Chapter 32: Most Wanted
Opening his mouth as wide as he could, Artie eagerly bit down on the soft shelled burrito, feeling sheer ecstasy as the warmth and taste soothed his soul.
"Man, this seriously has to be the best Mexican food I've ever tasted," he thought to himself reaching for some nachos to dip into his salsa, "I've gotta come here more often, hell I hope this restaurant is part of a chain so I can visit more of these once I get the hell outta this shithole."
He was in a Mexican restaurant called Casa de Chavez y Chavez during the lunchtime rush, finding the place packed to near capacity. It was a lively atmosphere as mariachi music piped in over the loudspeakers and a big screen TV was playing 'Live from the Chatterbox,' where comedian Gabriel Iglesias was shown onstage performing, many of the patrons laughing at the 'fluffy' comedian in one of his trademark loud Hawaiian shirts as he was currently telling a story about the cops of Rushmore City.
"Man I tell you, cops around this city do not mess around, yet at the same time they're not exactly the smartest either. Seriously, when I was just arriving here the other night and I'm running late because I missed my flight and I'm driving down the street in this little Rhapsody-" the comedian was explaining before he was cut off by an overzealous spectator.
"The Fat and the Furious!" the man shouted, arousing a few snickers and cheers from the crowd.
"Yes thank you, now where was I…" Gabriel trailed before catching himself, "…oh right, yeah I'm driving around in my ghetto rental when all of a sudden I get pulled over," he said before making a lifelike police siren sound effect.
"Here I am in the middle of the night in a back alley hoping I don't get carjacked and this officer is taking forever…forever to get to me and I'm getting annoyed so I decide that when this guy gets over to my window I'm having fun with him like I do with all the other cops now," he said before letting out a demented high-pitched cackle.
"So the guy finally gets over to my car," he continued before making the knocking sound effect, followed by an automatic window lowering and then speaking in a deeper voice, "Son, do you have any idea why I pulled you over?"
He then speaks in a thick ghetto accent, "It's 'cause I'm black!" he shouted to riotous laughter followed by a few animated facial expressions, "Aw yeah, wassup playa?"
The fluffy comedian allowed the laughter to dissipate before continuing, "I tell you we're in the middle of a darkened street and this guy can't see me, but I can see him and oh my god…you should've seen the look on his face!"
Resuming the cop voice he said, "Terribly sorry sir! We don't need another mistake like what those N.O.O.S.E. boys pulled on that college student the other day! You continue about your way and have yourself a good night!"
"Oh boy, I can't believe I was let off that easily and I'm thinking to myself 'My god, I gotta come to this city more often!'" he said to wild cheers.
Artie returned his attention to his food and ate the rest of his burrito before washing it down with a Funkin' Screw, "Delicious!" he said with the same kind of deep exhale a man takes after taking a huge dump.
It was almost 1 o'clock in the afternoon and he had just woken up a little over two hours ago. With nothing else to do and no food in the refrigerator (no surprise there), he decided to go for a drive and find some place to eat, happening across Casa de Chavez y Chavez in La Reina. It had been a while since he had Mexican and decided to stop and try it out.
"Best decision I've made all day," he told himself reaching into his pocket for his Whiz Wireless, remembering he hadn't checked it all day.
There was one unanswered message in his inbox from Donnie.
"He must've called while I was in the shower," he told himself seeing he had called at 11:37 a.m. and typed in his entry code to listen to the message.
"Hey Cuz, it's Donnie! Listen, I just spoke to one of my friends earlier today and he tells me some jackasses have been giving him trouble. He's given me a list of names and is promising $10,000 for a job well done. Call me back as soon as you get this message, or just stop by the house and I'll fill you in on the details. Talk to you later, ciao!"
"Donnie needs help again already," he whispered to himself and sighed, remembering their ill-fated 'family outing' from last night.
"Oh well, not like I have anything else going on today," he muttered making his way to the men's room and then outside towards his waiting Sentinel, now a sleek black color after having it repainted to lose the Aces.
