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classlesstulip · 4 years

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So, You Called for a Handyman?

(A little medly of a day in the life of a ‘handyman’ in the mob. One who doesn’t really take his job too seriously.)

“*che,* a tall and shadowed figure snorted as he flicked the long blade he held. The wet, viscous sound of blood flying through the air and splattering onto concrete was heard, the whistle of metal short but sharp.

Tiberius looked around the room he was in, sharp ears pricked, listening for any of the tell-tale sounds of life: breathing, twitches, the shuddering gasps one gives when in great pain. He was only satisfied when he heard nothing from the collection of bodies spilled around him.

'There’s a group of Mick’s boys over on 8th and North. Go and fix them.’

Heh, they’re fixed now, alright, Ty thought. Now he just needs to call in Lenore for disposal; he needs to pass over that new fertilizer recipe he’s got, using these mooks may be just what her flowers need.

*****

Storing his machete in one of the many caches secreted in Sepulveda territory, Ty swapped out his fingerless leather gloves for a new set. A quick check showed that even after all these years he’s still got it; not even one drop of blood on his 3-piece.

If even ONE of those mooks had spilled on his Armani, he would have rioted. This suite was a gift!

His internal rant was cut off when his phone chirped. Pulling it out of an inner pocket, he saw a new text from Little Cruzi: seem’s their Apa is done putting up with Jericho. Needs to have the jackass fixed. And-, oh!

'Apa says make it messy. The wetter the better.’

Ty can do that. He’s pretty good at getting things wet.

Oh, that was a good one! He’ll have to try that one on Val; the poor dear’s been wound up tighter than a spring the last few weeks. A good laugh followed by a good fuck should fix that.

*****

"Hey, Ty? Boss has a new stop for ya!”

What the fuck? Seriously!? "Uh, Amber? Ya can see I’m currently up to my elbows right now, yeah!?“ The wet squelch and Ty’s grunt as he pulled on Jericho’s lungs rung through the warehouse. It was dark and dusty; the perfect backdrop for a Splash-n-Dash.

Currently, Ty was bent over a stack of pallets, the beaten corpse of Jericho splayed across them. Scattered on the walls and floors around them were gouges and bullet marks, with streaks of blood interspersed, belying that a scuffle had taken place, the loser of which had his chest cracked open and Ty cleaning the innards like he was preparing a chicken to get roasted over open coals.

The driver held up their arms, shrugging. "Hey man, I’m just the messenger. Turns out, Jericho was fucking with not just the Sepulveda’s, but the Alnazar’s AND Satrinava’s.” Amber looked a little green at the sound of flesh and ligaments ripping as Ty finished his impromptu vivisection. He went even more green when Ty overhand-hurled his double-handful of offal at one of the far walls with a loud 'YEET!’, the wet splat and fanning of blood from the impact causing Amber to jump back with a heave. “Dude, what the fuck!?” The thick gurgle he swallowed back after his outburst showed just how DONE he was with Ty’s nastiness.

“Hey, Val says wet and messy, I deliver wet an’ messy! Now keep your pants on and drag over my duffle. My shirt is ruined.”

Keeping an eye on a blood-soaked Tiberius, Amber did as bid. It took him a few minutes to locate said bag, during which Ty lit-up a cig.

“Move it, cupcake.”

“Alright, alright, jeez. Go fuck yourself, asshole.”

“I HEARD THAT!”

*****

“Alrighty then,” Ty propped his feet up on the desk in front of him, ignoring the glare Asra shot him. “So, we gots a case of ol’ Jerry boy putting his fingers into too many pies, both literal, figurative, and colloquially. Drugs, rent girls, and laundering, right?” He pulled in a big drag from his cigar, having lighted up the moment he entered Fluff'n'Stuff’s digs.

With a grunt, Asra pushed the big booted feet off of his NICE mahogany desk. Getting a few smoke-rings blown at him in retribution, he glared at the 'handyman’ sitting across from him, but knew any more fussing on his end would be futile; the only reason Asra isn’t currently a smear on the wall is that Ty thinks he’s adorable AND they go way back.

That and Val and Asra once had a Thing, but that’s none of his business.

