CS2: Chapter 2

GAMING Boards, Cards and Tabletops
21

Cry Havoc…

Paulie pushes back from the desk and rubs his eyes. The last of the girls went home about an hour ago, and Lurch is out at the bar finishing his clean-up. Not a bad night, but somehow, the place seemed a little … lifeless last night. A lot of the regulars weren’t there.

Eh, maybe a big game on last night, he thinks as he rises and exits the office. He checks his watch, then waves to Lurch. “Lock the place up, okay Big Guy? I’m gonna go home, jerk off to Kelly Ripa, and get some sleep.”

Lurch nods and goes back to his work. Paulie is almost at the front door when he sees it through what’s left of the front window.

The street is empty except for one car. And Paulie has been in the biz too long to think a lone car at dawn is nothing to worry about. “Sorry, Kelly, I owe you a raincheck,” he mutters to himself as he walks back into the club. Lurch looks up, and the look on Paulie’s face tells him the story. He reaches under the bar and pulls out a sawed-off shotgun. Paulie waves him off.

“Nah, not yet. But keep it handy, just in case.” He sits down at the bar. “Gimme an OJ, and watch the door,” he says calmly, and waits.

22

Down and Out in Coldstone

George McClure sat in his recliner, one of the few “main-stays” in his large, empty apartment. The light from the TV was all that lit the room, as George aimlessly flipped through the channels.

He threw the remote onto the floor, got up, and put on some sweatpants and a t-shirt. He walked out of the door and decided that sleep could wait.

Tonight, he’d be driving around town.

23

Insurance
(Attn: Seahawk)

As he hung at the door, it slowly opened. A petite but nicely curved young Japanese woman, her frame hugged by midnight green silk entered. A tray with two covered porcelain bowls balanced on a teak tray. Dahl kept one hand on the door and the other free in case this was another one of those “put you the hell out of your misery” lines. He’d always hated those. The door slowly closed behind her as she breathed in, her hands a bit shaky for a simple meal run. Dahl stepped closer to her. He figured she hadn’t expected to find him walking on the right side of the room.

She was beautiful, someone he would seek more with, start a conversation with, and flirt like no other with. That was before. Before he was a prisoner with boys and knives and whatever hell else they could come up with. The food did beckon to him and it nearly broke him. He was weak, one eye out of commision and muscles that screamed at him. He figured they hadn’t killed him yet, there was a reason.

Slowly, his fingers ran over the tops of her arms and down to the tray as he slowly slipped it out of her hands and onto the table next to the wall. Neither had said a word and she finially turned to look him in the eye. It was a sight to see. Every curve, every inch of her made him want to just give up trying and lay down with her and die right now.

But this was Thomas Dahl, prisoner. He had Veretta to concern himself with. Othello was on the periphary for the moment as well. And this young thing beckoned to him. Why Fate was fucking with him was beyond him. He tired of it, but the scenery offered some respite. He smiled grimly, taking one of the bowls, with spoon. Dahl slowly took his left hand and stroked the young ladies mouth, slowly prying it open as she stood as still as a doornail. He moved the spoon, full of soup to her mouth, depositing it and stroking it close once more. She swallowed.

And Dahl waited. Moments passed. If she was here on a assigned mission, they might worry where she was. If she was on an errand of mercy, they couldn’t care less. She stood still, eyes blinking as she looked to him still, neither having spoken during this intimate exchange.

He traded the bowls and did the same routine again, this time detecting a tremble as he moved his hands over her delicate skin. And they still stood in silence as he waited.

Ten minutes passed. Dahl positioned the bowl back on the table. He leaned forward and kissed her on the forhead. Thomas then turned to the table, slid onto it, took a bowl in his hands and began to slowly eat, watching the girl as she remained.

24

Holy War

Virgil takes out his cellphone and rapidly dials the number Othello had given him. Marcy picked up the line.

“Yes, Virgil speaking. Could you please tell Mr Redman that I won’t be able to meet him at lunch? I just had a lead on the case he assigned me to, and I want to follow it right now, and that means going back to Coldstone.”

“Of course, Mr Abrizza, he will be told without fault. Anything else I can do for you?”

