ways it pained Marietta. She immediately lowered her eyes again, afraid to make contact with her friend's face, afraid to say anything to disturb the uncomfortable silence they sat in. Her hands remained clasped in her lap and the longer they remained frozen the more her two thumbs began circling around one another in a rhythmic pattern. A cough sounded from beyond the workshop. It appeared Agata had not gone home and instead had sought solace in Mari's tiny office to continue her work. 'How long?' the girl began to wonder. 'How long are we just going to sit here and pretend everything is alright?' Raising her head she studied the features of Kleigh's visage; her dark eyelashes, her small nose... Kleigh, she began, only to be cut off moments later by her friend's louder, more confident tones. "I can't give you clos...." Her heart constricted in fear as hell came to essence on Earth before her very sight. Marietta's green eyes widened, at first in curiosity, at the three figures climbing out of a black Jaguar SS I beyond the plate glass windows of her shop, only to be replaced with a feeling of utter horror and fright. The three dark, sharply dressed people slowly pulled out three very large guns from underneath their coats and opened fire. CRASH! was the sound the bullet made as it impacted the first of the openings, the sound of tinkling glass hitting the window sill and floor echoing throughout her ears. Within seconds her arms flew up over her head as another loud racket sounded. The two childhood friends were being shot at. A strong grip on her arm pulled Marietta off of her chair and she shuffled for a moment on her hands and knees, taking cover under one of the tables. Her gaze met Kleighton's own and the woman was stunned to see not a trace of fear within the brilliant blue eyes. This was most definitely not the girl she had grown up with. It was someone much different than the one she had come to know. "Do you have a back door?" The question was clear, concise. A dawning realization crawled over Mari's skin as she realized, without a doubt, that her friend had done this, been through this before. What the hell is going on here, Kleigh?! she hissed, a sewing machine making a low ZING! noise as it fell off of the table above and hit the floor just feet from where she and the brunette were crouched. Her question was answered with a bullet whizzing too close for comfort beside her leg and embedding itself into the foot of the chair she had just been sitting in. Oh shit. Back alley this way. Follow me. Frantically the blonde began to crawl on her hands and knees towards the back of the store. Just beyond her office there was a tiny door, rarely used for anything besides disposing of trash. If they could just make it... With the jolting noise of bullet clip after bullet clip being clamped to the guns outside and unloaded into her store, Marietta managed to shimmy her way just outside the office. She hesitated for just a moment, her head turning into the doorway on a whim. A sickening wave of nausea washed over her as she saw Agata laying face down on the floor, a trickle of blood weaving away from her midsection. Oh no. Oh God, no. Agata... Marietta felt frozen, a sob working it's way up from her chest and catching in her throat. 'Now is not the time,' her mind forcefully reminded her. 'Grieve later. Time to get out of here and live.' With one last silent prayer she tore her gaze away from the old Italian woman and began to crawl the final three feet, quashing the fear that was building itself up inside of her body and causing her heart to hammer away. A rather large box of fabric was sat directly in front of the blue-painted peeling door. Give me a hand, she said lowly, grabbing one side of the box and pulling it towards the side of the door jamb. With the combined efforts of the two women, mostly on Kleigh's part, the doorway became unblocked. Quickly Marietta flicked her hand upwards and tugged on the brass door knob, opening it with a tug and pulling her hand back in next to her chest. The two women scrambled through the door, pushing and shoving their way out. As an afterthought Mari pulled the door closed behind them. Grunting in exhaustion she stood to her feet, her eyes adjusting to the dim light of the back alley they had arrived in. They stood facing a brick wall, trashcans lining both sides of the narrow dirt pathway, a half rusted, half broken ladder hanging discarded midway across the wall. Marietta gave a sharp sigh and turned her head in both directions. To the right she saw the dead end and the back of the small restaurant that was located next door. Swiveling her head to the left she saw discarded whiskey crates and more doorways and small overhead lights speckled along the building. The path grew darker the further away she looked. Well. She said, her voice resonating in the confined space, the only other sound a mysterious dripping of a liquid hitting pavement. There were many pressing questions on her mind, but if the history of the last ten minutes were to repeat themselves it was clear Kleighton wasn't going to answer any of them until she was ready. With a heavy sigh she turned to look at her friend, exactly the same height, and licked her lips with her dry tongue. Where to? |
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| Reply by: Marietta at Jul 17, '08 01:32 | |
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That was just fantastic. She checked herself, both of her pumps still had their heals, her purse was intact and she was still breathing. After dusting off her skirt and fixing her blouse Kleighton pursed her lips and let out a bothered sigh. Moving her point of vision on Marietta she relaxed a bit as her friend was also still alive. That was obvious though, Tata was already asking more questions. Kleighton shook her head and smiled. The roofs still as sturdy as they use to be? Kleighton laughed while she looked at the old battered ladder leaning sluggishly against the wall across from them. Sorry, I guess it's not a great time to crack jokes. A nervous habit. Plus there was no way she was getting on the ladder even if it was an option. They weren't seventeen anymore sneaking out of Tata's house to another party. Kleighton looked behind her at the door they had just come through. She wanted to tell Marietta to stay here, wrench the door open and find out who was giving her such a grand welcome back into town. Never leave things while they are still happening was one thing Kleighton had lived by since she left Chicago. Always finish what you start or what others start, but today she had Tata with her. If she walked back into that store all she'd find was a dead woman's old body bleeding all over the back office and three men hopping into a car speeding away. She did not dwell over this, her choice was to stay with Tata. Lets find a place where we can make a phone call. We'll annomously tip the cops off about the shooting. They'll take care of Agata, sorry about that by the way. Marietta's eyes were focused on the ground, but met Kleightons at the mention of her assistants name came up. Kleighton