Chapter 23: Blown in 60 Seconds
"Once again Arthur Cappelli, your ass has been owned by the almighty Iceman," the gun runner boasted as he and Artie stepped out of Stryker Lanes, him having just beaten his friend after three consecutive rounds of bowling. "When are you going to get it through your thick fucking skull that you can't beat me?"
Artie shook his head at his friend, "One of these days Iceman, one of these days you're gonna be the one getting your ass schooled. That's not a threat, it's a promise!"
Iceman laughed harshly at his friend's comeback, so caught up in their conversation he knocked over a trashcan, which had also been the result of him having one too many to drink.
"You gonna need a ride back home?" Artie asked as his friend stumbled over to his Patriot.
"Man I'm good to go, trust me I've made it back in one piece after having practically drank the entire bar away," the smuggler replied as he struggled to get his key in the slot to unlock his door.
"Are you absolutely sure?" Artie asked as he approached his newly-repainted Hakuchou, "I'll more than happily give you a ride back to your place."
"Bro, if there's one thing my pops taught me well it's drunk driving," Iceman shouted back as he finally slipped his key into the slot and turned it to open his door, "It's been fun man, we'll have to do this again sometime."
Artie watched passively as his friend started up his Patriot and sloppily made his way out of the bowling alley's parking lot.
"Crazy bastard," the errand boy muttered, just as his phone rang.
"Who the fuck's calling me at this time of night?" he asked himself as he looked down at the screen to see it was an unknown caller. He didn't know what possessed him, but Artie found himself looking around instinctively before pushing the button to answer, "Hello?"
"Artie Cappelli, is that you?" a voice called out from the other end.
The hitman breathed a sigh of relief when he recognized the man's voice, "Ratchet? What's going on?"
"Okay good man, listen if you're not doing anything right now I need you to come over to my garage right away," the mechanic explained.
"Umm okay, but what's going on?" Artie repeated his question from earlier.
"Get your ass over here and I'll tell you everything you need to know," Ratchet replied before hanging up.
"What the fuck was that all about?" Artie quietly asked before sliding the phone back into his pocket.
He was over in Lincoln Shore right now and knew Ratchet's garage was over in Horgate, which thankfully wasn't too far away. Taking a deep breath he started up the street bike and made his way onto the sparsely populated street, continuing forth until he came to a red light and looked over to his left to see a cop car parked and a man giving a statement to an officer. He noticed a blue and white '84 Imponte Phoenix nearby with its front end severely smashed up, which no doubt had to be the work of Iceman's Patriot.
"Perhaps he's not as good at drunk driving as he thinks he is," Artie thought with a shake of his head.
The drive over to Ratchet's garage wasn't much farther and within moments he was pulling up outside of the tan-colored building, where the only other vehicle present was a WMC Angel with an Irish flag painted on the side.
Artie made his way inside to find Ratchet standing near a pitch black '12 Vapid Bullet GT, in the middle of a conversation with a redheaded man who stood around 5' 10" with a matching mustache and goatee, who was wearing a black button up shirt with the sleeves removed and a ragged pair of old blue jeans that had been cutoff just above the shins and brown hiking boots, giving him a stereotypical country bumpkin look.
"Oh hey Artie," Ratchet called out taking notice of the arriving hitman and waving him over, "Artie, this here is my friend Boomer, he's gonna be helping us out tonight."
Boomer nodded to him and extended his hand, "Ratchet says you know how to get things done."
"Well he's only done one thing for me to tell you the truth, but it's my brother who's always saying he knows how to get things done," Ratchet jumped in.
"Okay, seriously what's going on here? And what do you mean he's going to be helping us out tonight?" Artie asked looking over to Boomer.
"Those trust fun asswipes the Gold Valley Preps are going to be hosting a street race tonight over on Jefferson Vale and from what I've been hearing around, Chase Van Winkle will be racing tonight, but we don't know in what kind of car it's gonna be," Ratchet explained.
"Wait, are you talking Van Winkle as in the oil tycoon?" Artie cut in.
"Yeah, Chase Van Winkle is the son of that rich greedy bastard Wilfred Van Winkle. That trust fund bitch has been causing a lot of trouble for some friends of mine and we've decided this is the perfect opportunity to strike at his punk ass," Ratchet answered.
"And just how do you expect to 'strike his punk ass?'" Artie asked looking over to the Bullet GT.
"Remember those cars I had you and my brother get a while back?" Ratchet asked.
"Yeah, I recall you saying they were for the Preps," Artie replied, "Does this have something to do with those cars?"
The mechanic nodded, "Rumor has it some of those cars are going to be involved in tonight's race and I had Boomer here rig the cars to blow. The catch, they will only blow when their engine reaches a high enough temperature. To do that, you're gonna have to get them to activate their nitrous. They do that and 'boom' bye, bye rich preppy bastard."
"I'm gonna ride along with you," Boomer spoke up, "These rich pukes have some pretty fragile egos. You taunt them enough, they'll get pissed and activate their nitrous. You can leave that up to me, you just focus on driving."
"Why don't you just drive then?" Artie asked the demolitions specialist.
"Because I'm not the greenhorn needing to prove himself," Boomer chuckled with a cocky grin.
Artie was going to make a smart reply, but then exhaled deeply, "Fine, I'll drive."
