Post by The Collective on Apr 3, 2017 3:45:44 GMT
Such damage. An entire warehouse full of hard liquor demolished. But it wasn’t just the Applewood Whiskey Distillery that suffered, no...three surrounding buildings were damaged by the incredibly flammable fire that almost cut off the whole block before being contained by firemen. The owners and employees of Wendell’s Bakery, Chuck’s TV Repair, and Yarn Barn gathered around what was left of their businesses under the smoked filled morning sky. A festering mix of anger, confusion, and sadness brewed inside of them, trying to cope with their way to pay the bills being smoldered to ash.
That was the first thing Detective Simone Vaughn noticed about them...that overbearing dread that seemed all too fitting with the plumes of smoke layering an overcast sky. She couldn’t help but sigh and shake her head as she stepped out of her 17’ white Civic, hating seeing innocent people suffer from foul play. A voice snapped her attention away from their sorrowful faces. “VAUGHN, CHECK THIS OUT!!”
Simone turned her head in the direction of the voice to see a junior detective with peppered hair in a black three piece suit waving her over. Knowing Phil Cease for his love of the macabre, she already had a good idea of what he was so excited to show her. She made her way in brown leather high heel boots across the ashy obstacle course, stepping over the ruins of what was once one of New York’s finest distilleries. Phil anxiously rubbed his hands together, staring down at the charred skeleton of the former security guard for the distillery. His skeleton laid sprawled out in front of a crushed toilet, five feet away from the bowl. “Do you know what this means? This poor sap got blown on the toilet, and not in a good way HA HA!”
A lack of amusement came across her face, complimented by an eye roll. “God you’re sick. Just give me the lowdown. Any security camera footage?”
The smile is wiped off the face of Phil who gets into business mode. “Nope, no footage. For how much money they make you’d think they’d have the place hooked up with cameras.”
“Especially with who the rumored owners are.”
Phil gave a blank stare to Simone, who then splayed her hands out and said “really?”
“I’m sorry, still new to this detective thing. They don’t exactly keep me in the loop for everything.”
It is true. Phil is a bit of a misfit around the office. Having pity on him, Simone elaborated. “The 7th Street Gang. They’ve been running Manhattan for a while and have spread out to Queens, amongst other cities in New York. They’re a very dangerous gang who has put fear, or at least respect into every gang they’ve encountered here. Except one.”
“So you’re thinking this is a gang attack?”
“Oh I know it’s a gang attack. No question about it. Think about it, a bank heist and an arson attack, all in the span of one month. That’s not a coincidence, that means that something is going down.”
At this point Phil was the one giving her the weird look. “C’mon, really? No way those two are connected. Two different cities.”
“The bank that was robbed is another business rumored to be owned by 7th Street. Keep up guy.”
“I’m trying to...it’s just that who in the fuck would have the balls to fuck with the 7th Street Gang?”
Her attention went to the crying ex-employees, then over to the doughy face of her coworker. “Whoever they are, they need to be stopped.”
“HEY FRANKIE!!! GET YA ASS OFF STAGE AND CHECK THIS SHIT OUT!!”
Frankie was never the type to be too appreciative of being interrupted, especially mid-set. He dropped the mic in the middle of ‘Drinking Again’ and leapt off the stage, muttering, “this better be good.”
As Frankie stomped towards his stablemates in the empty Catena lounge, Tony turned up the volume on the 45’ LCD above the bar. From the looks of it a Channel 5 news interview was taking place. A mulatto woman spoke on screen, talking about something important judging from her pissed off looking mug. Below her face it displayed ‘Detective Simone Vaughn’.
“I have reason to believe that this is a gang attack. I will do all I can to make sure that any potential gang warfare stops in it’s place and we apprehend the criminals who did this.”
From City Hall the scene transferred to the newsroom, where a balding, Mean Gene tanned old newscaster gave his take. “Police are still looking for any leads on who set fire to the Applewood Whiskey Distillery. If you have any information, please call the number below. And up next turtles who get this, paint portrai…”
Click. Tony dropped his head down and sighed. Frankie reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out a pill container. Geno frowned, turning his attention to the glass in his palms that had a lipstick smudge mark that just wouldn’t go away. There was a shocked silence in the room for fifteen seconds, that is until Frankie popped that pill container open and spilled out three rails on the counter. Just as he pulled out his pre-rolled dollar bill, Geno set the glass down on the counter in front of the coke lines. “No Frankie shitfrankieshit don’t FUCK don’t do it.”