could see that behind her dark lashes her green eyes were a little swollen like she had the tears, but she was holding them back. Strong Tata, Kleighton smiled at her friend. You had to be a strong with a father like hers. Kleighton put one foot in front of the other and started to walk down the stretch of the alley. Yes, there was the restaurant right next to the sewing shop, but it was to close for comfort. She didn't think Marietta could hold through the thought of the police dragging out her dead Agata. Soon Tata was at her side, walking with her. A few yards away from the door they just escaped from a sting of hard liquor stung the inside of Kleighton's nose. Moving her head so she could see the back door she noticed a bum sitting in a pile of tipped over trash cans. This was there place. Kleighton walked to the door and swiftly opened it for Marietta. After you miss. Her free hand made a gesture for Tata to enter the building. It had been a game they played as they would hit the town back in the day. They'd open the doors for each other and giggle as they got funny looks. Green four leaf clovers greeted them as they stepped into the main area. An Irish bar, the cops weren't going to come any where near this place. Neither were the ones that had shot them up moments before. The Irish worked for one person and one person only, themselves. Whoever hired the three men to take her out or to just scare the guts out of her would not be hiring the Irish. A phone, Kleighton didn't see one on the way in, but maybe she could convince the bartender to let her use one in the back. They each took a seat at the bar next to each other. Leaning into the bar she gave the bartender a wink. He sauntered over and asked their orders. Kleighton ordered a martini, a little classy for this place, but that's what she drank. Marietta ordered something she couldn't even pronounce, but the bartender nodded and walked away. Drinks on me, it's really the least I can do. Also I'll get you some money to fix up your shop. She gave Tata an encouraging smile, hopefully it put her friends nerves at rest. The bartender came back with their drinks and asked if he could get them anything else. Actually yes, do you have a phone? I didn't see one on the way in, maybe you have one in the back I could use quickly? Kleighton fanned out the money she was about to give him for their drinks. A twenty dollar bill slipped out from under the pile and she saw the bartender's eyes change from friendly to very friendly. He instructed her there was one in the door right after the women's restroom. Thank you very much sir. After he left Kleighton told Tata she'd be right back and headed off to make the phone call she never liked making. |
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| Reply by: Kleighton at Jul 17, '08 02:33 | |
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The overwhelming urge to laugh bubbled inside of her chest as she stared at Kleighton. Climb on the roofs? How long had it been since they had done something like that? An image of drunken shenanigans past floated to the surface of Marietta's mind and she daydreamed in amusement, recalling the dangers and peril that she and her friend used to get themselves in to. A wild pair they had been growing up, always getting into trouble with one another's parents but getting back out on the town the very next day, stirring up something else. And strangely, it felt sort of like that just now. There was a flutter in Mari's heart that she had not felt in ages. The flutter that usually signaled adventure. Any moment now Kleigh was going to get a glint in her eye and a crooked smile and they would be off to yet another party, yet another secret rendezvous with older men... Before she allowed herself to crack a smile and get swept up in the moment, though, the reality of the situation weighed down upon her, pressing on the back of her head. Her shop was destroyed; she and Kleighton were being shot at; Agata was dead. 'I can't deal with this,' her inner voice thought in sudden fear. She was exhausted. Her day had gone from boring and commonplace to action packed and dangerous within mere minutes. It was far from what she had been expecting. Her eyes glazed over as Kleighton began to speak, mentioning the old Italian seamstress and apologizing. As if that was all she needed to erase the image of the blood spilling across the tiled floor. Marietta inclined her head, barely listening as she fought back tears, blindly watching as the brunette began to make her way through the alley and moments later jerked into action to follow her. The dripping sound became louder as they passed by the outside of a small laundry mat, her watery green eyes roving briefly over a hobo sitting amongst his kingdom of garbage. In reflex her upper lip curled in disgust before fixing itself into a straight line once more. At one time she may have been able to look down upon the man, but these days Marietta was barely scraping by without the occasional monetary help from her Father. Last thing she needed to be doing was judging people only slightly less fortunate than herself. Marietta looked up with a small giggle when she heard a door open and Kleighton made the normal gesture for entering a business. Why thank you, miss! She managed to muster, though her voice was small and feeble sounding. With her head held as high as her current mood would allow Mari walked into the building, brushing her blonde hair back behind her shoulders and narrowing her eyes to adjust to the dim light. After a few moments she began to feel herself perk up; the young woman recognized where they were, which was a slight relief considering all that had transpired this afternoon. The two women had entered through the back door of the local Irish bar, a place that Marietta had frequented on a Friday night or two in the recent months. After Kleighton ordered her martini Marietta stared at the bartender blankly for a moment before almost half muttering, Poitin, please. A lot of it. An Irish liquor that was sure to make all her troubles seem a little bit better. Don't bother, really, she responded in a disheartened tone, slumping in her seat and staring blankly back at her friend's face. My shop was going nowhere. Fixing it up won't help that. With one sip of her drink under her belt she began to relax. Her eyes began to wander over the smooth, marble surface of the bar and without realizing it she tuned Kleighton out, barely registering her voice when she said she'd be back in just a moment. Instead her ears were picking up a different sound; something soothing and pleasant. Something that piqued her interest. Sitting back up, clutching her glass in her hand, she swiveled in place on her bar stool. The place was barely full at this time of day, a man completely zonked out in one of the booths to the left of the bar next to the front door. A couple of men sat close together at another nearby table muttering excitedly about something and pointing to a scrap of paper laid out before them. Behind them, though... behind them was what caught Marietta's interest. Another sip slid smoothly down her throat as she dragged her line of vision across a patch of floor clear from tables and patrons on the opposite side of the bar. A single chair sat in the middle, a young man perched upon it casually. In his hands he held a guitar. His fingers moved across the strings creating a pleasant melody that snaked it's way through the air to meet her ears. For the first time since the chaos had broken out, Marietta let a smile slide across her lips.She felt a presence next to her and jumped slightly in her place. Turning, she came face to face with Kleighton once more, back from wherever it was she had gone. Are you listening to this? she asked her friend, pointing across the bar lazily and using her other hand to tip another burning sip of alcohol into her mouth. This is amazing! |
