Dance of Death

July 31, 2014:

Richard Dragon posing as Tony Quinn infiltrates the Galante crime family (emits by Batman)

Characters

NPCs: None.

Mentions:

Plot:

Mood Music: [*\# None.]


Fade In…

Mangano Water Support is a private company that operates in a facility off the Aparo Expressway along the Finger RIver of the Diamond District. Thier business is the management of water to a small residential and commercial area a contract they own after purchase from Native American landowners long ago, a lie no doubt. Only rumor around this particular area of tribal people was the Miagani which are considered a myth.
The building itself is little more than a subdividing dam with a structure enclosing it.
Right now it's a popular location for the Galante's, Especially Vincente Casso a capo for the crime family who has put a call to arms out. Fodder is what he is looking for. The man is terrified and for good reason, several other officers within their organization have already had their heads spun right around.

The front office is where the man is located, standing outside his door is a wall of a man with a bald head, walrus like mustache and a rounded gut that looks to be made of strips of iron. The facial hair is intentional, they call that man the Walrus. He's Casso's personal stooge. That front office is reachable only by a flight of stairs that overlook the ground for around the main area, an area that has walls separating each large water cylinder, pump houses and machine-works that keep the small dam running. Gathered around at the center of this area, overlooked by the Walrus and Vincente's office nook is a squad of assembled hitmen, arm breakers, thugs and rookies that have been assembled for a manhunt.

A bowler cap sporting thin-man with spectacles paces back and forth in front of the assorted crowd, his face is pinched, a large vulure like nose sticks out prominently, beady eyes darting back and forth. That man's only known as One Shot Sammy. Vincente's best shot.
"Alright, line up all you scum. I want a good look at you, some of you out of towners make me nervous and when I get nervous my trigger finger gets itchy."
Not as nervous as the neck twister makes Vincente obviously. It was a simple pitch for Dragon to get here, one contact was all it took and he slid right in. Galante is slacking and getting careless or his 'in' was just that good.

Amongst that ragtag mass of humanity's worst, the man who is usually known as Richard Dragon blends right in. It doesn't take much for him to change his look. A pair of glasses, black hair dye, a few day's growth of a stubbly beard and his features are obscured. Couple that with dark chinos, a black turtleneck sweater and the man known as Drakonovski becomes Quinn. Yet the most telling change is in his nature, is in the way that Quinn looks at the world. There's no peace in his gaze, instead his features are set in a perpetual scowl and his eyes seem to measure each person they look on and find them wanting.
It's with this new guise, that Dragon went to this gathering. He barely mingled, not that you could call the way the professional killers talked to each other mingling. Instead Dragon waited leaning against a wal and toying with the k-bar knife that had a home in the leather holster strapped across his chest.
The blade disappeared when Vincente barked his orders, and like the good cleaner that he was, Quinn took up his place in the line.

"Now, you goons all been gathered because yous some mean sons a bitches. Thats only thing that makes you all worth a damn." Sammy says loudly, looking at each face in turn. Now, we need a little bit of a test though, some way for you all to prove your loyalty." The man turns and waves his hand towards the rear entryway, a door to the outside is there with a ramp, already open.
Tail-lights are visible, a truck is backing up and soon the hiss of brakes are heard.
"Little present for you."
Dragon / Quin will have counted about eight men aside from the crowd gathered which is another six (including himself) the driver of the moving truck probably another one or two. Uncomfortable silence hangs over everyone a moment before Sammy pulls out an obnoxiously long barreled revolver, like something the Joker would just /LOVE/. "Six of yous, six bullets." He shows tips it enough to show off the cylinder, fully loaded.
Shutter noises indicate the back of the van is being opened by another of the Galante mooks. A glance in that direction will reveal a woman with a bag on her head being thrown out on to the cement floor of the Water Facility, she lands heavily and another bound, hooded figure is tossed on top of her. Some muffled noises escape these hostages as they're roughly drug upwards, to their feet and hauled towards the line up of crooks.
"Oh, we got an extra. Looks like I get to have some fun too." The sadistic man in front of them chortles. He really loves his work.
"So, dun take a rocket scientist to figure out whats next, who wants to go first?" More of his jawing persists as the men and women are dropped to their knees about six feet from each of the 'initiates'.

