Up Against the Mob

By F.J. Dare

WOULD YOU HELP A FRIEND GET AWAY WITH MURDER? Without any hesitation, Vinnie took out the pistol from under his arm and placed it to the man's head. As he squeezed the trigger he whispered. "Say good-bye, asshole." Bang! As a loud noise filled the alley and blood sprayed from the back of Paul's head, I said. "Vinnie, you killed him" "That's righ

• Language: English
• Publisher: F.J. Dare Publishing Inc.
• Release date: Jul 25, 2023
• ISBN: 9781961416888

F.J. Dare

F. J. Dare has written this Action & Adventure novel for everyone's entertainment. A family man, F.J. Dare is excited for the adventure and hopes everyone enjoys his storytelling in his work entitled, Up Against The Mob.

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Copyright 2024 by F.J. Dare

(F.J. Dare Publishing Inc.)

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotation in a book review.

ISBN: 978-1-961416-87-1 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-961416-88-8 (ebk)

Contents

Acknowledgments

Chapter 1 A Beginning!

Chapter 2 Meeting Place!

Chapter 3 The Murder!

Chapter 4 Unforeseen Occurrence!

Chapter 5 Second Occurrence!

Chapter 6 Third Occurrence!

Chapter 7 Gathering The Facts!

Chapter 8 First Contact!

Chapter 9 The Meeting!

Chapter 10 The Aftermath!

Chapter 11 The Firefight!

Chapter 12 The FBI!

Chapter 13 The Mistake!

Chapter 14 The Hit!

Acknowledgments

I would like to thank my family and friends, who’ve inspired me to put my ideas on paper to create this book.

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Chapter 1

A Beginning!

It was the month of June in the year 1976; I graduated from high school as a young man not sure what to do with my life; I began to search for what life had in store for me.

This was the only question that was subconsciously asked repeatedly in my young mind at the time. What was I going to do for a living? What was the direction I should be going? To help me to make up my mind and to give me a little time to figure out my life challenges, I decided to enlist in the United States Marine Corps. Little did I know that day would effect my life in such a huge way.

It all started the day I arrived at the Marine Corps Recruit Depot in San Diego California for my basic training, and the day I met the person that would turn my life upside down some twenty-six years later. His name was Vincent Malone; I called him Vinnie.

I first arrived at the Recruit Depot on a green bus that pulled up and parked alongside the induction building. The bus was full of newly-arriving recruits. All of us on the bus were hot, nervous and scared; the sweat dripped from our bodies due to the lack of air conditioning on the bus. The driver was a small, thin man who also had sweat that dribbled down his cheeks, even though bolted on his dashboard was a small fan that rotated quickly, which tried to keep him cool. The small fan was no match for the hot weather. His small size was very noticeable to me, especially when he leaned over from his seat and grabbed a red handle that he struggled to pull back. After it had been pulled back completely the bus’ front doors opened.

Now, with the door opened, the driver took his feet off the pedals, slid his legs around his seat, and placed his feet firmly in the center aisle, and then, he stood up. At that point he turned towards all of us and said,

Stay seated until you’re instructed to leave.

The driver was dressed in a Marine uniform with no markings on it. This informed me that the bus driver’s rank was a private in the U. S. Marine Corps.

Once he completed his instructions to everyone on the bus, the driver proceeded down the three steps until he was completely off the bus.

At that moment, I remembered saying to the Italian man next to me, What the hell am I doing here on this bus?

His response was, Just fuck’n pray, the shit we are headed for didn’t even start yet.

Off in the distance, the sounds of men marching and the drill instructor’s yells could be heard outside the bus as we all sat nervously waiting for our instructions.

Approximately three minutes had gone by since the driver left the bus, when a tall, muscular man dressed in a Marine uniform walked slowly up the three steps onto the bus; he stopped precisely at the head of the bus.

I could not believe all the ribbons and badges, which hung on his very clean, pressed shirt.

My name is Gunnery Sergeant Watson, he said, oh so very loud and clearly that I believe everyone on the bus will never, ever forget it. All of you pieces of shit, slimy civilians will now proceed to get the hell off this bus. I want you all to put your fuck’n feet on those yellow footprints alongside that fuck’n building. Quickly his hand pointed to the building as he continued to say, You will not fuck’n touch me and I’m not going to move from this spot.

He then pointed to his feet with his two hands and his index fingers that pointed to his extremely shined shoes.

Continuing, he said, Now get your asses off my bus, you have one minute to line the hell up. As I stood up, a line formed as I waited for the others to pass the drill instructor while they tried not to touch him.

It was at that moment in time many of us began to realize there was no way to get the hell by him. Getting by that man without touching him was nearly impossible. I was not going to attempt that so I wiped the sweat from my face with my shirt then began to climb out the windows as others tried to use the emergency exits at the back of the bus.

I remembered reaching over to my window, gripping the thumb locks at the top of the partly opened window. With both thumbs—one on each side of the window—I pushed in on the thumb locks; this allowed the window to drop all the way down. I placed my right foot on the seat then proceeded to squeeze my skinny body through the small, opened window. The side of the bus was searing from the hot sun as it beat down on the bus’s metal exterior. I could feel the heat as my hands walked my body down the side of the bus; I hung my body from the side by hooking my two feet on the edges of the window’s frame. This held me there