The Montolivo Scheme

I told you... it wasn't gonna be a long wait.

I’m back.

You know what’s wrong with society?

They think their pretty little worlds are some kind fucking hermetic panic room, you know? Like nothing can get in and nothing can get out. Let me tell you, son, they’re wrong.

I’m… not… following, sir. 

Oh, you’re not following? Is that so?

The car stirred and drifted dangerously through the mountain road. Night had fallen upon them and now they were on their own.  

Fucking flatfoot pricks. Angela, my hand is broken here, if I could shift gears, I would!

I’m sorry boss.

Don’t you fucking patronize me, just change the god damn gear and shut the fuck up!

Angela shifted gears carefully. 

Christopher’s right hand got crushed two hours ago, his knuckles were broken. The pain was horrendous.

Hey, priest… you still with us? 

Father Lucas had a hole in his belly; he was losing loads of blood.

Yes…

Alright, don’t you dare to put that gun away from the kid’s head.

Why are you doing this? – Father Lucas asked.

You agreed on robbing those fucks, didn’t you? – Christopher replied.  

One of us made a fucking mistake and now we gotta run. 

I have nothing to do with this! – The young man shouted.

Damn it Angela!  

The car almost shut down.

I am… ok, ok. I’m fucking trying!

Angela shifted the gear.

It started raining.

Kid, listen. You saw our faces, alright? you are too much of a liability to us all now…

I won’t say anything, I promise. Just let me go, right here… I will find my way back.

Let you go? There must be a fucking platoon looking for us as we speak…  If they find you they’ll break you… just like they broke my hand and you will talk because you’re a fucking rat.

I will not. 

Yes you will…  

The car stopped.

The bright red lights covered the road.

Angela, would you please go to the back seat. Father Lucas will be the one leaving us right now.

Thank you… Christopher.

Don’t worry father, I know you wanted this.

Father Lucas got out of the car and looked to the heavens.

Angela loaded her gun and pressed it against the kid’s back.

This is going to hurt – Said Christopher.

He shifted gears with his broken hand. His knuckles cracked…

The car started to move, slowly…

Christopher’s eyes were full of tears, he was shivering. Pain was almost unbearable. 

He looked through the central rearview mirror and saw how the priest fell apart. He was probably dead.

The car kept moving.  

At least tell me where we’re going, would you? – the kid asked.

We’re going to buy some flowers.

What?! – shouted Angela

You can’t be serious, not him… why the fuck? 

You think Capone will receive us just like that? You stupid whore… 

Of course he will, we just robbed one of Moran’s highest value joint.

Yeah but it was fucking dirty, wasn’t it… five dead including the fucking priest who was under fucking covered…

Come on, Angela, Al will put our heads on a pike. We made too much noise, it was a fucking mess.

Buy flowers? – the kid asked.

Shut up, prick! Stop asking questions.

Christopher, I want out. – Angela whispered.

What? You want out?

No, no, Angela, you ain’t leaving me!  After all we did? We fucking got the money, Angela, there is a way out, and the florist will understand, they will help us!

I am tired.

The kid was sweating, he felt someone was gonna accidentally pull a trigger and take his life.

Angela pressed the gun against her forehead.

Don’t you fucking…

BAM!

A flock of crows covered the dark sky.

Blood and brains all over.

Oh, Fuck! – Christopher shouted.

Weak bitch. 

The kid was shivering out of control. It was a blood bath back there.

Kid, don’t you dare to aim that gun at me.

I won’t – The kid said  

I guess that man you are talking about will help us get out of this… I mean no one will believe me If I go back covered in blood and with a dead priest amidst the road…I’m no idiot…”Christopher”.

Good. Now we are talking.

 A dim light appeared at the end of the road. It was the famous Moran greenhouse. Some said that the green house was a weird kind of morgue in which Bugsy Moran, Al Capone’s arch enemy kept bodies. Other thought Busy was just a faggot who liked to be around roses and daffodils. The truth was neither. That place was just a regular greenhouse and in it you could find the famous murderer known as “The Florist”.  Moran’s right hand.

They parked a few yards away from the entrance.

Christopher got up and started walking towards the god damned place.  

The kid followed.  

The florist was there arranging a nice piece for a customer. Red roses, there is nothing like red roses.

Kid, let me do the talking, just follow me, we’ll be alright…

You sure? 

Yes I am fucking sure.

Both men raised their hands.

Florist! – Christopher shouted from across the green house.

I am Christopher De Paglia, I work for Al Capone!  - He shouted.

I know who you are. Please make us both a favor and cut to the chase. – The Florist responded.

I am here to surrender. I have three hundred K’s in the trunk, I would like to ask you for your help.

My help? How can I help you, Mr. De Paglia?

Well… not killing me will do just fine. Let me work for you… I will be loyal to Busy, I didn’t mean to work for Capone in the first place.

What makes you think I can trust a man like you? A deserter? 

You don’t, sir.

The florist grabbed a long sharp knife and came walking towards De Paglia. His eyes were filled with hate but his moves were soft and elegant.

Please, don’t kill me. 

Oh, I won’t kill you, Christopher. You can put your hands, down.

Both Christopher and the kid put his hands down.

Not you, son. – The Florist said.

The kid raised his hands again fast.

Who is this?

It’s just a kid who was at the wrong place and at the wrong time.

One filthy rat, huh?

No! – The kid shouted.

Exactly – Christopher replied.  

The florist started walking towards his work table he then grabbed a nine millimeters gun and went back to where Christopher and the kid were standing.  

He aimed the gun at Christopher De Paglia.

What? Boss, please, I swear I don’t know this kid!

Oh, but I do. – The Florist responded.

Montolivo... 

David Montolivo is his name and he…

The kid put his hands down took Angela’s pistol and pressed it against Christopher’s head.

What does that feel like, “Boss” ?  

You got to be fucking kidding me.

As I said, Christopher, I am not going to kill you. You have been a nice dog. I mean you brought me three hundred thousand dollars that were stolen from my boss’s joint; you sloppy bastard got your stupid whore and your disgraceful priest both killed and then came to me, humiliating yourself in the name of Al Capone.

No, Christopher, I won’t kill you. In fact... I have to thank you. 

 Bugsy will be pleased.

The Florist started walking to the far end of the greenhouse, towards his red roses. 

BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM!

A profound silence took over the place.

War is war.