AuntFlavia

The Clock Strikes Twelve (Horror RP)

*waves arms around* Interested here.

The Mafia Wars

Carl couldn't sleep. His thoughts kept him awake; they skittered around his mind like a colony of ants. They were building a hill full of plans and worries and ideas. He knew that once he had gotten a way in that he wasn't going to be able to sleep anyway, so he fell back on his military habits.

Seventy one...seventy two...seventy three...

Crunches so soon after eating maybe wasn't the best idea. If he puked that would add some variety to his workout at least.

Carl was trying to clear his mind with exercise, but thoughts about the job crept in anyway. It hadn't even started yet and already he had questions.

Seventy seven...seventy eight...seventy nine...

Why did they call me so early?

It was just possible that they already knew who he was and what he was planning to do with their petty gang. Could be that this meeting tomorrow was a trap and the second he showed up they would put a bullet in his head. But that wouldn't make sense; they told him to bring a gun. You don't ask a snake in the grass to come armed, unless you were colossally stupid, or crazy.

Eighty three...Eighty four...

The only other thing he could think of was that something had come up unexpectedly. Some opportunity arose and the Rosetti's were eager enough to snatch it up that they needed people quickly to help. Could be that one of the other families lost some territory, and the Rosetti's want to step in before anybody else. Maybe it was a surprise hit on another family.

Carl really didn't like the sound of that. He wasn't about to start gunning down people, even gangsters, just to maintain his disguise. That was too far.

Eighty five?...or was it seven?...

“Crap.” Carl leaned back on the floor and sighed. He couldn't even kill time right. He closed his eyes and started again, trying to imagine his commanding officer egging him on. Instead, his imagination conjured up the rather creepy image of Michael looming over him, staring at him dead eyed and saying quietly, “They'll just as soon blow your brains out.”

Christ, he had to get out of this hole of an apartment. Carl got up quickly, ignoring the headache it produced and got changed. He needed to leave, clear his head in a bar or a club. Something, anything but staying here another minute longer with nothing to do but think about how many different and colorful ways he could get killed.

He left the apartment, slamming the door and locking it quickly. Time to get a drink.

The Mafia Wars

Carl had taken a cab to his apartment, not his real apartment but his undercover place. It was under the name Fred Benedetti, and he had been living in it for the past few months. Appropriately, it was a hole, but he had spent most of that time making it look like a lived in hole, so if anyone came in it wouldn't be an obvious facade.

As he entered, Carl shut the door behind him and leaned against it, taking a deep controlled breath. This was it, he was in now and there was no going back. The feeling was terrifying...and exhilarating. A false life enveloped around his own now. Carl didn't exist anymore, it was Freddy now. Freddy, the thug, the dumb muscle that would work his way up to the top because he wasn't quite so dumb.

He straightened against the door and shook his head, talking to himself, “Piss your pants, dive in and swim.”

Not long after he started lounging around on the couch, the sharp trill of the phone pierced through the confines of the apartment. Carl's head spun with apprehension. What, already? ...Can't be right...

He squirmed his way off the couch and picked up the phone, steeling his voice. “Fred here.”

“Benedetti?”

“Yeah.” Listen, don't talk. Do as your told. His mind ordered him.

“Work comes sooner than we thought, kid. I'll fill you in tomorrow; 4pm at Marco's Bistro on Grand Street, you know the place?”

“I'll find it.”

“Good. If you got a piece, bring it. If you don't, then find one. You're gonna need it. Don't be late.”

Before he could respond, the call was over. Carl hung up the receiver slowly, thinking of his revolver. Whatever this was, it was either big, dangerous, or both. Skip the frying pan, head straight into the fire. He would make sure he was ready for it.

The Mafia Wars

They're easy to lose, like pens and socks.

The Mafia Wars

Geez. Sorry, I didn't realize how long my post was until I submitted it.

The Mafia Wars

Carl Holtzer (Freddy Benedetti)

Anyone could be watching; it was a fact that Carl was painfully aware of.

