NationStates Jolt Archive

Murder 101
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The ’74 Chevy barreled down the sunny Miami street. Two men, both white and dressed in cheap black suits, were inside. Their names were Charlie Ramone and Vincent Winnfield.

“You remember that guy, umm, Anthony Vick?”

“Yeah. Black right?”

“Sort of. Black and somethin’ else. Asian maybe, or Ukrainian.”

“What about him?”

“They iced him Thursday in Vegas.”

“Really? What he do?”

“No one really knows. Rumor is he was messin’ around with Big A’s wife.”

“Damn. Thought he was a smart guy.”

“That’s the thing. He was smart enough to know that he could get away wit it.”

“But he didn’t. You just said they iced him Thursday. Did I hear you wrong?”

“No no man. Thing is he was smart enough to THINK he wouldn’t get caught, when in fact it was that that killed ‘im.”

“I don’t follow. Don’t blame ‘im. She’s a fox.”

“You’ve never seen her.”

“No, but I hear she’s fine.”

“She is man.”

“You met ‘er?”

“Yeah, took ‘er out to dinner once.”

“You tellin’ me took Big Anthony Vega’s wife out for dinner?”

“It was a long time ago. They weren’t hitched.”

“You ---- ‘er?”
“No man. She was still with the big man. I just said they weren’t married.”

The car came to a screeching halt outside a small tenement building. The men got out, walking to the trunk.

“Shotguns?”

“Yeah.”

The men removed two 12 guage shotguns, hiding them awkwardly under their coats. They walked towards the back entrance to the building.

Awesome post!

OOC: Generia, you wanna end our RP? It seems it's going to go nowhere, let's just say we traded embassies and we have a trade pact >.>

OOC: Generia, you wanna end our RP? It seems it's going to go nowhere, let's just say we traded embassies and we have a trade pact >.>

((OOC: Fine, but don't clutter this thread.))

Sitting in his chair, he rubbed his hands together as gazed out the window, surverying his empire: Miami. Underground brothels, casinoes, street gangs, dope dealers, crack dens, thug-for-hires, cheap hoods...all in the palm of his hand. He had so many connections the city was virtually his for the taking. He controlled over 41% of the city's crime, rubbed elbows with or otherwise intimidated into submission almost every other mobster, and even bribed judges and corrupt politicians. Best of all, few suspected who he was. His facade as a compassionate philanthropist and respectable business deceived everyone. Those who were not deceived were either too afraid to divulge his secret, or else they were shot on sight. He was virtually invincible. If one of his racketeers got busted by the cops, all he had to do was bribe the judge and he would go scot free. Much of the city's softness on crime was due in part to his manipulation of weak-kneed, easily corruptible politicians. His name was always spoken in hushed whispers. Nobody defied him and lived. He called himself...the Crimeboss.

Panting and wheezing like an old dog, he stroked the photograph of Anthony Vega's wife, longing for her. He had been infatuated with her for years. He himself had been married six times. Three ended in divorce, after which he bribed his ex-wives not to say anything about his real occupation. Two committed suicide, and one was shot by his assistant, Romulo Gramsci, for considering reporting her husband to the police. Vega's wife, though, was quite the looker. Voluptuous lips, pulchritudinous eyes that gleamed like diamonds, smoother than silk hair that cascaded down her back in a torrent of gorgeousness, a big bust, a figure supermodels would kill for, and an astonishing pair of legs nearly as lovely as her face. God, how he wanted for. And he always got what he wanted. He was willing to resort to any means necessary...even murder. He and Vega, although close 'friends,' secretly distrusted and hated each other. Vega was at least as powerful as he. Making a play for his wife would be a dangerous game. But then again, Crimeboss lived for the danger.

bump

bump

again

Vincent pressed the elevator button.

“So how many we got?”

“Couple guys. Maybe two or three.”

“Don’t see why we need shotguns for this deal.”

“Never hurts to have shotguns. Intimidate better.”

“What’s the point if we’re just here to waste the guys.”

“We’re here to waste one guy. We don’t want the rest to try anything crazy.”

“Good point.”

The elevator doors opened. The men walked in. They stepped out again on the third floor.

“What time?”

“7:56”

Too early. Come on.”

Vincent and Charlie walked down the hall towards a vending machine. Charlie slipped in two quarters.

“Shit.”

Charlie gave the machine a good kick.

“Damn thing’s broken.”

Charlie reached his hand into his jacket.

“Forget it. Almost time anyway.”

The two men walked back down the hall, stopping in front of door number 335.

“Alright. Let’s go.”

The men knocked on the door. A young man opened it, and Charlie shoved his way inside. Vincent also brushed the kid aside.

“What the hell!?!”

The kid was visibly offended. He glanced at the poorly concealed shotguns, and staggered back. Vincent spun around to face the kid. Charlie walked towards the back of the room, and the kitchen.

“Mr. Cliffor Cummings?”

“Yeah.”

“Take a seat.”

The kid remained standing his eyes fixed on the shotgun.

“I said have a seat.”

Vincent raised the gun. The kid sat down. Charlie removed half of a sandwich from the refrigerator, and took a bite.

“Euhh. Too much mayo.”

He put the sandwich down on the counter.

“You know why we’re here, Clifford?”

“N-no sir. Call me cliff.”

“What was that?’

Vincent had been pacing. He now turned on his heel to face the kid.

“I’ll call you what I damn well want to! Kids these days. No respect. We’re here ‘cause you owe something to Anthony Vega. You do remember Mr. Vega, don’t you?”

“Yea- Yes.”

“You remember what you owe him?”

“I-I don’t know.”

“Oh, that’s never a good sign, is it Charlie?”

Vincent looked over to Charlie who was eating a second hoagie he had found.

“Yeah, that’s right.”

He spoke with his mouth full. Vincent turned back to the kid.

“You remember the briefcase? Those diamonds that you STOLE!”

Charlie pulled a .45 from his coat, firing a shot into the leg of another young man who was waiting by the door. The other man crumpled to the floor, moaning in pain.

" 'Ey, yo, boss!"

"What is it, Ricardo?" Crimeboss asked, glaring impatiently.

"No word on th' diamonds. That Cliff punk we hired t' get 'im ain't r'ported yet. Whaddaya need ta steal diamond fr'om Vega fo', anyway? You rich 'nuff ta 'ford ev'ry diamond 'n th' city!"

"Never mind my intentions, Ricardo," Crimeboss said, "unless your desire is to be destroyed."

"Yo, yo, jeez! Y' ain't gotta git all sore, boss, aw'ight? Shi-"

"Silence," Crimeboss said. "I do not have the time to waste listening to your idle banter. Contact Cliff at once. I must have that diamonds. They'll be the perfect gift for my soon-to-be b****...stolen by the man she married! Ironic, no?"

Ricardo walked over to the phone and dialed Cliff's number.

(If you don't like the idea of Crimeboss having to do with Cliff and the diamonds, I can delete this post)

I'm going to bed. Mind if we pick up where we left off tomorrow?

((Sure. Here's one more for the night.)

The phone began to ring.

“Well, pick it up, Clifford. That is your phone isn’t it?”

The kid picked up the phone, his eyes trained on the shotgun.

“Hello? Ye-yeah the diamonds are right here. No, no i’ll get ‘em to you today. I’m leaving right now. Later.”

The kid hung up.

“Who was that?”

“Uhh, my boss.”

“What’s his name? Charlie toss some of that over here!”

Charlie tossed a part of the sandwich to Vincent. He caught it and stuffed it in his mouth. The kid was silent.

“Are you deaf! What’s his goddamn name!”

Vincent menaced the shotgun, putting the barrel on the kid’s forehead.

“Aaaa-I don’t know! Umm! What?! They call him the boss! The crimeboss!”

Vincent removed the barrel from the kid’s forehead.

“Charlie, you heard of ‘im?”

“Who? No. Never.”

“Funny. Alright Clifford. I wish I could say you were helpful, but you ain’t. You like poetry Clifford?”

“What?! I don’t know!”

“Well there’s this one that I really like.

“And the angel of death spread his wings on the blast
and breathed in the face of the foe as he passed
and the eyes of the sleeping waxed deadly and chill
and hearts that once heaved and forever grew-
Still.”

On that last note Vincent and James drew their .45s and emptied the clips into the kid.

OOC:Mind if I join?

OOC:Mind if I join?

Sure!

Outskirts of Miami

Tommy Vercetti was driving toward the big city in his corvete. He had plans here, big plans. He planned on having a mob empire by the end of the year. He already had assets in Vegas and New York, it would be the first time he tried something in Miami. His first job would be to cap a drug dealer who wasn't paying his protection money to the local mafia don...

bump

I was thinking (if it's okay with you guys) that we could make it where this RP takes place about ten or twenty years ago, and then gradually works its way up to the present, and then do a follow-up RP where the mobsters (the ones that survive, that is ;) ) relocate to our nations and start a huge gang-war. I dunno, it's just a thought.

I was thinking (if it's okay with you guys) that we could make it where this RP takes place about ten or twenty years ago, and then gradually works its way up to the present, and then do a follow-up RP where the mobsters (the ones that survive, that is ;) ) relocate to our nations and start a huge gang-war. I dunno, it's just a thought.
ooc: Sure, I was thinkin start in the 80s(Vice City style) then work our way up.

He drove through a suburban ghetto at 70 mph, coming to the targets house, and screeching to a halt. He pulled out his MAC-10, screwed on the suppreser, inserted a new mag, and pulled back the bolt. He got out of his car, checking his body armor, and concealing the weapon under his coat. He walked up the front door...

