/ ˈfīərkrakər /

         when he hears a whisper of a compliment come to his ears, he grits his teeth & tightens his grip on the steering wheel, not even giving the femme any sign he heard it. he’s not in the mood to exchange any pleasantries with the sabine woman — nor he doesn’t need assurance that he’s good. he knows he’s good, & that’s why he was assigned on this mission. & he wasn’t able to display the range of his abilities because of her antics she pulled back at the casino — which, he’ll be the first to admit, doesn’t usually phase him. fellow members stepped on his toes all the time, interrupted his thoughts, changed the plan on the fly, but it never was for any vindictiveness, it was never for a prize to be won between them. it was always to get the job to be done faster, quicker, & better. & to think that he didn’t care about the glory either — he just would have preferred to have a job well done by the both of them ! if that’s where he and this italian differed, it didn’t set a good precedent in his mind. his frown deepens as he continues in thought, foot depressing the brake for a slow approach once he sees figures in the road. he doesn’t care as solange rolls down the window & he definitely doesn’t care as hears thumps from the trunk ( lorenzo was probably in full hysteria at this point, not knowing the location nor his fate ). his hands are still deathly gripped to the wheel, & his body is still tense from the vexation bubbling within him. he thought she was different, & he’s partially angry at himself for even thinking that. it’s stupid, thinking that he found someone who didn’t really care about the lines between gangs, someone who didn’t want to be there in the first place. who was he kidding ? he had seen the glint in her eye making plans, and even more so when she held that gun. ( this is when he pulls over to the side of the road & gets out of the car, squashing any hope he ever felt as soon as boots hit the ground ).          the december air is as biting as before, maybe even more so — the rushing river flowing under the bridge is turbulent as ever, almost thrashing with the anger of a thousand bulls. he’s not too familiar with this river, as it is customary for deaths by his hand to be dealt with quickly. but if they’re here it means two things: lorenzo is not only meeting death here, it is a public warning to those in the gangs not to become a rat. the river itself was known for its fast stream & jagged rocks – before he drowned, lorenzo would probably be mortally wounded. as much as everett didn’t like lorenzo nor the idea of being disloyal, a rotten taste in his mouth forms as he thinks of how slow lorenzo’s death will be and public the whole spectacle is. ( there’s just something about this whole situation that strikes him as a little macabre, maybe even too morbid about the public execution — then again, everett was a private person at heart, and never was open to anything public ). wide hands find the way to his coat pockets, where he pulls out a single cigarette & a lighter. it’s a small release from the anger, but it’s a relief all the same. a hand raises in greeting to the fellow spainish men across the way, now conferring with the italians, and gestures to the back of the car by tilting his body towards it, nonverbally asking if he should get lorenzo. another man – alejandro – shakes his head to say lo tenemos cubierto. well, okay. fine by him. he places the cigarette between his lips and sparked the lighter, lighting the tip of the cig. the six men come over to the car on cue, & everett clicks the key to unlock the trunk. lorenzo’s blubbering begins as soon as he recognizes faces from both sides — surely, he knew what was to come. two men — one spanish, one italian — heaved lorenzo out of the car and dragged him across the pavement like a heavy cow to slaughter. madre de dios, was everett glad not to be apart of this death. they have time to themselves now — now’s better than ever to tell her what he’s been mulling over in his mind.          ‘ so, ’ he starts, taking a long drag of his cigarette, his jaw locked & set. ‘ when were you ever gonna clue me in onto your little plan ? ’ his voice is hushed, but his timbre is still gravelly — he doesn’t need the two sides to perk up & think that he’s making a threat ( or worse — a move on the precious daughter ). ‘ or were you always planning on making me look like a fuckin’ moron, being your fuckin’ coat boy, walkin’ into that set up with you and a fuckin’ gun pointed at a man who was already shittin’ bricks by being caught ? ’ a scoff escapes his throat, beefy arms crossing over the plane of his chest as he turns his head away, chesnut hues observe one of the spanish men gesture towards a pleading, hysteric lorenzo & then towards the gushing river — he turns back to the partner, but something turns in his stomach when he regards her as such. he’s not used to discerning his emotions well, but he knows the feelings of uncertainty & disgust well enough to know that it was a melding of the two. she wasn’t his partner, not in…the romantic sense nor the platonic sense ( he bristles at the thought, more so at the former ) but she was temporary &…he’ll inwardly ponder on that account. if he saw something more extended, maybe he wouldn’t be as willing to ream into her. ( or maybe sticking to your word & loyalty is prized above all for the male, & when this bear is poked — he sinks razor-edged teeth in ). ‘ and don’t start with the fuckin’ mio dio, it’s because you’re spanish and i can’t be loyal to the spanish bit, ’ his voice getting high and feminine as he mimicked the smaller girl, his face getting dangerously close to hers, studying her poker face, only making him more irate with her ( & it’s now when the more carnal part of him realizes that she’s exceptionally beautiful, if haughty, slightly irresponsible mob daughters were your type ).  ‘ because you were given an order. yeah, princess, an order to work with me. and what did you fuckin’ do ? ’ he’s not going to sugarcoat anything because he wants solange to think about the position she put him in. ‘ fucked it up by interjecting your own damn commands because you’re so fucking smart, aren’t you ? you just needed to show everyone that you’re not some little girl who eats out of daddy’s hand, huh ? that you can handle the big kid stuff ? well, kid — if you think that by disregarding your own command is the way to go, ’ he’s closing in on his prey, canines brandishing & gnashing as he continues to speak, ‘ then i can see why your own father isn’t jumpin’ to give you a speck of power. ’ a sharp bark of laughter comes through gritted teeth, a shake of the head accompanying it. the next few words pierce through the air like daggers, and he hopes they twist into her core, wishing they drove pain through her as if he had driven a fist into her stomach. ‘ ’t’s funny. i would have never done the same to you, italiana. ‘n to think i was just starting to like you. ’

          the funny thing about showing up to parties with those who party often is that a visit turns into a long stay, which turns into a vacation. & that’s where everett found himself: sitting at the round table of cigar-smoking men, having been invited to sit by patrón himself. ( this meant that two direct orders conflicted; everett chose the path of being a gentleman, and sat down. ) everett isn’t proud to know he’s rubbing elbows with some of the most sinister people in the business, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t like the power that came with it. the man to his right — one of the underbosses — turns to him, his gaze glazed over with inebriation, placing a shot glass down as he spoke to everett. ‘ ¿ cómo te va con ese ginzo ? ’ his elbow shoves everett in the side, a little too harsh, and now the whole table is staring at the youngest male, skepticism and patrón raises an eyebrow — almost to ask, ¿ vas a cometer el mismo error dos veces ? everett smiles at the group of ruffians, reclining in his seat. he doesn’t even realize that the crackled italian in his left ear has stopped. ‘ estoy bien — una mocosa, pero ella es italiana, así que lo esperaba. ’ there’s a bit of a shuffle at the table as they unpack the articles of speech he used — ¿ enviaron la niña ? patrón shrugs with a devilish grin, as if to say, que tonto. still, it seems that everett is the only one who knows who the identity of the snitch is, as the man to his left — a henchman — asks, ¿ a quién estás buscando ? he’ll do his best to appear nonchalant, feigning·insouciance, but the shit-eating grin on his countentance gives it away.‘ nadie a quien extrañaremos. ’           now there’s the voice he was waiting for – he’s been anticipating the moment he’d hear again, which he’d never admit out loud. his face immediately drops into a scowl, a frustrated growl clawing the cage of his throat as he pardons himself with a encantado de verlos — as he immediately stands up, exiting the table. it’s not until he stalks past the dance floor, through the guards keeping watch, and down the stairs he snarls back at the small voice in his left ear. ‘ ¿ qué chingados esta pasando aqui ? nobody… ’ his brain reels, losing his train of thought as he realizes he forgot where he was going with that sentence. he’s too angry to even talk at this point, so he continues down the stairs in silence, shoving his gloved hands in his coat pockets as he approached the coatman ( who, at seeing the dark figure approach, started to scramble to arrange his counterpart’s clothing ). it didn’t matter that they were from warring factions. the simple fact of the matter was that she disobeyed her own fucking command. it went past levels of distrusting him and it dug into the levels of consistency: if she couldn’t handle her own rules and uphold the same expectations she had for him, then he could see why the italians would be wary of giving her a position of power. he grabs