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Dante's Fire Andre: Chapter Sixty Seven
He took her in with his eyes.She was dressed as she often was at hours after closure: in loose but revealing clothes, that showed off her midriff and shoulders. A thin layer of sweat shone on her brow, on the bit of her chest that the clothes left bare to the eye. She was staring at him too, he realized, with something like contemplation in her eyes.Under the scrutiny of her gaze, Andre wanted to stand straighter, he wanted to be taller, broader, even ythough he already was those things. More than most people were. There was something about the bar-woman that made him want to be better, to be the things he was not. The only person in this world who had ever had that effect on him was Molly. Not Big Jack, definitely not Raymond Bianchi, both of whom he had admired at a certain point. Both of whom he still admired distantly.It was only Molly. Sweet Molly of blessed memory.He pushed the thought of Molly away. Because, look how it ended. Look how she ended. In an alleyway. Everybody
Dante's Fire Jackie: Chapter Sixty Eight
Jackie‘How many parts of this city have you been to?’ Jackie asked him once they were back in the car.'Most parts,' Dante answered, 'Why?'His face was illuminated by the headlights of a passing rickety truck, and for a short moment, he was as silvery as the moon.She shrugged. 'Just asking.''You want to know how many places I intend to show you before the day ends, so you know if you can make it back early enough to be ready for work tomorrow, is it not?''Touché.' She said.He grinned. 'Don't worry. This is the last.'His body guard again maneuvered the car around in silence until they got to the place. The place, as it turned out, was his father's corporation: Bianchi Enterprises.The building structure loomed high above them, towering into the sky and nearly disappearing behind the clouds. Dante pushed open the car door and stepped down. Jackie slipped through the other door. The howling wind hit her smack
Dante's Fire Spears: Chapter Sixty Nine
Spears The new commissioner of Police, Coleman Spears, was the sort of man who kissed God often.He was Catholic, and an earnest one at that. But he had one tragic flaw: like the commissioner before him and the one that came before that one, and the one that came years before his predecessor's predecessor, he did not mind taking a few wads of cash to look the other way. What else was he supposed to do? he argued each time his conscience chewed at him. It was logical. Regardless of what the police or any other person did, there would always be crime lurking in the dark corner a of the city. That was the thing about big cities and flashy places, they drew people to them en masse and since all people had their vices, they came carrying their shit along.The safest way to make sure that people did not get hurt, quite often, was to look the other way. To pretend not to see. But sometimes, looking the other way brought even more trouble. Sometimes, the best way to keep the city safe was t
Dante's Fire Nick: Chapter seventy
NickThe old man hated formalities and formal events. He reserved a special loathing for anything that a ceremony could be made out of.Why could life not be simple?He did not have the answer to that.Nick turned on the lights in the study. The room smelled as it always did, like PineSol and the aging books he had never gotten around to reading. He strode in and went straight for the ice glass.'I will be the first to admit,' Spears started, 'at first glance, I did not take you for a reader.''I am not.' Was the gruff reply that Nicholas gave him.'Yet, your shelf begs to differ.' The man slipped off his mask and put it away. Thankfully. He resembled an ox enough without an help. Spears had a bull's neck, a stern moustache and a trimmed goatee, and hooded eyes that seemed to miss nothing. The mask had downright turned him into an ogre. Nicholas had thought them a good idea until he spotted Spears trying to blend into the crowd.The man dumped
Dante's Fire Andre: Chapter Seventy One
AndreAndre woke up to the pitch black darkness of The Torrents.Disoriented, he tried to remember where he was. The hard floor beneath him pressed hard into his spine like a desperate lover, the lack of light sought to blind him. Together, they were nothing like his apartment which was often flooded with light from the streets, even at night.He tried to sit up and it was then he realized his body was intertwined with that of another. An arm encircled his waist, fingers were splayed across his rib cage.The events of the night all came rushing back in a sweeping current.A single name swirled around in the river of his consciousness: Gloria.Gloria's skin was warm next to his in sharp contrast to the cold floor. He came to his senses quickly after that.'Hey,' Her voice whispered into the thin air around them. She had awoken.Andre's eyes had begun to adjust to the darkness and with what little light remained, he saw that a satisf
Dante's Fire Andre: Chapter Seventy Two
Gloria's house was really an apartment crammed in between two stores, one of them a bookstore, the other an Indian spice store. Old fashioned and quaint in away that demanded Romanesque pillars and mosaic, her apartment was whitewashed and smelled of stale cigars, scented candle wax and lavender.She pushed the door open and it made very little sounds as it swung in. Andre paid attention to every little detail as they went, hyper vigilant.They got in and she flicked the light switch. The room flooded with light. There was not much to it. Work table and chair next to the windows. White leather sofa. Wardrobe for clothes. At the far end, a bed lay unmade, the sheets tousled comically as though someone had only just gotten out of them. A corridor lead down towards other rooms. 'You live here alone?' Andre asked her.She nodded in answer.He went down to the corridor and kicked upon the first door. It was the toilet and bathroom. The next was a kitchen. There was nothing out of the ordin
Dante's Fire The Bird: Chapter Seventy Three
The BirdLast thing you saw before you died was not the person who shot you, people liked to say. The last thing you saw before you died was a replay of all the things you had done in your life, good or bad, unwinding like a story before your eyes. Very often, it was people who had never taken a bullet, people who had never been held in the jaws of death that happened to think that. Ayo had not once believed any of that fake shit. There was nothing metaphysical about death. There was nothing spiritual about bolts ripping through flesh in a robbery gone wrong. It was all just science. And art.Ayo's mother was an immigrant. Nigerian-born, with sticks for fingers and a rib cage for a waist. She had her own peculiar beliefs about death, came carrying them across the Atlantic ocean like luggage, with him curled in her pregnant belly. Ayo had never seen the shores of Nigeria, but he heard its chatter in his mother tongue, and he had tasted its soil in her overly spiced food. The woman u
Dante's Fire The Bird: Chapter Seventy Four
It was night. The silvery sort that held in it more moonlight than darkness, that was more indigo than it was soot. Ayo hung at the corner, his hands deep in the pockets of his hoodie. Like every other night, he watched the people passing with an intensity that was to be expected of him. You did not slack off when you were working hours as a corner boy. One moment slackin’ could cost you your head in the streets, he used to hear grownups say when he was littler. One moment was all it took.So Ayo kept a good grip on his piece and stayed on the look out for trouble. For him, trouble could show up in the bodies of two white officers in a car, wanting to know what a boy his age was doing on the streets at that time of the day. It could show up in the bodies of other trigger-eager black boys, with clothes just like his—a concealing hoodie, loose jeans and good sneakers for running—and staged swagger, just like his. Trouble sometimes showed up coiled tight in
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