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BUYG: Build Up Your Gang IV

Build Up Your Gang

Recommended Posts


Gambetti Family


This Goombah, he's a Putz : Part 1


Alder Caruso, who was a captain in the Gambetti's called on Artie who was a trusted soldier in the organization. It was very early in the morning, so early you'd think it was still nightime and not tomorow. The phone continued to ring as Artie took a bit of time waking up and reaching over across his goomah who was still sound asleep to reach the phone and answer it.


"Artie I don't care how tired or hung over you are, we have got a problem" said Alder


"Hung over, Jeez it's two o'clock in the morning, how am I going to be hung over? If anything I would still be piss faced no?" said Artie in a smart guy tone


"Whatever wise guy, put your clothes on, dress up warm and bring another pair of...everything really"


"Another pair of everything, Erm...Alder what's go-"


"We're going erm fishing alright, if your clothes get to soaked with water, then you can change" said Alder, putting an emphasis on the water part.


"Alright, must be seriouse, ok where shall I meet you, you didn't say"


"You know where kid, I like wine, bye!"


"Wait, what!"


"Bye, Bye bye!" shouted Alder knowing that Artie was trying to talk and hung up.


Artie made a groaning noise and then he reached over his Goomah again and placed the phone in it's holder. He lay back on his bed and swiftly heaved himself up as he stood up, scratching the back of his head, and then tried to concentrate, his eyes wide open.


A few minutes later he was dressed and as he walked by the kitchen he picked up his car keys that were lying on the table. He walked over to the fridge and grabbed himself a half eaten bagle, that was his early breakfast, or late midnight feast. He took it with him as he opened the door and walked out onto his doorstep, swiftly closing the door behind him as he looked into the distant house. He locked the door and quickly strolled over to his car. It was a silver Sentinel. He started the car and as soon as the headlights turned on he quickly turned them of in case he attracted un-wanted attention. When Alder was on the phone to him, he mentioned that he liked wine, and there was only one place that related to that subject which Artie knew of, so Artie put his foot down and drove faster making sure he arrived promptly.


Finally about half an hour later Artie arrived at the wine distillery. He could see Alder standing under the Big sign saying "Vinnie's Vino" with pictures of grapes and a happy, fat eight year old Italian looking man. Artie got out of the car and gently shut the door. He walked over to Alder looking for people to see if they were around or if anybody was watching, which he highly doughted, not even feds were this organized in this case besides Artie had a low profile, and wasn't a John gotti, unlike some.


"Heey, Artie" whispered Alder


"Whats up Alder, what's so important" said Artie not whispering


"Shhh, I know nobodies around and there are no bugs but still keep it down..."


"...OK" whispered Artie staring Alder in the eye and nodding like he was a mental patient.


"You bring the spare clothes, and you got a lighter right?" asked Alder


"Yes, I do smoke anyway what's going on if I may ask" said Artie being sarcastic


"Y'know Skinny Moletto, Acting Boss..."


Artie was lighting up a cigarette and took a while to respond "Yeah.."


"He's got to move on...." said Alder with a seriouse look on his face, as he used circling hand movements to try and get across what he meant.


"Oh, Oh and what you want me to do it on such short notice, he's acting boss, you can't do that!"


"Artie, your a good kid and I know you have sense, which is why you questioned, but the other captains even the one's in the can for life, say he's too flamboyant, and he doesn't know about leadership at all, he's got to go to sleep, Do you understand?" asked Alder trying to talk some sense into Artie.


"Yeah, of course if the whole ruling pannel has decided on it, then yeah ok..."


"Good boy, just to reassure you, in this day and age you don't know who's with or against you somtimes, I trusted you because of you past, you've been in the can before for 12 years and didn't sing, we all know it and appreciate it" said Alder respectfully


"Thanks but no need, it's the way it should be, besides I have less to lose, y'know got a wife and a Goomah but no kids so..." Artie opened his eyes wide and shook his shoulders.


"Yeah true" said Alder smiling, almost laughing. "You got a peice?"


"Yeah" replied Artie promptly


"Good, Skinny Moletto is sleeping in his country house tonight, it's saturday he always go there on the weekends, especially during the summer"


"Thanks Alder, also do any of the other capo's know it's me who's doing the hit?" asked Artie suspiciously


"No, I said a guy from my crew, best if no names fly around these days"


"Yeah, cool I'll be on my way" said Artie has he took a final drag from his cigarette then tossed it on the ground and stamped on it and grinded it to a powder.

Edited by Sanjeem
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Hi, new guy here. I heard about this thread in the Writer's Department, and I thought I'd check it out. Could someone give me a sypnosis about how this game works?

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Just check out the first page to get a general idea. There's still some stuff that needs to be reworked(Money and Weapons on the Gang Charts, Drugs and Businesses, etc.)

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Okay, I've been reading the first page, and I think I have a general idea of how this works. I need to think of a gang to join, though.

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I've thought about writing for The Law. Maybe be on the side of the "good guys". However, I'm not sure if I should be a regular cop or a government agent (FIB, NOOSE, United Liberty Paper).


If I'm reading the rules right, I could also write for a criminal gang. Not sure which one I should go with, so sign me up for The Law. I can think of a story and characters soon.


When do I start?

Edited by Don Giovanni
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just start writing and the 'leaders' will make your own card for you.

you can write for any of the gangs on the front page. You can write for up to 5 gangs at a time. I'm writing for the Albanian Mob.

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I don't know why, but I've thought about a female protagonist for The Law. It is plausible, after all. However, I'm not sure if she would be an LCPD Officer, a FIB Agent, or an informant for United Liberty Paper.



Of course, if I write for a gang such as the Pegorino Family, the protagonist would be male. You see plenty of policewomen, but you don't see many women in the Mafia.

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Chapter 3: My enemy’s enemy.

After another couple of dark hours, I woke up again. The crash was still a vague memory and I had no more information on Isaac or Javi, but my mind was much clearer than before and not as hazy as it was before.

I put my cold hand to my face, and I feel what could be a massive scar or burn on the right side of my face, permanently screwing up my perfect complexion. If I just had a mirror I might assess the damage fully, but this was no time for beauty checks. I had to save myself from this chamber.

Instead of rolling off the smelly bed in an unruly fashion like last time, I find my feet well enough and get off the mattress in perfect harmony. The ground was still flooded and the room was black with darkness.

I stumble up the stairs in anger and frustration. Whatever has happened, someone put me down there on purpose and I needed to know what happened on that fateful day.

I reach the top of the long staircase. Looking back on the dark cave that was behind me, the door looked heavenly. My mind briefly turns to Isaac for a short moment and I wonder if he has met a similar fate to me, or even Javi. Javi was still lying lifeless in the greasy bathtub, and probably his final resting place. I don’t give a rat’s ass about the Spanish fool; his death really makes me wonder about Pete, my friend who had Javi in custody the other day. Does Javi’s death mean that something terrible has happened to Pete or Andri? I sincerely hope not.


I take one final look at the door and using all my body weight, I manage to knock out the lock with fairly little sound. The wooden door swings open, creaking quietly. I am surprised at my success, considering I was out for ages, possibly.

I poke my head through the door way, and am struck by a dim-lighted hallway. Cold air hits my bare skin and the trendy blue trench coat I was wearing at the crash so I start to shiver gently but still enough to be a pain. The rusty lock on the door was broken but not beyond repair, or at least not beyond looking proper. I could easily make it look right by just propping it up.

Knowing my torch won’t do anything good, I check my T-shirt for anything of use. It still has the sticker from the day I bought it so I pull the sticker off, fold it in half and stick it onto the backside of the lock. It doesn’t look convincing, but it doesn’t need to be. How often does one focus on a lock?

Quietly closing the door makes my escape look unnoticeable so I proceed left to the door on the other side of the hall. I quickly make my way down the hall and crouch behind the brown door and poke my curious eye through the tiny key hole. The room is just a simple janitor’s closet. I could see the whole room from the keyhole, and there was no point in scavenging that dark hole. With a disappointed look on my face, I swivel round and have to head to the door on the other side of the corridor. I pick up my feet and head back to the other side of the room.

This door had no key hole, so I had no idea what dangers could be lurking behind the door. Ready for anything, I brace myself and open the door a little bit and I follow by quickly poke my head round the door to see what is there.


What I saw in front of me was some sort of mechanic garage. 10 or 15 shady looking people were scattered around the large room, and a lime green Sabre GT was slowly getting disassembled in the center of the room. The walls were grey and covered with grit and mud. There were no windows, and smoke fumes filled the air. Knowing that my current observations were very risky, I quickly move behind a couple of barrels I spied earlier so that people can’t see me. If some dick with a stick spotted me, I’d be screwed.

After taking position behind the cover of the grim barrels, I decided to study the room a little more. Without exaggeration, there were car parts scattered around the room, as though a thousand car factories had exploded and had landed on the floor. This place had to be some kind of chop shop.


I over hear a conversation between two souls sitting on tires after one of them mentions the name Gezim. Gezim, the traitorous rat, was the dude I was following the day of the crash, so listening into the conversation would help me locate him.


“… Are you kidding me?” says the one in the yellow jacket and blue jeans. He was a burly man with impressive sideburns and short coconut colored hair who was addressed as Napoleon by the other one, and he was swaying from side to side like on a small dingy on the Themes. He had a low voice, which went high towards the end of each sentence.


“Aye, would I screw with you, Napoleon? Luan told me, he overheard Nelson saying he don’t trust that Albanian SOB, even if he had all the money in the world.” The other one replied. This one was a bald muscular lad in a black singlet and red track pants. He wore peculiar yellow sunglasses with a white rim which were perched upon pointy red ears. He spoke quickly, and I had trouble understanding him at some points, but with some practice he became understandable. When he turned his back to get a warm beer out of the crate behind him, he had ‘Denver’ written on his singlet in big Impact writing so that is what I will refer to him by.


“Colin Nelson is a damn fool. He can’t trust anyone” yells the fat one.


“Yeah he can, he has that bitch of his Luan to feed on him hand and foot. They say he co-owns it, but everyone knows it is Colin’s business. Luan Cobaj is just an assistant.” said Denver in a quiet voice as he pulls out a fat cigar out of his pants and lights it. It is at this point at which I realize where I was and what happened. I was at Colin Nelson’s chop shop. After the crash, Gezim and Luan had captured me and put me his basement. I was a prisoner the whole time. Some questions persist. What happened to Isaac? Why was Javi dead? I needed to know.