the neatly folded coat and gloves off the counter, stuffs the gloves in the coat pockets, and slams down a tip as he bunches the coat in his hands, spinning on his heel to meet his partner. ( what he fails to realize is that no matter how high up you are, there’s always going to be a level of skepticism; eyes and ears alike watch a unmarked heavy door open and close with a soft click. )           the metal stairs leading down to the concrete basement shake as everett rapidly descends them, and the grey hallway reverbs with dull thuds as he makes his way towards a female voice in one of the rooms. he approaches the scene slowly, and he sees it unfold in front of him: lorenzo, hands grasping to the edge of the chair with his frantic eyes widening as he sees everett; solange, gun in hand, her gaze fixated on the traitor. to this, everett crosses the threshold of the doorway, dipping his head in acknowledgement to both. he shoots solange a glare, wordlessly reprimanding her for her actions, a sign that he wasn’t going to show weakness and fight in front of the man who had conned them both. ‘ hello, lorenzo, ’ he greets quietly, taking his place next to solange, placing her coat over her shoulders. he shoots her a wary glance, albeit fleeting, wondering if she’s ever conducted an interrogation. he’s alarmed that they didn’t discuss their methods — clearly, solange was not afraid to brandish weapons. ’ i’m sure you’re comfortable if we talk in english ? ’ to that, lorenzo furiously nods, his eyes darting to solange, to the gun in her hands, and then back to everett. jesús, she scared the man into submission. impressive. that didn’t mean he was going to comply, he reminded himself. ‘ no harm will come…unless absolutely warranted, ’ his words both a reassurment and a strained command to solange. heavy footfalls leave her side as he start a slow pace, his path beginning to orbit lorenzo in the chair. soon he was behind lorenzo, and he stopped directly behind him. ‘ i’ll start with some questions. ’ he gestured to solange. ‘ you know her name ? ’ a nod, and a whisper in italian. some code name. ‘ and you know mine. ’ another nod, and a haggard whisper: la parca. he continues his orbit, resting by solange. ‘ and you’re aware of why you’re here ? ’ lorenzo vehemently shook his head. ‘ come on now, ’ everett tutted. ‘ an honest man has nothing to fear, for dishonesty will get him nowhere. isn’t that right, solange ? ’

          as everett expertly tricks lorenzo into openly revealing her codename ( belladonna –– both a reference to the deadly nightshade flower and her father’s pet name for her ), solange can’t help but roll her eyes. if it’s this easy to get information out of the man, no wonder he’s become a double agent. ‘ honest men don’t  have anything to fear, but –– here’s the thing –– i don’t think lorenzo here is an honest man. i think he’s a selfish, weak-willed coward. someone who didn’t have enough resolve to stay loyal to one side, and instead chose to betray both. and i’m sure lorenzo knows all about how we italians deal with backstabbers, ’ she muses, a quiet part of her silently in awe at how seamlessly she and her partner have settled into their interrogation roles and routine without having rehearsed it prior. despite his obvious disdain at her taking the first part of their intervention on alone, everything almost seems like they’ve been practicing it for quite some time, rather than settling into it on the fly. ‘ lorenzo, ho solo una domanda per te: who would you say you work for ? ’ she asks, deadpan, knowing full well she’s now full wedged her knife in the man’s open wound, ‘ because surely, even someone like you is loyal to someone. ’ her head cocks as the man’s offers the pair nothing but prolonged silence, accompanied by a look of pure defeat, knowing full well no answer will retrieve him from the grave he’s thrown himself into. his silence is answer enough. the girl lets out a loud sigh, before turning to face everett, arms crossed firmly across her chest. ‘ how does pulling the car around and taking him someplace else sound to you ? not necessarily to question him some more, but just –– ’ she pauses, looking over to lorenzo, ‘ mio dio, just the sight of him’s enough to make my blood boil. we need to do something or i’m going to accidentally end up hurting him. ’ despite her anger towards the two-timer, she’s forced to turn her fully body back to him once she and everett agree on a course of events and plan of what they’re to do next. though, no part of their plan has really allowed either of them to truly claim whose side lorenzo is to be delivered to. ‘ you, up ! ’ solange orders, gesturing with her free hand, keeping the gun in her other pointed to the floor for the time being, ‘ all three of us are going to take a ride. any attempts to run on your part will be met by a bullet somewhere unpleasant. –– don’t say i didn’t warn you. ’ the trio exit the small, concrete room, making a beeline