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6 Feet Under

Tiffeni Crawford

    Strapped with a tape recorder and microphone, Michael walked into a mansion style building with a valet, classical music, and glass chandeliers.
    “I am here to see Big Al,” Michael said to a security guard.
    “Big Al is busy,” said the guard.
    “Tell him it’s Little Mikey and I got what he’s been looking for.”
    The security guard walked through a wooden door to his left.
    He came back a few minutes later signaling to Michael that he could see Big Al.
    “Big Al,” said Michael. The room was small and empty except for a desk, two chairs and a phone. The walls were painted eggshell white with Santos Mahogany wood floors.
    “Little Mikey, you son-of-a-gun. How are ya?” said Big Al.
    “I am doing good. I missed your fat face. Did you get fatter?”
    “Hahaha. You’re funny, Little Mikey. You’re lucky you are like family to me or I would kill you.”
    “Yeah, yeah, now let’s get down to business.”
    Big Al pulled out a large manila folder and a black and white notebook from his desk.
    “What you got for me, Little Mikey?”
    “There’s a rumor going around that Baby Face Jimmy is talking to the FBI.”
    “Are you kiddin’ me? You have proof?”
    “I do.” Michael pulled out a black folder out of his leather jacket and threw it on the table.
    “What is this?”
    “Proof.”
    Big Al opened the folder to find pictures of Baby Face Jimmy talking to the FBI. His body language showed him arguing with them but he handed them a piece of paper. Then he was getting arrested.
    “This cannot be real. He will never betray us. We are his family.”
    “Are you sure about that?”
    Big Al pressed the red button on the phone and a tall, muscular guy walked into the room.
    “Ace. I need you to take care of Baby Face Jimmy.”
    Ace nodded and walked out the room without saying a word.
    “Little Mikey, you are a good friend.”
    “I wish I could say the same for you.”
    “What are you talking about? We have been nothing but good to you.”
    “You’ve caused me trouble ever since my father killed one of your men.”
    “Well, haven’t we been good to you since?”
    “Sure, why not. But I am done with you and this mafia.”
    “You don’t want to do that, Little Mikey.”
    “Yes I do.”
    He picked up his phone again.
    Ace walked into the room and stood next to Big Al.
    Michael ran out the door and past the line of customers waiting to be seated. He made it to his car across the street and sped down the street with Ace following behind him.
    FBI agents stormed into the restaurant.

    “You got Big Al arrested?” said Ace.
    “Yeah, I did. In a matter of minutes they’ll be arresting you too and charging you with murder and more.”
    There was a clicking sound.
    Michael closed his eyes.
    The gun went off.
    There’s a thud.
    Michael looked down at his grave.

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