Cold night's, winds of enmity knocking against a hard pane glass of a lonely window. Hostility turns in a soul, draining a vital life force of one lonely stranger, energy now lost and disappearing into the dark. Submissive and depilated is his frail body as are those around him, their souls confused in their short existences, obliterated by time.
For him these days that pass are long and difficult to endure. At night in the darkness, alone and facing immortality, his energy, his vital life juices are replenished by those around him by his loved ones and often by his enemies.
As he watches familiar faces lowered in to the earth, he fights to retain his hostility, fearful of a time when a bubble of hate, anger, deplore and unforgiving revenge emerges as a Pandora's box from his body's cytoplasm.
He now peers into the darkness, and there in the distance is a guiding light, not always visible, but a clear trail to his salvation, his self esteem. But as he opens his eyes, a single twisted thought is ripped from reality through the optic nerve of his eye and into the dark recesses of his mind, where only the most evil of forces reside, never to resurface again all passing in the blink of an eye.
He awakens from a dead sleep, sweat running from his forehead and arms". Slowly he reaches for a glass of water from the beside table next to his bed in his small New York apartment. He realizes that he can no longer sleep this night and quickly puts on a torn and dirty T-shirt. He stands and walks barefooted to his bureau where lies a large dossier filled with photos After sitting in a large old leather chair, he meticulously opens the dossier and impassively flicks through several pages of script and several large photos. On these photos he methodically studies the eyes and facial structure of a downtown mobster "Jimmy Stragliani" a man who's actions had already determined his fate.
On daybreak as he exited his archaic apartment, not a soul was stirring, which was a good sign for a man in such a position as his own. He discretely descended from the stairs of his apartment carrying a small attache case and called a taxi from the corner which immediately approached. His eyes lethargically followed the driver who approach his position, and stopped several meters in front. After lighting a cigarette, he stared with a cold and miserly look at the unkempt taxi driver until the car moved forward, and he opened the door and got in. Inside the cab was a sweet smelling aroma and a clean and respectable working habitat for such a man driving such a car. It made him physically ill, but after a brief and unpleasant cab ride to the corner of 31' street and main, he got out of the car, paid the driver to the penny and miserly gave no tip.
As he crossed the street amongst many other pedestrians on the daily commutes to work, he gripped the small black case tightly in his hand as to be sure that nobody could possibly remove it from hint On reaching the other side of the street he peered to his left and saw it. A large antique building belonging to one of the oldest mob families of old town New York.
Just then, all reality faded away to darkness and Mr. Moditz slipped into a flash back of his younger years in the midst of his childhood in a small dusty town of Texas. His older brother ran drugs for an old family moving high priced materials around the country. One day his brother Moritzio had one day mysteriously disappeared while working under a new gangster in downtown New York, a Mr. Stragliani buying large quantities of cocaine from around the country. Since this day he had sworn to avenge his brother's death.
Suddenly he awoke from what seemed like a dream or even a nightmare, by the large horn of a passing freight truck which had missed him by mere centimeters. Mr. Moditz moved back to the sidewalk and moved towards the old building up the street.
Inside the front doors of the building was profoundly different from its old broken down exterior. Inside was a marvelously decorated and remodeled classic 1960's decor, from the oak and mahogany tables to the black marbled floors. Behind the front desk were two very large bald men with security tag's and rugged faces with holsters for their pistols bulging from their. Behind the front desk was a large classic staircase that seemed to wind away into the roof with a large mahogany double door at the top. The entire room was lit by a large prodigious chandelier that hung from the ceiling.
As Mr. Moditz drifted in the door, the two men immediately approached from the desk and flagrantly attempted to look superior to hint Moditz methodically took his attache case in his right hand and viciously depilated the two men with a single blow to both their jaws knocking them to the ground where they would remain for the remainder of his brief visit. He quickly admired the classy atmosphere of the vast lobby and then climbed to the top of the stair well. At the top he laid his attach,6 case on the floor and opened it revealing a large multi-cylinder automatic sawn-off shotgun that snugly fit inside the small box.
Inside the office were three men, two of which were hovered behind a large lunar shaped desk, behind which was sitting a large corpulent man, wearing a well tailored black suit with a dark red tie. The three men were in midst of conversation when the door suddenly virtually blew apart with the loud hammer effect of a 20 gauge shot gun, leaving everything bid the hinges remaining of the door.
From the smoke appeared Moditz, teeth gleaming with his large metallic friend From amongst the smoke and flying pieces of wood that had scattered across the room a loud audacious voice come from within the large round office.- "sorry to drop in with out a reservation, but I was looking for a Mr. Stragliani but your boys downstairs couldn't tell me!"
"I'm sorry" replied Stragliani coldly, "but nobody usually destroys my door without a reservation. "
Moditz appeared from the smoke, and smiled with unwarranted exuberance. He felt something close to happiness when he finally met the man who was responsible for the death of his brother. "I'm guessing that Stragliani is the fat guy behind the desk, so you two have my most humble permission to leave but do so at once",,he stated calmly as if talking to the walls. Surprisingly the two men moved away from the desk and passed Moditz exiting the room. He made absolutely no eye contact with the men as they passed him and quickly moved down the stairs and left the building.
"I hold you as the most reprehensible to a life changing matter that crossed your path exactly ]2 years ago. Maybe you will recall the name of a courier named Moritzio Moditz, who delivered much of the filth that you send into the world from this very office!" stated Moditz.
"I really don't recall anyone by that name Mr... " Stragliani replied drifting off as to discover his name by his usual sleazy methods, but Moditz did not answer, and instead aim his shotgun at Stragliani's shoulder, but then decided that he would probably take his arm off. Instead he reached into his jacket and fired a bullet from a small handgun which struck Stragliani directly in the shoulder bone sending him into a world of pain. Blood stained his curtains from the exit wound Stragliani then gave in and decided that he did vaguely remember a young courier that he had discretely removed from his large franchise, but for the good of him couldn't understand who this man before him was.
"All right... all right", he grunted through clenched teeth, "I remember the boy, but that was such a long time ago! Why are you still angry 12 years later, my friend we can still talk about this, no?"
For Moditz he was simply buying time, and he was rapidly growing tired of his rambling. He decided enough was enough, besides the police would be there any second now. "Mr. James Stragliani " he stated as if giving him a life sentence, "I am going to give you one of two possibilities. One, you can stay here and try and sweet talk me out of giving you that complementary plastic surgery that you've been waiting for from your clinic. "And the second?" he asked nervously.
"The second is that I leave you to determine your own fate. " And then indicated towards the window. Stragliani had understood, and had already decided that there was no way he could talk his way out of his position. However he was outraged that this stranger would not tell him why he was going to kill him.
He then asked, "Mr. Moditz, Isn't it? I'm guessing that it was your brother that was working for me 12 years ago." Moditz stared at him, tiredly pointed his large shotgun at Stragliani, and then turned around and left the room. He knew that Stragliani had understood. He would have closed the door but then remembered that he had recently blown it apart, so instead he simply walked downstairs and left the building. Upon exiting the building he heard the blood-curdling scream of what he knew used to be Stragliani before hitting the hard pavement. As he walked back to his apartment, people ran from all sides of the street to see the commotion. His lifetime vendetta was finished. He had avenged his brother's death and was now free to live the rest of his life.