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All Yesterday's Parties (Chapter 54)
🕑 Added 2023-09-21 19:00:03 +0000 UTCMarion ran his thumb over the elevated bumps of his knife's handle, distracting himself as he and Aster waited outside the administrative building for Sylvia to tender her semester's resignation. He was leaned against the brick facade of the building, watching with little interest the student body passing over the campus, when his ear was caught by the nervous chattering of several of them passing by.
“A fight?” asked one student in great excitement to another. An indistinguishable but animated conversation ensued, and the two of them were soon making their way off down a long pathway in the direction of the courtyard. This excitement was mirrored by a new group who wandered into the vicinity, talking yet more loudly.
“Two gangs, man! In the courtyard! I swear, it looks like they're gonna kill each other!”
Marion shot to his feet, horror-struck. At once, all his worst premonitions and fears came upon him.
“Tell Sylvia to get to the courtyard as soon as she can!” he shouted at Aster, before breaking into a run. Aster was taken by complete surprise, and went ghostly white in the face of Marion's clamor, but realized the gravity of the situation and immediately started for the direction of the administrative building.
Jesus, I told her not to fuck around! Marion thought in a panic, sprinting down the path. If only we had got there even five minutes earlier... There's no way Marcy can handle those bastards.
He rounded the bend, his leather boots struggling desperately to cling to the slushy pavement.
Where does she get off, giving commands to them?! Forget them requesting it; this isn't some game! She has no idea what it's like to run with hardened criminals like them!
At last Marion reached the end of the path. With galloping strides he barreled down the steep incline towards the sight which awaited him at the bottom— two masses of people, his gang and the Aspartame crew—were locked in stand-off.
One of the Aspartame gang, a bony-faced, sarcastic-looking man with cigarette-colored skin, sneered at Marion's approach: Leslie, the leader of the Aspartame gang.
“Look who finally decided to show up!” he chuckled.
Marion's heart was racing, although there was slight relief to see that a full on brawl had not yet occurred.
“Don't worry, we were just talking,” he snickered, reading Marion's worry.
Marion started over to Marcy, who pulled him close.
“They're trying to do one over on us, boss,” he whispered. “They said it's better we split for good and they'll let us off 'easy' if we do!”
Marion grimaced, then turned to face the opposing gang. A distance of several feet separated the two opposite sides, each comprised of several dozen, battle-ready men. Around them teemed the terrified yet curious students of Peppermint Plains Community College, who were being hurriedly escorted to safety by various staff. Police would be here in no time, Marion knew.
“Were you 'just talking', Leslie?” Marion began. “Then what're those for?” he said, motioning with a slight upwards jerk of his head towards the brass knuckles on one Aspartame lieutenant's hand.
“That's how he talks,” Leslie replied with a smile. “He uses body language.”
Marion's face was unflinching, unamused.
“We had a deal,” he growled.
"We said we were open to making a deal. We agreed to come and we did. Though, I don't see the blonde girl— where is she?"
“Don't worry about her, you're dealing with me.”
Leslie narrowed his scrutinizing gaze, then laughed.
"I don't want to make a deal with you! At least she had moxie— at least she had something I could respect!"
“Marion could fold you like a fuckin' accordion!” bellowed one of his men.
Marion placed a hand on the large man's shoulder, holding him back.
“Gonna insult my fuckin' boss— I'll break your face!” he continued, spewing spit from the corners of his mouth.
A taunt erupted in response from Aspartame's side, which enticed another row from Marion's men, and soon the two groups were engaged in an verbal skirmish which echoed throughout the campus. Marion tried his best to hold his men back, and Leslie did the same, though with much more relish evident in his playful gaze.
It's always been like this, Marion thought, sizing up Leslie and the men foaming at the mouth beside him. Aspartame only saw them as the nuisances who had taken up shop and taken their street corners in Peppermint Plains. Newcomers— that's all they'd ever been.
—
“We're not doing this for success, or money, or to fuck people up— we're doing it to show those assholes what's what!” Marion had exclaimed one night after a particularly bad beating courtesy of the Aspartame gang. He was orating to a crowd of friends and acquaintances he often ran with, who were also fed up with Aspartame's increasingly brutal presence in the street.
