"Action Packed McReary"
Packie licked his dried, cracked lips and tasted blood.
Shit, he was getting careless.
He ejected the magazine from his pistol and inserted ammo from his pocket. These were the last of his bullets until he could make a trip to nearest arms dealer. If he made it out of this situation alive, that trip would have to be ASAP.
A bullet bounced off the brick wall just an inch above his head.
He reinserted the magazine until he heard a click. He silently counted to three before he lunged out from behind the dumpster and started firing. Luck was on Packie's side as he managed to catch the guy trying to load his own weapon, a sub-machine gun. Well placed shots slammed into the stomach, chest, and throat. One last bullet sailed through the man's forehead and the impact splattered blood and brain matter against the wall behind him.
The gun clattered noisily to the ground and the body soon followed. Packie made sure the guy was dead before he hurried over and robbed him of any currency he might have. He was quickly disappointed and infuriated.
"Ten bucks? You attacked me, chased me all the way out here, made me go and shoot your ass, and for what? Ten fucking dollars?"
Packie gave the corpse a swift kick to the head before he jogged over to his previous hiding spot behind the dumpster. He snatched up a grocery bag and slipped out of the alleyway. He quickened his pace as he maneuvered his way down a couple of blocks just as police sirens wailed in the background. He pushed passed pedestrians and jaywalked across a busy intersection, earning him a number of angry gestures and honking horns. By the time he reached his mother's four door puke-green colored Sedan, he was drenched in sweat. The side of his face was sticky with blood but he hastily rubbed it off with the back of his hand.
"Patrick McReary, what in the world took you so long?" Maureen asked as Packie noisily slid into the passenger seat and slammed the door shut. "Was the store out of milk? Did you get the correct amount of change this time?"
"No, Ma, I got your damn milk and yeah, the change is in me back pockets. Here."
He showed Maureen the bag with the milk which she scrutinized. She reached into the bag and scowled.
"Patrick, the carton is warm. Go back to the store and get me another carton of milk. Cold this time."
Packie groaned. That was where he ran into trouble the first time around!
"Ma, we ain't going back," he said, aggravated. "We're going home."
"What in the world makes you think I'm going to go home without milk? We need milk!"
"There's a new episode of 'A History of Liberty City' airing in fifteen minutes."
Maureen gasped in delight, the milk instantly forgotten as she turned on the car's ignition. "Ohhh, that's right! My heavens, how I do enjoy my Public Broadcasting Corporation."
Packie sank back in his seat and dropped the bag on the floor between his feet as his mother drove them out of the grocery's store parking lot. From the speedy pace of the shoot out to his mother's sluggish driving, Packie was developing a headache.
It only intensified when Maureen exclaimed, "Is that BLOOD I see on the bag?"