[ Post a Response | Role Play Board ]
Posted by The Spirit
on 7/11/2009, 11:14 pm
69.47.233.55
According to Morris’s journal, Jackie Morris & Franklin Gusterman were the quintessential American kids—until the murder, I mean.
The automatic door opens with a hiss and I step inside. Levinson Industries, brainchild of Hubert Levinson, former Mafioso and now one of Fortune’s “up-and-comers of 2009.” His secret? Well, that’s why I’m here.
“Um, ex-excuse me… sir, do you have an appointment?” The receptionist stares at me, hand frozen in mid-air. What, you don’t get masked vigilantes strolling through the front door often? I crack a grin and keep walking. No time for small talk. And that’s when I see them. Security guards at my 2 o’clock. Two men, too large to be anything else, and dressed for the part, in their black suits and sunglasses and earpieces. Probably Levinson’s own choice crop.
“Excuse me SIR! The lady is speaking to you!” One of them starts speedwalking towards me. Now, here is where I face my conundrum. I could A) be calm and collected, try and reason with them, then beat them unconscious, gaining sympathy on my side. Or I could go crazy on them first, and gain an intimidation factor.
“Excuse, me sir—“ The guard halts in front of me, grabbing my shoulder. I pause for a moment. Then I deck him in the stomach, doubling him over, before kneeing him in the face, laying him out flat and knocking him out cold.
Plan B sounds a lot more fun.
The other guard charges me. I crouch down, shake myself loose, then spin and kick him in the jaw. He tumbles to the side and falls over. I adjust my cuffs, crack my neck, and keep walking—cliché, yes, but it conveys a simple enough message. Then I hear the sounds—speeding footsteps and the unfortunately familiar cocking of firearms. perhaps I should make haste. I race across the room to the elevator, press the top floor button, and jam down the “door close” button so hard I fear my finger’ll snap off. It closes, and I attempt to compose myself. Interrogations need a calm mind, and a steady hand, after all.
Both born and raised in the Central City slums, Morris & Gusterman became fast friends—the type of friends you need in a place like Central City. They were inseparable. That is, until college. Simply put, Gusterman went, Morris didn’t. Instead, Morris worked at his dad’s pharmacy, and when his dad died, it all became his—his pharmacy, his customers, and his mob contacts. Enter Hubert Levinson. A small time thug, specializing in protection, he had Papa Morris under his thumb for years. But he was a good guy, according to Jackie. Kept the ‘rent’ low, kept Morris out of trouble.
Then Gusterman came back with a head full of ideas, and all hell broke loose. Morris and Gusterman took to working on secret projects in the backroom of the pharmacy. Started putting together some high-profile drugs—and Levinson wanted in. Claimed the store was as much his as Morris’s, and he gave the boys the means they needed. Also, he had a gun, which is a great motivator. And then he stole the credit, stole the money, and here we are.
The elevator opens to the top floor with a hiss and I step outside. Six men are waiting for me in their black suits and sunglasses and earpieces.
This should be fun.
Message Thread:
« Back to thread