Robber Transcript, Session Two

a Cyberpunk game

compiled by Amy Luther (mockery@cox.net)

GM is Amy Luther
PR is Gary Astleford, playing Salvatore Scagnetti.

GM - What are you going to do for the rest of the afternoon?
PR - [shrugs]
GM - [laughs]  Watch TV?
PR - Watch the news.
GM - All right, I'll give you a news report.  [flips pages]  Here's some 
     typical items that were on the news that evening.  Scan through it and 
     see if there's anything that interests you.
PR - Do you want me to read it aloud?
GM - No, I'm gonna stop this while you read it.

[Tape paused while the player reads the handout.  The item discussed reads as 
 follows:

In more news, the bodies of prominent Night City cyberneticist Alexander (Wu 
Choi) Huan, 85, and his grandson, Marcus Huan, 24, were discovered in their 
Pacifica home early this morning.  NCPD spokespersons declared the case a 
homicide but refused to release further information until the victims' 
families could be interviewed.  Sources within the police department indicated 
industrial espionage as a possible motive.]

PR - Industrial espionage?  [laughs]  That's too good.  That's bullshit, 
     though.  They don't tell anybody anything.  They probably know it was a 
     mob hit.
GM - Yeah, they probably do, but they're not gonna tell the media that.  And 
     their source might be a copyboy working in the station, reading the 
     police blotter, who doesn't know shit.
PR - True.  [laughs]  That's too cool.  
GM - You watch the rest of the news.  They show a picture of the house, and 
     interviews with the neighbors, who say, "Oh, they were such a quiet 
     family."  Etcetera.
PR - Basically, it's all bullshit.
GM - The news story, yeah.  And the official police spokesperson just says 
     it's a homicide, and refuses to release any details.  And when he's done, 
     the pretty little newscaster comes on and says, "Sources close to the 
     case indicate this and that . . . "
PR - "Close to the case"?  What news network is this?
GM - 54.
PR - They've got some really strong ties, though.  I mean, they could get 
     information like that [snaps his fingers].
GM - Yeah, but this just came out.  They only discovered the bodies this 
     morning.  It's also not a front page item, so there's no reason for 
     them to dig too deeply into it.
PR - We won't hear anything more about it, then.
GM - Not unless there's a rash of similar cases.
PR - [laughs]
GM - What time are you leaving for Beppo's?
PR - How long does it take me to walk there?
GM - Fifteen minutes.
PR - I'll leave so's I can get there five minutes early.
GM - You'll leave around 7:40, then.
PR - I'm not taking the SMG.
GM - Are you taking your pistol?
PR - Yes.
GM - What are you wearing?
PR - I'm trying to dress nice, so I'll wear one of my new suits and a new tie.  
     Wait--did I get a new suit?
GM - Do you want me to look?
PR - No, I can do it.  [flips pages]  Huh.  No, I didn't get a new jacket.  
     I got shirts, ties, and gloves.
GM - You didn't have any of your laundry done.  You didn't get a new suit 
     jacket or new slacks.  How many suits do you have?
PR - Two.
GM - You wore one on the train, and then you wore your fresh one.
PR - I'll wear the freshest.
GM - [laughs]  That's the one you've been wearing.  Or you can wear the one 
     that you wore on the train, since it has been hanging up for a while.
PR - I'll wear a fresh shirt ... 
GM - And a new tie.  You'll look a little rumpled, but you should be 
     presentable.
PR - I'll even wear my gloves.
GM - You put your coat on, and in the pocket of your coat--
PR - I find that wallet.
GM - You find that guy's wallet.  Are you going to look in it?
PR - Yeah.
GM - It's got a NorCal driver's license, registered to Marcus Huan.  It's got 
     a hundred and fifty euro, cash, a small bank chip, and some check stubs 
     and a few credit cards, mostly ritzy ones.  And the chips that you 
     stuffed in it are in there, too.
PR - I stuffed chips in the wallet?
GM - Yeah, when you went through his slacks--
PR - Yeah, I remember.  In his pants pocket.  Well, I'll put it in my coat 
     pocket again.  Put on my hat.  And I'll walk down to, uh ...
GM - Beppo's.  It is as it was the night before.  The sign says, "Closed."
PR - But there are people inside.
GM - Yes.
PR - I walk in.
GM - You walk in.  Connolly is waiting for you at the bar.  He's talking with 
     the bartender.  He is very intent on his conversation, and he looks out 
     of place in here.  Most of the others in here are working-class; waiters, 
     thick-necked dockworkers, joeboys, who live in Little Italy and go out 
     elsewhere to work.  But he's sitting there, in another one of his mid-
     level, neat black suits.  He's drinking something too.  He sees you, 
     spins around on his stool, gets up, and walks over.  Hello, Sal.
PR - Hi.
GM - You're early.
PR - You told me not to be late.
GM - [smiling]  That's good.  Mr. Castiglione likes punctuality.  
PR - Who?
GM - The man you are going to meet tonight.  His name is Vincent Castiglione.  
     He's what you might call . . . a lieutenant in the area.
PR - I see.  Oh--I've got something for you.
GM - What's that?
PR - Reach in and pull the wallet out.
GM - What is this?
PR - It's the kid's wallet.  I forgot to give it to you.
GM - Ah.  [pause]  Next time, put it in the duffle, along with everything 
     else.
PR - Sorry.  I was in a hurry.
GM - That's all right.  Let me give you my number ...  I realised this 
     morning that you had no way to call me because I forgot to give you my 
     card.  He gets a business card out of his inner coat pocket and writes 
     something on it, then hands it over.  The card only has his name and a 
     Net address on it, and a phone number written on the reverse in black 
     ink.
PR - Put it in my pocket.
GM - He takes the wallet, looks at it disdainfully, and puts it in his suit 
     pocket.  Then he motions you over to the bar.  You sit down.  Let me 
     talk to you for a few minutes before we go up.  
PR - Up where?
GM - We're going upstairs.  We'll have to go through the kitchen.  [sighs]  
     I don't know if you understand how things are organized out here ... We 
     don't do hits like you may be used to.  You told me before that ... your 
     last job you had a problem with because someone got to him before you 
     did.  
PR - Mmm-hmm.
GM - Ah ... 
PR - It was a public thing, though.
GM - Well, we don't do "public things."   Mr. Castiglione decides who's going 
     to do a job.  We don't have bids that everyone can take up.  
PR - All right.
GM - He feels it leads to unnecessary competition ... too many fingers in the 
     same pie, as it were.  Three people going after the same target can 
     create quite a mess.  You shouldn't have any problem with him tonight ... 
     I believe he's in a hurry tonight, so he'll most likely ask you a few 
     questions and then leave.  [sighs]  Do you want anything to drink?
PR - No, thank you.
GM - All right, then.  He waits about three more minutes.  When it's eight 
     o'clock, he gets up and says, Come on, let's go.
PR - All right.
GM - You go back through the kitchen, and immediately through the kitchen 
     doors is a stairway to your right, leading up into the heights of the 
     building.  It's almost like a fire exit stairway in that it's concrete, 
     with steel railings and fluorescent lights in the ceiling.  You go up to
     the second floor.  This is only a two-story establishment.  So you go up, 
     down a short, bare hall, and through a warped wooden door at the end.  
     This room is about the size of your living room.  There are several 
     tables scattered around, with rickety wooden kitchen chairs overturned 
     on top of them, like in a restaurant.  The carpeting is better than you'd 
     expect, a deep pile, but the color is a vomit green.  Lamps with pool-
     style shades hang from the ceiling, above each table.  At the largest 
     table, up against the far wall, there are five men.  Four of them you 
     recognize from the restaurant, on the first day you arrived, and the 
     fifth one you haven't seen before.  They have papers spread out on the 
     table around them, and what looks like the remnants of a card game, a 
     four person game.  They're speaking in Italian, and when you come in 
     they stop, and they look up.  [pause]  Before we go on, I'm going to 
     describe them to you, because you may be working with some of them later 
     on.  You've already met Connolly.

[The following section is verbatim, but separated from the main dialogue for 
 clarity.]  

        The big guy from the restaurant is here, the one who apparently 
        followed you to your hotel room.  He's wearing a rumpled gray suit.  
        He's taller than you are, probably about 6'2", and a little on the 
        heavy side.  Black, shoulder-length hair, in a John Travolta, Pulp 
        Fiction style haircut, and it's pulled back in a ponytail right now.  
        He's wearing an earring in one ear; it's about a quarter of an inch 
        long, and looks like an icicle-shaped piece of crystal.  He's sitting
        in a rickety wooden chair, and he's smiling.  He looks honestly 
        pleased to meet you.  He might be thirty.  

        The next guy is the one who was eating a salad.  He's only twenty-
        five or twenty-six, with blonde hair and dark, tanned skin.  He's 
        wearing an expensive black silk suit, but the jacket is slung on the 
        back of his chair, his shirt sleeves are rolled up, and he has no tie.
        He looks a little upset . . . It appears that he was finally getting the boss to listen to him, and
        now that you've arrived, the focus of attention isn't going to be on 
        him any more.

        The third guy is the scavenger, the one who was eating off the salad 
        guy's plate.  He has a really dark, midnight blue suit on.  His hair 
        is black, too, but it has a bluish sheen, and it's cut short--not in 
        a crew cut, like yours, but businessman's short.  He's about 35, and 
        fit and healthy.  You can tell by his build that he does atheletic 
        stuff.  You can see from where you are, across the room, that he has 
        cyberoptics, because his eyes flash weirdly in the light.  He might 
        have mirrored irises or some such nonsense.  He leans his chin on his 
        hand and looks at you, and you notice that he has scarred hands, like 
        he's spent a lifetime beating people up.  He takes his other hand, 
        gets a sip of his drink, puts it down, and smiles, and it's a mean 
        smile.

        The fourth guy is the pasta man.  He's heavyset and big, built like a 
        wall.   His face is round, he has receding black hair, and he's 
        wearing a gray herringbone jacket with a red tie.  He looks cheerful, 
        but there's also something in his face that makes him seem slow.  You 
        can see the wheels creaking in his head when you and Connolly walk in.  
        He wears a little gold St. Christopher's medallion around his neck.

