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BUYG: Build Up Your Gang IV

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Vercetti27
  • Vercetti27

    Staunton Faction

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  • Joined: 18 Jan 2009

#1741

Posted 20 December 2009 - 06:01 PM

Chapter 8
Pegorino Family
Pegorino Mansion
The Peg Strikes Back


Louie watched with a smile spread over his face as Sonny’s henchman marched themselves into the PMP 600. He felt that today would be the day that the Pegorino family would get back at the Ancelotti’s. He felt confident. His palms were sweating as he made the final adjustments to his pistol and positioned it in his inside pocket in his persues coat. He started the Coquette’s 10-cylinder engine and waited for Jimmy and Ray to join him, as Sonny’s car drifted down the driveway to charge island.
Jimmy entered the car with Ray. Jimmy looked confident. Ray still had a nervous expression written all over his face. A sniper rifle was led in it’s case on the back seat.
Louie pumped the throttle, and released the clutch to fire the Coquette racing to Charge Island.

Louie slowed as he neared the factory on the island. Sonny’s PMP was already parked up, he could see as he drove over the hill leading to the factory.
“Alright guys. We got enough firepower to take care of these f*cks this time. Don’t you worry. We aren’t running from the Ancelotti’s no more. We ain’t gonna be a joke any more neither. We’re going to be taken seriously. Ray- here’s a pistol. Just follow us as we go in”, said Jimmy, as the three left the car to join Sonny.

Louie took the sniper from the backseat and put the strap on the case over his back. The eight of them congregated at the side entrance. Jimmy gave his last words before the interception.
“Alright. Me, Louie and Ray will go around the back, and take out any guards. You five will storm the front and take out any threat you see. We’ll look for whatever these Russians are selling. While we do this, you’ll be the diversion. It’ll look like you’re a separate crew, out for blood. No-one knows for working for us”.

“Don’t you mean, with”? Asked Sonny.
“No. I meant FOR”. Corrected Jimmy, as he looked at Sonny with a slight look of suspicion.
Louie wasn’t sure how this would go. It had been weeks since he was involved in a gun battle, and actually won. But he didn’t want to think negative things. He would do anything to carry the Pegorino’s back to the top. Anything.

Sonny led his crew around to the front, quietly. While this was happening, Jimmy carried his pistol in his pocket, as he slowly approached the rear door. There was no handle. Someone would have to kick it down. Jimmy and Ray both stared at Louie. They knew he could do anything. But Louie was reserved, and never looked the sort of guy who could kick down a door.

Louie reluctantly stepped forward.
“f*ck it. I’ll do everything then”, Louie muttered under his breath, as ran up to the door, and kicked it down with a single right foot kick. The door snapped off its hinges so fast. Too fast for the guards who were behind the door to deal with. They were already turning their heads around as Louie took them both out with two headshots.

Ray covered his ears as he followed Jimmy and Louie into the backroom. There were no alarms, nor where there any sounds of shouting. Then, a massive bang came from the front. Louie could hear Sonny’s crew storm through the door, gunshots hitting off walls, tables, and ceilings.

They both stayed squatting behind the backroom table. There was a guard stood next to the door, heavily armed. Louie took out his sniper, and looked through the scope, as he slowly raised it above the table, quietly.

He zoomed in, to where the guard was stood, about 15 yards away. Then he pulled the trigger. A quick bullet pierced the air, and quietly shot through the guard’s skull.

“Nice shot”, Ray said. Louie looked at Ray as if he was acting inappropriately, and the three of them made their way up a flight of stairs in the main hall, while the gun war was going on. They were undetected.
Bullets ricocheted past Louie as he slowly made his way up the stairs into an office. Jimmy followed him, as a suited Russian made his way quickly out of the office and out another door.

“You stay here and help Sonny, I’m going after him”, Louie bellowed above the gunfire”.
“Hey, who runs this family, me, or you”? Asked Jimmy. Meanwhile Ray looked more than nervous, ducking down, making sure no bullet would get to him.
“Listen, uncle, trust me”. Louie rested his hand on Jimmy’s shoulder, before he rushed out of the door out onto the balcony outside the factory. He turned a corner and noticed the Russian running with his briefcase had just turned and ran downstairs into his sports car.

Louie jumped from the 6th but last step of the flight of metal stairs and ran left to his Coquette. He threw the sniper onto the backseat from the front and started the engine. The Russian had already sped away, but Louie knew he could catch him. First he had to warm up the engine. He revved it 3 times, before letting go of the clutch gently and speeding off.

The Coquette prowled the streets, slowly catching the Russian. The tyres burnt the asphalt as it swerved in and out of traffic. Louie always enjoyed car chases. Pursuing or escaping, he knew exactly what to do.

Louie tried to wriggle the pistol in his inner jacket pocket out, as he did, he slipped it out the window and fired a round of shots at the car, as it entered Algonquin. 2 shots hit the car chassis. They made hollow pinging noises as the car pulled off a handbrake turn and drove south.

Louie tried furiously to catch up, but the Russian knew these streets well. He turned 3 consecutive corners around Chinatown, before driving further south to Fishmarket South.

The Russian stopped the car, and exited fast. He didn’t even shut the door. He ran desperately onto the Fishamarket pier, opposite Happiness Island, and down to the Helitours area.

Louie ran after him, already thinking he was going to steal a helicopter to escape. The large sniper was slowing him down. He made sure to carry it, as it was Louie’s best asset.

The Russian shot both guards at the front of the Helitours centre, and ran for a helicopter. He threw out the driver, and started the helicopter. The blades slowly sped around, and it slowly started to take off. Louie knew he wouldn’t catch him, but he needed the information. He needed to know what the Russians were planning with the Ancelotti’s, or what they were dealing.

As the helicopter lifted from the rusty helipad, Louie quickly positioned his sniper above his head. He lifted the scope into his vision and looked down the other end. He could only just make out the Russian, but he was drifting further away. It would take an immaculate shot to take him down.

Louie zoomed in x10. He got a short sight of the Russian, furiously trying to pilot his way to safety. Louie kept the target on his head for a short second, and pulled the heavy sniper trigger. The bullet left his finger and sped into his head.

He did it. It was a perfect shot. He couldn’t have left it any longer. Pedestrians around him were running for safety, and Helitours pilots were shouting, “Call the f*cking police”.

Just then Louie wondered if the shot was in the right place, as the pilot looked like he was still alive, but just then, the Helicopter started to hover above the sea, and then the engine started failing, and it started falling to the sea. Louie could already foresee this and had leapt into the water and swam for a boat.

The helicopter fell into the sea, creating a massive wave to spray Louie’s dusty, bloody face. He started the engine of the boat, and drifted the waves looking for the body. He couldn’t find it, but he did find a briefcase. It was heavy and wet, but Louie didn’t want to pass up the chance of finding any information.

He guessed a code. It didn’t open. He guessed another. Same result. Then, Louie remembered something. As they entered the factory on Charge Island, two of them were talking to each other, before he killed one with a sniper.
“Uh..whats the code”/
“It’s Petrovic’s birthday. 8259”.

As Louie remembered, his heart jumped. He was excited, he wondered whatever he’d find in the briefcase must be something valuable. He tried the code, and the briefcase unlocked. He pulled open the hinges.

Inside was a big block of cold, hard cash. Louie estimated $100,000 as he stared into the briefcase, his eyes bright, a small smile making it’s way across his face. But Louie inspected the cash closer. Then he realised. It was fake.

Spank-head69
  • Spank-head69

    Square Civilian

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  • Joined: 31 Dec 2008

#1742

Posted 20 December 2009 - 10:23 PM Edited by Spank-head69, 06 January 2010 - 02:53 AM.

If you couldn't understand what anyone said and would like to find out, just ask. Also, originally Viktor was supposed to say something in Russian, but everytime I tried to do this it would f*ck up the text.

Chapter 4: Golden Opportunity
Petrovic Bratva

“Hey, calm the hell down, you piece of crap!” The bartender yelled in much anger.

“You gimme the f*ckin’ booze, steroid junkie!” The bar patron yelled back.

I was watching the bartender, Mickey, and a drunken bar patron wrestle because the latter was getting too talkative, and was also demanding free alcoholic beverages. Nobody in the bar seemed to be bothered by these two fighting, and on the contrary, seemed to be quite amused. Anyway, it hadn’t even been a week since the murder of police informant Edward Wetlaan, (which I gladly claimed responsibility for) and yet the media has already blamed death cults, despite the evidence of Wetlaan having at least seven encounters with members of the Petrovic Bratva, so we should be fine, for the moment, at least.

I was so interested in the in the aforementioned brawl that I was startled by the sudden ringing of my cell phone. There was no name, but simply the number of the caller. I expected it to be another machine, but I decided to answer it anyway, just to be sure.

“Hello?” I said casually.

‘Viktor, where are you?” I was so surprised to hear Oleg’s voice that I gagged on my beer.

“Oleg, how in the hell did you get my number?” I asked with great interest, because Oleg was the last person I could see myself willingly giving my number.

“Eduard gave it to me,” Of course, “where are you?”

I sighed and then answered, “Comrades’, why?”

“I need you to meet me at the Superstar Café in Algonquin, it’s important.”

“Not important enough, I’ve got things to do.” But this wasn’t true, I didn’t have sh*t to do.

“Well, forget about them,” He persisted. “it involves money, and hopefully a truckload of it.”

I wasn‘t going to bother starting an argument, “Fine, I’ll be there soon, but whatever you have for me, it better be good.”

Normally, I wouldn’t have a second thought about this type of thing, if the job had been given by Eduard. This is because Eduard is a popular member of the Petrovic Bratva, and a very good man to have on your side. He is a good business associate of mine, and if anyone needs a favor, he’s probably the best guy to ask for it. I have no reason to trust Oleg though, mainly because he has a natural talent for getting me into deep sh*t. I’ve been dragged along with him on many different occasions, such as hits, but no matter what happens, he always walks away with most of the profits. Since it was Eduard that informed us both about the police informant, we each got a fair share, but with Oleg in charge of something like that, it’s very different. He always claims that there isn’t much money involved in these jobs, but anybody with half a mind could see through his bullsh*t, especially since he tells us this after the deed is already done instead of telling them that they wouldn‘t be getting anything over a thousand, otherwise nobody would be assisting him. Still, I could always use the extra money.

I left Comrades’ Bar and hailed a cab, making sure that I had enough money beforehand.
“So where to?” The driver asked.

“The Superstar Café in Algonquin.” I answered.

After who knows how long, I arrived at my destination. I could clearly see Oleg sitting at a table through the window. There was also a black man with dreadlocks at the same table, and they seemed to be discussing something.

As I walked into the café, Oleg quickly caught sight of me.
“There he is.” He said to the other man. “Viktor, good to see you in one piece.”

“I wish I could say likewise. Who‘s this?” I said, pointing at the other man.

“This guy? He’s Jayden.”

“Wa‘ppun, rasta?” He had a heavy Jamaican accent.

“I’m good.” I responded.

“Alright, I called you here because I need your help.” Oleg said to me.

“What a surprise.” I said, taking a seat at their table.

“When you dropped me and Pavel at the Homebrew Café, I got a tip from a couple Jamaicans about the Chinese having something valuable at their guns store in Chinatown.”

“Tip, why do I doubt that?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Alright, I overheard them while playing pool with Pavel and Jayden.” He confessed.

“Hey, dem real half eediats fa linking up inna salt ends.” Jayden said, of course I couldn’t really understand him.

