There was a bar a few blocks away from the Marketplace ? The Crouch Pit, it was named ? a filthy dive, a hovel of a joint where the bathrooms smelled of vomit and the walls were adorned with bullet holes.
Few people came to this bar for the watered down ale in dirty glasses, or the blood-stained barstools and tables. It was a place where shady men made illicit transactions, where dark deals were struck between iniquitous characters.
Even after ample warning, the business continued to operate without offering kickbacks to Tommy. Thus, it was not immune to the Figure?s aggressions, whenever he decided to extract his dues.
Tommy had gotten wind of a rather large transaction scheduled to go down after midnight. He and Skyler went in alone. It was a straight up smash and grab. They parked the Hummer in the shadows across the street and skulked toward the building in the darkness, guns drawn.
?You ready, dawg?? Tommy asked.
?Yeah,? said Skyler, a familiar feeling settling over him. It was the feeling that closed around him like a cold blanket whenever he was about to enter into a confrontation, be it a sword duel or a gunfight. It was battlefire, and it filled him with an intense red lust for blood and victory, at the same time annexing his fear into some far off corner of his consciousness.
The Figure yanked open the door of The Crouch Pit and Skyler dashed inside, yelling like a maniac. The bartender, an older man with a braver soul than most ? probably having seen a gunfight or two in his days ? reached under the counter for the sawed-off shotgun he kept hidden there.
Skyler put a bullet in his shoulder with his revolver. The man spun around as if on a top, completing an entire revolution before hitting the ground. The boy cleared the bar with a flying leap, his long pretty shiny black hair flying out behind him like a windsock. He holstered his revolver and picked up the bartender?s shotgun, returning to the other side of the bar to meet Tommy.
There were only two patrons in the bar area, neither of which wanted any trouble. They stuck up their hands and ran outside, muttering submissive comments.
Tommy and Skyler looked at the closed door to the back room. ?In there,? the Figure said.
Suddenly, a curly-haired man threw open the door and peered into the common room. His eyes bulged when he saw Tommy and Skyler standing there with guns drawn, the later pointing a shotgun at his face. Curly hair lurched back into the room, slamming the door and locking it. It was like watching a Jack-in-the-Box in reverse.
Skyler took a step forward, pumped the shotgun and pulled the trigger, aiming at the doorknob. The report was so loud it was almost absurd; an intense, violent explosion of buckshot and shattered wood. Now the door was riddled with tiny bullet holes. The pattern was tightest at the lock. The doorknob was ready to fall off. It hung loosely from the door, like a limp penis.
?Again!? Tommy ordered.
Skyler pulled the trigger once more. The door flew inward, rocketing off its hinges to crash against the far wall.
Tommy?s lowered his deep gravely voice as he told Skyler their strategy. ?You head inside first. Spray that thing from wall to wall, lay down some suppressive fire. I?ll follow behind and pick them off where they hide.?
Without hesitation, Skyler moved forward. He jacked the shotgun up and down, filling the chamber with more rounds. He fired as he moved, his face a frozen angry snarl. He emptied the initial cache of bullets from the gun, then pumped and fired, pumped and fired. Pump. Blast. Boom. Pump. Blast. Crash.
Curly hair was the first to do go down. He tried to pop up from behind the sofa in between Skyler?s shots and cut him down, but the teen was faster. Before Curly hair could pull the trigger of his handgun, Skyler sprayed him with buckshot, hurling his body against the wall.
Tommy stood just behind Skyler. After Curly hair fell, the Figure?s Mark VIII Desert Eagle began roaring its distinctive roar. He fired at two places where Skyler didn?t even see anyone ? a small mini bar and the closet door. The bullets tore huge holes in the wood of both its targets . . . and found more targets behind them, revealed by pained groans emanating from the shadows. Somehow Tommy had known there were goons in hiding there. Unfortunately, both were still alive. The Figure leaned over the mini bar and saw one of the men he had shot writhing on the ground, holding his side. Tommy put a bullet in his head. Then he went to the closet. The man lying on the floor within was choking on his own blood, a gaping gory hole in his stomach. Tommy put a bullet in his head.
The Figure made a circuit of the room, ensuring that they were alone. After he was certain they had killed all the players, he pointed to a large suitcase on the table.
Skyler tossed the shotgun on the couch, went to the suitcase and pulled back the zipper. Inside, a huge mound of silver crowns twinkled up at him. ?Jackpot.?
The massive, hulking Figure of Tommy stepped to Skyler?s side. Together they gazed down at the silver in satisfaction. Finally Tommy zipped the suitcase back up. ?Should be exactly a thousand silver crowns in there.? He holstered his big black gun beneath his left arm, looking down at Skyler. ?It?s all yours.?
?Why?? This wasn?t like Tommy to offer him the entire score. They usually split it two to one.
?You did all the hard work, dawg. Besides, my purpose for this job was vengeance ? not profit.?
Skyler nodded appreciatively. He slung the suitcase over his shoulder. It was heavy as hell, but he managed to lug it back to the Hummer. He already knew what he was going to do with the money . . . something he had been meaning to do for a long time.
