New Model City

Kenny nodded quickly when he was told to get the car. He quickly jogged off to do so. When he found the car, a sinking feeling hit his stomach. He couldn't drive. He still got into the drivers seat and tried to figure out the controls. Right means go, left means stop. Wheel to steer. What does this stick do? Kenny frowned and ignored the stick. He figured out how to start the car and get it moving, but he kept it slow. He was extremely nervous about driving Mr. Smither's car. Mr. Smither had a reputation, and Kenny didn't want to get on his bad side. 


When Kenny got to Clark, he was ushered out of the drivers seat. This came as a huge relief for Kenny. He hated driving. He never learned how to do it, and everything he did behind the wheel was a terrifying improvisation. Kenny jumped out of the drivers seat and held open the door for Clark, but didn't get in the passenger seat. He just let Clark go. He didn't have any specific orders to follow, so he wasn't going to go anywhere. 


@ShadowBroker @Wixard
 

The Marinello Compound
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​


Miss Leuhran was eventually found by a guard and told that Don Marinello was looking for her. As she entered the house, the atmosphere was tense. She had noticed several trucks outside the house and men were loading assorted goods into them. She kept hearing disconnected phrases about "going to the mattresses" whatever that meant. 


The door to the Don's office was slightly ajar, allowing her to hear the conversation inside.


"He needs to be found. And if it comes to it, offer him money or anything he wants. Just find her, Willy."


"Of course, Don Marinello."


A man appeared in the doorway, an older man in glasses and a three piece suit.


"Don Marinello," He said, peering into the office. "You have a visitor." 


"Send them in."
 
Hopefully the Don would be more amicable to her request. The spider was clearly too afraid to relinquish any of his weapons. She entered, greeting the Don politely before presenting her request. @Shireling
 

 
​


Don Marinello mulled over her request for arms and ammunition as he drank out of a mason jar full of iced tea. 


"Can I have some specifics on the use of these instruments of death, or am I to be kept in the dark about their immediate purpose?" He asked when she was finished speaking. 


"I have several pieces of Army Surplus and a few crates of stripper clips, loose bullets, and drum magazines. But we are not heavily stocked compared to the other families. If I am to lend out my resources, I must be fairly certain they will be put to good use, miss." 
 
"You know we were fighting the Abandanos before we were allies. I've burned through my stockpiles. I have a shipment coming in at the end of the week, but as things stand I don't have the firepower for an immediate offensive. I know my crew is small, but we've held our own and no one expects us to attack now."


Brianna wondered if the Don was going to press her for specific plans. She hoped not, she always struggled to explain herself, even if she could see the opportunities, she couldn't get others to. Her men trusted her. Her sergeant even understood her sometimes, but the rest of them didn't have to. They had faith in her. The Marinellos...well they had her reputation, but in many ways they were essentially strangers. 
 

T H E   S P I D E R
​




Clark would finally reach the driver seat and prepare the car to move forward and abandon the compound as need be. Not until he stared down Kenny, who remained still outside the car like a dog waiting for his master to threw a stick or something to fetch. "Mr Torres, do I have to open the door for you?" obviously he was being sarcastic, he grinned and let go a snort, "Come on! We have work to do." Clark seemed happy yet it was only meant to ease the nerves of Kenny, "The perfect tool, the one that pretends to be righteous." he thought for a moment.


At any case, Clark would begin his duty with no more obstacles, complications, issues... no more stops. It's time. "Time for Mr Torres to learn the way. The only way." he continued the thought as a mascaraed for the abomination he had plan.


(Waiting for the time-skip. )
 
Kenny looked up at Clark with surprise. He was invited to come with. Kenny smiled brightly and got into the passengers seat of the car. "Sorry sir, I suppose I just got distracted." Kenny apologized quickly, though his reason was a lie. He didn't get in the car because he wasn't told to, and Kenny doesn't do what he isn't told to do. Kenny smiled at Clark briefly before looking out of the window, wondering what Clark had in mind. 


