Post by Judge on Oct 1, 2015 19:18:01 GMT -5
IN FACT DEADLY RUMBLE
Four hours away from Hangtown Kentucky a place called Frankfort Kentucky a few Saints of Killers are chilling in the woods passing a joint. Three semi truck trailers are parked side by side doors closed, large wooden boxes are sat in front of the trailers, and some guns mainly Ak-47s leaned against those.
Between the trailers PCW's Underground champion comes walking up sporting his usual garb a trucker hat, Metallica t-shirt, his black and white camo pants tucked into boots, the bikers cut, and black framed seeing glasses. "Alright dicks get your crap together here they come," he barked as he popped a sucker into his mouth.
The men toss the joint and get in front of the back of the trailers. Motorcycle engines fill the air as more than two dozen bikes tear down a dirt road. Judge with the permission from the clubs president, Jury, put together a meeting with three different MC clubs to begin distribution of guns within Kentucky. From Kentucky they would spread up and down the east coast. That was Jury's plan.
The herd of bikers bring their party to a stop away from the Saints setup. Three men the Presidents of the three different clubs walk over the first was a black man named Darius president of The Tribe, the second man was a short wild haired older man named Malcolm president of the Flock, and the last man was simply called The Bull a Mexican and president of Los Negro.
"Gentlemen welcome! Glad you are all interested," Judge began with a slick smile, "I also take it that none of you brought weapons to our peaceful meeting."
"We're all a part of a truce Judge so you have our word no one brought weapons," it was Malcolm who replied as he is the mouth piece for all of them. Six years ago after his son was killed during a bloody feud between the three clubs he put together the truce, divided territory, and since then things had been grand. Two months ago their weapons supplier was busted and here they were looking for new toys.
"Good, good," Judge said with cheer as he began pushing lids open revealing a assortment of weapons from hand guns, rpgs, tecs, and Ak-47s, "My organization has no limits gentlemen to what you want, so don't frown about the examples. We just ask you let us know what you want at each drop which by the way will change every time."
The three presidents do their own looking talking specs and after some time they all seem very satisfied. Malcolm nods at the hardware, "Nice, very nice Judge. We've agreed to do business with you."
"I got a question though," it was Darius, "You that wrestling guy right? PCW or something right?"
Judge flashed a toothy grin, "I don't like to brag but yes I am King of the Underground at PCW. Something of a celebrity per say, you watch?"
"I don't my son does," Darius picks up a pistol looking down the sightings, "He's all about the Black Hand or some shit. Says no on can take them down, he's a nut about some Billy guy but hey that's neither here or there."
Inside Judge felt his flicker of happiness fade and replaced with cold hatred. Outside he just smiled his slick smile all teeth baring holes through Darius with his gray eyes, "Yeah how about that, but that could all change at this years Deadly Rumble! Or if the wizard can dethrone him."
Everyone by now was looking at Judge lost they really didn't watch PCW but he continued, "I personally don't think that will happen. I think it'll be me."
"How so?" answered Darius. Judge began to pace behind the wooden crates, "Because I'm a Saint friend! I'm going to change the company and the world. I'll tell you what I love about a Deadly Rumble, it's full of surprises and what will happen ever!"
"Right well good luck with all that, do you want to talk about money?" Interrupted Malcolm.
"Ah, yes good call. I believe the price for this shipment was agreed upon for 300k?" Judge asked second guessing. Malcolm looked at his fellow presidents, "Well as a first time buyer Judge we brought 150k because well honestly we just didn't know you let alone trust you."
Judge mulled it over in his head then held his hands up, "True that friend. It sounds reasonable enough but next time I want the agreed amout, clear?"
Malcolm nodded in agreement then whistled for one of his men, who seconds later came walking with two black bags right up to Judge handing them over. Judge took them behind the crates, sat them on the ground unzipping them, amd began to make sure all the money was there. A few minutes later he pops up grinning, "It's all good! Now remember what I said about liking what I like at the Deadly Rumble?"
This statement got weird looks from the three presidents but Judge gave a mighty crazy cackle, "Surprise!"
The next second the three trailer doors shot up, followed by the cracking of gun shots from the inside, and Judge joined the fold pulling out his own pistol firing into the crowd of defenseless shocked bikers across from him. After it was all done the other side laid dead on the ground murdered in cold blood.
"Get the paint boys," Judge snapped as he replaced his pistol and put rubber gloves on. He walked to the three dead presidents dragging them side by side but as soon as he was done one gasped and jerked, Judge barked in surprise pulling his pistol firing two shots into The Bulls head! Composing himself he giggled, "Silly."
One of his men came up holding a bucket which Judge dipped his gloved hand in and slapped his hand on each of the dead presidents chest leaving behind a black hand print, "Surprises."
