Samson
Written by DEAN HORTON
The Calcone Residence Kansas City, Friday 18th
May 2007, 10:35am local time:
The Calcone family were now the
most powerful Mafioso clan in northern America; their name feared by many,
their wealth was unimaginable, growing by the day. They had people on the payroll that would
shake the foundations of the country if word were to ever get out; but even so
they could never rest on their laurels as their father had taught them “there’s always a new kid on the block” he would often say. Marco glanced down into the swirling Brandy true words if I ever heard them he thought sadly, the glass came up to his
lips as he again tasted the warm liquid, once he swallowed he traced his tongue
around his mouth. His lip raised into a
half smile there had been new kids on the block but they “The Calcone Brotherhood”
had always seen them off, one by one they had come and one by one they had
fallen by the way. The cost had been
dear; first his elder brother Roberto had been killed in a roadside shooting
then his younger brother Emilio was kidnapped and left hanging from the dock
which the Calcone family owned! His eyes
glanced to the large family photograph hanging from the wall, he scanned his
relatives. Stopping to look at himself fourth along the line, he had been
thirty years old when the photograph had been taken; who would have believed
thirty five years ago. Although he was
now sixty five the years had been good to Marco and his complexion; and
spending plenty of time in the sunshine kept his features permanently tanned,
he liked to keep a tan, it went with the wealth. Back when the photograph was taken he had a
black mane of curly hair, now though it was cut short and grey; he had also
piled on a few extra pounds but not as much as some people his age; his frame
still muscular despite the extra weight, the one hour a day he spent in the gym
helped. The only thing which really
annoyed him about his features was the fact that he had developed a few of
those horrible wrinkles around his eyes!
He shook his head smiling who’d
believe it he carried on scanning the faces; finally his eyes fell on his
father ‘you taught me everything Papa’ he whispered to the picture, raising his
hand in a toast.
Outside a car door closed, Marco
tilted his head; he had been waiting for the meeting, you could never receive
enough good news and now he leaned back in his chair and waited to receive some
more. Closing his eyes he stretched his
neck a little it’s going to be a good
summer!
Benedict
pulled the car, a 2005 silver Taurus into one of the available spaces, he sat
there, his body still for a minute while he gathered his senses; he was not
looking forward to his meeting with Mr Calcone.
He watched the four guards as they walked around the perimeter of the
residence; the two in the driveway carried Uzi’s and Benedict knew that they
would never hesitate to use them; he sighed as he looked at himself in the
rear-view mirror ‘how the hell did I get mixed up in all this shit!’ You
know very well how, you wanted to be the big cheese and now look at you
‘hell yeah….now look at me; the original fuck-up’ you better go now, master is calling!
Opening
the car door he stepped out into the hot sun, his jacket stuck to his back
almost instantly, he could feel his armpits moistening; was it the heat? He wasn’t sure, he had not been looking
forward to this; Benedict swallowed as he began walking toward the main door let’s get it done!
There was a gentle knock on the
door which led into the long lacquered hallway beyond, Marco Calcone turned his
head from the photo; his eyes once again coming to rest on his two grandchildren
who were now chasing each other rapidly round the edge of the pool ‘come in’ he
whispered in an Anglo-Italian accent. He
sighed wearily yes there have been lots
of sacrifices!
The door opened and a tall wily
man entered; he was dressed smart in a marl grey designer suit, under which he
wore a light blue shirt with no tie; the top two buttons were left undone as
was the fashion nowadays. The man was
tall, around six two; his face gaunt with high thin cheekbones and a sharp
pointed noise; his eyes were set deep within his face. He stepped inside the cool room and turning
he pulled the door shut behind him ‘Sorry to disturb you Mr Calcone’ the man’s
voice did not match his looks it had a high pitched tone with a deceitful air
about it.
Marco Calcone looked out onto the
garden his eyes gazing off into the distance ‘you must have “good” news for me
then Benedict’ he whispered hoarsely you
make me sick Benedict, you remind me of a rat, a one hundred per cent sewer rat.
Benedict looked down the room his
eyes staring at the armchair and the back of Marco Calcone’s head ‘yes
errrr…..no I’m afraid I have bad news about the mall on Hope Boulevard’ a line
of sweat was starting to develop on his top lip; which quivered ever so
slightly; you would have to have been staring at him to notice, Benedict was
struggling to hold onto his poker face fuck
I’ve done it now; in for a cent in for a dollar!
