Special Edition!

Written by CareFailure

Welcome to 7th Edition of the Times in round 12. (yes, I know you can only see 5 previous editions, but trust me, there was 6)

I was just made Editor today, and while much has gone on lately, it really boils down to, a few people beefed.. a lot of people died.. and a few people made a lot of money.

Just another week in our Gangster Paradise!

So, as this is my Special Edition, I hope you enjoy it. For this, I've cobbled together some real life Gangster history from the month of February, a couple short stories inspired by the game we all love, and a poetry corner, with one short piece, and one dark piece.

If I am editor again of the next issues, feel free to msg me with bits of news you would like shared with masses. I may put another issue out later this week.

I do hope you enjoy what I've put together for you, I appreciate any feedback.

This month in American Gangster History

Written by CareFailure

Births

Feb 3, 1904: Charles "Pretty Boy" Floyd, gangster and FBI Most Wanted

Feb 28, 1906: Benjamin "Bugsy" Siegel, one of the founders and leaders of Murder Inc. He is known as the driving force for the Las Vegas Strip.


Deaths

Feb 3, 1889: Belle Starr, an American female gangster, associated with the James-Younger Gang (Jesse James)

Feb 18, 1973: Frank Costello, known as the "Prime Minister of the Underworld" dies of a heart attack at age 82.

Feb 25, 1957: George "Bugs" Moran, leader of Chicago's North Side Irish gang, bitter rivals of Al Capones South Side Italian gang, died of lung cancer in Leavenworth Federal Penitentiary.


Notable Event

The St. Valentines Day Massacre

On Feb 14th, 1929, the South Side Gang tried to take care of things once and for all. A call was placed to Bugs Moran, informing him of a shipment of Whisky arriving from Detroit. A meet was setup.

When Moran's people showed up, one was misidentified as Moran himself, and Capone's men moved in. Two dressed as police officers entered the warehouse. Assuming it was just a police raid, Moran's men dropped their weapons and lined up against the wall.

Capone's disguised men opened fire, gunning them down, killing them all but one, Frank Gusenberg. Shot 8 times, he was taken to hospital, when questioned "Who shot you?" he answered "Nobody shot me" He soon died of his wounds.

Sesame Street

Written by CareFailure

Once, when I was younger, this neighbourhood was sunny and bright. The streets were clean, and kids played carefree.

But now, there is a mean side to Sesame Street. Now, it is cold and dirty. Where once, there were kids. Now, junkies, dealers, pimps and whores.

From the drugs, to the killings, and the final brutal beating Big Bird took at the hands of Elmo, these streets have changed.

These are the untold stories, of the Mean Streets of Sesame Street.

The stories only told in hushed whispers, with nervous eyes. Told around garbage cans and in darkened doorways, with one eye on the street and one hand on your gun.

The Fade

Written by CareFailure

It was a dirty shit hole of a bar. The wood of the bar, long since faded and worn. But he liked it, it was quiet and played those futebol games he liked on the big screen.
.
He was talking away, about bank employees, guard schedules, weapons, supplies, her truck. She wasn't really listening. She trusted him enough to pick a competent team. He was definitely suave enough to seduce one of the tellers, to be their girl on the inside. She just needed to know when and where to show up with the Van. He could handle the rest.
.
No, she was more concerned with the man at the bar. Drinking alone, weight of the world seemingly on his shoulders. He thought no one knew him here. Who he had been before. Tonight he was alone, drinking away his past, his cares, his problems.
.
The lonely man slid off the stool, put a fistful of cash on the bar. But he turned to the back to leave. Out through the kitchen, into the alley.
.
She excused herself from her partner. Got from the table to follow the lonely man. The sole cook in the kitchen gave her a quizzical look, but he'd worked here far too long to ask questions, quickly looked away and made himself busy.
.
She smiled as she let herself out into the alley. It was dark, surprisingly cool, considering how warm the day had been. Fog was settling in. She heard his shuffling foot steps up the alleyway. She called out his name.
.
Hearing something, he stopped. Leaning to one side he braced himself against the wall as he peered back down the alley. He saw nothing in the dimly lit alleyway. Muttering to himself, he turned and started on his way again.
.
He heard a metallic click. He stopped cold, and turned around. He knew that sound. Seemingly all at once, he saw the muzzle flash, heard the thunder and felt the fire burning into his chest. He fell to the ground, the world swimming in his vision.
.
Everything fading, he held onto the last thing he saw. Back lit by the muzzle flash, the tattoo on her chest, a heart and a brain, hanging in the balance. He knows that tattoo. But his memory is failing him, his life fleeing this mortal husk. Just as its all about to fade away completely, he feels breath on his ear.
.
"I win, you lose"

Betwyn's Poetry Corner ~ Ashes

Written by CareFailure

A cold cup of coffee,
Still half full.
A napkin,
Wet with tears.
A cigarette gone to ash,
Right down to the filter.
A vacant stare..

All I taste
Is ashes.

Betwyn's Dark Corner ~ Have You Ever?

Written by CareFailure

Have you ever wanted to tie someone down..
Cut them with a razor blade and just watch them bleed?
Watch the blood bubble to the surface in the first fantastic rush and burst of colour...
Then watch as gravity pulls on the blood...
And it searches for the path of least resistance on its journey down..
The little red rivers separating and rejoining..
Matting hair as they go..
Pooling in the bodies hollows before pouring on in its descent..
All the while, their eyes are wild with fear and pain..
Darting this way and that, searching for help, escape, release, hope...

And finding none.

Tears welling to the surface..
Pain, anguish and hopelessness over running them until the tears start to flow down on their own journey..
Searching out their own paths..
And where they intersect the blood..
Diluting it...
Until finally..
You have a mixed puddle of blood and tears on the floor at your feet..
And you don't feel what you thought you would...

Just the familiar emptiness?