Post by Delilah Ghost on Sept 10, 2007 15:20:52 GMT -6
((nothing resembling Southern Dynamite related rp here...just some storyline fun....))
All in all, it was a rather pleasant Chicago night. A cool breeze blew in through the open garage door, ruffling the hair of the redhead that stood before the workbench. She stared down at a large, black, wooden box, her hands resting on the lid. With a sigh, she lifts the lid, revealing the pair of guns inside. She takes them out, almost reverently, and holds the big antique Colt .45's before her.
"Hello there," Delilah whispers. She slips them underneath her long black coat and closes the lid on the box.
She then walks over to the far side of the garage where a car sits underneath a dropcloth. A quick pull uncovers a 1969 Chevy Nova SS, glittering in the garage lights. It's painted in a light bluish color that can only be described as 'little old lady hair'. A small grin appears as she walks around to the driver's side, running her hand along the body. Delilah goes to open the door, but she stops, motionless. She turns toward the open garage door, looking out into the alley.
"That better be you," she calls out.
A figure steps from the dark into the light streaming through the garage door. Delilah grins again, her whole body relaxing. She walks right up to the not-so-stranger, wrapping her arms around him and hugging him tight. One strong arm slowly slips around her waist, but Delilah can feel something lightly tapping her on the head. She frowns slightly, tilting her head up to look at him. The tapping stops when Mikey holds up a single daisy.
"Awwww," Delilah says, taking the flower and stepping away from Mikey. He holds up a finger, going back out to the alley and returning with his backpack. Mikey opens it and pulls out a box with a bow on it. Delilah takes on look at it and starts laughing.
"And a box of hollow points. You are sweet, aren't you?"
A broad smile lights up Mikey's face and he holds out his hands in a 'What can I say?' sort of gesture. He then looks down at her body, miming holstering a set of guns at his hips.
"Yeah...that. Pete and I got some...business matters to attend to. Shouldn't take too long. You can hang out here, while we're gone."
Mikey frowns at that. He fixes Delilah with a serious look and slowly shakes his head no.
"Would it help if I said please?"
"Doubt it. Hey kid."
They both turn to see Pete walking into the garage, a black garbage bag slung over one shoulder. He holds a hand out and Delilah tosses him the car keys.
"You're not helping."
"Oh, I am helping," Pete says as he puts the garbage bag in the trunk. "Just not with that. Mikey's a big boy, Del. He can take care of himself."
Delilah looks from Pete to Mikey and back, scowling. "Whatever. Y'know, one bad thing about dating a mute, it's pointless to argue with them."
"Lucky bastard. She argues with me all the time. Have'ta try that mute thing sometime."
"You're just an idiot. It wouldn't work for you. Now gimmie the keys and get in."
Mikey and Pete share an evil grin as they all climb in the Nova. The engine roars to life and Delilah slowly pulls out into the alley. She floors it as soon as the garage door closes behind them, smoking the tires all the way to the street.
Delilah looks up at the rear view mirror, chuckling at a pale Pete holding on in the backseat.
"Don't you puke in my car."
"I should. I should hurl all over this piece of crap car. God, I can't believe I'm letting you drive."
"Hey, this is a 69 Nova SS, and you will give Doris the respect she deserves."
"I respect Doris just fine. It's her driver that's a total wackjob. What state was stupid enough to give you a licence?"
"Licence? What licence?" Delilah grins at the mirror, chuckling at the dirty look Pete was giving her. Mikey rummages in the glove box for a moment, pulling out a pen and a pad of paper. He scribbles something on it, then holds it up for Delilah to read.
So what's up?
"We have a little business meeting at some little Italian place down the road here. Il Duce's. Pete and I need to have a little...talk...with the owner."
Huh?
"Some dago mook that decided he couldn't keep his nose in his own damned business. Came down to the bar while we were in Arkansas and hassled my sister."
No kidding?
"Normally I'd just say Sammy's a big girl and can take care of herself. Only thing is, a third degree blackbelt won't help ya once the guns come out. So now we have to provide these poor, ignorant bastards with some education, you might say."
What do you need me to do?
"Be all intimidating and stuff."
"Just follow the boss' lead, kid. There it is."
The Nova rumbles to a stop outside of a little restaraunt, a red neon sign saying 'Il Duce' hanging in the window. Delilah and Mikey get out and walk up to the windows as Pete retreves the garbage bag in the trunk. Mikey glances at the bag, pointing at it and wrinkling his nose.
"It's a surprise."
"Wanna carry it?"
