Chapter 4: Soldier On
Jake got off the bus in Inepril, his guns clearly visible under his open trench coat, puffing idly on a cigarette and scanning the area over the top of his shades. His eyes were bloodshot, the sunglasses hiding the huge, sleep-deprived bags under them. The town looked astoundingly average, rows of sand-beaten buildings lining the dusty streets. People milled about, going about their day, oblivious to the perpetual danger they were in. Or perhaps they were aware of the danger, and they simply didnt care. A few shady characters shifted around, but few dared to try anything in the broad daylight; the constant danger could suddenly triple itself should anyone catch them.
Hoping to drown his troubles, Jake lethargically staggered into the nearest bar, his mind still replaying the events of the previous day. He saw flashes of the shootout; the barmaid falling in slow motion, inches beyond his reach. The scene replayed over and over in Jake's mind, driving him mad. The idea of entering a bar again troubled Jake, but the thought of downing a dozen shots of whiskey eased his mind. He hadnt slept the night before; there was no way he could bear the dead waitress showing up in his nightmares.
Jake pushed open the double swinging saloon doors and took two steps through before he noticed the situation inside. Removing his sunglasses and putting them in his coat pocket, Krieg surveyed the bar. With a sigh, he let out a weary "God dammit."
The bar was in the middle of a hostage situation, all ten of the patrons lined up against the back wall and tied up while four men covered them with shotguns. As Krieg looked at the men, two of them spun around, cocking their shotguns and aiming them at him.
Krieg looked idly at the men, picking some lint off of his shoulder. "You don't know me, do you?" he asked casually, "I mean, you have no idea what's going to happen if you dont put those down."
"Oh, I got an inkling," said a particularly cocky criminal, lining up his shot.
Krieg chuckled. "Liar. Ever hear of Vash the Stampede?"
All four men visibly faltered, and the hostages' eyes went wide. Krieg chuckled again, a low, mocking chortle.
"You're Vash the Stampede!?" the cocky creep said incredulously.
"Pfff! No, you dipshit. Vash is a pussy. I had him pissed at me in the last town; I don't got a scratch on me." Krieg tilted his head to the side, eliciting a crunch from his neck, "No, my name's Jake Krieg. Drop the guns, or I drop you."
"What about all the blood on your coat?"
"You think that's my blood? Hell no."
One man started to lower his shotgun, but was immediately punished for it. The cocky man, now obviously the leader, bashed his subordinate in the face with the butt of his gun, shouting, "Pick that sumbitchin shotgun back up, you weakass prick! He's bullshittin', tryin to scare us!"
"He's gone."
"WHAT?" the boss turned back to Krieg, who was no longer there. Grabbing one of his cronies, the leader yelled, "Where the fuck did he go? What did you say?"
"I believe," Krieg said, holding one of the criminals in a choke hold with a gun to his head, "he said 'gack,' but I could be wrong. Drop em."
"Hah! Kill the shit, see what I care. More money for me.
"Wow, you guys are close," Krieg said sarcastically, pressing the muzzle of his Desert Eagle against his hostage's head.
The boss rolled his eyes, "Oh, for fuck's sake, I'll do it myself." He fired on his own man, knocking both the former criminal and Krieg to the floor.
Krieg was pinned under the quite literally dead weight of the man with the shotgun wound as the thug leader jacked the pump on his shotgun, taking aim again. Without warning, the body was rolled off of Krieg, revealing the gleaming pistols in his hands. The boss's eyes went wide as Jake fired a single shot.
The bullet tore through the leader's heart, exploding through his back in a large burst of red liquid. Shock registered on the man's face as he dropped backward, dead before he hit the floor. Not missing a beat, Krieg had one of his pistols aimed squarely at each of the remaining targets' heads in less than a second.
"One last time," he said from his spot on the floor, rage in his exhausted eyes, "Drop your guns. Please."
They did as they were told, kicking the weapons over to Krieg.
"Good boys," Krieg said, standing, "Now get to work untying these people."
Krieg kept a gun on each of the men as they untied the hostages, his weary eyes drifting shut time and again. He tried to stay alert, but his unsteady wobbling continued, his adrenaline rush worn off. "Ok..." he said, "you guys can take it from here. I'll just take one of their guns."
Krieg picked up the shotguns at his feet in turn, jacking the pumps on them repeatedly. Gathering up the shells, he picked which gun he wanted to keep, slung it over his shoulder, and walked toward the door.
"Jacob Krieg!" blared a megaphone outside, "This is the police! We know you're in there! Release your hostages, lay down your weapons, and come out, with your hands above your head!"
Jake staggered to the window, leaning up against the wall next to it. Peeking outside, he saw dozens of armed officers, all aiming at the front door of the bar. "Oh, bloody hell," he said, leaning back on the wall. He pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes and trying to think.
"Mister Krieg?" one of the released workers said tentatively, timidly approaching.
Jake looked up at the woman, taking his hand off of his face.
"Uhh, I was just thinking, you know, since you helped us out... There... There's a ladder to the roof in the back room."
Jake walked up to the woman and put his hand on her cheek. "Thanks a lot. Can I ask all of you for one other favor?"
The general consensus was affirmative.
"Great, thanks. While I go up the ladder, I need you all to run out screaming; distract the cops while I get away."
Jake went to the stockroom door, "Ok, ready everybody?" Jake smiled at the shy waitress, "Hey, for the record, I'm actually a nice guy. Catch you later." As Jake disappeared into the back, he shouted,
"GO!"
Everyone but the crooks ran out the front door in a chaotic mass, screaming hysterically as a lone, trench coated figure made the leap to a neighboring rooftop unnoticed.
