Crime Syndicate Quotes

Thank goodness for the U.S. Navy. I can at least put off telling Logan. The last thing I need is for my boyfriend to pick a fight with an international crime syndicate.

Many of the actions by which men have become rich are far more harmful to the community than the obscure crimes of poor men, yet they go unpunished because they do not interfere with the existing order.

The Trump administration is a transnational crime syndicate masquerading as a government. The foundation of this edifice was formed not when Trump took office, but decades before, through prolonged engagement with criminal or criminal-adjacent actors linked to hostile regimes, in particular, the Kremlin and its oligarch network.

The nightmares I had been fending off had come home in the form of the Trump administration: a white supremacist kleptocracy linked to a transnational crime syndicate, using digital media to manipulate reality and destroy privacy, led by a sociopathic nuke-fetishist, backed by apocalyptic fanatics preying on the weakest and most vulnerable as feckless and complicit officials fail to protect them.

What is wrong with you?” I say in lieu of greeting. “You went to Morris’s dorm and declared your intentions?” He offers a faint smile. “Of course. It was the noble thing to do. I can’t be chasing after another guy’s girl without his knowledge.” “I’m not his girl,” I snap. “We went on one date! And now I’m never going to be his girl, because he doesn’t want to go out with me again.” “What the hell?” Logan looks startled. “I’m disappointed in him. I thought he had more of a competitive spirit than that.” “Seriously? You’re going to pretend to be surprised? He won’t see me again because your jackass self told him he couldn’t.” Astonishment fills his eyes. “No, I didn’t.” “Yes, you did.” “Is that what he told you?” Logan demands. “Not in so many words.” “I see. Well, what words did he actually use?” I grit my teeth so hard my jaw aches. “He said he’s backing off because he doesn’t want to get in the middle of something so complicated. I pointed out that there’s nothing complicated about it, seeing as you and I are not together.” My aggravation heightens. “And then he insisted that I need to give you a chance, because you’re a—” I angrily air-quote Morris’s words “—‘stand-up guy who deserves another shot.’” Logan breaks out in a grin. I stab the air with my finger. “Don’t you dare smile. Obviously you put those words in his mouth. And what the hell was he jabbering about when he told me you and him were ‘family’?” All the disbelief I’d felt during my talk with Morris comes spiraling back, making me pace the bedroom in hurried strides. “What did you say to him, Logan? Did you brainwash him or something? How are you guys family? You don’t even know each other!” Strangled laughter sounds from Logan’s direction. I spin around and level a dark glower at him. “He’s talking about the joint family we created in Mob Boss. It’s this role-playing game where you’re the Don of a mob family and you’re fighting a bunch of other mafia bosses for territory and rackets and stuff. We played it when I went over there, and I ended up staying until four in the morning. Seriously, it was intense.” He shrugs. “We’re the Lorris crime syndicate.” I’m dumbfounded. Oh my God. Lorris? As in Logan and Morris? They fucking Brangelina’d themselves? “What is happening?” I burst out. “You guys are best friends now?” “He’s a cool guy. Actually, he’s even cooler in my book now for stepping down like that. I didn’t ask him to, but clearly he grasps what you refuse to see.” “Yeah, and what’s that?” I mutter. “That you and I are perfect for each other.” No words. There are no words to accurately convey what I’m feeling right now. Horror maybe? Absolute insanity? I mean, it’s not like I’m madly in love with Morris or anything, but if I’d known that kissing Logan at the party would lead to…this, I would have strapped on a frickin’ chastity gag.

I can’t be her knight. But I can be her king.

I should bend you over this table right now and teach you a fucking lesson on respect.

Because we both knew I was broken. Broken in a way that I would eventually have to accept that love just would not happen for me. Never again.

When your boyfriend headed what many believed was a multiplanet crime syndicate with aspirations to replace One Gov, you tended to ask questions only when you really wanted answers.

Without the right to rule ("authority"), there is no reason to call the entity "government," and all of the politicians and their mercenaries become utterly indistinguishable from a giant organized crime syndicate, their "laws" no more valid than the threats of muggers and carjackers. And that, in reality, is what every "government" is: an illegitimate gang of thugs, thieves and murderers, masquerading as a rightful ruling body.

