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Brood of a New Age

49.

Graziella looked at the front page of the newspaper, which was taped to the bulletin board and had five darts stuck in it.

It showed the picture of the gargoyle that was also on the Quarrymen posters and looked very different from Nashville. Much meaner and huge and full of muscles. Goliath. The leader of Nash's family. Supposedly very nice. She read the headline of the Daily Tattler's article of 15 May. 1997.

GTF CAPTURE GARGOYLE

Tattler proven correct! Gargoyles exist! Stone by day, terrors by night!

Graziella wrinkled the corners of her mouth in disgust at this lie. Gargoyles were not terror! Nashville was cool and nice and he had said his family was okay too.

She peeked through the glass that connected this office space to the body shop at her dad, who was arguing loudly with another employee next to Mister Glasses. It was the first time she was allowed to see one of her dad's businesses and then she was shooed through the interesting workshop and parked here in the office. But only until Mister Glasses was done here - then he would resume his way to her home to drop her off. No more Mister Joey, who must have been mad at her for beating up his son. Then he shouldn't have raised him to be such an asshole, Graziella thought, and was perfectly content if she never had to deal with anyone from that family again.

The day before yesterday, her stay in Hoboken had been wonderful. When Barbara aka. Bunny had opened the door for her (with a face like she was letting the devil himself in), Graziella had walked through the house, past the wives who were whispering but keeping their distance. In the garden, all the children (except Alessio, because he was allowed to stay home for a few days) had looked up from what they were doing as if their worst nightmare had arrived. Graziella had found out something new about herself - that she loved those facial expressions! This anxious silence, curious but also fearful in anticipation of what she - the new unofficial pack leader - would do.

Graziella had just been about to order them to be nice and quiet because she was tired, when Sonny had shouted from an upper window that she could come into his room. The room was remarkably empty. Shadows could be seen where posters had been removed from the walls. No television, no computer, no radio, not a single toy did Graziella see. Only his school books and other things children needed to learn. Presumably, his parents had taken away everything that could give him the slightest pleasure because of the smut issue.

But with a conspiratorial smile, Sonny had pulled out of the far corner of his closet, hidden in a box full of old giant shoes that fitted his giant feet, a stack of magazines and big-boy comics. He called the comics mangas and you had to read the pages backwards, from left to right. Graziella didn't know what to do with Sailor Moon or Wedding Peach, but she thought Dragonball was okay. Sonny, on the other hand, had spent a long time poring over every single page of Vanity Fair. Graziella had fallen asleep reading the comics and only woke up when her driver of the day honked downstairs. And today it had been much the same in Hoboken. Except for Sonny, she was shunned like Satan shunned holy water. And she loved every second in which this respect was shown to her. Sonny had made no comment about what had happened four days ago. It was as if they had made a contract that no one would ever talk about again.

That's why Graziella was looking forward to the minute Mister Glasses would be done here. Obviously, in America you had to treat the employees pretty roughly to get them to do a good job, because just now Mister Glasses had grabbed the man in the oil-smeared overall by the collar and pushed him into the engine compartment of a half-unbolted car to show him something. Graziella turned away from the window, bored and sure that none of the adults would come right now.

She pushed one of the chairs in the office in front of the bulletin board, climbed on it, put one hand on the newspaper article, and with the other gently pulled the darts out of Gargoyle Goliath's face. Why hadn't Nashville told her that one of his relatives had also served time in prison? That was something else she and he had in common. Tony had been in prison, too. But why was this article hanging here anyway? And why had the picture been used as a target? Maria had said that no businessman in New York liked gargoyles, but this was really mean. She felt the need to tell Tony that even though gargoyles were bad for business, they were important. That they helped people. That they caught bad men and criminals. But she wasn't sure how to tell her father without revealing that a gargoyle was her best friend.

She almost toppled from the chair when the door opened behind her. Glasses and Tony came in and where she feared, as she jumped from the chair, that the two men would be angry that she had climbed onto a chair with shoes on and freed Goliath's picture from darts, a smile showed on her father's face.

"Ah! Dolly. Do you want to try it too?"

"What?"

He pointed to the set of darts in her hand. "Well, to shoot the monster. With the darts."