"Just don't fucking crash," Boomer said climbing into the passenger seat.
"Whatever," Artie replied climbing into the driver's seat as Ratchet pushed the button to raise the garage door.
"Alright, we need to get over to Gold Valley A.S.A.P." Boomer spoke looking towards the digital clock, "This race starts at midnight sharp," he said before switching on the radio to Rock of Rushmore 89.5, playing "Jukebox Hero" by Foreigner.
"So is there a backup plan in case this Van Winkle kid doesn't come alone?" Artie asked pulling up to a stoplight.
Boomer pulled out a .44 Remington magnum, "Look behind you."
Fitted into a rack behind the two men was a Marlin Model 1894 carbine, the hitman nearly scratching his head at the sight of the outdated gun behind them.
"That's all the backup we need if you ask me," the demolitions specialist replied.
"Right," Artie replied as the light turned green, wondering if such weapons would be able to do much if there were more Preps there than expected. He could only pray the man had an entire shit ton of ammunition on him for them heading into the belly of the beast like they were.
"So, you been doing the demolitions thing for long?" the hitman asked, attempting to make conversation with his passenger.
"Practically all my life," Boomer replied while checking his gun's sights for the umpteenth time and again pulled out a rag to polish it, as if he had O.C.D. or something. "I was in the Army for a few years doing demolitions, but then I decided they were fighting for a bullshit cause, so after I got out I served over in Ireland for a few years. I had relatives in the I.R.A. I was helping out, but then I came here when those dipshits in the Banditellis and High Ryderz were giving him trouble, haven't looked back since. I mostly do the freelance gig, but there are certain dipshits I won't work for, so you'd better prove you're worth my time," he spoke prominently displaying the large caliber gun for his driver.
"Hey, easy there cowboy, I'm not some backstabber. Believe me, I've encountered my fair share," Artie replied as some punks on street bikes sped past them.
"As long as you're not with the Banditellis you're alright in my book," Boomer replied.
"Sounds like you really hate those guys," Artie replied as he got onto the onramp over to Jefferson Vale.
"They've always been a bunch of fucking snakes. How do you think they became the only Mafia family in all of Rushmore?" the demolitions specialist replied.
"I'm afraid I'm not very familiar with the mob history around these parts," Artie replied, causing Boomer to stare at him wide-eyed in disbelief.
"You mean to tell me that you're a fucking guinea and yet you don't know about the mob history around these parts?" he asked Artie, who looked like he was ready to punch him out cold for the ethnic slur directed at him.
"Hey, just because I'm Italian doesn't mean I'm automatically affiliated with the nearest mob family, Mick!" the hired gun shot back.
Boomer glared sharply at him before continuing, "There used to be the Five Families here in Rushmore: the Torinis, the Ciampas, the Vallicellis, the Geddas and the Banditellis.
"The Banditellis used to be at the bottom of the barrel, until Vittorio Banditelli took over when his old man died. That old prick thinks he's the second coming of Julius Caesar. He convinced a lot of the lower-level gangs to help him out by exploiting their mistrust towards the other Families over the shit they had pulled on them in the past…including the O'Malleys, my family.
"I tell you, that old prick really had a way with his words. He was able to rile up all the gangs and bring them together to take down the other families piece by piece. Once he's got what he wants, he fucking kills the whole lot of them, including a whole bunch of my relatives. Heh, to think he's got my uncle working for him too, bribing him with all the money, broads and booze to his heart's content," Boomer grunted angrily.
"Wow, sounds like quite the prick," Artie replied, purposely neglecting to mention his encounters with Johnny Sneed, knowing it would only cause him to become angry as well.
"Heh, you don't even know the half of it," Boomer replied.
It wasn't much longer before the duo arrived in Gold Valley, another posh, upscale neighborhood lined with mansions that dwarfed those found in Salmon Ridge, some buildings looking like they could have their own freaking zip codes!
The duo continued forth until they found an area called Burgoyne Park, where a whole bunch of fancy sports cars had been parked in one large circle and figuring that was where they needed to be, they made their way over, parking just outside the circle.
Techno music blasted from within and the duo made their way inside, where several people were either admiring the swanky cars, drinking and engaging in conversations, dancing to the music, or hooting and hollering at the scantily-clad women who were grinding suggestively against each other, or rooting for the two guys who were duking it out near a garishly-colored Patriot.
As it was with his last time being around the area, Artie saw several young people walking around in mostly yellow jackets and hanging around four cars which he recognized from the shipment he had stolen for Ratchet a while back, one a Super GT, the Deimos SP, a Turismo and lastly a vintage '86 Cheetah, all of them now painted a gold and black color scheme.
"That Van Winkle chump has to be around here somewhere," Artie thought looking around, until his eye was caught by a jade-colored 500 XLR8 tuner sports car with an elaborate golden firebird design along the side, so entranced he was he bumped into someone without knowing it.
"Hey, watch it buddy!" a figure called out.
The individual was a man of Chinese descent who was around his age and stood approximately six feet tall with his short black hair shaved at the sides and spiked on top, deep black eyes, and looked to be in excellent physical condition. He wore a black tanktop tucked in, green, black and white colored racing pants, matching gloves and black boots, along with a gold chain from which an elaborate dragon medallion hung and a diamond-studded Crowex watch. There were several tattoos covering the man's arms, but the one that stood out the most was the one on his right arm, identifying him as a member of the Jade Feather Triad.
