BUYG: Build Up Your Gang
Posted 25 April 2009 - 02:19 AM
Posted 25 April 2009 - 02:39 PM
Please note that as of April 9th the rewards for stories have been increased by $10. Whereas previously the staff might give a member $34 for a story, the staff would now give that same person $44.
$320 + $45 = $365
Mostly dialogue, but executed well. The building up to a bigger plot was done excellently. Also, nice job integrating graphic support into your story.
The Crime Desk
This weekend, a massive crackdown on narcotics was enforced by the re-empowered police departments across the country. Storehouses and hideouts of the Forelli Brothers and SouthSide Hoodz were raided in Liberty City, and in Los Santos, the LSPD searched a suspected crack den belonging to the Ballas. However, both the Forellis and the Ballas were found free of any narcotics. The SouthSide Hoodz, on the other hand, were discovered to be storing marijuana under couch flaps. A total of 1 ounce of weed was confiscated by the LCPD.
- 1 gram of Marijuana
No prize money being dished out, since writers of the gangs with assets are inactive.
Posted 25 April 2009 - 10:29 PM
Posted 26 April 2009 - 09:15 AM Edited by Forelli_Boy, 28 April 2009 - 04:54 PM.
Day 1, Part 1: Ignition
The flurry of hot shower water rushing against my face felt curiously relaxing even though I had just woken up. Of course, the shower was not so much for relaxing as it was warming me up for what was going to be a busy week, one I was not particularly looking forward to finishing.
I had just dried out and slipped on a fresh pair of boxers when the phone in my room rang.
"Wake up call for Mister Zee-no."
"I'm already awake, thanks," The smell of what the Vice City heat had done to my feet while I slept did a pretty good job of that. It was much more effective than the sunrise.
"Oh, okay then. You also have a message from Mr. Carlo, he says 'Meet me at the Malibu at 9:30.'"
I picked up my Badger cellphone, which I'd put on the bedside table before I took the shower. Surprised was an understatement to describe my reaction.
"What the hell-!? That's 20 minutes from now!" I shouted, though it was a response the receptionist seemed to have expected. The Malibu, as I'd read in the tourist guide, was halfway up Vice Beach from here.
"He also says he knows, and he left your ride downstairs."
"Yes sir, the blue sedan? I'll bring it round for you."
I rushed to my luggage and pulled out a t-shirt and jeans, nearly tearing the shirt as I slipped them on. Trying not to waste any more time I ended up putting on the same shoes I'd worn coming in.
The Exsess that Carlo had brought up at the airport was parked in front, a bellhop generously holding out the keys. I dialled in the Malibu Club on the GPS and put the pedal to the metal, forgetting to leave a tip.
The Vice City sunrise on the seemingly endless stretches of Vice and Washington Beach had provided idyllic backdrops to photographers (of all sorts) for decades. Yet right now it was a blur out the corner of my eye as I gunned the sedan up Washington Boulevard toward the Malibu.
"What the-" I flicked a glance at the center console, where a police radar detector appeared to be freshly rigged. The machine was starting to beep indicating one of them ahead of me. I gunned the brakes and swerved the car around the nearest corner, narrowly missing a parked truck.
I almost missed the Malibu when I spotted it through the windshield, having to pull the car 180 before rolling into the parking lot. I was thankful that I hadn't brought a tail with me.
"Hey Z, you're early!" Carlo said cheerily as he came out of the back door of the disco, almost on cue as I pulled in. There was a security camera in the corner of the parking lot, so he knew I was coming.
"Early..." I gasped for breath as I handed him the keys, "It's 9:45."
"Yeah. We're really starting at 10:30," he said unfazed as he reached toward the rear-view mirror and appeared to remove something, "but Agnese told me you were a bit obsessed with deadlines."
He showed me the items he unfastened from the rear view mirror and dashboard. It was a small camera and what appeared to be a recorder of sorts.
"Police surplus," he said, "The kind you see on those prank TV shows. Been meaning to try out one of these things."
At that moment I wanted to punch Carlo in the face.
"I gotta pick up the guys from the airport," he added as he got into the driver's seat and started the motor. "This'll make for some nice viewing, heh heh."
I stood on the parking lot concrete, one fist still tightly clenched as I watched Carlo leave. After a few seconds I sighed and went inside.
The dance floor of Vice City's most famous club was almost completely empty at this time of day. The only dancers there rocked back and forth in pairs, either to the lovers' slow jam that was playing now or just trying to keep themselves from collapsing on the floor from whatever they were drinking last night. I took a seat at the bar beside what appeared to be an Asian girl with long black hair and a spaghetti-strap dress that barely managed to coil under her backside as she sat. I ordered a coffee, the bartender politely obliging before I turned around to face the couples on the dance floor.
One pair of dancers was leaving, and called for the valet. I could see the front door from my seat, and after a few minutes I could see the valet pulling up in a Pegassi Infernus, its distinctive V-12 growl reverberating through the entrance hall. The pair appeared to get inside the car, and I could hear the driver give it a few revs (probably to impress her) before pulling out and driving away.
As it turned out, the girl beside me also decided to pay attention to what was going on outside. Although the revs weren't as loud by the time they reached the bar, it certainly did the trick.
"I f*cking HATE Pegassis. Italian trash," she groaned.
"Pfft. Me too." Half-true, my dream car as a kid was a Grotti Turismo.
The girl turned to look at me with a creepy, drunken smile. "Do you- *hic* -want to f*ck me?"
I raised an eyebrow, "f*ck no, you're drunk."
"Huh...'kay then." The girl forced a smile, then turned around and slumped forward, her face resting on the table as she fell into a drunken slumber. She didn't say anything the rest of the time, instead snoring loudly in a manner quite unbecoming of a lady. Meanwhile, the bartender served up the coffee, some particularly nasty black stuff in a foam cup. I took a few sips before letting it cool off, half-jokingly thinking that maybe that Asian chick could use it.
The muscle that Carlo picked up at the airport arrived after what seemed like an hour of watching the dancing couples leave or otherwise collapse on the floor to be dragged to seats by bouncers. They didn't seem too measly, but what made these goons particularly noticeable was that their shirts were bright red, blue, and green.
"Jesus, did Agnese send Alvin and the f*ckin' Chipmunks or something?" I groaned to myself as I got out of my seat.
"Hey Z, nice driving, buddy!" replied 'Theodore.'
The three of them shared a hearty laugh as they went toward the stairs in the back while I went to meet Carlo by the back entrance.
"I see you've met Yuka," he began.
"Yuka, isn't that Japanese or somethin'?"
"Yeah. She's a regular here. Big spender too, but mad crazy when drunk and angry." The two of us headed for the stairs in the back.
"You don't think she's...uh..." I lowered my voice out of suspicion, "...Yakuza?"
"Nah. Yakuza don't normally come down here 'cept for a deal now and then, and then they bring a whole entourage. Plus when someone's that drunk all the time they squawk like a songbird," Carlo replied, shrugging it off, "And assuming that, she's clearly been hanging out here too long for her boss or pimp or whatever to let her live."
After a moment of thought I briefly changed the conversation. "...you showed them the video, didn't you," I muttered, looking back at the bar. Yuka didn't even seem conscious.
The balcony office offered a clear view of the dance floor. The furniture was suitably posh (as it sometimes doubled as a VIP room), but the object of attention was what appeared to be an old chalkboard with what appeared to be some sort of schedule scrawled all over it. The three guys that Carlo picked up were taking their seats along with a rather snarly-looking guy who appeared to be one of Carlo's top henchmen.
"Z, I'd like you to meet my top associate here, Ricky Barruso."
"Pleased," I replied, shaking his hand.
I took a seat on one of the lounge chairs and leaned back, the three other guys taking a seat around a table. Carlo went to and from the chalkboard.
"So, what's the game-plan?"
"Well, things have been heatin' up down here over the last few weeks," Carlo explained. "Those Street-wannabes managed to grow into an actual gang - callin' themselves the 'Vice Lords' - and jumped into the Cuban-Haitian fray with their mallcop friends."
Ricky then continued, "It's nothin' too serious yet but Vercetti's not takin' any chances. He's got a major deal going down 7 days from now, and if we keep the sh*t from the fan, we get a nice cut."
"How much are we talkin'?" asked 'Simon.' I briefly imagined him talking in Simon's actual voice, a smirk coming to my face as I did so.
"50 grand each, minimum."
There were nods and grunts of approval from all around the table as Carlo explained the assignments. There would be taking care of the protection ring today, a bit of pimping and later on, some seizing of and defending gang territory. Nothing I hadn't gotten used to back in Liberty City, though completing the routine in an entirely different environment would be a challenge.
50 grand was enticing enough to seal the deal anyway.
"Ricky's gonna take you two around Washington Beach, the rest of us are gonna manage South Vice Point."
Without much further ado, we got up and headed downstairs to the back entrance. There was a Sentinel parked in the back that Ricky, 'Simon' and 'Theo' would be driving. Me and Carlo would be going with 'Alvin,' whom Carlo properly introduced as Jimmy Gardella as we got into the Exsess.
"You're driving," Carlo replied with a sh*t-eating grin as he handed me the keys.
I shot a glare back at him as we got in. "No cameras this time, okay? I'm gonna drive like I'm dying at Farewell Ranch."
"All right, all right, fine-"
"Whooo! What died in here?" Jimmy suddenly exclaimed.
Carlo and Jimmy looked down at the pedals, focusing on my shoes, which I finally realized I had slipped on when I rushed out of the hotel earlier. The odor had been minimized in the Malibu by its air-conditioning and the smoking that pervaded that club, but it ended up concentrated here.
"Z, you're gettin' some new shoes before we get back."
To be continued...