Mikey shakes his head no as he opens the door for Delilah and Pete. Delilah walks inside, head high, looking as if she owned the place. Mikey and Pete fall in step behind her, their faces calm and unreadable. There are only a few people inside, one couple and four overweight guys in suits. The couple looks from the suits, to the three that just came in, and decide to make their exit, leaving money on the table.
"Frankie Sartoni?"
The four suits stare at Delilah for a moment before one decides to respond.
"He's in da back."
"Lovely. Now be a dear and go tell him that the Half Moon's owner is here to see him."
The man stares at her for a moment before doing as she said. The other three study Delilah, Pete and Mikey, whispering to each other.
"You own that dive? You got any other business on the side," one of the suits asks.
Mikey takes a step forward, but Delilah holds out her hand, stopping him.
"You could say that. Among other things."
"Among other things," he repeats, "I like da soun' of that. I could definitely think of 'other things' I'd like ta do to you. Huh? Dat one your pimp," he asks, pointing at a visibly furious Mikey. The man steps in close to Delilah, who merely grins at him.
"Why don't you ask him?"
The man opens his mouth again, only to have it filled with Mikey's fist. He drops to the floor and the other two suits reach inside their coats.
"Joey! Tony! I wouldn't, if I were you. Gino deserved it. Joey, pick Gino up and take him to the back. You stay out here with me and Al, Tony."
Joey and Tony step aside to reveal another man, with dark hair, olive skin and very expensive looking suit. Another man stood behind him, looking like a gorilla in a track suit.
"That's why I try to keep you guys outta my side of town. No manners. Ya' just don't know how to treat a lady."
"I apologize for my men, Miss Finnagan. They just don't know what to do with a forceful woman that isn't their mother. Like most men with Italian mothers. Shall we have a seat?"
They follow Frankie and his two bodyguards to a booth in the corner. Frankie slides in first, sitting in the middle with his men on either side of him. Delilah grabs a chair, twirling it around so the back is to the table and sits down, straddling it. Pete and Mikey stand behind her, looking tough.
"Now, Miss Finnagan, about my offer..."
"Yes, Frankie, about your offer. I have a few issues with it."
"Such as?"
"Well, for one, I don't appreciate your boys causing trouble in my bar. For two, I really don't appreciate anyone at all harassing my bartender."
"Your bartender? But aren't you...."
"He's Mickey," Delilah says, pointing over her shoulder at Mikey, "I'm Mallory."
"What?"
Delilah chuckles, shaking her head. "No. I ain't Miss Finnagan. Miss Finnagan is the bartender. I am the owner. Perhaps you've heard of me? Delilah Ghost? Being a former New York boy you probably know Red Jimmy Toucci."
Frankie studied Delilah for a long moment, his face carefully blank.
"I do."
"Then you know that you have a serious problem on your hands here."
"Oh yes, Miss Ghost. That I do."
Tony starts to slowly reach inside his coat when a metallic click draws his attention to Delilah's elbow. Seeing a sinister gunmetal grey eye peeking out from under her arm, he puts both of his hands on the table.
"Very good. Now, Frankie, I didn't come down here to shoot the place up. It would be helpful if your boys could keep that in mind."
"I think we all want to settle this like civilized people."
"Not all of us."
"Forgive Pete. He doesn't take kindly to greasy motherf***ers like these waving guns in his sister's face. Actually, I don't either, come to think of it."
"I can understand that. What can I do to make this right? After all, I was informed that you were no longer a player once you took up the professional wrestling."
"Just because I'm out of the business, doesn't mean you can move in on me."
"A misunderstanding, that's all. I had no idea the Half Moon belonged to you."
"The entire f***ing block belongs to me. And you know it. Everyone knows it. I myself know you're chummy with Gabriel Cordova and even HE knows it."
"Very well. What are your terms?"
"Do you like movies, Frankie?"
"What does that have to do with anything?"
Delilah continues, ignoring his question. "I love movies. Westerns, war movies, gangster movies, all of them. I bet you do too. Hell, you're Italian mob, hanging out in a restaraunt called Il Duce. How movie gangster can you get?"
"Perpetuating the stereotype."
Delilah looks up at Pete, grinning. "Don't hurt yourself with those big words, Petey. But really, those Godfather movies are pretty wicked, huh? You wanna know what my favorite thing is outta all of them?"
"What?"
"Where the dude wakes up with the horse's head in his bed. How f***ed up is that? Those movie gangsters really knew how to send a message. Sends me right back to the old days just thinkin' about it."
"I fail to see where this is going."
"That's because I like to take the long way to get there. See, Frankie, I really ain't a player anymore. I'm happy with the wrestling gig and the bar makes some pretty good money. And everyone else, the Russians, the Colombians, the Irish boys....they all leave me alone. I'd like to keep it that way. Makes for a more peaceful city."