“Yes,” leaning back, Asra pulled out a thick manila file folder and dropped it onto his desk. The poor thing was only kept together by a single rubber band, and Ty’s surprised it hasn’t snapped already. “These are the places that Jericho’s Number Two and Three have holed up. Taking these two out will cause the whole operation to fall apart.”

As Asra was speaking, Ty secured his cigar between his molars, propping his jaw open as his fingers started pulling apart the file. Flipping through the first few cover papers, he soon got to the meat and potatoes of the lot. “As you can see, Vinny is in the heart of the Garment District…” Ty stopped paying attention as he looked through everything, Asra’s voice becoming a low, soothing drone. He leaned back in his chair, holding up a few A4-sized photos.

“Now, Illian was able to-” Asra was cut off at a loud, 'interested’ hum from Tiberius. Seconds later, the handyman turned the papers in his hand’s landscape, and a few sheets accordioned down. A slightly lewd chuckle floated up from behind the papers before Asra snatched at them, Ty letting out a disappointed 'awww’ at the loss of his smut.

“A-HEM!” Crinkling the purloined pornography in his fist, Asra pinned Ty with A Look. “This is no time to be looking at, at, uh,” he peeped at the rag, “PLAYBOY!”

“Azzy? That was IN the file. I had nothing to do wi-”

“REGARDLESS,” tossing the magazine at his wastebin (and making a mental note to speak to his son about leaving his 'reading material’ out and about), Asra huffed. “Just, get out of here and fix 'em. Oh, and…”, rifling through his desk, he pulled out a box. He pushed it across his table, a curious Ty picking it up gingerly, “wear this. We need proof of the job, to be a warning.”

“A body cam? Shit son, y'all mean business.” Snorting, Ty threw himself out of his chair, tossing the little box in the air before catching it and slipping it into his suitcoat pocket. “Got it. The usual fee to the usual account. Give hugs and kisses to yer fam for me, yeah?”

*****

Walking down a softly carpeted hall, a slight shadow was seen. Soft curls were piled atop their head, and one hand held a glass of wine while the other pulled their robe tighter. Light filtered through shuttered blinds, car head beams and static lamps fighting the darkness of night. Occasionally, the honk of a horn or the revving of an engine sounded out, despite being muffled by layers of brick and insulation.

Sipping their wine, they stopped just outside a cracked door. Peeping in, a soft smile curled their lips as they spied one of their little ones (though, being nearly twenty, they are fairly certain that Sol would object to such an endearment). Seeing them softly snoring away, the door was pulled shut. Checking on their other child, Cruz, showed the same result.

Once satisfied that their children (grown though they may be) were tucked away safely snoozing, Val continued down the hall. A few twists and turns later and they were in their office. Opulently decorated with heavy dark wood pieces and bold colors, it was quite a large and stately room. Near the far wall was their desk, and on the blotter was a thumb drive.

Knowing that it must have been left by Tiberius, Val plucked it up. Wandering towards the entertainment center, they plugged in the drive, turned on the screen, and got comfortable on the couch, sipping more wine as they navigated menus with the remote.

“Hey, is this thing on?” The sound of someone tapping a mic was heard before the picture abruptly turned on. A large brown eye was center stage, the corners crinkling briefly before the cam was pulled back, revealing the familiar face of Tiberius. “Alrighty, then! So, the usual drivel: Tiberius working on behalf of Don Valentino of the Sepulveda Family, yadda yadda yadda,” Ty’s eyes rolled, and his body moved like he was waving his hand. “Here to fuck some shit up and make a statement. So here’s,” he tapped the screen, “the mutherfuckin’,” more taps, “TEA,” a final tap. “Vinny’s been baaaaaaaad. Not only,” Ty brandished a finger, waving it around his head like a conductor, “has this bonafide dickfuck fuckface been doin’ Jerry’s dirty work, but this FUCKER has also been bringing in kids. KIDS I TELL YA! Now c'mon, Vinny, baby, ya don’t bring kids into your prostitution ring! Fucker! So, time to clean house! And Val?” Ty winked at the camera, “I’ll have a nice little pressie for ya when you finish this!”

