The man next to the door nodded at Imran as the group walked into the reception room.
“Hello, Imran. I take it you informed your guests of the no weapons policy?”
Imran shook the man’s hand and nodded.
“Yes, I personally vouch for my guests, Taylor. We have a meeting with the godfather upstairs.”
The man, whose name the others now knew to be Taylor, offered Imran a brief smile as he opened the door into the club.
“Welcome to Godfather’s, everyone – enjoy the evening.”
As he walked through the second red door, Mac noted the metal detector that was hidden within the door frame – clearly the godfather wanted this place to be as secure as possible.
The main area of the club was a large, dimly lit room with a long, dark oak bar at the opposite end of the entrance, and several small round tables positioned in the middle of the floor. At the north end of the room was a dance floor area and just above that, a small stage where a single microphone was placed atop a black metallic mic stand.
There were no more than twelve or so people seated at various tables, with another few seated at the bar. All were talking quietly as the sound of Dean Martin singing of another kick in the head was heard in the background.
A short, rotund man with a friendly, smiling face walked up to Imran and hugged him. Like Taylor in the reception room, this man too was dressed in a dark grey pinstriped suit.
“Welcome back, Imran! Glad you’ve made it home safely. I see you brought your friends with you. Hello everyone, name’s Marcini. I’m the manager here. Very glad to meet all of you.”
Marcini extended a thick, short fingered right hand to each one of the group and greeted them enthusiastically. He stopped briefly in front of Dublin and offered her an even warmer smile.
“Always nice to see such a beautiful woman join us here at the club.”
Dublin flashed a thin smile back to Marcini, but said nothing.
“Ok, folks, I know you have an appointment with the godfather, so please follow me this way.”
Imran and the others walked directly behind Marcini as he made his way to a narrow stairway located just to the right of the bar area. Mac again noted the security measures taken – one camera was located in the ceiling at the bottom of the stairs, and another also in the ceiling at the very top of the stairs and in front of yet another red door. The former Navy SEAL watched as Marcini’s eyes glanced to the first camera as he passed underneath it.
The door at the top of the stairs opened just before Marcini reached it. Inside was a twelve by twelve sitting room that contained a dark leather couch and two matching chairs positioned around a small black glass coffee table. The same Dean Martin song was softly playing inside this room as downstairs in the main club area.
Marcini motioned for the others to have a seat before turning to knock on a large door that was covered in the same dark leather material as the couch and chairs.
“Please have a seat and I will be back to get you.”
Marcini disappeared behind the door as it closed behind him, followed by the faint click of a locking mechanism.
Bear, who remained standing, growled his disapproval.
“We are locked in here unarmed, waiting on this asshole for what? To get his goddamn blessing? His permission? What the hell is all of this shit?”
Mac turned to Bear and held his right pointer finger up to his lips, communicating he needed to be quiet. His eyes glanced upward toward one of the ceiling corners of the small room where yet another camera was placed.
Imran simply shook his head at Bear’s most recent words while Cooper Wyse settled into one of the large leather chairs and tilted his head back with a small smile.
“Relax, Bear…if they wanted to harm us they had plenty of opportunity to do it already. This is all just…just part of the program here.”
Bear stepped toward the seated Cooper and jabbed a finger into the rancher’s chest.
“I don’t like being messed with – and right now, I feel like I’m being messed with. You call it a program? I call it a bunch of idiots pretending they’re living in a world that doesn’t exist anymore. And I don’t care if they hear every word of what I’m saying.”
Cooper closed his eyes, the smile remaining on his face.
“That’s fine, Bear…you’re welcome to your opinion. I’d just ask a little favor of you though.”
Bear glanced down at Cooper, who appeared on the verge of falling asleep.
“Yeah – what?”
As Cooper Wyse’s eyes opened and the smile washed away, he gave Bear a hard look that let it be known he had no fear of the larger man’s size and strength.
“Don’t ever touch me like that again Bear. I’ve seen how strong you are…but I’ve broken far stronger animals than you. Now I just as soon keep things respectful between us…but you try something like that again, and me and you…well…it won’t do either one of us any good. You understanding me?”
Before Bear could respond, the door opened and Marcini re-appeared, motioning for the others to follow him.
“The godfather is ready to see you.”
XXVII.
The group was ushered into a large twenty by twenty lounge area where, on the opposite end of the room from the entrance door, sat the godfather behind a large, ornate, carved wood desk. Upon seeing them enter the room, the godfather rose from his leather bound chair and smiled warmly, his right hand extended.
Unlike the other staff of the club, the godfather was dressed in an immaculate dark blue pinstriped suit, with a deep burgundy tie that slashed downward from the front of his cream colored dress shirt. His feet were housed in rich dark leather shoes that were shined to a mirror like finish.
