"Nah, not the bumper, the frame, the frame... bumper pulls off too easy." The ghoul bent to pass the chain under the Caddy, with a metallic clinking as he looped it around the chassis. The other two were finishing with the other car as the man in the dark grey pinstripe turned towards them.
"Think you can fuck wit da family, eh?" The man in the pinstripe crouched in front of the second car.. in that stance reminiscenet of baseball catchers.. making sure the knees of his immaculate Versace did not touch the ground.
The pulped and bloody face of Ian O'Leary, the man chained between the two cars, started to rotate back and forth, silently protesting his innocence; as the remains of his mouth were beyond speech. His ragged breathing suggested that the bullet that had passed through the right side of his chest had indeed punctured his lung.
Carlito shoved his finger roughly into the bullet wound in the left knee of the downed man. The victim gurgled a scream, choking on blood as the red-black, pulpy ichor poured over his chin and the remains of his face twisted in pain.
'Mister fuckin' big shot vigilante, thinks it's his goddam civic DUTY to waste the "scum of the city?" Didn't fuckin' OCCUR ta ya that pimps and whores and child pornographers got family?" Carlito pulled his finger out of the wound, licking the blood off of it. He then made a distasteful face, and spat O'Leary's blood back
on him. "Even your BLOOD is shit!"
Had the man lips, he would now have begun begging for his life. His tears were indistinguishable from the blood running down his face.
Carlito's fangs slid out, menacingly white in the glow of the crossing headlights. "Before ya die, I think ya deserve ta know who runs Necropolis, ya wannabe..." The would-be vigilante began to struggle against his chains again, confronted by this horrific night-stalker. Carlito stood, keeping his toothy smile just long
enough to forever burn it into O'Leary's mind, etched there even beyond death. *And who's gonna be killin' yer family," he finished. "Yer wife Teresa, daughter Julie." O'Leary redoubled his efforts to get free, the skin of his wrists and ankles tearing at the chains.
"You fuck wit mine, pal, I fuck wit yours." Carlito cupped his package through his slacks as overwhelming futility washed over O'Leary - but the Irishman's spirit was not yet dead.
"Fuh ... yuh ..." he mumbled, trying to gasp through a mouthful of blood, flesh, and teeth.
Carltio's face darkened, twisting back into anger as frenzy rose. "Fuck ME?!" He stepped forward again, drawing his Browning 45.
"FUCK YOU!"
"FUCK YOUUUUUUUUUUU!!!" Carlito roared, unloading the rest of the clip into the corpse as his frenzy subsided. A disappointed look crossed Carlito's face.
"Dammit. I wanted this fucker to suffer." Carlito turned, walking back to his Caddy, met by a buxom blonde woman in a red silk minidress, who laid 'Lito's overcoat over his shoulders as he stepped into the car. She followed him in. Carlito leaned out the opposite window, yelling to the ghouls.
"Make sure you weight the body good. I don't want this one floating, capece?" The ghouls nodded.
"Let's get outta here." Carlito's driver reversed the Caddy and slid away, not waiting for the chains to be unfastened from the chassis. |
The treaty of Venice works in a strange way that is uniquely beneficial to the Giovanni of Necropolis. Since the city is a warzone, the Giovanni's forced neutrality allows them free passage and trading rights on both sides of the Kansas River - in a sense, Necropolis' Giovanni make a handsome living as war profiteers. Indeed, the Giovanni have milked their neutrality for all it is worth. In early 1997, family members started the "Alliance of Neutral Kindred," or ANK, who offer sanctuary to any who wish to escape the conflict between Necropolis' Camarilla and Sabbat. The ANK's ranks swelled noticably almost immediately, with those who joined apparently not noticing 1) the Giovanni's neutrality is not by choice, nor 2) those in the ANK are often utilized to carry out family business. Labor comes cheap to the Necromancers of the city. Unlike the Setites, the Giovanni have no stigma of "corruption." So, though the services provided are similar, the Giovanni are not forced underground for their motives. Apparently, profit is a more acceptable motivation than moral pulchritude, and the means, rather than the ends, are what is important in Necropolis' black market. Also unlike the Setites, the Giovanni do business on both sides of the river. Having no counterpart in the Sabbat, the Giovanni prey as willingly on the middle and lower classes west of the river as the upper crust on both sides of Necropolis. Whereas the Setites prefer seducing the upper classes and Kindred to their ways, the Giovanni have no compunctions at filling the capitalistic exploitation void at all levels of humanity's social strata. The clan is, however, very aware of stepping on any sect's toes. They obey the Traditions in Missouri, and the Code of Milan in Kansas. Neither stops them, however, from taking inconvenienced business across the river into a more amenable political climate, nor from setting up home base for the majority of their business in the Anarch Free State of Independence. For those Giovanni who feel that moving to Necropolis could very well "fatten their wallets," a quick visit to the haven of Don Malcom Velonese and Dona Belle Stewart Giovanni, Capo of the Necropolis Giovanni, would be the proper protocol. |
as it appears on http://www.necropolis-wod.net/ Written by Gina Deane