Disclaimer: I do not own South Park or any character present in this story. They belong to their rightful owners, and I do not intend to use them for any kind of profit.
XxXxX
Chapter 4: Welcome to New York City
"…Kenny?" Stan stared into the tearful eyes of the blonde man that glimmered in deep azure. He couldn't find the appropriate word to describe what he felt. He had thought from time to time that there might be someone he knew who stayed in the city after the incident ten years ago, but he was not holding his breath for the chance: a lot of things can change during ten years in a City of New York. He searched for an appropriate verbal response for the unexpected advent of an old acquaintance, only to find that he couldn't go further than: "I…I…"
"Wait, wait, wait," Thankfully, Kenny saved him from the burden. "This conversation will be better done in a more private setting." Then he waved at the manager who had been standing still watching the whole ordeal and shouted: "Jason, we need to use one of your rooms upstairs."
"Y, yes, sir." He stammered. "But how about…"
"For God's sake, forget about the money. I gotta address a much more important matter now." The blonde man stated. "Get me a glass of whiskey, instead." Then he glanced at Stan once again. "You fancy a drink?"
"Um, no, thanks. I don't drink." Stan debated about adding "usually" at the end of the sentence but soon decided against it.
"Oh, come on, it's on me." Kenny insisted. "It's like, a family reunion in a decade. Join the celebration."
"Well, I'm not trying to be one of these obnoxious smartasses, but there are two visible holes in your logic here." Stan said matter-of-factly. "First, you're not really paying for that drink. You're getting it for free from the manager. Second, we don't really belong to a same family anymore. You work with the Tuckers now."
Instead of responding to the boy's remark, Kenny stared at him with an incredulous look. Although he didn't speak anything in response, the expression on his face was asking him 'Really? Is that the best thing you can say after ten years?'
Stan sighed, feeling defeated. He saw no point in declining the man's offer anymore. He would end up making Kenny mad at him if he continued on. "Sorry. I'd love some whiskey, too."
"That's more like it." The hurt expression on the face of Kenny was now replaced by a rather cheerful look. "Jason, make that two." Kenny notified the manager and beckoned Stan to follow him as he stood up to head upstairs. While on his way, he noticed that his two underlings were now back on their feet, not daring to meet his gaze. Getting knocked out in a two-to-one with a teenager in five seconds was not usually the news that a boss would take so favorably. Instead of scolding, however, Kenny glanced at the guy who was holding his dislocated arm by the other one with a pained expression. "Is your arm okay, Bridon?" He inquired.
"He'll be okay, sir." Instead of the guy called Bridon, the other guy who was standing right next to him answered. "I looked at the injury, but nothing seems broken. The pain's gonna go away naturally over the course of a few days, and a few weeks would be enough for it to heal."
"Good." Kenny nodded. "Gary, do whatever is necessary to fix him up and wait for me in the car outside."
Leaving the two guys downstairs, Kenny and Stan climbed the stairs and entered 207, the room assigned to Stan. He tried to come up with a topic that would break the ice while following the blonde man's lead, but his normally functional brain got all haze as if intoxicated. Yes, that man was Kenny alright, but a more important question was whether he was the Kenny that he remembered from the past. People tend to change over time, and ten years were sometimes more than necessary to turn a close friend to a bitter foe. He still needed to see if the man could be trusted.
"Close the door." Kenny told the boy as he entered the place. Stan complied with his order, pushing the door close until he heard the gentle clicking from it. As he turned around from the door, he found himself confronting Kenny face-to-face.
Stan attempted to start a conversation with one of these 'uh…'s that seemed to last forever in awkward situations, but it was cut short as Kenny suddenly closed the gap between them and gave him a tight embrace. Stan normally would have yelped but he managed to hold it back.
"I'm so glad you're alive." Came a trembling voice from the taller man who rested his head upon the boy's shoulder. "You can't even begin to imagine how guilty I felt when I found out you'd been raided. I made a pledge to your father that I'd protect you from harm with my life. I cursed myself every day and night for failing that one simple task. I wished every day and night that it was me who died that day, instead of you."
Stan listened silently as Kenny gave his little address. The man's words sounded sincere. One of the knacks he developed from his experience on the streets of Boston—aside from fighting skills and survival instincts—was the ability to call one's bluffing. Distinguishing the honest people from those who lied through their teeth was an essential factor that ensured his survival. As he stood there hearing what Kenny said, he could feel that his remarks conveyed the truth.
Alright. Stan Thought. He can be trusted.