“Hello again my friends, and welcome to my home!”
In addition to Marcini, two other men dressed identically as him, were in the lounge. One was seated atop a bar stool next to a mini-replica of the full sized bar downstairs, and the other stood in the far left corner, saying nothing as he watched the group enter the room. The man seated was of average height, balding, with a large bushy mustache that hid his upper lip. He was at least fifty years of age, possibly as old as sixty.
The other man standing in the corner was short and lean, very similar in build to the godfather. His smooth shaven face and thick dark hair suggested an age of perhaps thirty.
The godfather’s handshake was brief and weak, almost limp. Bear had to fight off the urge to squeeze the small man’s hands into a pulp inside his own.
“Please, everyone, have a seat here and here.”
The lounge area had similar matching leather couch and chairs as were placed in the sitting room, though these were larger. Mac hesitated to sit, causing the rest of the group to remain standing as well.
The godfather, returning to his own seat behind his desk, looked at Mac and the others still standing and pointed again to the couch and chairs.
“Sit down.”
Mac made certain to get brief eye contact with the man standing in the corner of the room before nodding to the others in the group and sitting down in the chair nearest to the godfather’s desk.
Folding his hands in front of him, the godfather again smiled as he leaned forward slightly in his chair.
“Can I offer you a drink? A glass of wine? Bourbon? Whatever you want – we got it. And if we don’t have it…we’ll go out and get it. That’s what we do.”
Mac remained silent, signaling for the others to do the same.
Imran, sensing the awkward pause, attempted to begin the discussion of the group’s hopes of securing safe passage to Manitoba on the Russian’s train.
“Godfather, my friends from Alaska are very much hoping to obtain uh…transport of themselves to Manitoba on the train. They would like your help in setting up that transport.”
Leaning back in his chair, the godfather glanced over at the man seated at the bar, and then nodded toward Marcini who stood just to the right of Mac.
“Marcini, our guests have…refused my offer of drink. Imran should know better but the others…I’ll forgive the insult. For now. Bring in a bottle of the Seghesio – the 2008. And some glasses, Marcini – don’t forget the glasses.”
As Marcini left the room, the godfather looked back at the group seated in front of him.
“Red wine, good for the heart. Good for the soul. You know that, right?”
Dublin decided to find common ground with the godfather as a means of improving their chances of securing the use of the train for passage to Manitoba.
“Yes, my grandfather loved wine. His family owned a vineyard in France for some time. He had quite a collection. Even in Dominatus, he had some wonderful examples.”
The godfather’s dark, flinty eyes settled fully on Dublin, remaining there until she looked away.
“That’s right…you’re Dublin Meyer. Grandchild of Alexander Meyer. Your grandfather was a very rich man. Doubt my own wine collection can stack up to his, Ms. Meyer. I’m not the child of vineyard owning parents you see. Just a kid from Steubenville Ohio, home of Dean Martin, God rest his smooth singing, wine drinkin’ soul!”
Dublin looked back at the godfather, whose unsmiling eyes remained locked on her.
“I’m sure your wine will be just fine. And thank you for offering it to us.”
The godfather’s smile returned as his hands clapped lightly together several times.
“And thank you for showing some good manners, Ms. Meyer. Normally when I offer people something, they at least thank me for the privilege. It took you a while to get there, but get there you did.”
It wasn’t Bear who spoke out against the godfather’s words, but Reese, who had been intently watching the godfather staring at Dublin for the last few minutes.
“We have done nothing but offer up good manners, sir. We were brought here as guests. And if you don’t mind, I’d like you stop staring at Dublin like that, because it’s really starting to piss me off.”
The godfather’s eyes remained on Dublin as he spoke to the man seated on the bar stool, his voice rising in volume with each word.
“Do you hear that, Johnny? I’m being told what to do in my own house. And these are the same people who then want me to trouble myself with getting them the use of my fucking train!”
Cooper Wyse, who had sat silently on the right corner of the couch, shook his head.”
“That’s not your train – it’s the Russian’s train. Everyone knows that. He found it. He repaired it. He’s the only one who knows how to run it. Without him, your little oasis of lost Americana dries up and blows away. That’s if the Muslims don’t come in and cut your throats first.”
The eyes of the man standing in the corner widened as he looked back at Cooper with clear malice, taking a step toward the seated rancher. The godfather held up a hand, signaling for the man to remain where he was.
“That’s my son, Ricky. He’s not used to hearing people speak to me that way, Mr. Wyse. You think you could handle my son being upset with you?”
Cooper glanced over at the godfather’s son, whose eyes remained livid with rage, and then looked back at the godfather.
