Crying Within An Empty Grave

(chapter 4, part 5)


It was hardly difficult, what with the flashy get-up he was wearing.
I soon found myself standing in what could only be the waiting area outside our departure gate, a stiff-collared man in uniform to the side that was to inspect our tickets.
Uncle Joey was sitting upon one of the waiting benches, his arms and legs draped wide in a flippant manner that ensured he had the seat all to himself.
“Well, don’t just stand there gawking. Sit down,” ordered Uncle Joey, his face a picture of boredom and arrogance.
I did what he asked, sitting two seats away to give my uncle space as he flexed out his tensed arm muscles within his white jacket.
I placed my solitary suitcase down in front of me after I sat on the seat. I was relieved to let go of it because my hand was sore from holding it tightly since leaving the house.
We spent about five minutes just sitting in silence before Uncle Joey coughed lightly to me. I glanced up and noticed he was getting up to be ready to depart. Grabbing my suitcase, I got up and followed my uncle towards our departure gate, the uniformed man looking at us expectantly as Uncle Joey displayed our tickets to him.
“Enjoy your flight,” said the man seriously with a stiff grin upon his face and allowed us through the gate tunnel.


The flight was tolerable to Joey Fernando, though he’d never admit to it based on the fact he believed the airline would just skimp on the luxuries he already paid full price for. But, money was no object to a guy like Joey. He hardly even needed his “little goldmine” that he got from his dead sister...what was her name again? Betty? Bonnie? No, wait, Bonnie was that play-doll girl from a few years ago. Well, Joey was already too lucid in the airline whiskey to care what his dead half-sister’s name was. All he knew was that the kid was cramping his style, the boy right next to him like a ball and chain dragging him down and getting his high-flying groove all bummed out.
Joey glanced at the boy from behind his designer sunglasses with contempt. A kid just ain’t what Joey Fernando needed in his life. But, anything to annoy his so-called relatives and claim what was his was a good enough reason to go along with whatever life threw at him.
Trying to relax as he turned away from the kid, Joey closed his eyes and tried to envision himself back on Malibu Beach with his tan and girls all over his luxurious self. A reality he could get back to once he found somebody to pawn the kid off to as a safe haven for his share of assets his stepdad and half-sister left him. Smirking slightly to himself, Joey knew he’d be able to pay off his debts and keep living the high life. And the kid was his meal ticket, he was sure of it. As much as it pained Joey to admit it, even to himself, he needed the kid.
Feeling a sense of bile in his throat at his thoughts turned to needing someone, Joey opened his eyes and had another long but slow sip from his small decanter cup full of whiskey that the stewardess had served a half hour ago. He would have had a smoke of his favorite brand of cigs but the stewardess had chosen in favor of the brat, whom did not smoke.
Joey was reduced to just trying to remain as far away as possible from the scrawny pipsqueak, not even giving into the questions when the stewardesses asked what the kid would like to order from the dinner selection. It did not really matter anyway, the kid just ordered what she recommended. Joey opted to play it safe and would wait until they landed in New York, where he could worry about food later since he had to keep to a strict diet and exercise routine to look as good as he did.


(to be continued...)
 
Excellent lifelike descriptive language, especially the part about the fatigue of having to grip something continuously for a long time. My arthritic hands _felt_ the situation at the airport!

Betty? Bonnie? No, wait, Bonnie was that play-doll girl from a few years ago. Well, Joey was already too lucid in the airline whiskey to care what his dead half-sister’s name was.

Well, actually, "lucid" seems to be the _least_ applicable word to describe the mental condition of this low-life. :rolleyes:
 
Copperfox said:
Excellent lifelike descriptive language, especially the part about the fatigue of having to grip something continuously for a long time. My arthritic hands _felt_ the situation at the airport!

Betty? Bonnie? No, wait, Bonnie was that play-doll girl from a few years ago. Well, Joey was already too lucid in the airline whiskey to care what his dead half-sister’s name was.

Well, actually, "lucid" seems to be the _least_ applicable word to describe the mental condition of this low-life. :rolleyes:
Click to expand...


Well, the more realistic my characters are, the more emotional towards them my readers shall be. :)

And yet it seems to fit in with what the lowlife is feeling, a hazy memory for those wishing to forget what is happening yet remains calm whilst under the influence of alcohol. But believe me, Uncle Joey has yet to sink to what you dub lowlife status. I won't spoil anything, but let us just say that he has yet to show his bad side.
 
