‘18 NANOWRIMO

Incomplete and Scrapped story for ‘18 NANOWRIMO.

Underneath the decrepit storefront of Larson Brothers and Company hid the underground and low-lying hub of the Deadeyes. A hand-painted sign, sealed with multiple coats of varnish, gave it the name The Candlelight. A man stood outside the door, leaning against the weathered stone. The occasional puff of his cigarette illuminated the downside of his face for just a moment; the cigarette never left his mouth, even when he breathed out a cloud of smoke. A sharp jaw, shaded by days of stubble was enough to intimidate whomever tried to inquire about the door. Only the persistent ones stayed around long enough for the shadowed man to lean into the light. Enough for him to tilt back his fedora, and to glare, through a puff of smoke, into the inquisitor and instill fear into them with the most piercing and startling blue eyes anyone had ever seen.

If one were to stay in the alleyway for a little bit, they’d find a man, only slightly taller than the one guarding the door, arrive and stay too long. They sway into each other’s personal space like good friends do and it’s the only time that one can witness a smile break onto blue eyes’ lips. After a long exchange of hushed words and stifled laughs, the taller man will clap the other man’s shoulder in a goodbye, heading through the door. Every couple of hours, another man will exit from the door, talk to Blue Eyes for a moment, and take his place. A shift later, Blue Eyes will return.

Each day is like this, a repeated sequence. Various faces and figures pass in and out of Blue Eye’s door. Some call him Angel since he’s the guardian of the door. His burly shoulders could hide some wings for all we know. He likes the name, or so I’ve heard. A boy on 68th Street told Billy, who told John, who told Will, who told Suzie that he got giant wings tattooed onto his back, stretching from the tops of his shoulders to the base of his hips.

Only the Deadeyes and their chosen ones are allowed into the door. Sometimes boys will have a pretty girl hanging on their hip, to which Angel offers no consolation prize for the “lucky boys”. He’s a stone-cold one. Only the taller one, the bossman--he’s known around town as The Genie--ever gets a response from Angel when they have their nightly discussions. Sometimes they’ll share a smoke; an odd pair they are.

Once a month, the boys down from Queens will come down. You see, The Deadeyes own Brooklyn, seeing that Anna and her family were born down here, and they always like fighting with the Queens boys. Angel will stand tall and give them some lip before letting them enter. Genie usually waits outside with Angel for their arrival.

The monthly meetings are always highly anticipated by the locals. There’s always a bet on whether or not the boys will all break out in a fight again--that hasn’t happened since 1919. The neighboring kids will wait outside, playing in the alley as an excuse to eavesdrop. Gus once said he heard Genie threaten one of the Brooklyn boys and said he swore on his mum that the bossman held a knife to his throat. Everyone knew that weapons were forbidden at these meetings; only the kids entertained the legends.

The best times to be around The Candlelight were in the evenings, especially on the weekends. One can enjoy a nice smoke in the alley and still be able to hear the music permeating from the windows and vents of the establishment. The crooning of sweet, talented gals is sought after by every ear. The boys there knew all the best musicians, naturally. The only thing they loved more than booze was their jazz. The Genie could play the saxophone like nobody’s business but was nowhere near as good as ‘Ole Billy. That sweet old man could tell anyone that he created jazz and people would believe every word. Sometimes Billy would join Angel outside and tell his stories, letting his small audience hang on every word, each sentence stained with his mystical voice. His cigar addiction hadn’t helped his lungs, but oh boy, did it create the most whiskey-smooth voice one had ever heard. And if you ever caught him in a good mood, that old man would sing his tobacco-blackened heart out, adding the most unique and scratchy harmony to accompany and contrast the smooth jazz. And of course, there’s the ever-present rumor that Angel plays the piano like - well, an angel.

Of course, let’s not forget to mention Ma, the most important cog in the wheel. While that house is infested with burly men, no one is more terrifying than Ma. Well, her name is actually Ana, but she only goes by Ma. There ain’t a Mama, not a Mom, not a Mother. Only Ma. And if you thought you had enough of the legends and stories associated with the boys of The Candlelight, then you haven’t yet had your fill. Ma is the record keeper for the most mystical and most enigmatic character belonging to The Candlelight. Whether about how she got her reputation for being the scariest woman in Brooklyn and possibly all of New York, or about how she lost her left eye, or how she suddenly had a daughter that looked nothing like her, you’ll hear it all. Her once raven black hair has aged into a fine salt and pepper color, though still as long and luscious as it was in her youth. The only blemish on her face, besides minor fine lines, is the giant scar around her lost eye, large enough to still show underneath the eyepatch she constantly wears. Many who have had the chance to visit her bar say that her eye isn’t even gone; she just likes to wear it to stir the myth pot.