That remark had his full
attention! Marco Calcone stiffened, it
was not a lot but it was enough to be noticed; he tensed his neck and jutted
out his chin; the mall on Hope Boulevard was the latest venture that the family
were investing heavily into. They
already owned all the real estate around the complex and the final stage was
buying out all the shopkeepers in the shopping centre. After doing this they would turn the mall and
surrounding area into a multi-million dollar casino complex, with luxury
hotels, gymnasiums and swimming pools.
It was going to be the flagship of the casino world, the place where
everyone wanted to play! Vegas had
always been the gambling capital of the States but now Marco Calcone and what
was left of the family had visions on capitalising on this world
addiction. It would be the “in” place
people would come from all around the world to play on the tables it was going
to be huge!
The brandy glass hovered
near his mouth as he took a mouthful of the liquid, this time he didn’t savour the
taste just swallowed hard, his cheeks tense ‘go on’ he whispered, a trace of
anger stirring in his voice.
Benedict swallowed nervously ‘I’m
afraid we’re having trouble persuading some of the storekeepers to sell up’ he
knew this was going to go one of two ways.
His boss would either fly off in a rage at the storekeepers for getting
in his way or secondly Benedict would face the prospect that it was his fault
for not “convincing” them? ‘As you know
out of the twenty two stores, fourteen have now signed over; but the other
eight are refusing; sorry, stalling! The
man who owns the model store “Stanley Baker” has started to rally the remaining
store owners in an act of defiance.’ He
had done it now; all he had to do was wait; wait and see which way it would go,
he would know soon enough! Let’s get it over with shall we.
Marco Calcone nodded his head
gently his eyes never looking away from the garden ‘defiance you say’ he tensed
his cheeks, his hands balled into tight fists as they rested on the arms of the
white oak rocking chair ‘do they know
who we are? Who they are dealing
with? Who I am?’ the anger now coming
through as his accent became more Italian with each syllable.
Benedict swallowed ‘Yes Mr
Calcone they are aware of you’ he talked quietly now, not wanting to sound
antagonistic, every word was spoken nervously to the back of Calcones’ head,
sweat now appearing on his brow. The
moment of truth was about to come; his boss was about to nail his colours on
the mast, or even to Benedicts’ head; that thought made him swallow nervously
once more!
‘You told them that we could be
very persuasive; if they didn’t follow and go along with our demands…….and give
us what we wanted?’ he asked calmly; but his hand trembled slightly as he
clutched the nearly empty glass of brandy, his grip getting tighter; his jaw
had also become tight!
Benedict swallowed hard ‘Yes Mr
Calcone’ it was getting hot inside the room, Benedict could feel his collar
beginning to stick to his neck has the
fuckin air conditioning broke?
Marco Calcone took another sip of
his Brandy, he glanced down and saw that it was nearly empty, raising it to his
mouth he downed the last dregs, his hand gripped the glass firmly as he lowered
it, now he turned to face Benedict ‘what did they say when you told them?’ His eyes were now penetrating his employee;
staring right through him as though he was not there.
‘The man; Stanley Baker told them
that it was 2007 USA not the 1940’s that they had nothing to fear’ he could
feel the pressure building from the other side of the room; he could feel the
gaze from his boss as though he were right inside his mind, in his body, in his
soul; the feeling was most……. uncomfortable; now his boss turned away again as
he gazed upon the garden outside that’s
it you watch the runts as they run around the pool; the next wave of the mighty Calcone brotherhood; fuck, I’ve to get out
of this shithole!
Marco Calcone glanced sideways,
his eyes searched out his grandchildren who still played around the pool; happy
that they weren’t looking he lowered the brandy glass gently onto the large
table. His hands came together as he
slipped his fingers inside each other; pulling in a backwards motion the sound
of his fingers cracking echoed around the quiet room, he turned his head slightly,
turning once more to face Benedict.
Marco Calcone’s eyes now stared large down the length of the table to
the man he had come to despise. ‘You
come here and tell me you’ve failed, that you warned them? I don’t employ you to fail I employ you,
Benedict’ he pointed down the length of the table; his hand trembling with
anger, the veins in the side of his brow and neck were hard and prominent ‘I
employ you’ his head shook slightly ‘to get the job done and you’ve failed me
again! This is the second time you have
failed me; why didn’t you make an example?’ his tone had gone quieter but his
cheeks were quickly turning red; the lines around his eyes were like lava
channels escaping from a volcano.
