Mafia (short story)

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"One more game," said the Senator, shuffling the deck.

"Let's just go to bed now," yawned Greg, one of the eight staffers sprawled across the cabin carpet. "It's almost midnight!"

"I call this game 'Mafia'," continued the Senator, unmoved. "Sit in a circle."

The staffers obediently moved to a circle formation around the Senator, uncomfortably sitting on the thin carpet. The Senator towered above them - he stood well over six feet, and still had most of the muscle from his previous career in football. He still had most of the money, too, despite a history of gambling, a self-financed campaign, and purchases like the two mountain cabins he used for staff retreats.

"I've played this before at church camp," said Meredith, squished between the two staffers she disliked least.

"I'm sure you have," said the Senator, making eye contact with each staffer as he passed out a card apiece. "Don't let anyone see your card."

"I got a...never mind," said Victor, a faster driver than thinker.

"Here are the rules," said the Senator, adjusting his tie. The other staffers were dressed in jeans and khakis, like at the office, but the Senator still wore his tie. None of the staffers had ever seen him without a tie - for all they knew, he even slept with it on. "Each player is with the mafia or the townspeople."

"And our cards mean...?" asked Pete, the senator's newest personal assistant.

"A black jack - spades or clubs - means you're mafia," explained the Senator, "and anything else means you're a nobody."

No one would have mistaken the Senator for a nobody, especially surrounded by eight nobodies fresh out of college. The Senator was a towering presence, the center of attention, a moving triumph - and he wasn't the only one that said so.

"Here's how the game works," the Senator persisted. His deep voice rumbled with the tangled twangs of the home cities he'd serially adopted, making his accent uniquely generalized. "The goal of the townspeople is to catch all the mafiosos. The goal of the mafia is to survive to the end of the game."

"Easy enough," said Andy, the general staff assistant, who gravitated to easy chores.

"There are two mafia and six townspersons," counted the Senator. "Every round, I'll tell..."

"Wait, aren't you playing?" asked Chris, one of the few male receptionists in the Senate.

"No, I'm the coordinator," said the Senator brusquely. "Please don't interrupt."

This was good news, since the Senator had already beat everyone at charades, pictionary, Trivial Pursuit, and Twister.

"Each round, I'll tell everyone to 'go to sleep', and you'll close your eyes," explained the Senator, whose own eyes were so liquidly piercing that half his mail was from constituents angling to be his next ex-wife. "I'll mention each person's name one by one. Each round, the mafia can target one person to be killed - and when I call out that name, the mafiosos have to signal to me."

"So they're actually looking when we have our eyes closed?" asked Callie, the new press assistant.

"No, they have to keep their eyes closed, too," said the Senator. "They have to pick their target when everyone is 'awake'."

"But each mafia person knows that the other..." chimed in Sandy, the other press assistant.

"The mafia don't know who else is in the mafia," said the Senator. "They have to discern their partner, just like the townspeople."

"That's not how my family played it," protested Andy.

"These aren't family rules," said the Senator, a self-made man in too many ways.

"But we'll...they'll pick different people," stuttered Victor, zipping up his jacket. The air smelled crisp but felt damp, as if the cabin had been recently cleaned. "Do they both die?"

"Neither," clarified the Senator. "If the mafia pick different targets, then someone in between is killed in the crossfire."

"So the mafia could accidentally kill themselves," considered Meredith.

"That could happen," admitted the Senator, "but that would leave just one mafioso, so no more crossfire."

"And each round the townspeople vote to accuse someone, right?" said Pete.

"Yes - when two accusations have been made and seconded, then the group votes on which to execute. If the townspeople catch both mafia members, then the survivors win."

"Let's just play," said Greg impatiently. "I want to get to bed."

"First we do introductions," said the Senator. "Each of you say your name and tell us if you're in the mafia."

"But we're supposed to lie even if we are, right?" asked Pete.

"Yes," nodded the Senator. "You can start."

"Uh...my name is Pete," he said, fingering his card. "And I'm not in the mafia."

"My name is Andy," said the next staffer, "and I'm not in the mafia."

"My name is Meredith, and I'm not in the mafia."

"I'm Chris, and I'm not in the mafia."

"I'm not in the mafia. Oh, I'm Victor," he said absent-mindedly, "but you knew that."

"I'm Callie, and I'm not in the mafia."

"My name is Sandy, and I'm not in the mafia either."