@ShadowBroker
 
Nestore stands off to the side of the Don's office, squinting like a hawk at a painting on the wall as Brianna and the Don converse behind him. They were down a Capo, with Lorenzo gone. Perhaps Brianna could be of some use. Her men weren't Marinellos, sending them to risk death was of no particular consequence to him. 


The Consigliere clears his throat, then turns around. "If I may.." He murmurs. "I believe I have an arrangement to offer. We could... loan you, some supplies. If you're bringing in a shipment soon, you can simply pay it back with that stock. Anything of ours that you lose, we will expect replaced, perhaps with a small bit of interest. And I know I needn't warn you, but if you attempt to cross us, the Waterfront will be seeing another unhappy accident. Does that sound fair?" Nestore offers, glancing at both the Don and Brianna. 
 
Brianna had a sudden idea. Her men were too few to mount a successful attack and protect her assets on the waterfront, she'd already pulled back from her warehouses, but if she didn't need to protect her ship, she'd be able to gather even more of her forces.


"I have a counter-proposal. I'll leave a skeleton crew on my flagship, the Lady Mercy to oversee regular operations while your men hold the ship as collateral. When my shipment comes in, I'll either replace the weapons you loaned me, or pay for them at market rates. However, I'd like to make you a bet. If you're not impressed by what my men accomplish, I'll pay you an extra 50%. If we do impress you, then we keep the weapons for free."


She already had something in mind, and was confident in it's success.
 

New Model Chronicler
​


March 2nd, 1933 - 10 cent
​


 
​


GANGLAND WAR ESCALATES
​


 
​


The next victims of the Italian mob wars has been claimed in the Old Commons as the bloody gang violence shows no sign of relenting. Six citizens of New Model, alongside two police officers, were killed in an ambush attack on the North Bridge. The target, who was also killed, was identified as Hector Delarosa, an avowed member of the Marinello Crime Family. 


This comes on the tail end of a week of violence including a truck hijacking on the North Highway and a large shootout at the rail yards of the Foundry. 


We have spoken with detectives involved in the Anti-Gang unit, and all have echoed the complaint that not enough evidence exists linking these individuals to their respective organization. "They're slippery, but they're bound to make a mistake one of these days," said one such detective, whose name we have removed for his own safety. 


As the violence escalates, one must ask, who runs this city? The police, or the outlaws?


Cozy Rooms Motel, Foundry
​


Noon, March 3rd
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​


"Pops, we have to find a way to hit them and hit them hard. We can't keep losing guys, and we're already starting to lose a grip on our business. The places on the Waterfront ain't payin' unless we beef up security. We could send a guy over to rough up the madames, but what's the damn point? We can't collect money if they're in the hospital and we wouldn't be in any better position no-how."


Adolfo hung his heads. "I know the Abandanos are hurting, but they ain't suing for peace. They wanna ride this whole thing to the ground, I guess."


Don Marinello scanned the room. It was a small motel room with much of the floor covered in mattresses. After the war began to escalate, much of the Family's operation was moved here in an attempt to make their operation more secure. The motel sat alone on an ash-covered hill in the Foundry area. Virtually impenetrable. The guards were hidden, in an attempt at confidentiality, but were there all the same. 


"I don't know about you, Adolfo," Don Marinello said, rising to his feet, "but I think I could use a walk and a meal. What do you say you take me into town?"


"You can't do that, Pops. It's just too dangerous."


"Bah, not with my boy." He punched Adolfo on the arm light-heartedly, and in turn he sighed. He too wanted to get out of this stuffy room. Out on the streets, a war was on. But it was broad daylight, the best time to go out.


Walking downstairs into the lobby, Adolfo spotted out Mr. Smither taking some men in a game of cards @ShadowBroker. Adolfo smirked and said, "Mr. Smither, go easy on them. Look here, I need you to put together a crew. We're going out."


Adolfo looked towards Kenny, seated nearby asleep, and another soldier who he didn't recognize sitting on the other side of the room @Proxploxtops. Another trusty soldier, who Adolfo respected as a serious hardass, sat nearby in the form of Antonio DiLeo @SirGrey. Adolfo nodded. They had respectable soldiers lying around, even if Smither was a weirdo. 


