Capo di Tutti Capi II - Story thread

[Andres]

Night One Summary (post 304)


Beefy187 had kept his evening fairly low-key. After the selection meeting, he’d gone to his office, finished up a little paperwork and then headed to a corner “tappy” for a beer. After wetting his whistle, he walked back out into the muggy dark, turned the corner, and began the 3-block walk to his apartment.

He got about 20 feet, just approaching the trapdoors to the tappy’s cellar when two cars whipped up to the curb at his side, only feet away. Out popped 4 men in dark trench coats, with their soft-brimmed hats low over their faces and their hands cradling PPSh41’s. The Russian “burp gun” was a brutal looking weapon and all 4 were pointing at him as the gunmen pulled back the bolts and made ready to fire. Beefy was stunned, too scared to run, and hadn’t even begun to mutter a final prayer when…

<> <> <> <>

All four of the brutally simple and thoroughly reliable weapons failed to fire. The gunmen were stunned – the odds of all four weapons failing to fire defied description! Beefy began to move at last, scrambling to pull open the cellar door to the tappy and make an escape. The gunman cleared the bolts and quickly rammed fresh magazines into their weapons as Beefy opened the hatch and stepped onto the ladder to the cellar.

<> <> <> <>

Stunningly, all 4 freshly-loaded weapons jammed and failed to fire again. The gunmen were shocked with disbelief. No one could have tampered with the weapons and all of the ammo had been checked by hand and meticulously loaded into the clips – yet none of the weapons got off a round.

Beefy wasted no time dropping into the cellar and running pell-mell up to the bar with it’s barkeeper’s shotgun and plenty of witnesses. As he reached the tap-room, he heard the squeal of cars making a fast exit from the scene. Beefy’s pulse would slow down eventually, but he managed a few prayers at last as well as a few brews to steady his jangled nerves. He decided to go to an all-night café after the tappy closed. Alone didn’t seem to be such a good idea.


Drisos didn’t mind operating alone. He preferred it. He would work with others as needed , of course, but he was aware that the only person upon whom you could rely completely was yourself. Now he completed engaging the elaborate sequence of locks and alarms he used to secure his top-floor studio apartment. No one could hope to get through the doors or windows without making enough noise to wake the dead – and Drisos would be ready.

But he wasn’t ready when he awoke, his limbs tied to the posts of his bed and something covering his eyes.

"Hi Drisos", a voice with an Asian accent [false?] said.

"What's the problem pal?" said another voice. “You aren’t exactly gracious to guests with all your traps and stuff.”

The “Asian” chuckled, "Rook at him. He tinks he's sho cool!"

"I'm not afraid of you!" Drisos said, mustering up whatever defiance he could.

"You probabry sho cool that when you go to sreep, the sheep start to count you..."

The “Asian” guy and his partner laughed.

"Untie me you punks!” Drisos shouted.

The heavily silenced Type 14 Nambu pistol put a neat hole directly between Drisos’ eyes. He was dead before his ears could register the heavy coughing sound they had just heard.

“Sayonara, Drisos.”

The killer’s partner carefully lifted the small pink ballet slippers that had been used to cover Drisos’ eyes. The slippers were placed carefully in “1st position” just above the entry wound.

The killers made their escape the way that had come in, through the skylight. Though wired with a breakage alarm, Drisos had not expected someone to have had the roof around the skylight sawn open and hinges installed so as to turn the skylight into a trap door – all without interrupting the alarm circuit. Drisos was found the next morning when he did not answer his page for the meeting. Fermanagh’s “crack” investigators never discovered the recently re-tarred seams around the skylight.


Glenn had always been a bit excitable, and with the prospect of having to vote to lynch somebody, his heart was racing and he had trouble staying still. <> he thought, and began to walk up the street towards the Hotel Abbatoir and Fatlington’s poshest bar.

His walk there was anything but relaxing, with Glenn spinning at every stray sound or voice that seemed out of place. Finally, he was steps away from the hotel’s entrance when four dark figures stood up from the expensively landscaped bushes surrounding the hotel’s small entryway garden and flagpole – and all of them had tommy guns.

In the second before the gunmen opened fire, a nearby street pretzel vendor made two quick steps toward Glenn, lifted him bodily and flung him into the open bin of the pretzel cart. The gunman paused a moment, stunned by this unexpected event, as the carter slammed the cart’s lid shut and started rolling the cart toward the hotel doors. Then they opened fire.