for one of the service entrances guarded by a myriad of security cameras and a security guard who, thankfully, is profoundly asleep. though solange has made sure to keep her firearm down for the duration of their walk from one location to the other whilst inside the casino walls, once they’re back outside, it’s instantly raised back against lorenzo’s spine. ‘ the first unpleasant spot’ll be one or more of your vertebrae, by the way, ’ she whispers, stating the obvious, offering everett a nod as he sets ahead to go retrieve his vehicle from the parking lot.                             the car finally rounds the corner, and the strength of the pressure with which solange is holding her gun into her hostage’s back hardens. now isn’t the time to lose him. duct tape, zip ties and cuffs are applied, and he’s quickly thrown into the trunk of the suv, allowing solange to finally regain her place in the comfort of the passenger seat. ‘ you weren’t too bad back there, ’ she utters, barely audibly, extending her legs forward as the car roars awake again. the lights of the casino soon disappear behind them, as do the rest of the gaudy neon signs of stores, bars and nightclubs, replaced by more traditional street and traffic lights. every now and again, her eyes swiftly dart over to everett, watching the oddly shaped shadows created by the street lights and building facades dance across his face. if he wasn’t so intent on hurting, killing and taking things away from those in her bloodline, perhaps she’d find him pleasant. attractive, even. but even she knows one’s allegiance is indivisible from their identity, no matter how chiseled their jawline. just as she’s getting lost in thought, her eyes make out three dark silhouettes planted in the middle of the road. tall, with long coats flapping in the evening wind. as everett advances ( at a slower pace, most likely because he too has seen what stands before them ), solange’s eyes finally start making out who the three figures might be. ‘ merda, ’ she swears under her breath, recognizing and confirming the identity of three of her father’s men. her mind immediately thinks of everett, who is now the only full spaniard in the vicinity, now surrounded by italians who are –– as a rule –– always armed. diplomacy isn’t always her family’s strong suit, but sending messages continues to be a time-honored tradition, so odds are not stacked in her partner’s favor. ‘ stop the car, ’ she orders ( though it comes out as more of a plea ), attempting to piece together the pieces of the puzzle of instructions about how to operate next. 

‘ belladonna, come sta ? ’ the man in the middle of the trio calls out, approaching her car window, and leaning against the car door once he’s close enough. ‘ tutto bene, massimo, e tu ? cosa sta facendo qui ? ’ solange replies simply, throwing her chin in the direction of the two other men, still standing in the makeshift spotlight created by each of headlights of everett’s car. ‘ i professionisti stanno prendendo il sopravvento, belladonna, ’ he states, a mocking undertone to his words. he pauses for an instant, before adding, ‘  digli di rilassarti, arrivarono anche gli spagnoli. ’

          he obliges her command, moving closer to his partner. the sensation of her warm digits gliding over his cooled skin shocks him, and his instinct is to pull away but he feels himself ever so gently pushing towards her hand, this time only for a few seconds as instead of her fingers he’s met with the cool metal of an earpiece. everett parts his lips, intent on saying of course, but he sees no reason why he should lie — so in typical fashion, he does what he does best: he says nothing at all. it’s not like it would have made a difference, he chides himself as her coat and gloves are slinked off her body, exposing the gentle curvature of her shoulders dipping down to nimble, fairy-like fingers. no, it wouldn’t have made a difference at all. ( as her figure retreats and blurs within the crowd, he marvels at the fact that someone who had such delicate features would be so commanding, so deadly. he smiles. )          he’s afraid that this time alone would leave his mind to wander, so he sets on his mission, completely disregarding the coatman who had started to approach him after placing solange’s belongings away — he can’t help but think that it’d be a waste of time to deal with once the two nabbed the man. black loafers tread quietly, his pace insouciant as rough fingers push the small device into his left ear, hearing nothing on her end of the line. he scans the bottom floor, finding himself approaching near the sports bar. his eyes flicker to the numerous screens to watch what was playing: wrestling. american football. cage fighting. nothing that would attract their kind, but just in case everett skims the area, checking to see if anyone stood out. except from the jeering football fans, nothing seemed out of the ordinary — everett groaned. his feet change