The guards playing with Clark looked up at Adolfo with some relief, looking down and seeing most of their wallets on the table.


"Listen, we need some guys to go into town with me and my pops. He's deadset on going to the market." Adolfo explained. 


Meanwhile,
​


Warehouse, somewhere in Broca Heights
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​


The warehouse was a rickety wooden structure built some time during the War Years to hold surplus arms. Now, it served as a crucial weapons cache for the Abandanos. One problem persisted, however. A crew led by Miss Leuhran @Wixard had been holding the place for almost two weeks. It had enough canned food to last the while, and more importantly, it was filled with high explosives. While Abendano marksmen and soldiers had surrounded the building, their multiple attempts at entry had met with failure after the crazy assholes inside threatened to blow the whole place to splinters. For now, it was a waiting game.


The Outskirts
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​


Inquiries had been made, but the location of Lorenzo @ReverseWells and Eliza @Tori Bradley had remained a mystery. Much of the family feared the worst, and Mama Marinello especially was heartbroken. They had been gone for two weeks without a word, staying in that out-of-the-way cabin on the hill. It was peaceful until that afternoon, when a New Model County sheriff's cruiser began making its way up the drive. 


St. Philip's
​


New Limmerick
​




Darcy @Rui didn't like to go to mass, but she would relent for her brother to at least go to the churchyard and look at the graves. It was an unspoken rule among criminals that churches were safe spaces. Both the Irish and Italians were Roman Catholic, thus they both believed in the shared hell that awaited them if they violated the body of a priest or the church, although they liked to forget other morals found in the Bible.   


Henry stood staring at his father's gravestone. No tears, no sadness. He just stared with a cigarette in his mouth. "You never told me the truth," He said after a long silence, "what did Adolfo say to you that night?"
 

Lorenzo Cullen
​


The past two weeks had been well spent surprisingly. Eliza and him had made up for lost time, as well as taken the time to brew up a wonderful idea. This idea took some convincing on his part, since Eliza was quite unsure, but the two weeks had given him the time. And their plan, rob a small bank the Marinello Family had control of. It was a full proof plan, in which excited the both of them.
​


On a chilly March afternoon Lorenzo woke up first, carefully getting out of bed to not disturb Eliza. Making his way through the dark and cold cabin, he peaked out the window to see a cruiser slowly driving down the rocky road. "Honey we've got company! Go outside, and distract him please." Calling through the house, he quickly threw on his trench and disappeared into the bedroom to search for the shotgun.
​

 
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The Outskirts
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​


The police car, an old Model A painted up in black and white, puttered nearly to the end of the drive and stopped by the cabin. A tall, lanky older gentleman in a tan police uniform with a Browning hi-power strapped on his hip, walked up the steps and started knocking on the door softly and politely. 
 

Brianna Lerauhn
​


When her men successfully stormed the armory with the weapons loaned to them by the Marinellos, morale had been high. They'd had a narrow window before the Abanados' Capos could learn what had happened and mount a response. It wasn't enough time to cart away their weapons, but that had never been the plan. She'd brought in three trucks loaded with spare hull-plating and crates of food. Her men had rushed to reinforce the rickety warehouse as quickly as they could. When the first counterattack had come, they'd fought them off with their own weapons. As more of the Abanados's men had gathered, her crew had continued to fortify their positions. Despite repeated assaults, those entrenchments had held for the past two weeks.

The Abanados hadn't tried to attack them for several days now. Presumably, they were getting tired of failure, or running low on bullets, what with her crew sitting on their armory. But everything wasn't sunshine and roses. It was getting smelly in there, and her men were tired of being cooped up. Of course, they had little choice. Weeks at sea had prepared them for living in close quarters for extended periods of time, but the lack of functioning toilets, being unable to get fresh air because of snipers, and running out of things to do between attacks was draining morale. Even Brianna was getting tired of this. Three days ago, she'd set a team of her men to digging an escape tunnel. She gave every person a chance to work on it, to keep their minds off the boredom. It wouldn't be complete for another week, and using it would be risky, but unless the Marinellos broke the siege, she might have to.
​


