MEN OF HONOR [IC | Crime]

[Forest State]

Mission 1: New York

The key to unlock a new life with more money, more luxuries, and more pleasures happened to be a small piece of paper, if it could even be called that. It was more like a small sticky note, and it had few things written on it. An address from somewhere in the Miami-Dade county area, and a small message scrawled below it: “Saturday, 8:00 P.M. Destroy this note as soon as possible,” it read, looking like it was written with a simple ink pen. If someone looked up the address, they would find that it wasn’t in the city, but out in the suburbs and away from the bright lights of the county’s urban zone. Specifically, the place was an estate with multiple buildings, the kind that had a worth likely in the millions.

It also wasn’t the type of place that one would expect to be called to by a criminal organization. Many of the assets held by the Baresi family were run down buildings in the inner city districts of Miami, but this was the complete opposite, with the focal point of the property being a modern mansion that was in the center of it all. And the people that received the invites to come to this place weren’t the types that usually hung around the rich and famous. It was probably more expensive than any place they had ever been before.

The people were mostly outcasts and hustlers, the type who would do anything to put themselves in a better position in life. They came from lower backgrounds for the most part, and they weren’t like the inhabitants of the manor. People that could get by without working another day, if that was what they chose to do. No, this group was distinctly a class below the one that lived here, or maybe a couple of classes below. So why were they being called here? The one who owned the entire property, Alessio Baresi, was the main one who knew that.

After his inner circle had talked about it for days, the decision had finally been made to recruit competent new members, regardless of their background. And to figure out who was worthy of being made and who wasn’t, they would all receive an offer. Risk your life on a dangerous series of tasks that the family needed completed, and get membership in the actual ranks of the organization. But that assumed that the group would survive, because chances were that they wouldn’t. The jobs were dangerous. It was part of the reason why they were relying on disposable associates to carry them out. But if the group survived? They would be rewarded accordingly for their work.

Alessio Baresi arrived downstairs as the time ticked away towards 8:00 P.M, and waited in the main room that the group of associates would soon arrive in. It was well decorated for the occasion, with the coffee table in the middle of the room having coffee and other refreshments placed on it, but this wasn’t an ordinary social meeting. It was far from that, and it was only like this to get everyone comfortable before they found out just how much risk there was in the offer they would receive. Baresi himself sat down as the time of the meeting neared, looking towards the door and waiting for the first of the associates to arrive.

[Aureumterra]

Aiden Pennino
Aiden walked into the room, and saw Alessio. He took a seat at a chair in the middle of the table.

“I’ve been doing this stuff since time that corrupt ass cop decided to make us go bankrupt. I’m good at close range firearms, and I was also a boy scout. If you need a strategist, I’m the guy to go to. I might sound like all talk and no show, but give me a chance to prove myself, and I will impress you.”

[Ceannairceach]

Elisabeth Wortham

---

A beat-up Mustang crawled to a stop in front of the compound's main house, and before the engine roared into silence, the door swung open, and out stepped a large, inch-heel boot. Another came out, and with it slid a woman, dressed in a disheveled, ill-fitting suit, slightly too baggy and barely clinging to her form. Her hair was an explosion of color, bubble-gum pink with streaks of mint green and turquoise throughout. She wore sunglasses, large, circular things that covered a large portion of her face, though did nothing to obscure her lethargy as she stretched and yawned outside of the car.

Pulling a wrinkled cigarette from behind her ear, she produced a lighter from her pocket, taking a drag immediately before the flame was even lit. She blew smoke out casually as she took in the surrounding estate with a quick turn of her head. She rubbed at her temple with her free hand, massaging away the hangover she was still nursing.

"Fuck. Am I late?" She checked her watch: it still had a price tag on it, clipped to the bottom. A groan escaped her lips: "Ugh. Worse. On time." Quickly, she finished her cigarette, and tossed it on the ground, flame still alight as it bounced off the cobbled driveway. She turned about, and marched towards the door, twirling something in her hands.

When she approached it, the doors opened, and a man who she thought looked like a butler stepped out. Before he could get a word out, he shoved the screwdriver she had been holding into his hands, and said as she passed, "Not gonna start without that, Jeeves. Park it somewhere nice."

The mansion reminded her of some of the better ones she had seen in her travels, though distinctly nouveau riche, in her opinion. Old money always did it better. Still, he barely paid its decoration any mind: she was far more concerned with smoothing out the wrinkles on her suit and slapping some color into her face, staving off the worst of her somewhat classless appearance.

