Mafian CLIFF
by; Dibosa P.C. Marcel
On a windy Sunday morning, waters from the ocean clapped against the rock beds like a thousand stampeding bulls attacking a crowd of people all in red, sending chaotic vibrations through the cliff above it, at the top of this cliff was a man; Franc Jilani, the don of a largely successful Italian mob family, he was an aging man standing 6ft 4, with a long clean cut milky suit almost as brilliant as his clean cut silver hair, his face was ancient and puffy, like an old fearless bull dog, he had piercing brown eyes that showed he had lived through harder times. As the wind and ripples from the furious waters clashed against his antique face he heard a car door close, followed by footsteps approaching him and without looking to see who it was he asked.
“Paul, what do you think would happen if I slipped and fell of this cliff?”
“Well.” Paul said. “If your head don’t cave in on one of the rocks on your way down first, you’ll still drown when you hit the water.”
“You’re half right kid.” Franc turned to look at Paul with an excited face.
“Half?”
“You see it’s not the rocks that get you first, it’s the fear, people aren’t prepared for it…the fear of death, is more effective than death itself.”
Paul looked at his boss from the side of the car and lit a cigar; he always wondered what was going through the bosses mind, even more so today.
“Can I ask you a question boss?” Paul asked as the smoke he took in from the cigar went out of his lungs like smoke from a chimney.
“You can ask me anything kid.”
“Why me? Why, out of every one in the family did you choose me to be your successor? Until 12 years ago I was just an ordinary street thug, a foot soldier, I come from nothing, came from the bottom. So, Why me?”
“Because, you’re like a son to me.” Franc replied.
Paul gave an unconvinced look. “I know that’s not reasonable enough boss.” He said.
Don Franc looked at Paul with no surprise on his face. He signaled to him. “Come over here kid, join me on the edge, let me look at you.”
Paul walked towards the Don slowly until he stood face to face with the Don; Franc placed his hands on Paul’s lapel adjusting it into position.
“You see those waters kid?” The Don asked, as Paul looked down the cliff. “See how it shakes the entire cliff, trying to get up here from way down there, from the bottom.”
Paul could feel the wind and water clash against his face as the Don did, not too long ago, he felt the vibration from the clash against the sole of his feet as the Don went on with his speech.
“You and I are like that water kid, fighting our way to the top from the bottom. Because you come from nothing, that's why I chose you to be my successor, all other prospects were born rich, they don’t know what it’s like to struggle, they don’t know understand how to make sacrifices, most of them are snakes, and the rest are rats.”
“Some members of the family have voiced their discontent.” Paul replied.
“Some members of the family do not lead the family. My decision is final, and any one with discontent can kiss my wrinkly ass.” Paul gave out a quiet laugh. “Besides.” The Don added. “If any one tries to challenge my decision I can just throw them off this cliff, eh kid.” Franc said smiling.
Just then a black car pulled in from the drive way leading to the cliff, the car packed just right behind the Don’s car.
“That must be Vincent.” Paul said.
Franc looked at Paul and smiled. “Go, welcome him, and then bring him to me.”
Paul headed towards the car. A tall man stepped out of the back seat. It was Vincent Russo, one of the top men of the mob family, he was young, only a little older than Paul, he had the smug confident look, the kind that would make you want to throw a vat of acid on his face, in a swanky navy blue suit like it was made out of obnoxious material, and his hair had more gel in it than the entire mob combined, he was an annoying man who always taunted Paul for being from the bottom of the food chain.
“Welcome Vincent.” Paul said, trying to hide his detest for the man.
Vincent looked at him in disgust. “Hey cockroach.” He said adjusting his suit. “Somehow you’ve managed to flap your dirty wings around the Don again.”
Paul hid his anger, like he had done time without number whenever he spoke to Vincent. “Careful, so you don’t get some of that gel in your mouth.” Paul said.
