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Post by derek metre on May 5, 2008 15:09:51 GMT -5
tag;; jake brookes
Derek didn't know what time it was. He didn't necessarily care. It was getting dark, so he figured around eight. Not that it mattered. The park had lights. Some of them worked, some of them didn't. It was particularly safe. Central Park-in the day time and with cops around- was as safe as Columbus back in Boston. There was no doubt in Derek's mind that Boston was better than New York. But whatever. He found a job; he took it. In Boston Derek wasn't undercover. He was the head of the undercover department. This, however, is different. You can't talk to anyone besides those whom you are working with or for. And Jack. It was crazy. he had to be a different person every three hours. He wasn't sure he could take much more of it.
Derek walked up the the railing, separating the path from some sort of pond. There were lights along the sides of the water; they were just turning on. Derek smiled at the thought of it. The New York Nightlife. He figured he wouldn't be able to fully enjoy it for a while. But no matter. Soon enough. At least, that's what Derek told himself. He had no idea when he'd be able to enjoy it; when he could finally bust these mother fuckers. It was about time. But the boss said wait, so Derek would wait.
Not that he could. If he was lucky, he'd live through this. If he was extremely lucky, he would die, and Jack would live. He was concerned for his brother. Jack hadn't been involved in any sort of gang action; he was too much of a coward. But the kid was Derek's only known family, which made him involved. And Jack couldn't take that kind of thing, which bothered Derek the most. For now, he would just have to put those thoughts aside and do his work.
Back in Boston, Derek refused to tell any other departments the identity of his UCs. He wondered if anyone else in the station knew who he was. Most likely not, but whatever. Soon enough, Derek's identity would be totally in the open. He'd either be popped as a decoy, or just popped. Either way, he had to figure out something do do. He dug in his pocket for his phone. 12:02. Interesting. Derek was usually either sleeping or on a hit right now.
Derek shoved the phone back in, and retrieved the carton of cigarettes. He needed one, pretty damn bad.[/size][/blockquote] |
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Post by jake brookes on May 5, 2008 17:14:25 GMT -5
Alright, alright quiet, ordered Jake Brookes, proud leader of the infamous gang of New York city; the Bloods. He was holding a gang meeting at the Old Warehouse. The warehouse served as a meeting place for the gang for who knew how long. Jake wasn't sure what it was used for before the Bloods took it over, but it served nicely as a sort of hang out or meeting place. They managed to fix the place up, putting a few old couches around along with some chairs and tables. It wasn't luxurious, but it was good enough for Jake, which meant it was good enough for the gang.
I just have a few more things to go over and you can all get out of my site, so shut the fuck up. Yeah I'm talking to you in the back, Jake waved his hand lazily towards the back corner. He waited for the group to finally realize it was time to end their little private conversation so he could continue and get the hell out of there. Frankly, Jake hated holding these little meetings. But every now and then it was neccessary, especially if he hears about something stupid that someone managed to do.
I'm gonna keep this simple. Do not do anything drastic without my approval. Basically, no kiddnapping leaders of rival gangs unless I say to. I hear about one more person trying to take matters into their own hands I'll shoot their fucking brains out. Jake stared down at the group, mostly conjugated towards the front of the small stage, built just for these kinds of occasions. With a wave of Jake's hand the sound of people shuffling around towards the door swirled throughout the building.
Jake stepped down from the small stage and checked the time. 11:50 already? Hm. He wasn't even tired. So why not pass the time with a nice walk through the park? It was dark as hell, but whatever. It didn't really matter. Jake headed outside through the back door of the warehouse, slipping a hand into his jeans pockets, pulling out a pack of cigarettes. He really needed to kill that bad habit, but it was so calming sometimes and he figured he'd die, if not soon, eventually so why not speed the process up a little? Besides, not all smokers died from lung cancer.
It wasn't a long walk to the park, which was good for Jake because he hated walking long distances. He brought the cigarette to his mouth and took in a long drag, letting the smoke seep from his mouth. It slithered up into the night air like a serpent slithering through tall grass. Jake squinted his eyes a bit as he looked ahead. It was probably around midnight now, so who would have the right mind, besides Jake, to be walking around the park in the dark. One last puff of smoke flowed from Jake's mouth before the cigarette butt was thrown down to the ground.
He walked a little faster, but quietly so he could see who was walking up ahead of him. His hand slipped to his back pocket where his handgun was held, hidden by his t-shirt. Jake was alwas up for some mischief. He smirked at the thought as he drew nearer to the person just a few feet in front of him.
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Post by derek metre on May 6, 2008 15:09:24 GMT -5
Derek coughed, the night air chilling him. It was spring, and the day had been hot, but the nights were still colder. He adjusted his jacket and zipped it half way up. Derek hated the cold. It made him feel like he was nothing in a big sea of everything. Which, in fact, he was always told he was, but tried to put it out of his head. He also didn't like the weather hot. It felt like he was suffocating. Let's just say that Derek was a picky person.
He closed his eyes briefly, remembering the events of the day. It had been...interesting. Derek had a meeting with his boss under the bridge. They discussed the goings on. Derek figured that the rat was a member of the Bloods, maybe the Crypts. Whichever it was, they were all scum. Derek hated every aspect of gang life. It killed him when he was younger, and now, it would probably kill him some more.
After the meeting, Derek had gotten coffee. He'd also gotten into a small fight. It was nothing too big; just some dumb ass who couldn't drive, let alone halt for a pedestrian, went and hit Derek. Now, he wasn't sure about New Yorkers, but people from Boston, especially Irish ones, took any opportunity possible to fight. So, Derek being Derek, he stopped, middle of the street, and demanded the punk got out of his car. Face to face, they spat it out, causing quite the commotion. In the end, it was like a tie; the man hitting Derek, Derek publicly humiliating the man.
Derek cleared his throat and took another drag of his cigarette. These things were going to kill him one day. But he didn't mind much. Addiction was a thing in the Metre family. Jack was addicted to pot, cigarettes, and alcohol; Derek cigarettes, gambling, and coke. They got over it mostly, but some urges still lingered. What were they to do?
Derek turned his head, seeing the dark figure coming at him. Normally he would be worried, but now, he was just pissed. Who the hell was this guy to approach Derek in a cautionary stance in the middle of the night? He most likely had a gun on him. But it was okay. Derek did too. He pushed his jacket to the side to reveal his gun, shiny and silver. He waited for the figure to come closer before he determined who it was. Shit. Jake Brookes. Jake fucking Brookes. Derek was absolutely not in the mood for this.
He moved his jacket back, leaving the gun tucked under his pants. At the moment, Derek wasn't sure what he should do. Kill the kid, save his Boston rep? Go back to that life, that fucking, Derek Metre, tough kid, cop killer, coke supplier life? Fuck no. "What do you want, kid?" Derek asked, seeing as though it wasn't the right choice of words. Jake was only a year or two years younger than him, let alone a kid. "D'ju come here to play or did you come here to talk?" Derek figured he probably sounded weird. His voice was different; low, soft, and scratchy. Combined with a Boston accent, it was pretty funny.
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