DING DONG

"Hey, man? Hea to by some o' da sheet?" said the drug dealer, Fransico Sanchez.

"Sanchez, I believe you owe a certain respectable buisiness man some money..."

"C'mon, mahn! You know Ah'm goo fo it!"

"You don't got the money?"

"Lahk ah say, you know ah goo fo it."

"My client doesn't like to be kept waiting..."

"O, sheet."

Sanchez ran into the house as fast as he could, coming out into his small back yard, with Verceti hot on his tail. He pulled out his MAC-10 and opened up in a blaze of gunfire.

In seconds, Sanchez was full of .45 caliber holes, and no one around even knew a murder had taken place.

"All in a days work...man..." he muttered to the corpse. He walked out of the house, and pulled away to collect his payment.

OOC: Anyone want to RP as the mafia don?

OOC: I just got a crazy idea, I was thinking that the guy I'm RPing as could be a young Skar, and this is showing how he got started in the assasin buisiness.

ooc: Sure, I was thinkin start in the 80s(Vice City style) then work our way up.

He drove through a suburban ghetto at 70 mph, coming to the targets house, and screeching to a halt. He pulled out his MAC-10, screwed on the suppreser, inserted a new mag, and pulled back the bolt. He got out of his car, checking his body armor, and concealing the weapon under his coat. He walked up the front door...

DING DONG

"Hey, man? Hea to by some o' da sheet?" said the drug dealer, Fransico Sanchez.

"Sanchez, I believe you owe a certain respectable buisiness man some money..."

"C'mon, mahn! You know Ah'm goo fo it!"

"You don't got the money?"

"Lahk ah say, you know ah goo fo it."

"My client doesn't like to be kept waiting..."

"O, sheet."

Sanchez ran into the house as fast as he could, coming out into his small back yard, with Verceti hot on his tail. He pulled out his MAC-10 and opened up in a blaze of gunfire.

In seconds, Sanchez was full of .45 caliber holes, and no one around even knew a murder had taken place.

"All in a days work...man..." he muttered to the corpse. He walked out of the house, and pulled away to collect his payment.

OOC: Anyone want to RP as the mafia don?

O, I could play the don! If its alright with everybody. It will be better if we have 3 gangs warring anyways, don't you think?

Go ahead.

OOC: Nice, thanks.

IC:

At a Miami casino, the Don sat on his chair behind his dark oak desk. His two guards stood by the door and watched the pitiful old man who was speaking with the Don. "Please your greatness, I beg you, help me!" the old man pleaded. "Very well" replied the Don, "I will help you with your little problem with the man down the street. He won't touch your daughter again." "Thank you! Thank you!" "Now be gone, I have another appointment." As the man left, another man entered. This time it was a young man wearing a big coat. "A, you have come to collect your payment then?" "Yes I have." "Well as soon as you can prove to me that he is dead I will pay you." The man then pulled out the drug dealers personal pipe. The druggie never went anywhere without it so it was proof enough. "Very well, how much is it that I owe you?"

"I believe 10,000 was the agreed price..."

The Don looked at the man and nodded his head. He then reached into his desk and pulled out a briefcase. "Here, I hope you thing we dealed with you fairly."

[OOC - Not to clog this thread up with OOC comments, but this is a very good thread and GE you are a very good RPer. I suggest you look around the NationStates forum. It is better for this kind of RP because the people over there tend to RP really well. I made my debut RP over there today. Just thought you should know.]

(OOC:mind if i join as the don's wife?)

He opened the breifcase, and saw it was filled with stacks of hundreds. He shut it.
"Yes, I believe you did..." he walked out of the casino without another word. He drove back to his hotel, a three star, pretty decent. He walked into his room, field stripped his MAC-10, and cleaned it. Afterwords, he put it in his safe along with other goodies. He kept his .45 on a shoulder holster though.

He plopped down on his bed and stared at the ceiling, going over the hit in his mind, checking to see if he did anything wrong, and how hecould improve on it.

He should have been dead before reaching his yard, I must learn to fire quicker. This weapon is too inacurate, I'll have to get something better...an Uzi perhaps? Yes. Very accurate weapon, though very pricey, I'll have to go pick one up... he then realized he thought nothing of creating a mafia empire.
Maybe that's just not for me...maybe I should stick with what I'm doing...killing...I seem to be very good at it.

He sat up on his bed.
What the hell is wrong with me...

He put on a black leather jacket, and walked out the door, and drove down to his local arms dealer to pick up an Uzi...

((OOC: Sorry I haven't posted in a while. Let's say the setting is 1978. Post to come soon.))

(Sorry to keep coming on your RP's like this, GE, but mind if join? I was thinking the police chief.)

(Sorry to keep coming on your RP's like this, GE, but mind if join? I was thinking the police chief.)

((OOC: Sure. Rock on.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------
FROM NOW ON-

anyone who wants in, send me a TG
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((Warning! Hitmen conversing. Coarse language ahead.))


The briefcase was sitting on the counter in the kitchen. Vincent walked over, and Charlie popped the case, reveling the beautiful goods within.

The ’74 Nova barreled down the street for the second time that morning.

“Man, this shit is nothin’ compared to what I had to put up with in Europe. You know what I had to just to get my fuckin’ travelers checks cashed?”

“No man, what did you have to do?”

“Well, they’ve got this crazy system, I’m tellin’ you they’ve got this grudge against us, but they don’t just come out and say it to your face. No, they have to piss you off to the point where you can’t take it anymore. I mean, the first bank you walk into, everybody just starts starin’ at you, like they know, they know that your American. Like they can just tell by the way you walk.”

“That’s crazy shit, man.”

“Tell me about it. And then when you ask ‘em about cashin’ your checks, they just stare at ya and tell you in that shit ass accent, I have no fuckin’ clue how they learned to speak English, ‘cause it sucks, man. But then they just tell you ‘Oh no, no checks here, aah, around corner, around corner.’ Then they point and motion like they’re goin’ around a corner, it’s the dumbest shit I have ever seen.”

“Sounds like it. Did you ever get you checks?”

“Yeah, but I had to go to like a million fuckin’ banks man. Because once you leave the first bank, the teller immediately calls the next bank, and is tellin’ them somthin’ like heads up! You got a bogie coming in! American coming, you know what to do! It’s the craziest shit ever. That’s not right man. What’s goin’ on with the world when a man won’t even let another man cash his fuckin’ checks! I mean after goin’ to a million fuckin’ banks, I finally get to one that’s in the middle of this fuckin’ strip, you know? And I walk into this bank, and I get the same shit from him that I got from all the other guys. But this dude has the nerve to tell me to go around the corner again! At this point, I blew up. I was screaming at him like shit man, I mean I was in the middle of a fuckin’ street, and this shitbag told me the same old story. There was nowhere to fucking go! So I pulled my gun, stuck it at his head and tell ‘im: I am gonna shoot you in the face if you don’t cash my fuckin’ checks! Don’t mess with me man, I am a fuckin’ mushroom cloud layin’ motha fucka, motha fucka!”

“So what happened? Did you get you checks?”

“Like hell I got my checks.”

“Now that is some fucked up shit man”


Credit to the anti-Tom, and QT.

Johnny’s Amsterdam
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“Why don’t you lay up off of that cop sh*t man.”

“What man? Can’t I eat a donut without you bitchin’ at me ‘bout it every twenny seconds?”

“You not a cop now man. For all intents and purposes, you a pure blooded gangster.”

“These are good.”

“You don’t have to tell me. Mr. Jimmy’s is the best.”

“The best.”

“Anyway, lay off that.”

Two men were sitting at a table in a restaurant called Mr. Jimmy’s Gourmet Buffet. One man was named Johnny. His nickname was ‘Amsterdam.’ He was a white man of average height and build. He was also a cop. The other man, also of average height and build, was named Marvin, and was also a cop. As Amsterdam Raised another donut, this second man grabbed it from his hands.

“Now, we need to talk. You gotta know what you’re doin’ in there. You think you just walk up to Big A and ask him for twenty mil in weed, and expect ‘im to hand it to you?”

“Relax, you’re lookin’ at a man on the inside.”

“Good for you. Real fuckin’ good, my man, and now that you’re in, I can’t have you fuckin’ this up for me!”

“What’s your problem? I went through all this shit, and now you’re tellin’ me that I’m gonna fuck this up?

“Man, you got no fuckin’ idea what’s goin on here, do you? We got a million dollar man movin’ thirty bags of weed in broad daylight. This is fuckin gold! You know how lucky we are to get this kind of break? We can nail this guy, Johnny! We can nail ‘im, but if you get fucked up, then it’s off, it’s fuckin’ off! So you understand my sincerity when I say to you ‘don’t fuck this up.’ Are we clear, my man?”

“Crystal.”

Johnny and Marvin paid, and walked out into the street.

2 weeks later

Johnny stood in the middle of the sidewalk, in front of Mr. Jimmy’s Gourmet Buffet. He checked his watch and lit a cigarette. A man approached from his right. Johnny looked upward, exhaling deeply. The stranger fired five shots into his chest and neck.

Verceti pulled through a sucluded suburban neighborhood, home to the arms dealer he sought. He pulled into the parking lot of an apparently abandoned wharehouse. He walked up to the door and let himself in.

"Hey there, what can I do for you?"

"I'm lookin' for a nice replacement for my Ingram MAC-10..."

"Oh, we gots a lot o' dat stuff, hea, less go down back, yes?"

