The Hard Way — Legacy Forums — Strolen's Citadel

Re: The Hard Way

#41

Cutter tucked in for the night, or what remained of it. the mass of the P90 was reassuring. Ronnie was a ranger, and those guys were no joke, but sometimes it made them cocky, arrogant. there were a few rangers in Iraq who bought it because they thought they were superman, too bad bullets were their secret weakness. Paranoia, being overly prepared and according to the specialist borderline PTSD made a person cautious even when they couldn't keep their damned mouth shut.

The truck had a dead man switch, can't steal a trick that has no power and automatics don't roll start. The camper locked as well, from he inside, bear proof according to the guy at the sporting goods store. Not that there were a lot of bears in LA, aka Lower Alabama. The guns, well that was his inner marine showing out. The pistols were fun and the P90 was accurate and had stopping power and even a one armed man could shoulder it and fire it.

He shoved a pair of fishing reels over, kicked his feet up on a tackle box with spin jigs and two magazines in it (Field and Stream, and Playboy) and went to sleep.

Re: The Hard Way

#42

Kate faintly nodded in understanding at the reference to sleep, the last few days had been anything but restful, and her latest caffeine infusion had just about worn off. A room? The concept of an actual bed sounded sorely tempting, but the thought of Ozil catching her asleep in a grungy room with no where to run made her shudder. Her car? the back seat of the Cuda was pretty comfortable, she'd spent more then a few nights there recently, but still just as much a death trap if Ozil saw her napping.

Cutter mentioned a truck with a camper, which meant he'd be in back, probably sound asleep by now with how tired he sounded. Perfect. "See you around." She uttered the sentence almost to herself as she collected her change from the bartenders sweaty hand and swiftly departed the bar.

The cool night air felt refreshing on Kate's bare skin, raising faint goosebumps as she quietly crept towards the truck, grateful the parking lot was so deserted. Softly she tested the passenger side door to Cutters pickup. Locked. Not really surprising given the man was ex-military. Letting out a soft sigh of exasperation Kate retrieved a blanket and lock jimmy from her car, quietly popping the trucks aged lock seconds later.

"Growing up in the Bronx does have a few advantages I guess." Kate thought quietly to herself, slipping inside the cab and softly closing the door behind her, spending an extra second to ensure it was securely locked. After setting her wrist watch to wake her at 6am sharp, she closed her eyes and let herself fall into a restless sleep, silently praying Volchenko was a few hundred miles away driving in the opposite direction.

Re: The Hard Way

#43

Laura Froelich backed up the dark-green Crown Vic into her garage, and turned off the ignition.

Just sat there for a few minutes.

I think i got him, she thought. Castiglione was hooked. Her job just got easier, way she figured it.

The Foster fellow, that was indeed some freaking coincidence, she shook her head and smiled.

The girl, well, the girl reminded Laura of herself 12 years ago. Young, hot, confident, smart. She was going places, that one.

Laura got out of the car and went inside her house. Her cat yowled. She petted it, went into the bedroom, and passed out on the bed, fully clothed..

Re: The Hard Way

#44

Same motel…

The bartender checked the clock on the wall.

3 AM.

He could hear the sound of tires slowly rolling on gravel.

Another guest, he thought. This just became his busiest night of the year.

The door opens and two large gentlemen enter. Old man nods his head in greeting. Men nod back.

Some small talk ensues.

Keys exchanged for money.

“Rollins around?”
“Which one?” says the bartender.
“All of them”, the man speaking has a Mediterranean accent.
“They uhh--have a—place, 12 miles north of here. Haven’t seen them in a while”
“You see ‘em before we do, you tell ‘em the Agnello brothers are here from Vegas to see ‘em.”
“Ok”

The two behemoths went upstairs, steps creaking as they rose.

Re: The Hard Way

#45

Frank always knew what time it was somehow. Never wore a watch. Just knew. A clock in his gut. Army shrink tried to rationilze it once, decade back. Tried to explain it. Couldn't. Sounded stupid trying. Frank just always knew the time. Why ask why.

3 AM
Still wide awake.
Thinking. Can't help it. Something about the army and babylon, buzzing in head.
3:25 AM
Heard some motel guests, heavy ones, go up the stairs and into a room down the hall.
Had a dream.
State troopers with shotguns running up and down ziggurats. A river of coffee. Bacon monsters.
No.
Wait.
Not Bacon monsters. Not a dream.
Smell bacon frying. Downstairs. Old man can't sleep either it seems.

Re: The Hard Way

#46

Kate turned over for what felt the hundredth time, the rogue spring still managing to dig uncomfortably into her side. Besides that she had to pee. Again. "Teach me to mix caffeine tablets and coffee" she thought angrily, sitting up and quietly opening the passenger side door, glancing up at the moon as she carefully eased herself from the vehicle.

