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"Chaotic upbringings are my specialty.."; An insight into Wulf Erikson
Topic Started: Feb 5 2017, 02:59 AM (32 Views)
WulfErikson
Newbie
[ * ]
CHILDHOOD - Rural northern outskirts of Melbourne, Australia.

It was a typical sunny November day in Melbourne, Australia. A totally unremarkable summer day much like any other in late 2003. Three close friends, all around eight years old, have been running through their small, close-knit rural neighborhood being their usual troublesome prankster selves. Layla Brixton, Donnie Radtke and Wulf Erikson had been knocking off letterboxes and stealing the mail within, as well as throwing rocks at hornet nests and torturing the smaller, geekier kids. They had also managed to get themselves kicked out of the local library for swearing.

It had been the biggest of the three, Donnie Radtke's idea to upgrade and march into their local corner store to try their hands at petty theft. Donnie was at least three inches taller than either Layla or Wulf and was easily about thirty pounds heavier. It wasn't puppy fat or anything – his dad was a well known local body builder who ran a gym in the next town over. Donnie was pretty much completely muscle. For an eight year old kid, that was a scary prospect. In turn, Donnie Radtke was pretty much the neighborhood bully. Next to him, Layla and Wulf were merely a pair of scrawny, excitable little kids and Donnie was always easily convincing them to do stupid shit like this...for good reason, they feared for their safety in the event that they were to refuse.

The kids sauntered into the corner store. As they passed the milk display, they received a huge smile and a wave from the owner of the little mart, Mr. McCall.


[Mr. McCall]: "HEY kids! Thank you for coming! If you need any help, I'm right here!"

They all nodded as they made their way to the chips and confectionery aisle. Once out of sight, there was a loud series of crinkles as Donnie proceeded to stuff three family share bags of m&m's down the front of his hooded jumper nonchalantly. Layla looked around nervously as she did the same with a selection of chocolate bars, stuffing them into the hem of her skirt. She giggled loudly with the perceived ease with which they were accomplishing this naughty task.

Wulf was having second thoughts. He always had second thoughts. He also had something of a sixth sense. Wulf stared tentatively at the packet of chicken flavored Lays potato chips he picked up before he loudly exclaimed "This really is stupid, guys".. and finally decided to put the pack back on the shelf.


[Donnie]: "COWARD! You always do this!"

[Wulf]: "Chill out and pipe down dude, christ..you'll get our butts kicked!"

This commotion had gotten the attention of Mr. McCall who was absolutely irate. He had caught the scuffle, and he had partially seen what they had been doing. He knew what was up and he was not what you would call a happy camper.


[McCall]: "HEY!! YOU IDIOT KIDS!! I know who you are and I know where you all live, for crying out loud! Do you think you can steal from me?! I'm calling the police, you're coming with me you damn rotten punks!"

Layla had begun to sob openly. She had never been in any real trouble before. Neither of them had. Wulf was also scared out of his wits, but he agreed to follow. He was going to face the music.


[Layla]: "P...please Mister..please!"

That's when Wulf's heart skipped a beat. He saw a flash of steel in Donnie's hand and a dark look on the boy's face. Donnie had a box cutter!


[McCall]: "Oh hell no, missy. It's too late for that n.."

His sentence ended in a blood curdling scream. Donnie had plunged the ridiculously sharp Stanley knife into McCall's lower back, pulled it out and stabbed him once again behind his knees, causing the man to shriek in pain and drop to the ground. Blood was already freely flowing down the gasping shop owner's trouser leg and onto his freshly swept linoleum floor.


[Wulf]: "DONNIE!! JESUS, NO!!!!!"

It was too late. Donnie had a fiendish look on his face as he once again plunged the box cutter into Mr. McCall – this time, it was right behind his ear drum which started flowing with thick red blood almost immediately.

[Layla]: "Please stop! Let's get out of here now guys! Come on already!"

Layla had the right idea. Unfortunately for all four of them, what happened next would haunt their most vivid nightmares for the rest of their lives. Donnie pulled his darkest, most fiendish face as he jammed the Stanley right into McCall's adam's apple and proceeded to drag the knife across. It was all over for the shop owner who fell face down in an ever-increasing puddle of his own blood. He was dead, there was no doubt about it. Layla began to cry as Donnie wiped his box cutter on some paper towel and then he beat a hasty retreat, followed by a pale faced and weeping Layla.

Wulf couldn't help himself. He stopped to observe the scene one more time. The shop owner was an unrecognisable mess, face down on the linoleum in his own blood which was pouring out of his multiple stab wounds like nobody's business. Wulf turned around, wiping a tear from his own eye. Mr. McCall was a good guy, he didn't deserve this. He was nice, he had a wife and a young daughter of his own. He knew all of their families, he was forever giving them free candy..hell, they didn't NEED to steal from him, he probably would have happily given this stuff to them!