Four hours away from Hangtown Kentucky a place called Frankfort Kentucky a few Saints of Killers are chilling in the woods passing a joint. Three semi truck trailers are parked side by side doors closed, large wooden boxes are sat in front of the trailers, and some guns mainly Ak-47s leaned against those.
Between the trailers PCW's Underground champion comes walking up sporting his usual garb a trucker hat, Metallica t-shirt, his black and white camo pants tucked into boots, the bikers cut, and black framed seeing glasses. "Alright dicks get your crap together here they come," he barked as he popped a sucker into his mouth.
The men toss the joint and get in front of the back of the trailers. Motorcycle engines fill the air as more than two dozen bikes tear down a dirt road. Judge with the permission from the clubs president, Jury, put together a meeting with three different MC clubs to begin distribution of guns within Kentucky. From Kentucky they would spread up and down the east coast. That was Jury's plan.
The herd of bikers bring their party to a stop away from the Saints setup. Three men the Presidents of the three different clubs walk over the first was a black man named Darius president of The Tribe, the second man was a short wild haired older man named Malcolm president of the Flock, and the last man was simply called The Bull a Mexican and president of Los Negro.
"Gentlemen welcome! Glad you are all interested," Judge began with a slick smile, "I also take it that none of you brought weapons to our peaceful meeting."
"We're all a part of a truce Judge so you have our word no one brought weapons," it was Malcolm who replied as he is the mouth piece for all of them. Six years ago after his son was killed during a bloody feud between the three clubs he put together the truce, divided territory, and since then things had been grand. Two months ago their weapons supplier was busted and here they were looking for new toys.
"Good, good," Judge said with cheer as he began pushing lids open revealing a assortment of weapons from hand guns, rpgs, tecs, and Ak-47s, "My organization has no limits gentlemen to what you want, so don't frown about the examples. We just ask you let us know what you want at each drop which by the way will change every time."
The three presidents do their own looking talking specs and after some time they all seem very satisfied. Malcolm nods at the hardware, "Nice, very nice Judge. We've agreed to do business with you."
"I got a question though," it was Darius, "You that wrestling guy right? PCW or something right?"
Judge flashed a toothy grin, "I don't like to brag but yes I am King of the Underground at PCW. Something of a celebrity per say, you watch?"
"I don't my son does," Darius picks up a pistol looking down the sightings, "He's all about the Black Hand or some shit. Says no on can take them down, he's a nut about some Billy guy but hey that's neither here or there."
Inside Judge felt his flicker of happiness fade and replaced with cold hatred. Outside he just smiled his slick smile all teeth baring holes through Darius with his gray eyes, "Yeah how about that, but that could all change at this years Deadly Rumble! Or if the wizard can dethrone him."
Everyone by now was looking at Judge lost they really didn't watch PCW but he continued, "I personally don't think that will happen. I think it'll be me."
"How so?" answered Darius. Judge began to pace behind the wooden crates, "Because I'm a Saint friend! I'm going to change the company and the world. I'll tell you what I love about a Deadly Rumble, it's full of surprises and what will happen ever!"
"Right well good luck with all that, do you want to talk about money?" Interrupted Malcolm.
"Ah, yes good call. I believe the price for this shipment was agreed upon for 300k?" Judge asked second guessing. Malcolm looked at his fellow presidents, "Well as a first time buyer Judge we brought 150k because well honestly we just didn't know you let alone trust you."
Judge mulled it over in his head then held his hands up, "True that friend. It sounds reasonable enough but next time I want the agreed amout, clear?"
Malcolm nodded in agreement then whistled for one of his men, who seconds later came walking with two black bags right up to Judge handing them over. Judge took them behind the crates, sat them on the ground unzipping them, amd began to make sure all the money was there. A few minutes later he pops up grinning, "It's all good! Now remember what I said about liking what I like at the Deadly Rumble?"
This statement got weird looks from the three presidents but Judge gave a mighty crazy cackle, "Surprise!"
The next second the three trailer doors shot up, followed by the cracking of gun shots from the inside, and Judge joined the fold pulling out his own pistol firing into the crowd of defenseless shocked bikers across from him. After it was all done the other side laid dead on the ground murdered in cold blood.
"Get the paint boys," Judge snapped as he replaced his pistol and put rubber gloves on. He walked to the three dead presidents dragging them side by side but as soon as he was done one gasped and jerked, Judge barked in surprise pulling his pistol firing two shots into The Bulls head! Composing himself he giggled, "Silly."
One of his men came up holding a bucket which Judge dipped his gloved hand in and slapped his hand on each of the dead presidents chest leaving behind a black hand print, "Surprises."