 
​


In the mean time, she shuffled her playing cards for yet another game of spades.
​
 

Marco Orsini Baresotti
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​


Marco was dying for a cigarette. Being in a motel, it's likely get him beat in the arse. He shook his head. His gun laid in the wall beside him and his pistol in his coat. The gang, he had noticed, were in bad shape. He too, wanted to get out of the room, though if he did he would be shot. He would be shot as well if he asked to get out and stretch his legs. He dared not go against the Spider in cards, another good way to get shot. Damn, so many ways to die.
​
 

Kenny Torres
​


The weeks had been tough on Kenny. The motel was crowded and uncomfortable, and Kenny had mostly ignored his injuries from the fallout on the docks. As a result, the bones weren't healing right. But Kenny didn't care. He'd just add that to his list of scars and move on. What was really taxing was the concussion. Kenny had been plagued by horrible pounding headaches and unbearable fatigue, but he again just pressed through it. There's no rest for the weary.


Kenny spent most of his time in the lobby nowadays, holding his constantly throbbing head in his hands as other men played poker. Kenny knew not to play Clark in poker. Clark was too smart for Kenny to beat. The young soldier crossed his arms on the table and rested his head on his forearms, trying to fight the fatigue that was gripping him. It only took him five minutes to lose that battle and he drifted off.
 

Darcy K.
​


Darcy took a drag from her own cigarette, looking down at the graves. 
​


"He thought we should part ways."
​


[SIZE= 14px]Her tone was bitter, "That was upsetting, sure, but it wasn't what made me accuse him." Her wounds had healed, a faint line of scar tissue on her upper cheekbone all that remained, physically at least. [/SIZE]
​


[SIZE= 14px]"I saw the shooter's face. He was a soldier I'd seen around the compound. Once the car went up in flames, I saw him make for a car of his own. Black, slick, obviously not his own personal car. Also Marinello," she exhaled deeply, "And then he drove off the way I'd come. It made too much sense." She shook her head, her auburn curls bouncing with the motion. "Maybe Adolfo didn't know...but I doubt it. Hardly anything happens there he doesn't know about." [/SIZE]
​


[SIZE= 14px]@Shireling[/SIZE]
​
 

[SIZE= 22px]Eliza L. Marinello[/SIZE]
​


Eliza stirred in her sleep, her eyes fluttering open as Lorenzo exited the room. These last few weeks with him had been the best of her life, and they'd grown closer than they'd ever been. She was thoroughly enjoying her freedom without her parents or her brother or the Marinello men constantly scrutinizing everything she did. She was finally her own person. That--and a lot of convincing on Lorenzo's part--were why she had agreed to steal from her own family in the middle of war that could cripple them. The day she and Lorenzo vanished, she'd nearly been caught by Willy, an older capo and loyal family friend, whom her father had sent to look for her, but she had managed to evade him. The searches continued, but no one could find them. 
​


 
​


"Honey, we've got company!" Lorenzo called from the cabin's small kitchen. "Go outside and distract him please," he continued. Eliza stood up, grabbing her jacket as she headed down the hall to the door. She was dressed in bedclothes, her appearance ruffled and messy from sleep. As she reached the door, the policeman began to knock. Eliza put a fake smile on her face and opened the door, stepping out onto the porch and closing it behind her. "Can I help you, officer?" she said politely.
​


 
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T H E   S P I D E R
​





Clark started to use his time to learn about Mr Torres and to give him a very wary idea of himself, as well. The Spider took his time to analyze how he reacted, how he worked and move in each action he pursue. This one was a clear example of a soldato, a follower, the perfect example of a weapon but limited, without passion. Even when Clark acted distracted by the poker games, his mind was always thinking about Torres, and how he may turn up to be a better killer, maybe even a novice on the arts of delusions. Finally, it would completely up to him, as long as Clark had the right motto.


One of his soldiers would whisper something into his ear, information that was coded with a different alphabet. Without the main code, it would be impossible to figure out the message itself. No one knew the code he used for his informants, they only got the information from outside sources, from there it reached the Capo. No one ever questioned him his methods, due to that fact, no one could fully trust him. Too many secrets for such simple man, but this family harshly accepted him.