"God I hope those guys didn't recognize me," he thought dialing his cousin's number and waiting four rings until The Ohio Players' 'Love Rollercoaster' came into play. Not even bothering to listen to his cousin's greeting he switched the phone off and started the car up, switching over to the Yakbox 96.7 talk radio station before proceeding to his cousin's condo.
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It didn't take long to reach Donnie's place over in Lakeview and when Artie stepped out he noticed several cars parked outside, including a police cruiser.
"Must be having some of his 'friends' over that he's always talking about," he whispered to himself, feeling slightly uneasy at the sight of the patrol car and wondering why he would let a cop of all people over, unless the guy was a corrupt son of a bitch of course. He walked across the lawn figuring he would just be there to talk to his cousin and then get out and do whatever it was he wanted.
"Guess I can't be in a position to ask too many questions when we're talking $10,000 at the end of the rainbow," he thought walking up and ringing the doorbell.
There was no immediate response and he rang the bell again, depressing the button longer this time. He could hear muffled voices coming from within, unable to make out exactly what they were saying.
"Wonder if he'll even be able to tell me everything I need to know anyway. Knowing Donnie, he's always got his eyes on the nearest woman's ass," Artie thought to himself staring off to the side just as the door finally opened.
"Oh hey Cuz, I didn't-" Artie started, but then stopped as he looked back towards the door.
Greeting him at the door was Evie, the attractive stylist from the Hair Game salon, standing before him wearing nothing but a pair of sheer black stay-up stockings.
The hired gun was at a total loss for words and felt the warm drool seep from the corners of his mouth.
"Oh hey, I recognize you! You're Donnie's cousin! How are you doing?" she giggled.
Artie could not reply right away, too entranced by her curvaceous Latin figure, his eyes fixated on her large breasts, to which she didn't seem to mind at all.
"I…I…I'm…doing fine…" he managed to stutter, his eyes traveling south to her well-toned thighs, long legs and lastly her Brazilian wax job.
"I'm guessing you must be here for Donnie, right?" she asked with pout that soon turned to a sly smile, "Or are you here for one of us 'lonesome ladies?'" she asked with a seductive purr.
"God I wanna fuck you so badly," Artie blurted out, catching himself when he realized he had just said that aloud, "Sorry…I'm terribly sorry!"
"It's okay sweetie, but you'll have to wait for later 'cause we're all in the middle of something. You might as well come in though," she said motioning for the errand boy to follow her inside, finally catching a glimpse of her well-rounded ass as she turned on her heel. It was there he found his heart pounding wildly in his chest as he had to do everything he could to not tackle her that woman to the floor and start fucking her right on the spot.
"Get a grip Artie, why would you ever wanna fuck Donnie's leftovers in the first place?" he asked himself, shuddering at the thought of sex with somebody his cousin had already slept with, increasing his risk of contracting an S.T.D.
"But at the same time…her ass is like a work of art," he thought, feeling his 'other head' taking control as he witnessed her amazing ass sway back and forth with every step she took as she led him to the living room.
"Looks like we've got another guy here to join us ladies," Evie announced leading him into a room where more beautiful nude women waited, all of whom greeted him in unison.
"Goddamn it Artie…you've fucking died and gone to Heaven!"
Seated on the couch he instantly recognized Amethyst from Queen Sheba's Revue and Vanessa the masseuse. Standing behind them was a tall, well-built blonde wearing nothing but a pair of black stockings and a garter belt, which he recognized right away despite her lack of clothes.
"Dr. Casey?" he asked, remembering her as the same doctor who had treated his wounds following his fight at the Bear Cage.
"Oh Mr. Cappelli it's nice to see you again," she spoke adopting a business-like tone, "And how have you been feeling since your last visit? Have your wounds been healing well?"
