DISCLAIMER

This is all a matter of fiction for an immersive experience. Things that happened in this book never happened, and may contain violence, gore, racism references, and disturbing sequences during its storyline. This book is supposed to accurately describe the time of 1980's gambling and issues.

 

Also, it is recommended that you read "The Streets" before reading this book to be caught up on the storyline, in which it is crucial to this one. 

Prologue: Bang for the Buck

 FREMONT CASINO, THE STRIP

LAS VEGAS, NEVADA

FEBRUARY 26, 1983

 

"This guy's on a roll, everybody!" said the casino clerk. A man named Michael Levine was getting lucky by the minute at the craps table. The dice landed on a 24. "WOO! Yes!" 
People started crowding around the table to watch his movement. "Alright... I need a 3. I bet on... red!" 

The clerk said, "3. Red. Got it." 

Then the casino's owner came over to the table and put his glass of bourbon down on the table. "Hey hey hey, everybody! What's happening in this corner?"

 

"This guy's acing this game." 

 

"Hmmm... Pretty good! Prettyyyy gooood..."

 

The owner went over to Michael and said, "I got a deal for you. How many chips you got on you?"

 

Michael responded, "I'm not at liberty to say... I have a whole bunch, I'll tell you that now!" 

 

"That's great for you! But let's raise the stakes..." he said, pulling out a gun. Everybody backed up. "Whoa, whoa! Hold yer horses, I'm not gunnin' anybody down! Calm down! Well, not yet." 

Michael stood still as the owner pushed the barrel of the gun against his head. "I've got a deal for you. Go for what you bet. You land on that space... I'll give you 200 grand. But if you mess up, roll something else... I'll take something from you." Michael considered the options for a second.

 

"Uh... Okay! You're on!"

 

He threw the dice onto the red space, and it was a 3. "Got it. Hand over my moolah!" 

 

The owner frowned and said, "I know I put up 200 grand... and you won it that fast. But I just can't hand somebody money and not get anything back." The owner aimed at Michael's chest, and shot him. "Great. On with your lives, then."

 

 

Damion West: "Gambling back in the 80's.. It was an absolutely cancerous disease. Most of people's money came from casinos, craps, cards, and chips. I did a documentary before, named The Streets. Well this comes after the 1969 debacle about Benjamin Tyrone. Believe it or not, this actually came from that incident. Benjamin Tyrone's cousin, Ivan Winchester, was the owner of the casino. He heard about Tyrone's recent death in 1969, and took on a job at the casino. He worked there in 1971. After 2 years, he moved up and gained ownership of the casino in 1973. Then in 1983, that's when things got furious. Along with Tyrone, Winchester also went down. This is

 

VEGAS STREETS (the Streets 2)

 

 Wayne Devila: "I was an accomplice of Michael Levine. Michael was so... eager. He wanted to just straight up GO to the casino, murder Ivan Winchester, and come back celebrating. That can't just happen automatically like *that*. People died during this point in time. But you know what? It was a good cause for ME, and a good cause for HIM."

Chapter 1: I Cheated Death

 HENDERSON

LAS VEGAS, NEVADA

 

"Wake up...

 

Wake up...

 

WAKE UP!"

 

Michael awakened to find himself in a car. "Had a nice sleep? Well that ends, now. I figured you weren't dead, so I saved your fucking life so I could... 'Use' you for something," the driver informed him. 

Michael had no shirt on, and saw a bandage across part of his chest area. A dot of blood marked the gunshot wound. "I'm alive? This ain't a hallucination or something like that?"

 

"Nope, I didn't smoke no weed, so yeah, this is real," the driver told him.

 

"Where am I? Where's that punk bitch!?" Michael said, sitting himself up straight. "Ey, ey, ey! Take a chill pill, or overdose on 'em. We're not in the casino no more. Anyhow, you were listening, right? About the uh... Business I mentioned?"

 

"What 'business'? I just wanna find that asshole who shot me!" 

 

"That's it! That's what I'm talking about! I want to help you kill my boss!"

 

Michael's eyes opened all the way. He wrapped his arms around the driver and choked him. "YOUR BOSS? SO WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU?"

 

"JESUS- I SAVED YOUR ASS- YOU OWE ME! STOP!"

 

Michael stopped choking the driver and sat in his seat. "I'm his goddamn slave. Mr. Winchester is an absolute pile of horse manure, and I want to clean him up. Dispose of him. By the way, my name's Wayne."

 

"Hmm... Alright. I understand. Where do we start?" 

Chapter 2: Blowout

 FIRING RANGE, HENDERSON

LAS VEGAS, NEVADA

 

 

"Alright, so I'm gonna teach you how to kill people," Wayne told Michael. 

"Oh... alright?"

 

Wayne handed him a pistol. "Hold it. Squeeze it a little bit. If you're gonna take out Winchester, you're gonna have to go through his goons." The operator placed a life-sized target of a man in the shooting range. Wayne handed him an .40 ACP ammunition clip. "Stick that through the bottom of your gun. You can't kill shit without ammo."

Michael stuck the clip into the receiver of the pistol. "Got it." Michael aimed at  the head of the target, and Wayne said, "STOP! STOP! STOP! No no no no, take the safety off."

 

Michael looked around the gun. "What the fuck's a safety?" 

Wayne took the pistol and pulled the slide back. "There- That's the safety." Michael nodded and aimed at the target dummy. He fired a shot and hit the dummy in its neck. "Good, but Winchester can probably put pressure on the wound. Try again."

 

Michael fired again, and hit the dummy in the face. "YES! That's what I'm talking about! He can't recover from that!" 

 

 

 

BOXING RING

LAS VEGAS, NEVADA

 

"You need to limber up in case you have no ammo and Winchester's ready for a fight." An obese man climbed into the ring with Michael. "Don't I need boxing gloves for this?" Michael asked him. 

 

"You gonna wear boxing gloves when you go fuck up Winchester? No you're not! So you're gonna use your fists. The harder you hit and the harder the surface you hit, the stronger your knuckles are gonna get. Wear brass knuckles, and you can double that damage. 

 

Oh. And this is Tyson. He's the ass you're gonna try and kick with your bare hands." Michael balled up his fists and said, "He's... not gonna hit me, is he?"

"Michael, have you ever got in a fight?"

 

"In my junior year in high school, yeah."

 

"Well guess what? There's no fight you fight that doesn't have you getting hurt, too. So yeah, he's gonna hit you." Michael popped his neck in place and punched Tyson in his chest. "The fuck was that bullshit?" Tyson insulted him. Michael denied his words and punched him again. "Ow." Michael hit him a third time. "Ouch. That 'hurt.'" 

Tyson socked Michael in the face. "Goddamn! Alright, that does it!"

 

Wayne laid back in a folding chair, watching Michael beat up Tyson. "You two play nice!"

 

Wayne: "I know I taught a man to kill people. He looked as weak as a fucking walking stick insect when I saw his ass for the first time. But after all the training shit, we were ready to whoop ass!"

 

Eventually, Michael knocked out Tyson. His knuckles were bloody, and bleeding at once. "Yeah! That's what I wanted to see!"

 

 

WAYNE'S RESIDENCE

LAS VEGAS

 

"Let me test you. We can't just run in there all pussyfoot, can we?" Wayne quizzed Michael. "Nope." Wayne nodded and said, "Good. We're ready to go. Take your things, and grab your mask. We can't afford getting spotted by a camera."

 

 

Chapter 3: High Times

 NIGHTCLUB

LAS VEGAS, NEVADA

 

Wayne drove up to the building with Michael in the passenger seat. "What're we doing here? We're supposed to go kill Winchester!" Wayne shook his head and said, "You don't get it, do you? Ivan doesn't just have his right hand men, he has an entire army of pricks from Detroit. You heard of the Detroit Massacres?"

 

"Yeah."

 

"The mafia leader, Benjamin Tyrone, he gave some of his guys to fuckface before he died. They never found who killed everybody he had, including him."

 

"Huh. So I guess we have some trash to dispose of."

 

"You bet. Get your weapon ready, they don't play nice against pests." Michael pulled the slide of his pistol back and put on his mask. Wayne did the same and said, "Ready?"

 

"Let's go!"

 

The two busted into the nightclub. "Guys, we got visitors!" said a mobster inside. Michael looked around and saw the population of mobsters in the building. "Go get 'em! And don't be afraid to get your hands dirty!"

Michael threw a table over and took cover behind it. Wayne slammed the bodyguard's head down on his kneecap, and then with his elbow, pounded the back of his spine. "Everybody down! NOW!"

 

All of the innocent citizens of the nightclub hit the floor, covering their craniums with their hands on their heads. Wayne pumped his shotgun and aimed around. A mobster scooted out of a booth in the corner and came at Wayne. "Sit your ass back down!"

 Wayne fired, and shot the mobster, sending him backwards. Michael aimed over the ridge of the tilted table, and fired a bullet, missing the shot. A mobster grabbed an innocent and walked into Michael's sight. "You shoot, I'll kill the bitch!"

