The Morelli Bros. (Chapter 1, Part II)

Posted on September 16, 2014 by R. Richardsson

They went from door to door, visiting customers who had previously done business with their family, and they were met with looks of sympathy and a slow shake of the head.

“I’m sorry, Mario, but given what your father has put us through, we just have to go with these other guys.”

“I wish I could, but I just don’t know if I can trust you boys.”

“No, and if I ever see one of you Morellis on our property again, I’ll call the cops!”

It brought a great sadness upon the boy’s hearts knowing that the burden of their father had passed down to them. More and more of their customers were turning to their competitors because of his actions, and were now passing their judgement of him down to the hardworking duo.

As the day dragged on, they found it increasingly difficult to find their smiles before knocking on each new door.

“What are we going to do, brother,” asked the younger of the two.

“We have to show them that we aren’t like that bastard of a man. We have to prove that we can be trusted, that it’s better to do business with a face you know, than with an app, or a phone service,” Mario answered passionately.

“And how do you-a say we do that,” Luigi answered with a sharp edge to his voice.

He didn’t have an immediate answer for his brother, nor would he find one in the near future. He only knew that the best way to prove his worth was to get in and do the work. If they couldn’t get over the threshold, how was he going to be able to ever do that?

He shook his head sadly and lowered his faced into his hands where he would hide his shame for the next several minutes. When he next spoke, it his voice was thick with emotion.

“Offer them our next service for free,” he dared softly utter.

“A-wha…?”

Luigi flew up from his seat as he attempted stand over his brother in anger, only to slam his head on the ceiling of the van. The breath whooshed from his lungs, stolen by the surprise of the situation as he tumbled askew to his seat.

For the first time in hours, Mario first smiled, and then laughed at what had happened to his younger, clumsier sibling. It was a brief reprieve, for as soon as the other had recovered, the two argued in earnest about his latest proposition.

“We cannot give away our business,” the younger shot back. “We have-a precious few supplies as it is!”

“We’ve a-gotta do something,” Mario retorted. “If we don’t a-show them our intentions, we’re done for good!”

“Maybe it’s-a for the best,” Luigi fired in return.

The afternoon waned as their Italian blood fueled each side of the argument and by the time they found themselves wore out enough to settle on a compromise, the shadows had begun to stretch back toward the direction from which the sun had begun its journey.

They were no closer to what they had set out to do at the beginning of the day, and neither noticed that the needle on the fuel gauge had begun to dip below the ‘E’.

The Morelli Bros. (Chapter 1, Part I)

Posted on July 29, 2014 by R. Richardsson

Lightning split the sky apart with the precision of a skilled surgeon, illuminating the surrounding area for only a fraction of a second before vanishing as fast it had come. Seconds later the silence was shattered by the force of the molecules returning to the place they were so suddenly removed from. Windows rattled as the thunder rolled on, though not many noticed it at this late hour.

Even this deep in the Bronx, most of it’s residents were fast asleep, while those remaining souls who weren’t sought out what protective cover they could find. In most cases, the eyes that looked out from the shadows were cold and apathetic. They belonged to those poor souls who had lost everything, that’d had nothing for years and had given up all hope.

They were the hungry ones. They wanted what they didn’t have, but had nothing to offer in return. They were the forgotten. They had lost their homes, their families and friends, and have been out of the system for more years than they were ever in it. They were the hated. They were looked down upon because of their social status. People were afraid to look in their direction twice, and only at a glance if they must.

They weren’t many, but they were more than most cared to admit to knowing about. The city refused to acknowledge they were there, instead focusing on more important things such as building parks for the children, or recognizing public officials for all the hard work they’ve done for the city. And, for the most part, everyone bought into the propaganda.

The media directly influenced the public opinion by providing it only with stories that would create positive feelings. Images of the city’s darker side were purposely edited to further the illusion being created and life continued as it had for as long as any could remember.

Awake and ever watchful, however, were two sets of eyes peering out from the safety of their red and green B-300 Dodge van. Though the sun would not be coming up for another two hours, there was much to be done if they were going to tackle the day head on.

“It’s-a gonna be a wet one day, eh Mario,” the younger of the two asked.

“Yeah,” the elder answered somberly.

His mood was dark this morning. He had been looking through their savings, a meager pittance of thirty dollars, and was facing a rather difficult decision; they could either put the money into their gas tank and go without food today, or they could have a good breakfast and risk not being able to make their rounds.

“Did you remember to call the uniform supplier,” he asked his younger brother.

The other nodded as a smile lifted his rather bushy mustache.

“They should be ready by lunch,” he gushed.

“That’s-a good Luigi,” he replied. “Maybe our luck will turn around?”

It was only speculation, but there was much riding on the decision to invest in these uniforms. They had given up over two weeks of the hard earned cash in order to not only buy matching garments, but to have a sign made for their van as well. If this didn’t work out for them, they faced another decision that neither one of them wanted to make. They would have to give up their trade.

The Morelli Bros. (Prologue, iii.)

Posted on June 22, 2014 by R. Richardsson

They eventually lost their father to alcoholism. That had been the toughest summer of their young lives, for it was then that they learned just how far he had sunk in his depression. Piles of bills were stashed away beneath his mattress or unpaid and forgotten in the dust filled shadows. Collections Services came calling at all hours of the day, all in search of the same thing; coin that neither of the brothers possessed.

Every day became a struggle to not only maintain their meager lifestyle, but in keeping food in their bellies as well. For every dollar they made, they paid two more toward the debts they had inherited and it wasn’t long before their father’s folly caught up to them.

One by one, their customers began moving away from the Morelli Plumbing business and towards more commercially known ones. Despite their knowledge and experience, there wasn’t very much they could do to convince anyone to hire the sons of Rocco Morelli, a man who rarely finished a repair in a timely manner and who was suspected of stealing from his clients.

The Morelli name had become a curse in most homes and only a small handful of people still stood behind them. These were the people whom they had helped the most over the years. The families they had moved from one home to another and those who knew the struggles they’d had in their lives. And in some cases, they were the friends they grew up with, or the families of these friends after the former had moved on.

Eventually, their past caught up with them and they lost their apartment. There were too many tools for them to store in their van, and with heavy hearts they sold whatever they could do without and still continue peddle their trade. The rest was donated to the plumbing supplier whom they had given all of their business.

They washed their clothes a a local laundromat, where they could also freshen up in the restroom as the clothes were being cleaned and they ate as often as their funds allowed, which was at least once a day. It was a poor way to live and they both knew that time was against them. If they didn’t find something better, and soon, they were going to have to begin selling the rest of their tools and take minimum wage jobs in order to survive.

Without a physical address, they had forwarded their mail to a P.O. box, where the bills continued to pour in. Neither could believe the amount of trouble their father could create for them, even beyond the grave! There were bills for unpaid tabs at various bars and gentlemen’s clubs. On top of the bills they owed for their apartment, there were also bills for jobs that had been improperly finished, including one for a septic tank repair that was almost five figures!

They were steadily losing ground, but what they didn’t know was that sometimes you have to reach rock bottom before things begin to turn around. Of all the things that their father had taught them over the years, optimism wasn’t one of them. His secret resentment of the boys didn’t have room for the brighter things in life, things which he knew very little about from the beginning.

Ever the optimists, they had a long way to go before they lost the one thing they had left. Hope.