Few people came to this bar for the watered down ale in dirty glasses, or the blood-stained barstools and tables. It was a place where shady men made illicit transactions, where dark deals were struck between iniquitous characters.
Even after ample warning, the business continued to operate without offering kickbacks to Tommy. Thus, it was not immune to the Figure?s aggressions, whenever he decided to extract his dues.
Tommy had gotten wind of a rather large transaction scheduled to go down after midnight. He and Skyler went in alone. It was a straight up smash and grab. They parked the Hummer in the shadows across the street and skulked toward the building in the darkness, guns drawn.
?You ready, dawg?? Tommy asked.
?Yeah,? said Skyler, a familiar feeling settling over him. It was the feeling that closed around him like a cold blanket whenever he was about to enter into a confrontation, be it a sword duel or a gunfight. It was battlefire, and it filled him with an intense red lust for blood and victory, at the same time annexing his fear into some far off corner of his consciousness.
The Figure yanked open the door of The Crouch Pit and Skyler dashed inside, yelling like a maniac. The bartender, an older man with a braver soul than most ? probably having seen a gunfight or two in his days ? reached under the counter for the sawed-off shotgun he kept hidden there.
Skyler put a bullet in his shoulder with his revolver. The man spun around as if on a top, completing an entire revolution before hitting the ground. The boy cleared the bar with a flying leap, his long pretty shiny black hair flying out behind him like a windsock. He holstered his revolver and picked up the bartender?s shotgun, returning to the other side of the bar to meet Tommy.
There were only two patrons in the bar area, neither of which wanted any trouble. They stuck up their hands and ran outside, muttering submissive comments.
Tommy and Skyler looked at the closed door to the back room. ?In there,? the Figure said.
Suddenly, a curly-haired man threw open the door and peered into the common room. His eyes bulged when he saw Tommy and Skyler standing there with guns drawn, the later pointing a shotgun at his face. Curly hair lurched back into the room, slamming the door and locking it. It was like watching a Jack-in-the-Box in reverse.
Skyler took a step forward, pumped the shotgun and pulled the trigger, aiming at the doorknob. The report was so loud it was almost absurd; an intense, violent explosion of buckshot and shattered wood. Now the door was riddled with tiny bullet holes. The pattern was tightest at the lock. The doorknob was ready to fall off. It hung loosely from the door, like a limp penis.
?Again!? Tommy ordered.
Skyler pulled the trigger once more. The door flew inward, rocketing off its hinges to crash against the far wall.
Tommy?s lowered his deep gravely voice as he told Skyler their strategy. ?You head inside first. Spray that thing from wall to wall, lay down some suppressive fire. I?ll follow behind and pick them off where they hide.?
Without hesitation, Skyler moved forward. He jacked the shotgun up and down, filling the chamber with more rounds. He fired as he moved, his face a frozen angry snarl. He emptied the initial cache of bullets from the gun, then pumped and fired, pumped and fired. Pump. Blast. Boom. Pump. Blast. Crash.
Curly hair was the first to do go down. He tried to pop up from behind the sofa in between Skyler?s shots and cut him down, but the teen was faster. Before Curly hair could pull the trigger of his handgun, Skyler sprayed him with buckshot, hurling his body against the wall.
Tommy stood just behind Skyler. After Curly hair fell, the Figure?s Mark VIII Desert Eagle began roaring its distinctive roar. He fired at two places where Skyler didn?t even see anyone ? a small mini bar and the closet door. The bullets tore huge holes in the wood of both its targets . . . and found more targets behind them, revealed by pained groans emanating from the shadows. Somehow Tommy had known there were goons in hiding there. Unfortunately, both were still alive. The Figure leaned over the mini bar and saw one of the men he had shot writhing on the ground, holding his side. Tommy put a bullet in his head. Then he went to the closet. The man lying on the floor within was choking on his own blood, a gaping gory hole in his stomach. Tommy put a bullet in his head.
The Figure made a circuit of the room, ensuring that they were alone. After he was certain they had killed all the players, he pointed to a large suitcase on the table.
Skyler tossed the shotgun on the couch, went to the suitcase and pulled back the zipper. Inside, a huge mound of silver crowns twinkled up at him. ?Jackpot.?
The massive, hulking Figure of Tommy stepped to Skyler?s side. Together they gazed down at the silver in satisfaction. Finally Tommy zipped the suitcase back up. ?Should be exactly a thousand silver crowns in there.? He holstered his big black gun beneath his left arm, looking down at Skyler. ?It?s all yours.?
?Why?? This wasn?t like Tommy to offer him the entire score. They usually split it two to one.
?You did all the hard work, dawg. Besides, my purpose for this job was vengeance ? not profit.?
Skyler nodded appreciatively. He slung the suitcase over his shoulder. It was heavy as hell, but he managed to lug it back to the Hummer. He already knew what he was going to do with the money . . . something he had been meaning to do for a long time.