Rabenbruder
08-15-2009, 09:20 AM
Baby Blue
»They shot the Golden Boy in his driveway,« Fernando said to the old man later that evening. »He’s dead.«
Sir Bruno had no answer. Just his permanent smile froze. And with it seemingly the whole lavish suite.
»That’s war,« he said coldly after a short while and sat up in his bed. He waved a dismissal to his bodyguards, made them disappear. The hotel nurse handed a housecoat to him and left the room, wheeling her cart loaded with medication. Sir Bruno stood up and went behind his desk. A huge man, physically vigorous despite his prostate cancer and age, with white hair whirling in every direction. Yet for a moment he felt too old in his business. But there was no way he would lose control now. The Duke sat down in his leather armchair and looked directly into Fernando’s eyes: »Tell me everything that happened,« he said.
***
For Mr. Frank W. Golden it’s been a rough week right from the beginning. He was hurt and contrite that his little lady had stolen his money to run off with probably another guy. If she only would’ve left him the car and her new address or any other clue about what to do next. The hell with her. She’d treated him like a goddamn male cow.
He looked out of the window down into the dark street, lit a thin cigar and buttoned his shirt up, while waiting for Fernando’s red Ford. That car should better come around the corner any minute now if they wanted to make it to their meeting on time.
New York City was no place for Frank. He shouldn’t have come here at all. From his home in Hollywood (which he owned secretly) he could see the quiet Pacific Ocean in nights like this; a dark blue, perfectly polished surface lying flat beneath the moonlight in a view that Frank missed as terribly as his girl.
»Golden Boy,« she’d given him that name in front of all when she was drunk enough, »call me Baby Blue!«
What a girl, what a farce. And at the end she didn’t even leave her new number. He could drop dead now and she wouldn’t care.
Frank was no stupid man. He knew to take a loss in private life. Being more than just a hitman for the big guy in town brought a serious burden with it, the one of responsibility and restraint. At first he was surprised into anger. Who wouldn’t be. But then he recognized that he had no room for revenge and correction; so he swallowed.
There were rumors about him taking over when the old man would’ve had enough one day. Such opinion existed since the Duke’s only son had walked away from the family to become a painter somewhere.
For a moment Mr. Frank W. Golden felt sorry that he’d never listened to that kid.
His time with little lady Baby Blue has been a game. He was excited in a way he had never been before. Her Asian eyes and creamy skin had hypnotized at least half his attention, while he played the Golden Boy, charming and witty. Life was as easy as the girl was fresh and young.
In these eleven months Frank never thought much about becoming the next Duke. People of all sides had already taken notice of how distracted he was and they’d started to talk about him. But Frank had never paid attention. Until now.
»Where there is no appetite there is no hunger.« Who told him that phrase last? The Duke.
Frank finally began to recognize that the girl had actually been in great danger all time long. If not from his enemies then from his friends. And who except the Duke would have the balls. Maybe he’d rewarded her with a great sum of cash, a handsome pension to make her leave. Or they’d brutally threatened her out of the country. Kidnapped her? Killed her?
Frank’s lips opened and, to his own helpless surprise, spoke it out like a mysterious oracle: »Kidnapped - the Duke got the girl.«
He turned away from the window and walked across the dark room to his liquor cabinet by the desk. From the nearest bottle he poured a glass full and sipped his drink thoughtfully. How many weeks they must have planned this. They could hold her anywhere, these brutes. And since her Golden Boy hasn’t been involved the Duke must have used Fernando in this job; that all became just too obvious now.
Suddenly Frank was in a hurry, kicked by an astonishing idea. He put his drink aside and quickly went to the bedroom for his Walther P38 and a pair of binoculars. Then he rushed into the bathroom and collected all that expensive nail polish and lipstick he’d bought her. In the kitchen Frank took the ketchup bottles from the refrigerator before he slipped on a raincoat and got his Stetson.
He knew he didn’t have much time so he ran out of the apartment and down the two flights and through the wide doors of the ground entrance before he stopped abruptly. A bit off the side he found an ideal spot on the driveway that could be seen into from all directions and especially well from the street.
