Three days passed since our hit on the Mercado Familiar. It was a hastily executed job with hardly any time to map out the area, but we nevertheless made out like bandits—well, amateur bandits that got lucky, anyway. Of course, it ain't like we needed to draw a blueprint of that place or anything; it only had two rooms in total. Seriously, just two goddamn rooms—and no bathrooms! Were customers just going to the back alleyway to shit in a box or something? What about the workers?
I digress.
Despite yours truly being a pretty damn good troublemaker back in the great US of A, me and Leroy—as a team—were new to the not-so-good-intentions lifestyle of Casa do Diaño. Sure, we defeated an entire crime family within my first month of living here, but that apparently wasn't enough of a feat to warrant us becoming cold alleyway celebrities. And since there were no cops to consistently fail at cuffing and stuffing us, we had to find another way to make people talk. I suppose we weren't doing our combined reputations any favors by choosing an unimpressive hole in the wall for our first robbery. Still, to our credit, there had been around eleven or twelve people in that store when we first walked in. Only one continued to breath after we walked out, and she had a hole the size of a quarter in her hand.
As Leroy had suspected, we didn't run away millionaires or anything. Even with us looting the safe, we still only left with a little over five-thousand fichas. Of course, I kinda figured that would be the case. To be perfectly blunt, you're a motherfucking imbecile if you think you're gonna walk into a small, family owned business and leave with overflowing pockets. A casino—maybe. A bank—definitely. A grocery store—no fucking way. That being said, the two of us split the earnings fifty-fifty and still came out with somewhat satisfactory results.
Sadly for me though, today was the day that I blew roughly around sixty percent of my cut.
On what, you ask?
Don't worry, it wasn't anything flashy and stupid.
Just Heidi's doctor bill when we finally went for her first baby check-up.
That's at least one thing Casa do Diaño has in common with America.
“You think we'll find out if it's a boy or girl, Genghis?” I held Heidi's hand while she rested herself on her cozy hospital bed. You know, I shit-talk Oeste District all the time...but even I had to admit that the maternity ward of the First Fomorian Health Center was nice. Heidi's room reminded me of a small suburban home. It came with a mini kitchen as well as its own private bathroom—shower and all. There was even a TV and couch, presumably so soon-to-be dads wouldn't be bored to tears while their baby-mamas underwent a thousand years worth of tests. Her mattress was top of the line; dare I say softer than our bed back at the hotel! As for wall decorations, it could've been much worse. At least it wasn't littered with artwork that looked like it was drawn by Kindergartners nor were there any pictures of Mr. Rogers smiling creepily at you while your doctor asks incredibly specific questions about your sex life.
“I dunno, babygirl. I think it might be too early to tell.” She giggled softly, rubbing her bump with her other hand. “I hope it's a girl.” Even with the extra weight gained, Heidi's little schoolgirl giggle still made my heart pound. Her eyes glistened with that “new mother” glow that you always hear housewives ramble on about. For the first time since we moved to Casa do Diaño, she looked completely enveloped in bliss and hope. This was good; it meant that I was doing something right here.
“I doan. She'll end up bein' spoiled rotten. At least if we have a son, I can straighten his ass out whenever he decides to act up.” Heidi gave me a playfully scornful look and shook her head. “Genghis, you can't even straighten yourself out half the time. The last thing the world needs is two of you runnin' around—gettin' into trouble!” I laughed at that statement. “C'mon, baby! He ain't gonna make the same mistakes I made. I can promise you that!”
Yeah yeah, I know; I couldn't promise her that.
But it's either that or a miniature Heidi constantly buttering me up with big eyes and a sweet voice.
“I'll believe that when I see—” Before she could finish, our main man returned to the room with a clipboard. Doctor Okafor, I won't lie, was somebody that I'd never want to see pissed off. He was a tall, ridiculously buff black guy who looked like he could easily bench press around eight or nine hundred pounds; maybe even a thousand on a good day. You think I'm joking? His white coat, which already looked like a bed-sheet fitted for a queen-sized mattress, just barely fit around his broad shoulders. Shit, the guy's biceps alone were the size of bowling balls! I seriously had to wonder what the Jesus-riding-a-dinosaur fuck was this dude doing working as a doctor, of all things. If I were a pregnant lady, I'd be scared shitless that he'd shove his hand up into my uterus and pull the damn baby out himself!
