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Mailing List Logs for ShadowRN

Message no. 1
From: James Dening james@************.force9.co.uk
Subject: Vegas
Date: Tue, 9 Nov 1999 15:19:09 -0000
*****PRIVATE: Tom Elliott
>>>>>[I understand you are concerning yourself with certain family business
in Vegas. I have some information that I think you might be interested in.

Where can we meet? And I will deal with you only.]<<<<<
-- Blow <16:01:41/11-09-60>
Message no. 2
From: Paul J. Adam Shadowtk@********.demon.co.uk
Subject: Vegas
Date: Sun, 14 Nov 1999 16:29:23 +0000
*****PRIVATE: Blow
>>>>>[Meet me at the Java Shack at >>address<<, tomorrow
evening. I'll
be there at eight.]<<<<<
-- Tom Elliott <16:29:36/11-14-60>
Message no. 3
From: James Dening james@************.force9.co.uk
Subject: Vegas
Date: Tue, 9 Nov 1999 15:19:09 -0000
*****PRIVATE: Tom Elliott
>>>>>[I understand you are concerning yourself with certain family business
in Vegas. I have some information that I think you might be interested in.

Where can we meet? And I will deal with you only.]<<<<<
-- Blow <16:01:41/11-09-60>
Message no. 4
From: Paul J. Adam Shadowtk@********.demon.co.uk
Subject: Vegas
Date: Sun, 14 Nov 1999 16:29:23 +0000
*****PRIVATE: Blow
>>>>>[Meet me at the Java Shack at >>address<<, tomorrow
evening. I'll
be there at eight.]<<<<<
-- Tom Elliott <16:29:36/11-14-60>
Message no. 5
From: James Dening james@************.force9.co.uk
Subject: Vegas
Date: Wed, 8 Mar 2000 12:15:21 -0000
*****PRIVATE: Headcam Autorecord
>>>>>[+++++begin recording

The view point bobs slightly, as the cameraman walks along a long
corridor, expensive panelled wood lining it's length. At the end of
the corridor a large oak pair of double doors block entrance into
what is, by the sound of things, a rather noisy meeting.

The doors are pushed open, and the cameraman steps forward
into a large, well-lit room. A huge, panelled table dominates the room,
currently occupied by some dozen men in expensive italian suits.
Two of the men are standing, arguing in raised voices.

"Look, you fragging idiot, I've got the south side, plus, you know that
Don Malone had me all set up for taking over when he retired."

The man on the other side of the table is older, with greyer hair, and
an impressive scar down one side of his face.

"Look, Tony, Seamus Malone was a bloody fool whose dick got him
killed. I've got the numbers and the casinos - no way are you stepping
straight into the big shoes, ya little punk."

Tony 'Fishface' Driano goes even redder at that point, but his retort
is cut off by a cough from the man standing in the doorway.

"Gentlemen. This conversation is now over. From now on, you work for
me."

The men round the table fall silent.

"All of you." the man continues...

"Now just you wait a minute, you jumped-up street hoodlum! Who the
fuck do you think you....CRRACK."

The man with grey hair falls like a felled tree, blood spraying from the hole
just to the left of his scarred cheek. His bodyguard springs into action with
the sinuous grace of someone gifted with preternatural reflexes, or cold
silicon ones. He pulls out a pistol, and then falls, red blossoms of blood
blooming into life in response to the stutter of SMG fire from behind the
camera's POV.

"STOP!!!" shouts the cameraman.

Half a dozen bodyguards freeze in various states of arming themselves
around the room. A similar number of men push past the cameraman,
in heavy armour, automatic weapons asserting their authority. They
quickly disarm the bodyguards and hustle them out of a door at the far end
of the room.

Tony Driano smiles calmly up at the cameraman.

"So, Joey, you made your move....and I suppose it's at this point we
all kowtow to you and swear undying loyalty."

His disdain for the cameraman is almost palpable.

>From the other side of the room, though, one of the older men pipes
up, in a quavering voice.

"Hey, Joey! Don't you mind him - we're right behind you, all the
way....really!!"

"You fucking asswipe, Benelli....Look, Joey, I'll make you a deal - you take
Malone's assets, but leave me my Casino, yes?"

The standing man laughs quietly.

"Gentlemen. I believe you both. And thank you both. Really."

The POV of the camera turns, and the man walks out of the room,
back through the double doors, past the dozen heavily armed men
waiting there who pour into the room at a nod from the cameraman.

The screams from the room are soon drowned out by the clatter of
the fully automatic weapons fire.

+++++end Autorecord]<<<<<
-- Joey "Bang Bang" Cibarolo <10:21:51/03-08-60>
Message no. 6
From: Jason Glenn Hall <S975164@*******.BITNET>
Subject: Vegas.
Date: Wed, 27 Apr 1994 09:50:39 CDT
***** Private: MIST
>>>>>[We're back at the hideout. Redsky and Lacy are running mods on the
new to
y. Ritter can't wait to get into the gunner's seat. Unfortunatly, it wasn't bui
lt for orks. Anyway, Nash went up to Council Island to book offical plans fligh
t plans back to Chicago. We still might have some biz there, and if anything co
mes up, I want to be sure we have guarenteed a dust-off. I'll get back to you l
ater...Josh.]<<<<<
--BIGHORN (09:50:39/04-27-55)

***** Private: BIGHORN
>>>>>[I would suggest going back to UCAS turf anytime soon. They still have
a s
erious mad-on after that hiest you guys pulled. If you have to go back, you bet
ter go packing heavy and you better have some serious magical backup.]<<<<<
-- MIST (10:32:54/04-27-55)

Further Reading

If you enjoyed reading about Vegas, you may also be interested in:

Disclaimer

These messages were posted a long time ago on a mailing list far, far away. The copyright to their contents probably lies with the original authors of the individual messages, but since they were published in an electronic forum that anyone could subscribe to, and the logs were available to subscribers and most likely non-subscribers as well, it's felt that re-publishing them here is a kind of public service.

Thwap!