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The Cold Streets of NYC
Sometimes people bend the truth. The rain pours down like a shower. The lighting strikes make the city look like a light switch turning on and off. Mike Toreno sprints down the street where his mom’s deli is located. Frank stares down his line of sight, and pulls the trigger. Mike falls to the floor after the bullet blows through his leg. He cries in agonizing pain. Frank runs over to him quickly and hovers over him. The only light in sight is a single street light. It shines down on them to where Mike can only see the outline of Frank, “Franky, please don’t do this. It wasn’t me,” he slowly shifts onto his knees.
“What makes you think I’d believe you?” He grips the gun tighter and shoves into the side of Mike’s skull. Mike looks to the right and stares at his mom’s deli 3 story building.
“I’ve been in the crew since I was 14 years old. Why would I do something like that? Tell me why!” he spits while he talks, from the amount of rain pouring down. The streets are cold, dark, and wet. Water runs up his short legs as his pants become soaked from the street puddles surrounding him. Mike looks up to Frank’s shadowed head,
“You will neva be forgiven for what you hav done tanight. I’m goin to make an example out of ya,” he says, raising the pistol to Mike’s forehead. The pistol makes an imprint in his skin. He c***s back the gun and fires one shot. The sound of the loud bang echoes down the long neighborhood street. The street light eventually burns out and leaves no sign of life anymore. The day falls on a Monday, two days before the operation is going down. The whole deli has a feeling of panic. The place looks like it's on fire from all the cigarette smoke. The deli’s floor tiles are teal and white in a checkered pattern. The bench seats are also teal and white. Behind the open concept kitchen is a big meeting room. The big wooden table has a map spread out across it. Two people crowd around this big map. They move the chairs out of the way, so they can attack the concept at different angles. Mike glances at Donnie,
“So it’s settled then. The coke will be comin in from the south up Barnoli Ave,” he says, running his fingers across the streets on the map, “and making its way to Lindin Rd. Do not go to Pleasant Rd because there is a police stop there. So, Lindin Rd is where we will pick up the stuff, agree?” He looks up at Donnie again,
“You’re an idiot. That plan is terrible,” he says, as he puts his cigarette out. He looks away and crosses his arms.
“Shut the hell up. All you do is b**** and complain. I’m sick of your s***,” he charges toward Donnie. Slamming him against the wall, Mike grabs him by his shirt and throws him onto the table. He slides him across the table then pushes him to the ground. The map falls to the right of the table. The grime covered floor stains Mike’s shirt with dirt. The floor in the back isn’t looked after, neither are the walls. They are dirty and have tar built up on them. There are no windows, and the only light comes in from one single weak light bulb above the middle of the table. Mike backs off of Donnie, lays him arm on the metal file cabinet, and catches his breath. Donnie jumps up from the musky floor. He looks like he could murder someone. He quickly straightens his clothes and slicks his hair back,
“Well, you have messed up big time my friend. Not a smart decision,” he says, with a smirk on his face. Mike grabs Donnie’s coat of the rack in the corner and throws it at him
“Just shut up and go tell Frank the plan that I showed you.” He plops down on the old wooden chairs. A squeak comes from the joints on the chair as Mike moves around on it. Donnie just stares down Mike, as if he wants to get revenge on him.
“Fine, I’ll tell him exactly what you told me,” he opens the dark wooden door, the hinges screech, he then leaves with a smug smirk on his face. As Donnie walks out of the shop onto the skinny concrete sidewalk, he pulls out a notepad. In his mini yellow notepad he writes, “Pleasant Rd is the way to go,” he stashes the notepad in his overcoat, hops into his vehicle, turns the car on, and peels out as he drives away. He travels to Frank's apartment building. He walks up the stairs to his door. There are two armed security guards standing outside the door. Donnie walks up to them, “I’m here to see Mr. Torlini,” his voice says very lightly as he un tightens his collar. The two guards look him up and down. They nod him for clearance into the room. Donnie walks into the big suite. He gazes across the living room, the ceiling populated by gold plated ceiling fans, and the floor is made out of marble. The glasses on the tables have diamonds imprinted on them. The walls are painted bright white. Everything is shiny and elegant. The air has a smell of fragrance and a sense of richness. Donnie walks into Mr. Torlini’s office, “Aye, Frank how ya doin, pal?” He says, with a grin on his face and reaches his hand out over the big desk.