The Teamsters pension fund organized by Hoffa almost immediately became a source of loans to the national crime syndicate known to the public as La Cosa Nostra. With its own private bank, this crime monopoly grew and flourished. Teamsters-funded ventures, especially the construction of casinos in Havana and Las Vegas, where dreams come true for the godfather entrepreneurs. The sky was the limit and more was anticipated. At the time of Jimmy Hoffa’s disappearance in 1975 Atlantic City was about to open up to legalized gambling. Jimmy’s cut was to get a finder’s fee off the books.

Under conditions of extreme deprivation people will continue to grow crops that promise economic relief, and they will continue to trade in those crops and their products. The ultimate beneficiaries are neither the impoverished Afghan or Columbian peasant nor the street-corner pusher in the U.S. ghetto or on Vancouver’s skid row. The illegality of mind-altering substances enriches drug cartels, crime syndicates, and their corrupt enablers among politicians, government officials, judges, lawyers, and police officers around the world. If one set out deliberately to fashion a legal system designed to maximize and sustain the wealth of international drug criminals and their abettors, one could never dream up anything to improve upon the present one—except, perhaps, to add tobacco to the list of contraband substances. That way the traffickers and their allies could profit even more, although it’s unimaginable that their legally respectable counterparts—tax-hungry governments and the nicotine pushers in tobacco company boardrooms—would ever allow that to happen.

And even modern governments have an element of the crime syndicate about them. Police forces repeatedly harbour criminals all over the world: the US Department of Homeland Security is only a little more than a decade old, but in 2011 over three hundred of its employees were arrested for crimes such as drug smuggling, child pornography and selling intelligence to drug cartels. Like

On the other hand, in his book, The Enemy Within, Bobby Kennedy wrote about his experiences and observations as chief counsel for the McClellan Committee hearings on organized crime and labor unions, saying: “We saw and questioned some of the nation’s most notorious gangsters and racketeers. But there was no group that better fits the prototype of the old Al Capone syndicate than Jimmy Hoffa and some of his chief lieutenants in and out of the union.” Twentieth

When a man is suffering from an infectious disease, he is a danger to the community, and it is necessary to restrict his liberty of movement. But no one associates any idea of guilt with such a situation. On the contrary, he is an object of commiseration to his friends. Such steps as science recommends are taken to cure him of his disease, and he submits as a rule without reluctance to the curtailment of liberty involved meanwhile. The same method in spirit ought to be shown in the treatment of what is called "crime.

Matteo didn't lick a woman's pussy because he felt obligated, or at the very least not mine. I might have argued he enjoyed it more than I did if he wasn't so damn good at it. That talented tongue explored every part of me, thrusting in and out until I whimpered. When he turned his attention to my clit, it was so he could slide a finger inside me. I clenched around him on a cry, feeling the way he moaned in response vibrate through me. He withdrew that finger, only to add a second and curl them to stroke that spot inside me that made me quiver. "Teo," I whimpered, and the sound of his name seemed to push him over the edge. He wrapped his lips around the bundle of nerves at the apex of my thigh, sucking gently. My legs tightened around his head; my hand buried in his hair to hold him exactly where I wanted him as I shattered in a blinding orgasm that stole my ability to function. I laid there, panting and trying to regain my ability to move. When I opened my eyes, it was to Matteo shoving his own underwear down his legs and kicking them off. He pulled his fingers free of me and spread my legs wide from where they'd wrapped around his head. Sliding up my body, his hips lined up with mine so he could grind his length against my wet core. His lips found mine in a bruising, claiming kiss that seemed even more primal because he tasted like me. He reached down, sliding himself through my wet and notching his head at my entrance. Pulling away from my lips, he groaned, "Tell me you're mine." Still recovering from my orgasm, I nodded in a daze. "Words, Angel. Give me the words." "Yours," I murmured, cupping his cheek with a delirious smile and tugging him down to kiss him again. He slid inside me slowly, filling me until there wasn't a single inch that couldn't feel him. "Fuck," he groaned against my mouth. He reached down, wrapping my legs around his hips. Our foreheads pressed together; our mouths not quite touching as he started to move inside me. Even without his lips on mine, I could taste him, taste me in his breath on my face. One of his hands grabbed mine, our fingers intertwining while he wrapped his other under my shoulder to hold me where he wanted me. He slid in and out in slow, hard thrusts.

