The Hard Way · Legacy archive
The Hard Way
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Re: The Hard Way
#813 miles from motel...
(Phone rings 12 miles north of motel)
“What the hell happened out there?
“We walked in they just started firing, crazy @!#$er just unloaded! @!#$ing girl shot me too!”
“Stop whining son.”
“She shot my @!#$ing hand!”
“We’ll have Webster take a look at it.”
“I want them hurt, real bad.”
“They will be son. Don’t worry.”
“I want to shoot the &^%$@ myself.”
“You will.”
“Dad?”
“Yeah?”
“That big guy mentioned Ronnie.”
Pause
“Ok, son. Get the boys back here, let’s re-group. I’ll call your uncles. And Earl. There’s gonna be a reckoning.”
“Brett’s dead, dad.”
Pause
“Ok. So Brett’s dead. We have more Bretts.”
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Re: The Hard Way
#82Everything happens fast.
Frank fires twice. Can't tell if he hit the beef.
Cutter peppers the ceiling with gunshot, holes appearing, flashing beams of light, wood chips flying, s**t shattering everywhere. Trrrf-trrrf—trrrrf—trrf-trrrff-trrrrrrrf-trrrrrrrfffff… Budududududududududhp.
Bobby ducks behind counter and comes up with a Remington rifle, glass bottles blowing apart behind him.
Crunch-crunch BOOM.
This time the shotgun blast from above, misses Frank just barely, shattering a table into smithereens, as he runs by, weaving left, weaving right, fat man on his mind…
Kate fires, pop-pop-pop. More wood splinters. She hears a grunt. Fat man hit.
Frank is there now, bottom of staircase, fat man sitting on stairs, red blotch near his armpit; He’s inching his way back up the staircase on his ass, firing down.
Fires.
Misses Frank, hits a radiator.
Steam explodes.
Frank fires too. Doesn’t miss. Another grunt. Frank hits him dead center, but curses under his breath. Bullet-proof vest. Fat man looks down at Frank. Frank looks up at him. Fat man realizes he can only shoot. No time to move. He aims between Frank’s eyes. Bastard even manages to grin…
Pop.
Fat man’s neck explodes with blood. Kate got him, snuck up behind Frank. Used him for cover. Didn’t miss.
Fat man looks shocked, then gravity takes over and he starts sliding back down stairs on his ass, eyes bulging, blood gushing out of him in fountains.
Frank fires once more to make sure. Dead on arrival.
Kate and Frank turn quickly. Cutter grinning. Stopped firing, but can’t stop grinning.
Shotgun blasts from upstairs have stopped. Smoke everywhere. Ceiling looks like Swiss cheese. Fat man sitting at bottom of stairs, still upright. But dead.
No way to tell what happened to the upstairs shot-gun guy. All quiet.
Kate winces. Looks down. Shrapnel, piece of wood from something or other, stuck in her thigh. Bleeding profusely. Not as bad as it looks, but painful. Frank wipes some glass shards from his forehead.
Cutter just sitting there, breathing heavy. Bleeding from shoulder. Prosthetic arm busted.
Jukebox starts playing. 99 problems by Hugo. Loud.
“Still want that Jameson?" Bobby says to Cutter.
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Re: The Hard Way
#83Cutter ejects the clip from the rifle, no mean feat with his damaged arm, and slams the spare home. "I'll take the whole bottle," he said and fumbled at his wallet. His hand was starting to shake. He took the bottle and took a long drink from it. He was sweating heavily and was starting to look sick. He took a second drink.
"What about upstairs?" -
Re: The Hard Way
#84"Target eliminated father." Kate whispered, more to herself then anyone else, blinking back tears of pain as she holstered her still faintly smoking pistol and looked down at the shrapnel in her leg, grateful it didn't puncture the femoral artery. Gritting her teeth against the flash of torment she pulled it free in a single sharp tug, quickly pressing a handful of napkins from the nearby table over the wound to stop the bleeding.
"First aid kit?" She questioned Frank, giving him a pained look and gesturing with her nose towards her leg and cutters shoulder.
The blaring of the Juke box made Kate's gunfire induced headache worse and conversation difficult. With a annoyed glare she gestured for the bartender to kill the music so she could speak in a tone of voice approaching normal, and hopefully hear if anyone above them was moving.
"What about upstairs?"
