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Keypunch: Not Just A Capo | Started by: Lucretia_Borgia on Jan 25, '10 03:43 |
Lucretia was sitting at her Casino's poker tables, drowning her sorrows with beer, gin and tonic, and even the rare cosmopolitan. She was letting the customers come out ahead as they took her cash from alcohol-induced bids. It was all small change for a casino owner anyway, but she was even less concerned about the money because it would surely be great publicity and bring in new customers to pay itself off. Besides, that guy across the table was pretty cute, anyway, and a bit of fun every now and again was a good thing. After she was thoroughly buzzed the conversation turned from flirtation to more serious matters when the tall, dark stranger asked her if she wanted to rant a bit and see if it felt better. |
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As the tall dark stranger stepped forward he reached inside his blazer pocket pulling out a flask. On the bottom of the flask it had Asylum etched in it while the leather bands around the flask showed wear. The man screws off the cap and begins to pour out the bourbon into the streets. As the flask became more and more empty the man stopped. |
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Reply by: Aftershock at Jan 25, '10 03:54 | |
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RIP Keypunch, taken too soon. As we can see, you're a massive loss to the Las Vegas criminal underworld, but you are a loss to the streets. Your contributions to The New York Post (or, Sin City Sentinel) will be well remembered and it's perhaps fitting that your death marks the closing of the newspaper; it wouldn't have been the same without your input. As they say, the pen is mightier than the...errrrm, tommy gun. |
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Reply by: Hoopi at Jan 25, '10 04:21 | |
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Walks into the casino, listening to the speech, raising his glass to the memory of the great Don Keypunch
Sets his glass down and tosses Lucretia a chip
Walks out of the casino, head hung low... |
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Reply by: JesseJames at Jan 25, '10 04:45 | |
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The Liar stepped forward, so saddened and shocked that for the first, and quite possibly the last, time in his life the mask slipped. The trauma that normally caused him to tell so many lies forgotten as he heard the news about Keypunch. Words are our stock in trade... or, at least, they should be. This world was borne of a place where words mattered, where words were used as a tool to belittle, to humiliate, to spark outrage and controversy. Words are sometimes the precursor to violence, and sometimes an end in themselves. Words are used to entertain, to enlighten, to set the record straight. They are the life blood of this thing of ours... or they should be. Don Keypunch was murdered in cold blood because the powers that be took exception to his turn of phrase. Did he push the boundaries? Sure. Did many of the legends of yesteryear do the exact same thing? Damned straight they did. Mr 47, Father Pat McGroin, Cross De Lena: These are the some of the heroes of the streets, the idols my great (times whatever) grandparents admired, and learned from. I dare anyone to tell me that in their time they didn't go further than Keypunch ever did. That they didn't stray into sexual content, or some truly horrific insults... tell me that, and I'll call you The Liar. Am I going too far back into the pages of history to make my point? Perhaps. I do so because to use more recent examples (and there are plenty) would be to use family lines that are still around, and I am not here to try and stir up more shit for other people. It strikes me that there needs to be a line drawn in the sand. There is a limit to what can be said here in the streets. We all have lives away from this thing of ours, our wives kids, some of the lower ranks I hear even have to hold down a second job. When insults start flying about that, then sure, it's up to the staff at city hall to bring down that heavy hammer and ensure that those people cannot re-join the life of crime they love. For the rest of it, we have guns. When did we stop using them for anything but perceived power grabs? Again, perhaps I go too far back in history here, but there was a time that the community policed itself. It was no secret that Mr Huckles was the author behind the Keypunch columns, hell, I barely pay attention to these things and if I knew it I'm sure anyone who wanted to could have found out easily enough. He offended and attacked Detroit... if they had a problem with it, they should have just fucking SHOT HIM. We're meant to be Mafioso out here, do we need our hands holding that much? Have we slipped so far away from that state of affairs, so far down the There is a more nefarious claim being bandied about in private, that those who dare challenge the wife of the mayor find themselves unwelcome here. They point to Huckles, his son Keypunch, and the recently departed Ezio Medici as evidence of people who have crossed her and have been stamped out by the powers that be. I do not know if there's any truth to this, I pray to God there isn't. I doubt it, to be honest, my family have known several of the city hall employees for many many years now, and I simply cannot accept that they'd condone such behaviour. I guess my point is this. The murder of Don Keypunch was unnecessary, and has had an overall negative impact on the streets, and our world as a whole. Lucretia's decision to pull the paper from the shelves being the most obvious. While it is easy to stand here and blame the city hall, or the mayor, or moving goalposts, we as a community have to accept some responsibility for ourselves. When we cease to police our own behaviour; when life-preservation to crime our way to the next rank takes precedence over standing up for our honour, then that policing influence will have to come in from outside... this is the result. The Liar drains his glass, with a nod to Godfather Borgia he puts on his fedora as he turns to leave. |
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Reply by: The_Liar at Jan 25, '10 05:12 | |
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Liar, I may be in love with you. |
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Reply by: ______ at Jan 25, '10 10:40 | |
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