M.S.R.P. II

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PostPosted: Thu May 25, 2006 2:56 am 
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Anthony once again sat in the bare walled lunchroom of the General Motors corporate office. Well it was the third floor lunchroom. As normal all 10 circular dining tables were empty, the room abandoned except for Tony. The Hit Man sat by his lonesome eating last night’s leftovers from a carry out Spanish restaurant around the block from his apartment. A cigarette burned slowly in the ashtray next to Anthony’s food, moving to his lips on the occasional drag. Just as he brought the cig to his mouth for a hit the doors to the room opened. Making his way into the room was a heavy set older looking man chomping on a cigar. The fedora atop his head pointed downwards in 1930’s gangster fashion. He was dressed in a double-breasted two-piece suit, one of the fancy $2,000 types. Just by the way the man stood in the doorway Anthony could tell he hated the man. The man just stood there staring down Anthony, as if he expected Tony to bow down before him. Yeah fucking right. Tony Viazzi? said the older man in a deep but quiet tone. Anthony took a drag off his Marlboro and started to speak as he exhaled. That’s me. And you are? asked Anthony in an annoyed tone. Bobby Cantrella. I was told to contact you for a certain line of work. The name Bobby Cantrella struck Anthony like a freight train. Bobby Cantrella was a Detroit Mafia Capo, notorious throughout the Motor City underworld for his death-by-blowtorch method. Most men who knew the name trembled in fear and immediately started their apologies for showing such disrespect, but not Anthony. He simply looked at the man and squished his cigarette into the ashtray. Big Bobby Cantrella, what brings you around here? I’m sure it isn’t the cars. said Anthony, making a crack at Bobby’s shitty European BMW. I’m not a joker kid. This is very serious business. the hag said. It must be, when one has the reputation you do and comes to an independent for help. said Tony while exhaling a cluster of smoke. Let’s get one thing straight here. I do not need your help, I was just recommended to go with your services on this interest. said the old gangster. Anthony took a long drag off of his cigarette before squashing it into the ashtray. The Assassin shook his head as if he understood the predicament as he blew the smoke out. Then give me some incite on what’s going on. said Anthony. Bobby pulled back one of the chairs from the table to fit his figure, and then proceeded to sit down and scoot closer. This is a pretty big thing here kid, so listen up. A group of guys loosely affiliated with people in New York are trying to set things up in the major cities around here. Yous know, Here, Chicago, and Cleveland. The big guys from all the places mentioned aren’t happy with this at all. Along with them the New York guys are cutting their arrangements since the pricks stiffed them. Chicago and Cleveland place the blame on us since the guys got started here and we didn’t do nothin’ about it. said Cantrella, before taking a breath. Anthony was interested since the job might involve a trip to his hometown, Cleveland. There’s three guys to each city, and I’ve got all of their names written on a piece of paper in my pocket. I’ll give you 100k per person. Tell them what it is Tony.Bobby said. Anthony stared blankly at one of the walls in the room before nodding his head and looking Bobby in the eye. 900,000 is good money. I’ll take it. said Tony. Good. Here’s the names, you’ll be paid one the job is fulfilled. said the old Wise Guy while standing up from the chair and handing a yellow notebook page to Anthony. Both men shook hands before parting ways. A huge grin snuck across the Hit man’s face. Written on the paper were the names of each of the three cities. Under each city name were three lines with the victim’s names written on them. The Detroit jobs would be a piece of cake, especially when you had the friends like Anthony did.

June 2004.