It is also a message to Congress and the presidency—slowly the American people may be realizing that after almost four decades of the war on drugs, dependency levels and usage are higher than ever before; that the prices of all major recreational drugs have been declining resolutely over that period; and that the state has wasted hundreds of billions of dollars in a criminal justice system that delivers a lot of crime but very little justice. The funds used to sustain bureaucracies such as the DEA that prosecute the war on drugs are a drop in the ocean when compared with the gazillions that organized crime syndicates have earned because Washington is determined to drive the market underground. The social and criminal problems related to drug abuse will never go away until the state can exercise control over the industry as a whole.

JFK asked his brother, Attorney General Robert Kennedy, to break up organized crime. Nobody high-up in government has tangled the Mafia. J. E. Hoover, the hired hands of FBI and CIA, ran the assassination teams. They have been used since World War II. JFK was attempting to end the oil-tax depletion rip-offs, to get tax money from oil companies. JFK instituted the nuclear test ban treaty, often called “the kiss of death,” to oppose the Pentagon. JFK called off the Invasion of Cuba. He allowed Castro to live, antagonized narcotics and gambling, oil and sugar interests, formerly in Cuba. JFK asked his brother, Attorney General Robert Kennedy, to break up the CIA, the “hidden government behind my back.” Allen Dulles was fired. Dulles, the attorney for international multinationals, was angry. JFK planned to withdraw troops from Vietnam after the 1964 elections. Nov. 24, 1963, two days after JFK’s burial, the Pentagon escalated the Vietnam war … with no known provocations, after JFK was gone. There was no chance Kennedy could survive antagonizing the CIA, oil companies, Pentagon, organized crime. He was not their man. The assassination of JFK employed people from the Texas-Southwest. It was not a Southern plot. Upstarts could not have controlled the northern CIA, FBI, Kennedy family connections. This was a more detailed, sophisticated conspiracy that was to set the pattern for future murders to take place. The murder was funded by Permindex, with headquarters in Montreal and Switzerland. Their stated purpose was to encourage trade between nations in the Western world. Their actual purpose was fourfold: 1) To fund and direct assassinations of European, Mid-East and world leaders considered threats to the western world, and to Petroleum Interests of their backers. 2) Provide couriers, agents for transporting and depositing funds through Swiss Banks for Vegas, Miami and the international gambling syndicate. 3) Coordinate the espionage activities of White Russian Solidarists and Division V of the FBI, headed by William Sullivan. 4) Build, acquire and operate hotels and gambling casinos. See: Nomenclature of an Assassination Cabal, by William Torbitt.

Even more importantly, there simply is no direct relation between physical strength and social power among humans. People in their sixties usually exercise power over people in their twenties, even though twenty-somethings are much stronger than their elders. The typical plantation owner in Alabama in the mid-nineteenth century could have been wrestled to the ground in seconds by any of the slaves cultivating his cotton fields. Boxing matches were not used to select Egyptian pharaohs or Catholic popes. In forager societies, political dominance generally resides with the person possessing the best social skills rather than the most developed musculature. In organized crime, the big boss is not necessarily the strongest man. He is often an older man who very rarely uses his own fists; he gets younger and fitter men to do the dirty jobs for him. A guy who thinks that the way to take over the syndicate is to beat up the don is unlikely to live long enough to learn from his mistake. Even among chimpanzees, the alpha male wins his position by building a stable coalition with other males and females, not through mindless violence. In fact, human history shows that there is often an inverse relation between physical prowess and social power. In most societies, it’s the lower classes who do the manual labor. This may reflect homo sapiens position in the food chain. If all that counted were raw physical abilities, sapiens would have found themselves on a middle rung of the ladder. But their mental and social skills placed them at the top. It is therefore only natural that the chain of power within the species will also be determined by mental and social abilities more than by brute force. It is therefore hard to believe that the most influential and most stable social hierarchy in history is founded on men's ability to physically coerce women.