“So you want to steal guns from the Triads?” I asked, ignoring Jayden.

“Not guns, the money they made, dumbass.” Oleg said impatiently.

“What does this have to do with me?”

“Well, Pavel wasn’t as enthusiastic about hearing this news, so I couldn’t rely on him for help.”

“Pavel had good reason, any sensible person wouldn’t want to f*ck up the already unstable relationship between us and the Chinese.”

“Ease up me bwoy, these facety bloodclots been ketching nuttin’ but f*ckery fe me bwoys.” Jayden exclaimed, causing a couple of angry patrons to turn towards us.

Oleg chuckled, “Lets discuss this more outside.” Moments later we left the café, and Oleg brought us to another black Rebla.

“Alright, if you didn’t understand,” Oleg said. “Jayden is saying that the Chinese have been causing trouble for the Hillside Posse, the gang he’s a member of.”

“So you want to help him rob the Chinese to get revenge?” I asked, though I already knew the answer.

“And to make us some extra dollars. Everyone wins.”

“Why didn’t you ask the Jamaicans for help?”

“You think I didn’t?” He said, pointing at Jayden. “ Jayden’s a friend, if I’d asked another Jamaican I wouldn’t be getting sh*t from this job.”

“Whereas I wouldn’t get sh*t from this job with help from another Russian.”

“Come on Viktor, you’re busting my balls.” Oleg said. “Besides, the Chinese won’t have any idea that we’re coming, they won’t know it was us who robbed them.”

I sighed, “Fine, I’ll help you, but I better get a decent amount of f*cking paper this time.”

Oleg reached into the backseat of the Rebla and pulled out a bag, which contained six combat pistols and three micro-SMGs. I took one SMG, and two combat pistols. After we had all gotten our weapons, we entered the car.

“Okay, we’re going to the underground weapons store, here in Algonquin.” Oleg told us. ”Viktor, you don’t mind taking the wheel?”

“Sure, you want me to wipe your ass too?” I said sternly.

“Sure, I could use a maid.” He answered.

I got into the driver’s seat, and, once Oleg and Jayden had entered the car, started the car.
“You know where the gun store is, right?” Oleg asked.

“Yes, I already set a waypoint on the GPS.”

While on the way to the store, Jayden broke the silence.
“Viktor, a weh ya baan?” He asked.

“I’m sorry?” I said, confused.

“A weh ya baan?” He said again.

“Where were you born.” Oleg translated, leaving me kind of surprised at how he understood Jayden, but there are a lot of things I don‘t know about him.

“What do you mean, Russia obviously.” I answered.

“Russia’s a big place, where?” Oleg said, a little impatiently.

“Chelyabinsk.” I said simply.

“Weh dat?” Jayden asked.

“It’s a city located just to the east of the Ural Mountains, on Miass River.” I answered. “I used to perform hits and sell explosives there.”

Oleg chuckled, “Well, why did you come to America?” He asked.

“I was a runaway, I came here with a few associates I worked with back there.”

“I wonder how many times he played with his buddy on the trip.” Oleg said to Jayden, causing them both to start laughing.

“Oh yeah?” I said. “At least I don’t want to enter Ivan Dmitriev’s asshole.”

“Ouch.”

We continued to travel to Chinatown, myself hoping that this wouldn’t end up as f*cked as I thought it would.

End


If you were wondering, Ivan Dmitriev was a Russian, homosexual sentimental poet.

Benjimino234
  • Benjimino234

    ♤ ♡ ♢ ♧

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  • Joined: 03 Dec 2006

#1743

Posted 22 December 2009 - 06:15 AM

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Just take care of it…


“Good job Alexander, my sources say that Marat Balagula died at the scene.”
“Yes, can I have my money now?”
“Very well,” Otar then pulled up his messenger bag up onto his lap and fished out an envelope, “The remaining cash is in there. You’re now part of the Russian Mafia.”
“Whoopee.” Alexander said sarcastically as he twirled his finger before grabbing the envelope. Alexander than stood up from his chair but was approached by one of the Cabaret Club’s waiters.
“Are you going to order?” Alexander looked out the window and saw it was still raining and miserable. He sighed, sat back down and nodded.
“Excellent, what would you like?” said the waiter as he shoved a menu into Alexander’s face. Alexander then pointed at a random dish and grunted and dropped his head to stare at the ground.

“What’s wrong?” Otar said breaking the silence Alexander was enjoying so much. Alexander than dragged his head slowly, “It’s the weather, it’s making me gloomy. That’s all.” A few minutes later the same waiter then placed a clear soup in front of Alexander while Otar was on his sixth beer. Alexander then took small sips of the soup and was very bored. But the sound of tyres screeching was heard through the pouring of the rain; then followed by gunshots. Alexander and everyone in the Cabaret Club ducked for cover under their tables, all but Otar. Not even a single window was broken, only indentations of where the bullets were, it seemed that those bulletproof windows were there for a reason other than robbers.

“Those M.O.B thugs have been quite the nonsense here. I hope my bouncers are okay. But still those M.O.B guys have horrible aim. That’s why they have those Micro SMGs; you don’t need to be a better shot, you just need to shoot more bullets!” Otar scoffed. “But I’d like to keep the Cabaret Club and the people here safe from these ‘attacks’, go and kill Sean Kanawi, a high ranking member of M.O.B and most probably the one behind all of this.”
“Can I at least finish my soup?”
“You’re a funny boy! Just take care of it… Sean is usually near the XXX Video Shop in Broker. You will know who he is when you see him.”

Alexander quickly shuffled out of his chair seat and grabbed his jacket draped over the empty seat with the envelope tucked under his arm. It stopped raining and Alexander didn’t like talking or even listening to Otar so he left quite quickly. As Alexander exited the Cabaret Club he viewed the outside to see how much damage occurred, only a few stray bullet punctures were in the walls and windows, “Yeah, they are a bad shot.” Alexander said to himself. The bouncers for the Cabaret Club had not even a scratch and simply brushed off the dirt from their suits and their trousers when they were kneeling down for cover. One of them took a cigarette from his pocket, lit it then resumed back to his post while the other was already at his side of the door continuing cleaning his suit.

Assuming that Sean Kanawi wasn’t much of a threat or a hard target Alexander hailed a cab and told him to go to the XXX Video Store in Broker, leaving most of his weapons and equipment in his Rebla parked near the Cabaret Club.

After paying the fifteen-dollar ride Alexander exited the cab and continued on foot to the Video Store. But a man then approached him.
“Hey, hey you! Gimme all your cash. I’m part of the Mafia!” he said in his squeaky voice.
“Russian Mafia?”
“Uh-huh.”
“And your reduced to doing a… Not even an armed robbery in the street?” Alexander said after taking a good look at this man wearing only a tank top with a vest and tight jeans. A vest that doesn’t even have pockets, just flaps.
“I’ll find out who you are and I’ll get the top Russian Mafia dogs on you, you’ll see.” Then the man attempt a ‘bad guy’ shoulder barge as he walked by but then nearly knocked off his feet when Alexander attempted the barge back. Alexander chuckled and went round the corner to see the Video Store in his sights.

In the alleyway next to the store stood three M.O.B members in their open hood jackets and ridiculous ‘Bling’ wrapped around their necks. Alexander jaywalked over the street and straight into the alleyway and having his hand on his pistol with added silencer concealed within his jacket pocket.
“What’s this fool at?” one of them murmured
“You better get out of here you f*cking busta if you know what’s good for ya!”
“Yeah! f*ck off!” They all said aggressively.

Alexander then deduced which one of them was Sean Kanawi by how much metal was around his neck and intellect. But all three looked like they haven’t finished high school so it must be the ‘Bling’. Alexander then pulled his pistol from his jacket and aimed it the middle one and pulled the trigger, but before the other two got a touch of their guns holstered from their baggy jeans. Alexander then stretched his pistol high in the air and struck down the second gangster in a deadly melee attack then swivelled his wrist to aim it at the third gangster and puled the trigger. All three dropped to the ground, Alexander then aimed it at the second gangster who was holding his hand against his head then Alexander finished him off with another shot. Alexander not being surprised of how easy that was then hid his gun in his jacket pocket left the alley and hailed a cab back to the Cabaret Club.

Alexander then entered the smoky cabaret Club once again and sat back down to Otar’s table.
“Your soup went cold, so I ordered another one for you.”
“Thanks Otar.”
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mrpain
  • mrpain

    wub wub

  • Zaibatsu
  • Joined: 15 Dec 2008

#1744

Posted 22 December 2009 - 04:02 PM

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Chapter 2: Rapist Hunt


“Be damned my brother!” I grunted out. I was arm wrestling with Jason, a Prospect for the Lost MC.

“Oh crap!” He was staring at the sight of his arm inches away from the table. He tried to push all of his energy into his arm but failed miserably in the end.

“A Prospect can never beat an Enforcer, Jason. That’s your first lesson.” I joked while Jason kept his ears shut. Jason was a newly patched member of the Lost MC. He was a tough guy but unfortunately, Billy made him a Prospect. Jason had to clean up the sh*t in the clubhouse everyday and the clubhouse could turn into a jungle of mess in an hour so it was not pretty.

“Hey yo Bucky Rillis! I got a present for you!” Clay shouted for me. He was outside of the clubhouse standing beside a thing covered with a blanket. It was the shape of a bike.

Clay threw away the blanket and there was an awesome looking bike underneath it.

Clay gave me the keys to the bike and said, “Obviously for you. This is a one of a kind bike. It’s called the Freeway and the paint job is unique, specially designed for you.”

It was a unique paint job. Tiny little skulls saying the Lost MC was painted everywhere. At the front of the bike, my father’s name, Taz Rillis, was engraved on. He was a legend when he was with the Lost MC. He died during a gang war against the Angels of Death, where he tried to save Billy when he was pinned down during that gang war. It was such a shame as he died when I was just patched into the club.

I was grateful for the bike so I thanked Clay. Before I even started the bike, club business was already calling for me. A car, some type of those rich kinds of cars that I always hated, pulled up in front of our clubhouse.

Jeffrey Kongus, an Australian real estate developer, came out of the car. He had been doing business with the Lost MC and we were always kind to him. But on that day, his face was full of tears. He came up to me and asked, “Hey Buck, where…where’s Billy?” He mumbled out depressingly.

I led him into the clubhouse where Billy was. Billy greeted him cheerfully, “How’s my favorite real estate developer?” He then noticed Jeffrey’s tears, “What’s wrong?”

Jeffrey could not speak out clearly enough so Jason went to give him a drink. After a few shots, Jeffrey managed to speak, “This son of a bitch, I do not know who but he..uh… he f*cking rape my daughter!” He threw his glass at the wall showing his anger.

Billy gave a pat on the back to him to calm him down. He consoled him for a few minutes and asked, “Why didn’t you go to the police?”

Jeffrey rolled his eyes, “Police? I did. The deputy police chief of Alderny, Ronald Quily, is a f*cking asshole. He’s too busy trying to be the next chief when Isaac Lyles step down as chief. My daughter…f*cked… she was at the Burger Shot near the Angels of Death clubhouse. She was going to buy me a burger when some asshole bikers came in. One of the biker saw her and dragged her to the toilet. He f*cking raped her in there and stole her wallet.. Find this son of a bitch and bring him to me.”

Billy agreed and Jeffrey limped his way out of the clubhouse and drove off.