"And?"
"And you are f***ing that all up. You sneak down when I ain't even in town, and try to shake down my place. Not cool, Frankie, or smart. Now, normally I wouldn't bother with the face to face like this. Normally, I'd just break into your house in the middle of the night, tie up you and your family and spend an evening pulling your fingernails out with a pair of pliers."
"That sounds like a threat."
"Good. That means you're understanding me. Hopefully you also understand that I don't really want to have to do that. I'm a busy girl, Frankie, and I just don't think you're worth the time. Thus the need for a hand delivered message, from me to you. Pete? Would you like to give Mister Sartoni his message?"
"Gladly," he replies, opening the garbage bag. A horse's head tumbles out of it onto the table, spattering the Italians with blood. They all recoil in horror, reaching for something as Delilah gets up, gun in each hand. The two bodyguards freeze, staring at Delilah over the barrels as Pete draws his own, fixing the sight on Frankie Sartoni.
"Don't f**k with us. F**k with my sister again, and you'll wish it was Delilah paying you a visit and not me."
Delilah's twin Colts disappear back under her coat as she steps back from the table. She takes Mikey's hand and tips the shocked Italians a wave with the other. "I'd say the matter is now settled. Wouldn't you? Frankie, Tony, Al, it's been a pleasure. Boys?" She turns her back on the men, dragging Mikey behind her as Pete follows. They leave the restaraunt, Delilah bursting into laughter as the door closes behind them.
"Classic. F***ing classic. I thought he was gonna hurl. Wish I had a camera."
"No kidding. Well, kid, you gonna run for the hills now? Get away from the scary broad with the guns?"
Mikey opens the passenger side door of the Nova and grabs the pen and paper.
Not a chance.
"Good on ya', kid. Back to the bar?"
"Back to the bar. You wanna drive?" Delilah holds the keys out to Mikey who takes them with a grin.
"How come I don't get to drive?"
"He's cuter."
"Whatever. He's gotta be a better driver than you, anyways," Pete shoots back as he climbs into the backseat. Mikey and Delilah grin at each other over the roof of the car before getting in as well. The engine roars to life once again, and Mikey takes off much like Delilah did, tires smoking, the car fishtailing slightly before shooting off down the street, a muffled "SHIIIIIIIIT!!!" from inside.
All in all, it was a rather pleasant Chicago night. A cool breeze blew in through the open garage door, ruffling the hair of the redhead that stood before the workbench. She stared down at a large, black, wooden box, her hands resting on the lid. With a sigh, she lifts the lid, revealing the pair of guns inside. She takes them out, almost reverently, and holds the big antique Colt .45's before her.
"Hello there," Delilah whispers. She slips them underneath her long black coat and closes the lid on the box.
She then walks over to the far side of the garage where a car sits underneath a dropcloth. A quick pull uncovers a 1969 Chevy Nova SS, glittering in the garage lights. It's painted in a light bluish color that can only be described as 'little old lady hair'. A small grin appears as she walks around to the driver's side, running her hand along the body. Delilah goes to open the door, but she stops, motionless. She turns toward the open garage door, looking out into the alley.
"That better be you," she calls out.
A figure steps from the dark into the light streaming through the garage door. Delilah grins again, her whole body relaxing. She walks right up to the not-so-stranger, wrapping her arms around him and hugging him tight. One strong arm slowly slips around her waist, but Delilah can feel something lightly tapping her on the head. She frowns slightly, tilting her head up to look at him. The tapping stops when Mikey holds up a single daisy.
"Awwww," Delilah says, taking the flower and stepping away from Mikey. He holds up a finger, going back out to the alley and returning with his backpack. Mikey opens it and pulls out a box with a bow on it. Delilah takes on look at it and starts laughing.
"And a box of hollow points. You are sweet, aren't you?"
A broad smile lights up Mikey's face and he holds out his hands in a 'What can I say?' sort of gesture. He then looks down at her body, miming holstering a set of guns at his hips.
"Yeah...that. Pete and I got some...business matters to attend to. Shouldn't take too long. You can hang out here, while we're gone."
Mikey frowns at that. He fixes Delilah with a serious look and slowly shakes his head no.
"Would it help if I said please?"
"Doubt it. Hey kid."
They both turn to see Pete walking into the garage, a black garbage bag slung over one shoulder. He holds a hand out and Delilah tosses him the car keys.
"You're not helping."
"Oh, I am helping," Pete says as he puts the garbage bag in the trunk. "Just not with that. Mikey's a big boy, Del. He can take care of himself."
