Giovanni and the Bird by Cameron D. Alexander

Giovanni and the Bird by Cameron D. Alexander

Jack sighed in resignation as he peered through his dusty Venetian blinds at the carload of Armani thugs. He wasn’t going anywhere in his slippers and green kimono bathrobe, that was for sure. He had about a minute to think. “Screw it,” he said. He kicked off his slippers, tightened his green kimono bathrobe, and ninja-footed into the bedroom. He reached into the closet, feeling past the memories and mistakes, until his fingers found the shoebox. In it, the cold metal of a grenade hid beneath the false hope of a red stiletto. He pulled the grenade out and carried it like a Fabergé egg back into the lounge. Jack switched the aircon off, then leaned a chair against the aquarium, a tiny island of life in his sea of decay. He stepped on the chair, pried open the plastic flap of the aircon, and nestled the grenade minus the pin into the lip. He stepped down, dropped the pin into the tank, and reset the chair at his chessboard on the dining table. He took a sip of his milk and placed the remote next to the ashtray. Jack inched to the front door, kissed his crucifix necklace, and cleared his throat. Ding dong.

Three poker-faced goons stood before him, each with identical suits and oil-slicked hair. They looked like triplets; only one was a woman. She had a scarlet handkerchief protruding from her left breast pocket. The men had different colors, too – one wore beige, and the other indigo. Other than that, they looked the same. It was ridiculous, but he couldn’t even laugh. Behind the three stood a slim wraith of a man. He was tall and silvery, with a glorious Nietzsche mustache. He slipped between them to the front and faced Jack with a cleanskin bottle of red wine in one hand and two church communion glasses in the other. “May we come in?”

Jack didn’t have a choice and nodded, resisting the urge to gulp. The tall man lowered his head beneath the doorway and edged into the small apartment behind Jack. The goons swaggered in his wake and clunked the door shut like a coffin. They scoped the dim, claustrophobic space as the tall man sat himself at the chessboard on the table opposite Jack. “Do you mind if I…”

“Go ahead,” Jack interrupted.

The man motioned for Scarlet Thug to fill the tiny glasses with wine. Gurgle-oop. Then, he sat the bottle next to the remote control. “Grapes from the old country. Do you know me? Saluti.”

The sun was setting, casting long shadows through the Venetian blinds, slicing the room into bars of light and dark. The tall man had the visage of a priest in a confession booth. “Nope,” Jack replied, accepting the ruby glass and drank. He knew it wasn’t poisoned, but it wouldn’t make a difference if it was. Indigo thug positioned himself behind Jack quietly.

“My name is Giovanni,” the man said, slipping off his shiny wedding ring and placing it beside his glass. “Consider me something of a private detective for one client. A certain family you’ve undoubtedly heard of, Jack.”

“Yeah, no need to say the name out loud. But I don’t know what this is about. And how do you know my name?” Jack was curious to see how long he could stall them.

“Do you mind if I vape?”

“Sure, go ahead with your electric peace pipe thingy.” Apple-scented mist filled the air. Giovanni launched a smoke ring that drifted across to Jack, hovering over his head in a dissolving halo. “Nice fish.”

Jack looked behind him to see Beige Thug at the tank, sprinkling the food canister over the water as the tropical fish darted to feast. Silence, except for the bubble of water and buzz of the pump.

“Your brother was here yesterday. What did you talk about?” Giovanni said.

“I haven’t spoken to my brother in years. When my wife left me for him, I punched him out,” replied Jack.

Indigo double bitch-slapped Jack from behind. Jack commanded his flaring anger back down as his eyes watered in pain. Giovanni continued. “We’ve already canvassed the neighborhood. They saw this man…” he pulled out a photo. “…your brother, come to this door and step inside.”

“I never said he wasn’t here. He was. But we didn’t speak.”

“Did your brother leave the bird here? Do you have the golden bird?”

“Black bird, I don’t…what are you…no.”

