A/N: Our next applicant is Woodster. Good luck.
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the bitchin' plot.
ShinRa always had the best bikes to steal.
Siciliano walked through the chop shop, watching as his crew carefully removed the serial numbers off the stolen goods, replacing them with numbers that were registered in his name. After this process, the bikes would be taken to an individual buyer and sold to the masses.
Nothing but profit to be made. Well, there was the annoying matter of having to pay his employees, a rag tag group of slum rats, but other than that, pure profit.
"Aight Boys!" one of his employees bellowed, standing to his full 6 foot height. "Load 'em up!"
Siciliano studied this young man. He was hard not to notice. Even in the dank shop, he kept his sunglasses on. The guy was built and hard to miss with that bleached out white hair of his. And he had a commanding air about him. He could dominate any situation as he was doing now. The other workers had jumped at his order and were already loading the bikes into the 18-wheeler parked at the loading dock. This one may be worth keeping.
"You," Siciliano said, pointing to the young man. He turned chomping his gum and arching an eyebrow over the rim of his sunglasses in question. "Come with me."
"I like you," Siciliano said nodding his head in approval. "If you want a permanent position, it's yours."
"Got one question," the man stated.
"What is that?"
"Is there a chance I'll get to race any?" he asked.
Siciliano steepled his fingers and studied the man. "Could be," he said. "I've been thinking about getting into the racing circuit. I would need a racer."
The white haired man stood up, Siciliano following suit. "We got a deal," the man said, still chomping his gum.
Siciliano came around the desk and extended his head. "Excellent," he said.
The man took his hand and twisted his arm around his back, dislocating the shoulder. Siciliano didn't even get to scream in pain, as in the next instant his neck was snapped and he was tossed back in his chair, the back of the leather recliner facing the door.
Stepping out of the office and closing the door, the white haired man popped his gum and made his way back to the loading bay.
"Yo, T, where's the Boss?"
"He don't wanna be disturbed," he answered, going toward the passengers side of the big rig. "He's got some hooker in 'ere wit 'im."
Several whoops went up in the garage. "Hey, you boys go on down to the Honey Bee and charge it to Siciliano's account," T told them. "Y'all deserve it."
The shop cleared and the white haired man smiled. "Fire this rig up and head on out to the highway," he said to the driver. "I got one more thing to take care of and I'll catch up with you."
The driver pulled out and headed down the road. T found the bike he was looking for, whistling in appreciation as he sat in the seat and started up the engine. Taking out a lighter, monogrammed A.S.S. for Antonio Santo Siciliano, he flicked it to life, tossing the flaming Zippo onto a bed of greasy rags.
The crotch rocket sped out of the shop and quickly caught up to the 18-wheeler, driven by a very familiar bald head. Pulling the rig over, Rude hopped out and helped him put the bike in with the other pieces of recovered ShinRa property.
"You torch the place, Torr?" he asked.
Torr grinned, popping his gum. "Yep."
Rude rolled his eyes, undetected behind his own shades. "Siciliano?"
"Dead."
"Beer?"
"Yep."
"Right. Hop in," Rude said climbing back into the rig himself. Torr settled himself into the passenger's side and Rude glanced over at him. "Nice work."
"Always."
Mission Report: Target eliminated by severing the spinal chord in the cervical area; target's body then burned in fire started at his shop, deemed unidentifiable.
Turk Assigned: Torr Burel
Status: Rookie
Specialty: Motorbike racing, undercover ops, handguns, bodyguard and arson
Target: Antonio Siciliano, Midgar's Organized Crime Kingpin
Death by: Severed spine
Mission Complete
A/N: I'll take my gold statues now. ;) Whose next? Well, only I know that! MWAH HA HA!