Kingdom

[Vercetti21]

 

 

When a prominent mafia figure is murdered, a Chicago detective must backtrack the man's violent life and the remains of his kingdom in order to solve the mystery of the man's killer, dodging bribes and hitmen along the way.

 

Table of Contents

 

Prologue: Obituary

I: Detective Dean Gatsby

II: The Meeting

III: Burial Grounds

IV: Downtown Woes

V: God's Hand

 

Edited March 22, 2009 by Vercetti21

[Vercetti21]

Prologue:

Obituary

 

CHICAGO, IL., April.12, 1957 – Frank Lombardi, Chicago gangster and prohibition-era crime boss, was killed in a brutal stabbing early this morning in the master suite of the Alhambra Hotel, a known hideout of the infamous outlaw.

 

“There were no witnesses at the time,” Police Chief Robert Wesley said. “We can only hope to track down the man’s killer.”

 

At the height of his power from 1921 to 1929, Frank “The Pirate” Lombardi represented, more than any other man, the debauchery of the “dry” era. Head of the some of the cruelest killers in American history, he inspired gang wars in which countless men died by the knife, the shotgun, the pineapple (the gangster adaptation of the World War I hand grenade), and, Lombardi’s personal favorite, the Tommy gun. His infamy made him an international legend, and he was the symbol of the ultimate in American lawlessness.

 

By bribing public officials and instilling fear in the general public, Lombardi remained immune from prosecution for his multitudinous murders until finally, in October 1929, he was brought down on the charge of bootlegging, thanks to the testimony of Leonard “Lenny” Bertucci, fellow gangster and former friend of The Pirate. Lombardi was sentenced to nine years in federal prison, but was released early in January 1934 due to the repeal of the eighteenth amendment.

 

Alcohol was no longer illegal, and the prohibition era was over. This put an end to the bootlegging business, but the public hadn’t seen the last of Frank Lombardi.

 

Childhood and Early Life

 

In 1904, the twelve year-old boy only known as “Frankie” first appeared on the shores of Ellis Island with a suitcase in hand and, surprisingly, entirely alone. Many say he ran away from his small hometown in Sicily, while others suggest his parents sent him away to find a better life in America.

 

Although his real surname is unknown, Frankie was adopted to a large Italian family by the name of “Lombardi”, and the name stuck with him for the rest of his life. He was raised in the immigrant slums of Brooklyn, where the other immigrants always made sure he felt condescended and weak. Many suggest this feeling of isolation sparked a wave of rebellion in the young boy. He hated the immigrant lifestyle, and just four years later, hitched a train to Chicago to find a new beginning.

 

And indeed; it all began in Chicago.

 

Frank, as he began to call himself, first met Leonard “Lenny” Bertucci in the summer of 1910, whom he saw as a mentor figure. At the time, Lenny, age 19, was just a small-time thug who robbed street vendors for money. He took Frank under his wing, and soon, the two were inseparable.

 

Although they lived off the streets, the young men became famous for their sly intimidation tactics. By threatening shop owners and their families, and occasionally giving beatings, Frank and Lenny were able to get whatever they wanted, whenever they wanted. This inspired many street thugs to join the effort, and when the prohibition amendment was passed in 1919, the small gang of men proved to be a valuable resource for the pair of crime crusaders.

 

Frank Lombardi and Leonard Bertucci were some of the first gangsters to invest in the bootlegging business. The two men saw the outlaw of liquor as a valuable business opportunity, and by 1923, owned a majority of Chicago’s “speakeasies”, or illegal bars.

 

The Violence of the Prohibition Era

 

As Mr. Lombardi and Mr. Bertucci began to establish their new empire, Lombardi purchased a mansion in uptown Chicago, serving as the first real “headquarters” for their business. Surrounded by some the finest cigars, liquor, and women, the two men were seemingly untouchable.

 

But seeing a great amount of wealth and success in the two men, rivals to Lombardi and Bertucci’s empire also sought to control the bootlegging business. The O’Leary’s, a then small-time Irish mob led by Aiden O’Leary, soon became a prominent crime family by also investing in liquor smuggling and moonshine.