“He’s right Frankie. Don’t fuckin’ get your head twisted right now. Trust me I wanna get fucked up too, but this ain’t the time. Gimmie a sec.”
Frankie looked pissed that he couldn’t snort, but he knew Tony was right and angrily nodded. “Let me clean this shit up.”
Not one to waste primo, he took a pinkie and finger swiped the rails back into the pill container. Once he shoved it in his pocket, he took a seat at the bar. “So what’s the plan Cap?”
“Well shit. I might have to call in a favah.”
Both Geno and Frankie looked at him like you have to be kidding. Frankie, as usual isn’t shy about questioning. “A favah? Better be a hell of a favah! This bitch is gonna get us behind bars!!”
It was information he didn’t want to tell them, but eventually there comes a time. “Look, don’t be mad at me, alright?”
“We won’t mothafucka just tell us!!”
A sigh, look to the ground, then a look up to his brothers. “I’m buds with the chief of Queens PD. Known him since preschool. I’ll get this bitch off our back, don’t worry.”
He was expecting anger. What he got was high fives from Geno and Frankie. “FUCK YEAH!! About time you started flexin’ those muscles Tony!”
Tony shrugged his shoulders, so happy that his partners didn’t hate him for aligning with an evil pig. “Woo boy that’s a weight off my shoulders. I say we lay low for awhile on the crime shit and focus on the pro wrestling gig.”
“I agree. We’re finally starting to gain some traction here. I beat the fuck outta Twin, and you boys gave Masaru and Aurora a hell of a fight.”
Tony nodded, but looked less than pleased with his performance. “We did but I’m still pissed that funbags McGee dropped me on my fuckin’ head and got the win. I let us down that night, I can’t do that again. Shit, I bet you that’s why they gave us the next event off.”
“C’mon man, you guys did great. Stop beating yerself up. Look at this way, you can always come out and support your brother as he beats the shit outta some 112 pound Maybelline model.”
An absurd look crossed Tony’s face. “Who the fuck they gotcha fightin’?”
“Some new bitch to the company named Nessa Wall. I read her bio, saw her tweet, and yeah this petite piece of shit thinks she can take me out no problem.”
A loud laugh from Tony as he pounds on the bar. “Who the fuck does this stupid cunt think she is?”
“Well apparently that stupid cunt thinks she’s smart. Bitch walks around with a Mensa certificate to show off that she’s some sort of genius.”
Even Geno couldn’t help but roll his eyes and speak up. “Insecure much?”
Two words got the guys laughing for a good while before Frankie came back around to Nessa. “Yeah she seems pretty damn insecure. She’s got this gay poodle she carries around with her everywhere she goes, so if this poodle tries to bite me can I have you guys there to rip it off of me?”
More laughter from the guys as Frankie tried his best to be serious but started busting up. “Yeah, this poodle knows how to swing a chair, so I might need you guys there to stomp his poodle puff ass into the mat.”
“Ooooh you meant a real person, as in a little bitch twink. No problem brotha, we got you. You go out there and beat the shit out of this cocky cocktease!”
“Not a problem at all. Nessa Wall is gonna regret even mentioning the name of the Collective. Hey, since ya guys are coming with, how about you make your presence known?”
A sinister smirk formed on Tony’s lips. “We’ll definitely be watching that Duos match closely. I sure hope the goths win.”
Fifty two floors can seem like an eternity when crack cocaine is coursing through your veins. The cornrowed white ginger pimp paced back and forth in the small elevator, talking to himself and periodically pulling up his extra baggy black Fubu jeans. Each ding caused him to look up, almost as if he couldn’t focus on a simple activity such as counting. Then finally, relief came. The final ding, and the doors opened. The pimp flew out of the opening, his gold emblemed ‘Monaco’ chain swinging as he ran across the velvet carpet to the giant oak double doors ahead. In a crackhead strength feat he swung open the huge doors like they were window blinds, and ran inside the sprawling penthouse of the leader of the 7th Street Gang, Dante.
