The van eventually parked itself on the curb just around the corner of Café Robina. The dank stench of Cubanocity fluttered itself about through the air. Catalina subtly covered her face a bit with her hand and face, to prevent an early exposure to the Cubans. One block away, in the parking lot of a decrepit old donut shop, a gleaming pink Virgo's engine stopped, and it's driver solidly held a .38 snub nose revolver in his left hand.
Catalina was seconds from getting out of the car and storming the restaurant, when Kevin grabbed her by the wrist, holding her.
"Don't go in the front door,"
Catalina looked and glimpsed groups of heavily armed men sitting across from the main door. She grinned, and looked over at Kevin. He pointed over to a side alley.
"There's a side door."
Kevin, Catalina, and the two other hired men who came to be known as Jeff and Steve, both carefully navigated their way across the sidewalk, and found themselves at the entrance to the alley. The street was empty, four people with guns could do that to pedestrians. Across from them, at the end of the street, a man dressed in a cordouroy sky blue jacket and pastel slacks followed. His hairy chest stuck itself out from his shirt. He deftly and poorly hid his pistol inside his pocket, and briskly followed after the four up ahead.
Kevin peeked into the alley, to check the pathway. No one stood, and it was a straightshot to the service entrance. Without warning, he heard the sound of a gun's hammer being pulled back. He stuck his head out from the alley, and saw a badly dressed man with four pints of spray in his back pocket and an apparent emergency bottle in his breast pocket. His hair was horrendous, a foor foot tall mullet peaked up into the sky, and you could break an egg on it, it was so rigid with hair treatment. He held his gun to Catalina's head, and ushered Kevin to put both hands out.
This all occured quietly; the occupants of the café heard nothing.
"Awright, put tha guns down, brightly." The man with a thick British accent said.
"How the hell do I put a gun down 'brightly?'" Kevin snapped.
"Just put 'de thing down!"
Kevin smirked, placed his .45 down on the pavement, and gave permission to the others to follow.
"Ya know tha's quite a price on ya head, mate." He said.
"Who are you?"
"The name's Paul, I'm from Kent in England." He suddenly turned dark and serious. Me friends call me Kent Paul, but you're not my friend."
Without any hesitation, his aftershave soaked face reached over and kissed Catalina on the cheek. She swiftly kneed him appropiately, but her knee only hit a steel protective placement.
"I think ahead, baby."
"So who hired you?" Kevin quipped.
"Well I got some major connections in the music business, I'm a big-time playa."
Kevin and the others stood, waiting.
"Awrght, it was Lazlow, the DJ, but you'd be surprised how big a playa he is! Now, if you'd be a hon and head into my mobile, we'll go somewhere quieter."
"Lazlow sent you?"
"Yep, licence to kill and all." Kent Paul giggled.
"Why? I don't even know the guy."
"Well, it seems you spottled his plans up a bit, so he's sent out fixer – me."
Kent Paul leaned over once more and sucked on Catalina's nose strongly. This was his best chance, and Kevin took it.
He first reached over and grabbed his moist hand and snapped it against his own knee. Paul shouted out in pain, and fired his revolver in frustration. The men in the café were alerted to their presence, and quickly took up arms. Kevin grabbed the Brit by the hair, stabbing his fingers on his follicles. In one swift movement, he thrusted Kent Paul and he was thrown headfirst directly into through the front door of the café.
"Who the hell is this??" A thick Spanish voice said.
"Hey, Umberto, it's a British guy!"
"Hey, boys. Let's not get dainty!" Kent Paul pleaded.
The restaurant was suddenly filled with huge flashes of light, seemingly thousands of gunshots were blasted, and the sounds of screaming filled the air. Kevin shouted over to Catalina.
"Come on, this is our chance."
They picked their weapons back up, and headed to the entrance. Jeff and Steve bravely stormed the front entrance, as Cat and Kevin went in through the side. Fifteen Cubans were inside the café, and they were surrounded on both sides. Kent Paul's bullet riddled body lie quiet on the blood stained floor.
Across from them, a large burly man with a sweat-stained white T-shirt holding a Uzi 9mm looked menacingly towards them.
"Kill 'dem!"
He quickly grabbed three briefcases that lie on the table and ran for the exit. Kevin managed to send a bullet into his shin, but had to retreat behind a table to avoid the bullets. Jeff was quickly mowed down, a Cuban's MP5 had sent a swarm of hot lead bashing his head apart. Steve shot a few, but found his fate screaming at the end of a bullet piercing his skull. Catalina stood from the protection, and blasted away with her Desert Eagle. Three human being's lives end in an instant when her bullets of death came shattering into their bodies.
Kevin took a Glock off from a corpse beside him, and got himself ready. A few moments later, he pulled a Chow-Yun Fat, he leapt out from behind the table, blasted away with his .45 and Glock. He soared through the air like a graceful birds, dodging bullets like raindrops. He sent four men screaming to hell embedded in lead, and managed to hit no more. He eventually landed on his side behind another table and reloaded. Catalina continued firing, and killed two more.
Across from where Kevin sat, an unbenowst Cuban's leg stood. He smiled, and fired away at the shin. Moments later, the whole body fell, and the poor man's screams were deafened by the blasting gun. He reached over took the dead man's MP5 and stood up.
