CS: The Cappollas (Cont. V)
Hudson slowly drew his hands along Max’s body, searching for anything concealed on his person. There was a sense of awkwardness about the man’s movements, obviously he was insecure about frisking, but he did it nonetheless. He stood slowly up and pressed himself against the wall, clearing his throat and motioning him on. Max lowered his arms slowly and passed right by the bodyguard, who watched him go carefully. Hudson may have been a fool in the ways of higher knowledge, but he knew when a man was respected in this business and wasn’t built like a tank, it meant that he was a dangerous man and often a liability. Whoever this Max Barner was, it was obvious that the reason he hadn’t heard his name before was because there was no one left to tell about him.
A few more feet down the hall and Max turned a corner, staring at a very beautifully carved mahogany door. There was a man sitting in a small chair off to the side of it in the shadows, barely noticeable except for his pant legs which happened to be dress slacks the color of the last bodyguard. Max was beginning to hope that the bright color wasn’t a sign of importance, because if it was, it would be very easy to take out the top dogs within the Cappolla family. A lighter snapped open and a small flame lit the end of a cigarette in the mystery man’s mouth, illuminating a grizzly but peaceful face. This man was wearing a hat that belonged to a man wearing a zoot suit, but it didn’t matter much, no one ever really saw this man as close as Max was.
Louis Randall. Bodyguard and hitman for Cappolla crime family. Hired by Tony’s father first, now Tony. Ex-convict. Bank robber, thief, extortionist. Learned how to use weapons effectively the hard way. Three scars, one on his neck, one on his left hand, and a large scar across his right thigh where a piece of an exploding car caught him. Known for the murders of six people, mostly rats who turned on the Cappolla crime family. Remains mostly in seclusion and does ‘covert’ jobs for the don. Torture artist, very good at ‘interrogations.’ Contacts up the wazoo all over the city.
“Go in,” Louis said after a moment, letting out a long puff of smoke that filled the darkness with grey.
“Sure you don’t want to check me like everyone else?” The words were almost a dare.
Louis eyed the man for a moment; Max could tell by the prickling sensation on his neck. “Nah. You won’t get far if you kill Tony.” There was a short snicker and then another billow of smoke. Max eyed the man for a moment and then stepped into Tony’s den, shutting the door behind him.
Information and intel was not enough to prepare Max for the splendor that was Tony’s private sanctuary. The bearskin rug that greeted him at the door was gigantic in size and knowing Tony’s genuine desire to impress, was probably killed by the Don himself. The walls were covered in memorabilia, mostly signed by what living celebrities were still around. James Brown, Michael Jackson, all the various kings of yesterday music sat on the wall, though most had probably not meant to sign their posters for Tony Cappolla. The floor was a checkered disco pattern, though for some reason it felt right with the mix of lights and oddities that filled the room. The chairs were plush red beauties made from some exotic fabric that Max couldn’t identify in the dim light. There was a large row of security screens which reflected the various angles of the house in black and white. There were two emergency phones and a microphone system, along with keyboards and other things to type messages to who knew who, probably the basement. There was also a panic alarm and a small gun cabinet that was securely locked and made of tempered steel. There was a key lock as well as a key code panel. The effect was that of a glam rock nuclear bunker, while the main station where Tony sat, a place with a large bar on one side and a small side table with two beautifully hand made boxes on the other side of the black pleather chair that seemed to be an excess of cushion and comfort. A large and sturdy hand reached up from the chair, which was turned slightly away, and clicked on some orchestral music. Beethoven, as Max decided after a moment. He had never been good with composers, however.
“So, Mr. Barner. We meet at last.”
“Interesting place,” Max replied.
“Yes, yes. I quite enjoy it. Somewhat gaudy, but definitely the kind of thing only a rich prick would have, am I right?” The chair wheeled around to reveal Tony Cappolla. He was a thick, bulky forty-three year old man with short brown hair tied in a stunted pony-tail. His face was round, but not excessive in fat–there were no jowls to make him appear like a bulldog, but rather as a man meant to be the size he was. His eyes were a steely grey-blue and he chomped nastily on a thick Cuban. His suit was a pinstripe grey as well, a deep blue tie and a grey shirt underneath. The outfit looked as if it should clash, but somehow, it pleased the eye. As for the bulkiness of the Don, it did not seem, just like his face, to be excessive fat, but that he had been born and was meant to look like a box with legs, arms, and a head. His arms and legs were thick, like tree trunks, and they seemed to be very strong, unlike a fat man’s. His shoes were patent leather, with white tops and did not fit well with the outfit, but still seemed appropriate. A thick jet of almost black smoke rolled from the Don’s lips as he grinned at the man that stood before him. He was packing heat, not only on his person under his dress coat, but Max had already noted that the left armrest was hinged, a gun most likely inside of a very high caliber. Tony smirked, “Have a seat and tell me what you’ve noted so far.”