Originals/Ep2

2 - Simpaticos

''Ah, jeez. Fallen asleep on the couch again''.

Mid-day, curtains pulled, front door left open. He expected as much, arriving back here.

Without much regard for her slumber, he pulls her away from the comforter, carries her in his arms into the bedroom a hallway down to his left. She was heavy—yet she was practically as skinny as he is. Must be the dose knocking her unconscious.

He throws her into the bed, pulls the blinds closed in similar fashion as the living room. She shuffles a bit, but it’s just her responding to the comfort of the pillows and sheets.

No matter what state she’s in, she’s beautiful. Looking past her bruised arms, pale skin—she still has the silky hair, the eyes he loves. He watches her a few seconds more while standing near the bedroom door.

In the next second, her chest quivers upward. Her upper half jolts from the bed like a mad experiment awakening. She covers her mouth, assumes a seating position. She’s gagging.

He scans for the trash bin in the darkness and finds it near the bed side lamp stand. Before he can even hand it to her, she rushes for the bin, dives her head into it and hurls.

He sighs, bends down on one knee and starts to caress her back. “Need a towel?”

She mumbles something along the lines of “no” and “please” with her head glued to the bin—couldn’t quite tell which. “Need anything else?”

She turns to look at him, the darkness—and strands of her messy hair—covering her face. Through it, he can see her shaking her head.

He stands up, lets some light inside the room by opening a sliver of the door. “Clean up, get some sleep.” He slips out, looks at her one last time. “Gotta go to work.”

He closes the door behind him and heads for the living room, hoping to fix the mess she left behind. Shouldn’t be leaving this around for him to see it. Now he knows why the curtains were covering the windows…

He shuffles the items into a black bag, puts it aside, then moves on to the curtains next.

Before finishing up, he goes over to the kitchen. In particular, he stares at the refrigerator and the numerous reminders attached to it. ''Sunset Tropics – Ready for a new beginning? Call Hotline…''

Underneath it was a green-colored card held together by a magnet. 372-9919 – Marissa.

Must’ve been her’s.

He leaves his house expecting the usual—but the fact that his running partner for today is early, and already present… well, it gives him some right to be surprised.

He holds back a laugh, instead sneering as he walks to his car. If it isn’t the light-skin stunner herself…

“Yeah, I’m a lil’ confused, too—” Little Miss Gerry Talabano. Finn couldn’t help but slip his hood on this early upon seeing her. He motions a polite gesture to his beat-up Buick, to which she circles to the passenger side.

No Monty, for today. Not that he’s complaining; man’s a hump, his mind always somewhere else when they’re out in the field. He only hears a few things about Gerry here, even though they have more things in common than they know.

“Where’s Monty at?” Finn dully slips himself in to the driver’s seat, letting his hood fall back upon making seat and mirror adjustments. He turns to look at Gerry just as he inserts the key into ignition.

Uninterested, and already having pushed her seat back, she replies, “Hell if I know…” One second she looks outside of the passenger window, the next she turns to him. “Aren’t you wondering why we’re both in the same car together, put in the same job?”

Can’t say he is. Finn starts the car, looks over behind him and pulls out of his driveway at half-speed. She does have a point, though. Probably the only foreigners of the Pentavino crime syndicate, both in the same car, headed to the same job. What the fuck do they have in store for them now?

“Did Junior talk about anythin’ different for tonight?”

Gerry looks away from Finn, back at her window. “He said you’ll be giving the instructions.”

“Did he also tell ya to put a bomb under my car?...” Gerry oddly turns to him. “Tonight they might finally be tryin’ to snip us. Together.” He chuckles jokingly, and so does Gerry; but she looks away from him unenthused.

“… just a normal street sweep tonight, far as I know. But he wants us to keep an eye out on who’s been makin’ product in our territory.” Junior, a phone call ago, was specific about which dealers to check on, and which street to look out for—all the while being vague on who’s going to be running with him. Not Monty, that’s for sure…

“Just… keep an eye out. Sometimes you just never know what to expect from those Italianos.” They can be a sneaky bunch indeed. This might be just another harmless job… but on the other hand, they could be setting them up. “We both ain’t Italian. As much as I love Junior an’ them, killing time is killing time…” This catches Gerry’s attention briefly.