Billy called for a club meeting and we all had heard of Jeffrey’s daughter. Terry debated, “Why the f*ck are we helping a real estate developer? Shouldn’t we be concentrating on the gang war now?”

Billy exclaimed, “We are doing this because of three reasons. First, Jeffrey’s a good friend. Secondly, the deadbeats raped her. Lastly, Isaac the f*cking deputy police chief is trying to cut a deal with Jeffrey. Isaac wants to control the Broker Navy Yard which is owned by Jeffrey. Now we got a shipment of guns coming in on a boat from Ireland in a week. I do not want the police sniffing around the docks when the boat arrives. So is everybody okay with this?”

Everybody at the meeting agreed and Jim stood up from his chair to give a rundown on the rapist. “All right my brothers, Johnny had just got some info on those deadbeats. There were three AoD bitches at that Burger Shot on that day. Currently they are running a warehouse operation near the docks in Broker. I figured we can go there and take out those sons of bitches.”

I disagreed on that, “We can’t take them out; we have to catch the rapist for Jeffrey. Let’s just go to the warehouse, searched for the three guys and see which one is the rapist. But the problem is, we do not know how the three guys looked like.”

Everybody was dumbfounded until Johnny came running into the meeting with 3 pieces of paper in his hands. Each piece showed the three guys. Since we knew who they were, we hopped onto our bikes and rode off to the warehouse. The ‘we’ consisted of Johnny, Jim, Jason, Billy, Clay, Terry and me.

My new Freeway bike handled amazingly. I felt like Satan on a horse and could take out every dumb motherf*cker who stood in my way.

When we arrived, we quickly got out of sight because there was a sniper on the rooftop of the warehouse. We hid behind a truck that belonged to the Angels of Death.

“What now?” Jason asked. Jason was not always in situations like that and he felt very jumpy. Who could blame a recently patched member for feeling very jumpy?

I examined what was inside the truck and it gave me a very big smile. “Now we fight fire with fire.”

Inside the truck were firearms and a f*ck load of them. Each of us took a pistol each with a silencer equipped. We sneaked around the warehouse and managed to get out of the sniper’s range.

Johnny suggested, “Alright boys, time to play. Jim, you and me are gonna cover the rear side of the warehouse. Billy, why don’t you take Clay and Terry to stay here in case of any reinforcements?” Billy agreed but seemed jealous because of Johnny making the decisions.

Before Johnny finished, I interrupted, “So Jason and me cover the front? Alright let’s do this my brothers.”

There were only two guards at the front and Jason managed to kill them with just two shots. We proceed to the front where we were attacked out of nowhere by another guard whom had a knife in his hand. He swung it at me but I managed to dodge. I grabbed the knife and stabbed it into his right eye. Seeing a tear rolling down with blood on his face made me laughed my ass off. I pushed the knife even deeper into his head and he was quiet.

Everybody was in position. Johnny and Jim kicked down the door and drew the attention of the Angels of Death to them while we sneaked in to find the three guys.

We found one of them; he was hiding under a table. He looked at me and I asked, “Hi, did you rape someone?”

“What? Who? Rape? f*ck?.....” He gave me all sort of words before I finally knocked him out with a kick to the face. I searched his filthy pants and I found a pink wallet. Inside was a picture of Jeffrey and his daughter. I instructed Jason to carry the deadbeat motherf*cker outside of the warehouse and sent a text to Johnny and Billy to inform them that we got the rapist.

Billy called Jeffrey to meet us at the Broker Navy Yard. Since it was nearby where we were, we dragged the rapist to the docks to where Jeffrey was waiting. We threw the rapist onto the floor to where Jeffrey was standing.

Jeffrey took out a knife and threatened the rapist with it, “You took my daughter’s virginity and dignity! You ruined her future! Now I’m going to ruin yours! Strip him!”

I looked at Jason and he knew my look. Jason took off the rapist’s pants and his balls were dangling about. Jeffrey wanted to cut off his balls thinking it will give his daughter’s virginity back. He stared at those two tiny stones before finally slashing it off. The rapist screamed in pain. I wondered what it must felt like to have your balls cut off.

After Jeffrey finished cutting it up, he dumped the rapist into the river and said, “Good riddance.”

Jeffrey left and the Lost MC was staring down at some genitals.

I crouched down to get a better look at them and asked Billy, “Genitals, nice. What do we do with them?”

Billy rubbed his chin to show that he was thinking. Once he thought long enough, he said, “Gift wrapped them. I know a guy who likes balls.”

kid23455
  • kid23455

    Typical Amerifat

  • Members
  • Joined: 08 Oct 2008

#1745

Posted 24 December 2009 - 02:22 AM Edited by kid23455, 24 December 2009 - 02:48 AM.

i would like to buy a pistol, the regular one, please.

The Chronicles of the Albanian Mob, Part 3
For a man who has nothing

Jim wakes up at nine o'clock. He is very upset, after nearly getting shot many times. He looks at his phone, and sees four missed calls, and two missed texts. He looks at them.

"Jim. See me behing the dumpster in upper Middle Park. Bujar"

Jim walks to middle park, and sees Bujar.

"Hi, Jim. What's new?"

"Well, after nearly getting killed, I feel great!"

"Well, guess what, I feelin' great too. So good, I am going to make you do a job for us."

"Why? I don't owe you anything?"

"Why? Why?!?!? What the f*ck? You think there is a why? I just risked my a** gettin you outta jail, and we paid you this month's fee, and you want to know why? Well guess what, you are going to steal a fighter jet for me."

"Whoa, hold on a sec-"

"No, a**hole, you hold on a freakin sec. A military jet called a hydra is coming in a boat, what you need to do is dismantle it and put the pieces into a truck."

"Why do you want a plane?"

"Uhh, hmm. Oh, sorry, I though a military fighter jet wouldn't be worth a fortune. You are going to go through military men to get this thing, too. I got a pistol you can use. I'll have Tim-"

"Wait, what do you mean, Tim?"

"He got out of jail, you great thinker, you. Tim is going to bring a truck, you kill the military guys, load the plane parts on the truck, and get goin."

"Okay."

Jim thinks the whole idea is stupid, but goes with it. He goes to the dock where the boat is. It has the name avenger written on it. Jim goes into the boat, only to find the military protection is all dead.

"Ohhh, s***"

Jim realizes someone else wants the plane. He gets to the air deck, only to find three men with guns pointing at him.

"Hi, remember me?"

"Who are you?" Jim says.

"I'm the guy you paid off. Remember? Right?"

"No."

"The GUY YOU GAVE MONOPOLY MONEY TOO INSTEAD OF REAL MONEY. You got your deal, and you broke it. Now you die, motherf*****."

Jim dives behind a crate, only to find himself behind nothing, as the crate is destroyed in moments. He runs to a wall, and picks off on of the guys. He sees the plane, and runs to it. When Jim gets in it, it says on the screen:

Error: Full Engine Failure. Stall Warning.

Jim notices the guns still work, and he fires a rocket at a guy. The rocket killes everyone on the deck.

"D***"

Jim tries to take the plane into little enough peices for transport, when the cops show up. Jim grabs one of the rockets, and heads to Tim's truck.

"Gogogogogooggogogogo" Jim says.

"What? That isn't the plane. Thats just a rocket."

"Yeah, I know. I'm hoping the rocket itself can sell for a fortune. No go!"

Jim and Tim drive away, without drawing police attention

"Hey, wait a minute" Jim says

"What?"

"This isn't a real rocket, this thing is a tank with, whoa, cocaine. Who put this in here?"

"How should I know?"

"This wasn't a ridicious operation, wait, Bujar just got a drug import, holy crap!"

Jim and Tim drive to Bujar

"How'd it go?"

"We couldn't get the whole plane. But we got the drugs."

"You idiot! Do you know how much I paid for that s***?!?"

"No, how much?"

"You brought back five-hundred dollars worth. The plane pieces had over fifty-thousand dollars in them!"

"Uh-oh"

"Yeah, uh-oh. You are out! You now owe me forty-five thousand dollars! I want that money by Friday! Today is Monday. You have four days."

"How the hell, never mind."

Jim and Tim drive away. Tim is really pissed off.

"Nice job, a**hole. Now we have nothing, and we are screwed! We had the world, and you, Jim had to f*** it up! I f***** hate you! Get out of the car! You aren't allowed in my house any longer, and if you don't get that money, I'll kill you myself."

"Hey, I saved your sorry a** from certain deat-"

"Shut the f*** up and get out of the car. Right now."

"Alright, alright"

Jim gets out of the car and is forced to sleep on a park bench. He is cold, tired, and most of all, angry.

Big_Mitch_Baker
  • Big_Mitch_Baker

    =Å= Angels of Death - Founder

  • Angels of Death MC
  • Joined: 23 Feb 2005
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#1746

Posted 24 December 2009 - 04:27 AM

QUOTE (.2D @ Dec 19 2009, 20:14)
Yes. There was alot of dialog. But I dont think there was too much. And there was plenty of..What the word..uhm..Ill just call it "not dialog" smile.gif for it to make sense. But hey, im no expert and Mitch can speak for himself. Just my opinion.

@2D : Right on .2D, glad somebody has my back cool.gif

@BUYG : I see staff doesn't appreciate the nuances of my impeccable dialogue (lol), however I would argue that the good majority of the stories on here are even more dialogue heavy than my own. I could provide links and examples, but I don't want to single anyone out.

I could possibly add more descriptive narrative to the story, but I felt that any more than what I had would be "fluff" or filler, with no real purpose but to push my story to an unreadable length. I could potentially write my next story without any dialogue and still make it work...Put that in your pipe and smoke it! (and then rate it, lol tounge2.gif )

New story coming soon, hopefully without so much dialogue icon14.gif

Benjimino234
  • Benjimino234

    ♤ ♡ ♢ ♧

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#1747

Posted 24 December 2009 - 06:12 AM

Why do people space out an extra line for dialogue? It just looks annoying to me, or an attempt to make the story bigger and require more scrolling.

Because it looks

bad in my opinion

and sometimes they put

another line that includes the

'Joe said angrily' part to the speech.

Or whatever....

I think everyone makes too many paragraphs and new lines for dialogue or even description. It takes a lot of scrolling just to get to the top of the page then back.

Vercetti27
  • Vercetti27

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#1748

Posted 24 December 2009 - 10:45 AM

Exactly. It makes it hard to read too. Use paragraphs turn.gif

aragond
  • aragond

    We are the Aragond. We will bury you.

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  • Joined: 26 Aug 2007
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#1749

Posted 24 December 2009 - 03:46 PM

QUOTE (Benjimino234 @ Dec 24 2009, 16:12)
Why do people space out an extra line for dialogue? It just looks annoying to me, or an attempt to make the story bigger and require more scrolling.

Because it looks

bad in my opinion

and sometimes they put

another line that includes the

'Joe said angrily' part to the speech.

Or whatever....

I think everyone makes too many paragraphs and new lines for dialogue or even description. It takes a lot of scrolling just to get to the top of the page then back.

Yes, but it IS in the rulz-of-writing. 1. Every line of dialogue is in a paragraph of its own, and 2. every paragraph should EITHER be indented (only in novels, not essays, blogs or manuscripts) or have a line space between them. If you were writing an essay at college, each paragraph has its own following, empty line. CR+LF+LF. Yes, it takes up more real estate, but here they're only electrons. It's done for clarity of reading, and of understanding.

