"Did you kill the boy?" a gruff voice asked amidst the shadows and stench of the lower basement room. “That boy, that rat was solely responsible for the downfall of the Southern Rock Chester Natives. The boy took swim. A swim with an engine block for a float." Washington paused, letting his sternness resonate slowly around the basement’s crowd after he boasted of his childhood triumphs. Everyman standing and listening to their commanding chief digested the grim story without as much as a stomach growl. By slightly nodding his head forward, Washington skillfully slid the dark shades he wore to a sitting position at the edge of his nose. Allowing freedom to the ruthless expression nestled deep in Washington’s eyes. Like the Spanish revolución, vengeance was motive to the following stare that bore into the pupils of the man bound by the knotted manila rope. He who is gagged, beaten, and tied to the chair centered in front of each of Washington’s Mafiosos, is a present day officer for the New York Police Department. And he was, with emphasis on the “was”, an officer in Washington's ranks.
"Bury Him." Washington finally spoke after slowly and vigorously un-chapping his lips with his tongue. Washington, even beneath the ominous aura of the colorless basement, wore dark and tinted rectangular wood grain sunglasses. His suit, probably Italian, absorbed what little light illuminated the cold space. This broad graying gentleman stood and spoke with a dignified assertion. In unison each standing officer spoke back, ”Sir, yes Sir.”
Silently, a man dressed in a pressed black and white suit with a device like a hearing aid in his ear came to the bottom of the stairs. He tried to address his boss and raconteur in a whisper, after the second failed attempt at gaining Washington's attention he let out a faux cough. Washington had only just begun to turn toward towards the coughing man before he was hit with the urgent reminder. "Sir you have an appointment with Senator Davis."
"Right, Right. Well Boys, " He turned and faced the room again. "As you all are aware, I am a busy fella’ these days. I assure you all that the work being outsourced by each of you is splendid. Keep it up and it shall be a very Merry Christmas for each of you and your families."
He shifted and started ascending the stairs out from hell. After reaching the fourth step, Washington turned his bulky torso and lowered his head under the door frame just enough to force eye contact with the imprisoned man. Like a well-trained politician that he is, Washington gave a minutely facetious wave and grin to officer ‘shit out of luck’. He bellowed the single instruction to each of the "Nobel Bastard-Mafiosos"," Send the rat pig home to his grave, alive."
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Chapter 2
Once when he was eleven or so, in a poor New York town he was one of a gang of twenty. The Northerners’ gang. Washington and the young boys remained far from impecunious with a give nothing back philosophy. Once upon a time, in those times, the southern youngsters of Rock Chester, NY controlled and thieved the town's sidewalks. ‘Rock Chester Natives’ they called themselves. Each day the ‘Natives’ stole and sold loot like aspiring Capones. They ran a truly genius enterprise and it turned a hefty profit. A few jealous northerners had an entertaining idea, "We'll cut the achilles tendon of every Native pawn in NY. Then we will take the heart of their King and assume absolute control of the lucrative enterprise."
Mad as Joseph Stalin, as the Northerners were, proved to be a handy and intimidating characteristic. Yet as naive as Napoleon, the gang would have entered a fight that would cripple themselves. Lead the crew of 20 Northerners into battle with 40 odd Southern boys? How do the Spanish say? Esta Loco. Washington knew better than to send their numbers to slaughter. Nevertheless, taking control of their enterprise was indeed enticing. Eventually war was waged.
Washington’s gang stalked the Native's guards like ninjas moving with cover of the shadows. After a week they knew all the Native’s favorite targets. After two weeks the Northern crew caught up with an ol' Native boy who was running off to see a pretty little town's girl. He was cornered and hit across the chin, then brought in for a friendly chat.
He spilled the entire hierarchy before the beating and after giving up a bit of useful information about a heist that their [the Natives'] shot-caller, a boy named 'Shade', was planning in upper Rock Chester N.Y.
The plan was to send two youngsters into Tommy Long Pawn asking about a gold ring. When in close enough they would both knife Tommy, the only employed attendant. After, a group of five would storm into the shop and rip off weapons, jewelry, and electronics. Lucky for Washington’s uncle, Tommy Long, the Boys in Blue were waiting. After the attempted assault their presence was made known. Young Washington sent for the informant to be thrown over the bridge to New Jersey. Two days later the N.Y Pig Department raided the Native's hideout and barracks and Washington was voted in as ‘president’ of the Northerners. The Native’s reign was over. Those whom were lucky enough to be spared by the fuzz eventually found the Northerns for protection. Washington created a ferocious and growing army that achieved unprecedented profits.
Down, Down, Down