"What the fuck is a Triad doing here?" Artie asked himself as the man stared sharply at him.
"You fucking blind or something?" the man demanded getting in his face.
"No, but I will admit that is a sweet-looking ride you've got there," Artie replied. He probably could have easily handled the man if he kept pushing him, but for now he wanted to do anything he could to avoid a confrontation, not wanting to stick out like a sore thumb to the yellow-clad individuals present.
The man's gaze softened somewhat as he turned back to his car, "Guess you can't be too blind if you're able to admire such an exquisite work of art, but next time watch where the fuck you're going," the man replied, placing a hand over the holster on his belt, where a large dagger with a curved handle and a golden head carved in the image of a firebird's head rested, "or else next time I won't be nice enough to let you walk away in one piece."
Artie normally would have offered a smartass reply, but for now decided to avoid a fight and continued walking along past an azure-colored '92 Elegy outfitted with a spoiler and decorated in black flames designs outlined by orange.
"Hey, you can look, but you can't touch," spoke a busty blonde-haired woman with most of her hair covered by a red bandana, wearing a low cut blue top and denim cutoffs that barely covered her ample buttocks, yet she wore black combat-looking boots and the kind of gloves an M.M.A. fighter would wear, "And that applies to me too," she said pointing a thumb to herself before looking to a scrawny African-American in an orange and black basketball jersey and turned around baseball cap, cracking her knuckles threateningly towards him.
"Heh, for a couple of rich bitches, at least they provide good alcohol here," Boomer spoke up from behind, causing Artie to suddenly jump.
The demolitions specialist stood with a bottle of Brannigan's Irish Whiskey and was checking out the blonde Artie had just been talking to.
"Hey hillbilly!" a voice suddenly called out, "You, the country bumpkin and your guinea boyfriend!"
Artie and Boomer turned around to see a tall blond-haired man approaching them, wearing a yellow and black racing jacket and a matching headband and gloves.
"Yeah, I'm talking to you," he said motioning towards Boomer; "You're a little far away from the trailer park aren't you? Or here, let me put it to you in white trash: You be a little ways away from the double wide ain't cha'?" the man spoke in an exaggerated southern accent, arousing laughter from some of the other yellow-clad people.
"Yeah, don't you have a sister to molest right now?" another yellow-clad man shouted.
"He's a redneck, they fuck farm animals!" a third spoiled rich kid shouted.
Boomer growled at the insults being hurled in his direction and broke his whiskey bottle on a nearby stand, ready to use it as a weapon until Artie grabbed his shoulder to hold him back.
"That's right Guido; better keep your boyfriend on his leash, or your pet or whatever the fuck he is," the blond-haired Prep shouted, "He's definitely ugly enough to be the family pig."
"Keep talking city slicker, I have every nerve in my body to come and shove this broken bottle up your scrawny ass!" Boomer hissed through gritted teeth
"Wow, you mean to say you actually know something other than fucking farm animals? I'm impressed, then again I'm sure you probably don't know how to spell any of the words I've just spoken to you," the rich kid taunted.
"Little boy, you've sure got a lot of balls to be coming over here and flapping your gums like that," Artie cut in, feeling so annoyed he was ready to unleash Boomer upon him.
"Little boy?" the man asked, "Do you have any idea who you are talking to plebeian? I am Chase Van Winkle, heir to the Van Winkle fortune! My father owns this city and soon I will!"
"He's pretty much exactly the way I pictured him," Artie thought looking the cocky young man up and down, "Gives me even more incentive to shut his fucking mouth. Gonna be a sweet deal when that finally happens."
"You are both new faces around these parts, but I shouldn't even bother to learn your names anyway. In the end, you're both gonna be walking away as the same nobody losers you are now!" Chase said laughing in both their faces before walking away.
"That fucking bastard, I'm so gonna be laughing my fucking ass off when I watch his punk ass blown to bits," Boomer hissed, punching his fist into his opened left palm.
"Don't worry, that little trust fund bitch is gonna get what he has coming to him," Artie said turning him around and the two of them walking back to the parked Bullet GT.
"I wouldn't be too scared of that prick if I were you," a woman's voice spoke up from behind and they turned to see the busty blonde reclining against the hood of her Elegy with her arms crossed.
"What do you mean?" Artie asked cautiously approaching her, knowing she wouldn't be afraid to try kicking his ass if he did anything out of line.
"That's Chase Van Winkle you're talking to there. The guy is a full blown horndog. Trust me, once he has sex on the brain he's gonna fuck things up big time. Chances are he's gonna be thinking about this and next thing you know, he's spinning out and crashing head on into a Tanker," the woman spoke, motioning to her athletic figure when she said 'this.'
"And how would you know that?" the hitman asked, understanding how the rich punk could be so turned on by her.
"Let's just say I've beaten his punk ass more than once," the woman laughed, "I've promised myself to him before and once I got alongside him and was flashing him a smile, he was as good as done. I promised him the best fuck of his life if he wins this race, poor bastard falls for it every single time."
"Well thanks for the heads up," Artie said motioning towards her, "Miss?"
"Ferranti, Portia Ferranti," the woman smiled, "Guess I'll be seeing you at the finish line."
"Alright, it's time. Head on over to the corner of Hearst Blvd.," one of the Preps called out before jogging out of sight.