There was no time for him to do the usual gawking at the half naked girls. There was no time to check out the koi pond, view the art gallery, none of that. Shit had gone down big, and Monaco, loyal servant to Dante wanted to be the first to tell him. Over the stretch of his built in koi pond sat the leader of the 7th Street Gang. Sprawled out in his Cuban midget stature in a jacuzzi, surrounded by gorgeous topless women of all colors. However the only way to get across that fifty yard koi pond was to walk the stone steps to the other side.
Monaco didn’t have the patience for that. Instead he hopped from stone to stone, channeling his inner Mario before eventually biffing on the second to last stone and crashing into the koi pond. The splash got the laughter of the beautiful women, and the attention of Dante. Just as the soaked Monaco dragged himself out of the pond, Dante greeted him with the finest grace a man with severe Napoleon complex can. “YOU FUCKING IDIOT!! YOU BETTER HAVE NOT HURT MY FISH OR I’LL CUT YOUR BALLS OFF!!!”
Hands of pity came up, and Monaco spilt the beans before Dante ending up spilling his blood. “My man I’m sorry and shit DOG BIG NEWS!!! CHECK IT!!!”
Dante silenced, blinking hard at Dante as a signal to speak his piece. “Dog dog oh my lawd shit be going down! Some motherfuckers blew up Applewood!!”
No longer was Dante sprawled out. He shoved the faces of the women cradled in his arms, using them as braces to help him stand. The three foot five ball of hatred stepped out of the tub and folded his arms, staring up at the shaking Monaco. “When did this happen!? Why didn’t I hear of it!!? Why am I hearing about it from some crackhead!?”
“Fuckin’ ten minutes ago dog, I was in da’ area so I had to come and tell you bruh. It’s fuckin’ serious and shit they burnt that place up fuckin’ bad. Ain’t no comin’ back.”
Fire burned in Dante’s eyes, the wheels already spinning in his head as he thought of the culprit. “I thought I had all my bases covered in NYC. Looks like a newcomer entered the field. Monaco, find that queer Pescado for me. We need to talk.”
“You got it dog!! On it!!” As much as he wanted to stone hop again, he decided it was in his best interest to keep his testicles so he walked carefully across the stones. All while Dante waddled up to the overlooking penthouse skyline of New York City. The flames of his once profitable distillery lighting up the darkness of Queens.
WORD COUNT: 2103
That was the first thing Detective Simone Vaughn noticed about them...that overbearing dread that seemed all too fitting with the plumes of smoke layering an overcast sky. She couldn’t help but sigh and shake her head as she stepped out of her 17’ white Civic, hating seeing innocent people suffer from foul play. A voice snapped her attention away from their sorrowful faces. “VAUGHN, CHECK THIS OUT!!”
Simone turned her head in the direction of the voice to see a junior detective with peppered hair in a black three piece suit waving her over. Knowing Phil Cease for his love of the macabre, she already had a good idea of what he was so excited to show her. She made her way in brown leather high heel boots across the ashy obstacle course, stepping over the ruins of what was once one of New York’s finest distilleries. Phil anxiously rubbed his hands together, staring down at the charred skeleton of the former security guard for the distillery. His skeleton laid sprawled out in front of a crushed toilet, five feet away from the bowl. “Do you know what this means? This poor sap got blown on the toilet, and not in a good way HA HA!”
A lack of amusement came across her face, complimented by an eye roll. “God you’re sick. Just give me the lowdown. Any security camera footage?”
The smile is wiped off the face of Phil who gets into business mode. “Nope, no footage. For how much money they make you’d think they’d have the place hooked up with cameras.”
“Especially with who the rumored owners are.”
Phil gave a blank stare to Simone, who then splayed her hands out and said “really?”
“I’m sorry, still new to this detective thing. They don’t exactly keep me in the loop for everything.”
It is true. Phil is a bit of a misfit around the office. Having pity on him, Simone elaborated. “The 7th Street Gang. They’ve been running Manhattan for a while and have spread out to Queens, amongst other cities in New York. They’re a very dangerous gang who has put fear, or at least respect into every gang they’ve encountered here. Except one.”
“So you’re thinking this is a gang attack?”
