Main thread post #2171

"There’s a somebody I’m longin’ to see
I hope that he, turns out to be
Someone who’ll watch over me…

Won’t you tell him please to put on some speed
Follow my lead, oh, how I need
Someone to watch over me

Someone to watch over me"
-- George Gershwin (singer: Ella Fitzgerald)



Summary, Night Six


Proletariat was headed for the market. Changing apartments – she’d picked a building with a private security force this time – meant that she’d need groceries. Fortunately for her, the market she preferred was open late and situated on a busy thoroughfare with plenty of people around. Shipments in were a problem now, but Mr. Konstantinos would have the good stuff – kalamatas, feta, humus – if anyone did.

As she browsed through produce amid a small crowd of shoppers, she heard something from the side door to the store – the one leading to the storage cellar dumbwaiter and the restrooms.

<>

Cliché’d or not, she couldn’t leave a potential threat behind her. She pulled her revolver – if there was a person from the Committee who went unarmed these days, she hadn’t noticed – and went gently to the side door, one of those wide swinging types that went both directions. She eased through the door, revolver in front, “clearing” each side of the hallway in front of her. To the right, only a step away, was the empty dumbwaiter. She turned left, facing the longer arm of this side hallway the one leading toward the small restrooms. She cautiously edged forward.

The attack came from behind. A chloroformed cloth in a gloved – surgically gloved – hand was flung across her face and a syringe glinted in the light streaming in from the produce section. Prole’ turned to fight but was already woozy as she tried to break the powerful grip of her assailant.

A second masked figure broke out of the bathroom and jumped into the fight, knocking the syringe-armed assailant back into the dumbwaiter. Proletariat dropped to her knees, losing her weapon, struggling to hold on to consciousness. The fight was impressive. Prole’s attacker was powerful, and though he’d lost the syringe – which shattered and broke leaving a lethal dosage of morphine on the tiled floor – he was not only defending himself well, but slashing with a scalpel at Proletariat’s rescuer, who was trying in vain to get his weapon clear without getting cut apart.

Neither man seemed to gain the upper hand in this struggle, but witnesses in the produce section were screaming and now police sirens could be heard in the distance. Snarling, the syringe attacker grabbed Proletariat’s rescuer and flung him bodily away and straight at Proletariat. She went down and out from that hit, her rescuer scrambling to regain his feet. The assailant leapt into the large dumbwaiter, slashed the cord with his blade and dropped into the cellar to make an escape through the access doors. Proletariat’s rescuer exited the scene as well. Nobody – including Proletariat – got a chance to identify those involved. Proletariat decided to skip dinner.


Lt. Pinard was wary and well-armed – Fatlington was no longer safe and anyone with half a brain knew it. So, when the gunman broke from the shadows of the storefront half a block ahead – the shape of a BAR was unmistakable to anyone who’d served as a footsoldier as had Pinard – he’d quickly broken toward the alley he’d been nearest.

Pinard intended to stay a step ahead, so only a step inside he quickly glanced to see that the alley was clear and that no one was on the fire escape above his head. He quickly got behind the small trash dumpster and prepared to fire from cover at his attacker. The BAR man took cover behind a car parked at the curb opposite the alley. Both men knew where the other was and both were well aware of what was likely to happen to the first person who broke cover. The BAR man gave a thumbs up.

Once again, getting your opponent to move of his own accord precisely where it will do you the most good proved the means to an end. Triggered by a hidden accomplice, the plastic explosives – some people can get anything at a GI surplus store – turned most of the side of the dumpster next to Pinard into jagged metal shrapnel and turned Pinard into something resembling hamburger. A perfect yellow rose – a just-opened bud – was placed on Pinard’s mangled corpse.


Crazed Rabbit was cautious, but not particularly worried. He hadn’t drawn anybody’s attention – just gone quietly about his work. So he was surprised when the gunfire erupted as he exited the pool-hall where he’d had dinner – the place was a pit, but the chili was excellent – but not too surprised to slam back through the door and seek cover. Glancing out – from solid cover – at the lone gunman, he could see his would-be killer’s perplexed body language. The shooter broke away at a run and disappeared into the darkness. All Rabbit found after the gunmen left were some empty submachine gun casings and a single, broken-stemmed white rose.


Kagemusha, sitting in a restaurant across town, came face to face with his own mortality at more or less the same exact moment. He was ordering a third martini when a pair of gunmen burst out of the kitchen door, knocking over a single trench-coated man who’d been barring their path. Both men leveled their heavy pistols and made a bee-line for his table. Kage stood to run, knowing it would be too late…

As the shooters opened fire though, a secretive waiter managed to a) push the sommelier between the shooters and Kagemusha and b) lob a tray of perfectly seasoned pasta dishes at the two gunmen. The shots would probably have missed Kagemusha, since they were aimed behind him, as though expecting him to be backing away from some other threat. They didn’t miss the surprised sommelier. He caught all 4 rounds in the torso and hit the floor dying. The pasta, however, was right on target, covering the face of one gunman with hot sauce and a plate knocking the gun from the other’s hand. Both took off in the ensuing confusion, as did the secretive waiter and the fellow who’d tried to block the kitchen entrance. Kagemusha did not finish dinner.


