The Rhapsody

A bloody tale of murder and revenge set in Miami, taken from and using the lyrics from Queen's anthemic 'Bohemian Rhapsody'...

     Vittorio Coccotti opened his eyes and stared about, feeling the rushing of his pulse in his ears and tasting coppery blood in his mouth. He blinked and the world was plunged into crimson shadow.      Is this the real life? Or is this just fantasy?
     His chest hurt and his arm was trapped, tingling, the outstretched fingers bluish at the tips. He shifted his weight and felt something bite into his sternum; the steering wheel of his car. His thoughts were convoluted and the world outside had been turned on its head. Diesel pooled by his cheek, stinging his nostrils. His legs hurt and he was choking on his own blood, trapped in the partially crushed car. Caught in a landslide�
     The sound of sirens cut through the evening gloom and he struggled more, fear superseding the pain barrier. If they discovered the bodies in the trunk� He thrashed violently feeling something tear and a fresh spatter of blood arc across the shattered windshield. Through the haze he could see booted feet thumping towards him and he groaned. No escape from reality�
     A strong hand seized his shoulder and he cried out.
     �Open your eyes,� the Paramedic said.

     Coccotti�s eyelids fluttered, look up to the skies and see, he told himself. He fought to focus his vision, a clean white-tiled ceiling stretched away from him. A fluorescent light gleamed over the foot of his bed, humming and flickering softly. A steady digital beep recorded his pulse rate and the air smelled faintly of bleach. Hospital.
     His eyes slipped shut again and past life events pinwheeled through his mind: He was 10 years old, a beggar and a thief on the streets of Palermo, captured, bullied, beaten. The Pezzino brothers were there grasping his skinny arms; the eldest, Pitro was armed with a cudgel and stared cruelly into his eyes.
     Coccotti glowered back silently, unbowed; I�m just a poor boy, I need no sympathy�
     �You will work for us or they will find your mother and your sister floating in the harbour,� Pitro said, slamming the cudgel down hard on the boy�s foot.
     Vittorio Coccotti twitched in the bed, automatically drawing his foot up towards him. History unfurled: It was 1984, he was 22 and in the Miami penthouse with Sadie Pezzino, her nostrils were ringed with white powder. She had flopped backwards onto the couch, her head hanging off its edge and she was laughing. He had brought her a glass of water and she had laughed at him again. Her fingers trailed idly through the fine powder drawing lines on the smoked glass coffee table. Her eyes were half closed, thick with luxurious lashes, coaxing him. Daring him.
     �Sadie, why must you?� He had asked, feeling his willpower waning and his need for her rising. She had smiled then, "Because, I�m easy come, easy go��
     She raised her fingers to him, thick with cocaine, still smiling. �Play with me,� she whispered, "let�s get a little high, little low��

     Coccotti dropped to his knees and pressed his lips to the softness of her wrist. The sweetness of the drug touched his lips and his tongue and he mirrored her smile. F**k Pitro and f**k Giuseppe Pezzino.
     �Any way the wind blows, it doesn�t really matter to me��

     The small room was filled suddenly with the shrill ringing of the telephone. The woman crossed the room to reach it and curled her fine fingers around the receiver. On the other end of the line she could hear a laboured, almost panicky breathing and she knew with dread certainty that it was him.
     �Claudio?� She said quietly.
     �Mama, just killed a man��
     She closed her eyes and reached for the chair beside the phone, she sat trembling, feeling as through her legs wouldn�t hold her up any longer. �What have you done?�
     �Put a gun against his head, pulled my trigger, now he's dead��
     �Dear God, Claudio� what were you thinking?� A solitary tear traced the lines on her face and her thin fingers gripped the receiver.
     �Mama, life had just begun but now I've gone and thrown it all away��
     �Come home son, come back to Palermo, we can hide you � no one will find you,� her voice broke and her lips quivered. Claudio Ruggerio was twenty-one and in the employ of the Pezzino brothers working the east coast of Florida. Just what had he fallen in to?
     �We�re trying to get a flight today, Mama but they are looking for us, the Pezzinos and maybe even the police� I�m scared Mama.�
     She bowed her head and began to weep. �Please come home son, we will hide you, the Pezzinos will never find you.�
     �Mama, ooo; didn't mean to make you cry. If I'm not back again this time tomorrow, carry on; carry on, as if nothing really matters��
     �But Claudio, I can�t if I don�t know that you are safe!� His mother pleaded. �Please take that flight today my son.�
     �I will try Mama, I have to go� I love you Mama.�
     �I love you, Claudio.�

     Vittorio Coccotti shuffled forwards, his expression bleak, his hands and his ankles shackled. A priest walked before him and two Florida State guards flanked him. They had found the bodies all right, splayed out across the interstate, mangled and broken having been sprung from the trunk of his car as it had flipped. They had found the knife he had used and the drugs too: 10 kilos of pure uncut Colombian.