Round after round from their submachine guns slammed into the cart but the cart was apparently both motorized and heavily armored and rolled itself through the doors of the Abbatoir and directly into the bar where it crashed up against the bar itself. The doorman was badly wounded as he accidentally came under fire from the gunmen as they kept tracking the cart with their weapons ratcheting out rounds. None of them focused any rounds on the carter, however, who took the opportunity to dropp into the driver’s seat of a cab waiting at the hotel front and speed off. With sirens blaring and witnesses beginning to look at the racket, the gunmen gave up their efforts and faded back into the sweltering darkness.

It took a bit of effort to extract a stunned Glenn from cart, stained with mustard and freshly rolled in salt, but Glenn was alive and more-or-less well because someone -- or several? – had been there to help. He never did get that drink.


Xdeathfire was having a quiet drink at an all-night coffee shop – he always claimed that the caffeine helped him sleep – when a trench-coated individual, face invisible below his hat, walked in and leveled a shotgun at Xdeathfire. Xdeathfire was up and moving for the back of the café before he’d even consciously thought about it. The first blast hit the booth where Xdeathfire had just been sitting, only a couple of pellets grazing his arm as he moved. The second blast caught the surprised busboy in the stomach as Xdeathfire headed toward the back exit. There was nobody waiting at the back exit, and Xdeathfire was moving quickly toward the police precinct house in the next block.

The gunman, realizing that things were not going according to plan, made a quick exit, dropping the shotgun in the drain. Nobody got a good look at the shooter.


Morning, Day Two

It was mid-morning and the heat was already oppressive. The convention center had air conditioning – a luxury that would normally have made the meeting a cheerful alternative to a sweaty day at the office. Today’s meeting featured a lot of quiet murmuring and more than a little apprehension. Today the Committee would embark upon its first effort to stop the mafia takeover. Today would be a beginning…and an ending.
Fermanagh hadn’t shaved and didn’t look as though he’d slept much or well. For a wonder, the top cop of Fatlington had been up before 7, at his desk by 8 and was here for the 10 o’clock meeting sober. Definitely a banner day for Fatlington’s finest. He went to the podium.

“Well now, before I turn the proceedings over to Director Kommodus, I’d like to brief you on the events of last night, just in case any of you haven’t already heard…”

He recounted the story of last night’s events in a reasonably business-like manner. Fermanagh wasn’t happy, and he’d stumbled a bit in announcing Drisos’ death, but he’d had to make less pleasant reports before – perhaps this time around would be less of a horror show. He shook his head. This was Fatlington, and rooting for “happily ever after” wasn’t much more likely than making four the hard way.

“So that’s it, and you can be assured that I’m having the morgue crew and the standard investigation teams take a good look into Drisos‘ background – we will get you some answers soon. As it is, I know you’ve got a decision to make, so I’ll turn it over to Kommodus and he’ll brief you as to our meeting this sundown….”

OOC
Investigations results and other results notification from Night One will be forwarded as soon as practical.

Votes to lynch must be recorded in the thread – in bold – no later than 2300 EST 7 Feb 08 (0400 GMT 8 Feb 8) to be counted.


Information Summary

Still Alive: (78) ajaxfetish, Alexander the Pretty Good, Andres, Beefy187, Big King Sanctaphrax, Brave Sir Robin, Caeser the III, Caius, Charge, Chimpyang, CountArach, Cowhead418, Craterus, Crazed Rabbit, Draco Leman, Dutch guy, Elite Ferret, Evil_Maniac from Mars, FactionHeir, Fahad I, GeneralHankerchief, gibsonsg91921, Glenn, Hannibalbarc, Haudegen, Hiji, Husar, Ichigo, Ironside, JimBob, Joe Monks, johnhughthom, Jubal_Barca, Kagemusha, KamiKhaan, Killfr3nzy, Kommodus, KukriKhan, Leet Erikson, LittleGrizzly, Lord Winter, Louis VI the Fat, Lt. Pinard, Makanyane, molonthegreat, Moros, Motep, Myrrdraal, Northnovas, norwegian nerd, Omanes Alexandrapolites, Pannonian, pevergreen, Proletariat, Roadkill, Rob_the_Celt, Rythmic, sapi, Sarathos, Sasaki Kojiro, scottishranger, shlin28, Sigurd Fafnesbane, taka, The Stranger, Tiberius of the Drake, TinCow, Tran, TruePraetorian, Twilightblade, Warluster, Warmaster Horus, woad&fangs, x-dANGEr, Xdeathfire, Xehh II, Xiahou, Zorg.

Attacked: (3) Beefy187 (N1), Glenn (N1), Xdeathfire (N1)

Murdered: (1) Drisos (N1)

Lynched: (0)

Removed from Play: (0)