BUYG: Build Up Your Gang IV
Posted 25 September 2008 - 12:32 AM
Posted 25 September 2008 - 03:09 AM Edited by SentinelXS, 25 September 2008 - 03:18 AM.
The white dashes separating the two sides of the highway steadily move past my car as I make my way to the Alderney State Correctional Facility to visit Gerry and find out what he has in store. This is the first time in a while I have had any apprehension in accepting a new job, but I guess meeting someone new and the prospect of companionship screws with the mind and makes you fear your own mortality. I turn the volume knob clockwise and the radio comes to life, playing a new alternative rock hit on Radio Broker. I like the tune so I leave the radio alone and continue my journey deep into Alderney.
Visiting hours begin at four o’clock and my driving pace puts me right on time. Pulling into the visitor parking lot I can see several guards near the gate, watching visitors as they enter the facility, picking out random subjects for K-9 drug checks. I have nothing on me and leave almost everything in the car, to avoid frustration and a delay in my meeting. After checking in I am sent to the visiting area where I notice Gerry at visiting booth #3. Quickly I make my way to the booth and have a seat in from of him, peering through the shatter resistant glass. We both pick up the telephone receivers and begin to converse, Gerry talking in a sort-of code as to not reveal exactly what he means.
“Zeke…how’s life on the outside? Heard you have been working some odd shifts at your job lately,” says Gerry, placing emphasis on certain words to get his point across.
“Things have been ok, so far at least. Work has been crazy, had a bunch of guys not finish their shifts the other day, guess they couldn’t handle it,” I reply, also placing emphasis on key words.
“Good to know kid, good to know. I need you to meet with an old friend of mine, help him move some furniture from his current place to a brand new one. Trying to get away from his crazy ex-wife and we need to help him get out of there fast,” states Gerry as he looks around at the prison guards. “Patrick knows the best way to help him and can show you to his place…give him a call…I’ve gotta go.”
“Alright man,” I say. “I’ll hook up with him and see what I can do…talk to you soon.”
Our meeting has adjourned so I stand up, exit the facility, get my cell phone from the car and call Patrick. He answers his phone and we discuss the details of the job:
“Gerry said I should call you for the whole story,” I inquire to Patrick.
“You’re going to love this man. Really easy job, not like the last one, that should net us some big money, fast,” he explains with a somewhat excited tone in his voice.
“You’re always the optimist…what are we doing?” I ask, curious to find out more details.
“Ok, first we pick up this car, we aren’t keeping it for ourselves, just delivering it to a location. There are going to be five others cars driven to this location in the same manner as the one we will have. You’re the wheelman and I’ll ride shotgun with some heat, just in case something f*cks up. These cars have drugs stowed away in them…I’m not sure where or how, in fact, no one is, that’s the level of expertise we are dealing with here. These guys shipping the goods are pros and so are the guys receiving the stuff, so it should be a clean operation,” explains Patrick while I drive back to my apartment.
“Sounds easy enough, but it also sounds like there is a lot of potential for FiB involvement or even the local brass,” I reply in a cautious tone.
“Relax…it’ll be what it is, nothing we can really do but go there and try to make some money. If it goes smooth we have an easy payday, if it goes bad we fight out way out like the Irishmen we are and make off with as much as possible. Come on man, that new skirt you met isn’t giving you cold feet, is she?” taunts Patrick.
He knows what to say to make me agree to help and we set a meeting time for later that night at Lucky Winkles. Several hours later, the sun has long since disappeared behind the horizon and I am, once again, sitting outside of Lucky Winkles Bar, waiting for Patrick to show up. Unexpectedly I get a call on my cell phone…its Patrick so I pick up.
“Where are you…you’re late,” I protest in an irritated tone.
“Slight change in plans Zeke. The deal is still on but I’m not coming to where you are, you’re coming directly here and we’ll get started,” Patrick explains.
“Where is here Patrick…I can’t read your mind,” I say in the same irritated tone.
“Right down the street from where you are now, in the abandoned car dealership that is right across from the paint shop. Leave your car there and walk down, we have transportation inside the dealership,” he says and ends the call.