"Time for a little payback, don't you agree?" Artie smirked to Boomer.
"Goddamn right it is," the demolitions specialist nodded climbing into the sports car.
The hired gun started up the car and drove over to the corner of Hearst Blvd. where he would finally get a good look at the rest of his competition. There were the gold-colored cars belonging to the Preps, the Super GT, Deimos SP, Turismo and the vintage Cheetah, which belonged to Chase. In addition to them, there was Artie in his Bullet GT, the Chinese guy in his 500 XLR8, Portia in her Elegy and lastly, that black guy who tried checking out the attractive female street racer, who drove a black and orange '09 Resolution X tuner. Each of them revved their engines to get the crowd worked up, while Chase stood on the roof of his Cheetah, giving everybody the thumbs down before climbing back inside.
"Ready to ride, rookie?" a voice called out alongside Artie and he looked up to see the same guy who told the others to get ready.
"Damn right I am," Artie replied, gunning his engine in hopes of intimidating the guy.
"Alright, this is going to be a circuit race around Jefferson Vale, single lap. When the air horn goes off, you're gonna race through the gates," he said motioning towards two burning barrels on each street corner across from each other, "There are ten checkpoints altogether and we have people that will be watching to keep track of where you are. There are also signs posted all over to tell you where to go, you'd have to be blind to miss them. First one to make it back here wins, simple as that. Best of luck greenhorn, you're gonna need it," the man said before walking off to the next driver.
"Time to ride," Artie said turning the knob on the radio, needing to find some high energy music that would get him pumped up, settling on 94.3 CSKD, which was playing "Nothing Left" by As I Lay Dying, a song title fitting for what he and Boomer planned to do to those spoiled brats.
Up towards the front they watched as a shapely woman of Pacific Islander descent stepped into view with an air horn in hand.
"Everybody, get ready!" she called out raising the air horn, "On three! Three! Two! One! GO!" and with that final word she squeezed the horn, releasing a deafening shrill into the nighttime air.
Stomping on the gas pedal, Artie felt his body pulled backwards by the centrifugal force as he sped down the straightway and immediately passed the Resolution X positioned next to him, Portia just in front of them and swerving her car back and forth wildly to keep them from passing her.
"Sorry sweetheart, but this is war. Nothing personal," Artie muttered beneath the blaring music, "Man if I was gay I'd have such an easier time not being distracted," he thought as he managed to find a crack in the woman's defenses and pulled up alongside her. She honked her horn repeatedly at him trying to get his attention, but he had to do everything he could not to look, knowing she was probably going to try flashing her boobs at him, distract him in the same manner as she spoke of Chase.
"Later," he muttered to himself as he sped through the first checkpoint and was fast nipping at the heels of the 500 XLR8, a loud whoosh sounding as a blue haze was expelled from its exhaust pipes.
"So you wanna play that game huh?" Artie thought to himself as he reached over for a red switch near the radio, "Boomer, hold on for dear life!"
Artie depressed the switch and felt himself thrown backwards into the seat, clutching onto his steering wheel in a white knuckle grip, knowing it would be the end of him and his companion if he dared let go and again found himself nipping at the jade-colored car's heels as they blew through the second checkpoint and into the Salmon Ridge district, past the Galileo Observatory and past the Chinese man as his nitrous ran out and his car was gradually slowing down.
"Shit, hold on again!" the errand boy again shouted over to his passenger as they were coming to a sharp turn and he slammed the brake, forcing the car to fishtail into a violent power slide. The sports car would then fishtail into the opposite direction as another abrupt turn came up and then they were back onto a straightway.
The third checkpoint was coming up and the Deimos SP was dead ahead.
"Alright, we've got one of their boys in sight. Get ready Boomer!" he called over to his passenger.
The explosives expert nodded and rolled down his window, just as Artie was finally pulling alongside the car.
"Hey! Why don't you go back to the suburbs you prep school son of a bitch!" Boomer called out throwing a middle finger to the driver.
The driver clenched his jaw in anger and rammed into the Bullet GT's side as they came to another turn after hitting the third checkpoint, sending their car into the grass.
"Hey Artie, you know I'm not gonna be able to yell at this fucker if you've decided cutting grass is more important!" Boomer shouted.
"Just shut your fucking trap until we get closer to those bastards! Save your voice for them!" the hitman shouted back as he struggled to get the car back onto the pavement, just in time to see Chinese racer was catching up to them after they had narrowly edged him out before.
"C'mon, that chink's gaining on us!" Boomer shouted.
"What the fuck do you think I'm trying to do?" Artie called back as he finally regained control and was once again on the Deimos SP's ass, "Alright, get ready!"
Finding a narrow opening the hired gun again pulled up alongside the gold-colored sports car as Boomer again got into position.
"You're outta your league kid, go back home and suck on your mama's tit!" the explosives expert shouted.
The driver again tried to ram Artie, but this time he was prepared and maneuvered around the car, its driver now on their opposite side.
"You might as well give it up you dickless loser!" Boomer shouted throwing another middle finger towards the driver.
"We'll see who the joke is bitch!" the Prep called out reaching over to flick the switch for his nitrous, "See you at the finish line dickhead!"
A second later, the car burst into a ball of flame before it could reach the fourth checkpoint.
