CS2: Chapter 2 - Page 2

Holy War

Now is the moment Virgil has been waiting for. Before the two men have fully entered the room, Virgil stands from the bed, draws out his two 45s that had been resting in his belt up to this point and stands in front of the door. The first guy casually flicks the light on and is met face to face with the muzzle of a gun looking him straight in the eye.

"Good day to you, gentlemen. I suggest you don't make a move. Which one of you is Robert Alvarez? Speak fast."

He cocks the hammers, just to make his point across.

Insurance

Carlone curses loudly as the windshield splinters. Even inside the armored Jeep, the noise was deafening. Veretta quickly pulls his Beretta 92FS out of its shoulder harness and hands it grip-first to Othello from his left hand. Reaching into his opened briefcase, vertical on the floor between his feet, Veretta pulls two magazines and his Sig P226. The .40 caliber weapon feels reliably heavy in his hand. Reaching up, Carlone clicks the fast open on the sunroof.

He feels the Jeep lurch as a shadowy figure leaps onto the hood and off again. "Who the ... ?"

Less than 4 seconds pass, and the figure vaults back over the Jeep and disappears.

Carlone sees the van spew black smoke, and the three aggressors drop like rocks in front of him. Careening himself around in the Jeep, he notes the five more men already flooding out of the now misplaced and damaged Suburban. Veretta extends his weapon out the top of the sunroof. Deafening booms flood the compartment of their vehicle as Carlone unloads four rounds into the growing crowd of black cloth behind them. Taking two shots in the vest, the first man drops instantly as Black Talons ravage his body armor. A second falls back onto the front of the Suburban gripping his freshly-mangled shoulder and neck, streaming blood across the hood. Veretta unloads his remaining rounds as suppression fire before dragging his arm back inside the car.

The Jeep erupts in a hail of gunfire as the remaining two men open up on it. Paint flies like confetti as Veretta watches the rear window shatter but hold its shape. He reloads, catching the eye of Redman as the click of the magazine goes unheard over the high pitched squeal of deafened ears.

Insurance

The Beretta feels alien in Othello’s hand. It’s been five long years since he made that promise on the rainy battlefield in Coldstone. Other than maintaining his strength and flexibility through training he had not done any sparring or fired a single round in all that time. Guns had never caused him anything but trouble and he wasn’t about to start down that bad road just yet. He jammed the weapon beside his seat, keeping it in easy reach for Carlone. A few mental calculations later and he whipped the rear of the jeep to the side and caught one gunman pinning his pelvis against the white Suburban, crushing the bones. He rolled out the door and came up out of it jamming the heel of his hand up against the point of the killer’s chin. Othello then fell back, catching his weight with the palms of his hands and drove a snap kick into the man’s crotch. The hitman doubled over and Othello drew on his training and came up on his right hand, throwing his weight over and drove the point of his left shoe into the side of his target’s head. A sledgeheammer couldn’t have dropped him any prettier.

Revenge Is Sweet and Sour
(Attn:Voltes)

Ray wraps around an old and broken microphone cord around his left wrist. It used to be Amelia's. Like her, it feels completely cold and lifeless. He tightens it until his whole left hand turns crimson red. He then uncoils it, releasing the deprived blood cells back to their normal course.

Why in bloody hell should I believe that caller? And who the hell would know that I'm on the hunt? Ray knows something smells and it definitely stinks to high heaven. He downs a miniature bottle of gin then follows it with 10 drops of Bianca, burning his numb tongue.

Still, Ray's comforted knowing that he has a hot lead. Its truth is definitely questionable, but a lead nevertheless. He tightens the microphone around his wrist again as he imagines Othello's neck on the receiving end.

Insurance

Othello decided for both of them as he exited the Jeep. Veretta notices the gun vacated by his ally. Opening the door, Carlone covers the front with the abandoned Beretta in his left hand, while striding toward the back with the 226 in his right. Othello disappears behind the Jeep as an assailant falls in front of him. Two remain visibly shaken but still lethal. A pair of bullets reach out from Veretta's fist, ripping flesh and cloth from the closest victim. The Uzi clatters to the ground as he can no longer control his focus. Gripping his legs, the masked man writhes on the pavement fearing the end, which would not come quickly.

The final attacker turns and runs toward the back of the Suburban, stumbling against the hood of the crashed Audi.

Carlone swings his left hand forward and faces the running man with both guns. Two, four, eight, ten shots. Both guns blaze in rapid succession splintering the already cracked glass of the Suburban, decimating its rear quarter and the front of the Audi beside it. The gunman takes two hits in the back, one in the shoulder and one in his lower right side. Dropping to his knees, he flings his weapon to the ground, raising his left arm to cover his head, his right hanging limp to his side.

Shell casings clink, falling randomly across the ground as Veretta swings back to the front covering all angles and all possible positions of attack.

His ears ring loudly from the noise, as he surveys the damage wrought on this early afternoon in Las Vegas.

