Lucky_Ladybug (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
ladybug_archive) wrote2006-07-08 02:53 am
ladybug_archive) wrote2006-07-08 02:53 am
Entry tags:
Blurb
So tired.... I'm still not sleeping well this week. -.-; Blurgh.
Here's an older blurb, with some changes implemented that Aubrie suggested, and some new scenes added. It's now the beginning of one of my crossover stories. Comments are loved.
The highway was a catastrophe. Police officers milled around, shepherding those who were uninjured or not badly hurt away from the scene and also guiding the paramedics to those who dearly needed their help. Sirens wailed in the near distance, signaling the approach of another ambulance and more police. Six vehicles had ended up involved in the collision, including an eighteen-wheeler and a moving van, in addition to four variously assorted cars. The police were overwhelmed by all of it---the many fatalities and the even more numerous people who were seriously wounded and hurt but still alive and turning up in strange places. No one seemed to know what had happened that had started the melee, much to the medical examiner's annoyance when she arrived.
As she tried to sort through the lifeless bodies, she came across one laying on a gurney just outside a dark Chevrolet. She knelt down, narrowing her eyes as she pulled back the sheet, and muttered softly to herself as she looked the form over. The injuries sustained had resulted in an unrecognizable corpse, and even though she had dealt with many dead bodies over the years, this one still managed to disturb her.
"What do you make of it, Doctor Bentley?" one of the officers asked, coming over to her.
She looked up briefly, then back down at the form. "He was a white male, approximately twenty-seven years old," she reported. "Five-four . . . approximately one hundred and thirty-five pounds . . . brown hair . . ." She paused, reaching to gingerly open an eyelid with a gloved hand. "Brown eyes. . . ." She shook her head. "I won't know for certain until I do an autopsy, but it seems to me that it's obvious what killed him. Were you able to I.D. the corpse?"
"He had some identification in his wallet," the policeman answered. "According to that, his name was Antonio Ferano."
Watching from the nearby bushes, Baby Face Morales gave a low curse. "That's not Tony," he grumbled.
Vince looked at him in confusion. "But, Baby Face, how do you know?" he asked. He would be gratified if it was not Tony, who was his friend, but he did not see how it could not be him. The evidence was stacked against it.
"Where would he get that car from?" Baby Face retorted, then shook his head. "No, it's not just the car. Something just seems . . . off." He growled, turning away from the accident site. "This whole thing seems off, like it was a deliberate setup or something. Maybe someone was trying to kill Tony and this is how they tried to do it."
"But you said that it's not him, even though the guy has Tony's I.D.!" Vince exclaimed, staring at his leader in confusion.
"It's not!" Baby Face hissed, not wanting to be overheard by the police officers. "Tony's somewhere else. He got away." He began to walk deeper into the brush. "He wouldn't get taken down like this. Somebody wants us to think Tony's dead. Maybe Tony wants it thought. We won't know until we find him."
Vince quickly chased after him. "Why would Tony want us to think he's dead?!" he said in disbelief.
Baby Face cursed again. "I didn't say that Tony wanted us to think he's dead, but for all we know, he does. Maybe for someone else to think he's dead, it's more effective if we believe it too." He narrowed his eyes. "Or, if someone else wants us to think he's dead, maybe it's 'cause they're doing something to him that's worse than death."
Vince looked sickened. "But who?"
"If I knew that, Vince, would we be standing around here watching that mess out there?!" Baby Face snapped, inserting a few choice and colorful words into his comment.
Vince sighed, half-turning away. Baby Face was furious, not that Vince blamed him. Tony had vanished without a trace three days ago, and Baby Face had immediately suspected foul play. Now his suspicions were only being confirmed, and Vince was struggling with his own feelings. Was the body Tony's, or was it not? Had Tony deliberately faked his death? If he had, it was not likely that he was running from the police. Something sinister was up. And maybe the pills and the scraps of paper in the grass were part of it.
Vince had just noticed them now, and he quickly bent down to pick them up. "Hey, Baby Face, I think I've got a clue!" he announced, and held out the mismatched items when Baby Face looked over at him.
"What is that junk?" the crime lord snapped, picking up a pill and turning it over in his hands. After a moment he set it aside and reached for the pieces of paper. There was definitely writing on it, but this was not the place to decipher it, what with all the police officers milling around. He gestured for Vince to follow him back to the Pontiac, which was hidden in the brush. "Come on, we're going back to the hideout," he growled. "We'll sort this out there."
Vince willingly followed, but he had a very bad feeling that they were about to get into something over their heads---something that Tony may have already discovered and paid the price for.
****
A tall man was waiting and watching on a street corner in the city. At first glance, he seemed quite ordinary---adorned in a dark trenchcoat and matching wide-brimmed hat. The evening was colder than usual for the area, and many others were wearing extra layers of clothing as well. He smirked softly to himself from behind the hat's shadow and the coat's collar. They would never suspect that a high-ranking operative for a crime syndicate was in their midst.
