Questions

 Anthony washed the blood from his knife. The fight was unsettling. Who was Andretti Holmes? Who did he represent? Why were they trying to buy the Suits? How did he find out about the Suits? These questions swirled around in Anthony's head like the maroon water in the porcelain sink. He looked around the bathroom. It was a fitting place for someone like him, he thought. The paint was peeling off the sickening green walls and the heavy scent of piss hung in the air. He squinted in the dimly lit lav oratory. Something was wrong here. His chest tightened as he thought. Soon, he found it hard to breathe. He never enjoyed killing other men. He looked down at his raw hands. He spent 10 minutes trying to wash away the unseen blood his hands became soiled with over the years. His thoughts drifted away to Sarah and the kids. Oh how he wished he could make things right...

The light bulb flickered over the mirror, casting an eerie shadow over the door way.

“Boss, we need to figure out how we're going to handle this mess. Something don't feel right about that whole exchange.”

Johnny, said nervously as he watched Anthony fingering his blade. Anthony regained his composure and said quietly, “It was a setup. See to it that Ben receives a thank you present for his dealings.” He stared into the mirror. After a while, he said,

“Johnny, do you know why we stay in business?” Johnny shifted uncomfortably.

“I always figured because we pay off the right cops to look the wrong way when we are moving our product. Other than that, I figured it was dumb luck.” Anthony winced. Johnny was never one to mince words, as a result Anthony came to trust his insight, even if it meant having his ego bruised.

“My father use to tell me that what we do here is wrong, but someone has to set the example. As a result we've become involved in drug trafficking, extortion, and assassinations. Why did you join us?” Johnny laughed.

“What does all that matter? You're turning the business into something commendable by day and feared by night. If you're worried about how this is affecting Jon and Mike, forget about it. They'll understand when they're older.”

“That's not what I asked you. Why did you join the Suits?” The smile left Johnny's face.

“I had a score to settle. I figured this would be the fastest and most efficient way to settle it.” Anthony faced Johnny, staring him directly in the eye.

“Have you settled that score yet?” Johnny's gaze drifted downward.

“Not yet boss. Soon.”

Anthony returned home minutes before daybreak. He slid into bed as his lover tossed frightfully in her sleep. He gave her a tender kiss on the cheek.

“Everything is alright, Liza. I'm here now.”

Liza stopped tossing and awoke from her sleep.

“Tony? Where have you been?” She asked, her melodic voice shaking.

“There was a call at work. I had to stay late last night.” Her hazelnut eyes began to fill with fear. “Tony... did you...?” Anthony sighed and massaged his temple.

“I don't want to talk about it. I've had a long day and I won't be paid overtime. I'm going to sleep.” He rolled over and closed his eyes. Liza sat up in bed and stared down at him. She began to shake nervously. Now wasn't the right time to tell him. She got out of bed and walked into the kitchen. The sun illuminated her warm caramel body, she seemed to be glowing. Draping a loose silk robe over her curvaceous frame, she made breakfast. She looked around the apartment. It was spacious and filled with many nice things. A painting of “Starry Night Sky,” by Vincent Van Gogh, sat on the back wall, positioned in just the right way, so that as the sun rose, the contrast between day and night could be fully felt. An aquarium sat next to the front door. Inside, it contained a number of small sharks and fish placed for feeding times. Various books lined the walls, each telling a story unlike any other. A projector was installed into the ceiling, so that movies could be played at will. Yet, in spite of these beautiful things, the apartment still felt empty. A dark red couch sat in the middle of the room. She spent many nights crying and waiting for Anthony to come home on it. The cherry mahogany table, at which Liza ate many dinners alone. Liza stared at the finished food as tears streamed down her cheeks. She picked up the plate and threw it away.

A few days later, Anthony sat in the car waiting for Michael's class to end. The sun beamed through the windshield, giving the car a gentle warming feeling. Anthony smiled. Things finally seemed to be alright. There hadn't been any incidents in regards to the fight a couple nights ago. The media seemed to be keeping the story low-profile, and to top it all off, he was actually early to pick up Michael. The school bell rang and he began to leave his car. It was a warm Autumn day, and as all the excited children left the school, it would be hard to spot Michael. Finally Anthony saw Michael teetering down the stairs. He ran to his son and hugged him.

“Daddy!! You're here! You're actually here!” Micheal chirped with joy.

“C'mon kiddo. Lets go get some ice cream.”

The two enjoyed their ice cream as Mike played in the falling leaves. Anthony relaxed for a while and enjoyed the scenery. The sun was shining, illuminating the leaves as they fell through the light. Hundreds of leaves were falling simultaneously throughout the park; some red, some yellow, some green. All with intermingling color schemes that seemed to set the park ablaze. The scent of burning leaves could be smelled faintly, being carried on the Autumn breeze. People played with their dogs in the park. Children were yelling and chasing each other. Anthony's smile grew. The simple joys of parenthood. Michael ran back to Anthony yelling,

“Daddy look what I found!”