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| Reply by: Marietta at Jul 17, '08 19:56 | |
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Kleighton really laid on her southern accent as she spoke to the police officer on the other end. When he couldn't understand her and asked her to repeat herself she became impatient and ended up hanging up the phone. She already didn't like talking to the police and probably wouldn't have made the call, but she owe it to Tata. It was her fault for the recent death of her friends hired help. While walking back into the bar she noticed music had started to plan, rounding the corner she saw a guitarist sitting in the opposite side of the room. The environment felt lighter, the music really set the mood. Kleighton took a seat back at the bar and ordered another martini. She watched the guitarist move his right hand up and down the neck of the guitar. His calloused fingers held the strings down until he needed to smoothly move them to another chord. The left hand moved simultaneously, a pick between his thumb and pointer finger strumming the strings. The music flowed through Kleighton's body and made her fall into a trance. The guitarist reminded her of her father, of the nights he use to play his guitar and sing her to sleep when she was a little girl. Snapping out of it Kleighton looked over at Marietta who was also transfixed on the musician. As she looked around herself, Kleighton realized that some of the men in the bar were gazing at Marietta. She giggled to herself and thought about how Tata hadn't lost her touch after all. The girl she grew up with really showed through at that moment in time. Kleighton turned her attention back to the gutarist as he continued to play his song. She knew that she didn't have any chance in hell of getting Tata's attention until the music stopped. Even though there was that green bulb lighting up the stage he played on it was still a little dim in the bar. Only one bulb could do so much. Kleighton could still pick out his features. The man had short brown curly hair, it looked as if he had rolled out of bed not with a car in the world and walked down to the bar. A cigarette laid waiting in an ashtray next to him, but his voice didn't have that raspy smokers tune. He sat a little hunched in his chair leaning over the guitar he played beautifully. A shadow danced across his face never letting Kleighton get a good view. The song came to a slow trance melody and she was sucked back into thoughts of her father. Her father, he was a hansom man. Her mother always said she looked like him. Kleighton would roll her eyes at her coming up with some sort of smart alec way to put that she wasn't a boy, but then she would run off into the woods to play pirate or Arabian nights with Tata and her brothers. When Kleighton's mother tried to put her into a dress it usually didn't work and when it did the dress was dirtied even before she stepped outside. The memories of her parents made Kleighton smile and not even realize that the music had stopped. Tata had turned to face her and even ask her a question. Yeah I'm fine. |
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| Reply by: Kleighton at Jul 21, '08 22:27 | |
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Well that wasn't too convincing, Marietta drawled in response to her friend's distracted statement. Her voice carried a bit over the silence of the bar, and with a raise of her eyebrow and a feeling of disappointment she realized the guitarist had stopped playing to take a drag of his cigarette and take a swill of beer. The quiet stirred something inside of the woman, that or it was the drink. She took another sip of her moonshine and blinked her eyes several times to clear the water that welled up within them from the sting. There was something bothering her; there was obviously something bothering Kleighton. A false confidence from the liquor was quelling inside her and Marietta was feeling just on the edge of a breakdown. It had to be now. Answers had to be given now. Marietta waited until the guitarist picked up his instrument once more and began to play, his voice floating through the joint like a ghost whisper. From the corner of her eye the blonde watched the brunette female order another martini, sipping it delicately. My, she really had changed. The woman was starting to think that perhaps the change her pal had undergone was due to (or caused) the three men with guns that had shot up the store. Kleigh... she began, taking a deep breath. Turning her body to face her, she leaned in closely and began to speak in undertones. I don't know what the hell is going on. And you know, part of me is thinking I shouldn't know what is going on. But I'm involved now, whatever it is. The two men were starting to get bored with their treasure and out of the corner of her eye she saw them begin to stare and nudge each other over herself and Kleighton. Moving closer she began to speak quickly. Last thing she wanted was for two men chatting them up while she was trying to get to the bottom of this mysterious new behavior from her oldest and dearest friend. People have died. My store is ruined. And I'm not an idiot, Kleigh. You're in danger over something. I want to know who those men were. I want to know why. Her eyes darted over to the guitar player, the bartender and over the front door. The thought had just now occurred to her that if they were in serious type trouble, those men could be after them at any moment. Looking Kleighton full in the face she exhaled deeply, her breath giving off the strong, sweet scent of drink. Mostly though, I love you. You're like a sister to me. I want to protect you. Now you need to tell me what the fuck is going on. With her eyes opened wide she leaned back from her friend, giving her breathing room once more. The guitarist had finished yet another song, casting the bar into another round of silence. Not wanting to be overheard she took a sip of her drink, halting the conversation for the time being. Her nerves feeling a bit more relaxed than before she gave a small "Woop!" of appreciate and started to clap her hands softly. Encore! she called, giving a goofy grin and catching the eye of the performer. He smiled back briefly, his eyes running over her before turning his head slightly to survey Kleighton. At the sight of her he visibly froze, turning quickly to grab his cigarette and take a calming drag. Well that was weird, she commented to the other woman. Wonder what that was all about? |
