River City Blues
Chapter 8: Laying low
The bus Oz had pointed out took us somewhere down to the lower part of West Heights. This part looked fairly decent, kinda reminded me of Portland with the L track and the townhouses and buildings. In front of a small little pawnshop, Oz pulled that little cord which made the bus stop. We got off, in an instant the driver swung the doors close behind us and sped off. Oz still clutched at his side in pain, but at least he got his nose to stop bleeding. I was okay, nothing major but a cut on my head and a really dirty face. We weren't carrying the shotgun or the rifle anymore, considering we kind of forgot them back in that pickup truck after we blew Sergei straight to hell. All we had was our handguns, a joint total of 250 in cash and my butterfly knife. Oz also had a small .25 caliber handgun strapped to his ankle, for emergency use mainly.
I looked at the small little rutty building perplexed. " What is this place?" I asked him. It was painted black, a door in the middle in between two gated off windows. A sign above the door read: "STOGGY'S SHOP; Pawnbrokers" in black lettering. I scratched my head.
" A friend of mine owns this joint." Oz said hobbling across the street. "Were going to lay low a little bit, till we get some more money for plane tickets."
He yanked open the door and disappeared into the depths on the shop, I followed him in. It was your normal type of pawnshop, the owner sat behind a cage booth that ran along one wall, and there were selves loaded with TV's, DVD players, Stereos that sorta thing. Somewhere in the shop, Mommy's little monster droned on. A kid, about 20ish or so sat behind the counter, he had several piercing in his lower lip, and his hair was dyed Red and Black. He wore a tattered black jacket, with safety pins attached to it, and is hands and arms were covered in several tattoos. He was reading a Rolling Stones magazine, some heavy metal band's face plastered on the cover. Oz walked up to him and rattled on the metal fence.
" I'm closed, comeback in 5 minutes." He said, without looking up from his magazine.
" Hey Gohlke." Oz said. Weird name, I thought to myself.
Gohlke looked up and blinked, He shook his head and blinked again. His eyes widened in surprise.
" Holy shit its Oz!" He said amazed. " I thought you were dead kid!"
" Almost." He replied patting his rib, and in turn winced in pain. " Listen Michael and I ran into some trouble with Grant. We need a place to lay low for a little bit, can we crash with you?"
" Yeah I have enough space, side I'm an insomniac and never sleep anyway." He said motioning to a door. " I wouldn't worry about Grant though, I mean West Heights is Zaibatsu territory. That's why I moved here after the turf wars."
" Yeah bad times weren't they?" Oz said. " We lost a few good friends in the turf wars."
" Yeah." Gohlke replied nodding. " Well anyway I'll show you where you can sleep."
He opened the door behind the counter and motioned us to follow. We walked around the counter and followed Gohlke into the room, which wasn't very big. It was about the size of a storage pantry. The walls were concrete gray, covered in posters of various bands like AFI and System of a Down. In the corner there was a Black futon and across from it a medium sized TV on a milk crate. Next ot the Futon was a Wash Basin with a dirty mirror. In the corner next to the door there was a wooden desk and computer chair. The desk was a mess, it was covered in papers, and Magazines, along with a Dell computer.
" It ain't much but now you have a place to crash at least." He said.
" Thanks Gohlke." Oz said.
" No prob." He replied going out the door. " Anytime."
I sighed and looked around. Oz walked over and plopped himself down on the futon, picking up the tv remote and clicked it on. He flipped through several channels and sighed, clicking the TV off. I took a seat in the computer chair and leaned back. Obviously we were gonna be there for a while so I decided to ask Oz some questions.
" So what were the turf wars?" I asked him.
" Wars over River City territory." He replied, pulling out his revolver and letting it hang limply in his hand. " Zaibatsu, the Yakuza and R.H. Grant's crew fought over The East and West sides of River City. Of course Gohlke and I were signed up to the Crew as Metalmen, same with a lot of our other friends. Which a lot of them died except for Couri and a few others, who moved to Liberty City, Couri I think lives out in the suburbs or the mission district. I don't remember anymore. Eventually The Yakuza were driven from town, and Grant's crew took roost in The East side while Zaibatsu took West Heights. This all happened about 3-4 years ago, its really blurry now."
" What about the Russians?"
" They moved in The East side, but made a deal with Grant's crew over business." He replied. He swung open the cylinder on his revolver and emptied the used shells on the floor. He reloaded the gun and snapped the cylinder shut, laying the gun on the couch beside him. " I don't think I can live with myself anymore Michael."
" How so?" I asked.
" Being a gun dealer rakes in good dough but." He began. " It starts to take its toll. Like last week, I sold a Mac 10 to some street thug working for Grant right? Well turns out this 15-year old kid got killed in the cross fire of a drive by, by the very same gun I sold."
" Wow."