Cry Havoc...

Pacing down the sidewalk, McClure realized that the place would be hopping with Fibbies soon, and while he was not one to puss out to the Chief, he wanted to get back to legally working as soon as possible, so he hopped back into his car.

The urge to stay was nagging at him, so as he backed out past the fog down the street, he pulled into the parking lot of a diner a block down the road and went in to grab a window seat. If he couldn't fire now, he'd surely wait it out for the chance to fire later.

"Whaddya want?" the waitress asked.

"Coffee. Black," McClure said. "Nice tits," he thought, as she walked behind the counter.

Insurance
(Attn: Seahawk)

Dahl remained, his ears picking up the sound of the young lady taking her remnants and departing the room. He took several deep breaths, relaxing his body. Just seconds later the door opens and the sound of footfalls reaches Thomas's ears.

“You are not enjoying our hospitality Mr. Dahl? Perhaps you prefer boys? If that is the case then we can arrange that. I do not wish your stay here to be any less pleasant than it needs to be.”

The ex-NYPD man tenses his muscles, holding his anger. In any other situation, he would have torn the wortheless peice of scum shit talker and slammed him to the wall. But there was a factor he didn't like to test. The fact that he didn't know who was where and what they were willing to do to him. How far and how much pain they would inflict to his body was key to his survival.

But the anger and rage was growing deep in him and it was becoming hard to resist loosing the gates of hell onto this young man. In his mind he twisted the arm of the assailent, cracking it in a classic break. The a solid kick to the chest, bringing him to the ground where Dahl would then smash the chest cavity into powder. Then the spinal snap came into play and finially throat smash. He evisioned it over and over, changing a few things here and there as the man stood before him, waiting for some kind of response.

But none came. Dahl simply looked to the man's eyes. Both regarded each other with silent contempt. The dripping of water filled the room as silence ruled. Thomas finially spoke. There was an edge, but he did he best to keep it under control.

"All I ask for is food and drink. No more than a normal prisoner. That is all."

With that, Dahl placed his head back on his knees and resumed his show of force within his mind upon the young japanese man.

Insurance

The chaos of the moment now settled, Othello and Veretta make their careful inspection of the scene.

The Audi is totalled by the collision, no sign of the mysterious driver remains. Except for blood drenched steel and dissipating smoke.

Further inspection reveals more of the same slender steel spikes embedded in the flat tires of the white suburban.

The black hand of death had departed as it swept in--unexpected and unstoppable. And as the warrior rained death on the Yakuza, he seemed to have intentionally spared the two businessmen.

For a time, at least.

Insurance
(On a busy and bloody street in downtown Las Vegas)

Still spewing smoke, the van lurches forward, slamming into a parked car. Hindered by its two flat tires, the driver can’t even negotiate a turn in the tight quarters. Carlone strolls quickly up to the passenger side, guarding both window and sliding-door with his guns. The driver drops the van into reverse, oblivious to the screaming death that bursts through the window toward him. Two shots hit their mark in the side of his head, slumping the man to the left of the steering wheel and stopping the motion of the van. Through what remains of the passenger window, a calm and collected Carlone Veretta checks for survivors. Apparently the smoke has taken its toll on the remaining gunman in the van. He is unconscious on the floorboard between the front seats.

Carlone returns to find two attackers alive, but unconscious. A very irritated-looking Othello Redman stands over them. Sirens wail in the distance.

“Let’s get this one in the car.” Othello says, pointing to the least-bloody of the two.

An easy lift for two men the size of Othello and Veretta, the black-clad gunman is tied and tossed roughly into the back of the Jeep. The two businessmen each hop into their respective seats. The van’s driver had managed to move it far enough forward to allow a smooth exit for the boxed-in Jeep. Othello puts it smoothly into drive and powers his way through the carnage and onto a side street away from the bloody scene. They appear to be safe for now, but a shot up and bloody Jeep will draw plenty of attention driving down Las Vegas Boulevard.

An ever-watchful Carlone reholsters his Beretta in its shoulder harness and keeps the Sig ready for action.

“You have a safe place we can ‘talk’ to him?” Veretta asks, having faith that Redman knows what he means.

Insurance
(Attn: Seahawk)

The young Japanese nodded. “Very well. Should you change your mind please let us know.” He and his companions left with an air of disappointment around them.

It was then that Dahl looked up and began to see vapor trails as his head moved. He had never done any hallucinogens but he was sure that this would be what it was like. Fireworks blossomed in front of his eyes and he began to feel dizzy.

(Attn: Ego, Logan)

The sound of sirens cut the air as the cops race toward the sounds of gunfire.

“I have a few holes around here we can hide in.” The men find an unattended Aerostar and move their human cargo to it. Othello drives them to the seedier side of the strip. It’s a place never seen by the tourists and frequented only by those who are dragged into the black hole of gambling, drugs, and liquor.

