"Okay, here's the deal," begins my new employer, "Business aint as booming as it used to be. Maybe it's just me but the country seems to be a whole lot less homicidal than when I was a kid." He is about to start one of his set-in-his-ways reminiscent tales, but I interrupt.
"I hear Ammunation is branching off into explosives, think they'll be a threat?"
Just then a molotov breaks through the window, setting the place alight. Gator reaches for a fire-extinguisher while I look outside, to see a van with "Ammunation, leading the fight against communism" tattooed on the side.
After putting out the flames, Gator gathers up the destroyed stock. I notice the glint in his eye.
"Of course, this means war." he grins.
I notice that I am grinning also. "What do you have in mind?"
Without looking at me, he looks behind the counter and produces a stick of dynamite. "One of these babies, and the place'll go up like a fireworks factory."
"You sure?"
"Trust me, you don't work with explosive chemicals all your life without learning a thing or two."
"I'll go, I guess."
"But I'll come along." he insists.
"Shouldn't you stay and guard the shop? In case something happens again?"
He holds a brief look of disappointment. "I guess." he sighs.
I leave the shop and get into a Cheetah and follow Gator's extremely vague directions to the Ammunation factory. I conceal my weapons and search the exterior of the building for a less obvious entrance. I settle for the basement doors, a well camouflaged staircase in the ground at the back of the building. This room looks like it stretches across the entire building, with bombs, and rocket launchers and. . . fireworks. I plant the dynamite, which Gator provided a handheld detonator for and walk toward the exit. I hear footsteps, and whispering voices.
"There's someone down there alright. Think we should call the boss?"
"Yeah, it'd be best I guess."
I crawl towards the stairs and look up. The guys look like security guards. One of them is on his cell phone.
"Yeah, it could be trouble. I reckon you should get down here right away, Phil."
He hangs up the phone and switches on a flash light.
"Search the place." he says. I see the shadows of men walking slowly down the stairs. I look around for a door and sprint towards it, detonator in hand. I climb the stairs behind the door to the ground level and walk around looking for a way out. People appear to be panicking. They don't even notice me. I step outside as a green Patriot truck screeches in front of me. Out steps a man, dressed in green overalls, with blonde, crew cut hair. He has one arm. He aims an AK-47 at me and I hold up the detonator.
"You wouldn't." I jest. "I got this place wired to blow. Take another step and I press the button. Wanna take yer chances?"
He pauses for a moment. "Do you have any idea who I am? "
I remain unshaken.
"Phil Cassidy ring any bells, punk?"
I feel a chill down my spine "Th. . . the Phil Cassidy?"
"That's right."
"Well. . . do you have any idea who I am? How about the guy who single-handedly destroyed Salvatore Leone and his casino?"
"That was you? Hmm. . . maybe we can come to some sort of arrangement. Who you workin' for?"
"A guy named Gator. We're sort of business partners."
"You mean the guy who owns the pet shop? What does he have against my firm?"
"Well. . .apart from rival competition, your company threw a molotov cocktail through our doors earlier today."
He appears to overlook this. "I see a company merge is in order. You and your friend wanna move into this building with me? I can supply ya with stuff you could only dream of, and make you all rich. RICH!" he shouts.
There is a rustling in the bushes, and a voice whispers, "Say yes. Please say yes!"
"I thought you were watching the store." I half whisper, half shout.
"I got bored!"
"Um. . ."I say, turning back to Phil, "He says yeah."
"Fantastic! You guys go pack up your stuff and I'll send someone round to collect it. And if ya wouldn't mind disarming the bomb. . ."
"Well, my work is done, I guess." I say dejectedly. I was sort of hoping my story wouldn't end so soon.
"You can come run Ammunation with us," says Gator.
"Well, maybe. But I think I'll take a few days off, if that's cool?"
"Whatever. Just show up when ya feel like it."
After helping Gator clean up, I head to my house across the city for some sleep.
I have a message on my answering machine. The tape crackles a bit and the voice yells, "Hey you ugly sad sack of dog vomit! You think you can just run away? Huh? You think I'd never find you? I can do anything. I have connections all over the world. You can't escape me. So you worked for the mafia, that's strike one. Then you fled the country, that's strike two. And now I hear you teamed up with that 'Nam veteran scumbag Cassidy! You know what the penalty is for strike three? DEATH! Showdown. Tomorrow, at the Ammunation factory. I suggest you bring back up, as I certainly will. End Transmission."
Despite the graveness of the situation, I can't help but laugh at how he ended the message with "end transmission".
Sighing heavily, I get back in my car and drive to Ammunation.
I call an informal meeting for Gator and Phil to ask for their help.
"So he'll be here tomorrow and I really need you guys for back-up." I plead.
"Why don't we just plant a bomb and detonate it when he arrives?" suggests Gator.
"THIS PLACE IS MY LIFE ASSHOLE! YOU AINT GONNA BLOW IT UP, GOT IT!" screams Phil.
Gator simply nods, white with fear.
Phil sits back down. "How are you guys at shooting?"
"I'm okay, but I need a little practice" Gator says.
"I'm pretty inexperienced." I admit.
"Okay, we're headin' to the shootin' range to turn you guys into cold blooded killers."
We spend the day in the range, capping cardboard cut-outs of famous felons of history, such as Lance Vance, El Burro, and 8-ball, a man idolised by Gator, while enduring Phil's "criticism".
"YOU IDIOTS! DON'T JUST LET THE WOMEN AND CHILDREN PASS BY!"
"YOU IDIOTS! IF THIS HAD BEEN REAL YOU WOULD HAVE BEEN DEAD!"
"YOU IDIOTS! I DON'T SEE ANY HEADSHOTS!"
Afterwards we return to the business and discuss tactics. It's gonna be a long day tomorrow.