He daringly ran straight across the open aisle of the café, and jumped into the air. He fired the MP5 and Colt .45 simeaultaneously the entire time. He crashed into the rack of spices against the wall, and took cover behind a toppled counter. Across the way, Catalina threw a sleek knife through the air, and caught a Cuban in the ear. Kevin poked his head up, and realized everyone was dead.
Catalina was seconds from getting out of the car and storming the restaurant, when Kevin grabbed her by the wrist, holding her.
"Don't go in the front door,"
Catalina looked and glimpsed groups of heavily armed men sitting across from the main door. She grinned, and looked over at Kevin. He pointed over to a side alley.
"There's a side door."
Kevin, Catalina, and the two other hired men who came to be known as Jeff and Steve, both carefully navigated their way across the sidewalk, and found themselves at the entrance to the alley. The street was empty, four people with guns could do that to pedestrians. Across from them, at the end of the street, a man dressed in a cordouroy sky blue jacket and pastel slacks followed. His hairy chest stuck itself out from his shirt. He deftly and poorly hid his pistol inside his pocket, and briskly followed after the four up ahead.
Kevin peeked into the alley, to check the pathway. No one stood, and it was a straightshot to the service entrance. Without warning, he heard the sound of a gun's hammer being pulled back. He stuck his head out from the alley, and saw a badly dressed man with four pints of spray in his back pocket and an apparent emergency bottle in his breast pocket. His hair was horrendous, a foor foot tall mullet peaked up into the sky, and you could break an egg on it, it was so rigid with hair treatment. He held his gun to Catalina's head, and ushered Kevin to put both hands out.
This all occured quietly; the occupants of the café heard nothing.
"Awright, put tha guns down, brightly." The man with a thick British accent said.
"How the hell do I put a gun down 'brightly?'" Kevin snapped.
"Just put 'de thing down!"
Kevin smirked, placed his .45 down on the pavement, and gave permission to the others to follow.
"Ya know tha's quite a price on ya head, mate." He said.
"Who are you?"
"The name's Paul, I'm from Kent in England." He suddenly turned dark and serious. Me friends call me Kent Paul, but you're not my friend."
Without any hesitation, his aftershave soaked face reached over and kissed Catalina on the cheek. She swiftly kneed him appropiately, but her knee only hit a steel protective placement.
"I think ahead, baby."
"So who hired you?" Kevin quipped.
"Well I got some major connections in the music business, I'm a big-time playa."
Kevin and the others stood, waiting.
"Awrght, it was Lazlow, the DJ, but you'd be surprised how big a playa he is! Now, if you'd be a hon and head into my mobile, we'll go somewhere quieter."
"Lazlow sent you?"
"Yep, licence to kill and all." Kent Paul giggled.
"Why? I don't even know the guy."
"Well, it seems you spottled his plans up a bit, so he's sent out fixer – me."
Kent Paul leaned over once more and sucked on Catalina's nose strongly. This was his best chance, and Kevin took it.
He first reached over and grabbed his moist hand and snapped it against his own knee. Paul shouted out in pain, and fired his revolver in frustration. The men in the café were alerted to their presence, and quickly took up arms. Kevin grabbed the Brit by the hair, stabbing his fingers on his follicles. In one swift movement, he thrusted Kent Paul and he was thrown headfirst directly into through the front door of the café.
"Who the hell is this??" A thick Spanish voice said.
"Hey, Umberto, it's a British guy!"
"Hey, boys. Let's not get dainty!" Kent Paul pleaded.
The restaurant was suddenly filled with huge flashes of light, seemingly thousands of gunshots were blasted, and the sounds of screaming filled the air. Kevin shouted over to Catalina.
"Come on, this is our chance."
They picked their weapons back up, and headed to the entrance. Jeff and Steve bravely stormed the front entrance, as Cat and Kevin went in through the side. Fifteen Cubans were inside the café, and they were surrounded on both sides. Kent Paul's bullet riddled body lie quiet on the blood stained floor.
Across from them, a large burly man with a sweat-stained white T-shirt holding a Uzi 9mm looked menacingly towards them.
"Kill 'dem!"
He quickly grabbed three briefcases that lie on the table and ran for the exit. Kevin managed to send a bullet into his shin, but had to retreat behind a table to avoid the bullets. Jeff was quickly mowed down, a Cuban's MP5 had sent a swarm of hot lead bashing his head apart. Steve shot a few, but found his fate screaming at the end of a bullet piercing his skull. Catalina stood from the protection, and blasted away with her Desert Eagle. Three human being's lives end in an instant when her bullets of death came shattering into their bodies.
Kevin took a Glock off from a corpse beside him, and got himself ready. A few moments later, he pulled a Chow-Yun Fat, he leapt out from behind the table, blasted away with his .45 and Glock. He soared through the air like a graceful birds, dodging bullets like raindrops. He sent four men screaming to hell embedded in lead, and managed to hit no more. He eventually landed on his side behind another table and reloaded. Catalina continued firing, and killed two more.
Across from where Kevin sat, an unbenowst Cuban's leg stood. He smiled, and fired away at the shin. Moments later, the whole body fell, and the poor man's screams were deafened by the blasting gun. He reached over took the dead man's MP5 and stood up.
He daringly ran straight across the open aisle of the café, and jumped into the air. He fired the MP5 and Colt .45 simeaultaneously the entire time. He crashed into the rack of spices against the wall, and took cover behind a toppled counter. Across the way, Catalina threw a sleek knife through the air, and caught a Cuban in the ear. Kevin poked his head up, and realized everyone was dead.