        The last guy is the one you haven't seen before.    He's an older man 
        in his fifties.  He's wearing a pale gray suit and a matching tie.  
        His skin has that pinkish, manicured look associated with good food 
        and an excellent dermatologist.  His hair is also light gray, and it's 
        the only thing on his body that's a little frazzled.  He has a deep, 
        gravelly voice, which I won't try to reproduce for obvious reasons.

[Returning to the normal sequence.]
 
GM - As I said, they are all speaking in Italian, except for the blonde man, 
     whose Italian is bad and really broken.  You come in the door with 
     Connolly . . . By the way, as long as we're talking about clothes, you 
     have noticed that Connolly always dresses very formally.  He is always 
     in a suit, and he wears the waistcoat with it.
PR - What, the cummerbund?
GM - No, the vest.  He dresses like a lawyer on his way to work.  He walks in, 
     and you come in behind him, and you have a moment to take in everything 
     as everyone stops talking.   He walks up to the table with you.  The man 
     with gray hair indicates two chairs; one has been pulled slightly around 
     to the side of the table, and the second is set out square on the side
     opposite everyone else.  Connolly takes the first chair.  The second is 
     reserved for you.
PR - All right, I'll sit down.
GM - Connolly says, Mr. Castiglione--
PR - Is he speaking Italian?
GM - Yeah.  
PR - Then I'll speak Italian, as well.
GM - He says, He's the man I was telling you about.  He was the person that I 
     picked to ... ah ... perform that job.  He scratches his head, nervously.  
     Castiglione nods, picks up a crumpled screamsheet and tosses it toward 
     you.  It looks like someone's scrunched it up in an angry fist.  He 
     pushes it forward on the table toward you and leans forward.  You are
     the man who did this? he says.  
PR - [laughs]
GM - [laughs]  Are you going to look at it?
PR - [laughing]  Yes.  Is it the same thing [as the news]?
GM - More or less.
PR - Yes,
GM - [Castiglione] Well, you did a good enough job for them to say it was 
     industrial espionage.
PR - Grazzi.
GM - [Castiglione] Thanks to Mr. Connolly, we have decided that we would like 
     you to work for us.  We can offer you three thousand a month.   Rent 
     comes out of your own pocket, but we will cover medical care and such.  
     You do hits and intimidation, I understand.  Which do you prefer?
PR - I prefer to keep my options open.
GM - [Castiglione]  You only have one warrant out for you right now?
PR - Back east.
GM - [Castiglione]  That's good.
PR - I didn't do it.
GM - [Castiglione]  No one ever does.  He stands up and brushes off his pants.  
     I have some appointments I need to take care of, but I wanted to meet 
     you this evening and sound you out.
PR - It was a pleasure meeting you, sir.
GM - [Castiglione]  Mr. Connolly will fill you in.  He turns to the guy with 
     the ponytail.  He looks at him for a long moment, then says to him, You 
     figure out whether you want to take him along to do what needs to get 
     done.  The other guy nods, and Castiglione walks out.  He goes by 
     himself.  No one says anything.  His tread is heavy, and you can hear him 
     going down the stairs, and no one moves until he is down the stairs and 
     out.  Everyone relaxes.  Connolly sighs, and says, That went better than 
     I expected.
PR - What did you expect?
GM - Well, let's say I consider myself lucky that I can still sit down.  But 
     he was in a good mood.  Let me introduce you to everyone.  He turns to 
     the ponytail guy.  He says, still talking in Italian, and the blonde guy 
     is frowning as he does this, This is Mike.  Michael di Castro.  He turns 
     to the blonde guy, and sighs, and says, This is 'Lissandro.  You can call 
     him 'Sandro, or whatever.  He doesn't care.  The blonde guy rolls his 
     eyes.  Connolly looks at the scavenging man.  You can now see, now that 
     you're close enough, that he does in fact have cybereyes with mirrored 
     irises, but the mirrors are cracked.  The cracks radiate around his 
     pupil.  Diego Montecelli.  He indicates the last guy.  And last, but 
     assuredly not least, is Justin Navarro.  The big guy grunts and extends 
     his big meaty hand.
PR - I shake it.  I've got big hands, too.
GM - He's got a big, heavy, warm and sweaty hand.  He gets up right after he 
     shakes your hand and heads over to a small mini-fridge in the corner of 
     the room.  He crouches down in front of it--you hear his knees pop--and 
     squats there, rummaging through it.  The other guys haven't said 
     anything; they're just watching you.  The blonde guy snorts, and says, in 
     English, Welp, hey.  You guys have nothing for me to do, I'm outta here.  
     Uh, I'm not going along with you, right?  The ponytailed man shakes his 
     head.  Okay, I'm gone.  Sal.  Right.  He shakes your hand.  
PR - I shake it and do some intense Italian, extending it out into this big 
     long salutation.  You know, "May your family be fertile," and all that.  
     It's really fast, native Italian, and I smile while I say it.  
GM - He smiles and nods.  He obviously has no idea what you're saying.  He 
     shakes your hand and says Bon giorno, and leaves.  He practically runs 
     down the stairs--you can hear him taking them two at a time.  Navarro, 
     over at the fridge, pulls out a Subway sandwich wrapped in foil and 
     heads to another table.  He flips a chair down and spreads the sandwich
     out, getting ready to eat it. The two left are Diego and di Castro.  
     Diego, the mirror-eyed guy, is sitting there, watching you.  And di 
     Castro is sitting there, laughing, most likely because of what you did 
     to Alessandro.  The silence lengthens.  Finally, Connolly says,  Well.  
     I see we've ruined the party.  Navarro grunts and continues eating. 
PR - What day is it?
GM - Friday.
PR - Shouldn't he be avoiding meat?
GM - Nobody here seems to care.  As you think about this, you remember seeing 
     that Navarro has a St. Christopher's medal around his neck.
PR - There's a church up here, isn't there?  But the priest's Irish, so that 
     probably wasn't the one.
GM - No, it wouldn't be.
PR - They probably go to some really ritzy Catholic Church inland.
GM - Yeah, I figure about a mile down the coast.
PR - Do mafiosos confess to murders?
GM - Yep.
PR - [laughing]  What kind of penance do they have to do?
GM - [laughs]  I guess you'll find out.  Are you religious?
PR - I guess I was brought up Catholic.  I'm just watching and waiting.
GM - di Castro says, I'm pleased to meet you, if nobody else is.
PR - Glad to see a friendly face.
GM - Shakes your hand. Sorry about your room.
PR - That was you?
GM - Yeah.
PR - That's okay.
GM - Part of the territory.  So, ah, got any problems with an apartment about 
     half a mile down the road?
PR - As long as I don't have to wait for the maid to kick me out the next 
     morning, I'll be happy.
GM - Connolly gets up and says, I'll be right back. 
PR - I track on him.
GM - He goes downstairs.  di Castro runs his hands through his hair.
PR - Nice guy.
GM - di Castro pulls the elastic band out of his hair and shakes his head.  
     He says, Ah, Connolly's not that bad.  Walks like he's got a stick up 
     his ass, but other than that, he's not such a bad guy.  You didn't get 
     here with very much, did you?
PR - [snorts]  You'd know.
GM - [laughs]  What can I say?  If it had been you, you'd have done the same 
     thing.  I'm surprised it got on the news so fast.
PR - Me, too. 
GM - He didn't tell you who you were going after when he sent you?
PR - He said I was going after a Tong runner, not that I was going after a 
     famous cyberneticist and his grandkid.
GM - Well, that's Connolly for you.  He'll never tell you entirely what's 
     going on.  Which is why ... well, that's why I'm supposed to show you 
     around, show you your apartment and take you to meet a couple people.  
     Not tonight, but tomorrow, I figure.  You busy?
PR - Well ... no.
GM - I mean, are you free tonight?
PR - Well, I gotta pay for my hotel room again, but yeah, I'm free.
GM - Well ... Mr. Castiglione's got this thing he wants me to take care of.  
     He told me I could ask you along, if I'd wanted, and I'd kind of like 
     some backup.  But, uh, you don't get paid for this.  [pause]  There's 
     this guy we gotta go get and bring down to this warehouse by the harbor.
PR - What are you gonna do to him?
GM - Oh, I dunno, whatever Castiglione wants us to do to him, I guess. 
PR - What, toss him off the Bay Bridge?
GM - [laughs]  No.  Did you guys do that in Chicago?
PR - Occasionally.
GM - [laughing]  That's kinda graphic, innit?
PR - It's hard to get them there.  You have to use a truck.
GM - [laughing] What, a hand truck?
PR - No, a pickup truck.
GM - What do you do, put them in the back?
PR - Uh-huh.
GM - How do you keep 'em quiet?
PR - It doesn't matter.
GM - [laughing]  That's awful!
PR - You just drop them right off the bridge.
GM - Well, normally we just shoot 'em.
PR - Bombs away.  Sometimes we aim for things.
GM - Boats and stuff?
PR - Tugboats.
GM - Per dio.
PR - It's like, if they don't hit the water, and sink, and drown, they hit 
     the boat and break both legs, and possibly their neck, and they know not 
     to fuck with the Family anymore.
GM - What about the people who are on the boat?
PR - They usually throw them overboard.
GM - Uh-huh.
PR - They don't fuck with the Chicago Harbor Police, I'll tell you that.
GM - You don't fuck with the Night City Harbor Police, either.  They're worse 
     than the cops.  Connolly tell you anything that went down?  The only 
     people in the room right now, by the way, are you and him--
PR - And the chubby guy.
GM - And the mean guy, Diego.  He hasn't said anything.  He gets up now and 
     gathers up the playing cards on the table, taps them into a deck, and 
     goes over to Navarro.  He pulls a chair down, sits down, and begins to 
     shuffle them.  Now it's just you and di Castro at the table.   di Castro 
     says, Well, the way things are set up around here, it's kind of like
     this.   Most of the violent shit that needs to get done is taken care of 
     by Mr. Castiglione.
PR - What, personally?
GM - No, by you, or me, or Diego over there.  Or some of the other guys.  
     We're not the only ones, but we're what you could call the main ones.  
     'Cause there's no open contracts out here, you know.
PR - Well, there used to be competition back in Chicago.  And they only did 
     it on certain people they wanted dead, and one man wasn't sure to get 
     the job done.  You know, get five or six, and [claps].
GM - We used to do that, but we got too much other stuff to worry about.  And 
     we had a couple of fuck-ups.  I don't know how it was in Chicago; I 
     never been out there.  But I always thought it was a one-flavor city.  
     You know, you got Family, and that's it.  But out here, we got Tong, we 
     got the black and brown street gangs, we got the Russians, the boosters, 
     and all that.  So we have to be more careful.  Plus the goddamned Yak is 
     always hanging around like a spider, waiting to fuck us over.  Anyway, 
     what I was saying is, you get paid however much you get paid a month, 
     and sometimes they'll ask you to do something special and you'll get a 
     little more.  But then you've gotta do stuff that's just part of your 
     job, and you don't get paid extra for it.  Like riding herd on a 
     shipment, or driving Mr. Castiglione somewhere, or taking somebody's old 
     aunt to the grocery store ... Anyway, there's this guy, a little shit, 
     came out from Jersey four, five weeks ago.  He worked his way in.  He 
     looked like he was going to shape up to be a pretty promising guy ... a 
     hitter, you know.  He was good with the guns, he was fast.  But he got 
     picked up on a weapons charge, I guess it was about two weeks ago.  And 
     we didn't think anything of it, 'cause we got people in the Department 
     who can take care of stuff like that.  So they ran him through the 
     system, took his prints and DNA and shit, and was sentenced to four 