 

Wayne pumped the shotgun and walked up behind him, and fired. A big set of holes were blasted into the back of his clothes. She hit the ground, along with the mobster's dead body. "Come on, I'm pretty sure that wasn't just everybody." Wayne pumped his shotgun and snuck behind the bartending counter. "What's the point of hiding? You and your friends are dead!" Wayne screamed into the back room, waiting at the doorway. Nobody approached the doors. 

Michael noticed a mobster on the floor trying to load his gun. "Someone's not prepared." He shot the man in the head, spraying blood below the other side of his head. 

 

Damion: "The Las Vegas Big-Time Nightclub was raided and assaulted that day by Michael and Wayne. Wayne was the overall leader of the entire movement though, he kind of used Michael Levine as a dog on a leash. But these two weren't the only people active at the time. Ivan Winchester's movement was also on the line as well. You'd think he'd sit in his office and monitor his casino, no. No, that's not how Ivan was."

Chapter 4: Bittersweet

FREMONT CASINO

LAS VEGAS, NEVADA

2 DAYS AFTER THE MASSACRE

 

Ivan sat down behind his desk alongside his men. His men were sitting around an arch shaped table. Five men to be exact. Named Smithy, Oxford, Judeau, DePinto, and Eustice. "You all know what happened at that one nightclub, right? A pair of masked individuals, oooohh so spooky! With a couple of guns. Let's take a minute to think about this. 

2 men. Killed... How many was it again? One, two, three, six, seven- SEVEN people. That's sad."

 

"So what do you want us to do about this? How can we make this right, boss?" one of the men asked. "Smithy, do you know what the term elite means?" Ivan asked him with a sarcastic smile on his face.

 

"It means... uh... High tier?"

 

"Yes it does! Ringadingding! You get a prize!"

 

"Oh... what's my prize?"

 

"A second chance not to mess this up again, THAT'S YOUR PRIZE."

 

"Alright, boss. That's a... very good prize."

 

Damion: "William Smithy was one of Winchester's closest men. He actually went, while ordered by his boss, to go rid a hotel of Hispanic American men that took refuge in a hotel for the day, led by the notorious Josephano 'Jose' DelToro. He escaped with two shots in his thigh, but DelToro was pretty pissed to say the least."

 

Wayne: "Let me summarize DelToro for you: Dickhead."

 

THAT NIGHT...

FLAMINGO HOTEL, LAS VEGAS

 

Smithy brought a dufflebag with him through the entire crowd of guests in the lobby. They were all waiting, conversating, drinking booze, and other nourishments. He kept a stern look on his face to prevent suspicion from ensuing as he walked over to the counter. "I'm Jet Wilkes, I called a little bit earlier today at about 5?"

 

"Oh, yes! Mr. Wilkes, your room is on the fifth floor, 506. Here's your key," said the bellhop. The man handed him the key to 506. "Great, thanks a lot." As he headed up to his room, he met a janitor on the way to the elevators. "You Smithy?"

"Yeah. You put the thing in the room?"

 

"You bet. It's stashed in the air ducts, I loosened the screws for you."

 

"And are our 'guests' here today?"

 

"Yes they are. They're on the same hall you're on."

 

"Great. Here's something for your courtesy."

 

Smithy snuck him a stack of 100 dollar bills and said, "Now get outta here."

 

He ran into the elevator with the dufflebag. Smithy pulled the zipper down a little bit and revealed what was inside. It was a silenced pistol. The silencer on the end was shaped like a small funnel for some reason. The barrel itself however was pretty big. Smithy walked over to the hotel room and opened it with the key. "Air duct, air duct..."

 

 

 Smithy noticed the air duct the janitor mentioned, it was grey with the screws sticking out. "Bingo." He removed the bolts, and pulled out a pump shotgun, partially wood, partially metallic. Mossberg 12 Gauge. "This'll do just fine..." Smithy opened the dufflebag up all the way and pulled out a box of shotgun shells. 12 Gauge. "Alright.. Let's go to work." 

 

30 minutes later...

 

 

Smithy exited his room with both of the guns in hand; The silenced pistol, and the shotgun. His feet wore socks, to silence his footsteps' sound effects from compromising his location. "Olly olly Oxenfree..." 

He had the room numbers written on his arm in black ink: 501, 503, 505, 507, 509, and 502. Smithy arrived at 501, the first room. He noticed the peephole in the door. As he pushed the end of the barrel against the peephole, he knocked on the door.

"Hello? House cleaning!"

 

Smithy put his ear up to the door, and listened through the wood. He heard faintly, "You call housecleaning?"

 

"Nah, man. But admit this: The room IS dirty after all."

 

"Alright fine, we'll let him in and go out for a smoke or something."

 

Smithy heard footsteps getting closer, and closer. Then he heard, "What the fuck is that?" and then the lock unlocked. PEW! He heard the body drop on the carpet. Smithy kicked the door in, and saw the other enemy in the room. He was standing there with an assault rifle, in a shotgun way of holding it. "GET BENT, MOTHERF-" 

Smithy fired and killed him with a blast to the chest with his shotgun. "Too bad."

He spun around and saw the other corpse. A big bullet hole in the man's left eye.  Then he moved out of the room. People in the other rooms were attempting to call hotel security. "Gotta go.. gotta go!" Smithy told himself in a hurry.

 

At 503, the door flew open and out came three people from the rival gang. "OVER THERE AT 501!" the leader of the trio yelled. Smithy blew one backwards, not killing him but stunning him. Smithy, with his other gun, fired twice, and hit one in his face. The second one took cover behind the doorway of his room. The leader sprayed fire away, and hit Smithy in his leg twice. "GOD- SHIT! MY FUCKIN' LEG!" 

Blood poured through the fibers of his jeans. A second later, and Smithy shot the leader in his throat. He fell on his knees, then Smithy shot him in his forehead. Smithy cocked his shotgun and aimed at the doorway. "I surrender!" Smithy said aloud.

The second one came out from behind cover, and Smithy shot him with a shotgun blast. 

 

Smithy walked over to 505, and pushed the barrel of his pistol against the lock. PEW! The lock shot through the hole of the door, and hit a window in the room. Three shots came from the back of the room, and punched three wooden bullet holes through the top of the door. Smithy pushed the door open and aimed around. Quickly dropping his pistol, he sprinted past the bathroom, aiming to the left, and right there was a man behind the wall. Smithy shot the man in his head, blowing most of his skull into pieces. He took six steps backwards, near the doorway, and looked to the left. The bathroom door was closed. But it was inferrable from underneath the door that somebody was inside, as the light was one. 

"Did you say your prayers this morning?"

There was no answer. "Then you better pray fast." Smithy blasted a hole in the door with his shotgun, and twisted the knob a little bit. It was unlocked. "What in the fuck?" 

As he opened the door, a German Shepherd leaped out and pounced on Smithy. "JESUS- GET THE HELL OFF ME!" he squealed, pinned down. Smithy noticed his silenced pistol laying near his head. With his right hand blocking the dog's jaw, Smithy grabbed the pistol and pointed it upwards at the dog's skull. "Mutt!"

PEW!

 

Smithy noticed the crack in the window as he tossed the dog's carcass off of him. Once he was back on his feet, he slowly strolled over to the window. Down below, police cars were lined up. "DAMN IT!" 

He ran out of the room and ignored the other rooms of the task. "Fuck this, I'm out of here!" 

 

Smithy strolled over to the elevator, and pressed the button on the panel. "Come on, come on, come on!" The meter over the doors of the elevator reached 5, and once the doors opened.. There were five police officers inside. All five locked eyes on Smithy, without moving. Then Smithy shot all five, holding down the trigger of his shotgun and repeatedly pumping the shotgun.

Smithy stepped into the elevator, and pressed GF on the panel. The elevator car was traveling down, slowly. Then once he hit the ground floor, he exited the car and screamed, "EVERYBODY GET DOWN! ON YOUR KNEES!"

Then he sprinted out of the building.

 

SMITHY'S RESIDENCE

 

Smithy opened the door and entered his house. His wife was waiting there for him. "William, where have you been? We were waiting for you to come home and it's like 8 P.M!" she told him, angered by his late arrival.

 

"I had to stay at work a little later. I promise it won't-"

 

"YOU SAID THAT LAST TIME! You said that like 50 times all ready! Do you even care about our children, WILLIAM?" she screamed loudly throughout the house. Then a little boy walked into the foiyer. Smithy walked over to him, got down on his knee, and said, "Hey there, Kenny! Go back to bed, me and mommy have everything under control."

 

The child walked back to bed, and Smithy's wife said, "You either quit with the late night bullshit, or it's divorce time. Do you hear me?"

 

Damion: "We did interview Jillian Smithy."

 

Jillian: "William was gone- Every. Single. Night. And came back at about 8 PM to 12 PM. The times I called his boss, that Ivan Winchester guy... He always said, "He's doing work."

Chapter 5: Double Dragons

Damion: "So... Jose decided to throw fire back at the Italian Mafia. He found one of their joints by the intersection of an alley between four buildings."

 

ALLEY INTERSECTION

 

Jose popped his neck in place, as he watched Italian mobsters walk into the intersection's entrance from on top of a building. He pulled out his walkie-talkie and said, "Hola, amigos. Escuchas a mi. Ellos estan andando dentro de callejon. Vas en... Tres." 