"One down," Boomer shouted to Artie, "Just keep on their fucking asses."
"You got it," the errand boy called back as "Collapse in Eternal Worth" by Goatwhore came over the radio.
The race was now taking the duo through the LaFollette district and with it, more traffic as he looked in his rearview mirror to see the Resolution X slam head on into a city bus and explode into a ball of flame in a similar manner to the Deimos SP.
"Alright, I can see the next prick at 12 o'clock!" Boomer shouted pointing straight ahead to the Super GT, "No, make that two of them!" he said as the Turismo came into view, "Killing two birds with one blow!" he laughed at his own joke as they sped through the fifth checkpoint and head on into the University district, past the sprawling Rushmore University campus.
The two high-performance sports cars took up both lanes of the street, almost like they were trying to protect their leader as they rounded another wide turn and ran a '98 Argento station wagon off the road, sending it rolling over the nearby incline.
"Locking in," Artie replied slamming down the gas and inching slowly towards the opposing racers as the Portia's Elegy and the Asian's 500 XLR8 weren't too far behind. For now he would focus on what he really came for, being the three bastards who still remained ahead of him.
"Alright, we're coming up on the sixth checkpoint. We gotta fuck these losers up before they reach the finish line," Boomer spoke up as Artie got closer.
"Well I'm getting close now; get your lazy ass into position!" Artie ordered as he was nearly touching the Turismo's fender.
"I thought we were racing against men, not boys!" Boomer shouted out the window, "You're going to fucking lose you worthless asshole!"
The Turismo's driver responded with a middle finger, to which Artie rammed the car hard, prompting the driver to draw a Beretta 93R.
"Motherfucker," Artie shouted, purposely slowing down as the Prep tried to fire upon him, a few of his bullets managing to strike the sport car's hood.
"Dude, chill the fuck out. We already wasted enough bribing the cops to not interfere," Chase called out to the driver over his Bloodtooth mobile headset.
"I don't like the looks of those shmoes in the Bullet GT," the Turismo's driver shouted back, "I think they're up to something!"
"You blind dipshit! You couldn't hit the broad side of a barn! You're nothing but a fucking joke you trust fund bitch!" the passenger of the Bullet GT shouted at him.
"Sorry, but that piece of shit is really getting under my nerves!" the driver called out to Chase.
"C'mon you fucking pussy! I thought you were done with the training wheels! You're outta your league boy!" the passenger again shouted.
"Fuck it, I'm turning on the NOS," the Turismo's driver reported to Chase and reached for the red switch near his radio, "See you at the finish line, chump!" the young man shouted before flipping the switch.
-and then the car exploded into a large fireball that nearly engulfed the Super GT.
"Ha ha! Two down, two to go!" Boomer shouted as they raced through Osborne Dale past the Margera Skate Park and nearly colliding with a small group of black-clad punks riding on black NRG-500 racing bikes.
It was at the very edge of the district they happened across the seventh checkpoints and made their way along the shoreline through Jefferson Beach, just as they were finally catching up to the Super GT.
"My blind grandmother drives better than your flaming punk ass!" Boomer shouted to the driver as Artie's Bullet GT brushed against its side. "C'mon you prep school bitch! Your daddy's money isn't here to save you now!"
"Boss, I'm not liking this!" the Super GT's driver shouted over his Bloodtooth headset to Chase, "Monty and Skip went to-" the man was explaining just as the Bullet GT rammed into his side, "-Monty and Skip were trying to turn on their NOS," the driver was again interrupted, this time by the loud grinding of metal on metal as the rival car brushed against his, ripping off his side view mirror, "-when their cars blew up!" he finished his sentence, shouting over the ear-splitting grinding.
"What's the matter bitch boy! That silver spoon shoved too far up your ass?" the Bullet GT's passenger shouted at him. "Gee, I didn't know your mother raised a fucking retard! Yo' mama's so stupid she climbed a glass wall just to see the other side! I bet she's so fat when she sat on a rainbow Spittles started popping out!"
"Yeah, and I bet she's so ugly your dad has to spray himself with mace before having sex with her!" the driver joined in.
"Yeah, she's so ugly you gotta tie a steak around her neck to get the dog to play with her!" the passenger called out.
The degrading comments about his mother proved to be the last straw and the driver punched at his radio, accidentally flipping the NOS switch and finding himself incinerated a second later, his flaming wreckage skidding across the eighth checkpoint.
"Fuck yeah; time to get the last bitch!" Boomer shouted over to Artie, who kept his pedal to the metal. By this point he had used up all of his nitrous and doubted he would have beaten the last racer had that been his objective, but he needed to do something as they made a sharp left into the Kirby district, something that would enable him to keep on the last Prep long enough to get him pissed off enough to literally 'blow his top.'
Fortunately for him, the Cheetah had taken the turn wider than expected, costing Chase valuable milliseconds and creating an opening for Artie to pull up right next to him to his left.
"Hey Preppy, Preppy, Preppy," Boomer called out to the spoiled rich kid, "What's the matter? Scared 'cause you're butler ain't here to fight your battles for you? Huh? Bet your daddy's gonna be pissed when he finds out he's passing his empire down to a pussy! You might as well cut off your dick and change your name to Christina!"
