Chapter 12: Pressing Matters
Taking a deep breath, Iceman launched the cue ball forth and sunk the 8 ball into the corner pocket, winning the game.
"You see Cappelli, that's how you do it!" the victorious gun runner chuckled while taking some chalk and evened out the tip of his pool cue.
"Fuckin' A," Artie grunted, wanting to smash his stick against the pool table. This was the third game in a row he had lost and with it the tab he would have to pay doubled.
It had been a little over two hours since he agreed to tag along with Iceman following their successful seizure of the shipment of sports cars and already he was wondering if it had been a good idea, given Iceman's billiard expertise, then again the amount of alcohol he had already ingested didn't help his case much either.
"Face it Artie, you can't beat me. Admit it," the gun dealer scoffed turning his attention towards the large wall-mounted plasma screen TV to his right, currently playing a Rushmore City Statesmen game against the Liberty City Swingers, unable to hear the audio due to Bad Company's "Feel Like Makin' Love" pumping in over the bar's sound system.
"Oh I will eventually and I'm not leaving until I finally whoop your ass," Artie shot back before taking another swig of his beer, "Bring it on!"
Iceman only sighed and rolled his eyes, "Guess we're gonna be here all night," and then he whistled over to the woman bartender, "Hey Josie, another round please!"
"Coming right up," Josie shouted back.
"Guess the old 'Cappelli pride' is kicking into overdrive again, huh?" Iceman snickered.
"You don't even know the half of it," Artie replied rolling his own eyes this time, "I swear sometimes it's more of a curse than a blessing."
"If my older brother had your family's balls he probably wouldn't be stuck in his dead end job right now with that nagging bitch wife of his and those two bawling demonic shit machines they call 'kids,' has no sense for the real life like his baby brother does," Iceman laughed.
"You're just a regular daredevil, aren't you?" Artie chuckled as he reached into the table's slot for the rack and gathered the balls. He was in the process of organizing them when his phone suddenly rang.
"Goddamn it, what now?" the Italian-American grumbled as he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone to see Gino was calling him. "You're gonna have to hold up for a bit, Gino's calling me. I wonder if that desolate 'creature' out back must've asked him to marry her," he shuddered before switching his phone on.
"Artie, thank god you picked up!" Gino screamed from the other end.
Artie looked towards Iceman dumbfounded before replying, "Gino, what the hell's going on now?"
The shatter of glass and the rattle of automatic fire cut in, followed by the boom of a shotgun, forcing him to take the phone away from his ear.
"It's the Redcoats! They've come to burn the place down!" Gino hollered back.
"Why? What for? What the hell did you do now?" Artie shouted into the receiver, causing Iceman, Josie and the six other patrons to stare at him.
"They came demanding their monthly tribute," Gino shouted over another shatter of glass, "but I told them I was through paying them. I figured now that you're here why the hell should I have to let them keep pushing me around like this? Next thing you know, they're shooting us up!"
"Just another real sound judgment call on your behalf, Boss!" Zeke shouted from the background.
"Yeah, real sound judgment call Gino," Artie thought with a shrug.
"Please, just get over here and help us out! We can't hold them off much longer!" Gino pleaded, sounding like he was about to burst into tears.
Artie grunted loudly and kicked a barstool over, "Fine, we'll be there! Just hang tight!" he said before switching his phone off.
"More family troubles, huh?" Iceman asked before taking a swig from his fresh beer.
"Gino's in trouble. The Redcoats have shown up and are threatening to burn the bar down," Artie replied, "We have to get over there as soon as possible!"
"Right behind you," Iceman shouted before gulping down the rest of his beer and allowing the bottle to fall to the tiled floor below.
Rushing out into the parking lot they made their way over to Iceman's Patriot before the gun runner called out, "Wait a minute, we'd better stock up first!" Pulling out the keys he made his way to the back tailgate and opened it to reveal his cache that would make any gun nut blush.
Artie hurriedly sifted through the weapons and ammo, grabbing more for his Desert Eagle and MP5A3, as well as grabbing a Colt M4 carbine with an M203 40mm grenade launcher attached, as well as slipping on a fresh bulletproof vest.
Once Iceman was stocked up the duo hopped in and made their way over to the besieged bar.
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Gino Cappelli winced as more glass shards rained down upon him from glasses and beer bottles that had been left on the counter. By now this had to officially be the most frightened he had ever been in his entire life.