Four black, old cars with spiked bumpers pulled up in front of the fronts of the alleyways. "Dos." Their engines roared. The people in the center of the alley started backing away from all four ends, scared. "Yo, what the fuck are they doing?!"
Four people with cinderblocks walked by the car's driver seat. 

"UNO."

 

They threw their bricks onto the gas pedals, sending all four cars down the alley at once. "GET DOWN!"

All four cars crashed into each other, squashing six victims at once. The roaring and squealing of the cars' tires could still be heard. "Si, SI!"

 

Jose placed his sniper rifle on the ridge of the building. 

 

Damion: "Jose knew that Henry Oxford, one of Ivan's men, one of the closest ones, was at that cafe due to intelligence from another individual; A spotter, perhaps. He decided to start there. Let me announce this now so  you will get the picture: Jose and Michael do not mix. They have had an altercation which I'll get to later on in this documentary. But back on topic..."

 

Jose watched Oxford sprint out of the building, then see the collision in the alley. From the look of his mouth, he was saying, "WHAT THE FUCK?!"

While Oxford was just standing there, Jose locked onto his skull. "Cabeza..." POW! One shot, and Oxford was on the ground, deceased. "Muy facil.."

 

Damion West: "Then Winchester got called by one of his own men about how they found Oxford's body and a few others by the alleyway. He went to the crime scene, and decided to look around himself."

 

CRIME SCENE

2 HOURS LATER

 

Ivan walked over to the officers guarding the caution tape. "Officer, I need to get through!"

"Sir, you aren't authorized to pass this point. Remain behind the tape, please."

 

"MY SON'S IN THERE, YOU ASSHOLE!"

 

"Oh- My condolences, come on through." 

 

Ivan entered the crime scene, grinning, and walked over to the cars in the alley. Each one created a plus-sign looking symbol, with the squashed bodies in the middle. Ivan looked inside of the cars, and discovered the keys were still in the ignition. On the keychains, he saw a common ornament. A Mexican flag. Green. White with a symbol. Red.

 

"Well well well.."

 

Ivan took the keys from the car and walked out of the scene. "Suckers."

 

Damion: "Then in the same day, the forensics lab is broken into. Fingerprint books, tools, and scanners are scattered. And what is left is a keychain remaining in the scanner. The identity was shown as Pablo Diego Sanchez, one of the 'car-men' in the four way crash that day. Presumably, and obviously, Ivan Winchester broke into the lab and wanted to find the identity so he could track the people down."

 

MAIN OFFICE

FREMONT CASINO, LAS VEGAS

 

Ivan held up a paper about the fingerprint scan. "This, this is one of the pricks we need to track down, on the double. If we find him, and follow this... Hispanic greaser, then we can find his boss. And trust me, WE WANT to find him."

 

Wayne: "I've heard of that Mexican gang in Las Vegas, barely cared about it though. We were focused on Winchester, not all these hispanic lunatics running around like morons. I only know some Spanish because I took French back then in the 60's, but we had a Spanish foreign exchange student. And it was hard as hell to try and convey our language to his gibberish."

 

Wayne loaded up his shotgun, and pumped it as he walked into a Mexican territory of a trailer park. He started whistling as he stepped through the border of the area. 

 

KING'S ROW RV PARK

LAS VEGAS, NEVADA

"Hola, what's the word for friends... Pendejos?" he said to the hispanic folk inhabiting the area. "Haha... Muy puta comico!? Tu eres no inteligente... Si?"

Wayne pumped his shotgun, to threaten him. "Shut up and show me where your boss is." 

"Que, pendejo?"

 

"Umm... Donde eres te jefe?"

 

"Aqui."

 

 The man started leading Wayne to his boss.

Chapter 6: Blacker Ice

 2 HOURS AFTER THE MEETING

 

Wayne awakened, all exhausted, and beaten to a pulp, in a trailer. "Ahh... What the hell happened?" A bunch of corpses were spread around the area of the trailer. Then he heard footsteps coming inside. "Err... shit!"

Wayne laid down flat on the ground like he was before he woke up. One of Winchester's men entered the trailer, and looked around. "Hmm... What was that noise?"

 

He walked over to Wayne's body and nudged it. "Huh. Not a beaner." Wayne heard a zipper unzip. His eyes opened a little bit, and then he said in his mind, "OH HELL NO!"

The man started urinating on his body.

After about 5 seconds, Wayne jumped out of character and said, "YOU SICK FUCK!" 

 

The man zipped his pants back up and moved backwards.

 

Wayne: "The motherfucker was trying to piss on me!"

 

Damion: "This man, who tried to 'defile' Wayne Devila's body was one of Winchester's men, named Judeau Salvadore. Italian-American, mostly quiet guy. There's a thing with him, though. He was on... NOBODY's side. During this entire timeline, he killed his own and killed the others. I mean, he basically pulled a Benedict Arnold. Oh, and it ended in a car chase, and it took an hour for the conclusion to come to a show. 

 

Salvadore won, by escaping the fight."

 

Wayne pumped his shotgun while he had his hands on the wheel. "Time to pay, asshole!" 

Judeau looked in the mirror and spotted Wayne on his tail. He looked around in the glove-box of the car, and found a plethora of mail papers. Once he grabbed all of them, with one hand, he threw the letters out of the window, blowing backwards and landing on Wayne's windshield. "GOD- What in the- FUCK YOU!"

 

Wayne swiped the letters off of the windshield with the windshield wipers. When the line of sight was clear, Wayne discovered he was about to run into a gas pump at a gas station. "HOLY SHIT!"

He swerved to the left of it and drove back onto the road. From his position, Wayne could see Judeau from 32 feet away. "You're not getting away!"

Judeau looked to the right and noticed a shotgun hanging out of the window of Wayne's door. He sighed and looked around in the car. One blast, and the back windshield of Judeau's vehicle was shattered into snowflake sized glass particles. "YOU JUST DON'T QUIT, DO YOU?" Wayne screamed in rage. With the handle of the side-mirror, he cocked the shotgun and aimed. 

 

A brick flew from Judeau's window, and smashed the side-mirror. The shotgun barrel dropped and was scraping across the ground. "Come on, hit the tires!" Wayne said, aiming with one arm, struggling to stabilize the shotgun's aim. BOOM! One shot and Wayne hit the tire's rubber. Judeau grinned.

Judeau took a left turn and drove into a fire hydrant besides a deep ditch. "HAHA, I GOT YOU, YOU SON OF A BITCH!"

The car flipped over on its side.

 

"Gotcha!"

 

Wayne parked by the scene of the crash, and exited the vehicle. He pumped his shotgun and walked over to Judeau's escape vehicle. "Come on out of the fucking car, you piece of shit!"

There was no response. "Alright, have it your way!"

 

Wayne creased the door open.. and the car was empty. Judeau had escaped somehow. "How? HOW? HOW THE FUCK DID YOU GET AWAY!?"

 

 

Damion: "Wayne was deceived by Judeau, when Judeau flipped his own vehicle over. Presumably, Judeau made an illusion and a diversion at once to escape Wayne's wrath. How you ask? Well... It wasn't very sanitary."

 

SOMEWHERE IN LAS VEGAS

 

Judeau grabbed a branch in the ditch, after being thrown down the riverbed within the ditch. He hauled himself out, and back onto the grasses of Las Vegas. His clothes were stained, brown and wet. Drenched in mud and runoff. 

 

Damion: "He apparently rolled out of the car at the last second, then landed in the ditch, taking him down the stream."

 

 

Chapter 7: Eye to Knuckle

FREMONT CASINO

LAS VEGAS, NEVADA

 

"WE GOT HIS LOCATION! That spic fuck!" Ivan said. 

 

Everybody clapped. "Now... Which of you wants to go pick him off?"

Smithy and Judeau both raised their hands. "We've got a couple of volunteers! And for the rest of you..!" 
Ivan stood up and pulled out his pistol. Then shot DePinto and Eustice in their heads. 

 

"Okay, since we have two volunteers... Which of you is going? You two talk amongst yourselves, choose wisely." 

 

Judeau whispered in Smithy's ear, "You go. Your family needs that money."

 

"You sure?"

 

"Positive."

 

Judeau then said, "Smithy's going." 

 

"Well then, come get your outfit, and head on down to *this* location on the map," informed Winchester.

 

MEXICAN TERRITORY

LAS VEGAS, NEVADA

 

Smithy walked over to the booth and said, "Hola, tu hablas ingles?"

"Yes, senor."

 

"HI, I'm here to fight a certain person..."

 

The booth worker handed him a clipboard. "Find whoever it is, and sign your name by his. You just looking for that one fight or are you doing the tour-"

"JUST that one fight, please."

 

The worker took the clipboard back after Smithy forged his signature on the paper. "Alrighty, Mister... Jack Reagan! You are fighting- Oh... Pablo? You uh... Ehh... Good luck."

 

Smithy walked into the locker room, but then he was stopped by security. "Ey, ey, cualquier armas?" they questioned him in Spanish. "Uhh... Que?"

 

The left one sighed. "Do you have WEAPONS?"

 

"No. None at all."

