Siap
10-06-2007, 06:11
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IC:
Chicago
"My name is Léon Claude de San Michelle. I am to read this statement." The moderately tall, olive-skinned Meditarranean had the looks of a fifty year old who looked good for his age. Surrounding him were an army of reporters, snapping photographs of the man as he looked over the statement his attorney had prepared for him, scowling slightly. He stepped up to the microphones, clearing his throat.
"I am from Corsica, and I will not lie about my past. My father was a trafficker of opium and heroin and was murdered by a rival to his business. I, however chose not to follow his ways. Instead, I moved to France where I applied to a school of theater..." his French accent emerged slowly. "...I was denied admission because I was unable to attend school as a child. So I joined the French Foreign Legion and I served with honor and distinction in Vietnam. I fought at the battle of Dien Bien Phu. After I was discharged, I moved to America, where I enlisted in order to gain citizenship. I again served, cooperating with American Intelligence efforts, but because of a medical condition, the Army did not see fit to place me in combat. I flew medical evacuation helicopters, and my helicopter was shot down near the Hue River the day after the Tet offensive. Using my sidearm and one of the rifles of my evacuees, I held off the Viet Cong for four hours until the Green Beret arrived and evacuated us. I received a purple heart and a silver star for my actions, was honorably discharged and then I took residence in New Orleans. From there, I based my air-courier service. I invested a portion of my earnings in a fund in Panama, a completely legal investment, but after the fall of Noriega, I surrendered all of my documents to the Panamanian consul. To repay me for this kindness, the bank at which my assets were stored was nationalized and I lost my investment. The FBI somehow believed that being robbed was a crime and began to hound me at this point, later charging me with hijacking an airplane. I was found innocent by a jury of my peers, and since then I have received non-stop hassle from the federal government. I came to this country believing it to be a land of freedom and opportunity, and I hope to use this trial as a last forum to prove that to be true."
With that, he quickly stepped away from the microphones and his attorney and bodyguard followed him to a small sedan that was waiting for him.
Witsec
Craxxi nervously sat before the two federal agents. "Léon is a psychopath. They say half the time he was in 'nam he was chatting up charlie POWs to find who was growing opium where. He comes back to America having a citizenship and suppliers all lined up. I met him in Tijuana, where I was managing an operation for the midwestern families. We partnered, and I helped him set up refining labs in Mexico for his junk. We worked together to fly the stuff into New Orleans. I seen him use. He becomes unreal. Blasting away other dealers, junkies, mafiosi. I thought he was gonna get whacked, but soon he's flying all over the country in those airplanes of his whacking people, from New York to Las Vegas." The man sat back and took a drag on his cigarette. "He washed his drug money in Panama until the feds blasted Noriega all the way to the pen. I don't know where he keeps it now. If I promise you anything, it was that the taking of flight 7644 was all his idea. He gave us the cash and he had a fence for the stones lined up, and we got 10% of that. A friend of mine in Boston says that he made a couple flights to Ireland carrying guns, back when that was the fashionable thing to do, but I dunno 'bout that. What I can do is prove his involvement in the drug trade and how he made the stones disappear. All I ask is immunity."
IC:
Chicago
"My name is Léon Claude de San Michelle. I am to read this statement." The moderately tall, olive-skinned Meditarranean had the looks of a fifty year old who looked good for his age. Surrounding him were an army of reporters, snapping photographs of the man as he looked over the statement his attorney had prepared for him, scowling slightly. He stepped up to the microphones, clearing his throat.
"I am from Corsica, and I will not lie about my past. My father was a trafficker of opium and heroin and was murdered by a rival to his business. I, however chose not to follow his ways. Instead, I moved to France where I applied to a school of theater..." his French accent emerged slowly. "...I was denied admission because I was unable to attend school as a child. So I joined the French Foreign Legion and I served with honor and distinction in Vietnam. I fought at the battle of Dien Bien Phu. After I was discharged, I moved to America, where I enlisted in order to gain citizenship. I again served, cooperating with American Intelligence efforts, but because of a medical condition, the Army did not see fit to place me in combat. I flew medical evacuation helicopters, and my helicopter was shot down near the Hue River the day after the Tet offensive. Using my sidearm and one of the rifles of my evacuees, I held off the Viet Cong for four hours until the Green Beret arrived and evacuated us. I received a purple heart and a silver star for my actions, was honorably discharged and then I took residence in New Orleans. From there, I based my air-courier service. I invested a portion of my earnings in a fund in Panama, a completely legal investment, but after the fall of Noriega, I surrendered all of my documents to the Panamanian consul. To repay me for this kindness, the bank at which my assets were stored was nationalized and I lost my investment. The FBI somehow believed that being robbed was a crime and began to hound me at this point, later charging me with hijacking an airplane. I was found innocent by a jury of my peers, and since then I have received non-stop hassle from the federal government. I came to this country believing it to be a land of freedom and opportunity, and I hope to use this trial as a last forum to prove that to be true."
With that, he quickly stepped away from the microphones and his attorney and bodyguard followed him to a small sedan that was waiting for him.
Witsec
Craxxi nervously sat before the two federal agents. "Léon is a psychopath. They say half the time he was in 'nam he was chatting up charlie POWs to find who was growing opium where. He comes back to America having a citizenship and suppliers all lined up. I met him in Tijuana, where I was managing an operation for the midwestern families. We partnered, and I helped him set up refining labs in Mexico for his junk. We worked together to fly the stuff into New Orleans. I seen him use. He becomes unreal. Blasting away other dealers, junkies, mafiosi. I thought he was gonna get whacked, but soon he's flying all over the country in those airplanes of his whacking people, from New York to Las Vegas." The man sat back and took a drag on his cigarette. "He washed his drug money in Panama until the feds blasted Noriega all the way to the pen. I don't know where he keeps it now. If I promise you anything, it was that the taking of flight 7644 was all his idea. He gave us the cash and he had a fence for the stones lined up, and we got 10% of that. A friend of mine in Boston says that he made a couple flights to Ireland carrying guns, back when that was the fashionable thing to do, but I dunno 'bout that. What I can do is prove his involvement in the drug trade and how he made the stones disappear. All I ask is immunity."