For a moment Kate felt the lazy temptation to squat next to the tuck and relive herself, the lack of anything to wipe with after making her discard the idea a fraction of a second later. Hell with it, might as well head in and use the ladies room for what must be the twentieth time tonight. At least it was cleaner then other dives she'd frequented in her past, probably because they didn't get many female visitors this far out in the middle of nowhere. Pausing briefly to adjust her Sig in its holster she stepped into the bar once more.

Re: The Hard Way

#47

Just in time to see two fat back-sides rise with great effort up the motel staircase in faux shark-skin suits..

The bartender just nodded at her. He was overwhelmed. Too much action for one night.

She smelled bacon frying.

Re: The Hard Way

#48

Bacon monsters were easy to put down. Frying pan to the ass usually did the trick. Bacon was even easier. Frank knew that, too. Let it cool down enough to touch it, then eat it like mad. Dream meant time had passed. Split second to check it in his mind. After a moment to check his SIG was in place he stood, flexed his arms, his wrists. Just enough to loosen his body, in case it was needed. Leather coat. Double check the SIG. Check the Beretta.

Downstairs. Check the situation. Listen first, before looking. Don't scare the bejeezus out of the old man, he might have a heart attack.

Re: The Hard Way

#49

The truck rocked and Cutter heard the crunch of gravel. A dozen thoughts ran through his head, bear! T-72, thieves, and then he shook the sleep off of his head/ in a few months, dear season, he would be getting up about this time to head out to the deer lease. Instead of a fat buck, there was an intruder in the cab of the truck and a fat Benz parked a space and a half away from him. Black, they were all black, the unimaginative bastards. The only people wo drove those kinda of cars were German officers, gangsters, or CEOs with state sized hemmorrhoids.

Cute vanity plate, he wrote it down as a gesture for granny panties Froelich. Undoubtedly she would have a rookie point a shotgun at him and ask him about suspicious automobiles in Nebraska. The truck jostled again.

He waited, then got out. Walked to the bar. Opened door.

"Look it's bad enough you broke into my truck hot lips, bit at least be the f*** still or get out for christs sake."

Re: The Hard Way

#50

Situation:

Bartender has old-fashioned phone in hand, but puts receiver back down when he sees Frank.

Young Kate standing just inside door. Legs a bit crooked. Like she has to pee.

Cutter walks in. "Look it's bad enough you broke into my truck hot lips, bit at least be the f*** still or get out for christs sake"

Bartender looks shaken.

"Coffee?" he says

Re: The Hard Way

#51

Kate froze as she saw the twin retreating figures, they looked just like the kind of goons they'd send to take care of her, especially if Ozil had lost her trail. Time to- Her thoughts halted suddenly as the scent of cooking bacon reached her nose.

Flames.

Her apartment curtains bright orange wraiths as they twisted against the blackening walls.

The smell of her girlfriends blackened flesh as she collapsed into her arms sobbing in agony.

The smell of burning bacon.

With a wide eyed expression of disgust she stumbled in retreat, suppressing the urge to vomit as bile burned the back of her throat. The heel of her sneaker caught against the door frame and she sprawled backwards in a jumbled heap, coming to rest firmly on her back side and giving the grizzled bounty hunter on the stairs an unintended eyeful of her nether regions. Great, now for the "going commando" wisecrack most of those ex military types loved to make when given half a chance, she thought furiously while scrambling to her feet and struggling to put the smell of pork products out of her mind. Still it was better he notice her, then her concealed handgun.

From behind her she heard the heated voice of the one armed soldier yelling about her breaking into his truck. Great, that was the last thing she needed.

Re: The Hard Way

#52

Not a single word from the huge private eye, just an outstretched hand, offering to help her up, and a single eyebrow up. Something startled the hell out of that girl. What are the odds that it was connected to this kid that got executed, if he even existed?

Odds. Bad odds. This whole damn motel stunk of odds so rotten that it'd take a Vegas house a month to concoct them. Frank didn't think he liked that very much. And who was up to take a phone call at this time of night anyway?

Re: The Hard Way

#53

Bartender clears throat. Looks like he wants to disappear. Instead says,

"You seem like decent people. You should leave."

Looks nervous. Pops some pills. Sips a Jim Beam.

Re: The Hard Way

#54

With a smile of gratitude at his silence Kate took the offered hand, reassured by the familiar feel of his thick callouses, much like those of her Krav Maga instructor back in New York. "Thanks." The word felt a little inadequate, but she didn't trust herself to say much more without her voice cracking.

