Norio: Thine is the Kingdom (fiction)

So I was pondering my next post and couldn't settle on an idea.  Rather than type up some half-hearted cockamamey nonsense, I decided to toss you all a curve ball: FICTION.

Yep.  Rather than read about real-life, I wanted to offer you a glimpse at some of my fiction work (especially since I finally got the urge to work on some story ideas I've been kicking around). 

Here, I present to the first 7-8 pages of a novella I am almost finished working on.  The story takes place in the Bronx (particluarly Morris Park) and is setting up to a tale of revenge, redemption and crime. Actually, it's a prequal to another novel I have called Zawadski (which some of you hae had the opportunity to read the first 50 pages or so...).  Some names may seem familiar, as they should.  I got some friends and family members with cool-ass names, so why shouldn't I use them?

Although it's fiction, it's another glimpse as to what rolls around my head when you and I are having a conversation and you suspect that I may not be paying attention.  Enjoy!

Norio: Thine is the Kingdom

by Nick "Marv" Merchant

2:32 p.m.

            Norio Favorito ignored the camera’s flash as his black Mustang roared south through the intersection Pelham Parkway and White Plains Road.  He checked the rearview mirror for the silver Town car that followed him since he left Andrucco’s Ristorante; a tattered man in a Puerto Rico skull cap flicked Norio a middle finger in pedestrian frustration.  The man then stumbled back from the oncoming Town car.   It, too, ran the intersection and was no more than five car lengths behind.

            Not too obvious, huh, boys? While checking the mirror once more, he noticed his slicked back hair was mussed.  He slid his hand over, straightening it out. Norio then reached along the side of the driver’s seat and gripped the handle of a small .38 revolver in his right hand, softly thumbing the hammer.  He brought it to his lap in his twitching hand, maneuvering through the slower traffic on the tree lined parkway. Old ladies fed pigeons as their male counterparts smoked cigars on the benches along the driving lanes peppered by bus stops and trees.  Norio wiped the sweat from his forehead with his forearm and snorted a chunk of coke still lodged in his nasal passage.  He winced as the rush immediately hit him. 

Norio approached another light at Williamsbridge Road and swung his car to the left-turn lane, hitting the grass and blowing through another intersection.  The Town car was too cumbersome to follow and Norio took advantage, speeding ahead.  He’d bought some time with the distance.

            As he neared Jacobi Medical Center, he swerved back to the far, right lane and took the exit to the service lane.  The abundance of ambulances and police vehicles caused him to ease on the brakes; he coasted off the main thoroughfare and put on his right turn signal when he pulled up to Eastchester Avenue.  He made the turn and realized he was right alongside the 49^th precinct. The revolver in his lap quaked in his hand, tapping the rhythm of his insanity’s soundtrack on his inner-thigh. 

            Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck! Norio said aloud, cursing himself for everything.  If he could have punched himself in the face as punishment for forgetting about the police station, he would have.

Fuckin’ stupid cocksucker!  Fuckin‘stunad.  You shoulda gone anotha fucking way…

The steering wheel pumped along with his heartbeat.  The cocaine pumped through his chest: feeding panic, feeding adrenaline, feeding fear, feeding confidence.  He turned left onto Wilkinson Avenue and immediately right onto Basset.  The body of a woman sprawled across the back seat slid across to the passenger side, thumping against the door.

Norio quickly looked to her from over his right shoulder, more so to make sure she didn’t fall out than out of personal concern.  She was slumped into a ball, but still in the car.  He could care less if she was hurt.  He pressed on till he reached the garage with the red door painted with the name Fiaro’s Auto.  Norio pulled up, stopped and exited the car, revolver in hand.

“Sally, get the fuck out here, now, you fat fuck!” Norio roared, banging on the garage door.  He looked back at the car and then down the street.

“Alright, alright…” a mealy voice approached from behind.  The gate shot up with clanks and bangs, and a portly man stood against the shadows with black, high-waist slacks, a double-knit sweater and sports coat. He shuffled his heavy legs via his two-tone shoes and waddled towards Norio’s car.

“I’ve been followed, Sally.  Get the broad inside, now,” Norio commanded.  Sally looked at him with thick, black eyes.

“Broad?  You ain’t say nuttin bout no broad. Vic said the car-”

“Yeah, I know I ain’t say nothin’ about a broad, but here she fuckin’ is.  Nobody tells you nothin’ cause you’re fuckin’ retarded. Get her inside and then we’ll move the car, just like Vic told you.”

“Vic didn’t say nuttin about a broad.”