“You know how we can piss ‘em off? Survivin’ this. Multicultural power an’ all…” Gerry snickers at him. It’d be too soon if they were killed now—he doesn’t hear many bad things about him or Gerry here.

“So… Gerry.” About three more blocks, and they’ll be commencing their rounds. Yes, he doesn’t live very far from it. “Was it really you who lit up Gio’s lawn?...” She doesn’t budge from her seat for a second, but soon enough she glances at him and nods lightly. “Damn. So you were the ‘little thug motherfucker’ they’ve been talkin’ about… worse than me.” He has to admit, that’s pretty daring of her to do. He’d rather not know how she ended up here, though…

“I don’ know what is about ‘Vinos and foreigners. Wise-guys like them tend to be ethnocentric.” She glances at him yet again. “I have heard Gio likes to bend tradition, though… what with his line of work an’ all. Let his real estate speak for itself.” Hyatt Street. They were close.

“Know who our people are on this street?” They could see people standing on corners from the distance—one or two on each sidewalk. Gerry unbuckles her seatbelt. “Deeno,” she simply answers. Finn approvingly nods.

“We don’t need to get out, by the way. I’m jus’ gonna check on his count.” He scans her up and down as he pulls back out of the street slowly. “You strapped?”

Gerry reaches behind her jacket, her right hand on the left side of her waist. “Good. Hope we don’t need it today, though…”

In this time of night, business was starting to slow down. Perfect time for them to gather a bit of intel, too.

Finn slowly pulls up to the right side, closely approaching a gray-sweater twenty-something standing on the edge, two others sitting not too far from him.

“Dee-no,” Finn calls, a little louder to get past Gerry. The sweater man slightly ducks down in level of the car window. “Russo, my man.” He pauses at Gerry briefly.

“How’s the count?” Deeno looks left and right for a quick second.

“Steady. Why, you collectin’ now?”

“Nah, man. Just checkin’ in. You set for this week and next?” Deeno nods silently, starting to take particular interest in Gerry here. “You hire her for muscle?”

“What? You ain’t ever seen Gerry before?” Deeno closely examines Gerry for another second, then leans back a bit.

“Shit—ay, Gerry, girl… I’m sorry, yo—” Gerry is silent the whole time, maybe even taking a bit of pleasure at this. Finn chuckles.

“Hey—hey, you run into any problems today?” Deeno, showing more politeness by straightening his posture and looking only at Finn, shakes his head. “But I heard some Mexicans runnin’ a few others out on Tay Court.”

Dante Court. Two blocks away. “What do they look like?”

Deeno shows difficulty in recalling. “Don’t know,” he says with conviction. “Jus’ heard about it.” Finn and Gerry exchange looks briefly. “Hey—an’ have you heard of any bootleggers out here?” Deeno shrugs. “Aight… thanks. Re-up’s coming this Saturday—keep the sales up.” Finn gives Deeno a quick wave and drives away.

“Y’know what…” Both Finn and Gerry watch Deeno resume business, while Finn minds the way. “I think you gonna need to keep that gun handy after all.”

“So… Gerry.”

Staking out is a patient man’s endeavor. But both Finn and Gerry know the pay-offs.

“How long you been in this job?” She looks at him with a bit of wonder. She though he knew.

“Coming up into my third year. You?” She returns watching the street a block or two away from them, still unable to identify who those two dark-clothed people are.

“So—long enough for you to use that gun and shoot someone without lookin’ back, right?” Finn faces Gerry and finds her to be pondering this question. “Yeah. Junior told me somethin’ ‘bout it… told me how you gotta be reliable in front of a judge down the line.” So he knows. Can’t say she’s proud of it, especially in this line of work, but she isn’t complaining either.

“It’s not that easy in this job. I’m sure you at least had to do somebody in. Right?” Gerry turns to him like she isn’t proud about it. “He wasn’t budging. I was out of options.” Was the most stubborn motherfucker she knew.

