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Description
COLD TOWN:
DEAD MEN CAN TELL TALES

Prologue…
His name was Joseph Bowden Baggs, but the scum the skinny, long-haired small-timer associated himself with called him “Jo-Bo”.  He was the Ambrose City Criminal Underworld’s worst kind of trash; a sellout.  But that night, he was gonna pay the big price.
It began with Jo-Bo shaking like a leaf in a merciless, icy breeze inside his rat-fest of a studio apartment in Grudderville, named after the long dead, self-serving ex-mayor who damn near sent Ambrose into a depression.  Jo-Bo was waiting on the big call; assurance that the job was taken care of, that he could get the fat check, move on to mid-town, and never look back.  More importantly, he would never have to watch his back again.
That all sounded good when it blocked that little voice in the back of your head that told you how royally you just fucked up.
Finally, after two joints and a half a bottle of discount vodka, the phone rang.  Jo-Bo blew out a combo of smoke and uncertain relief as he picked it up.
“Hey, bro,” he said.  “You get there okay?”  Pause.  “Good, we get the money?”  Pause.  “What’s my cut look like?”  Pause.  “Good.  I’ll be outside.”  Jo-Bo hung up the phone and threw on his thrift store jacket.  His nerves calmed a bit more as he grabbed the knob.  But then he opened the door…
There stood two well-dressed psychopaths by the names of Hoax and Leach.  Hoax was a hefty fellow with shaggy, blonde hair.  He was dressed like an old school rock star; black jeans, biker boots, tank top, and heavy leather jacket.  Leach was a short freak of a fellow, clad in a light green suit and thick glasses.  His hair and goatee were both pointed like one of those kiddy cartoon devils.  Both eyed Jo-Bo with grins on their faces and snickers coming from their throats.
“Leach, Hoax,” said Jo-Bo, vainly trying top hide the fact that he was scared shitless.  “How are you boys doin’?”
“A lot better than you, Captain!” howled Hoax before the duo grabbed him.
“The boss has some purdy pictures to show ya!” screeched Leach.
If Jo-Bo had anything else to say in protest, he would have to wait until “picture time”.

The docks were always a classic place for the predators of Ambrose to confront their prey.  The main reason behind this was the Northeast River.  If somebody needed to be taught a permanent lesson, the pollution in the water would take them faster than the water itself.  And fortunately for the “judge, jury, and executioners”, there wouldn’t be enough of the body left for a thorough investigation.  Hell, a good ninety-six percent of the Northeast River’s victims never got the sweet luxury of an autopsy.
Jo-Bo looked at that nasty bile that passed for H2O as Hoax and Leach stomped him into the cold, wet dock wood like two kids at play.  And when they finally stopped, he was far from overjoyed.  He knew that meant the big boss had shown up.  From the ground, he peeked up to see a bald, portly man with the hand he used to halt Jo-Bo’s assailants still lifted.  The man, clad in a swanky blue suit and fedora with black overcoat and gloves, was known all though the Underworld as Lenny Java.  The very reputation of himself and his gang, the Devil’s Seven, was enough to put the fear of Hell in most people’s hearts, especially people like Jo-Bo.  They were thieves, killers, destroyers, and damn shrewd businesspeople.  With Hoax and Leach carrying Jo-Bo over to Java, the rest of seven appeared behind the crime lord.  Aries… the Muscle; a buzz-cut brute of a man in a white t-shirt, red sweatpants, black gloves, and gold chain.  Ashe… the Arsonist; dressed in a long, black dress, and near equally long hair that covered part of her face.  Bobby T…. the Handsome One; clean-shaven, light brown hair in a ponytail, and dressed to the nines in a gray and white tuxedo and fedora.  And finally, there was Lowman… the Silent One; wavy black hair going down just past neck length, small mustache, dark purple and gold suit.  He let his knives and strangle wire do most of his talking.  Hoax and Leach were, of course, the raving maniacs of the group.
“What’s wrong with you, ya fuckin’ goof?”  Lenny asked Jo-Bo as he slapped him across the face.  “You think me and my friends here are as donkey-dumb as you are?”  Out of his jacket, he pulled the photos that Leach mentioned earlier.  “And did you think I didn’t have the cash to hire the Gnome to take these?”  Jo-Bo gasped as he saw the images, and the voice in the back in his head made its way to the front at full blast.
You royally fucked up, Jo-Bo.
“First, my shipment doesn’t arrive at my place,” sneered Java.  “And then I get these photos of you and that bum of a delivery man talkin’ to Cherry Bella.  And then, wouldn’t you know it, another shipment doesn’t show up.”  He then got close enough to Jo-Bo for the punk to smell the garlic-bread Lenny had for dinner.  “I want names, Jo-Bo.  I know you and Burns weren’t the only shit-bags behind this.”
“I don’t know anybody else… I swear,” cried Jo-Bo.  Lenny nodded, and then turned to Aries.
“Extend his vocabulary,” he said.  Without a word, Aries walked over and made mashed turnips out of Jo-Bo’s stomach with one swift, hard punch.
“Now talk, goof, or I’ll let Lowman have some fun with ya!” said Lenny.  Jo-Bo moaned in pain as he glanced over at the quiet killer, who already had his trademark switchblade in hand.
“O… okay,” he said.  “Just please don’t kill…”
Anyone could have predicted that Jo-Bo’s last words would be him begging for his pathetic little life.  But Lenny and the rest of the Seven definitely didn’t see the Seeker Beam coming.  The laser blast nailed Jo-Bo right in the forehead and cut through his skull like a hot knife through a rich man’s margarine.  Hoax and Leach dropped him on the spot, and Lenny looked about the docks until he saw a curvy silhouette on the roof of the old Sailor Sally’s Fish Stick Factory.
“Lowman, find that bitch!” yelled Java.  “Bobby, bring me the delivery man!  And Ashe… I want you to cook me up somethin’… well done.”
Later that night, Ashe stood in front of the soon-to-be-opened Cruel Kitty Night Club, created, founded and financed by Cherry Bella, criminal queen of an all female crime syndicate known as the Broken Hearts.  Ashe removed a pack of smokes from her purse and slowly placed one in her mouth.  The second she ignited it, the Cruel Kitty blew up halfway to the Gates of Damnation.

