Hitman Melodies Section 12

XII.
They took the long way back to town to delay their arrival. He wanted to get there at 5:00--as the autumn sun was fading in the sky, but before the place opened. Is he growing faint? Jackie and the crew would be waiting. He wanted them to wait--he wanted them to think they were ready for him. Chico would be pissed. He wanted them pissed; he wanted them asking questions. He parked in the alley. He jockeyed the car around, nose outward, so it wouldn't have to be turned around for a clean getaway. He left the key in the ignition. She raised her eyebrows. "Nobody steals Jaguars parked in the alley behind Tony's." Her mouth was a grim line. She didn't ask. She knew asking would skew his timing. They went to the kitchen door. "They'll be waiting on the other side," he said. "There'll be two of them--the others are covering the front. Stand behind me." He winced again, paler than before. What's wrong with him?
He turned the handle and pushed the door wide open. There was Jonesy smiling a serpent smile, with his .45 leveled. "Hey, Sebastian. How ya doon?" Chico was standing behind to the right, his throat was bandaged. He managed to whisp, "Mutherfucker."
"Lookin' good Chico," mused Sebastian, confidently advancing. "Sorry about taking such hasty leave of you last night. Spur of the moment deal, you know."
Quicker than thought, Jonesy was spun around, his own gun at his ear, a look of stupid surprise lit his otherwise dark-dumb features.
"You retarded piece of shit," Chico hissed. "I told you, keep your distance."
Sebastian interjected, "Chico, I didn't kill you once, but don't expect to be so lucky a second time. Now, drop the piece and turn around. We're doing a little chorus line thing here."
Hands in the air, mouth twisted back over his shoulder, gun in his ear, "Sebastian, whut the fuck ya doon?" Jonesy was a poet.
"Dumbshit," fumed Chico, tossing his .38 to the floor.
"Ankle," said Sebastian. The .22 clattered into the dishtrays.
He kicked both guns to the side as they processed through the kitchen, through the backstage area, over the risers, past the drumset. Sebastian pushed Jonesy into Chico and they both tumbled off the stage into the first row. Giorgio was coming round the back to flank him. Sebastian sent a warning shot into the hall shattering the silence and a light fixture.
"Let's all relax and have a seat," he said. There were Jack, Jackie Junior, and Bruno sitting in the center, Giorgio sat down in back, Freddy and Flippy brought up the rear, attracted by the gunfire, but not prepared to deal with it. Chico and Jonesy were ringside, Maddy cowered by the drums. She wilted onto a sax chair. Sebastian eased himself onto the piano bench. All one big happy family. "Fred, Flip, sit. Hands on the table. Everybody, hands on the tables. We're all friends here, until we're not." Sebastian placed Jonesy's .45 on top of the piano, brought out his own Beretta, and laid it beside the .45. They glistened in the green dusk like twin gargoyles tempting the bold to test their biting potency.
Jack Milano was a stone wall of power and authority. He had no fear, even of that faggotty asshole Sebastian Chronic. That guy was destined to fall off the deep end sooner or later--shoulda x'ed him couple years ago. "Sebastian."
"Jack."
"What's up with the broad? What's with giving us the slip? What's with puttin' Chico in the soprano section?"
"Good questions all, Jack. All will be answered presently. I want you to know I'm still your man, and you're still my boss. But there's a snake in this room and it's not this girl. So if everybody stays calm and still, the tale will be told and all will be well--except for one." Everybody leaned forward at this, even Jackie Junior. "Maddy, stand up, take a bow."
Maddy's jaw dropped. She hesitated just a moment, and then obeyed. At that moment she remembered and pressed her hand to her bosom as she leaned forward. Tape is running.
Flippy's hand reached under the table. What an easy target. Jack would be pleased. Sebastian's hand was lightning exploding over the top of the Steinway. Flippy was suspended in time with a bright red spot in his forehead, the Beretta smoking casually, like an office worker lounging over the coffee machine. Flippy fell with a crash, Freddy watching the floor aghast.
Sebastian replaced the piece in its cozy niche next to the .45. "That's the kind of behavior we DON'T want. Maybe we all better move up closer together." Sebastian picked up the .45. "Jack maybe you better tell Al to come on out here, before I blow YOUR fucking head off."
Al had been secretly threading his way round the back and was just about to get the drop on Sebastian, but he had jostled the curtain.
"Al. Get out here," Jack commanded.
Al stumbled over the stage past Maddy, and parked it next to Chico.
"Hands--on--the--table," said Sebastian, ever so patiently pinpointing the .45 at Al's nose.
Throughout this exchange Maddy had stood frozen in front of a row of gangsters, wondering which one would rape her first.
"Everybody, this is Maddy High. (Siddown, sweetie.) You may know her by another name, what was it?"
"Jeanie, Jeanie Priss."
"Jeanie Priss. (Cute. Right out of the bottle.) But her real name is Maddy High, and she is a reporter with the Metro Star. She was doing undercover work hoping to expose any gangland highjinx and shenanigans she could, and make life more difficult for all of us lowlife, scum-of-the-earth criminals." There was a reaction from the crowd. Sebastian scanned all the nervous fingers, tapping the table cloths like restless horses. They relaxed back into their stalls under his gaze. Flippy was still bleeding out.
"Well gentlemen, she failed in her project, and uncovered nothing that would be of the slightest interest to the legal authorities, unless you consider Jackie Junior's impetuous dick of interest."
The mention of his name visibly lurched Jackie Junior in his seat. The others couldn't repress their knowing grins, and glanced slantways toward Jack Senior to see if it was okay. It was. First the laugh, then the sneer. Jesu Christe, ahi, such a son you give me.
"But she did uncover something that is of supreme importance to everybody here."
Jackie Junior-in-the-box jumped up two feet. "I dint tell that goddamn whore shit!" he protested.
Like a quickest electric switch in the arcade, Sebastian's finger was on the trigger again. "SIT . . . DOWN."
Jack Milano's eyes narrowed with interest. The crew caught the boss's body language and relaxed their communal grip on the tables. Jackie Junior squirmed under the heavy weight of his father's hand crushing him back into his seat. Bruno responded to a silent cue and edged over closer to Jackie Junior, pinioning the kid between himself and Jack Senior. A tight fit for a tight spot. Jackie Junior's attempt to disguise his look of panic with an arrogant smirk, went down into the hall of fame for Worst Acting Job of the Century. Sebastian continued.
"Yes, Jack, without Maddy High you would be a dead duck, and the traitor, you guessed it, is sitting right next to you right now."
"Liar!" shouted Jackie Junior.
"Whaddayamean?" shouted Jackie Senior, rising, impervious to Sebastian's prescribed protocol.
"I thought you would want to know. So I made up this little song to tell you all about it." With that Sebastian attacked the piano and, with a flourish, tossed off a magical, twisted, triadic arpeggio.
A SONG! They all thought. He's going to kill someone!

