Author Topic: The Hard Way (Read 25942 times)

Silveressa · « **Reply #50 on:** January 26, 2011, 08:38:43 PM »

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.

Siren no Orakio · « **Reply #51 on:** January 26, 2011, 09:01:38 PM »

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 d**n 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?

Murometz · « **Reply #52 on:** January 26, 2011, 09:12:39 PM »

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.

Silveressa · « **Reply #53 on:** January 26, 2011, 09:33:34 PM »

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?"

Siren no Orakio · « **Reply #54 on:** January 26, 2011, 09:35:12 PM »

"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.

Murometz · « **Reply #55 on:** January 26, 2011, 10:25:39 PM »

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 s**t. 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.”

Scrasamax · « **Reply #56 on:** January 26, 2011, 10:48:27 PM »

"Oh lord god in heaven," Cutter said. "I've stumbled into a d**ned 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,"

Silveressa · « **Reply #57 on:** January 26, 2011, 10:55:36 PM »

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?"

Murometz · « **Reply #58 on:** January 26, 2011, 10:59:38 PM »

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.

Murometz · « **Reply #59 on:** January 26, 2011, 11:02:00 PM »

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

Silveressa · « **Reply #60 on:** January 26, 2011, 11:11:06 PM »

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."

Murometz · « **Reply #61 on:** January 26, 2011, 11:19:09 PM »

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

Scrasamax · « **Reply #62 on:** January 26, 2011, 11:47:00 PM »

"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

Silveressa · « **Reply #63 on:** January 27, 2011, 09:22:15 AM »

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 d**n, otherwise you'd be busy trying already. So lets hear your take on where we go from here."

Murometz · « **Reply #64 on:** January 27, 2011, 09:42:57 AM »

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.

Murometz · « **Reply #65 on:** January 27, 2011, 11:14:29 AM »

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.

Quote

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

Siren no Orakio · « **Reply #66 on:** January 27, 2011, 12:44:29 PM »

"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.

Silveressa · « **Reply #67 on:** January 27, 2011, 02:42:36 PM »

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."

Scrasamax · « **Reply #68 on:** January 27, 2011, 04:11:39 PM »

"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.

Murometz · « **Reply #69 on:** January 27, 2011, 06:08:49 PM »

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.

Silveressa · « **Reply #70 on:** January 27, 2011, 06:28:12 PM »

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.

Scrasamax · « **Reply #71 on:** January 27, 2011, 06:58:39 PM »

Cutter could feel the desert heat prickle the back of his neck, smell the rank rotten stink of that d**ned 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

Siren no Orakio · « **Reply #72 on:** January 27, 2011, 09:21:27 PM »

"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.

Scrasamax · « **Reply #73 on:** January 27, 2011, 10:38:07 PM »

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.

Siren no Orakio · « **Reply #74 on:** January 27, 2011, 11:14:03 PM »

"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."