DANTE
His uncle, Orlando, looked the part, if any thing.The man wore a grizzly fur coat over a formal shirt and suit pants. His fingers were fat with gold bands. Dante held the door to the Wrangler open for him. He had begun to use the car again since after he paid Natasha that visit. The house staff had returned from their leave and things were going as they used to preceding his father's murder. At least, at the surface, they seemed to be. He had visited his club, Ambience, twice already. As always, his manager was on top of things. Dante and Orlando settled into the backseat and the driver, Imani—a woman his uncle had personally referred for the job—fired the engine. Soon they were grinding off the gravel driveway and out of the mansion. Dante adjusted and readjusted his blazer. A Rolex encircled his left hand and a Cavier encircled his left. If you glanced at the two of them, the contrast between them, you would have thought that it w
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Dante's Fire Chapter Twenty Nine: Andre
ANDREWhen finally he woke, he woke gasping.The dreams had taken him again, but this time, they were fiercer. More palpable. They made to hold him and keep him with them. Keep him asleep.The dreams, they had taken the same form that they often did, but at the same time, they were different. Again, he was in the overseer's office. Again, she lunged at him. But this time she had got a hold of him, her snout full of lethal teeth just an inch away from his face, dripping saliva, and Andre had screamed and shrieked until he fell the other room. The one with the pounding and the wailing at the other side. This time, however, when he threw his shoulder into it, the door came down for him. This time, he charged out into what was supposed to be the living room.Only that it was not.It was, instead, a world of pitch black, of total darkness. And worse still, there was no ground beneath his feet.Andre fell and fell and fell and fell.He
Dante's Fire Chapter Thirty: Andre
ANDREAndre dreamt, for the first time since was a little boy, of Molly.Molly was the first of many firsts for him.She was the first girl he knew that could outdrink any man. The first girl he knew who could beat even the strongest men at arm wrestling. 'It is all about technique, Andy, not strength,' she would tell him after winning a bet he had thought she was sure to lose. Molly was the first girl he knew who could outfight anybody, man or woman. Even himself. She always carried on her person a pocketknife with a scratched blade; she claimed it was her granddaddy's, said it was him who thought her everything she knew. How to fight, how to arm-wrestle, how to flip a blade out faster than a heartbeat and end a potential altercation.Oft, she liked to mention how the old man had taught her how to fuck, too, and although Andre was absolutely certain that she said it only to make him squirm so she could get a good laugh, she did know how to fuck. He could tell. T
Dante's Fire Chapter Thirty One: Dante
DanteOrlando stood to his feet and pulled his fur coat tighter around his frame.'I am honoured to have been chosen to mediate today's poll. I believe we all know how this is to go even though it may be the first time we have found the need for an election since the inception of the motherfucking organization. RWD For Life!' He raised the forefinger and middle finger on his left hand, curled them so they almost lay in his palm. Light danced off his rings.The boardroom deteriorated into a cacophony of hoots and hollers, and in that small second, anyone looking would have deduced that these were not corporate men at all, no matter their suits and expensive shoes. Those formal shirts and perfectly laundered trousers hide tattoos, burns, bullet marks and sins. Take them off and you saw them for who they were.Shouts of RWD For Life! and We run the city! could be heard. Andre wondered briefly what he had gotten himself into. Orlando smiled as if he was having
Dante's Fire Chapter Thirty Two: Dante
Dante'He intends to give you more of what my father gave you.' Dante told the gathering, calmly. 'I think by that he means territorial expansion. He means more supply. More everything. And by everything, he must mean everything. My father made a lot of widows. Do you want more of that? More death, more soldiers in funeral homes long before their time.''The boy is asking you all to be cowards.' Amir sniggered, but there was no follow-up. Only very few joined him in laughter this time.Dante straightened himself to his full height. He had not worn a tie, so there was no tightness at his throat, no want for air. His voice filled the room.'Coward, he says. It is actually very funny that he uses that word. He talks about his love for my father and their friendship. But my father has been dead for weeks now, soon to be months, and Amir Bageria never once reached out, never once tried to avenge his death. Coward, he says.' Dante chuckled. 'I do not intend to make w
