Post by The Collective on Aug 1, 2017 4:19:52 GMT
A BLOCK FROM QUEENS PD
MID DAY
This is not the type of weather to wait for someone in. Especially when you left your air conditioned car parked in the station just so you could try the new seafood truck that happened to be ‘within walking distance’ of work.
Simone Vaughn did just that, telling her boss James Nunzio that she planned on getting lunch for him from the new truck that everyone in the station was raving about. There was a condition though...he would be forced to take the time to not only hear her out, but come clean. Away from the tapped phone lines and cameras. Away from anyone who could overhear their conversation and choose to be the advantageous rat. So she left the station forty five minutes ago, waited thirty minutes in 95 degree soaking humidity, finally got her food...and now here she stood. Sweat clinging to her peach floral pattern dress, only further accentuating the gifts given to her by her black mother. A river of percolation breaking past the bra barrier, travelling down the center of her blouse. Make up that was losing it’s consistency by the second. Nonetheless, she was determined. She wasn’t going anywhere till’ Nunzio showed up.
At a point like this she had given up on looking and just decided to fumble around on her phone. Anything to distract her from the terrible New York summer weather. Just as she got to checking out a cute pair of pumps on Ebay, she heard the sound of pounding footsteps on the sidewalk behind her. A cacophony of clopping and heavy panting.
“About time you chubby bastard.”
She didn’t bother to look up to her phone. At this point Nunzio would have to initiate the conversation. What proceeded was him panting behind her like a Border Collie in heat. Hands on knees, begging for oxygen. Clearly jogging wasn’t an activity he did too often. After sucking muggy air for nearly a minute, Simone heard the words she wanted to hear.
“I’m sorry…”
Her grit teeth loosened, giving way to a slight smirk. That didn’t take away her disappointment though as she threw his fish taco at him. “Here. Eat it now before it gets soggy and listen.”
“Simone I…”
“No.” That smirk faded and was replaced with the most disciplinary face she could muster. “You use your mouth for eating, and you use your ears for listening. I’ve been standing out in this godawful weather for nearly an hour. Waiting, just hoping you wouldn’t put me on the back burner again.”
Words tried to escape from that bushy mug of Nunzio’s, but a halting hand from Simone stopped that. “Eat. Your taco is turning to mush as we speak.”
Even though he was still breathing open mouthed, Nunzio unwrapped the taco and bit into it. Laborious breaths mixed with taco chomping, making for the most unpleasant sound someone could hope to hear when speaking their mind. It disgusted her to watch him eat, but at least she had the attention she wanted.
“Good. Now here’s the deal. I know you’re covering up for Tony Tira. I’ve known this from the day you faked that phone call to get out of our meeting.”
She could tell he wanted to defend himself by just the look in his eyes. That was stopped with another hand of authority.
“Don’t even try to tell me different. Just listen. You can’t cover for Tira anymore. After the Catena Lounge burnt down, it’s blatantly obvious that this is a gang war going down in New York City. The 7th Street Gang and Tira’s posse are not what this city needs. I totally get that you’re covering for a friend. I’m sure you’ve covered for dirty cops before. What you’re doing by sweeping this under the rug is not only are you putting your friend’s life in danger, but you’re putting the the entire city of Queens in danger. If Tony was in that building at the time, he would’ve died. And you know whose fault it would be?”
Another attempt to answer for himself was met with an accusatory finger in his chest. “Yours. You knew something bad was about to go down and you did nothing about it.”
Hearing the truth from Simone caused him to look at the sidewalk in shame. There was no doubt Tony Tira’s life was in danger. A heavy sigh came with a crinkle of the food wrapper.
“I’m not trying to make you feel bad. I’m just trying to make you realize you’re doing yourself, and Tony no good by ignoring this. You have to do something.”
The last bite was stuffed down his gullet, and cleared with the bottle of water he brought along. Once he screwed the cap back on, he gave her a nod. “Fine. You got a plan?”
That sly smirk of hers returned. “Always do.”
DANTE’S PENTHOUSE
LATER IN THE EVENING
Money can make even the smallest man feel powerful. It’s one of the few things on earth that can make an insignificant individual raise their head high and look down on others. Such is the case when discussing Dante, leader of the 7th Street Gang. No bigger than four feet in height, but one of the most fearsome names in all of New York. What he lacked in size he made up for with ruthlessness.
