^{Carl's Coffees}

The newcomer had spilled his beans regarding his intentions, and with it, his gratitude. Scarfo felt the associate before him needed some experience and confidence being who he was shaping up to be, but that was all with time. He knew this, as he started the same way. Scarfo though, had a violent past. His past speeches were more aggressive plays at dominance and control, and found his own growth came from working with more refined men of stature.

As Scarfo sat through Albino's speech, he felt the appreciation radiating outwards, or at least that's what he personally interpreted. He felt as if the young well dressed, mobster in the making, had the work ethic to be one of the best earners for the family. In fact, he was already proving that to be the case. What got Scarfo's attention wasn't what he had already known before entering the coffee shop and sitting down, but instead from what he experienced as Albino responded to his probing.

The man had emotion. Every great man had something. A spark. A fire. A blazing spirit, that showed itself when emotion was present. Scarfo didn't really care for the type of emotion, only that he had it. He cared that the man had a side that could be harnessed and focused, and directed to purpose. Emotion came before action, and as long as it was a mutual benefit for both of them to be working together, this emotion was what he wanted to see, and he was pleased when he did.

The body told a story all on it's own, and the spirit of a man lived through his actions. Who he was, spoke much louder than his words. What motivated the man to action, came through at every instant. Scarfo only did business face to face for this reason, to truly get to know a man before he could trust him with his own life. Family was everything in this thing and who you had close would either make you, or break you.

As things finished up, Albino held his eye contact with Scarfo.The two sat there, eyes locked. On one side was a man trying to prove his worth, maybe to himself, but most certainly to someone who held a few keys. Keys that could unlock some doors and jolt him forward much further in this thing then maybe he even realized, or maybe he did. The other, a man who was in search of that special something. Something that every great man had; a fat pair of mother fuckin' balls.

The eye contact lasted longer than it should've, yet Scarfo pushed the point. It was the kind that if two men were in it this long, they would consider it a show of force or threat. One had to break it at some point, and after getting a good sense for the kind of man Albino was, or potentially could be, Scarfo smirked and turned his head toward LordBlackwod.

"We have somewhere to be. I'll introduce you two another time. This friend of mine and I have some business to take care of."

The two shook hands and exchanged a customary kiss on each cheek. They were highly ranked members of Philadelphia's criminal world, and had known each other for a good while, having shared a fair amount of business together in narcotics. LordBlackwod commanded respect, for his position was on the right side of Bella Vista's Godmother, BlackBetty, and such respect was a usual thing for the man of honour.

By this time Mr. Cam had made his way into the Coffee house, and as Scarfo stood up at the table buttoning up his dark pin striped suit jacket, he turned to notice Cam's presence, just as he made his order at the counter. The man looked sharp and ready for what would come next, Scarfo thought. He felt the two up and comers would be perfect for the job. His attention turned back to Albino. An upward flick of the head followed, before he turned and made his way to the door. As he passed where Cam was positioned, he spoke clearly and briefly.

"You, with us. We have some shit to take care of. Forget the coffee."

Scarfo made his way toward the door and glanced out at the streets as he fixed his tie and watched an old lady through the clear glass pass by. He removed his pocket watch and checked the time, before sliding it back into a his left trouser pocket. The door pulled open and he led the three mean promptly to the waiting vehicle.

^{Cruising Philadelphia}

The car motored through the streets of Philadelphia. The city rushed by, everyone out doing their own thing. As a boy, Scarfo pondered what others were up to. He would think about what they were doing. Where exactly everyone might be off to. Now days, his eyes caught the surroundings yet his mind was consistently ticking over. Sometimes about his personal affairs. More so about business and the rackets he ran in Philly. And after the move with TonyCapazzo, it was mostly about Family.

With his two accomplices within an earshot, he felt the need to let these inner musings have a canvas. His aggressive nature of the past had smoothed over somewhat, yet he still had a constant need for outward expression. Whilst still watching the outer world, he spoke up loud enough for the men in the back to hear him, and then some. His emotions were building, and they began their verbal outlet.

"Look at them. Some going here. Some going there. Some maybe even not consciously sure where the fuck they are going. All motivated. Driven. To some sort of action. If you ask them what it is they are doing, they may tell you about their plans. They may tell you about where it is they are off to, or just came from. Some may tell you more than you want to know, as some just want to be heard. What they are really saying though, is that, they are surviving."

Scarfo paused a moment, but not too long. His thoughts were still flowing, and he still had his eyes focused outward toward the moving scenery. His voice was loud and filled the car, yet it was a casual tone. The emotion was steady; even. His thoughts were focused on being a survivor, and how to make it in this world.

