NationStates Jolt Archive

There are four sprawling cities in the Empire of Crimmond: Skye, the capital on the Empire and formerly known as Warsaw; Myer, the industrial morass once known as Lodz; Avalon, capital of the Gholgoth Province and....

The city of Vilinius is a city of rich history, dating back centuries. It was once capital of Lithuania and is now the corporate center on the Empire of Crimmond, with many different industry leaders making bussiness deals and trading on the Vilinius Stock Exchange, second only in earnings overall to the blue collar market of Myer. Of course, many more people trade that exchange than Vilinius, so earnings per person are higher for the corporate exchange.

But beneath the surface of the corporate dominance is another driving force. Organized Crime.

---

"Allright, I'm here. What's the problem?" a gray haired man asks in a tone that says it had better be worth it.

"Our best smuggler, his entire crew and his boat have been captured by the police. To make things worse, they also got twelve growers." one of the men sitting in the room answers. "We're already planning something to get them out, without exposing the whole industry, but we thought you might have some ideas."

The Gray Haired Man, a name he was known by in many circles, laughed. "You know, I somehow thought you were paid to do the thinking. That's why I hired you. Sure, I've busted people out before, but... do more with less. And get your asses off my couch and out of my office. If you want, drop the plans by when their done. I'll be the judge of whether it's too risky or not."

"Yes sir, Mr Vercetti."

http://usera.imagecave.com/Alpha-Zero/vincent5.JPG
Mister Vercetti
The Gray Haired Man
Hitman and Crimelord

Kentucky, Allanean North America

Throughout the ages, Kentucky was a place were illegal substances were made. First, during the First Prohibition, alcohol. Then, during the Drug Prohibition, marijuana, then methamphetamines. It was only natural that when Allanean rule came and there were no more illegal recreational drugs, the people who used to grow them went to work – still growing them and making them, but legally.

Paolo Hernandez was one of the men they worked for, these days. At twenty-six, he was the youngest Chief Personnel Officer Allanean Pharmaceuticals had ever had. Right now, he was arriving at the Bourbon County Production Center. Bourbon County, they said, was owned, lock, stock, and barrel by Allanean Pharmaceuticals. Out of the 20,000 inhabitants, five thousands worked in the corporation’s huge poppy fields, and hundreds worked at the research and purification center that made the poppy into quality morphine and opium. Industrial plants produced literally tons of trimethoxyamphetamines, supplying most of the population of Allanean North America with the drug – with unknown quantities sent to Tiburon and Mexico, where production of the substance was still illegal. Of course, the Hernandez clan did not care about that – they despised the drug prohibitionists, and profitted merrily from what they perceived as the folly of foreigners. Neither did the thousands of Bourbon County workers that worked at those plants, or had jobs because of the money the Hernandez family poured into the community care, either.

Today, however, they had a small problem – as the overseer was telling Paolo. The old, lanky man moved his shoulders worriedly, as if seeking to toss off the burden of blame. “We’re very sorry, Mr. Hernandez, it was an unfortunate accident…. an explosion at one of the plants, took Mr. Kravitz and Shulgin, our best experts on low-yield custom poppy. Mrs. Lihaeva is alive, but… she’s not going to be doing much work anytime soon.”

Hernandez nodded, sadly. “Send compensation to the families.”

“It has already been done, Mr. Hernandez. However, as you understand, we’re still short on high-qualification employees…”

“I understand. I will try something soon. I see it is time for another head-hunting trip.”

Vercetti listened to the plan and nodded, slowly. "So, in short, you want to blackmail the warden, get our growers transported to another facility, but en route they get hijacked and liberated. Sneaky."

"Thank you, Mr Vercetti..." the designer of the plans, one Otto Skorzeny III, sporting a surgicaly added scar on the left cheek(to emulate the Skorzeny from the 1940's famous scar) said. "My grandfather would probably have broken into the prison, freed everyone and whisked ours away in the confusion. I'm not that much of a showboat. I will be one of the drivers though." he grinned. Holding the record for survived crashes in the Death Way Drags and a record six years on the circut, he was probably the best driver in the Empire... if you liked maniacs behind the wheel.

http://usera.imagecave.com/Alpha-Zero/Skorenzy.jpg
Otto Skorzeny III

Meanwhile, a press conferance about the capture of many, manygrowers and a whole smuggling crew was being held up as a major victory over the drug cartel in Crimmond. It would be easy to pick up on the propoganda being thrown about the major news network, Imperial International Newslink, that these men and women would be jailed for many years, serving as a stern reminder to the ones still free of what will happen to them when the police find them.

In reality, the other growers were too busy trying to fill the temporary void in the market with their own 'produce' to worry about the police any more than usual.

“I hate the motherfuckers. I really fucking do, especially when it happens in an allied country that I can do nothing about.” – growled Nathaniel Hernandez the First, the Father Of The Family. He was of course not the biological father of the entire Hernandez clan. But he was it’s legendary starter. His lifespan was augmented for centuries via strange genetic experiments and magic – and so he was old enough to remember the original War on Drugs, when it still raged in North America.

