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The Death of MacLeod Started by: Kates on May 04, '09 19:52
I remember my father's death every time the phone rings.


As frantic associates and friends burnt the phone lines down to a crisp, my father was walking in the sand with his shoes off. Lake Mead is a few dozen miles outside of Las Vegas, and he often traveled there to relax. I like to hope that on that last day, he found some peace. He'd be dead 3 hours later, with tiny golden grains of sand still stuck in his shoes.


The phone had been ringing for hours when he walked in through the door. I was upstairs in my room. Some of the men that my father worked with had locked me in there- for my own safety, they said. I sat there reading, hoping my father was okay and listening to the phone ring again and again. When he arrived I heard the commotion downstairs. I heard the frantic exclamations of war from the other men and the low, rich timbre of my father's voice calmly asking questions and appraising the situation. After a long silence I heard him climb the stairs and I quickly wiped a scared tear from my cheek. He knocked, as he always did, and stepped inside. With a sad smile, he began to pace slowly around the room. He looked at me for a long moment, and then began to speak.


"I'm sure you've guessed what's happening. There's a war. I don't know what about. I heard some ridiculousness about drug prices, but I've yet to hear a good explanation of why Las Vegas is involved."


For a split second, he lost control and I saw the terrible anger flash in his face. As his fist unclenched the anger passed and the mask of calm slid back into place, but I could see the battle still going on behind his eyes.


"There are a hundred men and women right now that look like they will die for nothing. But remember this- my way of life... and maybe your way of life... there's no going back. Everyone goes out in a box. You work your whole life to hope that, when you die, you die for something glorious. Something worthwhile. Some people are that lucky. I don't seem to be one of them."


"But when you make an oath, you keep it. No matter what. I need to go now, and I don't expect that you'll see me-"


At that, I threw myself into his arms and began to cry. I was 18 years old. An adult. But hearing him talk like that, talking to me like it was the last time was too much. For a moment I thought I would break him- that he would take me down to his car and drive both of us away from Las Vegas forever. I felt a single large tear splash against my face to mingle with my own and he gave a heaving sigh, like an ancient, exhausted lion trapped in a pit- too proud to claw his way out. But he lowered his forehead to mine and whispered.


"I need to...... I am a man of honor, Kates. This is how I have lived. How my family has always lived. I must uphold my oath and-"


Gunshots rang out and smashed through my bedroom window. Before the first bullet had lodged in the wall my father had pushed me back onto the bed, while turning and deftly removing his gun from the holster inside his jacket. As absurd as it was, as I watched my father move with a blur, I remembered playing baseball with him as a child. How my friends and I could throw a dozen baseballs at him as quick as we could, and he would always manage to catch them all. I was never more excited in my life than the day I realized I inherited my father's reflexes.


But even as I landed on the bed, my father was at the window, calmly aiming. He squeezed off a single shot and I heard a surprised scream from the sidewalk outside. My father quickly spun back to me and kneeled at the side of his bed, reloading his gun.


"Some Made Man from Los Angeles. Kates, it's no longer safe here. You need to leave. Pack quickly and meet me downstairs."


Rising, my father jogged lightly out the door, moving tentatively but purposefully on his bad leg. I ran to my room and grabbed some clothes. The only thing that mattered was the black dress my father bought me for my 17th birthday last year. I stuffed that in my bag, grabbed a few other random shirts and a pair of jeans, and ran downstairs to meet my father. He was on the phone and didn't know I was there.


"Philadelphia too?"


There was a long pause, and I saw my father shake his head in disbelief and anger. He hung up the phone without another word, and turned to speak to me when I cleared my throat.


"Go upstairs and get the money from the safe. I... I wish I could give it to you. There's a few million dollars there that would give you a great start. But I can't. Not with the family dropping left and right like this. This isn't just my money- it's their money too. Giving it to someone to hold for you would be giving up, and I know you can take care of yourself. I just- Kates, this is a lot worse than I thought."


