Pinocchio: Sicario

Chapter 1: Prima

In a dim, dirty alleyway, a boy with olive green eyes sat hunched over in a corner.  The faded light from the dying lamp post shadowed his face, adding age and neglect to what was once a bright, happy child. His knees were battered and bloody, his fingernails black with dirt. His ripped clothes were covered with filth and he looked and felt like trash. The smell of rotting food and human waste in the black metal dumpster next to him made him nauseous, but there was nothing in his stomach left to vomit out.  He was nothing. He didn't exist. He had no purpose. From far off, scuffling footsteps started to come down the lonely alley. A thud sounded against the old brick wall.

"I know you're planning to kill the Don," a voice hissed arrogantly. "You really thought you'd get away with it?" The boy's eyes widened with fright, and he pressed himself closer to the wall, keeping as still as he could.

"My plan was foolproof. You're the only one in my way, Roberto," a gruff voice choked out. "So now all I have to do...is take you out!" With a roar the man with the gruff voice pushed hard against his oppressor, taking out and stabbing him with a military grade pocket knife as he did so. As the knife slid out of him,  Roberto collapsed to the ground, clutching his stomach in pain. As soon as the thud of his body resonated throughout the empty alley, the echo of about a dozen footsteps came running. The boy covered his ears and whimpered as he heard the man who injured Roberto being brutally beaten. His agonizing cries rang out, until all was still.

"Roberto...," a voice, full of authority came closer. "Mio amico, you've given your life for me. You will be honored."

"I am happy...," Roberto breathed in a raspy voice, "to die for mio mafia, mio  famiglia. I know you will avenge me...by the name of Saint Denis...addio." A gurgling cough followed by a dying gasp filled the air, and there was silence. Honorable silence.

"Is Tony dead?" the cold, demanding voice asked, breaking the quiet.

"No, Don," a respectful voice answered.

"Make sure he dies slow. Make sure he is tortured to his very soul, so that he will never forget what he's done," the order came. "He's killed my close friend and my best capo." With a heave, six men lifted Tony's body off the ground and carried it away.  The boy, who had covered his mouth the whole time, felt a tingling sensation crawl along his back and make its way to his shoulder.  He glanced back and opened his mouth, uttering a scream. A black cockroach scampered down his  arm, and in panic, the boy flung it to the ground. He stood up and smashed it mercilessly with the bottom of his beat-up, shit brown shoe. Soon, sticky goo was splattered on the ground. The cockroach was no more.

"What was that?" A commotion of voices rushed over, and in moments the boy was flung to the ground by three pairs of strong arms. "It's a little mouse." Laughter rained down on him as the boy looked up through his long, dirty hair. The men, dressed in black and wearing masks that covered half their faces, started to kick him, treating him like garbage.

"What is it?" A strong, bulky man made his way through the group around the boy. The men parted out of his way immediately. The man had a authoritative demeanor, one that struck fear and awe in the hearts of the weak. His face was full of wrinkles that the shadows made even more menacing and his expression was that of stone. Hard and cold. He stood with a sort of swagger in front of the helpless child, his cigar halfway in his mouth.  The man bent down and looked the boy in the eye as he blew the foul smoke into the boy's face. The boy felt the barrel of an IMBEL Pistola 9 M973 being pressed against his temple by one of the men. He sniveled in fear. "Who do you work for?" The boy shook his head. In a rage, the man who put the gun to the boy's head fired a warning shot into the night air.

"Tell the Don!" he yelled angrily. The boy began to cry and the man started to beat him about the head with a closed fist. The others began to join in. A hit to the head, a kick to the stomach. Red began to run from the boy's nose. Blood soaked his dirty hair as they beat down upon him. Someone slashed him lightly with a knife on his shoulder, and he wailed out in pain. His eyes met the man's, begging for mercy. All he got was a cold stare in return. Suddenly, without warning, they flipped him on his back and lifted up his shirt. A man with a knife got on top of him as the others held him down. The boy screamed in terror, which turned into a squeal of pain as the man carved a cross in the boy's chest.