Last edited:
(chapter 4, last part)


The ride was a comfortable one for me, though I suspected it was commonplace for Uncle Joey. He hardly spoke to me, let alone glance at my general direction as we made our way skyward towards New York. I did not know much about America aside from what my private tutor taught me in our Geography lessons. But I also knew it would be busier, as I soon found out as our plane landed a few hours later.
The people were numerous, far more than the amount within the airport we had departed from. I stayed close as much as possible to Uncle Joey as I held my one suitcase in both my hands. I tried to keep up with him, apologizing each time I was bumped into several people that did not even stop to hear my muttered tones of sincerely asking for forgiveness. I just kept my head centered forward, not daring to lose sight of Uncle Joey’s hurried pace and his white suit he wore that made him an easy subject to follow within even this crowd of people.
I bumped lightly into Uncle Joey’s backside as he had suddenly stopped. He flipped open a cell phone whilst glaring back at me as he felt me bump into him. I did not wish to anger him further and just bashfully took a step or two back from him as he just sighed in an annoyed manner at me before turning away and hitting a button on his phone. The ringtone was a loud and arrogant one, apparently music I have never heard before. It seemed to relax Uncle Joey as I watched the back of his tensed shoulders relax and sag slightly as the person he was ringing suddenly answered the call, cutting out the ringtone.
“Yes, just landed. Yeah, I got him here okay. Fine, my penthouse will do...for now,” I heard Uncle Joey’s side of the conversation say, at first with a grimace but his tone grew lighter until he sounded almost pleased with himself, except for the last part about his penthouse, his shoulders tensing up again.
Uncle Joey just hit a button and flipped closed his cell phone, placing it back into his jacket coat pocket before glancing back at me once again, the look of contempt back upon his face as if it was all my fault. I lowered my gaze from him as he looked at me, not feeling comfortable by his bothered-looking gaze that I could still feel upon me.
“Just keep quiet and follow me as best ya can;” I heard him mutter without enthusiasm.
I lifted my gaze up again as I heard Uncle Joey was starting to walk away from me in a confident swagger, his back facing me as I followed behind him whilst keeping silent.


End Of Chapter 4.

(to be continued...)
 
(chapter 5, part 1)




Chapter 5: Uncle Joey’s Penthouse


Joey Fernando said nothing to his twelve-year-old nephew. It was bad enough he had to babysit the little twerp, let alone encourage him within what Joey called “My Space”. Sighing slightly in his mind, Joey just kept on walking, feeling the kid in tow like an invisible ball and chain attachment that Joey tried to shrug off. He couldn't let the kid get under his skin, he just had to remind himself of the payout the kid could give. Maybe not the most successful payout, but since his gambling debts and his own personal modelling career taking a nosedive, it was the only payout option Joey had going for him if he wanted to stay in his comfortable lifestyle.
It was not long until he and the kid made their way out of the airport. After hailing a taxi because his own car was still in transit, Joey got into the cab first, glancing away as his nephew entered after him. He was not looking at the kid as the taxi went on the way slowly to their destination: Wimbley Tower.

I gazed out of the cab window in wonderment as we had left the airport and were making our way across New York City, all the people and cars making me feel less alone yet also frightened at the same time. I clutched my suitcase that was in front of my knees, my knuckles white as I gently flexed my hands to relieve the tension within them as I gazed down at them for a brief moment. I then noticed the faint odor of cigarette smoke drifting from the driver’s seat up front in the taxi cab, the partition merely mesh wire that did not at all block the smell nor the gruff cough on occasion from our driver. I decided to ignore it as I slowly rolled down the window so it would not offend me greatly but soon regretted it as I inhaled some fumes from a bypassing car. I coughed uncontrollably for a few seconds before relaxing once more as the car left our vicinity and the air was slightly more breathable. I glanced over at Uncle Joey but noticed he was turned away from me, possibly glancing out of his own window. I decided not to bother him, not wanting to upset him. I turned back to glance out of my own window once more, the cab slowly moving as we were getting into a backed-up area of the main streets of New York City.


(to be continued...)
 
The idea of a child being drawn into the world of gamblers brings a recommendation to mind. I urge people to watch one of Shirley Temple's less-remembered movies, titled Little Miss Marker. It is based on a story by Damon Runyon, who is best known as the source of Guys and Dolls.
 
Copperfox said:
The idea of a child being drawn into the world of gamblers brings a recommendation to mind. I urge people to watch one of Shirley Temple's less-remembered movies, titled Little Miss Marker. It is based on a story by Damon Runyon, who is best known as the source of Guys and Dolls.
Click to expand...

Oh, I remember that movie. To be honest, it did not grow on me and in my opinion was not Shirley Temple's greatest work. Even without her star talent it was just a hodge-podge of boring linear story about "gangsters" that did not interest me at all.

I do not know if Chris will be drawn into the gambling aspect, but I understand how you would think that from Uncle Joey's attitude and mindset. We will just have to wait and see what direction the story will take.
 