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| Reply by: Marietta at Jul 22, '08 20:52 | |
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What was that all about? Hmmm...you will see. We're going to follow him when he leaves the bar. She said confidently and looked into Marietta's eyes and grinned. Kleighton let her dark lashes drop over her blue eyes and flutter quickly back open. This time she was looking at the guitarist, she smiled slightly at him. Out of the corner of her eye she could see that Marietta was staring at her, like she couldn't believe what just came out of her mouth. She started to stutter something, but Kleighton was one step ahead of her. Turning her attention to the two men that had started to lean into herself and Tata. I hope you gentleman aren't moving in on us to steal our purses. We really don't have much in them accept lip stick and blush. Kleighton batted her eyelashes hooking them in. She gave a brilliant smile and showed off her pearly whites before continuing. We will however let you buy us a drink. As the two men raced to get the bartender over Kleighton thought about how her mood had just done a complete flip flop. That one little event spun her out of whatever overwhelmed problem she was digging herself into. The smile from the musician was not meant for her, it was meant for Marietta and then another nice girl that was swooning at his music. He let it slip, so carelessly, he gave it all away. When Kleighton saw it happen it was like she had found that missing puzzle piece and everything was falling back into order. The man behind the guitar was one of the contacts on her list. All she had in her purse was the list of names, but back at home in the envelope the list came in were also little snap shots of each person. Whoever had sent her the envelope was a little nice and marked on the back each of their names. She had names and faces all lined up and she just found one out of the blue. Just then a drink was set in front of her and another in front of Tata. Kleighton turned to the man next to her putting her hand on his shoulder, crossing her legs towards him and smiling. Marietta you know why I've always liked Chicago? She asked her friend, but kept her eyes on the man in front of her. They've always been the sweetest. Thank you so much for the drink. Bringing the drink up to her lips Kleighton faked a sip. She never drank anything from a bar that she didn't see directly made or put in front of her. Moving her eyes around the room she could hear that the man Tata had sitting next to her had a very annoying voice. He sounded like a parrot. Shot shivers ran down her body every time he spoke, poor Tata. Kleighton looked over at the stage where the contact was and noticed he was packing up his guitar. You'll have to excuse us for a quick moment gentlemen, my nose needs a quick powder. Kleighton removed herself from the stool she had been sitting on and took Marietta's hand dragging her into the bathroom with her. |
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| Reply by: Kleighton at Jul 22, '08 21:43 | |
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W-whoa! W-what?! Marietta began to stutter as her friend led her away to the bathroom. She tottered tipsily behind Kleighton, waving her fingers flirtatiously at the men who had approached them as they walked away. Her friend led the way to a dark lit hallway besides the bar, lined with dirty cracked old photographs and mold layers thick. Doors lined the walk way, all closed shut, and at last the two women approached one with a crooked "Women" sign upon it. Kleigh opened the bathroom door with a bang and without warning pushed Marietta inside and followed her in, shutting the door behind them tightly. Kleigh, what the hell? The bathroom was small and cramped, adorned with one toilet that looked utterly disgusting. The linoleum floor looked as if it had not been mopped since the building had been constructed, the mirror was cracked straight down the middle, the walls around it peeling and flaking off white paint. A stench was radiating from... somewhere within the vicinity. Even in her semi-drunken stupor Marietta recognized this tiny space as a place she didn't want to be all that badly. Ugh, what are we doing in here? If you have to go, go quick. Her eyebrows raised in amusement as she watched her friend lean in towards the grimy, dirty mirror and begin to examine her face. Kleighton's mood sure had changed in only a few minutes flat. The moody, sullen brunette had turned into a confident and bubbly flirt, all stemming from that eye contact with the guitarist. She hadn't even protested when the two men with their scrap of paper came over and began to chat the pair of them up. That, and her words still echoed within her ears. "Hmmm...you will see. We're going to follow him when he leaves the bar." Once again she had not answered one of her more serious questions, but here she was, ready to become a swooning girl who followed musicians home. Are we seriously going to follow that guy home? The thought sort of amused her more than it confused her, and with a tilt of her head she watched her friend artfully ignore her once more and flash her a smile. 'Aha', she thought with an inward smile. 'We are going to follow him home. We're just in here killing time and avoiding those drunken men.' With a roll of her eyes Marietta made a scoffing noise to which Kleighton rolled her eyes in echo. Together the two of them left the bathroom, creeping down the hall and peering around the corner. Thankfully the two men were so engrossed in their own conversation at the bar they failed to notice that she and Kleighton had left the bathroom. She watched the brunette for a moment out of the corner of her eye, noticing that she had her eyes glued to the guitarist and was barely blinking. The man was slowly taking the last drags of his cigarette and taking the final sips of his pint. God damn, Kleigh. You're freaking me out. Why are you staring at him like you're going to strangle the guy? |
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| Reply by: Marietta at Jul 23, '08 19:11 | |