“Oh I know it’s a gang attack. No question about it. Think about it, a bank heist and an arson attack, all in the span of one month. That’s not a coincidence, that means that something is going down.”
At this point Phil was the one giving her the weird look. “C’mon, really? No way those two are connected. Two different cities.”
“The bank that was robbed is another business rumored to be owned by 7th Street. Keep up guy.”
“I’m trying to...it’s just that who in the fuck would have the balls to fuck with the 7th Street Gang?”
Her attention went to the crying ex-employees, then over to the doughy face of her coworker. “Whoever they are, they need to be stopped.”
ONE WEEK LATER
“HEY FRANKIE!!! GET YA ASS OFF STAGE AND CHECK THIS SHIT OUT!!”
Frankie was never the type to be too appreciative of being interrupted, especially mid-set. He dropped the mic in the middle of ‘Drinking Again’ and leapt off the stage, muttering, “this better be good.”
As Frankie stomped towards his stablemates in the empty Catena lounge, Tony turned up the volume on the 45’ LCD above the bar. From the looks of it a Channel 5 news interview was taking place. A mulatto woman spoke on screen, talking about something important judging from her pissed off looking mug. Below her face it displayed ‘Detective Simone Vaughn’.
“I have reason to believe that this is a gang attack. I will do all I can to make sure that any potential gang warfare stops in it’s place and we apprehend the criminals who did this.”
From City Hall the scene transferred to the newsroom, where a balding, Mean Gene tanned old newscaster gave his take. “Police are still looking for any leads on who set fire to the Applewood Whiskey Distillery. If you have any information, please call the number below. And up next turtles who get this, paint portrai…”
Click. Tony dropped his head down and sighed. Frankie reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out a pill container. Geno frowned, turning his attention to the glass in his palms that had a lipstick smudge mark that just wouldn’t go away. There was a shocked silence in the room for fifteen seconds, that is until Frankie popped that pill container open and spilled out three rails on the counter. Just as he pulled out his pre-rolled dollar bill, Geno set the glass down on the counter in front of the coke lines. “No Frankie shitfrankieshit don’t FUCK don’t do it.”
“He’s right Frankie. Don’t fuckin’ get your head twisted right now. Trust me I wanna get fucked up too, but this ain’t the time. Gimmie a sec.”
Frankie looked pissed that he couldn’t snort, but he knew Tony was right and angrily nodded. “Let me clean this shit up.”
Not one to waste primo, he took a pinkie and finger swiped the rails back into the pill container. Once he shoved it in his pocket, he took a seat at the bar. “So what’s the plan Cap?”
“Well shit. I might have to call in a favah.”
Both Geno and Frankie looked at him like you have to be kidding. Frankie, as usual isn’t shy about questioning. “A favah? Better be a hell of a favah! This bitch is gonna get us behind bars!!”
It was information he didn’t want to tell them, but eventually there comes a time. “Look, don’t be mad at me, alright?”
“We won’t mothafucka just tell us!!”
A sigh, look to the ground, then a look up to his brothers. “I’m buds with the chief of Queens PD. Known him since preschool. I’ll get this bitch off our back, don’t worry.”
He was expecting anger. What he got was high fives from Geno and Frankie. “FUCK YEAH!! About time you started flexin’ those muscles Tony!”
Tony shrugged his shoulders, so happy that his partners didn’t hate him for aligning with an evil pig. “Woo boy that’s a weight off my shoulders. I say we lay low for awhile on the crime shit and focus on the pro wrestling gig.”
“I agree. We’re finally starting to gain some traction here. I beat the fuck outta Twin, and you boys gave Masaru and Aurora a hell of a fight.”
Tony nodded, but looked less than pleased with his performance. “We did but I’m still pissed that funbags McGee dropped me on my fuckin’ head and got the win. I let us down that night, I can’t do that again. Shit, I bet you that’s why they gave us the next event off.”
“C’mon man, you guys did great. Stop beating yerself up. Look at this way, you can always come out and support your brother as he beats the shit outta some 112 pound Maybelline model.”
An absurd look crossed Tony’s face. “Who the fuck they gotcha fightin’?”
“Some new bitch to the company named Nessa Wall. I read her bio, saw her tweet, and yeah this petite piece of shit thinks she can take me out no problem.”