“Every'ding going okay, you two?” he asked with his thick, African sounding accent. Heidi's grip on my hand tightened. Oh yeah, I knew what she was thinking alright. See, we arrived at the First Fomorian Health Center at 6:15 in the morning. The time now was pushing about 3:00 in the afternoon. It had been explained to us earlier that the first check-up was mainly a confirmation check, though they also check to make sure the expecting mother is healthy enough to go through with the pregnancy. Meaning that they were going to do a lot of testing and it was going to take a long fucking time.
Thus far, Heidi had filled out a novel's worth of paperwork, answered questions regarding her menstrual cycle and what kind of contraceptives we used, provided a urine sample, had her vitals checked, had her blood taken, and even had her pussy swabbed with a cold metal rod. Doctor Okafor, despite his intimidating physique, did a good job guiding her through each procedure with care and grace—which I was eternally grateful for. Still, I knew she was exhausted from all of this and was ready to go back to the hotel. I mean, I was exhausted...and if I was, then she was bound to have been, too.
“Everythin's good, Doc. Just waitin' to hear what you guys have found out.” The large man laughed loudly and shook his head. I guess he picked up on the slightly agitated tone of my voice. “No need to sound like dis is a dire situation, Mr. Boy! Your lovely wife's tests have come back wid mostly good results.” Before you ask, no; me and Heidi didn't get hitched during the last three days. In fact, we'd already clarified with the nurses several times that we weren't married. As for Doctor Okafor, I gave up trying to explain the situation to him after the third time he asked how long we'd been trying to conceive our first child together.
It was the matching last names confusing them, I bet.
Blame Roy for that one.
Heidi practically squeaked. “Uh-umm...mostly?” “It's no'ding to worry about,” he stated cheerfully, taking a seat on the edge of her bed, “your blood test just says dat you're a little low on iodine is all. Some vitamins and maybe some more potatoes to your diet will fix dat in no time!” She sighed with relief and loosened her grip around my hand. “O'dah dan dat, our tests indicate dat you're very heal'dy and over eight weeks into your pregnancy—almost nine. Dis includes de time between de first day of your last period and de estimated date of conception. So about nine or ten weeks from now, we might be able to figuah out what your baby's sex is.”
I leaned forward, rubbing Heidi's knuckle with my thumb. “So what day do you think will be his—or her—birthday?” Doctor Okafor grinned. “August de 25'd. It will ei'dah be before, aftah, or on dat day.” He chuckled again and held his hand out, making his middle and index fingers hover a little over his thumb. “For now, dough, Baby Boy is just about de size of a blueberry.”
Heidi giggled again, giving her bump yet another rub. That motherly glow was ever present after hearing about her little blueberry—our little blueberry. “That's good. Is there anythin' else you need me to do?” Doctor Okafor grinned again, though this time a little hesitantly. “I do have one more ding I need to do before you're free to go.” I groaned a little too loudly at that statement, which was followed by another hearty laugh by the good doctor. “No worries! I just need to check de heartbeat of your little one. It will only take a minute.”
With that, he stuck the tips of his stethoscope into his ears and pressed the metal part against Heidi's belly. I continued to hold her hand as he moved the device around, taking note of the somewhat worried expression on her face. She was hoping—praying—that he wasn't going to find anything wrong. Besides obviously wanting to go back to the hotel as soon as humanly possible so she could sleep, the pregnancy was now real enough to her that she understood that any little thing could happen between now and August 25th.
Christ Almighty...August 25th.
That's only a little over seven months from now.
Only a little over seven months to go until Genghis Dillinger Boy becomes a father.
Only a little over seven months left for him to make a name for himself in Casa do Diaño.
Fuck.
This pregnancy was insanely real to me now, too.
And guess what, ladies and gentlemen; that ain't even the cherry on top of the ice cream sundae.
“Goodness!” The good doctor's sudden outburst jolted the both of us out of our thoughts. “What? What's wrong?” He didn't respond to Heidi, instead deciding to just smile wide like a kid waking up on Christmas day to see his giant mountain of presents waiting for him underneath the Christmas tree. “Doc, what is it?” I asked with a louder tone of voice, trying to get his attention. Unfortunately, I had the same luck she had.
“Oh my goodness! How exciting for you two!” Me and Heidi looked at each other and then back at him. “Why do you say that? What did you hear?” Once again, her words were ignored while the overly-enthusiastic bastard continued to squeal with excitement. “Dis is my favorite kind of pregnancy to assist wid! I'm so happy for you, Mr. and Mrs. Boy!” I growled and beat my hand against the mattress. “Doc! Answer the fuckin' question!” With this demand, Doctor Okafor finally looked at us and took his ear-buds out.
Get ready for that cherry, folks.
It's a monster.
