The Truth, The Tale, and The Guns Blaze Bright

[Doaj]

The Truth, The Tale, and The Guns

OOC: To reiterate what I said in the OOC thread, everyone should start their first post explaining how they came to hear about the hit. This doesn’t have to be a long and grueling part of your post, and can just be referenced, but we do need to know who contacted them, or who they contacted. In addition, nobody knows where my character is at the moment, and after reading my post, you’ll find hints and clues as to where I am. I’ll also make a list of ten possible locations at the end of each of my posts, and if I receive a PM confirming my location, then I’ll remain there so that your character can move in for the kill. However, your posts need to reflect how you obtained this information. You can torture people who you have reason to believe know, or you can blackmail people, or you can simply try and track me down. You could also simply wait at a specific location and hope I show up. It’s your choice how you play it. Enough of that now. Allow us to begin.

It was not the phone call that Alfonso was expecting. The clearly distorted voice on the other end bid him farewell, and as Alfonso heard his fax machine in the adjacent room hum to life, he was nervous about the content of the images being sent over. The lighting in the den was dim, it was easier on Alfonso’s eyes. The cigar in his mouth was the brightest light in the room, and he rose from his chair to walk to the other room. His son was his pride and joy. He may not have told him so, but it didn’t make it any less true. He tried to be stern with him, to make him tough as nails, and Adalberto, his dear Adalberto, would one day bear him many grandchildren, and keep the legacy that is the Iaconelli Syndicate living long and prosperously. He made his way to the adjacent room, where he hung his cordless phone up back on the hook. Next to it was the fax machine, of which many pictures were printing revealing his dear son, Adalberto, in front of various bars and clubs with names that offended his father’s eyes. Alfonso crumpled up the stack of photos after looking through them a second time, and threw them into the wastebasket beside him. He would later return to burn them.

For now, though, he simply returned to his recliner chair, lit another cigar, and picked up the phone. He’s be making one phone call of his own, to a long-time friend, Vincenzio Mancini. He’d have him take care of the situation at hand, and Alfonso debated adopting a son. Perhaps a boy born in Italy, so that Alfonso and him could have some common ground. He couldn’t help but feel at fault though, for raising his son in such an influential city. His poor, dear son.

---

Adalberto Iaconelli sat in a large sofa, almost being devoured by its cushions. His right arm was around the shoulder of a nice looking blond he’d picked up near the entrance, who was laughing with a smile full of impressively white teeth. His left arm was about the neck of a soldier, in uniform, with his hair cut very short. The man-in-uniform look was something Adalberto happened to be partial to. In response to something said just audibly enough to hit Adalberto’s ears, an inquiry as to where the party is at, he shouted, “The party’s over here, bitches!” Which resulted in screaming and cheering from the quadrant of the club that could hear his rebel yell. He untwined his arms from the two men he’d met here, and took a large gulp from some fruity-tasting drink on the table in front of him. This was one of Adalberto’s favorite spots to go. An all gay bar was somewhere safe. He didn’t have to worry about one of Father’s hitmen seeing him here- they wouldn’t be here unless they were gay too.

The night kept on, and eventually Adalberto and Jenkins, which was the only name Adalberto had for the man in uniform, decided to take their flirting somewhere more private. It was on his nametag, and Adalberto didn’t want to cut the flair of mystery that was about him. Together, they made their way into the alley behind the bar, where the taxi they’d called ahead for met them, eager to take them anywhere in Atlantic City. Blissfully unaware of the swarm of locusts about to descend.

---

Downtown – The Lap (Gay Bar)
Downtown – Viva La Coast (Motel)
The Wedge - Jenkins’ Home (Residential)
Pierside – S Ledge (Local Park)
Pierside – Of the Brave (Smoke Lounge)
Pierside – Murano (Hotel)
South End – Flying Boots (Restaurant)
South End – Dollarwash (Laundromat)
Eastside – Cowboys & Indians (Gay Bar)
Lakewood – Tigress’ Den (Gay Bar)

Previous Location: N/A

[Philosophy]

