St. Anthony of Padua lay at the edge of Little Italy, close enough to the docks to smell faintly of saltwater and steel. The church loomed on the corner over a narrow bodega, its stone walls as gray as the fog that hugged the street. The building\u2019s threshold was crossed by a ghost \u2014 the<\/i> Ghost, a young man whose complexion had earned him the fitting moniker.<\/p>\n
The Ghost, born Demos Giorgetti, wet his fingers with holy water, crossing himself before moving down the aisle. His hand grazed the backs of old wooden pews as he walked, soundless over the burgundy runner. At the votive stand, he repeated his formalities, his face illuminated by dozens of candles. In the last few years, he had come more times than he could count, searching for something he\u2019d seemed to have misplaced. He\u2019d been desperate for guidance, for a higher power to tell him that everything happened for a reason.<\/p>\n
This would be his last visit.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\u201cForgive me Father, for I have sinned,\u201d he began, his eyes low in the dim light of the confessional. \u201cIt has been twenty days since my last confession.\u201d<\/p>\n
Demos took in a breath through his nose, taking in the scent of oak and beeswax.<\/p>\n
\u201cI accuse myself of these sins,\u201d he continued. \u201cI\u2019ve given in to wrath\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n
Images of smoke and bullet chambers flash through his mind, spinning counterclockwise in a haze of red.<\/p>\n
\u201cGreed.\u201d<\/p>\n
The memory was fresh \u2014 the smell of paper bills on his hands and the contrast of silver on dull green.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019ve had impure thoughts.\u201d<\/p>\n
He thought of sweat and liquor, of longing glances at things he shouldn\u2019t want.<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd I\u2019ve been swearing quite a bit,\u201d he finished, his eyes glancing up at the ceiling of the wooden booth.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt seems you have a lot to say this morning,\u201d the priest replied, his voice low behind the crossed slats of the window.<\/p>\n
\u201cWell, this is my last confession,\u201d Demos replied, unable to help but smile,\u201dfor the time being.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMay I ask why?\u201d<\/p>\n
The Ghost closed his eyes.<\/p>\n
\u201cI was lost when I started coming here\u2026 but I think I\u2019ve found my place.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBut leaving the church may send you into the world of the lost once more.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNah, I think I\u2019ve got it.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWell, I understand. When you\u2019re ready to return, the Lord will be waiting,\u201d the priest responded with a light sigh. \u201cBut, for now, let\u2019s look at these sins of yours.\u201d<\/p>\n
Outside, a figure stood leaning against a parked Alfa Romeo, using a cloth to clean his glasses. Even after replacing them, Ferris could barely see past his own hands. The mist was relentless \u2014 a fat cloud making itself comfortable over the pavement, too lazy to return to its proper place in the sky. Under his breath, Ferris cursed the fog, and then cursed his companion for taking so very long to return.<\/p>\n
He, too, had a nickname, though his was more likely to instill hunger than fear. Fishbones had only recently reentered the Ghost\u2019s life. It had shocked him how easy it was to return to it all \u2014 to the bloodstains and the churn of money counters, to the initial rush of danger, followed by a terrible, familiar apathy.<\/p>\n
The creak of a wooden door caught his attention and he looked up to see Demos descending the stone steps.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat took you so long?\u201d Ferris demanded, not bothering to hide his agitation.<\/p>\n
\u201cHe had me do three rosaries,\u201d Demos replied, striking a match to light a cigarette.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat were you doing, carving them by hand?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHey, I deal with all your\u2026 Jewy<\/i> shit,\u201d the Italian replied with a vague hand gesture. \u201cThe least you can do is wait half an hour for this.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cForty-five minutes,\u201d Ferris corrected, glancing at the time on his phone before placing it back in his pocket. \u201cNow get in the car. We\u2019re already late.\u201d<\/p>\n
\n
The fog entrenched every inch of Southport and the docks were no exception. Dark water lapped against the pier, staining the barnacle-encrusted wood. Victor Giorgetti had grown tired of waiting, gesturing for his cousin to follow as they headed down the wharf. Their forms cut through the gray as they walked, Italian leather shoes clicking on the surface. Seagulls circled unseen in the gloom above, their presence betrayed by their own wretched cries.<\/p>\n
Alonzo stared at the back of Victor\u2019s head as they walked, unable to see much else. It was his usual position in life \u2014 always in the dark, always a step behind. It was only when Victor made out the silhouettes of their hosts that he stopped \u2014 if one could host a deserted pier. There were another two men waiting at the end of the planks and both looked up as the Italians approached.<\/p>\n
\u201cAshes,\u201d the shorter man said in an even Qatari accent. \u201cIt\u2019s a pleasure.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThat\u2019s \u2018Mr. Giorgetti<\/i>,\u201d Victor corrected, the temperature in his voice dropping dangerously low.<\/p>\n
