Get Timers Now!
X
 
Sep 28 - 07:28:22
-1
Page:  1 
Made? Maybe Started by: Detour on Apr 07, '26 03:45
Detour kept his back to the wall, his eyes darting between the kitchen door and the heavy oak entrance of the social club. Every time a car idled too long at the curb outside, his heart did a frantic tap-dance against his ribs.

He knew the rumors. He’d botched the union hand-off last week, and the Old Man wasn't known for his patience. When the "invitation" came for dinner at Tommy’s—no heaters allowed—Detour spent an hour staring at his reflection, wondering if this was how it ended. A steak, a handshake, and a bullet before the cannoli arrived.

"Detour! Sit, sit," Tommy barked, gesturing to the empty chair at the center table.

Detour sat, his hands trembling as he tucked the white linen napkin into his collar. He felt like he was donning a shroud. Across from him, the capos sat like stone statues. No one was smiling.

"You’ve been jumpy lately, Detour," the Old Man said, his voice a gravelly rasp. He reached into his coat pocket.

Detour squeezed his eyes shut, bracing for the cold steel of a snub-nose. This is it, he thought. I’m sorry, Ma.

"Open 'em," the Old Man commanded.

Detour opened one eye. There was no gun. Instead, a small stack of tissue paper sat on the tablecloth. The Old Man struck a match, and as the paper flared into a bright, brief flame, he held Detour’s hand over the heat.
"Detour, you have proven your loyalty through the lean years," the Old Man intoned, his face softening into a grim smile. "Today, you stop being a ghost. You become a brother."

The ice in Detour’s veins turned to fire. He wasn't being erased; he was being etched into the books. He let out a breath he felt he’d been holding for a decade, his fear evaporating in the smoke of the burning paper.
"I'm ready," Detour whispered, his voice finally steady.
Report Post Tips: 1 / Total: $500,000 Tip

How much do you want to tip for this post?

Minimum $20,000

(NaN)
G2
G1
L
H
D
C
Private Conversations
0 PLAYERS IN CHANNEL