"Um yeah…they're doing just fine…thank you very much," Artie replied, scratching the back of his neck as he took the time to scope her out, "God, you look even better without your clothes on," he blurted out, catching himself again when he realized his sudden slip up.
Two identical redheads then walked into the room.
"Ooh, another big strong American man to join us," one of them spoke in a thick Russian accent.
"Uh yeah, my cousin called me over here; he said he needed to talk to me about something. Whenever he's available please let him know that I'm here," Artie said while struggling to control his hormones.
"Oh, you sure you not want to stay and have good time with all of us?" the other twin spoke, displaying a weaker command of English than her sister.
"I'd love to really…really I would…" the hired gun replied feeling another woman approach him from behind, suggestively rubbing along his arm, this woman the same olive-skinned beauty who had served them the night before at Montebello's, puckering her lips playfully at him.
"Alright ladies, the Don is ready and willing to go!" Donnie Cappelli called out stepping into view, handcuffed to a shapely brunette wearing nothing but a police officer's cap.
When he noticed his cousin, his eyes widened and he grabbed a nearby pillow to cover himself up.
"Artie, what the fuck?" he screamed.
"Ahh…nasty!" Artie cried shielding his eyes to prevent him from looking at his naked cousin, "Put some fucking clothes on will ya'?"
"What are you doing here?" the elder Cappelli demanded as he desperately reached for a nearby royal blue bathrobe, unable to get it on due to him being handcuffed to the cop, so instead he was forced to wrap it around his waist like a towel.
"You called me here numb nuts!" Artie replied only daring to look when his cousin was covered up.
"I did?" Donnie asked dumbfounded.
"Yeah, you called me at 11:37 telling me that you needed my help with something," he said, careful not to reveal too much in front of the women.
"Oh yeah, now I remember…if only you would've answered your phone right away like a good cousin you wouldn't have caught me at an inopportune time," the elder Cappelli spoke, his tone of annoyance suddenly changing as he turned to address the women, "Not that I'm calling my time with any of you 'inopportune,' trust me that's not the case! I enjoy being within the presence of such beautiful women…just not some chucklehead who doesn't understand the concepts of answering his phone or showing up on time!" he said looking over to his cousin.
"Fuck you," Artie boomed.
Donnie then turned his attention down to the handcuffs, "Okay Lisa, where's the key?"
"Shit, I think I left it in the car," she replied.
"Fuck," Donnie muttered, "Guess you're coming with us then," he said motioning for his cousin to follow him into another room.
"You sure you're not going in there to have a threesome?" Amethyst called out, "I've always wanted to do it with two guys who were related!"
"Yeesh! Fuck no, we're not that sick!" Donnie called back, "At least I hope we're not," he said looking back to Artie, who shuddered in disgust.
The trio made their way into a well-furnished bathroom where Donnie shut the door behind them.
"Look away please," he said to the woman, who did as told, giving Artie a glimpse of her full booty and the flowery tramp stamp on her lower back.
"Okay, now getting down to business," Donnie started before noticing his cousin's wandering eyes, "hey, pay attention will ya'!"
"Sorry," Artie said raising his hands defensively, "Jesus Fucking Christ I'm starting to act like Donnie with all these hot naked ladies around me."
"What's the scoop?" the errand boy asked getting down to business.
"Alright, some dickheads have been causing problems for a friend of mine, real lowlife motherfuckers," Donnie explained.
"Yes, very low-level, big time troublemakers," Lisa added.
"Well you're a cop; shouldn't you be out busting them? Or is that cap just part of a stripper's costume?" Artie inquired, earning a sharp glare from Donnie.
"We're a little too caught up in that Aces/Redcoats war," the naked officer spoke, "So we don't have much time for the other dirtbags running around this island."
"Okay, should we really be discussing this stuff in front of an actual cop then?" Artie asked looking nervously towards his cousin.
"Relax Cuz, she's cool," the elder Cappelli replied with a wink to the woman before continuing, "Anyways, these guys have been causing all sorts of trouble for my friend, whether it's ripping him off, destroying his goods, or fucking his wife behind his back. He's decided that he's had enough and this is where you come into play my dear cousin."