\u201cYes, of course,\u201d he said, masking his nerves by smoothing back his dark hair. \u201cMr. Giorgetti.\u201d<\/p>\n
Victor looked at the man, then the taller one beside him. From the bulge in his jacket, Victor could see that he was armed \u2014 perhaps a bodyguard, perhaps more.<\/p>\n
\u201cMy name is Hassan. We spoke on the phone.\u201c<\/p>\n
\u201cI know your name,\u201d the Italian said. \u201cWhat I don\u2019t know is what business you want with us.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u00a0\u201cRight \u2014 business. We run quite a lucrative one, worldwide. We\u2019ve expanded to Asia, South America, and even dear old Italy. We have our eyes set on the States now, and in turn, you.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou want to set up in Southport,\u201d Victor said, his voice slow as he considered the other man. Alonzo remained silent at his side, fighting the twitch in the corner of his mouth.<\/p>\n
\u201cThat\u2019s correct. We\u2019ve already seen great success in Atlanta and Memphis. We would like to extend that success to you,\u201d he explained, unable to help but smile. \u201cIt is said that you run this city, that you have certain influences \u2014 certain power.\u201d<\/p>\n
Victor said nothing, only narrowing his gaze as he listened.<\/p>\n
\u201cWe can offer you thirty percent,\u201d Hassan continued.<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd the product?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAh, the product. One that pays for itself. Such a product \u2014 it will never go out of demand, nor supply.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cCut the shit, Hassan.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSex, of course. Girls. Listen, when we\u2014\u201c<\/p>\n
\u201cI see,\u201d Victor cut in. \u201cWell, your interest is appreciated, but I\u2019m afraid you will not be expanding to Southport.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBut you\u2014\u201c<\/p>\n
\u201cThe answer is no<\/i>.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAsh,\u201d came a voice from his side; it was Alonzo. \u201cLet the man talk.\u201d<\/p>\n
Slowly, Victor\u2019s head turned to lock eyes with his cousin. Though related, the two shared few similarities. Victor was tall and angular, his dark hair striped with white at the temples. Alonzo\u2019s hairline had retreated to the safety of his crown, stark and graying over a set of black eyebrows. His lips, normally in a perpetual sneer, were currently flattened in defiance.<\/p>\n
\u201cLonnie<\/i>,\u201d Victor warned, his voice just above a whisper.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou heard him. It\u2019s a billion-dollar industry,\u201d Alonzo continued. \u201cAnd now that the Marianis are trying to rebuild, we need as much\u2014\u201c<\/p>\n
\u201cA word,\u201d he snapped, grasping his cousin by the shoulder and leading him out of earshot. From afar, it might have looked like a simple, familiar touch. In reality, Victor\u2019s fingers were digging quite painfully into the other man\u2019s arm.<\/p>\n
\u201cAre you out of your fucking mind<\/i>?\u201d Victor hissed, somehow managing to keep a straight face. \u201cRight out in the open? I should never have brought you here.\u201d<\/p>\n
Victor gripped harder, leaning closer to whisper his next words.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou know the rules.\u201d<\/p>\n
Alonzo scoffed, fighting back a wince. \u201cRules? Some bullshit your father decided?\u201c<\/p>\n
\u201cChiudi quel cazzo di culo! No drugs. No women.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cJust because you<\/i> have a daughter\u2014\u201c Alonzo started, but stopped as he felt his limb twist further in its socket. From the end of the pier, the Egyptians watched with folded arms as the two had a seemingly intimate discussion.<\/p>\n
\u201cSay it<\/i>.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo,\u201d Alonzo spat, his teeth bared.<\/p>\n
\u201cThen leave,\u201d Victor said, gesturing towards the car parked back by the warehouses.<\/p>\n
\u201cDon\u2019t tell me what\u2014\u201c<\/p>\n
\u201cLeave. Now<\/i>.\u201d<\/p>\n
Alonzo took in a slow breath, the air audible as it sucked through his nostrils. He didn\u2019t blink, his eyes locked wide on his cousin\u2019s face. Victor held his ground, returning the glower without a sound. After a moment, Alonzo\u2019s lips moved, parting as if to speak. They hung open, impotent, nearly trembling as they struggled to rant.<\/p>\n
No empowering tirade came forth \u2014 not one vulgarity dared to escape his throat. With a gritty scoff, he tore his eyes away, stalking down the wharf and disappearing into the fog. Victor watched until the sound of footsteps faded, then testily looked back towards the water.<\/p>\n
Two handguns greeted him as he turned.<\/p>\n
\u201cOh,\u201d the Italian muttered.<\/p>\n
\u201cDo you think,\u201d Hassan said, his smile widening, \u201cif I were to kill you now\u2026 that cousin of yours would mind?\u201d<\/p>\n
Victor smirked. \u201cI doubt it.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s not too late, Mr. Giorgetti. I\u2019ll give you one more chance to change your mind. If not, well\u2026 I\u2019m sure we can find someone<\/i> to deal with.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI don\u2019t think you understand how this works,\u201d he answered, his tone flat in spite of the firearms zeroed in on the bridge of his nose.<\/p>\n