 

The competition created many problems for the two “businessmen”, a term Lombardi and Bertucci often liked to call themselves. For the remainder of the 1920’s, bloody gang battles were fought between the Irish and the Italians, and race became a major dividing issue between the rivaling mafias.

 

The violence reached an all-time high in 1928, when both Lombardi and Bertucci were cornered in an alleyway one night, surrounded by a group of O’Leary’s. A vicious shootout ensued, resulting in Mr. Lombardi’s left eye being punctured by shrapnel from a bullet. Bertucci, having just narrowly escaped his death, carried Lombardi home to his mansion, where he removed Lombardi’s congested eye with a pocket knife. Bertucci later bought Lombardi a magnificent glass eye as a sign of apology and respect, which the man wore everyday until his recent death. However, the accident also earned Mr. Lombardi his nickname, “The Pirate”; he credited the reputation to his signature black eye patch, which he often wore over the glass eye.

 

The incident also boosted the morale of Lombardi and Bertucci’s mafia. Angered by the vicious attack, the two men were able to kill Aiden O’Leary in one of the single bloodiest gang wars in American history, which later became known as the “justified massacre”. However, the massacre was anything but just. Several of Lombardi and Bertucci’s men, disguised as police officers, mowed down a barrage of O’Leary’s in the very same alleyway where Mr. Lombardi lost his eye. The O’Leary’s, crippled by the loss of their leader, temporarily turned away from their “business efforts”.

 

Meanwhile, greed got the greater good of Leonard Bertucci. With the Irish out of the way, he saw the opportunity to control the bootlegging business all for himself. As tensions rose between Bertucci and Lombardi, they began to feel competitive to one another. Still acknowledging Lombardi as a good friend, Bertucci sought to eliminate Lombardi as competition without murdering him.

 

As a result, Mr. Lombardi was found guilty on the charge of bootlegging, and his mafia days were over. At least, that’s the way it seemed. The depression hit hard on the nation, but Frank Lombardi got the worst of it.

 

Bertucci, on the other hand, seized Lombardi’s assets, including the family mansion, and became the sole survivor of the top prohibition-era gangsters in Chicago.

 

Rebirth

 

Several months after he was released from prison in 1934, Lombardi married Irene Callahan, who was, ironically, Irish. The couple had two sons: James and Thomas. Frank, who rejected the idea of revenge, now wished to live an honest life. He worked in an automobile factory living paycheck-to-paycheck, and struggled to support his new family. As luck would have it, things soon changed and life again took a turn for the worst.

 

On a cold night in November, 1939, Frank returned home to find Irene and his eldest son, James, brutally murdered. Thomas, who was only four years old at the time, was later found cowering helplessly beneath his bed.

 

Frank, knowing that either the Bertucci’s or the O’Leary’s were involved, swore revenge on both families, and made contact with Jimmy Costello, a business associate with many of the major New York families and one of Frank’s few trusted friends he met while incarcerated. Costello provided Frank with virtually unlimited resources, including men, firepower, and money, in which he used to establish the Lombardi crime family.

 

Meanwhile, the death of the prohibition era put an end to the bootlegging business. The Bertucci’s and the O’Leary’s now relied on gambling rackets, prostitution, narcotics, and extortion for business. The O’Leary’s, having quickly recovered from the loss of their old leader, appointed George O’Leary as the new family boss.

 

However, George O’Leary was quickly “decommissioned” in a bloody massacre on the Chicago streets one drizzling night in 1942. Armed with a Tommy gun, the one-eyed Lombardi single-handedly took on a handful of O’Leary’s in what became known as one of the greatest criminal comebacks in American history. The incident showed that Frank meant business, and that he was not to be taken lightly.

 

Lombardi purchased the Alhambra Hotel, serving as the second hideout of his career. He had it guarded by his men 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, and spent much of his time there. Jimmy Costello and Frank Lombardi, although in separate locations, became business partners, and the Lombardi crime family quickly garnered attention from both the O’Leary’s and the Bertucci’s.

 

For the next twelve years, the war raged on between the three prime Chicago families. The O’Leary’s again appointed a new leader: Conner O’Leary, brother of George O’Leary and son of Aiden O’Leary. Leonard Bertucci, who remains today as the head of the Bertucci organized crime syndicate, approached several near-death experiences in his encounters with the Lombardi’s, but Frank never fully earned his revenge on the man.