"I'm Greg, and I really am in the mafia!" he laughed. "Just kidding."

"Everyone, go to sleep," ordered the Senator.

In the silence, the night wind threaded past the windows.

"Pete...Andy...Meredith...Chris...Victor...Callie...Sandy...Greg," he intoned, voice like a broken church bell.

Pause.

"Everyone awake," said the Senator.

The staffers slowly raised their sleepy heads.

"The mafia struck last night," announced the Senator. "Andy, you're out."

"What?" he demanded, shocked. "But why would...I didn't...!"

"The dead are not allowed to speak," said the Senator sharply, leaning a once-calloused hand on his shoulder. "Please leave the circle and go to your room."

"Whatever," muttered Andy, leaving the circle and slumping into one of the best rustic chairs that a modern production line could provide. "I don't care. Whatever."

"You misunderstand," said the Senator coolly. "You may no longer observe the game - please return to the other cabin."

"I have to go to bed now?" asked Andy, perplexed.

"Until tomorrow," dismissed the Senator.

"Whatever, whatever, whatever," sulked Andy, exiting the main cabin for the long unlit walk to the second cabin, where the staff were set to sleep. The Senator had reserved the main cabin for himself.

"Now we get to accuse each other, right?" asked Meredith, once Andy was gone.

"You seem pretty eager to accuse someone," noted Greg.

"Of course I'm eager," she huffed. "We can only win if we catch the mafia, and the mafia will remove one of us per round anyway. Odds demand that we accuse someone, even if we pick randomly."

"Random, yeah," retorted Greg. "I accuse Meredith."

"I second it," said Victor.

"What are you thinking?" she demanded angrily, lips flaring. "I'm not..."

"Let's vote her out of the circle," said Greg quickly.

"You need two people accused, so you can vote between them," the Senator reminded them, still standing in the middle of the circle, in everyone's foreground - his favorite place.

"Then I accuse Greg," said Victor.

"What?" whirled Greg. "But you just accused Meredith!"

"She's as likely to be guilty as you," said Victor glibly.

"I second the accusation," said Meredith.

"I saw Greg try to signal me," said Callie, her unbraced teeth clacking. "He thinks I'm in the mafia with him - he wants me to aim for you, Chris."

"Really?" asked Chris, appalled. "What did I ever do to you, Greg?"

"Nothing!" choked Greg, feet twitching against the grainy carpet. "I'm not in the mafia!"

"Let's bring this to a vote," said the Senator, who liked black-and-white decisions for their resemblance to roulette. "All for hanging Meredith?"

Pete, Sandy, and Greg raised their hands.

"And for Greg?"

Meredith, Callie, and Chris assented.

"It's a tie," observed Meredith, instinctively rubbing her neck.

"Everyone has to vote," said the Senator. "Victor?"

"Oh, really?" asked the Senator's driver. "I don't care. Take Greg."

"Wait, that's no reason...let me convince you..." stumbled Greg, startled that he had voted against him.

"Too late," said the Senator, cutting off the appeal. "Leave the circle."

"Fine, OK," said Greg sullenly, throwing open the cabin door and letting in a frigid gust of night air. "I was ready to go to bed anyway."

"Everyone, go to sleep," commanded the Senator, once Greg had disappeared into the night.

Pause.

"Pete...Meredith...Chris...Victor...Callie...Sandy."

Another pause.

"Everyone, wake up."

This time the staffers were quicker to open their eyes, watching each other warily.

"Last night the mafia took Sandy," said the Senator, patting his press assistant on her head. "Please leave the cabin."

"That's not fair!" she said fiercely, pushing his hand away. "I didn't even get to accuse anyone!"

"You did vote to hang Meredith," said Callie.

"You're the one that hates her," jabbed Meredith. "I bet you killed her."

"Sandy, please leave now," said the Senator, pointing to the door.

"All right, I'll go," she grimaced, wrenching the door open. "Does someone have a flashlight?"

"It's not that far - you can make it in the dark," said the Senator firmly. "Now go!"

"I accuse Meredith," said Callie, the moment the door slammed shut.

"And I accuse Callie," said Meredith sharply.

"I accuse them both," said Victor. "Wait, can I do that?"

"You can," approved the Senator, a true patron of indiscriminate justice. "Let's vote."

"Wait, you've got me all wrong," insisted Meredith, lips on fire. "I'm not in the mafia. I'm not."

