"Goddamit! I can't believe I'm doing this." Joey shouted, really pissed. Having being given the choice to wear either a thong or short shorts, which he opted for neither and instead took a police uniform. He still wasn't happy about it, though.
Frank insisted that he wear ass-less pants to compliment his look but Joey had drawn the line there.
"You sure you don't want these pants? They really accentuate your… ass cheeks." Frank joked. He had a big grin on his face ever since he forced Joey to agree to this, which gave Joey the increasing desire to strangle him with it.
"Yeah, I bet the guys'll be all over you." Penchelo burst out, accompanied by loud laughter.
"Shut the hell up you two prickheads." Joey fumed back. The other two continued to laugh.
After a few more adjustments they left the dressing room. A man, wearing a cat mask, a black leather skirt and matching vest, holding a leash with another guy at the end of it walking on all fours, passed the trio all the while looking at Joey.
"Hi, handsome—ouch! What?" The man on the leash pinched him from behind.
Joey repulsively looked at Frank. "God, remind me to kill you later."
They reached the stage where a lot of the dancers busily readied themselves. Frank went ahead and took a peep through the curtains.
"There's our man." Frank said, looking at a table where a dark-skinned man sat along with a couple of men who were wearing red jackets.
"How many are they?" Joey asked.
"Including Thompson... 6... 7... 8... there are nine of them."
Joey pulled up his Hawaiian shirt to reveal a pistol tucked on the side of his pants.
"Shit. And me with only a pistol." he muttered agitatedly. Then Joey realized something. "Wait a minute. I didn't have a pistol, I had an Uzi."
Frank turned around. "Didn't you remember? Those guys took our guns and gave us these silencers." Showing Joey his.
Joey took out his pistol and surveyed the suppressor at the end then checked if there was any ammo. There was none. "Goddamit, this thing doesn't even have bullets."
"Here," Frank took out a small white box from his pocket shirt, "some ammo. They gave it to me before we left."
"Well, we're still fucked up here. Hey, Penchelo—hey where is he?"
Joey looked around but Penchelo had disappeared.
"Dammit. A lot of help he turned out to be." Joey cursed.
"Forget about him. Here's the plan, you've got to do everything it takes to get that guy to warm up to you. If that happens he'll eventually lead you upstairs."
"Why? What happens there?" Joey asks.
"Well, that's where the real business happens, you know. And that's where I go in and we take the guy."
"Yeah, but—"
"Come on, no time for buts. Just go and remember what I told you." Frank stopped him and hurriedly pushed Joey out the curtains.
Once there, Joey found Thompson and the others sitting on one of the tables. Only one guy was willing to sit next to Thompson while the rest were standing and trying hard not to look past the entrance.
Joey figured the guy, who had black Elvis-like hair and a pretty good-looking face, was the leader Johnny Cash. He looked pretty bored in his state.
"Quit sulking, Johnny." Thompson snapped at him.
"Who's sulking?" Johnny said lazily, his smooth voice trailing off.
Thompson then tried to put his arm around him but was thwarted. "Look, just because we're here doesn't mean I don't want you anymore."
"What the fuck are you talking about, you dirty old bastard. Stop shoving your head up your ass all the time." Johnny said coldly, pushing himself away from him.
"That's not what you said to me when I was shoving something else up your as—"
"Whoa! H-Hey! Hey! W-What are you talking about...I never—I-I don't know what the hell you're talking about. Jeez, you're getting me all frustrated—l-lets just be quiet and watch the show— your show." Johnny said hastily, suddenly breaking his cool demeanor. His eyes switched intently to Joey in an instant, determined not to look back.
After a few instances of what you may have called awkward dancing to say the least, Joey seemed to make some headway. Even though from someone else's standpoint it would have looked pitiful, nonetheless, it genuinely interested Thompson.
Once Thompson had seen enough he told Joey to accompany him upstairs, just like Frank had said.
"C'mere you," Thompson said, showing a sly smile. "I'm gonna teach you the ropes, newbie. Heh heh."
"Hold on a sec. Where are you going?" Johnny burst out, his smooth persona intact once more.
"We're goin' upstairs." Thompson replied and grabbing Joey's behind in the process.
"No way, we're leaving this place already. You got your show. That was our deal here. I've had it with this shit, let's go—"
"—did I mention that you cried like a girl when we were making lo—"
"—okay, okay. Just go already! Fuck!" Johnny conceded.
The two walked upstairs into a lone hallway that occupied the whole floor. Joey glimpsed behind and saw Frank was only a few paces behind. He nodded and Joey did the same.
They stopped in front of a door at the very end of the hallway. A sign hung on the doorway that read: 'Reserved'. Thompson took out a key from his pocket and unlocked the door. Once he opened it, Joey grabbed Thompson and pushed him inside, stumbling onto the floor.
