MD 149 - Tony Mancini vs Stevie Broon
RP Deadline is Tuesday the 3rd of April at 23:59 EST. Extension available on request.
Reinstate The Fox!
The camera turns on and we see Tony Mancini sitting at the head of the oak table where he conducts business. At the other end is a local business man who is shaking in terror at the other end as he stares at the blank expression on Tony's face. They sit in silence for about a minute before Tony says something.
"Do you have any idea why you're here Mr. Gerlett?"
The man jumps at the sound of his name and violently shakes his head in the negative.
"It was brought to my attention earlier this week that you were given a loan of two thousand dollars last summer to keep your business from going under and almost a year later your business is doing great. The only problem is you have yet to pay back your loan. Why is that?"
"Mr. Mancini I've been meaning to pay back the money I owe I swear but with all the bills and rent on the property I haven't been able to. Please give me more time."
Tony leans back in his chair and just stares at the man in front of him. After another minute or two Mr. Gerlett squirms uncomfortably at which point Tony starts talking again.
"I don't think I can do that, it's been almost a year. We have one of two choices. You can either pay they debt which by this point is fifteen thousand doallars with the interest. Or the second option is you sign over everything to me."
At that announcement Mr. Gerlett's jaw drops and he sits there in stunned silence as Tony smirks at him.
"But Mr. Mancini the shop has been in my family for over seventy-five years. My grandfather started it when he came over from Italy. I can't give it to you."
"Then you better be able to get twenty thousand dollars to me by Friday."
"Twenty thou..but you just said fifte..."
Mr. Gerlett goes silent as he slumps in his chair and covers his eyes with one hand as he realizes the futility of his situation.
"I'll have the paperwork to you in a couple days Mr. Mancini please don't do anything rash."
"as long as everything is taken care of one way or the other by Friday you don't have anything to worry about."
Mr. Gerlett nods sadly as he stands up and gives Tony a curt but polite nod before walking out the door. Before it closes all the way Gino comes in staring at the phone in his hand.
"Hey Ton' did you see what was just put up on wzcw.com?"
He shoves his phone in Tony's face who angrily snatches it away and puts it at a distance so he can read it. His lips move up and down as he reads the article and his eyes narrow in anger.
"Tell me if I'm reading this correctly," he says as the anger shows up in his voice. "They're bringing back the Elite Openweight League and the 2 winners go on to fight for the title."
"It goes on to say that everyone else still gets a shot at a championship. At my championship."
Tony says the last three words in a hushed whisper that cause Gino to snatch his phone back before it goes flying.
"That's what I could gather Ton'. Ain't it a bunch of bullshit?"
Instead of answering Tony continues talking like Gino never said anything.
"The best of these two leagues go on to fight Lynx at Kingdom Come while the losers who weren't good enough get to face me for my title."
Gino jumps as Tony slams his fists down on the table and stares at him with fire in his eyes.
"Where is my Mayhem League Gino? Where is the match that will pit the very best against each other for the chance to face me at Kingdom Come? I won the the first ever Mayhem Throwdown Tournament and I deserve better than the bottom of the barell that I'm getting at the moment."
"I agree with you all the way man," Gino said quickly before Tony could explode again. "We should go to Myles and demand decent competition or there won't be a Mayhem title defense at Kingdom Come."
Tony looks at Gino and actually thinks about his idea for a second before shaming his head no.
"No Gino, we'll do what they want but we'll do it on our terms. I'm going to make Mayhem mean something in this company and it's going to start with my next opponent. I'm going to take whoever my it is and show them that I am not someone to be overlooked heading towards Kingdom Come."
"That won't be that easy Ton'. You're facing PC Stevie Broon. He's a rookie who had a pretty decent showing in the Lottery match."
"That's the keyword Gino, rookie," Tony says as his voicd raises an octave. " I should be facing guys like Matt Tastic or Mark Keaton, people who actually mean something but instead they have me facing some new guy who isn't fit to wear my jock."
Tony sits down in his chair in a huff but after a bit he gets a sudden smile on his face and looks over at Gino.
"I have a few ideas for our road to Kingdom Come Gino. We may have to go to Myles with a few things but if he knows what's good for him he won't say no."
Tony continues to talk at the sound fades out and the camera slowly goes to black.
WZCW creative member as well as the
PC Stevie Broon
Patel Me The Truth!
It had been nearly 2 weeks since the shop window got bricked and every day that passed without bringing a perp tae justice was getting me more on edge. Ah had seen the disappointment on Boaby's eyes that night, as ah sauntered back into the shop without a jakey thrown over mah shoulder like a robber's swag bag. He put his trust in me and ah had let him doon, that much was obvious. Who had carried oot the attack? Who had put there name at the top ae mah shit list? Ah had aw the questions and none ae the answers.