( chapter 5, part 2… )

I felt slightly daunted as the taxi ride was about another thirty more minutes before sidling outside our destination.


I gazed out of the open window, slightly awestruck as I saw a looming tower building before my eyes, the front entrance with a parapet of bold black with gold trim lining spelling out on the front in flowing gold lettering “Wimbley Towers” . I barely acknowledged Uncle Joey as he paid our cab fare. I opened the taxi door with one hand and stepped out with my other hand hefting my suitcase. For a moment I just gawked up at the imposing building in front of me. It did not have the same feeling of Kettering Manor back home. The structure made up for it with black tinted glass and white concrete reaching a high peak skywards before coming to a black glassed dome covering the top and ending in a barely visible jagged point that almost seemed to pierce the sky.
I stood there silently dumbfounded at this daunting behemoth of a skyscraper before me. I was feeling a mixture of wonderment for being in a new country but also sadness of the realisation that this may very well be my new home from now on.
It wasn’t until I heard Uncle Joey’s voice that brought me out of my somber melancholy.
“Well, get a move on,” he said in an uninterested voice from behind me.
I turned slightly in his direction but thought better of it as I felt him shove me unceremoniously on the back, making me stumble slightly forward towards the front entrance.
I regained my balance well enough, hefting my bag with both my arms as I drew myself up and went into the front entrance that was a black stained glass door.
The inside looked grandiose and as sophisticated as I guess American decor could be, a few hanging lamps to illuminate the darkened gloom of the street outside as if the glass entryway was guarding from the impeding darkness of the city itself.
I once again found myself glancing up, the clean air conditioned air like a fresh spring breeze as opposed to the fumes I had experienced outside.
“Hurry up,” Uncle Joey muttered in a disgruntled tone to me from behind once again before he just brashly passed by me, obviously not waiting for me to comply.
I took the chance to study Uncle Joey’s stride, a fluid motion of ease and purpose as he walked over to a front desk, most likely the reception area of Wimbley Towers.
I dutifully followed behind Uncle Joey, still new to this part of the world that I was grateful not to be left alone in.
The receptionist was a male of flamboyant garb, his face stoic yet feminine as a dark shade of purple lipstick was applied upon to his pursed lips. He looked rather bored until he noticed my Uncle Joey. It seemed to ignite a semi amused sparkle in the man’s eyes before he adjusted his dark blue bow tie around the collar of his black waistcoat that bared his gold-plated name tag that had the name Daniel written upon it.

( to be continued… )
 
Last edited:
( chapter 5, part 3… )

“Welcome back, Joseph,” Daniel said with a serene smile, his attitude apparently more chipper at having seen Uncle Joey.
“Daniel, how nice to see you again,” Uncle Joey replied, tilting his sunglasses down slightly as he leaned upon the reception desk’s marble top with his arm in an almost relaxed pose.
“Gawd, this place was boring until you came back. You know who’s been looking for you, by the way,” remarked back Daniel, a perplexed look coming across his face in almost a chagrin fashion that made him look mopey.
“You know who? Um…Patrice?” queried Uncle Joey but was met with a slight shake of Daniel’s head.
“Cynthia?”
Daniel gave another shake of his head in reply.
“It’s not Samantha, is it?” asked Uncle Joey in a more quieter yet darker tone.
This made the receptionist called Daniel give a sharp intake of breath in almost dramatic mock horror before replying instead of just shaking his head.
“Oh gawd, no. Heaven forbid she stepped back into this place. No, no, the other “pretty” one. You know…Veronica,” Daniel said after musing over a few seconds as if recalling her name from a filing system in his head.
“Ah, I see. Well, I trust she is well?” questioned Uncle Joey as he seemed to relax at this news.
“Peachy,” replied Daniel briskly, his lips pursing after responding.
I decided to make my presence known as I stepped up from behind Uncle Joey, dropping my heavy suitcase beside me which made the receptionist glance over and down at me with a slightly bemused yet curious gaze.
“Are you taking in children now, Joseph?” Daniel asked in a semi-confused tone as he glanced me up and down as if studying me to try and make out what I was.
Uncle Joey just chuckled lightly in response before he grabbed my shoulder and held me in a tight iron grasp.
“Nope. This here’s my nephew, from England,” Uncle Joey said before roughly letting go of my shoulder from his grip and tilted his sunglasses up again with the hand he just let go of me with.
I gently rubbed my sore shoulder, ignoring Uncle Joey as I gave a curt nod in Daniel’s direction in affirmation.
“Charmed, I’m sure,” Daniel curtly but snidely remarked to me with a lopsided sneer before he drew his attention back to Uncle Joey. “Fancy that, you never mentioned relatives before, Joseph..”
“Well, not worth mentioning, really,” replied Uncle Joey with a slight shrug. “My pad doing alright?”
With this question Daniel seemed to switch gears rapidly, almost standing taller behind the marble reception desk at rapt attention.
“As well as a penthouse suite ought to be, Joseph. I pride myself on everything being clean for you, as you know,” responded Daniel in an astute and assertive manner with a touch of vague sarcastic undertones that were, if not for a coy smile from Uncle Joey, I would not have noticed.