"You can't hide forever Cappelli! We'll smoke your ass out and hang you from the nearest streetlight by your wrinkled old balls!" one of the Redcoats shouted, followed by another barrage of automatic fire filtering through the shattered windows and chipping away at the poster-covered walls.
"Hate to say I told you so, but I told you so," a youthful voice spat from behind him.
Gino rolled over on his back to see Zeke Jones crouched behind him, loading a handful of shells into his shotgun.
He had only seen the young bartender threaten unruly customers in the past with the aforementioned weapon, but he had never actually seen him use it in battle and found himself surprised at how well he handled himself under pressure, having managed to kill three Redcoat attackers and wound a fourth as they attempted to storm the small building. It was only because of him why they were still alive at this point.
"How are you holding up with that thing?" Gino asked looking towards the Remington.
"Not good, this is my last handful," he sighed shaking his head, "After this we're down to using anything around us, then we're pretty much fucked."
Gino stifled another whimper. Unlike Zeke or his cousin, he was no fighter and had already wet himself for the fourth time in this sitting, prompting his lone employee to crinkle his nose at the foul odor.
"Oh god…" he muttered pulling himself up behind the bar and peeking over the counter to see the pools of gasoline the Redcoats had managed to pour in after shattering the front windows, Zeke's timely intervention being the only thing which kept them from setting the place ablaze. The upper torso of an attacker lay slumped in the window frame, impaled upon a large glass shard. An MP5K lay beneath the man's outstretched hand, but was too far out of reach for the proprietor.
A red light suddenly blinded the older man and he could feel himself being yanked back to the floor, a gunshot ringing out and tearing through a cupboard behind him a second later.
"Looks like you let the infamous 'Cappelli pride' get the best of you again, didn't you?" Zeke snorted.
"Hey, you're the genius who's been trying to mount some kind of movement against these Redcoats behind my back, you oughta' be one to talk kid!" Gino retorted.
"Wait, just how the hell did you find out about that?" Zeke asked him, raising an eyebrow.
Gino said nothing and pointed to the thin, balding man in the soiled cream dress shirt behind them, his lips surrounded by a brownish liquid which also decorated his shirt.
"Pukin' Pete?" Zeke asked staring menacingly towards the disheveled alcoholic.
"When you practically live in that bathroom, ya' tend to learn a few things here and there…" the man trailed in a heavily-slurred tone.
"When we gonna fuck?" a crotchety tone suddenly cut in, prompting the three men to shudder as if they were listening to nails grating across a chalkboard.
The old prostitute from the back alley also hid behind the counter with them, making their skin crawl once they knew she was that close to them.
"Not now Freda, please be quiet," Gino asked, pinching his nose as the combined stenches of rotten milk, urine, moldy bread and any other substances covering her wafted over into his nostrils.
"But all this action is making me wet between the thighs!" she protested, making their stomachs churn.
"Do we really want to go there?" Zeke cut in, "Jesus fucking Christ woman, learn what a bar of soap is before you start propositioning anybody for sex around here!"
"And a dentist too," Gino added.
Aside from the four survivors, hidden behind the row of booths was an overweight college student with a rucksack strapped to his back with a camera phone in hand, recording the entire incident.
"Dude, this is so going on MeTube he giggled excitedly.
Outside the bar a small platoon of Redcoats gathered, using four Clovers to cordon off the area surrounding the establishment so no one else could get through. They also brought two of their Burrito vans along, each carrying a small group of henchmen.
They were determined to get back at Gino Cappelli for refusing to pay his monthly tribute and they were able to do so freely in broad daylight, knowing the locals would be too scared to call the cops on them.
"Get that gas ready. We're gonna turn this shithole into one huge bonfire," a Redcoat ordered.
"Should've brought some weenies and marshmallows while we were at it," another spoke up.
"What's that?" a third thug asked, his head perking up as he whirled around to see behind them.
Turning to their left, the Redcoats watched as a silver Patriot with dark blue icicle-like designs came charging towards them.
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"Alright, we've got those bastards dead in our sights!" Iceman shouted slamming the pedal to the floor and charging head on towards the makeshift barricade created by the Redcoat Clovers.
"What are you doing?" Artie asked his friend as the SUV picked up speed, not paying attention to the cars ahead of them.
"You'll see," the smuggler replied.
The Redcoats had taken notice and were opening fire, but thankfully for the duo inside Iceman's Patriot was bulletproofed. They continued forth with reckless abandon until the sturdy vehicle tore through the small opening between the muscle cars, knocking them sideways and crushing one of the red-clad thugs beneath it. With another loud crunch the SUV plowed through the other set of Clovers until it swerved to a halt at the opposite end of the street.