“I remember those crazy sons of bitches myself, Little Paolo. I remember how they tore up the protests in Frisco in 1995, the bloody damnable idiotcs. I was there when they raided Rainbow Farm. I was there when they stopped Marc Emery’s presses and when they killed Peter McWilliams. I hate them all. All the bloody prohibitionist scum.”

He opened a flick knife and began to clean his pipe, slowly, in long, expert motions. “However, about recruitment… I assume we’re already profitting from the re-opened market niche?”

Paolo smiled. “Certainly, Father Nathaniel.” Indeed, even now, he was sure, better and cleaner heroin than ever before flowed into Crimmond – not directly from Allanean Pharmaceuticals, buit through dozens of legal and less-than-legal offshore business. The prohibitionists were about to get a painful lesson in history.

Father Nathaniel smiled merrily. “In that case, I suppose I will underwrite your… recruitment trip to Crimmond. Bribe the authorities, as usual… or pay for a lawyer… or buy a pardon. Whatever. According to what I know these have been some talented boys. If they did as well as they are said to have done with all the handicaps of living under Prohibition, I think they’ll do even better in the Confederacy, with all the right tools at their disposal.”

“Oh, and Little Paolo? You’re a Hernandez. Don’t be ashamed of our business, when there. Be proud of it. It will be hard… but you should still be proud.” Paolo nodded. He still didn’t know how hard it could be, sometimes.

"Imports are increasing, Tommy." Skorzeny announced, striding into the room.

Vercetti looked up from some photographs. "I know. We have pictures of some of the boats. Also the other growers and mugglers here are filling the void as best they can."

"Twelve growers and one of the fastest smuggling ships are hard to replace. Don't worry... within 36 hours, the police won't know what hit it."

"Good..." Vercetti stood and put on his suit jacket. "I'm taking a trip to Kaliningrad... I want to have a talk with one of these importers. Make sure they know who they're dealing with."

Skorzeny just nodded and walked out, to make sure security was ready.

--------

A few hours later, with three men carrying MAC-10s and one hefting an AK walked with Vercetti along the docks. Generic weapons were the best kind to use... less chance of finding where they came from. Vercetti was also carrying weaponary, in the form of a .44 AMP. THe local gangs and thugs got out of their way and seemed shocked he was here.

Stepping to the gangway of one of the importing boats, he and one of his MAC-10 men stepped aboard. "How are you all doing?" he asked in English, using the intenational trade language instead of the allmost random mix of European languages that was used in Crimmond. "I'd like to speak to whoever is in charge here. Your Captain or the courior sent with you."

“Uh, well…” said the sailor… “Lemme bring ya the cap’n, he be knowin’ all th stuff y’all need to know.”

The captain was a very fat man, maybe weighting upwards of one hundred and seventy pounds – possibly two hundred pounds. He looked down on the Mac-10 carriers and smiled. The sawed-off shotgun in his hip holster suddenly seemed comforting to him. “Step aboard of the Flower Lily, gentlemen. I am sure we can have us a nice conversation.”

----

In the meanwhile, Paolo applied for the needed papers to travel to Crimmon. His corporate jet was ready -and he was doing his best to schedule a meeting for whoever was responsible for pardons.

Or early release.

Whatever.

"I'm sure we can. Don't mind Joaquin*... he's here for my protection." Vercetti gestures to the man with the MAC-10. He was a large black man that looked like he could kill the whole crew with or without the gun.

"My name is Thomas Vercetti. That may or may not mean anything to you... I'm the third most powerful man in Crimmond though. My personal bussiness is import and export of cocaine, opium and guns. Everyone else answers to me, for the most part, though. Your shipments into my market have increased. I simply wanted to let you know that flooding my market with your merchendice or your employers merchendice would not be a wise thing and would be quite bad for the ships hauling that cargo." He lit up a cigarette and let it hang from his lip. "Now that all the vieled threat bullshit is out of the way, what's you bussiness here, exactly?"

*Joaquin is pronounced Waa-keen.

-----

There were no proper papers, unless you considered paying cash. Paolo would be able to get in by paying off any rich jet setter from Crimmond.

After that, it would be a matter of getting to Skye, the capital, and speaking with Internal Security, which was still quite pleased with itself for it's catch and using it as a propoganda device to keep the people content that drugs were being cracked down on.

The man smiled. It was against what Allaneans considered on par with an unwritten code of honor to do something because people threatened you – even if they did, in fact, hold an insane advantage. The courageous thing to do, under thread, would be to behave reasonably and calmly – as if it wasn’t there. Which is what the ship’s captain did.

Same business as you’re in, man. Bringing the pure rocks in to harbor. But I don’t do retail. You can buy it off me – I bought it cheap, and I sell it cheap. He smiled, naming a price which was extremely low on Crimmondian street level – but still lots of money for something that went over-the-counter in Allanea. I have no employer, though. I mail-order it back home, or buy it from farmers. Not hard to get where I come from – hard to get here, though. And frankly, I don’t care who I sell it to – so if you want, we can make a deal so I sell it just to you.

