Angels of Death The Epic Chronicle of Johnny Malvado Chapter 2: Homebrewed Negotiations PREVIOUS CHAPTER: Dead Men tell no Tales A
roar echoed through the streets emanating from the open pipes of V-twin engines tearing down the roadway at full throttle. Atop these rugged machines were three equally rugged Angels of Death; Joe Jon, Simon "Nasty" Nashly and Johnny Malvado. They were in no particular hurry, but these bikers went full throttle in everything
they did. They were going to hash out a "deal" with a low level street gang that were rising in power, a Jamaican crew of Rastafarian known as the Hillside Posse. Thugs like these usually flew under the Angels radar, however they had recently started an aggressive campaign to control the drug trade in Schottler and Beechwood City. Bumping off rival dealers had finally caught the attention of the Angels, whom also delt guns and drugs from a Burger Shot in Beechwood. The two groups felt the other was encroaching on their turf, and neither was known for backing down. It was common practice for the Angels of Death to shake down gangs, and keep them under their thumb if they started making real money.
This meeting was not likely to go well, and Malvado expected they may have to kill them all before they comply with such extortion. It was a particularly bad idea to have Joe Jon there, as he was stubborn in negotiations due to his sense of superiority and invincibility (not to mention his openly racist views), but he insisted on leading this venture. Malvado contemplated the idea that Joe Jon didn't even want the Hillside Posse to agree to the terms just so they could kill them all. The Jamacians may not have been a very large group, or well connected, but they were quick to shoot as a solution. The Angels of Death had problems in the past with shaking down another street gang called M.O.B. who would promise to pay tribute, but then would attempt to dodge the bikers when it was time to collect. It was because of this pressure from the Angels that M.O.B. went underground and stopped wearing particular colors, which made it even more difficult to track them down and harass them.
Malvado and Nasty pulled up behind Joe Jon as the three of them stopped in front of the Homebrew Cafe, leaving their bikes on the sidewalk in front of a palm tree mural. Nobody in their right mind would dare touch the bikes, which were laden with AoD insignia. They walked into the cafe, which wreaked of weed and rum, and stood in the doorway. Two Rastafarians were sitting at a table, one at the far end and another off to the side, and yet another one was shooting pool alone.
"Which one of you is Batman
?" Joe Jon asked
The man at the far end of the table looked annoyed, as the other one chuckled smoking a spliff
"Real Badman, no Batman, Bakra seen? Mi breda 'ere be Jacob, a ryal rude boy
" he replied
"What the f*ck did you just say to me?
" Joe Jon asked annoyed by Badmans thick accent
"Jus' satta 'ere star
" Jacob said as he pushed out a chair for Joe Jon with his foot.
Joe paused for a moment wondering if Badman had just tried to disrespect him, then decided to sit. Nasty and Malvado headed to the pool table and picked up some pool cues. They shoved the practicing Jamaican out of the way, not because they really wanted to play pool but because they enjoyed throwing their weight around. The pool table also doubled as a good central location to oversee the talks between Joe Jon and Badman in case some trouble arose, while appearing to be occupied with a game of pool. Some time had passed, and Malvado was crushing Nasty at a game of 9-ball when the conversation between Joe Jon and Badman became heated.
"Uno try take da bread from I and I mouth? Wha eye no see, heart no leap bakra!
" Badman said with anger
"F*ck you, you think I believe for a second you don't make that kind of money
?" Joe Jon said in a louder tone
"I da big bout yah, ya bong belly pickney always wan' braata from me bredren...Bull bucka, bumba clot! It no gon' happen Buguyaga!
" Badman yelled
"Oh really!? And what the f*ck are you N****rs gonna do about it
?!" Joe Jon exclaimed as he stood up and slammed his fists down on the table. There was a moment in which the cafe fell silent, and then the Rastas reached for their guns. Malvado swung his pool cue and knocked a pistol from the hand of the nearest Jamaican, then busted his nose with the handle end. Nasty pulled out his pistol and pointed it at Real Badman, who was now standing and pointing a desert eagle point blank in Joe Jons face. It was a stand off, and Joe Jon stood unflinching with a look of fury in his eyes.
"If you don't shoot me now I'm gonna eat your f*ckin' face
!" Joe Jon shouted.
"Cease an' sekkle Irie, Control...No need ta be shootin' we all lose seen
?" Jacob said in an attempt to diffuse the situation. Jacob was no stranger to killing oppressors, but a full out war with the Angels of Death would be suicide.
"Badman me breda, we got 'nuff crosses already say we ease up an' a fe give lil' tribute
..." Jacob said to Real Badman, causing him to lower his gun. Nasty lowered his, and Malvado threw down the pool cue.