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Ignoring the calls for an encore, Dylan tossed his battered guitar back in the case and shrugged on his dark jacket. Running his hand through his hair, he glanced offstage. The two women were heading quickly towards the bathroom, while in their wake two chumps who looked like they'd just been ditched were speaking angrily to each other. Smirking to himself, but troubled by the sight of one of the women, Dylan stepped quickly off the stage and towards the rear exit. The one on the right- the blonde, looked like a knockout. On a usual night, he would have had her come up on stage and sing a ballad to her, but the other woman had kept that from happening. She was the spitting image of Mr. Lazzari, who Dylan remembered from a few years back. At the time, Dylan was just starting out in the business; he was basically a glorified errand boy. But it was a way to get his foot in the door with the mob, so he did it. Lazzari was a good man, and still one of the best bosses he'd worked for. After he disappeared, Dylan tried to find out what had happened, but hadn't turned up anything. Until recently, that is. Dylan was knocked abruptly from his memories by a young woman rushing by with a drink tray. Smiling at her, he collected himself and proceeded to walk out the back door. As he reached the doorway, he quickly turned around to see if he could catch sight of the two women that had caught his attention while he was singing. His eyes swiftly found them, and he was surprised to catch them staring in his direction. He also noticed the two men they'd been talking to earlier lurking in the darkness near them, looking like they might start trouble. Thinking that he might need to intervene, but knowing the girls would be safe inside the bar, Dylan quickly exited the building and turned a corner. Ducking behind a wooden fence, he peered out into the alleyway that showed the exit he'd just come out of. A couple minutes later, he saw the brunette march out of the door and stop in her tracks. Lazzari's daughter. What was her name? K... something. He'd heard about her from the old man in passing, but never seen her. Whatever her name was, she was pissed. Dylan saw her turn to the blonde that had just joined her and shout. "Damn! Where'd he go? Wondering why they would be trying to follow him, Dylan inched his right hand towards his left jacket pocket and drew out his gun. He wasn't exactly a glorified errand boy any more. As the two women wandered off down the alley away from him, he saw the two drunks from earlier stumble outside. When the drunks saw the two women walking away, they looked at each other and ran after them. Cursing, Dylan burst out from the fence and followed. He was faster than them, and sober, so he made up the distance quickly. When the drunks were still a few yards away from the women, who were just turning around at the noise, Dylan leapt forward and tackled the bigger, stronger man. As Dylan and the larger of the drunks tumbled to the ground, the other man abruptly stopped to help his friend. Rising to his feet with a man on either side of him and his gun having slipped away from him, Dylan dealt the smaller man a quick blow to the face, as the larger man swung at the back of his head. Dodging the blow, he quickly darted out a leg to the man's knee. Dylan proceeded to quickly attack both of the men, quickly switching his attacks between them to keep both of them on the defensive. He took several hard shots, including one to his left eye, but dealt out far more damage than he received. Knocking the smaller man back for a moment, Dylan ignored him. Ducking beneath a haymaker of the larger man, Dylan landed a furious uppercut and had the pleasure of seeing the man fall back unconscious. But that pleasure was short lived, as he heard the cocking of a gun behind him, and turned to see in his peripherals the smaller man holding his dropped gun. Raising his hands, Dylan frantically tried to think of a way to escape. But immediately, he heard the crack of a pistol. Surprised to be alive, Dylan noticed the small man crumpling to the ground in agony, clutching his kneecap with both hands, as he turned to see the brunette holding a smoking pistol. The blonde stood behind her with a horrified look on her face, and Dylan couldn't help but smile at her. Turning back to more serious matters, he looked calmly at the woman with the gun and addressed her. Don't shoot me- I knew your father. My name is Dylan. Who are you and what were you trying to follow me for? |
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| Reply by: Dylan at Jul 23, '08 22:18 | |
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The questions spun across her mind. She ignored them. Who was he to be asking things? She was the one that just saved his life. Frankiee put her gun back into her purse and knelt down to the man she had just shot. She grinned at the man in agony and put her hand into his pocket taking out his wallet. Opening it she found a few large bills and handed them back to Marietta. Her friend was hesitant, but when Frankiee didn't move her hand away she finally took the money. She turned her attention back to the wounded fool. Next time you get the idea that you can control a gun make sure you have the courage to shoot one. She placed her hand on his scummy face when he looked away from her. No man liked to be down sized by a women, specially thugs like these. See that bus stop over there? When the bus comes tell them to take you to the hospital. They'll take that bullet out of your knee and you'll survive, so stop giving me that face like you just saw death. Frankiee left him there and moved onto his unconscious friend. She went through his pockets until finding the wallet and taking the cash. Standing up she looked at Marietta, who still looked shocked, but really could you blame her? She half expected the musician to have bolted from the scene of the crime, but when she looked in his direction again he was still there. Dylan you said? He nodded. You got a place around her where we can clean up that eye for you? He tripped over his own words, but eventually his apartment address slipped out and they were walking towards it. The group was quite, specially Tata. Frankiee wondered what she was thinking, she wondered if she'd stick around now. Brushing off the thought she moved quickly onto another. So her list of people wasn't completely bogus. This Dylan fella knew her father or at least knew of him. Frankiee told herself that he could have just been saying this to guarantee she wouldn't injure him also, but how would he know who her father was. He also had his own gun he could have picked up quickly. She came to the conclusion that she could trust Dylan until she either found out what happened to her father or who he was working for. They turned a cornor and were back on Marietta's seamstress shop. She hoped Tata could keep her cool as they walked past the building. As they grew closer Frankiee could see the police tape that stretched across the front of the little store. She knew there would be sadness in Marietta's eyes if she looked at her, that's why she didn't Frankiee led her own thoughts to the building. It was still a little mystery who had shot up the building. Were they some guys that had followed her from back home in New York? Were they some of Marietta's father's men? Maybe they weren't after her at all, maybe Marietta had some loans she was having some trouble with. Anger sparked within her as she thought about some thugs trying to rough up Tata. If this was the case Frankiee wasn't going to let them get away with it. She didn't want to think about that right now so she switched subjects If we are walking across town I can just grab us a cab? Frankiee put it out there, but was quickly shut down by Dylan who assured her that it was only a few more blocks. Dylan