     months in a low security block, suspended if he did community service, 
     after we greased a few palms.  At least, that's what we thought.  Turns 
     out he had a Murder One charge on him back in New Jersey.  And it looks 
     like they struck some kind of deal with him, that they wouldn't extradite 
     him if he gave out certain information.
PR - So, he snitched.
GM - Yeah.  Well, a couple things went sour after that.  So, Mr. Castiglione 
     fed bogus information to everybody that knew about one of the jobs that 
     went bad, to see what the cops would pick up on.  And we figured out who 
     it was that way.  So he wants me to go down tonight and get the guy, and 
     bring him down to one of the warehouses by the harbor.  I think he wants 
     you to come along, 'cause you didn't know the guy.
PR - What's his name?
GM - Joey Galvano.  
PR - I ever heard of him?
GM - No.  I don't know.  Everybody thought he was a nice kid.  Justin was 
     pretty tight with him, so he isn't coming.  Navarro grunts, and says, 
     with his mouth full, Yeah, he was okay.  I never thought he'd turn out 
     like that.  di Castro looks at you and says, So, you want to come down?
PR - Sure.
GM - This could get a little messy.  He doesn't know we're coming, but he's 
     probably spooked.  He hasn't left yet, but if we get in and he flashes 
     on what's going down, he could get violent.  And he's pretty good.
PR - So, do you want us to shoot him?  If we have to?
GM - If we have to, yeah.  But he'd rather we get him to the warehouse at 
     least able to talk.
PR - Take me along, I'll watch the hallway or something.
GM - Okay.  You wanna move your stuff down to your apartment?
PR - Sure.  We got time?
GM - Yeah.  I wasn't planning on going down there till ten or eleven.  It's 
     only eight-thirty now.
PR - Know where I could get some gel rounds this time of night?
GM - [pause]  What caliber?
PR - Four fifty-four.
GM - I don't know about .454, but I can talk to Bob.  Come on, we'll go 
     downstairs and ask him.
PR - It's just that if this guy tries to get away, I don't want to pop him.
GM - Well, yeah, but if you pop him, you pop him.  Nothing you can do about 
     it sometimes.  I don't know if we'll be able to get 'em, though.  We'll 
     go ask Bob.
PR - Well, if you can't get them, that's okay.  I'm not going to use them for 
     anything else.
GM - Come on.  I don't wanna hang out in here anymore.  I hate this place.
PR - [laughs]  Okay, I get up.
GM - He heads towards the door.  Diego is shuffling the cards as you leave, 
     muttering something to Navarro, who is still eating.  You and di Castro 
     head down the stairs.  Connolly is talking in rapid-fire Italian to one 
     of the waiters, whom you haven't seen before.  He sees you two, waves at 
     you, breaks off his conversation, and walks over.  Are you going with 
     him?
PR - Why not?
GM - All right.  You have my number if you have any problems.
PR - How about that 4K?
GM - Oh, yes.  He reaches into his coat pocket.
PR - What does he give me?
GM - A chip.  One of those read-only money chips.  He hands it to you.  
     There's a reader behind the bar, if you'd like to check it right now.
PR - I give it back to him.
GM - He takes it back.  What?
PR - You keep it.
GM - You ... don't want it?
PR - On the house.  
GM - All right, then.  He puts it away, looking bemused.  I'm sure I can find 
     a worthy cause for it.
PR - I'm sure you can.
GM - Widows and orphans.  Especially manufactured ones.  He nods at you, 
     turns back to resume his conversation with the waiter.  di Castro clears 
     his throat.  Connolly turns around.  di Castro says, Well, Sal was 
     wondering, could you get us any gel rounds?  Connolly says, Now?  What 
     caliber?  di Castro looks at you.
PR - [pretends to hold open a jacket to reveal his gun]
GM - [laughs]  Connolly's eyebrow goes up.  Is that cased?
PR - Mmm-hmm.  .454.  
GM - [thoughtfully]  Cased, .454 gel rounds.
PR - Actually, I think the only .454 rounds you can get are cased.
GM - That's true, but I don't know if I can get gel rounds.  When would you 
     need them by?
PR - I don't know.  I don't really need them.
GM - [Connolly] I can look around.  di Castro says, Well, we need 'em by 
     eleven o'clock.  Connolly says, That's pretty short notice.  But I'll 
     see what I can do.
PR - Well, I don't need them.
GM - Yes, but we aim to please.
PR - I'm sure for four grand, you can find gel rounds.  [laughs]
GM - [laughing] Is that my retainer?  "Properly motivated, a man can find 
     anything."  I'll ask around.  Are you going back to your hotel?
PR - Yeah, I've got to get my stuff.  Gotta check out.
GM - I'd rather not drop them off at your apartment ... 
PR - Jeez, everybody knows where I live but me.
GM - Michael, if I find them I'll drop them off in the box at Gino's.  di 
     Castro nods, puts one hand on your shoulder.  Come on, let's go.
PR - Okay.
GM - You see Connolly go back to his discussion with the little waiter.  As 
     he's talking to him, you see that he has the Tong guy's wallet in his 
     hand, and he's apparently telling the waiter to do something with it.  
     The two of you go out the door.  di Castro has a car, parked on the 
     street around black.  He's got a ... what are those 70's cars, like 
     pickups but weirder ... El Dorados?
PR - Yeah, an El Dorado.
GM - It's midnight blue, shiny and very clean.  There are two big Rottweilers 
     in the back, with harnesses on them so they can't fall out.  They're 
     drooling on each other.  di Castro goes up to the car and plays with 
     them for a second, and they jump up and pant and slobber and everyone's 
     happy.  He says, Don't worry, they're sweet.
PR - Yeah, I'll bet.  
GM - He pets them, and they lunge at you and do that choking cough a dog does 
     when its leash is pulled up short.  He tells them to get down, takes his 
     keys, unlocks the passenger door, goes around to the driver's side and 
     gets in.
PR - I'll get in the car.
GM - He drives you to your hotel.  Obviously, he knows where you're staying.  
     He pulls into the parking lot, pets the dogs again, heads toward the 
     door with you.  You notice now, as you walk beside him, that he smells 
     like dog now.  You go through the lobby.  The first African woman is on 
     desk.  It looks like she rotates with her sister, who looks just like 
     her, but without the tribal scars, and is about ten years younger.  di 
     Castro smiles at her and nods.  She stiffens up when he comes in, and 
     watches you two as you go up to your room.  He waits outside your door 
     for you to unlock it.  You do, and I assume you get your shit  together.
PR - Yeah, I throw it all in my duffle.  Steal the soap.
GM - While you're doing this, he wanders around, looks out the window, looks 
     in the bathroom.  You get everything together and the pair of you go 
     back downstairs to the front desk.  You close out your room.
PR - Okay. Here's the gel rounds.  You roll damage as usual, and if any 
     damage penetrates the armor, it inflicts only one point of real damage.  
     The rest is stun, but you have to roll for stun as if you took the real 
     damage you rolled.
GM - All right.  What if you're not wearing armor?
PR - Same thing.  You take a point of damage, but it does stun as if you'd 
     just been hit with--
GM - Full damage?
PR - Yeah, the damage that I rolled.
GM - How much damage does your pistol do?
PR - 4d6+3.
GM - Yeech.  You check out, go back to his car, put your duffle in the front.  
     He drives.  You end up ... let me show you where you go.  [flips pages]  
     You were right here, and you're going a little bit north and then left.
PR - Is that a bad neighborhood?
GM - No. 
PR - Doesn't that go to the Zone, further down?
GM - No, I figure the Zone is a good way away.  Because you can't confine 
     Little Italy and J-Town and Chinatown to three square blocks.
PR - Yeah.
GM - So it can go at least this far, most likely a mile or two, and then past 
     that is the Zone.  Plus the Zone goes in and out ... it's not always 
     the same distance away from the Corporate Center.  Some places it starts 
     sooner, other places it's been pushed back south.
PR - Okay.
GM - Little Italy extends west along the coast for almost another mile.  
     You're on the corner of 2nd and Harrington.  The buildings around here 
     are some of the oldest in the city, mostly built in the 1940's, so 
     they've got that film noir look.  Heavy gray stone, squat buildings.  
     He pulls up in front of a small apartment building which is smack in the 
     middle of an Italian neighborhood.  You feel right at home.  It's square 
     in the center of the working-class area.  Generally, things get more 
     expensive as you go north.  Five or six blocks south of you is the campus 
     area, and to the west of that are the rich black areas, which get poorer 
     as you go west.  There is no underground parking for your building, and 
     it's attached on one side to another identical building.  He gets out 
     and leads you toward the building.  Instead of going up the stairs to 
     the lobby, he cuts around to the side, where there are steps that lead 
     down.  He goes down the stairs, pulls some keys out of his pocket, and 
     tosses them toward you.  There is a door at the bottom of the stairs, 
     with a fan-shaped stained glass window above it.
PR - How chic.
GM - It's the best we could do on short notice.  Hey, I always wanted a 
     basement apartment.  Laverne and Shirley, all the way.
PR - Sure.  Shit rolls downhill, that's my motto.
GM - [laughs]
PR - I'll open the door.
GM - It ain't so bad inside.  It's got a deadbolt and a regular lock, both of 
     which you have the keys to.  You walk in the front door.  It's furnished 
     with cheap and shabby tables and chairs.  There's a living room area, a 
     kitchen across from you, and a hall extending to your left.  I'll give 
     you a sketch later.  It's not very big.  It's probably the super's 
     apartment.
PR - Okay, I'll go down the hall to the bedroom.
GM - The bedroom is right next to the living room.  There is a bed, and it's 
     not a temperfoam mattress, either.  It looks like a dilapidated waterbed, 
     about three quarters full, with a scarred, burned oak frame.  There's a 
     bureau, and a chest of drawers in the closet, and a little, eighteen inch 
     pre-turn of the century black and white TV set in one corner, that's been 
     hooked into the wall.
PR - That's going to remain off.
GM - There's a color set in the living room, a modern kind, set into the wall.
PR - So, how much is this place going to run me a month?  I throw my shit on 
     the bed.
GM - About six hundred.
PR - That it?
GM - Hey, it's Family real estate.  It's cheaper than that hotel.
PR - Yeah, I guess.  Am I going to need any heavy artillery?
GM - No, just bring your sub.
PR - I mean, I've got this baby.  [pats his pistol]
GM - You never know what you might run into.  You really gonna put gel rounds 
     in that sucker?
PR - Yes.  If I can get them.
GM - Dio cazzo.  That's a hell of a hogleg.
PR - They used to call me "Cowboy" back in Chicago.
GM - 'Cause it's a wheelgun?
PR - Uh-huh.
GM - Do you want to be called "Cowboy?"
PR - It doesn't bother me.  There's worse things I could be called.
GM - You know, Alessandro's gun's almost as big as that.
PR - What's up with Diego?
GM - He's a dick.
PR - Someone shit on his mother's grave, or what?
GM - Fucked his mother and slit her throat, more like, 'cept it was him who 
     did it.
PR - No doubt.  [pause]  Boss seems like a pretty cool guy.  What's he doing 
     with an asshole like Diego around?
GM - Diego gets the jobs done.  He's somebody's cousin.  He's a piece of shit.
PR - Looks like it.
GM - Sadistic motherfucker.  But you stay out of his way, and you'll be all 
     right.  Actually, you get in his way, you might be able to take him out.
PR - [laughs]  Is that a compliment?
GM - Yeah, maybe.  Diego's . . . you know strozzapreti, those pasta dishes big 
     enough to strangle a priest with?  That's him.  He's big and nasty, but 
     if you work on him, you can get him down.
PR - Well, I'd hate to piss the boss off.
