The One-Seven: Matters of Family

Chapter 1

The car jerked to a halt, and he had to brace his arm against the headrest in front of him to keep him from flying into the front seat. He hated it when Tony drove. The man was about as careful behind the wheel as an amputated chicken. Considering the man hadn't ever actually gotten a license, it wasn't exactly a surprise. He glanced out the window. Night had fallen over the city. The only light on the street coming from what little moonlight was visible from through the clouds, and the flickering yellow glow of the dying street light at the corner.

He bit back a sigh. It was the perfect conditions for what they were doing. Tony turned the car off, and stepped out. The man in the passenger seat, John, followed suit. Feeling slightly sick, he followed them out onto the street. Tony was a thin man, small man. Patchy black hair swept back with grease, and draped in a cheap dress-shirt and even cheaper pants. John was every bit his opposite. Tall and fat with no hair to speak of, his stained sweatshirt strained against his considerable girth.

The pair pulled a pair of revolvers from their waistbands, and checked the chambers. Tony looked back,

"All right Ricky, you're up."

Ricky kept himself from rolling his eyes. It had been like this for months now. He was always saddled with the shittiest or most dangerous jobs. Like being the guy to bust the door down. He'd hoped that by now, he would be at least trusted to do more than kicking doors down and shaking down terrified civilians, but that was just the job.

Baby steps, he had to remind himself. Baby steps.

They were outside a run-down market. The faded sign over the doorway announced the business as being "Marcello's Market." He hoped that Marcello wasn't home for the evening. Judging by the slightly aged and rotted looking bread in the window, business was bad enough for the guy as it was.

He approached the door. The picklock set felt heavy in his pocket, but he didn't bother with them. Subtlety wasn't the Family's strong suit. Didn't believe in it. So instead, he reared back, and kicked the door right above the locking mechanism. The door creaked, and the hinges broke as the door swung open. Ricky was shoved roughly out of the way as John and Tony strode purposefully inside, their revolvers drawn and held out limply in front of them.

"Marcello! Get the fuck out here!" Tony bellowed as Ricky followed them inside. A tall, thinning man in his early fifties stumbled through the doorway in the bag of the store. He tucked his thinning gray hair behind his head with a shaking hand.

"M-Mr. Martinez," stuttered Marcello, "I-I-I, ahem," he gulped nervously, glancing trepidatiously between John and Ricky, "Y-you're early."

"Changing up the deal, Mac," said Tony, casually leaning against the counter. His gun dangled loosely in front of him. The steel-gray of the muzzle danced tantalizingly close to Marcello. His brown eyes watched the movement hypnotically.

"C-changed...b-but I-I-I-" he tried to say, but Tony cut him off, leaning dangerously against the counter. He leveled a cool glare at the petrified man.

"Don't tell me you don't have the money for me Mac," he said, and clicked his tongue disapprovingly. "See that would make me upset. Now you don't want to upset me, do ya Mac?"

"No sir!" Said Marcello quickly, "But-but it's like I said...you-you're early! I can have the money, but I need time I need-Ah!"

Marcello recoiled in horror as Tony discharged his revolver into the wall behind the counter. Smoke pooled from the barrel as Tony turned the weapon on Marcello.

"Where's my money Marcello?"

Poor Marcello could only stutter in horror. His eyes unable to leave the weapon pointed between his eyes. There was movement from the back of the shop, and Ricky turned. From the doorway that Marcello had come through, he could see the small face of a young boy. Maybe only seven or eight, and likely the grandson of Marcello. A wave of guilt washed over Ricky, his stomach clenching painfully. Were they really about to rough up this poor bastard in front of his grandkid? Especially when Tony was full of shit?