Interception
| Interception | |
|---|---|
| Players
Delilah, Charon as ST |
Delilah pulls a death-defying job for the Hawthorne Family. |
With crime as with war, it's characterized by long periods of boredom punctuated by terror. So what better time than now to do some drugs? Your chariot this evening is an old steel-framed Cadillac, your partners in crime Hawthorne Family boys. The driver and the guy sitting behind the passenger seat are just associates, young and clean-shaven, eager to impress and thus mostly silent. They'll certainly take the offering of cocaine from the made man who sits behind the driver's seat, Silvio Difrancesco, wearing a pinstripe suit complete with hat, the very picture of a mobster. The radio plays 90s "classic rock", punctuated by sharp, strong sniffs of the white powder. Silvio passes the mirror up to Delilah in the front passenger seat. "Feel like tootin' up, little lady?" he asks, showing yellowed teeth. "No matter how many times I got my nose broke, always helps me breathe easier." There's been some prep for tonight. The soles of her skate shoes have been lightly scored with a box cutter for extra grip. The fighting hatch she favors? Honed to a shaving edge. Clothing is snug fitting and slick-ish. Spandex on lower end and sating on the top. It's not the same as armor, but it might help if someone bigger gets a hold of her. And everyone is bigger than she is. Leaning to take the mirror, she eyes the size of the lines, then helps herself, loading each nostril and passing it along. "Dunno..' SNIIFFFF. "Why the call it -candy-. Shit tastes awful." She says, laughing. Silvio joins in the laughter, and like good toadies the mooks echo. "Candy flavored coke, you'd like that? Hmm. That hatchet of yours looks sharp," he says, taking the mirror. "Wonder if you'll get to use it before we-" A text comes through Silvio's prepay flip phone, and he opens it up to read it. "All right, it's going down," he says, tone turning serious. He rolls down the window manually and flings the window out, where it smashes against a wall. Not much long after and not a block away, police cruisers join together, forming their roadblock as promised, funnelling the transport SUV in their direction. The associates and Silvio check their Beretta M9s and load one in the chamber. Three minutes pass, the air filled with tension. Then, the sound of tires peeling out comes from the block behind you as they accelerate towards you and past you. The driver guns the engine and begins to accelerate, putting the Cadillac in motion. "Let's go, look alive!" Silvio shouts. "Let's grind these gagootz into fuckin paste!" Delilah rubs her nose and snuffles a couple more times, making sure any loose powder is where it needs to be. Making a face for the acidic tickle in the back of her throat. Bleh. Hearing the alert from the phone, she sits up a little straighter and double checks the lay of the hatchet against her back - surprisingly well hidden under the soft black of the satin shirt. "I do love a good rodeo." She says, checking her seat belt and rolling her window down - ready to pop-and-hop. Silvio leans out of the window and begins squeezing the trigger, and a rotund man leans out the back seat of the black SUV to shoot back. Both men scream and curse each other out in Italian. One, two, three, bullets shatter the windshield in front. The driver takes a bullet in his shoulder and screams. "Guidi, sta ta zee! Guidi, guidi!" Silvio bellows at him. The driver guns the engine, moving to keep pace with the SUV. "Boss, he's gonna cut through the neighborhood to get to the interstate!" the mook in the back shouts, and they're indeed about to go through a densely-populated neighborhood, kids and dogs and everything. Everyone involved knows that this could get really ugly really fast. Gun fire and coke and high speed maneuvering gets the old blood pumping. Del's cheeks flush and she focuses a moment, running her hand along the bottom of the window frame, feeling the texture - sleek and cool, slightly ridged where the seals and the gap for the glass to slip into are. In a smooth motion, the seatbelt is popped and the sleekly dressed misfit pops out and up, one hand gripping top of the doorframe, the other on the base of the mirror, crouching low and tight to the car - her size an advantage, the scored bottoms of her shoes digging into the grooves. Dark curls are whipped about, but her grip is inhumanly sure. "Fuck the Interstate!" She snaps, the hand on the mirror slapping the