     Unsurprisingly the Pezzinos had chosen not to send a representative. Clean hands.
     His mind flitted briefly back to the car that had forced him from the road; a s****y 1986 Plymouth Dodge Sundance, a pale faced kid behind the wheel. Trapped in the wreckage, he could only watch as the same pale faced kid approached him and levelled the gun; a s****y compact FNP 9m.
     �This is for her,� he had said. Her? In truth, she could have been anyone, any number of girls Coccotti had messed with over the years.
     The barrel quivered as the kid brought it to bear, turning his face aside as squeezed the trigger, jerking the weapon to the right and snatching the shot. Miraculously, the round missed its mark, but only by millimetres, glancing off the smooth bone and grazing Coccotti�s forehead. Panicked, by the impending sirens the kid had run; f*****g idiot he should have finished me off when he had the chance.

     Coccotti bowed his head as the men began to strap him into the chair, the room fairly hummed with energy. His pulse thudded in his ears as he stared through the glass to the blank faces beyond, watching, waiting.
     The Florida State guard stood in front of him and began to speak:
     �Vittorio Galterio Coccotti, you have been found guilty by the State of Florida on six counts of 1st degree murder, nine counts of-�
     Too late, my time as come� Coccotti remained impassive; the only sign of disquiet was the continual flexing of his hands as he tried to pump blood into them. The ligatures had been tied tight and his fingers tingled and prickled. Cold water ran down his back as they placed the soaked sponge on top of his head. Sends shivers down my spine�
     Coccotti struggled slightly within the tight confines, his breathing becoming irregular as he fought to quell the rising knot of panic that threatened to overwhelm him. Body�s aching all the time�
     He stared ahead grimly, his mouth parched, his eyes watering. Goodbye everybody - I've got to go, gotta leave you all behind and face the truth�
     Innumerable thoughts flooded his brain as the guard completed his litany and was replaced by the priest who began to speak in dulled tones. His thoughts turned instantly to his mother and a tear rolled down his ruddy cheek.
     Mama, ooo - (anyway the wind blows)�
     Coccotti balled his hands into tight fists. I don't want to die. I sometimes wish I'd never been born at all�
     A sudden commotion jerked him out of his reverie; a shout followed by the familiar crash of gunfire. A woman screamed and Coccotti tried to twist in the chair to see what was going on. Another burst of gunfire resounded and the Florida State guard was hurled across the chamber to slam into the far wall, a ragged bloom of crimson at his chest.
     There was a sudden flash and whumf of hot air and debris, the ferocity of it almost knocking him unconscious. Panicked voices turned to screams of horror and disbelief as further volleys of automatic gunfire lit up the room and turned the scrambling watchers into twitching shapes.
     I see a little silhouetto of a man� A darkened figure moved quickly through the bodies. Coccotti�s vision was swimming and his mind was afire as the ski-masked man approached him, a smoking M-16 Carbine at his shoulder. The killer leaned in and winked tugging urgently at the ligatures that bound Coccotti�s wrists. The eyes creased at the corners indicating that the man was grinning.
     �Scaramouch, Scaramouch will you do the fandango?� He whispered.
     Coccotti�s eyes widened, �Sabatini?�
     Sabatini the killer jerked the cap from the top of Coccotti�s head, �We�re getting you out.�
     �We?� Coccotti turned his head to see a second masked man setting a small amount of C-4 plastic explosive against the far door. Sabatini suddenly thrust him against the protective back of the chair and covered his ears, �fire in the hole!�
     A violent explosion rocked the room and caused his ears to ring. Thunderbolt and lightning - very very frightening me�
     The second man gave Sabatini a hand to haul Coccotti�s stricken form from the chair and drag him through the ruined doorway. �Told you I wouldn�t let you fry old friend,� the explosives man said. He at once, levelled his Glock18 at a fleeing man and took him square between the shoulder blades. �Galileo?�

     The man squeezed Coccotti�s should and continued to haul him down the smoky corridor and out into bright sunshine, �lean on me Vittorio, we are almost there.�
     Galileo, Galileo, Galileo, Galileo, Galileo Figaro � magnifico!