Posted 26 April 2009 - 11:57 AM
Chapter Four - Sheer Heart Attack
My forehead covered in sweat, I threw the grotty bed sheets off and arched myself up from the pillow. My hand clutched on to the cool base of the telephone, it’s cold outer shell a relaxing feeling as I pulled it to my ear, that feeling wouldn’t last for long.
“Kid, it’s me” Mike sounded anxious on the other end of the phone, I could partially hear sirens in the background.
“Oh….” I paused “hey, how ya doin’?”
“Freezin’ my damn sack off. Listen I’m on a payphone. A couple’a our places got raided just now”
“sh*t, how bad?”
“From what I hear nothin’ came of it. It’ll be best if you stay away from the Bistro today, don’t wanna draw any un-necessary heat, ya know”
“Yeah I hear you”
“I gotta go. These phones – f*ckin’ daylight robbery. I’ll talk to ya after this business is taken care of, all right?. Ciao” The line went dead.
Putting the phone back down, I noticed the dimly lit red digits of the alarm clock. It was too early for a curtain call, I lay back down and began to catch forty winks.
The alarm radio sprang to life as soon as 09.00am appeared. DJ Michael Hunt gave one of his usual eccentric speeches before playing a Nirvana track. I felt satisfied enough when I beat my hand down on the off switch, removing the uptight poser from hearing range. How I would love to march into the broadcasting station in Harwood and put a bullet in his head. My attention turned to the matter at hand, my thoughts firmly drawn to the task I would have to complete later in the day. The laminated photo of fat Joey Richalio fixated in my head, his nicotine laden grin, his five chins, killing him was going to be a literal weight off my mind.
Hungered, I slipped on some running shoes and a dark blue tracksuit. A run to Greasy Joe’s café would help clear my head.
“Morning Earl” I didn’t directly look at him, but I spotted him, drooling in his sleep all over the same newspaper he had seemingly been reading for the past two days. He grunted and twisted his head in his folded arms, oblivious. The front door was loose, the minor repairs from my forcing it open botched. A swift breeze slammed it shut.
It was a beautiful day. The sun was shining, I felt good. There were few people on the street, those that were out where only out to buy the Sunday edition of the Liberty Tree. I built up a steady pace as I entered Chinatown. The distinct smell of the kitchens at the noodle house were masked across the streets, the symbols of Chinese culture everywhere to be seen. The very streets than I ran along were the scene of the massive Chinese new year celebrations just a month ago, stray pieces of Confetti were still unclear in the gutters. Stopping, wheezing and breathless, I observed the many vehicles piling onto the Callahan bridge, the thick clouds of smoke exiting the exhausts. It was a horrible contrast to the bright shining sun beating down on the highways.
I had taken the long route through industrial Trenton so I could take a look at one of our warehouses in the area. True to what Mike said, a LCPD cruiser and some officers were scattered around the building. I approached the boxy blue Premier cruiser, these older models were being phased out, I had already seen some newer ones patrolling around Saint Marks. The officers had swapped there long, thick, winter coats for sleeveless shirts, the beaming sun reflected from there aviator sunglasses. I popped my head around the corner of the wall, spotting the officers talking to some dockworkers, covered in oil and grease. Suddenly a gruff, deep voice bellowed down my ear. I turned with my fists bailed with a scour on my face, met by a large LCPD officer now munching on his donut desert, the Bolt Burgers paper now floating away along the ground in a gust of wind, the smell of the burger fat on his breath made my stomach churn.
“There’s nothing for you to see here son, move along before I haul your ass in”
“Oh! Hey, that’s no way to speak to a member of the public, officer”
“Heh heh heh” he choked, sarcastically “Why do you f*cking Guido’s always have to talk back?”
I drew back my elbow, ready to land a punch on his chin. Luckily for us both, his superior officer called him over. I carried on running. The cruisers out on a Sunday drive slowly passed me as I walked along the side of the road. This particular stretch had no sidewalk, but it was the easiest route to Greasy Joes. The parking lot was barely full, a stray Willard sat in the corner, I entered the diner. Two people, an elderly couple were the only occupiers of a table inside. I approached the young, long-haired clerk behind the counter.
“How ya doin’? Get me a bagel and an O.J”
“What did you just say?” in a quick snap I turned around, facing him with a look of anger on my face.
“I said, you have any manners?”
“What’s your name kid?”
I moved in closer, slouching on the dirty counter. Sticky coffee stains were now on the bottom of my tracksuit sleeves, I slowly shook my head side to side.
“Look Wayne. If your lookin’ for manners, I’ll personally make a courtesy call to you and your parents home. How’d you fancy that, huh? Are you gonna question my attitude when your body is slumped across your posh-boy couch with fifteen bullet holes put across the chest?” He shook his head, minorly shocked. “Good. Make that two bagels, on the house”
He hurried away to the kitchen, pouring a glass of orange juice and picking out two bagels. His boss watched him carefully as he moved, returning with no cash. He burst out from hiding, marching over to the boy.
“Fotheringay, you been pocketing customers money again? Huh?” he growled at the now bright-faced teenager.
“No, no. That guy over there, said he’d splatter me all over my house if I didn’t comply” he gestured with his head, his boss looked over Wayne’s shoulders, not able to see me chewing on the bagel.
“What are ya? Five years old? You don’t let people speak to you that way” He pounced around on his feet behind the desk, looking for the person his young employee was talking about. He stopped when he saw me next to the window, sipping from my glass of Orange Juice. He grabbed Wayne by the shoulders, beginning to shake him.
“You DON’T back chat guys like that, ya hear me? He’s an important man, and he will splatter you all over 'yer house, be nice to him next time, all right?” His tone instantly changed. He knew me, he knew I frequented the diner with Forelli Made Men. He poked his head from behind Wayne and smiled at me, I noticed him.
“Hey Dave, come stai?”
“Hey Joe! I’m good an you?”
“Fantastic, good to see ya”
I got up, having eat my food. I made idle-talk with Joe before leaving the diner, walking back to my apartment.
I sat slouched on my bed, watching the end of a boring Sunday afternoon movie. I anxiously waited for 6pm, the time Joey would be arriving at the Dolls House. My Colt Python was placed, loaded on the cabinet next to me. The six .357 magnum slugs would be the bringer of death for him. A knock on my door interrupted my viewing of the evening news.
Earl shuffled through the door, his shoulders slouched in his dirty grey sweater.
“I ain’t got this months rent off ya kid” I could sense the panic in his voice
“You’ll get it”
“No, I want it all, I want it now!”
“Stop breaking my balls. Just because that goon Toni Cipriani wants to cut you up for his vig. I told ya I’ll get it to you, I’ll have it by tomorrow.”
He stormed towards me, waving his hands around “NO, NOW!” he face faded as he noticed the large revolver on the cabinet. I watched his head be drawn towards it, I made a quick swipe for it and smashed the heavy butt off his forehead. His eyes rolled into his head as he crashed backwards, the back of his head cracking off my clothing drawers. Blood began to pour out onto the floor as I vaulted up from my bed, stuffing the gun down the back of my jeans.
“f*ck!” I looked around, quickly shutting the apartment door. I grabbed the small mirror from the top of it, putting it over his mouth to see if he was breathing, I looked at its exterior, it was un-masked, he was badly hurt. I glanced nervously at the clock, 5.41pm, cursing to myself in the process. I quickly came to two choices – either to leave him here, or move him. Swiping my car keys from the sideboard, I dashed out of the room and to my vehicle.
The beautiful daytime had turned to a stormy evening. The black clouds of misery rained down fat droplets of humid rain, the wet pelted windshield was wiped side-to-side as I started the engine of my Forelli Excess, the wipers must still have been activated from last time, either that, or the electrics were screwed up. I placed the weapon on the dashboard, next to the dashboard clock. It’s dim ambers read a time of 5.50pm.
Belting the accelerator peddle towards the Sindacco dolls house, I left Earl in the apartment. Almost crashing head on into the subway track pylon, the excellent grip of the car kept me on the road as I turned into the main street, groups of thugs gathered in the alleyway I was moving away from, there appearance there would leave some cover for me concerning old Earl. Criss-crossing across to the other side of the street, I pulled the car to a stop just before the Doll’s House building. At a quick glance, no one was standing outside the building. Paulie Sindacco was a low key man, true to his nickname around the city of “The invisible Don”. He was so low-key, he didn’t even employ his associates as Bouncers. I took the opportunity to stand in the shadows of the door, only the synchronized flickering of the neon’s of the Doll’s house sign were exposing me to view. I shifted the gun from the back of my jeans to the pocket of my long coat, keeping my hand firmly grasped around it’s sticky, bloodied shell.
I kept checking my watch, 6pm, five past six, ten past six. I began to grow impatient, thinking he would not be arriving, a failure to Don Forelli in my eyes. My confidence was restored when I heard the distinct growling of an Sentinel XS engine come closer and closer. The dark blue car pulled into the courtyard, I stepped back behind the wall as it’s full-beam headlights swerved around as it pulled into a parking position.
Joey Richalio struggled to move his large frame from the crushed seat of the car, clinging onto the door for help. He brushed down his double breasted jacket and lit an expensive cigar, which he covered with his massive hand as the rain beat down. He slowly began to waddle across towards me, my sweaty hands struggled to keep the tight grip on the weapon as I began to draw it from my pocket. I stepped out from hiding, facing Richalio.
