Tux-Edo | A mafia crime Thriller

The night’s darkness made him look radiant as the colourful Neon lights of Japan’s nightlife reflected off of his rain-soaked Tuxedo. Joel’s face was not smiling as he pointed his scratched M1911 Pistol at his arch nemesis’ face using his high-tech metal prosthetic hand. The black-haired young man had a look of utter contempt as he lay on the ground, ruby-red blood pouring from his broken nose. The pitter-patter of the rain and the ragged breathing of the virulent lying man were the white noise bouncing around in Joel’s head as he looked back on everything that’s happened to him. Joel had gone from a measly writer trying to change the world through the words of his books, to a Master Assassin, standing on the edge of the world, changing it with his actions instead. He had lost everything to get to this point. Was it worth it? Would the world really change because of what he has done?

Joel cocked the pistol’s hammer. His platinum letter ‘A’ cufflink shone like a lighthouse in the darkness.

Joel’s mind flashed back to the beginning, the fateful butterfly effect that set this entire sequence of events in motion...

...

"No! Steve! I want that part kept in!” Joel raised his voice in annoyance as he banged his gym locker’s door, phone to his ear.

“But it doesn’t make sense, your readers aren’t the same as you, you need to be less...” Steve trailed off.

"What?" Joel prodded, wishing his editor would grow a backbone for once.

“...Experimental" Steve finished with hesitation, knowing Joel hated when his unorthodox books were criticised.

“Well forgive me for trying something different!” Joel scoffed, opening his locker and forcefully taking out his gym bag, slamming it into the wooden bench behind him.

“There’s no point in being experimental if your readers get lost in the first chapter, Joel” Steve reasoned to the struggling writer. Joel opened his gym bag and stuffed his damp towels into it without looking, so focused on the conversation, that he never noticed the bag wasn’t his.

“Look, books these days need a shake up, if you aren’t different, you’re generic, if you’re generic, you’re the same as everyone else!” Joel explained as he put his shoulders through the straps and heaved the bag onto his back. The bag was much heavier than usual, but Joel decided it was just because he had gone extra hard in the gym this morning and shrugged it off.

“People like generic, it’s safe, familiar, they don’t need to think much” Steve advised which made Joel grit his teeth.

“Fuck generic, fuck safe, fuck familiar!” Joel shouted as he pushed through the glass doors of the gym, almost shattering them. “I want to show to the world that there’s more to books than just the same idea with just a different coat of paint!” Joel fumed as he walked along the hard pavement.

“But that’s what sells!" Steve said with a raised voice unbefitting of his cowardly demeanour. Steve’s outburst surprised Joel, who was crossing the street, he almost got run over by a yellow taxi as they frantically slammed their breaks just barely missing Joel, but he didn’t even notice.

"Jackass!" the New Yorker bellowed from his car as he drove off in a huff. Joel reached the pavement and began his short trek to what he called home.

“Speaking of, how many copies did “A White Knight” sell so far? I think I’m ready to know now” Joel asked, hoping for a good answer.

"Well...” Steve again hesitated. Joel sighed.

“It’s bad... isn’t it?” he said putting his hand over his face, already knowing the answer.

“To be fair, the book’s only been out a couple months. I’m sure it’ll take off soon, I-” Joel cut him off.

“Just give me the damn number, Steven”. Steve went quiet for a moment.

“Around 500 copies”.

Joel clenched his free fist, hard. ”How... I... but...” Joel stammered, his whole world went dizzy.

“It’s your first children’s book, I told you not to put all your eggs in one basket, especially when you’re so far behind on rent...” Steve vindicated, sorry that his best friend was going through so much turmoil. Joel felt nauseas. He wished his wife was here to support him, emotionally, financially, any which way honestly. But she couldn’t, because he didn’t have a wife anymore. Joel couldn’t help recalling the argument that led to their divorce.

“If you spent as much time with me as you do writing your damn books, maybe I’d still love you!” Angela hollered, throwing a couch pillow at Joel, who let it hit him.

“I’m sorry...” Joel said, defeated. Angela’s eyebrows twitched with fury.

“You’re sorry?, you’re always sorry. Yet you don’t do a damn thing about it!” she yelled as her eyes began tearing up.

“I’m close honey, I can feel it, this book, it’s going to take off, it’ll change the world! People will be talking about the great “Joel Tux” in school corridors, around the office water cooler and in the news again, I promise" Joel said with hope in his eyes.