Dante's Fire Chapter Thirty Three: Dante
DANTEHis uncle, Orlando, looked the part, if any thing.The man wore a grizzly fur coat over a formal shirt and suit pants. His fingers were fat with gold bands. Dante held the door to the Wrangler open for him. He had begun to use the car again since after he paid Natasha that visit. The house staff had returned from their leave and things were going as they used to preceding his father's murder. At least, at the surface, they seemed to be. He had visited his club, Ambience, twice already. As always, his manager was on top of things.Dante and Orlando settled into the backseat and the driver, Imani—a woman his uncle had personally referred for the job—fired the engine. Soon they were grinding off the gravel driveway and out of the mansion.Dante adjusted and readjusted his blazer. A Rolex encircled his left hand and a Cavier encircled his left. If you glanced at the two of them, the contrast between them, you would have thought that it w
Dante's Fire Chapter Thirty Four: Big Jack
BIG JACKJoaquin returned from the drive-by shaken, his fingers numb.It was a sight. Joaquin trembling, his hands shivering from much more than the cold. It was a very frightful sight. Joaquin who moved with a gracefulness that any ghost would envy. Joaquin who could, at fourteen, whip and twirl guns round and round his fingers like a gunslinger out of a western-style movie. Joaquin who had no qualms about leaving the province in which he had been born, breed, and raised into a young adult, to babysit another oblivious, somewhat entitled young adult, a job which other young RWDs would have balked atThere he was, at a bar a few clicks away from the motel, drinking Old Crow with shaky fingers.Big Jack had nearly began to forget that the boy was, at the end of the day, still that: a boy. Barely as old as his own daughter. Big Jack liked to think of himself as a sort of father figure to the men he and Raymond had taken off the streets. He had been so, had he not?
Dante's Fire Chapter Thirty Five: Big Jack
BIG JACK Joaquin returned to Big Jack after a wad of cash had passed hands between him and the contract killer, after Andre Diaz had slumped to the ground of the bar. They met at another bar at the far, more quiet sides of the borough. Joaquin already had his Old Crow in hand, grasped tightly. The bottle shook like it was giving his hand a lap dance. He swallowed to deeply, shut his eyes too close. Big Jack knew the feeling. It was one that would last a lifetime.'I told you to let Rat do it.' He said, settling into the stool next to Joaquin's at the buffet table. He put his hand briefly in the young man's shoulder and he did not even seem to notice his touch. Big Jack knew the feeling, too. Joaquin laughed. It was a ghost of his laughter. 'I should have listened to you.' He said.'You should have.'The bartender came around and asked Bug Jack what he would be having. 'Same as him.' Big Jack said.To an ordinary eye, they could have passed off for a father and his son. Their heights
Dante's Fire Chapter Thirty Six: Andre
ANDREIt was two days to Christmas and he was at a hospital, but he did not know it yet. The Christmas part that is. He damn well knew he was at a hospital. He was reminded every time the doctor lumbered in to check up on him, every time a nurse shuffled by, every time the day turned to night and the only glimpse of New York he had, of snow, was the one he saw flutter outside the windows.In retrospect, it was his obliviousness that kept him whole.When the dreams released him from their tight, underwater grip and he resurfaced, Doctor Ingrid admitted that Trent had died. Passed on, were the exact words that she used. 'Passed on'. Passage implied smooth locomotion. It implied fluidity. It implied willingness to go. There was nothing willing, even remotely, about the way that Trent had 'passed on'. There were tyres screeching, screaming their displeasure at being maneuvered so. There were shots and shouts and shattered shot glasses. Nothing about the entire affair came close to fluid. T
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