seemed a bit calmer now. He started to make chit chat after her question and complimented her on how she had took the situation back there into control. He also thanked her. You don't have to thank me. We're just even know. If you hadn't come along one of those men could have done something to us. Even though that was a false statement she told it to him to make himself feel use full. Frankiee would never let some greasy thug put his hands on her without her permission. Marietta was the same way, she may look innocent, but she had a little fighter in there somewhere. So you know my father? Frankiee said calmly. Dylan paused in his tracks and took a few seconds to reply. Finally telling her that he knew Mr. Lazzari and that he is a very fine man to work under. He is? Was her reply and the thought of this Dylan guy leading them to the mental institute he belonged to passed through her mind. Everyone in this town who was anyone related to the crime world knew her father had been missing for four years now. There was no way Dylan still worked under him, unless he worked in a grave yard. Frankiee really hoped that wasn't the case. Every day she hoped her parents were still alive. |
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| Reply by: Frankiee at Jul 27, '08 16:43 | |
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There was something completely different about Frankiee. Sure, in their childhood she had always been the more forward and wild of the pair, but tonight she was acting completely different. Marietta furrowed her eyebrows together as they followed the guitarist out of the Irish Pub. This was just a case in point. They had followed boys home before, sure, but it was usually with giggles and plotting about devious adults acts that would have made her Father go on a murderous rampage if he had found out. Frankiee, she said, her voice weary from the night's events and her vision blurry from the few drinks she had consumed. She had wanted so badly to reconnect with her friend. For years she had imagined them embracing and going about their lives like nothing had happened. And now, hours later, people were dead, people were shooting at them, and Fran still wasn't saying a God damn word about who anyone was or why they were traipsing through the back alley once more in the dead of night. The alcohol was giving her a large amount of false confidence. Marietta didn't want to be doing this anymore. She wanted to be at home, taking a long hot shower in her dumpy apartment while she cried over her shop being shot up, as well as her dreams going down along with it. I'm just about done- she started to say when suddenly she heard the pounding of footsteps on the grimy alley path behind them. In unison the two women turned and Mari narrowed her green eyes to watch as two hulking figures booked towards them. It was the two men from the bar! The ones that had tried to chat them up! And they looked... From the look in their eyes she could tell they weren't after anything less than clothes ripping and forcing themselves upon them. No problem. Frankiee and she had been in this situation too often in their past to now know how to handle it. A flash of silver glinted in one of the man's hands and immediately her heart leapt into her throat. Horny men was one thing, guns were an entirely different story. Her lips parted and she could feel a scream quelling in her throat when suddenly a third figure darted from behind the two men, tackling the one closest to her- the guitarist had just narrowly saved her. Eventually her voice found the shriek she had been looking for, and Marietta let out an ear-splitting scream. Immediately she stumbled away from the struggle, tripping and falling to her knees. 'Please God, please let it be over', she thought to herself, sitting against one of the brick buildings and pulling her knees to her chest. She burrowed her face into her knees, a tear escaping the corner of her eye. What a day. What a fucking day and now she was going to end up dead. BANG! She had never been that close to a gun being fired before. The entire alley vibrated, passing the sound along to both ends. Marietta's head immediately snapped upwards and she was on her feet as quickly as she had sat down. Her only concern was Frankiee. Yet Frankiee was okay. More than okay. Ohmigawd... Marietta muttered, her eyes widening in horror as she watched her friend poised over one of the two men, a smoking gun still in her hand. Ooooohhhmigawd! Her mumblings began to grow louder as she watched the guitarist exchange a few words with Frankiee, before her friend got down onto her knees and rummaged around in the wounded man's pockets. Reluctantly she took the money she was offered, pocketing it with trembling hands. What the hell is going on? she asked, her voice wavering. Immediately her questions were cut off again by her friend exchanging words with the musician, asking for and receiving his address. Silently she and Frankiee exchanged looks. Her friend's earlier words sprang forth to her mind. "We're going to follow him home." But what, Mari wondered, would they do when they got there? The night was silent as they began their trek towards the neighborhood Dylan, his name was, lived in. Stars had begun to speckle across the sky above and her eyes began to water as she surveyed them, her head tilted backwards, not wanting to look at either the musician or Frankiee, or the familiar sights like her now discarded and darkened shop with bullets littered around the building. Slowly the wheels of her mind began to churn around one another, and her thinking became faster and more disjointed. She wanted to go home. Her entire body was trembling from fear and cold and drink and adrenaline. She watched Frankiee shoot some guy in the knee cap. Marietta barley listened in to the chatter that Frankiee exchanged with Dylan, preferring to keep to herself. They spoke about her friend's Father a lot, which was interesting to her. He and Fran's Mother had disappeared some years back, and shortly after the girl who was like her sister followed in their footsteps. Not a word was spoken about the Lazzari family for years, and now today her best friend was back, holding a conversation about her dad as if nothing had ever transpired. "We're here," came Dylan's rough voice as he paused outside a darkened building. With a small wrinkle to her nose Mari passed her eyes over the brickwork, noting that it was falling apart and barely standing. Trashcans laid upon their sides, the contents of which went spilling across the main entryway and sidewalk. It was disgusting. She followed the man and her friend inside, bringing up the rear of their little party, and was pleased to see that the inside did not match the outside. The walls were a custard yellow and the doors were a simple brown. A single staircase winded upwards, showing three floors above the one they were on. "Come on," Dylan said, taking the steps two at a time. With a sigh she followed, the trio dragging themselves up two flights of stairs until they hit the third floor. Shifting the weight of his guitar case Dylan led them to the apartment on the far left of the hall, apartment 309. Pulling keys out of his pocket he unlocked the door and pushed it inwards. Stepping aside he held out his arm, directing them into the living quarters first. Frankiee walked inside and Marietta followed her, her eyes narrowed. Frankiee, she whispered as they walked through the door. You best tell me what the hell is going on. I don't want to get shot at again. |