Some fumbling and cursing later, and Val had a chest-high view of whatever was in front of Ty. Currently, it was the door to what may be a warehouse. The video jumped up and down a few times, and the cocking of a gun was heard. Something very familiar was playing in the background, and it came to a hard beat as Ty kicked in the door-

“Some-BODY ONCE TOLD ME,” duel-wielding, Ty buried a bullet into the head and gut of the bouncer standing guard as the kicked-in door bounced off of the wall. “THE WORLD WAS GONNA ROLL ME,” two steps down the hallway. “I AIN’T THE SMARTEST TOOL IN THE SHED,” one guy burst out of a room and got pistol-whipped for his stupidity, getting a few slugs to the back as he fell.

Hopping over the new body, Ty continued his song. “SHE WAS LOOKIN’ KINDA DUMB WITH HER FINGER AND HER THUMB,” this time, he peeped around a doorway into a room, squeaking out a startled 'Errol!?’ as a knife buried itself into the wall behind him. A feminine voice started spewing curses as he backpedaled, hands still clutching Glocks up in the air. “Aight, aight, I got it! Sheesh!” Huffing, he continued his journey down the hall, bellowing an 'IN THE SHAPE OF AN L ON 'ER FOREHEAD!’ behind him as he went.

Now Val wants to know what she was doing there. Did Jericho piss off Lucio, as well? They jumped as Ty continued his bit of Musical Mayhem.

“WELLLLLLLLL THE YEARS START COMIN’ AND THEY DON’T STOP COMING!” At some point, the handyman had swapped out his handguns for a combat shotgun, opening up rounds into the chests of three forgettable thugs in beat to the last three words of his stanza. “FED TO THE RULES AND I HIT THE GROUND RUNNIN’!” Coming to the end of the hall, Ty blasted through the door, revealing the large, empty space typical to warehouses was replaced with a sort of hotel-like setup. An open-air lobby, with staircases spiraling up, leading to floors with open walkways. It looked like someone tried to recreate the lobby of the Waldorf Astoria, but it just went up and up, with each floor being closer to a balcony than a full floor. All of the open space allowed for the panicked cries and screams of the brothel inhabitants to echo in upon themselves.

There were also a LOT of fine rugs, marble, and gilt furniture. How long has this operation been going on, and how did fucking JERICHO of all people get this set-up on the DL?

“DIDN’T MAKE SENSE NOT TO LIVE FOR FUN,” *boom!**boom!**boom!*; a rapid release of shots into a group of mobsters as they tried to rush Tiberius, giving Val a front-row seat to the amount of kick a combat-class shotgun has as one man went flying, streamers of blood shooting from the stump that used to hold his head. “YOUR BRAIN GETS SMART BUT YER HEAD GETS DUMB! HAHA, FUCKER!” Ty’s voice was starting to get difficult to hear over the amount of sheer NOISE in the background.

“SO MUCH TO DO!” *blam!* “SO MUCH TO SEE!” *blamblam!* “SO WHAT’S WRONG WITH TAKIN’ THE BACKSTREETS!?” The bodycam started shaking at Ty charged over to a staircase, plowing shoulder-first into a group of people storming down it while waving their guns. The picture blacked out and the muffled scratch of fabric rubbing over the built-in mic took up a few seconds of footage before a bright light cut through. Val had to squint their own eyes, and everything came back into focus just in time to see Ty hurl a middle-aged, half-dressed wanna-be mafioso over one of the balcony floors, singing out 'YOU’LL NEVER KNOW! IF YOU DON’T GO!’ as the man plummeted. He landed with a rubbery thump.

“YOU’LL NEVER SHINE IF YOU DON’T GLOW,” more singing/screeching from Ty as he tossed a grenade down another balcony/hall. As it erupted, it covered the huddled gangsters in liquid fire. “HEY NOW! YOU’RE AN ALL-STAR! GET YOUR GAME ON! GO PLAYEEEEE! C'MON ASSHOLES! YOU WANTED TO BE A ROCKSTAR! HOW NOW! YOU’RE A ROCK STAR! GET THE SHOW ON! GET PAIIIIIIIIIIID! HA HAHAHAAA!”

Val made a quiet note to themselves that Ty, while very funny, can also be downright sinister.