direction, leading him towards the grandiose staircase. suddenly, his left ear crackled with some life — solange must’ve already entered the second floor vip lounge. fuck, he has to move faster, but his feet don’t pick up a quicker pace than before because his thoughts just suck him into an unhurried stroll yet again. was this whole connection something that would only last an evening ? or would this extend ? he doesn’t know if there’s any worth in trying to predict, or even make something of it when there’s a good chance that it could be nothing. he hears a small voice chiding him that there are bigger issues he has to deal with than labeling this business transaction, and a part of him quells for a second — right, business transaction. negocio. he was going to go back to hating her after this night. what was the use of trying to make sense of it all ?          his extensive limbs ascend the staircase with ease, briskly walking past the plateau that made up the second floor as he clambered towards the third floor. upon arrival, he sees the vip lounge in front of him; he nods to some of the house dealers who frequent the floor as he strides towards the vip lounge with the confidence of a matador, ready to trick and kill his prey. at his approach, the bouncers quickly recognize him and greet him with a curt señor, opening the world of the lounge for him. and what the fiesta it was; brass instruments collided with the upbeat guitars as couples danced to the fast beat, a explosion of full twirling dresses and colorful suits. he almost has the heart to comment that it looks like a family reunion, except he locks eyes with a group of figures in the back, clouded by cigar smoke. ignoring the sounds in his left ear from solange’s experience, he dives into the party, praying that he doesn’t get distracted.

          he doesn’t reply to her goading, just lets a smirk ghost on his features — he grew like a weed from the seedy areas, the crime and poverty being the dirt he flourished from. he settles on no reply, just wordlessly exiting the car — and while he’s intent on moving inside, an uncomfortable look overcame his visage as she begins…well, he wasn’t exactly sure what she was doing until her chestnut hues flickered over to the security guards, and he understands that she’s playing the role of lovebirds. something’s a little off, though — her movements are too rigid, too robotic for his taste. his mind recalls a saying they had in the barrio: if italian was the language of singers, and if french was for the diplomats, then spanish was the language of love. her step back prompts him to move forward, and with a suave dip, his head is low enough so he can feel her hot breath roll across his face. his low baritone makes out the words, both a jest and a warning: ‘ piensas demasiado. ’ at the angle of the guards, it would’ve looked like a kiss, his mind both in anguish and slightly relieved at the thought.          and then he’s off, moving languidly yet briskly all at once as he approaches the guards, feeling her presence beside her. his mind is trying to think why the fuck he thought that was a good idea. he’s starting to wonder about solange, the stranger – could he call her an acquaintance now? if so, he’s grown fond of the bits and pieces he’s collected in the duration of their acquaintance, although that by no means made him want to be friendly. the two of them made quite the pair, but they didn’t look so out of the ordinary from the usual throng of customers — while the usual everyman would have to flash an id to get in, everett flashes a smile instead, and he’s asked the ever-present question of cual pandilla? his shoulders roll back with ease as the words lado este drip off his lips like venom, the smile he originally presented revealing its true form as something more sinister. the doors open.          they’re met by flooding lights as the discord of the casino presents itself to them: the gilded glitz and glamour as he watches the general disarray form into something more coherent. in front of them, the slot machines; to the right lies an overpopulated area of poker tables, and the left side seems to morph into some sports bar type area. the amount of activity is dizzying, as there are triumphant jeers of joy crushed between fighting words between the calming babble of the cocktail servers. he tilts his head up, and he stifles a groan: there’s a second and third floor, too. if he remembers correctly, there’s one vip lounge on the second floor, reserved for the italians; the spainards occupy the third. he turns to her, a scowl clear on his features. ‘ i fuckin’ hate this place. listen — i’ll take the left and the third floor, you can take the right and the second. since we’re splitting up…any idea how i’ll contact you once i find him ? ’