roof of the car. This baby will go SO fast! It's good the men inside can't see what happens when their SUV gets close *enough* to that blown out back window. Smooth as greased ice, Del transitions to the top of their SUV and takes a running leap at the other vehicle, launching herself off the obligatory tie down rail and swan diving for the shot out window. Body hitting the trunk, she slides like she hit a flat, unmoving surface and tries to belly slide into the opening like a seal - attempting to keep a low and small profile. Delilah's entry into the SUV's trunk is certainly noticed, as both trios of mobsters swear in disbelief as she actually leaps like some sort of murderous acrobat directly into the Outfit vehicle. The rotund made guy's eyes pop in fear and disbelief, and he squeezes off a shot that goes wide, but nearly deafens everyone in the cab. Too close, too loud. Ears ringing, Del jerks back, putting her attempt to use the nasty spike on the back side of the blade on the shooter's at bad angle. Worse, it spikes the seat, and her grip slips when she jerks it free - causing the weapon to bounce off the back of the driver's seat and hit the floorboards, sliding under the seat with the next swerve. The driver is really beginning to panic, having never done anything this stressful before in his entire career. He manages to keep his grip on the wheel as you fly past neighborhood streets at 55 miles an hour and rising. The guy in the passenger seat levels his .38 at Delilah and fires, scoring one of her ribs and painting the trunk with her blood and flesh. The suitcase is worth a whole lot more than the sports store special hatchet. The bullet scores deep, the impact enough to sway her before the heat hits. She doesn't need to -look- to know she got hit and she'll be feeling in a few moments. Abandoning the hatchet, she grabs the hardshell case and bails. It's not the glamourous route, by any means. Slinging the case through, she lets the weight help her get momentum in sliding back through the busted out back window. Bleeding pretty good, she can feel the wet, but the pain doesn't really register until she gator death rolls off the side-walk side of the Caddie's trunk, hugging the case and yelping like a kicked dog as she rolls. Found the pain! The SUV slows, but Silvio and his boys pull up to shield Del with the car and return fire of their own. The rear driver-side door opens, and Silvio yanks Delilah and the suitcase up over his lap and into the wheel well. "Look at the coglioni on this bitch!" he yells, exulting in the cocaine and adrenaline cocktail surging through his veins. Outside, lights shut off in homes and it's clear everyone is hitting the deck. A high, shrill scream of terror erupts from one of the windows. The SUV pulls ahead, whips around in the street to face the Caddy, and the tires screech as it accelerates straight for you. The mook sitting in the back next to Silvio takes his shot, putting a 9mm bullet in the SUV driver's chest, who slumps over with his foot still on the gas. It flies by you, smashing aside garbage cans and a couple of mailboxes before it wraps around a power pole, the wood cracking as it falls, the lines snapping and plunging the surrounding neighborhood into darkness. "Let's get the fuck out of here!" Silvio bellows, and the driver is in no mood to question it. Together, you ride through the pitch darkness and out once more into the lamplit night. Safe, for now. Clinging to the suitcase as she's hauled up, Del leaves blood smears on everything, letting go of the coke once the SUV is moving. Getting sat up just in time to watch that round take out the driver, she pushes her hand hard to the entry side of the through-and-through and laughs - manic with the coke and the insanity of what's just happened and how. There's a giggle, then an /ow/, followed by: "Size matters." What else is there to offer at this point but more coke? Silvio offers Del a key bump and says, "You got some fuckin stones, you know that? Let's get back to the safehouse. Cops shouldn't bother us. Then we can get you the good stuff for the pain. You break any bones?" That little sniff helps keep that edge down -enough- to not be a total mess, outside of the bleeding. "I don't... I don't *think* so." Not that Delilah stopped to check, either. Or wants to move enough TO check, now that they're speeding along and heading back to home turf. "It's the shortness. Makes my balls look bigger." She says with an amused snort that makes her grimace. | |