He had not expected much to come of it— he was a hurt kid running his big mouth, he supposed— but to his surprise, those men received his words like they had been waiting to hear them their entire lives.
It was like a key had been found, he thought. I suddenly had found something I was good at— keeping my men safe.
Imagery of his childhood filtered through his mind. In this imagery he fit the puzzle piece which was Marion-shaped into many different occupations and lives, mournfully, as if hoping any other would receive him.
They did not.
I never wanted it to be like this, but I never had much luck in school. I was good at runnin' rough and it earned money, where pouring over books didn't. It just made sense, you know?
He found himself in the town square of Peppermint Plains, running scams in the various shops as the group's influence expanded. He remembered being successful in most, but had trouble with one.
He smiled inside.
If it were not for him— Floyd. Caught me slinging tapes outside his shop— knew me from tryin' to sell them to Sylvia on the sly. "I'll have your head if you don't work with me!" he said. Was waving his cane at me down an alleyway he'd chased me down, like a lunatic.
Various compositions of the interior of Floyd's record shop appeared and disappeared within millionths of a second, super-imposed upon one another in all forms he had ever seen it in.
If it were not for him— those Aspartame goons would have had our number the first second we crossed 'em. What would we have done if they didn't owe his old man so much? What would we have done had they not helped out with the festival to pay off that debt?
His mind was then thrown back to that moment— when the Aspartame had pledged their security for the Love You Forevers' impromptu festival. A wave of embarrassment surged through Marion at the thought, if for nothing more than the remembrance of Leslie bestowing his honorary title upon Sylvia.
He had lost control in that moment, and had ever since been trying desperately to reclaim it.
“Don't push your luck!” Marcy yelped from beside Marion.
Marion shooed him back.
Marcy pushed forward.
“Aren't you the one telling us that we aren't ready for a life of hard crime? So why are you sitting there, ten feet away, hurling insults like a fuckin' playground bully? Here I was, nervous to see the great Leslie Lashes but it looks like he's just as weak as any of us!”
Marion grabbed Marcy by the shoulder.
“What the fuck are you doing?!”
Leslie's smile faded.
“No, go on, keep talking,” he said, stepping forward.
“I'm telling you, Marcy—”
“You're knockin' Marion for having Sylvia as a lieutenant, but you're the one who got kicked in the shin by her! You fell to the ground fucking screaming!”
Marcy turned around to the group, affecting boisterous, theatrical laughter.
Marion's group, eager to humiliate, replied with an even louder guffaw which echoed across the courtyard.
A pop was heard, and a switchblade projected from a closed fist near his left side.
“Come on, not like this, Leslie,” cried someone in the crowd.
“You and your boss want to play gangster? I'm only too happy to oblige.”
He stepped forward, gripping the blade.
Marion's eyes settled on Leslie's face— in particular the scar which canyoned under his right cheek. It looked like a knife wound, or that of some sort of shank— nonetheless it was a clear symbol of the divide between their lives.
—
The chirping of birds echoed throughout his skull. He had awoken very early that morning, catching with his eyes the first light of that frigid day. He wanted to see as much of it as possible. He didn't know how the meeting between the groups would go, and he considered himself to lucky to have found any sleep at all. He sat at the edge of his bed for a few minutes, lighting a cigarette while he watched the sun rise and warm the sky. His head was cluttered with worry. He soon rose, prepared for the day, and made his way to the front door, holstering his knife and strapping into his boots.
As was usual each morning his men in the neighborhood called out to him as he did his habitual stroll down the lane which cut through the shanty yards and led to the main street of Peppermint Plains, where he would catch the number eleven bus to Floyd's shop or wherever he was needed that day.
They hollered their morning greetings, and Marcy— who was also on his way to the college— took this chance to join up with him.
“Today's the big day,” Marcy declared.