“Vic didn’t say nothin’ about me putting two slugs in your clueless fat ass, but that’s gonna happen if you don’t waddle the fuck over to the car and get her inside.”

Sally was taking in the situation.  He resented Norio for coming through to the shop, creating work that prevented Sally from smoking cigarettes and watching fetish cartoon porn.

“Do it today, you fat prick.” Norio’s face tensed.

“Eh, fuck you, Norio, I’m just here to help, that’s all,” Sally said out of frustration.  He didn’t look at Norio as he spoke, out of pure fear.  If Norio thought Sally was serious, Sally would have been one dead, fat fuck.

“Fuck me?!” Norio took his free hand and shoved Sally at the base of his skull, pressing the fat rolls against the neck. Sally’s shoulders hunched forward, but he moved to the car, opened the door, pushed the seat forward and looked at the girl, lingering on her disheveled form as she squirmed in and out of coherence.

“Nice cooze. Maybe we’s could-“

Norio’s hand gripped Sally’s face from behind.  His strength swung the fat man’s large frame around effortlessly.  Norio squeezed Sally’s mouth and brought the men’s two faces close together. 

“No time for your retard, kid shit and jokes. Nuthin'.  You fuckin’ hear me?! Get her the fuck inside.  Now.”

Sally struggled and responded,”Hey, Norio, I’m just tryin’ to help.  I didn’t get you all fucked up-“

“Fucked up?  You’ll be a fuckin’ grease stain at the bottom of your fuckin’ garage.  Nothing’s fucked up unless your fat ass fucks it up. Got it?”

Sally’s fear of Norio straightened out his spine.  The crazed look on Norio’s face and his furious, heavy breaths made Sally worried for his life.  Plus, Norio had pressed a gun against the obese man’s stomach.  Through all the flab, he could sense death.  Sally pulled away from Norio and reached into the car.  The smell of liquor and flowery perfume slightly aroused Sally.  He licked his lips as his hands pulled on her soft thighs, draped in a tight, red dress pulled to her upper thigh.  Her left foot was bare and he stared at it longingly, admiring the nail polish and soft features that held a place in his the secret compartment of his lustful desires.

“You no good piece of shit,“ Norio spurted and he yanked Sally by his unkempt, wavy hair.  The large man fell backwards on his beefy ass, resembling a turtle on his back.  As Sally futilely tried to get upright, Norio dragged him away from the car by his hair.  Norio circled Sally, lifted his right foot and began stomping on Sally’s crotch, using his heel to inflict more pain and damage on his defenseless accomplice.  Sally wailed in sharp bolts of excruciating pain and disbelief.

“Norio, knock it the fuck off,” a new voice calmly interceded.

Vic Fiaro strolled out from the back of the garage, smoothly lit a cigarette, and grabbed Norio away from Sally.  Vic was a solid man in his early 50’s, but strong.  Impeccably dressed in a grey tailored suit, his well-coiffed, silver hair did not move, nor did his sunglasses, as he handled Norio.  Only his gold chains jingled.

“Your fuckin’ brother is useless.  Sick fuck-“

Vic shook Norio’s board shoulders.  “Norio, fuckin’ relax.  You’re oobatz, psycho.  Snap outta it and get it together, mo.“

 Norio listened because Vic would have it no other way.  He earned his position and prestige on the streets. No one would dare encroach upon it unless they were willing to disappear off the face of the planet.  The well-poised deserved the respect he was shown in the circles he travelled in.  A heavy reputation for murder and tight lips glimmered around Vic like the diamond pinkie ring he wore. Vic Fiaro took care of business, ever since he bashed the site-foreman’s head with a brick at the age of eighteen over a $3 card game. In all the years of robberies, shake-downs, beatings, shootings, and arrests, he never ratted, pointed the finger, complained or told his bosses, “No.”  You did not fuck with Vittorio “Vic” Fiaro.

Norio looked at Sally, who was crying and holding his balls, rolling over and over on the sidewalk.

“Get the fuck up, will ya?” Vic uttered to his younger brother, disgusted.

Norio pinched the bridge of his nose and rubbed his eyes. “I’m sorry, Vic. I’m holdin’ together.  It got real heavy back at Andrucco’s with the old man.  I wasn’t well received and Gianni has some goons following me. And then fuckin’ Sally, that boombatz-“

“Yeah, and now the broad in your car is makin’ her getaway,” Vic interrupted, pointing behind Norio to the slumping figure shuffling away from the car.  As Norio moved towards her, Vic pushed him aside and came up right behind her.