GM - Yeah, that's why he's still around.  He's just a fuck.  He's got those 
     eyes, he thinks he's hot shit.
PR - [laughs]
GM - And Alessandro's just a flake, you get right down to it.  [laughs]
PR - Yeah, he looks like it.
GM - He's got this goddamn 11mm he totes around.
PR - That's big?
GM - He thinks it is.  Me, I can't handle anything much over 10mm.  Hurts my 
     hand.  Plus it's noisy as hell.
PR - I don't usually use the pistol.  I break out the submachinegun. 
GM - He watches you.
PR - I clean it.
GM - He goes to the fridge.  It's got food in there.  It looks like they 
     stocked it before you got there.  It's mostly prepack.
PR - Shit, I'll eat anything.  Connolly promised me a free meal.
GM - Plus, in the back are several dishes covered in plastic wrap.  di Castro 
     pulls one out and opens it up, and sticks it in the microwave.  It looks 
     like lasagna.
PR - We got home cooking here?
GM - Came with the home.  [laughs]
PR - Somebody live here before . . . ah . . . today?
GM - Not for a couple weeks.
PR - You telling me that lasagna's been in there for a couple weeks?
GM - No, no.  Somebody brought this over this afternoon.  I dunno who it was.  
PR - Maybe I need to get myself a roommate.
GM - You could room with Alessandro.  I think he'd like a hot one to warm up 
     his nights.
PR - I'll give him a hot one.  That's not what I meant.
GM - [laughs]  You could split the rent.
PR - Nah, I was thinking about getting some poor college shmuck in here, tell 
     him the rent's twelve hundred a month, and he's gotta pay six hundred of it.
GM - [laughs]  Per dio.  You're terrible.
PR - So, we gonna go break this guy's kneecaps, or what?
GM - Yeah, in a minute.  He doesn't want him too beat up, you know.  Hang on a 
     sec.  He goes past you, out the door.  He comes back in a few minutes 
     with a small duffle, and he puts it down on the coffee table and takes 
     out a small submachinegun.  It's an H&K MPK9, 9mm.  He puts it down.  
     It's got a silencer.
PR - What, you shoot ducks with that?
GM - Sitting ducks, yeah.  You hunt ducks with yours?
PR - Yeah.
GM - He starts cleaning it, and bullshits with you for a while, mostly about 
     Chicago and how he's never been there, but he'd like to go.
PR - I tell him he should probably wait a while.  
GM - A few minutes later the lasagna dings.  He gets up, scrapes it onto a 
     plate, and takes it outside.
PR - Ah, shit.  [laughs]
GM - He comes back a few minutes later with the empty plate and puts it in 
     the sink, and rinses it out.
PR -  You'd think you were married to those dogs.
GM - Hey, they gotta eat too.  I'm not bringing them along, for Christ's sake, 
     and I don't know when we'll be back.
PR - Why not? [laughs]
GM - What, put him in the back with the dogs?  That'd be good.
PR - Keep him in line.
GM - You don't have a car, do you?
PR - Nope.
GM - We should go pick one up, then.  You all done there?
PR - Do I have to sign for it?
GM - No. 
PR - Okay, then.  I'm done.  Load the gun up and put it on its sling, then put 
     my coat over it.
GM - He just puts his in his bag, and carries the bag over one shoulder.  He 
     doesn't have a sling for it.  He's got a coat, not a long coat, but a 
     calf-length black overcoat.  You assume he has a pistol somewhere on his 
     person.  He says, Okay, let's get outta here.  The sooner we get this 
     shit taken care of, the happier I'll be.
PR - Get my keys and lock the house.
GM - By the way, as you're leaving, you realize that there's no phone in the 
     apartment.  There's a jack, though.  You lock up and get in his car.  He 
     drives for about ten minutes, deeper south and west into Little Italy.  
     This would be about a thirty-minute walk from your house.  He pulls up to 
     an apartment building much like yours, but taller, made of red brick, and
     covered with graffiti almost up to the second floor.  You figure this is 
     his place.  It's about the same level of quality as yours, except it's 
     actually in the building instead of under it.  He has a ground floor 
     corner apartment in the back, with an extra door opening to the back lot, 
     and you think this was probably also a super's apartment, which explains 
     the extra door.  The back lot is enclosed with a chain-link fence, and 
     was originally used to hang laundry, walk pets, etc.  Now it's full of 
     trash and weeds.  He pulls down the alley and around the building, parks 
     the car, and opens the gate in the back fence.  He gets out of the car, 
     unclips the dogs, walks them to the back door, unlocks it, and lets them 
     into the apartment.  He locks it back up and walks back to the passenger 
     side of the car.  Come on.  He opens your door.  You walk next to him 
     for about ten minutes--you leave his building, via the alley, and walk 
     down the street until you come to a towing and repair service.  The sign 
     says, Gino's Towing and Service.  It's a long, low concrete building 
     with a concrete awning along two sides.  The repair bays are on the 
     right, and there's a parking area that goes all the way around the 
     building.  The whole deal is fenced in with chain-link and razor wire.  
     di Castro goes up to the gate, unlocks it, opens it up and walks up to 
     the front door of the office.  He bangs on it with his fist.  It's 
     about ten-thirty at night right now.  A light goes on inside, and the 
     door opens.  A short man with a beer gut, a ring of graying brown hair 
     encircling his bald, mottled scalp, ratty jeans, and a stained white 
     tank-top is standing there.  di Castro looks at him and says, Hey, Gino, 
     we need a car tonight.  The man rubs his eyes, sleepily, looks at you, 
     looks at di Castro, and says, Get in here.  You guys keep waking me up 
     for this.  Why you can't call me in the daytime, I can't figure out.  
     You and di Castro go into the office.  It's a typical mechanic's office; 
     there's certificates on the wall, dirty plastic furniture, plaques and 
     motor oil advertisements on the walls, green carpet with the nap almost 
     rubbed away, a bell on the counter, a few out-of-date Popular Science 
     magazines lying arond.  di Castro sits down on a tattered yellow couch, 
     and the balding guy goes into the back.  You hear him fumbling around 
     for a few minutes, and he comes back out with a set of keys attached to 
     a red plastic tag.  He throws them to di Castro, and says, It's the blue 
     Honda, in the corner.  Don't mess it up so bad this time.  di Castro 
     smiles, raises his hands, and leads you out of the office.  What you find 
     when you get out there is a little blue compact car, not a Metro Car, but 
     the equivalent of a Civic with the station wagon rear.  It's an ugly sky 
     blue color.  He unlocks the passenger side door and gets in, leaning 
     across to unlock the driver's side door for you.
PR - You mean I gotta drive this piece of shit?
GM - Connolly said you could drive.
PR - I'd be embarrassed to be in this piece of shit.
GM - He gives you the keys.
PR - So, is this my company car here?
GM - No, we're just gonna use this one tonight.
PR - Start it up.
GM - We'll come back later this week and get you another one.  You can 
     probably pick one right out of the lot.
PR - [sighs] Sure.  
GM - Shit, you could just buy a car.
PR - An Italian driving a Japanese rat-trap.
GM - This ain't so bad.  I been in those Metro Cars.  You can't even sit up 
     in them.  Sides, there's some space in the back, there.
PR - Yeah, easier to hide the bodies.
GM - Well, we're not taking him in my goddamn car.  Besides, where would we 
     put him?  What if he jumped out the back?
PR - Make sure he isn't in a mood to jump.
GM - Tie him up with the dog leashes, right.
PR - I didn't say anything about tying him up.
GM - Oh, shit.  Hang on a minute.  di Castro gets out of the car and goes 
     back across the yard.  He goes back to the office door and bangs on it 
     again.  It opens and he goes inside.  In about a minute he's back.  He 
     hands you a cardboard box.
PR - Chocolates?
GM - No, I think these are your rounds.  You should check them.  It's pretty 
     light.
PR - Open it up.
GM - There are four gel rounds in the box.
PR - [laughs]  Funny, the gun loads five.  I suppose that's okay.  I'll put 
     it gel, gel, gel, gel--
GM - Solid?
PR - DP.
GM - Oh, god.
PR - [laughs] If the first four don't stop him, the last one certainly will.  I'll load my gun.
GM - I think the gel rounds will kill him, with that thing.
PR - Well, just in case.
GM - It's not silenced, either.
PR - Nope.  Makes an impression on you.  [laughs]
GM - Yeah, I bet it does.
PR - And in you.  [laughs]  And through you, behind you.  [laughing]  I start 
     the car up.
GM - He tells you the address.
PR - You're gonna have to give me directions.  I don't know this town.
GM - Yeah, he gives you directions.  You're going way down south, more 
     towards the college.  In fact, you pass the university and head south 
     about six blocks.  You're well into the black section of town now, and 
     this isn't the rich part, either.  Lots of small, run-down businesses
     and an inner-city feel.  Mostly Hispanics and blacks on the streets, not 
     too many Anglo faces.  You head into a section of town right on the edge 
     of the Zone, which was originally a business area almost as big as the 
     Corporate Center at one time.  The big corporate office buildings down 
     here have been sublet out as cheap office space to various small and 
     failing businesses.  One of them has even been converted to residential 
     housing.  You can see, farther south, a cluster of similar buildings, 
     even larger than the group you're heading to, and you know that they're 
     in the heart of the Zone.  The tallest building in this cluster is about 
     thirty stories tall.  The one you're heading to is the apartment building, 
     and it's about half that size, around eighteen stories.  He tells you to 
     pull around the back, and there's an underground parking structure there.  
     There is no guard cubicle, or even a gate. There's just the ramp that 
     goes down.  The walls here are black with graffiti and spraybombs, and 
     it extends up almost to the fourth floor; you have no idea how the 
     taggers got up there, but they did.  Down here where you are, it's 
     impossible to read the letters on the wall, they're layered so thick.  
     There are some people sitting in a loose group around an overturned,
     armored mailbox by the entrance to the parking garage, just hanging out 
     and passing a bottle around.  They look like gangbangers.  They just 
     watch as you pull in.  The lights down here work, although about half of 
     them have been broken out.  There are about sixty cars in the lot, but a 
     good quarter of them are in various stages of decrepitude, and about ten 
     or fifteen way in the back have been gutted.  Wheels taken off, doors 
     gone.  One looks burnt.  No one is down here, and there are big piles of 
     trash and junk lying around, along with a mangled shopping cart and the 
     remains of a smashed dataterm by the elevator.
PR - Okay, I'll pick a spot.
GM - The working cars, the ones driven by the ones who work here, are closer 
     to the entrance.  It is a single level garage.
PR - Which car is his?
GM - I think it's that little green one over there.
PR - Now, we don't want him getting away, do we?
GM - No.  What do you wanna do, mess the tires up?
PR - Probably be the easiest thing.
GM - All right.  The two of you get out of the car and walk across the garage 
     to the car di Castro indicated.  It's a small, dark green compact car of 
     indeterminate Japanese make and manufacture.  It's the equivalent of a 
     Honda CVCC, a 2010 model.  di Castro reaches into his coat pocket and 
     pulls out a single-edged knife about that long [indicates with her 
     hands], the kind where you flip it out sideways, and it locks.
PR - A stilletto.
GM - It's not double-edged, it's single-edged.  Is it still a stilletto?
PR - Well, kind of.  I know what you're talking about, though.  It's got the 
     little crossbar.
GM - Yeah, and a narrow blade.  What are you going to do, look it up?

