Vintage Memories

Chapter Eighteen "Cannibal"

Warning: Gore and Cannibalism

Anthony glared down the silhouette standing at the door, lowering his gun at the recognizable individual. The young man removed his fedora once he entered the room, shrugging off his rain saturated coat and draping it over the back of the hotel chair. Ebony bangs, thoroughly doused by the rain, stuck to his olive skinned forehead, similar, but a few shades warmer than the blonde mobster's. His eyes were as black as night and just as desolate and cold as they locked on the shaken teenager.

"What are ya' doin' here, Arsenio?" Anthony questioned icily, walking up to the shorter man as he shut the hotel door.

"Why the hell is it takin' ya' so damn long to finish this assignment, Tony?" Arsenio retorted with the same abrasive tone, his accent just as thick as his insurgent younger brother, "dad had ta' send me down here just ta' check on ya', idiota!" His scolding slipped with ease into their Italian dialect.

Anthony glared down at his older brother, irritated that his father had sent anyone—let alone his stick-in-the-mud brother—out here to retrieve him. That bastard still didn't respect him, regardless of the years he had served or his impeccable portfolio of successful jobs. Admittedly, he had taken a few extra days to have for himself to spend with a particular someone; not like he would admit it to his kiss-ass of a brother.

"For ya' information, bustah', I wacked the guy ta'night." He turned away, walking over to the table, an array of illicitly procured liquor placed upon it. He snatched a bottle, twisting it open with a flick of his thumb, "tell pops I don't need a fuckin' babysittah', stronzo!"

"Well then what the fuck took ya' so damn long?! Ya've been down here for a week 'n a half!" Arsenio pinched the bridge of his nose in irritation, "now ya've gone and wasted my fuckin' time!"

"I ain't happy ya' here either, shorty." Anthony raised the bottle to his lips, taking a swig to calm his nerves. He couldn't let on his distress to his brother, lest he start asking questions. "I'll come back in a few days."

"What the fuck are you doin' down here?!"

"It ain't none'a'ya fuckin' business!" The blonde spat back at his nosey brother, taking another gulp of the bitter liquid. Arsenio stood silently for a minute, his charcoal eyes studying his younger brother. He couldn't help but notice the clothing he was wearing, a bit too small for his tall frame, and far too proper and polite for his usual fashion. The older of the brothers crossed his arms.

"You're coming back ta'night, dad's orders. Pack up ya' shit and let's go, the train leaves in an hour." Anthony tensed at the demand, knowing full well the consequences of disobeying one of his father's commands. Even so, he couldn't leave just yet.

"Okay, Nio, but there's somethin' I need to take care of first..." He closed the bottle of liquor, keeping his back to his brother. With a gentle release, he set the bottle back on the table, "solo. I'll meetcha' at the station." Distrustfulness was sorely written across Arsenio's face. He scowled as he grabbed his coat and hat, slipping the soaked garment back on.

"If ya' not at the station on time. Imma have dad assign ya' a new city, one closer ta' home." The feeling of dread sprang up at his brother's threat; he couldn't lose this city. Anthony clenched his teeth to bite back an unwise response. Already on thin ice, it was best to not push it.

"Fine..." Was all he could muster through his tensed jaw, his fists balled in a bid to suppress his growing anger. Without another word, his brother opened the door, venturing back out into the pouring rain to a parked car. He got in and drove off into the night, disappearing. Anthony stomped over, slamming the hotel door shut.