They move the hitman up to one of the many apartments that Othello keeps rented for a variety of reasons. Once in place Carlone removes the mask revealing a young looking Caucasian with his head shaved completely. Five inky tears have been imbedded into the skin beneath his left eye.

“Alright you go ahead and see what you can get out of this guy. I have some calls to make. And don’t worry about noise level. The apartments on either side are empty and the cops around here are used to noise. When you’re done call me at the casino and I’ll have someone come and get you.” Not giving the security guru a chance to reply or argue, Othello heads back out to take care of business.

Revenge Is Sweet and Sour
(Attn:Voltes)

Ray’s last show of the evening had gone well enough. He was just loosening the knot on his bowtie when a knock came from his door. The interloper didn’t wait for an answer. A very black man in an impossibly loud red suit stepped in. “Excuse me Mr. Priest, the name’s JJ Redman. I just wanted to welcome a fellow new entertainer. I just finished doing some stand-up and caught your gig. You are one talented bastard. Thought I’d give you props. Wanna grab a cold one and celebrate our new-found success?” The man’s charm and humor were almost infectious, almost.

Holy War
(Attn: Blunt)

The two men looked like they had just lost their last cerveza down the inside of their legs. The taller of the two and the first one in tried to summon some machismo. “I’m Alvarez. What you want man? We ain’t got much money.”

Killer's Dance
(Attn: Maggot)

Maria is sitting in her room when she hears a knock at her door. She slides back the peephole and sees Othello's bodyguard, Barkov, standing outside.

Instinct takes over and the two hundred pound plus reporter leaps from his desk. In seconds the tools of his trade are in his pockets, his fedora is on his head, and his coat trails from his body like a pea green cape. Catholic Batman.

As Elmore reaches the door of the news room, he pauses. He reaches into his pocket and looks at the number Paulie gave him last night.

And returns to his desk. He sits in silence waiting, and staring.

His phone remains silent, but he does not move.

Holy War

"Thought it was you. You're as ugly as your picture. Now, I'll be with you in a minute. I need a word with your friend beforehand."

He motions for the other guy to step forward in front of him, then asks him to turn around. The guy reluctantly agrees, not having much choice anyway due to the gun menacing him. As soon as Virgil's got a clear view of his neck, he slams the butt of one of his guns into it. The man collapses to the ground, knocked out flat. Alvarez tries to seize the occasion to rush Virgil but he stopped before he can begin his move as the two pistols are once more trained on him.

"Good, now that your amigo is out of the picture, we can have our little talk. Please sit on the bed, and don't try anything funny if you don't want your knee to become a mass of tangled bone."

Cursing Virgil, Alvarez goes over to the bed and sit. Virgil sits on the chair, right in front of him, keeping him under the surveillance of his weapons.

"Good boy. Now, let's get to the point. I am not here for your money. I am here because of a woman. Do you remember Miss Maggie Thompson?"

"What? you an ex-boyfriend or something?"

Virgil lets out a small laugh. "Not exactly, no. You'll know what I am soon enough. Do you remember her, yes or no?"

"Course I remember her. Never knew to stay in her place. Stupid bitch that..."

Alvarez is interrupted by the sound of a gunshot. He slightly jumps, expecting the pain to rush him, but is startled when it doesn't happen. He looks down to discover a smoking hole in the carpet.

"Mr Alvarez, I strongly suggest you never use that word anymore to refer to her in front of me. So, if you remember her, you remember what you did to her. Which means my mission must be carried out."

Alvarez is now under heavy panic. His voice shivers. "Man, who the FUCK are you?"

"I am what you may call a guardian angel. Ms Thompson's boss, a very good friend of mine called me after seeing her showing up for work with a bruised face several times. Said I had to take care of the guy who did that to her. You see, my line of work is that I make sure that women-beating scum like you don't get away with murder. And I'm VERY good at what I do. Now, you're gonna tell me what exactly you did to her. I want every single detail. And you're gonna tell me about that murder case you were investigated upon, too. And when you're done telling me all this, then I'll devise a punishment that fits the crime. Your time is over, Mr Alvarez. Start talking now, angels of vengeance are not particularly reknowned for their patience."

Insurance
(Attn: Seahawk)

The world was not right. And the NYPD man felt sick to his stomach. As a cop and now as a security man, Thomas had never dabbled in drugs or other illegal substances designed to fuck you up. He had found that his moods on the beat did that just fine each and every day. For all he knew, it had either been pumped into the room or in his food. The better guess was the food. And now the lady who had tempted him was probably going through the same thing. She was more than likely enjoying it.

For Dahl, sleep deprived, injured and wounds on his skin, it was pure hell. Images he couldn't even distinguish flashed in front of his eyes as he slowly tried to stand. Photos of crime scenes, of blood and beatings. Of madness and malarchy. Cases came back to him, haunting him still in his state.

