Sidney Gifaldi was mad. He was beyond mad. He was mother fucking pissed. Sid paced around his office, thumping bass from the club below seeping in through the walls. Right now, cops were outside the club, just ready to get in. And here he was, without his buffer, a man named Tim Eames, who was the one who in all technicality, owned the club. He was a fucking stool pigeon in Sid's mind, Eames gave nearly all of the profit to Sid in exchange for protection. This was Sid's club, not his. People gave Sid respect, not Eames.
But Eames wasn't here. He was out taking care of other business tonight. And now he was going to pay. He was going to fucking suffer! Sid was going to end that bitch.
There was a knock on the door. Sid swallowed hard and opened the door. Two cops were standing there, looking grumpy.
"Are you the owner of this club?" one of the officers asked.
"No, he's not here today," Sid answered, his voice utterly calm. "Is there anything I can do for you, officers?"
"Yes, sir, tell us your name and your business here, as well as the name of the owner."
"I'm Andy, Andrew, Kisinger. The owner's Tim Eames. I just help him with the day-to-day running of this place, you know, help plan events and find DJ's and things like that," Sid gave a small smile, hoping to look just the right amount of nervous as one could be, innocent, in front of a cop.
"Alrighty, Mr. Kisinger, do you have any form of ID on you?" the other cop asked, writing what Sid said down on a pad of paper.
"Oh, let me see," Sid felt around in his pockets. "Shit, I don't, I think I forgot my wallet at home today."
"Okay, can we have your address or phone number, Mr. Kisinger?"
"Why do you need my address, if you don't mind me asking? I'd really like to know why you're here. Did something happen out on the floor?" Sid's anger was about to bubble over, but he gave them the phone number of a whorehouse in the neighbouring city.
"No, sir, we're looking for a Sidney Gifaldi... he's been named as an accomplice of Gino Piras. He's been known to come here. Do you know anything about him?"
"Sidney Gifaldi? I haven't heard of him. I mean, if you gave me a description of him I could tell you if I've ever seen him here, but I really can't help you that much, officers, since I don't know him."
"Sure, about five ten, thin build, maybe hundred forty pounds, short black hair, brown eyes."
"That could be a lot of guys who come to the club, do you have any facial characteristics? I'm great at remembering faces."
"I wish I had a picture to show you, sir. He has a large nose, kind of long. Thin lips, round face, big ears. Tattoos on his arms."
Sid shook his head. His heart was pounding in his chest and he was sweating bullets. Never had he been so thankful that he had grown his hair out, or that he had lost the baby fat on his face, or that he had bulked up, or that he was wearing long sleeves. They must have been looking at an old picture of him.
His face had finally matured and he had a strong, square jaw now. That day he had contoured his face with make up, and his paranoia had come in handy. Thanks to the make up sitting on his face, his nose looked thinner and his cheeks more hollow with prominent bones. He was still praying that the two men standing in front of him truly believed that he was Andy Kisinger.
"Mmm, nope, can't say I've seen anybody exactly like him. Even if I didn't, I couldn't give you his whereabouts for the life of me. A lot of people come here, and I don't know what they do outside of the club itself."
"Okay, Mr. Kisinger. Do you know when Mr. Eames will be back?"
"I'd hate to call him up with this business this late at night, because tonight's one of the few he gets to spend with his family. He should be here tomorrow night, though, if you'd like to talk to him then," Sid said.
"We will. Please let him know that we will be stopping by soon. Thank you for your time, Mr. Kisinger."
Sid nodded, "Would you like me to show you out?"
"No, thank you," the cop who had been doing most of the talking nodded and tipped his hat, then left with his partner.
Sid shut the door behind them. When he was sure they had left, he turned and ripped the clock off the wall, throwing it as hard as he could against the opposite wall. It shattered against the brick, sending glass shards everywhere.
How? How did they get leads here? Who said he came here? Sid wanted to know the bastard's name. That cunt was dead. As soon as Sid learned his name, he was dead. He would be so mutilated that the police would have to use his mother fucking dental records to identify the shitsucker's body. Sid pursed his lips together and let out his breath forcefully. He was still seething.
–
Arnold Shortman sipped his cold, shitty coffee with disgust. Coffee at the station was about on par with coffee in a hospital, in other words, it was plain nasty. He set the cup down and looked up at the young face who was talking with him.
God, his job was affecting him. He was already calling someone roughly the same age as him a kid. Maybe it was the knowledge that any time he went into a shadier section of town, he could die. Maybe it was because he had already seen so many men die and had been to so many funerals that this kid who had never seen anything more exciting than paperwork seemed to be in a whole other class. He had hope. Arnold was loosing his.
"I can't tell you, Riley. We're really not getting any leads on Gifaldi, Callaghan, or Purcelli. They've disappeared from Hillwood. People like that... they know how to keep the cops out of their hair," Arnold told the young man who had stopped by to chat.
"That's crazy though, how sick people like that are running free," he said. "Well, I've got to get back to work, see you later, Arnold." He waved and walked off.