When separated at birth and reunited as adults, they say they feel they have known each other all their lives. Testing confirms that identical twins, whether separated at birth or not, are eerily alike (though far from identical) in just about any trait one can measure. They are similar in verbal, mathematical, and general intelligence, in their degree of life satisfaction, and in personality traits such as introversion, agreeableness, neuroticism, conscientiousness, and openness to experience. They have similar attitudes toward controversial issues such as the death penalty, religion, and modern music. They resemble each other not just in paper-and-pencil tests but in consequential behavior such as gambling, divorcing, committing crimes, getting into accidents, and watching television. And they boast dozens of shared idiosyncrasies such as giggling incessantly, giving interminable answers to simple questions, dipping buttered toast in coffee, and—in the case of Abigail van Buren and Ann Landers—writing indistinguishable syndicated advice columns. The crags and valleys of their electroencephalograms (brainwaves) are as alike as those of a single person recorded on two occasions, and the wrinkles of their brains and distribution of gray

Identical twins think and feel in such similar ways that they sometimes suspect they are linked by telepathy. When separated at birth and reunited as adults, they say they feel they have known each other all their lives. Testing confirms that identical twins, whether separated at birth or not, are eerily alike (though far from identical) in just about any trait one can measure. They are similar in verbal, mathematical, and general intelligence, in their degree of life satisfaction, and in personality traits such as introversion, agreeableness, neuroticism, conscientiousness, and openness to experience. They have similar attitudes toward controversial issues such as the death penalty, religion, and modern music. They resemble each other not just in paper-and-pencil tests but in consequential behavior such as gambling, divorcing, committing crimes, getting into accidents, and watching television. And they boast dozens of shared idiosyncrasies such as giggling incessantly, giving interminable answers to simple questions, dipping buttered toast in coffee,and-in the case of Abigail van Buren and Ann Landers-writing indistinguishable syndicated advice columns. The crags and valleysof their electroencephalograms (brainwaves) are as alike as those of a single person recorded on two occasions, and the wrinkles of their brains and distribution of gray matter across cortical areas are also similar.

Hoover fed the story to sympathetic reporters—so-called friends of the bureau. One article about the case, which was syndicated by William Randolph Hearst’s company, blared, NEVER TOLD BEFORE! —How the Government with the Most Gigantic Fingerprint System on Earth Fights Crime with Unheard-of Science Refinements; Revealing How Clever Sleuths Ended a Reign of Murder and Terror in the Lonely Hills of the Osage Indian Country, and Then Rounded Up the Nation’s Most Desperate Gang In 1932, the bureau began working with the radio program The Lucky Strike Hour to dramatize its cases. One of the first episodes was based on the murders of the Osage. At Hoover’s request, Agent Burger had even written up fictional scenes, which were shared with the program’s producers. In one of these scenes, Ramsey shows Ernest Burkhart the gun he plans to use to kill Roan, saying, “Look at her, ain’t she a dandy?” The broadcasted radio program concluded, “So another story ends and the moral is identical with that set forth in all the others of this series….[ The criminal] was no match for the Federal Agent of Washington in a battle of wits.” Though Hoover privately commended White and his men for capturing Hale and his gang and gave the agents a slight pay increase—“ a small way at least to recognize their efficiency and application to duty”—he never mentioned them by name as he promoted the case. They did not quite fit the profile of college-educated recruits that became part of Hoover’s mythology. Plus, Hoover never wanted his men to overshadow him.

People in their sixties usually exercise power over people in their twenties, even though twentysomethings are much stronger than their elders. The typical plantation owner in Alabama in the mid-nineteenth century could have been wrestled to the ground in seconds by any of the slaves cultivating his cotton fields. Boxing matches were not used to select Egyptian pharaohs or Catholic popes. In forager societies, political dominance generally resides with the person possessing the best social skills rather than the most developed musculature. In organised crime, the big boss is not necessarily the strongest man. He is often an older man who very rarely uses his own fists; he gets younger and fitter men to do the dirty jobs for him. A guy who thinks that the way to take over the syndicate is to beat up the don is unlikely to live long enough to learn from his mistake. Even among chimpanzees, the alpha male wins his position by building a stable coalition with other males and females, not through mindless violence. In fact, human history shows that there is often an inverse relation between physical prowess and social power. In most societies, it’s the lower classes who do the manual labour. This may reflect Homo sapiens’ position in the food chain. If all that counted were raw physical abilities, Sapiens would have found themselves on a middle rung of the ladder. But their mental and social skills placed them at the top. It is therefore only natural that the chain of power within the species will also be determined by mental and social abilities more than by brute force. It is therefore hard to believe that the most influential and most stable social hierarchy in history is founded on men’s ability physically to coerce women.