Fuck it,
the volcano’s erupting ‘they’ve seen my face Mr Calcone, I can’t just go
and shoot somebody; there were too many witnesses’ his voice was beginning to
tremble; the sweat was returning heavier now, it was as though his whole shirt
was painted onto his skin.
Marco Calcone’s eyes narrowed as
he focussed sharply on Benedict ‘you are aware of “The Mexican”?’ he asked in a
calmer voice now, the lava channels around his eyes had dispersed.
Benedict could feel a bead of
sweat begin to roll down his face ‘I have heard of him Mr Calcone they call him
“The Devil’s Advocate from South America”’ everyone feared the Mexican. Rumour
had it that he had once killed his entire family even raping and killing his
own mother, Benedict feared getting involved with the Mexican, too many bad
stories!
Marco Calcone nodded, his steely
eyes bearing down on Benedict ‘yes they call him “de abogado Del Diablo(the devils advocate)”’ he smiled down
the table; his smile mocking and condescending ‘you are quite right, the Devils
Advocate from South America, you know what he has done?’
Benedict swallowed ‘I have heard
the stories Mr Calcone.’
‘Good’ a shout was heard from by
the swimming pool; Marco Calcone turned his head to look; the boys were still
playing tag as Paulo jumped into the pool. He turned his head back to face
Benedict ‘you will go and see the Mexican and tell him about my problem! Tell him that I want to make an example of
this “Baker” and all of his family, I want him to wipe them out’ his cheek
bones tensed ‘tell him to make it messy; to do what he does best’ Marco Calcone
turned his head back to the pool; his gaze following his two grandchildren as
they still chased each other around the pool-side.
Benedict stood motionless staring
at the back of Marco Calcone’s head; his heart was pounding he could feel the
pistol in his shoulder holster weighing heavy. I could end it here he thought to himself, deep down he knew that
he had not got the guts to do that; if he fired a shot the room would be full
of Calcone’s closest henchmen, within seconds he would be a dead man. He waited for what seemed like minutes
although in reality it was seconds; eventually he realised that the meeting was
over; ending the way it had started with Benedict staring at the back of his
boss’s head! Time to go and we’d better leave quickly before he decides on something
else!
Benedict turned and quietly left
the room, he could feel the sweat stains around his genitals spreading as his
pants stuck to his skin at least that’s
over, now all I have to do is meet that Mexican Devil the thought of that
chilled him to the core. “That’s twice you have failed me” the
words stuck in his mind, the first time was several years ago; Benedict was
sent on an errand to Chicago. He was
meant to bring or rather “convince” a young kid who had just created some
computer website; some kind of social network site. Benedict was meant to bring him back to
Kansas City, to the Calcone residence where they were to become business
partners in this website; that was Mr Calcone and the kid! But that was the first failure, Benedict was
too late the kid had sold out to some rival Chicago mob, the network site went
global six months later and was recently sold for one hundred and seventy
million dollars. Now he had failed
again, he was still hot under the collar I’ll
go and see the Mexican there was no-way that Benedict was going to fail
again, if he failed a third time…..well,
let’s not go there, it’s best not to think about that, no more failures!
With steady steps he walked down the chequered
tiled floor, down the long hallway into the foyer; his steps echoing loudly through
the large residence, he walked past several guards; each one watched him
closely as he passed. Benedict sensed
that perhaps they could read his mind and knew what he had been thinking; when
he thought about shooting Calcone God I
hate this job as he approached the main door the guard standing there
opened it up, Benedict sensed a sneer as he passed. A cool fresh air greeted his sweating body as
he walked outside; the breeze cooling his wet skin one more chore and I’m going to leave this hell hole behind me!
The Baker Residence, Kansas City,
Friday 18th May 2007, 11:40am local time:
He
leaped the last four steps and landing lightly on the cream carpet; the
fireplace stood out prominent in the vaulted ceiling living room; his eyes
scanned the open dining area and breakfast bar looks like we’ve got everything he smiled to himself as he made his
way to the large wooden front door.
Stanley Baker walked out of the front door of their tri-level three
bedroom house, he turned and tried the handle several times, nodding to himself
in agreement contented that the door was locked. Did you
lock the garage he was sure that he had ‘you’d better go and check it out,
better to be safe than sorry’ he muttered to himself. He walked quickly over to the garage door and
tried the handle twice; a horn beeped behind him; the truck was parked further
down the slope facing away from the cream coloured building. Stanley turned to see Dianne his wife of
seventeen years leaning over the dash.
