Prenn posted:GM- Look for LoGrasso updates later today.
MASTERPRENN posted:Kahn_Iceay Alastor arrived in Seamus’ office right on time, ready to be given his assignment. Seamus Moriarty always liked it when his pawns were on time. It gave them an attribute of obedience, to know when and where to be somewhere. Help like that was hard to find these days, that much the Moriarty don knew. Seamus’ office was pleasantly large and luxuriously decorated. The carpet was a darkened beige color, and the walls were painted a healthy shade of red with a few pictures scattered throughout. There were two sofas in the room, both a light khaki color with mahogany trim, with a short, rectangular mahogany table in between. Atop this table were two vases, and it was evident that their patinas were regularly cleaned and polished, to accentuate their value. “Alastor!” Seamus exclaimed as the Executioner entered the room. The boss, as he was affectionately called, sat on the first sofa in the room with a lovely woman adorned only in seductive lingerie sitting in his lap. The woman climbed off as soon as the assassin entered the capacious room, per her boss’s orders. “Good to see yeh, me boy.” The don’s Irish ancestry was evident in his thickly accented voice. “Look, I’m going to get straight down to business. 'is was with 'eh LoGrasso's has gone to far. There's a family. A friend of a friend." Seamus handed the man over a manila envelope, with more than enough information. "Take care o' the whole family. I wan' 'em gone." “I’m going to leave it at that. I want you to send a message to the LoGrasso’s. Don’t hesitate on this one, me boy.” TAG: Alastor McRea
Alastor arrived in Seamus’ office right on time, ready to be given his assignment. Seamus Moriarty always liked it when his pawns were on time. It gave them an attribute of obedience, to know when and where to be somewhere. Help like that was hard to find these days, that much the Moriarty don knew. Seamus’ office was pleasantly large and luxuriously decorated. The carpet was a darkened beige color, and the walls were painted a healthy shade of red with a few pictures scattered throughout. There were two sofas in the room, both a light khaki color with mahogany trim, with a short, rectangular mahogany table in between. Atop this table were two vases, and it was evident that their patinas were regularly cleaned and polished, to accentuate their value. “Alastor!” Seamus exclaimed as the Executioner entered the room. The boss, as he was affectionately called, sat on the first sofa in the room with a lovely woman adorned only in seductive lingerie sitting in his lap. The woman climbed off as soon as the assassin entered the capacious room, per her boss’s orders. “Good to see yeh, me boy.” The don’s Irish ancestry was evident in his thickly accented voice. “Look, I’m going to get straight down to business. 'is was with 'eh LoGrasso's has gone to far. There's a family. A friend of a friend." Seamus handed the man over a manila envelope, with more than enough information. "Take care o' the whole family. I wan' 'em gone." “I’m going to leave it at that. I want you to send a message to the LoGrasso’s. Don’t hesitate on this one, me boy.”
As close to royalty as they came, Mia LoGrasso was serious business. Whenever she went anywhere, there was at least two men with her. On this particular day, there were only two, mainly because of the line of work they were doing. The members of the party, Mia, Brendon, and Roman Dolano, were all very excited. For the first time, the Boss had shown them some trust. They didn't want to screw it up. Their job was pretty simple, but it was going to take some eloquence. The Boston RedSox were playing a game at the park, and their owner was of course going to be there. Their owner who had "bad habit". Anthony LoGrasso liked people with bad habits. He got the most profit from bad habits. and this time was no different. Troy Epstien owed the boss some serious money, and it was these guys' job to collect. Knowing that something big was going to go down, Roman was hoping for some opportunity to make some contact with his real employers, but if worse came to worse, that could wait.
Allegra Giovanni needed no man (or woman's) help. Be that as it may, that's precisely what Alex Sullivan and Marco Guerrero were there for. Since the advent of the War, the boss had insisted that everybody travel in twos or threes, and do business that day as well. Not many liked it, but they did comply. So there they sat, at a table for three. Leonardo's, an eloquent Italian restaurant favored by the boss for business deals. Allegra knew her instructions. Behind the toilet in the woman's bathroom was a pistol. As soon as her target walked through the door, she was to go get that. Alex and Marco were to make their way over and forcefully sit at the table of the man, hopefully intimidating him, but without causing a ruckus. This guy had some info, and this team was to "extract it", by whatever means necessary. And then, they had to bring him back. Alive. As a balding, short business man walked through the door, and arrived at his destination (a small table in the back, against a wall), one of the members started. Sitting across from her, Allegre saw her uncle, the target. Anthony had taken out a job on his own brother?