Delilah looks from Pete to Mikey and back, scowling. "Whatever. Y'know, one bad thing about dating a mute, it's pointless to argue with them."
"Lucky bastard. She argues with me all the time. Have'ta try that mute thing sometime."
"You're just an idiot. It wouldn't work for you. Now gimmie the keys and get in."
Mikey and Pete share an evil grin as they all climb in the Nova. The engine roars to life and Delilah slowly pulls out into the alley. She floors it as soon as the garage door closes behind them, smoking the tires all the way to the street.
Delilah looks up at the rear view mirror, chuckling at a pale Pete holding on in the backseat.
"Don't you puke in my car."
"I should. I should hurl all over this piece of crap car. God, I can't believe I'm letting you drive."
"Hey, this is a 69 Nova SS, and you will give Doris the respect she deserves."
"I respect Doris just fine. It's her driver that's a total wackjob. What state was stupid enough to give you a licence?"
"Licence? What licence?" Delilah grins at the mirror, chuckling at the dirty look Pete was giving her. Mikey rummages in the glove box for a moment, pulling out a pen and a pad of paper. He scribbles something on it, then holds it up for Delilah to read.
So what's up?
"We have a little business meeting at some little Italian place down the road here. Il Duce's. Pete and I need to have a little...talk...with the owner."
Huh?
"Some dago mook that decided he couldn't keep his nose in his own damned business. Came down to the bar while we were in Arkansas and hassled my sister."
No kidding?
"Normally I'd just say Sammy's a big girl and can take care of herself. Only thing is, a third degree blackbelt won't help ya once the guns come out. So now we have to provide these poor, ignorant bastards with some education, you might say."
What do you need me to do?
"Be all intimidating and stuff."
"Just follow the boss' lead, kid. There it is."
The Nova rumbles to a stop outside of a little restaraunt, a red neon sign saying 'Il Duce' hanging in the window. Delilah and Mikey get out and walk up to the windows as Pete retreves the garbage bag in the trunk. Mikey glances at the bag, pointing at it and wrinkling his nose.
"It's a surprise."
"Wanna carry it?"
Mikey shakes his head no as he opens the door for Delilah and Pete. Delilah walks inside, head high, looking as if she owned the place. Mikey and Pete fall in step behind her, their faces calm and unreadable. There are only a few people inside, one couple and four overweight guys in suits. The couple looks from the suits, to the three that just came in, and decide to make their exit, leaving money on the table.
"Frankie Sartoni?"
The four suits stare at Delilah for a moment before one decides to respond.
"He's in da back."
"Lovely. Now be a dear and go tell him that the Half Moon's owner is here to see him."
The man stares at her for a moment before doing as she said. The other three study Delilah, Pete and Mikey, whispering to each other.
"You own that dive? You got any other business on the side," one of the suits asks.
Mikey takes a step forward, but Delilah holds out her hand, stopping him.
"You could say that. Among other things."
"Among other things," he repeats, "I like da soun' of that. I could definitely think of 'other things' I'd like ta do to you. Huh? Dat one your pimp," he asks, pointing at a visibly furious Mikey. The man steps in close to Delilah, who merely grins at him.
"Why don't you ask him?"
The man opens his mouth again, only to have it filled with Mikey's fist. He drops to the floor and the other two suits reach inside their coats.
"Joey! Tony! I wouldn't, if I were you. Gino deserved it. Joey, pick Gino up and take him to the back. You stay out here with me and Al, Tony."
Joey and Tony step aside to reveal another man, with dark hair, olive skin and very expensive looking suit. Another man stood behind him, looking like a gorilla in a track suit.
"That's why I try to keep you guys outta my side of town. No manners. Ya' just don't know how to treat a lady."
"I apologize for my men, Miss Finnagan. They just don't know what to do with a forceful woman that isn't their mother. Like most men with Italian mothers. Shall we have a seat?"
They follow Frankie and his two bodyguards to a booth in the corner. Frankie slides in first, sitting in the middle with his men on either side of him. Delilah grabs a chair, twirling it around so the back is to the table and sits down, straddling it. Pete and Mikey stand behind her, looking tough.
"Now, Miss Finnagan, about my offer..."
"Yes, Frankie, about your offer. I have a few issues with it."
"Such as?"
"Well, for one, I don't appreciate your boys causing trouble in my bar. For two, I really don't appreciate anyone at all harassing my bartender."
"Your bartender? But aren't you...."
"He's Mickey," Delilah says, pointing over her shoulder at Mikey, "I'm Mallory."
"What?"