[Donnie]: "ERIKSON!! Are you coming or not?? We gotta go you moron!! Come on, quick!!"

Wulf quickly scrambled for the exit and they slammed the door behind them, running off into the night. About a hundred yards down the track, Wulf yelped as he tripped over and hit the deck...but just as he hit the ground...

Wulf Erikson suddenly sat bolt upright in his hotel bed. He is covered in sweat and his anxiety is working overtime. In fact, looking down at his hands, he is ready to fight. He calms himself down, having realized that he is just suffering one of his more vivid nightmares again and that he is okay. Wulf grimaces and closes his eyes tight, punching aimlessly at his surroundings in frustration, putting a giant hole in the drywall.


[Well, I guess Erikson ain't getting his security deposit back..but hell, he will get his security deposit back before he gets his life back..]

[END SCENE]

TEEN YEARS - New York City


Many years later, and Wulf Erikson is now in his mid teens. His father had sent for him, making it seem like everything is going to be alright. Klaus had ensured Wulf that getting away from his troubled life in Australia and making the move to live with him in New York would be the very best thing for him, and Wulf had thought that he couldn't have made a better move at the time.

How innocent, naive and just plain wrong he was.

It was once again a sunny afternoon in deep June, 2011. As they marched in unison through a borough just north of Manhattan, there was little to be ascertained from any conversation being had between Klaus Erikson and his teenage son, Wulf. Because Wulf knew better than to try to initiate small talk with a man of his father's status and his bitter, callous disposition.

At sixty five, Klaus was considered to be fairly old to be the father of a fifteen year old son. Klaus also happened to be a ruthless impresario for more than one hundred gangsters across the Lucchese crime family. These gangsters illegally invested millions upon millions of dollars for themselves each and every year. As a tithe, it was customary (nee compulsory) that these Lucchese associates would send a large portion of their earnings up the line to the administration – the Lucchese family leaders across the Hudson River.

Among the New York mafioso of the time, Klaus bore a highly respected and heavily feared presence. Klaus was a veteran combatant with the aura of somebody exalted. In Klaus Erikson's fearsome presence, it was considered prudent to have a direct answer to his questions and to also heed his often heartless commands without question or hesitation.

It was for this reason that Klaus Erikson was practically dragging his son through the New York bronx on an otherwise pleasant day. One of Klaus' very own underlings, Frankie Duck aka Francis P. Lauricella, had recently failed to fulfil both his financial and familial obligations, and it was up to Klaus to personally pay him a visit and show him the error of his ways.


Frankie was a good guy. Wulf liked 'Uncle Frankie'. As a made man, Frankie had achieved the nickname 'Duck' because of his ability to dodge taxes and union interference with his various rackets, his ability to avoid consequence for his misdeeds, and his track record for escaping serious injury whenever he was involved in a physical family-on-family war. He was yet to take a bullet, and also yet to have spilled even a drop of blood in his career with the Lucchese family. But apparently, 'Uncle Frankie' was on his second chance when it came to tribute payments and had blown said chance. There would not be another.

[Klaus Erikson]: "Come now boy! Geez this generation is pure laziness, I tell you! You've had it far too sweet since you have grown up in Australia living with your mother. She has taught you absolutely nothing of what it takes to be a man in this world! You have absolutely zero clue whatsoever! Poor kid! Come, I shall be your one and only mentor!"

Wulf felt his blood boiling and his face running hot with these cruel words from his father. He stared uncomfortably down at the pavement rushing under his feet as they crossed the road and began approaching Frankie's apartment complex. Wulf knew better than to respond to these jibes in any way, but boy did he feel the urge to unleash an epletive-littered tirade toward his ol' man and tell him EXACTLY where to stick it right about now!

[Wulf momentarily pictured the outcome of such a move and shuddered as he saw his own stiff, bloated corpse being dragged up into an unfortunate and innocent fisherman's net the very next day, and well and truly thought better of it. Klaus WOULD do it for less]


[Klaus Erikson]: "STOP DAYDREAMING YOU DUMB KID!! WHAT IS THIS?! Too much television, rots your brain. You're banned from watching literally ANY TV".

Wulf stirred from his thought process. Hell, he didn't watch TV so that didn't bother him. Klaus couldn't see that he got distracted purely because even more than your average teenager, Wulf had no freakin' clue what was going on with his life and just what the hell was going to happen next!

[Klaus Erikson]: "Now, Wulfgang.."

Wulf shuddered visibly and held back a grimace. He was thinking to himself
'Don't fuckin' call me WULFGANG, you know that I despise it with every fibre of my being!'

[Klaus Erikson]: "It's extremely vital that you pay attention right now because this is very important. Frankie lives just over hear close to the bridge. Son, I want you to have this!"

Wulf's bottom lip trembled violently as Klaus thrust a silenced Ruger Mk III into his already clammy hands. A gun! And one hell of a gun!

[Wulf Erikson]: "Dad...I..really.."