"This mouse is hard to crack," the man with the knife sneered. "Maybe we should cut him a little deeper." Just as he was about to bring the knife down in between the boy's legs, the man who had become known as the Don stood up again and held up a hand, signaling the men to stop. The men let the boy go. The child laid on the ground, writhing in pain as the blood soaked into his shirt and his head felt as if it were about to explode into a million pieces. His eyes turned hollow as the Don came nearer, as if to finish him off. Straightening his expensive suit, he offered the boy a hand up. The other men stared at him, shocked.

"It seems that you are just a piece of flesh," the Don said. "No purpose whatsoever...but I can give you one if you want, boy. Otherwise, it would show you mercy to end your life right now." The boy slowly stood up on his two skinny legs, which wobbled as though he were to collapse once more. He felt dizzy and lightheaded. His face ran with mucus, blood, and tears. He clutched his chest, still in severe pain.

Then, seeing no other choice, he whispered, "Sono stato trovato." I have been found. The Don gave the boy a crooked smile and motioned for him to follow as he made his way down the alley. And the boy followed, stepping in Roberto's pool of blood and making footprints down the alley.

___________________

The boy sat in the back seat next to the Don in a 1970 black Lincoln Continental. The comfortable tan leather seats were a relief to his sore bottom, and his beautiful green eyes flickered out and around the windows. Swollen, painful purple bumps had formed on his head. The blood on his chest had clotted with the help of the shirt, since the injury was not very deep, but the air still smelled of iron. The Don did not speak a word the whole way. The car arrived at an expensive house in a nice neighborhood. The boy had never seen a place as clean as that. The Don motioned for the boy to follow him out of the car. As he walked up the steps to the front door, he muttered something inaudible to the driver, who nodded silently and took off without a word. As the Don unlocked and opened the door, he yelled into the house.

"Mia bellezza, I'm home," he called. A tall, attractive brunette came at his word, appearing from the living room. She wore a colorful, long backless dress and her smile was pearly white. The woman glanced at the boy behind him, and her smile faded. It was replaced with a look of utter hatred.

"Do you mind telling me, mio amore, who that is?" She motioned towards the filthy boy. The Don laughed and grabbed her around the waist.

"Oh, him? He is just a street rat I picked up while catching that traitor, Tony," the Don answered. "Surely you didn't think I would have brought home a child with that French lady, would you mia belleza?" The brunette glared at him, but her hatred towards the child faded. She came over to him and bent over to face him. Her face crinkled at his stench, but she fought it out. Then she noticed his swollen head and his blood soaked shirt.

"Alessio, what is this?"she asked the Don. Her face was full of sadness at the little boy's injuries. The Don shrugged.

"The boys had a little fun with him. Had to make sure he isn't the rat of another faction." The woman shook her head sadly at the Don and sighed.

"Hello there. What is your name, piccolo?" she asked the boy sweetly. The boy shook his head. He had no name. The woman looked back at the Don. "Alessio, we must give him a name." He glanced at the boy and thought hard.

"Pinocchio," decided the Don, who's name seemed to be Alessio to this woman. The woman frowned at him.

"Isn't Pinocchio the name of our old pitbull?"she asked. Alessio nodded.

"That's because his purpose will be to serve me. Just as old Pino did. Pino was a loyal dog, wasn't he, Nicoletta?" The woman, now known as Nicoletta, pouted at him and looked back at the boy.

"Oh, don't mind him. You can be the little boy I lost..." She ran a hand down his cheek affectionately. "Call us padre and mamma." The boy nodded silently. "Come, let's clean you up." Nicoletta led Pinocchio by the hand to the bathroom. Soon the boy came out wearing a clean white dress shirt and trousers. Nicoletta had bandaged and treated his wounds, making him look as if he were a mummy. His hair, no longer dirty and in tangles, was a soft blonde that matched his olive eyes. And as Nicoletta sat and talked to Alessio excitedly about their new 'son', Pinocchio's purpose, his life, began. He was not a street rat anymore, he was not trash. He was now Pinocchio. The puppet whose strings were attached to padre. And a soon to be killer.