Finally letting his guard down, Stan returned the embrace by wrapping his own arms around Kenny's chest. They stayed like that for about half a minute before Kenny pulled away.
"And you son of a bitch," A smile appeared on Kenny's face. "You were alive and kicking asses for those ten years, and didn't even try to give your uncle a single call?"
"Sorry. Life's been crazy for me." Stan made an apologetic smile.
The two parted away as a knocking sounded at the door. As Stan proceeded to open it, it revealed the manager holding two glasses of whiskey on a tray.
"Thank you." The teenager expressed his gratitude and took the glasses, watching the manager close the door politely. He followed Kenny to the round table located at one corner of the room. Both of them said nothing for a while, sipping the brownish liquid as if it was the only thing that kept them alive amid the sheer awkwardness that surrounded them. Stan was sure that Kenny was still his friend but was at a loss of what to ask of him. Each and every question that popped up in his mind seemed more or less inappropriate. After a long, quiet contemplation, Stan finally decided to ask him about what became of the other people that they knew.
"So…Kenny." Stan cleared his throat. "I'm glad that I got to meet you today. This was surely not expected."
"That makes two of us." Kenny took another sip at the drink.
"That being said, I'm becoming curious about other people. You know, those who worked with my dad. You still keeping in contact with any of them?"
"Yeah…about that…" he didn't seem too happy about the question. "Well, not really. We've been all split after what happened ten years ago."
"Split?"
"Um, do you remember Pip?"
"Yeah, Uncle Pip." The image of a nice, polite, and always well-behaved British man came to his mind's vision. "The one from England."
"Right. He wrapped it all up here and went back to where he came from. Last time I heard, he was working at a small forge or something."
"Oh." Well, that scratched him squarely out of the picture.
"Well, at least he doesn't have to put up with this shit here anymore." Kenny said cynically. "Maybe I can join him someday. Life in this city hasn't been easy since the Depression."
"Yeah…" In fact, Stan had been feeling the full impact of the stock market meltdown for himself. After what they called the Black Tuesday, he saw the number of people forced out to the streets double, triple, and then quadruple. Although no one in his group of teenaged gangs had anything invested in Wall Street, the rising level of competition for increasingly scarce resources made the daily life much more difficult. But then again, it was a peril shared by everyone in the country, and perhaps around the world.
"At least we're alive. In a time like this, that's a thing we've got to be thankful for." Stan remarked which earned him a small 'yeah' from the man sitting across the table. "That aside, what happened to Uncle Butters? Is he still alive?"
Stan saw the face of Kenny stiffen as soon as he asked that particular question.
"You mean Stotch." There was a conspicuous sense of disapproval in the way Kenny voiced the man's last name. "Unfortunately, yes. If it was up to me, I'd personally see to it that coward takes his last breath in my hand."
"Why?" Stan cocked his brows. "I thought you two have been very best friends. What happened?"
"He defected. The day after the incident." The man answered coldly. "That little pussy is licking the French ass now."
"…I see." The teenager's gaze fell to the ground as he thought about the friend who now turned into a foe. "I don't blame him. Maybe it was the most logical choice he had."
"Logical, but cowardly." Kenny snorted. "In fact, it isn't his defection that angers me to no end. A lot of people turned to the DeLorns after we fell. You know why he deserves the biggest pussy of all time award?"
"No. Why?"
"He was in charge of protecting Mr. Marsh that day. You know, we don't leave our godfather completely defenseless in this city. We took turns in that duty, and it was his turn of guarding the premise." Then he let out a noticeable sigh before he continued. "Guess what he did after he saw a hoard of DeLorn assailants surrounding the building."
"…" Stan then realized what Kenny was trying to say. "…He ran away. Didn't he?"
"Of course he did!" Kenny slammed on the table with his both hands as he spoke the last line. "He ran away like a rat chased by a cat. The next day, he knelt before the Mole and pleaded for his and his family's life. I don't know why that cigarette-smoking bastard would accommodate him to his family, but that's what he did. He became this little errand boy running around to keep his new master pleased." He spoke incessantly as he always did when agitated. "I'm pretty sure he's sucking cocks now. That little cock sucker."
Stan leaned backward and stared at the ceiling. He somehow knew that Uncle Butters was not known for his dauntlessness, and what Kenny described more or less matched his expectations. He ran away. He was supposed to protect the family, and he just ran away to save himself. If he had chosen the other option and stood against the attackers, could he have prevented the downfall of Stan's family that day? Maybe, maybe not. It would have been impossible for Butters and his underlings to repel all of the DeLorns all by themselves for sure, but they may have bought enough time to allow Stan and his family to escape and get help from other members. That alone could have changed history.