 

"Spread your arms and legs out, then."

 

Smithy held out his arms and legs in a T-Pose position, and the man patted him down. No weapons. "Si, you're good to go. Go to the locker room and we'll call you in. Oh, and you forgot your gloves." The guard handed him a pair of boxing gloves. His eyebrows raised. "Oh.. okay, thanks!"

 

Smithy hurried into the locker room, and pulled his feet out of his oversized shoes, revealing his toes were inside of brass knuckles. "Master plan."

He slid his fingers through the holes of the brass knuckles. Smithy inserted his hands inside of the boxing gloves. "Great.. Pablo, here I come." Smithy sat back down on the bench, and waited for the referee. Eventually, the referee entered the locker room. "Senor Reagan? You are up."

 

Smithy exited the locker room. "En esta esquina, tenemos al invicto, Pablo!" The crowd cheered for Pablo, standing in the other corner of the ring. "Y en esta esquina, tenemos Senor Jack Reagan!" Smithy raised his right arm in the air. "Tres! Dos! UNO!!"

Pablo approached Smithy. "You are cracker caballero!" Pablo insulted Smithy as he was circling around him. "I'm gonna give you one chance, where's your boss? All truth, no lies!"

Pablo said, "I'm not here for talking, I'm here to kick your ass!"

 

"I hope you like American hospital food," insulted Smithy.

 

Smithy charged over to Pablo in a direct line, and punched him in the face with a hard smack. Pablo moved backwards as his face was bleeding on the side. Smithy socked him again, making Pablo land on his chest on the ropes of the ring. He grabbed Pablo by his hair and said, "WHERE IS YOUR BOSS? WHERE IS EL JEFE?"

 

"...FUCK YOU!"

 

Smithy punched him again, and threw him face-first into the floor of the ring. The referee climbed onto the ring. Smithy immediately turned his head and said, "GET THE FUCK OFF THE STAGE! RIGHT NOW!"

The referee held both of his hands up and reversed his way off of the ring. Smithy then focused his attention on Pablo. Smithy crouched down besides him and said, "WHERE IS HE? TELL ME NOW OR I'LL BUST THE CAP IN YOUR ASS!"

 

"OKAY, OKAY!! Josephano, he is in the-"

 

BANG! A gunshot later, and Pablo was shot in the forehead. Smithy turned his head to the gunshot's direction. One of the Mexican capos had a pistol in his hand. "SHIT!" 

As the crowd cleared out, Smithy leaped over the ring, and pummeled the capo into the ground. Then he beat him to death with his boxing gloves, secretly concealing the brass knuckles. 

Chapter 8: Highest Bid on your Life

 Damion: "While William Smithy was beating up greasers in the boxing ring, Michael Lavine was killing off the mafia with Wayne. The two went by this... Convention, issued by Ivan Winchester's brother, Tyler Winchester, auctioning illegal products, and artifacts stolen from around the globe."

 

WINCHESTER AUCTION 1983

LAS VEGAS, NEVADA

 

The two entered the ballroom, surrounded by several Italian-American people. Then Tyler Winchester was stepping up to the podium onstage. "Gree-" The microphone boomed throughout the room. "Dear god that was loud... Hold on, test one-two, test one-TWO- There we go!

 

Greetings! And welcome to the Winchester Auction, 1983! We have several things for sale, and to warn each of you, each one starts off at 500 bucks! So if you're poor, you might wanna get your ass out of here before you bid on something you can't buy!"

Everybody laughed, except for Michael and Wayne.

 

"How do you want to do this?" Wayne whispered to Michael. 

"Mmm... Well, we most importantly want to keep Tyler alive if we're gonna do that thing.."

 

Wayne scanned the room. Guards were the only people armed, and there were about a dozen. "Listen to me: Go up to that table, near the left of the stage. And when you see me come back through the doors, you pounce on Winchester, and pin him down.

BUT, say 'Everybody down, there's a shooter!'

 

Then when the guards are all focused on me, you pull out your gun and shoot as many as you can while they're distracted. DO NOT get off of Winchester!"

 

"Agreed."

 

 

Wayne: "So we created a little diversion. Well, let me spoil it; We, or rather, I, wanted to keep Winchester's punkass thug brother, Tyler, for a little plan I created. We were gonna send a message to our Italian friend."

 15 MINUTES LATER

 

Wayne stepped through the front doors with an assault rifle and his mask on. Michael screamed, "GET DOWN, HE'S GOT A GUN!"

He then sprinted onstage and lunged on Winchester. "Stay down, sir!" 

"Thanks, kid!"

 

Michael pulled out his gun. "Oh, I'm not saving you!" Then from his area, he shot one guard in the back of the head, then another one. Then the guards started firing at Wayne. Wayne took cover behind a pillar. "They always gotta fight the fuck back!"

Michael moved himself and Winchester behind the wooden podium to avoid gunfire. "Move from this fucking spot, and I'll shoot you in your head, DO YOU HEAR ME?"

Winchester nodded in fear. "That's the response I was looking for!"

Michael looked over the podium and shot one in the juglar of his neck. Then a shot later, and Michael was hit in his elbow. "GODDAMN!" 

Wayne came out from behind the pillar and gunned down three of the guards with gunfire to the back. One survived however, and used a chair as a shield as he fired back at Wayne. Wayne hid back behind the pillar.

 

Footsteps were coming around the corner. Wayne whipped the stock of the gun out, tripping a guard. Then Wayne smashed the man's nose, and repeatedly beat him with the stock of his gun. "HOW IT FEEL, HUH? YEAH!"

 

Michael, clutching his elbow, leaned out from behind the podium and aimed at the guard on the ground. He was vulnerable in his position. BANG! A direct hit in the back spinal area, and the guy was dead. 

 

Wayne picked up the corpse near his feet, and carried him as a human shield. "GONNA SHOOT ONE OF YOUR KIND?" A hail of bullets hit the shield as Wayne struggled to fire. Wayne shot once, hit a centerpiece on a table, then shot again, and hit a guard in his hand. The gun was empty. "Aww.. Crap!"

 

Michael jumped out from behind the podium, firing away. He killed the last two guards with shots to the chest and above. Then he landed on his side. Wayne dropped the corpse and said, "We done here?"

Michael looked around the stage. "Pretty sure!"

"Great."

 

Then an excruciatingly painful stab traveled into his foot. "FUCK! WHAT THE-"

The guard Michael hit in his juglar was stabbing Wayne in his foot. "YOU LITTLE!"

Wayne bent over and with both of his hands, ripped the wound in the man's neck open further and further, bleeding out. Michael snagged Winchester by his collar. "GET THE FUCK UP! YOU'RE NEXT!"

 

Wayne limped over to the stage and said, "Well well well.. You're gonna make a great message to send to Ivan, wouldn't you?"

 

DAYS LATER

 

Damion: "3 days subsequent to the attack, Ivan found Tyler impaled through a large wound in his stomach- On a roulette spinner. The sight of it was just horrendous. Meanwhile, one day after Michael and Wayne captured Tyler, Ivan told Judeau Salvadore about the anniversary of the casino. He had planned a party at a bar about 5 blocks down from the casino. Judeau wasn't exactly for Ivan at the time."

 

Chapter 9: Hammered and Nailed

 FREMONT CASINO

LAS VEGAS, NEVADA

 

Ivan sat down long with Judeau. Smithy was absent from his job. "Have you seem Smithy?"

"He had family matters to attend to."

 

"Oh.. I gotta be honest, his wife's just a straight up whore. I couldn't deal with a wife nagging on my ass all the time, I would've popped her by now if I did. Don't care if I get booked or not.

 

ANYWAYS, let's get started...

 

We're celebrating the anniversary for this casino. It's the 28th anniversary, so we'll be celebrating in the bar close by here. It's on this street, called the Drunken Den."

 

"Oh, I've been there. How are we going to have our party?"

 

"I have no clue. How about this: They don't just serve alcoholic beverages, they serve wings too. So have them set up a big buffet for everybody. You writiing this down?"

 

Judeau opened up a notepad and pulled out his ballpoint pen. "Alright?"

"We need 30 Lemon Pepper wings, 30 Buffalo Wings, 40 rolls and butter to go along with it, and a shitload of drunkery! Oh by the way... We need to contact Cardstock about the weapons shipment. The police are taking all of ours after the bullshit that's going down. Call him and meet him at the usual spot."

 

Damion: "Augustus Cardstock was an American black marketeer who sold Winchester military-grade artillery for his mafia. From surveillance around the area, he drove in disguised as a supply delivery truck. Pretty smart but we still have evidence, right? It was seen that two men and Judeau always received the supplies during each trade."

 

Judeau picked up the telephone and dialed the number. 

 

"Hello?"

"This is Cardstock."

"Hi, this is Judeau Salvadore, from the Fremont... I need 20 pistols, 30 rifles, any, and... 

3 small detonatable explosives."

"3 small explosives.. Got it. Anything else?"

"Yes, do you take ridiculous requests?"

"What.. What do you mean?"

"Just answer the question."

"Well yeah, that depends on what it is."

"Great. What I want you do to, is to give me 10 boxes of nails, and 5 boxes 

of razor blades. And two body bags."