"Unfortunately, only with the darts," muttered Glasses. Graziella wanted to kick them both in the shins and enlighten them that gargoyles were NOT monsters. That even her bestest friend in America was a gargoyle. But in doing so, she would have betrayed him. And she would never do that. And if the newspapers here were spewing out such lies about "terrors by night", then it was clear that her dad and everyone thought they were monsters too.

She gritted her teeth, seething inside, wanting to put the darts down on the table.

"No, I don't think darts is for me," she said quietly. But her father grabbed her by the shoulders, turned her toward the bulletin board with the newspaper clipping. "Nonsense!" he said cheerfully. "Throw a few times. It's easy."

"I don't think I-."

"You're going to refuse me? And I thought you'd like to throw a few darts with your old man. Here I'll show you." He took a few steps back with her. With her mouth open, she watched as he held one of the arrows he had taken from her at the level of his head, took aim, and threw the dart. It landed in the wing of the photo-gargoyle.

"Wohoooo!" her father shouted, and Glasses clapped unenthusiastically. "Now the flap-jack is going to crash! Yes. See, Dolly? It's fun. And it's good practice."

"Practice for what?" she asked. Her father didn't answer, pressing a dart into her hand.

"Now you. Be a good girl. Make me proud," he crooned, stepping behind her. She felt him behind her like he was giving off burning radiation and she bit her lip convulsively in disgust. She didn't want this. She didn't want to hurt a gargoyle - not even on paper. That would be ... like hurting Nashville. But her father had said - or at least implied - that he could be proud of her. She wanted to be a good girl and please him. Because if their relationship got better ... then she would certainly find him less awful. She decided to throw, but only to scratch the gargoyle. Or even to hit the writing. That way her dad would see that she was at least trying. And if she missed by miles he would say something stupid like Okay, this is not for girls. And forget about it. So Graziella raised her hand with the dart - to the same height as she had just seen her father do. She squeezed her eyes shut and threw - and heard her father and Glasses cheering.

"What?" she said, opening her eyes and seeing with horror that she had hit. She almost fell forward as her father patted her on the back as if she were a good buddy. "I don't believe it! Right in the face! You see that, Glasses?"

The black man grinned wryly and waved it off.

"Just a lucky shot, Tony. Beginner's luck."

"Phaa, we'll see about that. Five on a second hit?"

"Deal," said Glasses, leaning back in the chair he'd sat down in, confident of victory.

.

.

Pal Joey just came back from his task to collect the money of the different bagman. A dull task, which lasted every time into the evening. Already last month all the errand boys, who thought to use Tony's imprisonment to take it with their tasks not quite so exactly, had been called to order. Two of them had even siphoned off money for themselves and were now sleeping in cement shoes in the East River. So far, everyone was back on track. Except for what Billy had told him - the stuff about this new guy in the turf who had wanted to pick up protection money from one of the tiniest fish. That was strange. But now several weeks had passed and this guy who had brazenly claimed to be part of the family hadn't shown up. Dante. There wasn't a single Dante in the syndicate. Not that he knew of. And then this guy had asked a bunch of questions about Gargoyles and Quarrymen and Dracon itself. And would have left the envelope with the money at the end, though. So no loss for the family. But still - strange. Probably it was nothing and it was good that he hadn't let any of it slip to Tony.

But what annoyed him - immensely annoyed him - was that Alessio had been beaten up. His son! Beaten up by a little girl! She had broken his nose and he was still green and blue today! Francesca had dragged him to the hospital and had him x-rayed because she had been persuaded by the other chicks that he might have a concussion. And the whole time, the whole damn day and until he had come home and beyond, his son had been crying like a sissy! None of the Panucchi men wailed! Especially not because he had taken some beating from a puta! What was wrong with this girl? Had she inherited the insanity of her lovesick mother? Or was she just ... born to be cold-blooded?

He didn't blame Tony for not punishing her. Hell, if it wasn't his own son, he'd be laughing so hard at this. It was SO ridiculous. And SO humiliating. Within days, word would have spread that Dracon's little princess had "hospitalized" a boy almost twice her age (`Alessio Panucchi- you know, Pal Joey's son`, they'd say). He himself could hardly look at his Alessio out of shame. Maybe Glasses would like to swap sons? Better a strong faggot than a blubbering wimp. No, rather not.