Lifting his voice and aiming his words for the most telling effect, Quinn comments sharply, "This is what passes for a well run organization in the Northeast?" Attention shifts towards him as he makes his gamble, his expression that one of disdain. His eyes drift towards the other assembled killers, then back towards Galante. He lifts his chin and scowls absently, nostrils flaring as if he smelled something bad.
"You bring in bunch of hitters, since a buncha bodies are hittin' the floor. So what, you want ta drop a few more? To what, prove you got guys who are willin' ta cap some sittin' ducks?"
A dismissive 'pfft' is heard as he shakes his head. "You got a rat problem, ya hire one exterminator. Not twenny. All that'll prove is you got folks that don't mind poppin folks. Better way…" There's a pause as he looks across the room, "Was yer first idea, heard it from onea yer boys." He casually assigns credit for the 'better' idea back to Galante. "Let us go against each other. Winner gets the whole contact. Losers get stuck with guard duty."

"HEY, you shut your yap." Sammy shouts, that revolver actually levels on Quin's face. "That ain't how this game is played."

The large man beside the disguised Richard Dragon grunts, sneering down his nose at his outspoken peer. This only makes the scar running up his face knot up, bunching like a gnarly vein. "I ilke his idea."

Sammy frowns and it's clear his brain just fizzled a little as he has to stop and look up towards the stairs at Walrus only to see Vincente Casso standing there as well. With the man's hair slicked back tight to his scalp with a pinstriped vest on he looks like a very stylish younger Bela Lugosi.
"Not a bad idea. I got a better one. Give 'em all some weapons, even the chinks, if these guys are hardcases it'll sort itself. If not… " The capo snaps his fingers and all the men assembled around the main area draw weapons, cock triggers, click safeties and take aim on the crowd within the center. The racial slur obviously indicating the bagged up people. One by one their hoods are removed and bonds cut. One man near Sammy bolts to run at the rear door and a quick draw like sling of that awkward gun results a very audible.

BLAM!

The sound reverberating off the cement walls. One down. Sammy grins at the assembled before stepping back. A clatter sound is next as pipes, a fireman's axe, pieces of crates, tools and knives are thrown in to the room.

"I like you." Casso says, "You got some balls, nice big creative balls. Lets see if your fists are as good as your ugly mouth."

A wry smirk is given back at Casso as Quinn steps into that makeshift ring. There's no hesitation, no worry. His steps tell the others that this was his idea and he owns it… and them. Rolling one shoulder through its range of motion and causing it to crackle with a low cartilaginous pop he draws that long k-bar knife from it's leather sheath on his chest, reverses the grip and crouches low.
Waiting for some sign from the boss, or for one of the other men to make the first move, Dragon keeps his cool and his position. His plan for the ensuing melee is to try and keep a low profile, to stay squared up with one guy as much as possible, and if another comes near to give him a better target in his opponent. He has to come across as competent, but not the master that he is. The blade's pommel will be used for the occasional strike, and perhaps its edge will serve to give him a superficial cut during the scuffle so he cab get a bloody cut going to make it look like things are rougher than they may be.

Weapons are grabbed up and people are shoved forward, a young woman, broken glasses crushed against her face cries openly, her hands shakingly clutching a broken piece of crate she was reluctant enough to get near. "I… I'm not like them, I'm not even related, I'm just Janice's friend… they grabbed me… " More waterworks escape the girls heart shaped face.
No one seems to pay her mind, even her fellow captives are pulling off bindings and taking up stances, most of them have the look of badasses to thugs. Tattoos, piercings, that look, the hard luck run stretched skin and bad teeth. Most of these guys are probably Lucky Hand Triad. At least they get to go down fighting.
The big man who approved of Dragon's idea is grinning at the girl, the fireman's axe in his hands being turned so the blade can be licked, "I'll save you for last.. " The weapon's head then slings out and he closes the gap between himself and the martial arts master, "You first though!" He's quick for a big man but Dragon is much quicker, he's got a lot of power however and that axe could probably cleave a man in two if it connects. Around Dragon the others are already engaging, the girl has dropped and is scrambling backwards only to get kicked back in towards the scrap by one of the Galante goons. The sounds of fighting, fists hitting meat, cursing and struggles for life and death follow. Dragons in the thick of it facing that giant sized thug. Something he is all too familiar with. This is his kinda gig after all.

