Ricardo looked upon the procession of dozens of coffins filled with his father’s associates, and his father. His face was stained with tears and his lips were chapped and sticky, this with the coating of fresh resin and stain from newly built coffins – so many of which he had kissed with sorrowful remembrance. Ricardo was still a fresh faced young thug; he lost his father while he was just a boy. Some could say his father was just a boy as well – but that’s of no consequence. Ricardo smiled for a moment thinking of the swift and exact retribution laid out by his father’s associates to all of the people of Detroit. Then he shuttered for a moment thinking – ‘When did I become so cold?’ Ricardo shook his head in disgust of himself and in disgust of the monumental amount of people that died for what seemed to be no reason.  Ricardo reaches into his pocket and withdraws the one thing his father left him – a solid gold flip-top lighter with the Spadafora family seal on it. He laughs for a moment remembering that his ancestors were Italian royalty and all they need concern themselves with was producing their famous wine. Ricardo flick the lighter with his wrist and lit a cigarette and drew in slowly. He knew later tonight he would be drowning his sorrows in a crate full of that famous musky Italian wine with his family name that his father kept in his basement. He pulled up a soap box – admiring the cheap cliché as to be lighthearted. He began to speak, solemnly and truthfully gathering the attention of any passerby.

“Today, many people died. I know I for one have been known to hold a grudge – been especially known to have a temper as well. I was not graceful today at my father’s passing, and I am here to apologize for my lack of graciousness. Many, many people died today. Insults were hurled in every direction by my father’s enemies and by me myself. I’m not proud of my conduct, but one can expect to be scorned by the wrenching feeling of burying their bullet ridden father and his comrades. We all felt that pain today, in one way or another. Everyone had a father, mother or loved one die today – no one was untouched by this bloody war that plagued our streets for an entire day. I see a lot of new faces, so similar to their fathers’ likenesses that it’s astounding. I also unfortunately see many people forced to take their own lives at the unbearable thought of their father’s deaths – perhaps though they too have sons that will return to this thing of ours.

What I ask of you friends – is that we bury the hatchet here. Do not make sons pay for the sins of their fathers. I will admit that fleetingly the thought crossed my mind ‘my father’s killer does not deserve to have their name live on.’ But that was wrong of me. I ask that we all lay down our arms. That we not let these people die in vain. Let us bury the hatchet. Let us move on to a new age of prosperity and growth. Let us grow this thing of ours until it is unstoppable. Let us lock arms in the name of growth and financial security for our communities and families. Let us join together to keep our community safe – in our way of course. Friends I ask you tonight to sit with me and drink my father’s wine. Break bread at my table – let us shake hands and usher in a peace that may last forever and ever!”

Ricardo withdraw into a nearby auto shop for a moment and rolled out two shipping crates on dollies, wielding a large crowbar. Ricardo smiled at the crowd and broke open the crates containing hundreds of bottles of the famous Italian Spadafora Wines – all vintage dates and age to perfection. A tear rolled down Ricardo’s eye at the thought of his father’s death as he excitedly grabbed a bottle and popped it open.  Ricardo yelled through the tears, “Tonight friends and comrades we drink! We drink to the faithfully departed! We drink to a new peace! We drink to life – and leave the death behind!” Ricardo then poured out a great amount of the bottle on the ground to quench the thirst of those that were lost and hands the rest to the nearest fresh faced mobster. Ricardo begins opening and passing out bottles to friends and enemies alike hoping that maybe this gesture of good will might cool the tempers of the sorrowful youth of all the fallen. Knowing it would have been what his father wanted. 

The sins of the father get buried with them. That is the motto Ive always lived by. Not everyone agrees with me, but I dont live for them.

Ricardo stumbles over drunkenly to Falcon and places a hand on his shoulder and shoves a bottle of wine under his nose.

"Drink up my friend! Let us forget the sorrows of today, and drink in celebration of life and rememberence of the faithfully departed."

Mooshie watches as Falcon takes a sip of the wine and speaks softly for the attention needed "Uh.. Mine if I say something?" They look at him as he begins to speak..

I would just like to say rest in peace for all of those who have fallen. Although my father and your father did not bond Ricardo. The respect is there.

Ricardo pops another bottle of wine and hands it to Mooshie, then raises his own bottle high into the air, "To your father!" He then takes a long swig from his bottle. "And to All of the departed." He says as he pours another glass into the dirt.