There simply is no direct relation between physical strength and social power among humans. People in their sixties usually exercise power over people in their twenties, even though twentysomethings are much stronger than their elders. The typical plantation owner in Alabama in the mid-nineteenth century could have been wrestled to the ground in seconds by any of the slaves cultivating his cotton fields. Boxing matches were not used to select Egyptian pharaohs or Catholic popes. In forager societies, political dominance generally resides with the person possessing the best social skills rather than the most developed musculature. In organised crime, the big boss is not necessarily the strongest man. He is often an older man who very rarely uses his own fists; he gets younger and fitter men to do the dirty jobs for him. A guy who thinks that the way to take over the syndicate is to beat up the don is unlikely to live long enough to learn from his mistake. Even among chimpanzees, the alpha male wins his position by building a stable coalition with other males and females, not through mindless violence.

I knew Laura wasn’t home this morning, so there was no possibility of her hearing the shot and rushing over to help, placing herself in mortal danger. Which she would have gladly done, because that’s who she was in real life, as well as on television; though her popular show was no longer on the air, her legions of fans adored her, and continued to watch her show in syndication. Like Laura, they believed in decency, the hereafter, hope and goodness. Laura’s fans were the quiet majority in America. They were the people networks, and society in general, did not want you to believe existed. They did not keep up with the Kardashians, had no interest in squabbles between little women in any city, abhorred the depths of depravity and graphic violence so endemic it seemed of every crime show being produced, were sickened by the shallow and inconsequential reality television shows, and would no sooner have spent an hour watching Style or E! than they would have planning an evening out with a convicted serial killer — even if television did portray one as being “cool” because he unrealistically helped catch others of his ilk. Sure, that crap got good ratings, but that was because decent people no longer watched much television. In our day, the Love Boat’s calm, happy seas of the ‘70s and ‘80s had become a sleazy, violent, often gender-bending cruise into politically correct waters so liberally tolerant of everything but religious faith, that anyone pointing out the iceberg just ahead in these foul-smelling and morally dark seas was immediately vilified.

They say that life isn’t about the destination; it’s about the journey. But the journey is made much more enjoyable with a partner in crime, with the one.

this.  There has never been a political organization as powerful or as fearsome as the Democrat National Committee.  Yes, there have been tyrants and despots.  There have been Huns and kings and Caesars, but there has never before been a religion-party that could command armies and navies, buy up priests and popes, and reign with blood and horror on the earth for so long.  The oath and covenant to be robed with the priesthood in this organization requires a commitment of the soul.  You cannot leave.  You cannot even die to avoid your obligation.  In return, you will be provided a charm of favor.  The laws of men will not be able to hold you.  The bounty of all nations will be yours for the taking.  The innocent and hard-working people of the world are your sheep to be shorn or slaughtered by your command.  In place of joy you will be provided seemingly endless pleasure.  In place of serenity, you will be driven by the dogs of greed who never tire and never stop.  In place of love, you will receive virgins and children for sex.  In place of salvation, you will receive a long life of power and more wealth than a hundred men could spend in a hundred lifetimes. For some, the cost of this religion-party is too great.  For others, the lure is too great, and life is too short to be wasted trying to earn one’s way to wealth.  Besides, that type of wealth can be stripped away with a single lawsuit by someone who wants it more than the person who earned it.  The promise of eternal life is a shiny and sweet smelling counterfeit of exaltation.  Who wants to eat cold rice, when one can have a tender and juicy steak with the finest wines?  Who wants to heal the sick or feed five thousand when one can have his or her name put on the wing of a hospital or command the harvest of a nation?

He wasn’t just complicated, he was covered in layers of armor, hiding secrets that had created him even more than being born and raised in a crime syndicate family.

Only a pair of black boxer briefs covered him, and they barely contained the fucking anaconda of an erection I remembered all too well.

You’ve been very foolish coming here,” he murmured, near my ear. His breath tickled the flesh, sending a shiver racing through me. “I let you go twelve years ago, and it was the most difficult thing I’ve ever done. Did you really think I would do it twice?

But I tell my feminism to pipe down because now isn’t the time.

