This probably won't be everybody's cup of tea, but I think it wouldn't be too out of place in a comic.
Chapter 2 (Stealers Wheel - Stuck In The Middle With You)
Unbothered by the smeared graffiti and the windows covered with old newspapers from the inside I stared at the worn-down sign above the entrance door.
'Encouraging & developing the roots of a great sport'
'Boxers' my eyes widened, 'trained daily'
Heart pumping, I quickly checked my pocket for the note for the owner from Uncle Peppe before I headed inside, super excited to be in an actual gym.
My gasp when I instantly spotted the ring nearly drowned out the little bell, that announced my entry, and I couldn't keep my head from swiveling back and forth.
There were a couple of heavy bags, a speed bag, and absolutely massive weigh…
"What's up, little man?" a rough voice to my right asked and I nearly jumped out of my skin.
Quickly turning, I spotted a middle-aged black guy in sweatpants and a white t-shirt casually leaning on a counter in front of what seemed to be a small office. The door was framed by dozens of pictures and newspaper clips, which momentarily distracted me before I focused back on the man, who stared at me with a hint of amusement.
"Yeah, uh, hi," shaking myself I retrieved the folded note from my pocket and held it up for the man to see. "I'm supposed to give you this note from my uncle," I stepped forward and placed it on the counter.
"Your uncle?" eyebrows quirked, he asked curiously as he reached for the piece of paper.
"Yeah, Uncle Pe, sorry, I mean Peppe Panessa from the pizzeria," I elaborated, trying to sound helpful, intent to leave a good impression on the guy since Uncle Peppe probably sent me here for reason. A reason, that got me more and more excited.
Instead of the friendly smile I was expecting, the guy's impression suddenly turned stony, and he held the note with noticeable more hesitation.
Refraining from commenting, I let the man silently read the note and busied myself with trying to read the various newspaper clips, which turned out to be about regional tournaments.
About to squint to better make out a grainy picture I saw the man, who I by now reckoned was the owner Wills, neatly fold and toss the note onto the counter. His demeanor, not exactly frosty but also not particularly welcoming, made me hesitant to ask what was going on, so I opted instead to raise my eyebrows in questions.
"Long story short, your uncle wants me to train you, make a 'champ' out of you," he said, not quite making the last bit sound mocking.
I ignored the weird undertone entirely, however, in favor of the confirmation of the reason why my uncle sent me here in the first place and, more importantly, because I didn't hear any rejection yet, which put a gigantic smile on my face.
Which in turn, however, put a frown on Mr. Wills' face.
"It says you got some experience," he eventually stated, and I couldn't help but swell in pride.
"Oh yeah!" I exclaimed and excitedly jumped into an orthodox stand with my left lead hand up and my right guarding my chin, which then smoothly flowed into a quick and clean one-two combo.
Proud of myself I quickly looked up, hoping to catch some honest amazement in my new coach's eye, I only received more stoicism and a lone raised eyebrow instead, which slowly morphed into a defeated slouch.
"Guess, that's something at least," I heard him mutter before he turned and headed back into his office. "I'm gonna give you some papers and consent forms, that your uncle has to sign."
"Marcus, shoulder up!" I dimly heard Coach Wills' instruction and instantly saw my sparring partner react accordingly, his face clad in headgear now partially shielded by the shoulder of his lead hand.
"Bill, concentration!" he shouted animatedly, just as invested in this little sparring session as me and the teenager opposite me. "Eyes on the shoulders, his face can't hit you!" he kept going and repeated words, that became a mantra for me.
I was the anomaly in this little gym, there were no other 12-year-olds here, or even other kids for that matter, the ones closest to me were two freshmen from the neighborhood, which I regularly saw at Gotham City High School, Marcus here being one of them.
I still didn't know what the note from my uncle precisely said all those years ago, but Coach Wills had taken it seriously from the get-go, so much so, that the kid's gloves were almost as quickly off as they were on.
Conditioning, drills, technique, followed by more conditioning, all day, every day. Speed, endurance, and flawless basics coupled with a simple technique were supposed to be my weapons against bigger opponents, and I lived by that since I only got bigger opponents.
Sparring had been on the menu as soon as Coach Wills deemed me ready, and whenever one of the teens was available. Age was just a number he had said.
