| Writing Fiction posted January 7, 2011 |
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The phone call flash fiction 500-800 words
A Sicilian Message
by bhogg
Vincent Napoli was stereotype Italian. His olive complexion, smoothed over fifty years, suggested a childhood acne problem. A prominent feature his nose, somewhat large and non-symmetrical. Dark hair swept back against a receding hairline. He was a large man. If you passed him on the street, you might think, there goes a mafia hit man. You'd be right.
Vinny was currently sitting in the office of an abandoned warehouse. Filtered light through the grimy window accentuated the dust in the air. Across from him, tethered to a chair with nylon stays binding his hands, sat Victor Perini. He was also Italian, but with his slight build and blond hair, his heritage could be anything.
A certain irony brought the two together. They had known each other since the ninth grade, boyhood friends.
Taking a short breath and turning his neck, Vic turned to Vinny and asked, "Why don't you just let me go?"
"We've talked about that, Vic. You know I can't do it. The boss is trying to figure out if you stole money from the Cappolini Family or what."
"Vinny, I'm the CPA for the Family. If I wanted to steal money, I've had a million chances. All I did was flush weekly gambling receipts through one of my firm's holding accounts. We handle pretty significant IRA accounts, so having large sums pass through is not going to be on the Fed's radar screen. When funds wash through, we have the ability to collect interest, if only for a few days. It didn't even occur to me that the interest was accruing to my personal account."
Shrugging, Vinny answered, "Look, I don't know anything about that. You're the one who went to college. I'm just the dumb goombah babysitting you."
Vic chuckled, "Dumb, right, and why does Sylvia always brag about how you complete the New York Times Puzzle every day?"
Vinny laughed. "Yeah, I know. Your wife is a sweetheart. She's always treated me kindly. I've never had kids, but you know, if I ever had one, you guys would be God parents."
After a moment of silence, Vic continued, "Vinny, I suppose I should feel better, but I know what you do in the family business. You're a killer."
"Come on, Vic, you know that the Cappolinis are straight up. If I get the phone call by 4:00 this afternoon, I'm going to have to do something that neither one of us will like. If I don't get the call, the two of us walk out of here and get some pasta. I didn't have lunch and I'm starved. How about you?"
"You've got to be kidding. How could I have an appetite? If you get that phone call, you're going to whack me."
"Well hell then, you can watch me eat. Look, you're probably home free. It's 3:45 now. The Cappolinis aren't ass holes. If they were going to call, they would have."
The two men sat awhile, saying nothing. The silence was awkward, almost oppressive. Vinny finally broke the ice. "Do you remember that time in ninth grade when that big black guy tried to take your money?"
"Yeah, I remember," Vic replied. "The guy was a senior and was the biggest bully in school. It's still hard for me to believe that you beat him up. We were both ninth graders and he probably had 30 pounds on you. You not only kicked his ass, you mopped the floor with him."
Vinny smiled. “He was a bully. I think if you had stiffened up you could have kicked his ass too. Most bullies are just hot air.”
There was a moment of profound silence. With a smile, Vic looked at Vinny, who smiled back. Who knows why, but in a totally strange moment, they both looked over at the cheap clock on the desk. It was 3:59 PM. The phone rang.
Across town, Phyllis Bryan questioned her husband Jerry, “Why did you hang up? I wanted to wish little Bobby, a happy birthday.”
Jerry replied, "I must have dialed the wrong number. It rang, and some dude said, 'I’ll make it quick.' Then, he just hung up.”
Flash Fiction contest entry
Vincent Napoli was stereotype Italian. His olive complexion, smoothed over fifty years, suggested a childhood acne problem. A prominent feature his nose, somewhat large and non-symmetrical. Dark hair swept back against a receding hairline. He was a large man. If you passed him on the street, you might think, there goes a mafia hit man. You'd be right.
Vinny was currently sitting in the office of an abandoned warehouse. Filtered light through the grimy window accentuated the dust in the air. Across from him, tethered to a chair with nylon stays binding his hands, sat Victor Perini. He was also Italian, but with his slight build and blond hair, his heritage could be anything.
A certain irony brought the two together. They had known each other since the ninth grade, boyhood friends.
Taking a short breath and turning his neck, Vic turned to Vinny and asked, "Why don't you just let me go?"
"We've talked about that, Vic. You know I can't do it. The boss is trying to figure out if you stole money from the Cappolini Family or what."
"Vinny, I'm the CPA for the Family. If I wanted to steal money, I've had a million chances. All I did was flush weekly gambling receipts through one of my firm's holding accounts. We handle pretty significant IRA accounts, so having large sums pass through is not going to be on the Fed's radar screen. When funds wash through, we have the ability to collect interest, if only for a few days. It didn't even occur to me that the interest was accruing to my personal account."
Shrugging, Vinny answered, "Look, I don't know anything about that. You're the one who went to college. I'm just the dumb goombah babysitting you."
Vic chuckled, "Dumb, right, and why does Sylvia always brag about how you complete the New York Times Puzzle every day?"
