Boss Citadel sat in his charcoal black Versace suit in his platinum white penthouse suite on the second from top floor of Citadel Towers. Despite being in the company of several people he felt quite alone. He sat with Talk and Tank his advisor and muscle though sadly not respectively. Ricky Talk stood with a slight hunch to avoid damaging the chandelier that hung low from the high ceiling, breathing heavily. Sammy Tank sat knee high to Talk, browsing the financial news while considering how to correctly tell Talk to shut the fuck up. Further along sat the cleaner, though the fact that she was naked and sitting meant she was probably creating more of a mess. She winked at Talk, flirting for the sake of it while he stole nervous glances back at her, blushing more each time. To Boss’s right was an empty chair that would usually be occupied by his wife; she was downtown at Channel 8 studios offering the opinion of the wife of the richest man in the world while playing along to the charade that the man next to her was Boss himself. Boss had sent this man as a decoy to hide his true identity but found himself growing furious with jealousy and was imagining Talk’s gigantic hand crushing the man’s skull.
The four sat watching the most watched TV event in history with vague interest. Boss was restless and shuffled in his chair. He was a naturally slim man but had thought that any head honcho should be heavy set in order to demonstrate their gluttonous wealth. Unfortunately, he had landed somewhere in the middle, lacking both the health benefits of a skinny man and the respect of a man who took it upon himself to over indulge in life to prove ascendency.
The phone had rung a few minutes ago. It was another annoyance that caused Boss even more stress. He had dealt with the matter efficiently, with a slight referral to Tank for confirmation. Tank had given a single inclination of his head, barely a nod without even looking at Boss to communicate – preppy little shit – and the issue was resolved. Of course now he had to await the call from his idiot brother who would ask what he should do. This was a necessary evil. On her death bed, Myrtle Tanenworth had asked Simon (Boss) to look after Mark and make him feel important. Mark was error prone so any actual involvement in the business was not on. Boss decided to let Mark act as his second in charge - A middle man for dealing with the street men.
The phone rang again.
“Hey Simon, I have some bad news.”
Boss hated being called Simon. He wanted a mob name like Don Corleone so he stole the name of a small time drug dealer that he killed in his twenties. “What is it?” he asked with impatience.
“Whisker got pulled up by the cops before he could get the me.”
“The me. Mark…Before he could get the mark. Get it. Cos I am Mark and I am me and-”
“Yes I get it. Call Chips and tell him to get Whisker back.” Boss’s temperament was as short as Talk tall (or simply: as short as Tank)
“What about the me? Shouldn’t they bust in and grab im as well?”
Boss couldn’t take much more of this. “Leave him. It’s too late now. Look at the TV” - Walter’s mug shot was flashing on the screen seizurally- “We’ll have to bide our time. Tell Chips and Whisker to report when they are back in action.” He hung up the phone despite being sure Mark was still on the line talking. He looked at the three people to his left and finally his temper cracked. “Sally if you want to be a whore and not a cleaner then you can go and fuck the behemoth and see if you’re still proud to show off that fap catcher. Tank, don’t sit in front of the TV and read, you’re giving me the shits. Piss off.” He looked at the TV and a quick shot showed Decoy Boss clapping pompously. “And Talk come back in 5 minutes after your breathing even heavier and she’s lucky to be breathing. I’ve got a job for you to do.”
The room cleared – Tank looking annoyingly inoffended and Talk looking more intimidated at the thought of sex than Sally. Boss felt at ease, pleased with his outburst and feeling more in tune with his title. He was just starting to calm down when he heard a knock on his window. Mark was scaling the fire escape to get to the elevator below. He looked in and waved genially before slipping a little. He regained his footing and gave a ‘thumbs up’ to Boss. He then mimicked his close call with death like a party clown and laughed. Boss considered throwing a chair through the window but remembered his mother and waved back with annoyance. Mark continued his descent and Boss watched the parade on TV and tried to think of how soon he could get his hands on Walter Wallace.
Notes to the text