The Mafia's Police Girl

Ivan Bianchi and the Orphanage

Enjoy. Thank you for reading.

The Hideout

"Christian, if you don't change this shit to another channel I swear I'll eat your head off!" Cried Kennedy, one of the six stone cold murderers Ivan hired as a member of his "sewer-rat-rag-tag gang", as his father worded so beautifully. "And you know I will."

Kennedy is an African-American female best known to the gang as the cannibal. Arrested for her decades worth eating spree in her native state of Oklahoma, Kennedy was due for execution via lethal injection before Ivan stepped in a month ago. He had promised her that she could eat anything and anyone to her hearts desire so long as she worked for him.

"Rack off, would ya. Give a bloke a fair go in watchin' me channel." Christian retorted without breaking eye contact with the TV as he munched on his cheetos. "Surprised ya ain't fat wit' all those ankle biters you be eatin'. Yuck!"

Kennedy's response was a long pause that Christian knew all to well.

He sighed. "I said, fuck off and give me a chance in watchin' me show. I'm surprised you're not fat with all those children you eat. Then, I made a disgusted sound." He explained with his signature Australian accent.

"You've been watching this--what is this shit anyway?"

"Football, duh. It's Australia vs. South Africa for the World Cup." Christian answered.

"You've been watching this stupid soccer game for the past hour and a half and I'm getting sick of it. They haven't managed to score a single goal, meaning both teams suck!"

Christian, to put it simply, had an anger prone temperament whenever anyone disrespected or disagreed with the things he liked, thought, etc. So, it wasn't a surprise that his wrath eventually ended with him spending time in correctional facilities throughout his adolescence and adulthood.

Christian stopped eating, paused the game, and slowly turned his attention to Kennedy. His former demeanor of being cool and calm instantly transformed to being angry and murderous. "Pig's arse, they suck ya wanker! The Aussie's got this game in the bag, bloody oath it is!"

"I don't understand a goddamn word you said, but I'm not gonna repeat myself. Change the channel or be eaten, your choice."

"Will you both shut up," grunted Walter, a forty-five year old British pyromaniac. "I'm trying to enjoy my morning cup of tea in peace. If you morons keep yelling at a higher octave then I can stand I'll set both you and the telly on fire."

Before Christian and Kennedy could retort, Ivan, followed by two other members of the gang, walked inside of the large living space and took there seats on the large, curved couch.

"What the hell is all this noise about?" Asked Ivan as he fumbled inside of the mini refrigerator on his left. "Can't a man get his beauty sleep around here?"

"Should ask this wanker sittin' right here--," he pointed. "Pass me a tinny woulda?"

Ivan retrieved two beer cans from the refrigerator, throwing one to Christian. Kennedy, however, intercepted his catch with her teeth, biting down hard on the can until its contents spurted all over the place. "That's what you get for calling me a wanker, bitch."

"SON OF A-"

"Pie, anyone?" grandma Maryann interjected as she pulled out a steamy apple pie from out of nowhere. The seventy-three year old German woman slowly approached Kennedy and Christian, extending her shaky arms with a smile. "Here."

Maryann Bömbs specialized in, well, explosives as her name suggests ever since she was a little girl. Her mother and father were both bomb disarmament technicians, people who identify, evaluate, and neutralize explosives for their country's Federal Intelligence Agency. Maryann's parents taught her everything they knew about disposing unstable explosives, at times taking their daughter to work with them just for first hand experience.