“Listen to dis—both of you!” He quickly handed Heidi the ear-buds of his stethoscope while he continued to hold the metal part against her bump. She stuck one tip into her right ear and motioned for me to lean down and take the other one. I did just that and put my head against hers, listening in with my left ear.
At first I didn't really hear a whole lot, and what I did hear mostly reminded me of that echoy, not-an-ocean sound you hear whenever you put a seashell against your ear. Once the doctor started to move the device around, however, I could hear it loudly and clearly; our baby's heartbeat. It was a little slow, but I wagered that that was due to the lack of development at such an early stage of the pregnancy. Regardless of the reason, I still smiled like an idiot while Heidi giggled joyfully. But then he moved the device all the way over to the other side of her belly. That was the point where all my joy quickly turned into shit-spewing terror.
Now, correct me if I'm wrong, but blueberries are supposed to be small, right?
Like, smaller than a penny?
With this in mind, my kid's heartbeat should only—logically—be located in one part of the womb, correct?
...
Well, judging by what I was hearing, this particular blueberry was either humungous, or…
…
“Twins?! There's fuckin' twins in there?!” My realization came in the form of screaming which Heidi and the good doctor both misinterpreted as happy excitement. She squealed and bounced up and down with absolute bliss just before turning to hug me tightly. “Oh Genghis, ain't this great?!”
Yeah...it's great.
“Do you think they'll be identical?!”
It's fucking fantastic.
“Dis is a most wonderful turn of events, you two! I dink you will both be extraordinary parents!”
Two squalling kids.
Two.
“What do you think they'll look like? Think they'll have my hair? Maybe your dark brown eyes?”
I think I'm going to throw up.
“Mr. Boy, are you feeling well?”
Fuck my life.
The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.
“Genghis?”
At least the floor felt nice and warm pressed against my increasingly pale face.
…
…
“Hello?”
“Leroy, I need to talk to you—now.”
“Sure sure, what's going on?”
“No, not over the phone. Meet me downstairs.”
“Well, this is certainly urgent sounding. Did something happen?”
“Just meet me downstairs, Leroy!”
“Genghis, your tone has me concerned. What's wrong?”
…
…
My hand trembled on top of the cafe table. The Styrofoam cup beside it had already lost half a cup's worth of coffee—most of it sloshing onto said table and only about two sips of it actually making it onto my taste-buds. The rest of my body's motor control wasn't doing too much better, if the constant knee-jerks in both of my legs as well as the occasional twitch in my left eye was any indicator. Even my voice sounded like it was limping home after winning an especially brutal street fight.
Leroy, being the good buddy he was, sat at the opposite end of the table and patiently listened to me ramble on about my problems. “So you're saying you fainted?” I scratched the back of my neck, taking a steady breath through my mouth and nostrils. “Yerp...that's what happened.” He chuckled and took another sip out of his much cleaner Styrofoam cup.
“Zombies, torn limbs, severed heads talking to you...and children are what scare you?” I bit my lip, ignoring the three-hundredth knee-jerk coming from my right leg. “I knew I was havin' a baby, alright? I was perfectly okay with dealin' with one screamin' toddler at four in the mornin'. I wasn't prepared to have fuckin' two of them, though!” “I tell yah, Genghis,” Leroy began, interrupting himself to take another sip of his coffee, “when you fuck them, you really fuck them hard.”
Hear that sound, Leroy?
That's the sound of me not laughing at your pathetic attempt to liven the mood.
“We have to go back in two weeks for an ultrasound,” I continued, pulling out a cigarette, “Doc said that that would ultimately confirm if it's twins or not. But I know better than to hope that his first deduction was a mistake. I got this feelin'.” I attempted to light up, but Leroy stopped me. “Hey hey—we're not allowed to smoke in here. Perhaps we should go outside first?” Instead of acknowledging his concerns with words, I just waved him off and lit up anyway.
“I'm in a serious bind, Leroy,” I mumbled through my cigarette. “In several months, I'll have a grand total of four mouths to feed, two asses constantly needing a diaper change, and one finger waitin' to be outfitted with a fat ol' diamond ring.” I took the cancer stick out long enough to exhale a noxious cloud of smoke. “Heidi is countin' on me to get us financially set for the twins. That means collectin' all the shit we need, payin' for all of her doctor visits, and gettin' us the hell outta this hotel—into a real house with a fence, a yard, and a guard dog more interested in chasin' his tail and humpin' people's legs than scarin' off potential burglars.”