This chain of thought made the teenager feel uneasy. He grabbed his glass and gulped down the rest of its liquid content.
"I sometimes wonder who I should hate more." Kenny broke the brief silence. "Stotch or Cartman."
"Cartman? You mean Uncle Eric?" Stan thought about the fat, disgruntled figure from his childhood memories. For some reason, almost everyone in the family seemed to dislike him.
"Yeah. Cartman." He looked away, frowning. "He works for the DeLorns, too. He actually got to a relatively high post. Heard he's in charge of finance and accounting." He scoffed. "But I kinda knew that he wasn't the most loyal type. He's born that way, and I never once trusted him. It didn't surprise me when I heard that he went to the Mole's side."
"…"
Stan didn't say anything for a while. If his memory was serving him right, that's all of the middle bosses that took his father's command. Two of them turned their backs on their original family and joined the enemy as soon as his parents met untimely demise, one fled to Queens to work with the Tuckers, and the last one went to England, never to return. A lot of things changed since his departure, and these four were no exception. This directed Stan's mind to a certain person that he hoped did not change. Problem was: he didn't even know if he was even alive.
"Um, Kenny," Stan decided to give it a try. "Do you happen to have any knowledge on what happened to Kyle?"
"Kyle?" Wrinkles formed between the eyes of the blonde man. "What Kyle?"
"You know, the son of Sheila, who used to be the head maiden?" Stan thought about what the best way to remind Kenny would be. "He was of the same age with me. We hung out together every Tuesday."
"Oh…yeah, yeah, that Jewish kid." Kenny rubbed his temple, leaning his head to one side. "Named, uh, Broski or something."
"Broflovski." Stan corrected him.
"Yeah, that was it." He slapped on the table at the enlightenment but asked Stan again, confused. "And, what about that kid?"
"I mean, do you know if he's still alive or where he lives?" The boy elaborated his question for the man.
"Um, well…" Kenny scratched the back of his head, blinking several times. From the looks of it, he was no better informed about Kyle's fate than Stan was. "Sorry, I didn't really pay attention to the kid after the incident. Some crazy shit happened and I had to deal with them."
Stan's gaze once again fell to the floor. "Don't worry. I understand." Despite what he said, he couldn't stop himself from feeling uncomfortable. One reason why he decided to come back to this city, besides the obvious intention to carry out his revenge, was to locate the one who had been his only friend in his whole life. He slowly reached for his pocket and gripped the object inside: a necklace that he always kept with him.
"Do you have any reason to find him out?" Kenny inquired, concerned about the change of the boy's mood. "If you do, I can start looking for him starting tomorrow."
"No, that wouldn't be necessary. Thank you." Stan declined his offer.
"As you wish." Kenny tapped on the table with his fingers. "You can always look it up in the police record, but," He hesitated for a while. "I don't mean any offense, but, I don't really think you can find him if you tried. If I'm remembering correctly, Sheila was the only remaining family that he had at the moment, right? If that's the case, he would have been either forced to the streets or picked up by some agencies. Either way, there is little chance that he still lives within the city limit. Even if he did, you should be super lucky to actually find him among the population."
"Agreed." Stan knew that the man was saying the truth. Maybe he was following a false hope. He let go of the necklace in his pocket and pulled his hand out. "There are many more things that I should be doing than trying to find an old childhood friend."
"You're a smart kid, Stan. Good to have you back." Kenny smiled. "I'm aching to know how you could have lived on for those ten years and, especially, what compelled to bring you back here in this rotten city. But I guess you can tell me your story along the way." He then emptied his glass of whiskey and stood up from the table. "Come on, I'm taking you to my place." Then he grabbed the fedora he'd been keeping in his jacket and walked towards the door. When he opened it and looked behind, however, he found that the person who was supposed to be following him was yet to emerge from his seat.
"…Stan?" he urged the teenager. "We can continue what we were doing at my place. I left my boys waiting in my car for too long."
"Sorry, Kenny." Stan stared at the man directly. "I'm not going with you."
"You gotta be kidding me." Kenny looked at him incredulously, stepping towards him. "Care to explain?"
"Because I've got things to do." Stan stated without changing his expression. "And I have no intention of involving other people into my personal matter."