She looks like a goddess, even on a bathroom counter, and I’ll fucking kneel at her altar.

Cash Fox. Wild. Violent. Unpredictable.

I have to readjust my dick in my pants when she pauses outside of the bookstore and gathers her long, dark-strawberry hair in her hands and lifts it off her neck. I’ve always had a thing for necks.

Sometimes I stop abruptly just to watch her stutter to a halt, dip behind a telephone pole, or pull out her phone for absolutely no reason at all. My cock aches to know what she smells like, tastes like.

The weird fluttering feeling low in my stomach—that I’m starting to learn is in fact metaphorical butterflies—happens again. I know this because I googled it to make sure there wasn’t anything medically wrong with me. “Actually, she’s stalking me.

He drops my chin and looks almost offended. My skin tingles from the loss of contact. Don’t ask me why. “There is nothing average about you.” His voice is so definitive, I find myself nodding along. “You shouldn’t talk down to yourself like that.” Mesmerized by his commanding-yet-gentle tone, I can’t look away from his eyes. “Okay.” I bite my lip, and his eyes flick to my mouth as he mutters, “Good girl.

Well, fuck. Looks like I’m going to be hunting down a serial killer all by myself.

Do you know what a fucking vision you would be with your hair wrapped around my fist while I force you to take every. Fucking. Inch?

who they were working for. German Feds? Berlin Police? FBI? CIA? Lebanese crime syndicate? Al Qaeda–affiliated terrorist group? That was an impressive list. He thought about who else he might have pissed off in his short time in Berlin. If he had a few more days, he could add a few more names.

We don't have mobs and crime syndicates and goon squads because we have crooked politicians and their stooges in the City Hall and the legislatures. Crime isn't a disease, it's a symptom. Cops are like a doctor that gives you aspirin for a brain tumor, except that the cop would rather cure it with a blackjack. We're a big rough rich wild people and crime is the price we pay for it, and organized crime is the price we pay for organization. We'll have it with us a long time. Organized crime is just the dirty side of the sharp dollar.

Lie to yourself, lie to the world, lie to fucking God himself, but don’t ever lie to me.

We’re endgame, baby, and if you don’t see that, you better put that bullet in my head right now because I’m gonna ruin all other men for you when I worship every inch of your body.

worked for a “large multinational organization,” which of course described the United Nations and international crime syndicates equally well.

Hey,” I said, panting, “next time you find out that a major crime syndicate wants to take over Vegas, maybe let me know before I go to the city where they live? Send me a letter, maybe? Send up some smoke signals?” “Wait, what?” Nicky said. “The Outfit came after you in Texas?” “In Chicago, Nicky. Where the job is. The job you set me up for.

EO soon realized that it had discovered a growth industry. Word of mouth spread about its effectiveness and, by 1991, the firm had started running operations outside of South Africa. These initial efforts included: mine security efforts; infiltrating and penetrating organized crime smuggling syndicates; and operations for a South American government (rumored to be Colombia), conducting clandestine counter drug raids that it termed “discretionary warfare.

Another judgment I made early in the game and enforced through the years was that there would be no pay telephones, no jukeboxes, no vending machines of any kind in McDonald’s restaurants. Many times operators have been tempted by the side income some of these machines offer, and they have questioned my decision. But I’ve stood firm. All of those things create unproductive traffic in a store and encourage loitering that can disrupt your customers. This would downgrade the family image we wanted to create for McDonald’s. Furthermore, in some areas the vending machines were controlled by the crime syndicate, and I wanted no part of that. Our

The FfP uses twelve indicators to measure state failure, and Egypt scored a stellar nine out of ten in criminalization or delegitimization of the state, understood as "massive and endemic corruption or profiteering by ruling elites, resistance of ruling elites to transparency, accountability and political representation, widespread loss of popular confidence in state institutions, and processes and growth of crime syndicates linked to ruling elites." It rated 8.5 out of ten in "suspension or arbitrary application of the rule of law and widespread violation of human rights." And it rated a relatively modest 8.3 in the "rise of factionalized elites" or the "fragmentation of elites and state institutions along group lines," and the use of "nationalistic political rhetoric by ruling elites.

