"Esa Cosa Nostra" (Mafia Rp)
New Windyford-1930
Dark clouds filled the sky and the distant sound of thunder echoed through the air above the city of New Windyford USA. It was the middle of the day although a dark overcast had moved in and rain was expected at any time now. Judge Eric Mcandless sat at his table in his North End home enjoying a cup of tea while reading the news paper, the phone rang..once...twice..then Mrs. Mcandless picked it up,
"Hello?" She said into the receiver from the livingroom...
"Eric! telephone!"
Judge Mcandless sighed then folded his newspaper over, he took a sip of his tea then stood up heading for the phone that his wife held for him, he smiled at her..
"Hello?"
The voice on the other end was low and deep..
Hello Eric, remember what we discussed? it's time to meet...Northend docks in one hour..
Judge Mcandless looked around to ensure his wife was nowhere in sight or in an earshot,
"Ok, i'll be there...."
There was no reply on the other end of the line, Eric hung up the phone and went back into the kitchen seating himself at the table. Judge Eric Mcandless was one of those men who loved money and abused his power, he often delt with the five familys of New Windyford whenever their assosiates or members got into trouble with the law and in one hour he had a deal to close.
Evening was covered with a black velvet as a dense fog rolled in off the docks. Officer Julian Battaglia leaned against his Roadster. He was twirling some Lo Mein he had just picked up in Chinatown, sipping the black coffee that he knew had probably been heated and reheated since yesterday morning. At least it was free.
That's how things were nowadays. Money's getting spread thin, so you gotta enjoy life without it when you can. The Chinese at the Wang Lung Cafe were mostly illegal immigrants, come by way of cargo ships. Julian knew that nobody really gave a damn, the Chinese were mostly peaceable folk trying to feed their families, unlike the bigger fish, the other families around New Windyford... but the Chinese feared the police, thinking they would be jailed or deported because of their illegal status. It was a fear that Julian had come to recognize and exploit when ever possible, so, in exchange for free meals the Chinese kept their little cafe.
Huff, and a sigh, Julian leaned forward from his hood and stood upright, drinking the sedimentary bottom of the coffee. He tossed the paper cup aside, lit a cigarette his girl got him from her job at a night club in West End, and got in his car. Night was coming, and he knew the family gangs wouldn't let him sleep.
Galeazzo Visconti was a happy man. His wife was happy, his son had brought home a few good tests from school (bright kid, little Vito.) At the same time, his other Family had done him proud as well.
A young man attached to one of his capos had (as young men tend to do) gone out looking for something to do on saturday. He'd picked up the noises and smells of an underground speakeasy. It was on the loosely defined border between Visconti territory and the (relatively) neutral North End.
The trouble was that the young man had never heard of it. He was trusted, he knew the Family business. So, like a good subordinate, he brought the matter to the attention of his superiors. (He did so with a hangover-scouting out the area to give a detailed report, y'see.)
He'd recognized several men (he believed they were with the Selov family, but couldn't swear to it.) Having been one, he could pick out several professional-seeming guards. Still, he wasn't sure that the place had even been attached to a Family.
The Visconti had no big desire to enter a turf war with strangers, but neither did Galeazzo take well to competition. With no desire to interrupt services-Galeazzo wasn't all that devout, but some of his head men were-he had held his meeting to discuss the situation monday afternoon. He addressed his group.
"Our world has been tense lately, we all know that. Still, I don't want to let these chumps get away with this-we might not own that district, but I don't want a sumbitch working there without my permission. We send in a few lads, tell them that we need to wet our beaks a little if they want to stay in business."
"Do we want the city stirred up, though? Jimmy says he saw some Salvo men in there-even if it's freelance, it could be that they have a little stake in there." one of his lieutenants asked.
Galeazzo waved the thought away. "If the Salvo are in-and I ain't overly convinced of that-they should be out. I'd have let them run a place in North End, they just gotta ask nice. If it's freelancers, what are they gonna do to us? Get Jimmy and some of your boys together for tonight. Give them the rules of engagement-I ain't tipping my hand yet, just give us a closer look."
OOC: A heavyset man in a trenchcoat accosts you, fellow RP participants, as you walk home tonight. He whispers harshly to you, "If Mister Visconti don't see some posts, soon, he's gonna be very, very unhappy. Capisce?"