FactionHeir was upset and stalking home in a huff. He was completely unprepared when the assailant – clad in a close-helm and a white hauberk emblazoned with a red crusader cross, but armed with a very modern shotgun – leapt out from behind a parked car in front of him.

The red crusader’s first shot missed, as FactionHeir began to react, bringing his own weapon out. The second shot caught FactionHeir in the belly – fortunately covered by the bulletproof vest FH had taken to wearing – and drove him backward. FactionHeir, half stunned, still managed to get off a couple of shots at the knight as the latter broke the shotgun to reload. Down went the crusader under the hammering of FactionHeir’s well-placed shots. FH paused and went down on one knee, gasping for breath.

A heavy shot shattered FH’s hand and knocked the pistol clear as a quartet of figures stepped out of several “hides.” Each was clad in a visored helm and a white hauberk sporting the black cross of a crusader.

“Armored, of course,” said one of the knights as his .45 put a round into FactionHeir’s knee. FactionHeir collapsed.

“Undoubtedly,” said another muffled voice as he double-tapped FH’s other leg. FactionHeir was bleeding profusely and moaning from the pain.

“But no helmet,” said a third as he put a round through FH’s temple, splattering brains and gore on the pavement in a short arc. “Remember, proper headgear at all times, lads.”

“What about ‘Red,’ asked the fourth black cross? It was his shot that had disarmed Factionheir – nearly literally. “He’s probably armored too, so aside from some sore ribs he’ll be up and going in a couple of minutes. Should we…”

“Never mind,” said the head-shooter. “He’s served his purpose.”

The crusaders faded into the night. “Red” managed to wake up and crawl out of sight before Fermanagh’s cops arrived to stand around, look important, and munch a few doughnuts until the coroner’s team showed up.


The guardian looked out under the broad brim of his hat at his charge. Louis VI the Fat strode with confidence just a few steps ahead, head up and steps crisp – the air of a man who knew his place in the scheme of things and was happy with that role. The guardian nodded, everything in place. One walking lead, himself, and a third ensuring that neither of the two close in guards could be….

The sharp crack of the pommel of the blade on his temple sent the tail-guard into the arms of Morpheus before his synapses had done more than announce they’d been hit. And now a new figure strode just a few steps behind Louis.

A few steps in front of Louis, the lead guard fell victim to an ancient trick. When a man in front of him tossed a loaded automatic softly to him, the lead guard simply caught it – with both hands. A second figure pistol whipped the lead guard into oblivion and turned toward Louis as the person who’d tossed the automatic pulled a matching pistol from a trench coat pocket and joined his companion. The other passersby began to scatter.

Louis had come to an abrupt halt at the commotion in front of him, but had only just begun to react when the two gunmen in front leveled their weapons to shoot him. At that same moment – a moment that moves liquidly for the participants with the freeze frame slowness you perceive in a car wreck or some other crisis – the figure behind Louis grasped his chin from behind and pulled his face to the left.

With time still swimming through molasses, Louis started to shout as the man at his back plunged a stiletto precisely through the small opening between neck vertebrae and skull he’d created by turning Louis’ head, and the gunmen’s shots crashed into Louis in the lower abdomen and just above his right temple – both shots aimed where body armor would not cover. All three attacks would have been either immediately or eventually lethal. It would be impossible to discern which had taken his life.

Staggered back by Louis’ convulsing body, the stiletto assassin dropped the corpse in a heap on the sidewalk and reached for the gun in his own coat pocket. With the passersby scattering, the six created an odd tableau. Two with aching heads would wake, while one with a shattered head would never do so. Across this last, one masked gunmen stared at two more – and neither side moved a muscle. Neither had expected the other’s arrival but all had profited from the unexpected cooperation.

Finally, by unspoken agreement, the lone killer knelt, dropped a playing card on the corpse and backed away, fading into the darkness. The pair paused only a moment more, and then left a calling card of their own before departing in turn.

When the police arrived, all that remained was the remains of Louis VI the Fat, with a small pair of pink ballet slippers placed in 5th position on the top of his battered skull and next to them a King of Hearts with the word “traitor” printed neatly on the back of the card. The first officer on the scene – a rookie new to Fatlington – promptly vomited on the whole thing.


Craterus knew enough not to take an elevator. Unfortunately, his apartment was on the top floor of the 6th floor building, and it made his trip upstairs a royal pain. Still, better a little discomfort than dying like a trapped rat in a convenient elevator. Despite his innate caution, he wasn’t ready for the two assailants who burst from the door of a 5th floor apartment just as he reached the top of the steps. Neither went for a weapon, but both went for his legs, quickly upending him over the railing to plummet 5 floors.

Both stood to watch as Craterus fell, but to their stunned disbelief he did not arrive at the bottom with a thud. As he fell, a bed stacked with extra blankets rolled under him at the bottom of the long stairwell to cushion and absorb the fall. Craterus bounced off the bed only to be caught by a pair of hands reaching out to him and pulling him aside. There would be no chance of a successful “second effort” by the pair above.