She was mumbling something to the kids; Candice and Samson, Candice was
16 and Samson 14 years old; they were good honest kids, every time Stanley cast
his eyes over them his stature would grow with pride. His gaze now rested on his wife again; now
she was talking directly to him….he tried to focus on what she was saying but
his lip reading skills were not too good perhaps
it’s time I visited the optician?
He
began walking toward the car, as he got closer he made out what she was saying
“hurry up” her silent lips moving
through the side window ‘I’m coming; I was just making sure I’d locked the
house up’ his voice was a little loud and agitated, he wanted to make sure they
could hear him. Stanley was the same
every time they went on their holidays, checking the doors then repeating it over
and over until eventually he was satisfied and then off they would go. Now he was at the satisfied stage again;
their holiday was about to begin.
He opened the car door and
manoeuvred himself inside the drivers seat, Dianne made a tutting sound;
Stanley turned to face her ‘you would be distraught if we came back from
holiday and found we’d had burglars; would you not?’ His expression was questioning!
‘Yes I would Stanley but you’ve
checked that door six times already while we’ve all been sat here waiting for
you….we thought we were never going to leave the place.’ She shook her head, clearly frustrated ‘check
after check….hasn’t he kids’ she glanced over her shoulder giving the cue for
back-up.
‘She’s right Dad you did check
the door a few times’ Candice nudged Samson so he could join in.
Samson smiled into the headrest
of the seat where his Dad was sitting ‘and you’d already locked the garage up
ages ago!’
‘Okay; okay, you’ve made your
points, why don’t we all gang up on Dad’ he laughed ‘before we go I’ve got a
couple of presents to give out’ Stanley turned to look at Dianne; he winked
slyly. Stanley reached into the side
compartment on the door where he pulled out two brown bags, he felt the weight
of each ‘That one is for you Candice and this is for you Samson’ he passed each
of his children one of the bags.
Dianne watched intrigued as they
both delved into their brown bags Candice pulling out a large handmade diary
with butterfly patterns adorning the front cover ‘thanks Dad’ she whispered,
her face full of happiness. Ever since
her tenth birthday she had kept notes in her diary; religiously every night she
would write about her day; even down as far as drawing pictures of the days
events; her artistic skills were exceptional.
‘I know you’ve already got one
for this year but I thought you’d like to transfer the stuff over to that one
considering how beautiful it is and what with this holiday!’
Samson had watched and waited as
Candice looked at her present, once she had got hers out of the way he finally
peered into his bag ‘yessss’ he shouted loudly as he pulled the book from
inside.
Dianne was trying to look to see
what the book was ‘what is it Samson’ she asked in suspense; her eyebrows
creased inquisitively.
‘It’s a survival book, Dads
brought me a survival book, an exported SAS survival book’ he was already
skimming through the pages ‘it’s fantastic Dad, thanks’ as he skimmed through
the whole book, stopping at any page to look at the information, then back to
skimming through again.
‘We may be able to use some of
those things when we’re in the mountains around the cabin’ Stanley suggested.
Dianne looked over to Stanley as
he turned the key in the Mitsubishi Warrior; the diesel engine roared to life
‘so where’s my present?’ she whispered, it was a quiet whisper just loud enough
so only Stanley could hear.
He smiled suggestively and raised
his eyebrows several times before winking ‘later baby’ he mimed; he noticed
Dianne look down at his crotch as he placed both his hands on the large steering
wheel then looking in the rear view mirror he spoke loudly ‘ok lets get this
show on the road; The Bakers are going on their holidays!’ His right hand dropped down to the radio and
turning the dial the inside of the warrior came to life with the sound of
“sweet home Alabama” then like a chorus choir they all began to sing as he
drove the car off the sloping driveway and into the empty street.
Wichita Mid-Continent Airport,
Friday 18th May 2007, 19:47 local time:
Benedict walked briskly to the
hire car that was parked near the edge of the parking lot; his small black
over-night bag hung closely to his left hip, it had been a short flight, but
none-the-less it had been a flight that Benedict had not wanted to land! But land it did and now he found himself
walking across the parking lot, his bag banged against his hip Jesus I couldn’t even delay it by waiting
for some luggage. It was a hot
summer and he was beginning to perspire heavier now; the moment was close he
was heading for the meeting with the Mexican and Benedict was not looking
forward to it at all!