Chase growled in anger as the insults were hurled his way. There was no way he would ever allow such an uncouth peasant to defeat him in a street race, yet he remembered what Darren had been shouting to him before his car was blown up and then he looked over to the switch that would activate his nitrous, wondering if there could be any truth to his deceased comrade's suspicions. Something wasn't right and he had to wonder if that lowlife in the Bullet GT was somehow linked to it and he switched on his Bloodtooth headset.
"Lance, get the guys rounded up. Something's smelly fishy here and I think those bums are out to kill me. Set up near the finish line and prepare to give them a victory lap they wouldn't dare expect," the socialite ordered as he purposely slowed the car down as he neared the ninth checkpoint.
Artie looked over to find Boomer readying his .44 Remington, "What the fuck are you doing man?"
"That trust fund bitch isn't falling for it. He must be onto us," the demolitions specialist replied, "Gotta be ready for a fight," he spoke as Artie moved into the lead and the Cheetah was now tailing them, fighting to keep its second place spot in front of the Chinaman's tuner.
The Bullet GT raced down another long straightway and a sign told them they were getting closer to Burgoyne Park. Heeding his friend's warning and risking his own physical well-being in the process, the hired gun reached down for his CZ-75 with his right hand and placed it into his lap, a decision that would save his life.
"Shit man, you weren't kidding around!" Artie shouted as the finish line came into view, along with several gold-colored cars positioned in front of it and several Preps who were waiting with shotguns and submachine guns raised.
"Oh fucking shit!" the hired gun cried out, slamming down on his brake and twisting the whole car violently, in time for its back end to be riddled with gunfire.
"We've gotta get the fuck outta here!" Artie shouted, just as Chase attacked them from the front, pulling out a TEC-9 machine pistol and rattling the hood, a few of his bullets traveling towards the windshield and forcing both men to duck down.
"Kill those white trash freaks!" the socialite shouted to his friends as the two other remaining racers found themselves caught in the crossfire and forced to defend themselves.
Boomer stuck his upper body out the window and fired several rounds towards the Cheetah, all but one of his rounds missing before he was forced to reload.
Artie raised the CZ-75 and tried to fire, but a gold Banshee obstructed his view of Chase's Cheetah and its passenger was aiming an Uzi at him, forcing him to shift the car into reverse so he could avoid the oncoming barrage.
Unfortunately for them, there was a Turismo there to block their escape as they backed into it, followed by a Banshee clipping the front end of the passenger's side and sending large shards of glass raining down upon Boomer, who did what he could to shrug the pain away and fired into the attacking sports car, killing both the driver and passenger.
Before Artie could lend assistance to his companion, his door was pulled open behind him and he was being yanked from his seat.
"Time to die with the rest of your inferior breed!" a Prep shouted driving his fist into the hired gun's face and throwing him to the pavement as gunfire filled the air above him. "I'm gonna stomp you in the way I do the rest of your kind…like dog shit!" the man screamed driving his boots repeatedly into the fallen Artie.
The errand boy tried to grab the gang member's ankle, only to find himself pistol whipped by the butt of the man's gun.
"Don't worry whelp, I'm doing this world a favor by getting rid of you," the man spat training his gun on Artie's face, but would fall a second later as a flurry of rounds tore through his chest.
Artie rolled onto his side to see Portia was the shooter who had inadvertently saved his life, equipped with a Steyr TMP, while the Triad returned fire with a Chinese-manufactured Chang Feng submachine gun. He doubted they were really trying to save his ass, but more so looking out for their own as the Preps were firing upon anything else that moved.
"Go back to China with the rest of your kind you filthy chink!" a Prep shouted at the Triad.
"Take the woman alive, she owes me a fuck!" Chase called out to his men.
"Not if I have anything to say about it," Artie whispered raising the CZ-75 and firing a barrage, taking out one of the Preps and grazing the socialite's arm.
"You'll pay for that you filthy rat! Nobody makes Chase Van Winkle bleed! Nobody!" the rich punk shouted before returning fire upon Artie and one of his rounds caught the hired gun in the arm.
Artie grunted as the searing metal penetrated his flesh and he felt the warm blood traveling down his arm. Hell, he could feel more of the crimson fluid traveling down his temple after being pistol-whipped by that Prep. None of that mattered now as he needed to get the hell out of there.
He looked over to see Boomer taking cover behind one of the shot up Turismos with the Marlin in hand, dropping one Prep with a shot to the heart and wounding another with a round to the thigh.
"Go back to washing each other in the communal shower you prep school bitches!" the explosives expert shouted before a bullet grazed his bare arm and then another round caught him in the side.
"Boomer," Artie called out, raising his CZ-75 with his good arm to take down another Prep converging upon the wounded man and then sliding across the car's hood and landing at his side.
"Don't worry about me; I ain't got time to bleed," the explosives expert replied before raising the Marlin and dropping another Prep with a pot shot through his left eye socket.
"We've gotta get the fuck outta here," Artie shouted to him, fresh spasms of pain shooting through his arm.
"Hold on, gotta do one more thing first," Boomer said pulling out a remote and pushing the red button, causing the Bullet GT to explode and take out two more Preps with it.
"What the fuck man? Why didn't you tell me there was a fucking bomb in the car?" Artie shouted, firing off a few rounds as they retreated into a nearby alley.
"Because you probably would've pussied out on me, I couldn't take the chance," Boomer shouted back as they made their way through the alley, Artie lending a shoulder to support the wounded man when he stumbled.