(And why are there rules? Because you, here in 2009, could pull an English book off a library shelf that dates from 1865, read it, and understand it. You cannot do that with a book from 1665. And the key? The rules of grammar and spelling provide a consistent framework for language. Case in point, with SMS-speak, how few parents have the feintest idea what these acronyms mean? And I know that's the point, but if we let these internet non-rules dominate all language, in a couple of generations, they won't be able to read what we're posting in our blogs and forums now.)

And, BUYG participants have been doing this because BUYG-staff has been strongly encouraging this (and all manner of grammatical improvements) the past month or two. So, stories are only reflecting what staff has been hammering on participants to do.

It's done for clarity. It is not always clear in dialogue who said what, because you don't HAVE to have the "John said" after each line. So, you can't have an entire paragraph of:
QUOTE
"What are you doing, man?" Johnny said. "We're taking a detour." The car veered left. "To where?" "Somewhere exciting." "Is it Frankie's place?" he asked grinning. "'Cuz you don't want to go there after last week."
I've written that in such a way that you have no idea who said the last line. Could be Johnny advising him not to go there, or it could have been the driver saying it because Johnny is scared to go back there after last week's stuff.

So, we have a separate line for each person's dialogue. That way, it's clear:
QUOTE
"What are you doing, man?" Johnny said.

"We're taking a detour." The car veered left.

"To where?"

"Somewhere exciting."

"Is it Frankie's place?" he asked grinning.

"'Cuz you don't want to go there after last week."

"No, man, I f*ckin' do not," Johnny confirmed, staring out the side window.

And we have them separated by blank lines to reduce the "wall of text" effect, where your eyes are darting all over the place within a block of text trying to keep-up with the flow. And, sure, these short, quippy sentences may not look too horrible if we run them without extra lines between:
QUOTE
"What are you doing, man?" Johnny said.
"We're taking a detour." The car veered left.
"To where?"
"Somewhere exciting."
"Is it Frankie's place?" he asked grinning.
"'Cuz you don't want to go there after last week."
"No, man, I f**kin' do not," Johnny confirmed, staring out the side window.
... but this is how poetry is written, NOT novels.

And, if we're consistent, we should use the same rule for all paragraphs, which means that when the professor and Dirk Wobbleyingtonthorpe discuss the finer points of Egyptian Archeology for a couple o' thousand words with no lines dividing up the text, no spaces between paragraphs, your text will just be one massive solid block of words that nobody will be able to read through without getting lost. Likewise, to be consistent, all paragraphs of description should not have a blank line after them, so describing the wondrous sights of the fabled Pharoah's Tomb the pair have discovered will equally turn into a solid, immovable brick of text that no one will bother to read.

Hey, I know I sound like an english teacher or a grammar nazi. Eh. Rules are rules, regardless whether the internet wants to obey them. Ergo, staff has been harping on about them.

I think the lastest Staff review cottoned onto the true essense of what I'm trying to say with the rather scathing review of Mitch's story. The KEY is to not allow your story to BE one long series of one-liner dialogue, and thus end-up with a page of single-line paragraphs which look " bad in my opinion ". You SHOULD be writing in such a way that it doesn't turn into single lines of text with a blank line after them, by using short bursts of single-line dialogue sparingly, and throwing in longer chunks of dialogue and lots of description to break them all up. Follow me? THIS is good writing that makes the most of the proper paragraph structure.

I have written a short stretch of dialogue of seven one sentence, one-line paragraphs. So what I should do is then follow and precede those seven lines with either a long paragraph of lengthy dialogue OR description of things going on, of the scenery for all it matters. Short, punchy dialogue like that should be used sparingly because it is, as you rightly say, prone to looking " bad ".

Just because we are all not particularly skilled creative writers yet, does not give license to disregard the rules of grammar. And, hell, what is BUYG, if not a creative writing 101 class? tounge.gif

But, I will agree that it is not necessary to have dialogue and then description on separate lines:
QUOTE
"We're taking a detour."

The car veered left.

"To where?"
The car can just as easily veer left before or after either of those dialogue paragraphs.

Alright, I'm done. turn.gif

Tyla
  • Tyla

    Vice Cat

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  • Australia

#1750

Posted 24 December 2009 - 04:40 PM

I'd like to join the Pavano Family at Marco's Tobacco & Beer Shop please.

Chapter One - In at the deep end

Little Italy was a beautifully decorated picture during the morning hours of Monday. The rush hour Algonquin gridlock had cleared, and though the streets were hardly empty, an air of calm was apparent. The order in the brown paper bag had been prepared especially; as was the case on every Monday, with the over-sized paw swooping down to collect it belonging to a near ever present customer. Few words had to be said for him to acknowledge his gratitude for the service he was receiving; the slight, but strongly presented grin across his mouth and look of appease in his eyes providing enough reassuring for the butcher behind the counter.

The silent partner of the consumer spread his arm across the door, holding it open for his friend to exit the store. The two stepped out onto the street almost in synchrony, standing side by side outside Colosseum Butchers on the corner of Feldspar Street. The sight of the hearty cuts hanging in the window display like trophies of engineered craftsmanship, and Fat Frank massacring his jumbo sized Provolone & Salami sandwich would be enough to give any vegan a heart attack. Crumbs danced down the creased blue tracksuit like raindrops from a cloud, bouncing to the neglected sidewalk off the top of a gut so large it appeared that the quarter spun between his associates fingers could be flipped off of it. Everything about Frank was big; his height, his gut, and most importantly, his interest rates. Every Monday for the past three years, Frank had collected his sandwich and a side dish of Vig from the butcher without fail. The man was a compulsive gambler, betting on anything Frank’s sports book was offering with half decent odds. On the less than often blessed occasion, he would win, but more often than not, the dirt surrounding the grave he was digging for himself became shallower. Shark, Frank’s associate, wanted the butchers body bled out on a hook like the very leg of meat he was eying up from across the roof of his Sentinel coupe. Yet Frank wouldn’t sanction it. Frank knew how to play the game.

Shark was the product of a new generation of Liberty City Mafiosi. Known less than affectionately as Guido’s, he fit the stereotype perfectly. Wearing a tight white t-shirt which showcased his steroid fed frame, slicking back hair greasier than a mechanics palm, and painted head to toe in fake tan that would have seemed more appropriate if he were in Vice City, his twenty four years of age were eclipsed by the twenty six years Frank had spent as a made man for the Pavano Family. Like the morning sun onto the terracotta colored apartments they shuffled past, Shark’s inexperience beamed through in his actions. Fueling his over-eager disposition was his desire to put his rising star into the limelight before the upper hierarchy, something he thought he could achieve by working the lucrative Little Italy collection route alongside Fat Frank.

The two peeled around the corner of Emerald Street, marching down the pavement without saying a word to one another. Frank had made the boundaries crystal clear from the birth of there working association; Shark was there to work and keep his mouth shut, and it would be in the best interests of his personal welfare that he complied with the request. Passing a small congregation of men outside of a Pasta restaurant, a third man began pounding the street alongside them. Without one hint of eye contact, Frank recognized his arrival by slowing down his walk.

“Paulie, this is Shark. Shark, this is Paulie.” Frank provided an introduction between the two men who had never crossed paths before. They were part of the same crew, but Shark’s status as a low level associate prevented him from rubbing shoulders with the majority of those that had earned there bones. Paulie Seragliano worked as muscle for the Pavano’s, his triumphs as an underground street fighter on their behalf from years gone by meant he was more than able bodied for the situations he faced in the position he held. Though a couple of inches shorter than Frank, he made sure to keep himself in good shape through a strict regime of exercise. It appeared he had just arrived from doing so; presenting himself in a partially unzipped white tracksuit top, complete with matching trousers and running shoes.

The seasoned enforcer was surprisingly eager to converse, an upbeat tone easy to detect in his thick Italian-American accent, “How ya doin’?”

Though it was more of a greeting than a question, Shark went to answer anyway. Frank took charge of the conversation before he could reel a reply off his tongue, leaning against a table outside of Marco’s Tobacco & Beer Shop, located on the corner of the main throughway of Little Italy: Denver Avenue, and facing the two men.

“Ol’ Marco’s been holdin’ out on his payments as of late. You’s two are in charge of recuperating those losses,” He altered his gaze from the eyes of his accomplices to a vibrating mobile phone now in his hand, rejecting a call from his wife that he deemed distracting, though it reminded him of a prior engagement he had promised to attend with her. He regained his menacing stare, and focused it directly at Shark, “I don’t care how many hookers you nailed this weekend. Your mind is on this job as of now. If blood needs to be spilt, then so f*ckin’ be it.” The gravelly edge to Frank’s tone was the result of another un-healthy habit he kept – chain smoking. A look of discontent to the way he was being ordered about descended across Shark’s face, though the constant gaze set upon him swiftly quashed any thought of rebellion. Frank pulled himself upright, focusing a portion of his vision each way down the street. For a short while, it was if he were the beacon stationed at the top of a lighthouse, scouring the waves of the coastline. His pupils followed every step of those who commuted down the street, as well as every car that rode by. Completely sure no one was looking; he affectionately slapped Paulie on the cheek, and gave him a confident grin. It was the last acknowledgment he showed to either of the men, walking through the middle of them as if they were invisible, strolling off on his own for the remainder of his route.

“So kid,” Paulie inhaled the cold air, his nostrils catching a taster of the dishes the various restaurants were cooking up, “Let’s wrap this up.” He turned and opened the door, walking into the store. Shark followed close behind, looking around; taking note of the fact no customers were present. The only other soul in the store stood behind the counter, stacking the last of some liquor bottles from a wooden crate. He kept an unshaven beard and a scruffily styled hair cut, wearing a white t-shirt covered by an apron.

Shark looked him up and down as he and Paulie stopped before the counter, immediately deciding to taunt the worker. “’Ey, Gonzo,” he gestured with his hands in front of his own nose, mocking the man’s large nose, “Where’s your boss?”

The shop keep placed his hands down on the counter, looking at Shark with a dull stare, “Mr. Marco isn’t here, and he left me in charge. How can I help you?” His words stirred unenthusiastically, slowly delivered.

“There’s a small matter of some unsettled payments, to the tune of one ‘an a half grand,” While Shark negotiated, Paulie kept his eyes on a small safe, tucked away in the corner behind the counter. “So you give us the cash, then you can tell Marco we’re cool – for now.”

The prospect of this slightly amused the man in charge, his lips forming a grin of disbelief; he shook his head, “I don’t think so.”

Shark upped his tone of voice, snapping at his target aggressively. He had picked up on the Jewish-American accent, and decided to resort to belittling him because of it. “Listen, Jew-Prick. Your handin’ over that cash, or my friend here is gonna feed you your teeth.” He turned to Paulie, who gestured unsympathetically with his hands.

“f*ck off.” He fired back.

“Whadda ‘ya mean, f*ck off?”

The man tapped his fingers against the side of his head, “What do you think it means? It means f*ck off.”

“Paulie, you hearin’ this?” Shark shoved Paulie forward, standing back himself as Paulie hurried around to the other side of the counter. Unexpectedly, the shopkeeper threw his hands on top of the empty wooden crate. With one cruel blow, he swung the base of the crate towards Paulie’s head. It caught the brute off-guard on the forehead, sending him off balance and stumbling back into a shelf of beer bottles. Paulie threw himself forward, wrestling in the air for control of the levitated crate with his clawed hands. Shark, expecting Paulie to deal with the situation, found himself reaching into the back of his trousers for his Glock 19 Pistol as Paulie crumbled limply to the ground, felled by a powerful kick to the crotch. He pointed the weapon at the shopkeeper, who was about to gallop over the counter and attack him. The man stood still, but composed, faced with the barrel of the semi-automatic.