Chaos ensues. But for those with the right eyes, that can observe the language of violence it is not truly chaos. It is the symphony of motion where spirits are matched against others. As for Dragon he is faster than the axe-wielder, but Quinn… Quinn is not. Timing it perfectly, Dragon makes the evasion, having it look almost like a hasty and surprised slip or stumble, just enough for the axe blade to rip through the fabric of that black turtleneck.
He waits for the large man to get some hint or look of satisfaction as he starts to seize the perceptible upper hand, and times his counter for that instant. The axe comes up and down, sparks flashing for a moment as it smashes into the concrete floor missing Dragon's movement by a bare inch. Yet it serves to give an opening for him to slip to the side and /slam/ a knife-handed strike into the axeman's armpit, causing the first burst of shock to create the needed opening for the pomme of his dagger to crash into the man's temple and render him unconscious before he hits the floor.
Moving as if he were just squaring up with the next man, Quinn takes up a place that 'seems' to just so happen to offer the one civilian seeming woman with some cover and respite. He'll hold that position to make sure she isn't harmed… though he doesn't act like it.

That first wave of confusion passed now it's a violent back and forth shuffle, a man to Dragon's left is on his face getting his ear bitten off by a smaller, more lithe attacker, the screams make it sound even worse than it looks. Across from him two men are squared off and battering another into a pile with pipes, it looks like they already used this tactic a second before against one of the previous captives. Their closest target being Dragon and the girl. The curly haired man on the right still catching his breath motions for his friend to go ahead, "Right behind you." He rasps as the lantern jawed smash nosed pipe wielder charges Richard. A mistake no doubt.

"This kind of thing amuses you?" The Walrus asks Vincente. "Seems a little messy to me. Wasteful."
"Cheap thrills and it's two birds with one stone. That guy, whats his face, turtleneck there. He's got the right idea. Besides, no ones gonna miss these guys."
"One of them is Luke Trucchio's kid brother."
Vincente shrugs and pulls out a cigarette lighting it up, "I never liked Trucchio."
The Walrus frowns and goes quiet as he watches the fighting. Mindless bloodshed isn't his thing. Vincente has been making a lot of mistakes lately, he's afraid, scared of the neck twister and getting careless. The Walrus isn't the only one to notice, the men aren't clueless, some of them don't even seem to be in to this unsightly act. A few of them even going so far as to look away here and there, a watchful eye will notice such things.
Then you have Sammy, Sammy is practically salivating as he watches. Those beady eyes glinting wildly beyond that crooked bird nose.

The more people he can put down and put down quickly. the fewer bodies there'll be. So it's with this aim that Dragon steps into action. The pipe-wielder splits the air with his bludgeon, wind whistling past the open tip of it. Yet the man's haymaker of a strike splits only the air as the man in the turtleneck ducks low and suddenly slams a shoulder into his opponent while grasping the back of the man's knee. A short sharp yank slams the pipe-wielder onto his back, the second part of that yank insuring the man's head jounces off the floor twice, enough to knock him out.
Even as consciousness slips from the fallen man, Dragon straightens up and sends his knife flying through the air with a quick snap of his wrist. The weapon flashes into the face of the next man, the pommel crunching into the brawler's forehead as the knife then clatters to the ground. It serves as just enough of a distraction for in the next instant Dragon's on the man and a pair of knuckle punches later… that's the third down.

The fighting has fallen down to several men now, of the dozen or so that were brawling it's down to Dragon and three other men. A long armed tall man with a blade in each hand, hands covered from knuckles to elbows in blood and two men who roll on the ground, end over end on top of each other, that thin guy from earlier and a portly man of similar height, fingers in eyes and ears, to noses says it's flat out desperation. The world is gone aside from the two of them.

"Sammy, shoot them two. They look stupid." Vincente shouts down.

Sammy grins and draws that over-long knob out again.
KRAK!
One round plugs through the back of the feral man's head in to the chubby fellow. A cry escapes the girl who has fallen now and made sure shes behind Dragon far away from the knifer. "Oh my god!" More tears and blubbering follows. "Bout the girl?" Sammy shouts up.

Vincente shrugs. "Let it play out."