“Pass me a puff.” Napoleon exclaims quickly. Denver hands it to him. “Well, I suppose. He puts bread on the table and pussies in our scratching post, if you know what I mean! Eh? Eh?” Napoleon says jokingly. Denver just cuts him down with a cold stair and keeps repeating

“No, just no.” Napoleon stops laughing and takes a short blow. Denver takes a long sip and shakes his head solemnly.


“Well, you are right. Best to keep our head down and follow orders.” Their conversation is interrupted when two men carrying the Sabre GT’s hood walk between the spaces between them. The muscle car was slowly being torn apart, ready for sell as legit items. Once it had passed, the two comrades get up and walk to the other side of the room.


Napoleon throws his cigar onto the floor, crushes it to a fine powder and starts to talk some more. I didn’t hear much, the last meaningful sentence I heard him say “so Delgado’s thoughts about suicide has come to a big shock to me too…” and goes onto to ramble random fragmented sentences about how he helped with his Aunt’s suicide. “She gave me her crossbow… the river was rapid… It was a clean death… Stevie was very happy” and so on. Alberto Delgado was the leader of the Spanish mob, so knowing about his depressive thoughts could help me answer why Javi is dead.


After that revealing conversation, I spy what looks like an office in the corner to my left. This must be Nelson’s quarters. So, after a few heavy breaths, I run out of cover and quickly behind a support beam. I notice that a short man with arms covered in oil was staring in my direction. He starts to walk in my direction with a mysterious look on his face, but then exclaims “I must be dreaming.” And goes into the hall way I came in through. I wipe watery sweat from my brow and prepare to keep moving.

I check round the corner again. It worries me that the two men Napoleon and Denver were talking at were facing my direction, but then Napoleon walks behind to show them something on a poster of a heavily modified Banshee.

After this perfect opportunity, I crouch quietly and slowly squabble to the door of the office. I was nervous of the 5 men who had gathered to whack the Sabre GT with hammers, but they were too busy laughing at one of them who had the misfortune of pulling a muscle. When I reach the white door, I turn the golden handle quickly and enter.


Nelson’s office was very contrasting to the garage outside. It was very clean, and everything was white. There were huge windows, but some velvet curtains with flower patterns were covering them. The small room was largely empty, with the exception of a desk table with a 90s computer and a phone on it, rolling chair and some cabinets to keep files in and what not.

I quickly and swiftly move to the desk to see if there was anything of use on it. Most obviously, there was a list of about 20 names lying there on a piece of white A4 paper. I quickly eye over the page, and one name sticks out over the rest which was my name. Rilind Maniani. I much prefer to go by the name Otto, as whenever I introduce myself as Rilind, I sound like some sort of medieval knight ready to fight dragons and ride horses and whatnot. People ask me where they can find Arthur and if there is a seat on the round table.

It was very worrying. Am I part of some sort of puzzle piece in a massive jigsaw puzzle? Furthermore, did Nelson know I would escape and purposely left it there for me to find? It brought up a whole heap of questions.

There were some other names of interest on there. At the top of the list was none other than Sinclair Paul III, the man who apparently faked Jack Pegorino’s death around 10 years ago. Some people believe that Jimmy’s abuse had driven Junior to jump off the top of the Getalife building, but Andri once told me a rumor that spread around in 2000. According to police files, a bunch of pulleys were assembled up on top of that building, and foul play was suspected. Jack could have been set up in a trap and thrown, even pushed, off that building. Now Jack was depressed, but he wanted to one day rule the Pegorino family. The Gambetti family believed that Jack was much stronger a leader than his father so they organized to get Sinclair Paul III, an assassin of almost mythical status, to fake his suicide.

Of course, that could be all myth. There was no proof that Sinclair Paul III even existed, and it is almost certain this is untrue. The media stated that Jack committed suicide so the public soon forgot about it. But his name makes me uneasy, as Sinclair Paul III still pops up in the occasional news article. Jimmy is so paranoid he even killed his right hand man the other day so he tries to not believe it, but it keeps coming back to him. Alberto Delgado’s name was there too and he was also having suicide thoughts too, it just confirmed that something is fishy around here.

Most of the other names there were unknown to me. Amusingly, Ted Ardent, the captain of the Swingers baseball team, was there at the bottom with a baseball rather skillfully drawn next the name. I slip the paper the paper into my pocket, and I go and snoop round the rest of the room.


I check Nelson’s draws for anything interesting, but before I get anywhere, the phone on the desk started ringing. I freeze as I let the machine take it.


“Please leave a message after the beep” the voice said in a dull monotonous voice. What a cool job that guy has I think to myself.


“Hello Luan. It is me, Gez Veseli. Sorry about Nelson’s demise, but it is done.”Gezim said in a slow gravelly voice. Something tells me that I’ll never find out what Nelson knew about me.

“Anyway, I left his body in the cabinet. That fool never knew what hit him.” He then chuckles a little. I open the cabinet behind me and the man himself tumbled out of the closet. Nelson was an average sized man wearing a teal vest over a white shirt and his pants were black as the night sea. Nelson’s face looked calm, almost asleep, but at the back of his head there was a massive cut.

“I’m driving through Broker to find some more, erm, assets. Might need to stop for fuel soon at that gas station on Main Street. Remember to tell Stevie I’m sorry. Gez out” and he hung up just like that. I check Nelson’s body for anything good. He had 50 bucks and his phone, which for me was all I need. I get up, and take one final look at the dead man. I almost felt sorry for this man. He was the enemy of my enemy, so he could have been a friend. But one thing was for sure, I knew where Gezim would be. This was my chance for revenge for Isaac, wherever he was, and for the Albanian Mob.


Opposite the door to the hallway, there was another door. That door was my target. Gezim would be lost soon, so I had to be swift in my actions. I clutch the handle and simply run to the door. The men had reduced the Sabre GT a lot, and to see their faces twist with surprise brought amusement to my senses. Napoleon and Denver were shouting and waving their hands around. I’m too fast for anyone to react properly.

When I got outside, I’m struck by the cold dawn. I could see the sun rising in front of me, bringing a sense of warmth and freedom over me, as though I was a little dove who had escaped from my little cage free to fly over the world. At least until a raven eats me, which was very possible if I stopped moving. The Bohan landscape surrounded me. In the pound, there were a couple of burnt out shells of cars. 10 men were outside, either drinking, smoking or listening to their MP3s when I appear, where they all drop what they were doing and try to get me. Pausing only for a moment, I run left out the tin gate. Out in the open, I realize I’m in Bohan when I see the giant S&M sign behind me.

I was on Guantanamo Ave, and I had to get out of the vicinity as fast as possible. Behind me, I could hear the gate swing open again, so I quickly run across the street and quickly jack the nearest parked car. I didn’t even see the make; I was too busy looking at Napoleon holding a massive assault rifle at my head on the other side of the street. I just manage to cross those red wires in time to get away before the back half of my automobile gets filled with bullet holes. I turn into Rocket Street and breathe again for the first time in 30 seconds.

I figure out my vehicle is a Hakumai, judging by the heavy steering and fast acceleration. Better to be in vehicle then on foot.

I head to the East Borough Bridge as quickly as I can, but find myself driving the wrong way down the motorway. It is very scary to see a Patriot heading towards you at 70 mph. The safest way to get down the highway was right down the middle, because taxi drivers are surprisingly scared of a Japanese salon ramming down the street. It is a surreal experience, and one I don’t want to experience again. Just before the toll booths, I spy a gap in the wall to the other side of the highway and I drive the big car to the other side and am stuck behind an old woman in her grey Primo. I am struck with both relief and frustration by being stopped.


After granny had been let past by the guards, it was my turn to pay the toll. Liberty City police were irresponsible pigs who had no respect for the rules of the road so seeing me going down the wrong way down the motorway was not out of the ordinary.


“That would be five dollars sir.” the overweight policeman says inside the booth. He seemed to stare at me in a curious fashion due to the scars on my face which I still don’t know the extent of. The car was in a bad shape and was missing mirrors and a few other essentials. I didn’t have to time to chit chat about life so I chuck him a ten dollar note and speed off as fast as possible. Realizing I had Nelson’s phone in my pocket, it would seem obvious to speak to a friend at this moment. Despite traveling at over 80 miles per hour, I quickly dial in Pete’s number. I was worried about that man; Pete could be dead for all I know.


“This number is no longer in service. Please dial again” says the automated woman’s voice, mocking me with her stale tone. I stare at the phone, angry and pissed at Pete’s disappearance. The loss of concentration almost ends me up in a Steed’s rear, and not in a good way. As I leave the highway and turn onto the Dukes Boulevard in Cerveza Heights, I decide to concentrate fully on the road and on the rat: Gezim Viseli.


I could just see the RON gas station about a couple of hundred meters in front of me. It screamed global warming because of its wasteful exterior, but more importantly it felt like the building was whispering ‘Pyromaniac’. Sounds like my sort of place.

As I got closer, I could see Gezim driving into the gas station in his gold Emperor, with a satisfied and mysterious look on his face. The glasses perched upon his face hid eyes which had witnessed all sorts of atrocities. He was wearing a green beret making him look even more sinister, and even a little bit queer. He stayed in his car after he parked, and I could make out that he was checking his gauges or something, probably the last thing he’d be checking.

I speed up because I had a plan. Let me paint a picture for you for a second. In every action film I’ve seen, whenever there is a gas station, the main character accelerates his car towards the gas station and bails out at the last second, then looks up to see his vehicle, usually a taxi, run into a gas pump, blowing up the whole station in a glorious explosion killing up all the baddies. If I put my foot flat on the floor and open my door slightly ready to bail out, there may be a fireball to witness.

Gezim looks up from his seat to see my body dive onto the pavement and a rusty Hakumai speed quickly towards the oil pump next to him. While I get bruised and battered as I tumble around on the hard pavement, I briefly catch a glimpse of Gezim’s worry and anguish. His spectacles were flying in the air and his face was twisted like a Scream mask. It made me happy, despite the fact I was getting beaten by the floor. It actually wasn’t so bad, but made me really sour was that when looking up to see a fire, the car had actually missed and one hit the steel pole at the end of the pump. I then remember that in those movies, they were always approaching the station from the side. I raise my weary hand to whack an imaginary Bruce Willis laughing at me.