\u201cDon\u2019t I? Well, please, enlighten me.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAs you mentioned earlier, we\u2019re the ones with power here. Not you.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cFunny,\u201d Hassan said, raising his brows. \u201cYou look rather helpless, to me.\u201d<\/p>\n
Two clicks cut through the gray air, followed by a pair of figures emerging from the fog. From behind Victor came Demos, a revolver set in one hand and his shoes in the other. Noisy soles so often ruined the element of surprise. Beside him stood Ferris, his face blank as he focused his pistol. They were locked in a stalemate.<\/p>\n
\u201cThis meeting is over,\u201d Victor said, breaking the silence.<\/p>\n
\u201cClearly,\u201d the other man replied.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou have four hours to leave the city,\u201d Victor continued. \u201cI ever see your fucking face again, I\u2019ll skin it off and use it as a doily. And then\u2014\u201c<\/p>\n
Victor paused, watching the man\u2019s throat bob as he swallowed.<\/p>\n
\u201cThen you\u2019ll find out exactly<\/i> why they call me Ashes.\u201d<\/p>\n
For the first time that morning, Hassan had nothing to say. His smile faltered, fading as his jaw went limp.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019d better get going,\u201d Victor added, his face low. \u201cTraffic\u2019s a bitch at this hour.\u201d<\/p>\n
The wooden planks of the dock clattered as the two men scrambled down the pier. Ferris sidestepped to avoid them, barely turning his shoulders in time. Through the mist, they could hear a car starting, then a hint of headlights as it pulled away between the warehouses. Then, the air was once again silent.<\/p>\n
Victor immediately redirected his glare towards his nephew. \u201cWould it fucking kill you to be on time for once?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI had a lot of sins to cover, okay?\u201d Demos said, running a hand through his hair. \u201cJesus.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd you,\u201d he said, turning towards Ferris. \u201cIs that gun even loaded, Fish?\u201d<\/p>\n
Ferris lifted the weapon, releasing an empty magazine into his palm.<\/p>\n
\u201c\u2026no,\u201d Ferris said. It mattered little. He had no intention of pulling any triggers, loaded or not.<\/p>\n
\u201cHa<\/i>,\u201d Victor scoffed.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou should have been fine without us. Why was Alonzo in the car?\u201d Ferris asked, clicking the magazine back into place before concealing the weapon inside his jacket.<\/p>\n
\u201cHe\u2019s in time out,\u201d Victor explained, thumbing open a cigarette case. \u201cRan his fucking mouth again.\u201d<\/p>\n
Demos sighed, glancing back towards the warehouses. \u201cWe\u2019re going to have to do something about him.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAt least the prick was here on time. You two get back to the restaurant.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cUs?\u201d Demos asked. \u201cWhere are you going?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cTo have a chat<\/i> with Alonzo. Unless you\u2019d<\/i> like to spend some quality time with him,\u201d Victor replied, selecting a cigarette from the case.<\/p>\n
\u201cNo, no\u2026 please,\u201d his nephew said with a smile. \u201cHave fun.\u201d<\/p>\n
An orange glow reflected off of Victor\u2019s glasses as he lit his cigarette, then snapped the steel lighter shut. The smoke rose into the fog as he walked away, gray mingling with gray in curling plumes.<\/p>\n
\u201cDon\u2019t worry,\u201d he said. \u201cI will.\u201d<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
St. Anthony of Padua lay at the edge of Little Italy, close enough to the docks to smell faintly of saltwater and steel. The church loomed on the corner over a narrow bodega, its stone walls as gray as the fog that hugged the street. The building\u2019s threshold was crossed by a ghost \u2014 the […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":true,"jetpack_social_options":{"image_generator_settings":{"template":"highway","enabled":false},"version":2}},"categories":[5],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-188","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-fishbones-book-02"],"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p4oWx8-32","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"post_mailing_queue_ids":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.fishbonescomic.com\/novel\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/188","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.fishbonescomic.com\/novel\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.fishbonescomic.com\/novel\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.fishbonescomic.com\/novel\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.fishbonescomic.com\/novel\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=188"}],"version-history":[{"count":9,"href":"http:\/\/www.fishbonescomic.com\/novel\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/188\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":591,"href":"http:\/\/www.fishbonescomic.com\/novel\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/188\/revisions\/591"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.fishbonescomic.com\/novel\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=188"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.fishbonescomic.com\/novel\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=188"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.fishbonescomic.com\/novel\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=188"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}