“Nice ‘n easy does it, Gonzo,” He proudly flashed a grin through his teeth that earned him his precious nickname, “Open up the back door.” He waved the Glock towards the door. Gonzo complied, taking the keys from under the counter, and unlocking the back door. Shark swam across to his side, and threw his arm around his back, walking with him into the back storeroom.

“Come with me, pal...”

Leaving Paulie to try comfort himself through pain and forgetting about the immediate monetary concern, Shark set his appetite on a new interest.

----

I'd love to hear some feedback if anyone wants to give some. Thanks.

Rucke
  • Rucke

    Gangsta

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#1751

Posted 27 December 2009 - 02:06 AM

Pegorino Crime Family
Drusilla's

Chapter 2: Learn about the business

(Flashback from Italy)
Luigi and Carlo kept driving the boat near the shore. They could see how the coastguard was searching for them with spotlights not even a half mile away. Luigi and Carlo had turned off the lights to avoid any suspicion. They boat was loaded with guns worth over 1 million dollars, guns they had bought from Mr. Fakir in order to sell them to the Pegorino's in America. Luigi couldn't figure where the heat was coming from. The bosses had paid the cops and coastguard to let them smuggle in peace. Maybe it was this Moroccan guy, Mr. Fakir? He was a cold fish, and Luigi didn't trust him. But no, Luigi couldn't believe that Fakir would want to jeopardise his whole operation. That wouldn't make any sense.

"I think they've spot us." Carlo said and pointed at a boat coming closer.

Luigi grabbed the binnacles. The boat was indeed closing in on them, but it didn't look like a police boat. "Get us out of here Carlo!" He said to his brother. Carlo hit the gas and within a few seconds the boat ha reached maximum speed. The Squalo boat was one of the fastest on the market right now. Luigi didn't believe his eyes when he noticed the boat behind still was closing in on them. Luigi and Carlo both pulled up their handguns. The boat pulled up next to them. A man armed with some kind of automatic weapon aimed for the engine and started to shoot. A massive explosion occurred. Luigi and Carlo barely managed to get of them boat in time. The water was freezing, but Luigi didn't care. All he had in his mind was to save himself and his brother Carlo. He looked around to see if his brother was alright, but he was gone. Carlo was a good swimmer, how could that be possible? Luigi felt how someone grabbed his back. Before he knew it he was sitting tied and gagged together with Carlo on the boat who had following them. Luigi was now absolutely certain that this was no cop boat. The crew all looked like gangsters. He could hear how someone was sneaking up behind him. However, he couldn't turn around since he was tied against a pole. The man came up in front of them - it was Jamal Fakir, the gun smuggler. He looked at Luigi and Carlo, laughing. Luigi couldn't believe why he did this. He wanted to ask him but couldn't since he was gagged. No, who was Luigi kidding? He didn't even want to talk to him, he wanted to kill him. He couldn't do that either though, at least not as long he remained tie.

"You have bought a lot of guns from my organization the last few months." Fakir said as he put his hand on Luigi's cheek. "I want to know why..." He continued.
"Let's make this simple. I know you got a buyer for the guns somewhere in the U.S, you tell me who and where they operate and I'll let you and your brother go. Deal?" Fakir asked and looked at Luigi with his dark eyes. He looked like a typical Arabic guy, with the beard and everything. He had never revealed his age, but Luigi figured him to be in his early forties. Luigi know the bosses would never trust him again if he revealed who the buyer was, but was it worth risking him and Carlo's life? Luigi nodded to answer Fakir's question. Fakir noticed this and started to remove the gag from Luigi's mouth.

"Now, speak." He demanded.
"It's the Pegorino Family in Liberty City." Luigi said. "Do you let me and my brother go now?" He asked.

Fakir didn't answer. He untied Carlo from the pole and grabbed him near the neck. He dragged him to the back of the boat, near the engine. He then ordered his men to start it. Within a few seconds the rotor blades were spinning. Fakir pushed Carlo's head close to the blades. Luigi didn't really see what was going on but when Carlo suddenly started to scream in pain, and when the white deck became covered in blood, Luigi knew what was going on. In panic and desperation he managed to cut the tie and break free. But it was too late, Carlo was dead. Fakir pulled up his gun, ready to shoot Luigi. Luigi knew he wouldn't have a chance against him, so instead he jumped off the boat. He dive underwater he kept swimming for the shore. By the time he had reached it, Fakir and his men had lost him. Luigi saw them leave the location and kept thinking that someday he would get his revenge.


(Back to reality, 3 years later)
Luigi and Danny were on their way to meet Jorge Flores up in Bohan. The last few weeks Jorge had spent most of his time importing big loads of coke and H for the upcoming deal between the Pegorino's and the yet anonymous buyer. Every time Luigi asked Danny who they were he always answered that it would be revealed when the time was right. Jorge lived in the projects of South Bohan. Even though the drug dealing provided a nice income stream, it still wasn't enough to get out from the ghetto. That's why Jorge was one of the people who were most excited about the deal. If it pulled through he would become a rich man, just like the rest of the people involved. Luigi was a bit nervous, this was the first time he was going to meet the infamous Jorge Flores. Danny always said Jorge was a loyal and trusted associate of the family. But Luigi had bad experience of doing business with outsiders, especially since was happened back in Italy three years ago.

"Alright, so there's been a major crackdown on drugs in the city the last few years." Danny said as they walked into the elevator. Jorge lived on the top floor. "Jorge is a bit paranoid because of this, so whatever you do don't mention anything about the fed's or the FIB, okay?" Danny said and looked at Luigi to make sure he catched what he was saying. Danny had seemed a bit tensed the last few days. He feared that Big Luca would try to get revenge for what happened to his boy Giorgio back at Drusilla's. Danny had been invited to a sit-down next week with Willie Grappa, and together they were going to solve the dispute.

"You got it, Danny. In my mouth cops, FIB and FED's are dirty words." Luigi replied and smiled at Danny, who kept looking like he was having a nervous breakdown.

The elevator door opened, Luigi and Danny stepped out and walked towards Jorge's door. Loud music was coming from it and Luigi couldn't help to wonder if the sound was disturbing the neighbours. Danny knocked hard at the door to make sure Jorge heard. "Who the f*ck is it? Cops aren't welcome around here! I keep telling you, I got guns. I'll blow you back on the street!" Luigi could hear Jorge yell from inside the apartment. He opened up with a gun in his hand, but when he saw it was Danny he put it back into his pants and gave him a welcoming hug. Jorge was in his early thirties. He looked a bit overweight; Luigi figured he had ordered too many meals at Burger Shot. He was dressed in baggy blue jeans, a black cardigan with a white T-shirt underneath. He wore a black scully on his head and had a lot of jewellery hanging around his neck. When Luigi and Danny stepped inside, Luigi noticed that Marco and Mario were there too. They were snorting lines of cocaine together in Jorge's living room. As soon Jorge had welcomed Danny he joined them. He snorted a big line of coke and then looked up at Luigi.

"Dios mio, Danny. Aren't you going to introduce me? Who the hell is this guy?" Jorge said and kept on staring at Luigi.
"This is Luigi. We flew him in all the way from the Old Country to help us out. He's a good guy, knows more about loyalty than most of the pricks we got here." Danny said and pat Luigi's back. "So Jorge, I hear there's a shipment coming up. Do you mind if Luigi come along with you? I want him to learn how we do business up here." Danny explained and looked at Jorge. He didn't bother to look at Marco and Mario, because since they were his nephews they didn't have any disagreements anyway. Jorge took a closer look at Luigi, smiled and said "Of course he can. I'm always in need of loyal guys, plus I love doing you favours Danny."
"The shipment is coming in tonight in Bohan Industrial. We better get down there soon before they start to offload." Marco said once he had snorted the last line of cocaine on the table.


Jorge stopped his black Cavalcade outside the gate of a big warehouse in Bohan Industrial. Marco was sitting beside him with his gun ready if something would go wrong. Luigi and Mario were sitting in the backseat, excited for what was going to happen. Usually these things could go two ways, either everything was going smooth and everybody goes home happy, or either somebody gets greedy and everything goes to sh*t. You could never know, it was the same thing in the Old Country. After the dispute with Fakir, Luigi had learned to never trust the people he was doing business with. He took a look out the car window and noticed that someone was coming to unlock the gate and let them in to do the deal. Luigi followed Marco's example and carefully pulled up his gun, just in case. They were dealing with members from the Spanish Lords street gang. Jorge had once been a member of the gang before he decided to start his own thing. The guy outside unlocked the gate and Jorge carefully entered the warehouse area. Luigi tried to estimate how many guys that were present, but he couldn't see them all, it too dark. Jorge drove the car into a big warehouse and parked up near the entrance. A couple of guys with briefcases were waiting for them. "Stay put, alright homies?" Jorge said, Luigi, Marco and Mario nodded. Luigi still had his gun ready. He tried to hide it inside his pants as the crew left the car in order to do the deal.

"Jorge Flores! Long time no see mi hermano." The gang member holding the briefcase said and started to laugh. He seemed to know Jorge from earlier.
"Hey Rico. You got the stuff for us?" Jorge said and looked behind his shoulders like he seemed nervous. Obviously he didn't trust his old friends anymore.
"Can this possibly be Luigi Tometta? I've heard a lot about you my friend." Rico said and smiled at Luigi. Luigi started to feel anxious. This guy Rico was playing with them, just like Fakir had done three years earlier, and that deal ended up really bad.
"Yeah I'm Luigi. What does that have to do with things?" Luigi asked and decided to play Rico's game.
"A lot my friend. You see after you killed Giorgio, Big Luca has together with a few other Ancelotti associates paid criminals all over town to get you clipped. I'm sorry Mr. Tometta but we are on the Ancelotti's payroll. They will pay an even higher price for your head than the money we would have made from this deal." Rico said and signalled his men to kill Luigi, Jorge Marco and Mario.

Guns started to fire all over the warehouse. Luigi and Marco, who both had their guns ready started to shoot back. Luigi still had a hard time trying to estimate how many guys that were present. One thing was sure though, Luigi and his crew were outnumbered. They slowly retreated back to the car and managed to get back in before anyone was wounded. Jorge pulled the car backwards while Luigi and the nephews kept on shooting at Rico and his guys. Luigi aimed and pulled the trigger, the bullet hit Rico's head and he fell dead to the ground. The gate was still open and the guys managed to escape the disaster. Luigi had only one thing in his head, Big Luca had to go, permission or no permission.


The end of Chapter 2.

Stay tuned for Chapter 3!

To the other staff: My previous story still needs to be rated.

aragond
  • aragond

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#1752

Posted 27 December 2009 - 06:30 AM Edited by aragond, 08 May 2010 - 04:52 AM.

Hi'all. Ratings coming soon, but before I do, I thought it best to resolve Episode Two before the year is out, just so y'all know what happened. Well, really, that and just in case someone is reading. Really wish they'd restore the font and font-sizing tags. confused.gif

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(Story #12)

Episode Two, "Metastasis", Part Five

Slugger stood there in traffic. His body faced the angrily-honking, slowly-moving northbound cars. He turned his head left and watched as the biker approached. And as the Hellfury passed him, Slugger raised his right arm and fired.

The Hellfury slowed and slammed into the rear of the Perennial ahead of it, the rider falling from his bike to the ground.