I took another drag and blew my smoke out slowly, trying desperately to calm myself down. “I gotta get rich soon, man. Hell, we both do. Maybe you can get your own place away from your two moms. Might get yourself a girl, guy, statue broad, dragon, or whatever the fuck you could possibly be into that way.” That statement got enough of a laugh out of Leroy that he decided to finally contribute to my rant. “I love the two women that took me in, but you do have a point; getting a date is a little difficult when you're nineteen years old and still having to ask your parents for permission to stay out late.” A weak chuckle came out of my mouth. “Just doan get anyone pregnant, alright? We doan need two nervous wrecks stirrin' up trouble in this city.”
Just before I could stick the cigarette back into my mouth, a rolled up newspaper suddenly smacked me in the shoulder. “Apagorévetai to kápnisma sto xenodocheío!” Speaking of statue broads, I looked behind me to see one looking down at me, wearing her hotel uniform. “Pigaínete éxo.” I cocked an eyebrow and took another hit. “Lady, if you doan speak English or Italian, I ain't gonna humor you with small talk. Now get lost.” Her fists tightened, though her facial expression didn't change. Of course, I imagine it's hard for statues to properly emote—being made out of stone and all. “Paraviázete tous kanónes!”
I flipped her the bird.
“Blow me, baby.”
With another foreign grumble, the creepy mannequin finally stormed off. Heh, I guess they understand American hand gestures fairly well. “Seriously Leroy, what the fuck are those things supposed to be?” He chuckled and finished off his cup of coffee. “You ever read the tale of Pygmalion and his beloved Galatea?” I tilted my head and squinted. “Pig who?”
“Pygmalion, Genghis. He was usually written as a king in Greek Mythology, but the most popular version of his tale depicts him as a simple sculptor, plagued by immense loneliness.” Leroy leaned back into his seat and crossed his arms. “Pygmalion sought out perfection for every aspect of his life. He wanted the perfect profession, the perfect home and, of course, the perfect wife. Unfortunately no potential suitor was ever worth his time and love, as he held them all to outrageously high expectations. One day, Pygmalion thought to himself, “If the perfect woman truly does not exist, than I shall craft her myself.” And so the man acquired what he considered his favorite material for sculpting—ivory—and began to create the perfect woman. He worked day and night, limiting himself to only the bare minimum amount of breaks. Eventually, his project was not only complete, but a mesmerizing success. Long hair, hourglass figure, large breasts—she was truly perfect in his eyes; she was his Galatea. Even Aphrodite herself could see just how lovestruck the sculptor was with his creation, and so she brought life to the statue. From that moment on, Pygmalion and Galatea lived happily ever after, their love never wavering.”
Well then.
This Pygmalion dude sounds like a real freakshow, if you ask me.
Leroy shrugged at the end of his story. “Of course, nobody knows if that tale is true or not. The statue ladies are merely creations inspired by that legend. To serve as eye candy for men with particularly high standards.” More like standards so goddamn low that they'd fuck a trashcan so long as it was shaped like a woman. I took an extra long drag on my smoke after hearing this rather unnerving bullshit and leaned back in my chair. “To each their own, but I like women who ain't gonna scrub the skin off my dick with their weird rock flesh.” He sighed and nodded. “I couldn't agree more, friend.”
Back on point…
“So anyway, enough talk about mannequin fuckers.” I dropped my cigarette into my Styrofoam cup, letting the now cold coffee extinguish it. “You and me,” I said, now leaning forward and pointing at the both of us, “we gotta lotta work to do. Our last job was successful, but nobody is ever gonna remember our names so long as we target small shops that most people doan even know exist.” I scratched the side of my face, still maintaining eye contact with Leroy. “We have to start thinkin' big, man. Bigger than small-time robberies—bigger than slaughterin' gangsters.” My cohort leaned forward, resting his arms atop our table. “There aren't many things I can think of that's bigger than killing; lawful or otherwise.”
Suddenly, after hours of dwelling on bad news, I smiled wickedly.
Oh, my friend.
It's high time we enhance that imagination of yours.
“You ain't thinkin' hard enough, Leroy.” He gave me a look which needed no apologies; the look in my eyes was all the justification he needed for it. “What's on your mind, you whacked out loon?” I laughed loudly, my involuntary eye twitch making one last visit before packing his bags and fucking off to whatever part of my brain he came from. “Murder alone ain't shit, Leroy! All that's good for is catharsis!”