“Whoa! Where the fuck you goin’ sweetheart, huh?”  Vic asked the stumbling, one-shoed brunette in the tight, disheveled, red dress.

His voice feigned concern, and she turned towards him with s shimmer of hope in her eyes.  She never made it fully around to face him because Vic was on her immediately. 

“Get the fuck ova hereee…” Vic quickly banged her head with the meat of his palm.  He then pulled her by the hair on her scalp, bringing her head to waist-level and her bare knees to the street’s rugged, grey asphalt.  He dragged her back to the other two men.  The scuffle and click of her one heeled-shoe was counterbalanced by her whimpers.  By the time Vic had her at the garage door, she was scraping her ass against the concrete, kicking her dress above her waist.  Sally put the pain aside long enough to get a quick stare.

“Norio, get Sally the fuck up and move the car inside.  And put ya fuckin’ iron aways.  Kinda hard to play it low with you holdin’ a fuckin’ piece out in the open.”Vic said as he pulled the woman into the back of the garage and into a darkened doorway.

Norio heard Vic’s words and helped Sally to his feet.  Sally brushed the street grime and shame off of himself and moved into the garage, motioning for Norio to get the car inside.  As Norio turned around to his car, the silver Town car screamed down the block and smashed into the rear of the poorly parked Mustang.  The explosion of metal, glass and airbags caused Norio to fall back and drop his gun.  Sally cringed and pissed himself.  He worried more about the warm urine leaking down his leg than he did for Norio.

As the debris began to settle, the shocks of the Town car squeaked with movement.  The radiator hissed its final breath.  Two large figures manhandled the deployed airbags away from their faces.  

“I told you to fuckin’ stop, you asshole!  He was right fuckin’ there!”  A heavy voice shot from the wreckage.  An ogre-ish man with dark features, short hair, clean shaven face and bloody nose emerged from the driver’s side of the Town car. He reached into his suit jacket and removed a black pistol as he circled to the rear of his car in Norio’s direction.  His equally large companion struggled from the passenger’s side and ripped the door from its frame when he stepped up and out.  His navy suit was ill-fitting; its short-sleeves and small cut made him more hulking in appearance.  The passenger needlessly held a bat in his huge hand; the weapon seemed like a child’s toy. 

“Divano brothers don’t fuck around,” the driver said as he limped up on the curb and onto the sidewalk. “Frankie Jr., crack this fuckin’ scumbag before I shoot him.”

“Gladly,” the passenger said, coming on Norio and bring the bat down with fury.  Norio reached for the revolver and caught the bat on his shoulder as he reached out.  He lost air and saw white.  Frankie brought the bat down two more times.

“Hey, Phillie, this fuck thinks he’s gonna shoot us.  You gonna shoot us, you half-slant prick?  You ain’t got enough balls, you piece of shit fuck.  What a fuckin’ tough guy.” Frankie hit Norio again and again and again on the back of the legs.  Norio collapsed fully with the last hit; he needed a new strategy.  Frankie’s enormous foot pressed down on Norio’s spine, pinning him to the sidewalk.  Phillie Divano knelt down by Norio’s head and put the pistol to his temple.

“You fuck with old man; you fuck with the Divano brothers.  You fuck with Divano brothers, you fuckin’ die in the street.”  Phillie pulled the barrel back and loaded the chamber.

The Divano brothers were not to be trifled with.  That was common knowledge to anyone with one foot in the street.  Phillie Divano, the eldest, and his brother, Frankie Jr., started their reign of terror as teens by ganging up on the older kids in the park, smashing their faces into ground meat because they enjoyed it.  This translated well into their current profession: enforcers for the Morelli family.

What they lacked in demeanor and style, they made up for with brutality and resolve.  They were not subtle with the way they meted out beatings, fractures, knives, and bullets. Phillie preferred the guns; Frankie Jr., however, loved the bats and pipes, especially because he cherished the cracking-thud noise they made when they collapsed upon his victims.

 Today’s current job, retiring Norio Favorito with an extra-helping of suffering and torture, was routine as any other they’ve completed.  A hit in broad daylight was as easy for them as if it were midnight.  They carried out the orders for the current don, Rocco Gianni, with a vicious fervor not seen since the blood-drenched days of “Mad Dog” Nertney and Vincenzo “The Creep”. 

Frankie Jr., with his foot in Norio’s spine, gleefully added, ”Shoot him right in the face.  Make his slant-eyed mother cry over a closed casket.” Phillie’s grin reflected his approval of Frankie’s suggestion.    