"'Ey, Mako. Salt."
Giuseppe, not gesturing acknowledgment in any way, kept his eyes focused on his culinary art as he reached to his left on the counter, where the salt lied. He tossed the salt shaker behind him to the man who asked for it: his friend and assistant chef, Ricci.
"Grazie."
Giuseppe earned the nickname "Mako" by the Iaconelli family. The Mako Shark is known to be a smart and strategical sea creature, as well as an incredibly swift one. Giuseppe had created quite the reputation for himself by his assassination tactics, and the name only spread when some of the other cooks (and those few who were interested in fishing) had seen "Mako" to be a fitting name for him. Giuseppe accepted it gratefully, and had not once stopped living up to the name.
Not only was he a great hitman in the family, he was also the top cook. In fact, he had just cooked a meal for the family about an hour ago, and now he and Ricci were making their own dinner. The family always came first, it was a true cook's only way.
This beautiful kitchen inside the Iaconelli house was one to be worshipped by cooks. The smooth marble counters, the stained, red wooden cabinets, the completely necessarily gigantic refrigerator, and... a chandelier, which Giuseppe really didn't care much for, but he knew it was supposed to be beautiful. It felt like there was a goddamn chandelier in every room of this mansion, but all he really needed was this kitchen. The kitchen was his domain. In here, he was the king of chefs, the unbeatable, unstoppable, perfect--
SLAM.
"Dammit! Shit! Oww!" Giuseppe cried out. He had hit his head on the still beautiful marble counter after slipping on some meat on the floor.
"Ricci! What the hell is that doing on the floor?"
Ricci threw his arms up as his jaw dropped.
"That was you! It was on your side! Look, my side is completely clean!" Ricci defended himself. Indeed, it was Giuseppe's fault. Ricci was right--his area of the kitchen was completely clean save for the chopped up fish on the cutting board. Giuseppe rubbed his head and began to stand up. He looked at the hand, and noticed some blood. He then let out a grunt, or a moan, or something in between. Rinsing his head, as he happened to hit the side with the cornrows, he reached for a towel. Not wanting to offend the wife of his boss (or the boss himself), Giuseppe found it wiser to quickly ask if it was alright to use a hand towel for his bleeding head. Giuseppe exited the room in search of Alfonso Iaconelli. He was not in the dining room, nor the family room, nor the living room. Approaching the hallway to the den, Guiseppe could heard a hum from some kind of machine, but it had ended as soon as he entered the hallway.
That must be him, he thought. As he was about to knock on the door, he heard some mumbling, as if Alfonso were talking to somebody. Giuseppe was sure that it was indeed Alfonso's voice, and unwillingly caught a few words before actually knocking. However, not much made sense to him, and assumed he had misheard.
Giuseppe knocked.

[Daesy]

"Im Shawn Spencer and this is my partner, MC Clap yo Handz."

Tyleya started to laugh. She felt so bad for Guster Burton, on her favorite TV Show, Psych. Between him and Carlton Lassiter, She wasn't sure how they could even show there face in public because of Shawn's shenanigans.

The phone rang with made her turn her attention for the television. She paused it, and walked to the phone.

"Speak."

A woman's voice came from the other end.

"Check you email." click.

Tyleya hung up the phone and went to her laptop that was on her desk. Opening the lid she waited for it to warm up. She yawned and stretched her arms. The last few jobs she had had were wimpy jobs. One she was so bored with the target, she played with him until she just decided to put him out of his misery. One she was about to kill, but found out the hit was on a 16 yr old mother. Her father didnt want the shame of her being pregnant and instead of sending her away, he decided to kill her. Not able to kill his daughter he hired Tyleya. Not gonna happen. The other one was an Oyabun from Osaka. Deserved it as he may, Tyleya didn’t touch Yakuza or Triad hits, nor did she hit a family for another family.

Opening her email she was greeted by a new message,

We have heard of your expertise in your career and have offer worth your while. Though we are not conviced by the rumors, we need to have a demonstration of your trade. Be respond for more details.

Tyleya smirked. Quickly she wrote back.

RE: No demonstration require. You have exactly 15 minutes to decide on what you feel you need to do. Email me back in 15 mins and 1 second, I will find you and I will find those who you love and kill them. I am not one to be trifled with.

Tyleya sent the message and waited. 5 minutes later she got a message:

Ty! Heard of a big hit. Heard it will be hard. Meet me at The Lap.
Love Eumie!

“Big hit! I’m so there.”

New Message: We have made our decision and we want to meet with you to discuss the details.

Tyleya sent her signature message when someone screwed up or too to long. The anonymous sender will get rickrolled.