While cars screeched tires and slammed into eachother in desperation to escape the maniac with the gun, Slugger calmly walked toward the biker and kicked the piece from his shaking hand.

"You're a good shot, hombre," the weathered biker croaked, raising and turning his head to spit blood. "That's a lung I won't be using for a while."

Slugger impassionately raised his gun, aiming at the biker's head.

"Alright, I surrender, G'dammit!" the biker angrily yelled, before vainly raising his hands to protect his face. Slugger paused. The biker opened his eyes and wondered whether he saw a flicker of compassion in the towering killer's face.

Slugger fired.

The biker screamed and swore expletives in agony, clutching his left shoulder as blood oozed rapidly from the wound. Slugger leaned down, putting his knee into the biker's side, as sirens echoed in the distance. Without an expression, much less a word, he then pressed the smoking hot gun barrel into the oozing wound. The biker's scream became a squeal.

"Do I got your attention?" Slugger asked. His voice was smooth and deep, like a lounge singer's, but menacing.

"Yes, f*ckdammit, yes!"

"You tell your compadres that the next bullet goes between your eyes, or theirs, or in anyone else's from the Lost until Bill Geary gives up Carmine's casinos. You hearin' me?"

"Yes, I f*ckin' hearya," the biker screamed between agonising howls.

"FREEZE! Drop your weapon!"

Slugger removed the gun from the biker's shoulder and slowly stood, his hands always visible. "Hey! I didn't say stand up," the police officer stated incredulously.

Slugger turned his head to see the lone officer pointing his shaking pistol with both arms. He backed toward him. "Hey. Hey! Get... get back."

By the time the officer could have guessed Slugger's intent, Slugger had moved quickly back and to the left, leaving the officer's wrists below Slugger's right arm. With feline grace of movement, Slugger's right arm clamped down on those wrists, and his left hand wrenched the gun from its owner's grasp. A single shot fired aimlessly into the sky as the officer's fingers were wrenched past the trigger.

Slugger released his grip of the cop's wrists, turned, pointing his own gun while he one-handedly emptied and disassembled the cop's own gun. Sirens became louder and turned into screeching tyres as two pairs of cops emerged from vehicles pointing their guns, screaming instructions at Slugger.

His cop, arms raised, however, didn't move.

"BOO!" Slugger's head crossed half the distance between he and the cop's face as he lurched forward to scare him before he ran, but it caused the young officer to step backwards, trip and fall, thus exposing Slugger to the four cops down the street now with clear shots. Damn.

"Stay right where you are!" Without a moment's thought, Slugger bolted.

"Hey! Come back here!" Slugger ran as fast as his long legs would carry him, which gave him a fifty-yard start on his four pursuers, and enough time to fire a single shot, dissuading the hysterical driver from fleeing, and hijack a nice new Coquette sports car.

The engine whined loudly as he reversed at full speed, bullets ricocheting off the sharp angle of the windshield, if they hit the car at all, and turned the wheel hard, spinning the car a half-circle before its squealling tires carried it down the road at lightning speed. The cops were never closer than thirty yards.

Slugger permitted himself a slight smile.

It evaporated almost immediately when a gurgle interrupted his moment of pride, and quick glance behind him confirmed what he had but a moment to fear: there was a baby in the backseat. Slugger screamed, and immediately began soothing the child he'd upset with his scream, and shook his head.

Why did this sh!t never happen to Joel?

As day turned to night, the sun set in the sky, and the half-moon rose in the east, then disappeared behind buildings in the west, two men climbed from a sedan onto the deserted streets carrying several bottles that had cotton fuses for corks. The driver then drove across the T-intersection and parked, his headlights briefly illuminating the entrance to the alleyway where six men stood hard against the wall to avoid being caught by the light.

Big Lou was at the head of the line and watched the two men across the street light their molotov cocktails preparing to throw them through the window of Oscar's Emporium. He turned back to the line of men and spoke in a hushed voice.

"Take care of these guns," he said referring to the combat shotguns five of them held tightly in their hands. "No one fires unless they abso-f*cking-lutely have to. This isn't some street assassination. These guys are simply going to disappear, capiche?"

The five men, Al, Nicky Nails, Joey V., Mad Tony and Doc, nodded affirmatively, nervously fingering every curve of their weapons.

"When those two chumps get in, we approach the car from the passenger-side rear quarter, single-file, and I've taken out the street lights to give us some more cover. When we reach the car, we fan out and get their attention. Then, you, Doc take the van and stop beside the car, bind their hands, and we load everyone in for a little ride. Simple as that.

"Got it?" Everyone nervously nodded again and whispered their understanding.

"I'll remind you guys, if Vano gets word we're disappearing Dapper Joey's firemen, every one of us is f*ckin' dead," Lou said with a deeply serious tone. "Word of this leaks, we're dead. Sammy or Joel or anyone hears sh!t, we're dead. You two don't even tell Leo," Lou said pointing a finger at Doc and Tony. The five men nodded in understanding.

As two men finished throwing their firebombs into the Emporium, they jogged casually across the street to the waiting car and climbed in, waiting for the tell-tale signs of smoke and flames. Their eyes fixed on the store, they didn't notice Big Lou at the head of a line of five guys approaching the car in the dark street, long-barrelled shotgun pressed firmly to his leg to hide it. With an arsonist's perverse glee, the three watched the store's interior turn a bright orange, and smiled to themselves with satisfaction at Dapper Joey's future appreciation of their loyal act, so they never noticed the five guys fan-out around the car until five shotguns were pointed at them and an order was shouted.

"Everybody, very slowly, get out!"

The driver raised his hands in surrender as his two passengers looked around for an escape. The men surrounding them looked viciously determined, single-minded and driven. There was no doubt they meant business. As the three men emerged from the car, a van sped around the corner and pulled-up beside the car its tyres squealing to a noisy stop.

As the flames could be seen licking the glass window to the Emporium, Big Lou, Nicky and Joey V. pressed their shotguns into the necks of the three Pavano arsonists, Al and Mad Tony bound the three men's hands and loaded them into the van. Closing the doors behind them, the Speedo sped away, while Lou and Al jogged around the corner to their car. In the deserted street, as the fire alarm at Oscar's began ringing loudly, a lone car sat, doors ajar, occupants absent, the sole witness.

"That went surprisingly well," Lou mused as they hit the seats of their car. "We might just pull this off, save this city from more firebombings."

As Al started the car, a distant siren of a firetruck rang out in the late night air as though calling to the Emporium. Then Lou's phone joined the growing chorus of ringing.

"Yeah?"

"Big Lou?" the voice said. "It's me. Franny."

I am genuinely interested in feedback. If you'd prefer not to clog the thread, feel free to PM instead.

Needless to say, that closes out our Episode Two! Stay tuned for Episode Three. Will Lou get away with sending a warning to Dapper Joey without Gino or Sammy finding out? Will Franny still be alive when they get to him? Will Joel and Slugger ever manage to get Carmine's casinos back from The Lost without starting a war? Stay Tuned. I got a lot more o' this sh*t to spin!

This story earned $42 from staff.

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Armaggedon Day
  • Armaggedon Day

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#1753

Posted 27 December 2009 - 01:46 PM

I'll join.

Umm, I'll join the Lost MC at Meth Lab.

Rucke
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#1754

Posted 27 December 2009 - 09:02 PM

QUOTE (Armaggedon Day @ Dec 27 2009, 14:46)
I'll join.

Umm, I'll join the Lost MC at Meth Lab.

Cool, I'll hit you up soon. In the meantime, try to work on your first story.

Tyler
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    This is gonna take crackerjack timing, Wang.

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#1755

Posted 29 December 2009 - 08:53 PM

I didn't read the whole set of rules but can I join the Pegorino Crime Family at Garbage Disposal Inc. ? I've got alot of stories to write.

Rucke
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#1756

Posted 29 December 2009 - 09:05 PM

QUOTE (Unoriginal44 @ Dec 29 2009, 21:53)
I didn't read the whole set of rules but can I join the Pegorino Crime Family at Garbage Disposal Inc. ? I've got alot of stories to write.

Go ahead and start writing. You don't need to be accepted before writing a story icon14.gif

Tyler
  • Tyler

    This is gonna take crackerjack timing, Wang.

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#1757

Posted 29 December 2009 - 09:51 PM

Garbage Disposal Inc.
Pegorino Crime Family
Chapter 1

Not to safe anymore. Nothing really is though right? The job just kills me anymore. Times are changing, Mobsters are losing their touch. F*ckhead gangbangers are rising. The era of not giving a f*ck started I guess. Whatever though, if those stupid motherf*cking shysters think they are going to put my family out of business they're wrong. I'm too old and yet I'm only 26. You can pretty much see grey hair on my chest for Christ's sake! I'm still muscular though, at least enough to take down any hood on the street.
"Hey Jerry, when did you wanna head out 'mate?" My head was still ringing from the Migrane I had. " 1 hour man, just let me rest my head for a sec' " I said to Frank, the wannabe Australian from Bohan. I sat my pistol down on the desk and massaged my temple. C'mon Jerr' when are those Advil gonna take effect? I fought the need to lay my head down and got up. "Alright let's go," picking up my gun as we headed out.

Two hours later inside the Costello Cafe in Aldernney, Frank and I sat drinking our Sprunks while the last of my headache wisped away. I nodded to Frank and he pulled out his phone and called Big man. Big man was a code name. You see, the Pegorino's Garbage Disposal Inc. was actually a hitman facility. Me and Frank were the star geezer's too. We did it all, Burned down a tenament, killed a priest, drowned the CEO of the Get-A-Life foundation, and even murdered th Mayor's Cousin. I lived rich for it too, I had a net sum of 200,000$ hidden in bank depositorys all over Liberty City. I didn't hide it either, I wore model Timmy Hiligyger Suits and Watches at all times. When I walk down the street I might as well be carrying a F*cking sign saying 'Rob me'. "2532 S. Dewanny street? Alright what's his name? Ok we'll make sure he doesn't give you any more problems," Frank hung up the cellular and got out of his seat to stretch. "we're going to kill a guy named Derrick faudistine. F*ckin' Jamaican hood that raped some guys daughter,"
"That Pr*ck, alright how much we getting paid?"
"30" Frank held up 3 fingers as he said that, and we walked to the car.

The car was parked right outside this Jamaican's house. This guy was a drug dealer, and he didn't care who knew I guess. His house was basiclly the golden egg in the dozen, because everything looked imported. His car was a black Supeiore with blue tinted windows and a blue decal accross the sides. I got out of the car and pulled out my pistol, taking out the magazine and making sure it was loaded. Frank went around back of the house to make sure this Derrick guy didn't escape. I held the pistol to the mahoganny finished door and shot the deadbolt out. Quickly, I kicked the door open and aimed the pistol at a Dark looking man with a bottle of Lager in his hand and shot him twice in the chest. His body hit the ground like a brick and the bottle broke into pieces over the hardwood coffee table. I head shots coming from the back door as a man yelped in a Jamacain accent ," Oi f*ck y'all white muthaf*cka's me boy'll kill y-" Frank shot him 4 more times in the stomach. He walked in the living room and nodded, with sounds of police sirens in the distance. We got back into the car and sped off to collect our money.

Build Up Your Gang
  • Build Up Your Gang

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#1758

Posted 01 January 2010 - 05:42 AM Edited by Build Up Your Gang, 04 January 2010 - 04:41 PM.