After not seeing retaliation for a full month after burning down the Catena Lounge, Dante was feeling that he had defeated an up and coming rival before they even had a chance to really fight. Monaco only further pushed the fear agenda, calling Tira and his group “a bunch of bitch ass Italian white boys” every time Dante brought them up.
“I can’t believe those pussies gave up so easily.”
A closed fist covered Monaco’s grill as he howled in laughter, hiding his sparkling teeth while letting the world hear his cracka cackle. “Ah shit man dem’ bitch ass Italian white boys ain’t WANT NONE!!”
The two share a laugh as they walk along the painting lined black marble hallway of Dante’s penthouse. Well, Monaco is walking. Dante is on a step stool aided golden segway. “Can you blame them? We burnt down their little headquarters. The cockroaches have scattered.”
Gold rimmed day glasses shake Dante’s way as Monaco’s cracked out eyes blaze in wonder. “Ya wanna step on em’?”
Dante had a serious look of contemplation for several seconds, but ultimately shrugged them off. “They’re not worth the resources. Now what’s this you were telling me about rounding up some new hos?”
Jewelry lined fingers clapped enthusiastically as Monaco couldn’t wait to show him the bitches. “Aww man I went shoppin’ and shit, came back with a bag full of dimes!!”
A grin formed over the usual scowling face of Dante, showing he was getting excited at the possibilities. “So what are they...white or black?”
“Neither dog I got some FOOOOINE Cuban bitches dog. Like these bitches could be in a Drake video, for real.”
Monaco expected Dante to share his same enthusiasm. Unfortunately for him he got the typical Dante scowl, along with his wide, coked up eyes of anger. “The fuck is a matter with ya man!?!?!”
The shaking jubilance of Monaco was replaced with a look of worry. “Damn dog what I do?”
“Are you fucking stupid!? We got in shootouts with the Cuban Underground before!!”
Pleading hands raised up from Monaco as the two came to a stop. “Bruh, please, chill. I met wit’ one of they reps over the weekend. They want to be cool with us man, they probs tired of getting they shit pushed in by us. The leader offered me eight hos right off the bat, free of charge as a peace treaty. And check this out man, whenever we want bitches in the future, they be discountin’ em for us!! Think about it man, this is a great thing dog, a mothafuckin’ great thing.”
Dante wasn’t so sure about that. The tiny man shook his shaggy head, not quite assured this was a peace treaty they were dealing with. “I don’t know Monaco. People don’t just do that shit. This seems fishy.”
They start walking/rolling again, leaving Monaco to resume his erratic crackhead gestures. “Think about it bruh, what the fuck a ho gonna do, bite yo dick off? Security already done frisked dem’ all, they clean. We armed to the teeth dog, they can’t do shit. Now here we come, prepare for dis’ shit…”
The two round the corner to see eight beautiful Cuban woman dressed in the skimpiest outfits possible. They stood in front of the double doors of Dante’s penthouse, waiting for him to turn the corner. As soon as he did they greeted him with smiles and their sexiest poses.
“HEY!!!”
Being the powerful man he was, Dante was used to getting the attention of pretty women. But Monaco was quite right...these women were indeed top quality. His scowl faded, bringing back his temporary grin. He looked to Monaco, who knew what he was thinking right away. “I told you dog. Now lets MOTHAFUCKIN’ PARTY!!!”
Sometimes all it takes is what I like to call ‘mental bracing’. Takin’ time outta ya day to cope with what’s comin’ and find positivity outta it. Now I never been one of dem’ New Age Secret fags. I ain’t gonna slap up a vision board and I ain’t gonna prance around tossin’ daises and huggin’ trees. What I will do though is prepare my mind for the future. My muddah always said, expect the best, prepare for tha worst. Well I prepared for losing to Masaru and Aurora. I knew the deck was stacked against me and Geno, but do I give a fuck? No fucks given. The Collective will fight anyone on this rostah, no exceptions. Even if it’s two of tha most dominant stars in Phoenix Wrestling history. Well I must say, even though we lost, we got our licks in. We let the champs know this is far from ovah.