Delilah chuckles, shaking her head. "No. I ain't Miss Finnagan. Miss Finnagan is the bartender. I am the owner. Perhaps you've heard of me? Delilah Ghost? Being a former New York boy you probably know Red Jimmy Toucci."
Frankie studied Delilah for a long moment, his face carefully blank.
"I do."
"Then you know that you have a serious problem on your hands here."
"Oh yes, Miss Ghost. That I do."
Tony starts to slowly reach inside his coat when a metallic click draws his attention to Delilah's elbow. Seeing a sinister gunmetal grey eye peeking out from under her arm, he puts both of his hands on the table.
"Very good. Now, Frankie, I didn't come down here to shoot the place up. It would be helpful if your boys could keep that in mind."
"I think we all want to settle this like civilized people."
"Not all of us."
"Forgive Pete. He doesn't take kindly to greasy motherf***ers like these waving guns in his sister's face. Actually, I don't either, come to think of it."
"I can understand that. What can I do to make this right? After all, I was informed that you were no longer a player once you took up the professional wrestling."
"Just because I'm out of the business, doesn't mean you can move in on me."
"A misunderstanding, that's all. I had no idea the Half Moon belonged to you."
"The entire f***ing block belongs to me. And you know it. Everyone knows it. I myself know you're chummy with Gabriel Cordova and even HE knows it."
"Very well. What are your terms?"
"Do you like movies, Frankie?"
"What does that have to do with anything?"
Delilah continues, ignoring his question. "I love movies. Westerns, war movies, gangster movies, all of them. I bet you do too. Hell, you're Italian mob, hanging out in a restaraunt called Il Duce. How movie gangster can you get?"
"Perpetuating the stereotype."
Delilah looks up at Pete, grinning. "Don't hurt yourself with those big words, Petey. But really, those Godfather movies are pretty wicked, huh? You wanna know what my favorite thing is outta all of them?"
"What?"
"Where the dude wakes up with the horse's head in his bed. How f***ed up is that? Those movie gangsters really knew how to send a message. Sends me right back to the old days just thinkin' about it."
"I fail to see where this is going."
"That's because I like to take the long way to get there. See, Frankie, I really ain't a player anymore. I'm happy with the wrestling gig and the bar makes some pretty good money. And everyone else, the Russians, the Colombians, the Irish boys....they all leave me alone. I'd like to keep it that way. Makes for a more peaceful city."
"And?"
"And you are f***ing that all up. You sneak down when I ain't even in town, and try to shake down my place. Not cool, Frankie, or smart. Now, normally I wouldn't bother with the face to face like this. Normally, I'd just break into your house in the middle of the night, tie up you and your family and spend an evening pulling your fingernails out with a pair of pliers."
"That sounds like a threat."
"Good. That means you're understanding me. Hopefully you also understand that I don't really want to have to do that. I'm a busy girl, Frankie, and I just don't think you're worth the time. Thus the need for a hand delivered message, from me to you. Pete? Would you like to give Mister Sartoni his message?"
"Gladly," he replies, opening the garbage bag. A horse's head tumbles out of it onto the table, spattering the Italians with blood. They all recoil in horror, reaching for something as Delilah gets up, gun in each hand. The two bodyguards freeze, staring at Delilah over the barrels as Pete draws his own, fixing the sight on Frankie Sartoni.
"Don't f**k with us. F**k with my sister again, and you'll wish it was Delilah paying you a visit and not me."
Delilah's twin Colts disappear back under her coat as she steps back from the table. She takes Mikey's hand and tips the shocked Italians a wave with the other. "I'd say the matter is now settled. Wouldn't you? Frankie, Tony, Al, it's been a pleasure. Boys?" She turns her back on the men, dragging Mikey behind her as Pete follows. They leave the restaraunt, Delilah bursting into laughter as the door closes behind them.
"Classic. F***ing classic. I thought he was gonna hurl. Wish I had a camera."
"No kidding. Well, kid, you gonna run for the hills now? Get away from the scary broad with the guns?"
Mikey opens the passenger side door of the Nova and grabs the pen and paper.
Not a chance.
"Good on ya', kid. Back to the bar?"
"Back to the bar. You wanna drive?" Delilah holds the keys out to Mikey who takes them with a grin.
"How come I don't get to drive?"
"He's cuter."
"Whatever. He's gotta be a better driver than you, anyways," Pete shoots back as he climbs into the backseat. Mikey and Delilah grin at each other over the roof of the car before getting in as well. The engine roars to life once again, and Mikey takes off much like Delilah did, tires smoking, the car fishtailing slightly before shooting off down the street, a muffled "SHIIIIIIIIT!!!" from inside.