They walked down into a back room, the walls were decorated with all sorts of automatic weapons, mostly stolen from various shipments.
The arms dealer ran behind a counter and got up on a latter, and got something down...

"Here we ah, a Mini-Uzi. Compact, accurate, not much reciol, un like your Ingram. Hey, ah tell joo wha- ah give you special deal. I give you the weapon-brand new in the box-twelve twenty round magazines, magazine pounch, sound suppresor, and five-thousand round o' ammunition fo' abou... three thousan-wha you think?"

"Sounds like a good deal..." he said taking out a stack of hundred dollar bills.

"I go get the stuff."

The man returned five minutes later with all of the equiptment, and put it all in a box. Vercetti gave him the money, and headed out to look for more work, not even bothering to catch the dealer's name.

(OOC:mind if i join as the don's wife?)

Sure you can be my wife.

Vercetti's next assignment was to cap a store owner who was abusing his protection, an pissing alot of people off. He would try something with a bang this time...


He pulled up to a restuarant were the target was eating lunch, and slipped into the parking lot. He knew which car to hit, and how to set the bomb, he was a qualified demolitions expert as well as a hitman. He quietly popped the hood, and planted a brick of C4, and connected the electronic detonater with the spark plug. Instead of turning on the car, it would send a jolt of electricity into the detonater, and set the charge off. He quickly made his way away from the scene...

He drove down the street to hear a large BLAM, and didn't bother to check. He headed back down to the don's casino to pick up his paycheck, and hopefully find more work (we can start the gang war here, make me assasinate a high level rival mafioso.)

OOC: I just got a crazy idea, I was thinking that the guy I'm RPing as could be a young Skar, and this is showing how he got started in the assasin buisiness.

That's a damn good idea! :)

What should my character (the Crimeboss) do? :confused:

OOC: I'm thinking I'll have my guy cap one of his good friends, and spark a gang war.

OOC: I'm thinking I'll have my guy cap one of his good friends, and spark a gang war.

Sweet! Mind if Crimeboss's gang participates? (If you don't mind, could you have your guy kill one of Crimeboss's guys?) Let's make this war long, sweet, action-packed, and bloody! :D

GE, I invited Grenval to join. Is that all right?

Sweet! Mind if Crimeboss's gang participates? (If you don't mind, could you have your guy kill one of Crimeboss's guys?) Let's make this war long, sweet, action-packed, and bloody! :D
OOC: What I plan on doing is to have him eventualy be identified, then have him flee to Doomingsland were he'll kill more people, and eventualy start his merc company from the money he gets from capturing Saddam Insane.

Vercetti's next assignment was to cap a store owner who was abusing his protection, an pissing alot of people off. He would try something with a bang this time...


He pulled up to a restuarant were the target was eating lunch, and slipped into the parking lot. He knew which car to hit, and how to set the bomb, he was a qualified demolitions expert as well as a hitman. He quietly popped the hood, and planted a brick of C4, and connected the electronic detonater with the spark plug. Instead of turning on the car, it would send a jolt of electricity into the detonater, and set the charge off. He quickly made his way away from the scene...

He drove down the street to hear a large BLAM, and didn't bother to check. He headed back down to the don's casino to pick up his paycheck, and hopefully find more work (we can start the gang war here, make me assasinate a high level rival mafioso.)

Mind if we make it where the store owner was one of Crimeboss's flunkies?

OOC: What I plan on doing is to have him eventualy be identified, then have him flee to Doomingsland were he'll kill more people, and eventualy start his merc company from the money he gets from capturing Saddam Insane.

Cool! :)

After recieving his paycheck and a new assignement, Vercetti drove out to a rival casino for his next job. He checked his Uzi, and screwed on the suppresor, then hid it under his coat, and walked inside for his hit...

Mind if we make it where the store owner was one of Crimeboss's flunkies?
Sure, and have the guy in the casino be a close friend, so it'll really piss him off.

Sure, and have the guy in the casino be a close friend, so it'll really piss him off.

Okay. I'll post after you kill him.

bump

The target was talking to a large crowd, it was the perfect environment for him to operate in. He moved into an inconspicuos area of the crowd. He quietly drew his weapon, and aimed the laser sight at his forhead. No one seemed to notice, luckily. He sqeazed off a single silenced round, making the crowd panic and run up to see what had happened. No one had heard the shot, so they didn't know how he was killed. He quietly slipped outthe front door, and pulled away in his corvette. It was a job well done for Vercetti.

Crimeboss had just convened the annual mobsters' convention when one of his lackeys, Vincenzo Salieri, walked in. "Boss!"
"What is it, Vincenzo?" Crimeboss asked, beaming proudly. He had just blackmailed one of his most powerful rivals into handing over 42% of his racket, including five seedy but highly profitable casinoes. Now, more cash than ever would be flying in.
"Boss, Pipsqueak just got nailed. He was at his casino, and an unknown person fired off a shot and whacked 'im. Poor bastard probably never saw what was comi-"
"WHAT!??!" Crimeboss shouted, smashing his fist onto his wooden desk, putting a huge dent in it. He grabbed Vincenzo by the laurels and tugged so hard he started to choke. "If I find out you're lying, I'll have your h-"
"B-B-Boss, I-I-I ai...gurglee..." Vincenzo choked and gargled on his own saliva, coughing feebly. Crimeboss released him. After catching his breath, Vincenzo said, "I ain't lyin' t'ya, boss. I'd never do that."
"Now, who killed Pipsqueak Parker?" Crimeboss demanded. "With him dead, I'm sure to lose his casino! And I will NOT tolerate the loss of ANYTHING!!!"
"Boss, I did say it was an unknown person, didn't I?"
Crimeboss lashed out with a powerful haymaker, smashing his iron-hard fist into Vincenzo's face, spraying blood everywhere, causing four teeth to shatter, and fracturing his nose. Vincenzo's head went soaring back with the force of the impact, and so did he. He crashed into the wall and slumped to the floor, groaning in pain as he lost consciousness.
"Nobody mocks the Crimeboss. NOBODY!" he bellowed, slamming his foot into Vincenzo's neck, cracking the vertebrae. He picked up his body and smashed Vincenzo's head through the wall; when he pulled it out, his head was drenched in gore and his hair was sticky with blood. He shoved aside the dead body and walked over to his phone. He intended to find whoever killed Pipsqueak. He would find the sorry bastard, and make him pay.

What time is GE usually online? (Just out of curiosity)

OOC: Usualy around now.

Vercetti knew he was being hunted. He couldn't be found. He wouldn't allow it. He was in his hotel, cleaning his .45, when the phone rang.

"Yo?"

"Tommy?"

"Yeah, who are you?"

"That ain't important. What is important is that you lay low, you're bein' hunted like an animal."

"Tell me sumpin' I don't know..."

"Fine, the guy you whacked, he was a good friend of the Crimeboss. That's who's after you."

"Awww, damn..."

"Yeah, there's one thing you can do, though."

"What is it?"

"If you keep cappin' his pals, and leavin' behind threat letters, he'll probably lay off."

"I'll have to consider tha-"

"Be sure to."

CLICK

Tommy knew what he had to do. He began to compile a list of all of Crimeboss's assets. He was gonna make his life hell on earth.

Has Crimeboss met or heard of Tommy before? (Just wanted to clarify things)

Crimeboss knew it was only a matter of time before he found Pipsqueak's killer. After all, who wouldn't kill for twenty-five million dollars? Moreover, Crimeboss was also a respected public speaker, philanthropist, and businessman, with many powerful friends (most of them did not even suspect his real occupation), on both sides of the law. A stirring and effective orator, he would deliver powerful, moving speeches encouraging everyday citizens to get tough on crime and help find Harold 'Pipsqueak' Parker's killer, while at the same time spreading the word through the underworld that he was offering twenty-five mil to whoever killed the man who killed Pipsqueak. Not that he would pay, of course.

bump

(Warning! For mature audiences only (L, SC)

“I knew a guy, out in L.A. Some hippie who was workin’ connection for Smiley Jay, an’ this was a time when no one had a fuckin connection, so I got real lucky when I met Smiley, ‘cuz he knew how to fix this L.A. guy up with me. So now I’m in, and I’m the only guy on this side who’s in, so naturally I start getting’ a lot of calls from people who know that I got a connection.”

“How’d they know that you got a connection?”

“It’s Miami man, shit travels.”

“Don’t have to tell me that man.”

“Anyway, there’s this one bitch, and she’s fuckin’ TNT. She’s this little oriental thing, huge rack, the whole deal my man. She knows a guy, who knows a guy, who knows that I got a west coat connection, and she wants to buy. Meanwhile, my hippie in LA’s getting his ass rich, and I’m thinking this is bull, ‘cause I’m doin’ all the work for, like, 10% free. Seriously, I’m this fucking close to hangin’ up the phone right there when this chick calls, but she sounds as good as she looks, so I figure, ‘why not?’ So I take a bag, and go down to where she wants to meet. It’s this shitty restaurant in South.”

“What’s it called?”

“I dunno. It’s some Spanish place. But I go into this place, and it’s tiny, like really small, man, and this bitch is sittin right in the middle of the place, at this table. So I go sit down with this girl. I’m carryin’ the weed in one of those little carry on bags, so I put it down next to the chair. So I tell ‘er that I got the stuff, and that it’s a 60 dollar bag. But, get this, she tells me she doesn’t have any cash to pay for it. I’m pretty surprised, ‘cause I came all the way to this shitty place from the city, an’ now she’s tellin’ me she can’t even buy the stuff.”

