Come on you old bastard, Lucky thought furiously to himself as the payphone steadily droned in his ear. Pick up! Pick up the motherfucking phone! According to the street sign a few feet away he was on the corner of Weston and Dean. It didn't take a genius to figure out that this wasn't one of the nicer parts of town. The sidewalks were cracked and dirty, as were the roads. A lot of the buildings in sight were desolate and boarded over. Those that weren't were rather rundown and ragged looking. Also there were flimsy looking stalls at regular intervals selling a variety of items from Rasta merchandise to Caribbean cuisine. The Jamaican flag fluttered from poles on several rooftops and was painted unto several more walls. The Irishman noted that almost all the buildings he could see sported one of three colors, that was green, black, and yellow. Most of them had some combination of all three. Lucky saw that the pedestrians in sight walked along quickly, scowls firmly imprinted upon their faces. They were almost all black and quite a couple of them gave Lucky a funny look. With a curse Lucky hang up as the automotive voice spoke up telling him that the number he was trying to dial was not answering. He slammed the phone down waited for a second and then dialed the number again. The man jumped and almost fumbled when the phone was answered on the fourth ring.

"Who the fuck is this?" A voice growled angrily from the other end.

"Uncle Finn," Lucky said hastily. "Its Lucky."

"Lucky boy!" A voice boomed out in obvious relieve and joy. "Where the fuck are you? We went to pick you up from the airport not two hours ago. The fucking pigs wouldn't let us get within a mile of the place. They've got the whole area lockdown tight."

"Yeah I know." Lucky grunted. It was the reason why he was in this godforsaken neighborhood and completely lost. Just minutes after he had escaped in his stolen car he had run smack into a police Enforcer. Needless to say the pigs immediately took pursuit. Lucky had managed to outrun them but he had taken streets at random and was now completely lost.

"Where the hell are you?" The voice demanded.

"Corner of Weston and Dean. Ganzo I think." Lucky replied with a frown. The door to the building right adjacent to the battered payphone had just opened and a trio stepped out. They were dressed differently but with yellow and green being the common motif. Two of them sported dreadlocks and they were all dark complexioned. Lucky was relatively sure that they were Jamaicans. He had seen men like them before on television but never in real life. They appeared to be in a heated discussions judging from their faces and their wild gesticulations. Lucky could catch a word or two of what they were saying over the general noise of the street but no more, he wasn't really that interested either.

"Jesus Christ kid," His uncle snapped. "Of all the fucking places….we're coming. Hang tight, don't move. And for the love of god try to keep your fucking head down." The phone went dead and Lucky placed it back in its cradle with a grunt.

He saw that the three men were now all congregating around a red Huntley Sport SUV. They were so into their discussion that for the moment they failed to notice the black Speedo which had rapidly accelerated towards their direction. Lucky however did. He watched curiously as the van pulled to a screeching halt right next to the trio's automobile, obstructing the traffic while cutting off any escape by the vehicle. The next second the back of the Speedo burst open and five dark clad and masked men rushed out. Lucky noted that all the dark clad men were carrying AK-47's. The three Jamaicans reacted instantly. With cries and curses they made a break for cover while drawing concealed weapons. Quick as they were they were still far too slow. In a hail of thunderous gunfire the two Jamaicans with dreadlocks were viciously mowed down. Lucky winced as they fell to the floor almost literally ripped to shreds by the five salvos of high powered rounds. The streets immediately exploded into chaos as panicked pedestrians fled in whatever direction they could, cars slammed into each other trying to do the same. The third Jamaican had somehow managed to survive the volley. The death of his companions caused him to lose his nerve however, for after a quick look at their bodies he dropped his gun with a cry and ran. Lucky quickly realized from the fact that he wasn't immediately cut down that the only reason he had survived is that he had had been spared. This was reinforced by the fact that two of the murderers immediately gave chase. The Irishman eyes widened when he realized that they were all heading straight for him, in a quick movement Lucky's gun was out. The Jamaican was just a few feet from Lucky when one of his pursuers took him to the ground with a flying tackle.