But there was no time to attack hallucinations, as a very real threat was running towards me in polished shoes and a purple jacket. It was Gezim, and he was pissed off as I could see it in his eyes as I struggle to get my numb body up in order to fight him.


When I got up, Gezim was in his fighting position, shouting insults at me with a sly mouth that made me uneasy. I was just getting back to normal from my bail out when he knocks me one in nose, then quickly followed by a kick to the stomach which didn’t help with me winning. As I recover, I manage to catch him with his guard down and send him a flying punch to the nose before he could do anything else. Gezim is taken aback and he holds his poor hands to his nose to stop blood gushing out like a tap. Seeing this as an opportunity, I move my mitts to the shove position and initiate the action, making Gezim fall to the ground like a legless orphan.

Gezim is a tough bastard though, and it wasn’t long until he recovered. I took this opportunity to jog over to the gas station to look for anything I could use to defeat the angry man. As I stand in front of his Emperor, I could hear him run behind me and there wasn’t much there at the freaking site that would be helpful to attack him with. I could see people staring at us from the sidewalk but then this sort of thing happened every day so they didn’t think of doing anything.

However, I soon realize, I’m at an explosive petrol site! If I could somehow subdue Gezim and set the whole site a light, then he’d burn like a steak on summer’s morning! I am interrupted by the beautiful ballad that is Gezim screaming behind me.


“I’m not a snake that hisses but I do bite!” yells the running man, who had blood running from his nose into his mouth like a waterfall. I get in the cover position as just as Gezim throws his fist at my arms. After a couple of punts at me, Gezim randomly charges me, knocking me onto the hood of his oversized car. I manage gather up some strength to push him away and round the side of the car, only to get in the shin by his heavy foot and have my back pushed against the car’s rear.

Gezim thought he had me as he moved up close to me and started to punch my face many times, but I saw the cigarette butts on the dashboard and I could smell smoke in his breath. This man would die because of his smoking addiction, but nicotine won’t save him.


It was time to fight dirty. I look into his deep brown eyes for only a millisecond, because after that I had sent my two fingers into them, blinding him. Gezim screams terribly, letting go of his grasp of me in the process.

As he rubs his eyes, I quickly trip him up and kick him about three times in the gentleman’s stick to give my plan a little more time to organize. The Emperor’s window is soon smashed to smithereens as my elbow shatters it and I reach in to grab a handful of cigarette butts, some of which were still smoking. Better yet, there was a lighter on the passenger seat, which I also pick up.

As the fat man still squirms around in blind pain, I search around for some sort of gas canister. Gezim was still on the ground but was recovering quickly. I give him a nice kick in the face which knocks him out, and at the same time I can see a gas can next to the main building. After pouring all its contents onto the poor man, I look at his face. Even in the face of death, Gezim had a vague sense of smugness on his face.

Realizing that the cigarettes were useless since I had smothered the life out of them with my clenched fist, I take the lighter, light the flame and without looking twice, set fire to the poor sole. He was dead before you could say ‘inferno’, which is what the whole gas station was going to become and I didn’t want to be part of it.


I left the burning corpse there as I turn to run. I was so tired, yet it was important to get out. The fire would soon spread to the Emperor which in turn would set the whole damn thing up like the 4th of July. After getting to the other side of the street, I bring out my phone. The fire had spread to the Emperor now, and the front was now burning. As I type in Andri’s number, Gezim’s vehicle had exploded into a burnt shell which set off a chain reaction with all the gas pumps. It was a glorious explosion, and it set a flame in my heart.


“Otto? Is that really you? Man, we all thought you were dead!” exclaims Andri from the celluar phone.


“Yeah, I guess it is. I’m just going to hobble over to ye old Platypus” I say as I get ready to leave. Man I’m hurting now.


“You can’t. Well, you can, but I don’t think you are well enough to take down a bunch of Russian bulldogs guarding it”


“What?” I shout in surprise. I start to walk into a nearby alleyway to avoid any attention I might get from the arriving fire department.


“Oh, yeah, you’ve been asleep for last week. Let me tell you. Skender needed some quick money, so he sold it to some Dimitri Rascalov. I don’t know. I’ve checked this guy out and I think he’ll be dead in less then a week’s time.” Andri says over the phone. I arrive in the nearest alleyway, and clump down in a tired frustration.


“Can you send someone over to pick me up? And can you tell me about Pete soon?” I inquire.


“Sure man. Talk to you soon.” And he hangs up the phone. I crawl out of the darkness of the alleyway and into the lightness of the streets.


I see a red Futo race round the corner and Isaac at the wheel a couple of minutes later. He looked mostly unchanged from the last time I saw him, other than a heavy bandage on his forehead. It was nice to see a friendly face for once.


“Woah, what is up with you face?” Isaac remarks with both admiration and fright as I dive into the rear seats of the hatchback. ”Don’t fear, we’ve got a place to go…” But that was all I heard before I pass out and rest for a while. Man it has been a long morning.

Edited by AceRay
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  • 3 weeks later...


sorry for double post but why has this been unpinned?

Probably Mods upinned this topic, becuase of recent inactivity.

This has happened before, accidentally, because of server administration. Might be that again.


Either way, I've PM-ed Azazel to see what's what.


It has been a long while since reviews, and I apologise for that. I'm just buried in work, and have been all year (and, hell, year before that). (In fact it's been a full bl00dy year now since I got to write/post my own story, dagnammit!!) I have been working on building some reviews up, starting first with an understanding of who's posted, who has a writer's card and what the hell happened to the drugs all those months ago. wink.gif


It probably won't be in the next couple of days, but I will get to it. I apologise for this.

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well, we'd better keep it noticeable!! sign me up for the Pavanos at Marco’s tobacco and beer shop as well!

Chapter 1: Family Reduction

"Come out Gil, everything is all right in here!"


I creep out of the dark closet after I hear Desmond's reassuring words to see the aftermath of the vicious fire-fight which just happened.


"Oh god, this was worse then I could ever imagine!" I exclaim as I see Quintin's bullet-ridden body lying on the floor in a deep pool of his own blood.


"That kid got lucky. You should see Larry. Just stuffed his body in these cases here before he scares my dog, you know," he chuckles a little before straitening his face again. "I hate Triads."


I walk around for a little bit, observing the destruction that was in front of me. It was surprising. I don’t think the Pavano family has taken a bigger hit since January and I was lucky to jump into the closet as the five Triad dudes shot at us through the door. Thankfully, Desmond had hid himself round the corner but all the other occupants in the room had been blasted to hell.


“Where is Axel?” I ask Desmond, knowing fully well that he was still passed out in the basement which also doubled as his home.


“Where do you think? Now, how about we hide these corpses somewhere before they stink up the place.”


As I drag Tucker’s bullet ridden body up the stairs to my apartment which left a terrible blood stain that would give a clean freak wet dreams, I feel a strange feeling that this is not what I thought life would be like in America when I jumped ship all those years back. The constant fear that some goons could bust through the front doors at any time and end your existence was something that I have never become accustomed to. The hope that I would get to this city and live the dream, away from being paid to kidnap rich, naïve American girls into prostitution and trafficking rings. Today, I am doing no better.


I sigh heavily as I stuff Tucker into the cardboard box I bought my stupid fridge I bought a couple of years ago. Tucker was a quiet guy who always followed orders yet good for a laugh on lazy Saturday mornings but I didn’t morn his death one bit. The risk came with the job.


I head back downstairs to an improved store. Desmond just dragged the last goon’s body downstairs to give Axel a scare when he wakes. Blood was still on the counter and all kinds of beer fell on the floor from the stands when Bruno got a round of assault rifle bullets pelted into him when he was examining the price of some cheap watered down beer. I pick up the mop from the closet and begin to mop the floor when I hear Edgar’s Sentinel drive in.


“Hello every... Que lata, looks like a bomb went off in here. What the hell happened in here Gil?” he says as he hangs his suit jacket on the coat hook in a suspiciously calm fashion.


“We were just minding our own business when five Triads burst in with large assault rifles and killed everyone except Desmond and me. Where have you been Mr Di Luca while all this happened?" I ask him inquisitively. I don’t trust Edgar, always seems to be away from trouble when it happens. Only time I’ve ever actually seen him with a gun was at the Christmas Eve bank heist and I think he contacted the fuzz halfway through so they could put Lester in the doghouse.


“Actually, I was trying to meet Julio Ochoa but the secretary is a dumb-ass and mixed up with the times and I had to leave. It was all worth it though; I screwed her in the car on the way back,” he replies with a smile, although I believe his story is a load of bull. I don’t say anything though, as he does outrank me.


Edgar loosens his tie and collapses onto the couch in the corner of the store. At that moment, Axel comes running up the stairs screaming “Zombies! I knew they’d come for me!” while running around the store until out of breath and panting for air on the couch next to Edgar laughing away. Desmond was cracking up behind me and even I chuckled a few times at the stoned, confused man looking around on the couch nervously. Despite our secret hatred for each other deep inside us, we shared a moment of unity and brotherhood between us in that short moment. Desmond coughs a couple of times and strokes his goatee before spilling the beans on his queries about the ideas.


“Anyway, the Triads drove away but I don’t know why they attacked at all. And why did they leave in such a hurry.”


“Old Mrs Jones next door probably called the cops or they wanted the attack to be short and sweet, which is probably why they didn’t come after us,” I reply in a strait voice.


“I know an old man connected to the Triads at some Tattoo Parlor in Dukes called Craig Yi. Could you do that please Mr Capazzo?” he asks me with a hint of disrespect in his voice.


“Can’t, got to see my girl in Broker tonight. Maybe tomorrow,” I say to him in a tired voice. I can’t cancel on Violet again. I could sense that Edgar was angry but I didn’t care. Edgar swears about something before picking up the Self-help book on the table and reading it with aggression.


Before I go, I suddenly remember the coke I had stashed in my pocket. With a smirk on my face, I pour it out onto the table in the shape of a man’s dong on the table and Axel’s face lights up like a Christmas tree.


