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M.S.R.P. II • View topic - {G-Money} An Honest Days Work.

M.S.R.P. II

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PostPosted: Fri Apr 14, 2006 12:01 am 
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[font=Arial, sans-serif]The long walk was done and Malcolm was outside a locally-renowned Italian cuisine, "Mario's", and stopped right in front of the modest facade. The building was a small stone construction with Tudor-style square wooden window frames with distorted glass in their place. The wooden sign above the windows read Mario's in italicised green font, although it's legibility had faded along with it's surface being eroded by rain. Malcolm slowly made his way across the pavement and stepped up on to the hard wooden steps. He pushed the door open into a very busy restaurant, couples sitting at their tables, enjoying a romantic meal. He walked over to a booking desk, seeing there were no waiters around, and rang the bell.

'Ding. Ding'. Malcolm hammered down twice on the desk bell to attract the attention of the waiter, standing with his back turned. As the young Italian man turned around and faced him, he revealed a scared little face, deflated by knowing who the visitor was. He fronted a false smile and put an arm behind Malcolm, ushering him round to where the bar and kitchen area was, well away from the populated dining area. Malcolm looked at the man, dressed in a white tuxedo, and suggested he show Malcolm what he had come looking for. The waiter simply smiled and told Malcolm to wait exactly where he was. As a couple entered the dining room, the waiter left and walked over to the entrance, leaving Malcolm standing besides the bar. He looked at a bartender, furiously polishing glasses and putting them under the bar. Realizing he had a moment to spare, Malcolm ordered a whiskey 'on the rocks', which was promptly delivered by a bored bartender. Having taken no more than a couple of sips of his drink, Malcolm saw the owner of the restaurant walk through from the kitchen onto the dining floor. He hit his glass down onto the table and walked over to the owner who ran around and into a back corridor as soon as he saw Malcolm.

Malcolm looked frustrated. It was going to be another chase for him to get his money. Regardless, he picked up the pace of his walk and headed towards the door by which the owner had just exited. As he walked faster and faster, Malcolm bumped into a waiter, sending a silver tray and its contents crashing to the floor. The restaurant's occupants all turned to Malcolm who, after a brief apology, continued storming towards the door. He burst in with a strong right hand and walked down the short corridor, bypassing crates of food and drink. The corridor had no doors but at the end, a concrete staircase led downstairs. Now in a quick jog, Malcolm headed for the stairs. Just as he was about to hit the bottom step, he heard a tapping of shoes on concrete and looked around to see where it was coming from. A blinkered shadow appeared, flickering in the moonlight that was shining through small basement-style windows. He caught the shadow again seconds later, making it's way around the room frantically. Malcolm chuckled to himself. For the owner, he didn't know his restaurant all that well. It seemed he didn't even know the way out of the basement. Malcolm took a step forward, his hard-heeled shoes clapping against the concrete, a sound that echoed around the basement. There were concrete pillars from floor to ceiling and boxes and crates of wine and food laying around. Malcolm knocked into a said box, unable to focus properly in the dark. Then, the shadow again, moving towards the staircase that Malcolm was standing besides. Malcolm continued to walk forwards, before noticing the figure which provided the shadow. The owner was crouched down behind a concrete pillar, cowering from his attacker and shaking desperately. Malcolm showed no mercy, walking up behind the man and sending a heavy boot to the back of his head. The man jerked forward, landing on the palms of his hands and staying on all fours. Malcolm walked around to his side and kicked his ribs like a football, sending him over onto his side.

Malcolm: Mario. Mario. Why run man, you know I’m going to find you.

Mario: Vaffanculo.

Malcolm: You must think I don’t know Italian huh? Fuck myself you say? Fuck you, now where’s my money?

Mario: I don't 'ave yer money!

Malcolm: I figured when you decided to run instead of pay up. Thing is, that's bullshít, isn't it? How many people are up there tonight? I counted at least fifty. Each one is paying for a full meal, that' s around fifty bucks. That's probably going to come to two-thousand-five-hundred bucks from tonight alone. How much do you owe me for that little favor I paid you?

Mario: I 'ave a wife, two kids and a house-

Malcolm: All the more reason to bitch, you wouldn't want to see them hurt, would you?

Mario: Mamafangula!

Malcolm kicked another heavy boot to an already suffering owner. He clutched his ribs with one hand and used the other to balance himself up against a pillar, wretching in pain.

Malcolm: There you go again with that nasty mouth of yours! You missed the first payment and the last three payments were only half of the five thousand you owed me. You're now telling me you don't even have a payment to make to me today?

Mario: Fúck you!

Malcolm shook his head and tutted, implanting his shoe into the owners ribs once again. He then pounded the same right shoe onto the top of his head, sending it into the unforgiving concrete floor of the basement. The owner cried for help, but Malcolm stood relentlessly over him, taking another kick at his face. This was the first sign of bloodshed as the shoe made a slice in his cheek, leading up to his right eye, already swelling.

Malcolm: No money?

Mario: No fúcking money!

Malcolm stood on the mans head with force, cracking his cheek on the ground. He seemed unconcious as blood streamed out of his mouth and dribbled along the floor. As he recovered, he coughed up a tooth and spoke to Malcolm with a split mouth.

Mario: Stop! Okay, you get money. You get money!

Malcolm reached into his jacket pocket on the outside of his jacket, took out a white handkerchief and threw it to the floor besides the owner.

Malcolm: Now clean yourself up. We'll go talk business.

The owner mopped up his cheek from all the blood and straightened his collar, badly stained. The two left the basement and walked up onto the corridor. Unlike Malcolm had thought earlier, there was a door, although it's white colouring made it blend in with the rest of the decor. Malcolm waited for the owner to settle in the room before entering and closing the door behind him. Mario reached into a drawer, pulling out two brown envelopes. Each was full of cash. Malcolm was surprised.

Malcolm: And you said you couldn't pay.

Mario looked at Malcolm with a very angry expression, handing the envelopes over reluctantly.

Mario: That's all of it. I was saving to take my famiglia away.

Malcolm: It's good to see you ironed out your priorities.

Mario looked like crying, a babyish sobbering coming from wrinkled lips and watered eyes. Malcolm, as heartless as ever, took the money happily and tucked it inside his jacket before leaving the room, slamming the door behind him to leave a sobbing Mario in his chair. Malcolm looked at his shoes, a small splattering of blood now on them. Before re-entering the restaurant, he wiped the shoes against a box in the corridor and then continued. Easy money he thought.
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PostPosted: Fri Apr 14, 2006 12:23 am 
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Alright...

You're possibly the least gangster gangster ever. If I didn't know any better, I'd say you took this heist from your old Italian guy and just changed the names. There's absolutely nothing here that has anything to do with the hood...but whatever. The heist was fine. It had your typical mistakes and the storyline was whatever. Mario seemed to be holding strong then all of a sudden breaks down...kinda didn't flow for me. Considering you're asking for a small amount of money, I can let this kind of stuff slide. In the future, put your requests at the bottom.

Outcome:

-$5000 Approved


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