"Mmhmm, sure hits the spot,"
I mumbled through a full mouth while chewing on the last piece of my chicken from my KFC Bargain Bucket. I decided to treat myself before training started, and KFC seemed like the perfect choice. I scrambled the empty bucket into the paper bag and started my car when there was a tap on my window.
I gasped as I saw where it came from. A man stood outside, pointing a pistol at me and signalled me to get of the car. I couldn't make out who he was due to the balaclava that he was wearing, not that I had any plans of informing the authorities about this as they'd never believe me anyway. I took a deep breath and got out of the car with my hands in clear sight. I wasn't as scared as anyone else would be; this had happened to me twice
before when I went on holiday to Australia.
"W-what do you want from me?"
I stuttered. The man laughed and shook his head. "Into that black sedan, hurry up."
I looked over to the other side of the parking lot and there was an unmarked Mercedes car parked, with tinted windows and a smooth, polished finish.
I kept my hands up in the air as I slowly walked to the car, with the man poking the pistol in the back of my skull, prompting me to walk faster.
The back doors of the black car opened as I approached it, and I hesitantly sat inside it. The driver of the car was wearing a slick black suit with leather gloves gripped firmly on the steering wheel. He did not even acknowledge the fact that I was there and kept his gaze focused out of the windscreen. After about a minute which seemed like an hour, he finally broke the silence. "Justin Credible."
"Yes. What do you want from me?"
I replied, trying not to show any signs of panic.
"Manager of Rochdale AFC, correct?"
He asked. It was clear he had a vague Italian accent, I just needed to see his face...
No, actually I managed Barcelona. But he might have been a Madrid fan, so I kept my loud mouth shut that time.
"Surprising run of games you've had over the past few seasons. Would you care to elaborate on why that is so? Why have you been beating big teams? Cardiff for example."
"I don't understand mate."
What the fuck's going on here? I thought as sweat beads began to form on my forehead. I began mentally begging God to let me out.
"WHY HAVE YOU BEEN SO SUCCESSFUL?!"
He suddenly yelled, making me gasp like a bitch.
"I don't know! Honestly! It's only because I change my squad around a lot every season, that's all."
He slowly pulled a gun out from his pocket and rotated it in his hand menacingly. "How many teams did you pay just so you could win, huh?"
What was he on about? "No, I haven't paid anyone, you've got the wrong man! We've been in a dire financial state over the past few years, it's highly unlikely we'd do that sort of thing. Trust me man, that's the last thing I'd do."
His body stiffened before he turned around and I finally saw his face. Greying hair combed backwards, dark olive skin with light blue eyes hinting at some Nordic blood somewhere along the line. "I work for the Manchester Mafia. If you do not know it's the most dangerous chain of gangsters in England, if not, in Great Britain. Boss told me to find you and ask you some questions. Boss needed answers."
He pointed the gun at my head. "Now Credible, I'll ask you again. Did you or did you not pay money to the other teams so you could win?"
"NO I DIDN'T!!!"
I screamed as I covered my head under my arms and cried like a girl. I heard him chuckle.
"Relax Justin, it's not loaded..."
He said. "Yet."
He added with a wink after he saw me loosen up. "I didn't mean to scare you, but it seems to me you're telling me the truth."
Didn't mean to scare me? Holding a damn gun to my temple and he didn't mean to scare me? This man must be fucking mental, and I needed to get out of here.
"Chill, the MM isn't as bad as I made them sound. We're a family. My name's Sylvio Del Fererro, nice to meet you."
He said with a wide grin and extended his hand.
"Thanks but I don't want to get involved in all this mafia men-in-black shit, let me out."
I said confidently. This kinda stuff will get me into trouble, I don't need anymore stress than what I already have, I thought.
"Very well Justin. You may leave. But please consider my options first, I will put it out there. First of all, we aren't the only Italian mafia family in Greater Manchester. Secondly, the other mafia families that also have a large hand in the bookie system like us will be looking for you to ask you the same things. Only difference? They shoot first and ask questions later. So take my advice, I'm offering you protection, Justin. You've convinced us that you don't have any involvement with the bookies, so we can protect you 24/7."
"I know, it's just too much for me though. I don't want any involvement in anything other than football. I'm sure you did what you had to with the fancy guns and all of that nonsense, so thanks but no thanks Sylvio."
He sighed as he unlocked the doors. As I got out the man with the balaclava got into the front seat, and the car sped away instantaneously. It didn't have any registration plates whatsoever...
I thought about calling the police for one second, but then I changed my mind. Calling them would carry bad consequences. Unthinkable consequences as this was the fucking mafia I was fucking around with. I shivered and walked back to my car, dialling Ihemelu to cancel training for today. I'd had enough.