Turning to the side she glanced back at Cutter, flashing him her best apologetic smile and mentally regaining her composure. "It's a long story, I needed a place sleep and your front seat looked like the safest option." Might as well stick to the truth, at least it was easy to remember. "Let me buy you a drink for the trouble okay?" She gestured to the bar with her left hand, subtly trying to pull her skirt back into position with her right. At least she didn't have to pee anymore, although if either of these guys noticed her incontinence she'd probably die of embarrassment.

Fortunately her denim skirt was a dark blue, and the lightning in this bar poor at best. Without waiting for a response to her offer Kate hurried over to the bar and situated herself in the nearest seat that gave an easy view of both the doorway and the staircase, no sense taking any risks. As the bartender finished his unexpected statement she looked at him in surprise, her right hand dropping reflexively to rest near the butt of her pistol. "Is there some reason you don't want nice people like us in your bar?"

Re: The Hard Way

#55

"Trouble's coming. We can smell it too, old man." Frank frowned, as he looked about the bar, signaling to the marine with his left hand. Cover there. He'll go that-a-way if he has to. "Place this big is still awfully small, what with no one out here. Did you want to be in on this stuff? Or did you just happen to be the unlucky bastard who owned the place where it got started?"

It's a deadly honest question. One answer, and talking, offers protection. Stay on your toes, folks. It'll probably happen soon enough. Put the cigarette in his lips, but don't light it. Not yet. Won't last very long. Not quite idly, he reaches out and takes hold of that bottle of rotgut, still sitting where he'd left it without drinking it.

Re: The Hard Way

#56

Bartender swallowed.

Took his time answering. Finished his Jim Beam and stared at the bottom of the glass, expecting to see more.

“The latter”, he says, no use lying to Frank. And he doesn’t even know Frank.

“This place—this whole town---this whole county, is run by the Rollins clan.”

“I gotta do what they say. I’m sorry mister.”

“They control all the trucking in these parts, you understand? Everyone here counts on deliveries, trucks, for their earnings. The corn, soybeans, and alfalfa, has to be moved. A gas station needs its gas. A motel needs all kinds of shit. You understand?”

“They go back, the Rollins clan. Their ancestors settled here during the nineteenth century. Been a Rollins county ever since.”

Pause. Jim Beam sip. No, not sip, Gulp.

“They told me to call in, on anyone that came in and looked fishy. I called them on you guys. Then the troopers and the FBI lady. Then those other gentlemen came--”, bartender motions to the staircase, “--and I called it in too.”

He looked at the three of them in turn.

“ So people are coming. Bad people. You understand? They’re coming.” He proclaimed, as if heralding the apocalypse. “You should go.”

Re: The Hard Way

#57

"Oh lord god in heaven," Cutter said. "I've stumbled into a damned bad western mobster movie, lookit them strange people, they goins to hedge in our bid-ness," Cutter said with a hard edge of sarcasm in his voice. "I'm glad you don't have time to clean up tables," he said picking up one of Froelich's dropped cards. He pulled out his cellphone and flipped it open. Four years old, it was almost an antique now.

The phone rang several times, would she answer or would he get the slightly dryer voice mail?

"Guess what sweet cheeks, we got us a situation down here at the OK corral. Perhaps you could bring those shotgun toting boys of yours down here again PDQ. If I'm not here my truck has a GPS tracker, ID code 541-648-0819, Hunter series. If you find my truck and I'm not in it, I'm probably in a f***ing shallow grave. Bobby Bartender is a snitch for some local jerkwad mafia and called the goon squad on everyone here, you included...

I still don't believe you go commando, Agent,"

Re: The Hard Way

#58

Kate's eyes narrowed as the bartender revealed the information, her left hand curling into a tight fist as she felt the urge to unload her life's frustrations upon this weasels body. Still, he didn't have to warn them. He could have remained silent, let them run into trouble blind. That was at least something.

Visibly relaxing she shot the two men a mildly worried glance, hoping they wouldn't all go their separate ways just yet. These two strangers seemed trustworthy enough, and maybe she could help them get to the bottom of this dead soldier mystery. If nothing else it might translate into a reward at the end, and if Volchenko or his pals caught up to them her chances of survival would certainly be improved.

Looking up at the bartender she uttered the two simple words she felt would tell them all what they most needed to know. "How soon?"

Re: The Hard Way

#59

45 miles south-east of motel...

Laura Froelich makes a noise, wakes, and reaches for her blackberry storm. Voicemail. She listens to the message.

She smiles. Disconnects. Lies back down, hands crossed behind her head.

"And away we go” she mumbles, as she drifts back to sleep.

Re: The Hard Way

#60

"Fifteen, twenty minutes or so. They'll get all their Cornhuskers together first."