Finn smirks, understanding of what she’s talking about. “Knew it. How’d he come out of it?” The two return to watching the hoppers, who have somehow grown in numbers—from two to four.

“Crutches.” Both Finn and Gerry share a laugh.

Gerry can’t say she recognizes the people in this street—one she’s seen probably one or two times. She’s more active in a different part of town—but the people are the same. Scum of the earth, unwillingly indebted to them, unable to get out of it. She collects, and she does it with minimal violence—more through civil persuasion. She scares herself sometimes when she carries out the deed.

This, though… Finn’s keen observation of the corner is telling her that her approach—their approach—is going to be different.

“Yeah. Yeah. Those look like the Mexicans Deeno was talkin’ about.” Finn scratches the bottom corner of his cheek, bates his breath. “They took that corner by force.” He tensely gives Gerry a few glances. “We need that corner back. They might know somethin’ we don’t, either…” He mutters a few other ineligible words. Gerry’s heart races by the second.

“You ready to kill anyone tonight?” Might be anxiety. Might be stress. He doesn’t want to miscalculate what they’re dealing with. Gerry is filled with dread, but she doesn’t show one bit of it outwardly. “Whatever needs doing,” she replies flatly.

“Let’s hope it doesn’t get that bad… hope they don’t got any guns bigger than ours.” Gerry gives him a look, like he has a plan of some sort.

“Alright. Here’s the play.”

Two on the corner itself. Two others shrouded in the dark, dimly lit, on the sidewalk opposite.

She walks up to the baggy blue shirt, gold-chain man rubbing his hands together. She tries to run the act in her head, which gets more absurd the closer she gets; walk like a 14-year-old trying to get an autograph. Before she nearly breaks her cover at this thought, she reaches him.

“Mamita. You buyin’?” She suspiciously looks between the sidewalks, coming out more nervous than observant.

“Lemme copp three,” she replies, and the man understandably nods. There was something really calm about him, more so than the three others that accompany him. He puts up three fingers to one of the others on the opposite side; the smaller one with the windbreaker in particular vanishes into the alley behind them.

It was cold. Dark. They were outnumbered two-to-one, and she hasn’t even found their weapons yet. Regardless, she acts like she’s freezing. Plan B might come up after all.

“I ain’t tryin’ to judge or nothin’, but—you know drugs are bad, right?” What? She glares at him awkwardly but she holds it back soon enough; while at it, she catches a none-too-friendly glance at the adolescent behind gold chain here.

“You buyin’ for a friend?”

She pauses briefly, and shakes her head. “You still look healthy, girl. Drugs gonna be bringin’ that beauty down. But that’s jus’ the first stage. Pretty soon you’ll lose your livelihood…” It’s hard to tell who’s got the weapon, or weapons, here—each and every one of them aren’t showing it well enough. She’s betting it’s the guy behind him…

“… I know what I do is bad, but there’s jus’ some people who need it, you know? You, you look like you jus’ started using.” Finally, the windbreaker boy emerges from the alley.

The man speaking wisdom here stops the boy at his tracks, holding his hand up at him. “There’s more to this shit here. Are you sure you want to keep doing this?” Gerry turns to him, holds back her confusion. Just as she sneaks a glance past him, he sees his shadow. “It’s your livelihood—”

Gerry snatches the gun from her waist, points it to gold chain’s chest. “I’m sorry my dude, but I need you to keep calm.”

Finn leaps to the adolescent and subdues him with the butt of his gun—in this case, a two-handed pump shotgun.

“Drop it,” he calmly asks, intently pointing the barrel end at the two other kids on the sidewalk—the windbreaker kid trembles and quickly lies down on the ground, plants his face on the cement and crosses his hands behind him. There really is something terrifying about a deranged-looking white boy holding a big fucking gun.

“What the fuck is this…?” the gold chain, on bended knee in front of Gerry, mutters. She refuses to look at him, instead keeping her eyes out at the teen crying in pain on the ground.

“Got it—” Finn, one hand on the shotgun, comes up with a handgun hidden behind the other kid’s seat—a beat-up wooden crate. He nods at the windbreaker kid next to him to follow suit, but he only looks up in fear.

