Everything is fine now. The roads are tied and the plots are ended. This is a tribute to Ellis. This is the “piece of work”.
Here is some nice ambient jazz, ‘Hat and beard’ from Eric Dolphy.
As Domino held his arms behind his head and lay on his flat bunk, his mind began to wander back into the City he had now left behind. Through the mudded swamp of his memory, he remembered the seedy underbelly that some would call home, other’s hell. He always described city life as ‘fast automobiles, hot dames and lots and lots of moullah”. The neon lights, the silhouetted skyscrapers, it all seemed so distant now. He was far away, locked within a cell that easily contained him. Each day, the walls seemed to close in on him, Domino sometimes did not know where he was.
Suddenly Domino’s mind flashed, he sat up. A perfectly shaped face, it was the undertaker in Domino’s book. An undertaker in the form of a shamus named Detective Michael Morrison. He wanted to stand up and tell of what happened, scream it loud, though he could not. Instead he was to remain within his cell with nowhere else to go.
Domino looked above as the hair of his cell-mate flopped over the railing. His cell-mate’s hair had the same dark streaks that Valery Vestibule had. All he seemed to remember of Vestibule was that she was the woman who had cursed him. Everything else had been forgotten in time.
Though Domino did remember the events of the night that had damned him. He was led unknowingly into something he could not comprehend, its’ guise too great and large for a small minded being. He was one man, controlled by large organisations in a city bigger than he would ever try or hope to be.
Domino’s companion had taken care of the necessary individuals who had stood in the way of the Syndicate’s objectives. As far as Domino was concerned “those guys don’t deserve discussion, any enemy isn’t worth a second thought” Some of ‘those guys’ had been swept underneath detection, as if they never existed while others had been given, in Domino’s words, a “non verbal talking to”. All that stood in their way now was another man in a big city, but for one man to find another in a metropolis could be trying, at least that’s what Dom thought.
Vestibule led the way, explaining that they had received a tip off that there was a witness to her actions. Valery’s earlier crimes had not gone unnoticed. Lurking within the darkened streetlights, posing as one of the people; Morrison was on the look out, Domino and his escort were wanted. Her crimes on behalf of the Syndicate had left a mark that was not appreciated by the law’s side.
Domino’s hard, black leather jacket seemed to be a part of him as he struggled behind his companion, following the path of the rusted streetlights. Determined, fearless and headstrong, he went into what he thought he understood. His companion kept a distant proximity. The superiors had informed of the place he was to meet; it was at the end of the lights. The job was almost done; the Syndicate would soon have no enemies and complete control of all its dealings. Domino’s dirtied boots stopped at the end of the concrete, as they arrived at the extraction point. He could not remember what was going through him. It seemed to be adrenaline.
Domino’s companion left his side and leaned on the nearby abandoned building. Domino remembered the polluted site. The streetlights were bent and broken, the trees had fallen and the power lines were cut. The walls were crumbling and the lids of the sewers were wide open. This was a part of the neighbourhood, Domino felt at home and fine. This was his neck of the woods. This place was better than where he was now.
Domino noticed in the near distance, a car pulling up on the black bitumen. The man noticed the dark silhouettes leaving their shadow of transportation. Their boots tapping the floor as they came towards Domino, this was no pick up and drive by deal. Domino had never seen his superior’s eyes, they were shrouded by thick black glasses. They could have been anyone. The Superiors stopped, Domino’s companion calmly leaning on the wall.
Without a sound one of the Superiors let go of a piece of paper that flew around in the smog ridden air. On the note was a name; Marco Mile and an address.
Domino didn’t remember how, but he and his companion had arrived at the address. As one memory ended, another seemed to appear. Domino looked over at where his companion stood, watching as she stared at the floor. He was unsure if her stare was out of remorse or determination. Domino had been given the task to destroy the only link to his companion’s actions. Domino was to erase the individual from the record. Silently the men in glasses had disappeared.
