First part is here  http://mafiareturns.com/comm/thread/129851

Second part  http://mafiareturns.com/comm/thread/132994

Ireland was everything Lobo expected to be, like photo negative of his homeland. Folks liked to fight, fuck and drink and not necessarily in that order but, unlike Lobos sulking countryman, they liked to laugh, they liked to dance and sing to strange and exotic music of they country.

Even countryside was complete opposite of Lobos homeland, where towering mountains made of solid rock with their peaks constantly shackled in eternal ice and with their dirty gray color perfectly complementing twilight color of the sky.

Here however everything was bursting with colors, only green had so many different shades that they were almost impossible to count.

Lobo got there a bit later then he originally planed, but he needed to be sure that there won’t be any family reunion, so he roamed through France for better part of a year in order to shake those two bloodhounds off his trail. Only when he was fairly certain that he lost them he set sail to Ireland. He was 18 year old.

Universal truth is that while honest law abiding folk barely make a living at the same time those who doesn’t mind getting their hands dirty had enough to be almost considered royalty. By chance few months after his arrival he joined one of the street gangs. They runed errands for some of the big players, drug dealing, extortion, controlling bookies… stuff like that. Small but tightly knit team with just 10 people including Lobo too. He owed them much, they taught him how to laugh, not snarl or grin but good old fashion out laud laugh.

Well it was too good to last for long.

Lobo strolled down the street whistling some tune, it was a good day. He tracked down some punks who owed money to the loan shark they worked for from time to time. He had nice bonus in his pocket and rest of the day free, he planed to go to the store and buy few bottles of whiskey, but not just any kind. He’ll find really good stuff, he could already imagine look on the face of the rest of the crew. Christmas all over again, he chuckled to himself.

He was already in front of HQ, as soon he opened door he froze, every nerve in his body screamed for him to run. Sleeping beast inside him that slumbered ever since he arrived in the country woke up with a jolt and bared its fangs. It was the smell of course, rancid foul smell of blood with traces of gunpowder. He closed doors behind him but haven’t moved from doorstep, whatever happened it didn’t happen in lobby.

Silence in the house was far worse then sound of gunfire and he knew something is waiting for him inside, same way he knew that all people he called friends, first friends he ever had, are no more of this world…And worst thing of it all he knew it was his fault, he didn’t need eyes, ears or nose to know what is waiting inside. Silent humming of his own blood told him that all too clearly. Years of practice and experience told him to run, he had money. In less then 24 hours he could be on boat that goes anywhere. But there was something else, slow tidal wave of blood red that was rising toward his head threatening to cover him completely, he was thought to suppress anger. Anger makes you careless, sloppy and eventually makes you dead. But sometimes it can’t be silenced, that voice inside that speaks of broken bones and torn flesh. Of sweet comfort that enemy’s blood leave on your hands, when that happens you just brace yourself and hope you come out on the other side with all limbs in tact.

Lobo pulled himself from the doorway and slowly walked toward a living room he stops just few steps in. Patrick, one they called boss since with 23 years he was oldest of them, was on his back staring at the ceiling with two bullet holes in him. One just under his right eye, second one in chest area, 4 feet from him was Tiny, 13 year old imp of a girl. Pick pocket of worldly class but her true talent was in picking locks, it’s been said that she could pick any lock with nothing more than knitting needle in less then 2 minutes time. Her body was still in chair, head grotesquely almost separated in two with strong hatchet blow to the temple. Lobo fight off first wave of nausea, from place he was standing he had clear view in bathroom where he noticed two more bodies. Beast inside him shifted from defensive mode to attack and he growled.

Come out! We are not here to play hide and seek.

Soft laughter came behind the curtains, but man that came out wasn’t one he expected, he could be easily mistaken for a college professor. Middle aged man with expensive suit and pleasant smile that stood in sickening contrast against carnage around him. He pulled out something from his pocket and throws it to Lobo.

It’s a plain ticket to across the ocean, man you seek will be there and he will answer all questions you might have. Now if you’ll excuse me.

Little man started to walk toward exit when dagger plunged it self in the back of his head. Lobo walked to him and retrieved his blade.

You are excused.

Lobo glanced to the tickets

Well I guess I have trip ahead of me.                       

Sounds like one hell of a history you have on your hands there Lobo.  May your old crew-mates rest in peace.