“Yeah,” Marion mumbled with little conviction, strolling ahead. He didn't find the excitement in it that Marcy had. Marcy, in accordance with his major flaw to romanticize the life they led, saw a wild west showdown, whereas Marion only saw a rapidly approaching precipice they could only just hope to clear.
“We got it covered, so just head to class when you get there.”
Marcy turned to him in surprise. “Boss, I'm not going to leave you to deal with them alone.”
Marion turned to him, glowering.
“I'm not alone! I have all the other guys!” he yelled. “What good are you gonna be if you wind up hurt, huh? How am I gonna explain to your mom that I let you get involved with them?!”
Marion had halted, and was now looking gravely down at Marcy.
“Well, what good is the group if we can't all stick together?!” Marcy replied. “What's the fuckin' point if you can't even trust me enough to be there?”
Marion groaned.
“It's not that— I don't want you to get hurt! They're gonna see you as easy pickings.”
He's eager to fight 'cuz he always sees me fighting. Always sees me coming home bruised up and sees the guys lovin' it.
—
Marion was in his room, before his mirror, observing with solemnity the cuts and bruises across his face. It stops now, he recited to the reflection.
I had to get my act together for the boys— what kinda example was I setting, going out and acting like that— coming home fucked up? Marcy was the worst— eyeing me up all confused like— he was only a boy. That was only a few years ago. Man, time passes way too fast. Next thing I know I'm gonna be some square pushing paper in an office.
Heh, or maybe this band thing really does work out— be some old man polishing a gold record. It's definitely better than any band I've been a part of, that's for sure.
He sighed, and laughed to himself.
Or maybe Leslie just sticks me with it and it's over here and now. I ain't letting him get at Marcy, though.
—
A sudden click drew the eyes of the crowd to Marion's switchblade.
“Stay where you are, man.”
Leslie grinned.
“That's more like it!” he growled, drawing nearer.
“I mean it, Leslie! Stay the fuck back!”
“Or what, you gonna stab me? Can't see how you'd do that on account of your hand shaking so bad!”
He burst into laughter, backed by the jeers and chuckles of his men.
“Just give up the act, Marion.”
Gonna insult me, my men, and pull a knife on Marcy? He thinks I'm some sort of fucking joke— they think Sylvia is more capable of a leader than I am, well—
A long shadow shot from the direction of the sun, separating the two men.
“The fuck is that?” mumbled Leslie, squinting as he looked up.
The source of the shadow— a figure— stepped in front of the sun, and all the men raised their arms as they tried to catch a glimpse.
“Is that a— bow?”
“Hey, there she is!” Leslie exclaimed.
Marion's eyes went wide.
With a high-pitched scream, Sylvia bounded down the hill towards the group.
“Sylvia, stop!” Marion screamed from the bottom of his chest.
Marion could see Aster crest the top, doubled over in what looked like heaving breaths.
You fucking idiot, stay up there!
“See, those are the exact guts that I'm talking about!”
With the pitter-patter of her little gallops steadily approaching, Sylvia ran into the group with a hearty “NO!” exclaimed from the top of her lungs.
“What are you guys doing?!” she screamed, looking at both Marion and Leslie disapprovingly.
“You're here to make peace, not to fight!” she exclaimed, punctuating her words with deep exhalations as she tried to catch her breath.
She moved to tear Marion's head off, but stopped, seeing him with his switchblade extended.
Her face went expressionless, her once angry eyes filling with puppy-dog sadness as she turned her head up towards Marion, who towered over her.
“We're not supposed to fight,” she murmured, the portrait of disappointment.
The weakness of her voice sent a chill down Marion's spine.
His voice caught.
“You're not supposed to hurt people!” she said louder, regaining her strength. “You're not like them!”
“Yeah, you heard the lady!” Leslie interjected mockingly.
Marion started, looking down on her in horror.
—
“Why don't we expand, boss? We have enough men,” Marcy had asked.
“That's not what we do, Marcy. How many times do I have to put it into your thick head? The point is not to be a gangster— it's to be a family. Do you really wanna go out there, fight for the streets, and get stuck like a pig— only to lose them next week? Is that what you wanna die for?”
Marcy had nothing to say.