And I had taken it, I had taken the punches and kept coming back for more. The moments, that had cemented my drive had been during one of my first sparring sessions with Daniel, the other teen. I had received some hits, not particularly painful, but no love-taps either, a constant barrage of japs right on my nose. The worst thing, and what had gotten me in trouble, was that I had seen Daniel having fun. Coach Wills had been watching, I reckoned he had wanted to see my reaction, which, to be honest, he eventually did.
I had gotten angry and then… vicious.
I had gotten in close and personal, damn the consequences, and had aimed for body shots, one which might have ended up going pretty low, one that had earned me a quick and just as vicious overhand in retaliation.
The immediate aftermath hadn't been particularly noteworthy, I had gotten up at some point, Coach Wills had berated me and had made me apologize, we had touched gloves and I had been sent home.
The thing that had made me come back here to this day, had been Uncle Peppe's and the guys' reaction when I had stepped into the pizzeria.
One look over his newspaper and he had burst out laughing like I had never seen before, uncaring of the handful of guests, his laughter quickly had drawn the attention of his guys, who had been lingering at the bar or the dartboard and soon to my bewilderment half the restaurant had been either laughing or chucking at my expense.
'Lil Marciano' Uncle Peppe had called through the noise and had motioned for me to join him at the bar, at which point I had finally noticed the big-ass shiner I had been sporting. Something which had made Uncle Peppe laugh even harder.
When I had eventually finished my story, Uncle Peppe quietly chuckling along had placed a small glass of Ramazotti in front of me and had clapped me on the shoulder.
Since then, I was Little Marciano, since then there was only forward for me.
"Get in, find the range," he instructed, and I did as I was told, light on my feet I closed the distance and probed with my lead hand, up and down, "and out!" Coach Wills shouted and I quickly stepped backward, guard up.
Cozy puffer jacket and woolen hat in place I stepped out of the small locker room and switched off the lights, being the last one to go after my 'private lessons', which were supposed to make me a 'champ'.
Coach Wills still sometimes went out of his way to give the word a negative connotation when he was motivating me, but that was fine by me, given that I knew that he was honestly doing his best, which I appreciated.
Uncle Peppe did, too, he liked what the Coach was shaping me up to be. Even had offered some help to Coach Wills when he had picked me up that one time. 'Help', at the time I really didn't get it, the Coach had very respectfully declined.
Anyway, mind already on the evening shift at the restaurant, I gave the Coach at his counter a friendly wave and said my good-bye, which got me a distracted nod in return, that I took in stride.
While friendly and far from unpleasant, Coach Wills still couldn't fully ignore my background and the training tended to feel a bit formal. I had quickly grown accustomed to it and after some thought, I kinda liked it even, made me feel like a professional.
Middle school, a bit of work at the pizzeria, gym, and then back to work at the pizzeria. I was busy, but it felt like a good kind of busy, kept me out of trouble and the results spoke for themselves.
Peppe and 'the old folk' were fond of me, they probably saw the Panessa name going the right way and I was making serious strides in my chosen discipline since I was hellbent on going as far as I could.
Taking the first step out the door and into a cold afternoon, pervaded with a late autumn dreariness that seemed to cover the whole city my neck instantly receded like a turtle into my toasty shell, intend to get as comfortable as possible. My hands meanwhile slipped into my pockets, with one hand settling on the black stiletto, which Uncle Peppe gave me some years ago. Somewhat confident, that I wasn't about to stab myself since Mateo had given me a quick rundown on how to handle the thing, I stepped onto the sidewalk and got going.
Rounding a corner and heading down the homestretch I saw a familiar car with tinted windows coming my way and raised my hand in greeting. A single flash of the headlamps was its response and it gently carried on.
Yeah, as long as I ignored everything beneath the surface, I could easily pretend we were just a big tight-knit family quietly going after our business.
Hand still raised, my good cheer was suddenly blown away in an instant, because just past the approaching car, on the other side of the road, I noticed a middle-aged woman with hurried steps walk in the opposite direction.
What caught my attention, however, were the frightened stares over her shoulder. Following her gaze, I saw the reason for her fear, and it made my blood boil.
