twofacedliar (twofacedliar) wrote in musingslogs, @ 2010-10-18 22:56:00 |
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Entry tags: | graverobber, iago |
Who: Marco Valentino & Zeke Graves
What: If you thought walking in on your parents was awkward, try walking in on a murder.
Where: Off Yesler Way, near the docks.
When: Backdated to September 2007.
Warnings: N/A
There is a man slumped down against the dirty wall. It's cold, it's cold; that's all he can think about. He can't breathe - he might choke on his own blood, trickling from his nose, from the corner of his mouth, from the head wounds. He gurgles, and coughs, and he's wheezing, and he squeezes his hands to stop them from trembling, but otherwise he makes no sound. He simply sits there, arms resting on his knees, like a desperate man in his eleventh hour, weary, wary of the men standing around him. They can take his life just as easily as they are loaning it to him right now, letting him waste borrowed minutes, but they are not who he is concerned about right now.
There is another man sitting across from him - the only one sitting. His name is Marco Valentino, and everyone in this part of town knows Marco. This young man doesn't look like much, not right now anyway. Weathered jeans, t-shirt, a bit of a stubble on his chiselled jaw that was more intentional than it was careless, and dark hair that blended into the shadows cast around them by the looming buildings. Marco doesn't seem to be too troubled by his predicament - perhaps that was because he was the very reason he was in this mess to begin with. He watches Marco turn his head and go through the motions of taking a cigarette out, planting it between his lips, lighting it, playing with the lighter, twirling it between his fingers.
I just need a name, Marco says to him, and it's obvious where he comes from, with his four-part American one-part Italian accent. He flicks the lighter like a hunter does with his switch blade, and though he does it unintentionally, it was an overt threat to complement the already compromising situation he was in.
The only reason he gives the name anyway is because he is more afraid of Marco than he is the police. They have rules and regulations, a code of conduct they had to abide by, and you could count on at least some of the agents in law enforcement to act like rational human beings.
Two slugs in his brain, courtesy of Standing Enforcer Man #2 (counting from the left). He didn't see it coming, but if he did, he wouldn't be surprised anyway - didn't he just have a running commentary about rational human beings? Standing Enforcer Man #2 starts unscrewing the silencer from the handgun and follows the others, Standing Enforcer Man #1, #3 and #4, to the car. They have a name now - a job to finish before sunrise.
Marco gets to his feet, because he doesn't want to get another man's blood on his jeans. There's enough blood on his hands already. He lingers by the body, watching the thick, crimson fluid, not unlike motor oil, flow into the cracks in the ground. He will need to pray and commit this man's soul into God's hands, and he still has half a cigarette to finish, and he will have to call the police and leave an anonymous tip after that. He needed the media to work their mass hysteria magic - there was no use in making an example of someone if no one was going to find out about it.