Kate gave him her best shrug of uncertainty and glanced upwards at the bullet holes riddling the ceiling, knowing if the man had been seriously wounded and bleeding out there would be at least a trickle of crimson oozing through the cracks and punctures of the faded wood by now. -
Re: The Hard Way
#85Bobby pulls the plug on the Juke. Buttons not working.
Quieter now. Sort of. Sphssss, steam escaping radiator, bloop,bloop, water dripping somewhere, an occasional skzzzt from an electrical wire, hanging from the ceiling.
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Re: The Hard Way
#86Cutter gulped a third round from the bottle of Jameson, maybe enough booze would make this nightmare float away. His shoulder hurt like he'll, but compared to when he lost that arm, and the six months of PT that followed it would take more than that to phase him. He didn't feel the alcohol burn, not a good sign that, pushed too far, too hard. He wiped his face and dabbed at the blood on his arm. He would need a new shirt after this.
"Well you bark like an officer," he said, "Can you give orders outside of a firefight? I'm not so good for following orders now, I do the best I can but I aint no leader." Cutter took a forth swig from the bottle and it was the one too many. He sat the bottle down; turned an ashen color and then emptied his stomach of beer, peanuts, and sadly, a good deal of Jameson. -
Re: The Hard Way
#87The response to Cutter came first, at least verbally, as Frank began to mount the stairs, fully meaning to find and confirm the corpse of the man upstairs... or interrogate him. He was good at that part. Too good. It was why he had volunteered his ass for busting back down to patrolling Fort Riley. His voice was barely more than a whisper. "Major Frank Castiglione, Retired. Seventy Fifth Regiment."
Lead the way. Up the stairs. Quiet, his feet to the outside of the steps to prevent creaking. Kept him in the cover of the shadow and the wall, too. Sweep with the pistol at the top. Should be over.. that way. Stay quiet. Stay on the structural members of the building when you can. Sweep and cover. -
Re: The Hard Way
#88Frank avoids creaking. Gets to 2nd floor landing.
Upstairs hallway. Cheap carpet smell.
Bobby volunteers, “I had ‘em in 208.” Not loud, but loud enough for Frank to hear.
Hallway has 4 doors on each side. 201, 203, 205, 207, on the left, 202, 204, 206, 208 on the right.
208. Last door down on the right.
All quiet.
Frank crouches along the hall. Approaches door. It’s closed.
Hmmm, Frank's thinking.
Based on the layout downstairs, Fat Man #2 must must have fired from a different room. 208 too far down. So he could theoretically be in any room. One thing seems sure. Fat Man #2 was probably way too fat to slither out of a window to escape, if he was as fat as Fat Man #1.
Still here somewhere.
Eeny, Meeny, Miney, Moe, catch the Fat Man by the toe, if he hollers, DON'T let him go. -
Re: The Hard Way
#89Collecting himself and wiping his mouth on the ruined sleeve of his shirt, Cutter followed Frank up. 30 rounds in the P90, he followed behind with the weapon ready. Compared with the standoff he was a different person, he was still Cutter, still a marine, but he was here and now, not trapped back next to a filthy river in a stinking desert.
Hand signals, room by room sweep, first on right, then across hall, then repeat until all doors opened? Basic training and building sweeping, but there were only 3 of them and not a squad of marines. -
Re: The Hard Way
#90"I guess that's a no." Kate answered her earlier question herself, giving a wide eyed stare at as both entered the darkened stairway and proceeded out of her line of sight. From her observation of the ceiling she couldn't make out any blood, good chance fatback number two was still alive up there somewhere, probably pissed and wondering if his pal was alive or dead.
Poor lighting, no body armor, up against an defender with a shotgun loaded with buckshot or flechettes. Good chance of eating 12 gauge discharge for your last meal. Kate considered following them, but realized quickly her leg wound in its current condition would make moving up the stairs quietly impossible, and likely reopen the inury. She'd be a liability that could get them all killed.
"When dealing with a heavily armed opponent who's barricaded himself in a dark building, don't try to dig him out on your own with your partner. There's a real good chance he'll spot one of you first and unload on you. Call for back up. Hang back in a good covering position to keep him bottled up and let Swat handle the mess. Flash bangs, tac IV body armor. They can soak bullets and casualties better then a patrol officer. If he's like most punks he'll get impatient, think maybe he lost you or he can get away and try for an exit. That's your chance, when he's moving into your line of sight."
More of her fathers unasked for advice flooded Kate's memory as she considered her options. Apparently these guys had never studied police tactics, or were out for blood and willing to take the risk. Patience was never a Marines strong point she recalled hearing, semper fi, do or die, blood, guts, and glory.