The car was an old 98 plate
Mustang navy blue in colour, the interior smelt of oranges from the cleaning
agents that had been used when the car had been valeted. The car was notoriously quick and it still
drove well, Mustangs were reliable in a sticky situation and that was the main
thing, Benedict needed something that would get him away if his meeting with
the Mexican did not go well. All he
wanted to do was to stick to his plan, have the meeting with the Mexican Devil then I’ll be out of there and out of
here…..fuck; I’ll be well outta here he glanced into the mirror ‘fingers
crossed you’ll be out of here’ he muttered to his reflection nervously “that’s twice you’ve failed me now” those
words were still imprinted deep within his mind and every time he thought of
them his spine would receive a cold shiver.
Benedict swallowed nervously as he slipped the gear stick into first and
began manoeuvring the Mustang from the parking space.
As he pulled the car from the
parking lot his mind was elsewhere, Benedict pondered the meeting he was
heading too; he had heard countless tales about the man he was heading out to
meet; tales that scared his soul to the core!
“The Mexican” was a feared man in the underworld and although his
services were always in demand Benedict was becoming concerned! The more he thought about it the more
concerned he became; it bothered him that he had never met anybody who had
actually met the Mexican? He shook his head nervously putting that thought to
the back of his mind people must have met
him how else would the man get business and how would word of his tales be told
he tried to reassure himself.
As he drove the car Benedict
replayed one of the stories that he had heard; bit by bit the tale played in
his head! The story was that the
Mexican’s Mother had tried to kill him when he was eight years old; she was
convinced that she had given birth to the Devil himself! Since his birth, evil had followed him
around, one evil; thing after another, it was like she had given birth to the
anti-Christ! One night she had crept
silently into his bedroom while he was sleeping soundly in his bed, in her hand
she clutched a large carving knife.
Stealthily she crept into his room and walked silently round to the side
of his bed, as she stood at his bedside; the knife held out in front of her,
the voice in her head telling her to do it….to stab this son of the devil
himself! She was about to plunge the
knife into her sleeping son when his eyes shot open, in that instant their eyes
locked onto each other! The small child
rolled out from under the plunging blade.
The blade hit into the pillow and the feathers that gave it the soft but
firm cushioning, with fear of the devil the child’s Mother brought the knife
around to bear then in a blind panic she swiped the air around her. The first strike was empty but as she swung
her arm back on its return the knife connected with flesh as the blade sliced
through the small child’s throat!
There was no scream; there was no
sound at all from the child as the stricken Mother watched her son fall
silently to the floor. The woman stared
at the lifeless form of her son as he lay still on the cold wooden floor. Then something happened that she would never be
able to explain….she watched helplessly as the child then rose to his feet, she
clutched the knife tighter; holding it with both hands out in front of
her. Her son stood before her as blood
oozed from the slice on his neck a smile came to his lips ‘mama’ he said; his
voice quiet and pleading as he stared into her eyes. His stare suddenly became deathly and dark
and he muttered several words ‘Ego mos redeo quod pro mihi vos precor’ his eyes
were black like pools of tar then his pupils developed a red glare!
The boy’s Mother looked puzzled
and scared; the language he had just spoken she recognised as Latin but her son
had never heard Latin let alone been taught it, he was only eight years old,
they did not do subjects like that at such an early age? She looked upon him; her eyes welled as the
tears began to flow down her cheeks, each drop warm and sticky ‘what do you
speak’ she sobbed in fear as the grip on the knife tightened ‘what are the
words that you speak?’ she sobbed almost pleadingly.
The boy then laughed as the blood
seeped from the slice around his throat ‘I will come back and before me you
will beg’ his smile was deathly; his eyes began to glare at her, his stare
turning redder by the second!
‘Devil’ she screamed as she once
again lashed out, this time her arm moved in a downward arc, the tip of the
blade pierced the boys forehead and then sliced down his eye till it caught his
cheek, the descent of the blade continued until it left his face to the right
of his chin, the mother pulled the blade away, clutching it to her chest. She sobbed ‘leave us you Devil’ with fear
taking over her every breath, every drop of blood in her body had turned to ice
as she closed her eyes in fear, with closed eyes she turned her head up to the
ceiling ‘please God protect us’ she opened her eyes; the room around her had
become empty! The boy was gone? She closed her eyes tightly ‘Dear God, thank
you’ then she opened her eyes again; but the room around her was still empty;
her hands trembled as she let the knife drop to the floor; she dropped to her
knees and sobbed uncontrollably while her body leant against the bed, her knees
resting in the pool of dark red blood.