" I mean sure, it makes good money. But Mike this kid didn't even have his license yet. And he had a scholarship to Harvard for Christ sake. He was in no gang, he didn't deserve to die." Oz said, his face buried in his hands.
" Man, that sucks." I replied scratching the back of my neck. I never knew what to say in conversations like these.
" When's the first time you killed someone Fido?" He asked me, this time I paid on mind to the Fido part.
" When I was about 19." I replied. " I had a scholarship to Liberty University, yet I was a big time coke addict. My grades started slipping and I dropped out of school. I had no money, no job and I was desperate for the stuff. And one night, I took a utility razor and killed a dope dealer from Portland, I slit his throat and left him dead in the streets. Took his cash and what ever stuff he had, which was enough coke for one measly hit. So I took a snort and passed out in an alley somewhere in Trenton. A girl named Rachel found me, got me in rehab and off the stuff."
" What ever happened to Rachel?" He asked me, red eyed.
" She was killed by dope pushers." I replied. " Same guys who were friends with that doper I killed. I liked Rachel too, she liked actually cared where my life was going. And now I just realized I never told anyone that before."
" So is that why you turned to a life of crime?" Oz asked me. " So you could find the guys who killed Rachel, and make 'em pay?"
" No, but I did avenge Rachel." I replied. " I got into this life, well because I fell for someone else. Who broke my heart again with a cold .45 slug."
" Catalina right?" Oz asked snapping his fingers. I nodded.
" Yeah how'd you know?" I asked him.
" Read about it in the papers." He replied. " They called you the butcher of Liberty City, after that incident On Cochran dam."
" Guess I'm one step ahead of Uncle Tommy." I replied. " They used to call him the Harwood butcher."
That same day, a man in a black trench coat walked into the West Heights Ammu-nation, opposite the L-train platform. His forehead was bleeding mildly, and there was a blood soaked rag tied around his hand. He had jet- black hair, cut to about shoulder length, and spoke in an Scottish accent. He approached the owner of the store, slapping a fat wad of bills on the counter he said:
" I'd like to buy a gun." He spoke. " Large caliber and destructive."
The owner with glee spun and around and pulled a short barreled street sweeper from off a hook on the wall. The trench coated man picked up the weapon and looked it over.
" I'll take it." He said. " But how much for the PCJ-600 outside?"
" It's not for sale." The owner stated simply.
With no mercy the stranger pulled a Sig Sauer from his coat, and emptied 3 rounds into shops owner's face.
TO BE CONTINUED
Chapter 8: Laying low
The bus Oz had pointed out took us somewhere down to the lower part of West Heights. This part looked fairly decent, kinda reminded me of Portland with the L track and the townhouses and buildings. In front of a small little pawnshop, Oz pulled that little cord which made the bus stop. We got off, in an instant the driver swung the doors close behind us and sped off. Oz still clutched at his side in pain, but at least he got his nose to stop bleeding. I was okay, nothing major but a cut on my head and a really dirty face. We weren't carrying the shotgun or the rifle anymore, considering we kind of forgot them back in that pickup truck after we blew Sergei straight to hell. All we had was our handguns, a joint total of 250 in cash and my butterfly knife. Oz also had a small .25 caliber handgun strapped to his ankle, for emergency use mainly.
I looked at the small little rutty building perplexed. " What is this place?" I asked him. It was painted black, a door in the middle in between two gated off windows. A sign above the door read: "STOGGY'S SHOP; Pawnbrokers" in black lettering. I scratched my head.
" A friend of mine owns this joint." Oz said hobbling across the street. "Were going to lay low a little bit, till we get some more money for plane tickets."
He yanked open the door and disappeared into the depths on the shop, I followed him in. It was your normal type of pawnshop, the owner sat behind a cage booth that ran along one wall, and there were selves loaded with TV's, DVD players, Stereos that sorta thing. Somewhere in the shop, Mommy's little monster droned on. A kid, about 20ish or so sat behind the counter, he had several piercing in his lower lip, and his hair was dyed Red and Black. He wore a tattered black jacket, with safety pins attached to it, and is hands and arms were covered in several tattoos. He was reading a Rolling Stones magazine, some heavy metal band's face plastered on the cover. Oz walked up to him and rattled on the metal fence.
" I'm closed, comeback in 5 minutes." He said, without looking up from his magazine.
" Hey Gohlke." Oz said. Weird name, I thought to myself.
Gohlke looked up and blinked, He shook his head and blinked again. His eyes widened in surprise.
" Holy shit its Oz!" He said amazed. " I thought you were dead kid!"
" Almost." He replied patting his rib, and in turn winced in pain. " Listen Michael and I ran into some trouble with Grant. We need a place to lay low for a little bit, can we crash with you?"
" Yeah I have enough space, side I'm an insomniac and never sleep anyway." He said motioning to a door. " I wouldn't worry about Grant though, I mean West Heights is Zaibatsu territory. That's why I moved here after the turf wars."
