Collective Souls Rewrite

Collective Souls

                                                                                JACK-

Darkened clouds lit up with long white streaks of lightning followed by loud crashes of thunder. I rush out through the tall double glass doors colliding with a young couple.

"Excuse me. Pardon me." I brush by them and smile at the couple as I pass. I hear Max and Markarian's voices echo inside the large Art Deco lobby behind me. I lift the collar of my beige trench coat and walk out of the buildings large exit doors. I need time to think over the deal that was offered to me by E. Markarian, my grandfather's worst enemy. It would be hard to give up my life in New York and go back to England. I know I can't leave New York. I've invested most of my life here in the States and I didn't want to leave. The only thing I have back in England is an ex-wife. My ex-wife Skye didn't want me to come to the States to take over my grandfather's "family" business. I agreed with my grandfather to keep his restaurant "Collective Souls," alive after he died and I was going to keep my promise. A warm light breeze stirred the muggy air. It lifted a strand of my dark brown hair to the front of my face. I tossed my head to the side to remove it from my eyes. My hair is now long past my neck and curls over my shirt collar. I didn't want to remove my hands from out of my coat pockets. I needed a haircut. My grandfather is Steven Farrow. He came to the States as a young man in the Summer of 46'. He opened his restaurant, Collective Souls in the early '60s.

I lean my tall 6'3 frame against the cold white marbled wall of the building and sighed. I enjoyed the smooth coolness through my thin beige trench coat. It felt good on my hot sweaty back. I go back to England. I will be out of the gang of con artists my grandfather created. Except, I didn't want to leave without making my grandfather's gang legitimate. I didn't want to leave the States a failure. I frown at the thought.

"Are you hiding Farrow?" Markarian smirked.

"Of course, he's not hiding, "Max replied. "he doesn't have to hide from anyone!" He came out from behind me and wrapped his long black trench coat around himself. E Markarian glared at the young man. I was the grandson of his great rival Steven Farrows. I am his brat grandson. I took over his business twenty years ago. I am an annoyance not a real threat to Markarian. He leaned closer to me. I blink twice, turn up my nose, and frown. The fishy scent I smell is the tuna salad he had for lunch. He needed a breath mint.

"Take the hundred million and go back to England, Farrow, "Markarian's snarled.

"And leave all my employers at your mercy?" I growl."I'm not that cruel."

My lips spread into a smile. Markarian narrowed his eyes to glare back at me.

"I can keep the police from finding out about your grandfather's real "family business." Markarian threatened. "The Garret crime family are looking for the people who stole money from them in September. All I have to do is call my friend Governor Simpson and you and your friends are dead."

I smile.

"Right, you would be friends with a governor, who's secretly in with the mob, " I quip.

Markarian chuckled. He ignored my quip.

"Like I told you inside, Farrow. you don't take the money and sell your grandfather's restaurant bar to me the underground city mob will find out about how you conned them out of their money," Markarian warned.

"You would do that wouldn't you?" I answered. I knew that he would. I have to play this right.

"Yeah, in a New York minute Farrow," Markarian's chuckled. "take the money, Farrow!"

Markarian pulled his head back from me. He thought he had me. Markarian thought I was going back to England and will be out of his life by the end of the week. Markarian was sure of it. I knew Markarian knew I was thinking of leaving New York to be with my ex-wife. He knew my ex-wife is a sore spot with me. I must play this act right.