Indigo came around to face Jack. “Your brother did some Indiana Jones tomb raider shit. Stole an ornament from our employer’s private gallery. A Spanish bird statue, a foot high, old, maybe dating back centuries. And your degenerate brother thought it a great idea to come in with guns blazing. He took out two of our guys. He’s on CCTV feeding cocaine to the guard dogs. They died if you’re interested. Then, he faces the camera and lights up a wad of cash on the ground. What kind of man does that?”

“Sounds like my brother, alright. But what cash?”

“It was payment for a job he never fulfilled,” Giovanni said.

“Ah…So…you hired him as a fall guy, and he figured it out?”

Slap. “Answer my questions.”

“He did leave something.”

“What?”

“It’s in the cigar box on the booze counter.” Beige carried it over and passed it to his boss, who placed it on the table before him.

“Go ahead, open it.” Jack said. Giovanni glanced at Jack and then opened it. Inside was a white silk scarf. He unfolded it to reveal a severed pinky finger with a Stanley knife next to it.

“He left this?”

“His way of saying sorry to me, I guess.”

“He cut his pinky off? Damn!” Beige said.

“That’s all?” Giovanni appeared indifferent to the grotesquerie in the box and palmed it off.

“He also left that stiletto there next to the whiskey there. It was my ex-wife’s. She died three days ago.”

“This guy. He takes your woman, comes back with her shoe and cuts off his own finger.”

“Where is the bird?” Giovanni snapped.

“You want the bird? Here it is.” Jack turned his right hand and flipped him the finger.

Giovanni nodded at Scarlet, who pulled a pair of thin dental pliers from her pocket. She lurked toward Jack, smiling as she opened and closed them in his face. Jack shivered. Scarlet clamped the crucifix around Jack’s neck and ripped it off. Indigo produced a cigarette lighter and heated the cross to bright orange. The smell burned Jack’s nostrils. Beige and Indigo held Jack down as Scarlet branded the back of his right hand.

“Goddamn it.” Jack yelled as the skin sizzled. Scarlet emptied Jack’s glass of milk over the cross-shaped wound.

“Good thing you aren’t lactose intolerant.” Indigo snorted, passing him his handkerchief.

“Search the drawers.” Giovanni said to the thugs.

“I swear. He didn’t bring anything else. No bird. We didn’t speak.” Jack wiped his hand dry. “You’re telling me he came here to say sorry, except he didn’t use the power of speech. You expect me to believe that?”

“Yes.”

“What’s this?” asked Beige as he rifled through the top drawer of the booze counter. He held up a manila envelope.

“That’s personal.” Jack said.

“Bring it over.” Giovanni summoned with his fingers. Beige shuffled over and emptied the contents. Three sheets of paper.

“Medical records?”

“Yeah,” said Jack. “I’ve got a bad case of Vitamin C.”

Giovanni waved the thugs to take a step back and allow Jack to breathe easily.

“It’s been a hell of a week.” Jack exhaled. It was getting hot.

“Well, on the bright side, you won’t have to suffer through chemo.” Giovanni handed the papers back to Beige, who propped them on the counter. Jack exhaled and slid into the chair in defeat, his heart beating like a drum.

“Are you ready? One final request?”

“A dram of scotch if it’s not too much to ask.” He pointed to Beige. “The green bottle.”

Giovanni nodded, and Beige brought it over with a crystal glass and poured it straight.

“Oofff,” Beige said, whiffing it. “Strong stuff.”

“Holy fire water.” Jack said, sipping it. It was getting real hot now. He held the glass up with his crucifix hand, looked Giovanni in the eye through the golden liquid and said, “I toast you, my mustachioed friend.” Without breaking eye contact, Jack snatched up the remote with his other hand, aimed it at the aircon, and pressed the button. He heard a magic beep. The door flap opened, and the grenade dropped like ripe fruit.

* * * * THE END * * * *
Copyright Cameron D. Alexander 2024