The Inquisition
Da Creeps
Murph was almost out of cigarettes. He wasn't sure if he should cut back on them, to at least save three for later. He knew these sort of things always went ape shit. No matter how secluded, well guarded, or thought out these transactions were, something always went wrong.
He was a veteran of two previous inquistions. He would never forget those ones, how brutal they were. They were handled by a ruthless guy, Mr. Grendel. Just the thought of that guy gave him the creeps. Murph knew they were supposed to follow a specific code that was strict and concise. This guy didn't follow the dictum at all it seemed, let alone cared. Word on the street was that he was a dismiss, an untasteful pupil rejected from the inquisitors order. Reasons were unknown, but the rumors spoke of sadism, brutality outside of duty, and manic cravings of some sort.
Murph didn't know much about Mr. Chambers, just that he was highly respected and recommended by the tightest gangs, mobs, and clans of the world. He was said to have worked for the government at some point, softening up Al-Qaeda and Taliban sleeper cells. He worked for various groups amongst organized crime, Italian mob, Triad, Yakuza, Korean Tribes, just about any mob orginization, and he worked it.
The inquisitors were allowed only two vises in their work. Wether it be no use of fire, acid, animal cruetly, only certain tools used, whatever it was, they had to follow it. Mr. Chambers had specified to Boss Conner, that under no circumstances would he work on children or women. Only men. It didn't matter if the poor bastard was married, had kids, only a few years left to live, nothing. They were just "projects" under his eye, nothing more, nothing less.
Murph lit up another cigarette, cursing himself for such weak will power. He continued to walk down the lonely hall, his footsteps echoing. He came to the cafeteria of the place, passing dusty tables and chairs, making his way into the kitchen.
Although the place was run down, the Irish mob kept it servicable on the inside. This place was a popular "dirty workshop" for them. They kept the electric and water running, stocked the place up with food and booze. They even had small stashes of weapons scattered about the place in various places. Boss Conner paid off the filth from snooping around, so there were no worries of any intrusions by them. Half of Bostons' law enforcement was in on the take, it was only a matter of time before all were. The deal was, as long as they don't make anything a federal case, the cops would butt out and mind their own business.
Murph loved the freedom it gave them, but knew they'd have to work hard to keep it sweet with pay outs, because other mobs in the area were doing the same thing as them. It came down to, whoever paid the most, got the fuzz's services and blind eye. A big struggle was going down between the Irish mob, the Italian mob, and even the Yakuza. All of this over who gets to hold the leash on the law!
Murph opened the fridge and took out a soda. He paused for a moment, then fished out another, knowing Bull was going to bitch about not getting one for him.
As Murph turned to make his way back to the guys, he could have sworn he caught a glimpse of someone outside. Startled, he dropped one of the cans of soda onto the floor.
"Shit!"
He took a quick glimpse outside, but saw nothing but the vacant buildings and the moonlight. He knelt down and retreived the soda, gently tapping the top.
"Aww shite, Bull's gonna piss himself over this one," he grumbled to himself.
"Aww fook it, he's a grown man, he'll deal."
He was a veteran of two previous inquistions. He would never forget those ones, how brutal they were. They were handled by a ruthless guy, Mr. Grendel. Just the thought of that guy gave him the creeps. Murph knew they were supposed to follow a specific code that was strict and concise. This guy didn't follow the dictum at all it seemed, let alone cared. Word on the street was that he was a dismiss, an untasteful pupil rejected from the inquisitors order. Reasons were unknown, but the rumors spoke of sadism, brutality outside of duty, and manic cravings of some sort.
Murph didn't know much about Mr. Chambers, just that he was highly respected and recommended by the tightest gangs, mobs, and clans of the world. He was said to have worked for the government at some point, softening up Al-Qaeda and Taliban sleeper cells. He worked for various groups amongst organized crime, Italian mob, Triad, Yakuza, Korean Tribes, just about any mob orginization, and he worked it.
The inquisitors were allowed only two vises in their work. Wether it be no use of fire, acid, animal cruetly, only certain tools used, whatever it was, they had to follow it. Mr. Chambers had specified to Boss Conner, that under no circumstances would he work on children or women. Only men. It didn't matter if the poor bastard was married, had kids, only a few years left to live, nothing. They were just "projects" under his eye, nothing more, nothing less.
Murph lit up another cigarette, cursing himself for such weak will power. He continued to walk down the lonely hall, his footsteps echoing. He came to the cafeteria of the place, passing dusty tables and chairs, making his way into the kitchen.
Although the place was run down, the Irish mob kept it servicable on the inside. This place was a popular "dirty workshop" for them. They kept the electric and water running, stocked the place up with food and booze. They even had small stashes of weapons scattered about the place in various places. Boss Conner paid off the filth from snooping around, so there were no worries of any intrusions by them. Half of Bostons' law enforcement was in on the take, it was only a matter of time before all were. The deal was, as long as they don't make anything a federal case, the cops would butt out and mind their own business.
Murph loved the freedom it gave them, but knew they'd have to work hard to keep it sweet with pay outs, because other mobs in the area were doing the same thing as them. It came down to, whoever paid the most, got the fuzz's services and blind eye. A big struggle was going down between the Irish mob, the Italian mob, and even the Yakuza. All of this over who gets to hold the leash on the law!
Murph opened the fridge and took out a soda. He paused for a moment, then fished out another, knowing Bull was going to bitch about not getting one for him.
As Murph turned to make his way back to the guys, he could have sworn he caught a glimpse of someone outside. Startled, he dropped one of the cans of soda onto the floor.
"Shit!"
He took a quick glimpse outside, but saw nothing but the vacant buildings and the moonlight. He knelt down and retreived the soda, gently tapping the top.
"Aww shite, Bull's gonna piss himself over this one," he grumbled to himself.
"Aww fook it, he's a grown man, he'll deal."