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Casey Jones · (09-05-2013)

Jones hit the cold floor of the motel car park hard. His Children were warned back not so much by the two men in front clutching semi-automatic pistols, but by Jones himself. He had urged his children not to intervene, whatever happened. Only he knew what had to be done.

If any ordinary person learned that the most notorious gangster in the entire Midwest was after them, they would take numerous actions. They would run, for instance, maybe hide their loved ones or leave the country. Casey Jones did none of those things. Upon learning that Kade Gaspari wanted to ‘teach him a lesson’, he merely sat in his armchair and waited for him to arrive. Now, as he felt the solid floor, he glanced up and saw that Gaspari had decided to make his Children watch. That was all a part of Jones’ plan anyway. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the gangster move closer to him, before the steel toes of Gaspari’s expensive dress shoes were plunged into his ribs.

“You like that, dickbag?” he sneered. A rhetorical question, Jones presumed. Beatings weren’t really his ‘thing’.

“Not particularly” Jones responded calmly. “I would prefer it if you stopped”

“A wiseguy, huh?” Gaspari laughed to his henchmen.

“I have been referred to as wise before, thank you for-“ began Jones, but he was cut off by a forearm to the back of the neck. His knees buckled and he fell face first to the floor. He felt a crunch; presumably his nose. His suspicions were confirmed when he felt a warm metallic taste force its way into his mouth.

“Awwww, looks like the baby got himself a runny nose”

Jones opened his mouth to speak again but shut it quickly. He knew it was his fault, the beating. That was why he had opted to take it in front of the Children. He had grown lazy, he should’ve considered the possibility that Old Joe, the man who’s motel Jones ‘acquired’, had connections. True, Joe wasn’t around that much anymore, but word spread like wildfire.

“You’re gonna give Joe his motel back, aren’t you? You’re gonna work there on weekends to help him clean it up, aren’t you?” Gaspari shouted, knocking Jones to the floor again. Jones saw his glasses smash to the ground, and shot his head up.

“There may be a slight problem with that…” Jones tried to say.

“Oh? And what the fuck ‘problem’ is that?” Gaspari responded, slapping the back of Jones’ head.

“Please stop striking me…” Jones said timidly, Gaspari’s irritating behaviour distracting him.

“Or what? Whatcha’ gonna do? Huh? Huh?”

Gaspari punctuated each word with a slap to Jones’ head. He attempted a third slap, but Jones moved so quickly Gaspari didn’t even see it. Jones quickly struck Gaspari in the solar plexus with his palm, causing the gangster to fall to a knee in shock and surprise. With the grace of a champion martial artist Jones sprung to his feet, knocking the pistol away from Gaspari’s waist. He immediately grabbed the gangster’s outstretched arm, placing his knee in the shoulder joint and wrenching back, snapping the arm immediately. Gaspari sunk to the floor, howling in pain.

“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YA’ WAITING FOR? SHOOT THE PRICK” he screamed to his henchmen, turning his head around sharply to look at them. “My fuckin’ arm…”

The two henchmen looked back at him, dopily.

“DO IT” Gaspari screeched, but to his horror and surprise the two men just slumped to the ground, conscious but disorientated, a dazed look on their faces. As they sunk to the floor, Kathi Foster suddenly came into view. Her lipstick was smudged as she spat the remains of two neuromuscular-blocking capsules on the ground. Jones immediately stood over Gaspari, smiling calmly despite the steady stream of blood that flowed down his face.

“Now, Mr Gaspari” Jones began, his speech pattern somehow unaffected by the broken nose that stained his face. “I am going to offer you a simple proposition. Two things could happen here. Number one is that I let you go on the grounds that you never return. I do not want money, or drugs, or property or even women. All I would need is the assurance that you would never return; never bother me, or my Children again”

Gaspari didn’t say a word, merely staring at Jones whilst cradling his arm, muttering expletives under his breath.

“The second…” continued Jones, lifting Gaspari’s head up to hold his attention. “Is that I allow my Children to do what they will; I can’t tell you exactly what would happen, but I can give you my assurances that it would not be pleasant in the slightest”

Gaspari, still clutching his broken arm, stumbled to his feet, staring daggers at Jones, but realising the helpless position that he is in.

“Fine…I’ll go…you won’t be hearing from me…” he said, teeth gritted through the pain. Jones smiled at the man gently, walking over to him.

“Can you assure me of that? You swear, as a man, that you will never come near me again? You would be willing, to say, tell me the names of all of your employers and employees? As a little ‘insurance’?”

