The Streets 2 - Tai Goodman (buy e reader TXT) 📗

DISCLAIMER

This is all a matter of fiction for an immersive experience. Things that happened in this book never happened, and may contain violence, gore, racism references, and disturbing sequences during its storyline. This book is supposed to accurately describe the time of 1980's gambling and issues.

 

Also, it is recommended that you read "The Streets" before reading this book to be caught up on the storyline, in which it is crucial to this one. 

Prologue: Bang for the Buck

 FREMONT CASINO, THE STRIP

LAS VEGAS, NEVADA

FEBRUARY 26, 1983

 

"This guy's on a roll, everybody!" said the casino clerk. A man named Michael Levine was getting lucky by the minute at the craps table. The dice landed on a 24. "WOO! Yes!" 
People started crowding around the table to watch his movement. "Alright... I need a 3. I bet on... red!" 

The clerk said, "3. Red. Got it." 

Then the casino's owner came over to the table and put his glass of bourbon down on the table. "Hey hey hey, everybody! What's happening in this corner?"

 

"This guy's acing this game." 

 

"Hmmm... Pretty good! Prettyyyy gooood..."

 

The owner went over to Michael and said, "I got a deal for you. How many chips you got on you?"

 

Michael responded, "I'm not at liberty to say... I have a whole bunch, I'll tell you that now!" 

 

"That's great for you! But let's raise the stakes..." he said, pulling out a gun. Everybody backed up. "Whoa, whoa! Hold yer horses, I'm not gunnin' anybody down! Calm down! Well, not yet." 

Michael stood still as the owner pushed the barrel of the gun against his head. "I've got a deal for you. Go for what you bet. You land on that space... I'll give you 200 grand. But if you mess up, roll something else... I'll take something from you." Michael considered the options for a second.

 

"Uh... Okay! You're on!"

 

He threw the dice onto the red space, and it was a 3. "Got it. Hand over my moolah!" 

 

The owner frowned and said, "I know I put up 200 grand... and you won it that fast. But I just can't hand somebody money and not get anything back." The owner aimed at Michael's chest, and shot him. "Great. On with your lives, then."

 

 

Damion West: "Gambling back in the 80's.. It was an absolutely cancerous disease. Most of people's money came from casinos, craps, cards, and chips. I did a documentary before, named The Streets. Well this comes after the 1969 debacle about Benjamin Tyrone. Believe it or not, this actually came from that incident. Benjamin Tyrone's cousin, Ivan Winchester, was the owner of the casino. He heard about Tyrone's recent death in 1969, and took on a job at the casino. He worked there in 1971. After 2 years, he moved up and gained ownership of the casino in 1973. Then in 1983, that's when things got furious. Along with Tyrone, Winchester also went down. This is

 

VEGAS STREETS (the Streets 2)

 

 Wayne Devila: "I was an accomplice of Michael Levine. Michael was so... eager. He wanted to just straight up GO to the casino, murder Ivan Winchester, and come back celebrating. That can't just happen automatically like *that*. People died during this point in time. But you know what? It was a good cause for ME, and a good cause for HIM."

Chapter 1: I Cheated Death

 HENDERSON

LAS VEGAS, NEVADA

 

"Wake up...

 

Wake up...

 

WAKE UP!"

 

Michael awakened to find himself in a car. "Had a nice sleep? Well that ends, now. I figured you weren't dead, so I saved your fucking life so I could... 'Use' you for something," the driver informed him. 

Michael had no shirt on, and saw a bandage across part of his chest area. A dot of blood marked the gunshot wound. "I'm alive? This ain't a hallucination or something like that?"

 

"Nope, I didn't smoke no weed, so yeah, this is real," the driver told him.

 

"Where am I? Where's that punk bitch!?" Michael said, sitting himself up straight. "Ey, ey, ey! Take a chill pill, or overdose on 'em. We're not in the casino no more. Anyhow, you were listening, right? About the uh... Business I mentioned?"

 

"What 'business'? I just wanna find that asshole who shot me!" 

 

"That's it! That's what I'm talking about! I want to help you kill my boss!"

 

Michael's eyes opened all the way. He wrapped his arms around the driver and choked him. "YOUR BOSS? SO WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU?"

 

"JESUS- I SAVED YOUR ASS- YOU OWE ME! STOP!"