"Wow, that was a rush," Artie spoke.
"Never mind that, just help me kill these fuckers," Iceman shouted back as the bullets pinged off the vehicle's surface. Kicking his door open he took cover behind it and returned fire with his M4 carbine.
Not needing to be told twice, Artie leapt outside and was ready already firing upon the Redcoats with his M4, rattling one of the already banged up Clovers with several rounds before managing to strike one of the gang members.
"You fuckers are gonna die for sticking your nose in Redcoat business!" one of the gang members called out, popping up from behind one of the Clovers to fire a barrage at Artie, his bullets bouncing harmlessly off of the bulletproofed door the young man hid behind.
"Not today asshole," Artie whispered back popping out from behind the door and firing a barrage of his own that caught the thug in the upper arm, forcing him to drop his rifle. His enemy disabled, the hired gun took the opportunity to fire another burst that caught the man in the stomach and sent him slumping across the hood of the muscle car.
Wanting to continue the counteroffensive, Artie pumped the attached grenade launcher and fired a cylindrical object over the door, watching as several Redcoats began ducking for cover.
"Oh shit Artie, fucking warn me next time you do that!" Iceman hollered back as the grenade rolled underneath a parked Clover, forcing him to retreat behind a rusted dumpster for cover.
A loud explosion followed and within seconds, two of the Clovers were swallowed up into one large ball of flame, shattering windows and charring the exteriors of the surrounding shops. The Patriot was only knocked backward by the aftershock, escaping with most of its paint seared away by the wall of flame.
"You have any idea how much those kinds of custom paint jobs cost?" Iceman complained as he slapped a fresh clip into his M4.
"Whatever happened to 'never mind that, just help me kill these fuckers,' huh?" Artie called back, having taken cover behind an abandoned taxi.
Circling around the back of the taxi the hired gun took aim upon a Redcoat firing at Iceman, launching a round into the man's side and kneecap, dropping him to the ground howling in agony.
"That's what you get when you fuck with my family asshole!" Artie hollered before killing the man with a round to the head and then dropping another thug who attempted to aid his fallen friend. His rifle clicked empty and he was forced to duck behind the cab to reload.
"You can't kill all of us dickhead!" another Redcoat shouted, pulling out a Molotov cocktail and lighting the rag dipped inside, "And you damned sure can't save the worthless prick who owns this place!" he called out before making a suicide run towards the bar's exterior.
"Oh no you don't!" Artie shouted, forced to drop his rifle and pull out his Desert Eagle, firing three rounds into the man's side. The Redcoat fell face down to the blacktop and the beer bottle shattered in his hand as he connected, finding himself ignited by his own weapon.
"Shut up and die you motherfucker!" another thug shouted pulling out his own crude explosive and this time tossing it in Artie's direction.
"Oh shit," Artie blurted out as he noticed the projectile flying towards him, bolting for cover wherever he could as the deafening rattle of numerous rifles sounded from behind him and he found himself buckling over as he was struck by several rounds, which were thankfully stopped by his vest, yet were enough to knock the wind out of him. Out of desperation he dove towards another nearby dumpster and pulled himself behind it.
From behind the safety of his own dumpster, Iceman watched as the Redcoats still fired away at Artie and fired a salvo of hot lead towards the gang bangers, dropping several of them in a single torrent. Before his clip could run dry he pulled out a hand grenade of his own and chucked it towards them, again prompting them to scatter in all directions. The explosive landed beside one of the remaining Clovers and flipped the flaming husk of metal onto its side as it detonated, taking out the remaining muscle car along with it.
"You Redcoats talk a big fucking game, y'know that?" Iceman taunted before firing another barrage that caught a thug in the sternum, sending the man crumpling against The Little Black Book's exterior, a trail of blood following him as he collapsed to the sidewalk.
Artie watched as the two remaining Clovers were destroyed by a grenade from his friend, but looked up to see a Redcoat hidden on the second floor of the abandoned record store, armed with a sniper rifle and taking aim upon the gun runner. Raising the M4 he fired a wild barrage that knocked the rifle from the man's hands before striking him in the wrist and causing him to howl in pain, so caught up the man tripped over the window frame's ledge and fell to his death beside one of the burning Clovers.
