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[b][color=crimson][h3]Dead Men Tell No Tales, Part 1[/h3][/color][/b][/center]



[indent][indent][indent]Gerald Hoehn let out a high-pitched scream. It was an odd sound coming from a big man like him. 

"Hey!" His captor barked, snapping towards him with a raised fist. "You're wastin air!" He brought his knuckles down on Gerald's face, adding another bruise to his vastly growing collection. Gerald whimpered incoherent words. He tucked his head close to his chest to prevent further blows. The captor scoffed.

"Jesus H.," He choked Gerald's neck, forcing his head up for another right cross. "You're embarrassing yourself. Take your beating like a man!" The punch made a wet smacking sound like defrosted meat hitting a kitchen counter. Gerald slumped into the chair he was tied up in, his swollen lips agape as blood trickled down his broken body. 

"Take a break, Pete." A deep voice called out from the darkness, bouncing off the stone walls of the wine cellar room. Peter Froch turned away from his battered prisoner and faced a polished man in a dark brown suit. 

"Didn't even hear you come in." Mr. Froch's expression changed from exhaustively frustrated, to an overjoyed sigh of relief. "Buddy, am I glad to see you." 

Peter walked over. He was about to offer his hand for a shake but thought against it after noticing how blood stained his fists were. 

"Not a word out of him?" The man said, dull and toneless. 

"That vault over there?" Pete thumbed over his shoulder at Gerald. "That kinda vault don't crack." 

"Go clean up." The man sighed. "I'll take care of it." 

"Thanks, buddy! If you get that canary singin, you and I are goin out drinkin!" Pete enthusiastically whistled his way over to a wine crate where he left his blazer. The mobster abruptly stopped his tone deaf melody and glanced over to Gerald as he put on his jacket. "You're in it now, Gerry boy! You think I'm mean? You ain't seen nothin yet!" 

"Go, Pete." The man forced a smile. "This won't take long." 

Peter nodded, resuming his tune. He casually grabbed a random wine bottle off of one of the wall shelves and shut the door behind him. Gerald's labored breathing intensified. He squirmed with every ounce of energy left, hoping the ropes would miraculously slip away. But even if they did, how was he going to get past his new captor? This man, whoever he was, had an air about him that emanated power; Something Gerald no longer felt he had left in him. He ceased struggling. 

"J--j...jus-just, kill.. m-..." Gerald lowered his head in defeat as the man towered over him.  

"I'll be quick, Mr. Hoehn. You won't feel a thing." 


[center]***[/center] 

Detective John Jones snapped to the sound of his landline going off the ringer. He scrambled from of his work desk and yanked it by the handle. 

"Detective John Jones speaking." 

"Hey! Remind me again why you don't have a damn cell phone?" John grumbled at the sound of Detective Segarini's nasally voice. He had a witty retort prepared but Segarini didn't give him a chance. He never gives him a chance. "I need you over here on 38th and Tejon." 

"Gaetano's restaurant?" John grabbed his grey overcoat. 

"[b]Ding ding[/b]! Dishwasher found a stiff in the alleyway. How's that for a first day on the job, eh?" 

John frowned. "...dead?" 

"Well he ain't dancin, [b]detective[/b]!" 

"Feds there?" 

"Yeah -- Wait, how'd you know?" 

"I'll be right over." 

"Hey! --" 

John slammed the phone back onto the ringer and bolted out of the precinct. 

[i][b][color=Crimson][i]This is not good. Not good at all![/i][/color]
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