Still pressing against her wound with her left hand Kate drew her pistol again with her right, closing her legs to keep the napkins firmly against the puncture while she loaded a fresh clip and trained the handgun up the stair well to cover it's dimmed entrance. Not using a laser sight this time, it'd give away her position.
Cover wasn't the best, cheap ass table worked more to break up her profile then offer any sort of bullet impediment; but she had the jacket. Supposedly it was able to stop anything up to a .45 acp round cold, she hoped to hell the manufacturer wasn't exaggerating. She hoped even more Frank and Cutter would be successful in their sweep and clear operation. -
Re: The Hard Way
#9112 miles north of motel...
(Phone rings. Call coming in from Vegas.)
“Where’s my shipment?”
“Should be here in 10-12 hours.”
“Have you met up with my guys?”
“Problem there.”
“What problem? I haven’t heard from them.”
“I think your guys are dead.”
“What?!”
“Not us. Coupla’ army guys. And a girl. Shot us up too.”
“Who are they? Whats their angle?”
“Don’t know. FBI came, questioned them, and then left. We came. Came to get your guys. The three of them started shooting at us.”
“Wait--you said girl? Is she dangerous?”
Pause
“Well, the bullets from her gun hurt.”
“This is fucking ridiculous.”
“I agree. But now you understand why your shipment is delayed.”
Pause
“If I don’t have my shipment in---10 hours---you, and your whole fucking red-neck crew is DEAD. You understand?”
Click.
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Re: The Hard Way
#92Frank at 201, Cutter 202. Using hand signals to signify "Clear."
Bust doors open.
"Clear"
"Clear"
Frank at 203, Cutter 204
"Clear"
"Clear"
Frank at 205, Cutter 206
"Clear"
Cutter hesitates, 206 is swiss cheese room. Holes in the floor. Something dripping somewhere. Looks around. Bathroom door open. Nothing.
"Clear"
Two doors left. -
Re: The Hard Way
#93Cutter pauses, this is getting tense again. He had hoped to find the fat boys quick and for this to be done with. Somewhere a voice told him call the cops, due process and Miranda rights, calling for back up. County this big and empty the local police were probably tight with the Cornhusker boys. That is assuming they didn't control them outright. He had nO backup of his own to call and while marines trained to fight toe to toe, in the field they always had reinforcements: apache longbow gunships, 155 mm artillery, and birds like Hornets and Harriers to come in and dust up the ugliness. Things got even more fin when the army or navy was involved. In Kuwait the marines could call on the Might Mo to bring the rain, the USS Missouri that is.
He made a hand sign, trap, and pointed towards the remaining rooms, they had time to barricade themselves and could no doubtedly turn the clean and sweep into an ambush. The shotgun was a much better close range weapon than the P90 and it trumped pistols with ease. Situations like his they had just fallen back and dropped an artillery shell or a guided bomb from a fighter on station. This didn't feel so good now.
Fall back? Fire building? He asked with hand signals -
Re: The Hard Way
#94Frank... Frank remembered the civvy tactics, but the timer was ticking. When boys like him got left behind by evac, it was plausible deniability time.
Raising his hand, Frank ordered the halt. They were running out of rooms. Left or right - did 207 look forced? Flimsy ass walls and doors would slow down shot, the iron plates under his shirt would probably protect vitals, but damn, did Frank miss the stealth armor. And then he had a sudden thought. His hand reached up, and signaled. No fall back. Best way to break an ambuscade was to trigger it.. and not be in the line of fire. That shotgun was brutal - run down the characteristics. Many, simultaneous, weak hits. Shotgun made ground beef, but it couldn't penetrate. Wall was two layers of cover - quarter inch of dry wall boarding, 2 x 4 probably every 2 feet, quarter inch of dry boarding. Door was probably hollow core wood. Two layers of flim-flam, basically. Four layers was gonna stop a lot of buck, even if the last two weren't much. He'd heard the racking of a pump. Pump meant a long reload. He could cover a lot of ground in the time it took to reset and pump a shotgun. Pump also meant a good chance of 3 rounds max. Seven to nine, if it was older. And a long, long time to fill the tube.
His heart pounded once, twice, then the old training reasserted itself. The Group never got backup.