He smirked contentedly – he thought he came up with a deal the Crimmondian could not resist.

* * *

Paolo paid. And paid. And paid. He knew that an Allanean gentlmeman of questionable background, spending money – and especially the famous gold bricks that Allaneans used as a currency - all over the plac – would attract an unhealthy amount of attention. And that was his purpose. After arriving to his hotel, he mailed out a package to the nearest Internal Security Office. It was very simple in content, explaining, in plain and simple words, what was it that he needed. Their prisoners, in return for a sizeable amount of money – untraceable, unfakeable gold – something Internal Security would use for their various schemes – or their less-conscionable employees would use for their offshore companies.

He really didn’t care which.

Vercetti looked at Joaquin, who stood there stonefaced, but his eyes were narrowed. Both seemed to have a conversation in an instant though, without the aid of words.

Turning back, Vercetti smiled the way he smiled at every one of his cash-cows. "That's a very good offer. If the quality is high enough, I'll pay you that, plus 10% to ensure you can buy the best navigation equipment, to make sure shipments don't get... 'lost' and end up in another dock yard."

---------------

Two men knocked on Paolo's door. They wore robes of black and were obviously not security forces, but they stated Paolo's full name, his date of birth and the name of the wealthy man that had gotton him into the European Empire. Once let inside, both looked and acted more like the sterotypical government agents, even going so far as to end each other's thoughts. On their belts were what looked like glorified caddleprods.

"We are Imperial Inquisitors." "We know why you are here, Mister Hernandez." "We also have your letter, which never made it past the mail room of the Internal Security HQ. The use of a non-Crimm language is a standout in this system and is allways checked." "The Office of Internal Security will not accept your offer, no matter how corrupt member are. They know this is too big a propoganda victory."

The one who had spoken first opens a case he had with him. "We, however, have been at odds with the Internal Security Forces for years. And we are eager to deal them a critical blow. We will assist you."

The second took out Inquisition robes, one of the fancy caddleprods, which he explained was called an Inquisitor's Negotiator, and a code locked cellphone. "You may need these. The outfit and Negotiator will let you go anywhere in public without having to give ID. No civilian crosses the Inquisition in Crimmond. Government facilities are tougher, in which case you dial the first speed number and hand them the phone."

All of this was done without pause. Attempted interupptions were ignored until they were done.

http://usera.imagecave.com/Alpha-Zero/brother1.gifhttp://usera.imagecave.com/Alpha-Zero/brother2.gif
The Brothers
Senior Field Inquisitors

The Allanean smiled: “You must understand my friend. We do not mix sugar in our stuff. We don’t shoot people to protect our turf. We simply buy cheap stuff and sell it expensive. Honest dealers we are – nothing more.”

* * * *

Paolo Hernandez nodded carefully. “Very, very well. Now, I am but a foreigner here and I don’t know the customs. But I do know what my job is. My job is to get those people out. They may be criminals in your system, but they’ll be citizens in mine. Had I lived in your country, I’d be sharing their prison cell as of this moment. I want you to know that, so this is clear between us from the start.”

“Among the communists, whom I despise as I despise no other people on Earth, there is a saying: “There are two main questions: ‘Whose fault it is?’ and ‘What is to be done?’” I may disagree with you on the first question, but the second one is one I believe you can help me answer. He paused as he put the outfit on. “Now, I of course am no Inquisitor – you will have to explain to me how to pass for one.”

“And while we’re at it, I will need to know more… for example, where are the prisoners held, and where’s the nearest civilian airport to that facility. If I am correct in my assumption, you want me to walk in there, claim I’m an Inquisitor and that I need those people for additional investigation of some form, and disappear with them. A most worthy plan.”

He smiled. He knew that it was the rule of such discussions to never state outright the illegal thing that needd to be done. But sometimes, there were points to be won by doing so. He felt this was one of of those times - if only because he feared committing a mistake in this one. “Also, is it possible for you to provide me a large truck, such as the ones you people use to transport prisoners in? In Allanea, we call them Black Ravens… I don’t know what you call them here.”

He smiled: “Is this possible?”

The two looked at each other, then at Paolo. "Arrogant." "Indeed." "He'll play the part nicely." "Very nicely."

The first looked at him. "There are no civilian airports. Only private airstrips or goverment aerodromes." "We can provide you with transportation to our air facility and a plane to Allanea. But..." "You may make enemies of the narcotics industry here." "Thomas Vercetti is a very dangerous man." "He tends to use excessive violence to solve problems."

----------

Vercetti, meanwhile, was smiling. "Very good, sir. We have ourselves a deal. Whatever other family you're selling this shipment to, complete the sale as normal. Nichevo, as my Russian customers would say. It doesn't matter. From now on though, go to these docks..." he hands him a list of citys and dock numbers.