This is the part it's hard to tell, because the music can't possibly be heard through this narrator's puny powers of description. We may all have to wait until the movie comes out. Reproducing the lyrics, here, gives the sense of the song, but not the majesty of it. The music, as simple as a breath, as complex as a mathematical proof, pervaded the dark of the nightclub with a tangible cloak of intent; the empty corners became livid with vibrating spectres, chorusing their shriek into the ears, the eyes, the entrails of the remaining eight mobsters, and into the very soul of Maddy High. There are no words for what happened next. Nevertheless, as inadequate as they are, words are all we have, so, in Sebastian's words, the song begins:


"Slow September breezes bring
'A melody of death to sing;
'A song to fix in darkest hate,
'A traitor's final twist of fate.
'Junior's name doth spring to mind,
'As least of kin and less than kind,
'To merit cruelest punishment,
'To Jack Milano's detriment.

'But singer, nay, he least of all,
'The vengeful angel trumpet's call
'Should give that song it's twisted lie,
'Lest with the last refrain he die.

'A son but no more like a son
'Than serpent, this in stealth hath done:
'He struck a deal with Lyang Chen
'To merge the northside ops and then
'To whack his daddy dear--the dread
'Jack Milano--make him dead;
'And taking charge with treacherous power,
'On Daddy's grave a single flower.

In the interlude, the piano painted a violent picture of betrayal in black shadow. The dissonance advanced upon Jackie Junior, cowering between Jack and Bruno. Jack's anger was lifting him out of his chair, but at the peak of the phrase, Sebastian lifted his right hand elegantly from the piano, took his Beretta and put one into the table six inches from Jack's knotted knuckles. Jack sat. The explosion brought a deafening silence to the hall that resounded for three seconds, before Sebastian plowed into the chorus:

'But singer, nay, he least of all,
'The vengeful angel trumpet's call
'Should give that song it's twisted lie,
'Lest with the last refrain he die.

'And so the plot has been revealed,
'And all the falsities congealed
'In this, regretful, tragic scene,
'Where Daddy's blood there might have been,
'If not for Maddy High, the whore,
'Spilled upon the ground, and more--
'The traitor's lust, the traitor's scorn
'Giv'n voice in strains bereft, forlorn;

'But singer, nay, he least of all,
'The vengeful angel trumpet's call
'Should give that song it's twisted lie,
'Lest with the last refrain he die.

Sebastian was visibly weakening, as if in rhythm with the dramaturgy of the song. The music dropped down a 5th, preparing, getting ready for some final effort that nobody could predict. They hung on his lips. Was that blood in the corner of his mouth?

'Thus, Sebastian breathes his plaintive cry
'A song composed for Maddy High;
'Let heaven's chorus offer up in trade
'A deal that at death's door is made:
'Traitors three there were in this,
'Jackie, Chico, and Sebastian; his
'The lesser, still to Jack the same,
'Let fair revenge take mercy's name.

