Of mafias and sneezes [M]

[AllyKabbet]

Hii!! 😄
It's been a while since I wrote a story about Lamarck and his crew. In other stories I have already mentioned that Lamarck is a member of a mafia gang from the Bronx. The other names that appear (Karisha, Loreen, Corpse) are his subordinates, as is Lean, who will appear later.
I don't know how many parts this will have. Not much sneezing in this part (yet), just scene building. Sometimes I like to describe too much, but I love generating atmospheres.

(The scene of the gangster eating noodles on the snitch's body is a reference to the beginning of Sweet Home hehe)

I hope you like it! ❤️ (sorry about grammatical mistakes, I'm spanish)

 

His eyelids were sticking together. At the third knock, Lamarck forced them open. The light was harshly bright, a cold, incandescent blue typical of a garage warehouse, which his office was. Outside, voices clamored—a jumble of shouts, growls, but louder and more striking thuds. The knocks resounded directly on his door, growing more frequent each time.

'Lamarck! Open the door, for God's sake.' It was a female voice.

Lamarck didn't recognize her immediately, but he did when she continued speaking to someone else on the other side of the door.

'Don't push it, girl. He was pissed off yesterday. Not recommended.' Said another voice.

'Shut up, Rullem, and get lost! Lamarck!'

Lamarck complained quietly and got up from the couch. Fatal mistake. A sharp pain jabbed his side, and he had to clench his teeth hard not to cry out. The wound throbbed, and he had to press his shirt against it with his hand. He glanced down, fear creeping in, dreading that the white T-shirt under his purple cardigan might be soaked in blood. Luckily, it wasn't. He took deep breaths through his nose to calm himself, twice, then a third time, before flinging the door open.

Karisha, on the other side, widened her eyes at the sight of him. Behind her, Rullem Ross turned pale.

'What?' His voice was still hoarse from just waking up.

'Lamarck, your sunglasses,' Karisha indicated, still processing it.

Lamarck clicked his tongue. Indeed, it was a mistake. He shook his head and stepped aside for her to come in.

'You. Out,' he directed at Rullem Ross. Lamarck's eyes, so blue they seemed like glass, stared at him, and Rullem was compelled to look away.

'Boss, I need to—'

Lamarck shut the door in his face. Then, Karisha said something he couldn't hear because he was forced to lean against the door and bend over. A pained groan escaped him as he returned his hand to his side. Only then Karisha seem to take note of how bad he looked, the paleness of his skin, the red lines beneath his eyes.

'It's getting infected. Damn it, Lamarck,' Karisha said, as if it were a divine revelation, taking a step forward, about to close the distance that Lamarck certainly didn't want to break.

Lamarck raised a hand to stop her, taking deep breaths. He needed to compose himself. He had to.

'I sent Corpse to handle the snitch,' Lamarck said, his voice thick. His legs felt like they were filled with wet cotton, and his face was burning.

'You look awful,' Karisha said. Ever since she cut her hair, she looked fiercer, like a feline about to pounce. Her chocolate-colored almond-shaped eyes were now lined with smoky makeup. With that floral shirt, she seemed anything but a mobster, yet she had managed to carve a place among the chaos that was the Bloody Dogs, and everyone respected her. 'Why don't you sit down?'

Lamarck shook his head.

'We need to find the traitor.'

'To hell with the traitor. Lamarck, call the underground doctor.'

A chuckle escaped Lamarck, perhaps from the pain or the absurdity of the situation. It was the worst time to call anyone, and Karisha knew it too well. She just wasn't one for excessive caution.

'I'm fine,' he said after a while, managing to straighten up. The sharp pain from the wound had turned into a persistent tingling. The area was numbing, like getting a tattoo in a sensitive spot. 'I need you to find Lean, by any means necessary. We have to figure out where the snitch was on Tuesday the 18th and who the hell he spilled everything to.'

'He hasn't talked?'

'I'll go check now.'

Karisha rolled her eyes but chose not to say anything. It would be more beneficial for both if Lamarck saved his breath. Shortly after, Lamarck grabbed his gun, tucked it into his pants beneath the cardigan, and put on his sunglasses. Karisha didn't judge. They went their separate ways when they left Lamarck's office. Lamarck descended the narrow, sparking emergency stairs to what had once been the garage of the abandoned Rotten Apple shopping center and was now the headquarters of his gang. It was dirty and smelled of gasoline and burnt rubber. There were charred cars, scattered tires (most of them used as seats), broken sofas, torn clothes hanging from columns and car skeletons, and bags of food and sodas. Lamarck didn't usually come down here. He reached one of the warehouses. Loreen, guarding the door, stood at attention and gave him a look. Lamarck nodded and, without knocking, entered. It smelled of cigarettes and disinfectant.

