Back to Crime [Dream/Elipsro]

[Elipsro]

Michael Dunne was an American born who grew up with pretty much nothing. From an early age he had learnt to fend for himself, as he grew older his lifestyle choices would lead him to fall into the wrong crowds. At age twenty-two his choices led him to jail.

It wasn't suppose to have gone down that way, it was a simple 'point the gun, take the package.' Something that occured often in the neighbourhood where he lived. But something had gone wrong for the young man, interference from a rival gang. He was shot, left to die. A bullethole rest just below his right shoulder of his careful toned as proof of the event. A constant reminder of what his poor choices in life had got him.

Found, in a pile of his own blood, he was arrested on illegal weapon charges and found himself in prison. Thats where his life had lead him, prison.

A year later, he was out and trying to fix up his life. He had left gangs behind and was trying to work at a corner store, just outside his old neighbourhood. And that is where he was now, working behind the counter selling fags. Some life he had. He rolled his eyes as he leant against the counter, pushing his dark brown from his deep hazel eyes. They were kind eyes, despite his past and history, they had a warmth to them. If he had had a better education, he could have done many things, politics, speaking, public relations. At heart, he was a person's person, from his firm hand shake to his deep tones, it was a pity it had all gone to waste because of her. The woman he hated speaking about. That woman. He sighed a deep sigh, turning his gaze towards the window. Three men passed it, old friends of his. He rolled his eyes and stood himself up straight, pulling the apron he wore down his 6' frame.

"Yes boys?" he said, as the door opened. He never liked seeing them, they reminded him of his past. Something he wanted no part of anymore. Yet there were always here, picking fun of his new lifestyle. Trying to coax him back into a world he wanted no part in.

 

[Osheaga]

• • • 
      
      America was a virtual cesspool swarming with incredulous human-beings. Things here were, needless to say, different. The atmosphere in general was negative; the air wreaked of pollution and oil, and worst of all, the night sky was indiscernible no thanks to a thick veil of smog that had obscured city's canopy. Left dismayed by this new environment, Estelle Delacruz seldom left her new home. Her brother, a self-proclaimed "business man", was apprehensive with his sister's sudden visit. Their mother recently passed away, taken by the clutches of leukemia and needless to say he was heavily disturbed by his younger sibling's nonchalance concerning her death. The moment she stepped foot into his house - in all of her tall, winsome glory - he knew she had already accepted their mother's death and was prepared to begin to move on with her life. He silently mourned over the tragedy and Estelle's selfless sacrifices.
      
      To familiarize herself with American culture, Estelle sought frantically for a job so she could return to university a d otherwise further her education. What made her brother Emilio even more dismayed was the fact that she was almost arrogantly complaisant. He tried to instill fear in her by showing her first hand just how segregated America was and that ignorance concerning these terms could easily result rape, assault and ultimately murder. To make matters worse Emilio was no typical American citizen. During the day he adorned a very misleading guise as a mechanic, but the moment darkness ruled the streets he was one of the most viscous, tactical cocaine traffickers in the history of the city. The Latin man was cognizant of the dangers he had subjected his sister to ... but having her live alone on the other side of the city - the hub of most Asian gangs - was anxiously shoving her into the lair of rapists and murders.
      
      "Do you want me to drive you to work? I have a few errands to run, it's not out of the way." With the silence, Emilio scowled. "Are you going to pull this shit again? Not speak? Fuck Estelle, I hate when you do that." Emilio often reverted to the chiding tone of Portuguese to chastise his sister. She was not easily belittled, and so, retreated to the door before he could retort. "Jesus fucking Christ Estelle!" he roared, veering off after her. His sheer size alone was a hindrance and he struggled to pass through the frame. By the time he was outdoors, Estelle was halfway down the street.
      
      The atmosphere at work was a little less intimidating. The people there for the most part were tolerant and hailed from all races - white, black, hispanic and asian. As she pressed on through the door she inadvertently smacked her pierced tongue against the roof of her mouth to bare the waft of stale wind that washed up on her pretty face. Inside she noted a particularly mischievous group of men. They gawked at her; eyed her up and down from her long, black lion's mane to her wide and shapely hips. One gave her a crooked smile while the other watched on with mirth. She cut her light green eyes at the man and skittered off to the back of the shop where she was to unpack some of their newly arrived stock.

 

[Elipsro]

"Come on Mikey," the tallest of the men chortled as they stood just inside the doorway, "What you doing here? Come back with us!" A cold laugh ringed out from the other two as they nodded their head in agreement with the speaker, clearly the leader of the three. Michael said nothing as they taunted him and was somewhat glad when the door opened for a second time.

The men turned their heads to watch the pretty little thing scuttle towards the back of the shop. The smallest of the three made a slapping gesture with his hand behind the girl and laughed to his friends. Michael shook his head at their actions. He had never been one for treating women like that - he had plenty of fights sure, but he would never hurt a woman. At least not physically.

This particular woman rarely spoke, she kept to herself while she was here. Or at least, Michael had rarely spoken to her. Bringing himself back into the realm of the normal, Michael looked back towards his 'friends.' "Boys, was there something you wanted?" He was direct, his deep tone commanding. He titled his head and softly tapped his foot.

Eventually, the three sneered at him and turned away again, reaching for the door handle, the tall one called out towards the back of the shop, "Bye sexy." His tone was confident, despite the lack of charm in his words. He was blunt, and never one for charming the ladies. Not that he usual cared about making sure they were on side with him. He was a monster at heart. A dark horse, and not the sharpest tool in the shed.