Many kingdoms and empires were in truth little more than large protection rackets. The king was the capo di tutti capi who collected protection money, and in return made sure that neighbouring crime syndicates and local small fry did not harm those under his protection. He did little else.

When I set my mind on something, it infects my bloodstream, becomes part of me. And right now, she is the all-consuming virus ravaging me from the inside out. And I need some goddamn relief.

God? I suppose that would be right. I’ll be your god and your owner. I’ll be your keeper and your fucking everything. Isn’t that right, little monster?

Do you think anyone would mind if I made some suggestions about running their crime syndicates?”  Gwen asked after a while.

I pressed down just hard enough to draw a small line of blood. The burn of the cut made me hiss, pushing back the numbness with the force of a wrecking ball. With it came the pain I’d neglected to feel, the agony of mattering so little. But at least I wasn’t numb. At least I knew I was alive. It was ironic, to live in a way that I needed to bleed to remember I wasn’t a walking corpse. That I hadn’t risen from the dead without full cognitive and emotional functioning.

Warriors" - League of Legends

The war against the crime syndicate in Chicago never ends. Those who attended the wedding of Tony Accardo’s kid were inspired after they saw how the battle is being waged. Long before the wedding began, dozens of law enforcement agents poured into the area around St. Vincent Ferrer Church on North Avenue, a few blocks west of Harlem. Veteran crime syndicate observers were quick to spot the FBI, the Secret Service, the Chicago Police Undercover Unit, the Crime Commission, and the Quickie Credit-Check Service. This phase of the never-ending battle against the gang-lords is fought, not with guns, but with notebooks and cameras. Nobody knows if this is effective against the mob, but at least no cops got shot in the foot.

In short, we’ve been targeted by a Draziri crime syndicate specializing in murder and willing to assassinate their own priests.” This was just getting better and better. Maud leaned back and laughed. I looked at her. “You don’t do anything halfway,” she said.

I’ve heard some crime syndicates use big drones.” As O’Neill waves his holo-ring at the access panel, I mime something swooping down from the sky. “They fly you away like a huge package.

it’s critical to note that anyone who makes money off the commercial sexual exploitation of someone else is pimping them, be they a parent, a pornographer, or a member of an organized crime syndicate

I didn't sleep with my employees. Not ever. Not until tonight. Dammit. I needed to get my shit together. I was a successful, twenty-three-year-old businesswoman and the head of a crime syndicate. I was a cold-blooded killer and a merciless bitch to anyone who crossed me. To everyone who'd met me or heard of me in the years since my family's near massacre, I was all of those things rolled into one intimidating, fear-inducing name. Hades. The leader of the Tri-State Timberwolves.

no reply is the best reply. Leave the bastard on read.

I’ve made a lot of mistakes but loving you was never one of them. I may not be a gentleman, but you are worthy of gentle love, and I vow to give you all you deserve and more.

Fucking hell, Sasha. You basically live the life of a fucking nun, then you go out and bag yourself the patriarch of a goddamn crime syndicate. Without even realizing it!

If you think the cops are dumb enough to get between me and my woman, think again. There isn’t anybody in this world who will save you from me.

Where is my wife?!

went to Kruger National Park, a vast stretch of dry, barren land the size of Israel. In the war on poachers, Kruger was the absolute front line. Its rhino populations, both black and white, were plummeting, due to armies of poachers being incentivized by Chinese and Vietnamese crime syndicates. One rhino horn fetched enormous sums, so for every poacher arrested, five more were ready to take their place.

This sly fox, he really is convincing.

Oh baby, I may be crazy, but so are you. Your pussy is weeping for me.

My family, the Alderidge family, is one of the major four syndicates that specializes professionally in what some might call “criminal activity.” We never leave enough evidence to get caught, and we never fail a mission. If you are born in the family, you work for the family, and you never go against the family. With members all over the world, we have our hand in everything from elections and assassinations to bank robberies and jewelry heists. That is how it has been for hundreds of years. I, however, am praying I get stationed in Paris with my Aunt Magdalena who makes personnel files on everyone from presidents in Polynesia to your average pancake flipper in Memphis. You never know who you might need to blackmail, bribe, or break to complete a mission. You may fear Big Brother spying on you, but the person you should truly fear getting your personal information is my Aunt Magdalena.

Even the strongest soldiers can still sink.

