The Feds is Watching
Marcus Manuel was holding the pack of ice to his head and laying on his bed. Worse than any hangover he could remember, his head was pounding and felt like it was never going to stop. He was still wondering how they got away from the Feds. From off-roading to going over medians to nearly flipping over twice, the whole night was still pretty much a blur to him. He really questioned whether or not Oscar's unconscious ass would remember any of it, including Manuel and Machelli having to drag his fat ass back to the store and lay him in his bed. What a night. His head hurt too bad to realize that it was a bit suspicious that three felons could simply outrun the Feds and be able to just go back to their homes. It had all subsided quickly. Too quickly. It had gone too smoothly, and something was definitely up. But Manuel was just glad they had survived.
Manuel finally stepped out of his apartment and saw Sloan Waters getting into a taxi. "Where are you going?" Manuel asked, just wanting to hear some semblance of getting away. "Manhattan. I have a lunch date at 12:30." Manuel checked his watch. It was 12 noon. He looked back over to the lady getting into the taxi and she had some strange maniacal grin on her face as she ducked her head into the taxi. "Fucking psycho," he muttered to himself. "Getting to Manhattan in 30 minutes. In a taxi. Stupid bitch thinks she can actually escape this place."
Apparently she had forgotten that this was Baltimore. Washington Heights. Nobody ever escaped. Manuel turned back into the building amidst the sound of thunder.
Manuel woke up from his slumber just in time to hear the rain start back up, round four o'clock in the afternoon. Ice cream truck was pulling up and selling to the kids on the block. Kids standing out there, in that cold rain. Looked like they were having fun though. Better they enjoy their childhood while it lasts, Manuel thought. He knew more than anybody how hard it was to be a grown-up.
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Soon Charlie reached the abandoned warehouse, cracked open a bottle of the cheapest Vodka money can buy and chugged it down. Now he could begin his masterpiece.
Hues of Red, Black, Blue, and White bled across the rusted and rotting walls of the old warehouse. Charlie knew the ways of grafitti well, and he never made mistakes. The paint can became an extension of his body, like the paint was flowing from his finger tips. His lungs filled with the toxic fumes from the cans, but Charlie could have cared less, he simply washed the paint down with more cheap Vodka.
Slowly, the masterpiece began to take shape. Everywhere on the 20 foot space there were red and white roses, and they were beautiful, only the roses were bleeding a deep, dark red. And then a beautiful face began to appear on the wall. Charlie had committed every curve and dimple of his mother's face to memory.
At one point, Charlie paused to puke up a little Chinese food from earlier. Then he proceeded to wash the taste of death out of his mouth with even more Vodka. The liqour helped the pain, painting for his mother gave him more pain, so Charlie drank more.
Soon after, Charlie saw Fil wander by mutterring about this or that. Fil asked Charlie what he was doing. And Charlie explained he was painting for his dead mother, so she could be remembered in her home town.
Fil shook his head, "Death ain't easy Charlie, but its gotta happen to everything. Dying is the only thing you have to do in your life. And thats the truth. You just gotta know when its your time."
Charlie was taken back by Fil's comment, partially because he didn't think a hobo would be so intraspective and partially because he was drunk as shit and anything can have a profound affect on a drunk person. Charlie thought for a moment, shook his head and went back to painting.
Later, Marcus Manuel passed by, looking terribly shaken and bruised up.
"Yo! Where's that old man Oscar at?" Charlie shouted, though his words now were terribly slurred.
Luckily, Marcus spoke drunk, and said, "Oh we got into some trouble last night, he's probably still recovering.
Charlie nodded, he knew not to ask anymore questions.
"Well... I'm glad someone is finally making this old piece look nice. Keep up the good work Charlie," Marcus said.
Before Charlie could respond, Marcus was gone. Charlie's hands looked like they were dipped in paint now, but he kept working. Soon, the sun started to rise, and Charlie's masterpiece was nearly complete.
As the first light of day fell onto the rundown town of Washington Heights, Charlie's masterpiece caught a beam of sunshine. His mother looked beautiful and so real in the light of the sun. Charlie completed his work by signing his name, and writing, "...And even the Angels will envy her beauty and kindness." in black paint. Charlie stepped back from the wall, admirred his work and began to cry. He bawled his eyes out, like an infant, and he was so intoxicated his tears tasted like Vodka. It was his best work, it was perfect, and it was all for his mother; all for her that loved him so much.
He knew there was nothing left for him in this shithole town. He knew there was no one left who even loved him on this shithole earth. He missed his mother.
The paint had barely finished drying when Charlie pulled out the Desert Eagle from his bag and flipped the safety off. He looked up to the sky, and pushed the cold steel barrel into his mouth. He could taste the gun powder, and he could imagine what the hollow points looked like, just waiting to be released.
Charlie said a prayer, but he knew God couldn't hear him.
He tried hard to picture his mother's face, and opened his eyes and realized her face was right in front of him.
Charlie pulled the trigger.
Oscar Alcazar
Another day broke. His hulking form once again rose to unlock the door. The ancient "New York Strip" sign flipped to read "Open." You just can't beat the gambling industry. Money was fine, social life was fine, but Oscar knew he was stuck in a rut. "Maybe it's time for me to move on" he thought. Maybe.
The seemingly constant breeze hit his unshaven face as he swung his door open. The light fabric of the umbrellas flapped gently in the wind. He surveyed the street, like always, but something caught his attention. Something was off, something was missing. Oscar strolled down the sidewalk, which was refreshing. He liked walking. The pas few days' events flashed through his mind. his good friends... Charlie, Marcus, Dominic... Basement Babe. Well, she mighta been a bit more than a friend. Oh well. time to move on. Time to move on.