Fenway Park
Today was just not the Redsoxs day. Schilling was on the mound, and it was one of those rare ones when no matter what he did, perfect pitch or no, the freaking Yankees were all over it. Deuces sat and watched as Derek Jeter smacked one into left field for a two base hit. "Oh, how aye'd lieke some time ahlone in ah li'l room with 'im." The lackey, one Bobby O'Connor, sat beside Jack and nodded his head slowly. Taking a swig of his guiness he roared at Bobby's discomfort. "Ya'll ne'er last long if yer squeamish man. Don' ya know that?" Wiping the sweat from his bald pate, the heat on being typical for Boston summer, he stood up quite a bit earlier than he'd wanted to. "Seems like the only pleasure we'll be gettin' outta today's the actual business we were sent on. C'mon, we got a meetin' ta get ta." It was only the sixth inning, but going an inning early surely wouldn't hurt. After all, not that much could happen within the next fourty-five minutes or so. Yea, and thuh Sox's'll comeback and take them damn Yanks. Bobby stood up, "But Jack, ain't we supposed ta wait? What if he's got some visitors he don' want us seein'?" The nerves that he felt were readily apparent in his voice being jumpy. Jack glanced at him and fought back a laugh. "Well, that'll be 'is problem as aye be seein' it Bobby. Now le's go." Heading up the stairs back into the halls, there wasn't any one particularly suspicious looking. No one that appeared like they could be a Lagrosso, but appearances coudl always decieve. Especially Jack after he'd had a few Daniels in him, which thankfully for everyone involved wasn't the case today. Heading up towards the luxery boxes, which consequently was where the owners box was there were a few guards to make sure that no one who didn't have a pass could get through. This would be the first obstacle. Jack decided to ignore them until the forced some sort of reaction. There were three of them, standing at the foot of the stairs leading towards the luxery area. Jack put his right foot on the first stair, wondering what was going to happen...
The promising young agent had just gotten back to the facilities after his brief day off, dressed in pale brown dress-slacks, tattered, "classic" style 1460 Doc Marten boots and an almost half child-like, half 60's drug-addict yellow t-shirt adorned with an odd caricature of a deformed Quentin Tarantino battling deranged bees with what seemed like a boomerang, a humorous onomatopoeiacal phrasing of words like "POW!" and "BLAM!" scattered across the bizzare image. Gene didn't appear like much of an FBI agent, or in any way, a professional, but that was the major point of his career; to hide in plain sight. Underneath that wiry, negligent demeanor, behind those face-covering aviators, and beneath that stylish, blood-red leather jacket sat the heart of a lion, and the cold steel of a .45 calibre handgun. The moment he stepped foot into the offices of this particular FBI building, the one he'd been expecting to waste half of his day typing random numbers into a computer in his cubicle, he was quickly approached by a young lady clutching a stack of folders in her arms who's name he'd forgotten. He paused, judging that by her expression, her name wasn't of much consequence. He sighed quietly, figuring that an agent of such an "esteemed" organisation... never really had a day off to begin with. He nodded, motioning for the woman to give him the news. "Tha Chief's waitin' for ya in 'is office. Says it's important. He was bein' very concise. I think ya may be in some trouble, Otto. Hehe.", she ended with a soft chuckle as she eyed his interesting attire. Gene shrugged as he caught a glimpse of the papers she carried, "Are those mine?", knowing the answer and moving swiftly towards the back of the hall and into the nearest elevator. The air-tight double doors shut infront of him and the shaft made it's way skywards towards his boss' office. He contimplated silently to himself on how he'd managed to make someone know him, but not the other way around. "... Otto, Otto, Otto. W-T-F.", he mumbled to himself as the elevator doors slid ajar. He strolled respectively into Mr. Booker's office and sat down, arching his back against the leather seat as he stood up straight, removing his sun-glasses and hanging them over the collar of his shirt before nodding to Ed with utmost respect. "Sir?" "Otto, you and I've known each other for a long time," the stoic man began, his large hands clasped atop the mahogany desk, a small plate with his surname and level on education etched on it. He continued, and Hickey nodded slowly, not blinking whatsoever as though he had a kink in his neck. "You've been serving in my unit for over a decade now, and you've never disappointed us before. You know what the hell you're doing out there, and that's more than any Chief of the FBI can ask for in an Agent." Gene figured that from now on, the only news was moderately decent news. As for good news, there never was any. For some reason, despite the apparent seriousness of the situation, an odd thought came upon Gene; did Ed find his clothing awkward, or reasonable given his position? He shook his head free of the though, and Booker looked at him suspiciously. ".. no?" "Huh.. oh, oh yeah. Please, sir, carry on." "... right. Well, son.", he resumed before pausing again, "... look, I'm not really good at these kinds of things, so I'm gonna get to it. We've decided to promote you to Head of the White Collar division." ".. what?" "I said-" "No.. I mean. You're saying.. I'm not fire-" "'course not, son, what'd ever give you that idea?" "... I dunno.. well, that's great!" They both stared blankly at one another, before Booker dropped an envelope on Gene's side of the desk. "This is a good place to start. Assemble your team, and get started." Hickey grabbed the envelope and briskly slid it into the inner-lining of his jacket, within a concealed pocket. He figured that by the context of Chief Booker's words, it was a set of directions or something related to a rendezvois. He stood up and nodded once again to his boss before exitting, his shades finding their way back over the bridge of his nose.
