Faust

Practical & extravagant

         My heart steadily pumps a fretting coldness into my veins as Maurizo leads me to one of the closed doors in the back.

         There are reasons why I play down my jobs in Little Italy. Unification did cut lots of opportunities but I guessed I made quite an impression to Angelo that the family still contacted me for some of the more......sensitive work which I mostly declined.

           Taking jobs from different families is always the safer way of operating, that way you wouldn't become an Aunt Sally or be called a breaded bulldog of the gang. Especially now that the situations in most of the city are stable, no more war among kins (for now).

           So the factions start side-eyeing their neighbors, the japs and the Santoro always having overlapping territories, the ten years' worth of blood debs between Russians and Tinos,
and the latest arm business embroilments with the Qins that's spiraling out of control.

           Picking a side is not a freelancer's fashion. The folks of Lanes like to play all sides, achieving a dangerous but lasting balance. That is why, till today. My colleagues at the Stynx are still busting me about why I dropped while I had a good thing going at the east.

           The reason is but a talk on a windy night, with that man in a deep green three-piece suit humming a tone with his hands supporting his head.
                                       ***

           The room Maurizio led me in is quite organized compared to the rest of the place. Sets of lights in this room are concentrated on the spot before the mirrors.
          Ebony cabinets of various sizes are filled with well-arranged clothing. The blazers under a couple of black mailer boxes are the first to catch anyone's eye.

They mainly consist of black, white, burgundy red, and grey. Suspend on the clothes rod, the coat hanger's hooks are turned 90 degrees so the suit's fronts are facing the door. While the blazers overlap each other slightly like a parade so the clients and the tailor can find inspiration without nagging through the cabinets.

Under countless little drawers beneath the blazers are a row of leather shoes, shining under the task lighting. On the far right are six independent cubicles for shirts that look identical in my eyes. Next to the cabinets, by the east wall is a wooden changing table. Under it, are three rows of trousers all solely in black but differing in patterns and stripes. On top of it, is a decanter bottle half full with liquor and three sniffer glasses.

A mannequin with three different shirts hanging on its left shoulder and a red tie on his right. It stands silently in the corner while the trifold mirror across the room presents him from three different angles.

            A couple of black and white photos all taken place in front of the tailor shop hangs on the west wall of the room. One of them only consists of two people in it. One's definitely a younger Maurizio since his facial structure and cheekbones are too recognizable. The other person in the frame is a slightly bigger man in grey stripes, head tilt up eyes gazing down the camera with a big grin that shows his teeth.

"Your colleague?" I ask pointing my thumb at the photo on the wall. Maurizio, while hands on the drawer under of lower cabinets, turns around with his brows raised.

"Yeah. And a cruel reminder from my past self." Now is my turn to raise my brows.

"How so?" Maurizio carefully extracted a picture frame that seals a piece of cloth with rows of buttons sewn on it out of the drawer.

"Well," He places the showpiece on the table next to the sniffers then turns around leaning back on the table, arms crossed, a witty smile on his face. "Every time I look at it. A cold wind brushes over my scalp."