"And would you care to elaborate on what that personal matter is?" Kenny approached him further, clearly agitated. "Now don't tell me you plan to bring down the Mole to avenge your parents. Stan, you're smarter than that."
"I just have a debt to collect from the man himself." The teenager didn't back down. "It's nothing more than a good business."
"God, Stan." Kenny slapped on his own forehead in distress. "Don't. Don't do this to me."
"What am I doing to you? I said it was my personal matter. Didn't I?" Stan stood up from table, with his fists clenched. "I'm not going to drag you into any scheme. What I'm doing is the exact opposite. I'm just gonna leave you alone, and I'm asking you to do the same."
"What you say you're going to do is impossible." Kenny wasn't going to give in to the boy either. "The Mole and the entire DeLorns are off-limits. They grew ten times in power since you last saw them. Even the police cannot dare touch them, for God's sake!"
"And how does that involve you?" Stan gritted his teeth. "You thought I was dead anyway, so if I get killed when trying to get to the Mole, what difference does it make to you?"
"Stan, I already lost you ten years ago." Kenny glared at the boy. "I'm never going to let it happen again."
"Sorry, I already promised the man himself that I'll get him. There is no going back." Stan turned himself around so that Kenny couldn't see his face. He faced the only window of the room which was now being hit by multiple raindrops. As he heard no remark from Kenny, he assumed that he had won the debate.
What Kenny said next, however, was enough to intrigue him.
"If that's the case, I can help you."
Doubting his own ears, Stan turned around once again to face the man. He wasn't the angry, aggravated Kenny that he was a few seconds ago. Instead, his face wore a rather sad face.
"Pardon?"
"You can never bring him down alone." Kenny stared at him. "In fact, no one can bring him down, no matter how many men you manage to gather."
"Then why help me?" Stan inquired.
"Because I promised your father." He stated in a matter-of-factly. "The pledge to save you from harm still stands. Since you're entering an apparent suicide mission, the best I can hope to do is to die trying to fulfill that oath."
Stan briefly contemplated on the option that the man offered. Of course, Kenny would prove to be a valuable ally if he accepted. Stan wasn't unaware of the simple fact that he could not defeat the Mole all by himself. Kenny was the exact kind of person that he needed in order to achieve what he desired.
But the idea of letting him into his plan was bothering him. With his family massacred and his colleagues left behind in Boston, Kenny represented one of the very few people that he still could call his friends. If his scheme to get the Mole fails, then Stan and all of those who helped him would surely die at the hands of the cigarette addict. Even if it miraculously succeeds, the rest of the DeLorns would not tolerate the existence of the men responsible for their late godfather's death. Kenny was right. This was a suicide mission, no matter how it turns out. If that was the case, Stan didn't intend to drag other souls into unnecessary demise. That was one main reason why he wanted to keep this revenge a strictly personal matter. Too many people died already. There was no need to make other suffer the same fate.
"I appreciate your offer, but the answer is still no, Kenny." Stan stated, looking away to avoid his gaze. "I can't make you risk your own life. Nobody has to do that for me."
Finally, he heard Kenny taking a deep breath and exhaling it. He must have given up. He could hear the reluctant footsteps made by the man that was moving away from his direction.
All is good, Stan thought, Nobody suffers for me.
However, the sound of the footsteps stopped when it reached the doorsteps.
"1827 Hancock Street." Came Kenny's voice. "We close at midnight today, but don't make me wait until then."
Stan sighed, still refusing to look at Kenny's direction. "Kenny, if you need to be reminded, I already made up my mind."
"…Funny." He heard Kenny scoff. "Because I made up my mind, too."
"What the…" When Stan turned his gaze to the doorstep to inquire about what he meant, the door was closed shut and the figure was already gone. Stan stood there with his mind puzzled. Through the window, he saw the black sedan picking up the person he had been talking to and driving off to disappear into the rains and beyond his sight.
Fucking Great. I now have another set of problems to solve.
While he was in the middle of cursing himself, there was a knock at the door.
"Who's there?" Stan shouted without actually looking at it.
"It's the manager, sir."
"…Come in. It's open." he then took a few steps towards the door as he watched the manager coming in, holding a tray that had a bowl of steaming soup, a loaf of bread, and neatly folded three dollars on it.
"What are all these?" Stan inquired.
"I prepared something you can eat, sir." The manager answered cheerfully. "You don't drink whisky with an empty stomach. It can do nasty things to your inside."