 

"Got it... And your total is... $250,900."

 

DROP OFF POINT
SOMEWHERE IN LAS VEGAS

 

Judeau and his two men were pulling up to the truck out in the middle of the desert-area. All three exited their vehicle and walked over to the truck. Cardstock hopped out of the front and greeted Judeau. "Hey there, Judeau! How's it been?"

"We've been suffering heavy casualties from an unknown amount of intruders, but so far it's been good."

 

"Alrighty then! Here's your stuff!"

 

Cardstock opened the back container on the truck. Judeau and his men checked around the truck to check their order. "Great. Here's the money," Judeau thanked him for the shipment, handing him a suitcase of money. As the two noticed the body bags in the very back, Judeau gave Cardstock the "Shh..." gesture. 

"Hey... Judeau?! Why are there body bags in the back?"

 

"I don't really know, maybe he put some of the stuff in them. Open them and check."

Once the two unzipped the empty body bags, Judeau pulled out a pistol and shot both of them in the head. The two landed in the bodybags they unzipped. "Here's an extra hundred, go dispose of the bodies and don't reveal anything of their deaths."

 

Frightened, Cardstock nodded and accepted the hundred dollar bill. 

 

DRUNKEN DEN

BEFORE PARTY

LAS VEGAS

 

 Judeau placed a jar, wrapped in green paper, with a string tied around its lid. The bartender came in. "Hey there... Who are you, exactly?" he questioned him. "Judeau Salvadore. I'm with Winchester."

 

"Oh. Alright- I'm guessing those are centerpieces?"

 

Judeau looked at the jar. "Yeah. Hey can I give you my secret wing recipe for a quick second?"

He influenced the bartender to follow him into the kitchen and then Judeau pointed a blade at his throat. "Listen to me- FUCKING LISTEN TO ME! DON'T YOU LOOK AWAY FROM ME!" whispered Judeau with a low voice level.

The bartender's head sunk into his neck. "At the party, tonight, I want you to make a toast. But right when you're gonna finish it, you better get on the ground."

"W-Why?"

 

"I'm not telling you why. Here's the 'script' for you. Read it. If you fuck this up, this here blade's going deep into your throat. Comprende?"

 

"I-I-I understand! I do, I do!"

Judeau let him go, and the bartender backed away from Judeau. "Oh, and if you tip off the cops or try and leave, I will find out. And I will kill you more violently than I would've if you fucked up while present.

I'm offering a way to save your life, either way. So you oughta pay attention, right? You probably have family up in well.. What other places there are in Nevada."

 

DRUNKEN DEN

10 MINUTES AFTER PARTY'S BEGINNING

LAS VEGAS, NEVADA

 

The bartender swallowed saliva down his throat in fear. 34 of the employees from the Fremont Casino were attending the party. "Can I have everybody's attention, please!" the bartender announced, clinking a spoon against a wine glass.

All of the attenders gave their attention to the bartender. "Okay- Um.." He laid his little piece of script in a ramp angle against the wooden siding of the counter. "So... This marks the 28th anniversary of the Fremont Casino. I am not one of the ones who work there, but I would like to congratulate Judeau Salvadore!... But he's not here so, let's give him a round of applause anyways!"

The crowd clapped.

"And I'd also like to congratulate William Smithy! WHO IS ALSO not here. So, same thing!"

The crowd clapped, again.

 

"Alright, now as you can see, some of the tables have jars on them. Raise the celebratory jars, as we make a toast!" 

 

Three jars were risen into the air. "So, on three, everybody say, 'To God's country!'

 

One...

Two..."

 

With his fingers, he knocked the spoon off of the countertop. "Hold on, wait, I dropped my spoon!" 

The bartender laid flat on the ground.

 

Then... BOOM! All three jars exploded, sending nails and shrapnel across the room. The three men's hands which were holding the jars were turned to red paste and fragments of bone. People's faces were struck by nails. 

 

Chapter 10: Stomach Churner

 10 MINUTES PRIOR

 

Judeau pulled up to the bar. "Alrighty, let's see..."

He pulled out a pair of binoculars. Through the two scopes, he saw the attendance. "Where are you... Winchester?" 

 

Winchester was absent, and so was Smithy. "What the... NO. NO NO NO! FUCK!" he said, hitting himself in the forehead. Then he noticed the bartender hitting something with a spoon. He was talking to the crowd. "Come on.."

After a long speech, the bartender rose his glass, and the centerpieces were rose into the air. "Get down, GET DOWN." The bartender then slipped something off of the countertop, and hit the floor.

 

"Ka-BEW!"

 

He pressed the button on the remote he was holding within one of his hands, and three blasts of light shined through the window. And blood splattered onto the glass.

"Nice job, buddy..."

2 DAYS AFTER TYLER'S CAPTURE

FREMONT CASINO

LAS VEGAS, NEVADA

 

Ivan had his hand covering his face. "MotherFUCKER!"

Judeau strolled into the room and said, "Whoa, whoa- What's wrong boss?"

 

"You didn't see the news? Everybody who attended the party, THEY WERE ALL KILLED. WHERE WERE YOU? WHERE THE FUCK WERE YOU, SALVADORE?"

 

"I HAD A FLAT FUCKING TIRE, ALRIGHT? I TOLD- I TOLD THE BARTENDER IF I DIDN'T MAKE IT, HE WOULD MAKE THE TOAST AND SERVE THE SHIT!"

 

"Oh. Well.. Is Smithy alright? DID HE ATTEND IT?"

 

"I haven't seen him since the thing involving the boxing ring."

 

"I hope he wasn't killed. Because now I just have one right hand man, if he was killed."

 

THE ANNIVERSARY PARTY

DRUNKEN DEN, LAS VEGAS

 

Judeau waltzed inside of the bar and took a long gander around the sight of corpses littering the floor. "Goddamn." Right by his feet, was a corpse with 4 nails in his face, and a razor blade in between his lips. Judeau nudged him aside. Then one of the bodies stood up, with two nails in his face, an ear cut off, and a razor blade in his forehead.

"Ye-You son of a bitch.. You... Did this.."

 

Judeau stole a knife off of the ground, approached him, and impaled him through his chin. While pulling it back out, Judeau noticed two of the other bodies stand up. "What in the hell happened?"

Judeau slung the knife at the first one, hitting him in the chest. The second one, struck by several nails to the point where he resembled a porcupine, held out his hands. "Wait.. DON'T HURT ME!"

 

Judeau forced a table out of his path, and headbutted the man. Once he was on his knees, Judeau busted a long crack in the top of his skull, bleeding down to the man's lips. While still alive, the mobster stabbed Judeau in the side with a piece of glass. "PIECE OF SHIT!"

Judeau broke the man's arm, and with another table knife, he started sawing the broken arm off.

"AAHH! NO! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!"

Judeau completely amputated the man's arm, holding it in his grasp. The man fainted, hitting the floor with his back. 

 

He waited for a few seconds. "Any more of you wop assholes alive?"

Judeau looked to the right. Nobody. Then peered to the left. Nobody.

 

"Okay, they're all dead! You can come out now!" Judeau screamed out to the bartender. The bartender stood up and dusted himself off. "Dear GOD, WHAT DID YOU DO?" the bartender questioned in shock, noticing the piles of corpses. "Don't ask."

Then Judeau heard footsteps in another room. Judeau grabbed a bottle off of the shelf, broke it, and searched the back. The security office was in plain sight, with its door shut completely. Judeau hid besides the door.. and opened it slowly. There was a guard inside, with his pistol ready. Judeau stayed where he was. 

 

"WHO'S THERE? I wanna see your face!" he announced. Judeau untied his shoe, and with his other hand, he threw it into the room. The shoe ended up hitting the guard in his shoulder, distracting him for an extremely short period of time. Then when he had the chance, Judeau sprinted into the room, disarming the guard, and subdued him. 

"Wait! WAIT! Do anything you want, just don't kill me! Please! I have a 9 year old daughter, she goes to an expensive school!"

 

"Anything?"

 

"YES!"

"But I want to kill you."

 

Judeau plunged the sharp circular end of the bottle into the guard's face, digging 3 inches deep into his flesh. After killing him, he removed the bottle and walked over to the security cameras. The crowded desk included: Bags of potato chips, a decaf coffee, "Scarface" novel, and paperwork. Loads and loads of paperwork. Judeau picked up the decaf and poured it all over the security database and technology.

A few sparks and a short circuit sent Judeau backwards. "Goddamn!"

 

The machine caught on fire. Judeau walked out of the security office and noticed the bartender sitting at one of the tables around all of the corpses. "You better find a way to dispose of all this before the cops come and bust your ass," he informed him, exiting the Drunken Den.

 

3 DAYS AFTER TYLER'S CAPTURE

FREMONT CASINO, LAS VEGAS

 

Judeau was waiting outside for Ivan to come unlock the doors. Ivan's vehicle pulled up in the parking lot, signaling Judeau to stand up on his two feet and greet his arrival. "Hey, Ivan!"

"What's going on, Judeau?"

"Nothing much. I'm just waiting to get to work."

"Alright, alright, alright, let's get right in there."