“No...” Angela said, shaking her head. “You used to be that kind of person, but not anymore...” she said, her face now more sorrowful than angry. Joel looked down, he didn’t know what to say. The two had married when he was in his early twenties, and he had just finished his world-famous spy thriller book series, “Platinum spy”. It was a major hit, sold in over sixty different languages, loved by kids and adults alike. The main character, Michael Hearts, was a pop culture icon. But that was ten years ago. Joel could never capture that same magic again, and now, at thirty one years old, he was in a rut, their funds were low, and their marriage, even lower.

“I... I’m going to stay at my parent’s house” Angela said, as she headed upstairs to pack. Joel quickly followed her.

“Why?” he asked, scared at what she could say next. Angela reached her bedroom, separate from the room where Joel sleeps, and took out a suitcase from on top of the closet.

“Because I... I can’t live like this anymore, Joel!” she said, taking out clothes from her closet and folding them up into her suitcase.

“Live like what? it’s not MY fault that my books are selling poorly, it’s them, the generations that are obsessed over their phones and video games and-” Angela cut him off.

“It’s not because your books aren’t selling anymore, Joel...” she articulated, throwing underwear onto her suitcase and rummaging in her drawers for personal effects.

"Then why?!" Joel exploded, unable to keep his emotions in check any longer. “I accepted that you didn’t love me anymore, I accepted to sleep in a different room, I took a blind-eye when you go over to your pal Mark’s house for a ′sleepover’ ” Joel blurted, using finger quotes. ”Why can’t you stand to be in the same house as me anymore, just because I can’t sell my books? Just because I’m not famous anymore? Just because I need to rely on your income to survive?” Joel voiced his frustrations to his wife, who was holding a picture of them on their wedding day. It was Angela’s turn to explode in anger.

“I’m not leaving you because of all that, I’m leaving you, because I HATE THE PERSON YOU’VE BECOME!!!" Angela screamed. Joel froze. Angela continued. “You’re NOT the person I married” Angela said with tears flowing down her face. “You’ve become this... this...twisted man who’s obsessed over his book’s success over anything else!!” Angela squeezed the air in anger, shaking with emotions. “You won’t spend time with me anymore, you won’t go out to important events like my sister’s wedding last month, you won’t get a second job and admit you’ve fell off on writing...” Angela stated, listing off her grievances with each finger to her estranged husband. “Just look at Steven!!” she yelled. “You two used to be best friends, two peas in a pod! But now... I hear the way you treat him. Yell at him. Act like everything is his fault... you place the blame on him so that you can feel like your actually still worth a damn!” Angela proclaimed. “The poor man’s gotten anxiety because of you” she said, shaking her head. “And the worst part is... the worst part is... that you don’t even realise that you’ve changed!” she finished, throwing the wedding picture across the room. Joel watched as it smashed against the wall, the glass frame shattered, tearing up the picture. Angela slammed her purple suitcase shut and zipped it up.

“I want a divorce” were her final words as she exited the house, never to return. Joel just stood there for a few hours. Silently. Daydreaming, to block out the dam of emotions threatening to burst...

“JOEL!!!”

Steve screamed into the phone. Joel awoke from his daydream. “Sorry, what did you say?” Joel asked, snapping back to reality. Steve sighed quietly.

“I was telling you that the Insurance company made their decision” he stated, Joel’s face lit up.

“And?!” he demanded enthusiastically.

“Since the thief didn’t steal anything, you’re not liable for any compensation” Steve said with sadness. Joel’s heart dropped to his stomach. This was his one chance to get money and pay off his rent, and he didn’t get it.

“That’s bullshit!” Joel exclaimed, nearby passer-bys glanced at him for a moment. “I know that they didn’t steal anything physical, they just took pictures of my notes! C’mon, they stole my book! “Angels of Stalingrad” has the exact same premise and characters as my “Angels of Vorkuta” manuscript! They stole my book, wrote it themselves, and got really successful!” Joel declared into the NYC’s musty air. Steve nodded, but Joel couldn’t see it.

“I know, that would’ve been your big break, but even though I knew for a fact that you had those notes first, since they weren’t digital, there’s no way to prove that you wrote it first” Steve asserted. Joel stamped the ground. The one book he didn’t upload his notes digitally on was the one book that the thief copied and got famous off of. Joel cursed his horrible luck.