“Hello, Don. I’m doin alright,” he stands up from his big comfy chair behind his desk and shakes Donnie’s hand, “Did you get the plans I asked for?” he sits back down on the slippery smooth leather.
“Yes I did. So, Mikey told me that the plan was to move the coke down Pleasant Rd and deliver it to Lindin Ave. So, your job will be to meet up with the convoy at Lindin Ave and check on it there. He also told me to put your top 10 best men to deliver the stuff,” he says, as he sits down on the white cloth chairs in front to the desk.
“Mikey said dat? That does nat seem like him. Are you completely confidant in what you hav just tald me?” He reclines back in his chair confused.
“Yep. Um, yeah he definitely told me those exact orders. I swear,” he stares around the room. He stares at the golden globe and then the golden piano.
“A’ight I guess I’ll take your woid for it. Don? Don, focus up,” Frank repeats himself, trying to get Donnies attention
Donnie realizes and snaps back into reality, “Oh yes, sorry. I’m gonna go now if that's okay?” He begins to break a sweat.
“All right, Don, get som west, you actin stwange,” Frank says before he lights a cigar. Donnie rushes out of the apartment and runs down the 5 floors of stairs. He drives off into the night sky with the cool breeze blowing through his window. The night passes and it is the next day. Everything is on the line. Frank could either be a millionaire or lose everything on this operation. The time is seven o'clock and the operation is going down. The day feels groggy and slow. The sky is cloudy and they are a grayish white color. The shipment travels over the bridge into the city, The crew is quiet and not talkative. The radio plays depressing music. The driver of the shipment feels that something is not right, but he continues to drive. They turn left onto Pleasant Rd their hearts drop. They are locked in, they cannot go anywhere. At the same time, Frank arrives at the so called delivery point. The truck with the shipment pulls up to the police checkpoint and they are all busted. Frustration and confusion lay on the faces of the people in the truck as the police find the stash of cocaine they were transporting. At the untrue delivery point, Frank gets the news of what just happened to his supply. He rest his head up against the door and then smashes the telephone booth phone. He runs his hands through his hair and jumps into his car. He screaches his tires and speeds through traffic. The engine is red hot and so is Frank. He slams on his brakes in front of the deli shop. Tire marks are left on the road behind him. The smell of burnt rubber fills the air as smoke blows past the car. He grabs his gun out from under the seat and runs into the shop. He kicks open the door and searches the place. Nobody's there. He grunts and runs back to his car and peels out again. For the next hour, he searches the city looking for Mike. The grayish clouds start to pour down rain very hard. After waiting for hours Mike finally calls it quits and leaves the actual delivery point. He begins jogging home to the deli shop to try and get out of the bad weather. As Mike turns onto his street, he sees one street light flickering on and off struggling to stay lit. He also sees a car with its headlights on. The city is dead silent right now as he begins to investigate the car from a far. It is four buildings away from his mom's deli shop. He walks on the wet and slippery sidewalk until he reaches the construction zone, then he transitions to the street. He steps onto the street and squints his eyes to further inspect the vehicle. Smoke and steam rise into the air from the cars engine. The car door suddenly flings open and a strange figure gets out. At this point, he is parallel with the vehicle from across the street. Frank stands up out of the car and stares at Mike, “You son of a b****. You set me up. You got everybody locked up. I’ve have lost everything, my wife, my house. The only thing I have left is my cah. Just because you had to spoil the plan,” Frank wipes his face with his arm and pulls out a gun from his waist.
“What are you talking about? I gave you the exact plan and told you to avoid the Pleasant Rd.” He throws up his hands in confusion. Shaking water off, Mike steps back slowly,
“You messed up big time, fwend,” Frank points the gun at Mike. Mike takes off running down towards his mothers shop. The sound of his feet stomping on the wet road echoes through the city. Frank shoots Mike in the leg and chases after him. Mike trips onto the road and lands in a puddle. It seems like there is nobody in the city. No lights from any of the buildings are on. Mike attempts to crawl away, but Frank steps in front of him. Mike begs from his life in the middle of the road, under the only working street light, in the heaviest rain the city has ever had. Frank ignores the truth and a bright flash goes off. On the street lays a man who was wrongly blamed and killed for someone else’s lie.