Tyleya closed her laptop and went to the closet. She donned the grey shirt with the rolled up sleeves, and the khaki pants. Her shoes were grey Converse hi tops which she folded down, with crossbones on it as the design. She went to the other closet were she kept her weapons. She picked up the five sevens and put them on her hips. It was chilly outside so she got her grey coat that came to her mid thigh.

“Guess I gotta finish this episode later.” Tyleya muttered as she turned the TV off.

She went to the door and walked out. Locking ass 10 locks she made her way to the street. Walking down the street she realized that though In this neighborhood no one knew what she did for a living, they feared her. The drug dealers who saw her walk by just nodded. No pick up line, No “You want some good good.” It was funny in a way. This little 5’4 girl and nothing. The only ones who would talk to her were the “escort” girls. In fact a lot of the infor on a hit she got was from these girls or from their friends. Tyleya always waved and said hello to them. It was hard life and without her fathers help she was doomed to be right there with these girl. The though of her father brought pain in her heart.

“TAXI!” she yelled.

A taxi cab pulled over and Tyleya got in.

"Take me to The Lap”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Tyleya Vendega-Majima
Sender-NPP
Lady on the phone-NPP
Eumie-NPP

[A Bit Obtuse]

The bar crowd was starting to dwindle as it grew closer to midnight. It was a week day and people had to sober up before returning to work or finding their way back home to their pissed-off significant others. Molly sat behind the bar on a stool, mindlessly cleaning a glass while she watched the remaining patrons drink themselves stupid. It wasn’t a glorious job, but it kept her busy and payed the bills while she was in-between ‘jobs’ for her Uncles. Business had been slow, even Shane had picked up extra hours at the station just to make rent each month.

Molly yawned and tucked a curly strand of ginger hair behind her ear, and reached to pick up another glass. It wasn’t dirty but she pretended to clean it just to avoid Gabe, the owner, he would probably make her go clean the bathrooms or something even more disgusting. She only had an hour left of her shift, and she didn’t want to spend it cleaning piss off the floor. As she reached back to pick up another non-dirty glass, she felt a small vibration in her pocket. She pulled it out and was surprised to find it was her business cell ringing, only a handful of people knew the number to it. Not even her mother knew she had this phone. The number on the screen was UNKNOWN but instead of ignoring it, she felt the need to answer this call.

She slid off the stool and made her way back towards the restrooms to avoid the background noise of the bar. The woman’s door was locked, so she slipped into the men’s and was greeted with the vile smell of piss, booze and other uninviting smells. She tried breathing through her mouth as she answered the phone. “What?” Molly wasn’t very good at being welcoming...

“Listen broad, I’m going to say this once and once only. So you better fucking listen carefully.” The voice was unrecognizable. Male,possibly Italian, New Jersey accent. Repulsive.


”Excuse me? Who the fuck are you and how the fuck did you get this number?”
Her shrill voice echoed off the bathroom tile, but she was sure no one else could hear her.

“I’m the one who’s gonna be asking the questions here, bitch. So keep your mouth shut.”

“And why the hell should I listen to you, asshole?!”

“I don’t know, is 500K worth listening to anyone?”
Molly stood with her mouth hung slightly open, and let that total run through her head again.
“Okay, you have my attention.”

“Damn right I do. There’s a job that needs to be done, so write this shit down. I’m not gonna repeat myself. “

Molly dug through her pockets to produce a black sharpie, but she had no paper to write on, so she turned to the only mirror in there, leaning over the sink she started writing down everything.

The man rambled on faster than she could write, she only caught key words, names,places, prices all spilled onto the reflective surface of the mirror. In midst of her writing, she didn’t hear the drunk guy stumble in and make his way to the urinal. It wasn’t until she heard the sound of liquid hitting porcelain and the foul smell that followed, that she turn her attention to him.

“Hey!” She held the phone away from her face,as to not damage the mysterious caller’s eardrums and anger him further.
“Can’t you see I’m fuckin’ busy here, man?”

Without disrupting his flow, the drunk merely looked over his shoulder and flipped Molly off.
“Fuck off...” He slurred. Molly turned back to the phone, “Hold for a moment.”

She set the phone down and walked up behind the man. She politely tapped the man on the shoulder and when he turned to confront her, her fist made contact with his nose sending him sprawling backwards. She didn’t give him time to recover when he hit the tile floor, she bent down and grabbed him by the back of his collar and dragged him across the filthy bathroom floor. He didn’t put up much of a fight as he had his hands over nose to stop the bleeding. She kicked opened the door and flung him out into the hallway. She slammed the door shut and locked it behind her, ignoring his drunken cries from the other side.

