Nothing Personal

Marini scooped up his keys and the extra ammunition in his nightstand drawer. He just got off the phone with Gorecci, the boss needed him to “paint some walls.”

After getting the information on who, he ended the call with the tale-tale, “You got it boss,” as he hung up the phone. 

It was 3AM and his wife next to him stirred when the phone rang. 

“Got business tonight?” she said through a groggy voice. 

“You got it, baby.” Marini said as he bent over to kiss her on the forehead. 

She moaned pleasantly and turned over in the warm sheets, seconds away from returning to blissful sleep. 

Marini stood in the closet and turned on the plastic chandelier that hung in the bathroom. He put on his brown suit and stashed a large cigar in the inside pocket along with his Beretta M9. 

Marini had been at this for years now, and rose quickly in the ranks of the local mob. He felt it an honor. When Marini was a child, his father was killed by a mobster, the body thrown in a water canal with cement shoes on. The mob that killed him then took Marini and his mother under their wing. 

Marini didn’t like his father. He was a baker with no spine or purpose in life. He was glad to be rid of him. Marini’s only regret was that he wasn’t the one to do it. 

MARINI PULLED UP TO his buddy Tom’s house. He knocked on the door and waited as he listened to Tom shuffle around just behind the door. Tom opened the door wearing a stained tight tank top that clung to his large belly. The hairy Italian saw it was Marini, in spite of the bright car lights casting a deep shadow on Marini’s face. The confusion and frustration melted from his face, “I’ll just be a second, come on in” Tom said as he turned from the door to get dressed. 

Tom disappeared back into his room where you could faintly hear his wife’s muffled inquiry, “Got business tonight?” 

Marini stood in the entryway and poured himself a glass of scotch from the small bar situated just in front of Tom’s office doors. Marini set the glass down and heard a faint creak behind him. He turned to see a little boy with dark hair and deep brown eyes standing at the top of the staircase, looking down at him. Marini smiled softly at the little boy, also sporting a white tank top and underwear. “Back to bed, little man.” Marini said sweetly. Without a word the small boy turned and walked back into his room.

TOM AND MARINI DROVE out of town in relative silence. “What’s the boss need tonight?” Tom asked through his thick italian accent. “He just needs a few ends tied up before the morning. Nothing too long. Just a drive-by. Two guys waiting outside a hospital.” Marini replied. 

“Well then pull over here. I should drive, you’re the better shot.” Tom said. 

Marini pulled off to the side of the street and got out of the vehicle. He walked in front of the car about to pass Tom. For the faintest second as Tom walked in front of the light, Marini saw the glimmer of Tom’s gun, before – BANG! 

Tom had shot Marini straight in the chest. 

Marini crumpled onto the hood of the car clutching the wound. He couldn’t stand, his muscles gave out and he fell to the asphalt. Marini quickly lost control of his limbs. Blood pooled on the floor soaking the back of his suit. 

Tom leaned over and grabbed the gun from Marini’s inside pocket. Inadvertently also grabbing the cigar. Tom lit the cigar and put it in Marini’s mouth. 

Tom sat down at Marini’s head. He shifted his leg under Marini’s head, and affectionately stroked his hair. 

“I love you, Marini,” Tom uttered as a tear rolled off his cheek onto Marini’s wool suit. “It’s nothing personal.” 

Marini looked up with fading eyes. Tom closed them. As he breathed his final breath Tom said softly, “don’t worry my brother, we’ll take care of Marci. Gorecci always takes care of his men.”  

After sinking Marini to the bottom of the canal with both their guns, Tom went home for a good night’s sleep. 

THE NEXT MORNING TOM walked the long path to Marci’s door. When she answered and didn’t see Marini there, cold dread froze her limbs. “I’m sorry Marci, Marini’s not coming home.” 

Marci dissolved into tears and embraced Tom. Through sobs she muffled, “I knew it was coming, I knew it.” She whimpered pathetically, “I’m glad you were with him Tom, I’m glad you were with him.” 

Tom held her tightly, and tenderly. His brother's wife soaking his green suit with her tears. “Don’t you worry Marci, Gorecci won’t let your family fall apart. He always takes care of his own.”

MARCI GOT SET UP with a new job shortly after the funeral. Gorecci had just lost a receptionist. Marci found a great deal of purpose and peace in helping run the books for the Gorecci family. 

Every time Tom dropped by Gorecci's place, he always gave Marci a beautiful bouquet of flowers. 

“You’re good with the phones, Marci.” Tom said kindly.

“Thank you Tom.” Marci replied sincerely. 

Gorecci walked out of his office and stretched his arms behind his pinstriped suit. He let out a heavy sigh, “Tom I’m glad to see you. Come inside, come inside.” The two walked into Gorecci’s office. 

“How’s Marci?” Gorecci questioned behind closed doors. 

“She’s doing good boss. Thanks to you, she’s doing good.”