And these were the events that kicked off the Great Mob War of 2055.

Description
COLD TOWN:
DEAD MEN CAN TELL TALES

Prologue…
His name was Joseph Bowden Baggs, but the scum the skinny, long-haired small-timer associated himself with called him “Jo-Bo”.  He was the Ambrose City Criminal Underworld’s worst kind of trash; a sellout.  But that night, he was gonna pay the big price.
It began with Jo-Bo shaking like a leaf in a merciless, icy breeze inside his rat-fest of a studio apartment in Grudderville, named after the long dead, self-serving ex-mayor who damn near sent Ambrose into a depression.  Jo-Bo was waiting on the big call; assurance that the job was taken care of, that he could get the fat check, move on to mid-town, and never look back.  More importantly, he would never have to watch his back again.
That all sounded good when it blocked that little voice in the back of your head that told you how royally you just fucked up.
Finally, after two joints and a half a bottle of discount vodka, the phone rang.  Jo-Bo blew out a combo of smoke and uncertain relief as he picked it up.
“Hey, bro,” he said.  “You get there okay?”  Pause.  “Good, we get the money?”  Pause.  “What’s my cut look like?”  Pause.  “Good.  I’ll be outside.”  Jo-Bo hung up the phone and threw on his thrift store jacket.  His nerves calmed a bit more as he grabbed the knob.  But then he opened the door…
There stood two well-dressed psychopaths by the names of Hoax and Leach.  Hoax was a hefty fellow with shaggy, blonde hair.  He was dressed like an old school rock star; black jeans, biker boots, tank top, and heavy leather jacket.  Leach was a short freak of a fellow, clad in a light green suit and thick glasses.  His hair and goatee were both pointed like one of those kiddy cartoon devils.  Both eyed Jo-Bo with grins on their faces and snickers coming from their throats.
“Leach, Hoax,” said Jo-Bo, vainly trying top hide the fact that he was scared shitless.  “How are you boys doin’?”
“A lot better than you, Captain!” howled Hoax before the duo grabbed him.
“The boss has some purdy pictures to show ya!” screeched Leach.
If Jo-Bo had anything else to say in protest, he would have to wait until “picture time”.