She found herself quickly in the main room, decorated lavishly, as if the owners were expecting royalty. The bright colors and gaudy designs only aggravated her already serious headache, and she pushed her glasses up to compensate. She saw she had company: two men, one of whom must have been the host. Quietly, she took a seat, and propped a foot up on the table. Staring between them, she asked, "So who've I got to blow for a drink?" Another cigarette was produced from her ear, along with the lighter from her pocket. "I can smoke in here right?"

[Walabam]

Luca Musitelli
Somewhere in Miami
Friday
2340 hours

"I've given you more than enough time to pay up, you fuck."

Luca's thick gold chain swung freely off his neck while he bludgeoned his victim with a baseball bat, his glossy black '97 BMW M3 saloon blocking the entrance to the alley they were in. Luca had given his victim more than enough time to pay him what was owed. As his victim laid on the wet ground, moaning in agony and pain, Luca reached for a switchblade from his pockets. "This is what happens when you take me, Luca Musitelli, for a fool," whispered Luca to his victim before he sliced off his victim's left ear. His victim screamed in pain, before Luca announced; "next time, it'll be the other one."

Luca cleaned his switchblade using the victim's shirt before sliding it back into his pocket. He began to walk towards his car, before noticing a shadowy figure in the distance. Luca shrugged, calmly and fearlessly moving towards both the shadowy figure and his car. As he passed the man, the man handed him a small piece of paper. He borrowed the headlights of his car to see the contents of the paper. "Saturday, 8 P.M.," it read, attached with an address below, and, "destroy this note as soon as possible." Luca nodded at the man as he nonchalantly walked further into the alley. Pulling out his pack of cigarettes and a lighter, he lit both the cigarette, which was now tightly clasped between his lips, and the paper set ablaze.

Luca sat in his car, reaching for a bag of white and powdery substance from his glove box. He poured some onto his arm, held it up to his face, and violently snorted before shivering as chills went straight down into his spine. He looked at his victim through the windscreen, who was still laying on the ground, before he chuckled. After wiping his nose in a peculiar manner with both his hands, he stuffed the small bag into the glove box, which, I forgot to mention, was also stuffed with bundles of cash. "It's time to party," shouted Luca before he put his car into reverse, maneuvering his way out of the dark, narrow alley.

Luca's Apartment
Saturday
1100 hours

"What the fuck happened last night?"

Luca woke up alongside three women and a another man in his bed. They were completely naked, and so was he. It didn't take a genius to figure out what they had done the night before. Luca crawled out of his bed, wrapping his lower parts with a towel, before walking to a safe in his apartment. He looked around before turning the knob, opening it and taking out exactly four wads of cash. Heaving a huge sigh, Luca walked back to his bed and screamed at the top of his voice, waking all four of his "guests" at the same time. "Alright, bitches! Time to leave!" Luca handed each of them a wad of cash as they dressed themselves up.


Time passed as Luca tried to rid himself of his hangover, as well as running a few errands. He arrived home with a bag of cash, his purple tint RayBan aviators hung off the collar of his shirt. Throwing the bag on the couch, he began to prepare for the journey to the address given to him on the small piece of paper, which was now in ashes. He donned the finest suit he had in his collection, put on the most-arrogant-and-snobbish smelling cologne he had, and drowned his hair in pomade, all while playing "In the Air Tonight" by Phil Collins on his CD player.

Once he was done dressing himself up and assuring himself that he looked good enough, he walked up to his "finest collections" cabinet, reaching inside for a bottle of Sambuca and the finest box of Cuban cigars. Luca earned a decent amount of money through his crimes, but, most of his collections of the finer things in life actually originated from burglaries and robberies he had committed in his earlier years as a crook. While he sold most of the burglarized jewelry, he kept items such as wines, liquor, cigars, to give away as gifts, especially to important people he may meet - which seemed like today.

Luca sped down the street towards the stipulated location in his M3. He somehow knew this was an important meeting, and being punctual was of top priority. At the speeds he was going, it didn't take long for him to arrive at the address. Luca, although a racer at heart, started to drive dead slow into the compound, where a Mustang had recently arrived in. A lady stepped out of the car, and walked into the mansion. Her fashion sense screamed 'I'm crazy", and Luca reckoned she probably wasn't someone to mess around with.

Suavely, Luca stepped out of his M3, Sambuca in his left hand and the box of cigars in his right. He spared no chances of looking bad, strolling into the room with the gifts in his hands. He looked around the room, which was lavishly decorated, compared to his average-looking apartment. Luca also took notice of the Mustang's driver, and two other men who were already seated. Luca first nodded at the host, Alessio Baresi, who was introduced to Luca through the press. "Good evening, Mr. Baresi, and all," Luca nodded at the other two attendees before continuing, "I have some gifts I'd like to offer to you," continued Luca as he held both items in his hands in Baresi's direction.