 

Michael stopped choking the driver and sat in his seat. "I'm his goddamn slave. Mr. Winchester is an absolute pile of horse manure, and I want to clean him up. Dispose of him. By the way, my name's Wayne."

 

"Hmm... Alright. I understand. Where do we start?" 

Chapter 2: Blowout

 FIRING RANGE, HENDERSON

LAS VEGAS, NEVADA

 

 

"Alright, so I'm gonna teach you how to kill people," Wayne told Michael. 

"Oh... alright?"

 

Wayne handed him a pistol. "Hold it. Squeeze it a little bit. If you're gonna take out Winchester, you're gonna have to go through his goons." The operator placed a life-sized target of a man in the shooting range. Wayne handed him an .40 ACP ammunition clip. "Stick that through the bottom of your gun. You can't kill shit without ammo."

Michael stuck the clip into the receiver of the pistol. "Got it." Michael aimed at  the head of the target, and Wayne said, "STOP! STOP! STOP! No no no no, take the safety off."

 

Michael looked around the gun. "What the fuck's a safety?" 

Wayne took the pistol and pulled the slide back. "There- That's the safety." Michael nodded and aimed at the target dummy. He fired a shot and hit the dummy in its neck. "Good, but Winchester can probably put pressure on the wound. Try again."

 

Michael fired again, and hit the dummy in the face. "YES! That's what I'm talking about! He can't recover from that!" 

 

 

 

BOXING RING

LAS VEGAS, NEVADA

 

"You need to limber up in case you have no ammo and Winchester's ready for a fight." An obese man climbed into the ring with Michael. "Don't I need boxing gloves for this?" Michael asked him. 

 

"You gonna wear boxing gloves when you go fuck up Winchester? No you're not! So you're gonna use your fists. The harder you hit and the harder the surface you hit, the stronger your knuckles are gonna get. Wear brass knuckles, and you can double that damage. 

 

Oh. And this is Tyson. He's the ass you're gonna try and kick with your bare hands." Michael balled up his fists and said, "He's... not gonna hit me, is he?"

"Michael, have you ever got in a fight?"

 

"In my junior year in high school, yeah."

 

"Well guess what? There's no fight you fight that doesn't have you getting hurt, too. So yeah, he's gonna hit you." Michael popped his neck in place and punched Tyson in his chest. "The fuck was that bullshit?" Tyson insulted him. Michael denied his words and punched him again. "Ow." Michael hit him a third time. "Ouch. That 'hurt.'" 

Tyson socked Michael in the face. "Goddamn! Alright, that does it!"

 

Wayne laid back in a folding chair, watching Michael beat up Tyson. "You two play nice!"

 

Wayne: "I know I taught a man to kill people. He looked as weak as a fucking walking stick insect when I saw his ass for the first time. But after all the training shit, we were ready to whoop ass!"

 

Eventually, Michael knocked out Tyson. His knuckles were bloody, and bleeding at once. "Yeah! That's what I wanted to see!"

 

 

WAYNE'S RESIDENCE

LAS VEGAS

 

"Let me test you. We can't just run in there all pussyfoot, can we?" Wayne quizzed Michael. "Nope." Wayne nodded and said, "Good. We're ready to go. Take your things, and grab your mask. We can't afford getting spotted by a camera."

 

 

Chapter 3: High Times

 NIGHTCLUB

LAS VEGAS, NEVADA

 

Wayne drove up to the building with Michael in the passenger seat. "What're we doing here? We're supposed to go kill Winchester!" Wayne shook his head and said, "You don't get it, do you? Ivan doesn't just have his right hand men, he has an entire army of pricks from Detroit. You heard of the Detroit Massacres?"

 

"Yeah."

 

"The mafia leader, Benjamin Tyrone, he gave some of his guys to fuckface before he died. They never found who killed everybody he had, including him."

 

"Huh. So I guess we have some trash to dispose of."

 

"You bet. Get your weapon ready, they don't play nice against pests." Michael pulled the slide of his pistol back and put on his mask. Wayne did the same and said, "Ready?"

 

"Let's go!"

 

The two busted into the nightclub. "Guys, we got visitors!" said a mobster inside. Michael looked around and saw the population of mobsters in the building. "Go get 'em! And don't be afraid to get your hands dirty!"

Michael threw a table over and took cover behind it. Wayne slammed the bodyguard's head down on his kneecap, and then with his elbow, pounded