Disclaimer!
The views of the Characters in this story are entirely their own, and are not endorsed or condoned by the Author in any way. This story takes place in a world like ours, where racism is an unfortunate reality, and the demonization and dehumanization of political or economic rivals is one of the central motifs of this work. Be prepared for characters to say and do things which you may find shocking or inflammatory.
Chapter 1
As I lay in bed, pillow wrapped tightly around my head, desperately trying not to hear the phone ringing, I couldn't help thinking about what a bad idea 24-hour plumbing was.
I told Luigi, but nooo, "We need a gimmick" he says, "Business is down, we need all the work we can get" he says. What's the point of working yourself to death for a few hundred bucks here or there; the whole damn country's gonna be underwater in ten years anyhow. Fucking liberal motherfucking bailout, this shit wouldn't happen in the good old days. Men were men, and we worked like men, not like fucking dogs.
"Mario, it's for you, you dumb WOP!"
Freaking Liberals man, they just get under your skin.
"Okay, okay, what fucking time is it?" I yelled back sleepily. "I miss breakfast?"
"Breakfast! It's practically dinner! And answer the phone or you'll miss-a that too!"
Finally, a threat I couldn't refuse. I brushed the sleep out of my eyes and picked up my phone, glancing at the time.
Three in the afternoon, dinner my ass….
"Hello? Yes this is Mario, how can I help you?" The voice on the other end was a bit fuzzy, and he had a weird way of speaking.
Maybe he's some kind of chink, we've got enough, maybe one of them learned to use a bathtub.
"You want me to come right up to the docks? What kind of plumbing can I do out there, there aren't even any houses!"
On second thought he sounded more like some kind of Eastern European. Maybe this was a mafia thing? I mean, why would anyone call a plumber out to the docks anyhow?
"Mario! Play nice with-a the customers! Jeez..."
Of course Luigi wants me to do it, no surprise there. Well, the guy says it's some kind of city-thing, need someone to check out an old building, shut off an illegal connection to a water main, or something. Man, Municipal work! That's the kind of shit that would put us on the map. Those fucking sanitation department people don't know anything, of course their going to have to get one of us private sector guys to wipe the drool off their faces.
I copied the address down feverishly, thanking the strange little man on the phone. "You can count on me sir, yes sir… I'll be right there sir, okay, okay… Sir, I have to go now sir, goodbye."
"Well, you get-a the job?" Luigi asked, flopping down on the couch and flipping on the TV.
"Get the job? Luigi, this guy is from the Sanitation Department, he says there's some kind of a, I dunno, a pipe some asshole used to steal from the water main. Luigi this is it! He says they're looking at maybe twenty, thirty thousand just to shut off a freaking pipe Luigi!" As I talked, I saw that he didn't share my enthusiasm.
Freaking typical, I get the big job that saves our asses and he's going to fucking nitpick.
Jealous bastard.
"I don't a-know, this sounds pretty fishy bro. I don't want-a you to go over there until I check-a this out." The look on his face was serious, like he was trying to work with one of his spreadsheets or something.
"What the hell? You think I dented some garbage truck, and now they put a hit out on me? Relax; I'll be back in a half an hour, three tops." I said, grabbing my outfit off the edge of the bed.
"Look, that's-a just it. The Department of Sanitation doesn't have anything-a to do with the water mains! That's Department of Public Works, and the water company. Just give me a few minutes, I've got a friend, went to City Tech with me, works on that kind of stuff. Let-a me see if it's legit."
Fucking City Tech. He thinks just 'cause he's got a four-year degree, he's such hot shit.
"Look, the building's right under the expressway, it's the middle of the day. Nobody's gonna pull anything." I had pulled on my shirt and overalls, all I needed way my hat and keys and I could be out of this conversation. "I'll pick you up a Stromboli or something, and we'll laugh about this in a few hours, okay." I made a move for the door.
Luigi stopped me before I had got one foot in the hallway. "Okay bro, but listen, just be careful. You see anything, you get out-a there okay bro? Promise me you'll keep your feet on the ground okay."
"I'll call you when I'm done, I promise." I pushed my way past him, and ran down the hall to the elevator. "See you later, I swear!" I yelled as I hopped in and hit Lobby. As soon as the doors slid shut, I let out my breath and slumped on the wall behind me.
Jesus Christ what a fucking buzzkill. But he'll see I was right. Once I do this job, we'll be free and clear; we can pay off our loans and be free men, working for ourselves, not some banker or union flunky.
As I walked to van and started the engine, my mind was filled with visions of upscale West-side apartments, a real office, and a comely secretary.
Maybe I should stick to Blondes, Brunettes and Redheads are just too crazy, I need a nice traditional girl, get my mind straight.
But before I was halfway there, Luigi's warning pushed all of the Blondes and bodegas out of my mind. "It's just like the plumber's outfits," I said to no one in particular, "he'll see he was just being an idiot in the end."
I worked my ass off designing those outfits; you'd think it would be easy to find a couple of long-sleeved Red and Green shirts, but noo, that'd be waay too easy. And when I showed him, he looked at me like I was some kind of fucking queer, ungrateful motherfucker. Those fucking hats alone were such a freaking hassle, but it was worth it just to see the look on his face when we started getting calls again…
It was true, in the two years me and my brother ran that business, neither of us had paid our rents on time until we started wearing the outfits. Something about it just made us more memorable, more unique.
"Plus, no one has to look at your fat ass anymore."
I remembered Luigi's playful jabs, the way he looked when our finances went from red to black. When we made enough to get the bank off our backs, he finally started sleeping and got those bags out from under his eyes. It was like he had been given a second chance, a shot to make things right with Dad again.