The night is clear and the air is cold, so I pick up my pace as I head toward the large building. Moments later I find myself in front of the dealership looking for signs of life and my cousin. A door opens narrowly and I see Patrick signaling me, thru the door. Inside, several unfamiliar faces and the five aforementioned cars, that are to be transported, greet me. The men pay little attention to my presence and I assume Patrick has told them about me, prior to my arrival. Without missing a beat the men settle in to their cars and start their engines. Patrick motions me toward the remaining car and we get inside.
“We might have a little company on this ride cousin…so buckle up and clear you head before we pull out of this garage. I don’t know what is going to happen next but we are going to try like hell to get these cars to the abandoned sister dealership of this one…over in Willis, by the car wash,” explains Patrick.
His tone seems to be a worried one and I start wishing I knew what he knew, or at least what he was worried about. All five cars exit the garage in a single line formation, much like a wedding or funeral procession. Time passes and everything seems to be going as planned as we drive along the city streets and make our way to the Algonquin/Broker Bridge. Patrick’s body language has changed and he appears to be more relaxed. Making our way over Charge Island on the bridge, I think I spot something odd, but no one else seems to take notice or call us as a warning.
“Patrick…did you see all of those LCPD cruisers on the opposite side of the bridge? They didn’t have anyone pulled over and it’s too early for DUI checkpoints,” I say in a rushed, nervous tone.
“I did…let’s hope it was just a coincidence and they weren’t looking for us,” he says in a reassuring tone.
Unfortunately his reassurance is short lived and what seems like out of nowhere, LCPD vehicles are rushing between the five cars of our formation, attempting to block off the path of travel and ram the vehicles into the right side of the bridge to stop them. Patrick and I glance at each other momentarily and make sure our seatbelts are securely fastened, considering it’s probably going to be a bumpy ride.
“You know I’m not pulling over or stopping for these f*ckers, right Patrick?” I yell and punch the throttle to the floorboard.
The Vincent’s engine roars to life and the car starts pulling away from its pursuers. However, the LCPD cruisers, like most police cars, have special, high-output engines that make closing the gap a breeze. Patrick springs to action, lowering the passenger-side window and letting off a few rounds from his SMG into the LCPD cruiser directly behind our vehicle. The bullets spray in a sporadic fashion, hitting various places on the cruiser’s front end, making them back off slightly.
Shortly after the police car starts backing away I notice two things that get my full attention and make me pull Patrick back into his seat. First I notice a police roadblock, spanning the width of the bridge, not more than 45 seconds ahead of our current location on the bridge. Secondly, I notice the large LCPD Patriot, making its way past the cruiser that was right on our tail, to intercept us and attempt a forced stop.
“By the looks of things Patrick…this isn’t going to end well,” I exclaim as I contemplate our options for avoiding arrest.
“I am not going to prison tonight…keep it floored and hit them as hard as you can. We might get lucky and break through…at least enough to lose the heat and ditch this car,” yells Patrick as he braces himself, placing his left hand on the roof and his right arm on the door.
The Vincent is quickly becomes a guided missile; instead of the incognito drug transport it was at the start of the evening. I notice in the side mirror that the LCPD Patriot has dropped back from the chase, as we are only seconds away from a full speed crash with a two lane wide, wall of flashing lights and glistening metal. Everything seems to happen in slow motion when the Vincent strikes the police cruiser blocking the right side of the highway. Glass shatters and metal bends as the vehicle is sent flying through the air, in a clockwise rotation, clearing the concrete barriers on the right side of the bridge. A temporary silence fills the car’s cabin while it makes it’s way to the dark and frothy waters directly below.
Water bellows upward as the surface tension is broken by the vehicle’s impact. The car levels out for a brief moment and the frigid water starts to rush into the passenger area, making the car a sinking death trap. Most of the glass in the car was shattered during the collision, making the exit problem free. The water poses a different threat, being just above freezing; it wouldn’t be long until hypothermia snuffed the life out of us, making our desperate escape efforts seem meaningless. We both swim as fast as we can to shore, avoiding areas where the police can see us beach ourselves to regain composure. Luckily for us, there are a lot of homeless people in the city and we find a burning barrel nearby, to warm ourselves, until we were able to think clearly and get back to my apartment or Patrick’s house.
“You hurt?” I ask Patrick as I hold my hands by the fire.