"I'll kick your ass for that later, right now we need to find ourselves some wheels and get to someplace other than here," Artie shouted over the pops still going on in the background.
"Take me to Gilmore, over in Roosevelt Hills. I know a guy there who can patch us up, owes me a favor from a while back," Boomer added.
The duo eventually found their way to a high-rise apartment complex with several cars parked in its lot. Knowing they would need a fast car, Artie was about to make his way over to a nearby Serrano, when Boomer stopped him and pointed to another car, accidentally grabbing his bad arm as he did.
"Take that one over there!" Boomer hissed pointing to a bright red '08 Invetero Coquette, "Ratchet requested one of those! He'll pay us money if we keep it in good condition and we can split it afterward!"
"Fine," Artie hissed through gritted teeth and shook his arm free, making his way over to the sports car and smashing the window open with his good elbow, climbing inside and pushing a button to unlock all the doors and let Boomer climb in as he started hotwiring it. Within seconds the car was roaring with life, "Tooth and Nail" by Dokken blasting over the radio, which," the explosives expert didn't seem to mind.
"Alright, fucking drive man. I don't wanna get too much blood all over the interior if Ratchet's gonna be paying us," he spoke through gritted teeth.
"You sure this guy can help us?" Artie asked as he made his way onto the nearest street and searched for the nearest back road he could take without having to risk being caught up in the shootout all over again.
"He's done work for me before; he really knows what he's doing. I'd recommend him to anybody," Boomer replied, spitting out the last sentence as a fresh wave of pain shot through his side, "Gah, fucking watch with the sharp turns!" he scolded.
"Well I've gotta fucking do what I can so you don't bleed out on the way over," Artie snapped before resuming his line of questions, "So if this guy's supposed to be so good, then why the hell is he stuck operating some backroom black market B.S. out in the middle of nowhere?"
"Let's just say the guy might not look like it, but he's got quite the temper…especially after he's had a bit too much to drink," Boomer replied as an ambulance raced past them, "Lost his license after he fucked up some guy who wasn't satisfied with a procedure and not only fucked him up, but half the staff in the operating room and the guy's invalid mother."
"Boy, you sure know how to make a guy feel swell," Artie replied sarcastically, "Makes me eager to have the asshole get pissed when the Juggernauts fuck up on a play and then cut me open like he's fucking Jack the Ripper!"
"Well the guy doesn't ask questions either. I'll leave it at that," Boomer replied reclining painfully in his seat, "Plus he seems to have a way with words when the fuzz come knocking on his door. Don't ask me how, but all I know is nobody has ever gotten busted after going to his house."
"Well if I wake up missing something it's gonna be all your fault, just letting you know ahead of time," Artie replied as he pulled onto the onramp leading to Roosevelt Hills. He was never one to trust back alley doctors, especially one who had a temper and a drinking problem on top of it, but for now all he knew was this man could supposedly help them out and for now, he would give him the benefit of the doubt.
"Whatever, just quit your bitching," Boomer replied before another sharp pain shot through his side before looking over to him, "If anything, you say you're here to see Der Chirurg."
"What?" Artie asked looking towards him wide-eyed.
"It means 'the Surgeon' in German. He lives at 7861…Heineken Drive…" the demolitionist weakly gurgled.
"Hey, don't you fucking pass out on me!" Artie said giving him a hard punch to the shoulder before he sped up to pass a Secsi-owned Benson.
"Hey…why is the sky trying to race us?" Boomer asked staring at delivery truck.
"Shit, he's lost a lot of blood. I gotta stop fucking around," Artie thought to himself as he stomped the gas and raced down the highway, cutting off a farmer out for a late night joyride on his tractor and past a Ranger parked behind a Cluckin' Bell billboard, where thankfully the officer inside was fast asleep in gross negligence of his official duties.
Artie continued his race forward until he saw a large sign indicating he was near Gilmore and he only slowed down upon taking a right turn into the sleepy town, its streets bare for this time of night.
"Alright, where the fuck is Heineken Drive?" he asked aloud passing a series of closed down stores, including an Ammu-Nation, a Burger Shot, Pay n' Spray, A Cut Above the Rest barber shop, and a Hoggystyle motorcycle dealership before coming to a street sign and taking a right into an area lined with small nondescript houses before he eventually came to a side-gabled bungalow with a black and green '92 Bravado Tampa parked in its driveway.
"Okay, this must be the place," Artie said to himself looking over and seeing a mailbox with the name 'Schwarz' on the side. Quickly climbing out, he ran over to the passenger's side and helped Boomer out, lending a shoulder to help him over to the house's front door. The hired gun noticed an intercom system and pushed the button.
"Who dares to disturb my beauty sleep? Can you not tell that it is 3 in the morning?" called out thick German-accented voice.
Clearing his throat Artie spoke, "I am here to see Der Chirurg," he replied, remembering what Boomer had instructed him to say.
"Just a minute," the voice replied, suddenly calming down as a light came on in the foyer followed by an electronic buzzing noise, "Okay, come in."
Artie entered the house, only to find a German-made HK416 pointed in his face.
"Oh, sorry about that," the gun's owner spoke, a German man with thinning gray hair and a beard and mustache that were slowly catching up, wearing thick glasses and a dark blue robe.