“Joey Richalio?” I pointed the weapon directly at his head, his beady eyes drawn to it. "Mr Forelli sends his regards"
“f*ck!” he jumped at me, his hands grasped around my neck, so big his hands obscured my vision. A shot rang out, my arm stretched out beyond Joey’s body. He rubbed his palms in my face, the thick smell of cigar smoke was sickening. I bought my knee to his groin and began to lay into him, swiping furiously to get an advantage over him. The strike severely hurt him, I managed to push him away from my face. I pushed him back into the corner, steadying my aim to his chest. The bullet blew a hole in the material of his light pink shirt, spanning from the cloth in his breast pocket to the middle of his chest. Blood spurted out from the wound, covering the rose coloured shirt in thick claret. I pulled the trigger once more, a second time, the recoil was hard to keep under control as the exiting gunpowder flew towards my eyes. His head wilted, he was dead.
At the sound of pacing feet, I began to run from the scene, towards my car. A tall, well built man in a grey suit came out of the dolls house, also wielding a Colt Python. He knelt down to see what had happened to Joey, and his head slowly observed my Excess speeding off down the street. I floored it to the nearest payphone, I needed to get in touch with Mike.
Posted 02 May 2009 - 02:14 PM
Chapter 3: Sold War
Once we arrived back in Liberty City the next morning, Joey and I didn’t waste a single second getting down to business. We had our deal set up. The drugs would be sold to the South Side Hoods this evening. Since Salvatore’s decease, the Leones and the hoods haven’t been at peace. I was hoping today might bring peace between us.
“This is it Johnny! Tonight we’ll have the money in our pockets, and hopefully our business will come soon.” said Joey ecstatically.
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves Joey, we still have to get through the deal, without someone ruining it.” I reminded him.
“Yeah I guess you’re right.” Joey said, sitting down in an arm chair and grabbing a drink.
“So what’s our plan?” I asked him curiously pouring my self a drink.
“Alright,” He began through mouthful of rum, “We’ll head to the docks around 5 o’clock this evening. The South Side Hoods will be meeting us there. After the deals done, we’ll take the money back here.” He explained.
“Is anyone else in on the deal, any other gangs, or families?” I asked.
“No, it’s just us and the Hoods, plain and simple.” Joey assured me. I nodded in agreement. I had a good feeling about today, and I hoped that wouldn’t be spoiled.
Salvatore’s Mansion 4:30pm
Joey and I had just finished gearing up when the evening started to approach. We had taken the time to gear up. We were armed with a wide array of pistols, tucked and concealed under our suits. We got into our stretch, and one of my men began escorting us to the deal. I was a bit nervous, I wasn’t positive that the other families wouldn’t try something. The drugs lay next to me on the seat, in a leather briefcase that seemed to stare at me, watching me and reading my mind. Beads of sweat gently tumbled down my cheek as we grew closer and closer to our destination. Would the Hoods try something? Would we get out of there without the cops ambushing us? None of these questions had a solid answer. I’d just have to wait and find out.
We arrived at the docks; I could see the Hoods off in the distance. They were huddled together in a crowd next to a beat up van. I could also see they were armed. I and Joey casually walked over to the group, side by side. One of the hoods stepped forward, I recognized him as the leader of the gang.
“Hello there.” I said, extending my hand in a gesture of peace. He shook my hand and gave a calm nonviolent nod.
“Hello. You have the drugs?” he asked impatiently.
“Yes I do, one ounce of heroin.” I answered him, popping open the briefcase. He gazed inside and smirked. He then flashed me a brick of bills, fastened together by a silver money clip. I passed him the heroin and he threw back the clip on money. The Hoods leader replied stepping into the van with his assailants close behind. Joey and I strolled away and got back into the stretch. As we sped away, I noticed an eccentric white vehicle to our rear. Anxiously, I asked the driver to accelerate. The strange vehicle proceeded to do the same. They started to pull up along side of us. I gazed out the tinted windows, and saw the vehicles window roll down to reveal a gunman aiming at us. It was a Sindacco soldier.
“Drive by!” I hollered, ducking bellow the windows view. Bullets began spraying into the car through the side windows. The driver was stuck in an ongoing struggle to gain control of our vehicle as it was pelted with lead. I quickly drew my MP5 out of my blazer’s pocket and returned fire, making sure I did not reveal my body above the seat. Surprisingly, I managed hit the assassin, sending his car veering into a building.
We arrived back at the mansion in one piece, but we were all a bit shook up.
“Joey, why would the Sindaccos try to kill us?” I asked, confused.
“I don’t know Johnny, somehow they found out about the deal. They know we have the money to open a business and they don’t like that.” Joey explained.
“They’re probably going to want to wage war now!” I said in anger, “Joey, got find some of our best men and bring them here. We’ll have them protect the mansion,
If any of the families want to try something on us, we’ll be ready.”
1 Ounce of Heroin sold.
Posted 04 May 2009 - 03:25 AM
Posted 05 May 2009 - 12:25 PM
Leone Family Mafia
Silenced 9mm bought
$2896 - $115 = $2781
$365 + $50 = $415
Very nice, you've got a nice storyline going and your writing style is sound.
$415 + $48 = $463
A solid story, you did a good job describing the confrontation.
Leone Family Mafia
$2781 + $45 = $2826
1 Ounce of Heroin sold
$2826 + $1550 = $4376
Slightly on the short side, but a sufficient story to successfully sell your drugs.
The Crime Desk
Last Saturday, Liberty City saw a rarity -- a heated argument between the Yardies and the LCPD that did not cause an all-out war. The Yardies were accused of illegally obtaining weapons, and the LCPD's storming of their warehouses angered them. The Jamaicans shouted at the cops as they were being restrained, but not a single drop of blood was shed, as the LCPD soon stumbled upon a large supply of Ingram Mac-10s that were obtained off the black market. They were confiscated, and the LCPD managed to leave the area before the Yardie higher-ups could react.
Posted 06 May 2009 - 12:55 AM
Forelli Brothers - Marco's Bistro
Chapter Five - Ashes to Thrashes
The miserable shadows of the Hepburn Heights apartment blocks beat down on the windshield of my Excess, the evening sun shining through the middle the only ray of hope to the people inside. I pulled the vehicle to the kerb, stopping beside a payphone. I turned the ignition off and locked the doors, I wasn’t taking any chances.
I was greeted by the bellowing sound of various bass lines erupting from the stereos inside the apartment blocks. They towered over me; I looked up at them as I shuffled for loose change in the pocket of my jeans, finally finding some coins to stick into the payphone. My fingers greased the numbers as I dialled for Mike, anxiously looking around as the dialling tone carried on.
“Hello..” he answered. I could hear womanly laughing in the background; I figured he must have a broad with him.
“Davey Boy! come stai? I thought you’d be busy”
“I was busy until someone killed the party. Came to a terrible end.”
“Heh heh heh” He lowered his tone, almost to a whisper, struggling to croak from his nicotine stained throat “That’s what I like to hear”
“So, we should meet up” I kept tapping my finger on the cold metal base of the payphone, my money was about to run out.
“I thought you’d never ask! I’m stuck at this f*ckin’ womanly get-together my wife is hosting’. Some decent skirt, but I can’t pull any of em’ in front of the wife! Lets say you pick me up here in a couple’a minutes, we go to the Bistro and get our business done”
“Sounds good. I’ll be by in a minute Mike” The line went dead; the last of my 25 cents had run out. I placed the receiver back up and walked back to my car. The scent of the interior was a welcome break from the stench of the rotting leftovers inside the dumpster behind the phone. I moved forward into the Red Light District, driving past the seductive neon’s of Adult Entertainment joints and working girls on every corner. The El-Train rumbled across the track above me, I criss-crossed over the shadows turning into Saint Marks, slowly drawing to a stop outside Mike’s apartment, sounding the horn.
After a minute, he appeared in the doorway, shuffling his brown suit over his shoulder, the lowered sun shining off his neck chain. He hobbled down the steps and got into the car.
“How ya doin’?”
“Not bad” I pulled off, travelling towards the back courtyard of Marco’s Bistro. But unbeknowingly to me, a Grey Sentinel parked on the corner took off behind us. It’s four occupants focused on my vehicle. I pulled into the parking space and shut off the engine, the Sentinel rolled past, the men merely glancing over at Mike and me as we left the car.
“You got your keys?” I asked Mike as we approached the back door. The Bistro was closed; it always closed at 21.00 on Tuesdays.
“Right here” He jingled them, throwing them up into the air and catching them in the palm of his hand.
“Well open up, willya? I’ll catch my damn death out here!”
“Okay, Okay” He placed the key into the lock, with one successful turn the door was open. The Bistro felt lifeless, silence was the only thing to be heard. We stepped inside, our flat-soled shoes tapping on the tiled kitchen floors as we manoeuvred our way through the various saucepans and sideboards. Mike flicked the light on as I made my way over to the bar, the night sky shining through the three large windows beside me.
I clutched the bottle of Jack Daniels in my right hand, a glass in my left. I began to pour myself a whiskey.
“You wanna drink, Mike?”
“Sure, knock me one up kid” he made his way over to the bar as I nudged the glass his way. The whiskey hit the back of my throat and sent the sensation around my mouth. My eyes squinted as it travelled down. Suddenly my eyes widened at the sound of the shattering windows and gunfire. I followed Mike’s example of diving behind the bar, gunshots peppering the various bottles of alcohol above us, layering walls with smoking dents of impact. I reached for my Colt Python as the sub-machine gun fire continued to hit the bar.
“How many shots you got?” Mike shouted to be heard over the sound of gunfire.
“I didn’t bring my f*ckin’ piece! I didn’t think this was gonna be a goddamn shootout!”
“Jeez, can ya see any of em’?” I replied, not daring to poke my head out of cover. The sound of reloading clips prompted Mike to glance over, spotting three men standing behind the windows, their Uzi’s aiming forwards, directly towards us.
“Three of em’. Two shooters, Uzi’s”
“Think I can get a shot?”