Pal Joey slammed the car door loudly just to get rid of some frustration and decided to sign Alessio up for an intensive karate course tomorrow. Or boxing. Or anything else. And only when he got his black belt there, or anything else worthwhile, would Joey feel better. He hoped he would. More muscle building and punching techniques - less Quarrymen. The latter gave the right brutal mindset but no fighting experience or strength. Not in the age group Alessio was in. He would make the boy strong yet. That he could really kick the next guy's (or girl's, by God) ass.

He got to the Chop shop where all the guys from Dracon were gathering these days and meetings were being held- and was stunned to see no one standing by the back door. Usually there was always at least one guy outside to keep watch - inconspicuously so that any passing cops wouldn't immediately smell a fire.

But today - nobody. He walked around the building, opened the back door and ... the hall was also empty. The areas around the jacked up half-gutted cars abandoned, the tools laid down. Something is fishy here, he thought doubtfully, and for the first time the thought of a raid crossed his mind, the indignation that no one had warned him, and the urgent need to get out IMMEDIATELY before a cop jumped out of every hole. Until he heard yelling from the back rooms. And laughter. And hooting.

Suspicious, he trudged down the hall and his pace quickened when he heard overlapping yells again.

"No!"

"I don't believe it!"

"Fuck, my last ten bucks!" rose voices he knew and clearly the voice of his boss. " One more time guys, on the twentieth shot the winning streak ends- maybe."

Joey, now much more curious than anything else marched through the door to the back offices and saw there already a bunch of backs. The whole damn crew of the chop shop seemed to be crammed into this office, all scattered along the walls to give space to what seemed to be a very important person. At the door in particular, a dozen people crowded around to catch a glimpse of what was making everyone roar in the office. What the hell was going on!?

He elbowed three other guys aside, oily and sweaty as they were, and just saw a little girl across the length of the room throwing a dart at the bulletin board that always hung there. And hit the chest of the gargoyle monster from the newspaper - the asshole who had pretended to make common cause with Dracon last year with his Maza sweetheart and then screwed him. And the kid scored, and the room erupted again into a mixture of cheers and screams of horror.

"Damn!" screamed Mickey right next to him, clutching his head. "My wife is killing me - my last twenty bucks!"

In that second Tony, laughing, yanked the girl up so that she was clutching his head in horror, her curls bouncing. It was Graziella, who had almost puked in one of the family cars two weeks ago, and who had beaten the shit out of his son four days ago.

"Well! You dogs! Twenty throws - twenty hits and fifteen of them in the freak's head alone! THAT'S MY daughter!" he shouted, and Joey's jaw dropped at the fact that Tony was not only showing enthusiasm for what was obviously an unusual talent (unusual for a kid, unusual for a girl) but that he was also treating this angel-faced little she-devil like he was truly acknowledging her and not just being coerced into it by Dino because blood was thicker than water after all. And because Tony didn't want it to boil up to an open, inter-family war, after Dino had literally wanted to throw him between the jaws of the Pack when he had been in jail. The planned "collateral damage" would make Dino pay big time - once the boss came up with a plan to get rid of his uncle without the disagreeing syndicate parties bashing each other's heads in. At least Tony hadn't become a Gargoyle fan after that, even if G, as he sometimes called him, had saved his ass. Those freaks were still a cancer in the body of their town and pure business killers.

"My last twenty dollars," Mickey whimpered and reluctantly let Glasses pluck the bills from his hand, who was collecting the betting debts from the idiots who had dared to bet against Tony Dracon's daughter. Damn, he would have been one of the idiots himself if he had come back earlier.

"Well, dude. If you can't lose, don't bet," Glasses purred, then noticed him. "Hy Joey, missed some fun, buddy."

"Eh, no problem."

"So guys," Tony laughed, still balancing the girl on his shoulder who looked like she was about to puke (again. She managed to beat much stronger boys but she couldn't take a little swaying or what?). "Back to work - most of you need to get back to earning money now so your broads don't kill you at home. HopHop."