Re: The Hard Way

#61

Thinking quickly Kate formed a hasty plan, and one that would hopefully improve her own odds of survival at the same time. "Why don't we park our vehicles around back out of sight, motivate those two rhinos in shark suits upstairs to shove off on down the road and make Bobby here call the Hayseeds and tell them we all split?" She kept a cautious eye on the barkeep, ready to take action if he did anything remotely threatening, or even reached under the bar. "They'll piss away a lot of time chasing those two goons upstairs, and if I'm right, stir up a hornets nest beyond the pale of what they can hope to handle."

Re: The Hard Way

#62

Somewhere in Nebraska...

“Giiiiirl, you’ll be a vooman soooon, pleez, come take my haaaand.”

Ozil Volchenko sang along with his thick Ukrainian accent and did a little dance. He was still naked and eating a Snickers bar.

The hooker laughed.

“Vy are you laffink?”
“Oh no reason, sugar. Your little dance there, I guess.”

Pause

“Tell me. Vaz I gud in bed?”

The hooker smiled inwardly. Knew the type. Time to get her tip and go.

“Oh yeah, sugar, you a regular wild-dog!” She said as she licked her lips convincingly. “You rocked my world, sugar. But now I gotta go, baby.”

"You lie. I alvays know ven vooman lie to me." he said calmly.

Long pause, Volchenko just stares at her.

“You don’ know vat dis eez, do you?”
“No. What is this, sugar?” She was worried now. He had a look in his eyes.
“Ze greem reeper haz come to veesit you.”

Her screams are drowned out by the music of Urge Overkill,

I've been misunderstood for all of my life
But what they're sayin', girl, just cuts like a knife
The boy's no good

Re: The Hard Way

#63

"Really? Really?" Cutter said, "Your plan is to hide 'out back' and wait for it to blow away chasing some stiffs in a Benz?"

"Thats almost as good as flipping over tables and barricading the windows for a good old shoot out," he cursed a few times, he just wanted to be up in Oregon fishing and listening to the CO talk about what ever furry woman he was living with at the time, the good life with cold beer and later some hot campfire fried fish. He didnt need this stress. The inner voice answered, shoot the bartender, close range to the skull nice and quiet with the beretta, the two upstairs the same thing, then lay out across the road and wait for the Cornhuskers to show up and lay into them with his P90. A good crossfire with the cop and the cooze and the three of them could wipe out a dozen easy.

That was the war talking, there is no calling in apaches for close support, no MBTs coming to roll over a wall and unload on a fortified position with a 120mm cannon. This was just a bar in corn country and these were teamsters who were probably trigger happy. The best and safest thing to do was to get in his truck and get out of Corncob county as fast as possible. But there was the nagging issue of Ronnie, the CO was proud of his boy, not everyone made Ranger, it was an accomplishment, like Sapper Leader or making officer. He had only met Ronnie in passing, but that didnt make it not personal.

Order, action, discipline

"Tell you guys what, I'm no leader, I dont do well under stress, I'm going to go get some anti-anxiety stuff and I will be right back, and we need to have a plan by then, better than hiding out back." he said. When he returned to the bar, he had the black squat form of the Belgian made P90 machine gun slung over his real arm. If s**t was going to get ugly, by god it was going to be right ugly. Last time he had used the gun in anger, it had been in Basra, and he had blown a few Republican Guard infantry away with it when they overran his truck convoy. Bad times, good times...

He chambered a round and somehow the well oiled mechanical sound of the weapon soothed him

Re: The Hard Way

#64

Kate grinned slightly at the liberal interpretation of her plan, which coming form a nineteen year old probably did sound that shallow at first thought. She waited patiently for him to return from out front, pulling the keys from her left jacket pocket."You added a bit there about us hiding out back with the vehicles," she paused to give the barkeep a sideways glance. "Bobby here would waste about point two seconds calling them back with the truth if we went anywhere not in sight of his cowardly ass."

She gestured briefly to the darkness outside. "Moving the vehicles out back means less bullets lodged in vital places when the shooting starts. If you want your truck full of holes from the 5.7x28 mil FMJ's in that PDW you're carrying, and whatever panic fire the local hayseed militia throws all over this place that's your choice. Me? I'd like to keep my Cuda from impersonating a block of swiss cheese tonight; so if you'll excuse me..." She let voice trail off as she slowly walked to the exit. "As for the rest of my plan, it involved splitting their forces between the goons upstairs and coming here to beat on Bobby for more details while we took care of business on this end."

Spinning the keys around on her left index finger she drew the Sig P226 with practiced ease and paused to briefly take cover beside the exit and glance around the parking lot, nothing yet to indicate the inbred army was coming this way. "Oh, and that hornets nest I referred to they had no hope of handling? That'd be us."