It was true that it was a bit early in the game to get properly paranoid, but as the old saying went; you couldn't be too careful.

As he walked casually down the street with his fists stuffed into the pockets of his favorite jacket, the undercover cop realized that he didn't quite agree with the old idiom. You could easily be too careful. Being too careful could mean stagnation, getting nowhere, or missing a deadline. A lit cigarette stuck out of the corner of his mouth as he gazed at the street underneath him. It was still slick with yesterday morning's rain. The city that never slept, dried out, or cleaned itself. Like an old dishrag. That was one thing he missed dearly about Chicago, it was cleaner. Oh sure, the Big Apple was bustling. With germs.

Before long, his destination sat humbly before him; a Chinese restaurant. Or Chinese-American, whatever. Bright red lights shone through the muck that this city called air. Carl shook his head a little and stepped inside, instantly taking a dislike to his handler's choice of meeting place. The atmosphere was thick with scents and sounds of fried food, and touching the inside door handle revealed a thin layer of oil covering the interior. He had never considered himself a neat freak until he was transferred here. Carl sighed as he scanned the tables for Michael. There were others here, but not too many. That was good. He spotted his contact at the other end of the place, far away but with a good view of the door. Michael had seen him as well, and waved him over.

Michael Alker was his full name, though Carl suspected that he had it changed to sound more American. He could sympathize with that; the number of Kraut jokes Carl had received from some of the patrol officers was staggering. He couldn't immediately tell where Michael was from; he had the creepiest bright blue eyes and longish jet black hair pulled back tighter than a sailor's knot. The combination was unsettling, and he never did meet a more intimidating guy; tall, broad shouldered, and he had that mid forties 'I've seen more than you ever will' look about him. A sudden curiosity overcame his tact as Carl approached the table. Maybe he could pry his origins out of him.

“I never pictured you eating in a place like this.” Carl glanced at the restaurant around him.
“Find me somewhere that serves decent borscht and maybe then I'll fulfill your expectations.”
Bingo.
“Christ, Mike, are you Red?” Carl joked as he sat down, pretending to sound sincere. Michael stared at him disapprovingly.
“I'll bring you a pamphlet the next chance I get.” It was a joke, apparently.
Carl gestured at the plate of some soupy looking thing in front of Michael. “I see you got started without me.”

Mike slid a white paper carton across the table at him. “Have some rice. Then order something and stop whining.” He must have seen the look on Carl's face and continued, “It's good, I promise. Now, obviously I have news for you.”

“Is it good news?” Carl asked, more excited than he let on, though he masked it by carefully opening the carton as if he was afraid of its contents.

“That depends on your perspective. It's rice, Holtzer, it's not gonna kill you, so stop pretending like it will.” Michael glanced around before lowering his voice only slightly. “Dutch put in a good word for you- well, for 'Freddy'.” He corrected himself. “Told them about how you did time and you're looking for good work. They're interested; you have an in. They have your number and they'll give you a call, and like a good little mafioso you're gonna jump at the chance.”

Carl beamed and reached over the table to shake Mike's hand. “Oh, that is good. That is beyond good; I can finally get back to work, get my hands dirty.” Mike returned the gesture, his hand practically being crushed by Carl's enthusiasm, but he remained as stony-faced as ever.

“This is fun for you.” Michael observed. Oh, here it was, Michael Alker speech about how he was hot headed and that he should be more careful and that this wasn't a game and blah blah blah...

“I enjoy my work.” Carl grinned and waved someone over so he could order; he was in too good a mood to be afraid of some weird food. “Don't you? Why do you do this job? For queen and country? For civic duty?” He said rather abrasively, regretting it almost instantly.

Michael ignored the tone and put down his spoon. “Just remember that you're not here for the small fry. That's what informants are for. We want you in there, as high up as you can get. Work your way up, and then topple the Rosetti's from inside out. Like you did in Chicago.”

“Yeah, yeah...bring up my glory days why don't you.”