“That’s hard, man. That’s a fuckin’ hard situation.”

“Yeah, but now she leans over, and she tells me how she’s gonna pay for it.”

"Heh."

“Yeah, man. So she takes me to the back of this place, to the one bathroom, which is fuckin’ tiny, and we get at it. So afterwards, we walk out, and the whole place is starin’ at me, ‘cause the place was so cheap, the walls were real thin. So I hand her the bag, and go home. So, a day later, I find out that this chick was Smiley Jay’s brother’s wife, and he knows what happened. Apparently she was real loose on her commitment.”

“That’s rough, man.”

“So I start freakin’ out, ‘cause this guy’s lookin’ for me, and since I’m the only guy with a connection, he’s gonna find me real quick, so I start packin’ my shit, and I’m gonna run. So I grab whatever I can fit into a suitcase, and run out the door. Just then I see this guy, a real huge motherfucker, comin’ down the hall right for me, and he’s got an uzi in his hand. I freeze. Every muscle and nerve ending in me is tellin’ me to fuckin’ turn and get the hell outta there, but I just stand there in the hall, watchin’ this dude. Just when I’m about to shit my pants, he turns into this apartment two doors down from me, and starts shooting. Guy killed some desk jockey and a whore, turned around, and walked right back down the hall. Guy had the wrong adress!”

“Christ, Amsterdam.”

((OOC: Been out all day, and my internet’s been on the fritz. Here’s something I finished.))

(Warning! For mature audiences only (L, SC)

“I knew a guy, out in L.A. Some hippie who was workin’ connection for Smiley Jay, an’ this was a time when no one had a fuckin connection, so I got real lucky when I met Smiley, ‘cuz he knew how to fix this L.A. guy up with me. So now I’m in, and I’m the only guy on this side who’s in, so naturally I start getting’ a lot of calls from people who know that I got a connection.”

“How’d they know that you got a connection?”

“It’s Miami man, shit travels.”

“Don’t’ have to tell me that man.”

“Anyway, there’s this one bitch, and she’s fuckin’ TNT. She’s this little oriental thing, huge rack, the whole deal my man. She knows a guy, who knows that I got a west coat connection, and she wants to buy. Meanwhile, my hippie in LA’s getting his ass rich, and I’m thinking this is bull, ‘cause I’m doin’ all the work for, like, 10% free. Seriously, I’m this fucking close to hangin’ up the phone right there when this chick calls, but she sounds as good as she looks, so I figure, ‘why not?’ So I take a bag, and go down to where she wants to meet. It’s this shitty restaurant in South.”

“What’s it called?”

“I dunno. It’s some Spanish place. But I go into this place, and it’s tiny, like really small, man, and this bitch is sittin right in the middle of the place, at this table. So I go sit down with this girl. I’m carryin’ the weed in one of those little carry on bags, so I put it down next to the chair. So I tell ‘er that I got the stuff, and that it’s a 60 dollar bag. But, get this, she tells me she doesn’t have any cash to pay for it. I’m pretty surprised, ‘cause I came all the way to this shitty place from the city, an’ now she’s tellin’ me she can’t even buy the stuff.”

“(laughs) That’s hard, man. That’s a fuckin’ hard situation.”

“Yeah, but now she leans over, and she tells me how she’s gonna pay for it.”

“(laughs)”

“Yeah, man. So she takes me to the back of this place, to the one bathroom, which is fuckin’ tiny, and we get at it. So afterwards, we walk out, and the whole place is starin’ at me, ‘cause the place was so cheap, the walls were real thin. So I hand her the bag, and go home. So, a day later, I find out that this chick was Smiley Jay’s brother’s wife, and he knows what went down. Apparently she was real loose on her commitment.”

“That’s rough, man.”

“So I start freakin’ out, ‘cause this guy’s lookin’ for me, and since I’m the only guy with a connection, he’s gonna find me real quick, so I start packin’ my shit, and I’m gonna run. So I grab whatever I can fit into a suitcase, and run out the door. Just then I see this guy, a real huge motherfucker, comin’ down the hall right for me, and he’s got an uzi in his hand. I freeze. Every muscle and nerve ending in me is tellin’ me to fuckin’ turn and get the hell outta there, but I just stand there in the hall, watchin’ this dude. Just when I’m about to shit my pants, he turns into this apartment two doors down from me, and starts shooting. Guy killed some desk jockey and a whore, turned around, and walked right back down the hall. Guy had the wrong adress!”

“(laughs) Christ, Amsterdam.”

Nice post, GE!

bump

Angela finished Murderer in the Mist and set it down with a sigh. Tony worked late on weekends and she always missed him. She remembered when he was just a guy working for her father. The Big Guy always had a special liking for Tony, so when she'd started dating him, her Dad had been real quick to give his blessing. Turned out that wasn't the only reason either, because soon after they'd gotten married, The Big Guy died of cancer. It still got to her that he'd never told her or Ma, but at least she had Tony now. She slipped into her nightgown and said her prayers, most of all for Tony, praying he'd come home tonight. Then she turned off the light.

OOC: For the sake of RP, lets just say Crimeboss has heard of Tommy.

Tommy had found his next target. It was another druggie. He was in charge of a large wharehouse were the stuff is stored, and stays there most of the time. He would be an easy target.

It was 11 at night, and Tommy pulled into the parking lot. He pulled on a ski mask, screwed the suppresor on to his Uzi, and climbs a latter on to the roof of the wharehouse. He found a window into the buidling, and dropped down onto one of the massive, coke-filled shelves.
Why don't I grab some the this shit while I'm at it? he thought to himself.
No, easier to track me. I'm here for one purpose...

He climbed down to the floor, and moved silently through the shadows. He found the admin room were the target spent most of his time. He was watching a Dolphins game, they were losing.
Your torment is about to be relieved, scumbag.

He walked through the open door, his Uzi aimed at the man's chest.

"Oh, God no! Please don't-"

PIFFPIFFPIFFPIFFPIFFPIFF

Within seconds, the man was riddled with 9mm holes. Tommy checked to make sure he was dead...

"Why did you do this!" the man said, suddenly springing up, then falling back down, dead.

Creepy. Well, time to blow this joint. Oh wait, I think I forgot something...
He thought, taking out a note he had typed out neatly.

It read-
To- Crimeboss
You will stop hunting for me, or more friends and assets of yours will go down the drain...to hell, the same place your going.

John Ingrett sat down on a bench in the police H.Q. lobby and decided to get his story straight and review the evening's events.

At 10:45 P.M., Ingrett and his partner, Murray were on their routine patrol on an avenue consisting of seedy brothels and casinos packed with neon signs, when they got a call from the dispatcher. A shooting had just taken place at a casio right near them, and they were to secure the area for the medical examiners. The place was right up the street. As Ingrett and Murray stepped out of their patrol car, a man in a loud Hawian shirt ran into Ingrett and said, "Hey, Officer, it wasn't me! I didn't kill him!" And he ran off.

People were congregated outside the casino's glass doors, talking in hushed tones, looking at the two cops. Upon entering onto the casion floor, a large man in a suit walked in front of the police officers.

"Ya catch the clown who did this?" His thumb was indicating a point behind him. Murray and Ingrett stepped aside to see past the man.

In the middle of the deserted floor, a man lay facing upwards, his right hand laying behind him, his left across his stomach. Blood trickled down from a single hole in his forehead. Several other suited man stood around the corpse.

"Did you see what happened?" asked Ingrett to the man.

"Uh, no, sir. I was at the bar at the time. The guy who was supposeda be guarding Pipsqueak was all caught up in the crowd. He was in this big crowd, ya know? So, at 10:22(I remember, 'cause I happened to look at the clock) everyone started to scream, and about ten guys ran outta here. So, real so afterward, the whole crowd's gone, and there is Pipsqueak."

"Is that right..." said Ingrett as he thought. Just then, the medical examiners arrived, and Murray and Ingrett were relieved.
---
To accompany the end of the story, the desk sergeant called to Ingrett, "The Chief is ready for ya." As Ingrett rose, he wondered again why the Chief himself wanted him to retell the story.

In a few minutes, Ingrett stood before the Chief of Police. Behind him stood three Captains. After Ingrett was done telling his story, the Chief said, in his characteristic drawl, "Do you realize, Lieutenant, that 'Pipsqueak' Parker was most likely involvec with the Boss?" referring to the Crimeboss.

"I heard something like that, sir."

"Well, Parker owned that casino, which the Boss has just acquired. This murder will most likely cause a stir with him. You brother, Lieutenant, was in a biker gang, correct?"

Ingrett cringed at the memory of his thieving brother, and was a bit angry at it being brought up. "Why, yes, sir, he was."

"Well, I would then imagine, you know about criminals, and their traits?" reasoned the Chief.

"Yes, sir, I had the bad luck to be around my brother's friends, yes."

"Lieutenant, I think you may be cut out for detective work." The Chief took a folder from his draw and placed it on the desktop. "We have worked out for you an identity, should you like to be a part of this assigment."

"You mean, sir, go undercover?" Ingrett had never been a detective, but had always been interested in it.

"Yes, Lieutenant."

OOC: Could I have him go undercover in a gang?

Johnny Amsterdam and Marvin were standing in a courtyard separated from the street by a graffiti covered wall.

“So, tell me more about Vega.”

“I dunno. He’s a cool guy.”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s funny.”

“He mention the deal?”

“Yeah. There’s gonna be a meeting.”

The phone rang. Johnny picked it up.