She picked up the phone and was expecting to hear a dial tone, but was surprised to hear the thick New Jersey accent on the other line still. “Are you done messin’ around, because I don’t have fuckin’ time for this.”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever. What else do you need to tell me anyway?” She stood facing the mirror, her reflection was barely visible behind the black scribble that was her handwriting.

“Know this. You’re not gonna be the only one lookin for this guy. It’s first come, first serve with this. There’s a lot of other people out there that want 500k more than you do.”

Molly’s features were distorted in the mirror, “Then why the hell you botherin’ me for if you know there’s others out there doin’ this shit?”

“I heard you and your brother were good. Let’s hope you’re good enough.”
There was a click, followed by a dial tone.

Molly stood there staring at her phone and when it didn’t ring again she put it back in her pocket. “What the fuck...” She placed her hands on the sink and leaned into the mirror.

“Iaconelli “ The name was familiar enough. She stared at the words harder, as if the answer would come to her if she did. And then there came a knock at the door. With a sigh she flung open the door. “It’s about time you fu-” She stopped short as she saw her brother standing in the door way in his police uniform.

“You know, it’s not nice to go around breaking your customer’s nose because you’re in the wrong bathroom to begin with.”

“So, I was in here first.”

“Molly, you broke the poor guy’s nose for Christ sake.”

“Just come in here, I have something to show you.”

[Aleister Black]

Nathan always thought it was good to stay in touch with your playful side. Taking life seriously all the time will eventually wear you down, after all. His fingers loosely clasped the controller of an Xbox360 as he lounged on a couch with a dreadful striped motif in the centre of a shabby room barely lit through a grubby window overlooking the whole width of a street, the blue sky barely visible overhead as buildings reached up and clouds drifted past.

"Ha," he exclamed, "got you again! Man, you're not good. You should put in some more practice. It's kinda boring playing against you."

A soft moan was all he received in response.

"See, you gotta learn the maps and get to know the good spots to hide at. Just standing there in the middle of the street isn't gonna help you- gotcha again! You didn't even shoot back!" Nathan laughed and punched the other man in the kitchen chair next to him on the shoulder.

"Well, I'm bored now. I'm going to make some chow. You want some?"

"Hmph."

"Ok, whatever man. Don't be a sore loser now!" Nathan dropped the controller on the floor and ambled over to the kitchen, helping himself to a beer and a ham sandwich. He had only arrived in this city a few weeks ago but he was already making a lot of friends. It was hard, in a way, to be constantly on the move. You could never fully acclimatise to an environment, friendships were always brief and fleeting. But then, Nathan could always connect to people very intensely, and found that even though he would never see these people again, they would still have made an impression on his soul, and he on theirs, for the rest of their lives. And that, at least, was a comforting thought.

"Shall I get you a cold one as well?" Nathan shouted over his shoulder. No audible answer. He'd get one just in case. He could always drink it himself.

As he returned to the living room, he burst out laughing. "Oh, you clumsy guy, what have you managed to do now?" He walked over to his new friend and hauled the kitchen chair upright, which was no easy task as the man was tied to it really tightly. His hands were turning an ashen grey and scabs and blood were on his wrists and ankles. His face was red and his eyes swollen and moist. A soft moaning was all that could escape the duct tape covering his mouth. His chest and legs and arms were covered in cuts and bruises, some of them still bleeding, others oozing a more clear fluid now.

Nathan yanked off the strip of tape off the man's mouth, to which he only responded with a soft moan, before it was stifled by the beer bottle put to his lips, the liquid dripping past his lips and over his chin. "P-pwease," he mumbled with visible effort when Nathan removed the bottle. Nathan's sunny expression did not change. "I can tell you how to get to five-hundred..." he gulped, trying to get his dry throat to swallow what beer he'd gotten in his mouth. "...five-hundred thousand dollars."

Nathan pulled up a chair and sat across from the man, chin resting on his crossed arms. He met and held the man's gaze. "And why would this be of interest to me?" he asked. The tied up man's eyes showed despair as he continued, "It's a murder hit! You can kill this guy, instead of me! If you let me live, I'll tell you how to find him!" Nathan hardly blinked. His victim grew more desperate now, wriggling his wrists and feet ineffectually against the bonds keeping him on the chair. Several of the cuts burst open under the strain, and blood welled up from some of them. "His name is Iaconelli! Son of a Mafia boss - Italian Mafia!" Nathan stood up, kicking over the chair he was sitting on. He brought his face close to the man's, a pleasant smile on his face. "Man, thanks for setting me up on that one! Sounds like a challenge! But you see..."