And as soon as it appeared, the smile vanished and his insides went cold. Micheal was holding a bloody Ace of Clubs.

“Where did you find this?” Anthony asked Michael, attempting to not sound alarmed. “Over there by the sleeping man. Can I go finger paint with him?” Michael asked innocently. Anthony touched his holster uneasily as he walked in the direction Michael was pointing. How had the card gotten there? Was he being followed? If he was, he just put Michael in danger. He felt sick to his stomach and it became hard to breathe again. The crunching of leaves under his footsteps were deafening. Each leaf that fell blinded him from his enemy. He could hear anything but his own steps. How was he to fight an enemy he could not hear nor see? Sweat began to roll down his face. Every person in the park became a possible threat. That man has jogged past this spot 3 times already... is he watching us? That woman has been staring at me and mumbling... is she giving away my position? His heart began to beat wildly as Michael led him to the body. And there he was; the man was lying on his stomach, with a deck of cards laid before him.

“Excuse me sir, can I finger paint with you?”

“Understood. I'll get on that right away,” Dylan said as he walked away. He reached inside his coat for a painkiller. Things just kept going from bad to worse. He cursed his luck as he attempted to light a cigarette, just to have it extinguished by the first drops of a coming storm. The rains came out of nowhere as he sprinted across the street into a local bar. He prayed that his papers hadn't gotten wet. If they had, not only would he lose this month's pay, but, more than likely, his life. The thought made him grimace. It was unlike the boss to demand account spreadsheets, both on and off the books, on such short notice. He pulled another cigarette and lit it under the safety of the bar's awning. As Dylan took a drag, thoughtfully, he said, “It seems this little charade is coming to an end. Once the boss sees this stuff, he'll definitely demand for us to take action. When that happens...” he pulled the locket from around his neck and stared at a picture of a young woman. “Maria, keep her safe.”

He entered the diner as the heavy scent of grease, smoke, and wet dog and heated musk attacked his senses. The bright coloring of this place always made him feel nauseous. “Welcome to Maryarties. Are you with someone, sugar?” The waitress asked with a heavy southern drawl, eyeing Dylan hungrily. Dylan attempted to dry his dark brown hair with the equally wet sleeve of his trench coat. He was drenched. “Only if you want me to be, sweetheart. Is Martin around? If he is, tell him an old friend came to see him, Cindy.” She gave a coy smile and blushed as she walked away. Dylan looked around the room; the usual patrons were here. Benjamin, the uneducated teacher sat at the bar demanding more shots as he confessed his love for one of his students. Emily sat in the corner with God-knows-who working for her next meal. Marcus sat in his usual booth, selling his usual fenced items, to customers who usually buy. Usually. Dylan watched them all in disgust. How pitiful they all were, sitting in one of the seediest dives in town, not by choice, but out of need. The old neon blue sign “Topless Tuesdays” flickered and hummed as it illuminated Emily's corner, revealing more to the public than to her client. The pool tables were faded green with splintered pool sticks, each with a story of its own. “Admiring the scenery?” Boomed a deep voice from behind. Dylan clenched his fists as his brow involuntarily furrowed. It was Martin.

Dylan plastered on a charming smile as he firmly shook the rotund, sloppy, incompetent bar owners hand. Martin plastered on an equally fake smile, though far less attractive.

“What brings you to my humble bar? I would have thought someone of your tastes to be far above a place like this. I guess you can't judge a book by its cover,” Martin said with a sneer.

“You're quite bold and well fed for a man three months behind on his rent and protection money. I've come to collect.” Dylan said calmly. The smile faded from Martin's face as it was replaced with scorn and small beads of sweat.

“It's been a rough year. We haven't been making our usual wages, the girls aren't pulling in and Marcus isn't putting out.”

“Martin, your problems become the bosses problems. See, we don't like problems.” Dylan pulled a knife from beneath the his coat. Martin began to quiver, his whole body throbbed with shock waves. “Now we have two ways we can handle this. I can slit your throat right here... or we can come to a deal.” Martin's eyes brightened. A way out!

“What kind of deal?” Martin asked hesitantly.

“Well... there seems to be some discrepancies with the bosses numbers. There's a certain man we need you to take out. Do this for us, and we'll consider overlooking your overdue bills.” Martin laughed. Dylan stayed silent.

“Whose the poor b*****d getting knocked off this time?” Dylan pulled a small blue card and placed in on the table.

“We'll be in touch.” Martin looked down. The Ace of Clubs.   

Reviews

[Paxton Gordon]

Great job. I think this is great. Btw i just love how the kid thought the guy was finger painting LMAO. Is it weird i find that kind of adorable? Oh and i love how the Ace of clubs just keeps popping up, very good symbolism.

[KidAnthony]

Lol that was the idea. I wanted the kid to be too innocent to understand he just found a dead body. This wouldnt have possible without you. Thank you.

[KidAnthony]

If you like the Chapter, feel free to hit the share button as much as you like! More exposure= more criticism = higher quality work. Thanks again for reading!