“It’s Frank. Be ready in fifteen minutes.”
-------
14 minutes and 47 seconds later
-------

Amsterdam looked out the window. The driver of the car in the street below honked his horn. Amsterdam grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair. He put it on, and turned to look in the mirror.

He stepped out of the apartment, and slipped on a pair of sunglasses. As an afterthought, he walked back in, and grabbed a detective special from a bowl on the table. He slipped it into his jacket pocket.

Frank Zellano was waiting in the car below. Amsterdam climbed into the passenger seat.

“Ready kid?”

“Like hell.”

“Good. Big A’s a smart guy to pick you.”

“I know.”

“Arrogant little bastard, aren’t you?”

“I just know that I’m fit for the job, and apparently Big A’s smart enough to know that too.”

“Heh. I like you kid. I’ll watch your back out there.”

“Might wanna pay more attention to your own back. It’s a bigger target.”

“Cold, kid. I might have to plug you myself.”

OOC: For the sake of RP, lets just say Crimeboss has heard of Tommy.

Tommy had found his next target. It was another druggie. He was in charge of a large wharehouse were the stuff is stored, and stays there most of the time. He would be an easy target.

It was 11 at night, and Tommy pulled into the parking lot. He pulled on a ski mask, screwed the suppresor on to his Uzi, and climbs a latter on to the roof of the wharehouse. He found a window into the buidling, and dropped down onto one of the massive, coke-filled shelves.
Why don't I grab some the this shit while I'm at it? he thought to himself.
No, easier to track me. I'm here for one purpose...

He climbed down to the floor, and moved silently through the shadows. He found the admin room were the target spent most of his time. He was watching a Dolphins game, they were losing.
Your torment is about to be relieved, scumbag.

He walked through the open door, his Uzi aimed at the man's chest.

"Oh, God no! Please don't-"

PIFFPIFFPIFFPIFFPIFFPIFF

Within seconds, the man was riddled with 9mm holes. Tommy checked to make sure he was dead...

"Why did you do this!" the man said, suddenly springing up, then falling back down, dead.

Creepy. Well, time to blow this joint. Oh wait, I think I forgot something...
He thought, taking out a note he had typed out neatly.

It read-
To- Crimeboss
You will stop hunting for me, or more friends and assets of yours will go down the drain...to hell, the same place your going.

"WHAT THE F***!!????!!" Crimeboss bellowed at the top of his lungs, smashing his fist through his new desk, breaking a huge hole in it. He lifted the desk and threw it across the room, shattering it to pieces. Completely deprived of reason, his judgment clouded by unadulterated rage, he lashed, lunged, and thrashed out blindly, knocking over vases, antiques, and other valuables, breaking them. He clutched his bald head in both hands and screeched at the top of his lungs in fury.
Ricardo walked in. " 'Ey, yo, boss! Ya aw'ight?"
"No, I'm not 'aw'ight,' you bumbling, incompetent moron!" Crimeboss shouted, mocking his underling. "Now, if you value your life and the lives of your family, you will get the f*** out of here NOW!"
"But, boss, 'r ya sure they ain't nothin' I c'n do t'-"
"LEAVE NOW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" Crimeboss screamed at the top of his lungs, causing the windows to stress and crack.
Ricardo ran out of there like a bat out of hell.
Crimeboss read the note again. Tommy, he thought. It's got to be him. I'll hunt that son of a b**** down and make him suffer so badly, he'll wish he was DEAD! He'll wish he had never even HEARD of the Crimeboss when I'm through with him! He evidently has no idea who he's f***ing with!
Breathing heavily, he finally managed to get himself under control, and he sat down in his chair again. Tommy would not be a threat to him. After all, almost half of the underworld was under his control. He controlled large portions of both sides of the law, through force, intimidation, bribery, and terror. It was only a matter of time before he found Tommy, if it was Tommy that had been killing his underlings. And when he found him, Tommy was going to wish he had never been born.

bump

Angela was unusually relieved to wake up with Tony dead to the world from exhaustion beside her. She almost woke him up, just to relieve the wierd feeling she had that something was up. But no, Tony needed his sleep, and he'd be pissed if she woke him now. Instead, she went to make some breakfast and wait for him to wake up.

bump

RING RING

"Yo?"

"Tommy, you really pissed off boss. He know's its you."

"Awww, shit."

"You've got twenty five MILLION on your head!"

"Not good. Someone must have found me by now..."

"As a matter of fact...look out your window."

Tommy did so to see a group of men in suits enter the hotel.

Fuck...

"Tommy, just get the hell out."

Click

Tommy ran over to his safe, and got out his Uzi and .45. He was going t kill the SOBs who wanted him dead...

He ran down stairs to see a group of men exit the elevator. They had mostly Ingrams, but one guy had an AKS74u. They were all silenced, so no need to worry about cops.

"There he is! Lets get 'em!"

Tommy dove around a corner and watched a the wall became bullet riddled, he looked around the corner and sprayed, keeping their heads down.

Shoulda' went through the window...

He saw that several men had been hit, and they were now very pissed. They returned fire narowly missing his head. What he didn't see when he ducked back around the corner was a man with a large knife run down the hall. When he went back around to return fire, the man slashed his cest, wounding him. Tommy responded by blowing his guts out, then using him as a sheild to kill the rest. He saw the last man drop in the bullet riddled hallway, and put his gun away just intime for the maid to arrive.

"Looks like you missed a spot." he said with a smile as the elevator door closed. It was time to go into hidding. Back to his homeland, now being ruled by communists.

The gang is sitting in the back room of a warehouse facing ‘Big A’ Anthony Vega, a large man in his late 50s. They are sitting in cheap, metal folding chairs. Johnny Amsterdam is sitting towards the back. Frank “Fat Frankie” Zellano is standing beside Amsterdam’s chair. There are bricks of marijuana stacked all along the right wall of the room. Big Anthony checks his watch as Vincent Winnfield walks into the room.

“Vincent, you’re late.”

“I know boss. I was takin’ care of some business.”

“What’s this look like asshole? This is fuckin’ business! I’m so damn mad from hollerin’ at you guys I don’t know what the fuck I’m gonna do.”

“I know. Sorry boss.”

“S’alright. You’re a good man. Jus’ siddown..”

Vincent goes towards the back, and stands next to Frank.

“Who’s the kid?”

“Johnny Amsterdam. He’s a good kid. Knows what he’s doing.”

Big ‘A’ starts to talk.

“You kids like to laugh and joke around. Well I got a joke for you. Ten guys are lyin’ on the ground in a parkin’ lot, bleedin’ and wonderin’ how they got there. I’ll tell you. It’s ‘cause they were gigglin’ like broads in a schoolyard when they should have been worryin’ about the fuckin’ caper. Now when this deal’s done, we’ll go down to the Bahamas, and I’ll joke and carry on with the rest of you, but for now, we gotta be all business. I don’t want any of you talkin’ about nothin’ but this deal from now ‘til it’s done.”
--------------

Frank and Johnny are sitting in a car parked across the street from an old parking lot, situated behind a brick building in Little Havana.

“Ok, tell me what you’re gonna be doin’ when the deal goes down.”

“I’m gonna be standing by the trunk, watching the guys with the cash, makin’ sure they don’t start shit.”

“Good. What am I doin’ when you’re watchin the greaseballs?”

“You’re givin’ them the keys, and taking the money.”

“And what’s Vincent doin’?”

“He backin’ me up, makin’ sure nobody starts shit.”

“And Jimmy?”

“Roof with the rifle. ‘A’s kid is waiting in the car.”

“You got it. These fucks might be wearin’ vests so aim high. Get behind the wheel of the car. It’ll stop a bullet better. You’ll do good, jus’ watch my ass out there.”

-----

Johnny Amesterdam hits the ground, emptying a clip at the gangsters behind the van. His black suit is dirty and torn. Frank is lying on the ground next to him, bleeding. Amsterdam drags him behind the Chevy Nova, loading another clip into his .45.

“Fucking bastards shot me. They fucking killed me.”

“No they didn’t. Cut that shit right now, man.”

Amsterdam stands up, looking over the top of the car, and fires off a few more shots.

“Where’s Vincent?” Frank groans.

“He split.”

“Bastards. We were supposed to hit them first.”

“I know. Just hang in there.”

Eddie Vega pulls up next to the two men in a bullet riddled car. His suit is covered in blood at the shoulder.

“Get that fat bastard into the car!”

Eddie fires several shots through the window at the other gang, while Johnny Amsterdam drags Frank into the back of the car. The tires screech as the car burns rubber to get out of there.

“Hang in there Frank. Just stay cool, man. We’re goin back to the warehouse to see Joe. Joe’s gonna fix you up good.”

The car barrels down the street. Up ahead sirens scream as a cop car flies towards them. Eddie turns the wheel hard, ramming into a mailbox. His head hits the steering wheel.

“Oh shit! I’m fuckin blind! God, I can’t see a damn thing!”

“You’re not blind. Get the damn car started!”

Amsterdam gets out of the car, looking at the two men in the cop car, aiming their weapons at him. He grimaces, and pulls two pistols from his coat, emptying the clips through the windshield, killing the officers. He looks back at Eddie. He is either unconscious or dead. Frank is groaning in the back seat. He drags him onto the pavement. Amsterdam runs into the street, stopping another car. He demands that the driver get out, and when he refuses, smashed his head against the dashboard. He drags Frank into the back seat of this car, and pulls the driver’s body out of the front seat, getting in himself. They barrel off towards the warehouse.