Giving Cutter a conspiratorial wink she hurried outside, wasting little time in moving her car out of sight behind the motel, parking it partially within the rows of silent corn stalks before quickly returning to the interior of the motel, her pistol still gripped comfortably in her right hand. Party time.

If these local boys had any relation to the real deal Ozil was part of, then maybe she could get a little payback, maybe make keep coming after her more trouble then it was worth. If not, at least she'd make life for the innocent people in these parts a little safer. At least that was something. Her eyes flicked back and forth between Frank, Cutter, and the barkeep."You both seem to realize outrunning them on these empty roads isn't going work worth a damn, otherwise you'd be busy trying already. So lets hear your take on where we go from here."

Re: The Hard Way

#65

Upstairs…

(Phone rings in Vegas)

“Yes?”
“It’s me, Boss.”
“What the hell time is it?”
“3:30”
‘Why are you calling me?”
“Well, we’re here. And I think we’re about to have a situation.”
“What kinda situation?”
“The shooting kind”
“Impossible. They wouldn’t dare.”
“Well, there are a few people involved besides the Rollins’ it seems”
“What?”
“Yeah, downstairs right now”

Pause

“Whatever happens, Carmine, you two make sure those bastards have my shipment in 24 hours from now or less. That is all I care about.”
“What about these other people?”

Pause

“Kill them if they get in your way. What is this, your first day on the job?”
“Ok, Boss”, Carmine mumbled and disconnected.

Re: The Hard Way

#66

Tick, tick, tick...

They didn’t have to wait long.

They heard trucks entering the parking lot. That pleasant sound of tire on gravel.

They could see the head-lights from 4x4’s flashing through the grimy windows of the motel.

Kate counted 3 trucks from the sounds of car doors opening and slamming shut, and from peeking through the curtains. Chevy, Ford, GMC. Nothing foreign for these boys.

There were 5 of them. Dressed in jeans and sweat-shirts. Most of them had red, Nebraska Cornhusker logos on them. They were all huge. Like a starting offensive line.

Phone rings 12 miles north of motel...

"Yes?"

"We just got here, Mr. Rollins. See 3 cars, the black boss, a sweet F150, and a Mercedes, license plate: MommaLovesUs"

"That would be the 2 from Vegas. I was told they were brothers. Who's the F150?"

"Don't know, Mr. Rollins. Bobby said Army guy. Other one is army too, the Mustang. Said that one looks tough. Bobby thought he was one of us, when he first came in. Girl's just a girl, I think."

Silence.

"Ok, Brett. I want you guys to go in. Talk to Bobby. See whats what. Don't be afraid to do some damage. If the Italians give you trouble, tell them to come see me at the compound, ok? If they really give you trouble, shoot them. I'm not afraid of that sonafa&^%$@ in Vegas. We'll show 'em how we roll in these parts. They'll still want their shipment, so we should be ok. I'll handle the fall-out, if any. Cops won't bother you. FBI too far away. We're watching."

"Ok, you got it, Mr. Rollins."

Click.

---------------------------------------------------

About a minute now, Cutter figures, before the doors open.

Go time.

A quote came to Cutter at that moment. He had met the General once in Basra. Shook his hand, was told by the general that he, Cutter, was doing a “helluva job”. Proud moment.

I come in peace, I didn't bring artillery. But I am pleading with you with tears in my eyes: If you @!#$ with me, I'll kill you all.
--Marine General James Mattis, to Iraqi tribal leaders

Re: The Hard Way

#67

"Cutter, there. You, there." Frank began to point, instinctively balancing cover and firing position into the choke point that would be the door. No one was directly exposed, but they'd all have a different line of fire, and just about everywhere in the room. Maximize the firing lanes for the P90, don't get into a position where its going to fire into you. Good enough for now. He would be close, but that would be for the better, if he could get one in hand. Never mind the vehicles now. Four lives might be at stake.

"If they choose, let em talk. Rule of law means they shoot first. Then, hardball." He settled into his cover, and the SIG appeared in his hand. Maybe he drew it. Maybe it teleported there. Either way, it belonged, and it did so in .45 ACP.

Re: The Hard Way

#68

Kate nodded and moved into position next to the bar, deferring to the veteran soldiers superior combat experience without a second thought, reporting her previous observations quietly and calmly to the two men as she settled into a shooters crouch, her .40 caliber Sig comfortably gripped in both hands. "Only five guys, more muscles then brains by the looks of it, no obvious weapons." The creak of floorboards overhead a subtle acknowledgement of the two heavyweight goons above them. She spoke again, to no one in particular. "Reminder, keep an eye on the stairs in case the Blues Brothers want to join the party."

