Posts Tagged ‘Gangsters’

Bartender by Fatal-Noogie on

“My brother? Dead?” Phil hung up, gnashed his teeth. “Fuuuuck!” He flung the cell at the mirror. It spider webbed. “Sydney’s dead meat!” He grabbed his Ruger, sped to Mario’s.

He burst through the bar’s back door. “Mario! He killed Benji!”

Mario wiped the bar. “I know.”

“We gotta destroy Sydney!”

“I gotta job to do.” Mario placed glasses under the bar.

“Fuck that! Come on.”

“Sydney’s our boss.”

“Sydney’s fucked!”

Mario lifted his shotgun.


“Sorry, Phil.” Mario pumped the shotgun. Cha-chunk.

“But he killed Benji.”

The blast tore through Phil’s chest. “Told ya. I gotta job to do.”

Richard, Jessica, Joel by ladynlmda on

“It’s my family, Kate. Not me.” Lenny reaches across the table, gently caresses her bruised face, takes her hand.

Stefan is sweating. He’d been rough with Kate. Bruno grins. “Well, my brother, time to teach Stefan some manners.” Bruno escorts Stefan to the back.

Lenny refills Kate’s Chianti. They eat their osso buco. The music swells.

Stefan protests, then goes silent. Bruno returns, wiping his hands. There’s blood on his lapel.

Lenny gets down on one knee. “I love you, Kate. It’s my family. But anyone hurts you, I’ll kill him.” He produces a sparkling rock. “Marry me?”

Kate cries.

Shoot it Out by Deus-Nocte on

Lenny reclined on the dingy motel duvet.

Kurtz stood, Glock in hand. “I wanna return this.”


“Don’t shoot right.”

“Maybe you’re a shit shot. This ain’t Walmart.”

Kurtz tossed the gun on the bed.

“It’s been used.” Lenny grabbed it, sniffed the barrel. “Recently. Ain’t taking it.”

Kurtz scowled. “Does boss know about this little side business?” Lenny’s eyes narrowed. “Maybe I tell him when I return.”

Lenny looked down the sight. “You say it don’t shoot right?”

“That’s right.”

Lenny fingered the trigger, raised it, put a bullet in Kurtz’s head. “I have a strict no return policy.”

Mobster Pugsley by deviantdash on

“The sauce,” said Vin, stirring the pot, “takes patience.”

Carlos squirmed in his chair. “I don’t have any.”

“Patience?” asked Vin. “Your sauce’ll be flavorless.”

Carlos spat blood on the tile. “No money.”

“That’s a problem. But I do have patience.” He nodded. A goon stepped forward, grabbed Carlos’ hand, jamming shears around his thumb.

“Business is bad, Vin,” Carlos pleaded.

“It’s your sauce. Perhaps a recipe change?” Vin nodded. The shears snapped. Carlos screamed.

Vin scooped the thumb, popping it in the pot. “That’ll spice up the ragù.”

Carlos sobbed, thumb spurting.

Squatting, Vin whispered, “See to your sauce.”