Inside, a burly, bald, black man with a cigarette dangling from his mouth like a corn cob was seated on a slightly wobbly old wooden chair, eating instant noodles straight from the container. The front legs of the chair were on a body wrapped in black duct tape, squirming in pain like a silkworm. Muffled, indiscernible gurgles came from beneath the black tape. When he heard Lamarck enter, Corpse stopped eating and removed the chair from the snitch's body.

'Boss,' he said, a slight tremor in his voice.

Lamarck would be one of the few that someone like Corpse would fear, even just a little.

'Has he said anything?' Lamarck inquired.

The smell of the place was making him dizzy. To avoid it, Lamarck lit a cigarette, delicately holding it between his fingers. He wore a ring on almost every finger. The smoke tendrils wafted up, hitting the low ceiling.

'He says he knows nothing, the son of a bitch. What should I do? Cut off a finger? His tongue? No, if I cut his tongue, he won't talk, of course.'

'Hush,' Lamarck took a deep breath. 'Remove it.'

Corpse didn't understand at first, but seeing that Lamarck didn't say anything else and was impassively looking at the captive, he decided on his own and took the tape off the snitch's mouth. The captive started screaming as soon as that happened.

'Please! Please, for the love of God, I haven't done anything! It's a mistake, please boss, please!'

Lamarck smoked nearly the entire cigarette in one go, then took a deep breath. He crouched down, the sunglasses hiding the pain in his expression, and stared at the snitch. Then, after observing him for a few seconds, he showed him the cigarette.

'Gabriel Montezco. 27 years old, unemployed with no education. Main source of income: dealing hard drugs and trafficking with Colombians. Your dream is to have a house in Riverdale, find a wife, have two kids, and become a professional poker player. Your sister Pamela lives in a shabby house in South Dakota' He recounted, bored, as if telling a story. Then he stood up. The captive had fallen silent, trembling. 'I was thinking of shoving this cigarette in your mouth and letting the ember choke you, but I've thought better of it.'

Lamarck tossed the cigarette. Gabriel trembled.

'Tomorrow, at this same time, Pamela Montezco's shabby house will burn. Whether she's inside or not depends on you.'

'Please! Please, no, she's not guilty of anything! Please!'

'So you are? '

Corpse stared at Lamarck in disbelief. Lamarck stood up and headed towards the door. He motioned for Corpse to come closer and whispered to him:

'If he doesn't sing in the next three hours, he knows nothing.'

'And what do we do? Kill the sister?'

Lamarck thought about it but didn't say anything. It hurt too much to decide at that moment, and the disinfectant smell was too strong. He didn't want to kill the sister. Without a word, he returned to the garage, leaving Corpse with a snitch who probably wasn't guilty of anything. But had he spilled everything to Catarso? To Cafarello and the Italians? He couldn't afford a war with the Italians.

Outside, Loreen questioned him with her gaze. His second-in-command was always silent, observant, and cautious. He'd had her by his side for over eight years, and in all that time, she hadn't failed him even once.

He allowed a hint of discomfort to show when he leaned against a column beside her.

'Well?' she asked after a while.

'I think he doesn't know anything,' Lamarck replied.

'Damn it.'

Lamarck nodded and wrinkled his nose to stave off a sneeze. His nose was still itchy from the smell of disinfectant. He cleared his throat and coughed. He felt Loreen's sideways glance, and although he knew she wouldn't be like Karisha and dive into an interrogation, he didn't feel like showing weakness. He was about to leave when Loreen spoke.

'Are they going to dismantle us?'

Lamarck knew it wasn't easy for her to show fear either. He tried to remain firm, allowing himself just a slight sniffle.

'Not if I can help it. We need to find out  who he told it to and what. That's it. Then I'll handle it.'

'What if he spilled to the Italians? There are a lot more than us.'

It was so obvious that Lamarck hesitated about what to say. To show assurance to Loreen? This might work with Corpse and those of his ilk, but not against her. Honesty wasn't an option either; he wasn't good at it. Before making a decision, his body took charge for him.

'hgG'k tXN nn!-ugh…'

He sneezed, fingers pinching his nose. He stifled it in as much as he could, even if it made the wound hurt even more. He kept his eyes closed for a few seconds.

'Bless you, boss.'

'Excuse me. I'm leaving.'

'Boss.' Loreen moved to stop him, and Lamarck saw a clear question in her gaze about his health. 'Nothing.'

Lamarck nodded and left.

 

[SleepingPhlox]

Oh there is  no such thing as describing too much, I love reading stories with a lot of immersion into the world!

This is an interesting start and you have such cool characters...can't wait to see where this goes!