Sporadically money-counting but mostly whining and grumbling, the crew departed, leaving only two or three others, besides Tony, Graziella and Glasses, of the higher-ranking family members - who were easily distinguishable from the ants of the syndicate by their clean suits anyway. Tony set the girl down but kept his hand on her curly head as if she were not only his child but somehow ... a possession he had to look after.

Everyone present including Pal Joey waited with interest until Glasses counted the crumpled bills.

"That's over three hundred bucks," he then said, handing it to Tony, who whistled appreciatively.

"Not bad for a game. If I ever want a laugh, I'll take the kid to one of our other stores and let her rip people off there."

Tony took probably a third of the bills, rolled them up, and slipped the bundle into the kid's wallet, which hung around her neck as usual. After pocketing the rest of the dough himself, he put his hand under Graziella's chin, forcing her to make eye contact with him. She looked almost petulant but mostly miserable. Which no one seemed to notice.

"That's your share, kiddo. See, I told you it would be fun. And made us money, too. That's the most fun anyway, right?"

The girl nodded with a pale face, and her tense smirk made it hard to tell whether she was smiling out of overwhelm and shame at getting so much attention, or out of genuine satisfaction.

"That you have such a talent! And that was the first time you played that?"

She nodded shyly.

"You should have that girl trained to be a hitman," Joey muttered sarcastically.

But Tony's eyes began to light up. "A hitman- huh? A hitgirl. THAT would be ironic!" He and the other guys laughed, and something flitted across the kid's face that Joey could barely describe. Close to a ... a tinge of pure hatred. Did she know? Or did she suspect it?No, impossible. Kids were too stupid, didn't yet understand adult innuendo.

"I'll think about it. Seems to have a knack for hitting little boys and gargoyles," Tony said through wolfishly bared teeth, and Joey rolled his eyes at the laughter of those present. The only thing that kept him from snapping back, aside from Tony being his boss, was his continued observation of the reactions of this strange kid, who even in gray jeans and a pink t-shirt had something other-worldly about her.

Tony pushed her toward him. "You drive my future top killer home. Glasses and I have a few things to do. Meet us at La Prima.

Pal Joey wanted to disagree. Point out that he didn't want to drive this strange brat - even if it was Tony's own brat - around after what she'd done to Alessio. But he didn't want to seem like HE was scared of this rugrat, too. By then the kid was already turning on her heel and running through the workshop, which was again buzzing with lawbreaking busyness, as if she couldn't wait to get out of here.

Joey pushed Graziella into the back seat of the car where she buckled herself in and he slid into the driver's seat himself.

He started the engine, unobtrusively adjusted the rearview mirror, but only to see what the child was doing now. Her hand was tense on the wallet dangling around her neck. Probably more than a hundred dollars. Incredibly much money for a child. That she had more or less earned through her own talent. Any other brat would be beaming with pride and fidgeting hyperactively, wanting to be driven somewhere to spend the dough on some shit, or at least babbling about what he or she was going to do with the new wealth. Graziella Dracon, however, looked like she had been kicked in the stomach. Like she wasn't the least bit happy.

"Are you going to start wailing now?" he asked rather spitefully.

She turned her head and sparkled coldly at him. Despite the moist eyes, an almost malicious smile stole onto her face that genuinely resembled Tony's.

"How is Alessio?" she asked in a tone that seemed friendly but was equally spiteful. A tone that a little girl shouldn't have.

Pal Joey felt a cold shiver creep up his spine.

"Just drive, Joey," the kid said as if she was tired of any more words or his presence. As if HE was the annoying kid - and she was the adult who was too good for him. Insane like the mother, perhaps. But definitely callous as a Dracon, Joey thought, and just did the job he was told to do.

I hope no one thinks I believe Wedding Peach and Sailor Moon are "big-boy" comics. I just wanted to point out that Graziella doesn't have a clear picture of what is typical female, typical male and what is just "gay", especially when it comes to new things. And about Dragonball - does anyone notice how often in the old comics the fighters were running around with naked torsos? He wouldn't care about the story but Sonny would like the pictures.

Thanks for reading, Q.T.