Mind feeling as if wrapped in cotton, images seen and imagined flashing before my inner eye, I heedlessly stepped onto the road and absentmindedly signaled for the car to stop as I crossed the street with purposeful steps.
My eyes never strayed from the three men some 30 feet away heading in the same direction as the frightened woman.
The three haggard-looking creeps were eyeing the woman like starved animals and only seemed to really notice me when I parked myself squarely in the middle of the sidewalk between them and their prey.
Both feet apart, back straight, chin up, I looked them directly in the eyes. Although my mind only managed to conjure up some TV static, my body felt fired-up like a heavyweight ready for violence.
I saw them slow but not stop.
Teeth grinding, blood roaring in my ears, I was pumped.
Gangbangers, bottom-feeders, making a living at the edges of the bigger territories, you could listen to the old man for hours when he got a glass too much and was on a roll about them. Not men, ruining the neighborhood, they were everything wrong in this city.
But I was of a similar opinion. Who the fuck did they think they were? To me, they were rotten Junkies, not much better than rabies-ridden animals. They were the reason people couldn't walk the streets at night, being at the bottom of the totem pole they jumped at every chance to get their hands on what they considered prey.
Just the thought of my mom or one of the mothers that picked up their kid at school ending in a situation like that woman basically cemented my decision.
At least one of them was going to regret his decisions tonight.
Nearby I heard a car door open, but I didn't care, I slowly and deliberately pulled my right hand out of my pocket and held it loosely at my side, in perfect view of those fuckers.
A slight press with my thumb and with an impossibly laud snap the blade sprung free, and the punks suddenly stopped some ten feet away, now clearly wary.
"What the fuck do you think you are doing in this neighborhood?" I asked loud and clear, dimly I imagined myself stepping out of the shoes of a boxer and into the shoes of my uncle, who was a bear of a man himself.
All around silence.
"I asked you a FUCKING QUESTION!" I tried to shout but screamed instead in a childish voice. I took an aggressive step towards them, arms spread wide, practically inviting them to come at me.
Damn the fucking consequences!
Blood was rushing in my ears, they were mumbling something to each other, I couldn't hear it, their fidgeting was starting to piss me off.
"The boy asked you a question," a deadly calm voice suddenly said next to me, and I almost jumped out of my skin and pissed my pants in one go.
Looking over my shoulder towards the street I saw Paulie, one of Peppe's oldest friends, holding a gun the same way I held my knife, ready to go.
Suddenly they turned tail, and ran, like fucking rats they scampered away.
I took a couple of breaths, short and fast, desperately trying to get my nerves under control, bringing my hands up to close my knife I definitely didn't fail to notice my shaking hands.
Suddenly I felt a hand on my shoulder, and barely withheld a flinch.
"Come on, sonny, I give you ride back to Peppe's."
I nodded but glanced down the street, and despite my rattled nerves was somewhat glad to see the woman gone.
It was five minutes into the ride when I finally noticed that Paulie wasn't heading directly to Peppe's and was actually doing some rounds around the blocks.
I shot him a questioning look, which he seemed to have noticed.
"You did good, pretty stupid mind you, but was a damn fine show, kiddo," he said, and I heard the sincerity in his voice, but I couldn't help but note that he seemed uncharacteristically distracted.
"Alright," he said finally, apparently having come to a decision. "You think you could recognize those three bastards?"
Caught off guard, I closed my eyes, and the memories practically assaulted me. A jumbled mess, but…
"Yeah," I nodded. "Yeah, I could," I said after some concentration with conviction.
Suddenly, he slowed and pulled over.
He turned and looked me straight in the eyes, excitement shining through.
"This stays between us, you hear, not a word to Peppe, alright?" he asked and continued when I wordlessly nodded.
"Tomorrow, you are going to call your coach and you will tell him that you are sick for the rest of the week. You will still go outside at the usual times and walk a few blocks in his direction," he instructed and carried on when he saw that I was still following.
"I will get Bobby and a van, and together, the three of us will take a look around the neighborhood for those lowlifes." suddenly a big smile spread across his face. "We are going to show you the ropes of the family business."
The doorbell jingled above, and Paulie playfully shoved me into the pizzeria, now his usual self again.
"Peppe!" he cried joyfully, uncaring of the handful of guests enjoying their dinner, and steered me right towards my cousin, who had been quietly conversing with his brother at the bar.