Nighttime in Detroit could be a pleasant experience of a drastic life change. If you were in the right area you could spend the whole evening in the crisp air, enjoying every minute of it. Or you could be stuck in a downtrodden section of Motown patrolling the area in a Cop Cruiser. Which is exactly where Edward Rooves was. Edward was a 32 year old beat cop, watching the area for the crime which was always happening. Just after 2:00 A.M. the patrolman spotted two suspicious looking men exchange something under a broken streetlight. Ed cruised up to the sidewalk behind the men and stopped his patrol car. He stepped out of the vehicle with his left hand holding his flashlight above his shoulder and his right hand clamped to the but of his 9mm, still in the holster. What’re you two boys doing out so late? Especially in an area like this. said Officer Rooves, trying to come off as a friendly-but-concerned police man. Nun yo’ fuckin’ bidness poe-poe. said one of the men, reaching into his waistband and returning with a black .38 revolver. Lacking the necessary response time, four bullets left the barrel of the pistol. The amateur gunman got lucky and landed a slug right in Edward’s waistline, a few inches below where the Kevlar vest cuts off. All three other shots collided into the cruisers windshield. Ed fell to the ground and made a feeble attempt take out his pistol. The strap on the holster seemed to be stuck and the downed officer couldn’t get the gun free. The two criminals ran over to Rooves and began striking him with fists and legs. The man then pointed the .38 directly at Edwards face. Despite the terribly pain and agony, Ed stared the shooter in the eye. Then he noticed a red splash appear near the gunman’s head, before he fell down altogether. That’s when he heard the shots and noticed the other criminal fall lifelessly to the cement. A tall figure with a slight muscular build holding a small black pistol appeared above him. You alright? asked the mysterious saint before him. The man then noticed the bullet wound in the lower torso. Another small object appeared from one of the good Samaritans pockets. There’s an officer down at 658 Michigan Avenue. He’s still alive but needs help ASAP. the civilian said into the cellular phone before hanging up. The man then crouched down next to Edward to inspect the wounds. A .25 caliber pistol was put back into the citizen’s shoulder holster. Good shooting. said Edward in a mumble. What’s your name? the wounded officer then asked. Frank Bradford. said the man. Even the phony ID card in his back pocket read that. Just as he finished speaking an ambulance with two patrol cars behind it came wailing down the street. The two officers in the other cruisers jumped out with their guns drawn, but put them away upon seeing the two dead bodies and a man crouched next to Edward. Both EMT’s ran over to Rooves. Both of the new arrival cops took the saint back towards their cars and began asking the story. After reciting the events to them he showed them his fake identification and the weapons permit. He shook each of their hands, along with Edwards, and then headed off to wherever he was going in the first place. Anthony could only applaud himself for his creativity, taking two goons off the street legally.


After the meeting with Bobby Cantrella Tony told his boss that he was leaving work early. His supervisor didn’t care, and it wouldn’t matter if he did, because Anthony had enough sick days to call off work for five months and get paid for it. Vacation days would make it a year and a half. The weather outside was beautiful at 70 degrees Fahrenheit and sun shining. As usual Anthony had a cigarette in his mouth by the time he made it to his car parked across the street. Tony sat down in the beat up vehicle and flipped open his center console. His fingers dug around in the bottom for a few seconds before returning with a plastic card, the same size in proportions to a debit. A picture of Anthony was on it, with the name Frank Bradford and numerous other fake credentials. It was shoved into his coat pocket and he turned the car on and shifted into drive. The police precinct he was headed to was about 10 minutes away. Traffic made the ride into 15 minutes by the time Tony arrived. He stepped out of his car and proceeded in towards the building. When he entered a young rookie sat behind a desk and asked how he would help. Yeah, is officer Ed Rooves here? asked Anthony. It’d only been a few weeks since the last time he visited. Ed always helped him out when he needed it. The clerk made a phone call and told Tony to head up, giving him the directions he already knew. After going up to floors in an elevator, walking down a corridor and entering a decent sized office, Tony proceeded to sit down in front of Ed’s desk. How’s it going Frank? asked Edward. Eh you know, the usual shit. said Anthony/Frank. Well do you need help with something? That’s why you usually stop by. said Ed with no pun intended. Well I was wondering if you could supply me with the papers on these names. said Anthony as he handed the yellow paper over to the officer. Edward looked at it and began typing into his computer. After waiting for a few minutes the printer began spitting out papers. Edward collected them all and stuffed them into a beige folder and handed them over to Anthony. He then grabbed a pen and drew lines through different names on the notebook page. I only got the information on 5 of the 9 guys written down. The ones you’ve got paperwork for have lines through their names. Thanks Ed. said Anthony as he grabbed the folder and the original note book paper. Tony gave Edward a pat on the back before continuing down the stairs and out of the precinct. Once back in car the Anthony dug into the portfolio. All of the Detroit names had lines through them, along with two names from Chicago. Anthony smiled at knowing Cleveland would be the most difficult city in the task. The notebook paper was gently placed back in the folder, and Anthony grabbed a random set of paper work in there. When he looked at it the name read [b]Robert Ciangili. According to the papers Rob’s a 22 year old with a police record for narcotics possession, breaking and entering, and aggravated assault. He lived alone in a house on Detroit’s north side. Fucking trailer trash. Tony said while setting the paper back in the folder. Robert would be the first of this group of men Anthony was now hunting for.