“f*ckin’ go kid! The reaper don’t wait around for choices, cap those assholes”
I positioned myself behind the bar and poked the gun over the top, firing a shot that narrowly missed the man to the left. It didn’t faze him, he kept firing. Using the distraction, Mike hurried off, ducking behind the tables scattered around the resteraunt in search of a weapon. A second shot also missed, the recoil and pressure to strike with the third resulted in failure. I was dry. Two men stepped forward through the empty window frames. I assumed the man in front was the ringleader, his grey suit pristine, tailored immaculately. His shoulders were wide and broad; he gave off a striking element of fear. His accomplice was just an inch shorter, still notably tall like his fellow man. He was well built, muscular; his hair a thinning combed back shade of grey. He held the Uzi in front of his blue shirt, glancing around the room.
Suddenly, a gunshot rang out. A Colt Python sprawled out along the floor, and was followed by Mike’s body. I peered around the corner of the bar to see another man hovering over him. Tall, balding, a similar muscular build to his counterparts, he held the bloodied barrel of an Uzi in front of the striped light blue shirt he wore.
“Boss, over here!” he shouted, raising a dazed Mike to his feet.
The man in the suit turned first, proving my assumptions right. He strolled over as the bodyguard held Mike up straight, a gash spilling blood from his forehead. The man took a look at Mike, then once again looking around the room.
“No. That’s not him” He spoke with asserting authority.
I jumped up from behind the bar, pointing the Colt Python directly at him. I knew it wasn’t loaded, but this bluff might save me from death.
“Let him go” I ordered the man, who turned around with a grin on his face, slowly walking towards me.
“You’re the one. You killed my friend Joey.” He didn’t raise his voice. He spoke calmly, almost chillingly, not fazed by the gun aiming at him.
“How do you know that? Who the f*ck are you?” I stretched my arm out to full length.
“I saw the whole thing. What are you, one of Franco’s cheap hit men?”
“That’s right, he pays me to clip assholes like you”
He laughed, an encore that was followed by his accomplice, whose lips formed a grin as his moustache twitched. He nodded towards the Colt Python, his face still full of confidence.
“What are you gonna do with that?”
“Let Mike go, or I’ll use it to blow out your f*ckin’ brains.”
He laughed once more, annoying me even further. I anxiously strafed around the corner of the bar, standing directly opposite him from a short distance.
“Franco must be scraping the barrel, employing a guy like you… I know it’s not loaded, or else you would have fired as we walked in here.”
I didn’t expect his quick reactions, knocking the weapon from my hand. It fell solemnly onto the wooden floor. He threw a punch, sending me falling back against the bar. As I propped myself to my feet, he rolled the sleeves of his grey soiree suit up, I charged towards him. I was met by his large balled fist, a light strike landing on my nose, I stumbled backwards. Unexpectedly Mike began to call out, a huge goon slowly approached me from behind.
“Vercetti, no!” Mike shouted at the man, whom I now realised was Tommy Vercetti. The bodyguard tried to hold Mike back, and was met by a powerful elbow to the stomach. He recovered quickly, rising back up to full height and throwing a swing at Mike. He grabbed his right fist, blocking the strike, throwing his own which sent the man to the floor. As he turned to run towards me he was met by the second accomplice, who wasted no time in launching a powerful strike to Mike’s ribs, grabbing him around the neck and kneeing him heavy handily in the face twice, Mike fell defeated on the floor. I was locked in a grapple with Vercetti when the bat was bought down on my back with considerable force. I felt all of my strength slip away as I fell to Vercetti’s feet; his loafer was launched at my face, a sharp pain shot through my teeth. My vision blurred, I looked up to see a giant man hovering over me, with the bat in his hand. His face was a picture of evil, his eyes surrounded by dark circles. His mouth was obscured by a moustache, his hair thick, but combed back.
“Good job Harry” Vercetti praised Harry, the huge goon before me. He slapped his huge right arm and gave a smile, which quickly turned to a scowl as he reached down and clutched me by the throat, bringing me to my feet.
“Take him through to the back. The freezers are there if I remember correctly. Throw him in there.” Vercetti commanded Harry, who gladly stepped forward to harshly escort me to the freezers.
“Ernie, tell Mike to pick himself up”
The bodyguard went over to the other man, Mike, and helped him to his feet as he clutched his jaw.
“Now take him to the freezers!” he pointed to Mike Columbo, who was still trying to get up by using a chair to raise himself. He was quickly gathered up and dragged towards the back room by the two bodyguards, Vercetti turned off the light and followed behind them, drawing a Meat Cleaver from the inside pocket of the Soiree.
Posted 08 May 2009 - 08:00 AM Edited by Benjimino234, 09 May 2009 - 11:36 PM.
Since back from the trip I’ve been thinking about Ryan and Leo’s relationship. Fine, I did lead Leo to gamble but does that make me responsible? He couldn’t control himself and I still feel like this. The drug addiction… Was that also my fault? Well it’s not a direct link to his gambling. He’s just an idiot! But it could of linked towards drugs, maybe, maybe not. f*ck! I can’t be held completely responsible for his actions! It’s not my fault!
I sat on my bed with my head buried deep in my hands just thinking. I really didn’t know what to think, do or feel. Guilt, remorse, rue, anger; all bellowed and shouted in my head, and myself trying to block out the noise and think. These emotions felt like a wound, and shredding pain within that won’t stop. Have I made one of Ballas greatest guys, the front line sergeant and friend into this neurotic, panicky vagrant? Okay maybe he didn’t sink that low, maybe he isn’t an itinerant, hobo bum. But I… No one has seen him for ages before Ryan saved 2 months ago.
I droned on and on in my mind. “Should I tell Ryan? I should tell how I feel to Leo”, that seemed a good option, but what if he tells Ryan? It could lead my being kicked out, but Ryan wouldn’t do that! It’s not my fault. “Huh, maybe if you say it a bit more people will believe it, heck say it a lot more maybe I’ll believe it”, I hate this guilt. Still, it wasn’t my actions that completely made Leo in nervous wreck. How the hell did Leo become a drug dealer then?! He’s probably taken his own drugs, that’s why he couldn’t cut it out as a drug dealer. I don’t know what’s he’s doing now. Living on the street, sleeping in a refrigerator box but it wasn’t my fault!
I picked up my pillow and threw it against the wall cursing. “I got to tell them”, I left my bedroom and aggressively pushed the door out to the street. I walked quickly to Ryan’s house. I was thinking of lines, my heart was pumping out of my chest and before I knew it I was at Ryan’s front door. I was peering through the window Ryan, Leo, Vic and Troy laughing a having a good time.
I froze, my determined feeling sunk to a puddle. I haven’t seen Ryan and Leo happy for a long time. Was I about to ruin their chances of rejoining and being friends again? My determined feeling then turned to that deadly knife lacerating my insides. The lost of this feeling of blood within emptied; I felt like a corpse, I felt dizzy and cold. If I didn’t tell them this feeling will haunt me.
“Hey! John come on in!” Ryan was yelling and gesturing a wave through the window.
I grasped the doorknob; I entered, still not knowing what to do. I saw Ryan, Leo, Vic and Troy playing Texas Hold ‘em.
“Come on now! Lay some chips down for John!” Vic said across the table
Troy was the dealer, “Yeah, yeah come sit” he placed 1000 value worth of chips and two cards.
I sat slowly grabbing the chips closer to me and peeked at my cards.
I looked at Ryan and Leo, they were… happy.
It was good, it that made that feeling disappear; this was my reason to stay shut.
“I just hope I don’t make you cry when I take all your chips!”
Soz I haven't been that active
Posted 09 May 2009 - 08:28 PM
Posted 09 May 2009 - 08:41 PM
Posted 10 May 2009 - 03:01 PM
$463 + $50 = $513
Excellent chapter, you're a very detailed writer. I love how you ended the chapter and how you're bringing Tommy Vercetti into your stories.
$402 + $42 = $444
A bit short, but all in all a good chapter.
Kinko Kabuki Koshi KaPOW~! , Added to the Bikers at the Greasy Chopper.
Osric, I'll fix that story count mistake ASAP.
Posted 13 May 2009 - 04:14 PM
Posted 14 May 2009 - 08:09 AM
Posted 15 May 2009 - 10:05 AM Edited by Benjimino234, 15 May 2009 - 11:53 PM.
On the way back home from the trip to Las Venturas, I felt pretty good about myself. I could get higher in the ranks and roll with Ryan’s pack. I wasn’t so sure about John’s Uncle giving me an opportunity to drive for him or something. I could only assume the worst if I let something happened to him. I took a big breath, Pffft like he’s actually going to contact me. It’s not likely that I would hang with Ryan’s troop anyway. I felt pretty depressed; there was nothing to do today. I got up from my seat, grabbed my piece and my jacket and exited my home.
I lived off of Glen Park but usually hanged with the Rollin' Heights Ballas, in Idlewood or East Los Santos, near Well Stacked Pizza. It was impractical for me to drive down there to do stuff with the guys, like drive-bys and some grove attacks. I was always too late or the action already fizzled out when I did arrive. Hopefully I can get into the Kilo Tray Glen Park set.
The high noon sun was beaming down across Glen Park. It was humid and hot. I peered across the horizon; there was a flurry of heat waves rippling the air in a hypnotic show, I started to sweat. I looked up at the sun and pulled back quickly, an imprint blob stuck in my vision for a few seconds. Without hurrying I walked across the road towards Ryan and his group chatting under the shade of the bridge glancing out across the pond.
“Hey, what’s up?”
Ryan looked up, “Hi Doug, oh nothing much.”
“We actually just got off the phone with Kane and he wants us to bring some rich guy and bring him for extortion.” Troy answered quickly
“Oh yeah, remember what Kane first looked like? Remarked Ryan and bumping Leo on the shoulder teasingly
“Oh yeah! He had that really bad flattop haircut!” Leo said humorously
“And now he’s Front Yard Royalty!”