“I read the reports. It was good work.” Mike admitted. “I don't know what the families are like in Chicago, but it's different here.” Carl settled in, know full well what was coming. “Here...they make you feel like a friend. The word 'family'...it's a perfect word. They'll invite you over for dinner, or to their cousin's wedding. They're gonna fill you full of pasta and meatballs and lasagna that their Mama made and it'll be the best damn food you'll ever have. Maybe Mama kisses your face, calls you her favorite; you can be at their house all day and never talk a word of business. Then you'll go out for drinks with the sons; you'll laugh, drink and smoke and then they'll call you brother.” Michael's gaze pierced him now, as if seeing right through him. “But they'll just as soon blow your brains out.” Michael settled back again, returning to his soup. “Even if you weren't a cop. And they swear that they'd never hurt a civilian but for criminals that's surprisingly naïve. Some of them think their business only hurts the other families. Idioty.” he spat in Russian. “I'm the only one you can trust, Carl. Don't forget that. And don't forget who you're doing this for.”

Carl let Mike's little speech sink in as his food arrived. Some noodlely mound on a plate. Poking it with a chop stick, Carl said, “Well, I hope this doesn't kill me.” He ventured a careful bite. After a moment, his eyes widened and he admitted, “You know, that's actually really good.”

“No, I didn't know.” Michael said, his humor as dry as a bone. “I just come here for the fortune cookies.”

The Mafia Wars

Holy postalanche batman. Hopefully I can get my first post out tomorrow morning. *prays that someone else also joins the Rosetti's...so lonely...*

The Mafia Wars

I edit my CS a little, seems a tiny bit of American history slipped my mind. *shrug*

The Mafia Wars

Awesome. I'm thinking up stuff already. Also, I'd be willing to change my character's family if need be.

The Mafia Wars

Carl Holtzer

Undercover Name: Fred 'Freddy' Benedetti
Real Name: Carl Holtzer
Age: 29
Appearance: (I hate finding images, I hope a description is okay) Carl is of average height, angular features and brown eyes, but an otherwise unremarkable face. Under his favorite hat he has thick dark brown hair parted on the side, which he slicks back while on the job. While undercover, he wears a dark gray vest over a long sleeve white shirt, also with a long brown coat and a beat up gray trilby to top it off.
Family: The Rosetti's (Undercover cop)
Relation to Godfather: None
Role in family: New member, an up-and-coming player in the business who is eager to prove himself, really just starting out as a jack of all trades, though his criminal reputation is false and is actually working undercover.
Bio: Carl was born and raised in Chicago, the son of a patrol officer. Along with his sister's, his childhood was unremarkable, save for the stress and worry of his father's career. He was drafted to serve in WWII in 1942, and when he returned in 1945, Carl immediately began to follow in his father's footsteps. Not long after he graduated the academy his father died of heart failure at home. To Carl, this was the best death he could have imagined for his father; at home with his loved ones, not on the job at the hands of some drug dealer. Despite this, Carl himself is thrilled by even the barest hint of danger. He spent the rest of his career training to become an undercover cop, polishing his poker face, his nerve, his self control and acting skills.

During this time, he was married for 4 years and had two children, both girls. During the last year of his marriage, Carl became involved in a vast undercover operation. It was a plan to bring down a rapidly rising and powerful Chicago gang. It was a long, arduous and dangerous task but ultimately a successful one. The organization was in ruins, with most of its key members either incarcerated or six feet under, and Carl was a key player in the operation. Even with such a crowning moment so early in his career, the stress of the job found its way home, leading to a separation between Carl and his wife. After the bust and trial, Carl was issued a transfer to New York for his own safety, since many of the gang members left were most certainly looking for revenge for their comrades.
Personality: Because of his case in Chicago, Carl is often over-confident and full of himself. This ease may add to his disguise, but it is also incredibly dangerous. He has an aversion to women and games of love since his failed marriage. Despite this, he can be fun to be around in a bar, and is often telling a story or a joke with a drink in one hand and a smoke in the other.
Relationship: None.

Is it bad that I'm already hoping that my character gets caught late in the game? Xp