The Gnawing (Part 3) (RP#1) - Printable Version +- X-treme Wrestling Federation (https://xwf99.com) +-- Forum: Warfare Boards (https://xwf99.com/forumdisplay.php?fid=6) +--- Forum: Warfare RP Board (https://xwf99.com/forumdisplay.php?fid=12) +--- Thread: The Gnawing (Part 3) (RP#1) (/showthread.php?tid=5734)

The Gnawing (Part 3) (RP#1) - Angelus - 08-18-2013 The Gnawing Part 3: "A No-Rough-Stuff-Type Deal" They went into a place called Dream Diner and had coffee at a table on the side. Rosenfeld added artificial sweetener to his and stirred it long enough to dissolve marble chips. He'd been an accountant back east, working for a couple of bad guys who did very bad things. When the feds were trying to make a RICO case against Rosenfeld's boss, Rosenfeld was the logical place to apply pressure. He wasn't really a criminal, he hadn't done much of anything, and they told him he was going to prison unless he rolled and testified. If he did what they said, they'd give him a new name and move him somewhere safe. If not, he could talk to his wife once a month through a wire screen and have ten years to get used to it. Anj didn't care about any of that though. What he did care about was that Rosenfeld knew how his sister had gotten to Tokyo in the first place. "How did you find me?" he wanted to know. "Somebody leaked it in Washington?" Anj shook his head. "Freak thing," he said. "Somebody saw you on the street, recognized you, followed you home." "Here in Roslindale?" "I don't think so. Were you out of town a week or so ago?" "Oh god," Rosenfeld said. "We went down to San Francisco for the weekend." "That sounds right." "I thought it was safe. I don't even know anybody in San Francisco. I was never there in my life. It was her birthday, we figured nothing could be safer. I don't know a soul there." "Somebody knew you." "And followed me back here?" "I don't even know. Maybe they got your plate and had somebody run it. Maybe they checked your registration at the hotel. What's the difference?" "No difference." Rosenfeld picked up his coffee and stared into the cup. Anj said, "You knew last night. You're in that program. Isn't there someone you're supposed to call?" "There's someone," Rosenfeld said. He put his cup down. "It's not that great a program," he said. "It's great when they're telling you about it, but the execution leaves a lot to be desired." "I've heard that," Anj said. "Anyway, I didn't call anybody. What are they going to do? Say they stake my place out, the house and the copy center, and they pick you up. Even if they make something stick against you, what good does it do me? We'll still have to move again because the guy'll just send someone else, right?" "I suppose so." "Well, I'm not moving anymore. They moved us three times and I don't even know why. I think it's automatic, part of the program, they move you a few times during the first year or two. This is the first place we've really settled in since we left, and we're starting to finally turn a profit at the copy center, and I like it. I like the town and I like the business. I don't want to move." "The town seems nice." "It is," Rosenfeld said. "It's better than I thought it would be." Anj reached into his jacket and pulled the glossy photo he kept in there of his sister. He slid it across the table to Rosenfeld who eyed it. Anj saw the man's eyes widen, then he quickly tried to downplay it. "Know her?" "Can't -- can't say I do." "You sure, look again." "Hey now, I used to see a lot of girls back when I worked in the office back east. A lot of 'em. This could be anyone of them." "Has Chang been in touch with you? Sent any of his guys out?" "No, lord no. He's done with me I'm sure." "And you don't want to develop another accounting practice out here?" "Never," Rosenfeld said. "I had enough of that, believe me. Look what it got me." "You wouldn't necessarily have to work for guys like Chang." "I don't want any kind of work where I'm always looking at the inside of someone else's business. I'd rather have my own little business, work there side by side with my wife. We're right there on the street and you can look in the front window and see us." Anj drank his coffee. He asked Rosenfeld if he had said anything to his wife and learned that he hadn't. "That's good," he said. "Don't say anything. I'm this guy weighing some business ventures, needs a printer, has to have, you know, arrangements, so there's no cash-flow problem. And I'm shy talking business in front of women, so the two of us go off and have coffee from time to time." "Whatever you say," Rosenfeld said. Poor scared