Midnight Rider

It was another chilly evening in Boston. The moon was new; leaving no light to illuminate the streets below him. Murphy MacManus stood on a rooftop overlooking an old building in an Old Italian neighborhood. His hands tightly gripped the railing of the fire escape. The rust became degraded underneath his palms and mixed with the sweat already there. Leaving an unpleasant chemical residue on his hands. He wiped them on his blue jeans and reached up to his mouth to remove the cigarette there, it was nearly done as he flicked it off the roof of the building, he could see the red embers falling until they hit the ground and finally they disappeared completely.

He knew it had been stupid to come back to Boston, they should’ve waited longer, and if he had a say they would’ve never come back to begin with. But everyone always listened to Connor and his half-baked plans.

He buttoned the top button of his black coat to cover his neck; he was so cold now. He had been outside this brown building for hours, waiting, just waiting for any sign of movement, waiting for anyone, or anything.

Finally a bit of light appeared to illuminate the street below him. He reached into his pocket, feeling the weight of his loaded gun, he checked again to make sure the safety was off – ready for anything.

It was a yellow taxicab that pulled up the dark street, the break lights came on to signify and initiate a stop. Murphy waited, eager for something to shoot at, he watched as a young girl stepped out of the taxi cab, she slammed the door shut, and walked to the passenger window where she handed the cabby cash, she took a moment to look at herself in the side mirror, fixing her lipstick lines and adjusting her short blonde hair. She walked away nearly tripping in her incredibly tall heels, they may have made her legs look long – but by the length of her shirt, and the amount of make-up she had on, it was obvious what she was.

”Whore.” he thought to himself.

She would do him no good. He could always listen in, see if anyone mentioned his brother, but he might just find himself listening in on an audio only version of porn. Not something he really wanted to do.

She knocked on the painted door three times, she was quick about it, and at the end she added one slighter tiny knock. The top flew open once she was finished, and after the man was satisfied with what he saw, he swung the door open letting her inside.

”Does me no good.” he thought. ”A secret knock fine, but if he’s gotta’ see my face it won’t help me any, unless I wanna’ be tied up like Connor..”

Murphy didn’t want to admit it to himself but he knew he had a problem. He had no fuckin’ plan. Connor always had the plans, and now he was out of the picture. He didn’t want to tell himself that he didn’t know what to do, he was going to save his brother – there was no doubt about it.
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“Hey Blondie.” Veema said spitefully. Veema was a full bread Italian girl, she was pretty in the face, but apparently the guys didn’t crave the ‘I own a Cannoli bakery’ look, and that’s why they called Blondie. Veema didn’t like Blondie because she was the classic American girl; she had tall legs, short blonde hair and bright colorful eyes. Veema thought that any man in the Yakavetta family would be lucky to have her a wife, which is true, but Veema knew that she was always just the wife, and Blondie would be the one to call when they needed a good fuck.

Blondie was a particular favorite of Mauricio Yakavetta, the most powerful, youngest, handsomest, and the most violent Yakavetta since those ‘Saint’s’ had taken out most of the higher bosses. He ran this town like he was a fuckin’ God, and he did it while eating his mama’s spaghetti too.

Blondie was always a bit afraid of him. He called her once a week or so, usually late at night after long days of nothing but business. Blondie was quiet, quick, and sweet about everything she did to him. He didn’t have to return the favor, just a quick cum then she was off - and she’d have the months rent all in one night. But it wasn’t always that easy.

If days had been particularly hard he may take some time to smack her around a bit, venting out a little anger that should maybe be saved for all those men he kept down stairs. Things would be particularly worse if he had had a few drinks. He’d whisper things in her ear while he was inside her about the men he’d killed and how he killed them. It seemed that what turned him on most was talking about the blood of a man while he fucked a woman.

She tried her best to ignore him those nights.

Veema pointed down the hallway to the open door, it lead downstairs, usually Mauricio had a couple enemies down there, and she could hear from the sickening laughter that he must’ve had someone good. Usually she had to stand next to him while he told her all about the men he would kill – some of them were petty thief’s, some a bit too late on paying back their loans, but either way – they would die that night, by Mauricio’s hand, or by one of his men’s.

She could smell the uncorked Whiskey before she reached the bottom of the steps. She was uncomfortable when Mauricio had his goons around him – they seemed to think that they could touch her when they couldn’t, they hadn’t paid.

But Mauricio was smiling when he saw her enter the room. His Italian features complimented the tan suit he was wearing; the blood however did not. He let his long arm wrap around her tiny built frame and pull her closer to him.
“This, my dear friend is Blondie.” Mauricio said to the man on the floor. Blondie looked at him, he was crumpled into a ball surrounded by a puddle of his own blood. His nose was broken, both his eyes were black and his lip was swollen. And she didn’t doubt that by the way he was holding himself he had a few broken bones.

She was surprised when he looked up, spit blood at the floor next to him and said: “Pleased to meet ya’,” in a thick Irish accent. Mauricio slapped him across the face using the many heavy rings on his fingers as weapons. Blondie stepped back, trying to remove herself from the situation, Mauricio never brought her near these men, he wasn’t in his right mind, he was fucking mad.

“This here…” Mauricio said pulling her back to the man, Blondie could hear the laughs from the other men as she fought Mauricio trying to pull away from him. “…This is one of those ‘Santos’ we caught him trying to put a bullet through my dear baby brothers head.” Mauricio laughed while turning to his younger brother. Marcos was widely smiling back at Mauricio, it was something they had planned.

Mauricio grabbed Blondie’s chin forcing her to look at the dying man at her feet, he gave a firm knock to her legs with his foot sending her to her knees.