Jake got off the bus in Inepril, his guns clearly visible under his open trench coat, puffing idly on a cigarette and scanning the area over the top of his shades. His eyes were bloodshot, the sunglasses hiding the huge, sleep-deprived bags under them. The town looked astoundingly average, rows of sand-beaten buildings lining the dusty streets. People milled about, going about their day, oblivious to the perpetual danger they were in. Or perhaps they were aware of the danger, and they simply didnt care. A few shady characters shifted around, but few dared to try anything in the broad daylight; the constant danger could suddenly triple itself should anyone catch them.
Hoping to drown his troubles, Jake lethargically staggered into the nearest bar, his mind still replaying the events of the previous day. He saw flashes of the shootout; the barmaid falling in slow motion, inches beyond his reach. The scene replayed over and over in Jake's mind, driving him mad. The idea of entering a bar again troubled Jake, but the thought of downing a dozen shots of whiskey eased his mind. He hadnt slept the night before; there was no way he could bear the dead waitress showing up in his nightmares.
Jake pushed open the double swinging saloon doors and took two steps through before he noticed the situation inside. Removing his sunglasses and putting them in his coat pocket, Krieg surveyed the bar. With a sigh, he let out a weary "God dammit."
The bar was in the middle of a hostage situation, all ten of the patrons lined up against the back wall and tied up while four men covered them with shotguns. As Krieg looked at the men, two of them spun around, cocking their shotguns and aiming them at him.
Krieg looked idly at the men, picking some lint off of his shoulder. "You don't know me, do you?" he asked casually, "I mean, you have no idea what's going to happen if you dont put those down."
"Oh, I got an inkling," said a particularly cocky criminal, lining up his shot.
Krieg chuckled. "Liar. Ever hear of Vash the Stampede?"
All four men visibly faltered, and the hostages' eyes went wide. Krieg chuckled again, a low, mocking chortle.
"You're Vash the Stampede!?" the cocky creep said incredulously.
"Pfff! No, you dipshit. Vash is a pussy. I had him pissed at me in the last town; I don't got a scratch on me." Krieg tilted his head to the side, eliciting a crunch from his neck, "No, my name's Jake Krieg. Drop the guns, or I drop you."
"What about all the blood on your coat?"
"You think that's my blood? Hell no."
One man started to lower his shotgun, but was immediately punished for it. The cocky man, now obviously the leader, bashed his subordinate in the face with the butt of his gun, shouting, "Pick that sumbitchin shotgun back up, you weakass prick! He's bullshittin', tryin to scare us!"
"He's gone."
"WHAT?" the boss turned back to Krieg, who was no longer there. Grabbing one of his cronies, the leader yelled, "Where the fuck did he go? What did you say?"
"I believe," Krieg said, holding one of the criminals in a choke hold with a gun to his head, "he said 'gack,' but I could be wrong. Drop em."
"Hah! Kill the shit, see what I care. More money for me.
"Wow, you guys are close," Krieg said sarcastically, pressing the muzzle of his Desert Eagle against his hostage's head.
The boss rolled his eyes, "Oh, for fuck's sake, I'll do it myself." He fired on his own man, knocking both the former criminal and Krieg to the floor.
Krieg was pinned under the quite literally dead weight of the man with the shotgun wound as the thug leader jacked the pump on his shotgun, taking aim again. Without warning, the body was rolled off of Krieg, revealing the gleaming pistols in his hands. The boss's eyes went wide as Jake fired a single shot.
The bullet tore through the leader's heart, exploding through his back in a large burst of red liquid. Shock registered on the man's face as he dropped backward, dead before he hit the floor. Not missing a beat, Krieg had one of his pistols aimed squarely at each of the remaining targets' heads in less than a second.
"One last time," he said from his spot on the floor, rage in his exhausted eyes, "Drop your guns. Please."
They did as they were told, kicking the weapons over to Krieg.
"Good boys," Krieg said, standing, "Now get to work untying these people."
Krieg kept a gun on each of the men as they untied the hostages, his weary eyes drifting shut time and again. He tried to stay alert, but his unsteady wobbling continued, his adrenaline rush worn off. "Ok..." he said, "you guys can take it from here. I'll just take one of their guns."
Krieg picked up the shotguns at his feet in turn, jacking the pumps on them repeatedly. Gathering up the shells, he picked which gun he wanted to keep, slung it over his shoulder, and walked toward the door.
"Jacob Krieg!" blared a megaphone outside, "This is the police! We know you're in there! Release your hostages, lay down your weapons, and come out, with your hands above your head!"
Jake staggered to the window, leaning up against the wall next to it. Peeking outside, he saw dozens of armed officers, all aiming at the front door of the bar. "Oh, bloody hell," he said, leaning back on the wall. He pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes and trying to think.
"Mister Krieg?" one of the released workers said tentatively, timidly approaching.
Jake looked up at the woman, taking his hand off of his face.
"Uhh, I was just thinking, you know, since you helped us out... There... There's a ladder to the roof in the back room."
Jake walked up to the woman and put his hand on her cheek. "Thanks a lot. Can I ask all of you for one other favor?"
The general consensus was affirmative.
"Great, thanks. While I go up the ladder, I need you all to run out screaming; distract the cops while I get away."
Jake went to the stockroom door, "Ok, ready everybody?" Jake smiled at the shy waitress, "Hey, for the record, I'm actually a nice guy. Catch you later." As Jake disappeared into the back, he shouted,
"GO!"
Everyone but the crooks ran out the front door in a chaotic mass, screaming hysterically as a lone, trench coated figure made the leap to a neighboring rooftop unnoticed.