 

The two Italian families continue to fight over the long-term grudge between their leaders today.

 

Frank “The Pirate” Lombardi, although having never again reached the incredible amount of wealth he had garnered during the 1920’s, proved himself as a worthy American gangster throughout his lifetime. He is succeeded by his son, Thomas, who is now 22.

 

The funeral will be held on Thursday at 9 AM at Resthaven Cemetery. It will be closed-casket.

Edited June 26, 2008 by Vercetti21

[radicell]

I just read through the whole thing. It's a great prologue, I think I will be following this.

[Chickstick]

An interesting start. As I may have mentioned before, I love stuff like this, and I can't see any reason why this could not only equal but surpass VLV in terms of quality. Looking forward, obviously, to the first chapter.

 

Oh, a little typo just after the Rebirth subheading:

 

he was released form prison

Just a little thing, but there you go.

[Vercetti21]

Thanks to both of you, and nice catch, Chick. Fixed.

 

Obviously this does not portray how the writing will be in the actual story, seeing as this is supposed to be written like a newspaper. It's just to provide some background on the character.

[Carbine23]

Interesting prologue. I'll be reading this. Will you release more about the characters history as the story goes on?

[Vercetti21]

Yes. I don't want to reveal much but there's going to be multiple plots going on at once, one of which covers the trials and tribulations of Lombardi's life.

[Danny Phoenix]

This is going to be nothing short of amazing.

[Ronmar The Only]

I like how this is going, somewhat. I don't care much for the fact that the leaders of all the gangs are actually all related to the previous leaders. I know this sometimes happens, but to have three families in the same town that do not change leadership between different biological families is a little amazing. But, it seems as if the story could be interesting. I hope the writing style in Kingdom is more in the little details than VLV was, but I am only one amongst many who obviously like your style.

 

I will try to keep up, and you remind me that I really need to watch Road to Perdition.

 

EDIT: Jesus...I made several little errors...I normally do not stay up this late and I am blaming it on that fact.

Edited June 16, 2008 by Ronmar The Only

[Vercetti21]

Thanks to everyone for the support. I originally had chapter 1 planned to be released tomorrow or so, but I wasn't satisfied with the writing and have gone back to flesh it out a bit. I'll probably end up doing that with everything else I've written for this so far. Either way, chapter 1 will be up here soon.

[Vercetti21]

 

I:

Detective Dean Gatsby

 

A playful smoke exhumes from the depths of my battered throat and spirals into the air above. Sitting alone and silent in the corner of the dark, shabby hotel room, I take another long drag from my cigarette and watch, mesmerized, as the smoke I consume myself in dissipates into the thick air. I’m entertained easily, but hell, anything’s better than staring at the dead man lying immobile in the middle of the room.

 

My eyes again glance upward at the gruesome corpse, but I quickly look away. As lead detective of the Chicago Police Department, I’ve seen my fair share of dead bodies, and never has the sight of one bothered me. But this one is different – why? I don’t know. Perhaps it is the fact that the body belongs to Frank Lombardi, infamous gangster since the prohibition era and the man I’ve been tracking down for the past ten years. And now here he lies less than five feet away from me; that chilling, glass eye staring me directly in the face. The sight of his bloody remains – the very knowledge of his inexistence – is surreal to me.

 

Or perhaps I am bothered by the innumerable, deep knife gashes which plague the poor man’s neck as he soaks in a pool of his own guts. Even as I hide my eyes from the horrific sight, the bubbling of the crimson blood as it fizzles and oozes out of the wounds – much similar to the sound of boiling water – makes me cringe.

 

Jesus. I can’t stand to look at him. Yet his face, despite being unshaven and blood-stained, is serene. He looks peaceful and somewhat maniacally optimistic – an expression so provocative. At the same time, he’s calm; it’s as if his own death does not worry him. It’s as if he craved death. It’s as if he did not suffer when death finally came upon him. But maybe that’s what bothers me the most, because after all, I hate him. I f*cking hate him.