"And I'm reading your mind already…" Artie said still reluctant to say the rest in front of Lisa.
"These bastards need to be dealt with by any means necessary and in ways that don't leave them breathing in the end," Donnie replied, giving Lisa a hard slap on her bare ass with his free hand.
"Okay, so then just who are these bastards and how do I find them?" the errand boy inquired, a little put off by his cousin's abrupt action.
Reaching into the bathrobe's pocket Donnie produced a slip of notebook paper and handed it to his cousin, "Their names are listed on that piece of paper, that's all I myself can tell you."
"These guys could be anywhere around the city. How exactly do you expect me to find them?" Artie asked narrowing his eyes in annoyance.
"You'll have to get your hands on a squad car. Every one of them has a built-in computer you can use to access a person's file by typing in their name or using a photo," Donnie replied, just as Lisa reached for a set of car keys resting on a nearby counter.
"You can use my car," she said offering them to Artie, "Only under one condition, you cannot tell anybody else on the force I was ever here in any shape or form. For all the captain knows, I'm supposed to be on duty right now."
"Alright, you have my word as a grateful taxpayer," the hired gun replied in a tone dripping sarcasm as he accepted the keys.
"Oh, and leave the handcuff key under the front doormat before you go," Donnie said raising his and Lisa's joined wrists.
"Sure thing," Artie said slipping the list into his pocket and making his way back into the living room.
"Goodbye big strong American man, we be waiting for you soon!" one of the Russian twins called out.
"Bye Artie, stop by the salon sometime!" Evie called out.
"Will do!" he replied hastily making his way outside before his hormones could once again take charge. He made his way over to the waiting squad car, finding the handcuff keys and placing them under the doormat as instructed, deciding to be a nice guy for once.
"Maybe I should've taken them with me, give my hornball cousin something to suffer over," he thought climbing into the cruiser and accessing the computer, "Then again, he'd probably murder me for it anyway. Oh well, at least I'd be going down with a smile on my face."
First up on the list was a man named Diego Cardenas, having been arrested several times for both dealing and possession of controlled substances, as well as several accounts of public lewdness, one of which left him unable to go anywhere within one hundred feet of a school.
"Obviously this is the guy fucking the man's wife behind his back," Artie made a mental note of as he read through the man's dossier, which indicated he was known to frequent the gentlemen's clubs around the Red Light District, particularly Woody's Topless Bar and Buffet.
"At least Officer Lisa was kind enough to leave all her equipment in the car," he smirked finding her Beretta M9, Remington 870 shotgun, nightstick and stun gun all left in the car, "Although that's probably not a good thing in most senses," he noted believing it constituted police incompetence.
"Oh well, I'm the law for now," Artie remarked pulling out of Donnie's driveway and making his way towards the Red Light District.
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The trip back to Lincoln Island involved taking a swing past The Little Black Book, where he again spotted a line of people waiting outside the front entrance and Dal acting as the doorman this time. It was a pleasing sight for him that the bar was finally in the midst of becoming profitable and that it wasn't a 'one night only' kind of deal like he feared, given his cousin's propensity for bad luck.
"I don't know if it'll last though. Knowing Gino, he'll probably try taking his earnings and double it, only to wind up falling flat on his ass and with a new pair of cement shoes at the bottom of the Komojack River like he's always rambling on and on about," Artie thought with a sigh while passing through Camden Heights.
Within moments he was making his way into the Red Light District, where a few streetwalkers greeted him with dirty looks, normal looking people who were probably secretly on the wrong side of the law and had reason to have a certain kind of reaction towards anybody caught driving around in a squad car.
"Then again, I don't have the kind of pair of tits Lisa does," he thought taking a left turn, "Soon as this mission's over I'm ditching this car," he noted while passing a group of scowling bikers, one of them making the 'throat slitting' gesture at him.
