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PostPosted: Wed May 03, 2006 8:35 pm 

Joined: Sat Apr 29, 2006 5:15 pm
Posts: 24
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Peter Paul Gualtieri, arguably the most meticulously coiffed and manicured soldier in the Soprano crew, was something of a child prodigy. He first displayed the skills he'd utilize in his chosen profession at the tender age of nine: while other kids were dreaming of wielding a bat like the Mick, Paulie was deploying one on a schoolmate's skull. In and out of juvenile correctional facilities for the next several years, Paulie eventually dropped out of school altogether; at seventeen, he became an enforcer for Johnny Boy Soprano, my father. Thereafter his movement up the ranks was steady, albeit punctuated by the occasional prison stretch and an army hitch abbreviated by a Section 8.

Now after six months of a prison stretch in upstate New York, Paulie is back on the scene of the new and improved, and and running, Jersey Crew. It was great news, hearing that Paulie was out of the can. This meant good things for the crew and especially for myself. Having a constant and consistent earner like Paulie, who could also be trusted and called upon to do some of the "heavier" work, was what defined "the Mob"

Old school, two words that defined Paulie. I smiled as caught his figure prancing down the street, happy as ever to be out of that God forsaken hell hole they call a prison. For a man like Paulie, prison was worse than death itself. It kept him caged up in a single cell, confined from the outside world. And it drove the old wiseguy mad. But now it was over and the light of day was brighter than ever as Paul neared closer to me and the table I sat out, just in front of the Pork Store, Satriales.


"Oh! Look who it is!" I shouted in an overly excited tone as Is tood up and embraced my longtime friend.

His streaks of gray amidst the greasy slicked back hiar shone brightly in the afternoon sun. It had been all too long since I had seen those streaks. We both sat back down and engaged in some small talk as I filled "Paulie Walnuts" in on what the neighborhood had been going through since his incarceration. The sun was exceptionally hot, and sitting there like an egg waiting to be boiled was almost unbreable, especially for a man of my size. I set down my tenderly cut slice of Veal and motioned for Paulie to fallow me.

"Let's take a walk."

Standing up, Paulie followed my lead as we headed down the sidewalk that was adjacent to Satriale's. We walke din silence for a few more moments before I leaned over close to Paulie. With all of the new survalience eqiupment it was never safe to talk too much in one place for too long.

" I need something done." I looked towards him with a questioning look, hoping he was still anxious to take part in such jobs that needed to be completed in order to keep the neighborhood in control.

Turning and stopping, he looked at me with stern eyes. " As always Tone', just say it and it's done."

I nodded and was delighted by his answer, but did not show my enjoyment. Instead, I simply reached deep inside my pocket and withdrew a peice of paper.

" Meet Vito there...he'll give you the rest of the scoop."


[ Later That Night ]

The silver Cadillac sat alone on the side of the highway leading into downtown. It was a still night, as the weather started to warm up, the snowy winter days turned into delightfull warm spring days and nights. The wind was calm and the air was exceptionally dry this night. Soft classical Italian played through the modern, high-tech radio playing in Paulie's car. The older, yet fit wiseguy, bobbed his head slightly as the music played and he waited for his contact to arrive.

He sat in his cushy, very comfortable Cadillac recliner seat, staring at the steering wheel in a dazed trance. He thought back to his Navy days, where he actively participated in the Golden Gloves boxing tournament held quite often on the Navy's ships. What happened? I used to have such definition Paulie thought as he glanced down at his arm. He shook his head as he looked in the rear view, seeing head lights in the distance. It was probably his contact. He wasn't sure what this job was about, all he knew was that it could involve a lot of money and fellow mafioso had all the details.

Paulie tuned down the volume of the music as the head lights drew closer, the shadowy vehicle pulling up beside Paulie's car and the passenger window rolling down slowly. On the other side of the tinted window emerged Vito Spatafore's plump face.

" What took you so long?"

" I had to make a few stops. Here."

Vito stuck his stubbly right arm out the window and at his finger tips held a matchbook, a traditional way of passing phone numbers, adresses, names and such that did not want to be spoken or could easily be disposed of without suspicion. Paulie took the matchbook, glanced at it quickly and put it in his coat pocket.

" The Colombians are there until about noon each day, then it should be empty and all yours."


Paulie didn't say anything else. Vito did the same. They both just rolled up thier windows and took off in seperate ways.


The Next Morning [12:15 P.M.]

Paulie drove down the interstate headed towards the Winding Oaks apartment complex. In the passenger's seat of his Caddy sat one of the largest Italian men he had ever seen. He was known as Big Frankie and often assisted Paulie in jobs, although he was not a made member in the crew. They eached packed some small heat. Paulie housed a small 9mm in a shoulder holster underneath his track jacket. Frank carried a larger gun, the Glock 17, shoved gang banger style in the belt of his pants.

Paulie's Caddilac eased into a spot near the back of the complex, right underneath a shady Oak tree. The complex was someone run down, not too shabby but not exactly amidst a high class neighborhood either. Paulie took out the matchbook one last time. Room 117.

Paulie and Frank exited the car and made thier way inside the back of the apartment complex. As they entered, a small spanish man, who looked like an apartment maintanence man opened up a utility box half way down the hallway.

"Hey" Paulie shouted over to the spanish man to get his attention.

The spaniard looked up and over at Paulie.

"You know where room 117 is?"