"Sorry to bother you, but my friend and I have been shot and he says you could help," Artie said motioning towards the weakly explosives expert.
"Ah yes, Boomer!" the man said recognizing the redheaded man and coming over to help the hired gun keep him upright. "Come with me."
The doctor led them down to his basement, where somehow he had managed to procure professional equipment from the outside world and within minutes both men were resting on hospital beds and sedated.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
** Several Hours Later **
Artie slowly stirred awake as the anesthesia wore off, looking over to find fresh bandages on his arm and a few other places on his body. He was still a little woozy from the painkillers, but other than that he was feeling alright.
"A Mafia doctor who actually knows what the hell he's doing…that's new to me," Artie thought as he heard Boomer's voice coming from outside.
"I'm afraid not. The son of a bitch got away," the demolitions expert said to an unseen individual. It wasn't until he walked past the open door Artie could see the phone in his hand and assumed he must have been talking to Ratchet.
"Yeah, I know we fucked up, but trust me there will be another time to get him back. Next time we need to do it when we know none of his billionaire butt buddies will be around," Boomer spoke before listening for a few moments, "Yeah, I'll talk to you later buddy."
The explosives expert walked into the makeshift operating room clad in nothing but his boxers, setting his phone down on a nearby tray and reaching down for his clothes.
"Wait, where are you going?" Dr. Schwarz called out, "You still need time to rest!"
"After what we did Ludwig, I doubt we're gonna have much time to rest," Boomer replied reaching down for his cutoff jeans and pulling them on, trying to ignore the fresh stings of pain wracking through his body.
"Please, I'm begging you! You're going to need to rest for a few days!" the surgeon pleaded, trying to block the doorway.
"I'll rest later!" Boomer snapped, "Trust me pal, I've survived worse. Now either get out of my way or I'm gonna be shoving one of my homemade bombs up your ass!" he threatened while buttoning the last button of his sleeveless shirt. He then turned his attention to Artie, "Think you can move?"
"I'll try," Artie said sitting up in his bed. He wasn't as badly wounded as the explosives expert and slowly made his way over to his clothes.
"I do not like this. You really should be resting or else those Preps or whoever the hell you just went up against will be able to kill you just as easily," Dr. Schwarz replied with a sigh of defeat.
"Gee, thanks Mom," Boomer sarcastically spat as he waited for Artie to finish getting dressed, "Thanks for your help though, we would've been goners if it weren't for you."
"It has been my pleasure," the doctor spoke uneasily while turning his attention to Artie, "You a free to come here any time in the future you require my assistance."
"Thanks Doc, I will," the hired gun said carefully pulling on his shirt and making his way outside.
"You'd better drive, I'm still sore," Boomer said walking over to the Coquette and climbing into the passenger seat, "Take me over to my place in Fisher Creek and then after that, take this car over to Ratchet's."
"Sure thing," Artie said climbing into the driver's seat and starting up, deciding to the turn radio off and let his companion be able to rest peacefully on the way back home.
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Author's Note: This chapter actually turned out to be easier for me to write than I expected, given that this was inspired by a racing mission and I typically HATE racing missions. This might be the last racing-related chapter in this story, who knows.
Now onto the random notes:
Boomer is physically inspired by Norman Reedus, the guy who played Murphy McManus in "The Boondock Saints" and currently playing Daryl Dixon in "The Walking Dead." To an extent he is also inspired by the McReary Brothers, having served time in the I.R.A. similar to Derrick and having explosives expertise inspired by Packie. I was excited to introduce him because I think there are some people here who might know whom I'm talking about right away.
Chase Van Winkle is inspired by Travis Van Winkle, the guy who played Trent in the first "Transformers" movie and later in the "Friday the 13th" remake. This character is also inspired by Hoyt Ambrose, a character Van Winkle played in the movie "Accepted," who himself was a rich trust fund snob.
The Chinese guy in this chapter is named Danny Chen and he was physically inspired by Zero Kazama, the host of MTV's "Silent Library," who also made a guest appearance on "Deadliest Warrior" for the Mafia vs. Yakuza episode.
Portia Ferranti is physically inspired by porn star Krissy Lynn. Her first name is obviously inspired by the Porsche car and her last name I picked because it was close to Ferrari.
Dr. Ludwig Schwarz a.k.a. Der Chirurg is supposed to be physically inspired by Stanley Tucci's portrayal of Dr. Abraham Erskine in "Captain America: The First Avenger." I figured I would introduce a mob doctor as a means of giving Artie an easier way to avoid the fuzz at the hospital. When I describe him as "having a way with words" when dealing with the cops, that right there could be my way of breaking the 4th wall as a means of explaining how GTA protagonists can enter a building while being pursued by practically the entire city police force, but then once they come out everybody is suddenly gone.
Brannigan's Irish Whiskey is a spoof of Jameson Irish Whiskey, Bloodtooth is a spoof of Bluetooth, and Spittles is a spoof of Skittles.
The line where Boomer says "I ain't got time to bleed" was inspired by the infamous line uttered by Jesse Ventura in "Predator."
Dr. Schwarz's address is inspired by the Beneath the Sky song "7861," a badass song I like.
Well I think that's everything for the time being so as always read and review! This is Metal Harbinger saying SPREAD THE SICKNESS, ONE MIND AT A TIME! \m/