[tape paused while the exact nature of di Castro's knife is determined]

GM - Jesus, they're expensive.  Yeah, that's the kind of knife he's got.  
     Medici.  It's that one, the Puma folding knife.  Anyway, he kneels down, 
     goes to the front passenger tire--
PR - [flips pages]  Wait, I found a better one.
GM - Yeah, that's it.  Exactly.  That's what he's got.  The shorter one.
PR - Those are cool.  I'll have to pick one of those up.
GM - But he goes down to the front passenger tire, and slits it, and then 
     goes to the back passenger tire, and does the same.  He does not look 
     inclined to do the other two.  He starts toward the elevator and waits 
     for you to follow. 
PR - Okay, let's go.
GM - He says, He lives on the twelfth floor.  He might have a girl with him.
PR - Yeah?
GM - Just thought I'd let you know.  You don't have any problem with that, do 
     you?
PR - No.  If there's any shooting, do you want it to be quiet?  In other 
     words, are people going to be calling police?
GM - Yeah, it's a possibility.  I mean, this ain't the nicest of 
     neighborhoods, but ... you know.  These guys work in the industrial park 
     down the street.  They still believe in the cops.
PR - [sighs]  Put my gloves on.  Put the silencer on my submachine gun.
GM - He reaches into his pocket, takes out a similar pair of gloves.  They're 
     dull, matte black leather.  He puts them on and closes the straps around 
     his wrists.  He takes his coat off and takes it back to the car.  Well, 
     see, if you plug him with that thing, we've got to get him out of there 
     fast.  I don't want prolonged shooting.  Or screaming.  Or gun battles.
PR - Well, we can have a nice conversation.
GM - You get in the elevator, and he pushes the button.  It takes you up into 
     the lobby, and then you've got to get out and cross the lobby to the 
     elevator that goes up to the apartments.  You get out and enter the 
     lobby.  There are two people in here right now; one is an elderly black 
     man wearing a knit watch-cap, who looks homeless.  He's huddled in a 
     corner with his bags and such bundled around him.  He appears to be 
     sleeping.  The other person is a white woman.  She's blonde and looks 
     like white trash.  She's talking on a pay phone in the corner.  She has 
     a fussy three year-old hoisted in one arm, a little blonde boy.  She has 
     a dirty blue cotton dress on, and her bra strap is showing.  It's torn 
     and fastened with a safety pin.  She watches the pair of you as you go 
     by, but she doesn't show any interest.  She's looking at you, but she's 
     not paying any attention--she's more tuned in to her conversation than 
     to her environment.  She's having an angry argument about a check, and 
     something about some money owed or promised to her.  You cross the lobby, 
     and di Castro pushes the button for the elevator.  It rumbles down and 
     the doors open, and it's about a quarter-inch off of floor level.  
     There's only one elevator for this building.  There's nobody inside. 
     You get in.  di Castro gets in, glances at the corner, and puts his head 
     down. 
PR - I put my head down too, and lower the brim of my hat.  It's probably a 
     camera.
GM - He gives you a sidelong glance, and nods his head at you.   The elevator 
     rumbles upward.  It's an old-fashioned chain elevator, and smells like 
     piss.  You get up to the twelfth floor.  The bell dings and the doors 
     open, and you're looking down a long hall that runs the entire length of 
     the building and T's where you are and at the far end.  The ceilings are 
     marked with fluorescent strips, and the walls are covered with the fading 
     remnants of a billboard-sized corporate ad.
PR - Which one is his?
GM - About three-quarters of the way down, on the right.
PR - Want me to wait here?
GM - I'd rather you come down and watch at least one end of the hall.
PR - I'll be happy to.
GM - Let me get my dice out.  He says, Keep an eye open.   Watch out for that 
     camera over there.
PR - What camera?
GM - There's one in the elevator, and as you step out of the elevator, there's 
     one trained on the landing.  He keeps his head down as he comes out.
PR - Okay, I'll do the same.  Um . . . when I'm out of camera range, reach 
     into my coat pocket, around back, pull the submachine gun around front so 
     I can pull it out when I need it.  And hook the plugs in and link the 
     weapon.
GM - He heads down the hall, glancing right and left as he goes, checking the 
     doors.
PR - Where do you want me?
GM - Mmmm . . . come down this end and wait by the T.  That way you can keep 
     an eye on the elevator, and if anybody comes around the corner down 
     there . . .
PR - Gotcha.
GM - So you go down the hall.  He stops about three-quarters of the way down, 
     in front of 1222.  He listens for a minute--
PR - I'll go where he wants me to go.
GM - He's having you stand out of sight of the door, but close enough so that 
     you can help him if there's any trouble, and so that if anyone comes 
     around the corner to go to the elevator, you can take care of it.  If 
     anyone heads toward the elevator from the other T, they'll be too far for 
     you to do anything about it anyway, so he wants you to cover him from this 
     end.  There is a child's abandoned Big Wheel outside the door of the 
     apartment across the hall from 1222.  The doors are solid oak, with 
     tarnished brass numbers, and they are heavily deadbolted.  He goes to the 
     door, looks at you, says, If there's a girl in here, I'm gonna need you 
     to come in.
PR - I nod.
GM - He nods back, lifts up his fist, and knocks on the door.  There is no 
     answer.  He waits, and knocks again, and says, Joey!  Joey, come on, 
     it's Mike.  Lemme in for a second, will ya?  Someone says something from 
     the other side, which you can't make out, and then you hear the locks 
     click back.
PR - I'll click off the safety.
GM - You notice he has his dufflebag slung over his shoulder, and his hand is 
     inside it, but he's standing in such a way that you can't see it from 
     inside the apartment.  He is leaning on the door with one shoulder.  The 
     door opens a crack and then stops again, probably on a chain.  He looks 
     through, smiles and raises his free hand and says, Jesus, Joey, what's 
     the matter with you?  It's just me.  Open the fuckin' door, will you?  
     'Lissandro didn't show up at Beppo's tonight, and I went down to his 
     apartment, and he ain't there.  I know you got his other number, and I 
     know you got the number where his girlfriend lives.  The voice on the 
     other side of the door says, Yeah, but what are you doing here at eleven 
     o'clock at night?  di Castro says, Well, shit, if you'd pay your bills I
     wouldn't have to come banging on your door, would I?  Will you let me in 
     for a goddamned minute, so I can call him?  The voice says, Yeah.  Hang 
     on a second.  The door closes, and you hear a rattling from the other 
     side.  di Castro lunges forward and slams the door into the person on 
     the other side, apparently as he's removing the chain.  You hear a 
     muffled grunt from the other side, and di Castro says, under his breath, 
     Per dio, and then he pushes the door open the rest of the way and steps 
     inside.  A beat later a female voice screams from inside the room--
PR - I'm gonna go in.  I'm going to back him up.
GM - Okay.  The girl is young, and she makes a high, quavery, indrawn screech, 
     as though she's getting ready to wail, and then you come in through the 
     door.  di Castro is standing in front of you, with the door open as far 
     as he can, about three-fourths of the way--whoever he nailed with it is 
     wedged between it and the wall.  You can see a smear of blood on the 
     floor directly in front of the door.  As you walk in the front door, you 
     are in the living room, and the kitchen is to your immediate right.  
     Directly across from you is a doorway leading to the bedroom, and there 
     is a woman standing in it.  She's wearing a black bra and nothing else.
     She has her hands to her mouth like this [indicates], and she's getting 
     ready to scream.
PR - I lift up the gun and point it at her head.  Does she see me as I come 
     in?
GM - No.  She's watching di Castro and Galvano.
PR - Okay, I'll step in front of him, between him and the girl and point the 
     gun at her head.  I'm going to turn my Intimidate on and say, Save it.
GM - What's the formula for Intimidation versus Cool?
PR - You take her Cool--
GM - Yeah, I know it.
PR - And you multiply it by 2.5, I think.  [flips pages]  Okay, you multiply 
     her cool by 2.5, and that's my difficulty number.  And there are 
     modifiers.  I'm bigger than her, so I get a +1.   Actually, am I a lot 
     bigger than her?
GM - Significantly, yeah.
PR - Okay, +2.  I'm brandishing a gun, so that's +4, so it's +6 so far.  Plus 
     I have backup, and that's +2 for the first guy.  That's +8.  Is she on 
     any psychoactive drugs?
GM - What's the modifier?
PR - Plus or minus the strength of the drug, depending on what it is.
GM - What's your base?  You have a Cool of 9, and Intimidate at 6--
PR - Base fifteen, yeah.
GM - Okay, you don't even have to roll.  Her total number is way below 
     fifteen.  She's got both hands pressed to her head, and she shuts up.  
     She starts to cry.
PR - Get to the floor, lady.
GM - She's just standing there.  She can't move.
PR - Kiss the floor!
