The man rolled his eyes after a heavy sigh.

"Look, you little shit, there ain't no guarantees in life. Either you are in and take Paulie's share or I whack you too. Consider this a fucking favor because I have a conscience. The security is sound and if I get caught, you get caught to.

"I'm not some stupid grease-back guinea fuck like the people you are used to dealing with. I'm not part of an organization. I'm a professional. And while I'm at it, allow me to turn the tables. If you so much as slip up, your ass is in garbage. I'm the one taking the risk here, you arrogant punk and if it weren't for my goddamned conscience it'd be a risk I wouldn't take at all.

"Leave the negotiations at the table, kid. They have no weight."

--Laveaux 20:17, 14 December 2005 (CST)

"You givin me a favor," Armand cried out in anger, "I was about to give you an extension before you girlfriend there almost got me capped." "But sure, I'm in."

  1. 36: Author: Laveaux, PostPosted: Mon May 23, 2005 4:34 pm

Satisfied that they were in agreement, the man said, "I'm Bobby Knight and this is my partner Ella McCartney. We steal things for a living."

Offering a gesture of partnership, he extend his hand to Armand.

"Let's get that fixed up."

After a phone call and a fifteen minute wait, a gray-haired, eye-glassed man with a dark suit, bowtie and short-brimmed fedora came into the house. He carried a black bag and set it next to Armand.

Taking a throrough look at his bullet wound, the man said, "Get this boy some whiskey. This'll hurt like hell."

Bobby quickly obliged and handed Armand a cocktail glass full to the brim.

"Take the entire glass, the doc here's going to take out the bullet."

--Laveaux 20:17, 14 December 2005 (CST)

Armand made a slight bow with his head when he clasped the man's hand in his. He expected as much from the man who just said he stole things for a living, a professional.

The man's hand was was sleight and smooth to the touch, a testament to his profession. I don't know why, or how but he didn't act the part of a real theif. The suave was never there, nor the subtleties of his voice. Not one inch of elegance or proper eloquence was in him, or his partner. They spoke laike Americans, true Americans. They spoke to the point, no jousting levity at their words or tones. I stare into the deep abyss of the furture and already I find nothing good come of this bond. I pride mayself in work of more secure manner, but this is risky. I don't trust them yet, but what choice do I have, I'm bored to the bone, besides someone needs to watch over them.

He took alcohol graciously not letting them know that he didn't even drink yet due to his age. He would either get drunk in seconds or just numb his wound a bit.

The glass in my hand was full and inviting. I take a sip and every sip shrills my bones with its bittersweet warmth. The wound was fast dissipating in pain as the hypocratic man entered to men rent flesh. I try to look away and drink and drink hoping to get drunk in seconds rather than live through the painful healing. I can see the room in full view now and the faces within it. Then I realized that my cousin was still unconcious, that when he wakes up hell will break loose. He ain't got no weapon but the attention on me is enough for him to rouse unnoticed. I could smile deep inside if it wasn't for the pain. I try to scream but the alcohol was doing its job pretty good. My eyes start to faze out as my vision blurred. Then I was out.


Burning everything it touched, the whiskey poured into his mouth like fire forcing his chest into immediate heartburn. In the next second the sensation washed out into numb drunkenness and with each passing gulp the sensation increased. An empty stomach, a young metabolism and an unbuilt tolerance level made Armand an easy victim to the grain alcohol's talons.

Drifting into unconsciousness was not very difficult. He would not have to stay alert and feel the sensation of the doctor's calipers as he dug into the young man's shoulder searching for the slug that resided somewhere underneath the muscle tissue. He would be oblivious to the staunching and bandages as well as the shot of antibiotics injected into his arm.

It would be four hours later, in fact, before Armand came to consciousness at all. A plaster ceiling appeared above him and a semi-comfortable bed beneath him. The woman, Ella dabbed his wound with a wet rag sending numb stinging through his body.

"You should be fine," she said, "sorry about all of this. We didn't think Paulie would try to kill us. I hope you understand we are not like this. It was self-defense. He wasn't just trying to kill my husband, he was about to take millions of dollars from me."