“Yes, I’m gonna be catching a plane back, I’m leaving my car here. Could you get it secured? Oh, and also tell Mr Redman I’ll contact him again as soon as I have made progress. You’ll be a sweetheart.”

“Most certainly. Have a nice day”.

Virgil hangs up, collects his suitcase in which now lies the tools he had requested from Othello, and heads downstairs. Exiting the casino through the front door, he catches a whiff of Vegas’ morning sun. He breathes deeply. He hails a taxicab from the endless stream passing in front of the establishment.

“To the airport.”, he says to the driver as he slumps in the seat. The drive from the Savannah to Vegas’ airport is a short one, especially with the fluid morning traffic and Virgil soon finds himself standing in line at the counter. He purchases a ticket to Coldstone and heads for the waiting room, having near one hour to kill before departure. He decides to call his girlfriend to see if she’s fine, but only finds the answering machine.

“Hey babe, it’s me. Just wanted to see if you were okay. I’m heading out to Coldstone for businnes, the usual stuff. I’ll probably be back in a couple of days. I’ll call you soon as I set foot in LA and we’ll fix us a nice romantic evening. Love you. Bye.”

He pulls out the folder and studies his files again. The picture, even though of bad quality, reveals the crude, brute-like features of Robert Alvarez, the man Virgil has to find. He taps on the photog with one finger. “You’re mine.”, he says softly, smiling at the sight of the face he’s about to wipe off the earth. The attendant calls out for his flight and Virgil stands up, heading for the boarding gate.

25

Cry Havoc

As dawn crept over the horizon, Wesley calmly surveyed his surroundings from the roof of the Tiger. As first steps go, this was a bit on the childish side, mayhem for the sake of mayhem…

He’d had no trouble slipping past any guards or onlookers; no one noticed the nondescript monster in a black hooded sweatshirt with black cargo pants. Quietly, Wesley used his miniature grappling hook to bring down the fire escape… a fire escape that went all the way to the roof. When he got to the roof, the monster quickly bypassed the soft alarms: the hidden piano wires, the deadfalls, the foot level strings with tinkling bells. Strictly amateur hour. The motion sensors took longer but Wesley was patient.

Soon he began his work. One pound of Sentex here. Two pounds there. Another pound here. After he had planted his wares in ten different locations, he strode quietly to the edge of the roof, the detonator in his hand. The car he had been given was lonesome, parked by itself on a deserted street. Was that enough of a signal? The venal goings on of the club had ended and dawn was creeping over the horizon. Time to send a message.

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…

26

Quote:
capteucalyptus (Scott Roche): Negotiations (Attn:Fett, Molinaro) Marcello bustled up to the two men and gestured to the table. “Please sit, sit.” The two men take chairs and the club owner poured wine for them starting with Vallone. He then drew back to the shadows and watched the meeting discretely. Anton Vallone measured Tobiasi with his eyes. “I’ll get right to the point Frank. I am here to make you an offer that is in your best interest to take.” He waits for Coldstone’s foster-Godfather to respond.

‘Go on.’

27

Insurance/Killer’s Dance
(Attn: Logan, Kid Ego)

Othello pushed back in his chair and looked at the only man he could trust. “Well Tima things are certainly getting deep in here.”

“Yessir.” The bodyguard replied with only a trace of the Balkans in his speech.

“I want you to find out what’s up with this letter and I want a full report on this girl and her husband by tomorrow.” He stood up and leaned on his cane. “I’m going to go see what Veretta wants. I think I can make it upstairs without someone slitting my throat. You go take care of that report.”

Barkov nods crisply as he watches Othello place a hand on one of the books on the case lining the far wall. A door opens revealing a hidden one-man elevator. The casino’s last manager liked his gadgets, one of the things that put the place in the red so deeply. Othello’s guard went out the door and headed to his own office down the hall.

The elevator opened on the suite and the ex-gangster walked to his desk up here. When he saw the throwing star growing out of the wedding picture that he kept there, his breath caught in his throat. His right hand went for a gun that was no longer there.

28

Insurance
(Attn: Seahawk)

The young lady watched him eat and let a slight smile play on her crimson lips, such kissable lips they were. She watched the hungry man devour the food with his mouth and her with his eyes.

