Obournion

Puttin on the Ritz

"Into the Great Wide Open, under the skies of blue. Out in the Great Wide Open, a rebel without a clue."

Opening her eyes, she was back in the northern lights. Now there were colors of cream, beige, and an opaque white all added into the mix. Still in the distance, and pushed further away, was the grey.
"Wow," she said aloud. "Which one next."
Turning in circles, she looked in awe at all the colors. Hoping to see Ace, she made her way to the purple. Looking around before she entered, her puppy did not appear.
"Well, purple is one of my favorite colors." She thought. "Here we go."

Stepping through, she was instantly transported to what looked like a giant night club. In some areas, to the left, there were disco balls, and in other areas, to the right, the lighting was more refined. Looking to her left at one area under a disco ball, there were people dancing and she could make out a bar in the background. She glanced to the right, and under the more refined lighting were wood glazed tables, and cushioned red circular seating, as well as nicely carved wooden chairs with cushions, and some bigger tables made for a bigger audience. Noticing in the corner, on the right side she saw a face only familiar to her from history books. Al Capone the notorious gangster. He was sitting with two ladies in old fashioned dresses, and three men all in grey suits.

Fiona was confused, she thought all bad people went somewhere else. How was he here? Surely all these people are not bad? She looked around at the people dancing, and dining. They looked like regular people, no one extraordinary, no big names, like Al Capone.

Unafraid she headed over to his table. While he was sitting with men all in grey suits, he, himself was dressed in an all white suit, with a black tie and a black handkerchief. He was wearing a hat to match, all white with one black stripe. He looked exactly like he did in the history books pudgy face, broad nose and generous lips to match. Under the hat she could see his dark black hair slicked back. He definitely looked like a gangster, or what Fiona would expect one to resemble. How could he be here?

