Leadership part 1

Carson o'Hogan was not a very bright man. He'd made bad decision after bad decision. He was six two in height with brown hair, green eyes, and a healthy enough body, all things considered. He had so many chances to be a good athlete or a decent enough worker somewhere in Gotham. He never had his temper ending relationships and opportunities as soon as they came. His drinking habit ruined whatever his temper didn't.

He'd found himself as an enforcer for the Irish mob in Gotham. It fit his talents, but he wasn't going anywhere. Just living one day to the next waiting for his kidneys to give out or to punch the wrong guy and end up dead. Condiment Wizard had changed all of that when people like Carson had been brought into the Redafia; he'd been given purpose and found a higher calling, as it were. He was to serve the condiment wizard to point his anger at the condiment wizard's enemies.

This would never happen; he knew that as he felt Condiment Wizard get snuffed. He didn't know how he knew; he just did. So Carson's goal had changed, and now he wanted one thing: revenge for the boss he never got to know. Hence, he was currently working on one of the cops of the city over. A thud rang out across the warehouse; a moan of pain followed shortly after, making it clear what the third was.

"Alright, you piece of shit, tell me what I want to know, and the beating stops." Carson all but growled at the police officer held between two of his own thugs. The cop just shook his head desperately no, still trying to say he didn't know what Carson was asking about but trying to avoid saying so with a broken jaw. "You piece of shit, still trying to lie to me!" Carson roared and proceeded to go at him again, giving him left and right hooks all over his body.

The cop couldn't handle the beating and passed out. Carson spat at his unconscious form and then had him tossed to a pile of other beaten unconscious cops. Carson then looked to the side where several other tied-up cops were sitting there, unable to run or fight. "Well, I'll say it again: the beating stops when I get my answer." Carson roared out.

The cop's response was just to glare at him in rage or look away in fear. "Well, I guess we're going to keep trying until one of you dumb fuchs answers!" Carson screamed out too, filled with rage to even attempt talking normally. The next cop was dragged forward and presented to Carson. "Now, who was there at Gotham Woods?" Carson asked the cop in front of him.

"We told you already, you sick fuck; we don't know!" The cop rostered out in frustration and defiance, so the beating began again. The thuds of fists echoed after each hit, echoing through the warehouse and swiftly followed by the screams of pain. While Carson, one of the lieutenants of the red Mafia, tried to get answers, a different boss over the yellow Mafia was trying his own way to get answers.

Eriberto Beretti was a member of one of the great five Italian families that ran the entire Italian mafia within Gotham. He was five nine with dark hair and blue eyes. He was low on the list when it came to family members, a distant cousin effectively, when it came to family blood and his place in the family hierarchy. Though that hadn't mattered much to Eriberto. The glory days of the Italian mob were over when he got into the scene.

Sure, they had a good amount of control of the drug routes running through Gotham, but that wasn't much, as they were one of several old mafias clinging on to that pipeline. Batman and his little family of do-gooders had crippled all the mafias in Gotham, and they weren't as respected as they once were. As they were yesterday's news with all the new supervillains running around Gotham causing trouble, most people barely saw them as a nuisance anymore.

These days the only people considered powerful mafia bosses are Penguin, Black Mask, Two-Face, and the Ventriloquist. Which showed just how bad things had gotten that a puppet called Scarface was considered one of the most dangerous Mafia members in Gotham. Though Eriberto knew that it was as much their fault as anybody else's. The five families had been waging war with each other on and off for decades, and all that blood had cost them dearly.

So Eriberto had found himself born effectively in the dying industry of being mafia muscle for a big Italian family. Though it all changed when he became a part of the yellow mafia. There was no fighting over who was the don. They all knew the don; they just had to make sure everybody else knew.

Eriberto had done well with that, becoming one of the many lieutenants that made up the yellow mafia. Now, though, the Don was dead, and somebody had to pay for it. So it was that one of the current mafia bosses was dangling from a roof with Eriberto holding the other end of the rope he was currently dangling from.

"You fucks, I'm going to start with skinning you alive! You'd wish you jumped off this fucking roof by minute five, you cockless bastards." Black Mask shouted at Eriberto; his hands were bound in rope, which was stopping him from falling thirty stories. Eriberto didn't immediately answer; he simply pulled the top back and forth a bit, causing Black Mask to swing away from the building and then slam into it.

"You know the deal; tell me who took out the Don at Gotham Woods, and you walk out of here alive." Eriberto said quietly but loud enough for Black masks to hear. He growled in response and for a little bit just growled swear words too low for anyone to hear. Eventually he stopped swearing to himself and responded.

"I already told you, dumb fucks, there was no fucking hit. There isn't even a Don, not since the last fucker died a fucking decade ago." Black Mask screamed out, making it clear that he wasn't afraid, and the fact that he was even being asked the stupid question was a complete waste of his time.

"Well, you better know something quick because I'm sure one of your friends here will talk when you go splat on the ground." Eriberto said while looking at black mask lieutenants who were tied up and scattered around the roof they were all on. The captured lieutenants looked at each other, not liking what was said, as they didn't know any more than Black Mask did about some hit on an unknown Don in Gotham Woods.

It was clear to the cops and to the gangster that answers would have to be found soon. Or they were going to find themselves to be very dead very soon. Though they all knew the odds of suddenly knowing what was asked wasn't good. So their fate seemed very clear from where they were.