“Thank you so much, you great man!” he exclaims while touching my arm delicately before he leans over the snort the whole lot like the pig he was. Desmond and I look at him with disgust.


“Tell Violet that if she wants a real man, I’m right here,” Desmond says to me with a grin on his face which possibly hid more villainous intentions. I simply flip him the bird and exit with my head held high.

Edited by AceRay
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Either way, I've PM-ed Azazel to see what's what.

And he has replied in a PM to me thus:



... a while ago a decision was made to unpin especially very active topics, simply to give the forum a cleaner look, with less pinned topics. The idea being that the most active topics would hover around the top anyway.


So you shouldn't see this as a hostile move, it's merely a bit of reorganizing. smile.gif



(Hope he doesn't mind me quoting him. cry.gif )


So, now it's up to us to keep BUYG on the front-page or we die.

(Aw hell, does that mean I have to rate stories more than thrice a year? Dammit...)

Edited by aragond
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well, without the pin lifeline, how will this stay alive? I guess we'll have to just, I don't know, get everyone who still realizes this topic exists to post and hope some douche with a scoop shows up every once and a while?

I guess I'd better do some writing this weekend although I may not because I have LA Noire to play so maybe not.

may spend a couple of hours on it though.

BUYG forever!

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I remember BUYG from GTA: San Andreas. I made more than two chaps but I have not much time left.


So maybe I could make stories here.

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  • 2 weeks later...

Pavano Family, Marco's beer and tobacco


Chapter 2: Revelation

“Why Criag, why did they attack us?” I scream at Craig as I throw him onto his own tattoo chair. The small Asian man cowers on it as I approach.


“I don’t know so go f*ck yourself,” he keeps repeating as I constantly punch his stupid face. His bloody face screaming was a similar sight in my past and nothing has changed since. Craig soon starts to cry.


“If you want to live, I suggest you start telling the truth friend,” and I smash his face with my fist so hard that his two front teeth fall off and bounce along the floor. The actions I am taking right now are very contrasting to my earlier movements with my lover. Shame her husband came home when I did. I just managed to sneak out the back door just in time before he centered all his drunken anger at my poor face.


Craig passed out but it won’t take long for him to come back. Taking opportunity of the peace and the stool in the corner of the room, I take a nice sit down and observe the grim room around me. Air fills my lungs as I breathe in the musty air and look at the various self-made tattoo posters on the walls, giving me the idea that Craig missed in with pretty shady people. I have no idea who would want to have a tattoo of a giant chicken taking it in the rear from Hitler but apparently it was his most popular according the poster. The room was small and lit only by a moderately bright light in the center of the room, ghostly spotlighting Craig’s twitching body. Suddenly, my phone starts ringing loudly like a rooster at dawn, and Edgar’s voice starts screeching into my ear for the umpteenth time.


“Have you gotten anything out of Yu yet?”


“No, nothing of importance. And you’ve been phoning me all night Edgar, kind of killed the romantic mood when you f*cking called me about 10 times last night,” I say loudly.


“Kind of the point. Come on Capazzo, there is not enough time in this business to be trying to get into unhappy wives’ pants when you should focus on the family,” Edgar said in a slightly hostile tone before hanging up the phone. I slide the phone back into my pocket and head back over to Craig who was muttering some words about noodles or soup.


“So,” I say simply as he lifts his wary head. “Craig is a pretty unusual name for a Triad member. How about you explain comrade?”


“My real name is Cheng. Just easier to say for the American f*cks,” he says with a small smile. I smile back and we share a small moment of intimacy before I get serious again.


“Now how about you tell me why the hell some Triads attacked Marco’s. The Pavanos haven’t come into serious contact with the Triads since last October!” I say quickly and aggressively as Craig sits up.


“Wait, those Lupisella douches told us that the store was owned by the Messina Famlily!” Suddenly, Craig stops cold, as though he had told a great lie. I stand up and wave my fist in his face, taking an assertive position.


“Come on Craig. You’ve already told me half the story. Why not finish it?” I say before I slap his face like a kipper.


“Do you want the full the story? Well do you?” Craig screams. “Well, here it goes.” He says calming down a lot. “A week ago, we were selling some drugs to a few Angels of Death hicks. Messinas showed, stole the stuff, then sold it back to the Angels at a much lower price. Then these two dudes called Weston and Frederick from the Lupisella family came to us and said they were at Marco’s. So, we went straight there and didn't ask questions,” Craig confesses. He then takes a deep breath as though a big weight had been lifted off his shoulders.


“The Lupisellas used your incident to weaken us. That is clever,” I whip out my note book and write it down so I remember it.


“That’s all I know. Now will you let me go please?” Craig says, tightening up a little and beginning to become frightened again. I stare him deep into his eyes. “How about you nice Pavano men meet up with the Triads and you could work something out?”


“Yeah that might help,” I say as I put my notebook away and knock Craig out with one punch. He wouldn’t be causing much trouble for a while, and who knows what the Triads would do to him now.


I quickly run out the back door and down the street then slowing down to a walk so I can fully take in the surroundings. It was a chilly morning, so I zip my jacket up when my boss rings up again.


“Yes! I get it Di Luca! There was a mix up. Some Lupisella f*cks told them that we were the ones who screwed up their drug deal with the A.O.D. when really it was the Messinas. It was a simple misunderstanding, but the Lupisella family just started a war with their actions.”


“Woah, that’s some serious stuff Capazzo. I’ll have a chat with you about it later. Looks like we’ll teach those guys a lesson. Good job,” and with that, Edgar hangs up and I am chuffed about the praise I just got which causes a spring in my step.


After a couple of minutes strolling, I reach back into pocket and pull out my wedding ring, slipping it back onto my finger. My dearest wife would kill me if I didn’t wear it home.

Edited by AceRay
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I've been pondering whether to join for a while now, and finally decided to try this out. Sorry if my writing is bad.


-Albanian Mob

-Setting: The docked Platypus, near Midnight

-Name: Fisnik Bardah



Part 1

As I lurked off of the boat to take in my first sights of Liberty City a large man pushed by me. Such a rude gesture was to be met with Physical Violence back in Albania, but I figured I'd try to start my Journey with as little trouble as possible. My mom, who had been to this city once before told me if I was to ever go to Liberty City, that I was to meet my Uncle in a small Neighborhood called "Little Bay". Suddenly I noticed the large man was staring at me, "What the hell is your problem, shrimp?" he asked me in a Russian accent. "Nothing, actually, I am looking for some help, do you know where I might find a neighborhood called 'Little Bay'?", his face suddenly turned white in color. "Why on earth would you want to go to such an unforgiving, harsh Ghetto as Little Bay?" he asked. "My uncle is a landlord over there, I am to meet him, and live with him until I can find a home of my own.". He handed me a business Card, "The name's Mikeal, you can call me Mikey, I actually am looking to start a fast food here in Liberty, maybe your uncle can set me up with a few buildings? Anyways, just walk a bit North-east of here until you get to a road, whistle for a cab, and ask him to take you to Little Bay, if you don't have any money for the fare you can have this. *Hands me a wad of cash*". "Thank you Mikey, good luck with Fast food chain.".


With that I headed towards the road. *Whistle* A cab swerved off of the road, and almost right into a man preaching about the power of Xenu. "Hop in, where would you like to go?". "Take me to Little Bay" I replied.




Please disregard this, I've been thinking, and figure I don't have the time. Sorry.

Edited by zoo3891
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sign me up in The Lost MC, at The Lost MC clubhouse..


After a year become Prospect, this afternoon I was called by the President of The Lost MC Billy Grey to attend a meeting of top members. I heard the news that the meeting was intended to choose which Prospect deserve to wear the patch The Lost MC. I drive my Zombie toward the clubhouse with a very excited feeling, oh yeah my name is Brad.


Arriving at the clubhouse, I was greeted by Rick Bellamy the club's lawyer.


"I pray for you to become full member of this club, kid. And do not end up like me who eventually just become a shield of this club if there are any legal problems" he said.


I left the old man continued to rant about his bad fate, heading into the club conference room. I was told to sit on one of the two chairs that had been prepared, while the top members held an election. I and others prospect become a full member in the end, but that's not just the agenda of this meeting. There is a club member who proved to be informers for the police, and my first assignment as a full member of the club is eliminate and disarm patch of the Lost MC from his death body.


Billy told me that the informant is currently being followed by other members of the Lost, which is Jason Michaels. I contacted Jason from mobile phone and he said he was following the informant who was talking to a policeman at the police station at Acter. I hurried after Jason, who will monitor my first task for the club.


"Finally you come man, we lucky the rat has't leave yet" said Jason.


"Sorry brother, I'm trying to drive as fast as possible down here" I said to Jason.


"So this is how we play, you specify how this task will be implemented and I will report the results to the Billy later" Jason ignore my excuses.


"Well, we'll follow him down for some time and finish him in someplace safe" I said vehemently.


"Hey do not get too excited, boy. You do not know what will happen later" Jason said with a smile full of meaning.


I think to myself what a smile Jason had earlier.


When the informant came out and drove away from the police station, me and Jason hurried to follow. When he got in the quiet area of Acter Industrial, I push my bike faster to level with the informant.


"Pull over, asshole!" I yelled to the informant.


The informant look surprised and had no time to escape because Jason also on the other side of him already. The informant pull over his bike followed by me and Jason. I pull out my pistol and aimed to the informant before he could do something.


"Don't you dare, motherf*cker!" I yelled again.


"Jason, brother. Please don't kill me, man" said the informant to Jason who just smiled wryly behind me.


"Remove your vest, traitor!" I said.the informant remove his vest and handed to me who immediately gave it to Jason. Then when I was a little off guard, the informant ran rapidly towards the road. Still in a shock I take a shoot two times and make him down on the road.


"Execute him!" Jason yelled at me.


At a moment I hesitated because I had shot him twice in his back, but I finally looked the traitor in the eyes and shoot him again between his eyes.


I whispered "the almighty forgive.. The Lost don't.. traitor".


"We must quickly get the f*ck out of here, man" Jason warned me.


We boarded our bike and hurried away toward the clubhouse.


When we got in the clubhouse, Jason told me to wait while he talked with Billy at the bar. Billy called me a minute later to come close, and told me to sit.


