Washington Post Issue 1: Heart of Darkness

"Please! I'm beggin' you! I don't know a fuckin' thing about any o' this shit! You gotta believe me!!"

The sound of bones shattering, along with the thud of wood on flesh, broke the next bit of silence. A young man turned, bloodied baseball bat over his shoulder, as he looked down at another young man, a slightly older man but a young man none the less, spitting blood out, as well as a tooth.

"Listen, Serino... we do not want to send you back to your overlords in a small box. But at the rate we are going, by the end of the week, you will have no fingers and only one tooth left. Now then, I will ask you again. Why were you skulking around the Willard hotel?"

The young Italian male looked around him again, struggling, swearing loudly as he looked at the numerous large, burly men around him. Each was wearing a dark outfit of loose fitting clothing, with the one in front of him in a full three piece suit, tie and all. He'd been dragged here after he was found trying to escape down an alley, and now he was fucked in more ways than he even knew.

"Listen to me, you stupid Russian pricks, I don't know a fuckin' thing about why I was there! I was told to go there, look around, and I did! I didn't see a fuckin' thing! Now untie me you fat ugly -"

The baseball bat came around a second time, leaving behind a split, and a bruise. Serino groaned, looking back up at the man towering over him. Neither one was going to be having a good day today. For a long while, no one said a thing. Silence... silence... silence...
And then the sound of an engine. The Russians turned, pulling out their guns, as the smallest ran to the opening of the barn. After a moment, he tucked his gun away, a somber look on his face. He didn't say anything though. Slowly, they all returned to their previous calm, intimidating demeanour. Serino only wished he knew why.

"Dear Serino. You poor poor fool."

As the car rolled into view, Serino winced and turned away, the lights blinding him for a moment. It wasn't what he'd expected. A long, dark, imposing Bentley S1. And from it, came a man, in a dark dress suit. As the lights dimmed, Serino shook his head, and looked up. He didn't get a chance to look at the man, as the barrel of a gun pressed against his head.

"What the fu-"

"You do not talk. You listen. And then you answer. Who told you to go to the Willard InterContinental?"

No one even flinched, as Serino struggled to get free, sobbing. He was still young, he didn't want to die, and certainly not tied up to a chair in some abandoned shack in the middle of nowhere. He sighed, looking up after about five minutes of crying and struggling. He took a deep breath, and swallowed hard.

"Gravano d-"

The blood splattered the wall and floor behind him, as the chair was pushed back by the force. Serino's cadaver lay there, limp, his eyes wide, his mouth hanging open, as the whole in his forehead slowly let blood out across the surface. A heavy sigh came from his murderers mouth, as the baseball bat wielding figure stepped up to him, looking down at the corpse.

"Do you think that was a good idea, Sudar Travnikov? He may have been our only evidence of the Gravano's cowardice."

Leonid shook his head, laughing and handing the Makarov PM to another figure by his side, who took it and began to rub the gun clean of prints.

"The Gravano's are not a brave family. He was not a brave man. It did not matter whether we had him alive or not. All that mattered was that our action was justified. I am sure you understand that, Bolen. There will be no discussion. Let us return."

And, as he said, there was no discussion. Everyone returned to their vehicles, and in silence, made their way off of the empty hill, down into the lights and streets of Washington D.C. Leonid looked down into the beautiful city, smiling to himself, as he rested into his seat.

"What a lovely night."

Santo Fabrizo relaxed back in his chair as the man before him sank to his knees and kissed Santo's ring. It was days like this that he enjoyed. No real stress, just simple loyalty.

The man stood up, swearing to be his forever. Santo gave him a nod and welcomed him to the family. The man left the room and Santo turned to his consigliere, Franco.

"Make sure he wakes up tomorrow without any other loyalties."

Franco nodded and made a note.

"Who?"

"Make it Gravano. Use the usual guys."

Franco nodded again.

"I heard his wife was pretty too. What a shame."