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| Reply by: Marietta at Jul 31, '08 16:37 | |
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From which the room many voices are heard, a muscle bound mafioso enters and no one takes notice until he shadows them with his inhuman size, mostly coming from his gargantuan arms. He enters and with a bellowing sound, he asks a young woman, seemingly reffered to as Marietta. "What's going on here?" |
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| Reply by: CamachoDesperado at Aug 01, '08 23:58 | |
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The apartment was quaint to say the least. A small sofa sat to the left of the front door, a radio sat on the coffee table in front of it. As Frankiee walked into the place a little more she noticed a small kitchen off to the right. The counter tops were clean which surprised her, up until just now she took Dylan as a messy guy. Maybe he had a girlfriend. Do you have a room mate? She asked him after Dylan had entered behind them and double locked the doors. He replied with a quick no and then telling them that it was just him. He offered them the couch and excused himself front the room walking past the kitchen. Frankiee could see that Marietta was hesitant to sit on the couch. She really couldn't blame her, it looked like the couch was just pulled out of the dumpster. The fabric was dusty and musty, the pillows that usually came with a sofa like this were missing and it looked like, blood, maybe blood, was splattered on one of the arms. The musician came back before Frankiee could offer Marietta some comfort. He held a wash cloth to his eye and a chair from the kitchen his other hand. Dylan kicked off his shoes before he took a seat in the backwards chair. He rested his arms on the top and leaned the rest of his body on his arms, a leg on each side of the chair. Frankiee was not going to take off her shoes, the floor looked worse then the couch. On the walk there Dylan mentioned working for her father with that information Frankiee could put two and two together and make out that Dylan lived a life of crime. With the way his apartment looked he wasn't living the glamorous life just yet. He looked awkward in the chair like he only sat in chairs when he was playing his guitar. The man's eyes wondered around the room, first to his guitar and then to Frankiee's face. "You look so much like him." Dylan said, his face quickly blushing as he didn't mean to say those words. Frankiee bit her lip and wanted a mirror so she could look at herself and see if it was true. Her heart thudded hard in her chest as she thought about her father, his warm eyes, his strong hands that strummed the guitar and his smile were the first things that popped out. Or the only things, everything else about him was a bit of a blur. Before she could even blink her eyes the ache for her father, her parents was swiftly replaced with the feeling of regret. Frankiee wished she had spent more time with them in the last years with them. Instead she was taring up the streets with Marietta. She told herself quickly, squishing the feeling, that she didn't know they would be selfishly taken from her. "Oh I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make things awkward." Dylan interrupted without knowing. You said you work with my father? Skillfully moving the conversation in the right direction. Dylan quickly fixed his mistake he had made earlier just like Frankiee knew he would. He went into telling both of them how he ran errands for the boss of Chicago and a few of his men. One night Dylan was playing his guitar while waiting for the next dead he would do for the boss and Frankiee's father approached him. Mr. Lazzari had corrected a chord in a song Dylan had been writing then. After that night him and her father would get together ever so often and play in bars for a bit of cash and a little vacation from the life they usually led. After a few months of this Mr. Lazzari had mentioned Dylan's name to the boss and said a few good words about him. Soon Dylan was Frankiee's father's under study. Then things changed after Mr. Lazzari and his wife went on that one job and never came back. It felt like Frankiee's heart folded in on it's self in pain as Dylan brought up that one job. The man continued to tell them about how Dylan had been moved under the watching eye of another Made Man. Skipping two years ahead, Dylan told them about the funeral of the boss of Chicago and how he was pushed down a few ranks as the new guy that took the position of Boss didn't trust Dylan. Frankiee was shocked. She had no clue that her father's boss had fallen. Who is the new boss? Frankiee asked as if she hardly cared, she didn't want to seem out of the loop. She noticed Marietta cringe at the question, this was odd. Dylan also had a funny look on his face. His eyes moved from Tata's face to Frankiee's. "Well..ahh...it's her father." Dylan said hesitantly and motioned towards Marietta. Frankiee's jaw dropped, quickly she shut it, but she couldn't help but gawk at her friend. Marietta didn't say anything, she ignored the comment and continued to dig the dirt out of her nails. So Marietta's father inherited the family. Frankiee wasn't all that surprised now that she thought about it. The man was ruthless, he killed his own wife for his boss. Frankiee was almost positive that Mr. Rossi had something to do with her parents disappearance...or worse, death. Was her father the one to take over the family and Rossi thought he deserved it more? Obviously Dylan didn't know anything about where her parents were, but maybe Mr. Rossi thought he did and that's why he kept Dylan down her in the ghetto. So you work for Rossi? This question was towards Dylan and he nodded yes. Do you know about any action that took place today, late this afternoon? Frankiee was referring to the shoot up at Marietta's seamstress shop. "Not that I know off...." Dylan leaned into his chair a little more and bit the in side of his cheak. "You know now that I think about it a friend of mine was moaning about how the boss didn't include him on a drive by today." Now Frankiee didn't know the relationship status of Marietta and her father, but she really didn't think it was that bad that Mr. Rossi would order a drive by on his daughter's shop. So it was for her, someone was following Frankiee. Dylan's posture changed as if he just realized the same thing, but how? He must have known more then he was letting on. Of course he knew more. That was something Mr. Rossi drilled in, family loyalty. Frankiee was a fool thinking Dylan would spill all of his guts to them. "I saw how you both looked at that shop that was police taped earlier...." Dylan dragged on. "They are looking for you. Why are they looking for you?" Before he even asked the question Frankiee had her gun out of her purse, aimed straight at Dylan's head and just as he finished his question Frankiee pulled the trigger. Blood answered that. Frankiee didn't even want to look at Marietta. She wouldn't be surprised if her friend went into shock. Instead Frankiee pulled the silencer off of the gun and placed it back into her purse. Standing up she walked over to the body and pulled the man's wallet out of his trousers. She set it on the table and grabbed his hands. Frankiee dragged his body into the kitchen and walked back to her purse. Her hand came out of the the purse with the list of names. Frankiee handed the list to Marietta. This is why I'm here. |