“A little beat up, but I’m alive…what about you? That was some driving back there…I wasn’t sure we were going to make it,” comments Patrick as he holds his left arm, indicating a possible injury.
“I’m fine…a few cuts and bruises never killed anyone. We need to get away from here Patrick. It’s only a matter of time until the cops come looking for us, if they think we survived,” I say and start walking away from the warmth of the barrel. “I’m stealing a car…we’ll ditch it later. I’m not in the mood to walk to my apartment and we need to get out of here fast.”
A car parked at the end of a nearby alley proves to be a good target, the alley cloaking the car from the moonlight as I break the glass and hotwire the ignition. Patrick jumps in the car and we cautiously advance out of the alley and start toward my apartment in Bohan.
“I’ve been thinking about making some changes Patrick. I don’t know how long I can continue living this way. I’ve been thinking of moving to a different place, possibly in Algonquin. The money we made from the last job wouldn’t be enough to cover buying a place but it’s a start,” I say as we drive through the city.
“I forgot to tell you…” Patrick starts to say but pauses, “…we already got paid for this job. I got the money up front and put it in my car, back at the dealership in Purgatory. I didn’t want it in the car we were transporting, just in case something like this happened. We could go pick up my car and the money…might be enough to get you closer to your goal of moving and buy us a much needed break from this madness.”
“Well…I guess we can scope it out…make sure there are no cops there,” I say in agreement.
I look over at Patrick as he grins and we change our destination to the dealership in Purgatory. I figure that I have to pick up my car by Lucky Winkles Bar anyway, and the night is already a wash, so this might be the only worthwhile thing to come of this job.
…to be continued
Posted 25 September 2008 - 10:37 AM
- You still need to write a story revolving around the purchase of the drugs before they can be added to your accounts.
- Moved to Spanish Lords at Sprunk Warehouse.
- 5th Story:
Apart from the lack of description in some paragraphs, a great story. There's the odd word repition here and there; but that happens to everyone. The storyline is interesting and a lot different from the other stories I've seen on here.
$248 + $46 = $294rated and updated by Jacky Fiend
Posted 25 September 2008 - 07:56 PM
The sun gleamed through my apartment window as I awoke the next morning, surprised, because I had figured the M.O.B. would’ve found and murdered me in my sleep, and hung over from the night before. I looked at my night table, my cell showed I had received a new text from Playboy. I mumbled the message to myself as sat myself up in my bed. “Hey Dray, how’s it going? I got some work for you to do, you know I’d do it myself but f*cking arm is keeping me in this joint for a few days. There’s a guy named Andy Ancelotti, a main man of the Ancellotis. He’ll be parked in an alley near the Burger shot on Galveston Avenue in a white and blue voodoo. He’s a different kinda guy, always smoking or drinking. Anyways go there and get in the car with him, he’ll explain what it exactly is you have to do - The X.” I pulled myself out of bed, threw on a pair of dark blue jeans and a wrinkled black hoodie and stepped out the door, locking in behind me. I got into my Vigero and headed down to Galveston Avenue. I checked the area around me when I arrived for the blue and white voodoo Playboy spoke of. Sure enough, in an alley to my right, was Andy in his car. I pulled up along side of him, exited my Vigero and entered his car. “So you must be Dray.” he said in a raspy voice as he took a draw from his cigar.
“Yeah, and you must be Andy.” I coughed as he blew a cloud of smoke into my face.
“Listen, I’ve got some work and Playboy says you might be interested.” he said.
“If it pays.” I said boldly.
“Watch your tone you greedy f*ck! Now listen, there’s a guy we gotta take care of, if you’re not to p*ssy.” he smirked taking another deep draw of his cigar and releasing it into my face.
“Enough of the smart talk, where’s the guy and why do I need to waste him?” I choked.
“His name is Mark Smith,” he explained as he flashed me a picture of a dark haired man with a tattered green shirt and stained jeans, “He’s an Irish guy, helps out the Pegorinos and the Irish Mob by times, he’s always trying to cut deals and stir up sh*t between he families. I've finally had enough of this guy’s bullsh*t,” He croaked putting out his cigar in an ash tray on his dash board handing me a knife, “He hangs around the Steinway Beer Garden, use this and go shut him up.”
“Alright then, I’ll see what I can do.” I answered stepping out of the car.