Santo stood up and walked over to the liquor cabinet. He poured the both of them a drink and walked back, offering it to Franco who proceeded to take it.

"What're we going to do about Carlos?"

"Nothing. We won't have to. By this time tomorrow, he'll be sat in our laps like a little puppy."

"How'd you manage that?"

"Franco, if I told you all my secrets then what would stop you from taking over?"

Santo gave a laugh and smiled at Franco. They were brothers by blood and neither would ever hurt the other. Even so, Santo liked reminding Franco that nobody was immortal from time to time.

He looked out the window next to his desk. The kids were playing in the yard and the gate remained blocked off by the heavy chain. Everything was usual.

Tomorrow though. That's when things in this city were going to change. If everything went to plan, the Fabrizo would take the entire city overnight.

Dominic stepped out of his car outside of a warehouse that transported furniture, though he knew it also saw cocaine through the borders of the USA, with a cigarette in his mouth. Inside were four of his men, two armed with Thompson Submachine guns and the others holding the arms of a bloodied man, clearly beaten.
"Is this the rat?" Dominic asked, more out of formality than curiousity, he already knew the answer.
"Yes, Dominic,"
"Good," Dominic looked down at the man, "Who are you working for?"
"I'm not telling you shit,"
"You will, or I'm going to have your entire family killed," The man visibly paused, thinking over Dominic's words.
"It was
"And if I cooperate?"
"Your family will be unharmed,"
"It was Fabrizo,"
"You're lying," Dominic answered with a smile as he stepped towards him. At a nod, his men held the captives head up. Dominic held the cigarette close to his eye, so that he could feel the heat from the lit tip. "Tell me the truth, or this is going to be very painful,"
"It is the truth!" The man half shouted, half squeaked in his panic, "It was Fabrizo!" With a sigh, Dominic put his cigarette out in the man's eye.

Two Hours later
Wiping his hands, Dominic walked back to his car.
"He stuck to blaming Fabrizo for this," His bodyguard Micheal said, a man Dominic trusted with his life.
"But that doesn't mean it was them, Micheal. The only way to know for sure is to wait. Have the body dumped somewhere it'll be found, but not linked to us,"
"Yes, Dominic. I'll see to it straight away,"

Joseph Abate stood at the corner of the alleyway and watched the couple walk by. They were only young and both had flustered, red cheeks and laughter in their eyes. They talked long and loud all the way down the street but as they caught sight of him, they quietened down and lowered their heads.

"Hey Joey, come give us a hand here."

The shout came from the alley that he was standing outside. He turned and walked down in time to see Vincenzo Aloi and his brother Benedetto throw the man down the back steps of the apartment building.

Joey stopped in front of the man and hauled him to his feet. He picked up a box nearby and sat the man down on it. Benny and Vinny stood either side of him. Joey pulled the gun out of jacket pocket and tapped the guy lightly on the side of the cheek with it.

"Why ya tryin' resist us for? We gotcha wife and tha kid. Ya help us an' ya see them again."

The man broke down in tears in front of him.

"I swear. I never. I was only askin-"

"I don' care whacha were askin'. You weren' doing wha' we ask'd ya to do. Ya suppos'd ta stay outta contact wit the Cammora."

"I'll do it properly this time. I promise. Just let me go."

"Ya betta. Ya got one last chance, Mr Cellini. Tha Don's not happy witcha progress."

Mr Cellini grovelled some more as Joey stood up. He pocketed the gun again.

"Don' fuck it up."

Cellini promised and took his leave of them.

"Vinny, if tha' bum messes this up. Kill him for me, woul' cha?"

"Sure Joey."