"I heard from Jason that you perform the task well but not yet satisfactory" Billy said to me, glancing at Jason.


Then he laughed, and said "but don't worry about it"


"Let's drink to the death of the traitor !!!"


"Brothers for life.. Lost forever.. !!"

Edited by batmankidal
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Chapter 3: Things Heat Up.


It was nearly evening when I arrived at Marco’s to give Edgar his shopping he requested me to get earlier in the day. It annoys me that he treats me like an errand boy sometimes but I understand that it would be best to lie low so the feds don’t look into the shooting too much. At least this time it should be quiet, a nice easy evening for me and the boys.


As soon as I open the door, I am overwhelmed by dark smoke that fills the store. I cough violently as I see Emilio Avico frantically open windows with his tiny fingers and a tired Edgar pointing a fire extinguisher at a fire-scorched counter, with two dead goons in track suits lying on the ground.


“Arsons,” Edgar eventually says briefly as he wipes his brow and puts down the fire extinguisher. The whole counter was wrecked. I quickly help Emilio with those pesky windows and soon the fog that clouded the room soon leaves. The two burning torches that the goons were carrying are now revealed in the light, as well as bullet holes in their forehead.


“What the hell happened here?” I ask the others as I look around in shock. After a couple of minutes of shuffling his feet and looking nervous, Emilio speaks up.


“These two guys busted in this little place and set the counter a blaze. I was taken aback as they tried to set that stand over there on fire but were blasted back when that sharpshooter Axel ran up and knocked ‘em both right between the eyes. Edgar ran down to extinguish the flames, than you showed up, Gil. I saw it all,” Emilio said in his soothing, silky voice which could melt butter.


“What makes this interesting is that these are Lupisella boys,” Edgar says with a sinister smile on his face as he bends over to examine the bodies.


“So Craig Yu was telling the truth eh Mr Di Luca? I was worried he was spinning up sh*t,” I exclaim with surprise in my voice.


“Yup, and the Lupisella family just officially started a war. But their original move was pretty good. They weakened us and used the Triads to do so, they didn’t even know! But why did they try to burn down this place know?” Edgar rambles on as he starts to examine the scorched counter while Emilio sits on the couch and starts to chill with a cold soda. The whole damn thing was falling to ash before our eyes so we’d have to throw it into a skip soon. And we just got the whole place clean from blood stains.


“I think it might be our inactivity to strike the Triads caused them to be inpatient. Plus, their plan would eventually fail. We haven’t had contact with Triads since last year, and that was bingo. The Triads would eventually realize the Messina family wasn’t harmed at all. Anyway, Edgar, do you know Lupisella men by the names of Weston and Frederick?” I ask him quietly. Emilio seems to grunt at these names but I ignore them


“Ah, yes, Wes Lombardo. I knew him from the old days. Very shifty man. Knew he would pull something like this, don’t know that guy Frederick though,” Edgar mumbled. Edgar stands up and rubs his face, which had wrinkled drastically almost overnight. I walk up to the counter and run my hands down the side. My fingers are covered in ash when my phone rings. It was my wife.


“Maybelle, why are you calling me at this? I’m at a, uh, meeting!” I yell into my phone while Emilio seems to fidget around a little on the couch.


“I’m sorry dearest, just wanted to know when you’ll be back,” she called me from her little Northwood apartment which always seems to smell of cheese and dead cats. There was a reason I try to avoid that place and not just her.


“Uh, I’ll have to, um, call you back. Business is, erm, let’s say that things are heating up,” I whisper as Edgar gives me an evil eye.


“Okay then dear. Please be back soon. I miss you Gilberto,” Maybelle says softly, as though she is whispering it straight into my ear right next to me. For a moment, I cower with guilt but soon I harden up and reply.


“Yeah whatever, adios,” I tell her firmly before I flip away the phone and put it into my deepest pocket, hoping to erase all memories of the latest conversation.


Immediately afterwards, Edgar pulls me into the corner to give me some quiet words. I see him playing with a couple of hundred dollar bills in his hand.


“Uh, Capazzo, please piss off before some feds come and ask about the fire.”


“Okay, just make sure they don’t find the bisexual junkie shooter downstairs,” I say with a small grin. Edgar becomes really grim at this line and his wrinkles become highlighted. It is a little bit surprising that he is only 45 but I guess that’s what middle age does to you.


“Listen Gil, I’m serious. We can get Lombardo soon. I’ll get Desmond to give you the details of where his is residing. If you need any hardware, get Benito and Chip to hook you up with a weapon,” he turns around to look at Emilio, who was indulging himself in some sort of car magazine. “I also know the guy called Federico: Federico Avico. Don’t mention this to Emilio; he’s his half-brother,” at this, Emilio seemed to look up for a second, then scratch his greasy black hair and lose himself in the magazine.


“What?” I say surprised at this new information that was being loaded onto me suddenly.


“I’ll explain later,” Edgar says as he slips the cash into my pocket. “Now, go and have fun, buy a scarf, eat some bacon, get herpes, I don’t care what you do. Desmond will call around midnight,” suddenly, Edgar lightens up and a giant smile lights up on his tiny face. “Lombardo is special to Desmond. He f*cked Desmond’s mother and sister at the same time!”


“Man, I want to be this guy’s friend!” I exclaim smiling back. Edgar motions me to the back door and I hurry out into the night, passing the box where Tucker once rested. I ponder whether I should visit his resting place soon, and pay my respects properly. But the fish are probably eating his cold, lifeless body right now. So when I get outside, I pick up a medium-sized rock and scratch into the nearest bus stop; ‘RIP TUCKER STOCCO’ in big capital letters with a cross underneath. I throw down the rock and quickly run away from the area, as though it was the biggest thing the fuzz has to worry about.


It was going to be cold soon, so I’d better spend that money on some mint clothes from Perseus. I’m going to need to class up my act for my meeting with Weston Lombardo.

Edited by AceRay
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  • 2 weeks later...

I'd also like to join police station(s) for the Law, because why the hell not? Keeps it on the front page too!



Chapter 1: The Handyman


My partner Walsh was looking angry as Finley came walking in with the notes on the latest crime in Liberty city. Wallace Walsh, young at twenty five years of age and rapidly rising through the ranks. The force’s golden boy. A focused and determined detective who wouldn’t be satisfied until he was convinced the right guy was locked up. Sadly, whenever told he was wrong, he’d be b*tching for days, even weeks at a time and he couldn’t stop medalling with closed cases. He’s one restraining order away from a patrol uniform and blowing money on hookers and donuts. On the contrast, Harold Finley was an old, gray haired man who couldn’t give a damn who was guilty; all he was obsessed with was confession.


Me? I’m Steven Shivers. Been on the force for thirty years, started when I was Walsh’s age, and I feel as though I’m in my twilight years. Can’t see myself in here for much longer, but I’ve got to show Walsh the ropes. Can’t wait to get out.


It was cold night and Walsh wasn’t happy with the big case we just busted and was sure we caught the wrong guy. Finley noticed this and a furious expression lit up on his old face but before he could unleash his anger, Walsh was complaining again.


“Captain, Willis is as innocent as a small kitten! Can’t you see this you corrupt dumbass!” Walsh shouted so loudly that the whole room went silent for a moment. Floyd Willis was charged with first degree murder of Erica Reach but he was convinced the evidence pointed at her husband Richard. Finley calmed down everyone and started laughing.


“Shivers, tell Walsh to shut up,” he says to me with a chuckle.


“Shut up Walsh,” I tell Walsh, who appears to want to say something but is cut off by the captain.


“Now, enough on the past, there has been a hit and run in a Northwood car park, near the Boulevard. Curious case this one, victim has been pinned against the wall. Shivers and Walsh, you’re on the case,” Finley points his boney finger at us. “Remember, get a confession boys!" then leaves laughing while he goes his shady office. At that, Walsh and I get up from our seats and exit the door, Walsh straitening his red tie hastily as we walk down the hall to the stairs.


“I know that we busted the wrong guy Shiver, I know it! Not only this case but the other one too,” Walsh exclaims as he puts on his coat and walks down the stairs. I button up my suit and follow him down the stairs, rolling my eyes at his complaining.


“Wallace, all the evidence definitely points to Willis. Now shut up before you lose your job,” I say quietly. Walsh swings the doors open violently, almost knocking over an old lady, and runs to his custom police car. I could see he was troubled because he was constantly rubbing his face and moving around in sudden motions. The last couple of cases had been hard on him and he knew it.


Walsh swings the car door open wide and gets in before he starts honking the horn in short bursts. I wonder how many people were woken up by his angry bursts sometimes, but instead of confronting him like a friend, I simply get into the car and get some shut eye as Walsh plants his brown loafers into the floor.


As soon as I open my eyes, Walsh is pulling into a car park with swarms of police in the vicinity. Near an overpass, there is a silver Vincent pinning a body against a wall. We get out of the car and move towards the crime scene as we pass a bunch of cops trying to move people along but ultimately failing. Soon, I see the Coroner, Michael Rico, examining the body. Mike was a slender man of around fifty who had a magnificent beard that shone like a light bulb. He had deep brown eyes and wavy brown hair. Walsh suddenly putts on a happy face for the crowds as he addresses him.


“Hey Mike, did this guy have trouble parking or something?” Walsh asks the bearded man who started to laugh.


“Hello detectives. And he is not a victim of hit and run,” Rico mumbles. I move towards the tire tracks that were behind the vehicle. It appears that the suspect tried to break before he hit and killed the victim. I keep an ear open about Rico and Walsh’s conversation.


“Care to give some details friend?” Walsh asks as he flips out his notebook, prepared to jot down some notes like some hotshot.


“Well, the crash didn’t kill him for a start. The Vincent was travelling too slow, only about thirty-five mph. It was enough to break his hips and knock him unconscious, he could have died eventually, but that was sped up by a shot in the face,” he points at the victim’s face, which had a bullet hole in the forehead. The blood was dripping from the hole slowly onto the bonnet. On the building wall behind him, there was a massive blood splatter, probably caused when the suspect painted it with his gun. The engine was still running with the keys still in the ignition.


“Do we have a name?” I ask Rico. The photographer was eating this up as he was capturing the victim’s best features.