 

It’s almost as if his own death was expected, but hell, when you’ve got as many enemies as Frank Lombardi, only a fool wouldn’t expect death around every corner. He’s had the Irish to deal with, the few rats in his own system, and of course, me. For ten long, dreadful years, I’ve followed clue after clue to hunt down the man before me. Ten years of bloodshed. Ten years of pain. And instead of finishing the job and finding the man, thus redeeming myself of a wasted life, someone else has finished him for me. And now here I sit; an unreedemable man.

 

The only way out of the situation I’ve crawled in to – the only way to redeem myself – is if justice is served. I devoted my entire career to tracking a murderer, and now that the murderer has become the victim, I must find the other murderer. I must find the man who killed Frank Lombardi, because whether Lombardi deserved death or not, I cannot simply let these gangsters rule the streets and think they can get away with murder. This damned city has suffered too long from that, and it’s all thanks to the Chicago Police Department for allowing it to happen. Why? Because all anyone ever cares about is money. And the gangsters are the ones who have it.

 

My attention is suddenly drawn to Charlie Haggard, who quietly peaks his head into the room. “Hey, Gatsby…”

 

“What is it, Charlie?”

 

“We’re wrapping up the crime scene out here,” he whispers as he glares at his silver wristwatch. “It’s six in the morning. You should go home and get some sleep.”

 

I chuckle to myself as I stand from the chair to collect my coat and hat. “I haven’t slept in ten years, Charlie. I’ll have plenty of time for that when I’m dead.”

 

His hand catches my arm as I brush past him in the doorway. “I’m serious, Dean. You look tired. I know you’re upset about what’s happened, but this – this obsession over Lombardi – it’s not healthy. He’s dead now. If anything, you should be at peace–”

 

“Like him!?” I suddenly bark as I again glance at the dead body. “Jesus, Charlie, you’re like my mother. This man caused the death of hundreds of people, and I was supposed to be the one to bring him down. Hell, I was the only one in this whole department who even gave two sh*ts about Lombardi. And now you’re telling me not to give a sh*t, just like everyone else?”

 

“Dean, you know that’s not what I meant–”

 

I shove him out of my way as I violently breeze past. I can’t stand to be in the same room as that corpse anymore. I can’t breathe. I have to get out of this place. Just as my hand touches the doorknob, Charlie’s voice beckons from behind. “I’m going to arrange a meeting with Chief tomorrow at the station, Dean! About all this Lombardi nonsense. You want to do something about it? Show up.”

 

Without answering him, I quickly shut the door behind me. I take the elevator down to the ground floor and exit the Alhambra Hotel, where I am met by the early morning activity which buzzes along the Chicago streets – children playing a game of catch in an alleyway, cars zipping past, and the smell of someone’s warm breakfast breezing through the humid air from the café down the block.

 

I nervously pace along the street, trying to get as far away from that God-forsaken hotel as possible. Still, at every step I take, the vision of Lombardi’s pale, shriveled corpse returns to my mind. As much as I don’t like to, I breathe in every detail from the gruesome sight – the knife gashes, the blood puddle, and that haunting glass eye, watching me from the darkness. It’s just too much to take.

 

The last thing I see before vomiting all over myself and collapsing in the middle of the sidewalk is the vision of Lombardi’s disturbingly tranquil face.

Edited June 22, 2008 by Vercetti21

[Lethal Nizzle]

Brilliant. I'll be waiting for the next installment.

[Chickstick]

Very, very good. That it's written in present tense obviously appeals to me, but this is already, in my opinion, the best ongoing story in WD at the moment.

[The Unvirginiser]

I've been excited for this for a while, and so far it's living up to all my expectations

[Vercetti21]

Thanks again to everyone for support. I know progress has been slow thus far, I'll try to get this updated soon.

[Struff Bunstridge]

I was worried this wouldn't live up to my expectations. I don't mind admitting how wrong I was.

 

I've read novels recently with less style, less panache, less character than this. The use of present tense, one of the hardest literary tricks to pull off, is working perfectly, and I can't imagine this being any better. I'm riveted.

[Chickstick]

The use of present tense

...is, in my eyes, the best way to tell a story. No idea why, but I've always liked stuff in the present tense, and this is no exception.