“Hey, give me a holler when your done, I may just have some more work for you.” he said as I closed the car door.
I arrived at the Steinway Beer Garden. It was a little past noon and there were already drunken fools stumbling around, one stood out like a sore thumb among the crowd, It was Mark. I walked up to him casually, and stood in front of him.
"Who the hell are you?" He slurred, "Get the hell outta my sight!" He snarled at me before throwing a fist. I Grabbed his fist and twisted it. He yelped in pain. “You should’ve never f*cked with me or the Ancellotis!” I whispered into his ear as I stabbed him in the stomach twice. I kicked his body over to make sure he was gone. I walked away as I gently whipped off the knife on my hoodie. I got into my car quietly started it up and left the area in case any nosey cops showed up. When I got a few blocks away from the the Beer Garden, I took my cell phone out of my jean pocket and dialed Andy’s number. “Andy, the deed is done, you won’t have to worry about this *sshole getting in your way again.”
“W-w-worry? Wh-who said I was w-worried?” He obnoxiously slurred into the phone. I could clearly hear he was p*ss drunk.
“I can see you’re having a great time.” I chuckled.
“As a m-matter of f-f-fact I am smart*ss, haha. Come on over to Lucky Winkles I’ll get you a drink, my treat!” He said letting out a loud belch.
“Whatever you say, I’ll be over in awhile.” I replied as I hung up my phone, stuffed it back into my pocket and made my way over to Lucky Winkles.
Posted 26 September 2008 - 01:06 AM
Posted 26 September 2008 - 01:15 AM
|QUOTE (SentinelXS @ Sep 26 2008, 01:06)|
| I just noticed something...shouldn't I have received the $100 bonus as that was my 5th story?|
Apologies Sentinel XS, I will sign-on right now and correct that for you.
Posted 26 September 2008 - 01:18 AM
- 5th Story:
Multiple Of Five Bonus:
$294 + $100 = $394updated by Jacky Fiend
Posted 26 September 2008 - 02:12 AM
|QUOTE (Bill2451 @ Sep 25 2008, 14:15)|
|ok, ive decided ill take on Honkers|
can I get this updated... I'd like to join the Pegorino crime family Honkers location
Posted 26 September 2008 - 09:53 AM
Proof-reading is something that might help you out, a small mistake while scanning over it:
|...locking in behind me.|
I assume you meant "it" instead of "in", other then that keep up the work.
Bill: Sure, but I'm going to put you on probation as we've had some problems with newer members to the forums signing up to BUYG straight away.
This just means we have every right to kick you if we think your doing something wrong or suspect as a multi. But you seem pretty honest.
Posted 26 September 2008 - 01:24 PM
Posted 26 September 2008 - 03:26 PM
|QUOTE (WelcomeToLibertyCity @ Sep 26 2008, 13:24)|
|just wondering, how did skimask get to switch gangs? i thought u had to have atleast five stories writen for a gang before u could switch|
I'm most impressed you've read the rules. Anyway, Skimask has participated in the BUYG: SA chapter, so we know a bit more about him.
Don't worry, we don't do it to be assholes, just to increase activity.
Posted 26 September 2008 - 04:13 PM
I arrived home from the Beer Garden that night, drunk as hell from the many drinks Andy had bought me. I stumbled over to the couch and fell down on it with a thud. I was about to text Playboy as my eyelids began feeling heavier, heavier, and heavier. Before I knew it, I passed out. The next morning I woke up with my cell phone still grasped in my right hand, reading I had two new messages. I began reading them to myself. “Hey dray how are you doing? Hung over as f*ck I can imagine eh? Haha, anyways I just wanted to tell you again you did great yesterday wasting that pr*ck for me. You know, I need guys like you to silence *ssholes like Mark for me. You drop by my place in Little Italy if you need some work.” I read under my breath. I clicked delete and began reading the second message, it was from Playboy.
“Dray my man I’m recovered! A f*cking gun shot wound can’t keep this Playa down. Anyways, how did it go with Andy? You can tell me all about it later, I need you to pick me up ASAP from the hospital on Leavenworth Ave. See you there. -PBX” Now I knew right away this could be dangerous if the M.O.B. were to find out Playboy was out of hospitality today. I walked over to my closet and swung the doors open. I pushed some old clothing and boxes out of the way and revealed a small square metallic chest with a Mac 10 hidden inside at the back of the closet. Stuffing it into my hoodie’s pocket, I walked out the door.