More Redcoats soon followed and began firing upon Artie and forcing him back behind the dumpster, wincing as the bullets pinged loudly off of its metallic surface.
Iceman sensed his friend's dilemma and popped out into the open, largely obscured by the smoke as he took aim and fired, dropping the three remaining Redcoats within a matter of seconds.
"Bullseye," he spat, until a demented cackle came from behind him.
Whirling around with his rifle raised he found himself staring face to face with another Redcoat, the right side of his face completely burnt away and most of his red overcoat heavily singed. In his shriveled right hand the nameless psychopath held a small canister of gasoline and in his left hand a gold-plated lighter.
"You think you've won this round, think again bucko!" the man laughed evilly as he flicked the lighter on, only to collapse a second later when a shotgun blast rang out from behind.
Standing behind the fresh kill was Zeke himself with a smoking shotgun in hand.
"Glad you could finally join us," the bartender huffed, taking time to survey all the dead bodies and smoldering vehicles around him.
"Zeke, is everybody alright?" Artie asked.
"Me and Gino are fine, but I swear to God if I had to spend another moment trapped with Pukin' Pete and that nasty crack whore from out back I would've turned the gun on myself and this place would've fallen already," Zeke reported as Gino emerged from the bar.
"Cuz, thank God you made it! I thought we were all goners for a second there!" Gino said running up and throwing his arms around his cousin.
"Yeah, I'm glad to see you're alright too," Artie replied trying to pull himself away from his cousin's iron grip, "but please next time think before you act, especially when you know you don't have much in the way of protecting yourself from these Redcoat bitches. Nothing personal Zeke, but I doubt you alone would've been enough to handle all of them without us around."
"None taken," the bartender replied, "We should've offered them Freda. You'd seriously think her rancid stench alone would be more than enough to make them all wanna turn their guns on themselves."
The four men laughed heartily at the smartass comment.
"Yeah, kill ourselves two birds with one stone," Iceman chuckled.
"But wait!" Gino said looking over to survey the aftermath of the mayhem surrounding his humble establishment "Isn't this going to piss off the Redcoats even more? I mean, they see their boys lying around shot up like this they're gonna fuckin' storm this place and burn it to the ground for sure! Not to mention they'll turn our severed heads into oversized golf balls!"
"Gino, Gino calm down! Calm the fuck down!" Artie shouted grabbing his cousin by the shoulders and shaking him violently. "None of those Redcoats are going to kill you, especially not if I have anything to say about it."
The hired gun then turned his attention to the damage surrounding them, "Although he is right, we need to get this mess cleaned up before any more of those Redcoat fucks decide they need a reason to seek revenge."
"I know the guy who owns the Haulin' Ass Towing Service. He could help us get rid of all these cars," Iceman said pulling out his cell phone.
"And what about the bodies?" Zeke inquired nudging one of the dead Redcoats with his steel-toed boot.
"That might be a 'do it yourself' deal for us," Iceman replied.
"But how," Zeke asked, only to be met by Iceman motioning towards one of the Redcoat Burritos with his thumb. The vehicle was still in good shape and probably had enough room to carry the amount of corpses left behind by the recent firefight.
"Gino, get the others out of here," Artie ordered his cousin, motioning him back into the bar, "Zeke, we're going to need your help," he continued while reaching down to grab one of the dead Redcoats from underneath his arms and hauling the carcass towards the aforementioned van.
"Okay, now this certainly is not part of my job description," Zeke said staring down towards a heavily-charred corpse lying near one of the Clovers.
"Heh, do you think its part of mine?" Artie retorted, "Now quit your bitching and help us before anybody else shows up."
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With a labored heave, Artie and Iceman tossed the final Redcoat into the back of the shot up, bloodied Burrito, the van shuddering heavily under the additional weight of another body.
"Alright, get those doors closed!" Iceman ordered Zeke, him and Artie struggling under the weight of all the bodies that wanted to come piling out, stopping briefly to kick an arm back inside that rolled out into the open. Grunting loudly, both men shoved themselves back first against the double doors until they clicked shut.
"Finally," Artie gasped wiping sweat from his brow, "Those fuckers were twice as annoying in death."
"No shit," Iceman replied climbing into the passenger's seat and readying his M4, "You can drive us there. I'll be on the lookout for any more of those assholes."
"Where are we heading to?" Artie asked climbing into the driver's seat and buckling up.