 

Ivan approached the doors, and noticed the door was creased a little bit. "Judeau...? Did you pick the lock?"

"Why would I do that?"

 

"The door's unlocked. I SWEAR TO CHRIST if we were FUCKING ROBBED!"

 

"Boss, boss- Calm down! Let's go see, first."

 

As the two entered the casino, nothing looked trashed. "Huh. Nothing happened."

"UMM- BOSS?" Judeau questioned, frightened to death.

 

As Ivan turned his head to where Judeau was pointing, he noticed something wrong with the roulette tables. One of them was... decorated. Decorated with red. Decorated with realism. 

 

Decorated with the body of Tyler Gabriel Winchester.

 

"IS THAT- No. That's not... TYLER?" Ivan screamed, looking at the corpse. The tower in the middle of the roulette table was impaled through the stomach of the corpse. He started shaking the body. "TYLER, TY! Can you hear me? Are you there? Come on!"

Judeau said, "Boss, it's too late, he bled out."

Ivan stopped what he was doing, and slowly turned around. "Judeau? Would you do me a favor, call 911, and then kindly FUCK OFF PLEASE?"

"I'm just saying, man! I'm sorry and all but he's dead already, we can't just bring him back!"

 

"WHAT THE HELL GIVES YOU THE RIGHT TO ACKNOWLEDGE THAT? YOU AIN'T EVEN GOT A DAMN BROTHER OR SISTER! YOU DON'T KNOW HOW IT FEELS!"

 

"I LOST MY MOTHER AT 14, YEAH I KNOW HOW IT FEELS!"

 

"JUST- Get out. And go call an ambulance before this gets ugly."

 

Wayne: "Yeah, that's right. We cut a hole in his back, put his lily-white ass on the roulette table. So yeah, you could say Ivan was pissed outta his mind. We also destroyed the security tapes."

 

Ivan opened the door to his security room. The night guard was shot in his face, and the security footage was destroyed." His lip quivered and his hands shook.

 

From Judeau's location (on the phone), he heard bellowing from several feet away:

 

"FU-FUCK! MOTHERFUCK FUCKING-! 

FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!!!!!!"

 

Wayne: "*LAUGHING*

Man, I would love to see his face when he saw the night guard. The-the fucking guy didn't see it coming, either! His radio was turned up to like 11 and I just came in and wasted his ass- *WHEEZING THEN MORE LAUGHING* JUST- I JUST CAN'T- *WHEEZING AND EVEN MORE LAUGHING* I JUST BONK! AND KAPEW! DEAD! JUST LIKE THA-HA-HAAAT! Oh my god. Why- why the fuck aren't you laughing? It's so funny! If you served in 'Nam, you'd probably be laughing your asses off!"

Chapter 11: The Original Clan

1969

DETROIT, MICHIGAN

 A FEW DAYS BEFORE THE DEATH OF TYRONE

 

Benjamin Tyrone spun around in his chair and dialed a phone number. "Hello?"

 

"This is Ivan, who is this?"

 

"Your cousin, Benny."

 

"Oh hey Ben! How's it going?"

"Alright. But listen, there's some black- Some hispanic- GAH! I don't know 

what the hell he is! You remember my father's mafia?"

"Yeah... You own it now, don't you?"

"Yep. But.. There's somebody going around, KILLING MY MEN!"

"Woof. Tough break."

 

"For you."

"Wha-What do you mean? It's your mafia, your

problem!"

 

"Well, NOW IT'S YOURS! You control and own it now. I'm not strong enough for

this one fucker."

"You're telling me YOU CAN'T CLIP ONE GUY? 

Benny, that's pathetic!"

"You don't get it! He's fast as a cheetah! PLEASE! I NEED YOU!"

"Benny. I've got a job. I'm not gonna just have you 

bust in here with a bunch of men who are only good to clip

people."

"IVAN, I WILL BITE YOUR EAR OFF THE NEXT TIME I SEE YOU."

"I'D LIKE TO SEE YOU FUCKING TRY!"

"Bad choice of words."

 LAS VEGAS, NEVADA

AT THE SAME TIME OF THIS PHONE CALL

 

A group of Italian-American men kicked down Ivan's door. "HANDS UP!" 

Ivan sighed, put the phone in between his ear and his shoulder, and held up his hands. "Benny. What have you done?"

"Well, I know your address. SO I SENT them to your house. Ivan, this can be easy or this can be easy for us. You accept the fact you're the new leader, and I'll let you go.

But if you choose to defy my orders, they will put you down, then put you in a grave we make ourselves. How about it?"

 

Ivan said, "OKAY! OKAY! I'LL LEAD YOUR GANG!"

"That's what I wanted to hear."

 

 1971

LAS VEGAS, NEVADA
AFTER TYRONE'S DEATH

 

Ivan walked into the bosses' office in the Fremont Casino. "Hello there! Are you Ivan Winchester?"

"Yes sir, I am him!"

 

"Well good! Close the door and take a seat!" he greeted Ivan with a ginormus smile on his face.

 

Ivan shut the door, then plopped himself down in a comfortable leather chair. "So I can see you have... Experience in the retail, fast food, and banking industry. Is this correct?"

"Yes sir, I do."

 

"Ohh.. So you'd fit right in here at the casino. What position were you looking for?"

 

"Basic staff, the people on the ground floor working at the casino's game areas."

 

"Alright. We have a position open! Now really quick, you have experience playing casino games, correct?"

 

"You bet!" Ivan sped through the conversation.

 

"That's the spirit. Well, welcome aboard!"

 

The boss reached out for a handshake. Ivan shook his hand, then as he looked the boss in the eye, he saw a hallucination of Benjamin Tyrone. "AVENGE ME!"

 

1983

LAS VEGAS, NEVADA

 

"GAH!"

Ivan woke up out of bed. He was in his own home. Ivan breathed in relief, the dream wasn't real. Ivan pulled the blanket over his head, and fell back asleep. 

 

1973

FREMONT CASINO

LAS VEGAS, NEVADA

 

Ivan walked into the boss' office and took a seat. "Ivan, do you know why I called you up here?"

"No sir, I don't have any idea."

 

"Well, you know I'm well aged. I was born back in 1910. So do the math.."

 

Ivan added up the numbers. 1973-1910 was... 63. "You're sixty-three years old."

 

"Correct. So you can already tell what I'm doing, I'm obviously retiring. These old bones can't run this here casino no more. And I have oversaw your leadership down there, even though you weren't the boss. I think you deserve this position."

 

"Owner?"

"Yes, Ivan. Owner."

 

"Sir, I'm glad to accept this offer." 

 

"Alrighty!"

 

Chapter 12: Bull by the Horns

JOSEPHANO DELTORO'S DEN

LAS VEGAS, NEVADA

 

Jose checked his watch. "La puta necesita estir aqui. Donde eres el?"

Then one of the Italian mafia's men stepped inside. "Hola!"

As the guy stepped out of the dark, he revealed himself as not only a mafia member. He was alike Benedict Arnold. A double agent. A traitor.

 

He placed himself in the seat in front of Jose's wooden desk. "Greetings."

 

"You've been following in my footsteps lately. You've also been well-behaved- To me."

 

"I can see that."

 

"Now, my American friend, we must go against this white man's rule."

 

"I understand."

 

He pointed to a location on the map, and his visitor focused his attention on there. "I got a call that there is some gringo looking for me in this trailer park. Go find him, and murder him."

"You got it."

 

TRAILER PARK
LAS VEGAS, NEVADA

 

He stepped out of the car and took a gander around. Then one of the frontmen asked, "Whoa, whoa... Who are you, amigo?" The mobster walked over to him and introduced himself, "Trent Galacetta. Question, did somebody recently walk through here?"

"Yes, some white boy. I took him to the trailer over there."

 

"Thank you very much." The mobster pulled out a silenced pistol and popped him in the head. He looked around to see if anyone noticed him murder the man. None. When the coast was clear, he walked to the trailer he was directed to. He reached into his suit, and from one of the pockets, he pulled out a fragmentation grenade.

He shot the window first, then pulled the pin, and chucked the grenade through the glass. Through shattered glass, and everything else, the mobster crouched down with his ears plugged.

 

BOOM! The door flew off, windows shattered into snowflake-sized glass pieces, and smoke bursted outside of the trailer. As he walked inside of the trailer, he noticed several Mexican corpses, and one white. He took footsteps over to it and analyzed him. "Huh. Not a beaner." Then he unzipped his pants... Then the man jumped out of his "disguise."

The white corpse stood up. "YOU SICK FUCK!"

 

Wayne: "All I remembered was the window busting, then BOOM! I got hit in the head with something. Judeau Salvadore is a fucking rat, and that's all he'll be."

 LATER ON IN TIME...

 SMITHY RESIDENCE, LAS VEGAS
MORNING TIME

 

William put on his undershirt as his wife entered the room with him. "Honey, what do you do at your job other than 'management.' Is that all the responsibility you get? Just to watch people?"

 

As he put on his grey vest, he responded, "Pretty much. We're basically the more powerful security guards, because those fatasses can't do their jobs worth a damn. ALL THEY DO, is sit there drinking coffee, reading magazines, and checking the screens about every 5 minutes. That's not enough security. We've got crooks and criminals waltzing around, and someone's gotta correct them."

