The Streets 2 by Tai Goodman (classic literature books TXT) 📕

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