     Vittorio Coccotti�s mind whirled. Unfiltered events and miasmic images from years past again cascaded through his mind as he slumbered. But I'm just a poor boy and nobody loves me. He's just a poor boy from a poor family�

     He mumbled in his sleep, writhing, soaking wet against the bed sheets, reliving the thwarted execution.
     Spare him his life from this monstrosity�
     Sadie was there, watching it all, her face an implacable mask, something cold settling behind her eyes as they bound him to the chair.
     Once Sadie Pezzino; now Sadie Coccotti.
     Easy come easy go - will you let me go�
     Something didn�t quite fit. Her almond eyes dark and almost glittering as she watched the execution unfold.
     The voices grew stronger, shouting for him, baying, fingers thrusting, fists shaking.
     Bismillah! No - we will not let you go - let him go
     Bismillah! We will not let you go - let him go
     Bismillah! We will not let you go - let me go
     Coccotti moaned in his sleep feeling the guards reaching for him, seizing him. The restraints cutting into his skin as they tied him tighter and tighter still, the skin began to turn ash-blue and split. Sadie, still watching, smiled coldly. The panicked face of that kid, the speeding car, the collision, the shaking hand and the gun.
     Will not let you go - let me go (never)
     Never let you go - let me go
     Never let me go - ooo
     No, no, no, no, no, no, no!
     Vittorio Coccotti came awake with a fevered cry, grasping the bed sheets and bathed in a sheen of sweat. Sabatini and the man known as Galileo turned slowly to face him, the rags in their hands still caressing the weapons.
     �I f*****g know that kid!� Coccotti gasped.
     Galileo and Sabatini exchanged knowing glances. �Welcome back to the land of the living..�      Sabatini tossed him a pistol. �We have work to do.�

     Claudio Ruggerio fled. Tears streamed down his face as the tyres spun and finally gripped the hot tarmac of the road. He drew his forearm across his face smearing his vision as he turned the wheel. His heart was torn and useless but somehow still managed to hammer painfully in his chest; his throat was tight and his mind a maelstrom. A figure watched the car race away, a wintry smile on her porcelain features.

     �F**k, f**k, f**k!� The young man pounded his fist on the steering wheel as the car thundered north on Interstate 95 through Biscayne. As soon as news of Vittorio Coccotti�s dramatic escape had hit the news headlines, he knew that he was a dead man.
     Oh mama mia, mama mia, mama mia let me go!
     At once, Sadie had cast him aside. He could still see the cruel curl of her lips and the glittering malice in her dark eyes: silly, silly little Sicilian boy.
     Claudio slammed his foot hard on the gas and the car lurched forward, the tyres biting into the asphalt. �F*****g b***h!�
     Beelzebub has a devil put aside for me for me�for me�

     Coccotti slammed the butt of the pistol down hard on the table and pressed the heel of his hand into his eye socket. He stared at the hastily snapped covert pictures spread out before him. Sadie and the kid, Ruggerio. �F*****g b***h!�
     So you think you can stone me and spit in my eye�
     �How long?� He groaned.
     �Long enough,� Galileo said, slamming the high cap magazine home and shouldering the Glock.
     Coccotti curled his big hands around the pistol grip and the muscles bunched at his jaw.
     Sabatini watched him as he pulled on his jacket. �Don�t let it out Vittorio, use it.�
     Coccotti glared at the woman in the photos and gave a slow nod.
     So you think you can love me and leave me to die?
     Oh baby - can't do this to me baby�

     Claudio�s Pontiac roared north as dusk began to settle in on the city, the Florida skyline a neon blur that shined off the whiteness of his knuckles as he drove.
     Just gotta get out - just gotta get right outta here�

     �He�s just left Interstate 95 and entered Miramar on the Florida Turnpike,� the voice crackled over the radio.
     Sabatini gave a dark and satisfied grin, �we f*****g got him.� He leaned back into the radio and gestured for Galileo to turn the car north. �Take him at Sunshine Park.�
     Sabatini slapped his hand on the dash and caught a glimpse of a grim-eyed Coccotti in the rear view mirror. �We f*****g got you, you little piece of f*****g s**t.�
     Ooh yeah, ooh yeah�

