Hans led Kristoff, Olaf and Sven to a bar in Arentropolis' entertainment district. Kristoff observed the flashing sign, depicting an exotic bird.
THE AGILE PEACOCK
"What a peculiar name for a club," thought Olaf.
"It was Don Weselton's idea," scoffed Hans. "Come on." He opened the doors, amplifying the booming jazz music within. People of all classes danced across its vibrant, spotlit floor while others drank their troubles away.
"Who exactly are we looking for?" pondered Kristoff.
Hans sniffled, "There's one of my pals." He pointed at a bulky, bearded man in a pinstriped vest. "Dominik!"
The man shuttered at the sound of Hans' voice and nearly spilt his tequila. "Ha-...Hans? What the hell are...what are you doing here?"
"What do you mean?" questioned Hans. "I stayed home like you told me to. Thought I'd-"
"Who are...they?" Dominik glared at Kristoff, Olaf and Sven.
"They're my...bodyguards."
"I see," grumbled Dominik with a nod. "Let me get the don. I'll be right back." He stood up and made for the back of the club.
"Sure," replied Hans. "We'll wait here and-..." Kristoff tailed after the mobster. "Wait, what are you doing?"
Olaf placed his hand against Hans' arm. "Trust me, he knows what he's doing."
Kristoff shuffled through the dancing crowds, keeping his eyes fixed on the back of Dominik's head. He watched as the mobster entered a door backstage and locked it. Kristoff cursed under his breath and took a stroll towards the stage. The jazz band glared awkwardly at him as he walked passed them on the stage. One flash of his badge was enough to get them minding their own business.
Kristoff gingerly pushed back the stage curtains and kept shifting until he heard Dominik's voice. "He's here, dammit."
"That doesn't make any sense," said an older voice. Kristoff snuck a glance backstage to see a scrawny old man in a black suit and tie. A short-brimmed fedora rested on his head. He sneered through his bushy, white mustache. "The police should have arrested him by now. We told him to stay put."
A younger man spat, "I planted the gun just like you said. The bastard should have taken the heat off our trail."
"Quiet, Fritz." scolded the don.
Kristoff felt a hand clench his shoulder and nearly shrieked. It was Hans, "What do you think you're-"
"Shhh!" snapped Kristoff. "Listen." Hans eavesdropped over Kristoff's shoulder as the conversation continued.
Dominik growled, "This is that new hitman's fault. This is what happens when we don't do our own dirty work. I would've pumped Agdar's entire family full of lead along with him. But you thought that Frost kid deserved a chance to prove himself."
"Speaking of which," hissed the don. "Boy! Get in here!" His call beckoned a slim, young man into the room. He had light grey hair and bright blue eyes. "Why didn't you kill the daughters?"
"I...I panicked," trembled Jack. "They were so frightened."
"Well Mr. Frost, if you'd like to work for me, you'd best lose your empathy. I only hire cold-blooded killers!"
"Yes...yes of course, Don Weselton," panicked Jack.
"Worry not. You'll get your second chance when we go to finish the job tonight. Fritz and Dominik will show you how it's really done. I'll send one of my other hitmen to deal with Hans." The don huffed with frustration, "It's only a matter of time before-"
Kristoff had heard enough. He emerged from the curtains with his pistol trained on the don. "APD! Hands in the air!"
They stared back at him in shock until Hans yelled, "Look out!" He shoved Kristoff to the ground just as a barrage of bullets tattered across the curtains. The gunshots sent the entire nightclub into a frenzy of mass hysteria. One of the don's men crouched behind a stage prop and continued to fire his Thompson submachine gun. Two other mobsters emerged from back stage with Thompsons while the don made his getaway.
Hans and Kristoff backed up against the nearest crate as bullets rattled against it. Kristoff shoved Hans down and fired back with his pistol. A bullet struck one of the shooters in the neck, and he spent his final moments writhing and choking on the ground. "We have to beat them to Anna and Elsa!" shouted Kristoff over the gunfire. He yanked Hans by the collar and sprinted across the dancefloor. They rendezvoused with Olaf and Sven before getting in the car and flooring it for the manor house.
Streetlights flashed across the car's windshield. Kristoff kept one hand intensely gripping the steering wheel while wiping his sweat with the other. "We can't let them get to Anna and Elsa." He handed Hans a spare pistol. "Here, you know how to shoot."
"You trust me with one of those?" asked Hans. "Even after I shot at you?"
"You trust HIM with one of those? gasped Olaf. "Even after he shot at you?"
Kristoff bit his lip. "I do now. Hans, you help us now and I'll get your name cleared."
"I'm not sure I can be as tough as you though," sighed Hans. In that instant, several machine gun rounds struck the back of the police car. The don's men were in pursuit. Hans rolled down the window and fired back at them, "Bring it you backstabbing little shits!"
"Yeah...I trust him," affirmed Kristoff. He made a hard left across a three-way intersection. While he managed to skid through, one of the mobster cars was hit by a delivery truck.
"Did we lose them?" wondered Olaf.
A second car pulled up beside them. "Nope," cringed Hans.
"GET DOWN!" roared Kristoff as rapid-fire bullets smashed the car's windows and bombarded the dashboard. Kristoff swerved out of control and made a hard right, sideswiping the mobsters off of the overpass. He wiped the glass shards out of his hair and accelerated to maximum speed. He called in on the radio, "All units respond. We need immediate backup at the manorhouse. Secure Anna and Elsa."
"Ummmm partner?" worried Olaf.
"What?" turned Kristoff. He peered downwards, realizing the radio had been shot up and destroyed. "Oh...Guess we're on our own."