“You’re not funny.” Vincent retorted defensively. “When I’m done convincing Don Franc Jilani to change his mind, I’ll make sure you’re back on the street eating merda like every cockroach should.” He looked up at the boss still standing at the edge of the cliff, still looking down. “You’re about to get the boot Paul.” He said as he went up to meet the Don. The dust seemed to move away from Vincent’s brown shoes rather towards it despite the high winds. Paul followed behind.
When they both got to the cliff, the boss seemed absent minded obviously, still bewildered by the waters for some reason.
“Don Jilani.” Vincent yelled. The Don turned to look at him. ”I am honored to be in your presence.” Vincent added smiling.
“Ah, Vincent, You’re finally here.” The boss gave him a warm hug.
“I’m sorry I’m late Don. That was in no way intentional, it was my wife, Emma, she always got something to cry about. Yesterday.” He started. “I caught her crying in the shower, I ask her baby, why you crying, and she says to me, it’s my brother, I miss him so much, I said to her; you never told me you had a brother, you know what she says to me? "he died before she was born" Virgin Mary, all these American broads…psicopatico.” He ended.
The boss laughed. “You always know how to make me laugh Vincent.” He cried. “But I thought your wife’s name was Angela?” He added.
“I’ve been married three times since Angela.”
“Geez, even women can’t stand you.” Paul said condescendingly as he walked closer to the duo.
“I did not know scarafaggios, were allowed to speak near humans.” Vincent scoffed.
Paul looked at him in anger, oh how he would love to drill that cocky head with is pistol, how he would enjoy seeing Vincent beg for mercy, the only thing stopping him from ending Vincent was his respect for the family and most importantly his respect for the Don.
“Paul. Wait by the car.” Franc said, smiling at him. Paul walked backwards looking straight at Vincent’s eyes, neither of them willing to stare away from each other.
“Don Jilani.” Vincent said, still looking at Paul. “Why have you chosen, to give this nobody the mantle of Don? Surely there are much better options. I implore you please reconsider, collect your thoughts and you would see more clearly.
“Oh, my thoughts are where they need to be, and my old eyes see just fine…see a lot better even.”
Vincent looked at the Don in hatred. This old man he thought to himself, was running on fumes, a fossil too stubborn to die, maybe he needed to be aided to the grave, maybe a hit could be made, he had to find a way to stop the Don from going through with this decision because, most of the family were blindly loyal to the Don and would accept his desires without question. The old man had to go.
Franc could sense the anger in Vincent’s heart. He knew that Vincent wanted his throne, wanted his life. Franc took a step to the edge of the cliff and looked down again.
“Don, you’re old, maybe you should…”
“What do you think happens if you slip and fall down this cliff Vincent?” Franc asked as he stepped away from the edge.
“Ah. The famous Don Jilani question. I was wondering when you’d ask me”
Vincent had heard from other mobsters that had, had meetings with the boss at the cliff, of the strange question he would always ask so, he already knew the answer.
“I’d die.” Vincent said. “It’s not the drop that’ll kill me…it’s the fear.” He walked in front of the Don, to look over the cliff. “But, I ain’t afraid of nothing Don.” He said looking down at the Don.
“Good.” The Don said. “That means you’re prepared.” He tapped Vincent lightly on the chest, sending him off the cliff, not even looking down to see if he had hit the bottom.
“Boss?” Paul yelled as he ran towards the Don. “What happened?”
“He was a rat kid. A fat one.” The Don said. He looked at Paul and smiled as he smacked him lightly on the face. “Take care of Vincent’s driver, put one between his eyes, then take me home.” He walked towards his car slowly as he whispered something that sounded like. “No one calls me old”. Paul looked on at the boss in wonderment. The Don might aging but, he was still as ruthless as ever, for this, he was respected and feared even after so long.
Dibosa P.C. Marcel is a corps member serving in Kwara state, and a member Creative Writing SAED, NYSC.
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