Nothing was heard about the boy
again after that night; his mother had relayed the story of that night to the
family and the authorities; embarrassed and disgusted about what she had tried
to do to her own flesh and blood. They
listened to her tale; searching close to the house and then further afield they
searched for weeks but all trace of the boy had disappeared as though he had
vanished into thin air? The Police had
at first assumed the Mother had killed her child but after their continued and
unfruitful search they were unable to press any charge as they had found no
evidence to suggest that there had been any foul play, it was a mystery where
the child had gone? A mystery they would
never be able to solve!
Although there had been no
sightings of the missing boy since that night, on the boys fourteenth birthday
someone had broken into the family home.
When the Police arrived they found the boy’s mother tied to the bed her
throat had been cut and her head hung on by a thread, the killing method was
called “Degollar” an established method in the Mexican crimeworld. The father was tied to a chair at the bottom
of the bed his eyes had been stabbed through after he had been made to endure
the helpless watching of his beloved wife raped! Symbols and writing had been daubed in blood
on the walls throughout the bedroom; evil pictures and words; words that no one
would utter! The boy’s two younger
brother’s bodies were found in the hills two days later they were both naked
and dirty with cuts and grazes adorning their skin. Their faces were covered in fear as if the
air had been sucked from their bodies leaving their features gaunt and
blue! The crime scenes were unlike
anything the authorities had ever seen, the murderer or murderers were never
caught; there had been other murders with the same “MO” throughout the western
world but each time the perpetrator would escape like a puff of wind into the
air! They called him “The Devil’s
Advocate” the tales had been told throughout the crime-world it was said that
“no-one ever crossed The Mexican” and Benedict was certain that he was not
going to fall into the trap tonight!
Benedict shivered as the car
turned left onto Macarthur Road West until it reached the crossroads; turning
the wheel right at the junction he entered South Ridge Road where he
accelerated a bit quicker than usual; his feet still not used to the clutch
pedal. Eventually he joined 71st
Street West where after a few kilometres he turned right as he entered
“Clearwater”. After twenty minutes
driving Benedict pulled the car kerbside outside “C-Bar” on 122 East Ross
Street. The car sat idly as it ticked
over, the gentle vibrating of the engine sent Benedict into a small trance as
he plucked up his courage for what was about to come, Benedict was not looking
forward to this!
After several minutes he turned
the ignition off and sat looking at the entrance to the bar; the conversation
he had had with the Mexican had gone well.
Benedict had expected the man’s voice to sound South American but he was
pleasantly shocked when the Mexican spoke clear English. The time had come; it was no use just sitting
and waiting, he needed to get the job done, he had to go into the bar and
conduct their meeting sitting here ain’t
doing nothing towards getting outta here he glanced in the mirror again,
looking at his reflection, he looked nervous and sweaty. Quickly he pulled a cotton handkerchief from
his pocket and dabbed it firmly across his wet forehead damn you…you Mexican scum, scaring the shit outta me ‘and damn you
Calcone, you and your fuckin henchmen…I’ll show you I ain’t no failure and then
you can fuck yourself, cause I’m gone!’
Benedict slammed the car door
shut and walked along the pavement until he stood at the entrance to ‘C-Bar’ a
large neon sign flashed the name of the bar, it looked empty, the outside
needing a paintjob, benedict looked left and right along the street. The whole street was deserted no witnesses he entered the bar
cautiously his eyes searching around in every direction, taking in every corner
and alcove; his eyes piercing into every nook and cranny. The bar was empty except for three men, there
were two men sitting at the bar drinking beers, they both turned and eyed him
up and down, the third man being the bartender.
Determined not to look afraid
Benedict averted his eyes further into the gloom; the jukebox played “Jay Z –
99 Problems” ‘how appropriate’ Benedict whispered to himself as he walked
toward the long length of lacquered bar top.
He stopped several feet down from where the two customers were drinking,
he tried his hardest not to show any sign of fear, but deep inside his body he
could feel his heart beating its way out of his chest. Benedict looked at the bartender “howdy” he
tipped his head.
The bartender was wiping a glass
with a towel ‘what can I get ya Mister?’
‘Beer; I’ll have a beer thanks’
doing his level best at hiding the fear in his voice.
‘Bud ok?’
‘Yeah that’s fine’ Benedict
replied, trying to disguise the tremble as he spoke each word.
‘Ya here on business’ the
bartender asked as he began to pour the golden liquid, the glass was tilted at
a severe angle under the pump as the liquid gently made its way up the glass,
the small head of froth getting closer to the top.