The Corvette pulled into the back alley of the small Italian shop. The engine left to idle, the man stepped out and smoothed out his sports jacket. Not one for the well dressed image, he did moreso functionallity...of course, his own flare.
Stepping through the back door, the few guys gathered in the back turned.
"Whacha' think ya doin' there." One demanded. "Think yoa can sneak up o-" he choked and looked down. A knife protruded. As he coughed up blood, he fired the now drawn Italian pistol, killing each one of the remaining three as they scrambled for cover. Dropping the Berretta 1951, he withdrew an M1911. Stepping into the store proper, he calmly gunned down the cashier before taking cover. Gunfire reported. Average time between gunshot and call...possibly five minutes. Average response time....probably ten minutes. Due to location, seven.
Stepping out, Elijah shot one more, then dived. Ending up behind the counter, he lifted the Thompson machinegun still sitting there.
Idiots.
Hearing sirens, he waited. With a few potshots, he finally heard the police enter, shouting. He came up and opened fire, emptying the entire barrel into the store. As police, Gavano, and civilians alike fell, he dropped the Tommy Gun on his way out, and as he slid into the corvette and gunned it, banging was heard.
"Oh shut up. Crickey, you're loud." He grumbled. Gunning it out of the alley, he blew past a cop car, ran two red lights, then pulled into one more alley. Stepping out, he opened the trunk and ripped off the tape. "Really now. Stop your bitching." She slit the ropes. "Get the fuck out of here."
The man would have made an attempt on Elijah, but the presence of a Colt .45 pressed to his head ended that. He slowly backed up, then got into the car. As the Corvette began to move, the Colt pistol cracked two retorts.
Blood splattered the windshield.

Elijah soon was in a phonebooth.
"Pavel. Tell him it's done."
Elijah walked ten blocks to where a Mercedes-Benz 190SL sat. Sliding in, he relaxed as the engine roared.
"Now look what you Gavano bastards have done. I'm late for my daughter's recital..."

Dominic held the bridge of his nose with his right hand, a glass of whiskey in his left. One of his Capos was sat in front of him, having just finished informing him of the deaths of his men and the shooting of one of their businesses. Dominic was annoyed, shown only by the tightening of his lips. He tapped the desk in front of him as he spoke,
"Find out who this was. Names, addresses, loyalties. I want everything on them. I'm not going to let them get away with this," The Capo nodded as he rose from his own chair and walked out of the office.

The door opened and light shone in. Light revealed a well lived in apartment. Clean floors, well taken care of furniture, pictures hung on the wall, old photographs sat in frames on small tables against the walls. A man in a trench coat wearing a fedora walked in. His boots made a heavy sound. He walked around the apartment. He looked at the pictures, the memories, the paintings. Then he came to a room, where a man sat looking out the window. Sun shone on his face. He was maybe in his mid twenties. When the man entered the room, the sitting man did not move. But he spoke: "I really thought I'd won. I really did." He half-whispered. He sounded resigned.

The sitting man turned to the Man in the Trench Coat, his blues eyes looked sad as they reflected sunlight. "But really, nobody wins in this. I've lost. My family is lost, my friends, so many people. All for naught. I thought I'd won. How wrong I was." He turned back to looking onto the street from his window seat. He was well dressed, suit and tie. The spitting image of a successful man in America. Clean shaven, clean cut, with hard features. A strong man. He did too much damage on a quest for vengeance and public safety that also put the safety at risk. It was not hard to imagine that this man tortured thugs for information, or killed people.

He thought he had won. He hadn't. He had killed some very important people, exposed a corrupt politician, a mob boss, a bunch of hit-men. He killed all the people that he could to get revenge. The Man in the Trench coat lifted his muffled pistol and shot him once in the back of the head. Killing him instantly. Blood splattered onto the window and the wall. Then the man left. His job completed. In the end, only the greatest organized criminal organizations won.

Francis, James and Donal looked over at each other. Donal gave a sigh and James nodded.

"Yupp."

Francis checked his watch and gave it a shake. The rifle lay next to them.

Donal stood up, picked up the rifle and walked to the wall. James followed, watching. Francis shook his watch some more.

Donal fired. Across the street, Thomas Cammero shuddered and died on top of the whore he was fucking, blood sprayed across the sheets and wall.

"Santo better know what he's doing."