He stumbled to the ground, slamming his fists into the concrete and gritting his teeth as the pain screamed. He was mad as hell. He was not going to take it any more.

He stood once more, gained something akin to balence and moved towards the door. He walked to the side, back and once more to the side. Anywhere but forwards. His legs failed him again as the feeling of pain, sickness and shit ran through his body, chilling him to the bone.

Dahl fell on his knees, his eyes starting to water as the heaving began in his stomach and quickly exploded from his mouth, splashing onto the floor. Whatever he had just eaten and something red spilled out onto the floor. A few more moments of silence before the rushing of liquids came once more from the mouth of Thomas Dahl. Three more times until there was nothing left but the pain of dry heaves. His vision began to go white as he laid on his side. The dry heaving slowed to a stop as he breathed in and out, his cell now smelling very retchid. Picking himself up, he moved to the far end, back where he had come from. His vision was still screwed, but he knew what the red liquid was. His realization coupled with his body forcing him to shutdown as he collasped on his side. The red liquid moved towards the drain. It was from Dahl, but it wasn't anything he had eaten.

It was blood. His blood.

Cry Havoc

Wesley (features unrecognizable under his hood) calmly walked across the street to his car, feeling the eyes watching him. When he had reached an appropriate distance, he turned and faced the Tiger. And the monster waved goodbye...

One heartbeat...
Two heartbeats...
Three...

Wesley fingered the detonator gently, then squeezed ever so softly.

Paulie barely made it out of the door when the explosives went off. Wesley had set them to maximize the destruction of the Tiger itself with an eye to keeping the adjacent buildings intact. He didn?t want to muddy up the message he was sending with any collateral damage. The strip club collapsed in on itself surely killing all who remained in the building.
The rush of air knocked Paulie to the ground and Wesley watched the mayhem with cool detachment.

But Wesley was already on the move as the man beegan to stir. He appeared to be armed with double pistols, and he looked like he wouldn't be stunned for long.

Wesley began to move away from the scene, sprinting away from the loaner car and towards a nearby building. Three floors. Wesley pushed the door in and raced up the stairs, not breathing hard. The monster made his way quietly up to the roof, his other scouting location for the "Tiger" hit. No one had disturbed his blind. He pulled out his XM25 sniper rifle and zoomed in on the Tiger. So much rubble now... killing a building was very satisfying.

"SON OF A FUCKING BITCH!" Paulie shouts over the roar of the collapsing Tiger, rolling over and drawing his twin 45s. Struggling to his feet, he ducks into a nearby alley for cover and scopes out the street.

The man with the twin pistols ducked into an alley, but there was no hiding from a monster on higher ground. Wesley felt someone else moving off to the side (a car door slammed) but then nothing. Fire engines sounded in the distance.

Wesley hated theatrics. But a contract is a contract. "This is a long job Wesley. Start slow. Don't overplay your hand, and don't reveal your true targets." Avery. Another faux hardass. But his money was good, and Wesley had never failed to fulfill a contract. However, that didn't mean he couldn't have a little fun. "I'll show you theatrics Mr. Avery..."

Wesley chambered the long thin bullet. Zeroed in on the man with the double pistols, lurking in the alley. Re-focused.

And fired.

Jail Bird
(Attn: Katanga, even though you aren't playing wink )

Roman Carvaggio awoke in his cell to the sound of guards doing a bunk search. He saw his pet guard Tony and called him over. "Hey Ton, what's going on?"

He came over when he got free. "Oh Mr Carvaggio, they found 'the Shiv', that is Mr. Maldonado dead in his cell this morning. He was slit open from his throat to his nads and spread open with his guts everywhere. Some of the boys and I mean old school guards got sick. There's some kind of funny writin' on the wall too."

"Funny writing? May I see that please?'

"Sure but it'll have to be quick. Got some high brass comin' in and they're lockin' down all the cells." He ushers Roman to Sal's cell.

The place is an abbattoir. And Roman's testicles try to crawl up into his stomach when he sees the kanji written in blood that spell out his doom.

Cry Havoc....

Paulie watches ... absolutely nothing. The cloud of dust is dissipating, but no sign of the driver of that car.

"Shit," he mutters under his breath, remembering his conversation with Father Dino. He reaches into his coat for his cellphone. Gotta see if the Padre is okay. Trying to hold a gun and a cellphone, he drops the cell to the ground. "Fuck, this just ain't my day," he groans, bending down to pick it up.

Just as the wall next to where his head had been a second ago explodes into shrapnel.

"MOTHERFUCKER!" Paulie roars as he rolls to the opposite wall of the alley, hoping to get out of sight of the sniper.

Cry Havoc....

McClure peered down the street, longing for action. As the dust slowly dissipated, McClure looked down the street to see a small figure. McClure squinted harder, and made out a rifle. Was that Paulie? Or someone after Paulie? Was it a fellow Fibbie, or some unknown trying to steal George's glory?