The gangly individual with the blades waits until Vincente and One Shot stop speaking before he lunges for Dragon, skilled, fast, a slasher who has training with blades and his body, two slices sweep out one then the other followed by a kick that almost resembles something out of Muay Thai, it's not, there is a torque to the hips, a downward cut that screams of Filipino fighting techniques; The Dance of Death. The man's got moves.

"Oh shit!" Vincente applauds, his hands clapping together. "Who knew that skinny bean-pole was such a bad mother fucker." More loud clapping. "Big finale! C'mon turtleneck. Show us what you got."

"We could use both of them." Walrus cuts in an gets an annoyed chop through the air for silence.
"Just shut up and watch. I don't pay you for your mouth, I pay you to look scary and protect my ass." Vincente's glare redirects from the bigger man back to the fighting below.

For the moment the way Quinn fights becomes less an act, the calm resolve of the dragon is seen behind those eyes even as he backpedals under the smooth swirl of blades that threaten to lay him open. Yet he can see everything about the man in those few seconds. He can see the way he slightly favors his right, can sense the way the man's off arm must have been broken earlier in his life, having lost an apparent 4% range of motion. And what's more… he can tell this bladesman is overconfident and became so the moment he picked up his blades.
There's a flash of blood as a silvered edge cuts a shallow line in Quinn's forearm, spattering ichor upon the ground as the martial artist makes the knife man pay for the strike. A short jab faster than the eye snaps the man's head back. It serves little more than to bloody the fellow's lip and enrage him. Blades slash through the air, a whirling flip kick chasing after the man in the turtleneck as Dragon circumnavigates the ring… and then he strikes.

The blade fighter lands, snapping back into stance even as Dragon twists to the side, rolling to the ground and scissoring the man's legs out from under him, forcing the other fighter to the ground on his chest. Yet Dragon does not stop moving. He uses the momentum of the scissors to roll up and land upon the man's back, strong hand gripping his ankle and yanking it up even as he plants his knee upon the back of the fighter's thigh and uses it as a point of resistance for when he pushes /down/ powerfully to snap the man's ankle with a resonant crack. Once that is done he uses the burst of pain to disarm his victim… then proceeds to snake his arms around the man's throat… and chokes him out with no hesitation.

The last man down it's only Dragon and the woman. That odd, out of place silence descends upon the room until a loud, "FUCK YEAH!" Breaks the empty void of sound. A loud ring of shouts and cheers spill forth from the Galante men.
"Alright, alright. Shut up all of you. Good job, turtleneck, you're a fuckin' beast. Whats your name?" Vincente asks as he begins to stomp step by step down the stairwell, his nicely polished low cut dress boots clicking heels on his way. Walrus moves behind him like some mac truck that took a moment to start up.
Sammy is already moving around behind Dragon, hand snaking out to grab the girl roughly by the arm and jerk her forward, "Hey, it's not done yet. He forgot one." That gun roughly being dug in to her temple. "Want me to get rid of her?"

"Up to our gladiator here. You wanna kill her or let Sammy?"

"No… no no please, don't, I dont belong here!" Hysterics incoming at this rate. With the gun against her head she'll be wailing soon.

"Tony, Tony Quinn." He looks around idly, gaze drifting back and forth. He grimaces as he wipes at the blood on his arm and looks across the way towards the woman and Sammy. He turns and smirks at the young woman, "Who says we gotta pop her now? Ya eve heard the term, 'to the victor go the spoils'?" As he says this he lightly lifts the girl's head with a finger under her chin. "Gimme a few hours, I'll take carea her in the mornin'." And as he says this he leers across the way towards Gallante, then pulls the girl roughly to his hip as if getting ready for some kind of sick Las Vegas wedding photo.
Sammy frowns as Quin yanks the woman away but Vincente waves him down, "Sure, why not. Just make sure she ends up dead and stays that way." A hand reaches out and pats Quin on the shoulder, "Tony 'the Turtle' Quin, you like that? I know I know, don't thank me, I got a gift with names, they say I got some French in me somewhere." A grin and Vincente slaps Dragon's shoulder where he'd just patted. "Thats a joke. Don't ever fuckin' call me French."
"Welcome to the family, Tony." The capo carries on, guiding Quin up the stairs with that hand towards the office, "Let me fill you in on what we're dealin' with, rest of you scrubs get this place cleaned up."
Walrus stares down past his moustache at Dragon before following after. He is already fishing or information on their newest recruit through his phone.

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