Idly he brushed a strand of his long and flowing blonde hair over his shoulder as his cell phone rang. Swiftly he answered, walking away from the crowds as he spoke into it. "Has there been any confirmation yet?"
"Antonio Ferano's dead, bro," was the immediate reply. "The coroner's right here looking at the body. There's no doubt about it."
"It seems pretty convenient, doesn't it?" The blonde narrowed his eyes thoughtfully as his long bangs fell into his line of vision. "Why would he suddenly have an accident like this right after we started looking for him?"
"You think he faked it?"
"Maybe. Or maybe someone else was after him too." There was a pause as he began weighing the options and possibilities. "Maybe we should try to get that body and have one of our scientists test the DNA." He started to smirk again. "Yeah . . . let's do that."
"What if we find out he's not dead?" The reluctance in the other man's voice was obvious. He did not want them to have to go to unnecessary trouble when they already had so many problems. He knew that Ferano was definitely an irritation, but as far as he was concerned, that thorn had been removed from the Organization's side. There was always the possibility of Ferano's survival, but at this point it looked slim. If his associate had seen the body, he might be of the same opinion.
"Ferano's in our way. You know what happens to people who are in our way." The blonde began fumbling through his pockets with one hand, at last uncovering a cigarette and placing it in his mouth. "Isn't there some friend of his who might be a problem too?"
"Baby Face Morales," the caller answered. "He's the adopted son of Ambrosius Eduardo, the underworld businessman from the Midwest."
The man in the trenchcoat had just lighted his cigarette, and upon hearing this announcement, he choked on a puff of smoke. "Ambrosius Eduardo?!" he exclaimed then, and slowly started to smirk. "That's interesting. I remember hearing about him taking in some brat. I guess he went soft. He didn't live too many years after that."
"Baby Face is smart. He'll probably suspect something's up and start poking around where he shouldn't, and if we're not careful, he might find out some of those things about his father that weren't supposed to get out."
"Then, we'll have to be careful." The blonde blew a puff of smoke out into the street, appearing seemingly unconcerned. "See about having that body stolen from the morgue tonight."
"Okay, Gin." There was a click.
Gin closed up his phone and replaced it in his pocket. He was not about to let small annoyances get in the way of the Black Organization's latest plans, the plans that had brought him and Vodka all the way to America to complete. And actually, when he thought about it, Baby Face could prove to be useful, if he was manipulated correctly. Maybe even Ferano, if he proved to be alive, could help them too---willingly or not. Actually, things were starting to look quite promising.
Here's an older blurb, with some changes implemented that Aubrie suggested, and some new scenes added. It's now the beginning of one of my crossover stories. Comments are loved.
The highway was a catastrophe. Police officers milled around, shepherding those who were uninjured or not badly hurt away from the scene and also guiding the paramedics to those who dearly needed their help. Sirens wailed in the near distance, signaling the approach of another ambulance and more police. Six vehicles had ended up involved in the collision, including an eighteen-wheeler and a moving van, in addition to four variously assorted cars. The police were overwhelmed by all of it---the many fatalities and the even more numerous people who were seriously wounded and hurt but still alive and turning up in strange places. No one seemed to know what had happened that had started the melee, much to the medical examiner's annoyance when she arrived.
As she tried to sort through the lifeless bodies, she came across one laying on a gurney just outside a dark Chevrolet. She knelt down, narrowing her eyes as she pulled back the sheet, and muttered softly to herself as she looked the form over. The injuries sustained had resulted in an unrecognizable corpse, and even though she had dealt with many dead bodies over the years, this one still managed to disturb her.
"What do you make of it, Doctor Bentley?" one of the officers asked, coming over to her.
She looked up briefly, then back down at the form. "He was a white male, approximately twenty-seven years old," she reported. "Five-four . . . approximately one hundred and thirty-five pounds . . . brown hair . . ." She paused, reaching to gingerly open an eyelid with a gloved hand. "Brown eyes. . . ." She shook her head. "I won't know for certain until I do an autopsy, but it seems to me that it's obvious what killed him. Were you able to I.D. the corpse?"
"He had some identification in his wallet," the policeman answered. "According to that, his name was Antonio Ferano."
Watching from the nearby bushes, Baby Face Morales gave a low curse. "That's not Tony," he grumbled.
Vince looked at him in confusion. "But, Baby Face, how do you know?" he asked. He would be gratified if it was not Tony, who was his friend, but he did not see how it could not be him. The evidence was stacked against it.
"Where would he get that car from?" Baby Face retorted, then shook his head. "No, it's not just the car. Something just seems . . . off." He growled, turning away from the accident site. "This whole thing seems off, like it was a deliberate setup or something. Maybe someone was trying to kill Tony and this is how they tried to do it."
"But you said that it's not him, even though the guy has Tony's I.D.!" Vince exclaimed, staring at his leader in confusion.
