RelentlessImp
Super-Earth
- Joined
- Aug 25, 2009
The shitcan rolled to a stop before the diner, the brakes creaking as his foot came down hard upon them. Glancing briefly at the two others in the car - his brother, a skinhead Neo-Nazi with delusions of grandeur, sat in the passenger seat. In the back bench seat lay the real star of the show today, the five-nine American-born Chinaman wrapped in violet and gold colors; jersey, pants, boots all a dark purple, with gold chains dangling from his narrow throat. All of twenty-two, this gangbanger was one of the Family's Enforcers, and had requested this meeting with the potential new recruit. His brother had just tagged along 'for shits and giggles,' but he knew what he was really here for; he'd had his eye on some chick at this diner and wanted to sneak off and bang her in the bathroom.
Shoving the door of the old Mustang open, Alphonse DiMarco, sixteen years old and Italian-born, slid his bony ass out of the seat and kicked down the driver seat to let the Chinaman out. He was dressed in what had been requested - 'business casual' - a white shirt tucked into tailored pants, comfortable but classy shoes. His shoulder-length black hair was combed straight, neatly falling down his neck. Bronze-colored eyes watched as the Chinaman and his idiot brother got out of the car, slamming the doors hard enough to make him wince.
Jesus, I wish they'd take it easy on this old clunker. It's about ready to fall apart.
Leading the way into the diner, he selected a booth away from the windows and slid down on one side, while the Chinaman sat down in the other. His brother had already absconded with the waitress - the older chick that was just as racist as he was that worked the grill - so the two of them were alone.
"Let's order and then talk business, aye?" the Chinaman said, drawing a nod from Al in response. His hand raised, signaling for whoever the hell it was that was bussing their table.
Shoving the door of the old Mustang open, Alphonse DiMarco, sixteen years old and Italian-born, slid his bony ass out of the seat and kicked down the driver seat to let the Chinaman out. He was dressed in what had been requested - 'business casual' - a white shirt tucked into tailored pants, comfortable but classy shoes. His shoulder-length black hair was combed straight, neatly falling down his neck. Bronze-colored eyes watched as the Chinaman and his idiot brother got out of the car, slamming the doors hard enough to make him wince.
Jesus, I wish they'd take it easy on this old clunker. It's about ready to fall apart.
Leading the way into the diner, he selected a booth away from the windows and slid down on one side, while the Chinaman sat down in the other. His brother had already absconded with the waitress - the older chick that was just as racist as he was that worked the grill - so the two of them were alone.
"Let's order and then talk business, aye?" the Chinaman said, drawing a nod from Al in response. His hand raised, signaling for whoever the hell it was that was bussing their table.