Inside the doorways from 205 and 206. It took him a moment to convey quietly, but shoot out the locks on the doors of 207 and 08 from inside cover. Door half open made extra cover. Force the mobster's hand. Ready the SIG. Wait for Cutter to ready the P90. Fire. The double tap was pure habit. -
Re: The Hard Way
#95Kate held her position calmly, whatever was happening upstairs was well out of her control, right now staying ready to put down the thug if he got past, (or took out) Frank and Cutter was more important then worrying about what came after. Focus on the task at hand, deal with the consequences afterward. -
Re: The Hard Way
#96In mathematics, a vector is direction and magnitude. Cutter, running on years of training and three tours through Iraq, had plenty of magnitude. He only lacked direction. He would have never made anything higher than a squad leader, he was much better at taking orders than giving them.
He nodded, gripped the P90 and gave Frank a three head nod count before popping a round through the locking mechanism of 207. He turned, second round passed cheerily through the lock of 208. The image of the cartoon bullet wearing a trilby hat came to mind. It shot out the gun like a salesman going to work. A momentary surprise, the lock brass plate and hollow core door... Wait, did I hit something? I guess not.
Not time for cartoons now, it was time to kill, like a good marine. -
Re: The Hard Way
#97Door to 207 hesitates, then ever-so slowly swings inward. Flirty. Inviting. Creaky.
Door to 208 has the lock blown out just the same, but refuses to budge. Just a hiccup, open an inch.
Silence. No fat man running out. -
Re: The Hard Way
#98Downstairs at motel...
Bobby says quietly, "Young lady, I have a first-aid kit in the back. I'll get it." Goes in back, still clutching his Remington. -
Re: The Hard Way
#99Alright, Frank. Its party time. Creep. Stay low. Shift weight. Sweep kick the door to 207 open with the back of your heel. Don't open a line of fire through the door just yet. Stay to the side, stay low. Keep your arm up, cover your head and your ribs. -
Re: The Hard Way
#100Head and ribs covered, Frank's eyes peer inside. Empty. Bathroom door closed.
Quiet.
Can hear Cutter breathing.
One door left. One room. -
Re: The Hard Way
#101"Thanks." Kate briefly gave the man a nod of acknowledgement, keeping her handgun trained on the stairwell, silently wondering whose side the barkeep was ultimately on. That he hadn't tried to chill any of them during the firefight seemed to be proof enough he was their ally, for now at least.
"Patch up, shove off, put as many miles between you, this motel, and its problems as you can by dawn." An inner voice told her, urging Kate to keep running, not get involved in the problems of these ex soldiers. "Screw it," she muttered, waiting impatiently for Bobby to return. "Might as well see this through to the end." Adding those redneck pricks and the Italian mafia to her list of people to run from would just make life more complicated. At least with Frank and Cutter she had someone to watch her back.
Possibly.
Gun shots from upstairs, a pair of what sounded like smg rounds.
Silence.
Finger tight on the trigger, anytime now things would be over.
One way or another.
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Re: The Hard Way
#102Across the hall. Low, to the side of the door. Sweep it open with the heel. Look with the mirror. Wait. Is the fatman on a toilet somewhere? It wouldn't surprise Frank. Getting shot at with an armor piercing SMG probably made him crap his own pants. Keep an ear open for him down the hall. Go in if it's clear.
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Re: The Hard Way
#103Cutter's breathing sounded loud even in his ears. He was glad he wasn't on point, the point man tripped the trap, or took the first round. Now with cell phones, insurgents could press a button from a concealed location and take out the middle of a patrol. Now would be a good time for a grenade or two, or about four more guys with M16s or old Gibson from Mobile, the best squad assault weapon gunner he had ever met. Tough bastard and a dead shot with the choppa. Still didnt top a Republican Guard sniper.
... -
Re: The Hard Way
#104Clear. He goes in. Two suit valises. One on each twin bed. Bottle of Sambuca on night counter. Empty. 2 glasses. Empty.
Bathroom door closed. -
Re: The Hard Way
#105Frank knew very little of his grandparent's tongue. Enough to crack, "Sta cacando," though.
Stand to the side. Roundhouse kick to the door of the bathroom. Stay off line. Keep the wall between himself and the most likely line of the shotgun. Make sure he's on the same wall as the tub. Can't wait to wrap his arms around this bastards neck and squeeze. -
Re: The Hard Way
#106Crunch-crunch BOOM. Blast from the pump-action. Not from the side of the tub. The toilet side. Misses Frank. Blows hole in opposite wall.
Catches glimpse of Fat man on toilet. Blood on floor. Must have gotten here before it really started flowing.
Cutter must have hit him.