“Hey Doug, you hang with Kane?” Leo asked
It seemed that Leo and Ryan were back together as a team again. I heard stories about their adventures; they are practically gods. Their legendary stories are known everywhere, all across Balla territory and history.
“Uh no, I’m not that important.” I started to feel small and worthless.
“Hey can you help us get some things for the capture?” Ryan told me, feeling sorry for me. I guess he saw through me like glass, I supposed I didn’t hide my feelings through my face and body language. I didn’t need his sympathy or his pity, but an offer is an opportunity.
I grew some confidence, “Yeah sure, what do you need?”
“Well can you pick up the package of new Desert Eagles from the SpandEx Depot Office and some drugs.”?
“Drugs? Why drugs? I thought you were doing business?”
Ryan chuckled, “Were going to drug the guy, Kane wants us to get him relaxed and talkative and Kane will talk him out of giving away his personal details or by force. I know him, he’s not violent but calculating, and able to get his hands dirty if the situation calls for it.”
Ryan just told me about whom Kane was. I always thought he was a ruthless, cold-hearted killer, not a merciful or even a smart guy. Ryan was pretty much describing himself. If anyone knew both Kane and Ryan, they would think the same thing.
“Cool, thanks man, oh yeah head over to this location for the drugs.” Ryan patted my back, handed me a slip of paper and quickly turned and walked towards Vic whom was calling for him, Leo then followed Ryan out under the bridge. I walked over to Troy; he was still gazing across the water. The water was clear and the sun’s light refracted off the ripples caused by some ducks wafting peacefully. The bright reflections hurt both our eyes; I led Troy out underneath the bridge.
“Ryan’s pretty cool hey?”
“Yeah.” Troy started to look red, “I respect him a lot, and he’s like my role model.”
“Don’t be embarrassed, he’s a great leader, I was hoping to get into the Kilo Tray set, here, in Ryan’s group.”
“He’ll warm up to you”, Troy pat my shoulder reassuringly, “Want me to come?”
“Nah, I’m okay, tell Ryan I’ll be back soon.” I turned back and walked towards my house and got in my Majestic.
At the SpandEx Depot Office
“I was waiting for some Balla to turn up sooner or later, It not safe to be carrying a supply of guns in gang territory”, the guy was leaning back on his squeaky chair against the back wall twiddling a toothpick in his mouth. He was overweight and looked… greasy, like the condensation of a combination of grease, sweat and oil, like he was working the deep fryer at Cluckin’ Bell. “Come round the back, I have to careful when holding such a dangerous package just for some… petty gang banger” he scoffed. The back room was small but looked bigger outside, mainly because the hallways and walls were actually undelivered, lost or not received items and containers. I followed the short, greasy, fat man round tight corners, down hallways and finally up some short stairs to another ‘back room’. Up upon an untidy desk cluttered with papers, parcels, pens and pencils was a crate filled to the brim with Desert Eagles. “Here sign this.” The man handed me the release form, stained with coffee and crumpled, “You better not lose that, it’s a legal document, so what ever heat you get on these you don’t bring it down on me.”
I carried the crate down through the maze of boxes and containers through to my car’s trunk. Popped it open, placed it down carefully and closed it back up. I reached within my pocket for the slip of paper and glanced down at the text. It was the Idlewood Crack Den, I already knew the location, and did Ryan think of me as just a newbie? An idiot? I clenched my fists tightly and crushed the paper and threw it in rage.
I drove recklessly and fast towards Idlewood, not worrying about the Desert Eagles or my safety. When I arrived I Ryan didn’t specify a drug, so I didn’t know what to do. I entered the smelly, smoky abandoned apartment block. I scanned the area, passed out Ballas and other guys passed out on the floor. A tall thin man emerged out from the smoky haze atmosphere of the room. It was Vincent, him and I knew each other and a welcomed brake from gang business.
“I need to get a guy relaxed but talkative, help?”
“Depressants including marijuana and help a guy relaxed, while stimulants can get a guy awake and can be very talkative”
“Where did you learn that?”
“Wikipedia for the win” chuckled Vincent, “I am the best of the best”
“I’ll take some cocaine”
“Gram? Pound? Teener? Ball? Or big spender, a kilo?”
“Heh, just the ball”
Vincent dissapered back into the haze into the kitchen and popped back with a baggy filled with a single ball of cocaine.
I handed Vincent the money and he handed the baggy hand in hand. I took it and exited thinking, “Ryan better pay me back for it, the bitch”
=] Ball of Cocaine please =]
Posted 17 May 2009 - 08:46 AM
Posted 20 May 2009 - 02:22 AM
Forelli Brothers - Marco's Bistro
Chapter Six - Open Wounds
My left cheek burned uncontrollably as the cleaver tore its way down, my pale white skin oozing constant flows of blood from the slain cuts of flesh. My eyelids wet with forced tears of pain, I winced at the prospect of hours more of this torture.
Vercetti’s clenched fist pushed my chin up. My eyes opened, revealing the bloodshot enclosure. My vision wandered to the dripping cleaver, waved around in front of my face. My pupils dashed about from side to side, he passed the butchering tool over to his loyalist of accomplices, Harry, as he still towered over me.
“You really should have seen someone about your not talking problem. At this rate, it’s going to cost you a lot of fingers…” He suddenly snapped, shaking me as I firmly sat tied to the wooden chair from the dining area “Tell us where Franco is, and it’ll save you a lot of bother”
I fidgeted nervously as he gazed into my eyes; I tried not to make eye contact. The wet rope around my hands dug deep into my wrists, the sweat dripped onto the cold freezer floor. As I tried to mumble out an answer from the gatherings of blood in my throat, it was deemed not good enough. I was met by a blow of the cleaver, knocking my head sideways. Stinging like a Scorpion bite, the several newly made grazes were soon covered by the palm of Vercetti’s hand, forcing my head to look at his evil stare.
Casually tossing the cleaver to Harry, he again began to command attention. “I asked you a question. Don’t make me repeat myself”
As the enormous goon watched the situation unfold over the grey suited shoulder of his boss, I contemplated giving Vercetti an answer. Instead, I released some of the blood from my throat, spitting it onto his expensive Italian loafer. Almost instantly Harry pounced forward, slashing at me with the cleaver. A swipe tore a chunk from the clothing covering my arm, a second buried into the flesh, the skin being peeled back almost leisurely as the other two bodyguards watched on unwillingly as the blood streamed down my arm and onto my jeans, accumulating in a pool with the rest on the cold tiled floor. My anguish was only prolonged by two quick slaps with the blunt, blood-stained blade, Vercetti moved in to stop Harry removing my head there and then.
“Take a breather” his vengeance turned to calm as he gestured to the eating area, walking over to the freezer door followed by his three men. He momentarily turned back as I squirmed to regain my senses in the chair.
“If you even think of moving, I’ll cut off your legs from the knee down.” And with that, he left for the bar.
“He’ll crack sooner or later, boss” Mike, Tommy’s goon tried to raise the mood in a tense situation. His boss turned around, with a look of anger on his face.
“Go to Bolt Burgers and pick up some food. This could take hours.”
“But I got no cash, boss”
Tommy looked at his associate, before turning his attention to Harry with his eyebrow rose in disbelief. Harry was quick to understand his prompt to pay for the meal. He took a twenty from his pocket and put it against Mike, who stumbled backwards in the process.
"Now, get going"
He quickly walked off, leaving his Uzi Sub-machinegun behind in favour of a much more concealable Colt .45, perhaps his only smart move of the night. Now ever more comfortable around people of his own intelligence, Tommy poured himself a Whiskey from the bar inside the Bistro, before beginning to plot with Edgar and Harry.
The foul stench of raw meat filled the freezer, sickening me. Turning my head was painful, my neck covered in bruises. The crumbled flakes of fallen dry blood littered my tattered clothing. I glanced over to the corner of the room, where my closest friend and mentor lay barely conscious in the same situation as me. Constantly ringing in my mind was the thought of “what would he do?” but in reality, we were both dumbstruck how to get out of this one. His gold neck chain had been snapped in two, his patterned shirt and brown suit covered in his own blood. His greying hair was also awash with claret. His head turned in a daze, hardly able to comprehend what was going on.
“Don’t look at me like that” His sentence was short, obscured by his wheezing breaths.
“Mhm” I raised my eyebrow awkwardly, I didn’t get his point
“Whadda mean, Muh?”
“I don’t get you”
“Now ain’t the time not to understand me”
“Talk sense, already!”
“I didn’t raise you, teach you all I know, for you to sign your own death warrant when somethin’ like this happens”
“Be realistic, Mikey. It’s 1am. No one’s coming for us. There are four of them, armed. Two of us, unarmed, beaten.”
“But you can use your legs”
“I’m tied to a f*ckin’ chair”
“So what if you walk like the hunchback of Notre Darme with a f*ckin’ chair tied to ya back, there ain’t no reason we can’t make a break for it”
“What are the chances?”
“60/40 in there favour. But I donated a lotta money to the church, so..”
“So hope for some divine intervention! Good lord, have mercy on this f*ck..”
“That’s more like the Dave Castellano I know! Grow some f*ckin’ balls! Now what are ya gonna do?”
I pondered for a moment. “Where did they go?”
“Through to the diner? That gives us some time, kid”
“Where’s the Cleaver?”
“Over there” He glanced over to the corner, where the gruesome cleaver had been diluting the stray water to it’s shade of blood, laying down on the floor next to the carcass of a Pig.
“We’re gonna need it in case those guys come back”
“Yeah we don’t wanna leave THAT with the Harwood Butcher around”
“You know about that?”
“Vercetti? I knew him back in ’71. He was an asshole back then, too. That’s why he had to go. But he didn’t go. He took em’ all out.”