Oscar reached an overpass and realized what was different. A large oak tree was gone. Missing. No... it was still there, but broken. Limbs were torn off, a treehouse wrecked. But then his heart jumped. Down there, on the ground stood Grandma Pearl. She crouched, investigating something. Oh no. No. No.... it's body. Buried under a thick branch.
Oscar pulled out his mobile phone, dialing three numbers. Somewhere in the distance, sirens started, wearily, but came closer. Oscar again drew his hand into his pocket. This time he pulled out a pistol. He stood atop the overpass, directed his gun straight up, said a prayer, and fired three shots in honor of this dead companion.
Oscar turned and headed back toward his humble shop. Back to his own life. Back to the same job. Back to the only routine he could count on.
Its a Dog Eat Dog World
Finally! The schmucks living in this town get some good weather. I think the good Lord realized that we deserved some good weather after surviving the terrors of the storm the night before. Its been fittingly dreary for a few days straight now, but as I opened my eyes saw the sun doing the same over the sleepy horizon. I purposed in my head that it was going to be a day of relaxation. I turned on the TV just because the stare of my reflection in the black lifeless screen made me feel alone, isolated. The fact that Money Making Melina aka Rump Roast Rosie was lying in bed next to me didn't really count for anything because I knew after the "festivities" of last night she would be out for at least 2 more hours...bless her little heart. As I searched through the sheets for my phone I heard Monica Kaufman reporting on the damnedest thing. I turned the volume up, to take a better listen, and felt a slight stir in the covers from Rosie, so I put the captions on to see what was going on. Apparently, a hobo was struck by lightning. I knew that this in and of itself was a very rare occurrence. Seriously, what are the chances of that!?! Then, as I read on, all feelings that had potential to turn into sympathy, fled when they reported his location during the time of the storm. This prick was standing in a TREE! Who does that!?! Everybody knows that the number one rule in a storm is DON'T STAND UNDER A TALL TREE. This ignorant schmuck climbed the damn thing. It would have been easier to have just dropped a toaster in the bath with him. But that probably wasn't news worthy, so I settled that his way out was better. At least he got his 15 minutes of fame.
Speaking of minutes, I cant believe that I still haven't found my phone! Then, as if on que, it rang and disclosed its location. It was Oscar inviting me and Lefty to a little early bird meat sampling get together. I asked him the reason for the urgency, and he told me that he just got the nicest "New York Strip" to have ever set foot in his shop and he wanted us to come see a sample of its money making potential for the loyal participants in the back room activities of the butcher shop. Perfect! A little early morning entertainment was just what I needed to start my day of complete and total relaxation.
Lefty and I arrived at the Oscars around 10:00 to find a car that we had never seen before parked behind the Escalade. We exchanged looks of suspicion, and decided to drive around the block one more time, just in case there was a tail or this was some sort of trap. I pulled the fully automatic out from under the seat and tucked it firmly into my waistline. We walked in to the back room at full attention, only to find Oscar taking shots of Hennessy and puffing on a cigar with a satisfied grin on his face. This dog must really be something to have him so excited. And when I looked to my left, I saw the prettiest, most ferocious looking door that I have ever seen in my life. It was beautiful. I asked whose dogs was going to be the competition, and he told me that an old friend of his named Marcus Manuel was providing the opponent......Marcus Manuel......? Why did that name sound so familiar? I know that I have heard it before, but I just couldn't put my finger on when. Then it hit me! The black van, the thugs, the bridge, the interrogation room. The thug that we took into the interrogation room told us that some Colombian prick had sent him and the other henchmen. While he still had his teeth, he mentioned the name Marcus Manuel. I didn't try that hard to conceal my epiphany from Oscar because the Hennessy was doing all the work for me. I shared my revelation with Lefty, and before I could even finish, he left the shop and went to the car to grab a few "items" that he thought might come in handy. Oscar boomed across the room, "Marcus just called. He said he should be here any minute. I wish he would hurry up! I can't wait to get this battle started. The way he's been bragging on his dog, there's bound to be an all out war in here. I'm talkin about a fight to the death! Only one of these monsters is leaving this room alive."
How right you are my friend; how right you are...
Lulu Lamar woke up to a beautiful morning. It was finally sunny and there was not a cloud in the sky. She preformed her usual tasks and turned on the television to see the morning's news. The reporter was standing in front of a park. It was her park. Something had happened in her neighborhood surprise, surprise. Something always happened near Washington Heights but she decided to continue reading the subtitles for the program. Apparently the old woman Pearl had found a body in the park. She was sobbing and carrying on about the poor dear. Lulu wondered who this person was. Who had died in the park? What had happened? She saw the name flash across the screen. Fill the little homeless boy had died. Lulu gasped. What a tragedy. No one seemed to ever help that poor boy. He was all alone with no one to care for him. Lulu turned off the news too shocked to watch any more. Besides today she had an interview with the man that owned the grocery store. What was his name? Achilles that's it. What a strange name. Lulu said goodbye to Sinclair and left him alone in the apartment. They had never really been apart and she didn't know how he or she would handle being separated. She walked down the hall toward the elevator, pressed the button and waited for it to reach the fifth floor. When she reached the lobby, she headed toward the door off to her job interview. As she was walking down the street, she passed Marcus heading very quickly back to the apartments, hands in pockets and looking back over his shoulder every couple of seconds. Someone else up to no good. This neighborhood was really getting to be a dangerous place. Hopefully with a new job she would be able to move out pretty soon but Lulu still had an interview to get through. She had reached the entrance Lulu took a deep breath and walked in thinking this good be the start to a new life.
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