Typical Luigi, once I got it through his head that it was a good idea, he took it farther than I would have ever thought. Before I could say "I told you so", we each had a drawer full of blue overalls and a pair of white Mickey-Mouse gloves, and he was asking me for a new decal for the van. Jesus, Mary and Joseph, it took me the better part of a month to get those first two uniforms together, how in the name of God did he manage to get all that stuff so quickly?
I laughed to myself as I pulled into the lot.
Maybe he just wanted it more. It never sat right with him what happened to Pops.
Our father had raised us right; two good old-fashioned Brooklyn kids, we went to school five days a week and Church every Sunday. We managed to stay out of trouble; mostly anyways. Luigi even got a scholarship to get into a fancy school. We had big dreams, wanted to be something. But when Dad died, we knew what we had to do.
It was only right, I thought, looking around the place for another car. We'd make him proud, be the best Plumbers in Brooklyn, start something real with his name on it, a fucking eternal flame in the cup of a plunger.
I shook the stray thoughts out of my head, as I realized there was no one else here.
I gave the scene a second look-over; nothing unusual for this area, just a squat little cement building, some kind of warehouse was my bet at the time, maybe one or two stories off the ground, probably half that much below. The lot surrounding the building was cracked and uneven, but no potholes; just the usual sign of heavy trucks. A dull yellow monster of a forklift laying quietly in the corner, and the loading dock on the left side of the building told me what I already knew; this was where the smaller ships coming in unloaded their cargo, the building being a convenient spot to keep it out of the rain until the panel trucks came to pick it up. The building looked like it had seen better days though; there was graffiti covering most of the outsides, gang-stuff I guess, and a few broken brown bottles near the doors showed what kind of people used the place now.
For a second, I thought about the promise I made to Luigi, that maybe I should just get back in the car and go home, play it safe.
Fuck that. He's probably just getting his rod polished, be down here in another fifteen minutes, tops.
I pulled out my phone, dialed the number sanitation-guy gave me. No dice.
Whatever, he'll get here when he feels like it; I'll just look around, and see if I can't find out what I'm dealing with. That'd be freaking impressing; he shows up, I'm sittin' here holding my bill. Man I love easy money.
I pulled my flashlight and a box of tools off the passenger seat, hopped out of the van, and walked over to the main door. Lucky for me, some punk had already busted the padlock off the door, and whatever genius owned this place had clearly never heard of a deadbolt.
Dumbass, you freaking deserve to get robbed. Who in their right minds doesn't even have a security camera up? Jeez, I bet there's a hundred grand worth of fucking Beanie-babies lying around in here any day of the goddamn week, and this bozo just lets everyone and their uncle walk in. I bet it's a union thing.
But as I opened the door, I saw that the warehouse was empty, whatever purpose it had served long over. All that was left were a few broken crates, contents gone, with a thick layer of dust over that for good measure. I walked through the doorway, and stopped dead in my tracks.
"What the fuck is that?"
It was like no pipe I had ever seen, not in five years of plumbing. The huge green pipe jutted straight out of the ground, looking almost like it had pushed the concrete aside like the sprout of an enormous plant. It was perfectly smooth, no flow-meters no branching pipes or other signs it served any purpose at all, its wide lip noticeably devoid of holes for nuts and bolts to attach it to a connecting piece. It was the sort of thing a child might draw, but here it sat, its wide mouth open like an invitation. Almost in a trance, I walked to the center of the room, determined to figure out what purpose something like this could serve.
Yet the Pipe defied examination; even standing next to it, there were no signs of who made it, or why. Just a green pipe, almost as tall as I am, and wide enough around to be a water main all by itself, it stood, beckoning me to look in and discover it's secrets. I dropped my toolbox, and put my flashlight into my back pocket, and tried to put my head over the edge. As my weight shifted, and I thought I could almost see into it, I felt my hands slip and I fell down into the blackness.
I rose, groggy and confused, my head aching with no idea what was going on.
Man, anyone get the number on that truck?
This wasn't my first time dealing with a hangover, but I had to say so far this was the worst.
Okay Mario, pick yourself up, where the hell are you, and how did you get here?
That was a good question. I was outside, the Sun in my eyes and the grass I was laying on told me that much. As I dusted myself off, and stood up, I felt the cool summer breeze on my skin.
No way this is fucking Brooklyn, am I in Central Park? Did I pass out in a park? No, that's not it; I'm wearing my work outfit. Why am I dressed for work? Fuck, Pauline's gonna fucking murder me when I get home...
I brushed the sun out of my eyes and listened for traffic, people talking, anything to give me my bearings, jump-start my memory. Feeling something in my back pocket, I pulled out my flashlight, and as soon as I saw the smashed bulb I remembered exactly what happened; the call, going to the building, the Pipe.
"Holy Fucking Shit…"
I was standing on a tall hill, at least as tall as a two-story building, looking out into a rolling valley which seemed to go on forever. As I watched, I began to see that the pattern of Greens, Browns and Yellows were the colors of fields, each one sealed off from its neighbor by a tall hedge or row of trees. I focused, seeing dozens of small tan stucco cottages, with round pastel colored tile roofs jutting out over the edges of the buildings, small spirals of smoke drifting lazily from their chimneys. Every mile or so a windmill stood, turning slowly in the breeze.
Further out, the fields grew smaller and the farmhouses closer together and larger, until they became a solid block of houses pressed against the tan sandstone walls of a city, the few winding roads leading to a pair of huge gates set into the wall. As I looked at the gate towers and across the walls, I saw that the town extended far beyond the walls, extending back and around, the central feature a huge pink and tan castle, stretching upwards into the sky, it's central tower cutting the horizon like a knife.
Needless to say, this was not Brooklyn Heights.