*

A few minutes later, Michael threw off his apron and left it on the counter and wondered down the small aisle towards the end of the shop. "Estelle?" he called out, the lights dim towards the back of the shop, "do you want anything from the bakers?" he asked. He felt odd asking such a normal question, something he would not have considered before prison... maybe his life was back on track.

And then his phone rang out into the silence. A phone call that could change everything ... for better or for worse.

 

[Osheaga]

• • • 
      
      Effortlessly Estelle lifted the boxes. Before unloading them she plunged her thumb nail into the adhesive tape sealing the cardboard box shut and severed it with relative ease. Inside were neatly packed packages of Hershey chocolate bars. Estelle was bewildered, almost dismayed; it was immensely warm outside for later September and in any other case the chocolate would have been a syrupy mess if left in the back for too long. The tall woman flattened her dark mane against her scalp and wiped a few stray strands of hair from her view.
      
      She inspected the boxes thoroughly - even though the men in the front had been mocking her - and proceeded to unpack its contents. Though silent she was completely cognizant of their serpentine sneers. Was she a fan? Certainly not. It was a stereotype that Brazilians had short tempers for Estelle had the longest fuse in the history of Sao Paulo. As they departed she breathed a silent sigh of relief and swallowed. She was admittedly haunted by the image of a dark car which had been circling the neighborhood when she walked to work but was more concerned about the amount of men loitering around the corner store lately.
      
      Elias - an irate middle-aged Lebanese man - owned the shop. He claimed to have been "on a business trip" for the week when in retrospect he had been in Miami living it up with his estranged wife in some fancy resort. He always complained about the "white boys" hanging in the front of the shop and adored Estelle for "not being white". Of course she paid no mind to his mindless ramblings.
      
      "No," she breathed curtly in reply. Her voice carried well in the store - it was firm but not vehement, womanly but not soft. She gazed at him for an instant then back outside to the vehicle with tinted windows.
      

 

[Elipsro]

Michael rolled his eyes at her usual 'no' and at his phone ringing. It rarely rang, he was not even sure at times why he carried it. It was an old thing, barely even from this century. Wasn't even colour!

Michael fished into his pocket as he turned away and walked back towards the front of the shop. He turned is gaze down towards the phone that vibrated in his hand. As expected, a number he did not recognise. He was always getting marketing calls about something arather, he didn't even remember giving his number to anyone.

Pressing the phone to his ear, he pressed the green button and heard the click of the call collecting. "Mr Dunne?" a voice called out on the other hand. It was calm, controlled and sounded like these phone calls were routine. He would have taken it for a marketting call had they not known his name. That stumped him. "Hm?" he hesitated, checking the number of the screen quickly and then returning the phone to his ear, "Speaking."

The next few words were some that he never wanted to hear. He disliked the woman at the best of times, but what he had just been told turned his blood cold. Yet he knew he couldn't just leave her. She had to be helped.

He sighed as he clicked the phone off a few minutes later. What was he to do? He had no choice...

She was his mother after all.

 

[Osheaga]

• 
  
  It wasn't as if she purposely tried to close herself off to people ... she was just socially inept and had an issue with talking. If she did it was often for a damn good reason other then to display her outlook on a certain situation. Her light eyes peered almost warily at Michael as he dismissed her antisocial reply. It wasn't that Michael was a bad person - in fact, he was a rather colorful spirit. It took a lot for Estelle to be able to admit that about a human being but he was an exception.
  
  After everything was neat and unpacked, Estelle heard the door's bell chime. It was an irritating little "ding" which signaled the door's being opened, one she detested, but it proved useful. A well dressed man paraded into the tenement as if he owned it, his clothing wreaking heavy of smoke. It was a pungent aroma; Estelle took note of the half-smoked pack of Prime Times poking out through his pocket. She was unsure if he was Colombian or Native American from his appearance as his hair was long and dark, draped almost meticulously over his Armani-clad shoulders. He flashed the Brazilian a cheekish grin and proceeded inside where he patted his breast pocket.
  
  "Is Elias here today?" he questioned.
  
  Estelle shook her head. "He's on vacation." The man smiled. "Is that so? Well, he owes me a few hundred dollars. Hope you won't mind if I help myself." As he approached the cash register, Estelle intervened and reached her arm out to stop him. "Don't worry, girl. It's been promised to me." She made a face of raw distaste. "You're going to let me," he commanded as he took hold of her arm violently. "Elias owes me. Unless you want to pay, step the fuck back and let me take what's mine."
  

 

[Elipsro]

Michael passed a man who smelt heavily of smoke on his way out of the shop. He had seen her before, though, at this time he didn't recognise him. He was too busy thinking about the phone call he had just received. He brushed against the man, and mumbled sorry under his breath as he stepped out onto the sidewalk.

Turning left, he looked down the road. That was led to the bakers, he turned his head slowly, hesitant to look the other way. The other way led to the centre of town, and there, the hospital. He stood there for a good thirty seconds before he turned his body right and stepped with an uneasy step down the street.

He rubbed his eyes, his hand on his head mentally kicking himself. He knew he'd regret turning right. His phone rang out again, but he ignored it completely. As he walked further down the street, he met more people. He knocked shoulders with more and more as the streets got busier until he was inner city.

The hospital sat before him after a few more minutes walking. He stood outside, looking up at the big red cross above the illuminated sign that read 'hospital.' He took one more sigh and stepped forward.

He had come this far, might as well see what his mother had done this time.