( to be continued… )
 
Last edited:
Have you seen the John Wick movies? The receptionist you described reminds me of the characters who run the "Continental Hotels" in those movies. Is there some secret activity going on under the surface here?
 
Copperfox said:
Have you seen the John Wick movies? The receptionist you described reminds me of the characters who run the "Continental Hotels" in those movies. Is there some secret activity going on under the surface here?
Click to expand...

I have heard of the John Wick movies, never seen them though. There is no secret underlaying here, just pure accidental coincidence.
 
( chapter 5, part 4… )

After this frivolous exchange between Uncle Joey and Daniel, I watched as Daniel passed over a room card key delicately with a well manicured hand towards Uncle Joey’s direction. Uncle Joey deftly plucked it from the front receptionist’s delicate grip with a slight smirk upon Daniel’s pursed purple lips.
With a deft swiftness, Daniel rang an off handed brass bell beside himself with efficiency. A sudden ding was heard afterwards and Daniel directed with his arms to the left.
Uncle Joey took the lead, forcing me to trudge after him with my suitcase in my grasp towards some lifts that was situated within the lobby of Wimbley Towers.
The brass exterior disguised a more modern version of design of the lifts in question. Uncle Joey pressed the doorway button and a slight beep emitted from the lift as the sliding doors opened with ease.
The interior was more metallic with some mirrored panels fixated to the walls of this lift. I still followed Uncle Joey, whom wasted no time as I barely managed to enter the lift before he pressed a button that shut the lift doors behind me.
Uncle Joey paid me no mind as he pushed a button called PH that lit up within a half second of Uncle Joey pressing it.
The last thing I saw as the lift doors closed was that Daniel had let his cheerful demeanour slacken and shake his head as he observed his fingernails with chagrin.
The lift dinged a bell to indicate the doors had fully shut and with a slight pause, I could feel the sensation of my feet as the gravity weighed me down with the lift movement going up.


( to be continued… )
 
Last edited:
( chapter 5, part 5… )

It took about fifty seconds to reach the top before the lift suddenly stopped with a ding, but for me it seemed an eternity. I was more preoccupied with the view of after reaching a certain height, we were able to see outside the lift’s rear view frame that was engrossed with semi transparent black glass to the outside world below.
Uncle Joey seemed to pay it no mind, merely standing idle whilst I took stock of the grand view I was witnessing until I noticed we had stopped as the lift came to a halt and dinged that we reached the top floor of Wimbley Towers.
The doors of the lift opened automatically into a slight hallway that had upholstered deep red carpeting that led to a solitary black door at the end of this lavish hallway. Uncle Joey wasted no time as he suddenly exited the lift without glancing back at me. I hastily followed suit, hefting my bag so not to trip over myself as I exited the lift.
Taking his keycard, Uncle Joey slid it over an electronic padlock that beeped green after he swiped it, unlocking the door to his penthouse suite.


I was not ready for the extravagance I was to witness after Uncle Joey opened his door, but in retrospect of what I knew him to be, I should have expected it with his lifestyle as a self-made model. The interior was vast and grandeur was an understatement. The walls were pure white granite marble with a touch of black paint as an entranceway gave way to an open styled house with the black tint of the dome I witnessed outside of the building being the living space. Offside was an open bar/kitchenette area and a big velvet bed was built into the flooring, offering what I reckoned would be guest seating whenever Uncle Joey had company. A lavish golden chandelier offered as lighting, but without candles, Uncle Joey opting for electric lighting and lights one would find on a model cover shooting, obviously his style as tawdry American. There was no flooring per say, just stylised tiles for over by the barsection, the white marble seeming to suit Uncle Joey’s needs as I watched him going over to his penthouse bar setup, his heavy footfalls evidently confident now he was back within his own world and country.
It took me a second glance at this overtly garish penthouse to realise that we were not alone. The silken velvet covers shifted within Uncle Joey’s bed that made me focus upon a woman half draped within the sheets and obviously worse for being half naked. Thankfully, the sheets and covers covered her modesty as she half groggily sat up within the bed. But it still made me feel uncomfortable enough to glance down at my hands carrying my luggage out of embarrassment.

( to be continued… )
 
Back
Top