“How many copies has that book sold?” Joel pondered. He could hear Steve typing on his laptop’s keyboard.

“So far, about 500,000...” Steve whispered, he could almost feel the rage emanating from the other side of the line. But Joel was tired. Remembering that argument had put him in a downtrodden mood.

“It was published by the “White Swan”, right? the same publisher I use?” Joel asked in a melancholic voice. Steve looked at his screen.

“Yeah” Steve nodded again. “You’ve been with us at the “White Swan” since when you were writing “Platinum spy” isn’t that right?” Steve queried to his best friend, who he met when Joel brought his first manuscript to him when he was still a newbie at the “White swan” a decade ago.

“Yep, after I finished “P.S” though, suddenly all my books were selling like garbage” Joel sighed. That’s when it hit him. ”Oh my god!" Joel sounded ,it all made sense. “It was them!” Joel said, breaking into a run. A Black 1970′s Dodge Charger almost ran him over as he bounded across the crossing with a red light, but Joel kept running.

“What is it??” Steve requested, hearing Joel’s feet hit the ground rapidly.

"They did it, they are the ones who stole my notes!” Joel said in between quick breaths and strides. Steve’s face filled with confusion.

“The “White Swan”?” Steve questioned. “But that’s impossible... you’ve been working here since you were 21, now you’re 34, and not to mention, I’ve been working here longer than you’ve been writing here” Steve promulgated to his partner. ”Surely I’d have noticed if someone was plagiarising your manuscripts and reselling them under a different name...” Steve averred, before freezing.

Joel could’ve been on to something here. Steve definitely had noticed that some of Joel’s prior books had been very similar to other books that his publishing company had sold, but he was aways too busy with Joel’s obsessive writing to even read any of them himself. Joel and Steve weren’t exactly the most popular people in the business, because of Joel’s downfall, people had started avoiding him, considering him amateur despite his previous success. In this cutthroat business, the moment something new comes along, the old is forgotten. Steve pulled up the database, copies of all the manuscripts and published books directly in the system. With a few clicks, what he found was beyond shocking. Joel was right. Joel’s book, “A White Knight”, was nearly identical to the one that the company had published just a couple months prior to its release, “A Shining Knight”. The same thing for his failed female superhero book, “Samantha Smashing”, which was upended by the company’s female superhero book, “Wilda wild”, that was published, again, two months before Joel’s book was. Steve was horrified as he compared all of Joel’s books to similar ones the “White Swan” had published. Each of them was always at least two months ahead of Joel’s finished product. By the time Joel had published his book, it was probably seen as a rip-off of the book the company had published earlier, which would lead to low sales and reputation as plagiarism. Steve covered his mouth in shock. He had just uncovered one of the largest scandals in Book writing history. If Joel had published his books first, he’d be a multi-millionaire...

Steve put the pieces together. The “White Swan” became successful from Joel’s “Platinum Spy” book series. So they decided to copy his manuscripts that Joel sent to Steve to get edited, write the book quicker, change the title and some details here and there, and publish it before Joel could. They would keep all the profits by not having to pay Joel a dime. Steve realised that this was why they would always delay Joel’s books release dates. He had always just thought that Joel was losing his touch, and that they still wanted him to touch up his books before release. But they were just stalling so that they could release their book first. Steve looked at the authors of all the books that were plagiarised from Joel’s manuscripts. It was all the same person, and the name caused his heart to stop. It was “Adam Black”, CEO of the “White Swan” Publishing company...

Steve’s laptop was suddenly locked as an popup window that stated ”ACCESS DENIED" was flashing red on his screen. Steve unplugged the USB that was downloading the database the second he found out about the scandal and began running from his desk, several other workers attempted to stop him, but he threw them off. ”JOEL! YOU’RE RIGHT! IT IS THEM, THEY’VE BEEN PLAGIARISING YOUR WORK, YOU WOULD’VE BEEN A MULTI-MILLIONAIRE IF IT WASN’T FOR THEM, THE CEO OF THE 'WHITE SWAN' IS STEALING YOUR BOOKS!!!” Steve yelled into the phone as he burst through the double-doors of the publishing company’s office and into the busy street.

There was no answer. Steve looked at his phone, the call had been disconnected. Steve desperately tried to phone Joel back, but his touchscreen was unresponsive. Steve growled in frustration, was this misfortune, or was his phone being hacked? Just how far up did this thing go if they were going this far to silence the truth? Steve looked behind him to see several men chasing after him. Steve turned back around just in time to see the speeding black SUV smash into him...