A loud laugh from Tony as he pounds on the bar. “Who the fuck does this stupid cunt think she is?”
“Well apparently that stupid cunt thinks she’s smart. Bitch walks around with a Mensa certificate to show off that she’s some sort of genius.”
Even Geno couldn’t help but roll his eyes and speak up. “Insecure much?”
Two words got the guys laughing for a good while before Frankie came back around to Nessa. “Yeah she seems pretty damn insecure. She’s got this gay poodle she carries around with her everywhere she goes, so if this poodle tries to bite me can I have you guys there to rip it off of me?”
More laughter from the guys as Frankie tried his best to be serious but started busting up. “Yeah, this poodle knows how to swing a chair, so I might need you guys there to stomp his poodle puff ass into the mat.”
“Ooooh you meant a real person, as in a little bitch twink. No problem brotha, we got you. You go out there and beat the shit out of this cocky cocktease!”
“Not a problem at all. Nessa Wall is gonna regret even mentioning the name of the Collective. Hey, since ya guys are coming with, how about you make your presence known?”
A sinister smirk formed on Tony’s lips. “We’ll definitely be watching that Duos match closely. I sure hope the goths win.”
THE NIGHT OF THE DISTILLERY DISASTER
Fifty two floors can seem like an eternity when crack cocaine is coursing through your veins. The cornrowed white ginger pimp paced back and forth in the small elevator, talking to himself and periodically pulling up his extra baggy black Fubu jeans. Each ding caused him to look up, almost as if he couldn’t focus on a simple activity such as counting. Then finally, relief came. The final ding, and the doors opened. The pimp flew out of the opening, his gold emblemed ‘Monaco’ chain swinging as he ran across the velvet carpet to the giant oak double doors ahead. In a crackhead strength feat he swung open the huge doors like they were window blinds, and ran inside the sprawling penthouse of the leader of the 7th Street Gang, Dante.
There was no time for him to do the usual gawking at the half naked girls. There was no time to check out the koi pond, view the art gallery, none of that. Shit had gone down big, and Monaco, loyal servant to Dante wanted to be the first to tell him. Over the stretch of his built in koi pond sat the leader of the 7th Street Gang. Sprawled out in his Cuban midget stature in a jacuzzi, surrounded by gorgeous topless women of all colors. However the only way to get across that fifty yard koi pond was to walk the stone steps to the other side.
Monaco didn’t have the patience for that. Instead he hopped from stone to stone, channeling his inner Mario before eventually biffing on the second to last stone and crashing into the koi pond. The splash got the laughter of the beautiful women, and the attention of Dante. Just as the soaked Monaco dragged himself out of the pond, Dante greeted him with the finest grace a man with severe Napoleon complex can. “YOU FUCKING IDIOT!! YOU BETTER HAVE NOT HURT MY FISH OR I’LL CUT YOUR BALLS OFF!!!”
Hands of pity came up, and Monaco spilt the beans before Dante ending up spilling his blood. “My man I’m sorry and shit DOG BIG NEWS!!! CHECK IT!!!”
Dante silenced, blinking hard at Dante as a signal to speak his piece. “Dog dog oh my lawd shit be going down! Some motherfuckers blew up Applewood!!”
No longer was Dante sprawled out. He shoved the faces of the women cradled in his arms, using them as braces to help him stand. The three foot five ball of hatred stepped out of the tub and folded his arms, staring up at the shaking Monaco. “When did this happen!? Why didn’t I hear of it!!? Why am I hearing about it from some crackhead!?”
“Fuckin’ ten minutes ago dog, I was in da’ area so I had to come and tell you bruh. It’s fuckin’ serious and shit they burnt that place up fuckin’ bad. Ain’t no comin’ back.”
Fire burned in Dante’s eyes, the wheels already spinning in his head as he thought of the culprit. “I thought I had all my bases covered in NYC. Looks like a newcomer entered the field. Monaco, find that queer Pescado for me. We need to talk.”
“You got it dog!! On it!!” As much as he wanted to stone hop again, he decided it was in his best interest to keep his testicles so he walked carefully across the stones. All while Dante waddled up to the overlooking penthouse skyline of New York City. The flames of his once profitable distillery lighting up the darkness of Queens.
WORD COUNT: 2103