An expression of relief appeared on the man's face. "They want him dead 'cos he fucks guys. I tracked him do-" Further speaking was made rather more difficult for him by a knife puncturing his windpipe. Nathan pulled it out and watched, head tilted, as the man gasped for breath that would not reach his lungs.

"...I don't want to have to choose. Besides, we were getting so close.Why rob our bonding of all meaning by pretending nothing happened?"

As the final, labouring breaths got less and less audible, Nathan tidied up the place, got himself another beer and got his late friend a few Ace pins on Bad Company 2. After watching some generic sitcom, he got his coat and left the apartment.

So he was looking for some gay Italian Mafia boy.

Fucking needle in a haystack, then.

[Bruton Gaster]

"So, are we still on for tonight?", Cassius asked his 'girlfriend' over the phone, standing in front of an open window in his apartment like a statue, watching the sunrise. A cup of coffee, a cigarette, and the sunrise... Nothing could make Cassius' day start out any better than that.

"Cassius... WHY do you always call this early in the morning?", the woman replied in an irritated tone. Her anger confused Cassius, he didn't think there was anything wrong with calling early in the morning.

"I don't know. Is there a problem with that?"

"Yeah..."

"Alright then, I won't call anymore." Cassius hung up before she could reply. This wasn't the first time Cassius' early phone calls pissed off a woman. Almost all of the women he dated grew tired of his habit. Others either took him for a sucker and cheated, or just couldn't continue seeing a man who spends his Saturdays sharpening knives and cleaning his crossbows.

His phone began ringing a couple of seconds afterwards. Cassius took his sweet time answering.

"Didn't we just talk?", he asked.

"Relax buddy, it's not one of your whores", a man with an Asian accent replied. He started laughing afterwards.

"Dan? What do you want? I thought I told you not to call this number..." Dan is the closest thing to a friend Cassius has. Cassius saw him getting beat up by some Yakuza and decided to help him out. That was the first and only time he saved someone from getting killed. Dan must've done something to get labeled a traitor and set up to be killed, but Cassius never asked him. Dan has tons of connections and can get information on almost anyone, which helps Cassius out a lot when he gets an assassination job. He gives Dan 30% of the money they make when working together.

"You did. But you also said not to call that number UNLESS it was an emergency, remember baby?"

"True... Didn't I also tell you to not call me baby?"

"Yeah yeah, whatever. So, aren't you interested in this emergency?"

"Not really. Talk fast, I have stuff to do." Cassius began pacing back and forth in his living room, sipping the last of his coffee. Dan didn't reply for a while and a woman's moans could be heard in the background. He always did this over the phone, knowing that Cassius wouldn't hang up, just to annoy him. The closest he's gotten to getting Cassius really angry was the time he hid his crossbow... Something he'll never even think of trying again. After a loud clap, Dan's heavy breathing could be heard. "Do you always have to end it with a slap, Dan?", Cassius asked.

"Yep. I know it looks and sounds bad, but they love it man. You should try it sometime. Anyways, here goes. Try to keep your pants on. One of my whore's brother's friend's sister's cousin's uncle is a major drug dealer, one of the most popular and dangerous drug dealers you'll ever meet. Ooo." Dan spoke as if he was telling a scary story. He then began making a clicking sound with his teeth.

"So... what's the emergency? Dan, don't make me kill you."

"You can try, but I'm not done yet!", Dan yelled. He continued making the clicking sound for a couple of seconds before continuing. "So this big drug dealer is actually a massive faggot. He owns a gay bar called Cowboys and Indians. That place is full of queers, you'll LOVE IT. Anyways there's more to it than just that. There's a 500K hit on this queer who's the son of Alfonso Iaconelli. 500 MAN, 500!!!", Dan kept yelling 500 hundred over and over.

"Dan... You could've just told me there was a 500k hit on a homosexual guy who's the son of a mob boss."

"My way builds more suspense, man."

"If you say so. What's the target's name?"

"Adalberto. GO GET 'EM TIGER!"

Cassius hung up and sat down to sharpen his knife. A few hours later Cassius gets another call, from the woman he hung up on earlier that morning. "Who is it?", he asked as he stashed a throwing knife and a silenced pistol in his leather jacket.