"I heard Meredith move when we were supposed to be asleep," said Callie. "She was signalling to have Sandy killed."

"I was not!" Meredith retorted. "You're the one making eye contact with everyone, trying to figure out who's your mafia partner."

"I want to hang the mafia, not conspire with them," said Callie, clicking her teeth restlessly. "I'm not in the mafia like you."

"Vote," said the Senator, breaking in. "All for hanging Meredith?"

Callie and Pete nodded.

"And for hanging Callie?"

Meredith and Chris raised their hands.

"Victor!" snapped the Senator. "Your vote!"

"Oh, is it up to me again?" asked Victor distantly. "I'm sorry, I wasn't paying attention."

"Can we accuse Victor, then?" suggested Callie. "Make it a three-way contest?"

"You can," said the Senator, nudging his driver, "if he doesn't..."

"Then I vote for Callie," said Victor quickly.

"I was just asking a question!" she hissed, teeth clenched.

"And I'm asking you to leave," said the Senator, his own teeth the sparkly white only a dentist could apply.

"Fine, great, sure," sputtered Callie, storming out into the empty night.

"Everyone, close your eyes," said the Senator.

Something like the snapping of branches echoed outside the thin cabin walls.

"Pete...Meredith...Chris...Victor."

More snapping.

"Wake up," said the Senator. "Victor, you've been removed."

"But that's...but Meredith, I voted twice to spare you...why would you..."

"I didn't do it!" she sparked ferociously, lips quivering.

"Time to go, Victor," said the Senator.

"I'd rather stay and watch the final round," said Victor.

"And I'd rather you go," said the Senator. "Goodbye."

"Oh...all right," he allowed. "You sure there isn't a flashlight around here?"

"The lights are probably on at the other cabin," said the Senator. "Just move towards them."

"I don't see any lights," said Victor, opening the door and peering into the frosty darkness.

"You never get lost in the city, you won't get lost here," said the Senator, pushing him outside.

The three remaining staffers eyed each other warily.

"You've been accused twice," said Chris, twisting his sweater like a phonecord. "Maybe we should've hung you before."

"Chris, you've voted with the hangmen each time," said Pete, drumming his fingers against his jeans.

"Let's look at this logically," said Meredith desperately. "There are three of us left. So clearly only one of us is in the mafia, or else the game would already be over."

"What do you mean?" asked Chris, an English major.

"If two of us were mafia, then they'd have the game won," calculated Meredith, "since even if one mafia member was successfully hung, the last remaining one would kill the last townsperson. So since the game continues..."

The Senator stood within their triangle, both irresistible force and unmoved object.

"Andy was surprised to be the first fella removed," remembered Pete. "I bet he was mafia and got caught in crossfire."

"I bet you're right," said Chris, following his conclusion. "That means that Sandy and Victor were deliberately targeted. Why them?"

The midnight wind rattled the windowpanes.

"Sandy voted to hang Meredith," said Pete, fingers wriggling like a restless pianist.

"But Victor voted in my favor twice," retorted Meredith. "Why would I want to kill him?"

"Maybe Andy wasn't in the mafia," considered Chris, tugging at his sweater. "But maybe the mafia identified each other and were coordinating."

"I think it's Meredith," decided Pete. "Chris? You with me?"

"I am NOT in the mafia!" slapped Meredith, pounding the ground with her fist and just barely missing the Senator's shoes that Pete shined each day. "I'm not signaling or hinting or targeting or anything! I'm innocent!"

"Maybe you're right," said Chris slowly. "Maybe it's Pete."

"It's not me!" he insisted, flexing his fingers uneasily. "It's her! I'm sure of it! I...I heard her move when we were supposed to be asleep!"

"And I heard you move!" countered Meredith angrily, pinching and unpinching her lips until they were bright red. "You voted to keep me alive so I could be a distraction!"

"Don't be crazy!" snapped Pete. "I'm not mafia, and...and if you're not...then Chris is..."

"Hey, back off," dodged Chris, squeezing his sweater. "I know that I'm innocent. I just don't know about the two of you."

"I know that I'm innocent," proclaimed Pete.

"And of course I'm innocent," insisted Meredith.

The three sat staring at each other.

"What's the point of this?" asked Meredith suddenly.

No response.

"Senator, I asked you a question," said Meredith, neck craning back to look up at his face. "What's the point?"

"What do you mean?" asked the Senator, as if the question were as much beneath him as the staffer at his feet.