“Gun comin’ your way—” Finn calls Gerry’s attention with a low whistle and quickly flings the confiscated firearm at her; she catches it with her free hand.

“And three, two…” Gerry slowly walks away, her own gun still pointed at the man, exchanging positions with Finn. Once her foot makes contact with the opposite sidewalk, she aims a gun at each kid respectively. The windbreaker boy still continues to tremble.

Finn, settled that the only other teenager is subdued, looks to who the gold-chained adult of this corner. He pumps his shotgun and points it at his head. “You fucked up a lot here, friend, taking a Pentavino co—” He squints his eyes, and pauses in disbelief.

“Meloso?” The man looking at the barrel to his face switches focus.

“Finn… what the fuck—” Finn slightly averts his head, but his fire stance never falters.

Gerry, concentrated on the young ones, crouches down at the stubborn one in particular. She makes sure her own gun stays closely visible to his eyes. “C’mon, kid. Follow your friend here.” He slowly turns to look at his more cowardly comrade, who has chosen to kiss the concrete. He turns back at Gerry and slowly folds his arms. Gerry nods assuringly.

“Mel wh—why the fuck did you take our corner?...”

“Sh-shit… Finn—please—you don’t gotta be shootin’ me for it—”

“Finn—” Gerry, her guns only somewhat pointed, looks at him. “You know this guy?”

Finn’s forehead moisturizes—just as much as his victim. “Finn—c’mon man—you don’t need to—”

“I—I offered this guy a deal—a spot far, far away from here.” He turns back to Meloso. “What the fuck are you doing up here?”

“L—look—they j—just gave me this to me n—no questions asked. I—I he—”

“What happened to Scar and his crew? Where’re they now?” He pumps his shotgun to seal this question.

“He’s still alive—they just scared him away, shot the place up… some had to go to the hospital—” Finn pushes the barrel into his chest. “I swear to God, Finn, they just scared them off!” He surveys the crew he has right now—by the looks of it, nobody’s coming to their aid.

“There’s no way you pulled that off with this crew. Scar’s got more people…”

“It wasn’t us. Like I said—it was empty when they put us here—”

Finn glances at Gerry, who looks to be listening along with him.

He sighs, looks at Meloso’s eyes. He turns to Gerry and nods behind him. She starts to walk back, guns still pointed.

“You’re a good man, Mel. I’m sure you know how I feel about people who lie to me…” He himself starts to walk back, trailing Gerry closely.

“If you don’t hear from me again—you’re dead!” Upon reaching a good distance, the two turn around and start running, darkness consuming them into the next street.

“You know that guy?” Gerry exclaims through shaky breath. Finn stays mute, piecing together what information he can.

“Finn—answer me!”

So many questions, so little time. He’s been quiet this whole drive, and now this… they were enemies in this territory.

Finn, without further word, has driven to the opposite side of the city, in this particular bar… she knows it just as much as Finn does, but what she doesn’t know is why they’re marching right into it. There may be at least one or two people willing to shoot her in there…

Los Simpáticos. Friendly at an outer glance. Inside, she never wanted to find out…

Gerry apprehensively looks around the quiet streets while she trails Finn, who seems to be acting on his own at this point. “Finn—” she calls, and it passes by his ears.

She grabs his arm and tugs him back just as he reaches the door. “What are you not telling me? What are we doing here?” He gives her a puzzled, yet fierce look. He easily shrugs her grip away. “Everything’s gonna make sense soon. Just…” He walks closer to the door and pushes it open. “Get inside.”

They were greeted by pre-recorded mariachi music, and a scene of people who enjoy drinking left and right. She tries her best to stay near Finn as they squeeze through numerous others for a way through. Soon enough, they reach the bar.

Finn looks left, then right, and finds him. He walks to the edge of the bar and taps at the shoulder of a particular man—one with a well-groomed haircut, goatee, and leather jacket.