"Jansport, there's a car crusher there that can deal with this mess for us. I know the guy who runs the place, I've had to do some 'dirty work' in the past for other people, so he usually knows what I'm up to whenever I show up," Iceman said switching the radio's channel to 94.3 CSKD, which at the moment was playing, appropriately enough, Cannibal Corpse's "Make Them Suffer."
"That's Hellcats territory isn't it?" Artie asked shifting the van into drive and proceeding down the street.
"They're aligned with the Redcoats," Iceman replied, "I'm sure as long as you don't do anything 'out of the ordinary,' then they probably won't suspect a thing."
"We should probably get this washed too. The pigs will get suspicious if they see all the blood covering this baby," Artie added.
"Well, this is Lincoln Island, a place where everybody drives like a fucking nut job, so I'm sure they're accustomed to seeing blood all over cars already, but hey that's your call," Iceman replied.
Playing things on the safer side, Artie pulled up to the Scrub-a-Dub Car Wash that was next door to the Pay n' Spray where he had gotten his Sentinel repainted, managing to get most of the dried blood washed away.
"Not exactly good as new, but it's a start," the hired gun chuckled.
"Might've stood out a little more over in Washington or Jefferson, preppy bastards," Iceman grunted before abruptly changing the subject, "So, you're dead serious about getting the hell out of here once the quarantine is lifted?" Iceman asked while pulling out a cigarette.
"Damn right, why the hell else would I wanna hang around here for? I found out one cousin lied to me and the other almost got me killed. Not only that, just recently I worked for some schizophrenic drug dealing granny and a metrosexual British guy who kept rambling on and on about how 'violence equals drama and drama equals ratings' and some other bullshit along those lines. You honestly think I wanna hang around for that?" Artie grunted as they drove past Colt's Ammu-Nation in Stilsen.
"Could be worse, you could be putting up with those Redcoat dickheads on a daily basis," Iceman replied, expelling a plume of smoke out his rolled down window.
"Good point, those fuckers are relentless, as we just saw," Artie replied as they drew closer to the Jansport district.
"So who do you think would take care of Gino when you're gone?" the smuggler inquired.
The question caught Artie completely off guard and he slammed on the brakes a bit harder than usual as they came to a red light.
It was something he had never put much thought into. He was so caught up in his own thoughts he had completely forgotten about Gino and his problems. His long-suffering cousin could barely survive now and he was left wondering what things would be like once he was gone.
Gino had never been good at sticking up for himself, always backing down when confronted by those stronger and smarter than him. He relied upon spinning tall tales to keep himself safe, but once the lies were exposed and he was confronted by a cold harsh reality, he was quick to take off running and hide wherever he could.
How he had managed to survive this long was a miracle even by Artie's standards, granted a majority of his problems were likely caused by his own lack of discipline. It was an obvious lack of discipline that sent him to Johnny Sneed's doorstep in the first place and kept him hemorrhaging funds to keep the Redcoats off his tail, but now that he had stuck up for himself the shit had hit the fan.
What would Gino do to defend himself? He wasn't capable of standing on his own in a battle like Artie was and nor did he have the funds to hire somebody for protection. He certainly couldn't rely upon his self-absorbed younger brother for assistance and Zeke, although he was a good guy who handled himself in this situation, could only protect him for so long. Besides, Zeke was a young man who still had a future ahead of him and it was highly unlikely he would want to spend the rest of his life working a minimum wage job in a dead end bar. Once he was gone, Gino would be screwed.
In spite of the bullshit which had brought him to Rushmore City, perhaps this was a sign blood truly was thicker than water if he was left feeling this way about his cousin.
Come to think of it, Artie hadn't really put much thought into what waited for him after Rushmore. Where would he go from here? He had seriously considered Vice City and later Los Santos, but both ideas had come and gone faster than a Vinewood romance.
Would there really be any chance he could ever see himself establishing permanent roots here in Rushmore City of all places?
Sure he had to put up with jack offs like Johnny Sneed and the Redcoats, psychopaths like Aunt Gracie, and generally disgusting people like Old Freda and Pukin' Pete, but he did have Zeke and Iceman, both of whom seemed very upstanding and dare he say 'normal,' which he could tell was a huge rarity in a place like this, and he truly felt as if he had come to consider them friends within the brief amount of time he had been here. Even that pathetic loser Randy was about as normal as he could find in a madhouse of this magnitude, plus there was that Sunny lady who seemed pretty high class for a hooker of all things, he found himself wondering what had happened to her since he and Iceman liberated her from Cotton Dale's estate.