         his nose crinkles in a sign of disgust as he hears the spanish fall off her lips, brows knitting together as if he smelled something rotten — not that it was anything against her, but it signified how easy it was to permeate the borders of both groups and fuck both of them over ( god, he couldn’t wait to find the chivato that got him tangled with the primadonna ). ‘ you sound…mm, untrusted in your own family. hey — didn’t know harmless questions were so offensive to ya. would you prefer if i said nothin’, like a brainless goon ? ’ he asks as they duck into the door, getting greeted by a blast of hot air. her defensiveness, while correctly placed, throws him off slightly — she’s keeping her eyes on the prize, and his eyes float down the curves of the waitress and he realizes he…is distracted. definitely distracted. he runs his fingers through his hair absentmindedly, trying to place his mind on other things other than women, which proved to be hard considering that bikinis and dancing bodies were easier to see than not. he tunes out the babble of italian taking place between solange and the waitress, taking his time to scan the area, deliberately skipping over the dancers — the men mostly taking residence in the club are beefy with stubble, and everett swears some of them belong in a hoghouse. there’s a few men who have made eyes at solange and everett, almost daring him to take action, and a snarl curls the petals of his lips as a warning, shifting his weight to partially block the girl from view.             once the waitress floats away, everett takes this moment to shield solange more from the men — not that she needed protection, but it gave him some peace of mind as it created a more private environment for the two to discuss. ‘ mm, no wonder why this part of town is so crime-ridden and grimy — has italian finger prints all over it. ’ his banter seems to be lost as he sees that her eyes are closed, and takes a second to step back and revisit the whole night in his head, and he frowns as he recalls the passcode she used to get in, and his eyes widen with recognition that it’s her fucking last name. ‘ ni madres, ’ he groans, slapping his hand to his forehead. it took him this long to realize that ? maybe he was some sort of idiot ! his thoughts of the girl have changed significantly throughout the night: spoiled, a toddler…but the fact she was the daughter of the head, the crown jewel of the italian mob…if he had blind loyalty to the spainards, he would’ve dragged her straight to el jefe. his exclamation is covered by her information that lorenzo is nowhere to be found, his eyes reluctantly returning to gaze upon his subject. ‘ i hope i’m wrong, ’ he grits his teeth, the images of bright lights and poker chips flashing in his head as he steps away from her, halfway through the door they just came from. his exclamation can be heard in the alley outside: ‘ but we’re going to be together longer than planned. ¡gastemos dinero — vamos al casinoǃ ’

         ‘ must be some pretty powerful sunshine, then, ’ he shrugs, the smile that has been harboring on his lips slowly slipping off as the world outside whizzes by. he starts to take more elaborate turns before he sees the ‘ gentleman’s club ’ sitting right before them at the end of the street, the purple neon lights buzzing and glowing: teasers. two blocks over, there’s a car garage, and everett bristles slightly at the thought. he knows that garage too well — it’s where he first got acquainted with the whole life of organized crime, and a part of him wishes he could reverse time back to that day and stop himself from hot wiring that damn jaguar…but he’s snapped back to reality and depresses his foot on the brake as he turns onto the street, trying to find a spot to parallel park in. his eyes search the road as he replies, albeit distracted. ‘ yeah, yeah — i’m full of surprises. although this makes me question who you have done jobs with. are you the only one with a brain in your little group ? ’ he’s thankful to find a spot not too far from the main entrance, and close to the alley which he presumes is the back entrance, but he’s not entirely sure how this whole shindig is going to go down, exactly — his side was known for quick, albeit slightly messy, confrontations. the italians…well, he was interested in how this was going to go.          as he puts the car in park, he can’t help but let a scoff escape from his parted lips, as he looks over at his partner with a look of annoyance. ‘ yes, because we’re definitely going to make our presence known waltzing through the front door, ’ he raises his thick brow at her, slightly thrown at her commentary. ‘ what are you, some kind of celebrity ? or do you have some sorta boyfriend that’d set me straight if you’d be seen walkin’ in with me ? ’ his questions are genuine ( and he’s incredulous, a little concerned with what he’s dealing with regarding her status ). he watches her for a second, thinking she’s going to touch up her lipstick, yet at that thought his mind wanders to someone else and…suddenly, the car is too stuffy and he clambers out, shutting the car door with haste.