"I grew up a survivor. My dad was in this thing of ours, a survivor. He worked for a man who also grew up a survivor. That man worked for the Godmother of South Philly, who was also a survivor. She was the last one to hold the title. The man likely to take her place, Don Latin, another survivor. Your Don, Capazzo, came out from under his protection. Tone, another mother fuckin' survivor. Just like them out there, at one point or another we too had to be survivors. The difference between us and them?"

As the Ford Model A pulled up and parked in the business district on the north side, Scarfo turned back and looked directly at the men in the back seat of the car. His facial expression showed a furrowed brow, with a serious set of eyes to match. His thoughtful expression had aroused in himself a feeling of determination, and purpose. He pointed his finger directly at Albino, answering his own rhetorical question.

"We have the fuckin' balls to take what the fuck we wanna take. Them out there, they take orders from men like us. Men like us, who have the fuckin' courage to step out, step up, and demand life the way we want it."

Scarfo till this point had been quite casual in his tone, which now had a sudden charge of emotion. Determination, sure. Purpose, without a doubt. Aggression, in fucking spades. It seemed to be spilling on the side of anger, and he had a deadly serious look in his eyes. Scarfo turned his attention to Cambeno_Killa_Gotti, now pointing his finger directly at him.

"You're going to do a job for me."

He focused back on Albino, still rising in anger, still pointing.

"The fuckin' two of you."

^{Jack's Barbershop}

His hand swung and directed his finger toward a barbershop, directly across the road from where they had parked. His eyes never left the men, and he constantly shifted his gaze between them. He didn't blink, the emotion radiating through the windows of his soul. He felt mighty pissed off, and the aggression he so readily tamed when conducting business was rearing it's ugly head. His breath was short and sharp, his face turning a shade of red.

"There is a man in there who think's he's more than a survivor. He killed one of my guys, so you're going to remind this Irish fuck that we have the fuckin' balls to take their mick fuck souls right from their mother fuckin' bodies! I don't give a fuck who they think they are, we run south side!"

Scarfo raised his finger to his lips, tapping it against his chin as he gritted his teeth. He caught a sudden moment of self consciousness and could sense he was in a state, and although it felt oh so good, he decided to try and calm himself down, starting with a deep breath. He rubbed his hand over his face, then rubbed at his chin.

"Ok... Ok. You're going to go in there and shoot the mick in the barbers chair, and any other Irish fuck in a suit."

The moment was ripe, and his associates ready. Scarfo felt enough trust in them based on past work and recent events to give them this shot. It was now time to usher in the next in line. Jobs like this were what being an up and coming mobster was all about. Getting dirty, taking out the competition and moving through the ranks. The life any gangster wannabe wanted, yet not all could stomach.

Scarfo removed his black fedora and brushed a hand through his slick dark brown hair. He enjoyed the feel of something smooth, it seemed to calm him in heated moments. He looked at the short brimmed, black ribboned head piece as he spoke.

"What I said before about us, all of us, being survivors? I was wrong."

The Phoenix Rising Underboss placed the hat upon his head, then pulled down at the front brim, securing it firmly in place. He glanced at the men, and was now a little less explosive; quite calm in comparison. He paused, eyeing the men over momentarily, before continuing.

"I'm a fuckin' gangster."

Scarfo turned to face the front. He straightened his tie by brushing his hand over it, more so to feel the smoothness of the silk. The driver of the vehicle had remained silent till this point. He was dressed much like most of the mobsters getting around, yet more generic with dark black colours. He was most likely one of Scarfo's heavies, a man hired for a specific purpose; to kill, or be killed. After the exceedingly long inexpressiveness, he suddenly turned toward the men and continued on from where Scarfo had left off.

"Show Scarfo here you have the balls to take what you want. Some fat fuckin' balls, to be some mother fuckin' gangsters. Now get the fuck out."

Sitting directly behind the driver, Albino kept glancing towards Scarfo’s reflection in the rear-view mirror. He had a mixed feeling of nerves and excitement in the pit of his stomach. On the outside, he hoped he appeared calm and prepared. Inside was a different story, his heart was racing. The silence in the car was broken by Scarfo’s emotional words regarding survival. Albino came from a world of survival-of-the-fittest. He jumped many obstacles to become the man he was today, but none of them as important as today’s. 

As the car halted, Scarfo continued to share words of motivation. Albino concentrated intensely, taking in every word, every breath and every look Scarfo shared. His stomach may have been left back at the cafe, but his mind was following, focussed and fixated on the job to come.

Albino didn’t mind getting his hands dirty. People had died to his hands before today but before this moment, they were all acts of necessity. Robberies gone wrong, that time he caught that scum bag with his hands around a woman’s throat, the bastard who attempted to hold him at knife-point. They all had one thing in common - the way they met their death was instinctive. 