 

"So this is basically a lazy job. You get special treatment because you watch for retarded people with guns and shit?"

 

William tied his tie and put it around his neck. "Yep. I don't give two shorts and curlies if you call it lazy." Then his over-suit. "How do I look, babe?"

"Like you're in the mafia or something like that."

 

William's eyes grew huge. "Yep, definitely." She smiled and said, "Go to work!" He smiled as he walked out of the building and to his car. Then moments later, knocks came at the door. Once the door opened, Judeau was standing right there. "Hello, I presume you're Mrs. Smithy?"

 

"Yes- Yes I am..? Is there a problem?"

 

"Yes, there is and we need to discuss it as soon as possible... May I come in?" Judeau politely asked, while holding a silenced pistol behind his back, and a briefcase in his other hand. "Sure, what's this about?"
Judeau stepped inside and saw William's kids in the living room. "I'd like to conversate in a place where kids aren't present, could they go somewhere private for a minute or two?"

 

"Umm.. Sure. KIDS! Go play with your toys in your room for a sec!"

 

 

They both went into their rooms. Judeau slowly shut the door, and aimed his gun at the woman's head. "AHHH! DON'T SHOOT!"

"Take a seat. Please."

She sat down at the dinner table, slowly. Judeau also took a seat, while still aiming his gun at her head. He placed the briefcase onto the table. "Do you know what's in this case? Guess."

 

"Papers? Is-Is this something about insurance?"

"No, it is not. Take another guess."

 

She analyzed it. "Money?"

"Correct. In this briefcase is 200 grand. This could be yours if you follow my instructions. Are you ready?" 

"Yes, please don't shoot!"

 

"I won't, just answer this question: What time does William get home?"

Finale

Damion: "Well.. Then after that talk with Mrs. Smithy, several things unfolded from that day, to the next day."

 

SOMEWHERE IN LAS VEGAS

12:15 P.M.

 

Michael pulled out his shotgun and stepped out of the car. "So this is where the Mexicans are... Pretty stupid place to hide ou-" He noticed the door was already open. Windows were cracked. Blood was shed on the walls, across them in fact. Michael slowly opened the door, and there sat Judeau, searching a body. He quietly crept over to him, without making a sound.

Michael slowly cocked his shotgun and aimed it at Judeau's back. Then a shotgun shell fell out of Michael's gun, and hit the ground. "WHAT THE-"

Before Judeau could turn around, Michael blasted him in the back. Judeau was squirming and walloping on the ground in pain. "God... What the HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU!"

 

Michael held the shotgun like a baseball bat and whacked Judeau in the face. He broke his nose and gave him a black eye. "You can't do this... Man, I was so close... I killed so many of them, I killed so many of my own FUCKING MEN! It can't end like this.." 

"Oh it can alright. I'm gonna prove that right now!"

 

Michael pounced on Judeau and pinned him to the floor, trying to choke him to death. "GET THE- FUCK OFF ME! YOU CRACKER ASSHOLE!"

Michael picked up Judeau's head, then slammed it against the floor. "You can't do shit! I know who the- fuck you are! You... You're the one going around killing us, you stupid cunt!"

 

Michael slowly picked up Judeau's head, and slammed it again. He cracked open the back of his skull. "YOU AIN'T SHIT, BOY! Wait..." Judeau realized who Michael was. "YOU! YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO BE DEAD! WAYNE DROPPED OFF YOUR BODY!"

"Actually, Wayne saved me. Now he's gotten me to this point."

"YOU AREN'T GONNA KILL IVAN! YOU CAN'T DO SHIT!"

Michael slammed his head down again, and smashed his skull open. 

 

Judeau was dead.

 

WILLIAM SMITHY'S RESIDENCE

Smithy stepped into his house, and saw Judeau sitting in his living room. "Stop. Right. There. You move, I'll shoot you. You answer with something stupid, I'll shoot you."

 

"What do you want, Judeau? I've got money, I got pistols, I got a car, take all 3 if you want. Just, don't shoot. Please."

 

Judeau winded his pistol around in a circle, demonstrated a cycle of excuses. "You think I'm gonna believe that bullshit? Due to your expenses you'd probably have 3 digits worth of dollars. I don't want your money. I don't want your rusty-ass car, and I sure as hell don't want your guns when I've got plenty to kill you with."

 

"What's this about?"

 

"You know what this is about."

 

"No, I don't."

 

"Let me dumb it down for you: Ivan's tired of your abscence, so he sent me to kill you. If I even try to betray him, he'll send the mafia after me and then we'd both be killed. So I decided to off you, and not have a group of 8 shoot you at once."

 

"Is there any way at all that we can avoid this? I HAVE A FAMILY JUDEAU! TWO KIDS! A WIFE! THEY NEED ME! WHAT'D YOU DO WITH MY FAMILY?" Smithy screamed, grabbing a knife off of the table behind him.

 

Judeau shot off the tip of the knife. "What were you planning to do with that? Cut off my fingers when I've got a damn handcannon, and I can shoot you before you're able to get the fuck over here. You're weak.

 

William, your wife actually agreed to me putting you down. I gave her two hundred thousand dollars in American cash to go elsewhere for two days, and then come back." 

 

Smithy looked down. "Well... You know I have to do this, right?"

 

Smithy nodded. "Do it."

 

Judeau leveled the gun at his head. His hand was shaking uncontrollably. Then Judeau shot Smithy in his side, inside. "AGH...."

Judeau stood out of the chair he was in, and shot Smithy a few more times. "Rest in peace, William. I'll see you in hell." Smithy then grabbed the tip of the knife, and tried to slit Judeau's throat. "SICK BASTARD!"

Smithy put a tiny slit in Judeau's throat. Judeau shoved him into the television nearby. Judeau quickly aimed, and popped Smithy in his face. Then Judeau dialed a number on Smithy's phone. He noticed the puddle of blood about to reach his shoes, and then climbed onto a chair. 

 

"Hello?"

"Eleven Eighty-Seven."

"Great. By the way, I found the location of our Mexican Jefe. Write this down:"

"I'll just memorize it."

"Suit yourself. It's 182 Avenue, big brown building. Looks like a small Mexican restaurant 

ran by crackers who don't know crap about Mexican food."

"182 Avenue, brown building, Mexican restaurant, crackers. Got it."

 

BROWN BUILDING

 

Wayne was parked outside of a brown building, on the side. Then gunfire was blaring out of the building itself. "The hell?" He scooted up in his seat to see what was happening. A Mexican was thrown against a window. Wayne hurried out of his car and walked to the payphone, with haste. 

"MIKE, MIKE MIKE! GET DOWN HERE, NOW! SHIT'S GOING DOWN IN THIS MEXICAN RESTAURANT ON 182 AVENUE!"

 

After about 15 minutes, Michael sped over to the building in a stolen automobile. Then he stepped out of his car with a shotgun. "So... This is where the Mexicans are..."

 

BEFORE THE SHOOTOUT

Judeau stepped inside of the building, and walked through the entire room of Mexican gang members. Then he entered DelToro's office. He walked down the huge wooden corridor and sat down in a spinning office chair. "You're back, already. I'm guessing you did what had to be done, mi amigo?"

"Yes sir. But there's something I have to tell you."

 

"Si? And what is that, amigo?"

 

Judeau handed him a portfolio. And he kept his fingers on it. "Before you open this folder, know that you're about to see some information about a very dangerous target. Can you pay me to kill whoever this is?"

"I need to know who he is. I'm not paying you for nothing. What if it's me."

 

"Ha-ha, very funny. Yeah, sure. That's who's in there. Open the folder."

 

Jose opened the portfolio and looked at the top of the paper. 

 

 

"TARGET: Josephano DELTORO"

 

Jose looked up from the portfolio. Judeau put both of his feet on the rim of the desk, and pulled out two semi-automatic pistols. As they spun around on his fingers, once they stopped, he fired both and shot Josephano in his head. Then he kicked himself away from the desk, rolling away in the office chair. He shot one of Jose's men in his chest, then in his face. A bullet hit the back of the chair. Judeau fired again and missed, then fired the gun in his right hand, hitting one guy in his chest. Then another.

 

Judeau and the chair hit the wall. He stood out of the chair, kicking it out of the way. Judeau pulled a smoke-grenade out of his pocket. As the door flew open, Judeau stood in front of several of Jose's men. "Buenos dias, motherfuckers!"

He pulled the pin, released the handle, and dropped it in the middle of the room. PUFF!

 

"MIERDA!"

"LOCO PENDEJO!"

"QUE?"

 

Judeau walked through the club, and killed several people. One of them was trying to crawl away. "Where the fuck do you think you're going?!" 

Judeau popped him in the back of his neck. 

 

FREMONT CASINO

 

Wayne, and Michael both pulled up to the casino. "Well, this is it. We're ready to kill Winchester." Michael nodded. "You don't know how much this means to me, Wayne. But just remember, we're here to kill Winchester. Spare NOBODY that gets in our way."

