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| From hell to breakfast. | Started by: Kalashnikova on Oct 24, '07 00:07 |
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Aleksandr Kalashnikova admired mythology. The ancient stories of Greek and later Romans gods and heroes, He admired it all. The Italians he worked with on a regular base would remind him of ageless tragedies. He had no love for the people he did business with though. He despised their arrogance and their thirst for blood and their greed for money. Although one man had caught his eye, one which perhaps possessed some shroud of dying honor and wore raiment of respect. Alek had plans for this man. Regardless, business was to be done. McTavish had requested his presence... The turbines began to turn and within a few hours, Alek would be in Chicago. He wondered if his prospect would be in town and with that he buried his head pillow and soon fell asleep, peacefully, dreaming up what murderous deeds McTavish would request of him. |
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Sprozza had been waiting for some time, staring into the sky through the plate glass window, hands clutched behind is back. He was looking, though he didn't see; his mind was on his meeting with this Russian guy...what was his name...Kalashnikova. Sprozza furrowed his brow and what the hell Ollie was doing messing round with the Russki's, it was only gonna end in tears. The guy was smart enough, sure; he had a good mind for this line of work but Sprozza was too old fashioned for this he thought, shaking his head ruefully. Italians and Russians just didn't mix. He watched idly as a plane descended out of the crisp, blue Chicago sky; noticing it as the New York flight, he tried to clear his mind and do a good job, at least for Ollie's sake. |
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| Reply by: Sprozza at Oct 24, '07 13:17 | |
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