"10% of gun sales, I and I keep all da Ganja money
..." Badman offered
" Joe Jon replied, "I want half of ALL of it
"10% is good, we have ourselves an understanding then?
" Malvado interjected. Badman and Jacob looked at each other, then nodded back at Malvado. Joe Jon gave him a dirty look.
"Somebody will be here to collect at the end of the month...Don't go gettin' deported back to the island before I get my money ya hear
?" Joe Jon said as he pushed his seat out of the way. The three Angels walked out of the bar and to their bikes.
"What the f*ck was that in there
?" Joe Jon said to Malvado, "You don't speak for me, and you sure as f*ck don't contradict me when I'm shakin' down these punks
"Hey man, you were gonna get us all f*ckin' shot if you kept pushin' for half
", Malvado replied.
"F*ck 'em...They wouldn't have the balls to shoot me, did you forget who I am? I'm Joe Jon God Dammit! No two bit ji***boo is gonna take me out
" Joe Jon said in his arrogant fashion.
"Don't seem worth it for their chump change dope money
" Nasty Nashly said
"It ain't about the money, it's about respect...It's about showin' every thug in town that we call the shots, end of story. Back in my day we didn't have to negotiate for tribute, we'd just walk in, stomp the f*ckers out, and take their business. That was before the pigs were all over us, now it's easier to let these peasants do the grunt work for us while we reel in the big fish
." Joe Jon explained.
"Back in your day? Your day is the same as ours you dumb sh*t...Besides, the Pigs were always on our asses
" Malvado rebutted.
Joe Jon chuckled, "Ya know If anybody else said that I'd have knocked 'em out, but you're a special kind of asshole Malvado
They nodded to each other, then rode off their separate ways. Joe Jon returned to the Clubhouse, and Nasty headed to the waterfront to sell a large quantity of meth. None of them knew it would be the last time they saw Nasty alive
. Malvado rode off to meet up with Rocket Ronny, who was waiting for him in front of a house in Dukes. Malvado saw him sitting on the front steps talking to a skinny young man. He pulled into the driveway and was approached by the two.
"Ronny man, who's this twirp
?" Malvado asked
"This is Ken, he's my ol' lady's nephew
" Ronny answered.
Ronny was married at one time, but his wife left him when he started smoking crack. Nobody knew how a dirty old biker like him ever had a straight-edge wife to begin with. Most of the 1%ers old ladies were either dirty old biker broads themselves, or hot young girls who just wanted to piss off their daddies or get some thrill from f*cking a homicidal maniac.
Malvado followed the two inside the house. It was immaculate, decorated with knick knacks and paintings, not the kind of place Malvado was used to being invited into. They all went down into the basement, where computers and parts were strewn about. Ken sat in front of a monitor as Ronny and Malvado stood over his shoulders.
"This is where the magic happens
", Ken said with a smug tone. He felt important helping such major players in the Liberty City world of crime.
"Cut the theatrics, just pull up that police database thing you were showing me
" Ronny said to Ken
Ken began typing at incredible speed, hacking into the LCPD central computer. He scrolled through files and databases so quickly that Ronny had to ask him to slow down. A file came up on the Angels of Death, and they read through it. It seemed the cops knew about some of their smaller operations, but it specifically said they were unable to get an informant within the motorcycle club.
"Are you sure this is right? Maybe they just didn't list them...
" Malvado asked
"If the Westdyke chapter was really infiltrated, it would be on here
" Ronny replied
"Yeah, everything the cops know is in here
" Ken added
"Which is why we've been able to stay two steps ahead of them all these years
" Ronny said. Before they had a hacker in their pocket, the Angels of Death would have to rely on paying off crooked cops to give them the heads up on busts.
"Well sh*t Ronny, maybe they weren't informants but this really doesn't tell me anything
" Malvado complained
"Why don't you go talk to your lady friend, the one with the FIB connections
" Ronny asked. Malvado was unaware that anyone in the club knew about that. Usually knowing someone in law enforcement made you a liability for the club, and talking to the law was a sure way to get killed. But Rocket Ronny had a point, if anything major was going on she'd be able to find out. Killing fellow club members was something that just happened in Malvados line of work, however the hit on the Westdyke chapter was different. Everything about it felt wrong, and the motives didn't add up. In his younger days he would have thought nothing of it and just did as he was told like a good soldier should, but his personality was beginning to change and the Truth had become something he wished to pursue. And to continue this pursuit, he would have to dig up a part of his past he rather forget and pay his Ex a visit
...NEXT CHAPTER: Curses are for Fools