I kept my face blank and held Peppe's questioning look until I was unceremoniously pushed on top of the barstool between my cousins by Paulie.
He clapped them both on the shoulder and this time luckily mindful of listening ears crowed with honest elation.
"You should have seen the boy." he swooned.
And then he told the story, Italian gesticulation rampant, while I tried my level best to reach the bottle of Coca Cola behind the counter and ignore the gazes of my family members burning into my sides.
I saw Paulie stand next to a dark blue van further down the block and quickened my pace, intent to get us both out of the light drizzle.
With the days becoming increasingly shorter and more and more uncomfortable, I was somewhat glad to find myself sitting in the middle seat of a cozily warm van instead of drudging all the way to Coach Wills' Gym.
Giving an honest and friendly wave to Bobby sitting behind the wheel, we waited for Paulie to hop in and close the door behind him.
"Alright," he clapped his hands once, excitement clear in his voice. "Remember, both of you, this stays between us."
"First, some basic stuff, you wanna know why I didn't pop those gangbangers right there in the middle of the street?" he asked conversationally, and I couldn't help but imagine him as a chill substitute teacher, the start that Bobby gave beside me, however, reminded me rather quickly just what kind of subject we were dealing with.
Obviously, having seen Bobby's reaction, too, Pauli turned to him and decided to nip whatever reservations the big guy might have in the bud.
"Listen," he said, now serious, "you should have seen him."
He gave me a playful boxing punch against my chin.
"He's a tough little cookie, and sooner or later he has to learn it anyway. So, let us make sure he learns it the right way before he gets into any kind of trouble." he passionately explained his reasoning, his hand now resting on my shoulder.
Bobby just gave a small, defeated shrug and sighed. "All right, old man." he sounded not entirely convinced but was apparently willing to go along with it for now.
Checking the mirror, Bobby calmed merged into the traffic while I waited for Paulie to gather his thoughts.
I honestly hadn't known how to feel about this, about everything to be frank, and thus had been immensely grateful for the monotonous work at the restaurant today. It had given me the much-needed time to reflect.
I knew killing Leonardo, I refused to call him father, hadn't been a murder, but whenever I received a postcard from mom, I was more than glad that I did it. Reading about her genuine happiness and excitement convinced me time and time again, that, yes, I would do it, always.
Yes, I had decided, I was going to be part of something 'bad', but someday I was going to be in a position where I could steer things, where I could change directions.
Panessa, I knew we weren't big and we would never be, but I was going to make us big enough to make a difference.
"Alright, let's get back on track," Paulie said and ripped me out of my stupor. "You already know about Peppe's little territory down here in Old Gotham. In the west we have the Chinks, in the east we have the Odessa Mob, and north we have Diamond District with all the fat cats. And that's precisely the reason why I didn't pop those fucks right in the open." he explained patiently while keeping an eye out for our targets. I did the same on the other side of the road so Bobby could concentrate on driving.
"Up in East End, where Tomasso and the rest of the Five Families call the shots, if done right I could have easily gotten away with it, but here, things are bit more…," he paused, searching for the right word, while I was hanging on every one of them. This was my introduction to the world of Gotham's organized crime.
"Tense? …Fragile? You get what I'm sayin', right?" he asked, and I nodded.
"We don't want to rock the boat too much and invite trouble. If push comes to shove The Five Families stick together when it comes to outsiders," he reassured me.
"But there's always a price to pay and Tomasso is already busy enough to establish us more firmly."
"So…," he twisted a bit to get a better look into an alley but eventually carried on when he didn't see anything. "Don't go around willy-nilly shanking folks," I couldn't help but smile when I saw Bobby shake his head at Paulie's crass language in the corner of my eyes.
"Even Uptown you will need permission to off certain people," he warned offhandedly, but I knew the seriousness of the warning. You step out of line, don't respect the proper procedures, and suddenly, unbeknownst to you, certain people hold a meeting where they decide your fate.
I heard Paulie heave a quiet sigh of annoyance and watched as he checked the time.
"No luck today, Bobby, let's head back."
'We got to install microwave ovens
Custom kitchen deliveries
We got to move these refrigerators
We got to move these color TVs'
I quietly bobbed my head to the radio, while keeping an eye on the sidewalks.