With footsteps hammering up the stairs from below, both would-be killers ran ahead of them up the stairs, out onto the roof, and then off across the dark rooftops into the comforting invisibility of a dark night.


For ajaxfetish, then end came all too quickly. He’d made it back to his apartment easily enough, put all the locks in place, took off his shoulder holster and was just leaning toward the radio for some music – he wasn’t prepared to spend for a TV yet, too darned expensive and only a couple hours of programs each week -- when it happened. His bedroom wall seemed to explode outward in a rain of plaster and lathe-board – but the explosion was the result of numerous rounds of .45 caliber ammunition courtesy of a couple of tommy guns firing through the wall of his bedroom and into the living room.

His radio and a side table blocked some of the shots, but both shooters had the 100 round drums and neither was worried about saving the barrels. Ajax was down and bleeding from a half dozen wounds in his legs and torso when both gunmen stepped into the living room and – after loading a fresh drum each – finished their work. A piece of parchment with the legend “il destino è inesorabile” neatly printed on it in Gothic script.


Morning Briefing, Day Seven


“…and that sums up last night,” finished Commissioner Fermanagh.

“As to our post-mortem results, we’ve come up with this information. Fahad I, Killfr3nzy, Sapi, and Xiahou were all clearly townies with no information linking them to the mobs or to criminal activity in general.”

Fermanagh smiled.

“But we did eliminate some of the scum too. Kommodus was a Mafia Luca – one of their special protection thugs, and Omanes Alexandrapolites was a DON! One of those viscious criminal kingpins is dead, Dead, DEAD! This is a real victory for Fatlington. So much so that I’m not gonna worry too much about tracking down whichever vigilante took Kommodus out.”

Fermanagh paused.

“It’s harder to be sure about the others on the list, but we’ve developed what we can. GeneralHankerchief and x-dANGEr were both criminals – WiseGuys – though we can’t really be sure how active either one was. Moros too registered as a Wiseguy with our sources, but there was something fishy there as well. We found a train/boat ticket to Havana hidden in the tank of his toilet as well as some kind of “brag” book featuring pictures of dead individuals with code words scrawled on the pictures – “Fauchard, Glaive….We’re just not sure what to make of it. I have a sneaking suspicion, however, that we’re better off without him.”

So saying, Fermanagh turned the meeting over to JimBob, who reiterated the procedure for this evening’s lynch vote and director selection. Fatlington continued to bake in the hot sun.



OOC

1. Voting and Director Selection for Day Seven will now commence. Deadline will be 1300 EST 21 Feb 08 (1800 GMT).

2. Investigation Results and Promotions as soon as possible.

3. List of Players and Events

Still Alive: (45) Alexander the Pretty Good, Big King Sanctaphrax, Brave Sir Robin, Caeser the III, Caius, Charge, CountArach, Cowhead418, Craterus, Crazed Rabbit, Draco Leman, Dutch guy, Elite Ferret, Evil_Maniac from Mars, gibsonsg91921, Haudegen, Hiji, Husar, Ichigo, Ironside, JimBob, Joe Monks, johnhughthom, Jubal_Barca, Kagemusha, KukriKhan, Leet Erikson, LittleGrizzly, Makanyane, Myrrdraal, Northnovas, norwegian nerd, Proletariat, Roadkill, Sarathos, Sasaki Kojiro, scottishranger, shlin28, Sigurd Fafnesbane, TinCow, Tran, TruePraetorian, Twilightblade, Warluster, Xdeathfire, Xehh II.

Attacked: (22) Andres (N2, N3), Beefy187 (N1), Caius (N3), Craterus (N6), Crazed Rabbit (N6), Cowhead418 (N2), Evil_Maniac from Mars (N3), GeneralHankerchief (N2, N3), Glenn (N1, N2), Kagemusha (N6), Proletariat (N4, N4, N5, N6), Sasaki Kojiro (N5), taka (N2), Tran (N5), Twilightblade (N4, N5), Xdeathfire (N1)

Murdered: (21) Drisos (N1), Lord Winter (N2), Beefy187 (N3), Glenn (N3), Pannonian (N3), taka (N3), The Stranger (N3), Zorg (N3), GeneralHankerchief (N4), Kommodus (N4), Moros (N4), Xiahou (N4), Chimpyang (N5), Kamikhaan (N5), Motep (N5), Rythmic, (N5), woad&fangs (N5), ajaxfetish (N6), FactionHeir (N6), Lt. Pinard (N6), Louis VI the Fat (N6)

Lynched: (6) pevergreen (D2), Hannibalbarca (D3), Tiberius of the Drake (D3), Omanes Alexandrapolites (D4), Andres (D5), Xdeathfire (D6)

Removed from Play: (7) Fahad I (D4), Killfr3nzy (D4), x-dANGEr (D4), Sapi (N4), Warmaster Horus (N5), Rob_the_Celt (N5), molonthegreat (N5)

4. Note: More inactives will be leaving us shortly.