"Hey Cassius, it's me Jess... I didn't like how our conversation ended earlier. Uh... What are you doing tonight?", she nervously asked.

"Tracking down a mob boss' homosexual son. You?"

"Nevermind..." Jess hung up as fast as she could.

[Casanova]

Benito was sat in The Trinity Irish Pub & Carvery in The Pier Shops at Caesars. The man opposite him offended on sight. A gaudy Hawaiian shirt, thick mustache and dark mottled skin. This rotund, sweating man was drinking heavy gulps of Guinness and blabbering almost incomprehensibly through a heavy Arabian accent. Benito didn't like the way he kept looking over his shoulder, as if changing the location of this little meeting seven times and picking a seat right by the fire exit wasn't enough for this prick.

The bar was almost empty except for a few shoppers in one corner, and an older guy sat by the bar. The rain outside beat on the windows. Perfect conditions for a discreet meeting.

"Hassan" said Benito, "calm the fuck down and tell me again what you saw"

"Is like I tell you, Mr Ben. He come in, your friend with the big hair, and he shouting all this shit in my customer faces about putting their wallets-"

"Hold on" interjected Benito, "If you knew he was one of my guys, then why the hell did you pop him right there and then, Hassan? Tell me why"

"Pop?"

"Shoot him, Hassan. Why did you kill one of my guys? You could have just told him you were one of my guys too"

Benito took off his sunglasses and, folding them quickly, tucked them into the inside pocket of his Armani blazer. The Arab was thrown at the sudden movements and he burped loudly, quickly covering his mouth. Benito winced as the smell of dry ale wafted his way.

"Fuck sake, Hassan. If you're as nervous as you seem then why the fuck are you drinking? In fact, what the fuck are you doing drinking anyway, aren't you supposed to be Muslim?"

"The fuck is I doing shooting man in my restaurant?" Asked the Arab.

"Yes, Hassan. Amazing question. Needs an immediate answer, mind you."

Benito was starting to get annoyed, and he guessed it showed in his eyes because the Arab pushed the glass of ale away and straightened up in his seat, trying to push his greasy hair out of his eyes.

"Is stupid of me. I know is stupid of me Mr Ben. I know he your man but he shout all his shit in my customer face and make them scared"

Benito sighed heavily and pinched his nose with his forefinger and thumb. Under the table, his left hand squeezed the trigger of his silenced 9mm twice. Two smooth and precise actions. With his right hand he caught the Arab's head before it hit the table and laid it softly on his arm. Then he closed the man's eyes and wiped him over to erase prints. Then he wiped the wood around the seats, the table and just to be safe, the drinks menu.

Benito put the silenced 9mm back in its holster, put his sunglasses back on and made his way toward the bar.

"Excuse me, mate" he said to the barman in his finest Australian accent, "my mate over there is very tired and he's had a very long day" he said, pointing to Hassan's corpse, "You aren't particularly busy around here so I'd appreciate it if you could just leave him be until he finds his bearings, if you catch my drift." He slid a crisp 50 across the bar.

"Of course, sir" said the barman, taking note of Benito's expensive air "Have a nice day"

"G'day, mate" said Benito with a nod, and he left.

---

Benito walked into his father's study five hours later, exhausted and aching for a drink. His father welcomed him enthusiastically, kissed his son on each cheek and they embraced aggressively. His father was always boisterious.

"My son! Come, sit, drink with me! What news?" he sat behind his expansive desk and poured two generous helpings of a single malt Scottish whiskey.

"Appreciated" said Benito taking a sip, "and not so good, I'm afraid"

"Eh..." his father sighed in response, "Your brother's fortunes haven't been good either. But we'll come to that. Speak" he encouraged.

"I had to take care of Hassan, because he took care of Jerwayne"

"Hah!" exclaimed Vincenzio Mancini, "That stupid fucking Arab. I never agreed with your decision to accept his information. I told you this would happen" he pointed a short finger, "I always know when this kind of thing will happen. And Jerwayne, you said? The negro boy?"

"The very same" said Benito.

"I liked him" said Vincenzio, "Polite boy. But why did Hassan kill him?"

"He tried to rob Hassan's shit hole"

"Polite but stupid" said Vincenzio, "And where does this leave Paulo?"

"Living" answered Benito.

"You want me to offer protection?"