“Yeah Shiver, the victim’s name is Dell Jenkins, his ID is in his shirt pocket. He’s apparently some sort of apartment handyman who must have pissed someone off,” Rico says as he examines the body closely. Jenkins had a surprised expression on his dead face. He appeared fairly old with greying hair and wrinkles already developed but he still looked fit. He was wearing a blue track pants and a cream jacket which had become stained red on the neckline.


“Time of death?” I ask him.


“Suppose ‘round midnight, I’ll need to do tests to get more precise,” Rico exclaims mysteriously while he starts to play around with Jenkins’ head.


“Is there a murder weapon around?” Walsh asks intuitively.


“Nope, got some boys in blue to looks around. None in the car or the surrounding environment. But the murder weapon was probably a revolver and there are a couple of dollar notes with Jenkins’ blood on them though,” Rico mutters as he lifts up Jenkins’ arms.


“Thanks Mike, you’ve been a great help,” Walsh tells him before turning around to inspect the money. I take a more strait forward approach and quickly jot down the Vincent’s license plate.


“M96A15,” I say to myself as I write down the numbers and letters. All we needed to do know was track down the owner and we got the killer. After I call Walsh over I explain my plan. “The killer came out that tunnel there,” and I point to the overpass with a bunch of hobos underneath before I continue. “Then he or she sped along towards the handyman at around fifty then had second thoughts here,” I walk over to the skid marks in the road and point to them. Walsh looks at them with serious thought in his mind. “But it was too late and they hit Jenkins, pinning him to the wall and paralyzing him. They fired one bullet from the window into Jenkins’ head, than bolted with the murder weapon,” Walsh stands there with an impressed expression. I could tell he was.


“I couldn’t have said it better myself Steve. I’m sure this was a burglary went wrong, or maybe a gambling problem.”


“We’ll need to gather more evidence on that. Now, we find the owner of the car and we’ve got the killer,” I say with sincere satisfaction. Walsh doesn't look satisfied but I rang dispatch anyway to find his address.


“Shivers, badge 1291, requesting dispatch,” I yell to the lady on the phone


“Putting you through now.”


“I need the owner of a silver Matibatsu Vincent, license plate M96A15,” I say to a different woman.


“The owner is Eric Alley, lives at 7 Vauxite St, room 3, East Holland.”


I thank her, put my phone away and turn to Walsh. “Eric Alley? Name drips with evil eh? Sounds like our guy. Let’s head round to his apartment and bust his sad little ass!” Walsh seems unsure, but follows.


We leave to give Rico and Jenkins some privacy and whiz off to Alley’s apartment. Walsh sped like a bat out of hell and, irritably, I couldn’t manage to snooze. We were there in no time and were soon entering the apartment blocks, me with a smug grin with satisfaction at catching the right guy, Walsh’s obviously more doubtful.


We walk up the stairs in a cool fashion, our sweeping legs taking two stairs at a time. The dawn sun was appearing through the window and falling onto my face as I approach Alley’s apartment.


“Don’t bother knocking,” I remark before I dragon-kick the door down. Alley’s apartment was as scruffy and messy as a Russian whore’s pussy, but nowhere near as much fun.


“OK, look around,” Walsh says, but I was already miles ahead. I would head to the kitchen, but I’m not a woman, so first stop is the bedroom. And guess what? There was a revolver with five bullets next to it and a pile of cash with Jenkins’ blood on them.


“Hey Walsh, take a look at this!” I shout at Walsh, who was in the kitchen holding bottles and muttering to himself about how it’s irrelevant and how it would take a smarter man than him to link that to the crime. He came in and didn’t look entirely convinced.


“Doesn’t this seem a little suspicious? All the evidence just lying here conveniently? No one could be this dumb. And we don’t have a motive yet,” Walsh says, his voice full with doubt.


“What’s the matter?” I say back to him. “I once caught my ex wife on top of my mechanic and she denied it till the day she died. Alley is our guy, now we just have to find him.”


Just as we walk through the door back to the main room, Eric Alley walks into the room. He was a large, middle-aged man with slimy black hair wearing a striped shirt and some blue overalls. Large, powerful arms were hinged at his shoulders and I knew he was guilty when he walked in slightly perplexed at our appearance in his apartment. His eyebrows do weird and wonderful things as he starts to feel the guilt of his actions and he starts to shiver.


“What the hell!” he screams. Eric Alley then jumps out the window and lands on the pavement.


“Get him!” I shout as Walsh and I jump out the window to chase after him. I keep up with Walsh as we chase the scumbag down the street for a few moments but my age gets the better of me and I start panting as Walsh closes in on the bastard.


“You’re going down!” Walsh shouts as he tackles Alley onto the pavement. Alley looks really angry as Walsh ‘cuffs him and pulls him up. “Eric Alley, I’m placing you under suspicion of the murder of Dell Jenkins,” Walsh says to him with a straight face.


“Screw it Wallace, Eric, you killed Dell Jenkins. Yes or no?” I ask him as he tries to squirm away. Walsh holds him even tighter. After a couple of minutes of awkward staring, Alley breaks and spills the beans.


“Yes! Goddammit! I lost a little bet and lost a lot of money. I later found out that Dell staged the race and that ain’t right you know? And, you know, I’d do it again, given the chance,” Alley says with an air of pride in his rough voice. He was about to go to jail, and yet he still believed what he had done was right. I couldn’t help but respect him a little.


Soon, the truck arrived in a puff of smoke and Alley was taken away to the big house. For some reason, Walsh looked unsatisfied.


“I can’t help but feel we got a bit lucky there Steven.”


“Shut up. That’s the law, and Eric Alley is going to be locked up for a long, long time. How about we go and get some food,” I say to Walsh. We both get into his car and whisk away through the dark morning, ready for the next case.

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Omnia sunt Communia

I'm just wondering, is this topic still updated? I've been thinking about rejoining for a while now but it looks like nobody has reviewed any stories or updated the topic in a while.

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I'm just wondering, is this topic still updated? I've been thinking about rejoining for a while now but it looks like nobody has reviewed any stories or updated the topic in a while.

Don't worry, Aragond and co will post reviews soon, this is the new system after all, they can't just review two douches' stories and then give up. Aragond has had a lot of work to do recently and he is getting onto the reviews right now. So right now, just post a story and wait a little bit and it will be rated, soon.


If you build it, he will come.

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  • 2 weeks later...

I'd like to buy a pistol ($25) for the Pavano family cause I need some action sometimes. biggrin.gif

Keep up the writing peeps, never think that this topic is dead, okay?

This story is for the Pavanos at Marco's.


Chapter 4: Chip Off the Old Block

I arrive at the warehouse around midnight where Wes Stompado was located. It was a large shady place located in Bohan and I could see Benito’s van parked near the entrance with five figures standing near it. Chip Vellona and Benito Marchio were leaning on the hood sneering at a young kid in a blue track suit and a denim jacket who looked very nervous. I run over and I am even more surprised to see the great Sir Ross Pozzo standing there in a tuxedo smoking a pipe. He was high up in the Pavano family, rubbing noses with the don of the family, Augustus Luzzi.


“Hello sir,” I say to the old man. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”


“Ah, hello old chap. Just came to insure smooth sailing eh young lad?” Sir Ross gives me a small nod, the street light reflecting off his silver hair.


“Well, Gil, welcome to the party. Wasn’t sure if you were going to make it,” Chip says to me raising his arms slightly.


“Well, it helps when you and your wife are sleeping in different beds,” I note to him with a hint of sadness. I quickly avert eye contact.


“Howth it going Capatho, everything thweet?” Benito remarks with a lisp as I nod rapidly. The young lad next to him looked really shaky and Chip gave him an odd look.


“Oh, how rude of me,” Chip says. “This is Louie. He’s new to the country and he owes us some money and he’s paying it off. Slowly,” Chip says as he pats Louie on the shoulder.


“Now after this, I don’t owe you anything, right? Right? My mom… she isn’t going to get any more visits, right?” Louie says nervously. He begins to shiver a little.


“Yeah, sure,” Desmond says sarcastically. Sir Ross gives him a look of distrust.


“Now, how dangerous is this sh*t going to get guys?” Louie remarks with a small smile.


“On a scale from one to ten, I’d say ‘shut the f*ck up and get me my money’!” yells Chip in Louie’s face. The kid cowers down and makes some squeaky noises.


“Okay guyth, let-th kill thith f*ck,” Benito says as he points towards the door.


“Here, here!” exclaims Sir Ross as he leads the way round the corner into the warehouse.


We all stride into the room calmly and confront Wes who was surrounded by about seven goons doing a variety of chores. Wes and an overweight man in a skirt jump up surprised and all the goons take assertive moves.


“What are you doing here? Scram fools,” Says the fat guy with aggression. He takes a step towards Desmond and he snaps.


“Rah! Mother f*cker! Die, die, die!” Desmond shouts as he plants seven bullets into the cross dresser. He struggles to breathe as he slumps over and dies painfully in a pool of blood.


“Oh my god! Poor Gordon! The finest mind of his generation, come to such an end…” Wes said solemnly. “I haven’t experienced something this bad… since the war,” tears fall onto his plaid shirt and he points his tiny finger at Desmond standing there with his pistol still pointing at Gordon’s bloody corpse. “Tim, Kenwood, Jeremy, Simon, Marko, Antonio, Bobbert, get these sons of b*tches!” He shouts as he runs away down the dark corridor. All of the goons pulled out their variety of guns with really satisfied looks on their faces. One of them was rubbing his hand up and down his shotgun and he looked like he was really enjoying it. Another was pulling an assault rifle from a violin case and filled our buddy Louie full of lead. It made me a little frightened, and Sir Ross started shaking violently with fear beside me.


“Pull out your gunth and get to cover boyth, thiftly!” Benito said with his characteristic lisp. Sir Ross, Chip and I dive behind the crates in the corner whereas Desmond and Benito jump behind the larger banister. I pull out both my pistols and prepare to do some intense duel-wielding action. It was funny to think that I thought taking out Weston Stompado was going to be easy. But that douchebag Desmond ruined it when he drew his pistol too early and killed the wrong man. The f*cker!