Suddenly, my eyes widened. There, under the stairs of an elevated subway station, perfectly illuminated by the setting sun, there were the three reasons why we were out here, doing the rounds.
I calmed down as much as I could, so I didn't startle Bobby at the wheel.
"There!" my excitement was still clearly evident, and I pointed them out when I had Paulie's attention.
"That's them, alright," Paulie agreed. "Bobby, pull over right here, and we will talk things through."
Parked, some 50 feet away, we had our eyes trained on our targets across the street.
"Remember what I told you about these parts?" Paulie asked me.
"To keep things quiet," I answered reasonably confident.
"Exactly," he said, and my eyes widened when he opened the glove box and pulled out a gun along with some kind of attachment, expertly putting the thing on he turned to me.
"Early lesson, that's a suppressor, makes a gun quieter. Not quiet, just not as loud, still a world of difference, but prepare yourself for the noise," he advised and I nodded faintly, my eyes still glued to the gun in his gloved hand.
"Now, Bobby and I know what to do, but for your sake, I'm gonna talk all the steps through," he said, already focused on the job, but taking a second to look at me.
"You ready?" he asked and I sat straighter, this was it, there would be no going back. I held his gaze, there were going to be consequences down the line, deep breath, all or nothing.
"I'm ready." I finally said clearly and watched Paulie's face split into a satisfied grin.
"Alright," he said, voice now all business. "Bobby will drive past them and turn further down the street. When we are level with them, I will hop out of the car and shoot them in one go." he began to explain.
"It's just three people huddled together, one person doing the shooting is enough. It will be three quick shots to incapacitate them. In the meantime, Bobby will keep the van running but come out to my side. And I want you to hop out after me and push open the side door as hard and as fast as you can." he paused and leaned back. I heard Bobby shift behind me, but I kept my eyes on Paulie. Was he challenging me?
"I can do that," I stated, just to make things clear.
"Alright," he gave a small nod, seemingly to himself, apparently believing me, and carried on with the explanation. "While you open the door, I will aim and shoot all three a second time to avoid surprises later. Door open, gangbangers dead, Bobby and I will quickly fling them into the van, and you will immediately close the door when we are done and jump right back on your seat. Remember what I told you about the gun and the noise." he finished with a warning.
'Easy, easy, chicks for free (I want my MTV)
Easy, easy money for nothin' (I want my, I want my)
Chicks for free (I want my MTV)
That ain't workin'
Not even 3 minutes later, Bobby pulled away again, and the van was now a good 500 pounds heavier.
Gotham River was rushing along the quay some five feet away while we stood near the hood of our van, the only light coming from the interior of the van. Headlights apparently would have been too obvious regarding our presence down here.
"That up there is Crown Point Bridge." Paulie pointed directly up, much livelier again now that our passengers were disposed of.
Finger swinging forward, he continued. "And that's Tricorner Island over there."
"Now we could have driven to the Dixon Docks near Brown Bridge, but" he paused, finger slightly raised again, making sure I was going to recognize his wisdom. "chances are high, that the currents might just dump the bodies along Tricorner Island's western shore, and we don't want that."
"Here, however," he walked towards the side door of the van, still in teacher mode, and reached inside. "there's still a tiny chance the bodies might end up at Blackgate Island, but" he came back, holding a small backpack and a gave a shrug, that screamed 'eh, whatever'. "in all honesty, it's vanishingly small."
"If you want to be sure or you have someone high-profile you should do it right, anyway." he kept talking as he opened the backpack, and handed Bobby and me a shot glass each, completely ignoring our surprise. "Concrete shoes if you have the time and an audience, but some rocks stuffed inside his pants and top do the job, too."
By now he held a shot glass himself and a bottle of Grappa in his other hand.
'Oh boy.' I thought with some apprehension as he wordlessly filled our glasses to the brim.
"Salute!"
…
"You want to learn how to shoot?" I couldn't keep my wheezing coughs from turning to laughter as I saw Bobby take the whole bottle, showing us quite clearly what he thought of Paulie's offer.
Author Note: If you want to know why I went with boxing, besides the setting, please check out Mike Tyson vs. Donnie Yen.