----

Johnny drags Frank into the warehouse, and across the floor to the rear of the building. Two other gangsters are talking in a side room.

“Jimmy’s dead, and they say Vincent split.”

“Vincent, man? You serious?”

“Yeah. Jesus Christ. What the fuck happened back there?”

“Where’s Big ‘A’?”

“He’s gonna be pissed.”

“You think?”

As the conversation ends, Anthony Vega storms through the front door. The two other gangsters walk out into the warehouse.

“Boss, what happened?”

“I’ll tell you what happened, this little shit is a rat!”

‘A’ pulls out a magnum, and aims it at Amsterdam, who is crouched over Frank. Amsterdam spins around, still crouched next to Frank.

“Cool it, boss. I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, man.”

One of the gangsters believes Anthony, and begins to pull his gun out.

“You serious boss? This kid’s with the PD?”

The other gangster is alarmed.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Everybody just chill the fuck out! You’re acting like fucking amateurs! We’re fucking professionals! Let’s settle this with a fucking conversation!”

“Yeah, man. Just put it down. Let’s fucking talk here.”

Amsterdam jumps to his feet, taking his gun from the floor. He aims it at Anthony’s head.

“Bastard! You are a cop!”

“I’m not a fucking cop! I’m on your fucking side! You know that!”

Frank begins to speak. He has a gun drawn and trained at the other gangster’s head.

“This kid ain’t a cop. I know.”

“Frank, put that fucking gun down right now, or I’m gonna kill you too.”

“You’re about to make a big mistake, and I’m not gonna let you make it.”

By now the other gangster has his gun drawn, and trained on Frank.

“Tony, you’re my boss, and I like you, but if you shoot that kid, I am going to put bullets in your chest.”

“Jesus Christ! You’re gonna fucking kill each other.”

There are sirens in the distance now.

“See what I mean!? He brought the fucking cops here!”

“This kid got five guys killed today. I knew those guys, and you knew those guys, and now they’re dead ‘cause of this prick!”

Anthony shoots Johnny Amsterdam in the chest. Johnny shoots Anthony in the head. Anthony falls to the floor. The other nameless gangster shoots Johnny in the thigh, and is shot in the chest by Frank. As he falls, the other gangster shoots Frank in the face. The unscathed gang member stares in shock. He turns, and runs towards the back room, and a back exit. Amsterdam drops his pistol as he lays there, bleeding. A third gangster runs into the building, and steps back at the scene.

“Holy shit!”

As he finishes speaking, twelve cops rush in, training their guns on the man.

“Get on the floor! Get on the fucking floor!”

“Jesus! Alright man!”

“Drop your gun!”

The gangster drops his gun on the floor.

“Alright! I’m going!”

The cops force him to his knees, and onto the floor, slapping the cuffs on him.”

“Did you kill a cop! Are you a drug dealer!”

Amsterdam looks at the cops, as two rush to him. He puts his hand first to the wound in his chest, and then to the wound in his thigh. He lets out a slurred sentence.

Angela woke suddenly with the feeling that wsomething was wrong. Tony had a big job tonight, she knew. Oh, shit, if somehing had gone wrong...but no, that was crazy. Tony was a professional, and Eddie too. They would be fine, she was sure of it. She dry-swallowed two sleeping pills by the bed, and tried to relax.

RING RING

"Yo?"

"Tommy, you really pissed off boss. He know's its you."

"Awww, shit."

"You've got twenty five MILLION on your head!"

"Not good. Someone must have found me by now..."

"As a matter of fact...look out your window."

Tommy did so to see a group of men in suits enter the hotel.

Fuck...

"Tommy, just get the hell out."

Click

Tommy ran over to his safe, and got out his Uzi and .45. He was going t kill the SOBs who wanted him dead...

He ran down stairs to see a group of men exit the elevator. They had mostly Ingrams, but one guy had an AKS74u. They were all silenced, so no need to worry about cops.

"There he is! Lets get 'em!"

Tommy dove around a corner and watched a the wall became bullet riddled, he looked around the corner and sprayed, keeping their heads down.

Shoulda' went through the window...

He saw that several men had been hit, and they were now very pissed. They returned fire narowly missing his head. What he didn't see when he ducked back around the corner was a man with a large knife run down the hall. When he went back around to return fire, the man slashed his cest, wounding him. Tommy responded by blowing his guts out, then using him as a sheild to kill the rest. He saw the last man drop in the bullet riddled hallway, and put his gun away just intime for the maid to arrive.

"Looks like you missed a spot." he said with a smile as the elevator door closed. It was time to go into hidding. Back to his homeland, now being ruled by communists.

Awesome post! Especially this part:

"Looks like you missed a spot." he said with a smile as the elevator door closed.

The gang is sitting in the back room of a warehouse facing ‘Big A’ Anthony Vega, a large man in his late 50s. They are sitting in cheap, metal folding chairs. Johnny Amsterdam is sitting towards the back. Frank “Fat Frankie” Zellano is standing beside Amsterdam’s chair. There are bricks of marijuana stacked all along the right wall of the room. Big Anthony checks his watch as Vincent Winnfield walks into the room.

“Vincent, you’re late.”

“I know boss. I was takin’ care of some business.”

“What’s this look like asshole? This is fuckin’ business! I’m so damn mad from hollerin’ at you guys I don’t know what the fuck I’m gonna do.”

“I know. Sorry boss.”

“S’alright. You’re a good man. Jus’ siddown..”

Vincent goes towards the back, and stands next to Frank.

“Who’s the kid?”

“Johnny Amsterdam. He’s a good kid. Knows what he’s doing.”

Big ‘A’ starts to talk.

“You kids like to laugh and joke around. Well I got a joke for you. Ten guys are lyin’ on the ground in a parkin’ lot, bleedin’ and wonderin’ how they got there. I’ll tell you. It’s ‘cause they were gigglin’ like broads in a schoolyard when they should have been worryin’ about the fuckin’ caper. Now when this deal’s done, we’ll go down to the Bahamas, and I’ll joke and carry on with the rest of you, but for now, we gotta be all business. I don’t want any of you talkin’ about nothin’ but this deal from now ‘til it’s done.”
--------------

Frank and Johnny are sitting in a car parked across the street from an old parking lot, situated behind a brick building in Little Havana.

“Ok, tell me what you’re gonna be doin’ when the deal goes down.”

“I’m gonna be standing by the trunk, watching the guys with the cash, makin’ sure they don’t start shit.”

“Good. What am I doin’ when you’re watchin the greaseballs?”

“You’re givin’ them the keys, and taking the money.”

“And what’s Vincent doin’?”

“He backin’ me up, makin’ sure nobody starts shit.”

“And Jimmy?”

“Roof with the rifle. ‘A’s kid is waiting in the car.”

“You got it. These fucks might be wearin’ vests so aim high. Get behind the wheel of the car. It’ll stop a bullet better. You’ll do good, jus’ watch my ass out there.”

-----

Johnny Amesterdam hits the ground, emptying a clip at the gangsters behind the van. His black suit is dirty and torn. Frank is lying on the ground next to him, bleeding. Amsterdam drags him behind the Chevy Nova, loading another clip into his .45.

“Fucking bastards shot me. They fucking killed me.”

“No they didn’t. Cut that shit right now, man.”

Amsterdam stands up, looking over the top of the car, and fires off a few more shots.

“Where’s Vincent?” Frank groans.

“He split.”

“Bastards. We were supposed to hit them first.”

“I know. Just hang in there.”

Eddie Vega pulls up next to the two men in a bullet riddled car. His suit is covered in blood at the shoulder.

“Get that fat bastard into the car!”

Eddie fires several shots through the window at the other gang, while Johnny Amsterdam drags Frank into the back of the car. The tires screech as the car burns rubber to get out of there.

“Hang in there Frank. Just stay cool, man. We’re goin back to the warehouse to see Joe. Joe’s gonna fix you up good.”

The car barrels down the street. Up ahead sirens scream as a cop car flies towards them. Eddie turns the wheel hard, ramming into a mailbox. His head hits the steering wheel.

“Oh shit! I’m fuckin blind! God, I can’t see a damn thing!”

“You’re not blind. Get the damn car started!”

Amsterdam gets out of the car, looking at the two men in the cop car, aiming their weapons at him. He grimaces, and pulls two pistols from his coat, emptying the clips through the windshield, killing the officers. He looks back at Eddie. He is either unconscious or dead. Frank is groaning in the back seat. He drags him onto the pavement. Amsterdam runs into the street, stopping another car. He demands that the driver get out, and when he refuses, smashed his head against the dashboard. He drags Frank into the back seat of this car, and pulls the driver’s body out of the front seat, getting in himself. They barrel off towards the warehouse.

----

Johnny drags Frank into the warehouse, and across the floor to the rear of the building. Two other gangsters are talking in a side room.

“Jimmy’s dead, and they say Vincent split.”

“Vincent, man? You serious?”

“Yeah. Jesus Christ. What the fuck happened back there?”

“Where’s Big ‘A’?”

“He’s gonna be pissed.”

“You think?”

As the conversation ends, Anthony Vega storms through the front door. The two other gangsters walk out into the warehouse.

“Boss, what happened?”

“I’ll tell you what happened, this little shit is a rat!”

‘A’ pulls out a magnum, and aims it at Amsterdam, who is crouched over Frank. Amsterdam spins around, still crouched next to Frank.

“Cool it, boss. I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, man.”

One of the gangsters believes Anthony, and begins to pull his gun out.

“You serious boss? This kid’s with the PD?”

