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ChapterOne
"God, this is so boring," I exclaim as I wait in the car next to Marco. I pump up the volume to R.E.M.'s "Losing My Religion" and hum along.
"How much longer do you think, Marco?" I ask, stretching my hands over my head dramatically.
"I told you already, my name's not Marco," Marco replies.
I stare out at the desolate street. It's 2 a.m. in Southie (or South Boston if you're from out of town) and we are currently parked next to an Irish Catholic church.
"I'm choosing my confessions..."the song continues.
There aren't any lights on as far as my eye can see. The group that is currently ruining my evening cut power to the block to make sure the city security cameras don't make us easy targets.
Not that we don't already have enough people on our payroll in the police department. But, we try not to make being a rat an even shittier job than it already is.
"You have to be Marco," I say to Marco. "Marco is the person who comes with me on my clean-up jobs," I reply to him.
"Marco was busy. I'm filling in," Marco says.
"No, you don't understand," I reply, tapping the dashboard of the Lincoln Navigator we are currently sitting in. The rich leather thuds against my callused fingers, the sound reverberating through the car.
"Marco is my partner on jobs. I don't give a fuck what you think your name is. For tonight, you're Marco."
"Whatever you say, boss," Marco replies.
I bark out a laugh. "I'm just fucking with you. I know your name is Tony. Tony and Teddy waiting around for text messages."
"...losing my religion..."
I can tell that Tony is growing uncomfortable, which only makes me want to mess with him more. Messing with people is in my nature, and it is one hell of a way to pass the time.
"So, Marco, I mean Tony," I correct myself with a wink. "Tell me, how did you become a soldier for the Maldonado Family?"
"I grew up in Back Bay," he says, referring to the North Side of Boston. "I've been doing this since I was a kid."
"And you're only a Marco-lookalike after all these years?" I goad.
His jaw twitches, and I can tell that I hit a nerve. "Sorry, sorry," I laugh, holding up my hands. "That was a dick thing of me to say."
He doesn't reply.
I'm not surprised. My brothers, Primo and Constantino, both took more of a "man in charge" attitude when it came to the family business. It kept people like Tony in line.
I, on the other hand, know I'm not "Don of the Mafia Crime Syndicate" material, and I'm okay with that. Up until recently, both of them wanted the job so badly I'm pretty sure if someone told them all they had to do was cut off their left nut for it, they'd willingly splice and dice.
Of course, now things have changed. My oldest brother, Primo, had to go and fall in love with his lawyer and knock her up. She made him promise to go legitimate or he'd never see the baby. So, of course, he agreed.
Then Giovanni took over, thinking he was going to take the family clean. He did for a while, but then he married a mob princess and is helping her run the Cuban mob down in South Florida. So, that was a bit of a 180.
In his infinite wisdom, he pissed off the Irish and then dumped the problem on me. Which has led to not-so-great consequences, because I don't really know what the hell I'm doing.
"...that's me in the spotlight..."
The actual Marco, the one that usually goes with me on these jobs, has been helping me try to run things, but even with his help, stuff is messed up. It almost makes me wish Constantino was around.
Almost.
He is sort of a rageaholic and did murder a made man. But, hey! It is the mob, so not like it hasn't happened before.
