Award Winning Fantasy with a Twist!
“Break it up! No one threatens a doll in Gentleman Jimmy’s joint! This ain’t some dive.” The large figure that floated up was unarmed, but just as scary. It swelled up over the heads of the party goers clustered in tight groups, then shrank back into a large man in a tight pinstriped suit as the gangster covering Cookie and Betty lowered his weapon.
“Sorry, Jimmy,” the gangster muttered. “That one’s the law.” And the thin whisp of a man nodded towards Anthony.
“He ain’t carrying heat,” Gentleman Jimmy sniffed and turned back to Cookie.
“Now slow down, Sally. Let’s see that Mustang.” And the large man took a paper car from her limp hand.
Giovanni glanced quickly at Fred, just in time to see him roll his eyes and Matias snicker and clap a hand to his mouth. Then Cookie started screaming.
“No, no, no! I am not doing ghosts! It was bad enough with the voodoo and the dogs and everything, but I am not doing ghosts!”
Gentleman Jimmy took a step back, startled, even as he protested, “Hey lady,” but Cookie was on a roll.
“I told you I would not put up with this and I won’t. Now see what you did!”
“Lady, shut up,” the skinny ghost begged. He looked decidedly flustered, pulling a handkerchief out of a breast pocket and using it to wipe his brow. “Sorry, Jimmy.”
The collected gangsters stirred angrily, and Giovanni started forward. He really didn’t want to find out if ghost guns hurt, but he could not let anyone at the party get hurt.
“Look, you can’t show up here with your chopper squad and expect to just flop,” he said, trying to channel any gangster movie he’d ever seen. Cookie turned to stare at him, and Anthony grinned, making a rolling motion with one hand.
“Are you jingle-brains? If you didn’t want to nibble one, then why’d you call? You trying to send us over?” Gentleman Jimmy wave one arm in a wild circle.
Giovanni, whose brief foray into gangster culture as a youth had consisted of a few movies and making rat-a-tat noises until cut off by his Nonnas, gaped at the man.
“You want a nibble?” Huntington picked up a roll off the picnic table and gently lobbed it towards the gangster. “There’s plenty.”
Giovanni saw the bread arc across the group, the moment frozen even as he knew disaster was about to break loose. Gentleman Jimmy stepped back, a look of horror on his face, one arm stretched across the women, and every other single gangster took aim. A fusillade of completely silent shots didn’t ring out, faint grey streaks marking the passage of ineffective bullets.
Giovanni slumped in relief even as the gangsters exchanged shocked looks amongst themselves and at their weapons. The assorted guests sat wide-eyed, then inevitably the loud-mouthed student in Giovanni’s neurology rotation grabbed up another roll, shouted “Food fight!” and let it fly.