SIT WITH ME BEFORE I DIE

My name is Dante “Infierno” Maggilione and today, I am most likely getting whacked. A little about me before my day comes if anyone gives a rat’s ass, so perk up you hear. I was born up in Newark, New Jersey to an Italian father who emigrated here from Sicily in 1942, and a few years later, he met my mother, Patricia, a Mexican woman. My father, Michael “Big Mike” Maggilione, rose up to be the underboss of a powerful crime family here in New Jersey, with ties expanding throughout New York and Pennsylvania. My mother, Patricia Maggilione, came from a family with a lot of wealth and political power back in Mexico and used to live in upper Manhattan. My beautiful parents met when my father was in New York for business and saw my mother being harassed by some fucking low life thugs who thought they ran the neighborhood. After my parents’ first date in the city, those hooligans disappeared and later reappeared in the trunks of cars at a junkyard. When I was in the life, I asked my father if he had anything to do with that, and he swore up and down that he had plans for those scumbags but had no clue who did it. His words to me, “good riddance.”

I was born in 1951 and at the age of 17-years old, I ended up doing some time for robbing one of my old buddy’s former place of employment after the pissant owner fired him. It was only a few months of time and when I got out, my mother well, she tore me a new asshole as my father stayed quiet. After being berated, my father took me down to the basement and told me he was proud of me for not ratting. He knew I wanted to be a gangster, I wanted to be like him, powerful, respected, loved, and feared. He would always try to steer me off the same path he took, but growing up where I grew up and with whom I grew up with, well, that would have been pretty impossible.

At age 21, I was put on record and by age 23, I took the oath and was straightened out. I did my share of criminal activities and some of them I regret. Five years after becoming a made guy and here I am, alone at this lounge as the tobacco from my cigar flutters down gently onto my table, perfectly missing the ashtray. I would love to sit here and tell you all of my stories during that time, but it appears the pale horse has just galloped into the lounge with two residing horsemen I aint ever seen before, probably some cugines, I’ve been there.

The three men approach me as I take another puff from my cigar, it burns beautifully. The ‘pale horse’, him I know, Gil “Crazy Eyes” Castanza, a hitman and childhood friend of mine. We came up together in the life before eventually going down on our separate paths, but here we meet once more, for the final time.

“Hey, Dante, how’s it going,” Gil asks.

They’re dressed nicely, casual, comfortable, jeans, jackets, and baseball caps except for Gil; he’s got on a grey suit and a black fedora.

“Not here, Gil, I like this place, the people are good here. I’m good though, how about yourself,” I say.

“Of course not, Dante, we got too many memories here you and I.”

“We promised each other that we would dress absolutely spiffy at each other’s funeral, and you look great, seriously, really outshined you motherfucker.”

We laugh like old times.

“Let’s not make this experience more miserable than it already is, huh, let’s go get a drink at Sal’s,” he says with a smile.

I put my cigar out and get up from the table and the two men beside Gil flinch. They’re not ready for the life.

“You two wait in the car,” Gil says to them.

It’s a chilly Winter day and I shiver when we step out, but hey, I won’t have to endure the harsh Winter for so long, I guess.

We step into a beige 1967 Ford Galaxie, myself, sitting passenger, and the two numb nuts behind me. During the drive over to Sal’s I didn’t fear for one instance that one of these guys would just take me out. Nah, they wouldn’t have dared to disrespect Gil’s orders.

“You two stay in the car, honk if anything,” Gil says as we exit out of the vehicle.

“Yeahs, alrights, whatever you say boss,” one responds.

We step into Sal’s, greet the man himself along with other patrons that knew Gil and I since the early days. We sit at the bar and order some Scotch.

“Listen, Dante, it fucking killed me when they sent for me after what you did, because I knew. I knew what they would ask of me.”

“Gil, come on man, don’t, I understand okay. Shit, I would’ve preferred it been you anyway instead of some sorry jerk off trying to get some clout off of my name. Someone less respectful. I’m glad they sent you, they can at least give me that.”

We sip.

“Yea, but still, Dante, I don’t fucking like it. You had every right to take out that maleducato, Dante, hell I probably would have done the same.”

“Yea, you think the commission would have had no problem giving me the okay but no, we’re sorry that happened and that your father just got pinched but here, take control of these two turfs for us. Bullshit. He sucker punched my father, knocked him out, raised his hand to another Cosa Nostra, broke a sacred rule, and yet I'm to be given the sentence? Good riddance.”

“Hey, Sal, pour us up some more please,” Gil says.

Gil looks up at the TV; the Lakers are playing with some new guy, Magic Johnson or something. He shakes his head and laughs.

“Yea, but I wish you called me before you did it y’know, I would have helped you get rid of that cocksucker. Then they would of gotten rid of the both us.”

I chuckle, Gil was always a standup guy, older than me by two years, I admired the guy, I looked up to him growing up.

“Hey, remember that time little Anna called you about those guys that wouldn’t leave her alone. So, you came over to the house, and we went out there and just put the fear of god into those bastards,” I say.

“Yea, I remember the one bastard with the crooked nose pissing himself, oh that was great.”

We laugh and sip some more. The day getting darker.

“Say, Dante, how’s Luisa and little Carlo doing by the way?”

“They’re doing alright y’know? Luisa’s got a flower shop going and Carlo is just...he’s a good kid.”

I choke on my words as the realization of me never seeing my family again kicks in. My beautiful wife and my handsome healthy boy. I wash the pit back down my throat with a swig of Scotch and motion to Sal to refill Gil and I’s drink.

“Grazie, Sal,” I say as he pours the golden poison into our glasses.

“That’s good to hear, I’m glad they’re doing good, Dante.”

“Thanks, Gil.”

We laugh over some other memories and finish off our poison.

“Come on, Gil, it’s dark out now, let’s get this out of the way.”

“You sure, Dante, we could stay for a little longer.”

“Nah, don’t want to prolong this any further.”

We say our goodbyes to Sal and whatever remaining guys we knew in the spot and leave. The air outside has gotten tighter, and the winds have picked up. It’s much colder out now. We step into the car and head out of the city towards the more wooded areas of Montclair.

“We’re gonna go for a walk, take in some of this snow, whaddya say, Dante,” Gil says.

“Yea that’s fine,” I reply.

We pull into an empty parking lot and begin walking off into the woods. Snow flurries begin to expand and violently litter the night sky. It’s freezing out and I honestly can’t remember a time it was this cold.

“We can uh, we can stop here, Dante,” Gil says, the two men behind him stopping as well.

“Yea that’s fine, just um, do me a favor will you, Gil?”

I remove my locket with Luisa’s picture as she has one with a picture of me in it, “can you make sure Luisa gets this please.”

“Of course, Dante, you have my word, I swear to you she’ll get it,” he says as he takes the locket and puts it in his jacket.

I turn around and get on my knees on the now snow-caked ground beneath me.

“Thanks, Gil, I appreciate you.”

I hear the pistol cock back.

“I love you, Dante, know that.”

“I love you too, Gil.”

Bryan Brevard is a screenwriter of gothic horror, supernatural fantasy, mystery, and thrillers. He became obsessed with horror by watching slasher films with his father and yearns to tell stories that give the audience the chills as he once had. He is earning a BS in creative writing at Full Sail University. Bryan also practices mixed martial arts and loves the discipline and integrity it instills within him.