Frank made a short panic emergency call to falsely report a gun battle in connection with a wild robbery across the street. He fired twice from his pistol in the air and hung up. Then he laid down near the pavement in the light of a lamppost so that his features could easily be seen, his cheek on the ground to wait. A smell of nail polish and ketchup was all over him, his complete face disfigured by red Make-up and Heinz tomato art, as if he would bleed a great deal. »If the Duke has the girl and Fernando is on his way... this will work,« he knew. »Or it’s all just a stupid joke...«
***
Sir Bruno had heard enough. Fernando, as if afraid of silence, kept talking: That there was nothing he could have done when the wailing rise and fall of numerous sirens were already coming hazardously close and closer. And that he had witnessed an immense loss of blood.
The old man made a decision, said quietly: »Let the girl go.«
For just a fraction of a second Fernando looked startled. But who was he to question the Duke, while precise orders kept coming: »In the morning I want all newspapers. Tell the men to be on alert. Get some extra cars for them. Make arrangements for a meeting at noon. I will need everybody’s services.«
The Duke got up from his armchair and walked towards the king size bed. »But first the girl«, he added. »Let her go. There will be a proper funeral for Golden Frank and I want her to show up.«
The conversation was over as he rang the nurse’s bell.
***
When Frank watched Fernando leaving the hotel he felt a cold anger for him. Last year around this time they’d talked once about who should follow in a retired Duke’s footsteps and even try to do better. »It will be you, Frank,« he’d said. »Of all possible candidates you are the most intelligent.« And now he was convinced to play Frank for a fool.
Fernando didn’t take the Ford but only the parking ticket he found on it. He walked swiftly down the block for a while, some forty meter. Then he took a left, crossed that street and disappeared in a flat private building with giant blue letters in neon-lights at front, Bernie's Soap Store.
In any other circumstances Frank might have laughed out loud now as he for sure needed a good piece of soap: There was still a lot of faked blood around his head and neck. He turned the coat collar up, pulled his hat deeper, checked the house and found it had only one entrance. The opposite building was a few floors higher. Frank grabbed his field glasses on the way to find some stairs that could lift him into an observing position.
»Baby Blue, come on,« he said impatiently as in this minute none of the men yet knew that the girl had long died with no air to breath under duct tape and that this was about to start a horrible long war between all families and me, the phantom of a man believed dead once...
(From the script »Beyond My Blood«, © 2009)
»They shot the Golden Boy in his driveway,« Fernando said to the old man later that evening. »He’s dead.«
Sir Bruno had no answer. Just his permanent smile froze. And with it seemingly the whole lavish suite.
»That’s war,« he said coldly after a short while and sat up in his bed. He waved a dismissal to his bodyguards, made them disappear. The hotel nurse handed a housecoat to him and left the room, wheeling her cart loaded with medication. Sir Bruno stood up and went behind his desk. A huge man, physically vigorous despite his prostate cancer and age, with white hair whirling in every direction. Yet for a moment he felt too old in his business. But there was no way he would lose control now. The Duke sat down in his leather armchair and looked directly into Fernando’s eyes: »Tell me everything that happened,« he said.
***
For Mr. Frank W. Golden it’s been a rough week right from the beginning. He was hurt and contrite that his little lady had stolen his money to run off with probably another guy. If she only would’ve left him the car and her new address or any other clue about what to do next. The hell with her. She’d treated him like a goddamn male cow.
He looked out of the window down into the dark street, lit a thin cigar and buttoned his shirt up, while waiting for Fernando’s red Ford. That car should better come around the corner any minute now if they wanted to make it to their meeting on time.
New York City was no place for Frank. He shouldn’t have come here at all. From his home in Hollywood (which he owned secretly) he could see the quiet Pacific Ocean in nights like this; a dark blue, perfectly polished surface lying flat beneath the moonlight in a view that Frank missed as terribly as his girl.
»Golden Boy,« she’d given him that name in front of all when she was drunk enough, »call me Baby Blue!«
What a girl, what a farce. And at the end she didn’t even leave her new number. He could drop dead now and she wouldn’t care.
Frank was no stupid man. He knew to take a loss in private life. Being more than just a hitman for the big guy in town brought a serious burden with it, the one of responsibility and restraint. At first he was surprised into anger. Who wouldn’t be. But then he recognized that he had no room for revenge and correction; so he swallowed.
There were rumors about him taking over when the old man would’ve had enough one day. Such opinion existed since the Duke’s only son had walked away from the family to become a painter somewhere.