When Adolfo called for him, Clark smirked and left the cards on the table not revealing them, "If you don't want to be embarrassed, don't flip them up." he stood up and turned towards Mr Torres's presence, speaking clearly, "Mr Torres, mind to prepare a crew? Two more soldatos would be enough." "A simple task, it all starts with this." he thought for a moment as he walked towards Adolfo. Hands behind him, the thoughts escaped freely, "Maybe Adolfo suspects that I know something about the shooter. A pity, I would have liked to keep the information for self... just until my plan is complete." 


His eyes would return towards Adolfo and he would smile slightly, "I enjoy to stay behind the action, planning. But we can't always have what we want, can we?" "Specially if what you want is to stab someone ten times on the chest with a spoon." "My men will be ready at your command." he smirked once more, tapping the table as he walked away giving the men their money back, not interested about keeping it.

 

Kenny Torres
​


Kenny was pretty soundly asleep when the sound of Clark's voice reached his ears. He lifted his head and blinked sleep out of his fatigued eyes. "Hmm? Oh." Kenny bit back a yawn and looked around. He needed two more soldiers, preferably two soldiers more awake and functioning than Kenny. His eyes fell on Antonio DiLeo, a man that Kenny had little to no contact with. He seemed intimidating to Kenny, as Kenny was much shorter, thinner, younger, and frailer than the other soldato. A solid choice for his team. Kenny stood up, immediately stumbling and falling on his butt. He groaned and stood up, hoping no one saw that. 


Kenny walked to Antonio and gave him a small smile. "Heya, friend..." kenny said awkwardly, "wanna... um.... oh fuck it, do you wanna come with Mr. Smither and me? We're... doing a thing, I don't know what, but I was told to get a team and that's what I'm doing." Kenny rubbed his temple lightly, trying to ease the constant headache.


@SirGrey @ShadowBroker
 
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Adolfo Marinello
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​


Adolfo lit up a cigarette as he watched the men stir and get ready to move. It would be a simple run into the market. He and his father would go for produce while the rest of the men were just overwatch. It was highly unlikely that the Abandanos, as wiley as they tended to be, would strike in a market in broad daylight. They had been attracting too much attention both from the cops and Hoover's FBI, especially after the shooting on the North Bridge. The Abandanos needed an associate of the Family dead, so they followed him and shot up his car on the bridge. A pair of traffic cops and some pedestrians had been collateral damage. 


"Just have them pile in the Packard. We'll take the truck." Adolfo muttered to Clark, seemingly lost in his own thoughts. 


The Outskirts
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​


As the door opened, the wrinkled face of an older man emerged with a crooked nose and keen hawkish eyes. 


"Afternoon, ma'am." He said, slightly confused. "I got a noise complaint last night around two from the Johnson house. Somethin' about some screamin'." He hooked his thumb to the north. "We figured it was Edward skinnin' something, so we let it lie until this afternoon."  


He looked past her into the cabin. "I don't mean to pry into Edward's affairs, I'd just like to have a word with him because these elk are out of season and the Fish and Game fella will be on my case about it." 


It seemed that he assumed the owner of the cabin, Edward something or another, was there and that Eliza was apparently his mistress. He had no idea that they were squating there. 


Henry Kelly
​


 
​


Henry frowned. "It just doesn't make sense, Darcy. It was a traumatic event. Sometimes we see things wrong." 


He stubbed out his cigarette. 


"You're my kid sister, and I'll always love you. But I feel like maybe you're reading too much passion out of this whole thing with Addy. Besides," he added, "Adolfo's gettin' old. He's destined to head his family. He'll be lookin' for a lady who can serve as a matriarch, when he's old and in his pop's shoes." 
 