Albino wasn’t a heartless man but he held no remorse for any of these actions. He acted on his gut. Up until recently, his gut was the only thing he could trust. No one else was going to do him right. His instinct was all he had. That was of course, until the day he met Scarfo. Now, suddenly, he’s willing to do what is necessary for someone else. This was foreign to him. He couldn’t understand it. Strangely, he didn’t argue with it though - he embraced it. However unusual, it was a refreshing feeling for him.

Albino rolled the window down, lit up a cigarette and rested his arm on the door. Drawing from his cigarette and following Scarfo’s hand gestures, he could feel the emotion oozing out of Scarfo’s body as the words jumped out of his mouth. This mattered to him. This was important to him. Yet, he put it on the shoulders of two budding associates. He must’ve had faith, or maybe his anger blinded him. Whatever it was, Albino realised how important it was that they did this right. This had to go smoothly. 

Looking over at his new-found accomplice, Albino nods. He takes a deep breath. They had been told what to do and so they both climb out of the car. Looking over at the barbershop, Albino finishes the last of his cigarette, throws it on the ground and crushes it with his foot, his eyes locked on the barbershop the whole time.

The lump behind the steering wheel got out and made his way to the back of the car. He opened up the boot and flicked his head toward him as a signal for the two associates to gather. Stood either side, the associates looked inside the boot. Wrapped up in a cloth was two guns. Albino had a limited knowledge on guns that extended as far as knowing how to clean one, how to load one and how to fire one. He didn’t know what type of guns they were, all he knew was there were two Revolvers and two men. 

Picking up the gun with his dominant right hand and popping open the cylinder, Albino counted 6-rounds. Snapping the cylinder back in place, he ensured the safety was on and faced his accomplice. With determination in his voice, he says:

“Cam, right?” Albino paused “Come on, then. Let’s show Scarfo what we’re made of.”

While Scarfo explained the situation, Killa unbutton his black tailored coat and reached into his inside pocket for a pair of leather gloves. The order was already made, all we had to do was follow up. The heavy set gentlemen gave us both tools for the job, and what better tools than a Colt Positive and a Colt Peacemaker. Both 6 rounds .45 calibers. Albino determination was enough to move a mountain. Killa couldn't help but think about him forgetting his mask. He didn't like to do a hit job without it, but this was his chance. This was his shot to prove himself not only for the family but for this thing of ours. Killa grabbed the Peacemaker. It was just his fit, checked the rounds to see it fully loaded. He looked at Scarfo and nodded in agreement. Killa then stared at the barbershop evaluating. He could see through the clear tinted window the men inside carrying on not knowing this would be their last conversation. 

"1....2...3....3. I guess we spare the barber...he doesn't look Irish.

Killa chuckled to himself. Murder to him was second nature, simple as walking or even eating which made this some what easy to do. What he was more concerned about was meeting Scarfo's expectations. Killa tucked the Peacemaker behind him inside of his black slacks. He button back up his coat concealing his M1911A1 and its body holster. Al took his equalizer and concealed it as well. He looked over at Albino and the two made the connection about what needed to be done without a word being spoken. They began walking across the street towards the shop calmly, professionally...these were gangsters. 

*Ring..Ring..Ring*

The bell chimed as Killa walked in followed by Albino. The place was like any other barber shop, the smell of after shaved bombarded your nostrils as soon as you enter. Albino proceeded next to the unoccupied station alongside the working chair. Killa walked around the place stopping at a wall full of photos of mobsters who have gotten a trim or swung by. You could get a feel of the mood changing. Before the 3 were conversing about last night and some two bit hooker doing unimaginable things. Now their tone was lowered and the hooker story wasn't as appealing as the two gentlemen who walked in, one wearing a pair of "who shot you" gloves. You could almost see the Irishman's heart beating through the barber's hair protective cape laying over his chest. Killa made his way near the door and flipped over the sign that read Sorry We're Closed...

Watching as Cam flicks the "Closed" sign over, Albino looks back over at the barber. By this time, everyone's fallen silent. The 3 customers and the barber just staring at Albino and Cam. The Barber, still holding the cut-throat blade in his hand, breaks out in a thick Turkish accent,

"What are you doing?"

His voice was slightly raised - slightly angered. He waves his arms to gesture his lack of understanding. The two associates just stare at him, straight faced and focussed.

"You come in my shop? You lock my door? Who do you think you are, huh?"

It falls silent again for a moment. Albino begins to reply,

"This doesn't concern y...", before Albino could finish, the Barber responded in anger,

"No! Get out. Get off of my property!"

The Barber started to make his way toward Albino. He was angered and frustrated. Albino didn't appreciate being told what to do. Before the Barber could get within 3 foot of him, Albino pulled out the gun hidden on the inside of his trouser waistband. He pointed it at the Turk's chest. The Turk stopped immediately.