“WHAT?” Gespari screeched. “Fuck no! That’d be suicide! You’re out of your fuckin’ mind…”

Jones let out a sad sigh and gazed at the wounded gangster sorrowfully.

“Are you sure that there is nothing I can possibly do to change your mind?” he said, his voice suddenly having more of an edge to it.

“No, you can fuck off. I’m gonna fuckin’ ice you, you little prick”

Jones reached down for his broken glasses and looked at Gaspari sadly. He opened his mouth to speak but closed it again theatrically, before clasping him hard on the shoulder, sending him screaming to the ground in pain. Jones stood back as he saw the orange jumpsuits surround the gangster, taking him further and further inside the motel. When the group were completely out of sight, he walked over to a tall tree and reached his hand to his nose gingerly. The slightest touch brought searing pain to him, and he knew it would have to be treated.

“Let me take you to a hospital” came a low purr from behind him. Kathi Foster didn’t even need to try to add a seductive edge to her voice anymore; after all of the years practice, it just came as second nature.

“Ha, I’m not so sure a hospital would be so willing to see me” Jones said kindly, smiling at her gently. She walked up to him, her hips swaying; again something that just came naturally. She walked closer to him, until they were just inches apart. She leaned in close, tenderly, to kiss his lips, but at the last split second he pulled away, the content smile still on his face. He patted her head gently, soothingly, before he walked away.

------

The child awoke with a start that night. He looked around his pitch black room, trying to identify where the noise that had awoken him had come from. He wanted to get out of the room straight away, but Mommy would be sleeping. Besides, whatever had made the noise could easily come for him if he left the sanctuary of his bed. He clutched his banana-yellow Minion stuffed toy to his chest closely and tightly, squeezing the toy like a grandma would hug a new born baby. There it was again. The noise from outside. He looked towards the window with a start, not daring to go any closer. He clutched the thick duvet close to him, covering up his whole body despite the sweltering heat of the summer nights. He needed to go and see Mommy. She would know what to do. But he just couldn’t bring himself to move.

He heard the gate creak outside. It was loud; it only made that sort of noise when someone was going through it. The wind wouldn’t have done that. Could it be Tom the Cat? It must be. He was coming home from ‘seeing his friends’ as Mommy called it. He listened closer, trying to hear the tiny creak of the catflap. It was no use, his room was too far away. It was as he desperately tried to listen for the feline’s movements, however, that he noticed a rustling noise outside in the front porch.

Then he heard it again.

With a bolt he stood, unable to take anymore, and darted out of the room. He jumped the two stairs up to Mommy’s room, but slammed on the breaks before he reached her door. He knocked gingerly three times, before opening. She was sat up in bed, her knocks obviously disturbing her sleep.

“Danny?” she said in a weary voice. “What’s wrong baby?”

“Someone was screaming outside” he said, the panic in his voice evident. She slowly got out of bed and took his hand. She listened to his story, about someone leaving the garden, and assured him that it was just Tom.

She walked into his room and switched the light on, looking out at the nearly barren landscape. She stared all the way out to Lucky Joe’s Motel. She turned her look up into the trees, where a family of crows looked out from their nest.

“Look sweetie, it was just the birds” she said to her son with a comforting smile. He cautiously looked out of the window and up into the tree, a look of reassurance appearing on his face when he realised that she was telling the truth.

“Can I have a drink of water Mommy?” he asked, obviously stalling for time. She looked down at him in response and smiled, taking his hand once again and leading him carefully down the stairs into the kitchen.

The kitchen lights stung the eyes of both mother and child as she flicked the switch, rubbing her eyes as she grabbed her son’s favourite blue plastic cup. She filled it half way to the top with water and handed it to the child. His hand shook in concentration as he took it, and raised it to his lips slightly, enough to allow the water to dribble into his mouth.

“Whose are those, Mommy?” he asked as she led him back up the stairs, motioning to the table.

“Ask me in the morning” she said wearily, not bothering to look towards the object the child was referring to. As they reached his room, she tucked him comfortably into bed and smiled a warm smile at him. “Goodnight Danny”

“Night Mommy” he said, finally smiling back, at last content. As he settled down to sleep, she turned the downstairs light off, stumbling off to bed and leaving the moonlight to reflect off of the broken spectacles that lay on the kitchen table.

Threaded Mode \| Linear Mode A Cry For Help In A World Gone Mad: Chapter III
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