If you drive thirty minutes through Detroit, the scenery changes quite a bit. It goes from trashy neighborhoods with graffiti and liquor stores, to areas of complete abandonment and destruction, to run down trailer parks, than on the very north side are the decent neighborhoods filled to the brim with white trash. Tony’s beat up Galaxie fit the neighborhood perfectly and didn’t attract any unwanted attention to him. Men with long hair wearing white beaters and blue jeans sat on their front porches playing guitar, chain-smoking cigarettes while their children played in the street. On more then one occasion while driving through the area Tony had to slam on his breaks due to a child darting out from behind a parked car. It came as a great relieve when Anthony found a lot to park his car and continue on foot. Just to be safe though, he grabbed Rob’s paperwork and took it with him. Ciangili had short jet-black hair and a bushy moustache. He weighed 148 pounds and stood at 5’8. Tony chuckled to himself at his victim’s tiny build. The Assassin grabbed a cigarette from his pack and lit it, hoping he didn’t expose the Beretta 92 pistol shoved in front of his waistband. 43 Pinebark Avenue Anthony recited to himself while strolling the area. Sometime between looking for the house and actually finding it Anthony contemplated moving into this area. He decided the neighbors couldn’t be white trash folk like they are. After wandering the streets for a good half hour, Tony finally came across the house he was looking for. Sitting on the porch in a plastic lawn chair was none other then Robert Ciangili himself. Not quite sure how to approach the situation, Anthony simply gave him a nod and continued on past the house. At the corner he took a right followed by another quick right, and landed on a street parallel to Rob’s house. Tony did a quick look around and didn’t spot anyone watching him, so he quickly walked to the side of a house. Anthony did a quick sprint and leaped over a small chain-link fence. He didn’t stop the sprint there, he kept running until he met the fence on the exterior of Rob’s yard. It was around six feet tall and made up of rotten wood. In the corner of the yard was one of the skinny electrical boxes that stuck 4 feet out of the ground. Anthony climbed up on it then did a big jump to the top of the fence. I feel like a kid again he thought to himself. Tony did a small leap from the top and landed feet first on the ground. No one had noticed his “spectacular” feat. While crouched in the corner of the yard Anthony withdrew the black 9mm Beretta. Duct taped to the side of the gun was a suppressor Tony purchased when he got the gun. The Hit Man screwed the silencer in place and made his way to the back door. It was a large glass door with no curtains or blinds on it. Anthony sat crouched against the house, leaning to the left to peer through the glass door. The front door was closed and Robert was walking up the stairs with clothes and a towel in hand, his back turned to Tony. Anthony took out the leather gloves stashed in his pockets and grabbed the door handle. It slid easy to the other side, allowing him entrance to the home. After shutting the door Anthony held the silenced pistol with both hands and slowly walked towards the stairs, he resembled a police officer. At the bottom of the stairs, Tony slowly started his ascend to the top. Not for one second did the pistol ever go down. When he reached the top the sound of running water caught Anthony’s ear. Oh yes. thought Tony as he crept along through the hallway. The sound of the water was coming from a door that was left slightly cracked open. Gripping the pistol tightly with both hands Anthony slowly opened the door with his left foot. There sat Robert naked in the bathtub, a TV playing on a rack directly above the water. The tub was positioned with the faucet and showerhead on the far left corner of the room, away from the door. Rob had his back to the door so he could see the television, which was above and to the right of the faucet. Anthony grabbed the wooden door to the bathroom and slammed it as hard as he could. Just as he had expected the weak television rack gave way, sending the electronic device hurling towards a tub full of water. Robert had managed to turn his head and get a look at Tony before the TV hit the water. Rob’s body started shaking violently as smoke started rising from the water. Anthony leant against the wall and waited for thirty seconds until the electrocution had ended. The pungent smell of burnt flesh drove Tony to conceal the Beretta and leave the house all together. He went out the way he came, over the two fences and back onto the street. Only 8 more to go he thought while lighting a cigarette. Right before getting into his car Anthony took the police records for Robert Ciangili and crumpled them up, carelessly tossing them into a sewer. Tony then got in his car and headed for his apartment to review all of the notes.




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PostPosted: Thu May 25, 2006 4:59 am 
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First off, very nice. I did enjoy this, I enjoyed it a lot. Of course, you know I'm going to point out the most obvious of things.


You didn't use qoutations, and you didn't indent/paragraph at the appropriate times. I'll let it slide, since this is the training center, and not an actual grading. It's currently storming outside, and I found this peice to be difficult to read, and my head was cluttered halfway through. I did like how you talked in green font, as it was somewhat less confusing.