The docks were always a classic place for the predators of Ambrose to confront their prey.  The main reason behind this was the Northeast River.  If somebody needed to be taught a permanent lesson, the pollution in the water would take them faster than the water itself.  And fortunately for the “judge, jury, and executioners”, there wouldn’t be enough of the body left for a thorough investigation.  Hell, a good ninety-six percent of the Northeast River’s victims never got the sweet luxury of an autopsy.
Jo-Bo looked at that nasty bile that passed for H2O as Hoax and Leach stomped him into the cold, wet dock wood like two kids at play.  And when they finally stopped, he was far from overjoyed.  He knew that meant the big boss had shown up.  From the ground, he peeked up to see a bald, portly man with the hand he used to halt Jo-Bo’s assailants still lifted.  The man, clad in a swanky blue suit and fedora with black overcoat and gloves, was known all though the Underworld as Lenny Java.  The very reputation of himself and his gang, the Devil’s Seven, was enough to put the fear of Hell in most people’s hearts, especially people like Jo-Bo.  They were thieves, killers, destroyers, and damn shrewd businesspeople.  With Hoax and Leach carrying Jo-Bo over to Java, the rest of seven appeared behind the crime lord.  Aries… the Muscle; a buzz-cut brute of a man in a white t-shirt, red sweatpants, black gloves, and gold chain.  Ashe… the Arsonist; dressed in a long, black dress, and near equally long hair that covered part of her face.  Bobby T…. the Handsome One; clean-shaven, light brown hair in a ponytail, and dressed to the nines in a gray and white tuxedo and fedora.  And finally, there was Lowman… the Silent One; wavy black hair going down just past neck length, small mustache, dark purple and gold suit.  He let his knives and strangle wire do most of his talking.  Hoax and Leach were, of course, the raving maniacs of the group.
“What’s wrong with you, ya fuckin’ goof?”  Lenny asked Jo-Bo as he slapped him across the face.  “You think me and my friends here are as donkey-dumb as you are?”  Out of his jacket, he pulled the photos that Leach mentioned earlier.  “And did you think I didn’t have the cash to hire the Gnome to take these?”  Jo-Bo gasped as he saw the images, and the voice in the back in his head made its way to the front at full blast.
You royally fucked up, Jo-Bo.
“First, my shipment doesn’t arrive at my place,” sneered Java.  “And then I get these photos of you and that bum of a delivery man talkin’ to Cherry Bella.  And then, wouldn’t you know it, another shipment doesn’t show up.”  He then got close enough to Jo-Bo for the punk to smell the garlic-bread Lenny had for dinner.  “I want names, Jo-Bo.  I know you and Burns weren’t the only shit-bags behind this.”
“I don’t know anybody else… I swear,” cried Jo-Bo.  Lenny nodded, and then turned to Aries.
“Extend his vocabulary,” he said.  Without a word, Aries walked over and made mashed turnips out of Jo-Bo’s stomach with one swift, hard punch.
“Now talk, goof, or I’ll let Lowman have some fun with ya!” said Lenny.  Jo-Bo moaned in pain as he glanced over at the quiet killer, who already had his trademark switchblade in hand.
“O… okay,” he said.  “Just please don’t kill…”
Anyone could have predicted that Jo-Bo’s last words would be him begging for his pathetic little life.  But Lenny and the rest of the Seven definitely didn’t see the Seeker Beam coming.  The laser blast nailed Jo-Bo right in the forehead and cut through his skull like a hot knife through a rich man’s margarine.  Hoax and Leach dropped him on the spot, and Lenny looked about the docks until he saw a curvy silhouette on the roof of the old Sailor Sally’s Fish Stick Factory.
“Lowman, find that bitch!” yelled Java.  “Bobby, bring me the delivery man!  And Ashe… I want you to cook me up somethin’… well done.”
Later that night, Ashe stood in front of the soon-to-be-opened Cruel Kitty Night Club, created, founded and financed by Cherry Bella, criminal queen of an all female crime syndicate known as the Broken Hearts.  Ashe removed a pack of smokes from her purse and slowly placed one in her mouth.  The second she ignited it, the Cruel Kitty blew up halfway to the Gates of Damnation.

And these were the events that kicked off the Great Mob War of 2055.