Cold sweat...clammy to the touch...started awake from a dream...rather a nightmare...the echo of gunshots still penetrated his ears. When will this end...this feeling...a black hole in the pit of his stomach. It wouldn't end until he did something about it.

Today was the day. Pull yourself together man, you work for the mafia for fucks sakes. Gotta get it together.

Pharaoh pulled his Smith and Wesson .38 from under his pillow, walked over placing it on the tiny table in his cramped attic apartment. He had only gotten it a while ago and had never fired it at anything other than bottles and cans.

Pharaoh quickly made some barely drinkable coffee, then returned to the table to clean his weapon for the 5th time that week. It had to be ready. He couldn't have it jamming tonight.

Pharaoh reached for his coffee, then paused staring at his trembling hand. Pharaoh quickly made a tight fist then opened it again. He wondered if everyone felt this way before their first time? He must be ready. He couldn't fail the family.

Pharaoh finished cleaning his weapon and reloaded it, giving it a final spin before snapping it shut, then quickly trained it on the door, hearing something being slid under it. Pharaoh listened for a moment, and hearing nothing more, approached the door quietly and picked up an envelop.

Now he had his orders, his target. Tonight it was all or nothing. He would prove himself loyal and dependable. These jitters would have to wait. He had a job to do.

(OOC hopefully 3rd times a charm. Thanks to Sticks, and Adrian for killing the "double post" twice as I was having trouble with WYSIWYG mode.)

It was about dusk now, and the cover of darkness would help keep him hidden. He pulled up about a block from where his target was last sighted, let the engine idle, and tried to collect his scattered nerves for the last time.

ENOUGH OF THIS SHIT! He slammed the steering wheel. No more. If I don't.....if I CAN'T do this, they will all think I can't pull my weight. This was a career choice, and I will finish what I started.

Pharaoh exited the 1931 Buick Sedan, looking around slowly to make sure no one was watching him. Armed with his .38 Smith and Wesson and a flashlight, he entered the low cover of trees at the edge of the road and started heading in the direction of his targets last position.

Pharaoh approached the junkyard slowly, careful to not make a sound, straining his eyes in the darkness since he didn't want to bring attention to his position with the flashlight.

Pharaoh could see light from the other side of the yard, and could hear the sound of a big motor starting up. He hoped the target wasn't about to drive away, but the motor sounded much bigger than a vehicle, so he kept his pace slow and steady.

Strangely he had gotten over his earlier jitters, the adrenalin probably had much to do with that, along with a feeling of extreme excitement.

Pharaoh crept closer, and now that his eyes were adjusting to the lower light, he could see the motor he heard was coming from a huge metal press, used for crushing the old cars.

Hearing a noise behind him, Pharaoh spun on his heal, training the gun in the direction of the sound. His breath sucked in sharply and he slowly exhaled trying not to make any more noise as a raccoon sauntered past. He was so close to the target now, he had to steady himself.

Freddy Bassett, a local informant for the police, was readying another car for the press. He wondered absentmindedly who had driven some of these cars and what stories they could tell.

As he pressed the button to start the crusher, the great motor burst to life, drowning any other sound in the vicinity. He got some satisfaction from seeing the cars being crushed, and it put him into a trance-like state, almost like pyromaniacs get when they watch a fire.

The machine was loud, and Freddy didn't hear the footsteps approaching from behind. He barely felt the cold barrel of the gun pressed to the back of his head...

Freddy froze...

The wind rolled through the trees on the warm summer night.  You could almost hear it whistling, as if some force was here to usher this poor soul into the after life.  Even if Pharaoh didn't have the guts to finish the man himself, Freddy wasn't making it home from work that night.  He had said too much to be forgiven at this point.  He was the perfect opportunity for the young mobster to make his bones.

Gideon watched from a distance as Pharaoh made his approach.  He noticed that the young man had the sense to wait until the poor peon had put another car in the crusher, smart man.  Gideon had already sent men around to secure the junkyard.  Not kill them, but subdue them at the very least.  He didn't want anything interrupting Pharaoh's decision here.  He watched as the young mafioso crept up behind Freddy, and placed the Smith and Wesson in the brain stem of poor Freddy's skull.  Before Pharaoh had the chance to pull the trigger, Gideon called out.