Domino walked over to the wall in the blackened neighbourhood. There was no-one else nearby in the darkened streets of suburbia. The silence of that night before destruction was wrought still ringed in his ears. Valery had kept her distance, but as she now walked in front she turned to Domino. Domino looked down at her, staring into her eyes, they did not meet his. Vestibule clutched that weapon designed to kill as if it were a part of her. It wasn’t clear if she understood, or if she even knew why she was in this business. But Valery Vestibule seemed an ambitious one, not the slightest waver of charm about her presence. She just stared over the horizon. Domino felt it better than to waste his time with her, though he did have the opportunity. Looking away, Valery nodded at the building behind the diminishing light. Domino was intrigued that his companion seemed to understand the mission but had not read any relevant information. He remembered thinking “must’ve been ladies’ intuition”
Domino watched his footing, stepping up the stairs with passing grace trying to hide the malevolence of it all. With his worn gloves he clutched the door handle and his grace was gone. Looking back to where she was standing, she was gone. The street lights in the distance were off, darkness now roamed the streets. The Syndicate had put their part of the plan in action. Domino looked at the worn wooden door, it had the right numbers but something didn’t add up. He didn’t know at the time, but he would later discover that he was the outspoken outsider, the figure he was to destroy the innocent victim. Standing at that doorstop, it was his time to rise or fall, Domino didn’t understand anything else.
Without thinking deeply into it he inhaled what could have been his last breath. The door swung forth with fiery force as Domino’s boot kicked through. As the door crumbled with his force, he could no longer recall the events of that night. The scene seemed to be engulfed by encircling white walls. All seemed buried in covered consciousnesses.
He was now back in his soiled cell. Domino felt uneasy, his memories had been forgotten in time. All he remembered was the feeling of excitement and jubilation quickly turning to sorrow. He did not understand how his new persona had grasped him, how it had consumed him. It all seemed a blur. His hands began to tremble, running through his hair, he began to shiver.
Just as one memory faded, another became clearer. With a flash, he remembered standing in a room, unable to move. The lights were on. It was as if he were back there.
Domino looked at the ceiling and watched as the fan twirled around the light from outside. He could smell the stench of blood. It was Mr Mile lying motionless next to his feet. It was enough to break any other, though Domino stood still. He was no longer a member of a syndicate, he was an executioner called to do his duties and his duty was done.
The sound of sirens told him of what he was and what he needed to do. Looking at the mistaken man, he opened the barrel of his gun and loaded three bullets; it was all he would need to kill another man.
At the sound of footsteps, the hitman spun around with his gun pointing point blank range at his companion. He did not know it yet, but she still clutched her gun also, its barrel crammed into his abdomen. Under the fading light of the lone lamp, the shadows showed the detective. Domino now remembered.
At the tip of a hat, Detective Michael Morrison stepped through the broken doorway. He had gotten to Valery Vestibule. Face to face, Domino looked into his companion’s eyes. Vestibule looked away. There was no call. She was no ally of Domino’s but the bringer of damnation. The detective’s hat obscured all facial features. At its removal, Morrison’s long black locks came tumbling down. The thick black glasses were removed.
Morrison revealed a lighter and a case, with a flick of the lid and the pick of a prime coffin nail in the form of a cigarette, Detective Morrison blew rings of smoke in Domino’s face. With a smirk through his perfect white smile and piercing eyes, Morrison remarked, “Don’t worry Dommy boy, you have done well. It’s only a matter of days before the Syndicate belongs to us. This City will soon lie in dust and ashes where it belongs” with Valery still holding the gun firmly, Domino noticed that they made quite a pair.
He remembered what he was told. Marco had been killed, but it didn’t matter. The police had already questioned him and he had refused to talk. His life was meaningless, he and Domino mere pawns in a game neither of them could comprehend. The whole ordeal, an elaborate hoax by the authorities acting as the Syndicate Domino had never seen. Led like a child to commit new wrongs to be used as evidence against the Syndicate. Domino was now the first link to their elusive cover up actions. With bullets spilled and blood splattered in a silhouetted show down, Detective Morrison had his man and soon would control the Syndicate.
Penned by Flip