Meanwhile, the headlights of an Excess rolled across the grey brick wall in the back car park of the Bistro. As it’s engine was cut, two men stepped out, the early morning moonlight shining onto their guns.
“That door ain’t meant to be open..”
I struggled to stand, almost vaulting myself forward with the wooden chair tied to my back. I slowly walked, carefully stepping towards Mike, who was also trying to get up.
“Da-Dah!” he waved his hands, free. They were not tied; he had been badly beaten by Edgar and Mike, whom later bought chairs for Vercetti and Harry. Mike laughed, up beat, “Useless prick didn’t tie my hands!”
“Why didn’t you do something earlier?”
“Because Vercetti’s a f*ckin’ psychopath, that’s why! You heard what he did to Sonny, kid. His goons are built like tanks, doing something would have been a dumb move”
“Can you stand up?”
“Yeah.. Yeah, just about” Putting the pressure of his 275-pound frame onto his red knuckles, he used his hands to steady himself up from the chair. Motioning slowly towards the cleaver, he continued to breath heavily, taking his time as if he had all the seconds in the world. He bent down to reach the cleaver, straining his hand out at full reach. He screamed out in pain, falling back against my knee, sending me sprawling into the wall, the chair hitting with a distinct thud. I narrowly missed falling down on top of him.
“My f*ckin’ back!”
“The cleaver! The f*ckin’ cleaver!” I helplessly called out, paralysed from movement with the chair bearing down on my back. I could hear hurrying footsteps, coming ever closer. Loafers grinding along the plush Italian carpets, Edgar appeared in the doorway, standing the other side of the horrifically marked floors of the freezer, the great weight of the chair was lifted, as the ropes were separated from my hands, Mike using his last bits of strength to push it from my back. The cleaver held in his hand dropped to the side of my ear, I watched it from the corner of my eye as it solemnly fell to the floor. Edgar began to slowly step forward, crunching his fingers together to form powerful fists; Harry and Tommy, all intent on finishing me once and for all, soon joined him.
The Grey Sentinel drew to a stop in the back courtyard, just meters away from the Excess. Mike the Bodyguard climbed out of the drivers seat, carrying drinks and food balanced on a Bolt Burgers tray. At first, he walked forward not observing the other parked vehicle, but sped his steps up when he noticed the open door, and the shuffles of a man entering.
I could not even try to retaliate. Edgar pinned me up against the wall with some force, swinging me from my original stance into the tiles behind me. Mike shouted out helplessly, making no-sense at all, hoping his brief relationship in the 1970’s with Tommy Vercetti could convince him not to kill me. I gargled in pain as the strike took me in the stomach, a sound that was repeated with the blows that followed.
“Get your piece ready” Giorgio Forelli’s arm held Chris Morelli back as Giorgio edged quietly forward. The cousin of Sonny and Franco Forelli, he is a brutal enforcer who lacks in the intelligence department. He makes up for his dim-witted antics with devoted loyalty to his family’s business. The dark ambers of the corridor lights shone on his thinning, greying blonde mop of hair, combed back and greased to be kept in place. He reached for his belt to pull a Colt Python out. A sudden splash of Sprunk Soda hitting the walls was followed by the crashing of Fast Food, Mike the Bodyguard whipped out his Colt .45 at the sight of Chris and Giorgio.
As Chris span around, waving the Colt Python aimlessly, a shot flew past the squat head of the goon, who ducked and fired a round, catching Chris in the stomach, Mike fired another as he covered his eyes with his hand. The pressure around my neck quickly relinquished, I dropped to my feet as the whole Vercetti entourage rushed out of the room, weapons drawn. They saw Giorgio Forelli desperately reach for his waistband, only managing to clinch at the fibres of his jeans as the bullet ripped a hole in his knee. He fell, awkwardly, next to Christopher Morelli. The gallant charge to Mike’s aid was spearheaded by Vercetti himself, who hovered between the halls of the corridor staring at the two fallen men. He looked at Giorgio Forelli with particular disgust, leisurely moving in front of him, picking up the stray Colt Python.
“Giorgio… I’ve been looking for you.”
Giorgio squinted his eyes shut, trying to block the memories of that day in ’86 from his mind. His head turned away as Edgar moved over to control the visibly distressed Mike. It was soon bought back up in anger by Vercetti, who kicked at his knee wound to prolong the agony.
“Those days I spent, year after year in my cell, I made an oath to myself. I promised, I would find whoever set me up. I promised myself I’d kill them. There families. Everyone involved….” He paused for a moment. “You were my friends. You repayed my loyalty by sending me into a trap. Rot in hell.”
“No!” Giorgio half-heartedly cried out as the .357 slug hit him in the chest, blood trickling from the wound onto his black shirt. He collapsed on the body of Chris Morelli, who was darting in and out of consciousness. Police Sirens grew ever closer, I managed to get up from the floor, praying they wouldn’t return.
“Tommy, the two goons!” Harry tried to avert his bosses’ attention back to the freezer.
“Forget about them. Giorgio and this fella are payback enough.” He freely kicked Christopher’s body. “Let’s go. Drive us to the Airport.” The Vercetti entourage fled out the back door, kicking the fast food aside and escaping in a cloud of tyre smoke.
I scooped Mike Columbo up onto my left shoulder, dragging him towards the interior of the back room as he hunched himself over, holding his back. My face wounds bled, my bruised body awash with suffering. Making it this far seemed like an endless struggle. As I flung open the door, my sight blurred and swaying, the sight of the two bodies procured me to act. My reaction was not one of shock; my feelings were numb from the experience endured. Mike leant against the doorframe as I hobbled over, reaching for the mirror in my back pocket. I pulled it out, it’s reflective frame shattered into several pieces. I hovered it over the mouth of Christopher, who was nearest to me than Giorgio. The many pieces of the mirror were smeared, signalling he was at least, still breathing. I did not perform the same test with Giorgio; I could visibly see he was either dead, or critically hurt.
“Can you make it to the car?” I directed the question at Mike
“The steps, kid. I’m gonna need help”
“I can help you down the steps. I’m gonna need you to get the car ready and I’m gonna bring Giorgio and Chrissy down”
“Come here you fat f*ck” Mike stumbled forward, I caught him and began to help him move forward, albeit in uncomfortable agony for him, we slowly moved down the steps, it felt like a moving helter-skelter as I swayed onto the wall, desperately trying to keep myself balanced. I flung open the passenger door, laying Mike out onto the leather seat, and directing him to the keys in the ignition.
“Get her warmed up. Rev the engine.” I moved away as he began to tap the accelerator, the thick exiting smoke a choking fragrance. Back inside the Bistro, the carpets were covered in forming pools of blood. The bodies soaked in them, as I picked them up, they dripped over the upholstery. The great weight of the bodies on my shoulders, the zigzagging of the ground before me, I fell from the second from last step onto the wet grass, the bodies hitting the tarmac. The sharp pain in my right eye crippled me; I scrambled onto my back and wetted my elbows steadying myself back to my feet. Giorgio Forelli’s face was a mess with gravel and mud as I turned his body over, Christopher’s elbow was cut and grazed, having broke his fall. As the sirens drew in, I took a deep breath before calling out to Mike.
“Mike! Mike! Bring the car close” My words were of no effect. The car stood silent, he lay dormant across the drivers seat.
“f*ck!” I hurried, the pounding vein in my head drumming in my ear. I flung the back doors open with all my might, offloading the bodies into the back seats. I pushed Mike onto the passenger seat, his body flopping against the window, the LCPD cruiser parked in the entrance of the courtyard, the row of lights flashing constantly. I revved the engine once, driving directly towards the 1989 model Premier. The rookie behind the wheel nervously reversed backwards hurriedly, crashing into the steps of the house behind him, the glass from the rear lights scattering over the pavement, followed by the turning on of lights by the shocked occupants. I sped away with a head start, vanishing from the view of the Patrol car. The thick treaded wheels gripped the road with ease; I threw the driving wheel right, turning the corner at pace. I struggled to keep the car the right side of the lines, watching the full beamed headlights swerve all over the road, missing several parked vehicles. I slammed my foot on the brakes, the hospital entrance coming nearer and nearer. The heated smoke rose from the tires, the Excess bounced to a stop. Giorgio Forelli cried out in agonising pain, calling for his late cousin, Sonny. Giorgio had never been the same since Sonny’s death; many rumours had been spread at the time of the incident, such as him suffering from Post-Traumatic Street. He had been present when Sonny, and countless other Forelli associates arrived at the mansion of Tommy Vercetti, in order to collect their three million debt. The money presented was counterfeit, and Sonny confronted Tommy. This led to a gun battle, in which a wounded, blood riddled Giorgio crawled desperately from the estate belonging to Vercetti, as Sonny was peppered with the bullets from Vercetti’s Assault Rifle. I jumped from the drivers seat, running through the revolving doors. A flood of doctors soon ran from the building, swamping the car in aid of the three men. I hobbled away in silence, escaping in the crowd to the nearest payphone. Franco Forelli would receive a late night phone call; I just hoped he wouldn’t shoot the messenger.
Posted 22 May 2009 - 10:58 AM
Scifen, moved to The Forellis at The Visage.
Ciabatta, added to Grove Street Families at Sweet's House.
$444 - $260 = $184 + $47 = $231
Great chapter for buying the drugs, I'm also hoping to see what will happen with the extortion.
Ball of cocain Purchased.
$513 + $53 = $566
Another well written chapter from you. The detail and suspense throughout the chapter was excellent.
