Shortcircuit V1 C19

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The longer the ride to Bruno’s drew out, the heavier the gun in Jessica’s hand felt. Drug running was something she was used to, and larceny, but armed robbery? Something inside of her was screaming about how off it was. She tried smoking to calm her nerves, but all it did was stink up the car and piss Kevin off. He must have seen her hand trembling, because when they parked near the end of the alley he snatched her cigarette and flung it out the window.

 

“Hey,” he snapped. “You with this shit or not?”

 

“Hmph.” She took a breath and triple checked her pistol’s ammo. “Let’s just get this over with.”

 

Carl turned back from the passenger’s seat, unrecognizable behind his dog mask. “Keep your cool, keep your distance from these shitbags, and keep your mouths shut as much as possible. We’ll be out in no time.” He gave the driver a nod and the group piled out, entering the restaurant through a side entrance.

 

Two guards were stationed in the dimly lit pantry, one of whom was searching for food and the other staring forward near the entrance to the dining hall. Kevin ran up and began to pistol whip the searching guard while Carl and Jessica aimed their weapons at the other.

 

“You, weapon on the ground, slide it over!” Carl called out.

 

Unperturbed the guard pulled a pistol from his jacket and held it at his side for a moment.

 

“Drop it now!”

 

Snorting, the guard did as he was told before kicking it across the ground. “You’re dead kid. You don’t know it yet, but you’re dead.”

 

“You keep running your mouth and you’ll be too.” Carl dropped the magazine to the floor and ejected the chambered round. “Now move!”

 

The robbers pushed the other guard into the dining room, where nearly a dozen mobsters were gathered around a makeshift poker table. The mobsters were of mixed ethnicity, some of them Italian but most not. She wasn’t immediately shot dead by them, so Carl’s info was sound. The robbers fanned out, weapons at the ready.

 

“I’m going to make this real simple. We’re out of here in five minutes. This cash ain’t worth your life.”

 

The mobsters’ reactions varied from amused chuckles to deadly glares, but none of them made a move as Jessica yanked a burlap sack from her jacket and began to pile the cash inside. Carl’s info was off here: she estimated that she bagged over fifty thousand after she was half done. Of course, the Vitellis possessed most of the winnings. Several times the money slipped from her shaking hands and hit the floor.

 

“This your first time sweetheart?” one of the Italians said with a chuckle. She got up and pushed the barrel of her gun into his forehead.

 

“Shut the fuck up you greasy wop,” she hissed. He raised an eyebrow and smirked.

 

“Greasy?”

 

“Keep moving, we’re on the clock here!” Carl barked.

 

She continued to pile in the cash until the mobsters’ eyes flickered back towards the pantry. An armored black appendage tossed a small object into the room. A pang of terror gripped her heart as she realized it was a grenade. She hurled herself behind the bar just before it went off. The thick wood protected her from the blastwave and most of the shrapnel. However, the noise and the shock still rattled her badly, and a twisted ankle and piece of steel protruding from her thigh dissuaded her from getting up.

 

Holy shit… Holy shit… She leaned back against the bar and watched the armored man step into the room, submachine gun at the ready. Ryan Wallace, she remembered – the man who butchered Skinnyman’s goons. All she could do was say a quick prayer as he approached the remaining, groaning mobsters.

 

She could hear Carl wheezing over his pain. “No, wait, w-”

 

Ryan riddled him with bullets. The sound felt like a jackhammer drilling into her skull – she had to stop herself from screaming. She closed her eyes and plugged her ears as he finished off the others. The panicked cries of the mobsters made her shiver.

 

An eternity later there was a break in the gunfire. She knew what she had to do. Please God, don’t let me go out like this. Fighting through the pain, she climbed to her feet. He noticed her out of the corner of his eye as he reloaded.

 

“You got cat-like reflexes, I’ll give you that,” he muttered. Sprinting forward with as much speed as she could muster, she palmed the submachine gun out of his hand before attempting a flurry of knee strikes. It felt like hitting a wall. He managed to get a grip on her and shoved her backwards, her wallet flying from her jacket. He pulled out his sidearm and trained it on her before kneeling down for the wallet.

 

“Eat shit!” She lurched forward, grabbing ahold of his grip hand trying to work the gun away. She almost was finished when his gloved fist slammed into the side of her skull. The pain caught up to her. Drooping pathetically, she could do nothing but shriek in pain as Ryan hit her again, and again, and again. Soon all resistance left her and she collapsed onto the floor. Curiosity must have gotten the better of Ryan, because he tore her mask off to get a look at her face.

 

“Huh.” He crossed one arm across his chest and laughed lightly. “You know, I think I recognize that face for some reason…”

 

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