Whatever the case may be, George threw a five down on his table and bolted out of the building. He sprinted down the street, gun in his hand, not sure of who or what he would encounter next.

Insurance
(Attn: Logan)

Othello races the van back to the side street that he acquired it from parking a block away after thoroughly wiping it down to cut back on his prints. A quick stroll up the block reveals that his Jeep has been towed and a cleared street with only broken glass left as a reminder of the havoc wrought here. He’s pretty sure that someone’s been tailing him, but the man is good and it could just be echoes of paranoia. He didn’t relish it but things were beginning to remind him of the old days in Coldstone. A cab pulled up at his hail and in a few moments he was headed back to his office to make some phone calls.

Cry Havoc…
(Attn: Poxy, Burke, Flyers)

Sirens blare in the distance. The site of this demolition will be crawling with cops and fire fighters in no more than five minutes. The dust has begun to clear giving everyone a nice field of fire.

Holy War
(Attn: Blunt)

Alvarez threw back his shoulders with an air of defiance. “Yeah I beat that bitch up. She deserved it, every punch and kick.” He spit on the rug. “That puta ain’t worth your time or mine but do what you gotta do. As for me killin’ somebody? You gotta be more specific than that Senor Angel. I’ve killed more than my share.”

Watchtower
)Attn: Dan Laugharn, Ryan Landau)

Dewey lets what Veretta said sink in for a bit and then he looks at his two men. “I’m going to run down a few leads. I think that Veretta is being a little too cocky. Right now everything goes back to square one. I want a report on every move Othello Redman has done in the past ten years. Also get me some data on Takeshi. There’s a link somewhere between the two. Find it, yesterday. You guys are the best I have. I’ll give you a call in a couple of hours and see where we’re at.” He heads out the door having dumped a tremendous workload on the two.

Several hours later Charles’ phone chirps at him. He answers it and a burst of static assaults his ear followed by what he’s sure is Dewey’s voice. “…Redma….herring…..Yakuza…..afia…..” The sound of gunfire cuts through the static and the transmission ends.

Holy War

"Mr Alvarez, I'm talking about an investigation concerning the murder of an ex-girlfriend of yours and her young son? Does that ring a bell? Or shall I assume that you've killed so much women that you couldn't remember a specific one? Oh, and I thought I told you something about using certain words in front of me."

Virgil extends an arm and fires a single shot. This time, the bullet lodges in the bed, a little below Alvarez's crotch. Virgil speaks again, the anger and impatience now fully transpiring in his voice.

"Now, talk or the next one goes up higher."

Holy War

"Damn man, easy. Alright, alright. I killed that b... my girl, but I didn't do the kid. My homey there," he pointed at the man occupying floor space, "shot him accidentally. The little hombre came at him with a knife. Jorge don't like knives. She was dippin' into my stash. She couldn't be trusted. Is that what you want to know?

Revenge Is Sweet and Sour
(Attn:Voltes)

[This was RP'ed between Scott and myself via AIM...]

J.J.'s a fairly large man. But his friendly demeanor betrays any suspicion of him being part of some gang or mafia ties. But Ray knows better, and he tries to remain cool while talking to his employer's brother.

"So, JJ. You've been performing long?"

J.J.'s booming voice comes to life. "All my life m'man. My jokes kept the family together. My brother, he's got noooo sense of humor."

"Ahm yes, I see that. Humour is the glue of all life. Well, for sanity anyway... Want to get some drinks?"

"Sure man," J.J. says while the two of them head to the bar adjacent to the backstage area.

While the two drink and munch on some pretzels, Ray concludes his stories and anecdotes about Amelia, "...She's a great gal, I tell you. Such a sweet voice. Anyways, you married, my friend?"

"Naw man. I just got out of the place where your pajamas have stripes."

"Ah, a bad boy I see," he snickers. "Hey, it's better than being in a Catholic private school!... If you don't mind my asking, why for?"

J.J. sighs. "Let's just say I didn't have a proper pharmaceutical license."

"Bloody pigs." Ray drowns a glassful. "JJ, I'd like to ask you a question... Ever had a loved one murdered?"

"Sure. You don't live in my part of the world and not have that happen. Our sister got killed by a gang banger."

Ray bows his head. He wants to say sorry, but he knows just how useless a "sorry" is. "Ever caught that slimeball?"

"My brother had a little chat with him. He went for a little swim adn was all leaky and shit."

Ray toasts with JJ. "Let the fuckin' pussy swim with the fishes."

"Amen." He clinks glasses.

A bit of a pause as he hears some lady singing some Celine Dion song. "JJ, I may have some plans myself. My wife, you see, was unfairly killed. An innocent..."

"Shit. I'm sorry man. DO you know who did it?"

Ray looks at JJ with a very honest and kind smile. He likes JJ and he reminds him of Amelia's brother back in London. "I don't. However... I've got leads. If it's true, I'm close. Real close."