Arnold sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. Two weeks later and they weren't any closer to finding Gifaldi or Piras's other two men. Everyone had hoped to find leads on him and apprehend him before he became too entrenched in his power, but it was true, he seemed to have disappeared from Hillwood. Maybe he was taking refuge in other cities. However, everyone on the east coast was on the look out for any sign of him or activity affiliated with him. Things had been unusually quiet.
The Hillwood City Police Department was in a race against the clock. There were rumours that Gino had or was getting a very large shipment of cocaine. Gino was known for his honesty, you knew exactly what you were getting into if you dealt with Gino. He sold the purest drugs, and that was how he had built his empire, stretching from New York to Florida, with offshoots found throughout the Midwest. The man had an eye for business, an eye that could have made him a great sum of money if he had gone into an innocent business.
But with someone else running the show, things could get ruthless. Callaghan and Purcelli were smart enough to take over, but they truly were leaders more than followers. Arnold had a gut feeling that Gifaldi had risen to take Piras's place, and Gifaldi was a hundred times more cruel than Piras.
Many murders had been linked to Gifaldi. He was a man you did not cross, and he was a natural leader, Arnold knew. He was easy to anger and not above cutting drugs with damaging substances to stretch his profit further. He had power from fear and money, and he knew how to throw his money around. If he was truly the man Gino had chosen as his second, things were going to turn into a shit storm, and fast.
–
Sid screwed up his face as it turned beet red. He snorted and leaned back, wiping his nose. He snorted again and looked over at Marley, who was waiting and watching.
"I cannot believe this shit. This is so fucking pure," Sid blinked rapidly as the drug started to take effect. "Okay, we're gonna cut it all. Get every fucking sucker we can to get this shit cut and packaged and ready for the street, got it?" Sid asked of Marley.
He nodded and went to give out orders to the men standing by, ready to distribute the very large shipment they had just received. Sid watched him for a few moments then pulled up the paper from beside him on the desk. A self-satisfied smirk formed on his lips when he saw the headline: Nightclub Owner Dead; Brutal Murder.
Eames deserved it, the fucker really did, putting Sid in such a dangerous position. To Sid's satisfaction, he read that they did indeed have to use dental records to identify the body. His satisfaction only increased as he read further into the article and found out that they had no leads on who the killer was. Sid would have done it himself, but he had the cops on his tail, so it was time to send someone else to pose as Andy Kisinger. And it wasn't like he needed the club's money, either. Besides, Sid had bigger things to attend to. He was about to make a shit-ton of money with this giant deal.
He put on his shades and tied a bandanna around his face, hiding his nose and chin area. Then he motioned to Vince, who nodded and quietly left the room. After a few moments he returned, dragging a bound and gagged man in by his dreadlocks. Vince threw the man to the floor and removed his gag, afterwards proceeding to stand sentinel by the door.
"You cock-sucking mother fucker, what does your bitch ass think you're doing?" the man spat, unable to fully bring himself upright due to his bindings.
"Shut up."
"I will not shut up, you ain't go no right bringin' me here and doin' this to me, bitch! I'mma get you and all yous stupid little gang, and you're gonna regret doin' this!"
"I said shut up." Sid whipped out his gun and shot the man in the leg.
The man cried out and fell over, curling up into the foetal position. His face was crumpled and he certainly was shut up. Vince stood watch while Sid towered over the man, eyes livid and face contorted in rage. Sid kicked the man in the stomach then circled around him, gun still pointed at his head.
"I regret nothing. I did what I had to do. You didn't pay. You attacked my men when we reclaimed what was ours, and you tried to sell us to the authorities. Gino might have given you more time to pay your debt, but I am not Gino. You are lucky you are not dead. We're all dogs, and I'm your Lord, so you listen to me, jackass. You have two weeks to pay what you owe. If you don't, you're dead. If you go to the authorities, you're dead. If you run away, we will find you, and you're dead. Get the picture?" Sid bent down and pressed his revolver to the man's temple. He didn't answer, so Sid pressed the gun harder into his flesh. "UNDERSTAND?" Sid shouted.
The man nodded. His eyes were squeezed tightly shut and tears were trickling out of them onto the floor. Sid shook his head, rage still in his face, and stood up. After a moment's thought, he shot the man's other leg and laughed when he let out another heartbreaking cry of pain.
"Get rid of him," Sid said to Vince.
Vince's face was blank as he removed the man forcibly by the dreadlocks once again. Sid sighed and sat back down in his chair. Dealing with scum like that was always tiring. They were tiny lap dogs, barking and growling and trying to seem tough, but too dumb to realize that they were in front of a rottweiler ready to tear them to pieces.
He shook his head and looked down at his feet. Oh, fuck, there was blood on his shoes! Those shoes cost close to a thousand dollars. He really had to be more careful.
–
Sid's a giant asshole. I hope his behaviour seems reasonable, considering the business he's in and how long he's been in it. I want him to pretty much be his character on the show void of any redeeming characteristics with every bad one blown up to a kajillion.
I hope this is realistic enough writing, because I have no idea what the fuck I'm doing LOL.
Edit 6/25/11: Fixed continuity error and reworded a few awkward passages.