Within the Brass Web.

by Brian Moon

  Chapter 5: Justice comes to town.

  March came in like a lion as the saying goes. The northeastern storm clashed with the current cold air from the north to create high winds, poor visibility and lots of snow. The city didn’t really come to a halt, if you could move you did, but most people choose to remain home and wait out the bone-chilling storm. They had to act quickly to take advantage of the diversion. Sixteen men climbed into four Buick Eight sedans, three men with Tommy guns and a driver. They sped off into the rainy night, their headlamps covered to let out just the barest amount of light. The cars raced through city, cutting through City Park and on towards the Kings Garment mill. This was the second of planned attacks on the group called The Kings. The first one was by Marcone and his men. The Family and Southern United hoped to squeeze them between the two territories and drive them out of Paragon City, if not out of existence. The problem was that no one knew where to actually find the group. They weren’t like the other two organizations, the Kings preferred to skulk about in the night. Thieves and cutthroats seemed an accurate description for this group’s members and that is what angered the other two organizations.

  In this time of great hardship, the Family and Southern United found a way to prosper and survive and in doing so everyone associated with them also prospered. The Kings just took what they wanted and they had no problem killing someone to take it. They had no problem burning down a business just because it was there. People feared walking the streets and the problem was growing. It was a problem that would be dealt with quickly.

  The tip had said that the Kings could be found in warehouse seven over on Bailey drive, but the cars moved on to hit the old textile mill directly. The one thing Lukas knew was not to trust an anonymous tip that came the day after another hit. It was too easy to jump at the information given and to fall right into a trap. They would hit the scheduled building he had estimated to be the best location for a hide out. If the warehouse was indeed a trap then their hide out was vulnerable to an attack. The cars pulled into an alleyway a short distance away and the twelve men got into the rain. Their long raincoats were pulled tight against the wind and their hats were pulled low on their heads. The water ran off the oiled leather of the coats and the well-oiled metal of the guns as they ran for the building’s back entrance. They tried the door and found it locked. One man pulled a small brass box out of his pocket and slipped part of it into the keyhole. A second later the men were entering into the building.

  They moved quickly and silently with military precision searching room by room for signs that anyone had been using this building for anything. They could hear voices as they descended the stairs into the boiler room and the clicked their safeties off on the guns. The lead man signaled the others to halt and moved ahead to scout it out. There in a poorly candle lit room sat four men around a table playing cards, a bottle of cheap gin sat on one side and the men drank out of miss matched coffee mugs. Their clothes were ragged and torn and their faces where covered with months old growth. They were old men enjoying a card game, this was probably the only place they had to live. The lead man moved away from the door and the men followed him out to search the next building.

  This building was a maintenance shed and they found access just as easy as the first building. Through a set of doors they could hear a larger group of men talking and laughing. The light was electric this time and came from bulbs in caged lampshades well over head. The twelve men spread out as they approached the main garage. In here they could see a group of men. Some in suits, some in work overalls, but they all had one thing in common, they all had guns at hand. Sitting in front of the two garage doors sat three Packard, one with a lot of damage to the rear metal and rear window, clearly one of the cars used in the drive by shooting. Silently the men spread out into the room to the left and right of the hallway leaving one man to cover it. The lead man raised his hand and watched the men in the room move about. When he dropped his hand, the Tommy guns roared to life. Twelve hundred shell casings hit the concrete. The men then dropped the barrel clips and inserted fresh barrels as they walked out of the building into the night.

  They ran back to their cars and sped off into the night. The driver of the second car barely had time to react as the car in front of him slammed downward, sending sparks from it undercarriage and two of the tires blowing out. The first car skidded sideways on the wet road and was soon rolling down the street forcing the other three cars to stop suddenly. The men in the last car had just stepped out to see what had happened when a railroad tie smashed into the engine compartment blocking the other two cars in. The rain had turned to sleet now and it stung the skin where it hit. A large man rushed into the group before they could make out his darker shadow from the others and started fighting them hand to hand. There were several burst of machine gun fire that lit up the night. The sounds of the gun fire as well as the shouts of the men were drowned by the storm and wind.

  The driver from the first car climbed out of the front window and stood shakily to his feet, blood washing off his face as fast as he could bleed. He could just make out one man moving in front of him when a car turned a distant corner. In that second he saw the entire squad laid out on the pavement. Not a single man was moving. Standing in the middle of them was a man in red and blue. His cape whipped around him in the wind. The Statesman was, holding a piece of twisted metal that used to be a gun. The driver’s legs gave out and he fell to the ground as he passed out.