As the mob boss caught sight of her, he leaned forward, upon her approach.
"Hey, look what the cat dragged in?"
Fiona just stared at him in melancholy.
Leaning back, he asked. "What, ponytail princess did I offend you already." From his suit, he reached in and grabbed a cigar.
"What are you doing here?," she asked, and continued. "You're a bad guy, bad guys are supposed to go somewhere else, you've killed people....."
"Hey," he interrupted. "Whoa, whoa, whoa, slow down there, creme puff, you got me all wrong."
"My name is Fiona," she stated sternly.
"Ya, ya, I know who you are. Just calm down, Jesus, you're gonna give me a heart attack or something. I don't need another stroke here." Looking at one of the gentlemen at the end, he said. "Hey Joey, how's about you go fetch me the cigar scissors."
"Ok boss." The man replied and headed off.
Fiona rolled her eyes, none of this made sense, how?
"Well ladies and gents, why don't you take a leave. I think Miss fancy pants has something she wants to say."
Watching as everyone left his table, Fiona bravely took a seat. In here, she knew she had no reason to fear the notorious gangster.
"How are you here? I don't understand. I heard bad guys go somewhere else....I mean you died in prison..."
Cutting her off, he said. "Whoa now, what mook told you that garbage?," Looking around he screamed. "Joey, hey Joey get over here."
"Hey boss I haven't found the scissors yet..." "Nah forget about that right now, some mook is telling people I died in prison, I want him found, and he needs to be wearing cement shoes by the end of the night."
"Um, boss." Joey whispered. "We don't do that anymore, remember?"
Al Capone calmed down. "Right, sheesh you're right. Sorry there, ponytail. Hey, what can I say, you can take the man out of the mob, but you can't take the mob out of the man. Am I right?"
She shrugged. With a wave of his hand, Joey left.
"That might have been my misunderstanding," she said. "I thought you died in prison, because I remember watching a ghost documentary about Alcatraz. It said that you have been heard...like humming...or something from your jail cell."
"No kiddin, hey that's pretty neat. Considering I only spent about four and a half years there."
"Really, how long did you spend in prison?"
Smiling, he brought out some cigar cutting scissors, and clipped the end of his cigar. "About, close to eight years. I was diagnosed with neurosyphilis pretty early in my sentence." Reaching in his pocket, he grabbed a book of matches, lighting the cigar, he continued. "Neurosyphilis is something that affects your central nervous system, you get that after having syphilis. I'm sure you know how that's contracted."
Fiona nodded.
"Yeah, what can I say, I'm a lover not a fighter. So I may have had a part in all the cement shoes, hell I was practically the designer, but I never por-took in the specifics. That's what you have goons for."
Easing her tension, she said. "Yeah...but...that still makes you bad...right?"
Taking a hit off his cigar, Capone slowly exhaled. "Ah, that always feels good, do you know what kind of cigar this is? They call it the Cohiba Behike, these sons a bitches cost about four hundred dollars a nail."
"You're avoiding the question."
"Why is it so important for me to answer? What, you have some pent up beef with someone, and you think they're bad. Like bad enough to not enjoy eternity?"
Not explaining her own situation, she said. "I'm just curious, is all. In my time we have some really bad serial killers, and, well, I just want to know what happened to them. If you're here that means they could be as well."
"Whoa, ponytail, you comparing me to serial killers? Nah, that's a whole different ballgame. What I did, that was business. Sure, not a great business practice, but business nonetheless. Those other guys, they have a screw loose, something wrong with their brain. They were a couple tires short of a buggy."
"So..." Fiona tried to put it together, as Al Capone interrupted.
"Those mooks, they'll never get out of wherever they went. Their goose is cooked, so to speak. The trick is forgiveness. That's it. You have to, just be, really fuckin sorry, and mean it. In a way you gotta make peace with it."
"So that's what you did? You made peace?"
"Well ya, guess you can say I did. You see Joey over there?"
He pointed over to the bar. Joey was sitting, laughing, and talking to the bartender.
Watching him, Fiona said, "Yeah, what about him? Besides the fact that he forgot about the scissors you asked for."
"Yeah, what a mook, he knows I always carry em in my pocket. That was just to get him to leave, he don't ask questions. Although there was one point in time I thought he was a rat."
Fiona turned her attention back towards Capone, as he put out his cigar, and returned it to his inside pocket.
"We'll save the rest of that for later." He folded, his hands, and sat straight up, losing himself in a memory. "I saw Joey leaving the FBI's office, and I confronted him about it too. He said he didn't tell em nothin, and I wanted to believe him. Joey was a good goon. But my better business sense said he couldn't be trusted." He leaned back.
She asked. "So you obviously ended up believing him right, I mean, he's here now with you, right?"
"Not quite, like I said my better business sense said, ain't no way Joey didn't crack under the pressure. So I sent Tony to Joey's place, and well, the rest is history. He took a swim with the fishes in his very own cement shoes."
Fiona gasped. "You killed him?"
"Hey ponytail, I didn't do nothin. I may have inclined, but I have never been directly involved. Not even for a great goon like Joey, and as it turned out, he really didn't say anything. I found that out when I met up with him here."
"So, what," she asked. "He just forgave you?"
"Somethin like that. Joey said, he probably would've done the same thing in my shoes, and yeah, I mean how can I forgive myself. You see ponytail? That's the key. The key is learning tricks to forgive yourself."
"So, what's your trick?" She asked.
"You really wanna know? Come on, I'll show ya." He got up from his seat and offered his hand.
"But, Mr Capone, I would rather you just tell me really...."
"Ah, don't be a mook ponytail, and don't call me Mr Capone sounds old. Call me by my nickname Big Al. Yeah, I get it," he took her through the dance floor. "I don't look as young or in my prime as these other goons. I look how I wanna look. I earned a few extra pounds, it makes me look, more refined, like a mob boss. Plus, I still got the moves. Come on ponytail, let's dance."
He spun her around as a song started playing. She recognized the song as Capone swung her around the dance floor, and sang along.