Know this spooky juggs and clown tranny. We ain’t content with just sittin’ on our thumbs and lettin’ ya rule the roost. When ya banished us to the bottom of the card and demanded we work our way up, ya gave us all the more reason to prove that we are tha team that will eventually beat ya for the belts. If we gotta steamroll every possible tag combo on this rostah, so be it. I’m a patient man. Quite frankly, I’m excited about gettin’ on this road back to the belts. Because our first pit stop is the team of Faith and Leonicio De Soto.
Now if ya wanna talk about a broad that got the Collective’s attention, ya talk about Faith. I’ve faced off against the pretty little thing a couple times, and let me tell ya this petite little anger machine packs a punch and a kick. The goose egg on my forehead finally died down from the last time we fought. One of the things I can appreciate about Faith is her ability to not let anything get her down or stand in her way. She doesn’t give a fuck about her anxiety, she doesn’t give a fuck about being no tallah than a poodle, and she doesn’t give a fuck that Gucci handbags weigh more than her. That ain’t enough to wear her down. She’ll go in there and square off with a giant fucking murdah maulah like Geno and fearlessly chop away at his legs. She’ll step up to me and try to box with me, a former amateur boxer! This petite cutie has more balls than most of this rostah, and for that I respect her. It’s one of those things Faith where I admit, I kinda have a hard time punching ya in the face.
But boy do you make it easy once the bell rings. You bring that fire to me right from the get go, forcing me to do all I can just to put you down. I tell ya, too many fuckers around here wanna play body oil slip n’ slide with me on the canvas. Sorry, but I ain’t diggin’ that homo shit. I come to Phoenix to fight, and dammit Faith so do you. So on August 6th, let’s go out there, leave the weapons aside, and show those drunken Vegas shitheads what a real striking battle is. I’m not satisfied until ya hit the canvas and I get my TKO. I’m a true gentleman though, and I’ll just walk off like a badass and let the ref step in once I leave ya glassy eyed. I must tell ya however Frankie is still incredibly pissed off, and may try to attack ya. I’ll do my best to fend him off, just know that scrawny fuck wants his receipt and will do whatevah he can to get it.
As for your little islander rat of a partner, he can suck my hairy Italian balls. Fuck you Leonicio De Soto. Fuck you and your flying armbars, fuck you and your eye patch, fuck you and your stupid furry vest. People turn on wrestling and see a cartoon charactah like you, shake their head, say “typical”, then change the fuckin’ channel. How the fuck is anyone supposed to take you seriously? Look at ya. From head to toe you’re a blueprint of how to take out the Pepe’ Lepew of pro wresslin’. Ya got stubby knees, perfect for me stompin’ in to keep ya from flyin’. Ya got a bum shouldah, which I’m gonna punch so fuckin’ hard I dislocate it. Ya got what I can only presume is one good eye. Which leaves me a buncha options. Now I ain’t gonna be a dick and poke out your one good eye. Rat man’s gotta make a living somehow.
I will however lift up that damn eye patch and jab my finger in it. I’ll take my thumb and grind it in the hole where your eye used to be. I’ll hock a loogey and fill the gap with my phlegm. Whateva it takes for you ta realize that you shouldn’t come to the ring highlighting a weak spot to look like a pirate mouse. People like me will only see those weaknesses and do all we can to exploit them. Ya can try to fight back, I implore ya. Ya might catch me with one of ya sneaky armbars. But see bitch, this is a tag match. Which means in three seconds a giant will stomp ya greasy fuckin’ head into the mat. Go ahead and try that shit on Geno, see what happens. That man has ripped phone books in half biggah than you. You got a little bit of fight in ya. You got some speed and some slick subs. I’ll give ya that. But come the bell ring you’re gonna be double teamed to the point that we sap a hyper little fuck like you dry. Ya gonna be going on fumes within the first five minutes of the match. Leaving that doll of a partner ya got dangling her hand out for a hot tag. The worried look of disappointment on her face will be the last thing ya see before I shut your lights off.
This is gonna be a fight, I ain’t foolin’ myself. But we ain’t content with being lower on the contender list than Fin and Twin. We are the best tag team here besides the champs, and we prove it at Under The Coliseum Lights 6. Once you survive Hell, you can take on anything.
OOC: Word Count 2581