The last man standing 2

Several miles away from the slaughter, inside an estate with flower parts. From the black iron gates, neat pruned flowers adorned the narrow paths that stretched towards a white structure that stood hidden from prowling eyes. Its white walls cast dark shadows to the short ornamental trees that circled around. Security lights shone brightly chasing away dark hidden shapes. 

From the bulletproof black door, two short trees stood side by side, adorning the frontage in green.  Its exterior was like a picture of class and order, reflecting a tincture of its interior. In the darkness, a man with naked chest on sleeping pants was seen through the golden lit, fluorescent light of an open window.

“The war has started”

 “They have reopened this wound I carry”

 He blared angrily”.

With both hands meeting at his back, he paced with narrow eyes, with head shining like a black mirror. His naked macho body was bare hairs, as he was not more than 56 year of age. The only hairs on his body, was the one hidden in his crouch and the white mustache that circled around his thick black lips of a mouth, and met at the base of the jaw. with a thin eye lashes. 

His broad nose aligned with his broad face. He paced angrily up and down the wide room, biting inside his cheek, as he roamed from the wooden door, to the narrow window countless times, panting. The room was spacious with a matching design with the white tapestries and the smooth floor. 5ft, 8inches in height, even though he was the shortest among the men in his family, he still stood above many.

He was the Don, the point one man of the Camora cartel, the boss of bosses.

  Ebere Jefta, he was called. He was the mafia boss of the 12 families that ever lived in America, the man behind so many shady deals, in dark hidden corners. He was on the watch list of the FBI, but the more they tried to break into his defences they more they were lost to the traps he set at each point.

The fluorescent light illuminated the room, reflecting a black skin with a chubby body, brown eyes, showing a man that has been handsome in his younger years even though a tincture of it still lingered.

 In a serious look he turned to the mahogany wooden clock hanging on the wall, and to his surprise it was 3.am. He hadn’t slept an inch all night. The don cast his eyes on the floor trying to clear the haze of thoughts that wanted to confuse him. 

He lit a well moulded joint, and like a haze of revelations sparked his senses, as the answers he sought came sloshing through the back of his mind, as he exhaled out a colourless smoke that was soon lost to the embrace of the bright light that recklessly shone.

There are only two people who can challenge me this bold, He reasoned;

Either buccaneer of kenduzi or a Catabrino, for if it were the Madorini apache, they would have marked their kill. That sign would have been a very dangerous one, for the Mandorini apache were men who killed with a just reason, as the chose their enemies carefully.

Slowly his eyes dilated, like a man about to sleep, the smoke gradually sipping in, and clearing every foggy thoughts out, directing him more precisely, and concisely that the picture became clearer, in his thoughts.

He just remembered that buccan was recently released from prison.

His quick steps changed to a slower step, but lost deeper in the streets of his thoughts he sought for clues of action.

 

 “That old rascal” Buccan

jefta whispered.

He was back, and decided to shake the table of power once more.