Crunch-- -
Re: The Hard Way
#107Kate winced at the sound of the shotgun, slightly muffled by the cheap walls. Hopefully her two allies would call out once they had the situation under control, assuming they even remembered she was down here.
Kate glanced around again, still no Bobby. The first aid kit offer was a probably a ruse for the guy to hide in the basement, or run out the back door and get as far away from here as he could. Cowardly, but smart too, so she couldn't really fault him if that was indeed the case. He was just a civvie, and had no stake in this firefights ultimate outcome. -
Re: The Hard Way
#108It's go time. The motion from Frank is like the uncoiling of a beast, or perhaps a serpent. As he goes in, he skids a moment, staying up right purely by training. Even as one meaty hand rams the shotgun off line. Wrap under. Grab the slide rail. Pull. Fist to the face makes unbalancing easier. Takes the fight out of them, usually. Grab the shoulder. Rip him off the toilet. Knee to the face on the way down. Rip the shotgun the rest of the way out of an increasingly lax grip. Hook around. Sieze the upper wrist. Twist it. His knee on the side ribs, bracing, the other on the neck, trapping the arm.. Flex the elbow backwards over the knee. Frank knew the pain. It shot up the arm, all the way through the shoulder and threw the spine. Sharper than a knife.
"HOO-AH!" He had a spare arm, too. "Evening, Sweetheart. You must have really missed me - but I think we need to have a little heart to heart talk." -
Re: The Hard Way
#109"Foster, right? find his wallet, see if you can find anything else interesting."
As the fat man swore at him, Frank idly leaned a hair more weight into the arm that he was holding. It wasn't going to actually do anything yet, but it was close, close enough to probably convince the Italian that Frank was in the process of tearing it off.
"Well, Sonny, I'd like to be able to do this the right way. But I don't think I really have all that much time. So, we're going to do this the easy way." He unleaned, easing the pain, then leaned again, that quarter inch of movement making a world of hurt appear. "See, sweetheart, this is a game of trust. You trust that I will hurt you, unless you tell me the truth. Not what I want to hear, but the truth. I just showed you how I can hurt you. Now, usually, the reward is that I stop hurting you. But, if you tell me the truth, I'll patch your ass up and call the cops before I leave. They'll put you in a nice little holding tank where your boss has to try really, really hard to get a hold of you, and they'll stitch you up right. And, hell, Nebraska can't be bothered to execute anyone, even if they have the penalty on the books."
Smiling in quite the friendly fashion, Frank leaned into the arm just a touch, a reminder of the pain he could inflict oh so very quickly if he chose. "Now, I'm sure you're tired of me calling you Sweetheart. What's your name? Mine's Frank." -
Re: The Hard Way
#110"Hooah?" Kate wondered out loud, faintly hearing the exclamation as it echoed down the stairwell. Victory yell of the marines if she recalled correctly. That meant the situation upstairs must have resolved in her allies favor, and it was time to get involved once more.
Painfully Kate stood up and checked her leg injury, mostly clotted over and swollen shut, it should be fine for now until she could bandage it and get some antibiotic ointment on the wound. Moving cautiously she climbed up the stairs, making her way towards Frank and Cutter. "Downstairs is secure for now, that chicken shit barkeep ran off to hide in the corn field." She explained, giving them both a nod in greeting.
"How about we call him floor mat?" Kate suggested, gesturing to the pinned fatback and holstering her sig while sitting down on the edge of the bed. -
Re: The Hard Way
#111Cutter suddenly felt superfluous. That was a thing about the marines, when the firefight was over and the bodies were piled up, the marines packed their kit, stowed their guns, and they went back home.
Frank seemed to know what he was doing, better than Cutter could have come up with. His idea of interrogation was ask a question, hit the subject with the butt of a gun... There were also some creative things a fellow could do with duct tape, a plastic chair and a hand grenade. And here he was all out of duct tape. -
Re: The Hard Way
#112She glanced over at cutter, noticing his hesitation, and the soft sound of blood pattering onto the carpet.
"If you have a first aid kit I can patch that up for you." Kate offered, giving him a grim look. "Or at least let me use some napkins to staunch the blood loss, unless you'd prefer to bleed out on the floor." -
Re: The Hard Way
#113Frank could smell the sharp cologne mixed with sharp body odor.
The fat man seemed to tense up for a moment, calculating his odds of getting out of Frank’s death grip, then thought better of it, and his muscles relaxed.
His eye bulged, as he spat his name through clenched teeth, stained with blood.