“Your life is so much more than some stupid lifestyle— tryin' to be a tough guy. You got brains! Use them.”
You're not supposed to hurt people! The voice of Sylvia echoed within his thoughts.
There he suddenly was, in the shop, watching the band speak. This group of people he put up such an act of coolness around, but realized that he truly didn't find them detestable. In fact, the thought of them was reassuring in this most dire of moments.
Why did his guard relax around them? Why did his refusal of the acknowledgment of their pleasantness not die like all the other feelings? They had entered his life as such an annoyance, and now he couldn't really imagine it without them.
As his men received his shelter, so did the Love You Forevers do the same for him. His mind turned to Aster, panting at the top of the hill. For someone who it seemed like he hadn't spoken more than five words to she had changed his life in ways he had never believed.
It all began with her, he realized.
He chuckled, viewing his life in greater perspective.
Look at me— I got a good band, I got those idiots, and I'm gonna throw it away just to get Leslie?
He looked down at the blade in his hand and felt his stomach plummet.
They had blown the horizon wide open and now anything was possible, even the most impossible thoughts—
"I'll break up the gang," he uttered, withdrawing the blade.
A stunned silence fell across the courtyard.
Leslie, his smug, noxious smile fading in his confusion, watched Marion with a suspicious look.
“You'll what?”
“We will give up our territories, but in return, I want you to sign these papers settin' up the company, and handing over all your bootleg interests to us.”
His heart racing, Marion produced the crumpled contract, prepared beforehand by Mareby-Roquefort, and held it before Leslie.
Seeing that Marion's sincerity did not waver, he began to grin.
“Are you fucking kidding me?! That's all it took?! Just waving this little thing around?” he yelled, gesturing with the blade.
He turned to his men, hollering with laughter.
“Give me that fuckin' paper!” he barked, tearing it from Marion's hands. “Look at me, signing a document like a regular business man!” he laughed, looking back at his gang.
With quick, jerky motion he scrawled his brute signature on the paper, then tossed the crumpled ball back at him.
He beheld Marion a moment, smiling.
“I catch you on the streets again and we won't be handling it like businessmen.”
Marion held a stoic gaze, eyes not wavering.
With little ceremony, Leslie— now satisfied— turned around and departed, taking his scar-covered crew with him.
Marion remained silent and turned his eyes towards the ground.
A few jeers came from his men towards the retreating group, but most sat in silence waiting for him to speak.
A breath— a cool wind— seemed to fill his lungs. It felt as though he were learning to breathe for the first time in his life. Capitalizing on this, reveling in it, he began to draw deeper and deeper breaths, hungrily taking the winter air into his shaky lungs. His brain rejoiced in this wave of oxygen, and a layer of dirt seemed suddenly to be wiped from the world.
The first person to approach him was Sylvia. She was bounding toward him with intent and a worried look.
Her arms outstretched, Marion thought she meant to hug him, and was completely taken by surprise when Sylvia instead grabbed both his sleeves and disabled his range of motion to begin pelting his shin with kicks.
"Idiot! Don't do it again, idiot!” she screamed, crying.
"Should we help him?!" one of his men clamored.
"Are you crazy?" quipped Marcy.
“Sylvia!” Aster called out in an awkward yelp, pulling her back.
“You can't go getting hurt!” Sylvia yelled, stepping back.
Marion remained on the ground, sighing to himself.
—
When the threat of Aspartame was assured to be gone, Marion's men began to disperse, returning to Floyd's shop. Marion had declared, once free from further assault by Sylvia, that his men would no longer run the streets or toil for the band hauling their equipment, but would be given roles within Marion and Floyd's new distribution company. Marcy was not satisfied, and protested that he should be allowed to follow the band and his former leader, and Marion, after much finger-wagging from Sylvia, relented, allowing him into the group as the Love You Forevers' official head roadie. Sylvia, Aster, and Marcy then proceeded in earnest back to the administrative building to cancel Marcy's classes.
In the end, Marion stood alone in the courtyard, watching the sun which had kissed Sylvia's silhouette, rise, and wondered how high it would go.