Michael put on a bulletproof vest, then an overcoat. The two strapped on their shoulderpads, and then kneepads. Michael slipped on his rubber gloves. Wayne was strapping on his mask. "We've taken every precaution. We can't fuck this up in any way." He loaded a clip into his pistol. "You ready?"

 

"Let's go kill that rat."

 

"That's the spirit."

 

 

Wayne and Michael both walked up to the Fremont Casino's entrance, and let themselves in while everybody was focused on their casino games. Everybody turned their heads to see Wayne and Michael, armed to the teeth. "Oh my god..." a woman said, and gasped. Guards laid their hands on the guns in their holsters. Ivan Winchester stepped out of his office to see why everything went so quiet. As he walked downstairs, he saw the two standing in the doorway. Michael held up Judeau's decapitated head, from the brown building. "We killed your man, Winchester."

 

Guards pulled out their pistols and aimed at the two. 

 

Michael threw away the head, and commented, "Your turn."

 

The guards started firing. A bullet flew and hit Michael in the chestplate. "Motherfucker!"

Michael aimed his gun at the guard, and blew him backwards. Wayne leaped over a railing, and dropkicked a guard. He shot him in the head, and picked up his body. "You wouldn't shoot one of your own, would ya?!"

"He's got one of us!"

 

Wayne looked around and kicked over a round table for future cover. Ivan stormed back upstairs. 

 

Wayne: "It was just... Chaos."

 

Damion: "That shootout in the Fremont Casino suffered many casualties. Many of the Italian mafia members were shot by Wayne and Michael, and it ended in a very obvious conclusion."

 

Ivan returned back outside with a rifle. "Where are those fucks?"

He spotted Michael through his scope. "LET'S DO THIS SHIT!" he screamed, and fired a shot, hitting the tiled walls behind Michael. He noticed the big bullet hole in the tile, and took cover behind a potted plant. Ivan cocked his rifle, and aimed back at the plant. "WAYNE! I'm pinned down!"

 

Wayne couldn't hear Michael over the sounds of gunfire. Several shots started putting holes in the body he had. A very sharp bullet hit the head of the body, and sprayed blood on Wayne's face. "PFFT!" Wayne spat out flecks of blood.

"The fuck?"

He spotted Ivan on the railing. "WINCHESTER! MICHAEL, WINCHESTER IS UP THERE!"

 

Michael received the call, and looked in Winchester's firing direction. "Stand still..." Michael pulled the hammer back in his pistol and aimed down his sights. He fired once, missed Winchester. Again, and he hit the lens in Winchester's scope. One more shot, and he hit Winchester in his neck. "GOD- AGHHH!" 

 

Winchester retreated into his office, and untied his neck tie. Then he tied it around the wound. "Oh my god.."

Michael focused on the other people. "MICHAEL, GET UP AND FIGHT! REMEMBER- WHAT I TOLD YOU!"

 

Michael nodded and said, "Let's unleash the beast."

 

Michael sprinted out from his hiding place, was shot three times in his chest, and leveled a gun at someone's head. Then BANG! One bullet, and the mobster he shot was bleeding from the forehead down. Michael turned his head a few inches, and found his next target. A guard was diagonal from Wayne's position. The corpse's intestines fell out, and the jaw fell off. "MICHAEL, I'M RUNNING OUT OF BODY! HELP!" 

 

Michael pulled the trigger, and the gun went click!

 

Michael snarled at that fact, and removed the machete from his holster. With one thrust of an arm, the machete soared through the casino, striking the man in the back. He threw his arms a little bit behind his back, in pain. Michael stopped by one of the mobsters on the way, kicked his shin and broke it with a painful snap in the bone. "AHHHH!"

Michael pressed his hands against the man's head, and twisted it with a circular snap. He released the corpse, grabbed the submachine gun he dropped, and fired in a spraying line at the other mobsters. He knocked two down, killed 3 with shots to the back (body and head). Michael heard heavy footsteps approaching behind him. "Heads up!"

He spun around, and slung the submachine gun at the guy, hitting him in the eye. The barrel was stuck in the eye-socket, weighing the guy's head down. "I CAN'T SEE! HELP!"

Michael walked over to him, and pulled the trigger on the gun. Then he proceeded to the man with the machete. The man was on the ground, cowering in fear and crying in pain. "Should've just stayed out of the fucking mafia." Michael pushed the machete further down, and impaled the guy through his heart.

 

"Wop assholes."

Michael removed the machete, and walked over to the others. Wayne dropped the corpse, and walked alongside him. "That was exciting." Wayne was shot in the chest by a bullet. "OVER THERE!"

Michael set his direction at the way he looked, and shot the mobster in the head. Then one, with a casino chip rake, whacked Michael in the legs and knocked him down. He spun around, and was hit in the right hand. "AHHH!"

Wayne smacked the man in his nose, then his throat, then in his skull. "You think that's all of them?"

 

"Pretty much, yeah."

 

"Go find Winchester, I've only got a few minutes to clean out the entrance before someone comes and notices, then call the cops."

 

Michael proceeded up the spiral stairs. Winchester came out of his office, and while Michael was coming upstairs, he fired at him. He missed, and nearly hit Michael in the heel of his foot. "You're broken, Ivan! Drop the gun, and stay where you are!"

Ivan cocked his rifle. "FOR WHAT? You're trying to kill me, so why not make this FUN?"

 

Michael shot twice upstairs and hit Ivan in his shoulder. "AGH! All of you are the same, you're all looking for power- CONTROL! You ain't getting it!"

Michael reached the top floor, and was face-to-face with Ivan. "You messed up, BAD!" Michael grabbed the rifle from out of Ivan's hands. Looking around for a weapon, Ivan grabbed a stool. "STAY- STAY BACK!"

Michael kicked it out of his hands and continued to walk his way. Ivan walked backwards into his office. "Pretty cool office, it's a shame that all of it had to go to waste." Michael shot Ivan in his right lung, then slammed his head down on a cactus plant on his desk. "AHHHHHH! MY FACE! IT'S IN MY FACE!"

 

Michael then threw Ivan under a bookshelf, tipped it over, and then leaped on top of it as it fell. Ivan was crushed, but not dead. Michael dragged him out of the confined space, and threw him through a window. "AHHHHHHHHHH!"

 

Wayne went upstairs and met Michael there. "I can't believe it! We actually killed that guy! And... NOW THE MAFIA IS OURS!"

 

Michael shook his head. "I thought this was just to kill Winchester, not take over his entire mafia." Wayne nodded, "Well guess what, they're running amuck out there. Why not control them into our mits so we can have a bit of protection? Nobody will mess with us or try to kill us."

 

(NOW It's YOUR choice to decide the ending. Either A, choose to rule the mafia, or B, leave Wayne to do his dirty work. If you choose A, go to the next chapter. If you chose B, then go to the one after that).

ENDING A: Rule the Mafia

"Alright. Let's rule this town!" Michael implied. Him and Wayne shook their hands. "It's nice working with you, Michael. Now, let's do this!" 

 

Damion: "So, in the end, Michael Lavine and Wayne Devila both ruled the Italian mafia. I did say they broke it, but they pieced it together when they took on the dictatorship. This several stories, they all combined to become what they are now. The high point of the mafia. New Vegas was crawling with crooks, robbers, and Italian gangsters who would shoot you on sight even if you tripped them on accident. There were more casinos made, lots and lots. This increases the rate of gambling. 

Wayne and Michael's story didn't just reach their high point, so did William Smithy's wife. She returned home like Judeau told him to, and there apparently were no traces of evidence left of Smithy. The place was left clean. Nothing was found broken.

But this mafia... it wasn't under their hands for long."

 

THE STREETS 2

BY TAI GOODMAN

ENDING B: Leave The Casino

 "No. No, no man. I'm not getting shot today. I don't want to get raveled up in anymore shit that's coming our way. I'm sick and tired of it." Wayne shook his head. "Michael, you FUCKING DISAPPOINT ME. WE'VE GOT ALL THIS POWER! ALL THIS CONTROL! YOU'RE THROWING ALL THAT POTENTIAL AWAY!

 

YOU KNOW WHAT? GET THE FUCK OUT OF THIS CASINO- YOU GOT 10 FUCKING SECONDS BEFORE I GUN YOUR PANSY-ASS DOWN!" Michael sprinted out of the casino, with Wayne on his tail. "AND DON'T YOU EVER COME BACK, MOTHERFUCKER!" 

Wayne turned his head and looked around at the empty casino. He smirked, and said, "Back in business."

 

Damion: "So... Wayne Devila ended up with control over the Italian mafia in New Vegas. He ruled it with an iron fist, and ruled it hard like Julius Caesar. Michael Lavine was never seen again, after that day. There were no traces of him in the purchases, no evidence of him anywhere to be honest. It all ends there. Umm... I think that's all. OH-WAIT... Wait wait wait... Mr. Smithy's wife returned after Judeau's return date given, and she found no traces of William's body. No evidence, nothing. Highway robbery.

So... Mr. Devila lead the mafia. It didn't last very long, though."

 

 

THE STREETS 2

 BY TAI GOODMAN

 

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Tag der Veröffentlichung: 05.12.2018

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