 

By the way, when's the next chapter out? Not that I want to hurry you (who am I kidding, of course I do,) but I'm desperate to carry on with this narrative. Sterling (get it?) stuff, my friend.

[Vercetti21]

I'll get it out soon. My goal is to put out at least one chapter a week, or more if I feel neccesary. Like I said, I'm having to go back and refine the writing as I find it hard to be satisfied.

 

By the way, nice pun. It's funny, I actually just finished reading through Viva Las Vegas again. Took me 3 and a half hours, all in one sitting. Looking at it, I feel like I got the characters' interactions with eachother down perfectly. I'll have to remember to use that in this piece as well.

 

@present tense thing: Thanks. This is my first time to use it, glad to know it's working.

[Vercetti21]

 

II:

The Meeting

 

“Leonard Bertucci.”

 

The photograph of the man is placed on the table in front of me, and my eyes gaze upon it as if it were a hidden treasure. Holding the image to my face, I glare at the man in the portrait – short, slender, and aged. I toss the picture back onto the table and lock eyes with the police chief. “I know who he is.”

 

“I know you know, Gatsby,” Chief smirks. “I want you to tell everyone else in this room who he is.” Just as he says the word ‘everyone’, he raises his hand to present the room full of clueless detectives gathered around the table. They stare at me as I hesitate to speak.

 

Leaning back in my chair, I gawk at the photograph of Bertucci. “He was Lombardi’s partner during the dry era. They were childhood friends and–”

 

“And then he betrayed Lombardi,” one detective interrupts me. “He testified against him in court; yeah, we all know the story, Dean. The question is: why?”

 

“Because they’re f*cking criminals, that’s why. The sons-of-bitches only care about money. Bertucci wanted Lombardi out of the way so that he could make a greater profit. While Lombardi rotted in prison, Bertucci had this city by its balls. Owned nearly every bar in town.”

 

“But prohibition was overturned by the 21st amendment,” another detective protests. “Surely that hurt Bertucci’s business?”

 

“Alcohol was made legal again in 1933,” I correct him. “By then, the Bertucci’s and the O’Leary’s relied on other means of profit: gambling rackets, prostitution rings, narcotics…” My eyes move to see Charlie gently step into the room. He waves an apologetic hand at Chief Wesley for arriving to the meeting late, and the chief returns the gesture with a nod.

 

“What about the period after Lombardi was released from prison?” one cop inquires as he inspects a file of notes. “Lombardi didn’t go anywhere near a gun for years, until a hit was placed on his family. They were all murdered. Who placed the hit?”

 

“They were all murdered except for Thomas,” I again correct him. “And we don’t know who was behind the hit, but Lombardi took it upon himself to find out. He later killed the O’Leary family boss–”

 

“So the O’Leary’s were behind the hit?”

 

I exchange a dirty look with the cop who interrupted me and continue speaking. “Like I said, we don’t know. Lombardi had a lot of enemies. It could have been Bertucci behind the family’s murder. And now that Lombardi is dead, Bertucci is the biggest threat to us. If we want to find out who murdered Lombardi, he’s the man who’ll know. It is essential that we bring the guy in.”

 

Chief Wesley leans forward in his seat with interest. “Gatsby, you know more about Lombardi than any other man in this room. Do you think it was Bertucci, who killed Lombardi?”

 

I force a cheap grin (the famous smile one displays when he tries to hide his lack of confidence), lean back in my chair, and light up a cigarette. “Bertucci knows more about Lombardi than any man, ever. I don’t know who killed Lombardi, but I guarantee you: if you let me interrogate Bertucci, I can get you the answer to that question.”

 

Chief slightly chuckles and raises an eyebrow. “Look, Gatsby, I want to bring this guy in just as much as you do, but we can’t arrest the man on charges that don’t exist. We don’t have enough sufficient evidence to pin Lombardi’s murder on him. And besides that, Bertucci is a threat to this entire police department. Arresting him is not going to be an easy task.”

 

I scoff and shrug away the chief’s skepticism. “Bullsh*t. The only reason Leonard Bertucci isn’t rotting in a jail cell right now is because he’s paying cops off. You know damn well he has quite a criminal history here in Chicago. But does anyone do anything about it? No. Neither of you honestly care about bringing down organized crime, because organized crime puts money in your pockets and food on your table – well I’m not going to stand for that. I’m a detective, damnit! I get my paycheck from the department – not criminals.”

