Olive
"I don't understand why I'm here." I said, very bored. I had been sitting in this tiny excuse of a room for over an hour.
The grey walls were starting to give me a headache.
An older man in a suit was sitting across from me, reviewing a folder. If I remembered correctly, this was the Captain or is it Chief?
My father was visited a few times at our home by this man.
"How well did you know Timmothy Bianchi?" His voice was rough, as if he had been smoking for years. From the smell of cigarettes, I'd say that was accurate.
"I guess you could say we are friends." I shrugged.
"Were." Finally, he closed the folder, and looked up. My guess was that he was studying my reaction.
"Were?" I leaned my head into my hand.
"Bianchi was found hung from a crane earlier this morning." The chief slid a photo my way. Any normal person would be sick.
But, I on the other hand, was proud. My crew would eat well tonight.
"That's a shame." I yawned and fell back in my chair.
"You don't seem too torn up about this, as a friend should." I cocked an eyebrow at him, was I supposed to cry?
"People come and go. Can't dwell on it." I reached up and began twirling a strand of dark hair between my fingers. This wasn't my first rodeo.
The chief grunted and sat back in his chair. This man was supposed to break me, but from his body language, I can tell he was stuck.
"Well, as you know, A loss of a mafia - or is it gangster now?" One of his bushy eyebrows went up, causing more wrinkles to form.
"I'm not sure, but if I had to guess, I'd say capo or maybe capo dei capi." Why not take the opportunity to give myself a name?
"Not sure what that Italian rubbish means, but we are expecting more losses in the upcoming weeks. I'm sure these-" the chief stopped and cleared his throat,"organizations will be taking advantage of the loss."
"Why are you telling me this?" I asked, my interest peaking.
"I was thinking that we could scratch each other's backs." The captain slid a file towards me and I looked between him and the Manila folder.
"Have you ever heard of omertà?" I asked, placing my hand over the file.
"I don't speak Italian." This man was a fool. How do you live in Boston, and deal with crime orientated Italian families, and not speak Italian?
"It means, If I scratch your back,My men and I will be the next ones hanging from the crane." I slid the folder over to his side of the table, once again, bored.
"We can put you into witness protection." The chief said quietly and i rolled my eyes.
"If I'm honest,sir, I don't know a thing about anything you're talking about," I stood and flattened down my dress, "But I truly hope you find out who killed my dear friend Timmothy."
The chief remained sitting, his arms crossed.
"Unless you're charging me with something, I'm leaving." I strolled over to the door and a loud buzzer went off.
I guess I'm free.