Maybe even worse than that, ah'd missed mah try oot with WZCW, thanks to the missin' aw this drama. Ah got on the blower to Myles the very day that the window got done and told him the full story. He couldn't believe the scum of Glesga. Fortunately, Myles' stauner for me extended as far as to offer me another day a couple ae days later. I could tell that he was impressed when ah got in the ring. His face lit up like a light-bulb when ah put the wee pleb in the ring oot like a fuckin' bin bag on bin collection day. The mystery ae the broken window continues, Stevie Broon never forgets!
Fast forward! 10:45 on a Monday morning – fag time. Ah stepped ootside onto the car park – the frightful Scottish wind stinging mah face like a hunner jaggy nettles. This was the weather that put the hair on yer chest, no doubt about it. A lot ae people hated comin' oot here in the bad weather but ah loved it. Ah withdrew mah packet ae Richmond Superkings fae ma pocket and stuffed a stick into mah gub, lighting it up like the fourth of July. The moment the smoke hit the back ae ma throat, ah felt a sudden relief. The pressure to solve this crime was like nothin' ah'd ever felt before. Usually, ah'd see the crime, take the evidence and clear the fuck oot – looking for answers and a bam tae maul like a rabid Alsatian.
Never before did ah have to stick aboot with aw the people that had been rocked by the crime. Everybody was talkin' aboot it; they couldn't get enough ae it. But every word aboot it was like nails on a chalkboard tae me. The knew ah wanted justice! They knew ah wanted the answers. They were takin' the piss!
Me: Bunch ae bastards! Rubbing mah face it in like a dug that's just pished the carpet!? Naw, ah'll no be havin' it! See if ah hear anybody talkin' aboot it again the day, ah'm gonna stick ma hand up their arse and work their mouths like a ventriloquist dummy!
That's when ah seen it. That's when ah scoped the very clue that might just blow this whole thing wide open like a paperback in a hurricane. Boaby was quick tae get the window frame covered with wood – an invitation to the bams ae Glesga to try and become the next Banksy. Vandalism was still a crime and it made me sick to mah stomach like a dodgy curry. But amongst the profanity scribbled on there was the clue. Tiny as it was, a clue it was.
Me: Patel was here?
The fag near fell fae mah mouth as ah considered the morbid implications of the hastily written message that stared back through me, like it pierced mah very soul.
Me: Usman Patel!?
It aw made sense now. This wasn't aboot Stevie Broon. This wasn't Shug the Gun or Mad Molly fae Clydebank. This was the work of somethin' even more sinister indeed. Usman Patel ran the corner shop down the road. Ah'd been in there a few times to pick up a Nuts Magazine and a couple a Bombay Bad Boy Pot Noodles. Every time ah opened the door, the hauntingly positive greeting got thrown at me like Phil Taylor throwin' a 180. “Hey, buddy” was the cry from Mr. Patel. 'Buddy?' ah thought to mahself. This isn't how ye treat yer buddies Mr. Patel! This was far fae the way you treat yer buddies, ya sleekit cunt!
Voice: Shocking that, eh?
The voice woke me from ma trance like state. Ah turned round to see a strange face looking back at me like a gormless cunt. The man standin' right in front of me was Scotty Costello, a man known for being a bit ae a gobshite but a harmless gobshite. Ah'd heard about him fae Mary a couple ae days back and how he had fell right into ShopSmart legend, when he told a customer to get tae fuck during his lunch break. This was a guy, ah thought, that ah might just get along wi'.
Scotty: This place is getting' worse, man. Not ShopSmart, naw... Glesga! Everybody thinks their a hard man these days. Nae common courtesy amongst people anymore, ye know? Ah wish these bastards would get what's comin' tae them. Do us all a favour.
Scotty kept looking at me as if ah was the last chicken leg on the plate at an all you can eat BBQ. Probably, no doubt, thinkin' that ah was gonna be his knight in shining armour. Probably thinkin' what everybody else was thinkin' – that ah had let everybody doon and that a was more pathetic than the alcohol content in a bottle ah Lambrini.
Me: Do us all a favour, eh? Ah'll dae you one better than that, mate. I'll sort this shite out on mah fucking fag break!
Enough was enough. People had looked at me differently since the window got done, that much was fuckin' abundantly true. People used to think that ah was the Pied Piper or Pulverisation before the window – playin' a merry tune that aw the jakeys would dance tae else they would get fisted like a German porn star. Now, they looked at me as if ah was the fuckin' one man band ae impotence. It couldn't go on any longer! It wouldn't go on any longer!
Ah marched right oot ae the car park and onto the main road. On the horizon was mah goal – the business enterprise of Usman Patel. I felt the blood rushing to mah brain like the good old days. These cunts knew the score wi' the window and ah was gonna find oot, one way or the other. Ah made mah way up the road and steadied mahself before heading through the door. The door to the answer to all ae this. A door that, had ah known what would have happened after going through it, ah might have considered walkin' through in the first place.
Patel: Hey, buddy!
The door slammed shut.
The mystery continues soon...
Reinstate The Fox!
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