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| Reply by: Frankiee at Aug 07, '08 16:13 | |
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Eventually Marietta steeled her nerve enough to sit on the disgusting couch, biting the inside of her cheek to keep from screaming as she leaned back into the worn and torn cushions of the used piece of furniture. Even during her darkest, most cash-strapped days she had never been subjected to anything as dumpy and rotten as this apartment where the guitarist lived. Her Father always saw to it that she had enough money to survive, even if they weren't on the best of terms at the moment. Whenever they met in those odd moments in a random diner he would always place the wad of cash on the table, acting as if he didn't want it. She would always act as if she didn't need it. In the end, though, they both knew that as they left the booth the wad of cash would have disappeared deep into the pits of Mari's handbag. She allowed Frankiee and this Dylan to converse for awhile, pretending to be distanced from what they were saying by digging at her fingernails. Her ears burned, however, as she took in as much information as she possibly could. Too bad she knew most of it already. Marietta closed her eyes briefly, sighing silently to herself as the pair beside her spoke. Just more of that damned "mob" talk. When she was younger it was a pain having her Father and before her untimely death, Mother, dictate who she could and could not play with. Mostly she had been confined to the house or neighborhood, following her four older brothers around while longing for someone her own age to spend time with. Someone who would understand her a bit better. It had been the best day of her childhood when the Lazzari family had moved to Chicago and the couple had joined up with her parent's crew, for they happened to have a daughter her own age. Finally, a girl that she was allowed to run around with and have sleepover parties with. Someone to walk with to and from school. The Chicago mob had brought her one good thing and one good thing only: a best friend in Frankiee. The rest she had experienced at the hands of the Windy City family had been nothing short of heartbreak her entire life. "Who is the new boss?" she heard her friend ask and immediately her brain slipped millions of miles into the past. Possibly the best week for her Father was the worst for her, because it was then that she had lost him. She had come home one night from studying at the local college library, pushing the front door open and dumping her pile of books onto the coffee table in the living room. A numerous amounts of cheering and laughing came echoing from the kitchen. Curiosity had always gotten the best of her, so with a tilted head she made her way into the tiled room to see two of her brothers, Johnny and Al, and her Father sitting around the table drinking and talking merrily. They had all halted for a moment when she walked in. "What?" she had asked, staring into each of their eyes and blinking in confusion. Her Father had stood then, walking towards her with a glint of happiness in his eyes. "It's happened, Mari. The Don has granted me my long awaited chance..." Huh, Marietta grunted, coming back to the present just as Dylan was finished telling Frankiee the news. It was something she would have shared with her friend herself, of course, if they had been allowed the proper amount of time to catch up. Dodging bullets and possibly rapist predators, however, was not on the agenda. What happened next was too fast for her to even comprehend. One moment she had just placed her fingers to her mouth and was chewing on her fingernails, Dylan and her friend chatting politely about something or other relating to the actions of earlier that day. The next moment Frankiee had pulled out a gun and shot the musician square between the eyes, little spatters of blood painting the dingy walls, the shitty furniture and worst of all Marietta's clothing. What the fuck?! Her scream was quickly caught in her throat as she watched her friend drag the man's now lifeless body into another part of the apartment, a small trail of blood brushing against the carpet and marking the spots where he was moved. Frankiee immediately came back out and without so much as an explanation dug into her purse and handed Mari a list. "This is why I'm here." Nothing else was said. Marietta looked up at her friend in horror, her mouth working as if she wanted to say something. With a gulp she looked down at the list. A large handful of names were handwritten upon it in a script that she didn't recognize. None of the names made any sense to her, nor was there a heading explaining the connection between them all. This? she said in a low voice, feeling her body shaking in frustration. Was she, could she actually admit it to herself, furious with her friend? This is why we got shot at? Why we've been running all over town all night? Why you just fucking shot that man for absolutely no God damned reason?! Crunching the list into a ball in her hand she threw it back at her friend, hitting her in the chest. Marietta could feel tears welling in her eyes and did her best to hold them back as she looked Frankiee square in the eyes. Standing up from the repulsive couch she took a deep breath. None of this. None of this makes any sense. You better start being a bit clearer with what is going on or I'll... The threat was left empty. Or she would what? She had just found her friend for the first time in years, the last thing she wanted to do was part on bad terms or leave her side. Darting her eyes around the crappy apartment she slowly became aware that her friend had just murdered someone in his home, and she was now an accessory to that murder. Suppose someone came by to check on Dylan and found the two of them? I'm getting sick of the bullshit. Spill, Frankiee. I need to know what's going on. You can't avoid questions anymore. Tell me now, then we need to get out of here. Soon. |
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| Reply by: Marietta at Aug 10, '08 21:49 | |
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| u know what would go perfect with that, some jizz, in ur eye | |
| Reply by: Lil_Wayne at Aug 12, '08 11:18 | |
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