New York Minute epilogue
Jun. 7th, 2005 06:42 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bedlamsbardWell. It's finally done. Final stats weigh out at 34,413 words counting chapter headers and 68 single-spaced Times New Roman 12 point pages in Word.
They met on a footbridge in Central Park, presenting an odd picture to any who watched. One was a tall, lean man with dark hair just barely beginning to silver at the temples. He was dressed soberly in black slacks and a crisp white dress shirt, his only concession to casualty a worn leather jacket that neatly concealed the bulge at his hip. The other was a thick walrus of a man, skin and clothes both laid baggy layer on baggy layer, so that his round head almost seemed an afterthought. He came second, strolling up the path to find the first man with his elbows on the railing, staring at the water with a contemplative glint in his chocolate brown eyes.
“Mr. Constantine,” the walrus said, offering a hand.
Val Constantine took it warily, like he half-expected to blow up, and seemed relieved when he dropped the walrus’ hand and came away in one piece. “Mr. Patriso,”he acknowledged, nodding his head once.
Frederico Patriso leaned on the railing next to Val. “John Marcatti died in the hospital this morning,” he said.
“I’ve heard a bullet in the brain can do that,” Val said colly. He added with quiet menace overlaying his voice, “You put an open hit out on my nephew, Freddy.”
“He killed my grandsons.”
“Well, he didn’t technically kill them,” Val pointed out sensibly. “Carlo Sassone killed Vincent Patriso, and Phillip DiCarlo isn’t dead. He’s in prison, and likely to remain so for the rest of his life, but he’s not dead. Carlo Sassone’s the only one Danny killed, and he’s not one of your grandsons – that I know of.”
Patriso regarded him with narrow black eyes set in pouches of flesh. “Patriso speaks for the Sassones,” he said, “for Phil DiCarlo, and John Marcatti. And your people are responsible for putting them in the ground and behind bars. I want justice, Constantine.”
Val turned cold killer’s eyes on him. “If it’s justice you want, it’s war you’ll get.”
Patriso’s wrist flicked out suddenly, and Val put his hand to the gun at his waist as red-black rose petals scattered over the water. “Then so be it.”
End.
The next story in the Snafu trilogy will be Omerta, followed by the Mac trilogy: Black Monday, Habeas Corpus, and Bloody Sunday. There may or may not be a Flack story called Blue Blood. Depending on how Omerta turns out, the Messer-Constantine-Bonasera story arc may or may not be continued.
They met on a footbridge in Central Park, presenting an odd picture to any who watched. One was a tall, lean man with dark hair just barely beginning to silver at the temples. He was dressed soberly in black slacks and a crisp white dress shirt, his only concession to casualty a worn leather jacket that neatly concealed the bulge at his hip. The other was a thick walrus of a man, skin and clothes both laid baggy layer on baggy layer, so that his round head almost seemed an afterthought. He came second, strolling up the path to find the first man with his elbows on the railing, staring at the water with a contemplative glint in his chocolate brown eyes.
“Mr. Constantine,” the walrus said, offering a hand.
Val Constantine took it warily, like he half-expected to blow up, and seemed relieved when he dropped the walrus’ hand and came away in one piece. “Mr. Patriso,”he acknowledged, nodding his head once.
Frederico Patriso leaned on the railing next to Val. “John Marcatti died in the hospital this morning,” he said.
“I’ve heard a bullet in the brain can do that,” Val said colly. He added with quiet menace overlaying his voice, “You put an open hit out on my nephew, Freddy.”
“He killed my grandsons.”
“Well, he didn’t technically kill them,” Val pointed out sensibly. “Carlo Sassone killed Vincent Patriso, and Phillip DiCarlo isn’t dead. He’s in prison, and likely to remain so for the rest of his life, but he’s not dead. Carlo Sassone’s the only one Danny killed, and he’s not one of your grandsons – that I know of.”
Patriso regarded him with narrow black eyes set in pouches of flesh. “Patriso speaks for the Sassones,” he said, “for Phil DiCarlo, and John Marcatti. And your people are responsible for putting them in the ground and behind bars. I want justice, Constantine.”
Val turned cold killer’s eyes on him. “If it’s justice you want, it’s war you’ll get.”
Patriso’s wrist flicked out suddenly, and Val put his hand to the gun at his waist as red-black rose petals scattered over the water. “Then so be it.”
End.
The next story in the Snafu trilogy will be Omerta, followed by the Mac trilogy: Black Monday, Habeas Corpus, and Bloody Sunday. There may or may not be a Flack story called Blue Blood. Depending on how Omerta turns out, the Messer-Constantine-Bonasera story arc may or may not be continued.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2005-06-08 10:01 pm (UTC)Great job on the ending, as well. Also, may I add you to my friends list?
(no subject)
Date: 2005-06-09 12:21 am (UTC)*whimper* I'm not.
Great job on the ending, as well.
Thank you!
Also, may I add you to my friends list?
Of course! Just out of curiosity, how did you find my journal?
(no subject)
Date: 2005-06-09 03:17 am (UTC)I'm quite sure it'll be ok.
Just out of curiosity, how did you find my journal?
From