FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

"Capodano? You mean like the guy on the news a couple years ago? The mobster?" It couldn't be true, I thought. It's gotta be some kind of coincidence.

Marcia folded her ears back and gave me a sheepish look. "Yeah, exactly like the guy on the news."

"That's... Uhh... That's wild." I said, clinging on to every fleeting hope that things weren't as bad as they could be. "Is he like an uncle, or a cousin or something?"

"He's my father."

Please, give me anything to work with, fuck! "And this is Don Capodano we're talking about?"

"Yes. Angelo Capodano." She wore an uncomfortable smile as she spoke. "I probably should have told you sooner, but it uh, doesn't usually go over too well."

"I wonder why not?" I muttered as I rubbed my temples. This had to be some kind of cosmic punishment. All these years of doing dirty deeds for my best friend just to end up dating his daughter while he's in the fucking can. He never even told me he had a daughter! Angelo is going to kill me a hundred ways if he finds out about this.

While I visualized the many creative execution methods that the old family had in store for me, I heard some sniffling from across the table. Marcia looked as if she was about to cry. "I should have known this was a bad idea," She said to herself. "Why do I always have to get my hopes up?" She stood up and pushed her chair in, then turned to me. "I'm sorry I wasted your time with this. I won't bother you anymore."

As much fear as I had for myself in that moment, seeing her walk up and leave in a mood like that hurt me more to see. As she went for the door, I got up and called for her. "Hey, wait." The rat-girl stopped and turned, tears running down her face.

I sprinted over and grabbed her by the hand. "Please, Marcia, sit down. You didn't allow me to say anything."

"You looked like they just put you on Death Row when I brought up my dad's name. I've seen that reaction enough to know where things are headed, and I didn't want to make things more awkward or sad for either of us."

"So you just leave me alone in the café without letting me say my piece?" Her face turned downward in apparent shame, and she followed me back to the table. "Please, take a seat." I pulled out her own chair for her before returning to my own.

"I'll be honest," I said as I sat down. "Hearing that the girl I'm on the first date with is the daughter of a mobster? That's never good news to hear. But, I can appreciate that you didn't wait for a long time to tell me. I respect the honesty, especially from someone in your position."

The rat-girl's expression started to soften, and the sniffling slowed down.

"I'll tell you what, Marcia. You're a really nice girl, but this absolutely throws a wrench into things. I don't know if we should take things any further than we have. I'm going to think on it for a while. That sound fair to you?"

Her lips curled into a sad smile. "I guess it's all I can really ask for, heh."

"In the meantime, we can keep talking to each other, maybe meet for coffee again. Would you want that?" At this point I would say anything to stop the poor girl from crying.

"Yeah, I would. I think this is the first time that talking about my dad's... occupation went over this well. I'm glad you asked me to sit down." She broke eye contact. "If you decide that we shouldn't date, do you think we can still be friends at least?"

"Of course we can." Not likely. It felt terrible to lie about all of this so blatantly, but it's for the best, I thought. I didn't want to dwell on it, so I changed the subject. "I'm sure it's probably tough to talk about, so how about we focus on you? What makes Marcia Marcia?"

"Well, you know I'm an engineer by trade, but I've always had a love for reading, and I try to make the time to read a new book every once in a while."

I hated reading, but I would do anything to avoid talking about Angelo. "What's your favorite book?"

"You're gonna make fun of me, but I really like A Tale of Two Cities. I had to read it for High School, but I didn't really get it until reading it through after college. Something about the level of detail in each page. When you slow down, you appreciate it a lot more."

"Respect to you then, I couldn't get through that drag."

The rat-girl rolled her eyes. "Don't tell me you're one of those people who read the Cliff's Notes to get through class."

"Nah, I cheated my way through English. I went to P.S. 94, so none of my instructors really cared what I did. It was when my parents bit it too, so no one wanted fail the orphan."

I sensed a tinge of concern in her voice. "There had to be some class that caught your interest. Or did you cheat your way through all of high school?"

I threw my hands up. "I never said I was proud of cheating." I very much was. "I liked the business courses I took, and I passed calculus on my own. For everything else, I only showed up to class when I felt like it. There were always cigarettes to smoke."

"Jesus, I never thought I'd date such a rebel." she joked. "When did you clean up your act? Or am I going to find out later on that you never even got your diploma?"

The answer to that question was her father. "I found a guardian angel who smacked some sense into me. What about you, Marcia? Let me guess, you were a model student, top of the class?"