‘I have to meet someone here’
Benedict swallowed nervously I hope they
didn’t catch that.
The bartender straightened the
glass as he filled the last bit and then he put the glass down on the counter;
his expression now turned serious ‘you better go out back then’ he nodded to
the door at the rear ‘he’s waiting for you there!’
Benedict turned his head and
looked to the back of the room at the door with no window; turning back he
picked up the glass and took a large mouthful, the liquid cooled his insides as
he gulped it down. Putting the glass
back on the bar counter he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand then
turning he began to walk to the back of the room, toward the door with no
window, toward the room where “The Mexican” waited, he breathed a quiet sigh as
he approached wiped his forehead with the flat of his hand.
The bartender picked up the glass
and reached over to the sink where he tipped away the rest of the honey
coloured liquid, he smiled to the two men who were sat at the bar and they both
smiled back; sarcastic smiles; almost smug.
All three men watched the stranger as he walked on wary legs towards the
door along the far wall of the bar.
Benedict had reached the door, he
knew the bartender and the two men sat at the bar were watching his every
step. He knew they were laughing at him
behind his back; they knew he was afraid; they could see it, and if they could
see it “The Mexican” would too. He had
to show some confidence shit man you need
to pull yourself together Benedict drew in a deep breath then slowly he released
it as his hand rapped firmly on the hard wooden door.
The door opened slowly; in the
doorway stood a large built Afro-Caribbean man, he was around five foot nine
and weighed around fourteen stone, the man wore jeans and a tight fitting green
t-shirt which showed off his muscular frame Jesus...this
guy works out big time. The man had
short hair and was cleanly shaven; he looked Benedict up and down then nodded
for him to enter. Benedict entered the
room confidently walking past the coloured man into the middle where he stood
still; sliding one of his hands into the pocket on his trouser leg. The door shut slowly behind him; it was hot
in the room there didn’t seem to be much air; no windows either and definitely
no air conditioning. In front of
Benedict was a table, sitting behind the table was a man he looked American; he
wore a stetsun and a short sleeved check shirt, he looked shorter than the
coloured man at around five foot seven, Benedict guessed this man worked out
too, although he was much smaller in his physical frame.
‘So Calcone has a job for me’ the
man behind the desk asked, his accent almost English, his voice confident, his
hands were laid out flat on the table in front of him, palms downward.
It was the man who Benedict had
spoken to earlier, the man he had spoken to on the phone, he could tell by the
sound of the voice. Benedict was stood
in front of “The Mexican” the man he had heard all the stories about, the man
who was at the centre of all the tales was now sat no more than two metres
away! Benedict nodded ‘he has a problem
that he needs you to take care of for him; he told me to tell you he wants it
to be messy, he wants to make an example of these people!’
The man frowned under the brim of
his large cowboy hat ‘who is it; rival Mob?’ his tone inquisitive.
Benedict could feel the man’s
eyes searching him, searching his thoughts, searching for a sign, any sign of
strength or weakness keep focussed
‘no, it’s a shopkeeper who’s not complying with Mr Calcone’s wishes’ he felt uncomfortable
in the room standing in front of “The Mexican” while one of his cronies stood
behind him at the door. Benedict could
feel the coloured mans breath as it reached around his neck, tickling,
lingering keep it together, you’re doing
well ‘I have the details of the man in this envelope’ he raised his hand up
to his chest to reach inside for the envelope.
The Mexican glanced quickly over to the coloured man standing behind
Benedict Jesus they think I’m going for a
piece ‘may I just reach in and take out the envelope’ he asked nervously,
his voice had suddenly gone a little higher, he looked at the Mexican as his
hand hovered around the outside of his jacket.
The Mexican stared at Benedict’s
hand; he eyed him up and down then with a gentle flat of the hand he made a
downward motioning movement to the large coloured man standing behind
Benedict. After the Mexican had nodded
his permission Benedict tucked his hand inside his jacket pocket, it trembled
slightly as he withdrew the envelope and passed it across the table, Benedict
eyed “The Mexican” closely as he gently pulled the envelope from the
table. Benedict still felt nervous,
anxious even, the air in the room was clammy and he could smell something? He thought about it what is it that I can smell suddenly it came to him death he could smell death. Conscious of the two men who occupied the
room with him Benedict let out a quiet gulp; he just wanted to get everything
done and leave the room and the bar behind him; once outside he would be gone,
they would never see him again damn even
Calcone won’t see me again; I’m outta this hellhole of a job. But even with all the fear he had; all the
fear that was playing within his mind, nudging him, telling him…..a thought was
still intriguing him though why do they
call him “The Mexican” when it’s quite clear he’s English or maybe an American
who’d been educated over the pond?