“I like my chances.”
Marcini returned to the room carrying a wine bottle and some glasses, which he laid out on the mini bar’s table.
“Open it up and let it breathe Marcini. Don’t pour it for another…ten minutes.
“Yes godfather.”
The godfather looked back at Imran and spread his hands outward.
“So what now, Imran? Is this it? You want me to help you convince the Russian to take you halfway across Canada to Manitoba? And for what? So you can see some French priest who says he has a weapon that can harm the New United Nations? Is that good business? I lose all that time with no train deliveries to or from Wilfrid. That make sense to you?”
Imran offered a wide smile of understanding toward the godfather’s concerns.
“Yes, of course you should be compensated godfather. I could offer you several deliveries for free perhaps? To make up for the loss of use of the train?”
The godfather shook his head slowly.
“You don’t deliver near enough in that truck of yours to equal the use of the train Imran.”
“How about because it’s the right fucking thing to do?”
Mac’s statement hung in the air, as the godfather again folded his hands in front of him and placed them on top of his desk.
“Mr. Walker, perhaps you were accustomed to talking that way in Dominatus, but here, in MY HOUSE, you will afford me the respect and courtesy I deserve.”
Mac rose from his chair and looked down at the godfather.
“If I gave you the respect you deserved, you’d be a mess of a stain on the wall by now. We’re fighting to free people, you dumb little phony ass prick. We ain’t pretending out there in the real world. We’re trying to survive. You understand? You think you’re safe playing 1950’s? They’ll come for you, just like they came for us. Just like they come for everybody, eventually. You heard the same thing I have – Muslims are planning on running all over this place on their way into Alaska. I’m willing to bet the drones won’t be far behind. If you really care about saving this place…about the people you say you’re protecting – you’ll help us out. And if you won’t help us out, then fuck you. We’ll do it ourselves. Someway, somehow, we’ll manage. We always do.”
It was the godfather’s turn to rise from his chair, motioning for his son Ricky to move toward Mac.
“You’re an old man, Mr. Walker. Older than me. Old enough that your tough guy mentality doesn’t fit into an old man’s body. That doesn’t excuse bad manners though, and frankly, when you come in here and talk to me like that, you leave me no choice but to make an example of you. As much as I don’t wish to be a poor host, I can’t have people believing I would allow such behavior to go unpunished.”
Ricky held a gun now pointed inches from Mac’s head.
Imran attempted to step between Mac and the godfather’s son.
“No! Godfather, please, this is not necessary! These are good people. They are attempting to do something brave and noble! Please, don’t do this!”
The godfather waved away Imran’s concerns.
“I’m not gonna kill him Imran – just teach him some manners. You need to keep quiet or I might decide you need the same lesson.”
Cooper Wyse, who remained seated, placed his hands behind his head while leaning back in the chair.
“How about a wager? I hear you’re a betting man. That right?”
The godfather glanced at his son, and then looked down at Cooper.
“I do enjoy a good bet Mr. Wyse. Yes indeed. What are you proposing?”
Cooper nodded at Mac.
“You say Mac, there, he’s an old man, right? How about you put up your toughest guy against Mac? Hand to hand. One old man against whoever you got. You can let everyone in the bar watch. Give them a free show. It’ll be good for business. Have ‘em go at it on the dance floor. If Mac loses, well…you’ve just taught him that lesson. Now if Mac wins, though…you owe us that train ride.”
The godfather looked genuinely interested in what Cooper offered. He signaled for his son to put his gun down and step back from Mac.
“You open to what your friend here is proposing, Mr. Walker?”
Mac’s eyes flashed back at the godfather as he nodded.
“Sure – as long as you’re a man of your word. I win, we get that train ride.”
The godfather waved a finger back at Mac.
“If you win, and that is a very unlikely if…I will consider that train ride, which is a far better place to negotiate from than you are currently. Marcini, prepare the area for the fight. Let Santos know he’s up.”
Imran looked at the godfather with horror.
“Not Santos…please godfather. That’s not fair!”
The godfather smiled back at Imran, pointing over to Cooper as he did so.
&nbs
p; “I didn’t make the suggestion Imran – he did. Mr .Walker has agreed to the terms. Now if you don’t mind, I suggest we have some of that wine Marcini so kindly opened for us.”
The godfather personally poured the wine into several glasses and placed them in front of his guests. Mac was the only one to pick up a glass, emptying it with one gulp.
“Not bad. I’ll take another.”
The godfather’s eyebrows raised, as his head cocked to the right slightly.
“You sure you want to be doing that, Mr. Walker? A clear head may be your only chance of victory.”
Tumultus Page 21