Albino repeated himself, "This doesn't concern y..".

Again, before Albino could finish his sentence, the Turk intervened "What, you going to shoo...", this time, Albino interrupted the Turk. With the pull of the trigger, the noise of the gunfire echoed around the room. The Barber dropped to the floor clutching his chest, groaning. Blood had covered the floor around where the man now laid on his side. Looking up at Albino, making struggled attempts to speak, the man couldn't believe what had happened. He gasped for air.

During the outbreak, Cam had drawn his Peacemaker, ensuring the micks didn't do anything stupid.

Killa held the Peacemaker pointed at the body guard sitting down. The barber squirmed around holding his chest, slipping and sliding in his own blood. The Irishman laid in the chair, sweat and shaving cream dripping from his face. He flinched and tried to move but was met by Killa’s M1911A1.

“Not a good idea.”

Now Killa stood with two guns, one pointed at the bodygaurd and the other at the Irishman. The barber began gasping for the last little bit of life he had left then died. A crowd began to form outside across the street filled with respected mobsters and civilians. Killa glanced over his shoulder admiring the audience and while doing so the bodyguard went for his .38 hidden in his ankle holster. Killa noticed and squeezed tightly on the Peacemakers trigger.

*BANG*

The bodyguard slumped over hitting the floor with half of his brains beating him there. The force of the shot knocked down some of the pictures off the wall of famous gangsters who had came to the shop. Albino walked over to the mirror behind the Irishman. He grabbed a straight razor blade and stared at it closely. Killa walked over towards the Irishman now standing in front of him and Albino at his back.

“You probably wonder who we are, and why we are here…. well…. In this thing of ours there is a code and you broke that code…”

The Irishman began cursing disrespectfully pleading with Killa's twin calibers. After a few "go fuck yourselves" Albino's patience ran short....

Hearing the Irishman's cursing at his fellow Family member, Albino gritted his teeth. His face had swollen into an angry ball on his broad shoulders. His face grew red with anger, his fist clenched tight around the cut-throat razor blade. Staring down at the Irishman, he started to breathe heavier and heavier. Starting where Cam's speech left off, Albino roared "You fucking mick bastard. You wanna know who the fuck we are? We are Phoenix Rising." 

As quick as the words left his mouth, Albino swung his arm in a rage, slicing the man's throat. As blood began to drip down the barber's gown, the man struggled for breath. Albino still couldn't control his anger. He grabbed the man by his clothes, dragged him towards the front shop window and threw him through it. The glass shattered all over the pavement. The Irishman landed with a crunch, still bleeding out all over himself. His eyes were wide open. His body was near lifeless but spasming slightly. 

Albino's breaths were short and sharp. His eyes were bulging out of his head with anger. His attention didn't leave the man laid dying on pavement. The growing crowd were loudly chattering - some were screaming and crying. Albino watched as the last moments of life left the man's body. It was done. The Irishman's disrespect and stupidity had taken his life. Albino threw the blade across the room still shaking with anger. Although the window was put through, Albino respectfully made his way to the door and exited the establishment followed by Cam. Albino stopped briefly outside of the shop, "This is a fucking lesson! Learn it well!" he shouted pointing at the body.

As they arrived back at the car across the street, Scarfo was stood waiting.

Scarfo was outside the car, watching from a far as the men went about carrying out a bloody job for their employer. He was puffing on a cigarette to try and calm his emotions. The earlier anger spat had him in a state and when he got like this he knew he could be impulsive, and no good to anybody. He had made many an impulsive move in his time, so a cigarette was the most logical thing to keep him at ease whilst the then associates went about business.

As the body of the Irishman smashed through the window Scarfo nearly choked on an inhale of his cigarette, before it was immediately flicked to the side. It wasn't until he saw the men leave the barbershop and address the crowd that he knew he made the right choice. These men, were gangsters.

Scarfo gave a respectful nod toward the two before ordering them inside the car.

"Good job, now get the fuck in."

Once everyone was inside, the car was back in motion and speeding away from the latest crime scene to hit the streets of Philadelphia. The war with the Irish Mob was in full swing and this tit for tat back and forth nonsense had to stop. Scarfo pondered on the job and the overall war as they hit top speed of the Model A Ford. They'd lost more than one worker in this battle for territory and Scarfo expected they'd be hitting back again soon enough.

After feeling content with where they now were, Scarfo advised the driver to ease off. They came to more of a cruising speed, now back in South Philly. The vehicle eventually pulled up outside the original Coffee shop. The car ride back was silent as each man addressed his own internal state. Scarfo kept his mind on where to go from here, and before sending the men back out into the streets he cut through the silence.

"We need to hit them hard, and make them understand once and for all who the fuck runs the south. Go about your business and be ready when it's time to move. Now, go."