The Mexican opened the envelope
and pulled out several sheets of paper and began flicking through them one by
one; Benedict had made sure he had left nothing out in the details; he had put
down everything about Stanley Baker and his family; his wife; his daughter and
his son. It was silent in the room the
only sound seemed to be coming from Benedict’s heartbeat as he watched “the
Mexican” read through every sheet of paper he had taken from the envelope,
Benedict was sure that “the Mexican” would be pleased. The document he had presented read like an
autobiography, he watched the man as he read them several times, watching as
the pages turned and his heartbeat pounded on his chest, Benedict watched the
man as he read them, over and over again, taking in every morsel of
information. Finally he looked up into
Benedict’s eyes ‘they are on holiday as of today?’ the voice was calm and
collected.
Benedict felt pleased ‘yes
they’ve gone into the Rocky Mountains in a cabin one of those holiday ones for
the city slickers’ he knew the Mexican would act quickly knowing that it’s all in the detail!
‘Tell Mr Calcone that I will take
on this job’ he nodded down toward the papers on his desk ‘I will make an
example of this Stanley Baker and his family, I’ll do this because Mr Calcone
always pays well’ the Mexican licked his lips; they looked a little dry?
Benedict was glad, this time he
had not been a failure; the job was done, the Bakers would now be dealt with
and Benedict would now be allowed to leave; leave the bar and leave the
services of “the Calcone clan” those
fucks ain’t never gonna see me again!
But that niggling thought came back again; it was still bothering him why do they call him “The Mexican?” he
was feeling a little more confident now that the meeting was finally over and
besides he had seen nothing from these two men that really scared him, the only
negative thought was the strange atmosphere in the room. ‘Do you mind if I ask a question?’
The Mexican looked up from the
papers into Benedict’s eyes; he looked intrigued ‘ask away’ his eyes narrowed
under the rim of the stetsun.
‘Why do they call you “The
Mexican” when you are quite clearly English or maybe even American’ he asked it
inquisitively; his sweaty brow furrowed into a crease all the stories about him being Mexican must be a myth, a legend even,
created to scare his enemies? It’s what
some of the Eastern European gangs do, set up scary stories to make them sound
invincible!
The Mexican laughed ‘I’m not the
Mexican’ his eyes glanced over to the far wall ‘he is!’
Benedict saw the movement from
along the wall off to his left, he caught it out of the corner of his eye; it
was quick and decisive the man had materialised from what seemed like no-where but there was no-one else in the room I
checked! Before his head could turn
to register the movement the man was upon him; Benedict felt the blade enter
under his rib cage as his head turned to take in the features of his
attacker. He was South American, 6 feet
tall with a slight scar that ran down the length of his cheek; Benedict’s gaze
dropped to the mans throat to the larger scar that, even now after all these
years still looked raw. It is true he thought to himself as he
began to feel his shirt becoming wet, the wet feeling spreading across his
shirt and chest, even down to his underpants.
It registered with Benedict that
he was about to die the devil has stabbed
me he looked into “The Mexican’s” eyes he was sure at first that his pupils
had glowed red like the stories he had heard?
But now as he looked deeper into them they were black; black like pools
of oil! Benedict stared into the black
bottomless pools, there was no emotion in the eyes, just death, benedict could
feel his eyelids becoming heavy, until the knife was brought up six inches; the
force making Benedict grunt, making his eyes open wider. Another feeling came, he felt his trousers
becoming wet, then his legs I’ve pissed
myself the blade was now up to his chest fuckin things going to come out of my throat at this rate! His
breathing was becoming weak as each breath began to get shorter; his lungs
fought desperately for more air, his heart pounded on his ribcage as it clung
desperately to life. The whole attack
had lasted seconds but in Benedict’s mind it had played out slowly, all the
strength in him began to disappear until eventually his legs could no longer hold
his weight; he dropped lifeless to the floor.
Benedict was dead!
Chapter 2 will be posted Friday September 27th 2013 but until then if you liked the first instalment of Samson then why not check out 'The Semiotic Networks' my first novel available in paperback, e-book and I-Tunes. You can gain access through this site.
Thanks for reading......Dean Horton
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