bastard, Anj thought. He said, "See I don't want to hurt you, Gary. I wanted to we wouldn't be having this conversation. I'd put a gun to your head and do what I'm supposed to do. You see a gun?" "No." "The thing is, I don't do it, they send somebody else. I come back empty they want to know why. What I have to do is figure something else out. You positive you don't want to run?" "No. The hell with running." "Okay, I'll figure something out," Anj said. "I've got a few days. I'll think of something." Ah yes, here we are again. Another week another asshat to cross off my hit list. Hey look now everyone! It's the 'fucking career killer' himself Troy Turner! Oh, you don't know who that is? Yeah, can't blame you. I had no idea either. I think Sebastian Duke's guyliner gets more press than this tool does. Tell me, Troy. How many careers have you killed exactly? I can think of one and it's yours just by agreeing to show your ass up to the arena on Wednesday. Let me level with you Troy-bag the Douche-bag. You're just another cog in the wheel. Another never-was for the great machine to chew up and keep going. There's nothing impressive about you. You're not groundbreaking. You're just another over-tanned, over-hyped, juiced-up meathead thinking that you're owed something. I know, I know, you drink out of a pimp cup because that's really fucking cool. I'm sure people will find you relevant now… …but they won't. I'm sure that's a bitter pill to swallow, but please, keep working out in that home gym you got. It looks like all the hours there are paying off. What's that, Troy? You heard that people dislike me? Good. I'm not here to make friends or run in packs. I don't need to crave attention and affection like you do. I don't need to have little camera crews show up to my house to show what a tough son-of-a-bitch I think I am. But according to you I need to set the standard. How about you come talk to me after you've held the Xtreme title for sixty-two days like I did? How about you come talk to me after you've carved through half the roster and won the same title back after only being back here just a couple weeks? How about you come talk to me once you've done something worth a note of interest here? But I'm inconsistent, huh Troy? Maybe I should give you the benefit of the doubt and just remind you who the hell I am. I'm Angelus. I am the whole damn show. I was kicking ass here back when the Saturday show used to be called Impact. I was kicking ass back when you were just a stain in your daddy billionaire ted's sweaty gym sock. I have taken out people worth a whole lot less than you just because they thought they wanted to see if they could hang. You're a nobody, Troy. I hate to break it to you. And no one cares. You're gonna fail. And you're gonna fail hard. Want some advice? Consider it free on the house. Go home, Troy. Go home and keep using up all the videotape you want and mix your little protein shakes up real good now. Shoot another steroid in your ass for all I care. Go home to your sad existence and hang out in your basement doing your best Buffalo Bill impression. (Seriously, you do have the man-tits for it). Because come Wednesday I think you're gonna be surprised to find how quickly you'll be out of your element. Because you're not a fighter, Troy. You just try to look the part, but you've never been in a real fight in your life. I know it and you know it. And I'm going to expose you as the fraud you are. Because when you come at the champ, you best not miss! After coffee Rosenfeld went back to the shop and Anj returned to the motel for his car. He drove out of town on the same road he'd taken the day he bought the gun. This time he drove a few miles further before pulling over and cutting the engine. He got the gun from the glovebox and opened the cylinder, spilling the shells into his palm. He tossed them underhand, then weighed the gun in his hand for a moment before hurling it into a patch of brush. Teller would be horrified, he thought. Mistreating a weapon in that fashion. Showed what an astute judge of character the man was. He got back into his car and drove back to town. He called the number in Boston. When the woman answered he said, "You don't have to disturb him. Just tell him I didn't make my flight today. I changed the reservation, I moved it ahead to Tuesday. Tell him everything's okay, only it's taking a bit longer, like I thought it might." She asked how the weather was. "It's real nice," he said. "Very pleasant. Listen, don't think that's part of it? If it was raining I'd probably have it all taken care of by now."