Ratings by, WelcomeToLibertyCity
Posted 24 May 2009 - 09:09 PM
Varrios Los Aztecas: Chapter Fourteen: Operation Piranha
“Gentlemen, the streets of Los Santos are more dangerous than San Fierro, Las Venturas and Vice City all put together. Especially in the last few months, with gangland killings becoming more and more plentiful, weapons being stolen from National Guard depots and shootouts in hotel lobbies,” Captain McRyan said. He had put together a task force, consisting of me, himself, Detective Bryan Young and several other police.
"We have one objective: to investigate the growing amount of gang related killings. Every day, gang bangers, drug dealers and even innocent people and police are dropping like flies on our streets. We can trace many of the killings back to one group of gangsters." McRyan pointed at five mugshots on the whiteboard he was standing next to. The mugshots were of five Varrios Los Aztecas. He pointed at the one in the middle, Juan Esoplanto. "We know that he is very dangerous. Remember that hit on Donald Love not too long ago? We know it was him, but the public does not. He single candidly killed eleven people to take out Love. The others are all just as dangerous. One of them, the one named Raoul, is being sentenced today. Ladies and germs, welcome to Operation Piranha."
Raoul spat in my face. "I get a year in a f*cking high f*cking security prison while you all just waltz around on the out-f*cking-side? You bastard, you used me as your fall guy!" He yelled.
"D!ck head, I tried to get you out of a prison sent-"
'Oh bullsh!t. Y'know what, f*ck you man, when I get out, I will f*ck you up. You all abandoned me; you hung me out to dry! Cabrone mother-f*ckers!" He shouted, gesticulating wildly. He was escorted out of the emptying courtroom by security. Angrily, I left the courtroom and got into my car. "DAMNIT!" I yelled, punching the dashboard. Raoul was my friend. We had killed together, we had nearly died together. That was a bond most people, outside of the military, law enforcement or crime, never have. I had risked my life for him and the other people I cared about for...what? This sh!t?
Fuming silently, I headed back to Angelo’s tattoo parlour. The place was full of customers, so I worked with him until the closing time. Only then did he ask about Raoul. “He thinks we’re letting him take the fall for our crimes,” I told Angelo.
He crossed his arms. “Give him time,” he suggested. “He’ll come around.” Maria entered the room; she had just gotten out the shower. “Hey, Maria,” I said, hugging her warmly.
“How’d it go?” She asked.
“Crap. Raoul thinks that we’re using him to get out of prison,” I told her, letting go.
“God Damnit! How long did he get?” She asked.
“A year in max security,” I answered, getting a beer. “Want one?” I asked Angelo, who nodded. We sat down, drinking our beers, wondering silently about Raoul.
Day one of my term has passed. Let me tell you, it was a very good day. I met up with my old friend, Toni Bandadars.
We re-united in the mess hall at dinnertime. I took a seat next to him, not recognising him. He looked at me and suddenly smiled. “Raoul!” He exclaimed, smiling through his beard. “Come sta?”
It took me a while to recogniser him. His hair, once dark black, was now a light shade of brown. His beard was much more than just a goatee now. He also had a scar under his left eye. “Toni?” I asked. He nodded. I grinned as we shook hands. “How did you end up in here?”
“Two years for armed robbery. I get out next week. You?” He said, returning to his meal of crappy spaghetti.
“One for firearms,” I told him. “I need to get out. I’ll fill you in on the details later. Please, can you get me out, old buddy?” I pleaded.
“Of course,” he answered.
Toni-he was one of my best friends before I hooked up with Marcus and Angelo. We had been involved in armed robbery from the age of fourteen, standover since sixteen and car theft from the age of nineteen, in 2004. We were practically brothers until one of our friends died and he was arrested. I joined the Aztecas and we sort of fell out of contact then. Soon, when he gets me out, we can pick up where we left off. We can kill, rob and steal and no one will be able to stop us…
Posted 25 May 2009 - 09:45 AM
Ryan is a good leader and ‘will not leave a man behind’ but he enjoys his power of leader, I haven’t noticed until now, Ryan can be a prick, maybe he isn’t like this always. To his crew he’ll won’t, because they’re his friends. Well I can’t expect Ryan or anybody to be a complete saint, I’m overreacting; Ryan’s a good guy.
I arrived at Glen Park and kerbed my Majestic near Ryan’s house, I turned the keys, reached over and grabbed the baggy of cocaine from the passenger seat, got out, popped the boot and retrieved the crate full of Desert Eagles. I then placed the baggy on top of the crate, nearly tipping off when I walked over to Ryan’s house and struggled to knock on the door with no hands. The wooden crate was pretty heavy, I didn’t want to go looking all over the neighbourhood carrying this. I bumped the crate against the door three times, no answer. I peeked around the corners of the house, still holding the crate. I returned to the front door and thumped the crate once more against the door, again no answer.
Sounds of conversation caught my attention, it was Ryan and his crew exiting Troy’s home. I did a quick 180 spin and walked towards Ryan, glancing and tilting my head around the box so I could see the path. The box had a grainy texture but was splintered and fragile, shards of wood dug into my clothes and my exposed skin that rubbed against it. Ryan and his crew noticed me and started to walk towards my direction. While I was walking, the crate jostled and bounced up and down, a sharp pain throbbed in my left arm. Nearly hitting Ryan, I swiftly swung the crate away from Ryan and placed it on the sidewalk. Traces of wood were in my clothes and sharper pieces had drawn blood on my arms. I quickly rubbed them off my clothes and pluck out them from my skin. I noticed a large wood piece lodged in my lower arm, I pulled it out, “Ouch!” I looked down to see a wood chipping 4 centimetres long and stained with blood; leaving a deep laceration when I pulled it out.
“Hey, thanks Doug; you should get a band aid.” Ryan chuckled as he picked up the crate and walked the other way
I was grabbing my arm to relive the pain, “Hey! Aren’t you going to pay me back for the drugs?!” I yelled
Ryan spun round and started walking backwards, “It’s for the good of the gang Doug!”
“What the F*ck?!”
“Just jokes mate! I’ll give you a cut from the cash we get from Kane!” Ryan’s voiced trailed off and he spun back around and continued walking away from Doug. Ryan disappeared into the distance.
“He better” I mumbled under my voice and started to walk to home to clean my wounds.
“Kane says that the guy were after is always at The Pig Pen on Tuesdays.” Troy explained
“Specific time?” I questioned back
“I dunno, I think Kane said 5 or...”
Vic interrupted, “Okay guys let’s roll!”
“Wait, let’s change, this guy might be squeamish with 3 gang members surrounding him. Is John still sick?”
“Think so, not sure” Vic and Troy answered
“I’ll drop this by his house and tell him to keep them tight and enjoy his ‘Get Well Present’. Just grab one, get changed and meet me here.”
Vic and Troy grabbed a Desert Eagle each and tucked it in their belts and walked towards their home. I tucked the crate under my arm to not get pricked by the wood shards like Doug and walked to John home. I slipped round the back of his house and entered the living room; John was lying on the lounge, sipping a hot drink. I placed the crate beside the TV.
“Hey, I’m just going drop these here to keep them safe, ok?”
“Oh yeah sure, what’s in it?”
“It’s worth getting up you lazy bugger!” I grabbed the baggy of cocaine and crammed it in my pocket and left through the front door. Once outside I ran towards my house, it’s already past 5.
I got changed in my non-purple clothes and reunited with Vic and Troy. We squeezed in a single Majestic and I drove to The Pig Pen, “Hey, luckily that was on Ballas turf, we didn’t want any complications while were getting this guy.”
“How are we going get this guy anyway?” Troy grunted while squished in the back seat, “Why does Vic get to sit in the passenger seat?”
“I called shotgun first bitch!” Vic then leaned forwards and slammed against the back to hit Troy in the face.
“Ow! You little…”
“Shut Up you guys!” There was silence, “Vic did call shotgun first!” I threw a half drunken soda cup from Burger Shot at Troy, causing a Troy to have a face full of it.
“Ha ha!” Vic and I laughed, “Okay sorry dude, the plan is I know one of the dancers, and she’ll drop this cocaine ball in his drink and it will get him limber, drowsy, talkative and relaxed, we need to get him to Kane before the cocaine effects wear off.
“Man… We need to get a four-door” Troy complained, slightly muffled from the hum of the engine
“Yeah, I know. Here there it is.” I pointed at The Pig Pen as it drew closer.
I parked the car and all three of us got out and we entered the strip club.
The club had a musky smell and smoky, not from cigarettes, but from several smoke machines that are running during some of the girls’ performances. There was lots of people and was difficult to get through the horde of horny men. Money was thrown down at the dancers and some men entered and backroom, possibly for private dances. We looked at the women for a while; the girls had shiny and glittery body butter and wore revealing outfits. Again, somewhere fun and I was here on business, I was looking out for our target, Kane said he was rich and might spend all his money in night just on private dances. I went to the waitress at the bar, while the others were enjoying the show.
“I’m looking for Kandy Sweetness? With a ‘K’, have you seen her?”
“Oh, she said someone would be looking for her, she’s over there.” The waitress pointed at a V.I.P lounge, she was sitting with a rich guy also holding another girl underneath each arm. These dancers name can be just annoying; names like Christina or something must be spelt wrong, with a ‘K’ of just dumb name overall. Kandy Sweetness, Ms Naughty for a schoolteacher themed dancer; just so damn… Stupid!
“Hey you beat me to him, just offer him a free drink and mix this in.” I handed her the baggy
“Sure thing.” She said in a flirty kind of way and she stroked my back.
I watched her ask for a drink and she drop the cocaine in the drink, mixed it well, and strutted towards our target. She handed him a drink and he gulped it down quickly. He must have had a lot of drinks or Kandy used a very absorbent and highly alcoholic drink, because he felt the effects immediately. He started to sway back and forth and collapsed against the back of the seat.
“Oh hey there bud!” I walked within the V.I.P section, but stopped by a bodyguard. “He’s my friend, looks like he had too much to drink!” I said cheerfully, trying to sound real, but not obvious.