 

“Calm down, Dean,” Charlie attempts to reassure me. “No one here accused you of anything–”

 

I shove my chair onto the floor as I forcibly stand to my feet. “I know that, Charlie! I accuse all of you of not doing your job as men of the law. There are good men, women, and children in this city who are murdered every day because this town has gone to sh*t. These damn gangsters run this city, while you so-called ‘cops’ sit on your asses and get paid to not talk. You’re actually paid to not do your job! It’s sickening.”

 

The snobby cop who had interrupted me chuckles to himself as I continue to flare my temper. I watch as he turns to the detective next to him and humorously mouths the words: “Is he serious?” When he notices my staring at him, he turns away and pretends it didn’t happen.

 

The room is silent for a moment, until Chief speaks again. “So what do you propose we do, Detective Gatsby?”

 

I lift my chair back onto its feet and seat myself again. “The truth is,” I begin hesitantly. “We don’t have enough evidence to pin Lombardi’s murder on anybody. Now me – I think there’s a damn good chance Bertucci is somehow involved – but if we can’t get to him, we’ll have to get to the others.”

 

“Where do we begin?” Charlie asks.

 

“Lombardi’s funeral is on Thursday. I’m going to make an appearance, and we’ll figure everything out from there.”

 

The chief flicks his gray mustache as he grins. "Sounds like we have a plan."

Edited June 27, 2008 by Vercetti21

[Chickstick]

A good introduction to a few of what I assume will be the main characters (at least on the proper side of the law). Man, I need to get writing properly again, this use of present tense has given me an idea to ressurect BBB, so thank you for that.

[Ronmar The Only]

Man, that police chief has not a single ounce of a testicle. I swear. He must be a suck-up to Dean.

 

EDIT: Forgot the 'u'....tisk tisk.

Edited July 1, 2008 by Ronmar The Only

[Vercetti21]

Heh, his character is written that way on purpose. When Dean accuses the entire police department of being corrupt, notice they simply tell him to calm down, but not one of them actually disagrees with him.

 

Thanks for the support, as always. I know every writer asks this, but it'd be awesome if this piece could get some more attention. It may not look like much now, but I promise you, when this is done, it's going to be the Godfather of classic crime stories in WD. Okay, so maybe that claim is a bit exaggerated, but you get the picture. This is going to be big, for me at least.

[Oxidizer]

I read the prologue the night you posted it, and was holding off leaving proper feedback till the first chapter was up. Sorry for the delay, I got sidetracked.

 

But I just read the first two chapters back-to-back, and I think you've captured the atmosphere of that era perfectly. Not only that, the Chicago accents were audible in my mind as I read this, and each character had a different one. So that in itself is impressive.

 

This is your finest work to date, I reckon, and I'll be following this through to its finish (which I'm also intrigued for!).

 

Very good job.

[Vercetti21]

Planning to update this soon. Sorry for the delay.

[Warplay3r]

Planning to update this soon. Sorry for the delay.

Thank you. I've read it and I think it is a wonderful writing piece. Looking foward to the next chapter.

[Vercetti21]

 

III:

Burial Grounds

 

The following Thursday brings a full day of rain. I suppose it’s appropriate weather for a funeral… that is, a good man’s funeral. On a day which mourns the death of a murderer, the sun should be high in the sky. But it’s not. Today, the overcast, gray skies rumble with the gentle growl of thunder as a shower of precipitation floods the graveyard.

 

A canopy of somber umbrellas arises within the dense crowd as the priest continues to ramble about the trials and triumphs of “a good man”, who lies within the chestnut casket before him. God damnit, Lombardi. Even as a dead man, he is immune from any accusations about his career. This man was a cold-blooded murderer, a thief, and a liar. And these people seem to think otherwise, as loved ones of criminals so ignorantly tend to do.

 

I find my place at the back of the crowd, picking out faces of familiar people from the front row. Closest to the aisle stands the young Thomas Lombardi, whom I’ve never seen before, but recognize from the facial similarities he shares with his father – hell, he’d look exactly like Frank if he, too, had a thin mustache.