The man's companion came to a halt when he noticed Lucky, his eyes immediately locking on the gun in Lucky's hand. The black clad assailant began to raise his riffle but before he could line it up Lucky's own weapon spat fire and the back of the would-be assassin's head exploded outward in a shower of blood and skull fragments. His companion who was still on the ground struggled to reach for a sidearm strapped to his leg but Lucky was quicker, the Irishman quickly readjusted his aim and pulled the trigger twice more. Both shots ripped into the enemy's head. One in the face and on the forehead. He fell back stone dead before he hit the floor, a large pool of red quickly began to spread out from his shattered skull. It was then that all hell broke loose. The four remaining gunman rushed forward firing indiscriminately. With a curse Lucky dashed across the street making a beeline for an alley. Bullets missed him by inches as he leapt over an orange Voodoo that had been abandoned in the middle of the street. Lucky impacted on his back, momentarily winding him but within a second he was back on his feet and dashing forward again. What the fuck was I thinking? Lucky mentally asked himself as he dodged for cover behind a red and blue Contender that had also been abandoned. It didn't take long for bullets to begin tearing the pickup to shreds, causing the Irishman to begin sprinting once more. He leapt into the alley landing in a roll. Ignoring the myriad of scrapes and bruises he came up in a crouch and quickly spun to face the direction he had just come from. The four remaining gunman were in a full sprint towards him riffles raised and at a ready. The Irishman held his stolen pistol in both hands and took a steadying breath before he began firing. Three of his six shots made contact with the lead pursuers. All struck him in the torso, two in the chest and one in the stomach. The man toppled to the ground blood gushing from the wounds. His companions returned fire without any hesitation prompting Lucky to turn tail and flee further into the alleyway. He mentally shuddered as he felt a bullet fly so close to his cheek that he could feel the heat.

His worst fear was realized when he came to the end of the alley to find nothing but an old dumpster and a solid brick wall. Cold fear gripped Lucky as the severity of his situation struck him fully. He was down to four bullets, trapped with nowhere to go, and had heavily armed lunatics right on his tail. Seeing nothing else for it Lucky dived behind the dumpster for what scant cover it would offer. If he was to go down by god he would do it fighting. Fuck I've really got to start making smarter decisions. Lucky thought grimly as the earsplitting shriek of machinegun fire once again filled the alleyway. The brick wall exploded in a shower of fragments, many of which caught Lucky; tearing into his flesh. The Irishman yelled in pain as several furrows were torn into his shoulders and back. They were minute wounds but still quite painful.

"We're going to fucking kill you boy." A voice called out hoarsely. "We're going to fucking rip your heart out."

"Yeah." A nasally voice agreed. "And eat it!"

Lucky wasted no time in a reply, doing his best to locate the second voice from sound he shoved his hand out over the top of the dumpster and blind fired. There was a yelp of pain and a reply in bullets which clanged loudly as they struck the dumpster. Take that you bastards…. If I'm going to hell some of you will be coming along for the ride! Lucky was preparing himself to dash out and fire his last two bullets, putting an end to all the shenanigans once and for all when he heard more gunfire and immediately distinguished a difference from the heavy bass boom of the Ak-47. There were cries and yells and more Ak-47 fire but it was all over in a few seconds. Lucky peeked cautiously over the top of the dumpster.

He saw that all of the black clad gunmen were dead and standing among their corpses was at least a dozen Jamaicans. Most of them were dreadlocked and they all were armed with a variety of weapons from micro-uzis, to Berettas 92. And MP-10s. As Lucky watched a few of the Jamaicans fell upon the bodies quickly stripping away their weapons in addition to stripping away their masks.

"Well who the bombocloth a them bwai yah?" One of the Jamaicans demanded stepping forward kicking one of the deceased in the head. Lucky noted that it was the same one he had saved earlier. It looked like he had just returned the favor.