"This was supposed to be a staff retreat so we could bond," she said, speaking quickly. "But instead we've been trapped in this cabin all day playing stupid games until we're tired and exhausted and can barely think, and now you've got us at each other's throats! What kind of bonding is that?"

"Finish the game," ordered the Senator.

"No, not yet!" snapped Meredith, leaping to her feet - and still standing many inches shorter than her boss. "Not until you tell me why it's 'bonding' for my new co-workers to wrongfully accuse me!"

"She's lying," said Pete simply.

"You're right," said Chris tersely. "Let's vote."

"We're not done yet!" stamped Meredith.

"We are," said Pete crisply. "Accused, seconded, voted. Goodbye."

"Vote called and confirmed," said the Senator, staring her down. "Please leave."

Meredith opened her mouth to speak, then closed it, resigned.

"The game's over," she said bitterly, walking towards the doorway. "And I've lost."

"And I win!" gloated Pete, standing up. "Sorry, Chris, you guessed wrong - I'm mafia!"

"What?" demanded Chris. "But I'm mafia!"

Meredith stopped at the open door, cold air flooding the cabin.

"I'm mafia, too," she said quietly, fingering her card.

The wind whipped past Meredith, uplifting the cards left on the floor - each a black jack.

"Senator, you haven't answered my question," she said, lips tight.

"I'll see you all tomorrow," said the Senator, motioning for Pete and Chris to go outside. "Goodbye."

"You still haven't answered my question!" shouted Meredith, slamming the cabin door shut.

"I've played poker for years," boomed the Senator, tall and proud, his perfect physique the perfect prop for the cabin. "I've lost far more games than I've won, but I've never lost money. Nothing lays the foundation for a big win like learning from a small loss."

"Your point?" asked Meredith fiercely.

"Tonight, I've watched you lose, and I've watched you lie," said the Senator coolly, his immaculately combed hair as undisturbed as his conscience. "Now I truly know you - and I know how to keep you in line. None of you can hope to lie to me again."

"You can rot," hissed Meredith.

"I'll take that as goodbye," said the Senator frostily, ushering the bewildered staffers out of his cold cabin into the colder night.


* * * * *


"And then she says, 'You can rot'!" laughed Chris.

"It was perfect! Dazzling acting!" congratulated Pete. "You should've seen her - she was on fire!"

"That was an ad-lib," she admitted proudly, safely back in the second cabin with the rest of her conspirators.

"I wish I could've been there," said Callie sadly. "Was I convincing? Did I click my teeth enough?"

"Oh yes, it was very obvious," said Sandy, hugging her friend. "And Chris was great with twisting his sweater."

"Does this mean I have to wear a sweater from now on?" groaned Chris.

"I think I moved my fingers more today than my whole life," said Pete, massaging his digits. "And Victor - you looked so detached, I bet the Senator will be willing to talk about anything around you now."

"That's the plan," winked Victor. "Right, Greg?"

"Of course," he grinned, slapping Andy on the shoulder. "Amazing that he should try this every term with his new staffers."

"We'll rule the office now," smiled Andy. "We can lie and cheat and do anything and he'll never know."

"Indeed," smirked Meredith, holding up her jack of spades. "The deck is stacked."

 

A compelling tale, and I could even understand what it all meant by the end!

I'm still trying to wrap my head around Grandma, but I think I just figured out Subway today.

Bah! Why must you give our feeble minds such pain GM, don't you know the headaches open-ended stories can cause.

A nice twist by the way. I was waiting for the senator to murder everyone .

 

Dammit, Grey, I'll never get any work done if you keep writing these stories!

Ditto.

I think I'm fully grasping about 3/4 of your stories; this one raised my average.

 

You are a very talented writer! Love all these short stories of yours, do you write anything longer?

 

Thanks, all! I'll never get any work done, either, if my vanity keeps getting puffed up like this!

Actually, Lazy Bonzo, I have an outline for a 186 chapter epic divided into six 31-chapter volumes - creativity should be tightly structured. But I've only finished the first 12 chapters...I'm too darn lazy...and I haven't beaten ToEE yet...

 

Grey:

NO EXCUSES!! I want a polished final draft of your 186 chapters on this forum first thing
Monday morning!! (That way, I'll be fired for sure.)

 

Another Twist in the Tail story by the specialist.
Specially liked the scheaming of the interns. Quite natural.