GM - She gets down.  She says, Joey . . . What are you doing?!  What are you 
     doing in his house?!  Look at him, you knocked him out--oh, god, please 
     don't shoot me!  Please don't shoot me!  I don't want to die!  Oh, god, 
     please don't shoot me!
PR - [laughs]  Are we ready to leave yet?
GM - di Castro looks over.  He's standing by the door, looking down.  [laughs]  
     Dio, I think I broke his nose.
PR - Fuck.  Is there a phone nearby?
GM - Yes, there's one in the kitchen.
PR - Rip it out of the wall.
GM - Okay.
PR - Rip the phone cord out of it.
GM - Okay.
PR - Keep an eye on her, okay?
GM - She's cute.  It smells like sex in here.
PR - [laughs]  I go over to the kid.  Is he unconscious?
GM - He's either unconscious, or he's faking it very well.
PR - I roughly kick him over, onto his stomach.
GM - He groans.  He curls up into a fetal ball and opens his eyes to look at 
     you.
PR - [laughs]  Get him on his stomach, pull his hands up behind his back, and 
     wrap them tightly with the cord.
GM - You pull his hands behind his back . . . Make an Awareness roll.
PR - Huh.  [rolls]  I knew it.  Fifteen.
GM - Okay, you tie his hands behind his back with the phone cord.  He's lying 
     on his stomach now, kicking his feet weakly, as though he wants to get up.  
     di Castro is watching the sobbing woman on the floor.  The kid is about 
     nineteen, very good looking except for his smashed nose.
PR - Well, I don't want to kill him, although I know I'm capable of it.  I 
     want to deliver a . . .
GM - A moderate blow?
PR - Yeah, a moderate kidney punch.  As he's starting to struggle, to put him 
     in his place and show him that he's not in charge of this situation.
GM - Okay, roll.  If you fumble, you roll regular damage.  If you make it, 
     you can pick how much you do.
PR - I just want to do my base.  That's 1d6+2, plus my Body . . . at least 
     five points.  That's how much I want.  His BTM should cut that down.
GM - Go for it.  If you fumble, you won't be able to control the damage.
PR - Fourteen . . . twenty total.  That's going to do five points to his torso.  
     I don't know how you want to work vitals--
GM - It doesn't really matter, right now.  I'll let him make a Stun/Save.  
     He's lying on the floor, he's already taken damage, he was unconcious 
     just a minute ago--
PR - Yeah, with a negative, like -1.  Plus whatever he gets from the damage 
     he has.
GM - It looks like he got hit pretty damn hard when di Castro came through 
     the door.  [rolls]
PR - I mean, if I hit him as hard as I could, I'd probably have him pissing 
     blood for a week.
GM - He collapses.  He's in enough pain that he's not going to think about 
     getting up, or moving.
PR - Okay.  What's he dressed in?  His underwear?
GM - Yep.  White jockey shorts.
PR - I'll stand up.  Close the door, and latch it.
GM - di Castro has, by this time, gotten the woman to her feet, and steered 
     her to the bedroom.  He says, Hang on a minute, I'll be right back.  He 
     leaves the bedroom door open.  He goes in there, sits her down on the 
     edge of the bed, squats down in front of her, and talks to her for a 
     second, like he's comforting her, and he's asking her to be quiet.  
     Putting on his charm.  He has her sitting far enough away on the edge of 
     the bed that she can't reach the lamp, or the phone.  He gets up, goes 
     over to the phone, unplugs it, moves it aside.  Then he goes back to 
     talk to her, and even goes so far as to wipe her face off with his gloved
     thumb.  She shakes her head and sits still while he walks away from her, 
     around the edge of the bed toward the bathroom, as if he had told her he 
     was going to get her a drink of water.  Instead of going into the 
     bathroom, though, he gets on the opposite side of the bed from her and 
     takes up one of the pillows from where it's on the floor--
PR - [groans]
GM - He picks it up, has it in one hand, gets his submachinegun in his other 
     hand and does something with the selective fire button.  Then he puts 
     the gun to her head, with the pillow in between, and shoots her.
PR - Okay.
GM - This is silenced, so it doesn't make much more than a pop, and the pillow 
     is also in the way.  And then he puts the pillow down on the bed as she 
     falls forward onto the floor.  He stands there for a second, looking down 
     at her, then comes out of the bedroom, closing the door behind him.  He 
     looks at you.
PR - Nice tits.
GM - Yeah.  I know.
PR - I don't understand why such girls gotta go out with such assholes.
GM - I wish we'd a had fifteen more minutes, me and her.
PR - [laughs]  You wanna give him a robe, or something?  I don't wanna take 
     him out in his skivvies.
GM - Uh . . . yeah, all right.  He goes back in the bedroom and disappears for 
     a minute, then comes back out with a tattered terrycloth robe, a bathrobe.  
     He takes the belt off and coils it up, putting it in his own coat pocket.  
     He closes the bedroom door again as he comes out.
PR - This guy on the floor, does he have any enhancements or anything?  Anything 
     obvious?
GM - He has plugs behind one of his ears.
PR - That it?
GM - It's the only thing you can see right now.
PR - Any chip sockets?
GM - No, he doesn't have a chip socket.
PR - Check the small of his back.
GM - Yes.
PR - What is it?
GM - He's got a processor, down underneath the skin there.  You can't tell 
     what's plugged into it without opening up and looking at it.
PR - Opening him up, or opening it up?
GM - Both.  If you cut him open, you'd have the processor there.
PR - What if I pull random chips out?
GM - You could--
PR - [laughs]
GM - But you'd need micro-tools to get in, unless you just want to rip it out 
     of his ass.  Can you get him on his feet for a second?
PR - Yeah.  I'll hoist him up.
GM - He's just dangling there.  He looks pretty much out of it.  He hurts, 
     he's got blood running down his face, and his nose is starting to swell, 
     ruining his perfect countenance.  di Castro says, Hold him still.  He 
     takes the robe and puts it on him.
PR - Around his shoulders, with his hands still behind him and all?  [laughs]
GM - Yeah.  He takes the belt out of his pocket, uncoils it, and ties the robe 
     on him.  Galvano's arms are now not only restrained by the phone cord--
PR - But by the robe, too.
GM - Yep.  di Castro looks at him and says, You know, it must be those tits, 
     because you didn't used to be this slow.  To you:  Okay, come on.
PR - [chuckles]  Put the gun back underneath [the coat].
GM - He puts the submachine gun back into his duffle.  You guys go out the 
     front door.  di Castro stops, thinks a second, turns around and goes 
     back inside, leaving the two of you in the hall.  He comes back out with 
     what look like the house keys.  He closes and locks the door behind him 
     and puts the keys in his pocket.  While he's doing this, you turn to 
     start herding Joey toward the elevator, and you see that the second to 
     last door by the elevator, on the left-hand side, is open about this much 
     [indicates with her hands], and there is a woman standing there looking 
     at you through the crack.  
PR - Does he notice?
GM - di Castro?  No, he's locking the door, he hasn't seen her yet.  She's 
     thin, about twenty-five, with dark hair in a pixie cut, wearing a white 
     t-shirt and blue silk underwear, and she has an oxygen tube hooked to her 
     face, which presumably runs down to a tank somewhere on the other side of 
     the door.  She has the door open without the chain, and as she sees you 
     see her, she starts to slam it shut.
PR - [laughs] We got company.
GM - What?  He starts to turn around.
PR - [laughing] Lady.
GM - Bam!  goes the door.  Click, click, click.  Ah, fuck!  di Castro.  Look, 
     just get the guy . . . just get him in the elevator.
PR - What are you gonna do?
GM - I'm not gonna do anything.  What, you want me to break in her fucking 
     door?
PR - Have a pillow fight, what?  [laughing]
GM - God damn it.  It's eleven o'clock.  You'd think decent people would be in 
     bed.  We didn't make any noise--
PR - Nope.
GM - We don't need this shit.
PR - Give her a couple bucks.
GM - Take him in the elevator.
PR - Okay, I put my hat down and go into the elevator.  Stuff him in the 
     corner, under the camera.  And basically keep an arm on him.
GM - Okay.  You go down the elevator, get out, and cross the lobby.  He can 
     walk, but he has his head down, and you're basically hustling him along.   
     The blonde white trash woman is gone.  The homeless guy is still in his 
     corner, but he appears to be sound asleep.  You get into the elevator for 
     the parking garage and go down.  Same arrangement?
PR - Yeah.  When we get out of the elevator, I want him in front of me again.
GM - As it comes to a stop in the parking garage and you exit the elevator, 
     make an Awareness roll.
PR - [rolls] Oooh.  Um . . . twenty-one.
GM - On the elevator trip, he has gotten his senses back together.  As you 
     step out of the elevator, he is tensing up as if to lunge away from you.
PR - I rap him on the head.  Don't.
GM - He subsides.  He steps out of the elevator.  Do Initiative, 'cause he's 
     gonna do something.
PR - [rolls]  Seventeen.
GM - Total?
PR - Yeah.  Eleven, plus one for Combat Reflexes, plus what I rolled.
GM - Your reflex is eleven?  Boosted +2?
PR - Yeah.
GM - You didn't start out with a 10 Ref, right?
PR - No.
GM - That'd have been scary.  Deadeye start out that way?
PR - Till he started falling out of AV's.
GM - [laughs]  How many did it go down?
PR - One.

