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Tears in Hell (UPDATED OCTOBER 11th)
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<blockquote data-quote="Puppy Kicker" data-source="post: 1649836" data-attributes="member: 20284"><p><strong>Introduction: Armani Determan</strong></p><p></p><p><img src="http://home.earthlink.net/~abramdress/sitebuildercontent/sitebuilderpictures/armanideterman.jpg" alt="" class="fr-fic fr-dii fr-draggable " style="" /> </p><p></p><p><strong>Introduction: Armani Determan</strong></p><p>11:25 PM July 12th, 2004</p><p></p><p>You’re a bad-mutha-(shut yo' mouth). You know this, and most of the people you meet know this. But damned if the cab ride from the Greyhound station to the McDonalds isn’t the most terrifying experience of your life! This foreigner is insane! He's driving through sheets of rain over a lake of water at somewhere slightly below the speed of sound. Dude probably wants to meet his maker as soon as possible and he has no problem taking you along with him. This had better be worth the trip. Your left hand rests on your leather briefcase – if you get in a car wreck this insanely valuable thing is coming with you. Your right hand, of course, firmly grips the <em>oh-sh** </em> handle. Car wrecks happen. This you know.</p><p> </p><p style="text-align: center">---</p><p></p><p><em>Four Days Ago: You’d been hanging on the street, keeping it real with your posse. You were a little luckier than Johnny when the gunshots started. You jumped out of the way – to the right. Johnny jumped left. Johnny’s legs were messily removed by a large black sedan as it careened into a brick wall. The top of Johnny’s body was splayed across the mashed hood of the car, as were the bodies of the car’s driver and a passenger. Neatly resting on the hood of the car was your big break.</em></p><p> </p><p style="text-align: center">---</p><p></p><p>You take your hand off the <em>oh-sh** </em> handle long enough to massage your right cheek. The gash there is scabbed over now, but very tender. You curse. You’re a bad mutha (shut yo' mouth), as everyone knows, and some little gash ain’t enough to make you pansy out. It’s a painful reminder of why you’re in Virginia now though. What a miserable state. All warm and wet. Probably not a lot of Corleones here though, and that’s priority number one, brother, staying the hell away from that bunch.</p><p></p><p style="text-align: center">---</p><p></p><p><em>Twelve Hours Ago: </em></p><p><em>“Where’s the rock, you little sh**?”</em></p><p><em></em></p><p><em>“I dunno what you’re talkin’ about, man!” Your lip was bleeding already and the various bruises were starting to swell.</em></p><p><em></em></p><p><em>“You’re going to talk, kid. You’re going to talk or you’re going to scream. And then you’re going to talk anyway.” The big Italian produced a pocket knife, flipped the blade open. </em></p><p><em></em></p><p><em>You weren’t scared. You've been telling yourself that. You were brave and you kicked that bastard in the nuts as hard as you could. It threw the guys holding you off balance and you ran, throwing a good kick into the ribs of the knife holder as you ran by. It was time to get your goods and get the hell out of town for a while.</em></p><p></p><p style="text-align: center">---</p><p></p><p>It will be good to get this damn thing out of your life for good. All you have to do is get to this McDonalds, make the trade, and get on with your life. There’s nothing left for you in New York anyway. Maybe this Yorktown area will work for you. Hell, you’ve already got yourself a contact here that you might be able to do some work for.</p><p></p><p style="text-align: center">---</p><p></p><p><em>Two Hours Ago:</em></p><p><em>“Mr. Nickels is interested in making the deal. Tonight, 11:30, the McDonalds at Route 17 and Victory Blvd.” The voice coming out of your cell phone was bossy and in charge.</em></p><p><em> </em></p><p><em>“That’s in Virginia, right?” You were still on the Greyhound, making your way to some bus stop in Newport News.</em></p><p><em> </em></p><p><em>“Where the hell you think it is? Yeah, Yorktown. Better be there, kid. Mr. Nickels doesn’t like to be disappointed.”</em></p><p><em> </em></p><p><em>“F***er, I’ll be there!” Oops. You sometimes do that, just saying sh** without thinking about who you’re talking to.</em></p><p><em></em></p><p><em>“Watch your language, kid. I don’t like to be disappointed either. And I’m meaner than Mr. Nickels.”</em></p><p><em></em></p><p><em>“Yeah, man, I’ll be there and I’ve got the sh**. Who I looking for?”</em></p><p><em> </em></p><p><em>“He’ll be looking for you. Combo is 5-3-5-2. Don’t open it in the restaurant, kid.”</em></p><p><em></em></p><p><em>“Bullsh**! How will I know it’s enough cash?”</em></p><p><em> </em></p><p><em>Dead line. You slid the cell phone into your dufflebag and waited out the rest of the bus ride.</em></p><p></p><p style="text-align: center">---</p><p></p><p>The cab pulls into the McDonalds parking lot. The rain hasn’t let up at all and your dufflebag’s in the back. Damn, man, looks like you’re gonna get soaked. You flip the cabbie a few bucks, no tip, and get out. He waits a bit longer than necessary to pop the trunk, but you manage to get your dufflebag and sprint to the door of the McD’s without getting every part of your body soaked.