For a moment Mr. Frank W. Golden felt sorry that he’d never listened to that kid.
His time with little lady Baby Blue has been a game. He was excited in a way he had never been before. Her Asian eyes and creamy skin had hypnotized at least half his attention, while he played the Golden Boy, charming and witty. Life was as easy as the girl was fresh and young.
In these eleven months Frank never thought much about becoming the next Duke. People of all sides had already taken notice of how distracted he was and they’d started to talk about him. But Frank had never paid attention. Until now.
»Where there is no appetite there is no hunger.« Who told him that phrase last? The Duke.
Frank finally began to recognize that the girl had actually been in great danger all time long. If not from his enemies then from his friends. And who except the Duke would have the balls. Maybe he’d rewarded her with a great sum of cash, a handsome pension to make her leave. Or they’d brutally threatened her out of the country. Kidnapped her? Killed her?
Frank’s lips opened and, to his own helpless surprise, spoke it out like a mysterious oracle: »Kidnapped - the Duke got the girl.«
He turned away from the window and walked across the dark room to his liquor cabinet by the desk. From the nearest bottle he poured a glass full and sipped his drink thoughtfully. How many weeks they must have planned this. They could hold her anywhere, these brutes. And since her Golden Boy hasn’t been involved the Duke must have used Fernando in this job; that all became just too obvious now.
Suddenly Frank was in a hurry, kicked by an astonishing idea. He put his drink aside and quickly went to the bedroom for his Walther P38 and a pair of binoculars. Then he rushed into the bathroom and collected all that expensive nail polish and lipstick he’d bought her. In the kitchen Frank took the ketchup bottles from the refrigerator before he slipped on a raincoat and got his Stetson.
He knew he didn’t have much time so he ran out of the apartment and down the two flights and through the wide doors of the ground entrance before he stopped abruptly. A bit off the side he found an ideal spot on the driveway that could be seen into from all directions and especially well from the street.
Frank made a short panic emergency call to falsely report a gun battle in connection with a wild robbery across the street. He fired twice from his pistol in the air and hung up. Then he laid down near the pavement in the light of a lamppost so that his features could easily be seen, his cheek on the ground to wait. A smell of nail polish and ketchup was all over him, his complete face disfigured by red Make-up and Heinz tomato art, as if he would bleed a great deal. »If the Duke has the girl and Fernando is on his way... this will work,« he knew. »Or it’s all just a stupid joke...«
***
Sir Bruno had heard enough. Fernando, as if afraid of silence, kept talking: That there was nothing he could have done when the wailing rise and fall of numerous sirens were already coming hazardously close and closer. And that he had witnessed an immense loss of blood.
The old man made a decision, said quietly: »Let the girl go.«
For just a fraction of a second Fernando looked startled. But who was he to question the Duke, while precise orders kept coming: »In the morning I want all newspapers. Tell the men to be on alert. Get some extra cars for them. Make arrangements for a meeting at noon. I will need everybody’s services.«
The Duke got up from his armchair and walked towards the king size bed. »But first the girl«, he added. »Let her go. There will be a proper funeral for Golden Frank and I want her to show up.«
The conversation was over as he rang the nurse’s bell.
***
When Frank watched Fernando leaving the hotel he felt a cold anger for him. Last year around this time they’d talked once about who should follow in a retired Duke’s footsteps and even try to do better. »It will be you, Frank,« he’d said. »Of all possible candidates you are the most intelligent.« And now he was convinced to play Frank for a fool.
Fernando didn’t take the Ford but only the parking ticket he found on it. He walked swiftly down the block for a while, some forty meter. Then he took a left, crossed that street and disappeared in a flat private building with giant blue letters in neon-lights at front, Bernie's Soap Store.
In any other circumstances Frank might have laughed out loud now as he for sure needed a good piece of soap: There was still a lot of faked blood around his head and neck. He turned the coat collar up, pulled his hat deeper, checked the house and found it had only one entrance. The opposite building was a few floors higher. Frank grabbed his field glasses on the way to find some stairs that could lift him into an observing position.
»Baby Blue, come on,« he said impatiently as in this minute none of the men yet knew that the girl had long died with no air to breath under duct tape and that this was about to start a horrible long war between all families and me, the phantom of a man believed dead once...
(From the script »Beyond My Blood«, © 2009)