He turns away from his drink—a beer bottle—and curves his eyebrows. “Finnigan, my man—” He apprehensively glances at Gerry behind him. “What brings you here at this hour?” Finn glances at Gerry and nods. He sits on the stool next to this man.

“Somethin’ just came up. At—” He glances at Gerry again, still hesitant to sit down. “—at our turf. I need answers…” The goatee man can’t seem to get rid of his paranoia surrounding Gerry.

“I—uh—believe we haven’t met. Fernando.” He puts a hand up, and she just looks at it.

“What the hell is this, Finn?” Exasperated, he sighs.

“Fernando’s a friend, Gerry. Now sit the fuck down and give the waitresses some room.” She doesn’t budge—instead, she stomps out to the door. “She’s friendly,” Fernando remarks. Finn scratches the back of his head, runs his palm down his face, then stands up. “… c’mon.”

“Look. You ain’t the only one holding back on spilling blood here.” The three have found themselves outside; Fernando, intent on getting back his drink, Gerry looking to go home, and Finn doing his best to keep this new partnership together.

“I’ve been—tryin’ to find ways to keep the peace between our territory and their’s. Fernando well—he’s been helpin’ me out. Looks on their side for me and shit. Helps me determine my next move.”

She’s been made to believe that they’re the enemy. And yet, here’s Finn… here’s Fernando, still refusing to shoot her.

“Fernando here… he—he hates the cartel just as much as you and me. Just as much as the Pentavinos and—the people higher above us.” Gerry starts to look at him.

“He’s… fed up, too. But you an’ I know it ain’t easy to leave this life. You—you stay, doing what you can—do right by your people while you’re in it.” She turns away to look distantly.

“So we do what we can to get by. Right now I—I’m just…” He runs his hand through his mouth and sighs. “I’m just not tryin’ to break my cover.” Fernando looks to have forgotten his drink for a second, intently listening to them now while he stands in the background.

“You got somethin’ outside of this here. Me and Fernando do too. We’re all in the same boat. I know it…” Finn walks in front of Gerry. “Junior, Gary... the boss—they can’t know. You gotta help me out here.” He glances at Fernando for assistance, but all he could offer is a look of concern.

Finn sighs, turns away from Gerry to approach Fernando. “Look—I—I don’t know where she’s standin’ right now. But we got somethin’ much more pressing here…—” Fernando looks to be trying to communicate something to Finn through eyes alone. “What the fuck did I get ourselves into…” Finn whispers.

“I’m in.”

Finn turns around, finds Gerry approaching them. “Whatever you guys got here…” There’s some hesitation in her face, but it’s just the residual loyalty—or lack thereof—showing. “… is clearly something I ain’t ever seen. But I’m in.” She looks to Fernando most of all. “Gerry. I… I collect from some people up here.” She puts up a hand at him.

Fernando brightens up a tad, returns a shake. “Fernando. And I respect your work.” Finn, displaying relief, exchanges looks between the two. “Now can we please go back inside so I can finish my drink?...”

The three are back at the bar, now at their own table, Finn just about finishing up his explanation while Fernando finishes his third drink. Gerry insisted on a water instead.

“So what you’re telling me is… they were trying to set you up—and kill a friend? Am I hearing this right…” Finn can’t say Meloso is his friend, but he respects him well enough for his kindness.

“He’s got a crew full of pups. There’s no way he can run Scar out. I promised him that spot—and Scar’s tough.” Fernando thinks on it for a moment. “Shit. Scar…” Now there’s no telling if he’s going to seek revenge on him or the right people. Maybe he’s just getting more paranoid…

“If you ask me, Finnigan… there’s a lot of guessing here right now. We need to follow up on what you left behind.” Fernando glances at the watch on his wrist. “I can still look for Mel. As for you and Scar…” Finn looks at Gerry, who gently nods.

Fernando looks at his drink one last time, and decides to drink it to the last drop. He slams the bottle into the table and receives a shoulder pat from Finn. “Go ahead,” Fernando urges. “We’re wasting minutes…” Finn gives a handshake to Fernando, prompting Gerry to do the same.

“Gerry.” Fernando grips Gerry’s hand for a second then lets go right away. “Drop by here again sometime—” He glances at Finn while he says this. “—I want to see how well you can play pool.”