"No. I don't think this was some kind of orchestrated effort. Paulo hasn't reported anything suspicious since we got rid of the Limey fucker that tailed him for two weeks back in June. He should be fine, I've got Andy watching his place from time to time anyway."

Vincenzio sighed heavily once more and nodded slightly.

"You're making the right decisions, but they're still decisions you shouldn't need to make. Not yet. You're going through informants like a cheap whore does horny clients. This shit has to stop, Benny. You can't leave a trail of dead all over Atlantic City like this. The cops aren't completely fucking stupid, you know. Some of them even went to school"

"I'm sorry" said Benito.

"No" said Vincenzio, "I don't want to hear it. Apologies are for the weak. Go out there and prove me wrong, my boy. Set things right and handle your shit properly from now on"

"I understand" said Benito.

"Now" he said, rising from his heavily cusioned chair "I have a job for you. Important"

"Oh?"

"One of Alfonso Iaconelli's guys wants information"

He started rummaging in his desk for something.

"Why not put one of your guys on it?" asked Benito.

"Because I no longer have guys like that" replied Vincenzio, giving his son a disapproving glare from over the desk lamp.

It's true, thought Benito. Vincenzio is preparing for retirement, afterall. He liquidated all his informants on to his sons. The only people Benito's father has left are his personal guard and his most trusted advisors. Benito and his brother Marciano do their best to keep their father informed now. It was what Benito was doing tonight.

"Here we are!" said Vincenzio triumphantly, producing a piece of paper with untidy scrawls on it. He sat back down, put on his reading glasses and read aloud:

"10:00 pm, Friday, Cowboys & Indians on Eastside, ask for Janine".

"Cowboys & Indians?" asked Benito blankly.

"Gay bar" said Vincenzio with apparent distaste, "Keep your back to the fucking wall, eh?" he offered the piece of paper to his son.

"I'll look into it" said Benito.

[Ryvius]

Penelope Sharpe was the life of the party. Her laugh was soft, yet it carried itself across rooms and through open doorways and gave a little bit of joy to everyone who heard it. She didn’t become the center of attention, but everyone knew she was there. No one here was a close friend with her, but everyone regarded her pleasantly. They just assumed she was close with one of the other people here. She was so nice to everyone, it never came up.
She was the kind that made other women jealous, because she just woke up beautiful. Her skin was fair, and she didn’t wear any make up on her perfectly cute face. Her eyes were blue with a hint of green, like a clear lake surrounded by grassy fields. Her face was framed by her strawberry blonde hair that fell a little past her shoulders. It would be longer if it wasn’t a bit curly, it was obvious she didn’t do much more than run a brush through it to get it ready.

Penelope was everywhere at the party, but never stayed in any one place long. All throughout the night, she kept disappearing somewhere with phone calls. No one had any idea who she was talking to so much, they figured she must have a boyfriend. She laughed and shrugged off the accusation. Before she could be interrogated further, her phone rang again. She said it was her work phone, and disappeared again. this time, she didn't come back to the party. No one would hold it against her though. Everyone knew how busy work kept Penelope, although no one actually knew just what she did for a living.

Ms. Sharpe had work to do indeed. What should have been a simple job had gone wrong. Pina Di Morte was livid. Not that it ever showed in his voice, or that he ever used his real voice, but Penelope wouldn't be on the job if Morte wasn't enraged. With him angry, heads were gonna roll.
The target was a mob boss's son. He wouldn't have any protection from his mob buddies though, that had already been seen to. His death was a certainty, but Penelope preferred it to be her hand that dealt it. More important than his death was a locket that needed to be turned over to Morte. She knew she wasn't the only gun hired for this, and chances are it would turn into a race of who could put a bullet through him first. Either that or everyone would get along and work together. Penelope would've laughed at the thought, but she never laughed when she was alone.

The engine of her car roared as she sped off from the party she was just at. Time to check out a few gay bars. If the target was smart, he wouldn't be anywhere near a gay bar right now. Then again, it wasn't smart to be on Morte's bad side. Or maybe it's better to say his worst side, if he had a good side Penelope hadn't seen it. Not that anyone had actually seen-oh whatever.

Penelope shook her head. She was thinking too much, and starting to have a conversation inside her head. She only had to keep her mind on a few things, all that mattered was the job. Sometimes you had to plan for stupid targets too. Either way, when you're looking for someone the last place they've been seen is never a bad place to start. She'd get somebody at the bars to talk to her, if their mouths weren't full.