When I arrived at the hospital, Playboy was anxiously awaiting my arrival by the side of the road.
He ran over and hoped into the passenger seat of my car. “Hey man what’s up?” He asked excitingly.
“Not to much, I can see you’re happy to be out of there.” I joked.
“Man I’m happy to be alive and rich as hell my friend!” He bragged as we started to drive back to his place.
“So where’s the stuff?” He asked.
“At your apartment, hopefully, if the M.O.B. haven’t broken in and taken that yet.” I chuckled looking in my rear view mirror. I saw a car behind us pick up speed. I started to drive a little faster and Playboy was getting nervous.
“Man what the hell are you doing?” He hollered at me. I tossed him the Mac 10 out of my pocket. “Oh sh*t Dray not this again man.” he complained loading up the gun.
“Don’t complain. You see that car behind us?” I asked pointing to the rear view mirror, “Shoot at it, I’m pretty sure it’s M.O.B. hit men.” Playboy took aim at the car out the window. He pulled down on the trigger blowing ten bullets into the car. It picked up speed and rammed us. I pushed down on the gas pedal as if my foot were a piece of lead and we raced across Bohan with the hit men close on our tail. Playboy kept firing shots into the car’s front as I drove as fast as I could to get Playboy home to safety. The driver of the car leaned out the window and pelted shots into my back wind shield, nearly hitting me and Playboy. We were speeding fast towards Algonquin on the North Wood Heights Bridge with the hit men trying as best as they could to keep on our tail. I saw a hit man grab a molotov and toss it at our car. The molotov crashed into the rear of my car turning my nice Vigero into a flaming ball. “Playboy bail out!” I screamed as I kicked the car door open and rolled out. Just as Playboy was jumping out of the car it exploded. “Sh*t man that was my car! My f*cking new car!” I screamed in frustration. The hit men got out of their car and aimed a combat pistol at me as I laid on the ground. “ You f*cking idiot! Where’s the money and our drugs?! Tell us now or I’ll blow a f*cking hole straight through your head!” the hit man shouted at me. I kept my mouth shut, if they were going to kill me they weren’t bringing down North Holland Hustlers with me. He was about to pull the trigger as I bit my lip. I heard a shot fire from across the road and the hit man dropped dead on the ground, with a bullet hole in his back. The other hit man spun around to return fire and got a bullet through the head. I stood up and peered across the street. Playboy was kneeling behind the hit men’s car with the Mac 10 in his grasp. “Dray, are you ok man? I was almost about to be sraping your brain off the sidewalk.” He laughed.
“Man this isn’t funny! We have guys trying to kill us, cops on our back, and now my f*cking car is gone!” I hollered as I kicked one of the hit men’s corpse in anger.
“Don’t worry about that, right now, we gotta get out of here.” He assured me as we hailed a taxi.
When we arrived at Playboy’s the money and drugs we safe and sound in his apartment, also with ten or twelve beer bottles tossed over the floor.
“Where the hell these come from?” he asked looking at me.
“Haha, well when I got back from the sh*t we went through the other day I was kinda on the edge so I had a few.” I replied with a grin on my face. We both laughed. “Well, at least the money and drugs are still fine, I can buy lot’s more beer with that!” He laughed as he sat down on the couch, “ You wanna stay and chill a little?” he asked.
“Ah what the hell, sure I’ll chill.” I replied as I plumped down on the couch, and watched some TV and had some drinks with Playboy.
Posted 27 September 2008 - 07:13 AM Edited by ~PhusioN~, 27 September 2008 - 10:24 AM.
|Racket||Cost||Asset||Cost||Income per asset|
|Business||Cost||Asset Cost||Cost||Income per asset|
Irish Mob, Steinway Beer Graden, Chapter 3
I rub the packet of frozen peas up against my forehead; the cold frost combined with the moisture of the peas makes my hair sticky; I should have a shower when I get home. Mikey and I reek of cigarettes and stale booze, the stench is starting to get to me. Mikey stops at a red light and pulls out another cigarette, he flicks his lighter and produces a flame; the end of the small white stick soon turns into little orange embers. He winds down the window and bumps some of the ash off, then lets smoke fly from his mouth as we pull into a Cluckin’ bell drive-thru.
