Crewcut: A Narrative Fiction

“Fuck you!” Crewcut pulled out his revolver and pointed it at Claudia’s head. “You’re not going to kill me yet. You want something. Otherwise, I’d already have a branding iron buried in my chest with the words, ‘The Sixth Legion,’ buried into my chest. My guess is that you’re working for the Riggio family.” The door flung open. All three men drew their weapons. Two other South American’s entered. One wore a black Chambray shirt, and the other had a red, untucked Guayabera. They both had shiny, slick, black boots. Chambray took a seat on the sofa to the left of Crewcut and shook his head. “Shit!” Crewcut jerked his head back and spoke to Blacktip. “It’s best I rat him out to Richie. We might get points with him.” “Stick

“You’re right. I’ll cut to the chase.” He picked up the statue and placed it back. “You got nothin’ on this table Claudia except worthless statues, pictures and photos which don’t do shit, a phony artificial plant and a useless pad with no fucking pen. Nothing in this room worth a damn for a woman of your position and talents.” Claudia’s eyes darted back and forth to each of the five men. “An under-appreciated officer from the CIA’s Special Activities Division should do better.” Claudia was impressed that Crewcut and his organization had such an able network. Though she was also relieved that no one had figured out the oddity. No one was ever close except that female detective. She suspected, rightfully so, that something was amiss. Claudia counted on no one would deduce the surprise. “Why are you here?” “You know who we are. You know what’s been done to others. I’m afraid those victims must have run into some very bad people that liked Roman history and felt a close bond to the Sixth Legion. I’m sure you don’t want to run into those people. So I can stop those bad people and maybe save your life. They want to make a deal with you to push some merchandise from Florida and up the coast. There is a feeling that you’ve got the connections to make it work.”

I’ll give you three names. You ready to write down?” Crewcut looked down at the table. “No pen.” “I’ll get you one. Now tell me.” “His name is Joey Cracco, a soldier for the Riggio family. He informed me that Riggio want some dead. So fuck him. Anyways, Joey is on his way to the Hallowed Inn, in Manhattan if he ain’t there already. The plan was going to beat down your sister to get her to tell where this newsletter was. Then they’d find out the whereabouts of the money and coke. Looks like Joey got the information, though I don’t know how. And if you don’t give us names and help, and I mean quickly, you’re darling niece isn’t going to be killed. She’s gonna be sold.” “You better save them. My niece is also part of the deal. I’ll pay. And whatever else.” “You’ll come with us. And we’ll check out the names you give us. Verify you aren’t setting us up.” “I’ll get you you’re fucking pen. Throw me the pad” Claudia rose and walked toward the antique swing clock. The pen sat on the wood end table. There was no reason for a pen nesting on this particular stand, especially without a