The smaniard just looked at Paulie and frank blankly for a few seconds, a somewhat frightened look on his face as he did so. Paulie and Frank just started back at the man.

" I asked you a question..." Paulie started to say

But as he began his sentence, the Spaniard dropped his tools, sprinting down the hallway towards the stairs. Immediately Frank and Paulie started off after him. Paulie took out his 9mm as he started to fall behind in the chase. And despite Frank's size, as he gathered momentum he began to gain ground on the Colombian. They rounded a corner, then rushed down a flight of stairs to the basement rooms.

Huffing and trying as hard as he could, Frank lept for the small Spaniard, taking him down towards the end of the hallway. They went down with a boom. Frankie held his down with his wieght and covered his mouth with his large bear hands. A few seconds later, Paulie came rushing from behind, a little out of breathe. He grabbed the small man up and slammed him againt the wall. He noticed the room to the right of him was room 113.

"So you're the lookout eh?"

Paulie threw him up against the other wall.

"Open that door!"

The man fumbled for his ring of keys before finally finding the correct one and sliding it into the whole. The old soldier had regained his breathe now and was ready forwhatever was ont he other side of the door. Seconds later, the lock was reversed and the door pushed open. A loud burst of spanish music came rushing into the hallway as Paulie and Big Frankie rushed inside. Frank kicked the lookout inside first, drawing his pistol.

Straight ahead and int he small kitchenette, was a messy table with multiple bills and a money counter atop it. A small, wiry looking spanish man sat at the table working the money counter. Now his business had been disturbed buy three intruders. He leapt up from his prone position and drew a weapon of his own. Shouting in Spanish he let three rounds fly itno the first man that came into the apartment. Undoubtedly, that was the lookout, who fell to the floor in a violent rush. Frankie popped up behind him, his large arm aiming the Glock center mast at the skinny Spanish man. He shot twice, volting the Spaniard back against the wall, two large holes gaping in his chest.

Now Paulie had rushed inside the aprtment, hsi eyes wide open with excitement. It ahd been a full six months since he had anything like this. Looking left, then right, he took in the full surroundings of the small studio apartment. Stepping over the dead lookout he saw Frank with a disappointed look as he went through the money on the table.

"All this for two lousy Grand?" Frankie exclaimed with extreme disappoitment.

Just then, a second Spanish man erupted from the room just to the left. A knife was extended far above his head as he tried to bring it down hard into Paulie's skull. Dropping his gun to shield the blow, Paulie raised up his arm and caught the sweeping hand of the Spanish man. Then the wrestling began. Paulie threw the stocky Spaniard into the wall behind him.

"Shoot him!" He shouted to Franki, who stood there like a dazed Giant without a thought. His gun was pointed in the direction of Paulie but a shot had not yet cleared.

"I don't have a clear shot!" The panick in his voice becoming apparent now.

Becoming fatigued, the Spaniard raised a violent knee into the crotch of Paulie, who immediately fell to the floor in agony. Then the shots came from Frank. Three rounds hit the Spaniard in the lower stomach, which caused him to drop the knife and fall to the ground in pain. Paulie, in an angry desperate relief, grabbed the knife and stabbed the Spaniard multiple times in the chest, gratifying himself of the nut shot.

Minutes passed by before Paulie had gained the strength to stand up. Frankie, worried about the money, rummaged through the enite apartment in a desperate hope of coming across a big score.

"Paulie, there ain't nothin'." frankie said angrily.

"Check the refrigerator." Paulie suggested.

Frank did so and found nothing. He then continued to go through the cabinets, yet still found nothing. Finally he gave him, with a pounding kick to the washing machine. To his surprise it opened, revealing not dishes, but several large amounts of larger bills. Paulie smiled, followed by a large grunt by Frank. The two wiseguys collected the money some bags that were easily found in the bedroom. Loading up the score they made it out of the room and back towards the vehicle, Paulie limping a bit as he did so. This would be a major contribution to the crew, Paulie thought as he rode silently in the back seat, legs spread out and some seven eleven ince pack on his balls.



- 1[x] NPC Soldier
- 1[x] NPC Buttom Man
- 1[x] Glock 17
- 1[x] 9mm
- [x] Amount of Cash from Colombians


- The Lucchese Crime Family

"All due respect, you got no fucking idea what it's like to be number one. Every decision you make affects every facet of every other fucking thing. It's too much to deal with almost. And in the end you're completely alone with it."


-Paulie "Walnuts" Gaultieri [Armed with 9mm]
-Frank "Big Frank" Perrone [Armed with Glock17/Ak-47]


-1[x] .44 Auto




-[Members Only]

 Post subject:
PostPosted: Sat May 06, 2006 1:04 am 

Joined: Tue Feb 28, 2006 4:02 am
Posts: 204
Location: Karlstad

- 1[x] NPC Soldier NPC Soldier
- 1[x] NPC Buttom Man NPC Buttom Man
- 1[x] Glock 17 Glock 17
- 1[x] 9mm 9mm
- [x] Amount of Cash from Colombians $112,000.00

Award Reasoning/Comments:

"NPC Soldier" - Yours.

"NPC Buttom Man" - Yours.

"Glock 17" - Shoot 'em up.

"9mm" - Like the above.

"$112,000.00" - Busy Colombians, huh?

Post Critique:

- Good job, man. This was a good chunk of writing, you're good with words. I'm looking forward to reading more of your work. Nice job.

Done and Locked!


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