Vinny laughed. "Yeah, I know. Your wife is a sweetheart. She's always treated me kindly. I've never had kids, but you know, if I ever had one, you guys would be God parents."
After a moment of silence, Vic continued, "Vinny, I suppose I should feel better, but I know what you do in the family business. You're a killer."
"Come on, Vic, you know that the Cappolinis are straight up. If I get the phone call by 4:00 this afternoon, I'm going to have to do something that neither one of us will like. If I don't get the call, the two of us walk out of here and get some pasta. I didn't have lunch and I'm starved. How about you?"
"You've got to be kidding. How could I have an appetite? If you get that phone call, you're going to whack me."
"Well hell then, you can watch me eat. Look, you're probably home free. It's 3:45 now. The Cappolinis aren't ass holes. If they were going to call, they would have."
The two men sat awhile, saying nothing. The silence was awkward, almost oppressive. Vinny finally broke the ice. "Do you remember that time in ninth grade when that big black guy tried to take your money?"
"Yeah, I remember," Vic replied. "The guy was a senior and was the biggest bully in school. It's still hard for me to believe that you beat him up. We were both ninth graders and he probably had 30 pounds on you. You not only kicked his ass, you mopped the floor with him."
Vinny smiled. “He was a bully. I think if you had stiffened up you could have kicked his ass too. Most bullies are just hot air.”
There was a moment of profound silence. With a smile, Vic looked at Vinny, who smiled back. Who knows why, but in a totally strange moment, they both looked over at the cheap clock on the desk. It was 3:59 PM. The phone rang.
Across town, Phyllis Bryan questioned her husband Jerry, “Why did you hang up? I wanted to wish little Bobby, a happy birthday.”
Jerry replied, "I must have dialed the wrong number. It rang, and some dude said, 'I’ll make it quick.' Then, he just hung up.”
Vinny was currently sitting in the office of an abandoned warehouse. Filtered light through the grimy window accentuated the dust in the air. Across from him, tethered to a chair with nylon stays binding his hands, sat Victor Perini. He was also Italian, but with his slight build and blond hair, his heritage could be anything.
A certain irony brought the two together. They had known each other since the ninth grade, boyhood friends.
Taking a short breath and turning his neck, Vic turned to Vinny and asked, "Why don't you just let me go?"
"We've talked about that, Vic. You know I can't do it. The boss is trying to figure out if you stole money from the Cappolini Family or what."
"Vinny, I'm the CPA for the Family. If I wanted to steal money, I've had a million chances. All I did was flush weekly gambling receipts through one of my firm's holding accounts. We handle pretty significant IRA accounts, so having large sums pass through is not going to be on the Fed's radar screen. When funds wash through, we have the ability to collect interest, if only for a few days. It didn't even occur to me that the interest was accruing to my personal account."
Shrugging, Vinny answered, "Look, I don't know anything about that. You're the one who went to college. I'm just the dumb goombah babysitting you."
Vic chuckled, "Dumb, right, and why does Sylvia always brag about how you complete the New York Times Puzzle every day?"
Vinny laughed. "Yeah, I know. Your wife is a sweetheart. She's always treated me kindly. I've never had kids, but you know, if I ever had one, you guys would be God parents."
After a moment of silence, Vic continued, "Vinny, I suppose I should feel better, but I know what you do in the family business. You're a killer."
"Come on, Vic, you know that the Cappolinis are straight up. If I get the phone call by 4:00 this afternoon, I'm going to have to do something that neither one of us will like. If I don't get the call, the two of us walk out of here and get some pasta. I didn't have lunch and I'm starved. How about you?"
"You've got to be kidding. How could I have an appetite? If you get that phone call, you're going to whack me."
"Well hell then, you can watch me eat. Look, you're probably home free. It's 3:45 now. The Cappolinis aren't ass holes. If they were going to call, they would have."
The two men sat awhile, saying nothing. The silence was awkward, almost oppressive. Vinny finally broke the ice. "Do you remember that time in ninth grade when that big black guy tried to take your money?"
"Yeah, I remember," Vic replied. "The guy was a senior and was the biggest bully in school. It's still hard for me to believe that you beat him up. We were both ninth graders and he probably had 30 pounds on you. You not only kicked his ass, you mopped the floor with him."
Vinny smiled. “He was a bully. I think if you had stiffened up you could have kicked his ass too. Most bullies are just hot air.”
There was a moment of profound silence. With a smile, Vic looked at Vinny, who smiled back. Who knows why, but in a totally strange moment, they both looked over at the cheap clock on the desk. It was 3:59 PM. The phone rang.
Across town, Phyllis Bryan questioned her husband Jerry, “Why did you hang up? I wanted to wish little Bobby, a happy birthday.”
Jerry replied, "I must have dialed the wrong number. It rang, and some dude said, 'I’ll make it quick.' Then, he just hung up.”
 Recognized |
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Contest entry, flash fiction, 500 - 800 words, current count 708 wirds
Pays
one point
and 2 member cents. Artwork by cleo85 at FanArtReview.com
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