"Yeah, um, thanks." The teenager blinked. "But what about the money?" those were the same bills that he had paid—or at least tried to pay—as a fee for staying in the place. They must have dropped to the floor in the middle of the fist fight he had with the two underlings of Kenny.
"It's all on the house." He put the tray on the table. "It's a token of my gratitude."
"Gratitude? What for?" Stan blinked. He didn't remember doing any favor to him that would possibly earn a complimentary meal.
"For helping me out against the guys down there, perhaps?" He arranged the dishes and utensils on the table for him and beckoned. "Would you mind if I took a seat here?"
"No, not at all." The manager nodded in acknowledgment as the teenager approached the table to have himself seated across the table. He took a spoonful of the soup to his mouth, savoring the taste of corn.
"This is good," Stan remarked, earning a 'thank you' from the man. "I think I once heard Kenny call you Jason, is that right?"
"Right, sir." The manager smiled. "Forgive my rudeness, but are you really who they say you are? Mr. Stanley Marsh, the son of late Randall?"
So much in a name, Stan thought, I feel like I'm a celebrity now.
"…Just Stan." He answered unexcitedly. "And I would prefer that we don't talk about the past."
"Of course, of course. As you wish." Jason said defensively. "I don't intend to bother you by throwing hundreds of questions. I just wanted to dispel any possible…" He dragged on a little. "misunderstandings."
"Misunderstandings?" Stan raised his brows. "What kind?"
"The ones concerning Mr. McCormick." Jason said. "Um, he is not as bad as you might think him to be."
Stan coughed. "Uh, that's the last thing that I expected from someone who was nearly robbed by the guy just now."
"I know it sounds strange, but it is true, nevertheless." He played with his finger nervously. "Yes, he did try to collect his fees from me today, but I have to assure you that he normally wouldn't do that. He leaves people to decide when and how much they are going to pay. Much like your father did in the past. What he did today means that he's in a desperate need of cash."
"You mean he doesn't usually force payments?" Stan rubbed his forehead. "But he's a mob. That's the way they make all the money they need. How is he going to afford his business if he keeps on doing that?"
"Exactly." Jason pointed his finger at him. "In fact, Mr. McCormick is one of these few bosses who are struggling to make ends meet. He's definitely not in the high end of the wealth structure in this city. If anyone asked, I'd place him at the exact opposite."
"You mean he's poor?" Stan leaned forward, listening intently to what Jason had to say about Kenny. "A mob? In this city?"
"Yeah. I would say." The manager answered. "You see, he's different from all the other mobs currently ruling this city. If there's only one person who can help you bring justice to the man you seek, that would be him."
"You were eavesdropping." Stan narrowed his eyes. "The whole time."
"Sorry, I couldn't help it." Jason shrugged. "But I just wanted to tell you this. Mr. McCormick is a good man. If you're serious about what you plan to do, I strongly suggest you take his hand."
"And what's in your interest to persuade me to do so?" The boy asked in a suspicious voice.
"Trust me, Mr. Marsh. You are not the only one who wants the Mole down. If you ever succeed with your plan, and I pray to God it does, you'll be doing the whole city a huge favor."
"…"
Stan didn't say anything for a while. Now the manager wanted him to join forces with Kenny. What he considered a strictly personal matter wasn't exactly personal to begin with. Jason said that the whole city wanted the French mob lord dead on the ground.
"I…" The boy hesitated. "I don't even know if I ever can do that. The reason why I don't want other people involved is because I know I won't be able to get what I want. I don't want to see other people invest in me and then fail."
"If you'd please, Mr. Marsh." The manager suddenly reached forward and placed his hands on those of Stan's on the table. "If you're half the man your father was, I have absolutely no doubt that you can achieve whatever you aspire. Your family's reputation precedes you. Believe me, a lot of people will stand behind your cause once they find out who you are."
Stan couldn't help the smile developing on his face. He didn't know if he was indeed worthy of succeeding the name of Marsh from his father. What he just realized, however, was that he may have more allies than he ever aspired to have. It was the first day he arrived at the city, and he already picked up two friends. There was no way of challenge the might of the DeLorns with just two of them, but Stan saw the glimmering hope amid the dark clouds the surrounded the future.
"Thank you, Jason." Stan said. "I think I know what I have to do now."
"Glad I could be your help, sir." Jason replied cheerfully.
"I think I gotta go." Stan stood up from the table and pulled the room key from his pocket, presenting it to the manager. "Thank you for the meal and everything."
But the manager didn't take the key back. "You should keep it for now. You can never be sure about what will happen."