"Pussyhole Italian them inno." One of the man's companions replied disdainfully as he straightened up clutching a recovered Ak-47. "Me a go recognize this one ya."

"Me shoulda a mi bombocloth know them pussyhole woulda try something like this inno." The other Jamaican replied. "Urry up and seize the machine thing them. We a go show them bwai seh dat when them a go violate the Bloodbath Posse then we a go violate them right back." Lucky figured that one to be some type of leader from his manner and the reactions of his fellows. Lucky decided that he had just about enough of cowering behind a dumpster. With a deep breath he straightened up and stepped into the open. One of the dreadlocked men spotted him and immediately sang out in alarm. Within a second he was staring down the barrels of twelve different weapons. Lucky winced knowing that the only reason he probably wasn't dead yet was that he had startled the men but he could see they were fast getting over it.

"Lead up the pussyhole." One of the Jamaicans called out. Lucky tensed himself to leap back behind the dumpster as he furiously berated himself for another dumb mistake.

"Hold on rudebwai!" The leader suddenly shouted out lowering his own handgun. "Me a go know this youth ya."

The Jamaican leader stepped forward towards Lucky with a broad grin as he absently waved off his soldiers. The Jamaican gangsters exchanged puzzled looks but grudgingly lowered their weapons. Lucky took the opportunity to observe the man intently for the first time. He was a full head shorter than Lucky's six foot one. Like his brethrens his hair was dusky, a couple shades darker than most of them. Instead of dreadlocks he wore his kinky hair in twists. The man was also rather scrawny in built and had a skeleton wielding a bazooka tattooed on his right forearm. He was dressed in a banana yellow plain t-shirt under a green combat jacket sporting the Zip logo. He also wore black cargo pants and green Hinterland boots. A fresh cut on his chin steadily dripped blood, Lucky assumed it was from when the gunman he had killed had tackled him and brought him heavily to the ground.

"Righteous shooting back deh youth," The man said as he approached Lucky. The Irishman frowned in confusion understanding the man's words but still mostly unsure as to what he was actually saying. "Mad respect hea. Mi a go owe yo big fi the help."

Just then police sirens sounded not far in the distance causing everyone to start at the sound.

"We a go clear out now rudebwai," The Jamaican leader said hastily. "Wheneva yo got time come down come see mi da mi yard at Momma's Bar and Grill pon 25th Grooveman Ave. Mi a always got use fi a rudebwai like you inno. Jah bless."

With that he hastily followed his soldiers out of the alley. Lucky exited just in time to see a convoy of three black Peyotes, a green Voodoo, and the same red Huntley Sport quickly speed off down the road. Lucky desperately looked for a means to secure his own escape as the wail of the siren grew even louder. He had just decided that his best bet was to commodore one of the abandoned vehicles still lying around when a white Patriot came screeching around the corner. Without even slowing down it headed straight towards him slamming aside a pink Virgo and mowing right over a beige Buccaneer in a racket of shattering class and screeching metal. Lucky leapt back with a yelp as the monster vehicle came slamming right into the rear end of the red Contender he had just been about to borrow. The car flew forward and slammed into the side of the yellow Voodoo that he had leapt over earlier in his best effort to keep from getting killed.

The Irishman raised his gun and prepared to fire the last of his bullets when the passenger side window rolled down, a voice shouted him down before he could pull the trigger however.

"Get in here you bastard!" Finnegan 'Finn' McDuncan bellowed out at his nephew with a glare. "For Christ's sake hurry! The fuzz will be all over us in just a few seconds."

The backdoor flew open and that was all the invitation Lucky needed. He flung himself into the Patriot. He had barely closed the door behind him when the machine roared forward with enough noise to wake the dead. Lucky could see from the back window that three police Enforcers had just rounded the same corner that his uncle's Patriot had.

"Hold on boys!" The driver announced. "Things are about to get real rocky."