What a night. There she is, expecting to be home by now, numbing her brain in front of a computer screen so she could go to sleep. Instead, she’s assisting a probable conspirator for the cartel—recognized as the enemy for as long as she’s been doing this.

Finn, to her side, drives furiously into the night, headed to the same direction they ran from. “Scar’s usually hangin’ around the same bar… I’m getting the feeling he doesn’t wanna see me right now.” He gives Gerry a few hesitant glances.

“Sorry for draggin’ you into this. I—know it doesn’t make sense. I thought it would—we’re two non-Italians in an Italian business.” Gerry is amused by the thought, but she turns to her passenger window to mask it from Finn. “You go to work every day thinkin’ it’ll be your last. Me and Fernando struck a deal to make sure there’s less to expect.

“You in here to pay a debt—I got here because I stole from them.” This catches Gerry’s attention. “Stole from their stash for as long as I can remember. Look at me. Do I look healthy?” Shrunken eyes, practically skin and bones… “Instead of makin’ me sleep with the fishes—they put me to work. Made me steal for them.”

The area they’re driving in starts to look more familiar inch by inch. Downtown, where the dirt is done. “You and me, Gerry—we’re expendable.” They start to slow down as Finn reaches a particular block—one filled with bars and clubs side by side.

“Ain’t no special treatment for us. When somethin’ goes wrong, we’ll be the first to go.” Finn pulls up at the curb and comes to a complete halt. Eyes look to be on that bar to their left; unpleasant individuals coming and going. “I’m just thinkin’ for the long term here.”

He didn’t need to go far to find Meloso in his crew—they’re posted up at what looks to be their hang-out spot, two blocks down, lounging about in the open.

Fernando’s had to drive here as soon as he can, just so he won’t miss a surprise or two. Nothing out of the ordinary, it seems—in fact, they look to be counting up their profits for the day.

He gives it about a few hours more before he finds a new development. He pins it down to them running, or most likely telling one of the captains something about it… Meloso, don’t you dare disappoint.

Finnigan was right about his crew. What’s with him picking children for his security? Is he looking for successors?

He can’t say he really knows much about this man. His job lies not in surveying their dealers—he needs to get demoted a few times to do so. No. Meloso’s post is far lower from what he does.

And that is probably why he is starting to phase out. There must be someone higher he can reach to get a quicker answer. That, or… just post as a crewman to Meloso and ask him straight up.

Fernando continues to contemplate this in the comfort of his car, parked in between two other ones for a decent camouflage.

What the fuck. Finnigan was right.

He recognizes that car pulling up to them. A black SUV, xenon lights, artificial bull skull on the front bumper. He doesn’t know who is driving, but it is definitely someone in his level or higher. Captains don’t show themselves in the streets…

He takes out a pair of binoculars from the compartment to have a closer look.

But the deed is already done.

''Two. Three. Five shots'', and down they all go. He’s familiar with the distinct sound of silenced shots, especially in a quiet night like this.

''Ski masks. Of course.'' He sees two other masked gentlemen shroud the corpses in plastic wrapping, while a third guy—gloved, holding the gun—oversees it all.

Finnigan has to know.

It’s dark, late, and his hunger is creeping up.

Finnigan doesn’t want to be here, and yet he holds on. Business in the bar continues despite the late hour. He can’t really blame Scar for posting out here—in fact, he’s tempted to leave his car and get a cold one.

He hears faint snoring to his side. Gerry has dozed off in her seat; her head is still up, but her eyes are closed. At least someone else share his sentiment.

He can’t really blame her, with his cautiousness becoming more pointless by the minute, and the low tune of throwback hip-hop on the radio.

Fuck this. First thing in the morning, he’s going to look for him, without Gerry. He’s dragging her down with him on this. She didn’t ask for any of it.

He lightly taps her on the side of her arm—her eyes open halfway, half-trying to hide the fact that she just had a power nap, half-embarrassed for awakened.

“We’re leaving,” Finn simply says. “I’ll continue this on my own.”