"…Thanks." He put the key back into his pocket. "By the way, do you know where Hancock Street is?"
"1827, right? It's a little too far away to walk." Jason pointed at the window. "And the weather's definitely not too favorable to any pedestrian today. You should probably take a cap." Then he looked up and down at Stan. "Can I suggest something, though?"
"What?" Stan inquired, looking down at himself.
"I can arrange a cab for you. Meanwhile…" Jason cleared his throat. "I think you can use a hot shower first. The bathroom's right over there."
"Oh…" The boy rubbed his temple. "Do I…smell bad?" It's surely been a long time since he had his last shower.
"Hmmm… permission to speak freely, sir?"
Stan flushed in embarrassment. "Sorry. I know. I should take a shower for sure."
XxXxX
After cleaning himself, Stan bid farewell to Jason and loaded himself to a taxicab to head to the address Kenny gave him. It was already nearing sunset by the time the vehicle pulled to a stop in front of an old pub. There were letters scribbled to the wooden plate over the front gate.
The Immortal.
He didn't really know why Kenny had to choose that peculiar name for a pub, but he proceeded to enter the place anyway. Peeking inside through the half-open door, he found out that the place was possibly in a worse shape than Jason's nameless inn. The manager was right when he described Kenny as being poor: it seemed possible that he actually could be more bankrupt than those he collected money from. As he continued observing the inside, Stan discovered one of the men that Stan encountered today sitting at the long bar. It was the brunette guy whose arm was dislocated in the little fight they had. He had his injured arm bandaged to a wooden panel to keep it in a right position. After stepping inside the place, Stan made a couple of fake coughs to make his presence known.
The brunette looked back and acknowledged the teenager. "Hey."
"Hey." Stan forced a smile, hoping that guy didn't hold a serious grudge against what he did to his arm earlier that day. "Um, can I talk to Kenny?"
"Sure." The brunette said casually. Fortunately, he didn't seem to mind his presence at all. "Bebe, tell Kenny that the boy is here."
"Sure, sweetie." Came a female voice from the room across the place.
Stan decided to ask the guy about his injury while waiting for Kenny to appear. He slowly made his way next to him. "Um, is your arm okay?"
"Sure, don't worry about it." Quite unexpectedly, the man greeted him cheerfully. "I got all kinds of injuries while I was practicing dance for musicals. I've been through worse."
"You do musicals?" that caught Stan's attention.
"Well, used to." He made a bitter smile. "The crew got bankrupt and now I work here for Kenny- oops," he placed his index finger on his lower lip. "I gotta address him as Mr. McCormick when the people from outside are around but I guess you're one of us now, ain't you?"
"I guess so." Stan shrugged.
The guy extended his uninjured left hand to the boy's side. "Bridon. Nice to have you here."
Stan returned the gesture and shook hands with him. "Stan. Nice to meet you, too."
"Look who's here!" Their mutual greeting was interrupted by the advent of the owner of the place. Accompanying him were three other people, two male and the other female. One of the man was the other one that he already met earlier that day.
"It's nice to meet you again, uh," Stan then had an internal debate about how to call that man. Now that he entered his team, he was his boss. "Mr. McCormick."
"Fuck, Stan. Don't call me that shit." Kenny frowned. "Do it only when we're out pulling some stunts. When scaring the people, right? Otherwise, consider me a mere first among equals."
Stan smiled. "I see. Sorry I've been acting like a jerk earlier today."
"Don't mention it. You made it here. That's the only thing that counts." Kenny waved it off. "Well, I understand that there are some pressing matters that need to be discussed, but first, I think a little bit of introduction is in order." He placed his hand on the man standing next to him. "I'm sure you remember Gary. You already met him today."
"Hi." He extended his hand, to which Stan responded by extending his. "Gary Harrison."
"Stan Marsh." Then he remembered the man attending Bridon's injury that day. "Are you a doctor or something?"
"Well, half." Gary answered. "I got kicked out of the medical school in the middle of my degree program."
"Why?" Stan tilted his head.
"He's a Mormon." Kenny answered the question instead. "The dean was a mean, old, devoted evangelical and was being a complete dick about it."
"Oh." Well, that was not a very happy story to hear. "I'm sorry."
"Not at all. I enjoy working here." Gary responded.
"Okay," Kenny then approached the female with curly, blonde hair. "And here's Bebe. She's more fierce than she looks."
"Hey, handsome." She played with her hair with one of her index fingers. "Gary here tells me that you rocked today."