Another thing I noticed. Your sentences were very short at the beginning of the story, and it would have just flowed better if you linked a few of them better, y'know? I think you pretty much fixed the problem as the story progressed.


Once again, a very nice read. I loved the hit, and the overall story/plot. Very nice, and you used quite a bit of detail, which I appreciated.



If you wish to talk about it s'more, hit me up on AIM.


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PostPosted: Thu May 25, 2006 5:01 am 
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Arrest flag.

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PostPosted: Thu May 25, 2006 5:11 am 
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Alex wrote:
Arrest flag.



Go ahead, take us OOC people in. That'll show us.



What the hell are you trying to prove? You getting back at Yinepu by pissing us, the players off? We do not want to go to MRPG, and if we wanted to, we would have long ago. Stop pissing us off. If you're that into it, try harassing him elsewhere.


This isn't the place. We came to write, not to have you piss us off with these arrest flag things. Stop. Please.


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PostPosted: Thu May 25, 2006 5:13 am 
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Kieves wrote:
Alex wrote:
Arrest flag.



Go ahead, take us OOC people in. That'll show us.



What the hell are you trying to prove? You getting back at Yinepu by pissing us, the players off? We do not want to go to MRPG, and if we wanted to, we would have long ago. Stop pissing us off. If you're that into it, try harassing him elsewhere.


This isn't the place. We came to write, not to have you piss us off with these arrest flag things. Stop. Please.


Alrighty. Arrest will be posted within the hour.

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Alex- FBI Agent/Prince
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http://www.mafiarpg.com

^
A real roleplaying game...not a bootleg wannabe.

~~~

Anubis=Mark Madsen

Who?

Exactly.


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PostPosted: Thu May 25, 2006 5:14 am 
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I look forward to it.


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PostPosted: Thu May 25, 2006 5:16 am 
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As do I. PM it to me when you finish.

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Alex- FBI Agent/Prince
-----------
http://www.mafiarpg.com

^
A real roleplaying game...not a bootleg wannabe.

~~~

Anubis=Mark Madsen

Who?

Exactly.


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PostPosted: Thu May 25, 2006 12:57 pm 
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And by the way Kieves...there is no paragraph indentation ya fuckin idiot.

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PostPosted: Thu May 25, 2006 8:22 pm 
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Matthew Lucciano wrote:
And by the way Kieves...there is no paragraph indentation ya fuckin idiot.



Well you knew what I meant. Good. Remember how my English teacher is a bitch? Blame her, man.


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PostPosted: Thu May 25, 2006 11:50 pm 
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Mathew Sucks Penis!

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Inventory:
[x1]Cadillac 73
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NPC's:
[x1] CA Hitman{Vincent Giovanni}
[X1]CA Negotiator{Antonio Giovanni}
[x1]Informant{The Bum}

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PostPosted: Thu May 25, 2006 11:54 pm 
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Antonio Armanno wrote:
Mathew Sucks Penis!


Oh yeah!

Moron...

_________________
Alex- FBI Agent/Prince
-----------
http://www.mafiarpg.com

^
A real roleplaying game...not a bootleg wannabe.

~~~

Anubis=Mark Madsen

Who?

Exactly.


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PostPosted: Fri May 26, 2006 3:34 am 
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Wow...that hurts, another childish insult from a guy who doesn't have the intellectual capacity (brain power if you need that dumbed down) to correctly spell a common name, especially when it's spelled properly two posts above.

Once you finish elementary school, then come back and try to throw an insult, because until then, you're just disproving the level of maturity this site claims to have.

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Private Enforcer of The Provenzano Family.


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PostPosted: Fri May 26, 2006 3:22 pm 
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Quick! Someone tell Matthew that he's better than someone else, so he doesn't freak out and kill us all on this still active RP site!

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"Flawless."

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[NPCs]

{2x} Class A Gunmen (John Marcello and James Marcello)
{2x} Class A Thugs (Clyde Owens and Paul Owens)

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[Weapons & Accessories]

{3x} Glock 18
{5x} ProMAX Concealable 100% GoldFlex
{5x} IMI Desert Eagle .50AE [Equipped to entire gang]
{2x} Micro Uzi [In Dieter's trunk]
{2x} MP5 A4 [In Dieter's trunk]

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{1x} 2002 Cadillac Coupe DeVille

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-Making a name for Myself
-In your FACE, Russians
-I'd kill for a Caddy



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