Almost as an afterthought she clicked on her pistols laser sight, the neon green dot clearly visible in the bars antique lighting. The full auto fire from the PDW should make short work of them, still she wanted make every one of her 15 rounds count. Just in case. She uttered a final word in acknowledgement to Franks rule of law, subconsciously mimicking the precise clipped sentences her father had so often used during her childhood years. "Affirmative."

Re: The Hard Way

#69

"So, would a shot of Jameson be out of the question before the shooting starts?" Cutter asked, "I'll square up for it if I'm still here when the dust settles." He checked his sights, solid, he had a full view of the front of the bar, door, windows, the works. These guys were goons, no practiced marines doing a building breach. he could imagine the platoon's Sapper setting a water charge to cut a hole in the wall, laughing when the detcord blew and the marines spilled into the building with rifles ready. Breaching was more fun in practice than being the defenders, you never knew what wall would become a door, or if it would be gas or flashbangs that said the first hello.

These were guys who lived fat and easy, intimidation, and too much Sopranos and not enough drilling. For a moment he saw Jessica's eyes again, pretty and blue and glazed and dead. That was Basra not Nebraska, and her name was Kate not Pvt. Jessica Terhune. He calmed and slowed his breathIng like the shrink in Jersey had taught him during rehab.

Re: The Hard Way

#70

They came in.

5 big guys, each one over 6’2” in height, 270 or more in weight. It would be comical, except it made sense. The goons were literally ex-cornhuskers it seemed. Players, probably good (they played for Nebraska after all), but not good enough for the pros. Or maybe a busted knee-cap or shoulder ended their football careers prematurely. Either way, these local behemoths caught on as muscle with the Rollins clan. Better than working daddy’s farm again. (Frank figured.)

Everybody flinched a little but nobody fired.

Frank didn’t feel too sorry for these guys though. They were big bullies who hurt, extorted, and intimidated people on behalf of some other *******s, who probably deserved a comeuppance as well.

6th guy, not so big. Regular size, but with the look of a crazed hyena in his eyes. Dressed in a white suit. What a hoot. This one walks in behind the 5. Looks around the bar. Totes a Mossberg. Shiny one. Too shiny. For show probably. Like tits on a bull. Frosty blonde crew cut, like the foot-ballers, frosty blond goatee.

Frank, Cutter, and Kate couldn’t make out “fearless leader” walking in behind the ‘huskers through the windows before, but here he was. He was not one of the "muscles". He was the mouth.

The Cornhuskers have their guns out too. Apparently pulled them out of their ample guts above their jeans, right before opening the door. Nothing fancy. 9mm Berettas.

Mossberg toting, blonde goatee, white suit speaks,

“I feel like I just walked in on a Mexican stand-off” he tries to ease the tension, his own included.

His eyes go from Cutter to Frank each on different sides of the horse-shoe, then the girl by the bar. He can’t help himself, he grins at her. Then eyes back to Frank. Then looks at Bobby the bartender.

“So what do we have here, Bobby? Interlopers? Busy-bodies? Trouble-makers?“
“They-uh-just people, Mr. Rollins.”
“Just people. Sure. You’re an idiot, Bobby. Where the Italians?”

Bobby points upstairs.

Pause.

Goatee speaks, “I haven’t figured out what the hell to do with you three yet...” he trails off and looks toward the staircase, and makes like he’s thinking, "..but don't make any sudden moves."
-----------------------------------

Everyone is watching everyone else. Eyes darting around the room. Huskers stand mute, lookng grim, awaiting orders. Everyone has a gun. Except Bobby.

Re: The Hard Way

#71

Her eyes narrowed a fraction and she felt her finger tighten involuntarily on the trigger as Goatee smiled art her, not nearly as bad as that sweaty trooper but still unwelcome. In response she subtly shifted her laser sight to point a couple inches up his chest and to the left, a solid heart shot, if it came to that. Between the eyes would've been preferable, like her dad showed her way back; but blinding Boss Hog Jr. wasn't a smart move, he seemed tense enough to try all manner of stupid things if pushed too far.

His mention of Italians mad her exhale slightly in relief. That meant the boys upstairs, (and equally likely these red necks) weren't involved in any way with her personal problems, one less complication to worry about. "Maybe you should invite them down for a chat." Her sentence was more statement then suggestion, better to keep all the playing pieces on the same board she thought. Gun play upstairs could mean very bad things for those below. Cheap ass floors like these weren't much protection against bullets, and stay buckshot could ruin peoples day real fast.

Re: The Hard Way

#72

Cutter could feel the desert heat prickle the back of his neck, smell the rank rotten stink of that damned river, his therapist, with her white stockings and red Ferragamo heels told him to avoid tense situations like this. Well, she never told him to stay out of gunfights in bars in Nebraska but most people know to avoid that sort of thing. This was stupid, this was stupid, he could feel sweat rolling down his neck.