The dude with the shotgun was getting trigger happy, and he was about to destroy our precious cover. Thankfully, Chip got lucky and put a bullet between his eyeballs before ducking down again to avoid getting hit. Sir Ross got hit and he was on the floor in pain in an instant, screaming and shouting about how much it hurt. It was a mad scramble for supremacy and, thankfully, I was supreme.


In one awesome movement, I walk out of cover and fire both my pistols rapidly, calmly shooting all the enemies in the face almost instantly with perfect aim. They couldn’t even fire at me once because I was just too goddamn fast for them. One guy tried to land one on me with an uzi, but I planted a bullet in his brain before he could deliver. The sound of the guns firing was like music to my ears, and the bad guys falling to the ground all around me just made the orchestra piece even better. I turn around to see Sir Ross give me a ‘thumbs up’ and smile, before passing away quietly, Chip tearing up on his side.


“That thure wath thome fine thooting Capatho!” Benito exclaimed as I had put down my guns.


“I think I need to go take a cold shower now, that’s just too good Gil,” Chip said excitingly as he gave me a high-five!


“Yeah… good job,” Desmond mumbles reluctantly as he shuffles his feet side to side and averts his eyes. We all give a stern look. Chip looks like he wants to beat the sh*t out of him.


“Why don’t you shut the f*ck up, you stupid f*cking b*tch,” Chip screams with rage at Desmond. “You cost Louie his f*cking life, and Sir Ross’ trophy wife is going to be crying on their f*cking anniversary, you stupid c*nt.”


“It wath going to be a beautiful wedding, I was to be the beth man,” Benito spat out. Desmond was about to reply when suddenly, twelve armed Lupisella goons run into the room with an arsenal of powerful weapons. They lined up, ready to fire. As we duck for cover, all the surrounding objects in the room get turned to junk as their machine guns and rifles and shotguns tear the place up. We have to scramble behind the wall to the side and we almost don’t make it in time.


“That was intense!” I shout as I fire my guns blindly round the corner, hopefully hitting someone.


“Don’t worry, I have a plan!” Chip exclaims as he lights Benito a dirty cigarette. He then pulls out some smoke grenades and gives me some heat vision goggles. “We’re going to throw these smoke grenades round and you’re going to run right through and catch Stompado!” He shakes his head aggressively as he happily hands Benito a few and reluctantly gives Desmond a couple. I put the heat vision goggles over my eyes and get ready to do some of the most intense running in my life.


“On the count of three. One, two, three!” shouts Chip loudly and the three of them gleefully chuck a dozen smoke grenades around the door. It is impossible to see in there. I take a deep breath and run in there, running past lots of orange bodies coughing and stumbling around in the smoke. One gets in my way so I roundhouse kick his face, knocking him out. It was pure confusion in that room, and I count my blessings I wasn’t a confused one.


I run pass the smoke and into the long corridor that I last saw Wes in. It was a long corridor with some fairly nice paintings on the walls decorating the place. He couldn’t be far so I remove the heat vision goggles and throw them to the side. Suddenly, I run outside, only to see Wes in a yellow Turismo speeding past me down the street. He sped out of the gates, nearly hit a Bus and drove away into the night. It was futile to try and pursue because in a couple of minutes he’d be in Alderney rounding up some thugs to take us down. I punch the wall with rage, angry that I let him get away. The sound of gunfire rings from the warehouse and then Desmond, Benito and Chip run out.


“Did you get ‘em?” Benito asks me raising his eyebrows drastically.


“No, there was nothing I could do; he was out the door in a sports car and I couldn’t catch him,” I cry out.


“That’s, alright, it wasn’t your fault,” Chip says understandably. Then he turns to Desmond. “It was this f*cker’s error that cost Sir Ross’ life and made us lose Stompado!” Chip roars in Desmond’s face.


“Thtupid c*nt,” Benito adds.


“Sorry,” Desmond mumbles.


“I say we snap his neck and throw his corpse into a harvester, then post a video of it on the internet!” Chip says while licking his lips and breathing heavily. He takes step towards Desmond but I jump in front of him and calm him down.


“Woah, woah, calm Chip, Di Luca likes this kid, he wouldn’t be happy. Now, have you taken your pills today?” I ask him sincerely before looking deep into his eyes, putting my hands on his shoulders. Chip’s breathing lightens as he nods his head slowly. He soon backs off and Benito approaches me.


“Uh, Capatho, we’ll clean up around here, you go relax. You really thaved the day, you know, so go catch a taxi or something,” Benito puts some hundred dollar notes down my shirt pocket and smiles, almost blinding me with his shiny teeth. He soon turns around and leads Chip and Desmond back into the warehouse.


“Hey Marchio!” I shout after him.


“Yeth?” he says as he turns around.


“Keep an eye on Chip and Desmond. See you at Sir Ross’ funeral,” I say. He nods in agreement then turns back towards the warehouse. I keep looking at them until they disappear into the dimly lit room, then run out onto the street, probably to meet a girl in a bar, take her up the rear in the bathroom, then sneak back home and say ‘good morning’ to Maybelle. This is the good life.


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I'm just wondering, is this topic still updated? I've been thinking about rejoining for a while now but it looks like nobody has reviewed any stories or updated the topic in a while.

Well, it is ticking at a very slow pace, so it's not dead.


Fwiw, eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeventually, when I quit this muthaf****r of a job that seems to demand 90% of my 168 hours each week, I plan to spend time reviewing the entire backlog since March or whenever last reviews were.


I'm fairly disappointed in myself, so to speak, but I just can't do anything about it right now.


Clients: can't drown them in their own sanctimonious bile; can't drop timebomb code into their projects.

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Well, no pressure Aragond, I hope your work eases up and you can relax soon. Anyway, here's another chapter.


(I get $100 bonus for this story btw)

Chapter 5: Dirt Nap

“Today, we pay tribute to the great and honorable Harlan Pozzo, affectionately known to his friends as Sir Ross, as he passes through this life into the next,” said Edgar, wiping a tear from his eye with a hanky as he addresses the audience at Sir Ross’ funeral. The venue was an outdoor funeral in Steinway and the sun was shining brightly onto Sir Ross’ gleaming portrait next to his coffin. The sun shone brightly on the wooden case as Edgar clears his throat for the next sentence.


“Here, here!” yells the don, Augustus Luzzi, from the front row, shuffling his feat a lot.


“Sir Ross loved life and was falsely accused of many things…” Edgar continued when suddenly, Sir Ross’ young wife, Elsa, next to me started shouting.


“You belittle his memory!” she shouts at Edgar, who starts chuckling before continuing his speech. Elsa turns towards me. “Out of my way Gil, you called yourself his friend,” I scuffle my chair back and she trudges through and leaves, crying as she goes.


“Go after her, Chip,” I tell Chip quietly, who was sitting next to me, and he nods understandably and heads out onto the isle. Before he leaves, he turns back towards me.


“You were never his friend Gil,” he says to me quietly.


“I was never his enemy,” I tell him. He nods and runs after her, following her into a grim cab and they drive off into the distance.


“…Sir Ross was a good boss, a good colleague and, may I say, a good friend!” Edgar says, shedding a tear for Sir Ross as he leaves the podium and heads back to his seat, his feet crunching on the leaves as he walks.


It was silent for a few minutes as everyone pays their respects. There was nothing but the sound of birds chirping and a couple of old people coughing. Suddenly, I hear the roar of a few Sanchez motorcycles in the distance. Everyone turns around to see them being driven by some brothers from the east, and the one in front was none other than Craig Yu. Everyone is surprised as they stop and four pair of eyes stare us down.


“Rah!” shouts Craig as each Triad pulls out an Uzi and prepares to fire it at us.


“Get down,” Emilio says calmly as the remaining Pozzo family get torn to shreds. As I dive under my seat, I get splattered by Sir Ross’ nephew’s blood. I pull out my pistols quickly and dive over the seat in front of me to get into the front row, next to Edgar and Augustus. Paris Pozzo runs out into the isle and is torn apart by bullets and his body falls in front of us.


“I’m gonna get outa here with Mr Luzzi, take care of everyone, okay Gil?” Edgar yells in my ear over the gunfire. “Man, all of the Pozzo guys are getting cut down. Oh… Boy…” Edgar mutters with a smile. I turn to try and tell him something but he is already halfway down the cemetery, leading Augustus away.


“Take thith!” shouts Benito violently as he shoots a Triad in the chest a few times. The Triad tries to aim his gun but then screams and falls over. Craig obviously looked distressed at the young lad’s body and unleashes his rage by becoming more trigger happy. He was practically tearing up the benches.


“They’ve gone mad!” Desmond shouts at me.


“No sh*t!” I scream back. Desmond tries to say something clever but ends up making a squeaking noise. Emilio on the other hand gives me a nod and I know just what to do. We both jump up and full the Sanchez’s gas tank full of bullets. It soon catches a light and it was going to blow.


“Get down!” says Benito as he pulls Emilio onto his ass. I duck and soon the motorbike explodes into a million pieces, blasting one of the Triads right past my face. Craig was unscathed because he hid behind a massive rock and the other Triad was a bit dazed by it, so I figured it was time to put these puppies down.


I run out and backflip off the bench, and while midair and upside down, I shoot the Triad in the face about two times with each gun. When I land on my toes, his body falls to the ground and makes a loud thump. Craig rushes towards me, knocks my guns out of my hands and points a pistol at my head.


“F*ck you, asshole,” he says, smirking. He prepares to pull the trigger and I close my eyes, fearing the worst. But instead of hearing a gunshot, all I hear is a clicking sound. I open my eyes and see Craig looking worried and quickly reloading his gun. I grab him by the collar, pull him close and breathe heavily in his face.


“F*ck you, asshole!” I shout, than push him back onto the burning Sanchez. Craig soon lights up into a ball of fire and burns to a crisp, his face melting and his voice mutating and screaming till he finally dies. I then approach his body and stomp on his head with my boot, crushing it into a thousand pieces, the ashes blowing away in the wind. When I turn around I see a total of seven bodies; the remaining relatives of Sir Ross were all dead, plus one of Augustus’ bodyguards got whacked too. I shake my head at the horror as Emilio calms down Benito’s mother with his soothing voice than collect my pistols from the ground.