"It's not!" Baby Face hissed, not wanting to be overheard by the police officers. "Tony's somewhere else. He got away." He began to walk deeper into the brush. "He wouldn't get taken down like this. Somebody wants us to think Tony's dead. Maybe Tony wants it thought. We won't know until we find him."
Vince quickly chased after him. "Why would Tony want us to think he's dead?!" he said in disbelief.
Baby Face cursed again. "I didn't say that Tony wanted us to think he's dead, but for all we know, he does. Maybe for someone else to think he's dead, it's more effective if we believe it too." He narrowed his eyes. "Or, if someone else wants us to think he's dead, maybe it's 'cause they're doing something to him that's worse than death."
Vince looked sickened. "But who?"
"If I knew that, Vince, would we be standing around here watching that mess out there?!" Baby Face snapped, inserting a few choice and colorful words into his comment.
Vince sighed, half-turning away. Baby Face was furious, not that Vince blamed him. Tony had vanished without a trace three days ago, and Baby Face had immediately suspected foul play. Now his suspicions were only being confirmed, and Vince was struggling with his own feelings. Was the body Tony's, or was it not? Had Tony deliberately faked his death? If he had, it was not likely that he was running from the police. Something sinister was up. And maybe the pills and the scraps of paper in the grass were part of it.
Vince had just noticed them now, and he quickly bent down to pick them up. "Hey, Baby Face, I think I've got a clue!" he announced, and held out the mismatched items when Baby Face looked over at him.
"What is that junk?" the crime lord snapped, picking up a pill and turning it over in his hands. After a moment he set it aside and reached for the pieces of paper. There was definitely writing on it, but this was not the place to decipher it, what with all the police officers milling around. He gestured for Vince to follow him back to the Pontiac, which was hidden in the brush. "Come on, we're going back to the hideout," he growled. "We'll sort this out there."
Vince willingly followed, but he had a very bad feeling that they were about to get into something over their heads---something that Tony may have already discovered and paid the price for.
****
A tall man was waiting and watching on a street corner in the city. At first glance, he seemed quite ordinary---adorned in a dark trenchcoat and matching wide-brimmed hat. The evening was colder than usual for the area, and many others were wearing extra layers of clothing as well. He smirked softly to himself from behind the hat's shadow and the coat's collar. They would never suspect that a high-ranking operative for a crime syndicate was in their midst.
Idly he brushed a strand of his long and flowing blonde hair over his shoulder as his cell phone rang. Swiftly he answered, walking away from the crowds as he spoke into it. "Has there been any confirmation yet?"
"Antonio Ferano's dead, bro," was the immediate reply. "The coroner's right here looking at the body. There's no doubt about it."
"It seems pretty convenient, doesn't it?" The blonde narrowed his eyes thoughtfully as his long bangs fell into his line of vision. "Why would he suddenly have an accident like this right after we started looking for him?"
"You think he faked it?"
"Maybe. Or maybe someone else was after him too." There was a pause as he began weighing the options and possibilities. "Maybe we should try to get that body and have one of our scientists test the DNA." He started to smirk again. "Yeah . . . let's do that."
"What if we find out he's not dead?" The reluctance in the other man's voice was obvious. He did not want them to have to go to unnecessary trouble when they already had so many problems. He knew that Ferano was definitely an irritation, but as far as he was concerned, that thorn had been removed from the Organization's side. There was always the possibility of Ferano's survival, but at this point it looked slim. If his associate had seen the body, he might be of the same opinion.
"Ferano's in our way. You know what happens to people who are in our way." The blonde began fumbling through his pockets with one hand, at last uncovering a cigarette and placing it in his mouth. "Isn't there some friend of his who might be a problem too?"
"Baby Face Morales," the caller answered. "He's the adopted son of Ambrosius Eduardo, the underworld businessman from the Midwest."
The man in the trenchcoat had just lighted his cigarette, and upon hearing this announcement, he choked on a puff of smoke. "Ambrosius Eduardo?!" he exclaimed then, and slowly started to smirk. "That's interesting. I remember hearing about him taking in some brat. I guess he went soft. He didn't live too many years after that."
"Baby Face is smart. He'll probably suspect something's up and start poking around where he shouldn't, and if we're not careful, he might find out some of those things about his father that weren't supposed to get out."
"Then, we'll have to be careful." The blonde blew a puff of smoke out into the street, appearing seemingly unconcerned. "See about having that body stolen from the morgue tonight."
"Okay, Gin." There was a click.
Gin closed up his phone and replaced it in his pocket. He was not about to let small annoyances get in the way of the Black Organization's latest plans, the plans that had brought him and Vodka all the way to America to complete. And actually, when he thought about it, Baby Face could prove to be useful, if he was manipulated correctly. Maybe even Ferano, if he proved to be alive, could help them too---willingly or not. Actually, things were starting to look quite promising.