OOC: I was helping Osteia set this up and he went AWOL. I'm going to wait a few days before giving up completely. Care to join my thread "The Machine" http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=513747
OOC: sure, that'd be cool. I'll carry over the Viscontis, if you don't mind.
Judge Mcandless walked outside and got in his 1928 Essex dressed in a trenchcoat and cap, He pulled out of his driveway and headed towards the Norh end to meet with his contact who had made it clear that he must be there in an hour. There wasn't very many cars on the road and not as many people walking the streets as there would be on a nice day, somthing inside Judge Mcandless's stomach told him somthing was wrong with this situation but then again every time he met with one of these god damned made men or assosiate's he had a similar feeling.
He turned down a side street right down by the dockyards to see a group of protestors,
What the hell is this? he thought slowing down...
He slowed the car then heard a tap on his window, he looked over to see a man stading beside the car in a long coat and a fedora, quickly he rolled the window down,
"Who are you? im supposed to meet..." His voice trailed off as the man stuck a revolver in the window
"Jesus chri.."
*BANG, BANG*
The assasin took off towards the rallying crowd who all of a sudden were alarmed by the gunshots...
The man took off pushing his way through the protestors who were unsure of what was going on...
OOC: Sorry i went dissapeared, i had some RL stuff to deal with this weekend :)...but im back! soooo LETS DO THIS..
“Strike! Strike! Strike! Strike!” The crowd chanted. “Strike! Strike!” Paulie Baucini, 33 years old, incredibly young for the head of a family. “You pig bastards!” He shouted at the line of police standing before them. “You want to shut us up just because we work for a living?” He noticed a man waving a hanckerchief on the roof out of the corner of his eye. He moved further back into the crowd.
A large freighter was pulling into the docks. US Customs agents stood helpless on the other side of the strikers, while on the backside of the ship, crates were being tossed into small boats that cruised further upstream.
Baucini made it to the roof of the warehouse. His second in command looked anxiously at the crowd. “Is it done?”
“Yes.” He sighed.
“Good. We have nothing to worry about, eh?”
“This crowd is getting out of hand, isn’t it Paulie?”
“Nah. We should be good.” But Murphy looked at the crowd through a pair of binoculars and froze. Sensing the change in mood, Paulie froze. “What is it?”
“Look,” Murphy breathed as Paulie took the binoculars looked and saw a man running through the crowd. Focusing the lenses, he saw the man distinctly stuffing a revolver in his trench coat.
“Oh dear God.” Paulie gasped.
“What do we do? What if he uses it?”
“We have to stop him.”
“He’s going for the police line.”
“Not if I can help it,”
Paulie shouldered his Mosin Nagant, running the small stub where his index finger used to be along the trigger. He took no more than a second to aim and squeezed the trigger with his middle finger. The man fell dead. The crowd scrambled in every direction and the police took cover. Soon the police charged the riot line, sticks ready. More gunshots erupted.
“We are leaving now!” Paulie shouted, but Murphy had already begun running to the other side of the warehouse roof. Soon, both were off the warehouse and into a boat. “Where to?”
“The nearest safe place.”
It always pays to be up-to-date with happenings in ones own field. That's why Galeazzo was among the first to find out when Mr. Mcandless was shot. He was not pleased.
"Did he survive, at least?" the seething Don asked his informant.
The young dockworker only shrugged. "Couldn't tell. Only hung around long enough to make sure it was actually the judge."
Galeazzo, though angered by the young mans casual attitude, could only nod. The judge surviving or not was not terribly important-the fact that the attack had come was provacative enough to the law. Visconti had authorized nothing, and nothing happened without him nodding. Still, the lawmen would have no reason to be convinced of that.
"Thanks, lad," he said distractedly, reaching into his desk drawer and pulling out a stack of bills. He peeled off a few and passed them to his informant. "Well done, now get back out there and find out more." As the youth scurried off, the Don picked up his phone.
"Go into hiding" was a code he'd had prearranged with his lieutenants ahead of time, to foil spies. For a half dozen calls, he said simply "Johnny has gotten worse in the hospital. Get down there when you can." The Visconti family was drawing in it's feelers for a while-the police would be frantic, and they could not be allowed to find anything amiss with the Family.