“AND ALL THAT GLITTERS IS GO~OOOLLLLLLD!” And that Ty should also never attempt a falsetto that high ever. AGAIN.

“ONLY SHOOTING STAAAAAAAAAARS BREAK THE MO-OLLLLLLD!” Another flame-spewing grenade was thrown, this time hitting what looked to be a fire extinguisher. Seconds later, foam started jetting out of the damaged, high-pressure steel canister, turning what was once a life-saving device into a literal missile, which shot off and plowed into the chest of a woman in Jericho’s colors, launching her airborne before the canister exploded, spreading shrapnel and viscera into a mist.

Smothering their face with their hand, Val let out a disbelieving laugh as Ty continued to wreak unholy havoc on the hideout to the tune of an upbeat, mid-aughties pop-rock song. Knives were thrown, bullets buried in brains, and it all came to a crescendo as Ty unloaded a stereotypical tommy-gun down into a group of wannabe gangsters that had jimmied themselves into the lobby. The last note to the song was capped off with a tossed Molotov, the ring of shattering glass pairing well to the last guitar chord.

Chuckling in satisfaction, Val finished their wine before shutting off the television. Wandering out of their office, they refilled their wineglass before heading toward their bedroom. Humming in pleasure after taking a fresh sip of chilled wine, they gently opened their door, stopping in the doorway before raising a sculpted brow. “So,” they queried. “Is this my 'pressie’?”

It’s quite a nice present, Val thought. Tiberius was lounging on Val’s obscenely large bed, on his side and completely nude. If not for a strategically-placed pile of rose petals, the fit man would be putting on quite the show. As it was, Tiberius decided to take a page out of every cheesy romance novel/movie and had bedecked the bedroom in dozens of low-burning candles and scattered roses, capping-off the trope with a single rose clenched between pearly whites. It’s something the Valentino of twenty-some years ago would have swooned over.

Although, the Valentino of now is feeling quite swoon-y, now. "Heh,“ they chuckled as Ty wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. "I’ve got to say, this is a nice surprise, viejo amigo.” Quietly shutting the door behind them, they leaned against the slab of wood-encased steel and gave their 'present’ a heated stare. “What gives?”

“Eh, nothing much.” Pulling the rose out of his mouth, Ty tossed it aside with a flick of the wrist. “Just, ah, you wanted a job wet and messy, and I decided that you could use a little 'wet 'n messy’ yourself.”

Val barked out a laugh. “Oh, but that was horrible!” Wandering closer to the bed, they held out a hand, gently cupping a warm cheek. “What am I going to do with you- MERDA!”

Yanking Val towards him, Ty rolled them, stopping on his back with Val perched on top. “Well, first things first! Let’s fuck!”

*****

The room stunk of sex, and all of the candles had burned themselves out. Entwined under a thin sheet, a sticky but satiated couple cuddled. Bite marks and hickeys decorated soft skin, and Val laid with their head tucked under Ty’s chin, one set of fingers lazily tracing circles over the larger man’s lower back.

“So,” Val lazily purred. “Aside from the cam footage, did you learn anything else?”

Ty hummed. “You may want to speak to Head in the Clouds.”

“…about?”

A hoarse chuckle. “Seem’s someone’s son has a little crush on our Cruzi. A Playboy got mixed into my briefing file, and a VERY well-worn page had a model that looked startlingly like our bambino was on it.”

“…really?” Ty hissed as sharp nails dug into his back, relaxing when Val apologetically rubbed them. “I’ll need to set-up a meeting. But, that can wait until tomorrow.”

The last thing Ty thought as they both dropped off to sleep was that he was glad he didn’t let on that he’s pretty sure Lucky and Cruz have a thing.

But he’s not sorry for telling Cruz’s Apa. Serves the little brat right for shitting all over him as a baby and giving him heart attacks every week since they learned how to walk.

HA!

@agent-darkbootie @thraxbaby @lazyvoyager @magicianapprenticelyra @plaguedcount

#@agent-darkbootie #Mob!AU #valentino sepulveda #sol y cruz #tiberius principia #lenore #asra #illian #lucky #amber #the arcan AU #errol pyralis #short story #short ficlet

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