--Laveaux 20:17, 14 December 2005 (CST)

My cousin is dead and I didn't even notice. I thought the shot bore on him like a club on steel, but know. It was more like a headshot, a real bloody headshot. How the fuck am I gonna tell his mom, my uncle, and my folks about this? These fools had my trust at the price of my ignorance, damn them to hell. Family was family, even the bad ones cuz they could always turn around. Nobody was absolute in evil, we are all perfect in our imperfection. That's why nobody deserves unwarranted death.

Arman looked her hard in they as his mercy passed and went to and fro. He screamed deep inside upon finally realizing that his cousin drew no breath, and he was not very keen in letting this be a secret. He then spoke hissing every inch of his soul, "My cousin is dead."


"We're professionals, kid. It wasn't personal. He was going to whack my husband. To be honest I'm not sure why Carlo wants you in on this. Something about his god damned 'conscience'.

"Look. I know who you are and I know who your family is. We are not connected and your family will crush us when they find out. I'm just hoping your cut from this heist will be enough to keep you quiet.

"And just so you know, we are not without our friends either."

The wound was numb and her cleaning helped it even more.

"Can you move your arm?"

If he tried he would find that he could with not too much effort.

--Laveaux 20:17, 14 December 2005 (CST)

Keeping my mouth shut won't save their lives. I'de be blamed by both my conscience and family by these couple's deaths and my cousin's. Just because od bad fucking luck. I was givin the guy a deal with Paulie, a one week extension and then lead started flying. Slugs og minute care and grace, straight and blunt to the point, no mercy, no remorse. The lead feels nothing, but how bout shooter, is the shooter human? always. Those that live feel the guilt of blood on their hands and yet that feeling ain't present of either of them's eyes. Armand was keen to look them both hard in the eyes trying to find hints of guilt or remorse. If he found none, which he did, he was in trouble, and angry.

They've killed before and whoever it was must've been big to see not even fear in their eyes. No worry, just a big sloberring look of joyful tears at the prospect of a big fat check dropping on their lives. They were professionals and scared they were none. They've killed before yet this guy here had a conscience, conscience my ass. Fools, they'd probabaly kill me if a tell them thuis but what the hell, my innocence is broken anyway so why give a damn? Time to be Frank and Rollin.

"Keepin myself shut and silent won't do neither of you any good. Less you both got a plan to escape the blame for this I'de be happy to stay shut, but that would be lyin to my soul. You killed my cousin without even listening to what we were doin Irish," Armand started, grazing off with his best impression of his Uncle Benny, his father's hitman friend, hard and gritty," Yet your both expecting me to lie out shut. You both haven't even said one bit of sincere apologies to me and the dead. Yeah sure, everybody's a bad evil sonnova but that doesn't merit them any whacking unless you ain't got no choice. Paulie's an impatient person but you can't call him a fuck. He's a person person like me even though he might be actin mo' like a brute. He ain't no hardcore waster, yet you still called him a fuck, even when you knew he was high on cyanide now. Now that is real fucking funny."

He sighed breathing off some steam from the rants and then said, "What do you plan on doing to shift the blame for this. Dead men do tell tales even though at the era we are now those are mostly lies. By the way, when's the work? I just wanna get this over with. Oh and yeah, I can move my arm fine thank you.


She stood and lit a cigarette regarding the young man with callous eyes. Taking a drag she smirked and said, "Your soul? You're a guinea fuck just like the rest of them. And, by the way, I owe you no apologies, it was self-defense.

"Anyway, none of that matters. We just need you to keep your mouth shut and the rest of it will be worked out. You'll be thanking me when the job is done."

"We'll be leaving soon. If you're up for it."

--Laveaux 20:17, 14 December 2005 (CST)

"Maybe you should stop callin me a fuck now since you'll be workin with me. Besides I used the word on the sense that keepin myself shut won't do neither of you any good,"Armand explained as thouroughly as he simply can, "Which means lyin to myself. So cool Irish, I am a go."


It took about an hour for Bobby Knight and Ella McCartney to get there things together. When Armand was finally taken from his room, they were in very different apparel, looking closer to wealthy upstaters than their original trashed criminal look.

Paulie's body was no longer in the living room and the residue of his blood remained painted on the carpet. Bobby's black hair, now slicked back, fell in strings over his face as he loaded a pistol. Ella's blonde hair was tied up in vogue fashion.

"We got an errand to run, get in the front seat."

He was referring to Paulie's car and Armand had been connected long enough to know that sitting in the front made it easy for the fellow in the back to make a hit.