The beaten man was looking at her; his eyes almost read sorrow.

“See you two,” Mauricio said pointing his finger, “aren’t so different.” He laughed. “You –“ he pointed at the man, “are a poor, sad, flea that lives in my town. And you,“ he said pointing back at Blondie, “are a cheap whore.” To make a point I think I’ll kill both of you tonight, and that will prove you had no real purpose to your life whatsoever. No one will miss you. Except for maybe you’re enraged brother yeah? But let’s be honest… we want him knocking at our door anyways, so that we can do that same to him!” Mauricio said giving the man another kick. “And you… my little Blonde American… What to do with you…” he said.

“Mauricio please…” she began to beg. “What have I done wrong?”

“Nothing my Sweet. Nothing at all. But tell me – who is in charge of this city?”

“You… you are.” She said.

“Who knows where your mum and little sister live eh?” he asked smiling an evil smile.

She only gasped in response, she hadn’t told anyone about those two. They didn’t even know she was a prostitute. But Mauricio had gone to the lengths to make she was a nobody, and that no one with power would be looking for her. He would be making a point that night… Blondie was nobody.

Almost as if on queue Mauricio’s men grabbed at her bare arms, they pulled at the straps that held her shirt up, she kicked her legs hitting only one man, her fear level had risen and she knew she would have to fight to live. But her plans were quickly foiled when a man that was double her size bound her legs. Her wrists were taped together and then she received the most painful kick to her abdomen. She heard the definite crunch of rib cracking within her tiny frame. She curled into a ball hoping that they’d just leave her alone. If she was lucky… they’d kill her quickly.

And as she waited she felt the hot breath of some man breathing down her bare neck. Giving her sickening chills. She had men in the past who were rough, but she had the feeling that this wouldn’t even begin to compare. Her short skirt was rumpled up around her waist as Mauricio’s men decided to ‘have their fun’. She felt a cool steel blade run across her skin leaving cuts across her abdomen.

She didn’t even notice she was screaming until something was stuffed into her mouth. She panicked, she couldn’t breath she saw her own blood on her fingertips, and she knew she was crying – her eye make-up was making her vision discolored.

She was confused when a man was pushed off her stomach, and she felt an abrupt kick to the side of her head. The man from before… he had somehow gotten loose, and he was now on top of a overweight Italian mobster with the leg of a wooden chair to beat him with. She saw the second man running at him – to his friends rescue. Blondie used her stiletto heel to gouge his leg, causing him to trip before reaching the Saint.

Saint she now knew what that term meant.

She rolled herself onto her knees and grabbed the nearby knife. It was the same knife they had used to carve her pretty skin. The second Italian was up again, now targeting her. She held the knife firmly in place as he came at her. She felt how easily the blade slid into his skin and between his ribs, she pulled the knife back quickly, she was appalled at the act, but the Italian only came at her again, angrier this time. But his head collided with the chair leg leaving him motionless on the floor.

Blondie was still crying. Mauricio had left long ago, and three dead Italians were at their feet. The Saint had killed the one guarding him, and watching her, and then came to her aid – killing the biggest one first, and together they had finished off the third. But with the lack of noise coming from the room, more of them would be here soon.

Everyone said she was crazy for keeping the Italians as clients, now she really believed them.
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Murphy had lowered himself off the fire escape across from the old brown building. A decent fog had rolled in over Boston, leaving him completely blind to the street below. The dark was peaceful for the time being. He was trying to stand inconspicuously near windows listening for any sign of his twin brother. But it seemed silent, almost completely silent except for this slight commotion he heard in the nearby alley way.

Again, his hand was in his pocket, checking the safety on his gun. He spun around in the alley, finding a figure, one that seemed confused. He was quiet as he snuck up behind them. He roughly grabbed their should swinging the light body to face him, and then with the end of his gun he pressed them against the brick wall.

It was the whore, the one who had gotten dropped off an hour ago. She looked like shit. Her hair was a mess, her clothing all disheveled, and her makeup had run all over her face, and she was bleeding, or at least there was blood on her shirt.

She was scared, Murphy wasn’t going to kill her, but if she had information… he was going to get it.

“Please don’t kill me!” She pleaded. “Please I don’t want to die.” She sobbed. Murphy realized she was completely terrified of him… it was whatever happened to her.

“Listen.” Murphy said assertively. “I’m not gonna’ to hurt yeh’. But I need to know what’s goin’ on in there.”

“You… you sound just like him.” She said astonished. Her hands latched onto his face, “And you look like him too!” she added staring into his eyes. Murphy couldn’t help but notice her strange eyes, one brown one blue, both completely different.

“Who my brother?” he asked.

“The… the Saint!” she said, “I never learned his name.”

“Where is he? Be very specific now…” Murphy said.

“They took him… he said he’d be right there… he was right behind me…” she said, her eyes began to fill with tears.

“Is he still here?

“They said they knew you’d come for him, they were counting on it.”

“Yes, fine. But Is he still here?!” he asked more aggressively this time.

“They took him. He knew we weren’t both going to make it out... so he ran back while I climbed out the window…”

“Okay where did they take him?” he asked quickly.

“I saw… them put him… in a white van! It went east, but I don’t know where they were taking him. I had to hide… I couldn’t see.”

“MOTHER FUCKERS!” he said aiming his fist at the wall. He let the brick tremble from under his fist. It was left untouched even after all the rage he threw through his fists, but now is knuckles were bloody. Connor had been so close, and now… he could be dead. Murphy didn’t know what to do without Connor, he always had the plans, and he always had an idea. Now all Murphy has is some whore.