The other gangster is alarmed.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Everybody just chill the fuck out! You’re acting like fucking amateurs! We’re fucking professionals! Let’s settle this with a fucking conversation!”

“Yeah, man. Just put it down. Let’s fucking talk here.”

Amsterdam jumps to his feet, taking his gun from the floor. He aims it at Anthony’s head.

“Bastard! You are a cop!”

“I’m not a fucking cop! I’m on your fucking side! You know that!”

Frank begins to speak. He has a gun drawn and trained at the other gangster’s head.

“This kid ain’t a cop. I know.”

“Frank, put that fucking gun down right now, or I’m gonna kill you too.”

“You’re about to make a big mistake, and I’m not gonna let you make it.”

By now the other gangster has his gun drawn, and trained on Frank.

“Tony, you’re my boss, and I like you, but if you shoot that kid, I am going to put bullets in your chest.”

“Jesus Christ! You’re gonna fucking kill each other.”

There are sirens in the distance now.

“See what I mean!? He brought the fucking cops here!”

“This kid got five guys killed today. I knew those guys, and you knew those guys, and now they’re dead ‘cause of this prick!”

Anthony shoots Johnny Amsterdam in the chest. Johnny shoots Anthony in the head. Anthony falls to the floor. The other nameless gangster shoots Johnny in the thigh, and is shot in the chest by Frank. As he falls, the other gangster shoots Frank in the face. The unscathed gang member stares in shock. He turns, and runs towards the back room, and a back exit. Amsterdam drops his pistol as he lays there, bleeding. A third gangster runs into the building, and steps back at the scene.

“Holy shit!”

As he finishes speaking, twelve cops rush in, training their guns on the man.

“Get on the floor! Get on the fucking floor!”

“Jesus! Alright man!”

“Drop your gun!”

The gangster drops his gun on the floor.

“Alright! I’m going!”

The cops force him to his knees, and onto the floor, slapping the cuffs on him.”

“Did you kill a cop! Are you a drug dealer!”

Amsterdam looks at the cops, as two rush to him. He puts his hand first to the wound in his chest, and then to the wound in his thigh. He lets out a slurred sentence.

Awesome post, GE! :D How's this for an idea: I was thinking, you could make it where some of the characters are after Tommy (Doom's character), and the other half are being hired by a big mobster (any big mobster) to try to kill Crimeboss (you or Doom can pick the big mobster, it doesn't matter). Just a thought. ;)

Awesome post, GE! :D How's this for an idea: I was thinking, you could make it where some of the characters are after Tommy (Doom's character), and the other half are being hired by a big mobster (any big mobster) to try to kill Crimeboss (you or Doom can pick the big mobster, it doesn't matter). Just a thought. ;)

((OOC: I like the idea. I plan to have it move indirectly though, and over the course of several short stories, like the one above. Also, I am planning for some new major players to come in as a result of Anthony's death. I already have a new boss, sort of small time, but still a badass, that Vincent and Charlie are working for. Some very interesting things are going to happen, don't you worry.))

((OOC: I like the idea. I plan to have it move indirectly though, and over the course of several short stories, like the one above. Also, I am planning for some new major players to come in as a result of Anthony's death. I already have a new boss, sort of small time, but still a badass, that Vincent and Charlie are working for. Some very interesting things are going to happen, don't you worry.))

Lookin' forward to it! ;)

(I'm a bit lost. Generic Empire, were one of those guys my cop?)

(I'm a bit lost. Generic Empire, were one of those guys my cop?)

((OOC: All of those guys were my characters. Johnny Amsterdam is my undercover cop. Read back a bit, and you'll get his story. He was undercover before you put your guy undercover. If you want to play it like he was one of your guys on special assignment since you're the chief of police, then that's fine.))

OOC: My guy's going back to his homeland (Doomingsland) to fight in the civil war that puts emporer Helldawg into power.

((I see, thanks. But, I think I'll have Ingrett as my main character, though I said Chief earlier, sorry.
RB, may I have Ingrett come into your gang? Sorry for all this inconvience.))

((I see, thanks. But, I think I'll have Ingrett as my main character, though I said Chief earlier, sorry.
RB, may I have Ingrett come into your gang? Sorry for all this inconvience.))
When you gonna attack my guys in the history RP, I got so bored I made a map of my trench complex.

((I'll make a post now.))

New Venice, Doomingsland

After a week long boat trip, Tommy finnaly made it to the port of New Venice. He walked down the ramp, and was greeted by a shady-looking figure. It was his brother.

"Tom!"

"Hey Joe!"

"I've already got work for you. Your kind of work."

"I knew you would come through."

"Yeah, I'll take you to the place, lemme get your bags."


OOC:More to come when I have time. I plan on having him come back to kill Crimeboss after 20 years to get revenge.

New Venice, Doomingsland

After a week long boat trip, Tommy finnaly made it to the port of New Venice. He walked down the ramp, and was greeted by a shady-looking figure. It was his brother.

"Tom!"

"Hey Joe!"

"I've already got work for you. Your kind of work."

"I knew you would come through."

"Yeah, I'll take you to the place, lemme get your bags."


OOC:More to come when I have time. I plan on having him come back to kill Crimeboss after 20 years to get revenge.

((OOC: Remember that this is a gangland RP, not a political deal.))

((OOC: Remember that this is a gangland RP, not a political deal.))
OOC:What's the matter? Don't want to see the criminal underworld of Doomingsland? Besides, I'm gonna use Tommy as an assasain at the end to cap Crimeboss.

OOC:What's the matter? Don't want to see the criminal underworld of Doomingsland? Besides, I'm gonna use Tommy as an assasain at the end to cap Crimeboss.

((OOC: Fine, but chances are, Crimeboss is gonna get wasted by the time 20 years is up.))

OOC: could we not quote someone's entire post unless it's necessary? just a lot of scrolling time...
also, is anyone after my character now that her husband is dead?

Angela woke at 4 am to an insistant pounding on the door. It took her a minute to realize that Tony wasn't next to her in the bed. Groggily, with fear already clenching in the pit of her stomach, she opened the door.

"Eddie? What happened to your head!? Where's your ole man?"

Eddie's forehead sported a huge purple welt oozing blood, and his face was crumpled with grief.

"'E's dead, ma. Dis bastard PD informer shot 'im in da head. Da whole job blew up in our faces, Vincent ran, that bastard Amsterdam, Frank's dead too, and two utta guys. Da cops..aw shit ma, da warehouse...evrytin's fallin apart."

Her son crumpled to the floor sobbing as Angela tried to comprehend what he'd just told her. Tony...he couldn't be dead, not Big Anthony Vega, her daddy's favorite. Her fingers started tingling as the world went black and she fainted.

When she woke up, Eddie was gone, but Vincent was standing over her.

"Where's Eddie? Where's my son?"

"I took him to the hospital, that was a pretty bad bump on the head. They said they'd call if there was any news. How are you?"

"My husband is dead. Wait, Eddie said you ran..."

"Lemme explain that. I figured out Amsterdam was a rat, and the job was gonna go to hell, so I ran to Tony, to warn him like, then I went back to where the shit was going down, but no one was there but some dead guys. So then I went back to the warehouse, but there were cops crawling all over the place, then I heard what had happened, and came here."

Then the phone rang. Angela grabbed it before the second ring and said desperately: "Hello?"

"Hello, Ms. Vega? This is Miami General. Your son was admitted to our ER a little while ago, his friend said he had been in a car accident. And-I'm sorry Ms. Vega, there was nothing we could do. Eddie went into shock shortly after he arrived, and just passed away. I'm so sorry. Ms. Vega? Are you alright?"

Angela had fainted again.

((OOC: I wasn't sure if Eddie was supposed to be dead already, but he is now.))

Ice and The Man
-----------------

(2 days prior to the warehouse incident)

The Chevy Nova pulled up next to Lady E’s, a large topless bar in Miami Beach. The bar was empty this time of day. This was where the man known as Joe Brass conducted his business. Charlie got out of the passenger side, suitcase in hand. Vincent drove off with the car.

Charlie walked into the bar. Dave called him over. Dave was a young black man who ran a couple of clubs for Joe Brass.

“Charlie, my man! Get your ass over here!”

Charlie walked over, setting the briefcase on the bar, and taking a seat.

“Where’s the big man?”

“He’s finishin’ up over there. Can I make you an espresso?”

“Just some plain American.”

“Can do. I hear you and my man Vinnie took care of those kids.”

“Yeah.”

“Don’ worry about it. They had it comin’. You don’t fuck around with The Man.”

“You’re tellin’ me, man.”

The man that Joe Brass was talking to got up, shook Brass’s hand, and walked towards the bar. He was a man in his early forties, neatly groomed, with graying mustache and beard. He was clad in a grey suit. He sat down at the bar.

“How you doin’”

“Could be worse.”

Charlie took the briefcase and walked towards the table in the back, where Brass was sitting.

“Charlie, my main man! How you doin’? You get my stuff?”

“You bet.”

Brass stood up, shaking Charlie’s hand, and throwing his arm around him. Charlie and Brass sat down. Charlie put the case on the table. Brass opened it.

“Hell yeah. No one fucks around with the man. Listen Chuck, I need you to do somethin’ for me. My wife’s birthday’s comin’ up, and I wanna do somethin’ for her. I want you to take these diamonds to a guy I know, and get ‘im to make her a necklace. You know what they say: ‘diamonds, make that bitch shut up!’”

The two men laughed.

“Yeah, sure. How can I refuse something for The Man’s wife?”