At this point, I stood up from my chair and started pacing back and forth. “Nah man, you gotta have goods to go with the bloodshed! When a person is killed for nothin', it's a murder. When a person is properly brutalized—say his face is beaten so much that half his skull is missin'—and everythin' that was once his is taken from him, it becomes a message. In this day and age, life ain't nearly as important as things. Things is fuckin' money, man! Cheddar—moola! Life is life, sure. But take a man's shit and suddenly it's World War III. Compare it to datin', if you will. When you're horny and lookin' to fuck, you normally doan need a whole lot to make you feel better—just a hot piece of ass and a place to get the deed done and over with. When you're actually datin' someone, though, you put work and effort into the relationship. You buy 'em flowers, take 'em out to the city once in a while, be nice to 'em, calmly deal with their asshole parents—you know, all that sentimental shit. The end result, if done correctly, is a mind-blowin' experience that lasts a lifetime.” I stopped my pacing and walked up to Leroy, who was still just sitting there—listening to my rambling. “That, my friend, is what we're aimin' for here.” He gave me another look and smirked. “You want to kill, pillage, and then ultimately marry everybody on the island. Okay, simple enough.”
Ha.
Ha.
“No, you fuckwad. I wanna do somethin' that will make a lastin' impression on the people of Casa do Diaño. If we're gonna kill, there's gotta be somethin' we're killin' for! I'm talkin' drugs, guns, whores, property, full-fledged heists! I want people's blood to turn cold when they hear our names! I ain't talkin' 'bout this small-time shit like robbing grocery stores—you ain't gonna make a livin' offa that! And I ain't talkin' 'bout icin' all these low-lifes on the streets—those bozos are a dime a dozen in this city! I mean Christ—who the fuck ain't involved with some kinda criminal organization around here?!”
Leroy stood from his chair and rubbed his hands together.
And it was at that moment that he said something that truly resonated with me.
Something that finally confirmed a suspicion I'd had since my first meeting with Zombie Bastard.
Something that changed my life in the best way possible.
…
“We aren't, but it sounds to me like you're wanting to fix that.”
…
My mouth hung open a little as my eyes fixated on his. “What'd you say?” My friend began to laugh as he stepped closer to me, putting his hands on my shoulders. “You heard me, Genghis Dillinger Boy. You claim to not want to waste time on gangsters, but yet you want control of all their rings. You want to run their whores, own their properties, sell their drugs...you want it all. You've sworn since I met you that you hadn't the faintest idea of where you saw yourself in the next five years. But I think, deep down, you've known all along. I mean Hell, it took only one lousy robbery to drive you mad!”
He grinned wide.
“Become the modern-day Genghis Khan. Take over this rotten island for everything it's worth.”
I looked down at the ground for a moment and then back at him, a strong laugh ready to erupt from out of my system. “You think a nutcase like me can command a bunch of low-lives, Leroy?” He took his hands off my shoulders and took a step back. “I don't think any conqueror in history was particularly of a sound mind. Genghis Khan killed so many people that the Earth actually cooled down. Of course, he remedied that by fathering so many children that now over half of China is related to him.” He shook his head, chuckling. “No offense my friend, but he makes you look like an over-zealous preacher delivering his Sunday morning sermon on the importance of abstinence until marriage.”
And there was the eruption.
Lemme tell ya, it was a loud one if the looks from the nearby hotel staff were anything to go off on.
“Man, fuck you!” I managed to say in the midst of my howling laughter. Honestly, I couldn't tell if I was laughing at what he had to say, or I was laughing more so at myself and my own denseness. I mean, the solution to all of this had been RIGHT IN MY GODDAMN FACE this entire time, and I simply chose to ignore it. Why the Hell did I do that? I know I ain't afraid of getting my hands dirty if it means getting something I want—I've done it in the past and I can certainly do it now.
Maybe it was Heidi stopping me.
Yeah.
She never wanted me to follow through with this lifestyle.
Said it would either land me in prison or an early grave.
But look...now is as good time as any to take this place over.
Come August, I'll have two kids that I need to provide and care for.
If they're gonna live their lives to the fullest here, I need to make some preparations.
I'm sorry Heidi, but Daddy's gotta lot of baby-proofing to do.
Once my laughing finally stopped, I wiped the wetness out of my eyes and looked at my good friend. “You're really good at bein' the devil on my shoulder, you know that?” He rolled his eyes, letting out another chuckle. “Shit, if anything you're the devil on my shoulder.” I continued to grin at my eager cohort as my own eagerness shined through both my eyes and my voice. “Maybe this island needs a pair of devils like us.” Leroy reclaimed his seat and gestured for me to do the same. “Let us not waste anymore time, then. Let's brainstorm for a little while.” I held a finger up. “First, I'll order us some more coffee.” He nodded and I walked off.
Maybe this island did need a pair of devils like us.