[Afrikaanza]

Hector Borjas
Saturday, Before 8:00PM
Baresi Family Mansion

On the day of the meeting, Hector arrived at the estate in a well maintained 1989 Chevy Caprice, sporting a dark tan sharkskin suit with a taupe brown undershirt. On his wrist, he wore a simple watch which didn’t stand out, but was functional. As he approached the driveway of the lavishly decorated compound, Hector assumed a professionally stoic expression, only breaking his demeanor to show respect to a well-dressed man, who dumbfoundedly eyeballed a screwdriver in his hand. Hector politely smiled and nodded at him, then entered the building.

Hector walked into the room and quickly took notice of the four that stood before him. Before coming to a consensus, however, he immediately recognized Alessio Baresi. Slightly bowing his head while still maintaining eye contact, Hector simply said, “A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Baresi.”, before making his way over to the coffee table and having a seat. Once comfortable, Hector folded arms, leaned back into the chair, and began quietly assess room as each person made their impression. Occasionally though, Hector's focus would become muddled and his thoughts would drift away to the previous night.

---

Somewhere on the outskirts of Miami-Dade County…

Warm water flowed down my face, followed by an immediate sense of rejuvenation. Looking at myself in the mirror had given me the usual sight of bloodshot eyes and darkened circles just beneath my lids. Yeah, I thought to myself, tonight was gonna be another rough night. Although at the time, I didn’t exactly know why that thought had passed through my head, because every night since I came back to Florida had been rough. The jobs the Baresi Family had me doing were endless and had manifested a sort of numbness within me to all the violence which had transpired after returning home to the states. It was routine and meaningless, but for every stick-up-kid the Baresis had me dispose of, a nice paycheck would always find its way into my pockets. In my mind, this showed that they cared for me. They respected my work and treated me as a useful individual, which is probably why I kept coming back for more jobs. Beats working at Mickey D’s.

I halfheartedly scoffed at my reflection in the mirror and flipped the light switch. Upon exiting the bathroom, I was greeted by Gino, an older gentleman who had intimate ties to the Baresi Crime Family. I had known Gino for a while at that point, as he would be the guy who usually tells me who to whack, but rarely did he ever go on these sorts of things with me. He made some comment about me always taking too long to get prepped and in action, but I simply shrugged it off. From there we headed out the door and were immediately assaulted by rain and the damp Floridan air. We quickly proceeded into Gino’s Ford Taurus, which was conveniently parked in the lot of The Grand Key Motel. It was a grand shithole if you ask me, but luckily, we had only stayed there to plan for the hit. Our target for that night was a snitch named Henry, who once found himself working alongside me in a separate job. Though I knew him, I didn’t know him well enough to feel bad for taking him out. His behavior had shown disrespect to the Baresi family, and as an extension of their hurt feelings, I was to show him what that felt like… an eye for an eye, I suppose you could call it.

After Gino and I had driven around the streets for a while, we found Henry driving away from a local late-night restaurant. We tailed him quietly for a little bit until we caught him stopped at an intersection with three lanes and a light that refused to turn any other color than red. I told Gino to pull into the turn lane right next to him. From there I identified Henry first, then I rolled down the window and aimed a Glock at him from the passenger seat. For a split second, everything felt as if it became slower than normal. Adrenaline pumped through my veins, but I could see every detail on Henry’s face. His brown eyes, his slicked back hair, his cheaply made midnight blue suit, it all stared back at me as he slowly turned his head in my direction. I pulled the trigger, ejecting a casing into rain and staining Henry’s blue suit with speckles of red. His eyes widened, and his hand came up to block whatever was coming for him, so I pulled the trigger again. This time a soft mist raised itself from his hand and stained the shattering glass on the other side of the car. His arm fell limp and his head smacked against the horn of the car, I aimed at his head and pulled the trigger again, and again, and again, and again. When I was done, Gino slammed on the gas and everything seemed to return to normal speed. I stuck my head out the window and took one last look as we sped away. I felt numb and focused, like I always do after these sorts of things, and caught a glimpse of the body that I left behind. Henry was gone.