Left to right, body mass shots, big boys like these were too easy to hit, blood. There would be blood. His finger tightened on the trigger. If this had been a movie John Foggarty would have started singing Fortunate Son, when they play 'Hail to the Chief', oh they point the cannon at you

It ain't me

It ain't me

I ain't no generals son

The P90 spoke. Fire, shift right, fire, shift right fire

Hoo-ra, in a voice a whisper over the bolt of the gun

Re: The Hard Way

#73

"Like he said. We're just the poor bastards that got caught in your-"

Charlie Foxtrot. He might have washed out of the top leagues, but the training took. Deep cover. Throw the grenade. Wait a second. No grenade, despite the throwing motion. Luckily, it was the bottle of Vodka, and not the Zippo. It almost went like a pineapple, anyway. Take control of the situation. Count the bodies. You've got intimidation now.

Command. "HOLD YOUR FIRE, MARINE!" The voice sounded loud, cracking like a whip across the room, pure command, the way only a spec-ops commander could.

Re: The Hard Way

#74

The forth round chambered, but an officer is an officer and no one can bark orders like a marine. His finger was off the trigger, but his sights were still on the forth target. Person, not target. Human being, not paper targets with little circles where he was supposed to put the bullet. Cutter didn't move, weapon still trained on the target.

His breathing was slightly erratic, his nerves were rattled now. His stomach was doing a barrel roll.

Three of the goons were on the ground with assorted torso wounds, he didnt know if they were dead, or wounded, he was just beginning to realize they were human beings he had opened fire on.

Doctor Brewster would be very disappointed...

"Sorry sir," Cutter said. His humor was buried under a ton of desert sand and cold eyed corpses.

Re: The Hard Way

#75

"Well. I do believe that establishes our bargaining position, gentlemen." Frank's SIG found its way to the center point between the huskers and the door in a heart beat. From here, he could cover both doors with simplicity. His left hand, meanwhile, found the Zippo in his pocket, rigged so he could throw it and keep fire.

"All I wanted was to know if you knew one boy by the name of Ronnie Junior, but I hope you're more interested in picking up your boys and going home now."

Re: The Hard Way

#76

The unexpected explosion of gunfire to her right make Kate flinch involuntarily, her pistol barking off a single round before she regained her composure, unsure whether to be relieved or disappointed her initial flinch had moved the laser sight off the mans heart and down, to quickly splash across his left hand where it gripped the shotgun barrel tightly, coming to rest at the middle of his groin.

"HOLD YOUR FIRE, MARINE!"

Franks drill sergeant like voice slashed across the room making her freeze in place as she realigned her laser back onto Boss Hog JR.'s chest. Franks voice reminded her of her fathers, full of authority and seeming to carry the will of creation itself. A man who was used to being obeyed when he gave an order. A man who didn't always forgive mistakes lightly.

She eyed the result of her single bullet with a critical gaze. Too late now to do jack about it. "Never apologize, even when you're at fault, people will take that as a sign of weakness. You can't afford to be seen as weak, not ever! Prey is weak, and criminals don't much prey on predators." Her fathers favorite piece of advice re-echoed through her mind in Franks voice. Whatever came next, the odds were assuredly in favor of them living past this night, unless Ozil caught up to them first.

Re: The Hard Way

#77

“Maybe you should invite them down for a chat."

Fire, shift right, fire, shift right fire, HOO-RA!

“HOLD YOUR FIRE, MARINE”

Silence.

Two Huskers down, blood pumping from their torsos. Both have their hands on their bellies, as if trying to keep their guts from spilling out. Guns dropped. No more fight in these 2.

Third shot missed a Husker by a hair. Blew a window open. Glass crash.

Rollins (goatee) stares at the downed Huskers in shock, and then raises his eyes toward Cutter.

“Cocksucker”, he says, dumbfounded.

Then screams, as a bullet blows his shiny Mossberg from his hands, missing his man-parts by inches. No, less than inches. Instead the Mossberg drops, and he grabs his shattered hand. At least one finger blown off. Palm wrecked.

Lets out another half-scream, half-moan. Eyes wild now. Just stares at the trio, then at Kate. Doesn’t make a move to retreat the Mossberg.

"BIIITCH!!"

3 remaining Huskers just stand there, also in shock. Sweating rivers. Scared.

“Well. I do believe that establishes our bargaining position, gentlemen."

Pause

“All I wanted was to know if you knew one boy by the name of Ronnie Junior, but I hope you're more interested in picking up your boys and going home now."