“Thas real good. He runs a place downtown. Get on it.”

Charlie got up, taking the case, and walked out to his car in the lot outside.

((RB, may I have Ingrett come into your gang? Sorry for all this inconvience.))

Be my guest.

Ingrett stepped out of his car and onto the sidewalk, awash in neon light. The bar his recruiter had choosen as a meeting place was along the brightly-lit street running along Miami Beach.

As he entered the bar, Ingrett told himeslf one last time what he had been learning for a month; He was Rick 'Paris' Kirk, a jewel thief from New York who had come to Miami looking for new work. The police had hoped his cover story as a jewel thief would prevent anyone from asking who he had worked with. 'Kirk' walked up to the barkeeper.

"I'm Rick Kirk."

"Oh, yeah, Mr. Diego is over there." The barman motioned to a smoky corner in the far end of the place. Diego stared, a burly man with a mustache, stared in his beer until Kirk sat down.

"You're the one looking for work?"

After twenty minutes of talking, Diego decided Kirk was fine. He was now part of the Crimeboss' organazation.

Charlie’s car parked parallel to a jewelry store in downtown Miami. Charlie got out carrying the briefcase. He stepped into the store. A short Italian guy met him at the door.

“Can I help you?”

“Yeah. You got a back room somewhere?”

“Are you with The Man?”

“Sure.”

The Italian led Charlie into a back room. Charlie lay the case on the table, and opened it. The man’s face was a mix of delight and shock.

“He wants a necklace for his wife.”

“He’s not stingy.”

“Nope. Can you do it?”

“That’s my job. When’s he want it?”

“Didn’t say.”

“Tell him I’ll get it to him on Thursday.”

“Sure.”

As he finished speaking, the screech of tires, and a crunching sound followed by a car alarm exploded outside. Seconds later, three masked men brandishing .45s rushed into the back room.

“This is a fuckin’ robbery! Gimme the ice and no one gets his head blown up.”

Charlie raised his hands slightly.

“Chill out, man. We’re cool, here. We’re all fuckin’ cool.”

“Just shut up and gimme the fuckin’ diamonds!”

“Cool it, man.”

“What I just tell you!?”

The masked man slapped Charlie in the face with his pistol. Charlie brought his hand to the side of his face.

“Shouldn’t of done that,” he said smoothly. The criminal was preoccupied, forcing the frightened jeweler off the floor.

“Open the Goddamn cases!”

Charlie grabbed the gun wielding thief by the back of his shirt, throwing him to the ground. He pulled a .45 of his own from his jacket.

“Mr. .45 here says chill the fuck out.”

The jeweler’s eyes grew wide. The other thieves ran to the door, raising their guns.

“I’m gonna kill your friend here.”

“Man! You put that shit down, or I’m gonna fuckin’ fill you full of holes!”

“I’m serious. Im gonna kill ‘im if everyone here doesn’t chill.”

The first criminal, still on the floor, moved his hand slowly to his gun. Charlie fired, freeing a pinkie from the hand. The criminal grabbed his bleeding appendage.

“Christ man!”

“I told you kids to cool it!”

“Shit! He’s right! Put the pieces down, guys! He’s gonna fuckin’ kill me!”

“Nah man! Waste his ass!”

“No! Nobody’s gonna waste anybody here today!”

“That pussy won’t do it! Ice him!”

“You insult me again, and I’m gonna kill all three of you.”

The one criminal looked to the other.

“Shit,” said the man on the floor. The other two pulled the triggers. Charlie fired a round into the chest of the man on the floor, falling down, and firing twice, hitting one man in the leg, and the other between the eyes. The man with the wounded leg scurried towards the door. Charlie fired once into his other leg. The man crumpled to the floor. Charlie walked up to the man, who was still trying to crawl to the door, and put a bullet in the back of his skull.

“Don’t fuck around…”

A car outside squeeled as it sped off from the scene. Charlie walked back to the room, the dead jewel thief, and the frightened jeweler. The jeweler stood up.

“Christ. Thank you. Thank God!”

He pulled a crucifix from his pocket, and kissed it repeatedly. He looked back to his shop, the bodies, and the various blood stains.

“What the hell am I going to do about this?”

“Relax. There’s a guy who does this sort of thing. Cleans up.”

Charlie took out a wrinkled piece of paper with a phone number scrawled on it, and dropped it on top of the body.

“Take something, anything. You know, as a reward.”

“Yeah. I might take you up on that.”

Charlie walked out into the shop. One of the cases was open. Charlie grabbed the biggest diamond necklace from inside, and walked towards the door. He turned back to the jeweler, who was still staring at the body.

“Just have it done by Thursday.”

He walked out to his car. The front was smashed in, where the getaway driver had run into it. Charlie circled his smashed ride, finally getting in, and starting the engine. It coughed to life and the front fender fell off.

“Fuck!”

Charlie drove off down the street, a twisted hunk of metal dragging, and kicking up sparks.

((OOC: Alright, here's the deal. I'm going to be leaving for vacation tomorrow, and I'll be gone for a little over a week, 10 days to be exact, so if it's possible, could we keep this thread on hold as it is for now? You can post your responses to the events that already happened, but if it's all the same, I want to put any new stuff off until I get back. Thanks.))

(OOC: Oh yeah, just to say, because I'm such a vital component to this thread, I'm going on vaction tomorrow too.)

((OOC: Alright, here's the deal. I'm going to be leaving for vacation tomorrow, and I'll be gone for a little over a week, 10 days to be exact, so if it's possible, could we keep this thread on hold as it is for now? You can post your responses to the events that already happened, but if it's all the same, I want to put any new stuff off until I get back. Thanks.))

No problem, GE! Enjoy your vacation.

bump

R-B get back in the Partay thread.

Runner up

The Pontiac barreled out across the open desert highway, a cloud of dust shooting up behind it. The blazing sun reflected off of the red paint as the roar of the engine split the silence.

Vincent adjusted his sunglasses and grinned widely. He had actually pulled it off. The cigarette hung from the corner of his mouth, the smoke trailing to the ceiling and blowing out the window. Vincent shifted gears and moved his hand to touch the briefcase that lay on the passenger seat, making sure it was still there. He laughed over the blare of the radio. It was all there. All fifty Gs of it. And for what price? A couple of kids and some Cubans got shot up in a parking lot.

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

Mark Goldberg was a small time casino man in Vegas. He owned the Silver Dollar, a swanky club right on the strip. He was a self made man, built the joint from the ground up with his own pocket money he earned running a few coke rackets in L.A. He was one of the few that got to make it in the promised land. He made a damn good income, but he always wanted more.

He sat back in the big armchair in his office in the Silver Dollar, and pulled on the fat cigar the hung from the corner of his mouth. A stack of cash sat in front of him, begging to be counted. The door swung open and a man walked in. Tall, white, wearing a black leather coat, sunglasses, and a pair of dust caked jeans.

“Vinnie! Long time no see!”

He walked towards the man, and shook his hand heartily. He brought his face close to Vincent’s, and spoke excitedly.

“You got it?”

Vincent smiled.

“You bet your ass I got it.”

“Ha! Yes!”

Goldberg practically danced for joy.

“Yes, yes yes! I knew I could count on you old buddy! So, where is it? Come on, come on! Show it to me! Lemme smell it!”

“Chill out for a sec. I left it in the safe in my room.”

“What’s it doing there?! Come on, bring it here so we can celebrate!”

“Relax. Lemme get a drink first. I just drove halfway across the damn country.”

“Alright, alright. Mac, what are you waiting for? Get him a drink!”

Goldberg turned to Vinnie and shook his head in frustration.

“Lazy assholes. Can never find decent help in Vegas.”

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

“He did what!?”

“He split.”

“Damnit, I heard you the first fuckin’ time! Where the fuck is he?!”

“No idea, boss. After the job, he just disappeared.”

“Fuck you! Find his ass! No one steals from The Man! And get Charlie on the phone! Fuckin’ honkey’s probly in on this shit.”

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

Charlie rolled off of the girl as the phone began to ring.

“Fuck.”

“Damnit Charlie. Just don’t answer it.”

“No babe. I gotta.”

He got out of bed, and walked over to the hotel room table. He picked the phone up and answered it, as the woman sank back into the sheets, perturbed at the interruption.

“What? Vinnie?”

“Yeah, Vinnie.”

“You mean he just split?”

“You got ear problems asshole? Now listen to me, what fuckin’ reason I got to believe that you ain’t in on this shit with him?”

“Whoa, whoa. Calm down, man. I didn’t know a damn thing about this. I work for you, man.”

“You got any fuckin’ idea where him and my money are?”

“I dunno. I know he went to Vegas last week. Maybe he split there, but I’m not sure.”

“Well, brotha, you better get real sure, and get your ass to Vegas to find the prick, ‘fore I send a couple of guys to cut off your prick.”

Charlie swallowed hard.

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll get right on it.”

“Good. Now next time I talk to you, I wanna hear some good news brotha.”

“Yeah sure.”

Charlie hung up the phone, and walked over to the chair where his clothes were piled.

“Who was that, baby?”

“Your father.”

Charlie began to get dressed. The woman got out of bed and walked over to him.

“Where you goin’?”

“Vegas.”

“Stay here with me.

“Sorry babe. It’s business.”

“Hmph.”

The girl turned and walked away, upset. Charlie finished getting dressed and walked out the door. In a few hours, he was on a plane bound for Nevada.

bump

(No idea what to post, sorry. :()

GE, please check your telegrams. Thanks!