"You need any help exacting a little old school justice just give me or my bro a call. We'd be glad to assist."

Ray laughs at the jovial man. He likes him. He really does. It hurts to know that he will kill his brother. But he'll understand. And if he succeeds, he'll give a knife to JJ to slit his throat. Fair is fair. "I definitely will, my friend. I definitely will."

Holy War

"I see. Well, now that all is clear, it's time to carry out the punishment. We'll go some place quieter."

Virgil pulls out two pair of cuffs out his pocket. He shackles Alvarez's hands with the first one, then uses the other to tie Jorge to the bed.

"I'll be back later for him. Now march."

Virgil pushes Alvarez forward, holding him by the collar. They leave the building. Virgil shoves the man in the passenger seat of his car and drives to a place where he knows he can carry out his task.

Insurance

As Othello returns to his private office, he is stopped short of reaching the phone. Behind his desk stands a silhouetted form silently.

Redman clicks the light on, and looks across the room to see the mysterious assassin that had just minutes ago saved his life.

Without any hostile movement, the masked man waited, his palms resting empty at his sides.

For the first time Lio Leo confronted his target, face to face...

Holy War

Alvarez stays silent all throughout the ride, seemingly accepting his impending fate. Virgil whistles cheerfully. They soon reach the site where Alvarez will meet his demise. A construction site, seemingly abandoned. One of many in Coldstone. Virgil pulls Alvarez out of the car and they both head for a remote area of the site, where Virgil proceeds to tie the man to a pillar. He goes back to the car and retrieves his suitcase from the trunk. Then, still whistling, he returns towards Alvarez, intent on finishing the job. The brute is staring at him, his eyes burning with rage.

"Now, Mr Alvarez, before we begin, let me tell you a little story. As every story, this one begins with a man and a woman meeting and falling in love. In this case, the man was Angelo Abrizza, an italian-american sales representative operating in Coldstone, and the woman was Marie Deschamps, a French woman that he met in Paris during one of his business travels. She fell for him soon as they met, he was handsome, intelligent, charming, funny, he had everything right. So he easily managed to convince her to come to the States with him. Said she wouldn't have to work, he made more than enough money. And for a while, it was true. Life was perfect. He provided her with everything, and out of their love came a baby. That is me, in case you weren't paying attention. But our story won't end with "and they lived happily ever after", oh no. See, the father was a bit of a crook and eventually he was submitted to a federal investigation and he lost his job. The money was soon spent. And he started taking refuge in booze, becoming increasingly violent with his wife and child. So, one day, the mother decided she had enough and that she would leave him, taking their son with him. She told him that as he was drunk off his ass, and started toward the door. But before she could so much as reach the handle, he rose from the table and shot her dead. Then he fled, leaving the shocked kid staring at his mother's dead body. The police eventually came and he was placed into custody of the state. But he didn't like it, and one day, he escaped from the orphanage. He lived in the streets for a time, until he crossed the path of a man named Andrea Del Monte. A guy with heavy mafia connections, who saw a potential beneath all the anger the now young man had in him. So he took him under his wing, and trained him for years to be a perfect assassin. When his training was completed, he had one final test to pass, which he did successfully. Then, and allow me to skip forward a bit here, the young man underwent a series of event that made him rethink his life and try a new career. And here am I now, standing in front of you."

Alvarez was now sweating heavily. "Why the fuck are you telling me all this?"

"Shhhhh, be quiet. I'm telling you all this because I want you to know what kind of man I am, Mr Alvarez. Do you know what that final test was? I had to kill my father. Andrea managed to track him down, so I went to the lowly squat he was living in. He had become a junkie, drugged out of his mind most of the time. I looked him in the eyes. Didn't even recognize me. And I emptied a whole clip into his head, the head of the man from which stems my intense hatred of all the scum that think hitting a woman makes them strong and macho. So if I was able to do that to my father, imagine what I'll do to you. You and your kind think you're men. You're wrong. You're nothing. Worse than dogs. And I'm the one that teaches you the errors of your way. Well, I hope yu enjoyed the story, cause this is the last you'll ever hear. Let's begin."

Virgil rolls up his sleeves and lays the case on the floor. He takes out a small pair of plyers and a sledgehammer.

"First, let's make sure you don't try to squirm free."

He swings the sledgehammer toward Alvarez's left knee. The bone crunches with a disgusting sound and Alvarez screams in pain. Virgil applies the same treatment to the other knee, and the man slumps to the ground.

"Now this is for breaking her tooth."

Using the plyers, he proceed to remove all the teeth from Alvarez's mouth. Rendered catatonic by the pain, the man almost doesn't react, barely letting out muffled screams. When no teeth are left, Virgil retrieves a baseball bat from the case.

"And this is for beating her every fucking day, you fucking pig!!"

Virgil puts all his hatred in every swing, breaking the man's ribs, his arms, bruising his face and stopping only within an inch of his life.

"And now, for the final touch."