"In a family like mine? If I came home with a C on a test, I didn't hear the end of it from Mom. I don't blame her either, considering what she paid for private school." She frowned. "Dad was just glad I didn't end up as a junkie or a teen mom, not that the reputation he had didn't help out with that. Kim was my only real friend in high school."

"I don't think I've talked to any of my school buddies in more than a decade. At least you still have someone from that far back you can trust." I looked towards the nosy cashier, who averted my gaze. "She's always looking out for you, you know?"

Marcia turned around to smile at the cashier. "Kim is the best, and I'm lucky I have her. She's like a big sister to me sometimes."

We made some more small talk for a few minutes before hugging and exchanging goodbyes. Kim pulled Marcia aside to talk about something private, so I headed back to my car alone.

As soon as I got into my car, my good mood faded. I couldn't do it. I liked Marcia, but the last thing I needed was to involve myself any further with the Capodano family. With Angelo, I had history, and the go ahead from both him and the current leadership to visit. But his daughter? Even associating with her was dangerous. Dating was out of the question.

If I didn't know Angelo had a daughter, it was because he didn't want me to. In all my years involved in our thing, I didn't hear a single word about her from him or anyone else. She didn't show up at any functions, and we weren't socialized to her like we were to his sons. He must not have wanted her involved in his business, either to protect her, or his own reputation.

It was settled, I thought. As soon as I got back into my apartment, I would thank Marcia for meeting with me, then tell her that it was just too much of a risk to keep any kind of contact. Maybe make up some kind of excuse about not trying to stir anything up for her at home. Some rat-folk didn't want their sons or daughters involved with "monkeys."

I rolled into the car park and checked my phone. Two new notifications from Marcia.

"Hey, I kinda dropped a bombshell on you today, and I wanted you to know I'm glad that we can still be friends even if you don't want to take it farther than that."

"I had a lot of fun hanging out with you and I wanted to know when you were free to do this again?"

I drafted a response as I walked back into the building. The doorman from earlier was still in the lobby, wearing that same obnoxious smile.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Manzarelli, how was your trip?"

I avoided eye contact and gave a halfhearted reply. "Good. I have work to do, have a good one."

"Alright sir, you too."

Pain in my ass. My eyes wandered around the lobby as I waited for the elevator to reach the ground floor. Behind the desk was an award for exemplary service from some unimportant union. Next to it were some pictures of the building's staff, including a portrait of the nosy dickhead on duty. There was an old lady who I've seen a few times before sitting in a squeaky chair, playing cards with her friends at a scratched up table. The lobby carpet was faded, and the walls had support beams and pipes exposed.

Two years ago, living in a place like this would have been a nightmare for me. Now, it doesn't faze me. I've gone through this same routine upwards of 200 times since I got out of prison. I had to sell my parents' old place to start up my auto shop, and this was the cheapest apartment building that was outside of family territory.

The elevator opened up, and awful covers of old pop songs rode the airwaves as I waited for the death box to take me back to my floor. I waited as the box stopped at each floor, opening to let the passengers clamber out, and slowly closing to continue its ascent.

I made my way out when the elevator reached floor 11, followed by an elderly rat man, a neighbor of mine. I opened up the door and swept the room for any "changes in décor."

As I looked around the room checking for wires, this implacable feeling of dread started to set in. The photograph of the Capodano family at the bar, and next to it, a photo of my parents and I. These photos were trophies, reminders of who I was and how far I've come. But, at that moment, looking at them made me sick to my fucking stomach.

I stepped out of the room and tore through the drawers. No wires, no bugs. Everything was in its place, like it always was, like it had been since I moved here.

I collapsed onto the couch and turned on the television, hoping that the news cycle would put me to sleep. A pretty face delivered a rousing report about something meaningless. A local politician made some promises he couldn't keep on air. Police confirmed that the corpse found near the Crowchuck river belongs to alleged Capodano soldier Luciano Rossi.

I sat up to get a closer look at the television. Look at this poor fuck, I thought. Look at the spectacle they made out of his death. Don't they give a shit about his family? What does his wife think about this? How about his kids, or his parents?

Yet even after the media circus dies, Rossi has people who are going to remember him for the person he was. He has people who miss him, who would trade anything to get him back. People who relied on him and loved him while he was alive. If it wasn't for his greed, he could have made a long and happy life out of all of it. But now, it's over.

I looked at the message I had drafted for Marcia. Within moments, it was gone, and I had typed out and sent another in its stead.

"i'll make time 4 u, hang out soon?"