"STEVE?! STEVE?! WHAT DO YOU MEAN I’M RIGHT?! WHAT DID YOU SAY AFTER THAT?!" Joel screamed into the phone, but there was only silence. Joel looked at his phone to see that the call had been disconnected. He pressed the dial back button, but a message appeared saying that the user was out of reach. Joel didn’t believe in coincidences.

Panting, Joel reached his apartment complex, ran up the small set of stairs leading up to the door, and pushed through the main door. His apartment was the first one to the immediate right. Digging into and grabbing the bronze keys from his shorts’ zip pocket, he thrust them into the lock. As per usual, the piece of junk needed a couple jiggles before it actually turned. His first priority was finding out what happened to Steve, as well as checking the “White Swan’s” database to see if he was right. They had locked him out of access because someone in the news accused him of plagiarism of his boss’ new book around a year after he had finished “Platinum Spy”, but since he didn’t read any other books besides his own, and especially not any of the books written by that cocky and smarmy, black-haired, young CEO at his publishing company, Joel thought it was just slander. But that slander steamrolled into what he was today, a disgraced has-been. Joel pushed opened the door and locked it behind him, putting the chain lock across the door for good measure. Walking over to the coffee-table that stood atop his coffee-stained rug, he plopping the heavy duffel bag onto it. Joel whipped out his trusty laptop from underneath it and booted it up, the keys were worn and unresponsive, which was part of the reason why he had switched to manual note writing the past half-year, and exactly why he knew that someone had broken into his house and copied his notes. If he could afford another one, he’d replace it in a heartbeat. Joel pulled up the database and entered his username and password. A flashing red message with the words ”ACCESS DENIED" was on the screen. “Of course! still blocked...” Joel vented, throwing his arms into the air. Joel was sweating from his running. Deciding to wipe it off with the towels in his gym bag, he reached over to the duffel bag next to him.

A slight amount of rain fall pattering softly against the glass windows as he heard screeching tires from what seemed to be multiple cars from just outside his apartment complex. Due to the small amount of stairs leading up to the apartments, he couldn’t see out to the street level unless he was right at the window. Assuming it was a just a near miss traffic accident, the traffic is terrible in New York, and the drivers are even worse. In the big city, there’s so much traffic jams that it’s faster to just walk, and in the outskirts where he lived, you got crazy-ass drivers going 80 Miles per hour in a 20 Miles per hour zone.

Looming over the bag that was illuminated from the grey skies’ light beaming through the window, Joel felt a shiver crawl up his spine. Strange, perhaps it was the coffee he drank earlier, noticing he had accidentally must’ve knocked over this morning’s coffee mug when he had thrown the bag on the table in his absent-mindedness. But as he looked closer, the odd feeling intensified. The duffel bag looked slightly different, as a writer, Joel always had a keen eye for eye for detail, but he could tell that this bag wasn’t his from just a glance, once he actually focused on it. Joel let out a loud prolonged sigh, thinking he’d need to trek his exhausted body back to the gym to return it and retrieve his own. With whatever happened to Steve, this whole thing with his Publisher possibly stealing his books, and now this, Joel was so fed up with life. The bag was alluring for some strange reason. Joel could almost hear the bag whisper ”open... me...“. So he decided, what the hell, not like his life can get any worse. Grabbing the metal faded-gold zip, he immediately made note of the texture of it, it was scratched and worn, as if it was used constantly everyday. As someone who only works out three times a week, and literally only so he could stay in shape with the sedentary lifestyle of a writer, he knew his zips would’ve taken decades to reach this level of wear and tear. Joel’s lips pursed, silently begging the person he took this from by mistake forgiveness for invading their privacy. As he pulled the cold zip across, the zip catching a few times to emphasis it’s degrading quality, he slowly pulled the two sides apart, and peeked inside.

Joel’s gym towel greeted his eyes. He wanted that back of course, using it to wipe the sweat off of his face before peering into the bag again. It was white again. More white towels? he thought. But Joel’s body froze when he saw what it was, it was clear plastic bags full to the brim with a white powder. Joel instantly knew that it wasn’t creatine or protein powder...

Before he had a chance to grasp what he just saw, bullets rained around him as the glass window shattered into a million pieces...