"Tommy Gun"

Chapter 1: "Shoot out"

Giuseppe 'Ndrangheta, 19, September, 1921.

I walked down the streets, wind brushing against my suit. I kept my fedora down and my eyes even lower. Another man in a black trench coat leaned against the wall, generic look. Brown hair, fedora, cigarette in mouth. He waited for me to step past his foot before trailing behind me. Finally, the car pulled up. I turned my head left, staring at a charming lady in a beautiful red dress. She stared at me with a smug look before turning and walking on. I set my foot into the smooth car, the interior being filled with leather. Enzio sat in our car, looking around. "Close the door." He yawned out, exhaling his cigarette before he pressed it in his ashtray. The smoke clouded our faces in the car, which began to drive through the streets. I grabbed a bottle of whiskey, grabbing a spoon. I dumped 6 ice cubes into the cup, all of them clinking against the glass. I put the whiskey bottle into my mouth, taking the cap off. I tilted the cup, stopping the whiskey before it overfilled. I now set the bottle on my armrest. I screwed the cap back on, sipping the cup. The heavy but smooth taste refreshed my mouth.

We pulled up to a Pepe's deli. I grabbed my Tommy Gun. I loaded the iconic drum mag, cocking it. I reached for the door handle, pushing the door open. I walked over to the left side of the car. I set the wooden stock in between him hip and my hands, surely no one saw I was holding a deadly weapon. I stared around, Carlos, Enzio, and Marco were waiting for my count. I squeezed the trigger, the sound of a drill being made. The glass windows shattered, people inside screaming in terror. "Get the molotovs." I said while blasting a woman on the ground. I was handed a lit molotov, I stopped firing, putting my gun down. I threw the bottle into the building through the broken glass, it shattered. Fire began spreading throughout the building. "KEEP EM COMIN'!" I shouted. I lifted the gun, putting my finger in the trigger. I pulled, shooting what was left in my drum magazine.  I now ran back to the side of the car facing the open streets.  I opened the door, sliding in.  "GO!"  I shouted quickly.  I grabbed another drum mag, loading it in case some cops wanted some of me.  Enzio ripped the door open, driving in the wrong lane.  He swerved onto a bridge, putting his foot on the gas pedal.  I heard the cries of the sirens as the engine vroomed past the other cars on the road.  My hand brushed against the tommy gun.  We had passed the other side of the bridge, turning into an entrance to a warehouse.  3 males stood there, the tallest one walking to our car.  I lowered my window, nodding.  He stared at me with his sunglasses on.  He tapped on the car, the other males sliding the gates to the warehouse open.  They creaked, Enzio slowly driving in.  I kicked the door open, holding my gun in my hand.  I walked to the nearest table, setting it down.  A door opened, a man in a suit with a black shirt walking out.  It was Marco, "The Godfather."  He was followed by two of his bodyguards, Mario and Francesco.  "How did it go?"  He said formally, cigar in his mouth.  Fedora on his head.  His eyes being cut from my view.  "We screwed up the place."  "Mmmm."  He muttered, puffing smoke from his mouth.  "Get to shed numba twelve."  He spoke.  I walked to the black car, opening the driver's door.  I hopped in the seat, pulling the door closed.  I slid my hands onto the smooth leather wheel, starting the car.  The engine vroomed alive, I put my hand on the gear.  I shifted it to reverse, slowly pushing my foot on the gas pedal.  I backed out of the warehouse, driving onto a  dirt road.  There I turned right into a tenement of sheds, all numbered variously from 1 to 15.  I pulled up to the one called 12.