--Laveaux 20:17, 14 December 2005 (CST)

They most definetely don't trust me, figures.

Armand nodded and smoothly set himself upon the seat watching them move as he did. He waited calmly and began to plot out a plan, and then just halted.

What plan, what do I need a plan for? What is done is done, so be it.


Once again Long Island drifted by the window as Bobby took the car back toward Manhattan. They were quietly listening to the engine, not saying much. It wasn't until he turned toward upstate that the conversation picked up.

"After we are done with this thing, we can go our separate ways. I think you'll be please and won't want to go to your family. Maybe you can get a place in Brazil. I hear Rio is nice this time of year."

He grinned, as if they had been friends for years.

They at last pulled into the driveway of a very large four-story home. Parking the car quietly, they watched the house from afar. The sun was setting and it seemed they were just waiting for nightfall.

--Laveaux 20:17, 14 December 2005 (CST)

Nothing changes you godforsaken twit. Paulie is still dead and I'm a failure to my family you son of bitch. Fuck you and your Irish bitch ass whore. Oh, and by the way you stupid fucks I'm fucking sixteen what the fuck am I gonna do in Rio. I dont run away from something I can handle. Integrity is my only asset deemed valuable. I may have failed my family but treachery has yet to touch my person. They will forgive me as my uncle would but you two are in for a long ride after this. We may go seperate but the world is small and now I have a mission in my career. I'm gonna be detective someday and your asses are on the top of my list.

Armand kept to his silence briefly nodding at his words while keeping his eyes on horizen.


At last the sun set and darkness consumed the landscape around them. Large winter trees were lit only by the large house's interior lights. As the night went on, the lights went out until the only the one in the upper floor remained. It was then that Bobby leaned forward, the familiar feeling of his pistol pressed against the back of Armand's head.

"There's a lot of shit in there, kid. We only want one thing, the rest of it is yours. Above the old man's bed is a post impressionist painting. You get me that and you're free. Take whatever else you want along the way."

He paused for a moment and then added, "We'll wait here. And don't get caught, you stupid guinea fuck."

--Laveaux 20:17, 14 December 2005 (CST)

These fucks are worms past the due of turds and cretins. We have come upon a deal yet a gun still touches my head. I am now beginning to feel that they really wanted Paulie dead. Hmm, must think, I need a plan to get these guys both without myself implicated into the scene, or hell I really don't care if I do get myself in preison with these fucks. At leaast I can hurt em back.

"Your words equal you manner. I fear that thought of you two working alone, together, at nights such as this," he said with a smirk, and insulting smirk as he opened the door and stepped outside. He surveyed his surroundings cautiously trying to piece up an exact assumption of the home he was to thieve. He stared and glared at it harshly despite the creeping darkness. He truned to the to motherfuckers and then said again, "You two must have plans of the house, can I at least bring it with me, and if possible, leather gloves and a face mask."


Not justifying Armand's slanders, he tossed him a small canvas bag.

"Gloves, flashlight, mask. We don't have a map, so you'll just have to deal with it."

The woman couldn't hold back a snorting giggle.

"We're watching you. Don't try to run, like your kind always do," he said.

The house seemed quiet and the last light finally turned off. Armand was left alone with tools and a task.

--Laveaux 20:17, 14 December 2005 (CST)

Fuck, my cousin is dead and now I'm these fuck up's dough boy. I'm gonna end up a loser cuz of this and lose my credibility. I need something, a plan, a plan to take my own justice. Paulie was about to listen and this was the Irish bitch's fault. The fuck ups are doin' nuthin' more than setting me up. I don't trust them, they'll pay, they'll pay now.

The plan for him was already set upon his mind. He would act now and it was do or die, there is no try, no restart. Armand slithered about in silence as darkness and night would allow him. He circled the house to its rear and searched for an entry. He tried his best to find it and soon enough it was there, the door. He slowly began to turn the knob, hoping it was open.


The young patsy circled the house with little effort. There was a finely catered garden and iron fence, but it was easy to surmount. Around the back in a beautifully decorated Venetian patio, the snow was recently shoveled off to reveal a path going to French doors. As luck would have it, the doors were unlocked.

It became very clear, however, that luck had nothing to do with it. Inside was a very familiar form. Vincent Giovanni himself stood in front of him, smoking a cigar. His hazy white hair was combed back and he wore one of his many nice suits. This one was navy, with larger lapels and a wider tie than the more conservative types wore. His aged face was framed with wire-rim glasses and an indifferent expression rested on his face.