[the following discussion about Billy the Kid is deleted for security reasons]

GM - Okay.  He pulls away from you, brings his foot up in what looks like 
     some kind of Martial Arts kick, aimed at your midsection.
PR - Is he gonna connect?
GM - I'm going to find out.
PR - Okay.   That's an opposed roll?
GM - Yeah.
PR - [rolls]  Twenty-two.
GM - [rolls]  Now . . . how did we work this, last time we did it?  If 
     someone's attacking you, physically, what do you do?
PR - Let me check . . . The attacker's Reflex and Skill, plus a d10, vs. the 
     defender's Reflex and Skill, plus a d10.
GM - Do Martial Arts bonuses add into this?  For a strike, or a kick?
PR - What, for damage?
GM - For the opposed roll, to hit.  'Cause you get bonuses for certain 
     maneuvers.
PR - Depends on what maneuver he's doing.
GM - He's kicking you.
PR - Yeah, but it depends on what kind of kick.
GM - He's bringing his bare foot up and around, and he's trying to drive his 
     heel into your gut, to knock the wind out of you.
PR - Yeah, but there's also the fact that he's got this robe on, and his hands 
     are tied.
GM - I'm adjusting for that.
PR - And his balance is probably for shit right now.
GM - I'm adjusting, I'm adjusting.
PR - So he's gotta roll higher than mine.  Over 22.
GM - [rolls]  He misses you.  He does not connect.  What are you going to do?
PR - [makes a gun with his hand]
GM - [laughs]  You gonna shoot him?  You with your Bad Temper disadvantage?
PR - No . . . What I think I'll do is shove him into the wall next to the 
     elevator.
GM - Okay.  You're in the parking garage, so this is a concrete wall.
PR - Yes.  Throw my weight on him and shove him into the wall, and let him 
     make a hole with his head.
GM - Do your Brawling, then.
PR - [rolls]  Twenty-two, again.
GM - [rolls]  What if you tie?
PR - Well . . . okay.  His roll is the Difficulty number, and I would have to 
     get that or higher.
GM - Okay, he got a twenty-two.  So you matched it.  So you grab him, and 
     slam his head into the wall.
PR - Huh.  What kind of damage would that be?
GM - Shit, I don't know.  A d6?
PR - Plus my Bod modifier?
GM - Sure.  Roll it.
PR - [rolls] Seven.
GM - Ouch.
PR - I'm basically putting my entire force into it.
GM - Okay.  Minus his BTM, though.  Should I apply that to his head?  Double 
     it?
PR - Well, if you want.
GM - Ooookay.  [rolls]  He hits the wall and bounces off, and does not look 
     inclined to come at you again.  If you'd like to grab him or hit him 
     again, you have the opportunity now.
PR - I'll bring the gun up so the barrel sticks out of my coat.
GM - He's breathing heavily and soggily through his bleeding nose.  He's also 
     got a bloody area on his head where he hit the wall.  You think you might 
     have fractured his skull.  There's a big smear of blood on the wall 
     behind him.
PR - I switch it from single shot to three-round burst. There'll be an audible 
     click.
GM - He watches you.
PR - Okay, do we want to try this again?
GM - He doesn't say anything.  He's watching you.  He's not watching the gun, 
     but you can tell that he's well aware of it.
PR - Turn around.
GM - He turns around.
PR - Grab him by the . . . by the belt of the robe.  Shove the gun into the 
     base of his spine.
GM - He grunts.
PR - Turn him around and march him to the car.
GM - You frogmarch him to the car.  What are you going to do?
PR - Put him in the trunk.
GM - [laughs]  It doesn't have a trunk, it's a hatchback.
PR - Huh.
GM - It has two bucket passenger seats, a bench rear seat, and a little 
     storage space behind the back seat.
PR - Okay.  I'll put him in the passenger seat.
GM - Well, you might be able to wedge him in the storage space, but I wouldn't 
     try it.
PR - Open the door.  Is this a two-door, or a four-door?
GM - Four-door.  You gonna tie him to the seat?
PR - [sighs]  I'd like to buckle him in . . . it's not like he can unbuckle 
     himself.  I'll use my gun as an intimidation tool throughout the entire 
     process.
GM - You open the door, and he gets in.  Gonna reach across him and buckle him 
     in?
PR - No . . . that's too dangerous.  Hmmm.
GM - What are you going to do?
PR - [says nothing]
GM - He's like a rattlesnake.  He's just waiting for you to get close enough.
PR - Is there anything remotely like rope around here?
GM - He's got the belt of the robe tied around his waist.
PR - Huh.  Anything else?
GM - There might be some jumper cables in the storage space.  Those would be 
     pretty clumsy and heavy, though.
PR - Yeah.  Okay.  Basically, hold the gun on him, reach down, and pull my 
     belt off [laughs].
GM - Take your own belt off?  [laughs]  Okay.  He watches you do this.
PR - [laughs]  Um . . . How occupied is this lower area?
GM - There's nobody down here.
PR - Basically, what I want to do is put the belt around his neck, so it goes 
     around the headrest.
GM - And then pull it tight?
PR - Tie it tight, yeah.
GM - What are you going to do with your gun while you do this?
PR - I think I'll get into the back seat while I do this.  I don't want him to 
     strangle, but I want to make the point that he can't get out.  Then I'm 
     going to reach over and put his belt on.  Then I'm going to get in the 
     driver's seat.
GM - He's got his head pulled back against the headrest now.  He looks worried, 
     and probably rightly so.  You wait.
PR - Put the submachinegun away.  Get out the wheelgun.
GM - He watches it.  He's doing this kind of thing, behind him [twisting her 
     wrists together].
PR - [laughing]  I tied him nice and good, though.
GM - Yeah, you did.  Make an Awareness roll.
PR - About him?
GM - Yeah.
PR - [rolls]  Um . . . seventeen?
GM - Okay.  He looks very worried.  He's still working at his wrists.
PR - [laughs]  Hey, cut it out.  He could only get me four gel rounds.  You 
     believe that shit?  Only four.  That means the other one's dual purpose.  
     Stop it.  Now, we could play Russian roulette all day.  Open the cylinder 
     and show him.  Close it and spin it.  Zzzzz.  Click.
GM - [laughing]  He's watching you.  He's still twitching.
PR - [laughing]  Cock the hammer back.  Point it at his head.  Now, we're 
     going to sit here, and we're gonna wait.  And if I see your hands moving, 
     we're gonna find out if it's a gel round, [laughs] or a nice tungsten 
     core.
GM - He sits still.  His nose is visibly swelling now, and he's getting quite 
     a mouse where you bashed his head on the wall.
PR - Okay.  We'll just sit and wait, then.
GM - A few minutes later, di Castro comes down, looking hurried.  He comes 
     across the garage, and stops, looking at the guy in the seat.  He shakes 
     his head and gets in the back.
PR - I start the car up.  Watch him, will you?
GM - [laughs]
PR - [laughs]
GM - Jesus.  [laughing]  Where'd you get the belt?
PR - It's mine.
GM - Per dio.
PR - Oh.   Open the cylinder.  Which kind of round was it?
GM - Roll it.
PR - Okay, if it's a one or a two . . .
GM - The tungsten.
PR - Yep.  [rolls]  Two.
GM - Oh!  We have a winner!  [laughs]
PR - [laughing]  You got lucky.  Holster it.
GM - What are you doing there?
PR - Oh, I just played Russian roulette.  Only, instead of having empty 
     cylinders, we had gel rounds.
GM - Oh, and one regular.  [snorts]
PR - Well, DP.
GM - You're a sick bastard.
PR - I drive.
GM - di Castro gets behind the guy and works with the belt, tightening it a 
     little, 'cause you had to do it in kind of a hurry.  He also reaches 
     around in front of him and undoes the terrycloth belt, reversing it to 
     pull it around behind the seat and tie him to it with it.  Joey sits 
     quietly.
PR - So, what'd you do?
GM - I didn't do anything.  Couldn't get in.
PR - You . . . couldn't get in.
GM - [sighs]  I couldn't get in.  You try getting in those doors, okay?  She's 
     got six deadbolts, and a fuckin' chain.
PR - Great.  Let's just hope she's bad at describing us, huh?
GM - Yeah, well, what are we gonna do?  I mean, what am I gonna do, break the 
     fucking door down?  Go in her window?  I'll let somebody know about it, 
     and we'll take care of it later.
PR - We going to the harbor?
GM - Yeah.  Turn left.  It's one of the piers.  He tells you where to go.  
     Let me show you where you're going [flips pages].  As you're driving, he 
     says, This shit give you any trouble?
PR - [laughs]  Yeah.  Yeah, he did.  Tried to kick me.
GM - He get you?
PR - Huh-uh.
GM - Yeah, he does that stuff.  I should have told you.  That was a good idea, 
     using that phone cord.  Keep an eye on that, though, because he might 
     have worked his way out of it by now.
PR - He better hope not.
GM - What I mean is, he's got a cyberarm.
PR - [laughs]  Like I said, he better hope not.
GM - We'll check him when we get out.  I don't know.  I never been tied up 
     with a phone cord before.  I imagine it's pretty hard to break.  [laughs]  You guys ride.
PR - How about it, Joey?  That phone cord hard to break, or what?
GM - He doesn't say anything.  He isn't trying to get out of it anymore, 
     either.
PR - We got anybody else at the warehouse?
GM - Yeah, there's going to be a couple people down there.
PR - They'll help us get him out of the car?
GM - Yeah, yeah.  Uh . . . they might want us to take care of him afterwards, 
     too.  I don't know.  As far as I know, we just drop him off, and they do 
     whatever they're going to do.  Okay, let me show you.  You're going up 
     to the corner of the bridge, here.  It's not just these big, blank piers, 
     like it shows.  There's a whole section of docks and wharves, plus various 
     storage areas and drydocks, and you're going up here, towards the edge of 
     one of the industrial piers, where there's a cluster of warehouses.  As 