Before you take this mans life, you should understand the path you are agreeing to my friend.  If you take this rats life, you are embarking on a life that will be full of challenges.  Not only will you be an earner for our family, you will now be a killer.  I mean this in the kindest way possible.  Once you punch a mans ticket for the mafia, you are truly a lifer.  When you prove you have the guts to kill for us, and that you are effiecent, you could be called upon night and day to do us this service.  It is not an easy life.  I do not take ending lives easily.  Even if the orders come from us, you are the one snuffing the person out, even if it must be done.  You will become a protector, a savior, a valued member of Our Thing.  On the other hand, you are are a murder.  These are secrets that must be kept to the grave.  Only if you are ready to take that final step, that weight of responsibility, should you pull that trigger.

Freddy's life flashed before his eyes. A pool of steamy urine pooled around his feet. This was it, they had finally caught on. Freddy's finger was frozen on the button of the machine as it crushed that one last car. Strange that he could still find beauty in that when he was about to die, or maybe it was appropriate.

A voice barked "TURN AROUND!...slowely. I want to see your eyes. This is for L'alleanza Leale. Rest...in....peace."

The last few seconds of Freddy's life were spent looking into steeled eyes. Not quite the killers eyes he had expected, but determined non-the-less. He heard a sharp report, then everything turned bright white....then dark......then nothing....

Pharaoh watched Freddy's body slump to the ground, and as the machine stopped he glanced over to Gideon, his mentor, and hopefully friend one day.

Pharaoh holstered his weapon, and together the two men placed Freddy's body into the next car ready for the crushing machine. It was quite ironic that something that Freddy had seen as so beautiful, was about to leave his body a bloody pulp.

On the way back to his vehicle, Pharaoh turned to Gideon. "Sorry Sir, I fucked up. I seriously didn't know anyone else was in that junkyard. It could have been a horrible mistake on my part if it was someone other than you. I promise....I won't let it happen again."

He smirked as he Pharoah started to apoligze.  He had seen many men make their bones.  Not many had done so as unwaiveringly as young Pharoah had.  Most had had a moments hesitation in squeezing someone into the afterlife.  Most would have waited a second too long, and the rat scum would usually try to run away or fight.  Not with Pharoah.  He had done what had to be done before the mug could get any quick ideas and try to escape.  

You should not blame yourself yet.  You are young, you were nervious I am guessing.  I am one of those that has learned how to not be seen unless I want to be.  You sould never have known I was there if I hadn't meant to give you some words of wisdom.  You did well today Pharoah.  Like I said it's not easy taking another mans life.  In this business though sometimes it is nessesary.  Unfortunately, human beings can become extremely resiliant to violence and death.  If we are to survive leading this kind of life, we must learn to turn out our guilty and not think about the hell that awaits us.  Only look to your family and city for support, for it them you are saving when commit such an act.

Gideon signeled to one of his men in the crane that was to place the old Ford into the car crusher Freddy had loved so much.  The crane fired to life and it easily hoisted the car into the crusher.  Freddy's head lolled around in the back seat as the car came to its final resting place in the machine.  Gideon turned to Pharoah.

Now, finish the job.  If the local police find this guy with a .38 squeezed in his ear it's going to get expensive to pay off.  It's better this way for everyone, even Freddy here.  I don't even think he will mind too much.  He loved this thing.

Pharaoh breathed a sigh of relief...the hardest part was over. He nodded to Gideon and reached over to hit the button on the machine. At that moment, Pharaoh heard a familiar scuffling sound, whipping his .38 back out of the holster and putting a single bullet into that damn raccoon.

Wrong place, wrong time little buddy. Pharaoh throws the roadkill just underneath the car where Freddy is sitting. If there is any blood evidence the coppers will just think the raccoon got stuck in the machine somehow.

The machine rumbled and sputtered to life one last time and Freddy quickly became a meat and metal pie. Fitting for him to die in the machine that brought him so much pleasure.

Pharaoh turn to Gideon and shook his hand firmly. Thank you Sir, your words mean much to me. I'll see you back at Headquarters later.

With that the men dispersed, leaving the junkyard looking much like it did before they arrived, minus one car, one raccoon, and one rat.

Pharaoh trudged up the steep stairway to his attic apartment in the very early hours of the morning, just as the light was starting to appear. As cramped as it was, at the moment it was the most appealing sight ever. He fumbled in his pocket for the key, pulled it out and placed it into the locking mechanism.

Pharaoh entered the room, undid the strap to his shoulder holster, and set his gun down on the small table. He walked over to a tiny desk which barely fit in the cramped space, opened one of the drawers and retreaved a notepad. He picked up the fountain pen from the desktop and proceeded to write on the first blank page.

~I killed a man today~