They stood in a reading room with white Venetian chairs and a small fountain. Heated air wafted in from above and flickered nearby potted plants with its breeze.

The Don immediately approached Armand with a hug and kiss on the cheek, his cigar tobacco radiating away from the old man's mouth like bad fruit.

"I am sorry that a boy such as yourself had to witness our business up close. The two bandits are gone now. I hired them to reason with your cousin . . . you see, if it was one of my own then he would have known. We didn't think you would be there, but since you were, we must have a conversation. Please, sit."

He offered one of the white chairs and sat down himself, unbuttoning his jacket so his belly could hang over his belt.

"Your cousin was involved in some dirty business, Armand. We had to clean the business up, you understand. He would have brought heat on the whole operation."

Reaching over to a side table he poured some scotch that was set out waiting for him.


--Laveaux 20:17, 14 December 2005 (CST)

Now I undersand but still, if an unjustified answer was given, those two outside were dead.

"I'm sory sir, but had I not known this I would not have thought out a plan to kill those bastards outside. Forgive me for the vaulgarity but those fools no know respect once given to them. Tell me sir, I wish to understand more," Arman said as he took hold of the glass, awaiting the answers he sought.


"Sometimes hired help is bitter, but for the needs of the business it is best to keep them close. If you can be convinced of their loyalty, a rotten core is not so intolerable.

"I am pleased that you kept your head clear during this, Armand. If it is acceptable to your mother, I should like to offer you work in my house. I will pay you well and treat you as if you were a child of my own."

--Laveaux 20:17, 14 December 2005 (CST)

"Had it been in truth that they did not work under you, I would be dead right now trying to kill them both, or might have succeeded. Very well uncle, you have me at your service," Armand raised his glass with eyes unmoved and drank to his future.


The old man smiled and took his toast, then kissed him on the cheek.

"You'll make me proud. I have a car waiting for you. Go home and get the blessing of your parents. You know where my downtown house is? Meet me there in the morning."

He paused, "It's a great deal of work, but loyalty and family go very far with me."

"One more thing, try not to worry about your rat cousin. One day very soon, you'll understand the whole story."

--Laveaux 20:17, 14 December 2005 (CST)


Let it be so that his day was done. He stood from his chair and bid his leave. Afterwards he was off to the car, ready to go home, "What would his mother think?" he thought to himself.


Although somewhat discouraged about the Don�s offer, Armand�s family had to oblige. They wished him the best in his new life and secretly prayed for his safety. No one could deny the old man�s wishes.

The first couple days at the home were rather uneventful. Armand was asked to keep watch over the grounds, patrolling his five-acre estate with a young man named Bruno. Only 18, but already 250 pounds, Bruno was not to be messed with. He was one of many goons the boss had around the house at any given time.

On Friday morning, the Don called both Armand and Bruno into his study where he poured them scotch and asked them to sit.

�There�s a problem downtown. A shilock�s taken control of one of my rackets. I need someone to go and let him know my name. Will you two do this favor for me?�

--Laveaux 20:17, 14 December 2005 (CST)

Armand smiled and looked at his partner with a smile. He turned his eyes back at his uncle and still held that simple smile, "Where does he live? I'm bored."


"Over at Washington Heights, Bruno knows the place. Take his car. They call him Red and if he's a part of the Farley's I need to know. They know better. Find out what he's pushing, who his customers are and let him know there are other places to do business.

"You'll need to find his customers and get them back on our inventory."

--Laveaux 20:17, 14 December 2005 (CST)

Armand nodded and turned to his partner then to his uncle. He smiled at the corner of his mouth and said, "Shall we go now or do you need something else from me and Bruno uncle? And about this Red character, is he a weakling we can just beat up or do we need a little bit more finesse in this?"


"The word is, he is a crafty son of a bitch. May not look like much, but he's got smarts and isn't afraid to use them. Finesse is a good word for it."

The Don finished his scotch and sat quietly as cue for them to leave. Bruno took the hint and they were both out in the driveway getting into his sedan inside the minute.

Bruno put a cigar in his mouth and said, "This is the sweet life, kid."

--Laveaux 20:17, 14 December 2005 (CST)

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