"Uh, thank you…?" That was the most appropriate answer that Stan could come up with.
"I like it when handsome guys go ferocious." She examined Stan up and down. "Especially in bed."
"Uh…" That was absurd. How was he supposed to respond?
"Bebe." Thankfully, Kenny stepped in to save him the burden. "Save it for later."
"Why Kenny, you jealous that he's gonna take your spot?"
Kenny coughed with his face growing red. "Okay, next, here's Bradley." He introduced another blonde guy, but with his hair neatly combed.
"Bradley Biggle." The man suddenly shoved a glass that was holding a yellowish liquid in front of Stan. "Want some Mint-berry punch?"
"Uh, mint what?" The boy narrowed his eyes.
"Mint-berry punch. My personal concoction. I'm sure you'll be satisfied." Bradley almost pressed the glass to Stan's chest. "Come on. Take a sip."
"Um, I already had a glass whiskey today." Stan backed away, feeling a little insecure about the drink. "Sorry, maybe later."
"Oh, alrighty, then." Bradley then drank his 'personally concocted' drink.
"Good choice." Bridon, who was watching the whole introduction from behind, remarked. "It's 70% pure alcohol. Avoid it at all costs."
"Okay, enough with the introductions." Kenny intercepted. "I gotta do some paperwork to make you the official member of our crew. And in the meantime…" Kenny took a breath. "I think you should take a shower of something, Stan. You smell awful."
"What? I already had one in the motel." Stan protested.
"Oh, really? Then maybe we should give you some new clothes, then." He then faced Bebe. "Check the storage room for some spare clothes. I'm sure there are some that are of his size."
Bebe grinned. "I'll look for some extra tight ones."
"Bebe, not now." Kenny said in an exasperated tone.
"I was joking." Bebe then made her way to a room across the place. "I'll call you when they're ready, handsome."
"Uh…o…kay…" She somehow gave Stan some uneasy feelings.
"This is never getting easier." Kenny shook his head in defeat. "Anyways, I'll be in the office filling out some forms. In the meantime, get familiar with everyone. Cheers." Then he disappeared to the room that he originally came from.
"Uh…" Stan now was left with three other people in his crew: Bridon, Gary, and Bradley. "Excuse me, but are there any other people in the crew? I mean, when I think about a group like this, I tend to expect a few more."
"Well I'm afraid that's all." Gary replied. "People are attracted to money, and we're not exactly running the most prosperous business in the town."
"…I see."
"We used to have a lot more, though." Bridon hopped into the conversation. "Six more. All chicks. You know, Kenny is really into big tits and all."
Stan narrowed his eyes. "Big tits?"
"He's crazy about them, man." Bridon said jockingly. "When we were at least financially solvent, he spent the whole day in bed with pairs of boobs. You really should have been there, because he makes it so loud that-"
"I can hear you!"
Kenny's voice sounded behind the wooden wall before Bridon could finish his sentence. Flinching, he straightened himself up and continued in a whispering voice. "Well, that's the past anyway. They all left when the Depression hit and he became poor like shit. Now Bebe's the only girl he's left with. And she's not been easy for him."
"Speaking of Bebe," It was Bradley who joined the conversation. "I think she likes you, Stan. I mean, she seems to be really into you. She never acts like today to any one of us."
"Agreed." Gary concurred. "I mean, she's a fine girl. You can start dating her, if you like."
"Well, that's very flattering." Stan answered insincerely. "But I-"
"Your clothes are ready, sweetie." Bebe's voice sounded from inside the storage room.
"Speak of the devil." Bridon laughed. "Go ahead. Don't let her eat you alive."
Stan shrugged and made his way into the room. It was dark and dusty, and only a single light bulb hanging from the ceiling was illuminating the room. There, Bebe was waiting for him with a full new set of his clothes.
"Thank you." He voiced his gratitude as he took the luggage, to which the girl responded with a grin.
Putting the new clothes down on the nearby table, Stan began to remove his old, ragged clothing. When he was working with the buttons on his shirt, he discovered that Bebe was standing in the doorway as if she was watching an interesting show.
"Um, Bebe? I think I can handle it by myself from now on." Stan stared at the girl, watching her scoff and leaving the room and shutting the door closed.
Finally left alone, Stan quickly discarded the rest of his old clothes to the floor and changed to fresh ones newly given to him. He had worried if Bebe prepared the extra tight clothes as she said she would, but they fit him quite nicely. They kinda smelled of dust, probably because they have been left in the room for a long time, but he figured that they definitely smelled better than the old ones he had been wearing. Finishing up the tie, he stepped outside to be greeted by others.