He rubbed his face with his hands for a bit, and offered me the worst smile I've ever seen. It wasn't the smile itself- he always did have a charming one. But when we stayed up late playing poker, my father had a special smile that I'm not sure anyone else ever saw. He could figure out most other players just by looking at them, but not me. And as I would slowly take more and more of his chips he always flashed me that smile right before he lost. A wry, sardonic smile that said he knew he was beat but didn't care- that nothing could stop him from going all in on the next hand and trying to get lucky. Until that point I'd been scared, but at that moment I knew without a doubt that my father would be taken from me forever before the sun set.

His green eyes stared into mine and seemed to perceive exactly what I was thinking. Startled and not wanting to reveal too much, he turned away and approached our front door. It was then that what seemed like dozens of people walked in. I couldn't help but scream- they were all aiming their guns at my father and I. My father flashed in front of me, placing his body in between me and the guns of the intruders as he pointed his own. Even as I ducked and covered my ears, I followed the path of his gun to see what was happening. I recognized the various men and women from my father's meetings, when I'd been waiting for my father and caught glimpses of the people in his line of work. Giovanni. Munchkin. Brick_Pollitt with Pepper behind him, as always. A veritable mass of bodyguards. And standing in the center was Godfather JimmyTheLionheart.


For the only time that I ever saw, my father froze. He was surrounded, overwhelmed by too many targets, with echoes of the absurdity of this war creeping into the silent spaces between his heartbeats. Having his teenage daughter behind him probably contributed to his inaction as well. Eventually, he lowered his gun and spoke.


"My daughter. Let her walk out. Then we can settle this."


JimmyTheLionheart nodded slowly, and my father looked back over his shoulder at me. "Go quickly, Kates. Walk out the door and don't look back. Go to Detroit. Find Marietta. I love you."


I hugged my father tight and kissed his cheek as his assassins looked on, then lurched towards my bags, still in shock. The bodyguards parted and offered me a slim path towards the door. Looking back one final time to see my father glaring at JimmyTheLionheart as a bodyguard closed the front door. The rest of the day is a blur. Driving east, pulling over to cry until I ran out of tears, and then driving some more.


I'm not sure how long I'll have in this world. I'm only 18 and I've hopefully got a long time ahead of me. I remember seeing a picture of my father once when he was 18- before the accident, full of life and looking to conquer the world. He was laughing and smiling, with an arm around a beautiful woman I can only assume is my mother, and he's staring off over the horizon.


I'll always miss him, but the love and training that he and his family gave to me will always be with me. And so here I am, looking at that same horizon- wondering what the future holds.
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Wow What a really good Story but very long Good job Kate Very Sorry to hear about your father.
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Don't know you but best story I've ever heard here.
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Yes yes, Macleod will be missed by all. Your father was a great man Kates, be very proud of the work he accomplished in his time in this world.
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Your father was a great man, bestowed with great leadership, judging by the stories my cousin keeps telling me having served under him.


I offer my condolences.
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I'm very sorry for your loss.


This was a touching and insightful glimpse into what happens to "innocents" during a war. I look forward to hearing more from you!
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Dear, your father was a good man. He took my father under his arm without any hesitations, and taught him how life was. He was truly a good teacher. May he rest in peace.
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this is a good and sad story, i like it..
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Your dad taught you a number of lessons that'll do you well in this life, Kates. I didn't know him personally, but I don't think I'd have hated him too much.
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Excellent story, your dad was a smart man
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a very good story.


your father was a great man and I'm very sorry for your loss.
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Thank you all for your kind words.
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Miss Kates, your father took me from the street & made me the man I am now.

And for that, I'll be indebted to him forever. He was a great man.
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grate story

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great story Kates, my bloodline served in the war with Las Vegas he was with your father for a short time before his death.

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Funny, I remember you shooting yourself and getting revived by Izzy.

Ain't that fucked up?

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Good story for the most part. Just a lack of AdrianChampagne. Very disappointed in that.

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Well ms.Kates, Once again I have been amazed by your artistic ability to write your stories. I cannot wait for the next one!

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That was a very good story.

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It is very well written..couldnt have been better.and a great story too.

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