Here the interlude took on an allegro barbaro feel: pounding bass staccati worked their way up the keyboard to the .45, which Sebastian grabbed and used to blow out Chico's windpipe. Sebastian had it figured that Jackie Junior must have had help, probably even inspiration--he would never have thought this up on his own. Chico was Jackie Junior's bodyguard, and had likely been on the take from Chen for weeks, poisoning Jackie Junior's weak mind with traitorous thoughts, and jockeying for a position of power in the new regime. Jackie Junior was a weak pawn in the scenario, and Chico would love putting him down, once things were settled. Chico was an asshole, and his blood was a pleasant sight on the floor of Tony's nightclub. But there was one more chorus, the last and best, and Sebastian did not pause to exult in Chico's demise--he had other fish to fry.

'Let singer, yea, he most of all,
'The vengeful angel trumpet call--
'So give the girl her life, and I
'With the last refrain shall die."

And as the final chord, a silver trembling question mark hanging in the brooding air, faded into the corners of the night to rest on the haunches of a great St. Bernard of silence, Sebastian Chronic took his Beretta and blew his own brains out. The spots of blood on the keys were like little 16th notes spilled randomly over the midrange. He fell, as in all things, with grace, backwards, avoiding any stray notes on the piano to mar his conclusion. The Goodfellas were on him before he hit the stage, their guns poised above him, ready for any false moves. He was dead. Jack Milano strode over to his body and looked down. Jonesy opened Sebastian's coat and shuddered.
"Boss, this guy's got a hole in his chest the size of the Holland Tunnel!"
"That's why he was weak," thought Maddy, gradually taking it all in.
In his blood-stained breast pocket were two envelopes, one marked "Jack Milano" the other marked "Maddy High." The one to Jack told a simple tale:

"Dear Jack:
Maddy High gave me the insight necessary to figure out that Jackie Junior, Chico, and Lyang Chen were planning a restructuring of your business organization. She didn't tell anybody but me. The dumb broad didn't even know she was onto anything. This morning I paid a visit to Chen and confronted him with the evidence. His man, Wong, put one in me (that's why I am dead) before I sent him and Chen both to that big Chinatown in the sky. I think your Chen troubles are over--Chen's son, Dong Yang, is on the loose and will want revenge, but I doubt he'll have time to deal with things by the time you read this. Jackie Junior is a brat, but I figure it was Chico all along.
Please let Maddy go--she saved your life, and gave me mine. I ask this favor, since I have also saved your life.
How did you like my new song?
Yours,
Sebastian Chronic"

Jack Milano's gangster mind, and his higher Catholic soul strove within him. Faggotty asshole. And still, he had not missed the upshot of the song--Sebastian was offering himself, Chico and Jackie Junior in exchange for Maddy High. And Sebastian's faith in the mafioso's old world sense of fair play had assured him that Milano would go along, even without a pre-set agreement. He had bet everything on the persuasive power of his song, which he had composed in his head on the road that morning; and, as usual, his confidence in himself, one last time, was not misplaced.

Sidebar: remember the reason Jack Milano had wanted to interrogate Maddy before eliminating her--it was because he feared that Jackie Junior had somehow got wind of a secret that almost nobody in the organization knew: Milano was planning a move on Chen. He hadn't even told Sebastian about it yet, but he wanted Chen out, so the North Side would be cleared for take-over. It was a bitter irony that, instead, Maddy had uncovered a plot of Chen's to hit HIM--via his OWN SON! Jesu Christe!

Milano opened the envelope to Maddy. It contained a short note and a lovely little pearl-studded charm bracelet.

"Dear Maddy:
Sorry to leave you so soon, but I am damaged goods, and you wouldn't want to go the distance with me (although, if you're reading this, I guess you did). Enjoy the trinket I am leaving you--it's not much but it's pretty, and each pearl is a note in a love song to you I will never write. You are the love of my life, the life of my death, the death of my pain. Thanks.
SC
p.s. take the car"

Milano thought about it. He could not think about it. "Let her go," he said, handing over the letter and the bracelet.
Maddy was out of there, driving the Jag over the George Washington Bridge before Jack Milano walked out the front door of Tony's into a hail of Chinese machine gun fire. Jackie Junior and Jonesy stepped over the bodies and gave a grinning high five to Dong Yang, new leader of the Chinese Mafia. Sebastian had been wrong about two things: that the Chinese would not have time today to organize a retaliatory strike (had he been wrong, or had he known that, too?), and he was definitely wrong about Chico--that is to say it was not just Chico who had been working with the Chinese, it was Chico AND Jonesy. Jonesy had not figured into Sebastian's theorizing because he underestimated Jonesy's astuteness; he had always assumed that Chico was the brains of that pair, everybody had. Jackie Junior did too, so imagine his surprise when, grinning like a pig, Jonesy reached down with a glooved hand, scooped up Bruno's .38, lying blood-soaked on the sidewalk, and put one in Jackie Junior's temple. Jonesy wasn't so dumb after all.