Mark My Words

Mark was flaked out in front of the television, watching a film. He was about to get another beer from the fridge when there was a knock at the door.

He checked the time. Eight-thirty. He wasn’t expecting anyone, but it wasn’t too late in the evening. Gone ten o’clock, he would have ignored the door, letting whoever was there try again at a more reasonable hour. He expected it would either be his neighbour asking a favour, or a delivery driver with a package he had ordered.

He opened the door and gasped. 

He recognised the man in the dark overcoat immediately. He looked every inch the gangster. He looked like a movie villain from a Martin Scorsese picture. Mark stood there, motionless for a moment.

‘You know who I am?’ The man asked.

Mark nodded. When a guy like Carlo Palazini knocked on your door, you answered. The guy was well-known to have connections to the New York mafia and the Falcone crime family. He was a dangerous individual. Before he could invite him in, Carlo walked in anyway. 

Mark closed the front door and followed Carlo into the living room.

‘What are you doing here? I can’t believe this is happening.’ Mark said. 

‘Well, here I am. Did you really think you could get away with it?’

Mark watched the mobster pacing his living room carpet impatiently. 

‘You owe me ten thousand. I want it by Friday.’

‘Ten thousand? How am I supposed to come up with that? I won’t have the time to get that together.’ Mark protested.

‘Ten grand, Mark! You better think of something. A debt is a debt, and a deadline is a deadline. You don’t want to know what will happen if you don’t meet the deadline. Let’s just say, the answer is in the question.’ Carlo said. 

Mark nodded. 

‘I’ll have to work on it, make a few plans.’ Mark said finally. 

‘Do what you have to.’

Mark nodded again. 

Carlo sank into an armchair, pulling his tie loose an inch. He reached a hand in his coat, to the small of his back, and pulled out a pistol. Mark flinched at the sight of the weapon. 

Carlo placed the gun on the coffee table in front of him. Removing the pistol from its holster seemed as natural to the mobster as kicking off your shoes, making yourself comfortable. 

‘This business, this life of ours, it isn’t the easiest, y’know? All folks see if the money, the fancy suits, the Cadillacs, the respect, the power. The good life, they call it. But what we have to do, it takes its toll. It’s not exactly a walk in the park.’ Carlo sighed.

Mark felt like replying that Carlo should try being on the other side, see how he liked being on the receiving end of the mobster’s threats, but you didn’t speak to a man like Carlo that way. Instead he asked if he could get Carlo a drink.

‘Whiskey, Irish, if you’ve got it.’ Carlo said. 

‘Coming right up.’

As they sipped their whiskies, Carlo pointed to the paused film on screen.

‘This is how you’re spending your time now?’ Carlo said. ‘You have a deadline to meet and you are drinking beer and watching movies?’

Mark down the last of his whiskey and went to the kitchen for a refill. When he returned Carlo was gone. The mobster had made his point, had said all he had to say. Mark took a hit of whiskey.

Mark booted up his laptop and opened up a word document. He had work to do. Carlo had been quite clear. He had to produce ten thousand words by Friday. The next time he spoke to his publisher, Mark would neglect to mention that his fictional main character had knocked on the door demanding he start the new crime novel. 

Chapter One.

When a guy like Carlo Palazini knocked on your door, you answered.

By Chris Platt

From: United Kingdom