Ma is the one who always retrieves Angel when he’s outside for too long. She brings him food and drink, always complaining about how “the fool’s gonna get sick one day” and things like that, though she still smiles at him and ruffles his hair. Lord only knows how much terror would rain on the man who tries to touch a hair on Ma’s head. If Ma doesn’t like you, all it takes is a slight narrowing of her eyes and you will be out of The Candlelight before you can even blink. Genie ain’t afraid to take you out back and show him what his fist tastes like too if you’re too rude to Ma.

You see, The Candlelight is Ma’s bar. It’s her pride and joy. If Ma’s not feeling up to it that night - which is a rare and scandalous event - then The Candlelight doors are closed until she’s feeling better. Ma is always behind the bar, no matter what. She will have people help her sometimes, but she is the beating heart of The Candlelight. No one makes drinks as well as Ma does; her secret ingredient is always a wink and “the power of Ma’s love”. The only time she’ll venture out from behind her bar is when ‘Ole Billy gets up and sings, or when one of her boys asks her to dance (but only once per night!)

Ma and Billy are the only ones left from the “older generation”. Genie’s father was George, Ana’s brother, and his mother was Sweet Mary. And god, she was the sweetest woman you’d ever meet. When Genie was about 15, Mary died in an accident and George was never really the same. Whether it was the booze or the heartbreak, George’s heart couldn’t take it anymore. Before George died, Genie already was stepping up to the plate and picking up the slack his father had created. That boy never let anyone say anything about his poor father. He grew up tough and fast. Ma was like an extension of his mother and he loved her just the same. When George died, Genie was already running the place and recognized as the bossman. Things haven’t changed, even a decade later.

Somewhere along the way Angel and others joined on. Money’s usually on that idea that they were orphans or runaways; Ma’s got a sore spot for motherless babes. Ma never was able to have a child of her own. She never got married either. A lonely spinstress was her fate, but she decided to make the best of it. Like she always said, “God didn’t want me to have a child, so I spat in his face and now I have too many to count.”

Of course, There is Evelyn.

In 1916, for some reason that is unknown to the masses, George, Billy, and Ma had some business to do over in France, of all places. Rumor is that it had something to do with George’s hunt for the man who caused Mary’s death. Well, while those three were doing their duty over in the land of baguettes and romance, there was a little girl, I believe she was about ten at the time, who also had a plan. Little Evelyn, an orphan who didn’t fit into any orphanage, was attracted to these strange Americans. She was a shadow to them, following every action and sneaking into the same places they did. Even when they tried so hard to cover their tracks, she sought them out like a bloodhound. Curiosity killed the cat. And as you’d suspect, she got caught. Her snooping was too good and she got too close. George, as crazed as he was, nearly shanked the girl on sight. She didn’t even flinch at the sight of his blade, just tilted her head at it like a dog, as if she had never seen one before. This intrigued Ma and Billy.

Evelyn was a little...void of emotion. Nothing ever scared her; no death threats, gore or foul language could cause a ripple of concern on her face. When Billy finally asked her “what the hell she was following them around for,” she shrugged and answered in poor English: “I was bored.” And thus, Evie was born. Evie became the daughter of Ma and she loved none more than her sweet girl.

You’ll have to know that The Deadeyes hit the jackpot with Evie. She was a goldmine for the gang. She wasn’t worried about anything they did; no questions ever. She would watch Genie beat up slackers from the shadows with rapt fascination. She loved hanging out with Angel when she was younger; the doubling down of their impassive stares added a new level of terror to those who tried to enter The Candlelight. She was like a little sister to all the boys. When she was about thirteen, she asked Genie if she could throw the first punch at a boy who grabbed the ass of one of the weekend dancers. She took one look at the bruises and blood and she was changed. Genie doesn’t like talking about that day much; there’s nothing worse than witnessing the loss of humanity.

From that day on, she was known across Brooklyn as “Eve”.

Only the worst of the worst came to Eve. You’re lucky if you had Angel or Genie to deal with you. Eve loved the raw energy of fear; she fed off of it like it was a lifeline. A woman, named after the creation of man, in love with destruction and chaos, how ironic. But in Brooklyn, she’s known on the streets as the Black Widow, known for eating her prey. She’s got her myths about sleeping with men only to murder them before the party’s over. Hell, she liked the image so much that she got a massive Black Widow tattooed across her back. Doesn’t help that her favorite pastime and special talent is the aerial arts. That woman spins a web and allures in any man or woman. And let me say - goddamn - it’s a good show. If her reputation wasn’t so horrible, she’d have every man in New York falling for her soft, pale skin and shiny black hair. You’d almost think she’s her mother’s daughter with how beautiful she is. But still, some men believe they can tame the Widow, and still she erupts as champion.

But what do I know? After all, I’ve never actually been inside the walls of The Candlelight. For all we know, these myths could just be stories…