This space now available for rent

Vercetti27
  • Vercetti27

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#1759

Posted 01 January 2010 - 01:08 PM

or the first for 2010... biggrin.gif

aragond
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#1760

Posted 02 January 2010 - 04:44 PM

QUOTE (Vercetti27 @ Jan 1 2010, 23:08)
or the first for 2010... biggrin.gif

And at the rate I'm going, the first for 2011, too...
Sorry, dudes, ratings keep getting interrupted. Soon. confused.gif

YamiFly
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#1761

Posted 03 January 2010 - 12:16 PM

I'll join the Lost at Meth Lab.

TV1213
  • TV1213

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#1762

Posted 03 January 2010 - 05:17 PM

sorry Yami, Armagedon day already got it, not to burst anyone's bubble.

Tycek
  • Tycek

    Being a bastard works.

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#1763

Posted 03 January 2010 - 05:42 PM

I think there is a rule that BUYG staff decides who will get the place in the gang if two people are fighting about it. I think you should write a story for this location and then you'll get the place. Armageddon day didn't post his story yet so theoretically this place is free.

TV1213
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#1764

Posted 03 January 2010 - 05:45 PM

I tihnk he's right post like a smaal intro and you could get the spot...but i don't know.

YamiFly
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#1765

Posted 03 January 2010 - 06:28 PM

I guess I will write the introduction for the first chapter.

Saga 1: Respect is Earned
Chapter 1: What is essential.

I woke up and took a look at the mirror. As I newly had changed my hair and my clothes, I decided to check myself to see how did I look. My name was Mike, I wore a black jacket with olive T-Shirt. I had brown pants and black shoes. I was tall, and with some muscle. I had red, spiky hair. I moved on outside and went down the elevator. I went to the garage and got in the motorcycle.

"Good that I have you, little fella!" I said as I looked at my badge.

Genius in technollogy, my friend Blake who lived in San Andreas, gave me this badge with a lot of systems, including GPS. I placed it in the bike special built-in spot. I started to drive to where the Lost told me I was going to be working. A Meth Lab.

"Hi rookie!" The lost president greet me.
"I didn't expect to see you here, Jhonny!" I said.

We walked in the Lab, and they showed me a special room for me. It was empty. They told me about the gang before. Billy, Brian, all. After Billy was killed, they didn't have any fights with the Angels of Death, until the 10th of July of 2009. That day a shootout made both gangs be in a poor position. They got up now, and each one wants to screw the other over.

"OK, go get your own furniture, ehrm, Mike?" Jhonny said.

When I finished with remodeling the room, I had the Lost logo in the floor, and a couch. In front a TV, on the very back a desk and a computer. Also, some kind of posters that could be written over. I was in the Lost now.

Build Up Your Gang
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#1766

Posted 04 January 2010 - 03:55 PM Edited by Build Up Your Gang, 04 January 2010 - 03:59 PM.

Before I begin with the ratings, firstly, a happy new year, and secondly, you may recall that Staff has banged on about how a story begins, how important it is for grabbing the reader's immediate attention, and heaped praise on Vercetti's first few openings? Well, just so you know I am not blowing smoke, Time Magazine's end-of-year edition lists 2009's best openings in a novel as proof they, and the literary world, regard this as important. The list is:
  1. "So now get up."
  2. Here they are again -- the bent boys, baked and buzzed boys ...
  3. I'm a problematic infant but everything seems okay to me.
  4. I clasp the flask between my hands even though the warmth from the tea has long since leached into the frozen air.
  5. Bob Munroe woke up on his face.
I'm not saying they were the BEST lines, imho, but Time thought they were.

Anyhoo, it's been twelve seventeen days since the last ratings. And though these ratings have actually been posted in 2010, they're really the last ratings for 2009 since that's when they were written. Well, no, they weren't, but... oh, look, just leave it.
Sorry it took so blasted long. So many interruptions in Staff's life. Then again, it IS a massive nine stories, and Staff has never done so many. Ach!

Vercetti27
Pegorino Family | Pegorino Mansion | Chapter 8 The Peg Strikes Back
$35 + $3,182 = $3,217
Perseus should be capitalised. " A sniper rifle was led in it’s case on the back seat. " The sniper rifle was "left" perhaps? And, "it's" means "it is", while "its" is the possessive (the ownage) of "it".
"No-one knows for working for us". Once again, full-stop before the quote; "no one" does not have a dash in it; is the word "for" meant to be "you're" in this sentence? And I'm confused by your paragraphs: normally you have a blank line only when you're spacing paragraphs by time, but this sentence is followed by a blank line and then Sonny's response to that sentence. And then all your later paragraphs have blank lines beneath them. Staff is confused. (Not that they're complaining, since Staff prefers blank lines after every paragraph, but you're doing it inconsistently.)
It strikes this Staff that this was a rushed to completion story, at least at the beginning. And yet despite the many grammatical errors, and the story starting slowly before Louie's mad dash to catch the fleeing Russian, your stories are interesting and you conclude them well. (You didn't need to return to Charge Island to get the code, he could have just broken the case open, couldn't he?)

Spank-head69
Petrovic Bratva | Kenny Petrovic's Mansion | Chapter um... it doesn't say (but I think 4)
$34 + $546 - $5 (knife) = $575
Nice opening. Once more, staff appreciates your use of spaces betwixt paragraphs. But, not much happened in this one, though you have tried to make the reparte sparkle, one fears other staff would have berated you for a lack of narrative. There's always a tension in BUYG writing between lengthy stories and conciseness, that is, saying a lot with few words. You've got the length right, buuut... I fear you could have made this shorter by losing some of the irrelevancies: for example, was it relevant to the story to know he was from Chelyabinsk, especially when telling us took nine paragraphs? Or the conversation with third-parties, like cab drivers, don't need to be spelled-out, unless they're particularly witty or important to know how he responded to the cabby. It could have instead been handled by the narrative. Y'know, something like: I stepped out of Comrades’ Bar, checking my wallet before hailing a cab for the café in Algonquin. When I stepped from the cab, I could clearly see Oleg sitting... Shorter, and you didn't lose any important detail, really.
Just food for thought.
Since there was only dialogue, no action, and little narrative, Staff can't help thinking this wasn't quite up to your usual standard, even though it was a preparation for the robbery of the Chinese. Maybe the two chapters could have been combined with a little judicious pruning. Still, not bad.

Benjimino234
Petrovic Bratva | Cabaret Club | Chapter 3?? Just take care of it...
$39 + $580 = $619
I liked. The opening was good, it was a lot longer than your previous efforts, the grammar is pretty good, and it's punchy and pretty much to the point. Perhaps a little *too* to the point: the shooting of Kanawi and his boys was perhaps a little too short, whereas the opening discussion about soup and weather-related blues seemed out of place, unnecessary, though you may have been trying to set a mood.
But, another encounter, the one with the faux-mobster, achieved what I mention to Spank above: dialogue should either be witty or revealling (about the character) and that was a bit of both.
I'm mystified by how one can wear metal around one's intellect (that sentence was missing a word?), and, maybe I missed something, but there was no explanation as to why Kanawi was shooting up the club, or confirmation that, indeed, he really was. Things like that could have expanded the shooting scene, but... maybe you are trying to build up Alex as a man who just takes his orders and then his money and doesn't care about anything in between. That's fine, too, and would come out in later stories.
Still, overall, a good effort.

mrpain
The Lost | Ammunition | Chapter 2 Rapist Hunt
$36 + $882 = $918
The conclusion was a little matter-of-fact in its brutality, in fact, that applies to much of the story, plus Staff wonders why nobody uses baseball bats when taking out guards anymore.
Still, no serious issues with grammar, spelling or length, but Staff wonders whether your heart wasn't entirely in it. A reasonable effort.

kid23455
Albanian Mob | Hardware Store | Part 3 For a man who has nothing
$26 + $131 - $100 (pistol) = $57
Almost purely dialogue with a smattering of description and almost no narrative, and what there is is pretty brief. And few of those dialogue lines indicates who is speaking or how they are speaking. After so many lines of dialogue, it can get confusing as to who is speaking. You really do need to add much more narrative, especially when you're writing in first-person.
Secondly, it's odd that he brought back $500 worth of cocaine when there was s'posed to be $50k worth, but now he owes Bujar only $45k. Hmm?
It didn't seem up to your better stories, iSho, though you did get the grammar pretty right, fwiw.

Tyla
Pavano Family | Marco's Tobacco & Beer Shop | Chapter One In at the deep end
$50 + $564 = $614
Oh, wow! Impressive, Tyla! Staff imagines a great deal of work was put into this. The first three or four paragraphs are a pleasure to read, with phrases like " over-sized paw swooping down ", " Crumbs danced down the creased blue tracksuit like raindrops " (tho' you didn't need the "from a cloud"), " Everything about Frank was big; his height, his gut, and most importantly, his interest rates. ", " Frank had collected his sandwich and a side dish of Vig from the butcher without fail. ", and " his steroid fed frame " (should have a "-" between "steroid" and "fed"). Staff is highly impressed with the story's fluid use of highly descriptive narrative, natty little phrases like these, and dopey mafioso dialogue, such as " You’s two are in charge of recuperating those losses " (I think it should be "youse" since how you've written it is "you is") with its mangled english... pure poetry!
Now recalling that you're the guy that wrote " sun kissed leather steering wheel ", perhaps Staff shouldn't be surprised, but it seems you've really turned it on. Staff'd frankly be tempted to believe you've plagarised this from a book or somesuch. biggrin.gif
Not that it's quite perfection: a few missing commas ( "So , kid," ), always have a lowercase after a comma, even (especially) when the comma is inside quotes; and when one person's speech is broken in two, use the same grammar you would use if there was no break. For example, if I take the narrative out of this:
"’Ey, Gonzo," he gestured with his hands in front of his own nose, mocking the man’s large nose, "Where’s your boss?"
...you've got:
"’Ey, Gonzo ," he gestured with his hands in front of his own nose, mocking the man’s large nose , " Where’s your boss?"
...a.k.a.:
"’Ey, Gonzo, Where’s your boss?"
...which is a capital after a comma. The whole line should either be:
"’Ey, Gonzo," he gestured with his hands in front of his own nose, mocking the man’s large nose . "Where’s your boss?"
...or:
"’Ey, Gonzo," he gestured with his hands in front of his own nose, mocking the man’s large nose, " w here’s your boss?"
There's also some unnecessary wordage or sentences that could be better worded, especially in the second half. Being one's own editor, repeatedly, will iron much of those out.
Still, this is minor stuff, and Staff was impressed with this story.