Klaus would have none of it.


[Klaus Erikson]: "Shh. Listen. You can't be too careful in this city of ours. And we're about to do something that isn't overly careful. Quick, conceal it on the inside of your jacket and let's head upstairs".

Wulf did as he was told, his heart getting heavier as he followed his dad into the building and up the stairs to the third floor. He followed closely behind his father who rapped loudly on the door of Apartment 307 with the butt of his .44 Magnum.

No answer.

Klaus silently cursed Frankie as he reached into his overcoat and pulled out a lockpick. In a move that was as seamless as it was fast and efficient, Klaus twisted the device around exactly twice and the door popped open with a soft 'click'. They were in.

Wulf and Klaus drew their guns as they darted around the apartment in search of the occupants. No good, Frankie was definitely missing in action.


[Klaus Erikson]: "THAT STUPID RAT BASTARD SON OF A FUCKING BITCH!!"

Klaus never cussed. Ever. Nothing so much as 'bastard', usually. He found it unbecoming of a respectable man and preached this endlessly to the somewhat foul mouthed Wulf. When I say preached, I mean beat him severely with a studded belt whenever his tongue slipped.

[Klaus Erikson]: "Well son, we're going to have to leave him a message now aren't we?"

This wasn't a question per se. They were going to leave Frankie a message. Likely a cruel one. Wulf looked around sadly as Klaus' eyes settled on Rudi, Frankie's black cat, who was lounging on the sofa watching the two men intently.

[Klaus Erikson]: "C'mere Rudi. Come to ya good ol' Unkie Klaus!"

Rudi miaowed with a degree of enthusiasm (he genuinely liked 'Unkie Klaus'), and followed the directions of Klaus. Wulf was silently willing Rudi to stay put, but the dumb animal purred his way to Klaus who had a menacing look on his face.

[Klaus Erikson]: "There's a good boy...here, puss! Here Rudi Rudi Rudi!"

Klaus picks up Rudi from the floor. Wulf tearfully looks away.

There is a POP and a loud SNAP as the cat's neck breaks quite agreeably and Klaus throws the fresh corpse against the wall.

Poor thing. Such a good natured, albeit idiotic and friendly to a fault cat.

Suddenly, there are a rampage of running footsteps. No prizes for guessing who..


[Frankie Duck]: "HEY!! WHAT THE F...Klaus. Ohhh noooo!"

Frankie attempts to make a run for it out of the apartment, and Wulf crash tackles him to the ground in a flash and locks him up with an armbar he learned in wrestling class without thinking twice, badly winding and incapacitating Frankie in the process.

[Klaus Erikson]: "Nice work, kid! Hey, perhaps I was wrong about you..that was a SWEET tackle!"

Klaus leans down and grabs Frankie's cheeks, slapping them with each hand and then cupping them again.

[Klaus Erikson]: [in a condescending, overly sweetened tone] "Oh Frankie. Ohh Francis Peligro Lauricella. What have you done, Frankie? What kind of fine mess have you landed yourself in this time?"

Frankie merely groans.

[Klaus Erikson]: "Oh you don't know? Or are you playing stupid? Tsk. No, you know exactly why we're here. You have withheld your earnings from our family for the very last time, Frankie!"

Frankie Duck quivers visibly as Klaus crouches and kisses Frankie upon each cheek. Then Klaus nods to Wulf and Wulf's blood turns to ice.

It's Wulf's horrid realization that is indeed HE who is tasked with taking care of Frankie. It dawns on him – Klaus had sneakily given the naive kid the silenced revolver. Of course. A more pressing realization on Wulf's part is that if he doesn't comply and promptly, it will be HE who ends up 'sleeping with the fishies'. As previously mentioned, Klaus would happily do it for less!

Wulf holds back a sob as he steels himself, Klaus lifting Frankie up so he is kneeling. Wulf quivers, positioning the barrel of his silenced Ruger against the base of Frankie's spine.

[Klaus Erikson]: "Bon voyage, Francis. Oh. And sorry about your cat.."

Wulf slams his eyes shut as he pulls the trigger, the Ruger coughing in a somewhat harmless manner – this doesn't mean that Frankie's blood and sinew don't splatter all over the walls, Wulf's hands and face and his brand new expensive suit. There is a faint groan from Frankie..oh god..just die, Frankie. Don't make it harder than it is..

[Klaus Erikson]: "He's still alive and breathing, you fucking idiot..try again!"

Wulf grimaces as he positions the gun again and there is another suppressed gun shot which sends Frankie to la-la land.


AND ONCE AGAIN, Wulf sits bolt upright with sweat pouring down his face. His chest heaves in and out and he nearly pulls his hair out in frustration.

[This is an insight into why Wulf Erikson is the way he is. But we are only just scratching the surface. It is at this point that Wulf wonders if these wild flashbacks will ever let him be. Not bloody likely]

[FIN]

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