     Claudio opened his eyes with difficulty; the lashes were matted and thick with blood. His left eye was almost completely closed by heavy purplish swelling. His hands were bound tightly at the wrists and his fingers were senseless. A shape shifted beside him, a hunched form, shaking. Vaguely he was aware of her sickly sweet perfume as she moaned into the filthy rag that had been rammed in and taped to her mouth. A man stepped forward forcing a second rag into his mouth, it pressed against the back of his throat and he retched, stringy vomit leaking from his nostrils as his mouth was similarly taped shut. He shook his head, his eyes pleading.
     Vittorio Coccotti crouched in front of him and looked into his eyes. He said nothing but gave a faint, almost winsome shake of his head. He then transferred his gaze to Sadie�s pale, stricken features, his eyes remote. A single bloodied tear rolled down the woman�s cheek and he casually but gently thumbed it away. He studied himself for a moment mirrored in the dark pools of her eyes.
     Nothing really matters,
     Anyone can see
     Nothing really matters - nothing really matters to me�
     He stood then, walking away and flicking his hand towards the two men who began to douse the pair in gasoline. Steadily, Coccotti lit and drew deeply on a cigarette before turning to face them. The cigarette wavered briefly between his fingertips, the end smouldering.
     He blinked once.
     Anyway the wind blows...

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Music courtesy of the legendary Queen.

Author's Note

I tried to concoct a story that flowed along with the lyrics, it was more difficult than I thought and admittedly some of the tie-ins are a little forced, still... it could have been worse.
For info:
The name Vittorio Coccotti was taken from the character in True Romance played by the legend who is Christopher Walken.
The character Sabatini is so named after Rafael Sabatini who orignially wrote Scaramouche in 1921.
'Bismillah' {or Basmala} is taken from the Qu'ran and means "In the name of God, Most Gracious, Most Merciful".

Reviews

[Narnie]

I've been struggling all this time to try and click who you remind me of and here it is....

Freddy Mercury! :P

This is feckin brilliant. A monster of literature that many would find hard to contend or fault. I could line up a whole load of puns about Waynes World, etc... but to be honest I respect this story and the work thats gone into it. Congrats Howie.

If you end every review with cheers Bird.. what do I end every review with? cheers... ummm... ? hehehe... it just doesnt work, does it?

[Brad]

i thought you did a marvelous job with this. it's something i've always aspired to do with "hotel california". a wonderful peice, the genre is so very much my taste, thanking for the referral here...they knew me all too well

[Kira]

Woah. I love this song, but the story got confusing sometimes. Maybe just because I was skipping ahead to see how the next lyrics tied in. Eheheh.

[Nicole Renee]

I really liked how you used the lyrics to make into a story. And I liked the pictures you used too...it makes it more visual than ever. X] Reminds me of Sin City a little. Great job!

[Creepy Swine Guy]

It's brilliant! I didn't see the rough spots that you saw. The reference to Mercy is a bit ironic, as I do not see a half teaspoon of mercy here. It is supeb in it's brutality. Narnie's on point too, dead ringer for Freddy Mercury .... well .... live ringer.

[lavenderskye]

I loved this f course i lovethe song to ad alsothe move some of it came from too bt yes it wasvery good.

[Ashentara]

Kudos to you for weaving the song throughout the story, wonderful work!!!!

[Wsn Radio On Writerscaf..]

Thank you so much for submitting this piece~ We wish you luck!

[Rory Cassidy]

Very nice, very nice.... I never thought one of my favorite songs would be made into a story. I've gotta go with Michael on this one. At times the lyrics do seem a little bit forced, but you deserve some credit for squeezing the "fantango scaramouche" thing in there, because if it were me writing this I probably would have gotten lazy halfway through and left out some of the lyrics. Kudos on this one, now I'm going to go read some more of what you've written.

Peace out,
Rory C.

[Princess Pink]

Queen! Bohemian Rhapsody... How could you not like it? Well, haha, at least, it was my favorite song.

This is a good read. I enjoy every little bit of it. It wasn't that easy to put one song and part the lyrics into different position as a role of the story. Although I do have a short story with a classic love song in; but I still have them in its original format, and not putting them as a dialogue or a thought of a character.

Creative and imaginative... Hmm, if only I could share your mind. Haha.. just kidding :P.

EC.

[Fabian G. Franklin]

A regular Bohemian Rhapsody. lol Quite La Cosa Nostra style.