I looked to Gino. His expression was blank and unamused, but his voice said otherwise. “You did good, Hector,” he said, “there ain’t nothing better than putting a snitch in the dirt, eh?”. I shrugged and leaned my head deeper into the seat. Gino kept his eyes on the road, but lifted his right hand and ruffled it around through his coat pocket in search of something. It turned out to be a letter of sorts, which he placed on my lap next to my gun. I eyeballed the letter first, then lifted my head up and examined it closer. “Saturday, 8 P.M,”, it said, alongside an address and instructions to discard of it as soon as possible. After reading it, I looked back towards Gino, who explained himself shortly thereafter. “I figured I’d give it to you after you got the job done. I was told to put this on your front door and leave it at that, but I just wanted to see for myself that you could do the job right…”, Gino said softly. “I’ve known you for a while now, Hector. This ain’t no guarantee or anything of you moving up in the world, but congratulations on whatever it is.” I folded the paper and changed my look to one of respect and intensity. I didn’t know exactly what the note was trying to say, but obviously it had meant something to Gino. I did have my suspicions though, so I thanked Gino and shook his hand. I never really did see Gino much after that, but the opportunity in that note that man had given to me would be one I never forget.

Once I got back to my place, I disposed of the letter by cutting it up and then burning it with a lighter. After that I called it in sometime around four in the morning and dozed off. Usually I would only get around four hours of sleep a night after every hit, but that night was different. Henry’s face was still in the back of my mind, but I slept like a king.

[Costa Fierro]

Little Havana, Miami
André Van Ryneveld stood out on the balcony, taking drags of a cigarette and tapping the ashes down into the forecourt of the twin floor apartment complex. Located in the eastern portion of Little Havana, the apartment complex sat in the shadows of the larger blocks of condominiums that rose up from Downtown in the east. The sun was setting to his left, in one of Miami's classic beautiful sunsets. Not that he could see much of it, Little Havana was filled with low rise, low rent buildings. André had called this street and this apartment home for the last four years, making a somewhat decent wage as a security guard with a company that transported money for banks. He'd shot someone in a botched robbery and was now sitting back watching the severance pay the company paid out to him disappear in weekly installments of legal fees, rent and other things. He had a look at the piece of paper again, with an address on it. He had no idea where it was, if it was in Miami. The city was a big place and André had yet to explore most of it. He tapped the rest of the ashes onto the forecourt below and flicked the cigarette down below. He turned and went back inside.

The interior of the living room was very much in tune with the rough exterior of the apartment. The walls were white, with the wallpaper starting to peel around the edges. Most of the furniture was largely dated, either from the 90's or the early 2000's. The TV and the laptop sitting on the coffee table were about the only up-to-date electronic appliances in the apartment. André didn't complain, it was cheap rent and he could make do with the income he had. He sat down behind his laptop and brought it out of it's electronic slumber. He typed the address into the Google search bar. The location surprised him.
André locked up his apartment and made his way down to the communal parking area. He walked up to his black Buick Lacrosse Super, unlocked it and hopped inside. He fired up and the burble of the V8 echoed in the underground carpark. He nosed it out of the complex, then headed for the nearest onramp for I-95.

---

The drive south was peaceful and largely uneventful. Traffic was as expected for the time of night, but it didn't delay him significantly. He soon found himself among million dollar mansions, something which he wasn't entirely used to, even though he came from a rather well off family himself. However, wealth in South Africa didn't automatically translate to wealth in the United States.
He approached the gate of the compound that matched the address. He was buzzed through the gate after stating who he was and what he was here for. He approached the large, modern mansion with some trepidation, but was impressed by it's size and design. He left his Lacrosse Super with one of the property staff and made his way inside.

---

André gave a rather cordial greeting to Mister Baresi, being more respectful than anything else. He explained the accent after Baresi asked about it, stating that he was born in South Africa.
"You speak foreign languages?" Baresi asked.
"Not really," André replied. "I only speak English and a bit of Afrikaans. My family decided speaking English was easier."
"What kind of skills do you have?" Baresi asked.
"Well I served in the South African Army for a few years," André replied. "I learnt how to use a number of weapons, mostly firearms. I also have a registered conceal and carry permit as I carry most of the time." Baresi nodded. He made a comment about André's physique, which André replied with an explanation of his time playing rugby, and then about what rugby was. They discussed this until other associates arrived.

[Forest State]

Alessio Baresi didn’t have to wait long for the group of associates to begin arriving, and as they did, a few members of the Baresi family also made their way downstairs to watch the meeting. Most notably, Alessio’s eldest son, Nicolo Baresi, who was just as involved in the planning of this specific operation as his father was. Nicolo was the one that welcomed the associates one by one as they entered, while his father was more guarded. Most likely cautious about letting a group of non members into the inner circle, even temporarily. Still, it was being done to give them a taste of what they could have if they did their jobs. He turned to the first person to enter and speak, Aiden Pennino. “Hold your horses on that. You don’t know what this meeting is for. For all you know, you could have been called here to be dismissed…” he said, and then chuckled briefly.