Rucke
Pegorino Family | Drusilla's | Chapter 1 Arrival in Liberty City
$45 + $3,217 = $3,262
With considerable trepidation that Staff moves to rate one of Rucke's stories!
Staff likes where you're heading with this. The opening paragraphs are highly descriptive and scene-setting. If Staff have an issue with them, it's the old writer's adage: "Don't tell, show." You seem to "tell" rather than "show" your readers. For example, the way we find out Luigi is a made guy is a sentence that begins: "You see,..." A better way to achieve the same information would be to show your readers he's a made guy. Perhaps don't mention it at all until Danny introduces Luigi as "a friend of ours". Explanations within a story are ... less enjoyable to read than finding something out because you observe it yourself from what's been described. Capiche?
So, it would be better to lose lines like "The reason Luigi had travelled to Liberty City was to help his American brothers as a favour for his bosses back in Italia." where you're telling your readers the important facts to know, rather than letting them figure it out for themselves. I know you're no fan of massive dialogue stories, but there ought to be a balance between tight, well-written dialogue that quickly conveys details and perceptions, and descriptive narrative. And you're bordering on the opposite end to Mitch's dialogue-heavy story. Narrative is good, don't get me wrong, but you could enhance the amount of dialogue to achieve some of these facts being conveyed and still not exceed your dialogue tolerances. For example, you could explain Luigi's knowledge of english with two short lines of dialogue between Danny and he.
This isn't a negative criticism, not for a story of ~1,800 words, with no discernable spelling and only a few grammatical issues. (One of those grammatical no-nos is having two peoples' dialogue inside the same paragraph. Always have separate paragraphs.) It's just this staff's observations on what would make up the difference to the full $60. smile.gif

Pegorino Family | Drusilla's | Chapter 2 Learn about the business
$47 + $3,262 = $3,309
Alright, you've certainly built up Fakir as someone to despise. Jorge sounds like an interesting character (would have been doubly-awesome had he been your brief Spanish Lords character lol.gif ). And you've set-up the Peg-Ancelotti beef well. Good solid story. This is gonna be fun.
I'm not sure why, but there is some pretty basic errors in this, though. " They boat.. ", " Luigi grabbed the binnacles ", and " as long he remained tie. "? ("tied"?) And "Get us out of here Carlo!" He said should, of course, be "Get us out of here, Carlo!" he said , lowercase "he" and a comma after "here". In fact, there's a few uppercase "he"s after commas, and a few "Talky talky talky." He said . (Comma, not full-stop at the end of the quote IF you've got "he said" after the quote.)
I know. Staff is being picky, but it just seems so uncharacteristic of the great Rucke is all. smile.gif
Likewise, some of your expressions were less than... Rucke-ish. The whole " Luigi and Danny were on their way.. " paragraph could have been better expressed. You got your ideas across okay, but the expression seemed a little too matter-of-fact, less poetic and expressive. Like, perhaps instead of starting with Luigi and Danny, start out telling us about Jorge, his excitement about the deal that was gonna bring him up, what the deal was, and then, as a sidebar, Luigi and Danny were on-route. I dunno. Something. biggrin.gif Make any sense?? Just suggestions for better writing, is all. smile.gif
Still, what Staff is saying is that this is a pretty solid effort,

Unoriginal44
Pegorino Family | Garbage Disposal Inc. | Chapter 1
$40 + $3,309 = $3,349
You should look to the opening scene of the movie "Gotti" (Armande Assante) for pointers on how to pull-off your character's opening monologue. Not that it was bad -- staff knew where you were going with it -- but Staff just felt it lacked expressiveness, lacked the raw, bubbling emotion of a frustrated mobster. Still, a nice way to start your story.
Minor points: "200,000$" normally would have the "$" at the beginning in the thoroughly American Liberty City; and the "y" in " depositorys " is a plural so it should be " depositories ".
And break-up your paragraphs a little more. There should never be two people's dialogue in the same paragraph, and generally not two different "ideas" (so, slap a break between him thinking about how rich he is, and repeating back the address to the phone). It's just confusing.
" His house was basiclly the golden egg in the dozen... " = good use of an expression. It's a much quicker way of saying something
Staff would urge you to work on the paragraphs, definitely run a spell-check over it, and maybe lengthen this story -- while 650-ish words is not tragic, there was lotsa scope for longer descriptions, esp. the killing -- but overall, this is a solid effort.

The following are still awaiting rating:

Aragond
Pegorino Family | Recycling Plant | Story #10
$ rating still pending
Formatting fixed

Pegorino Family | Recycling Plant | Story #11
$ rating still pending
Formatting fixed

Pegorino Family | Recycling Plant | Story #12
$ rating still pending
Formatting fixed

PLEASE let staff know if he's gotten the maths (or something else) wrong. Staff thinks he got all the purchases recorded.

And then to the matter of the Yamifly versus Armaggedon Day contest over The Lost meth lab spot: Firstly, Yamifly, TV' misinforms you, 293-word introductions do not cut-it as a full-story-placeholder for a spot. You need to write something longer. Staff is also slightly sympathetic to Armaggedon because it might seem to him that he got deferred by Rucke (" I'll hit you up soon. In the meantime, try to work on your first story. ") and is waiting to hear back. (Perhaps Rucke can clarify? Has he been "in talks" with said individual?) However, Armaggedon is also a two-post userID which infers he will not respond to a Staff PM. Give it a couple of days, and, if we haven't heard from him, then post a proper story, Yami.

~ Aragond on behalf of Skramz , whose exams are really, really long.

Armaggedon Day
  • Armaggedon Day

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#1767

Posted 04 January 2010 - 08:13 PM

Sorry for long time. Also, let Yami take the spot. I choose Torres Cartel at the old hospital. I didn't got internet for loong time and now I will probably lose it again.

I also joined only for BUYG, as I saw it and loved it. I'll hit up SA soon? Maybe.

So let Yami be the one who takes the spot. But I will secure my spot with a story. Oh and also, I had talks with Yami, actually he followed what TV said and made a short intro.

The old hospital:

Hi, my name is Jake, and I am 23 years old. I ussually use a black suit. I currently live next to the Old Hospital and work there. Not as a doctor, but as a hitman.

*Phone ringing*

"What Elizabeta?" I asked
"There will be some guys coming to invade the hospital, keep them off." Elizabeta asked
"I can't, I only have a Bat!" I exclamated.
"In room 4 of corridor B, I left some weapons." Elizabeta said
"Ok see ya!" I rushed.

I sprinted to the place. Molotovs and a pistol. Great! I went to the entrance and two cars showed up. From there four people went off. Some with knifes, some with bats, and some with pistols. I slided to a cover point. There was a big plant that hided me. I loaded and shot. Headshot to the first, and the second bullet went right into another one throat. I picked a molotov and threw it. It burned some guys with knifes and bats. Another car showed up, but didn't stop, it drove straight to where I was. They will see me, so I started shooting. I shot the passanger and the driver, finally exploding it. I shot three times a guy in the chest, and quickly in the nuts, before the head to one that saw my location. As only three where left, I threw a molotov, and killed the last.

"Woha!" I said when I saw that van.

The van went full speed. I tried to shoot but the clip was empty. I threw my last molotov, and the van ran me over.

"Wah..." I said dreamly

I saw no light. The door to the back of the van was infront of me. I knew that maybe I will loose my weapons, so I pulled the second pistol I had in the pocket. I shot the lock, and oviusly, the guys in the van turned back. I ducked and a lot of bullets flew past me. I jumped out of the van. A bullet hit me and I hit the floor.

"Aggh!" I screamt in pain.

TV1213
  • TV1213

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#1768

Posted 05 January 2010 - 12:27 AM Edited by TV1213, 05 January 2010 - 12:33 AM.

Sorry i was just
trying to help...

turn.gif

aragond
  • aragond

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#1769

Posted 05 January 2010 - 07:54 AM

QUOTE (Armaggedon Day @ Jan 5 2010, 06:13)
Sorry for long time. Also, let Yami take the spot. I choose Torres Cartel at the old hospital. I didn't got internet for loong time and now I will probably lose it again. // I also joined only for BUYG, as I saw it and loved it.

Well, excellent, that explains that. Good, that'll make it easier for staff, Arma', and welcome.

Just a couple o' tips for your story, though, before BUYG Staff say it: you'll need to make it longer, since BUYG Staff has already told Yami his introductory 293 words was insufficient, so your 350 words won't fare any better (double, at least); and don't have things like "The old hospital:" and "*phone ringing*", but describe the scene or the phone ringing. BUYG is in story, not script, format. That should help make it longer, at least.


QUOTE (TV1213 @ Jan 5 2010, 10:27)
Sorry i was just trying to help...  turn.gif

I'm sure it's no harm, no foul, TV. smile.gif

YamiFly
  • YamiFly

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#1770

Posted 05 January 2010 - 12:56 PM

So I'll take the Lost place? OK let's do this:

Respect Is earned:
Chapter 2:
The angels are dead:

"Angels of Death? I know them" I said

I was talking with Jhonny. He wanted me to do my first job.

"OK, you are going alone." Jhonny said
"What? OK, but what do I get?" I asked
"Pistol, Kinfe, and Pipe Bombs." Jhonny said as he gave me the weapons.
"Im on it!" I said

I spirnted to my bike, and went to where the Angels where. I parked behind a wall. I took cover and threw a pipe bomb. But I thought only three angels but ten others rolled from behind. I started to shoot at them, but they had SMG. I ducked and ran to another wall as a granade went off. My bike was far away from the battle zone though. I shot an Angel, took cover and killed him. There was a shotgun on the floor, I picked it up and shot an angel in the head. Two angels backed as they saw my shotgun. With my pistol on the other hand, my sawned off was making a marvelous job. I used the pistol to kill angels that where fast enough to evade my shotgun. But from a wall, some angels climbed. I quickly shot my pistol to one climbing and he fell and died. But I heard bikes. I turned and six angels where coming. I tried to kill them but only killed one. His bike fell making another bike trip and fall head on. I used the shotgun to execute him. Another pipe bomb cleared some. I managed to kill five, but still there where around seven.

"Here we are Rookie!" Jhonny said as he fired his pistol.

Two others where there. One called Jordan, and another called Jimmy. I heard about them before. Behind them where some other gang members shooting.

"I'll help!" I exclamated as I sprinted to my bike. But the Angels got in their bikes and drove away. More angels climbed and got into bikes. Around ten bikes with two angels in each where running at the end. The guys and me chased them.

"What about the "You are going to be alone"?" I said imitating Jhonny.
"Well, there was going to be an ambush" Jhonny answered
"Bigger than what there was?" I asked surprised
"Yeah, much bigger." Jhonny asked.
"Talking about it, there are some on our tail!" One of the shooter told us.

I started shooting the angels. A shooter lost his pistol, wich I picked up on the way. I fired the last shots, killing him, and threw the pistol to the drivers head. The driver lost control and crashed into a tree. Jhonny headshot a shooter, while Jimmy managed to kill the driver.

"Jhonny!" I said
"What?" he asked
"What are the names of our shooters!" I asked back
"This one is called Michael, this one is Tom, and this last one is Terry." Jhonny answered.

Terry quickly killed a driver chasing us. But one followed up with me. I hit him and he lost control, moving left into a forest. I quickly headshot him. A car was going down the road and hit an angel bike. The two angels fell to the floor, the bike almost hit me, and I ran over them both. I took a sharp turn shooting the angels. I killed a shooter. Jhonny acelerated and rammed a bike, making it fall and the driver fall with its head. The cracking noise was horrible. I acelerated too and appeared next to a bike. I ducked evading a shot, afterwards hitting his stomach with the pistol, ending up in headshooting the shooter. The driver lost control and pulled over in front of me. I hit him. His bike went flying and he hit a tree in midair. My bike made a whole 360 and ended up as before. We killed seven out of the twenty drivers being chased and chasing. But I had an idea.

"Everybody, acelerate!" I demanded
"Why?" Jhonny asked
"Just do it!" I demanded again
They did and I threw a pipe bomb. But the pipe bomb just hit a granade and the granade exploted in their face. Now we just had three bikes left. The guys that acelerated started killing. But a bike went rolling towards me. The driver and the shooter where dead. All the angels where dead. The bike hitted mine and I was sent flying. A car sped down the road and hit me as I fell. I landed on top of it. The driver lost control and hit a tree. I was sent flying again behind the car. I lost conciusness.




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