</p><p></p><p>You open the door and look around. Some young dude at a table, a couple hot chicks with him and some old guy. Some guy sitting alone, a briefcase on the floor near his feet. That's your man. You order yourself a double-quarter-pounder-with-cheese-meal and head towards his table.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Puppy Kicker, post: 1649836, member: 20284"] [b]Introduction: Armani Determan[/b] [IMG]http://home.earthlink.net/~abramdress/sitebuildercontent/sitebuilderpictures/armanideterman.jpg[/IMG] [B]Introduction: Armani Determan[/B] 11:25 PM July 12th, 2004 You’re a bad-mutha-(shut yo' mouth). You know this, and most of the people you meet know this. But damned if the cab ride from the Greyhound station to the McDonalds isn’t the most terrifying experience of your life! This foreigner is insane! He's driving through sheets of rain over a lake of water at somewhere slightly below the speed of sound. Dude probably wants to meet his maker as soon as possible and he has no problem taking you along with him. This had better be worth the trip. Your left hand rests on your leather briefcase – if you get in a car wreck this insanely valuable thing is coming with you. Your right hand, of course, firmly grips the [I]oh-sh** [/I] handle. Car wrecks happen. This you know. [CENTER]---[/CENTER] [I]Four Days Ago: You’d been hanging on the street, keeping it real with your posse. You were a little luckier than Johnny when the gunshots started. You jumped out of the way – to the right. Johnny jumped left. Johnny’s legs were messily removed by a large black sedan as it careened into a brick wall. The top of Johnny’s body was splayed across the mashed hood of the car, as were the bodies of the car’s driver and a passenger. Neatly resting on the hood of the car was your big break.[/I] [CENTER]---[/CENTER] You take your hand off the [I]oh-sh** [/I] handle long enough to massage your right cheek. The gash there is scabbed over now, but very tender. You curse. You’re a bad mutha (shut yo' mouth), as everyone knows, and some little gash ain’t enough to make you pansy out. It’s a painful reminder of why you’re in Virginia now though. What a miserable state. All warm and wet. Probably not a lot of Corleones here though, and that’s priority number one, brother, staying the hell away from that bunch. [CENTER]---[/CENTER] [I]Twelve Hours Ago: “Where’s the rock, you little sh**?” “I dunno what you’re talkin’ about, man!” Your lip was bleeding already and the various bruises were starting to swell. “You’re going to talk, kid. You’re going to talk or you’re going to scream. And then you’re going to talk anyway.” The big Italian produced a pocket knife, flipped the blade open. You weren’t scared. You've been telling yourself that. You were brave and you kicked that bastard in the nuts as hard as you could. It threw the guys holding you off balance and you ran, throwing a good kick into the ribs of the knife holder as you ran by. It was time to get your goods and get the hell out of town for a while.[/I] [CENTER]---[/CENTER] It will be good to get this damn thing out of your life for good. All you have to do is get to this McDonalds, make the trade, and get on with your life. There’s nothing left for you in New York anyway. Maybe this Yorktown area will work for you. Hell, you’ve already got yourself a contact here that you might be able to do some work for. [CENTER]---[/CENTER] [I]Two Hours Ago: “Mr. Nickels is interested in making the deal. Tonight, 11:30, the McDonalds at Route 17 and Victory Blvd.” The voice coming out of your cell phone was bossy and in charge. “That’s in Virginia, right?” You were still on the Greyhound, making your way to some bus stop in Newport News. “Where the hell you think it is? Yeah, Yorktown. Better be there, kid. Mr. Nickels doesn’t like to be disappointed.” “F***er, I’ll be there!” Oops. You sometimes do that, just saying sh** without thinking about who you’re talking to. “Watch your language, kid. I don’t like to be disappointed either. And I’m meaner than Mr. Nickels.” “Yeah, man, I’ll be there and I’ve got the sh**. Who I looking for?” “He’ll be looking for you. Combo is 5-3-5-2. Don’t open it in the restaurant, kid.” “Bullsh**! How will I know it’s enough cash?” Dead line. You slid the cell phone into your dufflebag and waited out the rest of the bus ride.[/I] [CENTER]---[/CENTER] The cab pulls into the McDonalds parking lot. The rain hasn’t let up at all and your dufflebag’s in the back. Damn, man, looks like you’re gonna get soaked. You flip the cabbie a few bucks, no tip, and get out. He waits a bit longer than necessary to pop the trunk, but you manage to get your dufflebag and sprint to the door of the McD’s without getting every part of your body soaked. You open the door and look around. Some young dude at a table, a couple hot chicks with him and some old guy. Some guy sitting alone, a briefcase on the floor near his feet. That's your man. You order yourself a double-quarter-pounder-with-cheese-meal and head towards his table. [/QUOTE]
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