“Angelo.”
Other than car keys, the empty Sambucca bottle, the suit valises, and Angelo’s pump-action, there wasn’t anything else in the room.
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Re: The Hard Way
#114"Yeah, that would probably be a good idea, I don't know how bad I am hit," Cutter admitted. He sat down on the foot of the bed, and rolled up his sleeve, exposing the prosthetic arm. He twisted it and it came off, no time to be coy about things. He looked at the arm, it had been awfully expensive for the VA hospital, shame for it to have been messed up. He had a spare in the truck, literally with the spare tire, but it was a lot more crude. To be honest, he also had one that was just a hook on the end of a stump. Cutter was the best damned pirate in all of LA, or Lower Alabama as his friends and neighbors knew it.
The arm on the bed, he exposed his shoulder so that Kate could tend to it. Being shot sucked, and if more people realized that, well not so many people would need to be shot. -
Re: The Hard Way
#115"See? Easy." Frank smiled, as he watched Angelo's face closely. Ninety percent of the routine was developing the tells. Learn to tell when the other guy is truthful, when he's deliberately lying, and when he just plain didn't know. It was going to be hard. He didn't dare watch Cutter and Kate at the moment. Complacency was the first step to prisoner escape.
"Now, this was a stroke of really, really bad luck for everyone involved, wouldn't you agree? Now, you had a prearranged meet. I don't know what you were moving, or who you were moving them to or from. Now, which family are they with? I'm betting your boss did tell you that much, at least. You do have to be able to identify them, after all." -
Re: The Hard Way
#116Angelo only hesitated for a moment...
"Supposeta' meet a bunch of Rollins' (it came out Rollinzez). The goods are for Mr. Ferucci, outta Vegas. We came here to push the pedal to the medal. Rollinzez are late with the stuff. I don't know what da hell the stuff is, not in my pay grade to know. We were just supposed to apply some pressure, and see the delivery through---" Angelo trails off, then suddenly erupts,--"You mothafuckas, you killed my brother!! You bastards!"
Fat man started squirming again, spitting up blood.
Frank could detect no lies. This guy didn't seem to care about lying. Not now anyway. Seemed definitely apopleptic over his brother though. -
Re: The Hard Way
#117Tilting the bedside lamp to give better lighting, Kate carefully inspected Cutters shoulder, grabbing a fist full of napkins form her jacket pocket to press tightly against the injury from both sides. "Your artificial arm took a lot of the damage, it's bad, but nothing you'll need surgery or stitches for." She considered questioning him about what made him just open fire earlier, but decided it wasn't worth pursuing, whatever his reason it didn't much matter now, but conversation would help distract him from the pain. "By the way, I'm Kate..." She let her voice trail off as she realized telling either of these guys too much about herself could mean trouble, especially with the kind of past she had, and the problems still giving chase.
Speaking of problems, Kate hesitated slightly, before looking at Angelo and firing off a inquiry of her own. "I want to know if you're friends with Ozil Volchenko or his employers?" Better to find out now if this guy had any formal ties to her pursuers, especially given the chances one of these two would be silencing Angelo for good once they got whatever info they were after out of him.
"You mothafuckas, you killed my brother!! You bastards!"
"Wrong," Kate said coldly, giving him an icy stare. "I killed him, before he could paint the wall with Franks brains." Get this thug angry enough, and maybe he'd let something slip about Ozil, if he knew anything at all. -
Re: The Hard Way
#118Angelo stops cursing, spitting, and struggling long enough to say,
"I dont know what the hell you're talking about lady!" to her first question.
Pause
When he hears her cooly mention popping Carmine, he looks positively enraged, veins bulging from his ample forehead, rolls of fat quivering with rage.
"I'll KILL you." He glares at her, then makes painful sounds, as Frank wordlessly reminds Angelo of his predicament. -
Re: The Hard Way
#119Kate bit back her initial reply, seeing little point in antagonizing the blubbering sleaze any further. She looked up at Frank, her voice still cold, beginning to crawl with frigid anger as she remembered what men similar to this one had done to ruin her life and burn nearly everything she cared about.
"If we let him go he'll be out for vengeance and his boss will send more like him to make an example out of us, save face with the rest of his syndicate and competitors. Not the kind of complications we want. Right now the people he represents don't even know we exist, best to keep it that way." -
Re: The Hard Way
#120A Pagliacci aria suddenly erupts from the bathtub. Cell phone. Has to be the Fat Man's.