Hello! I'm not a Master at writing books, but I decided to write a Opening chapter to a Book, please give: any advice, ratings, suggestions and personal thoughts. Note: this is a rough draft, there may be a few grammatical errors involved and so on.. It'll be fixed in the main copy.


Chapter 1; Fat Joey
Fat Joey glanced over to the perplexing man, all dressed in a black suit, a waistcoat and a fedora. As the Saliva from the Individual flattered against Joeys soft tender Cheek, he knew this was no conventional operation. Joeys eyes lids uncontrollably closed, from the distance between Antonios sharp nose (almost in touching distance). I suddenly feel a thrashing towards my left cheek as Antonios concentrated knuckles scuffed across my face, my eyes broaden quickly on the impact of the Punch. Wake up you **** Gavone! Antonio exclaimed loudly. Yeah, Boss Joey mumbled quietly. Joey glances over to the .38 revolver, lying firmly on the face of the old wooden table. What the **** are you waiting for? Pick the gun up you Fat ****! brutally said Antonio. Joey restrained his mouth from muttering anymore wrong words, he slowly walked over to the table. As the floor boards rasp on the Enormous weight of Joey, he guides his hand over to the .38, as he slowly reaches towards it. He swiftly places it into the back of his trousers, en-closing it over his Silk shirt. Alright, this is how its going to go. stated Antonio in a lower tone, as he looks towards Joey and the man. You go in there, you whack Sally. And get the **** outta their, sound simple enough? Said Antonio. peering over to Joey Nodding, ignoring the suited man. The man and Joey nodded in a Respectful manor towards Antonio, as they lead their way out of the back room of the Butchers shop. They step into the 4x4 Chevrolet Suburban, encasing their surroundings wisely, Fat Joey presses the gas firmly as they start to drive. Joey pulls into an peculiar alley way. The man peers over to Joey in a strange but worried manor, I think youve gone the wrong way, Joey Silently muttered the man. Thats where youre wrong, friend. Conclusively said Joey, as he reaches towards his back trouser lining, grasping his .38 revolver and raising it towards the suited mans forehead. Goodbye friend. Stumbeled Joey as he fires 3 shots into the mans forehead, his eyes fading in a black shade. Joey steps out of the Suburban, dropping his .38 in the gutter of the alley way and unrolling the lining of his latex gloves, placing them into his pocket firmly.