The bodyguard looked behind him and looked back at me, “Yeah sure take him away.”
I walked in and swung his arm over my shoulder, “Hey! Troy! Help?”
Troy then emerged from the crowd and swung his other arm over his shoulder. We walked him out and placed him in the passenger seat of my Majestic. Vic then followed us out.
“Damnit! We need a four-door!” I shouted frustrated, “You guys can get back home by yourselves right?”
“Oh don’t worry! We’ll just remain here, it’s ok, but you owe me one!” Troy replied sarcastically
“It’s ok hombre! Go on have fun” Vic laughed
“Yeah guys you sure did me a solid.” I started the car and drove to Front Yard territory.
Kane’s hideout was the abandoned car wash in East Los Santos and I drove carefully to not wake up our special ‘guest’. When I arrived and went through the car wash and brushed against the cleaning combs and I quickly ducked in to get some assistance. Kane’s guards and I carried the man into the office. The guards tied him up to a wooden chair, and placed a bag over his head until Kane arrived.
“I got him” I greeted Kane as he entered
“Ahh! Good to see you Ryan!”
“Don’t remember my cut.”
“Come on! Your mind can’t always be on ‘attack mode’, give me a hug.” Kane opened his arms and I went in for a hug. But it was man-ly-nized, a big bear hug, I then bear hugged him back.
“Okay! Down to business.” Kane clapped his hands and took the bag off his head.
“Argh!” His ears widen sharply, “Turn down the lights will you?”
“I can do this the easy way; or the hard way! Your choice” Kane was circling him and spitting in his face.
I lent over and covered my hand over my mouth and whispered, “I think Kane has been watching too many movies” to one of his guards, he and I chuckled.
“Just tell me your PIN and we’ll be done.”
“Ballas, I know a lot about them.”
“Oh yeah? Enlighten me with your wide and detailed knowledge of… Ballas, ok?”
“There are four sets: Rollin’ Heights, Kilo Tray, Temple Drive and Front Yard – which of course your in charge of… right?”
“So you’ve red some tags and my huge reputation has clearly been embedded into your mind. So what?”
The man inched closer to Kane’s face, “The previous Kilo Tray leader was 6’s and his crew was Stevo, Ricky and Bobby. You only got your position is because Blake who was your best friend retired and left you in charge, he was twice the man you will ever be! The Temple Drive leader is Donny and he used to run with Dominic’s boys because he was…”
Everything this man was true, Kane and every other Balla realized he was speaking the truth and knew the things only high-ranking Ballas knew exclusively. Who was this man? How did he get this information? I was blocking out all noise while I was kind of freaking out. I retuned into the interrogation.
“Who are you?!” Kane was literally shouted into his ears and kicked the chair over onto the ground. The man look up with several bruises on his face, “I was the leader of the Kilo Tray set! I am 6’s!”
dun dun dun!!!!
Yeah I just found my old Glen park characters from the previous BUYG.
Posted 25 May 2009 - 08:23 PM
Posted 25 May 2009 - 08:49 PM Edited by WolfMasterZero, 25 May 2009 - 08:53 PM.
I'd like to join the Triads at the Four Dragons Casino.
Posted 26 May 2009 - 03:59 AM
|QUOTE (betterman994 @ May 25 2009, 21:23)|
|I dont understand English well. So i am sorry for beeing dumb. How can I start my own gang?|
You can't start your own gang - for example "Bettermans Mafia" - you have to join one of the gangs on the first page. All the gangs from all the games(Bar IV) are listed, so your not short of choices.
@WolfMasterZero - Any one can join
Posted 27 May 2009 - 12:13 AM
Also, can I make gang wars without other writer and without a reward?
Posted 31 May 2009 - 12:34 AM
WolfMasterZero, added to the Triads at the Four Dragons Casino.
Varrios Las Azectas
$407 + $43 = $450
Excellent story. I like how you're involving the view of the police.
$231 + $49 = $280
Great chapter form you. The detail was great as well as the chapter's conclusion.
LSPD have been very busy lately in the investigation of increased drug dealing around the city. In a recent attempt to stop some of the criminals, there was failure. Police recieved a tip that two members of the street gang known as Varrios Las Azectas were involved in a drug deal that was done near El Corona. Police began the pursuit of a vehicle they believed to be the suspects. However, after catching the suspects, they had no sign of drugs in their possession or in the vehicle.
Done by, WelcomeToLibertyCity.
Posted 31 May 2009 - 05:53 PM
Chapter One - Enter the City
My name is Jack, aged 20. I’m half son of Kiryu Hao, deceased one year ago. My father was one of the most important triad members. Now that he’s gone, the triads were having a hard time in Las Venturas. This is where I’m come in.
The train arrived at the station. There was a creepy guy dressed all in black looking at me, like he knew who I am. I’ve left the station and got a cab. “Where to, boss?” The driver asked me. I answered quickly and calmly:”To the Four Dragons Casino.” The cab drove quickly, not that I was even paying attention. When the taxi arrived, I’m just put twenty dollars in his hand, without even counting it, without even looking at the meter to check the price. What I was thinking? No idea.
I had arrived at the Four Dragons Casino. It was big, and its decorations weren’t bad at all. However, I was completely lost. I had no idea were the boss was, so I just asked one of that big guys looking around the casino. “I want to see the boss.” I said. The man did not look happy; in fact, he was really angered. He got me and threw me into an office, where he said: “Boss, that prick wants to see you.” He said. I’m noticed that the guy sitting on the desk used shades, but the two guarding him were simply with triad clothing.
“Oh, you must be Jack, son of Hao!” The man with shades said. “Yes, that’s me.” I’m answered. The man started laughing. “I’m Woozie, the owner of the casino.” He said. “Its great to see you’ve joined us. I hope you manage to take your father’s place well.”
“I don’t know.” I said. “I never killed anyone. In fact, I don’t deal pretty well with deaths.”
“It’s okay. We will start slow, but we’re in trouble, so you will kill one way or another. Don’t worry. You will learn.” Woozie said and laughed again. I got pissed that he dint understand my motives for not killing, but I did not demonstrate it. In fact, I laughed along. “Say, Jack, can you drive?”
“Yes, I can.” I’ve answered. Woozie then gave me some car keys. “It’s the black Stratum parked at the entrance. Go to the airport pick a friend of mine.” He said. He was serious and silent. I silently obeyed as well. The guard from before had let out a smile when I passed through. I did not understand, and walked faster. I entered the Stratum and drove to the airport. When I arrived, there was a black guy with triad clothing waiting for something. I noticed he was waiting for me, and he noticed it as well, since he got in the right car.
“So, you’re Jack, right?” He said. I answered with a: “Yeah.” And remained quiet the whole trip. When we arrived, he got out but I did not. “Come on. We need to talk with you.” I obeyed and followed him to the office, ignoring everybody. Woozie was just sitting on his desk, and as soon as we entered he said: “Welcome back, Leroy!” The man I had picked up laughed. “It’s great to be back, Woozie.” This Leroy said back. “I see you’ve met the newest Triad.” I gasped. “Me?” I asked. Of course, I was already expecting it.
“Yes, that’s you. You will be replacing your father.” Woozie said. “I can’t! I told you I’m not quite ready for it!” But he dint give it a damn. He got from his pocket a gun. I recognized it: It was a Colt .45. How I recognized not even I knew. I dint deal with guns. Woozie just handed me the gun and I picked it up. “You need to. That’s your job.” I had agreed with my head. I dint think about it, of course. But I had agreed, and now I needed to do what I promised to do.
“Who do you want me to kill?” I asked. “Some mobsters keep trying to get my business down. They’re having a deal tonight. You will kill them. The less you know about it, the better.” Woozie answered. I was nervous, but I knew I had to do it. So I’ve waited till dawn.
Me and Leroy got into the Stratum with other three men. Leroy started to drove, and it felt like my heart was about to jump off. I was about to kill. For the first time. It was hard to take the truth, but the truth was that I needed to do it.
We had arrived near an alley. Everybody got out of the car, and I followed them. We climbed a stair case to the top of a building. I knew we would hardly be noticed, and for some reason that made me feel much better. Then, to cut my joy, two cars entered the alleyway. From them, lots of people wearing formal suits got out. They were from some mob as Woozie had said. One of them opened a briefcase full of money, while the other opened a case full of bags. One of the triads had screamed “NOW!” and it ruined the whole surprise element, but most of them got hit and died. However, one of them got into the car and drove away. I recognized the car as a red Super GT, but it was no time for it.
Everybody got back in the black Stratum. Leroy drove as fast as he could and we could already see the Super GT. I knew what I needed to do. As we got closer, I opened the car window and got the Colt .45 Woozie had trusted me. I then shot the faster I could and the Super GT caught on fire. However, soon, a yellow Elegy came and hit our Stratum, leading us off road. All I knew is that we were upside down, and I was bleeding with severe wounds.
I woke up back at the office, lying on a couch. As I opened my eyes, I saw Leroy and Woozie looking at me with smiles on their faces. “Great skills there, Mister I Dint do it.” I just remembered, and the truth came to me. I had just watched ten men being killed, and some of them were murdered by me. But still, I was all right. “For someone who don’t do very well with deaths, you seem to be fine after killing six people.” Leroy said and laughed. “How did I got out alive?” I asked. “You were taken to a prison hospital. But I managed to make a deal with a police division designed to take care of these mobsters. They’re going to give you information. Now go back to your sleep, kid. It’s going to be a long day.” Woozie said. I looked through the window and realized it was morning already. “Man, what a day…” I let out. Woozie laughed again.
Posted 09 June 2009 - 12:17 AM Edited by Osric, 16 June 2009 - 08:02 PM.
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