Silence.

As he mentions Ronnie Jr. Frank scans the audience. Husker, husker, husker, Goatee, husker. Wait, back up. Husker #2. He knows the name, Frank can tell. He knows something. Frank catches the recognition in the behemoth’s pig-like eyes. Good enough for now.

No one says anything; finally, Rollins looks at his Huskers. “Let’s go.” He says, trying his d**ndest to sound tough. Not scared. Not in pain. In control of the situation.

Doesn’t work. He sounds whiny, and in severe pain.

Eyes still on Kate, Cutter, and Frank, the group begins backing out of the bar. Huskers lift and drag their 2 fallen comrades. One looks like he’s not going to make it. Eyes rolled in back off head. Bleeding profusely. So much blood. Other one moans, as he’s dragged out.

“This ain’t over” Rollins hisses at them. Leaves. Few seconds go by. They here truck ignitions starting.

Cutter yawns. Not from boredom. Trying to unclench his jaw.

Silence.

But not for long.

BANG. Cutter down. Shot from staircase. They look. Fat man,using staircase for cover. Firing a SiG of his own.

About to fire again.

Crunch-Crunch, BOOOOM.

Shotgun blasts through ceiling. Big hole. Sparks fly.

Crunch-Crunch. Shot-gun reloaded.

Cutter slides down bar. Shoulder wound, maybe even the plastic arm side, Frank notices in a split second. He’ll live.

Go time.

Re: The Hard Way

#78

The response to the shot from the stairs is nearly instant, the .45 barking its basso tone in a two-shot stattacco. The 9s, those were guns for putting little holes in people. It's why the military kept them. Franks SIG was for knocking big men down.

"EVADE, MARINE!"

The command cracked through the air once more, as All-The-Way began to move himself. Bastard with the shotgun upstairs was shooting blind. Keep him confused. Close on the stairwell. Make the kind of shots that drive the bastard deep into cover. Maybe he could close it faster in a straight line, but Frank had long ago been forced to master the skill of the woven, broken run, using every scrap of cover and juke his frame would permit to keep himself from getting shot. What he really wanted to do was lay a hand on one of these fat bastards, and twist him into a human pretzel. But had to help the odds some first.

Re: The Hard Way

#79

“This ain’t over.” Rollins hisses at them.

"Next time will be the last time." Kate said firmly, a cold finality to her voice, the laser sight firmly fixed between his eyes. Putting him down now would mean one less problem at her back, then again slime like him always had family who'd come foaming at the mouth for revenge. Better to let him be for now, maybe he'll make a good example to others.

BANG. Shark Suited guy in the stairway, trying to take down what he perceives to be the biggest threat first.

"EVADE, MARINE!" That drill sergeant like scream propelling her into action once more.

"Don't use your sights during practice, you'll rarely have time to use it in combat so don't get spoiled by it, just shoot in the general direction of the target. At close range it won't matter in what part of their body you lodge a bullet in, it will still keep them from going very far and make your follow up shots easier."

Her fathers words from her first firearms lesson so long ago were warm comfort in her mind as the world seemed to slip into slow motion and she threw herself sideways under a rickety table, stained from countless years of drink and cigarettes.

Raising her pistol Kate squeezed the trigger in smooth repetitive pulls, aiming in the general direction of the mans bulk where it vanished behind the thin plywood wall. She visualized the outline of his sagging flesh hidden from view, undulating where her bullets found their mark. Five rounds, it should be enough to stop even a man of his considerable size, especially at this range.

Shotgun fire. Loud, almost deafening in the close confines of the bar, overhead somewhere, impossible to locate in the pandemonium, better to ensure the fatback by the staircase was down for good.

Exhaling slowly Kate tried to block out the rest of the room, the sounds of gunfire, the sight of blood on Cutters body, the reek of urine and blood on the floor. Lining her laser sight up on the most vital area of the fat man she could still make out and pulling the trigger a final time.

The control shot.

Re: The Hard Way

#80

Well that hurt. Pain snapped Cutter out of his Iraqi fugue, his shoulder hurt like hell and there was blood. Pain was good, serious injuries don't hurt. Shotgun blasts overhead, CO has given an order, evade. There isn't thought or contemplation. Command, muscle memory, action. Cutter scrambles from his spot behind the bar away from the stairwell. More rounds fly and he hears the unmistakable lusty sound of a pump action working overhead.

The shooter is firing blind. He braced against the juke box and lifted the P90, switching to auto. No aiming, just spray and pray. The shotgunner had to pump the gun every round, Cutter could 27 more rounds through the ceiling before grabbing the spare clip in his back pocket.

The gun roars to life, the steel core rounds passing thought the floor like it was butter. Suppressing fire baby