“Cluckity doo customer, how can I help you?” the 16-year old acne-infested kid says in a sarcastic tone,
“Cut the sh*t you little fa**ot,” Mikey says, I try not to laugh and focus on holding the frozen peas on my forehad, “Just get us two coffees and your biggest burgers.”
“But the lunch menu isn-” Mikey cuts in,
“I don’t really give a flying f*ck.”
After some yelling at the manager we get our order and drive down Thornton Street, then onto Algonquin-Dukes Expressway. Mikey throws the cigarette butt out onto the road as I drop the peas down into onto the floor of the car. I take sips from my coffee and munch away slowly at my burger, then start on Mikey’s.
“Where are we meeting these guys?” I ask Mikey through a mouthful of burger,
“Some alleyway off Jade St. and Albany Ave,” he says as we pull off the freeway with the large convoy of commuters, Mikey goes to grab his hamburger from the bag, its empty. “You dick!” he laughs as he pours some coffee down his throat, he yelps at how hot it still is and nearly spills it all over his jeans.
We joke and laugh until we finally pull into an alley; its dark and depressing and it smells of hobo piss. Theres a cream-coloured car waiting for us; two men in suits lean against the hood.
“This must be it.” Mikey turns the ignition and the engine of the Vincent stops, we get out and walk around too the boot. Mikey pops it open and pulls out a briefcase, then very discreetly unzips a black bag. A shimmer from inside soon reveals the contents, it’s an uzi. Mikey looks at me and its that look that says ‘You know what to do if sh*t goes wrong’, I nod back and clasp it in my hand, I then slide it into my waistline, the steel is cold against my bare-skin, but I feel like a real f*cking bad ass.
“Hello sirs!” One of the Koreans walks up closer to us and bows, me and Mikey walk into the center and shake his hand and small talk. “Did you bring the money?” he finally gets too the point, Mikey pops the lock and pulls out the wad of cash. The suitcase makes us look sort-of stupid considering it isn’t piled with bunches of $100 dollar bills. The other Korean finally walks over from the car and hands us a bag, they count the money and then we are out of there. Back along the expressway to the Steinway Beer Gardens to set-up another deal.
Gram of heroin purchased in the story.
Posted 27 September 2008 - 07:51 AM
|QUOTE (Build Up Your Gang @ Sep 19 2008, 11:45)|
cant we make our own gang fresh
Posted 27 September 2008 - 07:54 AM
Posted 27 September 2008 - 08:43 AM
i wanted to know if you could make a new one cause i like PCJ 600s but i couldnt find a gang with one.
Posted 27 September 2008 - 08:55 AM
Posted 27 September 2008 - 12:44 PM Edited by WelcomeToLibertyCity, 27 September 2008 - 12:49 PM.
Posted 27 September 2008 - 01:05 PM
Posted 27 September 2008 - 06:06 PM
North Holland Hustlers
- 4th Story:
Formatting. Formatting. Formatting. We've told you three times already. Big walls of text like that are an eyesore on whoever has to rate your story. Please sort it out before your next chapter. As for the story itself, there's a lot of "I did this, then I did this..." in your story; with a real lack of description.
$208 + $24 = $232
- 3rd Story:
I know you can do a lot better than that. The story was entertaining but very short, and lacked description in some parts. I already know that this story is only here for the sake of the heroin deal, so I wont be too harsh on you.
$394 + $38 = $432
1 gram of Heroin purchased:
$432 - $90 = $342rated and updated by Jacky Fiend
Posted 27 September 2008 - 06:23 PM
Posted 27 September 2008 - 10:40 PM
Blah blah blah.
Blah blah blah.
Posted 27 September 2008 - 10:54 PM
|QUOTE (Jacky Fiend @ Sep 27 2008, 19:40)|
| Try hitting Enter twice after every paragraph. That way you make a nice gap between them, and make it easier to read. Like this:|
Blah blah blah.
Blah blah blah.
thanks, ill do that, and before i post my next story could you tell me if my writing is any good at all, like descriptive writing wise?