“I am most glad that you were able to free yourself. I loosened your bonds while you were unconscious to make you more comfortable. What they did to you was unconscionable.” Here English was flawless and had a touch of the Oxford about it. “You can call me Miko.”

When he had finished the glorious repast before him she cleared the dishes. Coming around behind him she proceeded to message the knots out of his flesh. At first it was agonizing but rapidly became intensely pleasurable. “They have given me to you to pass the time while we wait for your employers to respond. We are not the animals that you are used to dealing with.” She undid several of the buttons holding her silk dress closed. “This time can be very pleasuarable.”

29

Holy War
(Attn: Blunt)

Virgil’s plane lands on time, one of the signs of the Apocalypse he was sure. None of his bags even got lost. He had this guy’s last known address in town and a contractor he was known to do work for. It turns out that Alvarez also did some leg breaking for “Big Al” on occasion. It was handy to have someone who could speak the language when leaning on Coldstone’s growing Hispanic population. He took in a deep lungful of the city air and coughed it back out. Despite being used to the smog back in LA, the air here seemed thicker, more treacherous. That was probably just the old scars talking. He wanted nothing more than to take care of business and rush back to his lady’s waiting arms.

30

Insurance
(Attn: Laugharn, Ego, Ryan Landau)

The hacker deluxe is checking out some things on his computer when he sees a mail come across Veretta’s box. He continued monitoring the man’s account long after they parted ways. It contained an MPEG file which showed Dahl hanging upside down in a featureless room. He looked mostly unharmed apart from a black eye and a bloodied nose. The text attached read:

Mr. Verreta,

Consider this an insurance policy. Complete your assigned duties and we will let you man go unharmed.

The note was unsigned.

31

Holy War

Virgil’s first move is to go to the Avis booth and rent a car. He pays for two days advance, with possibility of keeping the car longer if need be and is handed the keys to a nice Lincoln. He also asks for the adress of a good, not too expensive hotel that the clerk is more than happy to provide him. Virgil slides behind the wheel and takes one look at the piece of paper on which his target’s last know adress is written. He memorizes it and start the engine, pulling into traffic.

He arrives in town moments later, quickly finding his marks again, despite not having been in town for the longest of time. He easily makes his way to his destination and brings the vehicle to a halt in front of a rather crummy-looking building. He steps out of the car and briefly inspects it. Five stories tall, housing a myriads of small flats, the building is barely a shadow of his former self, now probably housing more squatters than legal inhabitants. Virgil strides towards the front door and enters. He looks for “Robert Alvarez” on the mail boxes and, sure enough, there it is. Third floor, apartment 35B. He heads for the stairs.

32

Insurance/Killer’s Dance

Once clear, Viglio crawled into the elevator shaft, carefully working his way through the skeletal structure of the hotel to wherever the box had whisked Othello.

Monitoring the restricted room through a thin fiber-optic camera lens, Viglio watched as Redman reacted to the startling discovery.

33

Insurance

Veretta spent the remnants of his hour scouring through the documents in his briefcase, gathering what information he needed. He knew that Othello was as untrusting as himself, but Redman was also a businessman who knew when he was being played. He needed to hear what Veretta had to say, and he would not be disappointed.

Carlone made his way to the casino security desk. “I’m here to see Mr. Redman, I have an appointment.”

“I’ll see you up, the elevator’s right over here,” the guard said, pointing to a secure elevator around the corner.

He activated the elevator with a key from his pocket. The doors opened. No buttons were visible.

“Thanks.” Veretta entered the elevator and the doors closed. He took notice of the lack of concern for Othello’s personal security on the part of his own guards.

A few seconds later, the elevator doors opened and the guard extended his right hand and watched as Carlone stepped out. Remaining in the elevator the guard motioned to the door ahead and then left Veretta to his own.

“Hmm…I’m glad he’s expecting me.”

Carlone Veretta, unknowing to what Redman has just discovered in his private room, knocks on the door and waits…

34

Insurance
(Attn: Seahawk)

“I am most glad that you were able to free yourself. I loosened your bonds while you were unconscious to make you more comfortable. What they did to you was unconscionable. You can call me Miko.”

