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We're going to the races. Started by: Michael_Torretta on Jul 26, '15 19:06

"No, I said I was going to take half of the take from your little den here in exchange for not painting the walls with your brains. Everyone in this town knows who I am and everyone knows that the only way you do business here is with my blessing. If you don't want to play by my rules, find a different profession."

Marcus Fitzwilliam was the law when it game to gambling rings. Michael Torretta had set up a small neighborhood betting house but had neglected Marcus' attempts to collect with his goons. He had been threatened to be burned out of house and home, have his family killed, and even to have his body paraded through the streets. Now Marcus had finally come himself to collect a long overdue debt with interest from the local den.

Michael leaned back in his chair and checked his pocketwatch,

"Now if I were to give you a whole fifty percent share of my profit, what does that leave me with, hm? I have book-keepers to pay, then there are the neighborhood police, and even a few jockeys down at the track. Not to mention the kickbacks I have to make to clean all this cash. So you tell me, how is it that I am supposed to make a living paying you fifty percent of what I bring in?"

Michael looked up at Marcus. Marcus' eyes flared with an ungodly rage. Standing in front of Michael's desk, he grinned menacingly.

"Oh, well when you say it like that..."

Without warning, Marcus lunged over the desk and caught Michael with a hook plush to the chin. Michael went sprawling out of the chair and across the floor, his pocket watch sliding towards the bookshelf behind him.

"You pompous little! Hold him up!" Marcus' two goons dragged Michael from the floor and slammed him against the shelves behind. Marcus approached from around the desk while the book keepers in the room stood in silence. Marcus stood in front of Michael as blood began to seep from his lips. He loosed a fist into Michael's stomach doubling him over in agony and dropped him to the floor.

Leaning close to Michael's ear he venomously whispered,

"This is how it is going to work. I'm taking your cash bag for everything you've taken in today. All the money from every bet you've taken in is mine. Tomorrow, I'm going to be here to get the debt you owe me, and if you're lucky I'll let you leave town with your life. But make no mistake, this den of yours belongs to me now. If I catch you walking these streets again, I'll take you apart finger by finger, limb by limb, organ by organ until you beg for death."

Marcus stomped on the watch lying on the floor sending pieces scattering across the room. He then motioned for his men and made his way to the door. Michael made his way to his knees, blood dripping from his mouth and watched as Marcus opened the door to the busy street outside. As soon as the door was closed, he jumped to his feet and ran toward the false wall separating his apartment from the den and knocked on the door, then going to his desk his opened a side draw and produced his revolver. He glanced back at the wall as it slid open. Five of his own men came into the betting den carrying various weapons from chains to pipes.

"Hurry up and follow me." Michael said as he made his way to the door.

Michael threw the door open and walked into the bright street. The road was a bustle of activity as the neighborhood breathed and exhaled life in all its promise. Michael's men formed up behind him. Not far down the sidewalk in front of the neighborhood market was Marcus. Michael strove towards him with intent. As he approached the three men from behind he yelled,

"Marcus, you bloodsucking leech, turn and face me!"

The three men spun around and saw Michael, arm outstretched presenting his revolver. For a moment there was silence on the street. A hushed staccato rest where every moment can be counted by the beats of one's heart. The calm was shattered by the intense resolve of the revolver in Michael's hand. The bullet sped true into the neck of one of Marcus' bodyguards. He fell back in shock and began to choke his dying inaudible pleas to God as Michael wheeled to the other bodyguard. The guard briefly attempted to reach into his coat,

"I would leave that piece well enough alone if I were in your place, friend." Michael spat.

"Dear Mary mother of God, you're insane!" Marcus exclaimed defiantly, "Do you have any idea what is going to happen to you and your family now? I'll burn you all alive!"

Michael nodded to one of his men who promptly advanced and bashed Marcus in the face with a pipe. Marcus stumbled back and dropped all at once onto the sidewalk. Michael's man stood over him as the neighborhood took in a collective gasp.

Michael walked a few steps towards Marcus and abruptly pulled the trigger on his second guard sending fragments of jaw and tissue into the air as he fell into the street. Michael leaned over Marcus in front of the market, and spun him around on his back.

Marcus' countenance had changed from fool-hardy bravado to sheer terror in the span of a few seconds. Michael gripped his collar and his life and leaned in close to say,

"You think you can come into my den, my home, and threaten my family and my life and walk out like you are some sort of hero of the people here? I am going to paint the streets with you." Michael pulled Marcus to his knees. Marcus had been reduced to a trembling mass of rags in front of the entire neighborhood.

Michael continued out loud for the crowd to hear, "But first, I'm going to take you apart, finger by finger, limb by limb, organ by organ, until you beg for death, and when the end does come, you and everyone here will know that no one, be he a man or an angel of the almighty, goes against me and my family." Michael punctuated this speech with a swift whip across Marcus' face with the butt of his gun.

"Alright boys," He commanded straightening himself, "This one has got a date with the devil, let's make sure he looks pretty for it."

A round of knowing laughter came from Michael's group as two of them began to drag Marcus back to the den. The people in the street watched in disbelief as the door to the building closed behind the group.

It was hours into the evening before the screaming resounding from the den finally ceased to fill the streets. In the time Marcus was on his way to becoming no more, not a soul notified the authorities, not a person requested silence. Everyone knew who was in charge of that street that night. Michael had proven to be true to his word and everyone on the block was witness to it, Marcus had cried out for death, and his wish was granted in the form of a lonely crack of a gunshot finally plunging the street into black silence that fateful night.
 

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