By this point in the day traffic was becoming pretty congested by those who were just getting out of work for the day and with no more time to sit at the stoplights, Artie just simply drove around most of the waiting vehicles, nearly sideswiping a Mr. Tasty ice cream truck, whose driver screamed obscenities until Iceman brandished his M4.
"Alright, we should be getting closer," the smuggler commented upon seeing some shops he was familiar with.
Artie didn't reply, too busy staring out the window where he spotted a few of the Hellcats standing around the High Notes record store smoking and having a few beers, and then pulling up to another stoplight where two Hellcat Dukes drove past. They seemed ignorant of his presence, but being within their presence was still unnerving and he would do what he could to avoid a confrontation.
"Besides, I already killed most of those Hellcats from the other night. If any of them survived, I doubt they got a good look at me anyway," he tried to assure himself as he passed the district's bus terminal.
The van continued down the street until they laid eyes upon a familiar junkyard with the car crusher featured prominently in the middle.
"Okay, we're here. Pull in nice and slow," Iceman instructed as Artie turned the van to his right.
He noticed a security camera above the front gate and waited patiently for the gate to slide open, pulling in carefully once it was fully opened.
As expected they were surrounded from all sides by cars that were stripped down, crushed or reduced to burnt out husks. In addition to the various car parts littering the grounds, there were also various pieces of broken down furniture, dismantled electronics and what had to be hundreds of cardboard boxes filled with miscellaneous junk.
"Alright, pull towards the back of the yard," Iceman ordered as Artie noticed him motioning towards a beaten up trailer with several lawn chairs and an old picnic table positioned near a still smoking B.J. Smith Grill. As they got closer he also noticed a wheelchair ramp near the door.
Artie pulled the van to a complete stop and Iceman reached over to honk the horn, "Hey Paco, get your lazy ass out here! We have a van that needs crushing!" Iceman shouted out his window.
Sure enough, a Hispanic man wearing a soiled wife beater soon emerged from the trailer in a motorized wheelchair.
"Eh Iceman, it's been a while! I'd love to stay and chat, but 'America's Next Top Hooker' is on in five minutes," the man shouted, "I still got enough time to crush your car though. Tell your friend to get it over to the crusher and I'll have it taken care of."
"Sure thing," Iceman said before climbing out, "You heard the man."
Driving the Burrito towards the back of the yard, Artie happened across the aforementioned car crusher and drove into a specifically marked spot. Once the vehicle was parked, he quickly climbed out and ran back towards the trailer, where he watched a large magnet latch onto the van's roof and lower it into the crusher, feeling no remorse for the dead Redcoats inside.
"Alright, that takes care of that troublesome nuisance," Iceman said turning to Paco and tapping fists with the man, "Thanks a lot bro. I'll definitely be over for a beer sometime later."
"No problem ese, what are friends for?" Paco said before disappearing inside.
"Now that we've got that business taken care of we need to get ourselves a ride back to Gino's," Iceman stated.
"I've got that covered," Artie said pulling out his cell phone and dialing the number for Freeman Cabs.
Within minutes a cab had arrived and both men found themselves taking a rather uneventful ride back to the bar, dropped off near Iceman's Patriot.
"Thanks a lot man," Artie said shaking hands with his friend, "If you weren't around to help I don't know if we would've made it or not."
"No problem man, you handled yourself pretty well," Iceman said returning the gesture, "If you ask me, you're more of a badass motherfucker than you give yourself credit for. Hell, gimme a call if you ever need yourself any hardware for a cheaper price in the future. You know how to reach me."
"Will do, take it easy brother," Artie said as Iceman climbed into the customized Patriot and took off down the street. Once the vehicle disappeared from sight only then did he exhale deeply and realize how tired he was.
"As soon as I'm done checking on Gino and Zeke, I'm going upstairs and getting a few hours of sleep. That was another workout," he thought making his way back inside the bar.
Author's Note: Again thinking from the 'what if this were an actual video game?' perspective, I would have had it in this mission where the Burrito's back doors would be very sensitive and an major ram would have caused them to come flying open, meaning Artie would have been at higher risk for attracting unwanted attention from both the police and the Hellcats, and that would have created unwanted troubles as one parameter for failure in this mission would have been the Redcoat Burrito being destroyed before it can reach the car crusher.
Just a little note I wanted to share.
Until then read and review as always! This is Metal Harbinger saying SPREAD THE SICKNESS, ONE MIND AT A TIME! \m/