"Where do you think you are going?" the uniformed officer asked, with a certain attitude in his voice that made Richie very uneasy and angry all at the same time. The golden shell clinking out of the ejection port from his silenced Beretta was the only response Richie was willing to give him, after he pistol whipped the fuck out of Seth.
Richie spat on the cop, a mere corpse now. "Pig. Pig, pig, pig, pig. Piggy....pig, pig." he said in his boring and soft spoken 'good-boy' voice. He looked across the warhouse room, past the three other bodies, and saw his brother. Poor Seth. The blood running from the back of his head mad Richie fill with a sudden burst of anger, more powerful than a shot of pure adrenaline strait to the heart, and he drew his other pistol, a gold-coated Colt 1911, and unloaded onto the officer's corpse with his stylish twins.
Richie stepped over the cop, his partner, that fat woman and her son, all lying in a jumble of blood, flesh, and bullets, to reach his forsaken brother. "Seth...", he whispered, "get up..." No movement. He psuhed him a little with his right foot. "Seth...c'mon." Still, no movement from the less fortunate of the Geckos. Richie lifted his foot up and began his attempt at kicking his brother to wake him up.
When his foot was about three inches away from Seth's upper back, Seth's arm reached over quickly, grabbed his foot mid-air, and tossed the thin man to the ground very easily. "Richie, what were you doing?" He asked his brother as he clambered to his feet, holding his head and wincing from the pain. He had recieved about five blows to the back of his head from the grip of that Mexi-cop's revolver.
"Well...you didn't answer...so I was going...I...I am sorry, Seth." Richie said apologetically.
"Ah, forget it. Let's go get some burritos." Seth replied.
Sirens. Loads of them. "Seth..." Richie whispered.
"I know, I know." Seth said, while sliding the Benelli Tactical off of his shoulder and making sure he had some shells left for the shotgun. "It's funtime, Richie."
Richie laughed and loaded up his pistols. Seth walked towards the warehouse door and pumped a shell into the barrel.
Some loudspeaker came on, full of feedback, spouting some Mexican bullshit, probably about them being surrounded. "Yatta, yatta, yatta." Seth said. He knew he was in control. That is how he liked it.
The loud crash of the battering ram on the door startled Riched and he fired violently at the sound. "Calm it, Richie." Seth said. Another bang. Three more. Seth became impatient. "These bean's can build a door, eh, Richard?" he asked his brother, who just nodded, as he stood, swaying his hips side to side nervously, his akimbo setup pointed directly at the doorway, awaiting the rush of task-force members, with riot shields a kevlar. Yeah, he hated those armored fucks. He knew Seth was loving this, Seth always liked a challenge, but he prefered his women to gunfights.
The door caved in, and the action lit up. Richie hadn't gotten to fire a shot before one of Seth's surprise buckshots had knocked down two of the lawmen. Richie fired his guns at an extreme rate, and and was out of ammo before he realized he had killed almost seven more of the entering cops.
After Seth's last shell had ejected from his shotgun, he dropped the gun, which he had traded his Spas-12 for the previous day, and pulled the black Colt Anaconda revolver from his belt. He Just stood, no more than fifteen feet from the door, awaiting the entrance of more officers. One shot, two shot, three shot. One dead, two dead, three dead.
Richie laughed. "What's so funny?" Seth asked, between shots.
"They are like Lemmings. Like fucking Lemmings!" Richie retorted, enthusiastically.
"That is pretty funny." Seth agreed. when his magazine was empty, the Police had obviously run out of reinforcements. "Thank God these Mexicans have shitty law enforcement." Seth said. Richie laughed.
"How about those burritos?" Richie asked.
Seth put his arm around his brother's neck and they walked out of the warehouse.
Richie spat on the cop, a mere corpse now. "Pig. Pig, pig, pig, pig. Piggy....pig, pig." he said in his boring and soft spoken 'good-boy' voice. He looked across the warhouse room, past the three other bodies, and saw his brother. Poor Seth. The blood running from the back of his head mad Richie fill with a sudden burst of anger, more powerful than a shot of pure adrenaline strait to the heart, and he drew his other pistol, a gold-coated Colt 1911, and unloaded onto the officer's corpse with his stylish twins.
Richie stepped over the cop, his partner, that fat woman and her son, all lying in a jumble of blood, flesh, and bullets, to reach his forsaken brother. "Seth...", he whispered, "get up..." No movement. He psuhed him a little with his right foot. "Seth...c'mon." Still, no movement from the less fortunate of the Geckos. Richie lifted his foot up and began his attempt at kicking his brother to wake him up.
When his foot was about three inches away from Seth's upper back, Seth's arm reached over quickly, grabbed his foot mid-air, and tossed the thin man to the ground very easily. "Richie, what were you doing?" He asked his brother as he clambered to his feet, holding his head and wincing from the pain. He had recieved about five blows to the back of his head from the grip of that Mexi-cop's revolver.
"Well...you didn't answer...so I was going...I...I am sorry, Seth." Richie said apologetically.
"Ah, forget it. Let's go get some burritos." Seth replied.
Sirens. Loads of them. "Seth..." Richie whispered.
"I know, I know." Seth said, while sliding the Benelli Tactical off of his shoulder and making sure he had some shells left for the shotgun. "It's funtime, Richie."
Richie laughed and loaded up his pistols. Seth walked towards the warehouse door and pumped a shell into the barrel.
Some loudspeaker came on, full of feedback, spouting some Mexican bullshit, probably about them being surrounded. "Yatta, yatta, yatta." Seth said. He knew he was in control. That is how he liked it.
The loud crash of the battering ram on the door startled Riched and he fired violently at the sound. "Calm it, Richie." Seth said. Another bang. Three more. Seth became impatient. "These bean's can build a door, eh, Richard?" he asked his brother, who just nodded, as he stood, swaying his hips side to side nervously, his akimbo setup pointed directly at the doorway, awaiting the rush of task-force members, with riot shields a kevlar. Yeah, he hated those armored fucks. He knew Seth was loving this, Seth always liked a challenge, but he prefered his women to gunfights.
The door caved in, and the action lit up. Richie hadn't gotten to fire a shot before one of Seth's surprise buckshots had knocked down two of the lawmen. Richie fired his guns at an extreme rate, and and was out of ammo before he realized he had killed almost seven more of the entering cops.
After Seth's last shell had ejected from his shotgun, he dropped the gun, which he had traded his Spas-12 for the previous day, and pulled the black Colt Anaconda revolver from his belt. He Just stood, no more than fifteen feet from the door, awaiting the entrance of more officers. One shot, two shot, three shot. One dead, two dead, three dead.
Richie laughed. "What's so funny?" Seth asked, between shots.
"They are like Lemmings. Like fucking Lemmings!" Richie retorted, enthusiastically.
"That is pretty funny." Seth agreed. when his magazine was empty, the Police had obviously run out of reinforcements. "Thank God these Mexicans have shitty law enforcement." Seth said. Richie laughed.
"How about those burritos?" Richie asked.
Seth put his arm around his brother's neck and they walked out of the warehouse.