Chapter 5
Devil Pimp
The summer air was hot and muggy when Chris headed back to Luigi's. The ride in the Stallion was great, but it brought back unwanted memories of the 80's. Tape deck, stick shift, bad handling, worse coloring 19-fucking-80's car. But at least it was smoother and a hell of a lot faster than the P.O.S 8ball jacked. The radio was working, and tuned to the only all-80's station in Liberty. Chris tried to change the station, but the knob fell off. Sighing he leaned back to enjoy the ride. The radio leaked in;
"You're motoring, what's your price for flight? you've got him in your sight.... and got him through the night." Chris couldn't remember the name of the song. Sister.... Sister something. Chris pulled up next to the club as a somber solo started. Walking up, he saw Luigi had been waiting for him.
"Some Diablo asshole is pimping his scuzzy bitches in my backyard. Head to the docks and get rid of him, take his car and drive to the garage on Lane Avenue. My boys will take over from there." Luigi waved Chris off and headed back to the club. Chris headed back out to the street. Looking around, he realized what a dump it was. Hookers walked the streets in broad daylight, steam coming up from the sewers, papers and the homeless strewn about. Chris headed into the Stallion. He ripped off, and simply turned the volume down. He sped around corners, and liked how well the old car was handling it, which was uncharacteristic. He sped down to the harbor, and screeched his tires. He hopped out, and had the shotty in his hands when the pimp noticed him.
"Hey buddy, looking for a good time? Go talk to Candy over there." The pimp said, with a heavy Hispanic accent.
"Actually, I am looking for a good time. Just me, you and this shotty." Chris pulled the shotgun out of the passenger side. The pimp cocked an eyebrow at the first two participants in this "good time" then smiled at the last.
" He's got a gun! Girls, let ol' Ricardo take care of this." the pimp grabbed an Uzi. He smiled as he fired. Chris jumped under the open car door. The pimp opened fire again after reloading, the bullet holes were drawing ever closer to Chris. Chris would have to move, and then shoot as fast as he could. Otherwise, he would be riddled with bullets. Chris leaped. Jumping into the air, Chris let off a shot. Two bullets caught the pimp in the side. He dropped to the ground. The pimp clutched his side, then fired five shots into the Stallion's tire.
Chris hopped in the driver side, wheeled the car around and smacked the pimp on the forehead with the bumper. The bumper, bloodied and bullet-ridden, finally gave out. Chris stepped out.
"I liked that car." Chris said to the disembodied head on the ground, which stared vacantly into the dusk sky. Chris, unmoved, headed to the other car, which also happened to be a Stallion, but more recent, probably a '95 or '96. He backed up, then peeled out of the harbor. He made his way to Lane Avenue. Outside of the garage, two slick, black haired men held up a hand so Chris could stop. Chris stepped out and tossed the keys to one of them. They both stepped in the car, and drove off. Chris shrugged, and stepped out onto the avenue. Was all of Portland the Red Light District, like near Luigi's club? He walked home this time, and decided to wait for a nice car. He didn't wait long till a Red Kuruma drove by, with a middle aged man inside. Chris stepped in front of it's path. He ran to driver's side window, ripped the man out, and while the man was still lying vulnerable, Chris delivered a vicious kick to his head. He threw the body where he had thrown the punk's body. The man drowned to death, as the kick had not killed, only knocked him unconscious. Chris hopped in the Kuruma and drove it into the hideout alleyway.
Devil Pimp
The summer air was hot and muggy when Chris headed back to Luigi's. The ride in the Stallion was great, but it brought back unwanted memories of the 80's. Tape deck, stick shift, bad handling, worse coloring 19-fucking-80's car. But at least it was smoother and a hell of a lot faster than the P.O.S 8ball jacked. The radio was working, and tuned to the only all-80's station in Liberty. Chris tried to change the station, but the knob fell off. Sighing he leaned back to enjoy the ride. The radio leaked in;
"You're motoring, what's your price for flight? you've got him in your sight.... and got him through the night." Chris couldn't remember the name of the song. Sister.... Sister something. Chris pulled up next to the club as a somber solo started. Walking up, he saw Luigi had been waiting for him.
"Some Diablo asshole is pimping his scuzzy bitches in my backyard. Head to the docks and get rid of him, take his car and drive to the garage on Lane Avenue. My boys will take over from there." Luigi waved Chris off and headed back to the club. Chris headed back out to the street. Looking around, he realized what a dump it was. Hookers walked the streets in broad daylight, steam coming up from the sewers, papers and the homeless strewn about. Chris headed into the Stallion. He ripped off, and simply turned the volume down. He sped around corners, and liked how well the old car was handling it, which was uncharacteristic. He sped down to the harbor, and screeched his tires. He hopped out, and had the shotty in his hands when the pimp noticed him.
"Hey buddy, looking for a good time? Go talk to Candy over there." The pimp said, with a heavy Hispanic accent.
"Actually, I am looking for a good time. Just me, you and this shotty." Chris pulled the shotgun out of the passenger side. The pimp cocked an eyebrow at the first two participants in this "good time" then smiled at the last.
" He's got a gun! Girls, let ol' Ricardo take care of this." the pimp grabbed an Uzi. He smiled as he fired. Chris jumped under the open car door. The pimp opened fire again after reloading, the bullet holes were drawing ever closer to Chris. Chris would have to move, and then shoot as fast as he could. Otherwise, he would be riddled with bullets. Chris leaped. Jumping into the air, Chris let off a shot. Two bullets caught the pimp in the side. He dropped to the ground. The pimp clutched his side, then fired five shots into the Stallion's tire.
Chris hopped in the driver side, wheeled the car around and smacked the pimp on the forehead with the bumper. The bumper, bloodied and bullet-ridden, finally gave out. Chris stepped out.
"I liked that car." Chris said to the disembodied head on the ground, which stared vacantly into the dusk sky. Chris, unmoved, headed to the other car, which also happened to be a Stallion, but more recent, probably a '95 or '96. He backed up, then peeled out of the harbor. He made his way to Lane Avenue. Outside of the garage, two slick, black haired men held up a hand so Chris could stop. Chris stepped out and tossed the keys to one of them. They both stepped in the car, and drove off. Chris shrugged, and stepped out onto the avenue. Was all of Portland the Red Light District, like near Luigi's club? He walked home this time, and decided to wait for a nice car. He didn't wait long till a Red Kuruma drove by, with a middle aged man inside. Chris stepped in front of it's path. He ran to driver's side window, ripped the man out, and while the man was still lying vulnerable, Chris delivered a vicious kick to his head. He threw the body where he had thrown the punk's body. The man drowned to death, as the kick had not killed, only knocked him unconscious. Chris hopped in the Kuruma and drove it into the hideout alleyway.
