Almost a year ago, plans for the greatest crime ever to be committed were laid out in blueprint in the depths of a downtown dive. There was only one table left in the venue. The joint was packed and in waltzes the most cracked out motherfucker ever to roam these parts. He went by the moniker of Mr. Brown.
Mr. Brown ordered a pint and lit up a smoke. He cradled a Desert Eagle in his lap. His eyes wandered to the front of the bar where he met gaze with one Cam Findlay. Mr. Findlay had a kitana loosely slung across his shoulder and Johnny Cash was playing quietly in the background. Mr. Findlay noticed that there were no more tables at the bar and decided to take chances with the resident crackhead. He ordered a pint and sat down across from Mr. Brown.
-Hello Mr Findlay
Hello Mr Brown. How is the night treating you?
-Lovely.
The plot thickened as did the conversation and the two kept talking. What about, this narrator cannot be for certain as he was utilizing the bar's facilities, however when he returned there was a third person at the table. It was none other than the infamous Pearhead. He was renowned for his accuracy with the machine gun. Pearhead was talking at great length with his hands and was drinking the whole bar under the table. Your humble narrator could only catch snippets of conversation as a local band had taken to the stage. I believe they it was the world renowned Hook of Hammet. Pearhead kept referring to the movie Goldfinger and Fort Knox and how they should somehow obtain a small Asian man with a steel rimmed hat. His prayers were answered when the next patron of this dive walked in.
His name: El Terribl��������, but he insisted on being called Paterson. Paterson marched in carrying a shotgun. The four conversed quietly in the back of the dingy bar for the remainder of the evening and then at midnight exactly they stood up. The four, two-tone clad warriors all shook hands and walked out of the bar.
The next day they robbed a bank with such ease that they would have made John Dillinger smile. He probably was in his grave laughing. The headlines referred to them as the "reservoir dawgs." They were the most gangster motherfuckers to hit the scene.
* * *
Several months and heists later the group decided to rename themselves and learn some new tricks. So to the tune of Papa's Got a Brand New Bag, they changed their media dubbed name to Full Clip Orchestra. Every heist would sound like a symphony of berettas. Or a concerto of uzis. What have you.
* * *
Several months later, a very embarrassing thing happened. The four walked into a jewelery only to find that they were not the only motherfuckers holding the place up. Over the counter they met eye to eye with the infamous Jacuzzi boys. It was a pickle of a dilly indeed. With guns drawn, the two gangs started yelling at each other. They yelled words that this narrator could not hear, as he was bound and gagged in the bank vault. Bullets started to fly and when the smoke cleared, not one fragment had landed anywhere near their intended targets.
Mr. Brown's fedora lay in tatters between the two squads of illegitimate action. They both came to the conclusion that there was no ammo left, but there was plenty of money. The companies exchanged bill-filled handshakes and phone numbers and parted ways. One Nick Marian of the Jacuzzi boys decided to start doing split hits with both teams as the Full Clip kids needed a ladies man that could swoon the female tellers. Nick currently partakes in every heist involving this band apart. An enticing companionship to say the least.
* * *
Cameron decided to come clean and turned himself in. Then he was gone without a trace. He was last seen in Japan, possibly a contract killer now. The Full Clip crew needed someone to fill his position. Word of mouth got around that they were looking, and that word came out of the mouths of gangsters in Armenia. One humble peasant decided to join the ranks of this nefarious crew. His name was Vassil.
The alarms were ringing at Fort Knox again, and the boys were inside. They were surrounded by fifty men strong with big fucking guns. There was no escape. THEN CAME A HERO! In from the skies, a masked marauder flew in with an Apache helicopter, firing round after round into the sheep of the establishment! Hellfire missiles erupted and coated the boys in blue in red! The plane landed in front of the money bag toting FCO.
-Hello. I am Vassil.
The rest is history!
At this present time, the whereabouts of this mob is unknown. They roam from town to town in search of the perfect crime. When they find it, the planet will bow to them and drink the blood of success from their goblets of glory!
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