'The Red Feather', or 'Byyyyyyyyye MEC'

Marcus Crowley stepped into Tre Fratelli with a soft smile on his face and removed his black fedora with the red feather in the brim. A large grey cat meowed loudly as he settled into his favorite booth in the corner of the small Italian restaurant, and he grinned widely when the cat jumped into his lap. He scratched the cat’s ears and felt the tension in his shoulders dissipate as the friendly feline purred contentedly.

It was good to be home.

“Oy! Cat! Off!”

Marcus looked up at the angry waiter and waved his hand. “It’s no problem.”

“Yeah, yeah, no problem he says! Cats taking over the whole place, but what can I do? Tony feeds them the spaghetti with the meatballs and they keep coming back, now we can’t get them to leave!”

Marcus smiled softly. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“Right, right,” the waiter known only as Roberto said dismissively. “You want your usual?”

Marcus nodded in the affirmative and watched Roberto scramble to the back to get his order. The familiar sounds of the restaurant overtook him then; the hushed conversations at the tables that would erupt in sudden laughter, the shouts from the kitchen, the purring of the cat and the clatter of pots and pans. From behind him, a small bell rang out, accompanied by a much louder shout of “Enzo! Pizza’s up!”

A young man in a white uniform ran in from the back room and approached the counter slightly out of breath. “Where you been, Enzo, pizza’s about to get cold!”

Enzo struggled to catch his breath and answer his brother. “I was…lost…there was…prank call…”

“Yeah, yeah, just take the pizzas and be quick about it!”

Marcus chuckled. He sure would miss this place.

~*~

The Don stood up quickly and in one fluid motion grabbed Marcus by the shoulders, roughly kissing both cheeks before pushing him down into the chair and returning to his seat. Then both men made to stand again as a large Italian woman entered the room, only to be shooed back to their seats just as quickly.

“Marcus!” she cried, kissing him wetly on the forehead. Her abundant affection turned quickly to scolding with her next words, spoken with meaty hands on hips and a stern expression. “It’s been too long since you visited! And look at you! So thin! Don’t you move Marcus; I’ll bring you some of my spaghetti and meatballs!”

The Don rolled his eyes at Marcus as his wife scurried away, but Marcus knew better than to return the gesture. Instead, he smiled pleasantly and the Don waved his hand dismissively.

“Marcus, I asked you here today to discuss your future. You ever think about your future? No, what am I saying, of course you don’t. Kids these days have no ambition. But it’s not your fault, I don’t blame you son. So listen here. I have a special mission for you.”

Marcus leaned in closer to catch every word of the Don’s heavily accented speech. He had been on enough of these “missions” to know that you never wanted to miss an instruction, and this one sounded particularly worthy of attention.

“Now I know what you’re thinking son, but this is a little different from the others. I’ve sent you to a lot of crazy places Marcus, but none so crazy like this. You need to be on your toes, son, thinking quick on your feet.”

Marcus knew the Don expected him to say something, and as always he did his best to oblige the old man. “I won’t let you down, sir. Wherever you send me, whatever task you ask of me, I’ll be ready.”

The Don smiled. “That’s my boy! Now, would you like to know where you’re going?”

Marcus was indeed curious by now. Where would his adventures with the Don take him next? A school for wizards, or for brilliant children? A future world full of strange power and black despair? A house full of mysterious spirits? Another planet, perhaps?

Nothing could have prepared him for the Don’s answer.

“I’m sending you to…The Real World. You got some business to do there, and it’s going to take some time. Real important business though, you understand…”

The words faded from Marcus’s hearing as he let his mind wander. The Real World. The idea refused to sink in at first, but the longer the Don spoke, the more he realized that it was time to move on. Some day, the Don assured him, he would be able to return to the world of fedoras and lynch mobs and crime, but now he would accept this mission into the unknown.

~*~

Marcus sighed wistfully at the memory of that day. He couldn’t help but look around the restaurant and think to himself This is the last time I’ll see this place for quite a while. He let the sights and sounds and smells soak into him, and he smiled again.

The sleek black limo pulled up all too soon, and Marcus quickly stood, wiping his face free of the best spaghetti sauce in the world with a white cloth napkin. He straightened his smart black suit as he walked toward the door, and spared a glance toward his fedora, which hung on the hat rack just inside the restaurant. He considered picking it up, putting it back on his head one last time. Then he shook his head and pulled open the door.

The bell on the door chimed softly in Marcus’s wake.

A single red feather drifted to the floor.