He pulls out his gun and fire in Alvarez's crotch, making good of his earlier threat. This time it is too much, and the guy lets out a shrilling scream. Virgil silences him by putting a bullet square in his forehead. His job is done.

He carries the body to a nearby river and dumps it into it, washing the blood of his hands in the process. After making sure that it has sunk, he picks up the case and gets in his car, heading again toward the dead man's apartment. When he arrives there, Jorge has woken up and is trying to free himself from the cuffs. He looks up upon seeing Virgil enter.

"Man, what the fuck is this shit? What have you done with Robert? Who the fuck are you, motherfuck..."

Before he can finish, Virgil shoots him twice in the chest and once in the head, sending brain matter splattering on the wall. He leaves and runs downn the flight of stairs, hearing the sound of doors opening behind him. But he's too fast for anybody to have seen him. He jumps in his car and starts toward the airport, intent on getting back to LA as soon as he can.

Cry Havoc....

Sprinting down the street, darting his head around to check the windows of buildings and for the oncoming fire trucks, McClure ducked into the alleyway. As he turned down the alleyway and ran, he saw Paulie running with a cell phone.

McClure stopped in his tracks and yelled, "FREEZE!"

Insurance

Othello grips the wooden shaft of his cane twisting and pulling the handle revealing a two-foot long tanto shaped blade. "The enemy of my enemy is not always my friend. What can I do for you?" he says in passable Japanese.

Viglio removes a photo from his jet black jumpsuit, and slides it across the desktop. Then he respectfully backs away from the desk to allow Redman to close in.

It is a picture of Othello, and Roman Carvaggio's name in red ink, appearing in Japanese on the photo's edge. It is evident he was supplied this picutre by the troubled crimelord.

Viglio stands quietly, waiting on Othello.

Cry Havoc....
Paulie drops the phone and wheels around with his two 45s out and ready.

"Oh, I ain't movin', you can count on that. Now why don't you explain to me what the fuck you're doin' here on the brand new worst day of my life?"

