Sunday, November 10, 2013


{This will be cleaned up later. Somehow I could only copy it in HTML.}

Prologue "Get that car off the boat!" He started to push it-- The boat was going to run into the right wall and sink-- A shot pierced his lungs, and he was down. Chapter 1 Cigarette smoke filled the room; music blasted from the stereograph. An odious, unignorable nonchalance polluted the room, the scent concentrated with the man at the desk. The door banged. He crushed the cigar into fine pieces. A fortune, it cost him. Not that money meant anything. It hadn't in ten years. "Sir, we lost five on O'Malleys. Shot time from the cops, they pulled through on the speakeasy near there you set up a few years back, we got them out there with two k... Your name's all over it, sir- I would've telephoned you, but I couldn't find a decent one--" "Get my keys." pt 2 "Really! My as you're outta men! Get me ten officers down here immediately!" "They're keeping the fire border up- some lady's house on fire--" "Do I look like I give a ?" "No, sir, bringing them your way now." Hung up and bolted out the sweets parlor. Couldn't pause to hang the telephone back on the receiver. He fell on the ground just before a case of lead shattered the window of the cop car he was using as cover. pt 3 "This is station two, bringing you the latest news. A showdown between what resembles several gangs and the general crowd versus the police broke out at two- forty. We have no information other than what we can see now." She paused. She whispered to the cameraman," Give me a wider angle here." "As far as we have been able to tell, the fight erupted in a corrupt fa├žade a few miles down here. The criminals may have been caught, and then-" She made a grand, sweeping gesture-"They floored it down to here, indicated by the tire marks and bullet holes on nearby structures." The man readjusted the finder on the camera and gave the trusty camera a hit of oil. "The action is moving this way down the street... The opposite way is being held up as a crime zone... We can't move any further back. We will bring you updates when we have them." It was early, or late, either way... She yawned. "From Channel Two, Eighteen, New York." pt 4 SEVENTEEN KILLED, MANY INJURED Last night, at approx. two-forty AM, policemen took control of a speakeasy, hidden as "Joe's Honest Plumbing Store." An anonymous source who declined to speak to The Empty Bottle tipped them off. Police have been engaging in the firefight, as of the writing of today's paper, five- twenty AM. Fifteen of the casualties as of the writing of this article were policemen. The other deaths, of the mob, is not yet known in terms of numbers. Police declined to issue the names of those deceased. The number of injured persons is estimated at two hundred, most of those harmed persons being most likely engaging in illegal activity. It was extremely packed, and many people came running out through false walls, eyewitnesses say. The speakeasy was most likely exploded by high-grade military level explosives, judging from the damage and size of the blast, eyewitnesses. say. Citizens are advised by a representative of the police to stay in their houses between eight PM and six AM, and refrain from interacting with those considered suspicious persons. For any additional information or corrections, please telephone 888-8888. pt 5 A rich one, from all the little projects, and the kick started speakeasies, and the prostitution ring he fired up, and the local gangs he gave protection... For a large sum.... They say the road to hell is paved with good intentions. He donated frequently and generously to soup kitchens. A hint of stubble remained below his lip. He would have it seen to. He had to maintain a professional appearance pt 6 They sat on the porch with hushed voices, recalling it. Best to speak too quietly, than too loudly. The lady with the notebook scrawled furiously as the older lady recalled the night before. "First part I saw, the ground shaked. It come straight from-up-and-out of this ground, you hear. I get up, and there be this flash and screaming- like.. Well then my ma, she snap up from bed. There, ping-ping-ping-ping of bullets, tires screech,- sounded like it could've been one of those action moving pictures, with them sounds, like." It all went in the notebook. She could decipher the proliferous grammatical errors later. "Then this man yeller pull a rifle ,boom-boom-boom like a cannon, shooting up the whole road. Holes every where in cars and in the street-" "Circles, circles, those men come out of the building and... pt 7 "Sir, why was the building blown up, and how were you involved? Why were you there?" No answer, pause. Beads formed on the smooth, clean windows, of moisture. It was cold and damp. Paced, moved into a position below the attacker, relaxed appearance. "What was in the speakeasy?" No answer, pause. "Block D." He snapped and the men pulled the silent man out of the chair. Hayden Ncmarya didn't sh around with these people. pt 8 "Why was the speakeasy blown up?" The man was now cuffed to the table. Hayden leaned in closer with every word. He lunged at the handcuffed man. The man didn't flinch. "What was in the speakeasy, worth your people blowing it up? Who do you work for?" The man continued to stare him down. "Tell me your name, and I'll let you eat." The man continued to stare him down. pt 9 He was thrown in a windowless, stone room. There was no light. A mouse, perhaps, scurried in the corner. Something brushed his leg. He knew not that there were twenty other men in twenty different cells, and that they would all be used and spit out, for various purposes and reasons. His head hurt as the memory once again flooded his mind. "Opening the goddamn hatch. Target the corresponding section." "Get out the f guns. This place isn't standing any longer. He might be in there." The walls came down, shredded by the men with the guns; the bombs finished them off; more men with guns picked off the remaining survivors, all of them, or so they must have thought.

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