"Man, you're a completely different person now." Bridon remarked.
"Clothes make the man." that was from Gary.
"No, it's the man that makes the clothes." That was from Bebe, who was forming a very satisfying smile on her face. "The same clothes would look shitty on you guys."
Before Stan could come up with a response, the phone rang.
"I'll take it." It was Kenny, who was still on the other side of the wall. The phone went silent soon as he picked it up.
"So, you're the son of late Randall Marsh." It was Bradley who brought up the topic that Stan couldn't say he favored.
"Yeah." He wished to make the topic as short-lived as possible. "I don't usually like talking about it, though."
"Oh, I'm sorry." He answered. "I just wanted to tell you that many people still remember your father."
"They do?"
"Of course, man." It was Bridon who answered. "Without him, the DeLorns are running the city as they like. The Marshes were the only family that stood up against them."
Stan's gaze fell to the floor. "Well, that's probably the reason why he got killed."
Gary put his hand on his shoulder. "Don't get too cynical, kid. He was an honorable man."
But the conversation was cut short as Kenny stormed in, pushing the door wide open that it made a loud thudding noise when it hit the wall.
"Okay, boys, it seems we've got ourselves a problem." Kenny announced in a serious tone as he approached the rest of the members of his crew.
"What problem?" Stan asked.
Kenny looked around the people and took a heavy breath before he continued on. "The Petuskis have been hit. Their godfather, DogPoo, is dead. We don't have the full details, but we're suspecting the DeLorns. Mr. Tucker called for an emergency meeting of all middle bosses, and we need all hands available to protect him from possible attacks. End of brief."
Shit. Although Stan was not familiar how Mafia politics worked, he could see that it was a very serious matter.
"Bradley, Bebe," Kenny pointed at each of them. "You two shut the place down and be on guard. Contact me at the slightest sign of trouble."
"Yes, sir." The two immediately followed his orders and made themselves busy.
"Gary, Stan, you two are following me. And," Kenny looked at Bridon. "I'm leaving the decision up to you. If you need some time off-"
"I still have the other arm, sir." Bridon stood up from his seat.
"Good. You're tagging along, too." Kenny then beckoned the three of them. "Gary, you're driving. Be careful, the storm's being a bitch."
"You can count on me." Gary replied, grabbing car keys from under the bar table.
Stan closely followed Kenny and other members to the black sedan parked along the road, and he suddenly found the situation quite amusing. "Funny."
"What's funny?" Kenny looked behind at him.
"When I first arrived at the city today, I had no idea who I was going to bump into." Stan scoffed. "And look at me. I join your crew, and now I'm sucked into a possible Mafia warfare." He chuckled a little. "It's like, crazy. You'll never know what will happen next."
"Welcome to New York City." Kenny smiled back at him. "By the way, nice clothes."
XxXxX
A/N: Sorry it took forever to update this chapter. I've entered the finals period for my Winter Session, and it kept me very busy. I took two classes, one from 1-4PM and the other from 6:30PM to 8PM, after which I just passed out. College may be the time and place for everything, but only up until you're freshmen. College life gets harder when you have to start worrying about getting your job and paying back student loans. *sigh* The exam ends on Monday, so hopefully I can assume a much faster pace to finish this story before spring—hopefully—.
This chapter got very long, and definitely too long for my taste. I once considered breaking this into two different parts, but I didn't want to be seen as dragging on, especially with the beginning part of the story that tends to be very boring. At least I hope it makes up for the long wait. As I promised, something has finally started to happen at the end of the chapter. Brace yourselves to see familiar faces in the next one :D
For those who are not familiar with the names appearing in this chapter, they are mostly one-time or minor characters. E.g.
Jason: a minor character that sometimes can be seen hanging out with the Craig's Gangs.
Bridon: a one-timer from "Elementary School Musical"
Gary: a one-timer from "All About Mormons"
Bradley: featured as the superhero Mint-berry Crunch in the Coon trilogy. (Not the one from "Cartman Sucks" who goes by the same name Bradley.)
And God, I cannot thank you enough for sticking with me and leaving reviews: kenny and kyle, lily's mom09, A. T. Vio, Skaminski, xIcedRainbowsx. I should probably PM each one of you to extend my thanks later when I'm done with the exams.
Cheers,
-Jack Colquitt.