" Yeah bad times weren't they?" Oz said. " We lost a few good friends in the turf wars."
" Yeah." Gohlke replied nodding. " Well anyway I'll show you where you can sleep."
He opened the door behind the counter and motioned us to follow. We walked around the counter and followed Gohlke into the room, which wasn't very big. It was about the size of a storage pantry. The walls were concrete gray, covered in posters of various bands like AFI and System of a Down. In the corner there was a Black futon and across from it a medium sized TV on a milk crate. Next ot the Futon was a Wash Basin with a dirty mirror. In the corner next to the door there was a wooden desk and computer chair. The desk was a mess, it was covered in papers, and Magazines, along with a Dell computer.
" It ain't much but now you have a place to crash at least." He said.
" Thanks Gohlke." Oz said.
" No prob." He replied going out the door. " Anytime."
I sighed and looked around. Oz walked over and plopped himself down on the futon, picking up the tv remote and clicked it on. He flipped through several channels and sighed, clicking the TV off. I took a seat in the computer chair and leaned back. Obviously we were gonna be there for a while so I decided to ask Oz some questions.
" So what were the turf wars?" I asked him.
" Wars over River City territory." He replied, pulling out his revolver and letting it hang limply in his hand. " Zaibatsu, the Yakuza and R.H. Grant's crew fought over The East and West sides of River City. Of course Gohlke and I were signed up to the Crew as Metalmen, same with a lot of our other friends. Which a lot of them died except for Couri and a few others, who moved to Liberty City, Couri I think lives out in the suburbs or the mission district. I don't remember anymore. Eventually The Yakuza were driven from town, and Grant's crew took roost in The East side while Zaibatsu took West Heights. This all happened about 3-4 years ago, its really blurry now."
" What about the Russians?"
" They moved in The East side, but made a deal with Grant's crew over business." He replied. He swung open the cylinder on his revolver and emptied the used shells on the floor. He reloaded the gun and snapped the cylinder shut, laying the gun on the couch beside him. " I don't think I can live with myself anymore Michael."
" How so?" I asked.
" Being a gun dealer rakes in good dough but." He began. " It starts to take its toll. Like last week, I sold a Mac 10 to some street thug working for Grant right? Well turns out this 15-year old kid got killed in the cross fire of a drive by, by the very same gun I sold."
" Wow."
" I mean sure, it makes good money. But Mike this kid didn't even have his license yet. And he had a scholarship to Harvard for Christ sake. He was in no gang, he didn't deserve to die." Oz said, his face buried in his hands.
" Man, that sucks." I replied scratching the back of my neck. I never knew what to say in conversations like these.
" When's the first time you killed someone Fido?" He asked me, this time I paid on mind to the Fido part.
" When I was about 19." I replied. " I had a scholarship to Liberty University, yet I was a big time coke addict. My grades started slipping and I dropped out of school. I had no money, no job and I was desperate for the stuff. And one night, I took a utility razor and killed a dope dealer from Portland, I slit his throat and left him dead in the streets. Took his cash and what ever stuff he had, which was enough coke for one measly hit. So I took a snort and passed out in an alley somewhere in Trenton. A girl named Rachel found me, got me in rehab and off the stuff."
" What ever happened to Rachel?" He asked me, red eyed.
" She was killed by dope pushers." I replied. " Same guys who were friends with that doper I killed. I liked Rachel too, she liked actually cared where my life was going. And now I just realized I never told anyone that before."
" So is that why you turned to a life of crime?" Oz asked me. " So you could find the guys who killed Rachel, and make 'em pay?"
" No, but I did avenge Rachel." I replied. " I got into this life, well because I fell for someone else. Who broke my heart again with a cold .45 slug."
" Catalina right?" Oz asked snapping his fingers. I nodded.
" Yeah how'd you know?" I asked him.
" Read about it in the papers." He replied. " They called you the butcher of Liberty City, after that incident On Cochran dam."
" Guess I'm one step ahead of Uncle Tommy." I replied. " They used to call him the Harwood butcher."
That same day, a man in a black trench coat walked into the West Heights Ammu-nation, opposite the L-train platform. His forehead was bleeding mildly, and there was a blood soaked rag tied around his hand. He had jet- black hair, cut to about shoulder length, and spoke in an Scottish accent. He approached the owner of the store, slapping a fat wad of bills on the counter he said:
" I'd like to buy a gun." He spoke. " Large caliber and destructive."
The owner with glee spun and around and pulled a short barreled street sweeper from off a hook on the wall. The trench coated man picked up the weapon and looked it over.
" I'll take it." He said. " But how much for the PCJ-600 outside?"
" It's not for sale." The owner stated simply.
With no mercy the stranger pulled a Sig Sauer from his coat, and emptied 3 rounds into shops owner's face.
TO BE CONTINUED