     you pull in, you see that these warehouses are used to store and process 
     a lot of the kibble and soy that they bring in on the tankers--you can 
     smell it, and you recognize the logos on the walls.  It's a big warehouse.  
     It's getting on towards midnight.  When you pull up, you see a lot enclosed 
     by a chain-link fence that runs around the entire building.  There's a 
     gate, and in the lot, pulled up next to one of the loading bay doors and 
     the office area, are four cars.  Three are nondescript sedans.  One of 
     them's a very nice, Mercedes-type vehicle, with tinted windows all the 
     way around.  There's a small, wiry, weathered guy sitting on the hood of 
     this car, having a cigarette.  He's about fifty, with brown, leathery 
     skin and graying hair.  He is wearing an extremely dark blue suit.  He 
     watches you as you drive up.  The gate is open.  You park the car and 
     turn the engine off.
PR - I look at the guy, and look at Joey.  Which arm is it?
GM - Right arm.  Hang on, hang on a minute.  He gets his submachinegun out and 
     puts it to the back of Joey's head, through the headrest.
PR - I gotta get out and do this from the passenger side, anyway.  I'll get 
     out and go around, and after I open the door, pull his arm down so I can 
     feel for the joint.  Look at Joey.  Got a quick change mount?
GM - [Galvano]  No.  He shakes his head, just a little bit.
PR - You sure about that?  I'd hate to have to rip through all this shit to 
     find that there was one.
GM - He shakes his head again.
PR - I'll pull the shit down.
GM - It's pretty tough.  You have to really dig your fingernails into it.
PR - Does he have a quick change mount?
GM - No.  Feeling further down, it seems like he's gotten his wrist most of 
     the way out of the phone cord at the expense of a lot of RealSkinn.  He's 
     got enough RealSkinn and false musculature around the wrist that when you 
     tie him, he's managed to peel enough of it away to work his hand partway 
     out.  It's gotten caught on his thumb-joint, though, and he's fucked up 
     his meat wrist really bad--it's bruised and starting to swell.
PR - I'll undo his seatbelt, and back away from the car, with the submachinegun 
     out.
GM - di Castro is sitting in the rear, covering him.  He gets out of the car 
     when he sees that you have gotten clear.  Now, how are we going to do 
     this?  [laughs]  I wish we could just drive the whole car into the harbor.  
PR - Who's the cigarette guy?
GM - Uh . . . I can't remember his name.  He's Mr. Castiglione's driver.  
     Teobaldo, or Timoteo, something like that.  He knows me.  Wait a minute.  
     He walks over and says a few words to the man, who nods.  di Castro nods 
     back and goes inside the warehouse, through the office door.  He comes 
     back out a few minutes later, and he's got Diego with him, looking as 
     mean as ever.  He just looks like a dog that's ready to bite you.  Diego
     looks at you, says something to the chauffeur, who laughs and goes back 
     to sit on the car and enjoy the show.  Diego comes over to you.  He's 
     wearing the slacks that went with the suit you saw him in, but no jacket.  
     He's got an Ingram Mac-14 with an extended clip slung over one shoulder.  
     He looks at Joey and says, How are you going to get him out of there?
PR - [pause]  Hmm.  Anybody going to come around if there's a couple gunshots?  
     Pull the .454 out.  [laughs]  Make sure it's a gel round.
GM - Diego's eyes go wide, and he starts to say something, and di Castro gets 
     this grin on his face.
PR - Stand about four meters away, and just do a general torso shot.  [laughs]
GM - Joey sees you raising the gun toward him, pulls his head as far away 
     from you as he can, given the belt, and sucks in a huge breath of air, as 
     though he's going to yell.
PR - Boooom!
GM - Roll.
PR - To hit?
GM - Yeah.  This is an easy shot.  You're at close range, and he's not moving.  
     Just don't fumble.
PR - [rolls]  Eighteen.  
GM - What's the damage?
PR - 4d6+3.  That's . . . eighteen points.  Make a Stun as if he just took 
     eighteen.
GM - Okay.  It'd be funny if he actually managed to stay conscious.  [flips 
     pages]  He's pretty fucked up by now, though.  Uh . . . 
PR - He's down to -4 or -5, hopefully.
GM - Um . . . One, two . . . Shit.  He can't even try.  Don't worry about it.  
     He cringes away and the bullet hits him in the chest.  He's rocked 
     backward, and then sags in the seat, as far forward as he can go.  You 
     look up, and the old chauffeur guy has got his fingers in his ears, like 
     this--
PR - [laughing]
GM - He takes them out.  Diego looks as startled as you've ever seen him look, 
     and you figure that he prides himself on looking cool all the time.  He's 
     shaking his head like his ears are ringing.  di Castro just starts to 
     laugh.  [laughs]
PR - [laughing]  I put the gun away.  Look at Diego.  You shouldn't have much 
     trouble with him, now.
GM - From the warehouse you hear the sound of chairs scraping against concrete.  
     di Castro shakes his head, still laughing, and says, I better go call off 
     the troops.  He heads toward the office door.  Diego walks over to the 
     car and undoes the various belts holding Joey to  the seat.  He pulls him 
     forward, up and out of the car, and gets him in a fireman's carry over his 
     shoulders, and takes him toward the office door.
PR - I get my belt back.
GM - He left it on the back seat.  Diego goes inside.  A second later di Castro 
     comes out.  He sees Diego and doesn't say anything.  As soon as Diego 
     goes past him, he starts laughing, and he's still laughing as he goes 
     over to you.  Did you see his face? [laughs]
PR - [laughs]
GM - You know, you should keep that loaded with gel rounds.  That was pretty 
     damn funny.
PR - "I just killed somebody . . . I did it on purpose!" [laughs]
GM - The chauffeur guy shakes his head and goes inside.
PR - I follow him.
GM - di Castro gets in front of you and tells you to wait.  He sticks his head 
     in the door and says some long, ringing sentence in Italian to someone in
     side, basically asking whether you two can go now, and if you should be 
     back.  He is answered by a low voice from inside, but you can't make out 
     what's being said.  He turns around, shaking his head, and closes the 
     door.  He looks at you.  You know, you had about five guys . . . 
PR - Five guys what?
GM - Five guys about ready to shoot me when I went in the door.  You got a way 
     with these things, but you should watch it with that.
PR - What?
GM - That hogleg.  Cowboy.
PR - I didn't feel like fucking around.
GM - I guess not.  Well, we gotta wait around for a while.
PR - [laughs]  Besides, I owed the little bastard one.
GM - I thought he didn't get you.
PR - He tried.  He tried.
GM - He shrugs.  He goes over to the car, and gets in.
PR - Where are we going?
GM - 24 Hour Cafe.
PR - Whatever.
GM - You guys go.  He gets a burger and some coffee.  You know what this place 
     is like.  A truck stop.  You wait for about an hour, and then di Castro 
     says it's time to go back.  When you get there, three of the cars in the 
     warehouse lot are gone, including the nice car and its attendant 
     chauffeur.  Diego is waiting for you outside.  His shirt sleeves are 
     rolled up.  He has blood on his hands.  He doesn't have any on his shirt, 
     though.
PR - Probably took his shirt off for the festivities.
GM - Maybe.  He's waiting as you pull up.  di Castro gets out and talks to him.  
     Are you getting out of the car?
PR - No.
GM - The two of them go inside through the office door.  A couple seconds 
     later, the big loading-dock-type door rolls up, and di Castro's head 
     appears around the edge.  He waves you in.
PR - I'll get into the driver's side and pull the car in.
GM - The door comes down behind you, leaving you in a 15' x 15' space defined 
     by boxes and pallets of stuff.  There's a forklift here, and a big 
     exoskeletal autoloader.  You can hear water running, like a hose, as you 
     shut the engine off.  You can't see farther into the building because of 
     the pallets, but there's a passage about the width of a forklift leading
     deeper into the warehouse off to your right.  There are lights down there.  
     Diego and di Castro come out of this, and they each have one end of a 
     bundle wrapped in plastic.  You figure this is Joey.  You know the blue, 
     thick bubbly plastic they use for inflatable rafts?
PR - Yeah.  For air mattresses.
GM - They've got him wrapped in one of those.  It's been cut open.  It looks 
     like they rolled him into it, folded the ends over, and taped them shut 
     with duct tape.  They bring this bundle out, and there's blood on the 
     plastic.  They open the back doors and slide him in on the back seat.  
     Diego goes back deeper into the warehouse, and di Castro gets back into 
     the car.  He says, You want me to drop you off at your house?  I'm just 
     gonna dump it.
PR - [laughs]  You need backup, remember?
GM - All right.  He gets out of the car and opens up the warehouse door to let 
     you back out.  He closes it again and comes through the office door to 
     meet you.
PR - Is it just me, or did Diego have a wet stain on the front of his pants?
GM - Wouldn't surprise me at all.

[Sal and di Castro take the body to the derelict, rusty green storage tank 
located on the corner of North Mall and Wharf (B5#12), and di Castro dumps the 
body inside.  Afterwards, he drops Sal off at his apartment and promises to 
call in the morning.]

[end of session two]