“Lupara Bianca!” Vic yelled, emerging from the garage, brandishing a sawed-off shotgun. He aimed its blast at the two brothers.  Phillie’s face was nearly level with the barrel and partially torn off as the shot was fired.  He fell over immediately.  Frankie Jr. caught the residual of the blast in his stomach, bumbling back in surprise. Vic fired a second shot, hitting Frankie Jr. square in his chest. Flesh chunks with shredded fabric flapped off of his body.

In the fracas, Norio finally retrieved his gun, spun around and aimed it at Frankie Jr.  Frankie was on one knee gurgling blood and staring bewilderedly into the heavens.  His coughing erupted into a phlegm-filled fit until he fully collapsed onto his face, cracking skull and jaw.  One twitch, and then he expired.

Norio looked over to the older brother, Phillie, as he returned to his footing.  He kept the gun trained on the bleeding man, who was a mangled mess of dangling skin and muscle.

“Va a fungool,” Vic spat at the two brothers.  

Norio pushed Phillie kicked Phillie over.  The half-faced gangster was spurting blood from the lower, left side of his face where his lips and cheek once were.  Red fluids gathered in a deepening pool beneath the Phillie’s head. Norio’s chest heaved as he pointed the .38 at the remnants of a face and shot 3 times.  The body lay motionless.

“Sally, get the fuck ova here and help us clean this shit up,” Vic demanded of his portly brother with the piss-drenched slacks.

Norio tucked the .38 in his waist and looked up and down the street for witnesses and police.  Anyone outside during the melee knew better than to get involved or witness what was being done.  It was a lifeless, uninhabited scene, save for the other two men dragging bodies off the sidewalk and hosing the blood away, but not before picking the pockets clean for wallets, ID, cash and jewelry.

 Norio surveyed the damage to his Mustang as he entered the dead men’s Town car.  Shaking his head, he instinctively reached into his coat and pulled out what remained of the 3.5 grams of cocaine he purchased earlier in the morning.  He poured small mound of white powder his knuckle, snorted it, and rubbed his nose in successive inhalations. 

“Are you fuckin’ kidding me with the fuckin’ bamba, Norio?” Vic shot from the passenger’s side, gaping open from the missing door.  This caused Norio to jump and spill some on his slacks and jacket at the older man’s sudden appearance.

“Vic, c’mon, I just, ya’know, after this shit-“

“You young turks with that mush.  I swear to Christ, it’ll kill you all.  C’mon.” Vic shook his head and rapped his fist against the car’s roof several times.  

Norio tweaked his nose once more, put the bag away and started the car. A large flake on his lapel caught his eye.  He brought the jacket to his nose and inhaled deeply, running is nose over it like a vacuum. After rolling his neck and shoulders, he looked in the mirrors, straightened his hair, pulled the car apart from the other, and backed it towards the garage.  The wheels racketed and caused the car to roll like waves as it entered the garage. 

 Sally scuttled to the garage door and yanked it down by the chain.  The two-car garage grew dark instantly, with a daylight faintly coming from the door frame. 

“Vic said we gotta get inside the office.  Scanner picked us up and we gonna have company any minute.  We gotta make sure the girl doesn’t cause no problems while Vic talks to the cops.”

Norio exited the car and helped sally draped a drop cloth over the wrecked vehicle.  They entered into the foyer to the front offices.  Vic stood in the entry to the room at the end of the hall, the light gleaming behind him, illuminating his hair and jewelry like a patron saint of organized crime.

“Boys, downstairs, now.  The broad’s there.  I locked her in the john.  Make sure she stays quiet while I talk to our friends upstairs.  Norio, be easy and fuckin’ relax.  Sally, just shut the fuck up and sit on the couch and don’t do a goddamn thing, capice?”

Both men nodded and opened the door to their left, revealing a staircase to the basement.  They made their way down the real office below.  Sally was first, turned on the lights and made straight for the couch at the opposite way.  Norio looked around at the empty chairs next to the card and pool tables.  A small fridge hummed by another door off to the right.

“There’s some beer in there if you want,” Sally nodded to Norio. “The can is right there, too.”

Norio acknowledged Sally’s offer and pulled a bottle from the fridge.  It was cold and refreshing, more so than any other beer he ever drank in his life.  It drenched his dry throat and soothed the sharp aches on the back of his legs and shoulders.  It also took off a bit of the coke’s edge.

When he was about halfway through the bottle, he opened the door in front of him.  The lights were off, but the fluorescent bulbs of the larger room cast light onto her seated form.  He saw the brunette slumped on the toilet, eyes half open.

“Stay put or else,” he warned her, pointing a finger before closing the door and leaving her in the tight darkness.