AN: With the exception of my original characters, everything else is the sole intellectual property of IO Interactive, Eidos interactive, and Square Enix. This story takes place two weeks after the events as depicted in Kane & Lynch 2: Dog Days. Please read 'n review but no flames, ok?

Let Sleeping Dogs Lie…

Riff Raff's nightclub

The French Concession district

Shanghai, People's Republic of China

I have two vices left to me in my old age: a never-ending thirst for good beer and wet, sloppy blowjobs preformed by girls more than half my age. So as I sat drinking a cold bottle of Tsingtao in the dimly-lit, roped off VIP lounge my tool was getting worked over by an almond-eyed, barely legal angel. Her little black dress was bunched around her waist as I fondled her breasts. I think she said her name was Mui; my memory wasn't what it used to be. It's worse after twelve beers or so. It was when I was spewing my load of jizz down her throat that I noticed the group of 21k goo wat jai, triad boys, enter the club. Even an aging killer like me can't catch a break. I kissed Mui on the forehead, shoved a thousand-Yuan note in her g-string, and then told her to clear out. After wiping myself off and zipping myself up, it definitely was time for some old-school John Woo bloodletting…

The 21k is the second-largest Triad in the world boasting twenty-thousand members split into about thirty subgroups. While they are mostly known for large-scale drug trafficking, they also dabble in assassination, money-laundering, and racketeering. I knew these particular assclowns were looking for me. I also knew why: the 21k lost over five and a half million Yuan in heroin in a brutal smash 'n grab robbery at the Shanghai Pudong International Airport. A few dozen crooked cops and goons got a severe case of lead poisoning. 5.45x39mm hollow-points fired from an AK-74U carbine can fuck up your posture. If they were looking for me then they were also searching for the rest of the Ex-Pats. Sliding out the Taurus shot-shell revolver from its spring-clip holster, I wondered for the umpteenth time why I didn't bail out from Shanghai like those two cocksuckers Kane and Lynch. My ass wouldn't be swinging in the breeze right now asking to get reamed.

Still get migraines thinking about those losers. How could that balding, fatty psychopath screw up what was supposed to be a simple deal? I'll clue you in on that later. I had to focus on the pack of hyenas that spread out through Riff Raff's. These imbeciles were armed with sub-machine guns, Ingram MAC-10s and Heckler & Koch MP5s. Goddamn amateurs, always using the wrong tools for the job. There were too many bystanders on the dance floor, the second-floor bar, and here in the VIP section. It was also bad for business because both the Ministry of Public Security and the People's Armed Police would both get involved if too many citizens were shot in a firefight between criminals. I watched them for a few minutes more then made my first move.

Crouching down, I crabbed-walked towards the landing where the first goon stationed himself. The dj just put on Cascada's "Evacuate the Dancefloor", the bass from the speakers made the whole club tremble. It also covered the bark of my Taurus revolver when the .410 gauge shot-shell obliterated the goon's skull. Grabbing the corpse, I searched it and was rewarded with some decent loot. I relieved him of a Samsung cell phone, car keys, and roll of thousand Yuan notes. Better yet was the Ingram MAC-10 he was carrying. Not only was it loaded with a full thirty rounds, there were a couple extra magazines. Heh, heh. The other assclowns were still searching the club.

Dumping the body in an empty lounge chair, I picked up an empty bottle of snow beer then smashed the second goon as he exited the restroom. I used the remains to slash open his throat. Before the artery had a chance to spray and ruin my Hugo Boss suit, I spun him around ramming his face into the wall. Plaster puffed out as the wall broke from the impact. Blood seeped down the sides of his face, pooling by his wingtips. I removed a nickel-plated 9mm Beretta and slipped the pistol into the waistband at the small of my back. It would be only a matter of time before these morons figured out my game plan…

Sneaking out of a crowded nightclub is a lot like swimming in a pool filled with piranhas. You have the watch the ebb and flow of the crowd then decide which way you need to flow with the current. If you plan your route correctly, then you can elude your pursuers. If you don't, then the piranhas have a feast day chewing on your sorry ass.

Thinking that moving through the crowded dance floor, with all those bodies writhing in aural bliss, was a smart move as I made my way across.

I should have known better. The piranhas were going to feast.

Trying to avoid a whirling dervish in black jeans and halter top spinning around like a helicopter, I bumped into Tzu Lin. Just what I needed at this moment. The fucking Butcher of Guangzhou in all his terrible glory, dressed in a conservative Savile Row grey pinstripe suit. I didn't hesitate in using a flat-palm strike into his face. Unfortunately for me, he shifted his head in time so instead of an instant kill I just broke his nose. The sickening crunch of cartilage and muscle being destroyed was lost in the air as people continued to dance around us. Shifting my weight I drove my fist into his solar plexus, Lin's eyes bulging out as the air was forced out of his lungs. I was about to deliver the coup d' grace with my Taurus revolver when I saw the muzzle flash of a sub-machine gun. Gave 'ol Tzu a solid kick to the balls before I dove to the floor.

9mm Full Metal Jacketed rounds buzzed through the air. Lights shattered, alcohol splashed out, glass burst into clouds of flying shrapnel. Screams got louder as people were shredded, bodies torn apart by gunfire. The crowd stampeded off the dance floor, the herd wild-eyed looking for any avenue of escape. I rolled over onto my back, the Taurus roaring away as .410 shotshells and .45 LC rounds smacked into goons. When the revolver clicked on an empty chamber, I threw the useless handgun into a nearby goon's face. In the moment the revolver cracked the assclown in the forehead, I drew the Beretta and squeezed the trigger twice. Two blooms of red blossomed on his silk shirt as he crashed into a table. Throwing myself sideways, I narrowly missed getting ventilated by another goon with a Norinco Hawk semi-auto shotgun. He got off two blasts that shattered furniture, the pellets creating micro-craters in the floor. I aimed the Beretta then double-tapped him in the chest. Scanned the club for more targets, didn't find anyone else who was in a hurry to meet their ancestors. Figured it was time to didi-mau before the fine officers from the Ministry of Public Security arrived and decided to take me into custody. I stumbled out of the club, looked around, and then sprinted down a nearby alley. Fifteen minutes later, totally winded and gasping for air, I pulled out my cell phone. Three rings later, a gruff voice with an Irish brogue answered.

"Pierce? This better be bloody important, me boyo. You're interrupting…"

I didn't give McManus a chance to cuss me out.

"You goddamn stupid Mick man-whore! Quit thinking with prick for two seconds and listen up! The 21k figured out who ripped them off and they're sending Tzu Lin to sort us out. We got to get word to the rest of the Ex-Pats or we'll all be chum in Taihu Lake…"

What had started out as a beautiful evening was rapidly turning into a goatfuck.