Em Cal: The Beginning
November, 1990
A young man walked into the back alleyway. He was tall and brawny with bright red hair that was cut into a mullet. He was there for an ad in the paper. After two years of doing odd jobs, he was hoping to land a solid job.
He knocked on the metal door. A few moments later, a man answered. He was rather large with a shiny bald head and beady eyes. He looked at the young man up and down.
"What do you want?" he said.
"I'm here to answer the ad," said the young man.
"You ever bartend before?" asked the large man.
"No," the young man said. "But I can learn."
"Well, normally, we'd say no," said the large man. "But I think the boss is pretty desperate to hire anybody. Come in."
The young man followed the large man. The large man lead him to a small room with a bar. There were several men in there. The large man walked over to one of them. He was tall with dark neatly parted hair, a build under the expensive custom made suit he wore, a cleft chin, and an aqualine nose.
"What is it, Mickey?" he said.
"We got someone who answered the ad, Mr. McMahon," Mickey said. "He says he's never bartended before,"
McMahon observed him for a few seconds.
"Red hair, pale freckled skin," he said quietly. "Hell, he's a mick, just like us. That's won you brownie points with me, son. Get behind the counter and get to work."
The young man nodded and headed toward the bar. He looked at the dusty drink recipe book and decided to make Harvey Wallbangers. After he finished making them, he handed McMahon the first glass.. He took a sip. His face was impassive for a few seconds. Then McMahon's face split into a smile.
"Why this is the best Harvey Wallbanger I've ever tasted," he said. "I think we've got ourselves a permanent bartender."
He took out three crisp one hundred dollar bills and handed it to the young man.
"Thanks," said the young man. He had never held over a hundred dollars before.
"No problem." said McMahon. "Now I'm hosting a poker game tonight. There will be more where that came from."
A couple more men arrived. McMahon greeted them and the poker game was underway. The young man said nothing to anybody. All he did was serve the drinks and hand out cigars. He had about 1500 dollars in about an hour.
The poker game was still on. Wile most of the guys had folded, McMahon and a guy named Joerg were still in it.
"I'm all in," said McMahon, pushing his chips toward the middle of the table.
"So am I," said Joerg.
"The action's on you," said McMahon.
"You go first," said Joerg.
"I insist you act first," said McMahon.
Joerg laid down his hand.
"Four aces," he said, smirking.
McMahon's face contorted in fury.
"Why you cheating kraut bastard," he said. "You've been cheating all along haven't you?"
"I don't know what you're talking about," said Joerg. "Being the better poker player isn't cheating. Now hand over the money."
"I'm not handing over a damned thing." said McMahon. "I know for a fact that you've been cheating."
"Oh yeah?" Joerg sneered. "Prove it."
I've got an ace," said McMahon. "So how is it that you have four aces when I've got an ace?"
McMahon turned over his hand, revealing an ace of spades. Joerg began to sweat. The young man noticed him reaching for something in his waist.
"You've always been a sack of shit, Joerg," said McMahon contemptously. "I've got half a mind to kill you right now."
Joerg got up, yelled something in German and pulled out a SIG Sauer. He aimed it at McMahon. Shots rang out, but it was Joerg who collapsed to the floor, two holes in his chest. Everybody looked at the source of the shots. The young man was holding a 9mm, his face blank. McMaon walked over to the young man.
"He was about to shoot you," he said. "So I shot him."
"Ever kill somebody before?" McMahon asked.
The young man shook his head.
"You saved my life." said McMahon. "And for that, I wanna offer you a business preposition. How would you like to quit bartending? (you would have gotten bored with it anyway) and earn in a spot in my group?"
"Sure," said the young man. "What do I have to do?"
"All you have to do is eliminate the opposition." said McMahon. "We'll start you off with five hundred dollars a kill. It'll get higher over a year."
"I'll do it," said the young man, without hesitation.
"That's what I like to hear," said McMahon. "Now you're not going to tell anyone what you're doing, not even your parents."
"Oh, that won't be hard," said the young man. "My parents died when I was 16."
"You didn't kill them, did you?" McMahon asked.
"No," said the young man, "they're just dead."
"Oh," said McMahon. "Well ,it's nice doing business with you uh... what's your name?"
"Em Cal," said the young man.
"Em Cal," McMahon repeated. "Is that your real name?"
"It says so on my birth certificate." said Em Cal
"Well, Em Cal, thank you for saving me the trouble of killing that kraut myself." said McMahon. "I've got a job for you to do."
"What is it?" Em Cal asked
"It's Mickey," said McMahon. I believe he's turning information over to the police about me. I want you to waste him, but make it look like an accident."
"Okay," said Em Cal
"Now this is your foot in the door, don't screw this up," said McMahon. "I'm really counting on you to do this for me."
"I won't let you down," said Em Cal
"Good." said McMahon. Now if you'll excuse me, I have some work to attend to. For tonight, just keep bartending."