Lucky braced himself as the Patriot heavily impacted another car in its bid for escape. They shot down the street with the Enforcers whooping right on their tail. Lucky was suddenly jostled to the side as the jeep turned violently down a side street and clipped the back of a Mule before careening down the sidewalk crushing three people with sickening crunches.

"Of all the fucking places you go fucking around in Little Kingston." Finn fumed as they barreled down another street. "What the fuck boy. Are you stupid?"

"I didn't have that much of a choice." Lucky snarled in reply. "Its hard to choose a nice destination to escape to when the fucking cops are chasing you!" The Patriot bent another violent curved which caused him to slam into the door with a grunt.

"Why the fuck would the cops be chasing ye?" Finn asked as they ran over a screaming man and knocked over a couple of trashcans. "Wait don't tell me. All that ruckus at the airport was you? You like to arrive with a bang don't you my boy." Finn chuckled.

"Not all of it." Lucky admitted as he managed to brace himself against another sharp turn. "It was some sort of terrorist attack. I just took the opportunity to put down an FIB bastard who thought he had bigger balls than King Kong."

"Gutsy," The man beside Lucky whistled as Finn laughed raucously. "Fucking around with the FIB like that. I have no love for the pigs myself but I ain't about to go around to knocking off FIB members."

Lucky gave him a once over as the Patriot forced its way between a Trashmaster and a Pizza This Pony. He was a portly middle aged man; Lucky would put him anywhere from forty five to fifty five. He had fiery red hair with streaks of gray running through it at infrequent intervals. His face was so freckled that it was hard to tell when the freckles stopped and the face began. He observed Lucky in turn through keen eyes as green as Lucky's own.

"Lando Murphy," Finn said by ways of introduction. "Lando, my nephew I've been speaking about."

"Please to meet you." Lando said holding out a hand. He and Lucky briefly traded grips. "I knew your father well. We fought at Belfast together. He was a good man. God rest his soul."

Lucky nodded at that but said nothing, anguish making him unable to speak as it always did at the thought of his father's murder. It had been almost four years ago but the pain had yet to dull.

"Wally Walsh." Finn then said waving a hand towards the driver. The man merely grunted noncommittally and slowed the car from the breakneck speed into something just only a little over the speed limit. The sounds of sirens were now faded.

"I think we're out of their radius." Wally informed them as he fiddled with the radio. From the back side profile Lucky could see that he was too was brown haired but his complexion was rather dark for an Irishman, he was almost brown. There was a grinning green leprechaun tattooed on the side of his neck as well.

"Take us back to the Shamrock." Finn ordered. The jeep skittered to a halt, and then in a complete u-turn that earned them quite an amount of abuse from fellow motorist they were heading in the complete opposite direction. They drove in silence for a full thirty minutes before they began slowing down. A look through the window showed Lucky that they were in a completely different part of town. They seem to be in some sort of business district. Tall office buildings were frequent as were shops, cafes, restaurants and the like. The class of people bustling up and down the sidewalks changed as well. Businessmen in their three piece suits hurried along briefcase in one hand and mobile phones held firmly to their ears. Women in the heights of fashion pranced around their arms laden with bags sporting logos such as Gnocchi, Didier Sachs, and Le Chien.

The Patriot pulled to a stop before a building that stood out like a straight guy in the middle of Queens San Fernando. It was small squat two storey brick building painted a bright vivid green in stark contrast to every other building in sight. A large shamrock was graffiti unto the wall in a deeper shade of green than the rest of the building's paint. The entrance was a solid looking steel door and all the windows were shuttered over with iron grills. A couple of tough looking men were milling around the front of the place, smoking and conversing. Wally brought the car to a stop in the last available parking place, right in between a red Turismo and a green Bobcat, and killed the engine.

"Welcome to the Shamrock laddie." Finn said with a roguish grin as he exited the vehicle. Lando and Wally followed without a word. Lucky remained for a few seconds longer taking deep breaths before he exited the Patriot as well. The only question that ran through his head as he followed his kinfolk into the building was what was going to happen next.