Alessio then stood up, almost as if the gesture was officially starting the meeting. “I can assure you that drinks will be provided, Elisabeth. After the meeting, of course. You should be sober while you’re hearing this. Smoking is fine,” he added, and then turned to Luca. He took both of the items, but he didn’t reply for a moment as he examined them. Eventually, he sat them down on the table and nodded, perhaps in an approving way and perhaps as a simple gesture of acknowledgement. “Thank you for the gifts, but flattery won’t help you here. Not at this level. I expect the former police officer to redeem himself through actions. Not gifts.”

When the group was together, Alessio nodded towards his son, who would do the explaining of the actual details. This would be the spot where everyone would have the chance to back out. It was probably the smarter option, and it wouldn’t be punished, but it also meant that they wouldn’t have a chance at the prizes. After selecting the members of the group carefully, Alessio didn’t expect many drop outs. “Nicolo, I believe it’s time for our friends to get an explanation of why they are here,” he stated, and his son stood up and nodded.

“You all know the reputation of the Baresi crime family. Feared by other families for punching above its weight and giving a death sentence to anyone who crosses it, feared by the general public for having the audacity to strike anywhere. Some families believe in sticking to the basic businesses. Moving drugs and guns, running rackets. The Baresi family said to hell with that, and did crimes that would get heat from the public and the police. We didn’t care about the risk. We wanted the infamy. Jewels, historical artifacts, paintings, nothing was safe from us back in the day. And then it stopped, because good times create soft men,” Nicolo explained, moving to the center of the room and using emphatic gestures to deliver his point. “It’s time to restore things to what they were back in the day. We picked all of you to help us with that, because it’s not going to be easy, and you’re all expendable.”

He paused, and then went into a further explanation of his point. “You know, security is tighter everywhere, and the internet makes it harder to get away with things. We want to bring our old reputation back. Strike fear into the hearts of our enemies, and remind everyone else of the days when the Baresi family could steal anything and everything. What we don’t want is the risk. As I said, you lot are expendable. We don’t lose a lot if you get arrested, or if you go down in the line of duty. So what’s in it for you, you’re probably saying? Well, if you’re tough enough to get to the end of our list of tasks, we think that you’re tough enough to stay around. As a full member of the family. We don’t need soft men who haven’t faced challenge. Hard men create good times, and if that means breaking a few traditions, so be it. Hard women, too, I guess.”

After concluding, Nicolo took one more look around the room, in a way that was sizing up everyone and trying to determine which ones would stay and who would sense the pressure and danger and bow out. “Are there any questions about this? All of you have the choice to accept or deny the offer. Deny, and you’ll return to normal life, but you also miss out on the chance to live like this. Accept, and it’s in your future. If you can live long enough to get back here, after your trip around the world.”

[Segral]

Tom Hall

Being late for anything was not Tom's style. He was a punctual guy, always liked to be on time for everything. That discipline helped when in a boxing match, hopping on some poor lad in a match of fisticuffs. However, when you can't remember the address on the note you literally just destroyed, and you spend half an hour trying to find it, usually you're late. It had taken him twenty minutes to realize he was in the wrong place, and when you have a car so smashed to drobes that it was peeled more than a steamed apple, then things get complicated.

Eventually, he managed to find the place and hurried out of his battered pick-up truck and dashed to the front door, flinging it open with a little too much enthusiasm. He was already readying his apology when he realized he had just barged in in the middle of a speech. And what do ya know, it's that rumbly shaper who was all over the news, Bar-ezi or something like that. Tom quickly clamped his jaw and decided to listen.

Tom had a lot to think about after that Barezi guy was done. This whole idea, joining some crime organization and stealing jewels and money, seemed madder than a box of frogs. Tom's life was in the gutter as it is, he didn't need to spend a year or ten in the state pen. But...what did Tom really have to lose? His life was pretty bad as it is. He was close to being evicted, jobs were harder and harder to find with no high school diploma, and he drove a pile of rusty junk known to some shyster dealership as a truck. This could change his life. This plan was stupider then driving after getting langered, but it was worth it if it could change Tom's life.

"I gotta question, ya rumbly lad." he barked out to the Barezi guy. He then let out a grin with a chipped tooth. "What slice of the pie do we get? If I ain't gettin' no money, I'm outta here."