"What the hell—"
"Shut up, I'm taking you hostage." Joey commanded, taking out his pistol and pointing it at Thompson. He waited for Frank to come in and then closed the door.
"What is this?" Thompson shouted.
Frank went over to him and tattooed his right cheek with the end of his pistol. "SHUT UP."
Thompson began spitting out blood while Frank took out a handkerchief then wrapped Thompson's mouth with it. He didn't dare move as Joey was still pointing his pistol at him.
After that, Frank took a nearby chair and ushered Thompson to it. He took a bed cloth and tied Thompson in the chair. Joey and Frank stared at the tied up guy in front of them then turned to each other.
"What now?" Joey asked, still looking at Frank.
Frank scratched his head. "I guess we'll have to go through those guys."
"Wait." Joey said, "Maybe we can make some kind of distraction."
At that point, they heard the doorknob rattling. The two steadied themselves, preparing for anything that might happen. But before their uneasiness prolonged, they heard a familiar voice outside.
"Hey! You two, you there?" Penchelo voice came ringing albeit in a hushed tone...well, as he possibly could.
Joey opened the door and Penchelo came barging about.
"How'd you know we were here?" Frank asked as soon as he came in.
"Cuz' yours was the only one that wasn't open... but I kinda wished the others were." Penchelo answered, shrugging and shaking his head.
Penchelo looked at Thompson who just sat there quietly, a fearful expression in his eyes, sweat trickling down on his forehead. It only lasted for a second and then he turned his face toward the other two.
"Listen, I think one of them saw me go up he—"
Penchelo stopped. His eyes had darted toward the open door of the room. A man, wearing a red jacket, was standing agape on the hallway.
"Oh, shi—"
The man tried to take out his gun but Joey had already fired his, leaning on the wall as he fell. Instantly, people started screaming and feet were suddenly shuffling. It didn't take long for Johnny and his men to come rushing upstairs to find out what the ruckus was all about.
By that time, Joey, Frank and Penchelo already had their guns ready and aimed. The trio fired a round, hitting two of Johnny's men and a male stripper, narrowly missing Johnny himself by a hair.
"Damn it! It was that damned Penchelo! Goddamit! Where's Thompson?!" Johnny screamed.
One of the men spoke up, "He wasn't there with the others. I think he's still up there."
"ARGH!"
Another man was hit; his body slumping on Johnny's but he quickly pushes it aside.
"Fuck, man! Mitch!" Johnny yells at the body but no response. "Damn it! Damn it! Damn it!"
The gunfight wore on, after five minutes 3 men went down on Johnny's side, leaving him and one more left. Panic had stricken them now.
"Johnny, we can't win anymore. Let's go back." the other pleaded.
"No goddam way!" Johnny snapped through gritted teeth, yet it was clear that he was losing hope as well. "N-No, we can't leave without Thompson."
"But Johnny—ARGH!—MY HAND!"
Johnny's last remaining man clutched his bleeding hand, but then a hail of bullets followed next. Unable to recover, he was hit by every bullet, dropping dead on the spot. With all of his men shot, Johnny had no choice but to flee.
"He's getting away!" Penchelo screamed, chasing after him. Joey and Frank followed behind.
Johnny tried to get a few more shots in to halt the trio's advance but had soon spent all his ammo before Penchelo had even come down.
Once outside, Johnny ran towards a Sentinel XS that had its taillights cracked. He opened the door and got inside, taking out his car keys and clocking it in the ignition. But the car wouldn't start. He repeatedly tried to start it again but wouldn't. Then he saw that the gas gauge was on empty.
"Shit! What the— …N-No! He didn't?!" Johnny burst out.
He looked in his side mirror and saw Penchelo, smiling with a cigar in his mouth. Johnny's shock turned even greater. He tried to open the car door but it was locked. Worse, the lock pin was taken out.
"FUCK! NO!" Johnny screamed for the last time.
Penchelo took out his lit cigar and flicked it towards the car. Within seconds the car burst into flames along with Johnny in it. The three men stood wearily as they looked on at the fiery flames of what was once a car, contemplating on the day that had just passed. It was exactly 12:01 in the morning.
Once Penchelo left to go to a bar someplace else, Joey and Frank went back up to retrieve what they had come here for.
"In the trunk?" Frank asked as he placed his hands on the chair, getting ready to lift it.
"In the trunk." Joey repeated, placing his hands also, opposite Frank's.
"Wait," Frank interrupted, "we can't leave any evidence." He bent over and paralleled himself with Thompson. Raised his elbow and, with full force, struck it right in Thompson's throat.
Thompson wheezed uncontrollably, gasping for air in his muffled state, coughing out bits of blood that stained the handkerchief around his mouth. Tears flowing from his eyes as his hands tried desperately to be free so it could lay rest on his throbbing throat. But all he could do was sit there and hope that he pass out through the pain. Not knowing that what lies ahead is a far more horrible torture, and wishing that he had just died right there and then.
