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Dante's Fire Chapter Eight: Big Jack
Chapter EightBIG JACKA cop car sped past Big Jack, splashing muddy snow and spraying water. Its siren was on and wailing, and the colours blue and red flashed across the buildings as it blew past. On its side, the acronym NYPD was embossed in bold black letters.To Big Jack, wailing police sirens had to be the scariest sound a person could hear when he or she was a criminal. It was a lesson that Big Jack had learnt and relearnt, and then learnt again a dozen times. He had come to know fear intimately, because he had grown up in an atmosphere of it. And because he had come to know fear as intimately as he did, because it had become a regularity in his life, it was an easy thing to shake off.Yet, when he saw his best friend on the tile floor of the ware house, staring up at the ceiling with unseeing eyes after Andre shot him, he had felt fear. Fear that was new and uncharted. Colder than a chilly December, it reached for and gripped his heart with icy fingers. He could not close his e
Dante's Fire Chapter Nine: Jackie
Chapter NineJACKIESitting at the back of the yellow and black taxi, Jackie watched the world spill by the windows. Even after being gone for so long, the city was as she remembered. Cold. Loud. Crowded. It was frigid enough that she could see her breath colour the air in front of her. Cars honked, people hurried by or walked leisurely, like the teenagers on the side of the road in full winter apparel, walking as though they had all the time there was. People sprung out from the subway, from beneath the bowels of the earth, hurrying as they went. The noises that could be heard were a hushed quiet from behind the taxi's stiff windows.As the scenery changed, Jackie could only think of her father. He had been gone since the day he called her and she heard gunshots over the line. She had called him repeatedly, texted, sent voicemails, panicked. It was all for naught. He had vanished. She booked a flight, and the next day, she had packed a bag and was headed for the airport. Her stomach
Dante's Fire Chapter Ten: Dante
Chapter TenDANTE'It is about time we buried your father, don't you think?' Orlando asked Dante after two weeks of inaction had passed.Dante just grunted at him, and slid further down into the plush sofa. He had placed Ambience, his nightclub, in the hands of his manager and had taken a small leave. A leave of a week had slowly and surely turned in a half a month's sabbatical. He asked to not be disturbed, and so far, the man had respected his request. It had been two weeks of saturninity. Two weeks of imposing reticence every day of which left Dante feeling more stripped and more depressed than he had been the day before, and the day before that one too. Some mornings, he barely felt the need to get out of bed.He had moved to his father's house in the city, leaving his beloved penthouse during the duration of time. After sending all the staff on leave, he tried to settle down. He had planned to gather what remained of his father's properties. Clothing, jewelry, footwear, and his m
Dante's Fire Chapter Eleven: Jackie
Chapter ElevenJACKIEHotels in the city were not often the cheapest form of accommodation, and unfortunately, the city was no well known for having motels.The hotel room that Jackie secured that night of her arrival was not what she would have called five star rated, but it was, fortunately for her, reasonably priced and relatively clean. The sink had burn marks like someone had put out a bunch of cigars in there, and the windows were dark with film. But it was otherwise habitable. After having lived in cramped dorm room for so long a time, Jackie could say she could acclimatize to nearly any living conditions, given time.She settled into the New York pace and began to try to get her bearing, her wits about her. It was a fortnight at the hotel before she called the number on the paper, four long nights of hoping and wishing her father would just call and end this jest that have soon began to transform into a nightmare. Like with the time she arrived at her house, with the interco
Dante's Fire Chapter Twelve: Jackie
Neil Hunter had chosen a restaurant. Bright lit with fluorescent tubes and with giant glass windows all around, so they could see what was outside, if anything or anyone was coming without being surprised. It still surprised her, he had told her to me alone, yet they were meeting at a public spot? Would it surmise to day he was just as nervous about her as she was of him? That would be good, she thought as she entered the restaurant. That would be very good, because it at least it proved that perhaps, he could be trustworthy. She spotted him as soon as she got in. The door bell jangled lightly. Neil Hunter was seated at the last end of the boot, his shoulders tight, his eyes anxious. 'You came quickly,' he said, sounding genuinely surprised. He stood to his feet at her approach and remained standing until she had slipped into her own side of the booth across from him.It was warm inside the place; Jackie relieved herself of her coat and her jacket. She talked as she worked to get t
Dante's Fire Chapter Thirteen: Dante
Chapter Thirteen DANTEDante's granny, Grandma Ursula, attended the funeral. Grandma Ursula had eyes like curdled chalk water, the watery white of albumen, and hands soft as a mattress. She gathered Dante's face in those mattress-supple hands of hers. 'Oh, Dante, my boy.' She rasped. 'Your father—terrible is what it is. Just terrible.'Dante could only nod and wonder how she was able to worry over him when he had merely lost his father. She had lost a son. It did not get any worse than that. Grandma was nearly a hundred, if Dante tried to do the maths. But he did not. Grandma Ursula had been there since he was waddling in diapers; she had also been there when his father was waddling in diapers too, since the beginning of time. There was no telling where she began or ended. She was one of the things in his life that had remained steady, perpetually present. Even when his mother died, she had been there for him and his father, a steady and unmoving boat on a running stream, holding the
Dante's Fire Chapter Fourteen: Dante
DANTEIf you had been at the reception, you would have thought the Bianchis a happy family, a bunch of haoyoy people. You would have thought perhaps that Raymond Bianchi died of natural causes. Maybe a heart attack. It was not uncommon for men his age. There was laughter and sparkling wine in squeaky glasses; there was clinking and toasting, most of which Orlando did.'To Raymond!' He roared, standing at the banister overlooking the gigantic living room.'To Raymond,' The crowd below raised their glasses along with him in salute, auriferous wine sloshing from side to side. Dante walked around, weaving through the crowd with no particular purpose but to tell those that milled about the house, the stairs, the rooms that his father had walked in, breathed in, lived in, danced with his wife in, that they were welcome. Thank you for coming, Dante said through tightly gritted teeth. Shaking cold hands that bore little more than sympathy. He hated the job. He hated the entire day. It was wo
Dante's Fire Chapter Fifteen: Andre
ANDREThe sodding funeral lasted so long Andre was nearly konking out on duty. He was in charge of the security for the night. Perhaps for all other nights. Most of the soldiers in the mafia revered him now. They could often be found offering him a smoke, which was a thing he always accepted readily. They hailed him on the streets unabashedly, loudly. He had survived a hit, had seen a full scale insurrection and had lived to tell the tale. That counted for something in the city. To the elite though, it was a different matter. They now regarded him with distrust. With eyes that said they would rather he had not lived to tell the tale. Andre did not begrudge them their wishes, the sodding money hoarders. They were right to be afraid. As much as it was often believed that it was the Bosses who made the pivotal decisions, it could also be said that in every Mafia, the force of those below made the difference. Without foot soldiers, there was no organization. Their opinions mattered, mo
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