Lorenzo Cullen
​


Quietly loading the shotgun in the other room, Lorenzo listened intently at the door. This cop was thicker than a damn brick, thinking that the man who owned the cabin was hear. Holding back a laugh once he heard the man talk about a noise complaint, guess last night wasn't as fun for the neighbors than for them two. Once finished, Lorenzo quickly buttoned up his coat over his bare chest, and ducked from the doors view, making his way to the fireplace, which was out of view. 
​


 
​


"I was having a damn vacation Sir!  And I sure as well know not to kill anything without good reason round this time!" He yelled in a terrible southern accent, which almost made him laugh while speaking. "Now if you excuse us, we've got a big day," He said stepping into view, and squeezing the trigger.
​


 
The shotgun shell impacted the sheriff squarely in the chest, sending blood spraying off in a thin mist. He collapsed on the porch as his last breaths left him, weakly clutching at his handgun. 


The shot reverberated around the small valley ominously, and the echo was followed by a deafening silence. 
 

[COLOR= rgb(39, 42, 52)]Lorenzo Cullen[/COLOR]
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Looking down at the dying man with a dissatisfied frown, he quickly wiped the slight blood from his face. "I thought he'd go 2 feet at least, damn." Lorenzo sighed, setting the shotgun beside the door, them wrapped his arms around Eliza's waist as he leaned his head upon her shoulder. "So I guess when we leave today we'll burn the squad car, throw your old plates in there too. But I think it's time to get ready if it's already the afternoon, since it'll take some time to get there." 
​


Placing a soft kiss on her cheek, he released her gently, disappearing back into the bedroom. Digging through his bag, he found his last unwrinkled white shirt, and a black tie. Grabbing his gray vest and
​


black slacks, Lorenzo quickly changed into the outfit. He had taken a shower the night before, plus he figured Eliza would need the bathroom more than him, he quickly flattened his tossed hair and plopped his hat on over it. Pulling his trench back on, the blood from the cop barely noticeable, he sat on the bed waiting for his counterpart.
​

 

Guagenti Law Practice, Downtown
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​


Nestore sits at the heavy oaken desk in his law office, painstakingly making his way through a pile of papers. There was a reason Nestore hated wars. Formally or informally, he was responsible for the legal affairs of nearly the entire Family, at least those who had anything worth consulting a lawyer over. That put wills, property management, life insurance, bank accounts, and all the rest squarely on his shoulders in the event of a death in the family. War had meant plenty of deaths in the family, and that meant Nestore had to work his way through plenty of legal documents. Money had to be laundered and given to relatives in full before taxes could intervene, possessions had to be packaged and mailed out, notices had to be sent to the families, grave plots and funerary procedures.. 


It was an intensely, deeply personal thing for Nestore. The men he was in charge of putting to rest as far as legal matters were concerned were people he knew, had worked alongside, had drank and smoked with. To hear they had died had taken some of his heart with them to the beyond, and managing their leftover resources was another wound to his soul. He had sent his family up to New York, where they'd be safe, leaving him alone in his home. Nothing would have pleased him more than the presence of his wife and daughter, but their safety was ultimately more important. 


The bottle of Scotch, perched precariously on the edge of his desk, makes no sound as Nestore grabs it. Empty. Empty, empty, empty. 
 

Eliza L. Marinello
​


Eliza smiled sweetly at the officer as Lorenzo called out from in the house. She stepped to the side when her lover appeared with the gun, knowing he was going to shoot. She waved at the officer as the bullet hit him in the chest and took his life. She laughed at Lorenzo's comment, accepting his embrace with a smile. She wrapped her arms around his waist, resting her head on his chest. "We slept a little too late, love. Especially with our plans," she said. Lorenzo held her for a moment longer before he placed a kiss on her cheek and moved back into the house. She followed him to the bedroom grabbing her clothes before heading into the bathroom. She showered quickly, washing away the remnants of last night. When she got out, she dried her hair, tying it up in a messy up-do before applying a little makeup and dressing. The whole ordeal took her maybe thirty minutes before she headed back into the bedroom where her lover waited for her. She smiled at Lorenzo, shrugging on a black leather jacket her brother had bought her. 
​


 
​


"Shall we go?" 
​


 
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[SIZE= 18px]@ReverseWells[/SIZE]
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[SIZE= 18px](sorry I took so long. I got wrapped up in a show)[/SIZE]
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