“Gil, thith ith terrible,” Benito comments, shedding a tear for his dead friends. “At leatht it can’t get any wortht,” Suddenly, the stands holding the coffin give way and Sir Ross falls out, his revolting, composting face stares right at me. Desmond jumps in fright, looking startled.


“I can’t take this anymore. F*ck this!” Desmond shouts, than runs away to go to his home. Everyone looks distressed at the situation and I kick a chair in frustration.


“Capazzo, you’d better go before the fuzz gets here, me and some others will help clean up around here, go man the cashier at Marco’s for us or something,” Emilio says to me, comforting Benito’s sobbing mother on his shoulder. I nod sincerely and walk towards the street, the sound of ambulance sirens howling in the distance.


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I’ll gather the information for a writers card before posting another story I‘ll try and do it this weekish- next weekish but in the mean time I‘d like to take advantage of the new system and follow up the last gambetti chapter from a different perspective namely the law.


The Law Chapter one:




In a dim cramped Berchem apartment, half a dozen members of the Alderney state police force gathered around peepholes in cardboard covered windows. They were part of a much bigger operation by the LCN joint taskforce which earlier in the day had arrested half a dozen members of the Pegorino crime syndicate but their main target had fortuitously evaded capture in a string of chance events that had enabled him to check in as normal with his crew at Nonna Pinna’s. The order was about to be given to pick him up when two other gentlemen entered the restaurant, they looked like wise guys and immediately peaked the interest of the watching lawmen. Frantic radio messages were exchanged as each of the strategically placed capture squads called in for instructions.


“So are they targets too?”


“Stand down, wait for confirmation.”


“Team A do you have a visual?”


“That’s a negative.”


“Does anyone have a visual?”


Radio calls from both the B and C teams both came back negative, a new voice now came over the radio with an air of authority burgeoning on arrogance, “Alright, I’ve got tactical command here, everyone stand down.”


“Identify yourself.”


“Special agent Mestre, I’m taking tactical command under provision two-twelve.”


In the cramped apartment, the men were bitterly disappointed at what they perceived to be glory hunting on the part of the FIB.


“Can you believe this sh*t Sarge?”


Sergeant Scagnetti had been around too long to get into a d!ck waving contest with the feds. He may never have risen above sergeant but he could have, if he had the ambition. As a young man he had been an idealist unwilling to bend his ethics for career development and consequently had ended up working for those who had no such qualms, the ladder to the top was covered in a grease that pollutes the soul and corrupts the mind. He picked up the radio,


“Mestre, your in the Messina squad what are you doing this side of the river?”


“That’s above your pay grade Sergeant.” Mestre then addressed all the teams, “That was Vincent Cipato and John Versano, Botino’s chief lieutenant, we wait and see what happens.”


Agent Mestre was well known within the taskforce, he and Agent Vega had become the rising stars after handling Fredo Volpe, the turncoat that had brought down the entire hierarchal structure of the Messina crime syndicate. The higher ups had been so impressed that they granted them the freedom to go wherever the resulting leads took them. So far it had been a dire miscalculation, separate teams had been assigned to each of the six LCN gangs for a reason. Even though they were but two agents they seemed to cause chaos wherever they went. The Pegorino team had thought they would avoid their meddling as it was seen as the least prestigious assignment but the increased activity of LC Mafiosi in Alderney had bought the two agents to their patch.


“Mother f*ckin’ federal f*cks.” One of the officers from team B summed up the feelings of the cops as concisely as anyone and maybe even more politely than most.


Mestre and Vega didn’t really care about animosity, they didn’t care about getting covered in grease on their way up the ladder either, their only real loyalty was to each other. As much as they were already earmarked for success they had been spurned on by the rumours on the grapevine that the handlers of Vito ‘dog meat’ Menotti had uncovered an on going conspiracy between hedge fund mogul Kirk Simplex and Mary Valvona, it wasn’t enough to put her way for a long time in itself but when rolled in to a RICO case she could be put away for life. They could even throw in the murder of her husband along with the numerous former lovers who had all been dispatched on her orders, the fact that there was no direct evidence linking her to the killings didn’t so much matter in a RICO trial. The cast iron evidence for a raft of white collar crimes should be enough, with everything else just used as window dressing.


Just under half an hour passed when the team at the rear of the restaurant broke the radio silence, “This is team C we’ve got activity. The target is doing something at the back, he opened the door then went back inside…wait he’s coming out, he’s dragging something…I think it’s a body.”


Mestre didn’t waste anytime giving the order, “Alright all units move in.” Team C were upon the startled Mafioso in seconds, in full tactical gear and armed to the teeth they ordered him to lie on the floor. One of the team examined the body, “He’s still breathing, he’s bleeding from the head pretty bad though.” The senior team operative radioed for EMS paramedics.


Inside Nonna Pinna’s team A and B had found the unconscious Cipato rolled up in a carpet, when they rolled him over there was a collective gasp. Followed by a junior member of the team asking a very reasonable question.


“What the f*ck happened to his face?”


“Their f*ckin’ animals kid, they do this sh!t all the time.” Was the equally reasonable answer from a more aged and weary member of the team.


Team A’s leader radioed in what they had found and almost immediately agents Mestre and Vega came in. It took sergeant Scagnetti considerably longer to make his way from the overlooking apartment across the road. Members from team C also converged around Cipato. Agent Vega spoke with a monotone voice, unlike his partner it was virtually impossible to find any emotion within his verbalisations.


“Vincent Cipato, runs pump and dump schemes for the Gambettis and Lupisellas, definitely a cut above the average gorilla in LCN. The other one is John Versano, not a guy with much imagination, shylock, bookie, hijacker, drug dealer and murder for hire. He used to be a somebody when the Gambettis and Lupisellas controlled commercial garbage haulage in Algonquin, now he’s Botino’s errand boy. We’re trying to link him to two bodies and half a dozen disappearances, we have solid information that he personally handles Botino’s hits… so what about your guy?”


Sergeant Scagnetti spoke in a husky voice, twenty-eight years of chain smoking gave him an almost archetypal Vinewood tough guy tone.


“Lupa Fratelli, violent piece of sh*t, rose to capo under Jimmy Pegorino. He’s been waging a war against the new boss Aldo Gatti. At least thirty people have been killed that we know of, half of them had nothing to do with LCN they were just in the wrong place at the wrong time. He’s not a sophisticated Mafioso either, drugs, gambling and extortion seem to be the only activities he can get his head around. You make a deal with this piece of sh!t and your letting a serial killer get off easy.”


“Alright lets get these guineas secured, we’ll go with Cipato and Versano to the medical facilities at Alderney State Penitentiary, if anything pertinent to your guy comes up we’ll get in touch.” Agent Mestre said with his stare fixed firmly on Sergeant Scagnetti who simply replied, “Likewise.”


The agents didn’t have to wait long for the doctors okay to interrogate the men and although he was still concussed they went after John Versano first.


“Your one lucky wop, you know that right?” Agent Mestre’s shared heritage didn’t get in the way of racial slurs directed at Mafiosi. Versano starred back blankly, the agent had to consider the possibility that it was the concussion but that was a peripheral consideration, hardly worth allowing to get in the way.


“You know we saved your life right?” Agent Vega picked up the interrogation, “you’d be a dead guinea, hardly a great loss to the world, but nonetheless if we hadn’t of stopped your pal Lupa Frattelli you’d be f*ckin’ dead, that should at least warrant a thank you. Wouldn’t you say so special agent Mestre?”


“Hell yeah special agent Vega, this is a family man, three kids who he gets to kiss again cos of us. I’d say that warrants some serious mutherf*ckin’ gratitude!”


“If that’s all you want, fine you got it, thanks. Now when do I get a phone call?”


“That depends John, oh wait you prefer Johnny boy right? That’s what his diego bastard friends call him on the wire isn’t it special agent Vega?”


“Why yes it is special agent Mestre, though I do believe that we’ve got Zito on tape referring to him as, ‘That miserable cocksucker Johnny f*ckin’ boy Versano’ which I kind of think is more appropriate considering where he’s going.”


“Oh yeah, he’ll be someone’s bitch alright, without the family behind him prison won’t be easy for a guy like Johnny boy here. You like sucking cock John? Is that what your buddy Roy meant?”


Versano clinched his fists under the bed sheets, his nails digging so far into his palms he almost drew blood, he wanted to tell them to go f*ck themselves but instead tried a different a tact.


“I didn’t know they let paisans into the FIB. You do know what it stands for right? f*ckin’ Italians Bureau.” Versano then burst out laughing but everyone in the room knew it was a hollow gesture, they had got under his skin and they had only just started.


“You think Roy will miss again, you think you’ll survive if we let you go. Your either going to jail or your going to get whacked but they won’t use no Alderney f*ck ups next time.”


“Get the f*ck out of here with that sh!t. 'Whacked!' What the f*ck you talking like that for, you think you’re a gangster?”


“No we got brains Johnny f*cking boy, you’d have to be pretty f*cking stupid to join the mafia these days. A real retarded gorilla whose only commodity is that they came from the diseased c*nt of an Italian whore. You know what… f*ck this sh*t… this guys just another dumb ape. We’re wasting our time he’s got sh*t to offer us cos he aint sh*t. Special agent Mestre lets get the f*ck outta here.”


The two agents left Versano’s room and their nest stop was Vinny Cipato’s room. Although Cipato was a less powerful figure than Versano he was still considered a better target because he was involved in the crimes that it was harder to prosecute, stock fraud, identity theft and the likes.


Agent Vega started the pitch to the startled Cipato, “Vincent, what we’re about to offer you has been the same deal we’ve given to a dozen high ranking members of La Cosa Nostra over the years. Guys like you. You see we admire you because your not violent. If you were running the family it would be better for the city and in the end that’s what we’re here for, to protect the greatest people on earth the people of LC. So here’s what we can give you; complete immunity, valuable information and room to operate and we won’t ever go after your money. We’ll help you rise up through the ranks to the very pinnacle of power. And all we want in return is for you to give us your rivals, just give us a case, indisputable evidence, tell us where to look where the money trail goes. You’ll never have to testify this will all be hush hush.”


Agent Mestre continued, “You take all the time you need to think it over, the offer will be there when you need it, signed sealed and delivered - you’ll be protected from the top down.”


Cipato sat motionless as the agents left as quickly as they had burst in, he had a lot to think about.

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