She began to work on his shoulders and at first the pain was incredible, but slowly it became quite relaxing to the beaten man as Dahl relaxed a bit. Enough to enjoy what the young lady was doing for him.

“They have given me to you to pass the time while we wait for your employers to respond. We are not the animals that you are used to dealing with. This time can be very pleasuarable.”

Thomas Dahl felt her continue to work, but also heard the snap of her dress buttons. He knew what was coming. As his muscles began to loosen, his body began to feel energy returning to his once tired body. Her hands continued to work as her body moved closer to his. His eyes closed.

The body of Rebecca Stevens suddenly flashed into his mind. Case Number 3223A-C. March 23rd, 1989. 10:00pm. Times Square.

She had been raped. Held down and given the treatment no one deserved. Stevens had been on Dahl’s docket for months. She had recently been seen with several smaller Mafiosa groups as a lowly running girl. And somewhere along the line, she had crossed over to the bigger fish, most notably into Thomas’s area of care. She was going to defect. A meeting had been set. 7:30 at the Milford Plaza Hotel. She hadn’t arrived. Her body was discovered later that night by Dahl. There was nothing he could do for her. With the help of friends, he found the money to bury her next to his father.

Truth was, he had known Stevens for some time. She had been his contact all over the city since he started work in the NYPD. And she had died crossing to the side of hope.

As Dahl stood and moved to the center of the room, pulling himself away from the young lady, he coughed, his eyes holding back the floodgates of tears. First it had been Maxwell, then the best thing he’d ever had. He made a silent pledge as he stood in the dank room. He would come out of this alive. He turned to the young lady in the room with him and bowed respectfully and moved into a darkned corner of the room.

He would not surrender. He had watched too many die for his cause to allow them to die for nothing. Sitting down, his scrunched his knees up and put his head on his knees. He needed to conserve what energy he had.

For he was an unpredictable cop, in a very unpredictable place.

35

Cry Havoc…

“Ah fuck it, this is stupid,” Paulie mutters as he downs his orange juice. “Lurch, keep your eyes open. I’m gonna go have a talk with the Mickey Spillane wannabe outside.”

Paulie gets up and walks out the front door, heading for the parked car.

36

Holy War
(Attn: Blunt)

The stairwell reeks of booze and stale urine. The stairs protest even under Virgil’s light tread. He is soon at the door to Mr. Alvarez’s apartment. No sound comes from inside and not even sunlight trickles from underneath the darkened door.

37

Insurance
(Attn: Seahawk)

Miko glances at the tired looking blond man with a puzzled expression. She fastens her dress, gathers the plates and leaves, the door clicking shut behind her.

A few moments later a young looking Japanese man in a crisp, well-tailored suit enters the chamber. A slight smile does nothing to lighten his features. “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.”

38

Cry Havoc
(Attn: Poxy, Burke, Rath)

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.

**************************************************

Pantuso sat in his office staring at a blank sheet of paper and waited for the words to come. Inspiration was a fickle mistress. Especially when the coffee and BC powder hadn’t yet taken the edge off of his hangover from last night. It was then when his Police scanner started screaming about “Tony’s Tiger” being blown up. Looks like the next page of his book would have to wait.

39

Negotiations
(Attn:Fett, Molinaro)

The words were barely out of Frank’s mouth when the squeal of tires assaulted everyone’s ears. This was quickly followed by the chatter of sub-machinegun fire. The windows and doors gave in under the hail of bullets. “Big Al” caught a round in the chest, as did a couple of the boys standing near the door. “Guy” Marlioni dove for cover and waited for the shooting to subside. The men meeting at the table likewise took shelter but weren’t in as much danger being further back in the restaurant.

40

CRY HAVOC…

Paulie has an odd moment of detachment as he watches the pavement slowly rise up towards him. There’s a Budweiser bottle cap that got embedded into the asphalt, and for a second, it’s almost like a little face saying hello.

Then the pavement says hello in a big way as Paulie slams into it, a wave of heat rushing over him. He’s dazed and his ears are ringing, but he’s been through enough shit to know exactly what just happened.

“SON OF A FUCKING BITCH!” he 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.

Anybody gets in that car is gonna get a real good talking-to.