 

To the left of Thomas stands Jimmy Costello, the rat. Costello was Lombardi’s business partner; a close friend of Frank’s and a man I’ve never much cared for. Sure, he’s got connections with every major crime family in New York, but if it weren’t for him, Lombardi would not have been able to return to the criminal lifestyle he once knew. But he did – and killed others in the process. And Costello tried to look as innocent as possible while doing so. The f*cking hypocrite.

 

“Frank was a Godly man…” the priest advocates.

 

Like hell he was.

 

“…a man who attended Church every Sunday, a man who read the bible every day, and a man who always kept the Lord close to his heart.”

 

Bullsh*t.

 

I scan the crowd again, and to no surprise, Leonard Bertucci is nowhere to be seen. Although it is a sign of respect among criminals to attend each other’s funerals, I can’t say I blame him for not showing up. Yet, the two men were childhood friends, regardless of their unsteady history. But who am I kidding? They’re criminals, for Christ sake. Less than human. Inferior.

 

The rain begins to soften as the priest concludes the ceremony. He closes the Bible within his hands, and, for the first time, addresses the melancholy crowd in a less formal matter. “As a close friend of the Lombardi family,” he begins, holding a single hand to his heart, “I can honestly say that Frank was one of the few decent men of his kind.”

 

Of his kind? Surely the priest didn’t just refer to criminals as a species, much less to an audience of murderers, thieves, and liars. Still, I can’t say I don’t enjoy hearing such a subtle insult to my enemies from such a righteous man.

 

“My thoughts and prayers go out to his family,” the priest finalizes. “And may God have mercy on his soul.”

 

The priest steps down from his podium and disappears into the dispersing crowd. Several family members and friends approach the casket to say their final goodbyes, just before it is lowered into the vacant ditch that waits for it. Others simply leave, silently exiting the cemetery via the entourage of vehicles they arrived in. The rain stops. Thunder echoes in the clouds above.

 

I remain standing towards the back of the scattered crowd, watching the scene before me unfold as everyone begins to move towards their vehicle. My eyes remain fixed on the priest, who struggles to maneuver through the flood of people as he passes by. His eyes meet my own, and he nods in greeting.

 

“Thank you, Father,” I congratulate him.

 

He nods again. “Did you know him well – Mr. Lombardi?”

 

“In a way. You could say that.”

 

He forces an apologetic smile, and continues to pass by. I watch as he is closely followed by both Thomas Lombardi and Jimmy Costello; neither acknowledges my presence. And then suddenly – I’m the last one left.

 

I give one last glance to Lombardi’s casket; it’s the last time I’ll ever see him again. But as I leave the somber scene, I can’t help but hear the voice of victory, singing ever so sweetly in my ears. Ding, dong, Lombardi’s dead…

 

It was Bertucci that killed him. After all, he’s the only one who didn’t show up to the funeral. There has to be a connection there. But still, there’s that feeling of guilt hanging over my head; an eerie presence suggesting that maybe – just maybe – I’m missing something.

Edited October 2, 2008 by Vercetti21

[Wanted Assailant]

Yes! Yes! Yes!

After I read the three last solid pieces, I've been looking forward to you continuing this story. No more writer's block, eh? I see no mistakes so far, with being plunged into the story too far.

 

What's Gatsby up to considering now? He's real ambitious, and awfully stubborn.

[Struff Bunstridge]

 

Finally. Glad to see you back, V. I'm glad Lombardi bought it.

[Chickstick]

Good to see this, and yourself, back. There were a few sentences in this that stood out for me, such as that passage about the criminal class being inferior. The short and snappy sentences really fit well with the general atmosphere of the story.

[Vercetti21]

No more writer's block, eh?

I wish! This is my way of pulling myself out of writer's block. I tried to focus on the collaborative projects, short stories, and poems to keep me writing, but none of those have been working. So now I've just decided I need to commit myself to something, and as many regulars here already know, I hate leaving unfinished projects. Two birds in one stone.

 

Thanks for the warm welcome back, and for the support, guys. Expect this to be updated again soon.