Now, I realize Becky is probably a member of an international lesbian crime syndicate (which is about the most entertaining phrase I can imagine),

Countries are organized crime syndicates that do business with other criminals. Whichever side you are on, you are a pawn on a chessboard.

Alan Morgan, stared in disbelief at the centerpiece. “It’s perfect,” he said. “I need to stop thinking about apps that are going to change the world. Obviously the technology of the future is whatever frequency you and Megan are on.” “I’m not sure we’re on the same frequency,” Drew said. “This note doesn’t sound like her. ‘Sorry I can’t make it to your dinner. Something came up. Talk soon, Megan.’ That’s not her at all. Do you think she’s been kidnapped?” “Yes. This is exactly what kidnappers do.” “Don’t be sarcastic.” “No, really. I’m sure the ransom note will be along any minute.” Drew crossed his arms and started sulking. “Don’t sulk,” Alan said. “That’s my job. I’m the old man who’s turning thirty. Poor me.” “Poor me,” Drew said. “If she sent this note, it’s not a good sign.” “Since when does a polite apology spell trouble?” “When it comes from a girl who doesn’t do polite apologies.” “Maybe she’s changed. People change,” Alan said. “You don’t actually believe that, do you?” “No,” Alan said. “She’s probably going to dump you.” Drew didn’t want to admit it, but he’d been thinking the same thing ever since she’d gone silent on the phone. “You’ve still got me,” Alan said. “I’m going to be single forever,” Drew said. “We’re both going to be single forever,” Alan said. “Just the two of us, living in this big house we bought with our blood money.” “You have to stop saying that, or people will think we’re running a crime syndicate.” Alan went over to the fridge and opened it. “You get the crackers, and I’ll liberate one of the cheese plates,” Alan said. “Why?” “Because it’s too early to open the wine, and we need something to ease our sorrows. Me, turning thirty, and you over getting dumped by a girl before we even had a chance to terrorize Mom.” “I’m not sure it’s too early to open the wine,” Drew said. “What about letting it breathe?” “Is that a real thing?” Alan put the marble cheese board on the polished granite counter between then and flung back the clear plastic wrap. “I thought that was just something Mom said to excuse her afternoon drinking.

Organized crime syndicates with pro-unification agendas are expected to become highly active, seeking to rapidly recruit new teenage manpower. Violence

This theory has been part of many people’s thinking about insurgency and civil war for a long time. But the cases we’ve examined in this chapter suggest that it applies to any nonstate armed group that preys on a population. It applies to insurgents, terrorists, drug cartels, street gangs, organized crime syndicates, pirates, and warlords, and it provides useful explanations and insights for law enforcement, civil war, and diffuse social conflict—not just for insurgency. I will suggest that we treat this theory (until another theory emerges that better fits the available facts) as a working model for dealing with future threats.

Organized crime killed Marilyn Monroe. The idea was to frame and discredit the Kennedy administration, thus ending its drive against the Mafia, crime-controlled unions, and other parts of the crime syndicate. The FBI, CIA, or some right-wing group killed her, with the same motive of framing and discrediting the Kennedys. Why? Because they were too liberal. The Communist Party or other left-wing elements killed her in order to save Robert Kennedy from exposure—a theory of right-wing groups who opposed the Kennedys. The Kennedys killed her to avoid the public sex scandal she was threatening.

In the 1990s, as it began to feel the impact of cable news and syndicated infotainment programming, network evening newscasts became increasingly focused on tabloid crime and celebrity.

At that moment he understood something with great clarity: that sacrifice exacted its price systematically, slowly, over the years and, like a crime syndicate, never forgot its due. Such sacrifice led to bitterness, and the bitterness in turn led to physical and mental pains, to chronic fatigue, to a fading away of one’s spirit, to a growing deficiency of the life sap that others possessed but which he did not. In his darker moments, which had increased with the years, he was overcome with fury at what had been decreed for his life.

We are living in Roy Cohn’s America, directed by his apt pupil, with the aid of a crime syndicate that does not recognize law, freedom, or the sanctity of human life.

In Springfield, there are two rival organized crime rings: Damien Libellula’s mob-run ‘Family’ set on the East End of the city, and the Sinners Syndicate, ruled by an enigmatic figure known only as Devil—but who I still think of as Link.