Posted 28 September 2008 - 03:48 AM
Their chance had arrived. Danny “Mac” Macaulay, Tommy Russo, and Michael “Naps” Napoli sat around the table, anxiety building with every second they waited. A beeper, which could only be described as antique, lay still in the middle, while the three men stared at it intently. They were told it was for security reasons; the Pegrino family was still nervous from recent legal troubles and wasn’t taking any chances.
“Absolutely no business on cell phones,” was the first thing Frankie “Meatball” Panzella told them when they met. “If we need to contact you, we’ll call this,” he showed them the beeper, “and then you’ll call us from a payphone. This thing is old school, they couldn’t trace it if they wanted to.”
So there it was, a mob beeper sitting silently between the three men, each second it stood still feeling like an eternity, the air continually getting thicker. Minutes away from their first job, the normal cockiness that surrounded them was sucked away by the uneasiness of having to prove themselves to a major crime family, a situation they weren’t exactly accustomed to. The longer they sat their in silence, the harder it became not to reflect on the events that had transpired the previous two years that put them in this situation. After all, back then they were about as unlikely as anyone to get involved in organized crime.
Back then they lived about an hour and a half outside the city, brash teens fresh out of high school and on their way to college. Tommy had just turned 19 (never the smartest kid in school, he started a year late and was always more of the “act first, think second” kind of person). So Tommy, Mac (18 at the time), Naps (also 18), and John John (at 17, he was the unofficial “little brother” of the group), took a trip down to the city to celebrate. After wandering around East Bohan for a little while (hitting up a strip club in the process), they stopped at a little pub for a drink (can always count on good old Liberty City not to card). After quickly downing a couple pints, Tommy went outside for a smoke and was approached from behind by a group of gang bangers. The smallest, who couldn’t have been much older than 15, quietly walked up to him and smashed in the back of his head with the butt of a blade, the blow sending Tommy sprawling to the ground. When Mac, Naps, and John John realized what was going on, they rushed out of the pub, knocking tables and glasses to the ground in the process, to fight off the group. Five on four, six on four, it didn’t matter, they were used to getting in scraps back home and were willing to die for each other.
In the middle of the commotion, the young kid that had initially hit Tommy in the head was knocked to the ground. With feet stepping everywhere and bodies falling all around, he panicked and opened his blade, slashing at random. John John caught the first one in the stomach, then stumbled forward and was quickly stabbed twice more in the chest. He fell to the ground silently, blood filling his lungs, preventing him from speaking, from screaming.
That night forever changed their lives and put them on a collision course for a life of crime they never planned. The murder investigation went on for months, but despite numerous witnesses, the cops never made an arrest. Mac came to the conclusion that jumping Tommy was probably part of some sort of initiation for the young kid and the gang didn’t plan on intervention from inside the bar. He guessed that the kid must have been related to someone higher up, or at least had connections to someone who could protect him. The investigation never had a chance with all the dirty cops in Liberty; they couldn’t even manage to arrest a fall man.
Tommy took it the hardest, blaming himself for what happened that night, but there was nothing anyone could do. Their families all told them to move on, there was no use throwing away their lives too, but they couldn’t. The day the investigation officially closed, Mac, Tommy, and Naps all took an oath, swearing they would get revenge for John Johns death, no matter what it took.
Posted 28 September 2008 - 04:08 AM Edited by Skimask101, 28 September 2008 - 04:11 AM.
EDIT:You weren't added to the list yet. Sorry about the remark. You are in the Pegorino Crime family at Honkers
Posted 28 September 2008 - 04:31 AM
but yeah, in my story i did mention the Pegorinos briefly... although it will be a few chapters before i get into detail about them... gotta work my way their first
Posted 28 September 2008 - 04:40 AM
|QUOTE (Bill2451 @ Sep 27 2008, 22:31)|
| lol yeah, i got a "your a newbie we dont like you but I guess ill add you" remark... thought that meant i was added lol|
but yeah, in my story i did mention the Pegorinos briefly... although it will be a few chapters before i get into detail about them... gotta work my way their first
Nah, don't worry about it. Just make sure your stories get better.
Posted 28 September 2008 - 06:12 AM
Posted 28 September 2008 - 07:18 AM
Don't worry about Skimask, he was just trying to help you out
@bmx: Added, but you have also been put on probation which means BUYG holds the rights to kick you anytime for any reason.
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