Cry Havoc

The soft crack of Wesley’s rifle sounded like beautiful music to the monster. Sometimes missing a target is even more difficult than hitting a target. Poor schmuck probably had no idea, thought Wesley.
~~~

The “target” was still cowering in the alley, when Wesley caught movement out of the corner of his eye. Another gunsel was wandering up the street, pistol in hand. Things were getting crowded. It was quickly becoming apparent to Wesley that it was time to leave the scene. But the message was still in play. Time to play follow the leader.

Wesley loaded the 20 round automatic magazine into his sniper rifle. Now both guys were jawing at each other in the middle of the street. Silly mobsters.

Paulie drops the phone and wheels around with his two 45s out and ready.

"Oh, I ain't movin', you can count on that. Now why don't you explain to me what the fuck you're doin' here on the brand new worst day of my life?"

Ca-chink. Wesley fired at the men in the street. Another “miss” at the first man’s feet. Fast now. “Missed’ again, two feet in front of the men. Ca-chink. Gravel shot up ten feet away. Ca-chink. Wesley fired and missed again, this time twenty feet from the two men. The rifle reports sounded again and again as Wesley drew a line from the middle of the street to the loaner car. Sculpting his message from iron and gravel.

Wesley gathered up his belongings, and strode to the connecting roof away from the action. He jumped across and headed for a ladder down to the street. He hesitated, looking and listening for the authorities …waiting for the rest of the sendex to be discovered.

Insurance

Continuing in Japanese which gets better as he goes, "So Honorable Carvaggio sent you? To protect me I suppose."

The dark figure nods.

"Well thank you." He slides the blade home. "Can we shake hands like men or will you continue to skulk about for now?"

Insurance

The man steps forward, removing the covering from his face. He extends a gloved hand to Othello as requested, then the clean cut Italian offers back in the established Japanese:

"Viglio Della Rocco."

Cry Havoc....

"I'm here to fucking..."

McClure couldn't even get the words out. The first shot barely missed him as he leaped to the side and turned around. Then another. The shots kept coming, but McClure wasn't about to watch anymore.

McClure charged at Paulie, picking him up and ordering him to go behind the dumpster as he held his gun, ready for oncomers. The sirens were coming closer, just as the gunshots from the heavens stopped.

McClure inched slowly down the alleyway, looking at the gunshots from the alley to the lone car in the street.

"Fuck," McClure muttered. Some trigger happy dope had a better beat on Paulie than me, McClure thought to himself.

As the fire trucks pulled onto the street, McClure jogged back down the alley, stopping to look at Paulie.

"Ya know," McClure started, "You..uh..." McClure stopped. "Catch you around."

McClure jogged back down the alleyway to greet the guys in uniforms and explain how his "leisurely drive" had been so rudely interrupted...

Cry Havoc....
Paulie stands up slowly, easing his guns back into their holsters inside his coat. He picks up his cellphone, and looks out at the firetrucks arriving in front of the wreckage of his club. He looks back down the alley at the fleeing man, and then to the bullet marks riddling the alley.

"COULD SOMEONE TELL ME WHAT THE FUCK JUST HAPPENED?!?" he shouts to no one in particular.

Ch. 2 Epilogue

Watchtower
(Attn: Dan Laugharn, Ryan Landau)

All efforts to contact Dewey had lead to dead ends. The men had a decision to make. Would they continue along their last orders or try and find their boss.

Revenge Is Sweet and Sour
(Attn:Voltes)

Ray sat at the small, cheaply made writing desk in his hotel room and stared at the picture of Amelia. A tear tracked down his face and joined the uncountable ones he had shed since her senseless death. He had cursed God long and hard for taking her away and now he sat in a room not a hundred yards from where her killer slept. Should he be thankful now? No. It wasn’t fair that her murderer was also the man that had given him a second chance at singing. But kill the man he would and after that join his beloved in whatever awaited.

Negotiations
(Attn: Fett)

Rather than refuse outright, which would be suicidal, Frank allowed that he would think about it. It seemed like things were in incredible turmoil right now. First the drive-by then this explosion at the Tiger, things did seem to be slipping through his fingers. There was a lot to do and not much time to do it in.

Insurance
(Attn: Seahawk, Ego, Logan)

Dahl lat in a puddle of his own blood and vomit. The dank cell reeked of bile and ginger. Was this how it would end? If he passed out here would he ever reawaken. The spark at the center of his being that had seen firefights and bar brawls that would make any soldier pale said no. He struggled against the ensuing darkness but it was all in vain. His last thought was that he may lose this battle but by God he would win the war.

--

Veretta took his time with the prisoner. He by no means enjoyed this part of his work but he was very good at it. Unfortunately this one was a tough nut to crack. Either that or he really didn’t know much. Apparently once Othello had been done for they were to contact someone via an email address and receive the last part of their payment physically. The assassin had no idea whether or not their employer was affiliated with any organized crime but he claimed not to be. He took the address and squirreled it away mentally for future reference.

--

“Well Mr. Della Rocco I’m glad to have someone on my side.” He shook hands with the mysterious stranger. “I have a protector but I suppose it can never hurt to have another.” Othello was thankful to Roman for the help but he wanted to contact the man himself and verify this. At least this one had revealed himself.

Lio nodded at his charge and took leave through the window, fading into the night.

Cry Havoc…
(Attn: Poxy, Burke, Flyers, Rath)

The bullets have stopped flying and the streets are calm until the fire engines and police cars arrive. Like busy ants they scurry around searching for evidence and making sure the area is locked down.

Flames rocketed into the sky as the sniper’s car blew into a million pieces. Officer Miller had removed a note from the car’s steering wheel after taking some pictures and put it in an evidence baggie. Thirty seconds later and his wife had a pension. Most of the note didn’t survive but the camera did and the film would reveal the killer’s message by days end. McClure was going to make sure that he knew what this sniper wanted officially or otherwise.

Pantuso never did receive a call from his mysterious fan and his editor began chewing him out. “Get your ass down to the Tiger and find out what the hell is going on. I’m not payin’ you to write your damn book.”

Wesley made good his escape and was pleased at the sound of his little surprise going off. He easily blended with the crowds and began the move into phase two in his brain.

Paulie was at a loss. He and his girls were homeless. Finding another spot for a club would be easy enough but first he would find the man who did this and show him how the Jester did things.

Killer's Dance
(Attn: Maggot)

The door opened to reveal Tima Barkov standing there with a folder. “This is for you madam. You will find information on the last known whereabouts of your husband’s killer.” He handed it to her and left for the elevator.

Maria sat on the edge of her hotel bed and broke the seal on the manila envelope. A black and white, grainy picture slid out of it revealing a fairly innocuous looking man with brush cut pale hair. Attached to it was a short dossier revealing a very dangerous man indeed. She had heard his name spoken in certain circles but she had doubted his very existence until now. If anyone could have killed Victor it would be Wesley. She called the airline and booked a flight to Coldstone.

Jail Bird
(Attn: Katanga)

Never one to give into fear, Roman channeled the emotion into positive energy. If someone was out to get him then so be it, wouldn’t be the first time. Perhaps it was time to set some other pieces into motion. There was still much that could be done from within his “prison” but it never hurt to have options. He envisioned a monumental Go board and began placing the stones where they would do the most good.

Holy War
(Attn: Blunt)

The airport bustled with activity as Virgil tried to get an earlier flight. While waiting in line he saw “Tony’s Tiger” flash on the news. He knew that Paulie was running that joint now. Although he had let ties slip a bit with his old pals, he felt compelled to check things out. Maybe he’d stay here for another day or so.

CHAPTER 2 IS NOW CLOSED. PLEASE DON'T POST UNTIL CHAPTER 3 IS UP (In just a few minutes.)