"Heh yeah, I'm happy to see you too buddy," Artie muttered taking a right onto the street where Woody's Topless Bar and Buffet was located, which didn't appear too populated for this time of day judging by the lack of cars out front and in the nearby parking lot. He was only going by what he was given in the man's record and hoped he would be able to act upon that alone.
"And if not, guess I'll have to jump anybody I can around here for answers," he thought pulling to a halt in front of the strip club as he tried to remember the mental image from the man's mug shot.
"Now that I think about it, I have seen this guy around somewhere. I actually gave this guy a cab ride back when I was shooting that reality TV pilot for Tennyson. In fact, this was the very place I dropped him off at," he thought making his way towards the front door, which was guarded by a tall, muscular man in a black 'Security' t-shirt with his hair worn in a buzzcut and a Marine Corps tattoo on his right forearm.
"Alright pal, I'm sorry but I've gotta search you for weapons before I can let you enter. It's a new policy we have after some of those Aces were here and got into a shootout with some Redcoats," the man explained uncrossing his arms.
Artie sized the man up and reached into his pocket, pulling out five one-hundred dollar bills and waving them in the man's face.
"Well I'm sure some of your favorite Founding Father can persuade you into leaving a man to enjoy his silicone-enhanced fun in peace now, can't you?" the errand boy asked with a sly smirk.
The guard eyed him warily before he was overcome by sudden temptation, "Heh, fuck it! Go on in and have yourself a good ol' time," the doorman replied eagerly snatching up the money and stepping aside.
"Typical stupid ape," Artie whispered under his breath while making his way inside.
As it was with any strip club he visited, it was a gathering of mostly men throwing away their hard earned money for the fine ladies either dry humping the brass poles or gyrating on some man's lap while "I Get Off" by Halestorm blasted over the loudspeakers, except this place also had a buffet.
It was a pretty lively atmosphere and Artie had to mentally kick himself to remember that he was here on 'official business,' especially as an attractive Filipina dancer began sizing him up and seductively beckoned him forth. Unable to resist, the Italian-American walked up and offered her a twenty dollar bill, but that wasn't good enough and she grabbed him by the shoulders, pulling him forth and shoving his face between her breasts. When she finally released him he politely nodded and resumed his mission.
"Goddamn I've already seen enough tits and ass in one day to last me for the entire week," Artie told himself barely dodging a scantily-clad waitress in a large cowboy hat, looking around the bar for his target hoping he was there and that him wasting $520 hadn't all been in vain.
He maneuvered around a few drunken patrons and walked towards the back of the club, where he found a sitting area with some comfortable loveseats and on one of them he spotted a Hispanic man with two dancers grinding on his lap. Peering a little closer he recognized the man from the database mug shot. It was Diego Cardenas, wearing the same red and black puffy jacket and blinged out jewelry he had on when Artie gave him that cab ride a while back.
As the current song ended the dancers stood up and wiped the sweat from their bodies.
"Alright sweetie, it's been fun but we've got other gentlemen around here who are in dire need of some 'special attention' if you know what I mean," one of the dancers spoke.
"Ah hey, c'mon mami, ya' can' be done just yet. I got plenty more where that came from and not just the money either," Diego spoke to the two ladies as he stood up, "but first I gotta take a whiz so hold up tight an' I'll be back soon!"
"You'd better come back cheapskate, we don't make rent by sitting around while you go play with yourself in the bathroom," the other dancer called out as he vanished into the men's room.
It was a perfect opportunity and Artie followed after the man, leaping to the side as another patron was placed in a full nelson and dragged out by a beefy bald security guard. Making sure there were no cameras in sight, he casually walked into the bathroom where he found his target at one of the urinals.
Without a word he played like he was about to enter one of the stalls and watched as Diego carried out his 'business,' muttering something to himself in Spanish. Pulling out the stun gun, Artie charged it up and snuck up on the drug dealer, jabbing it into the back of his neck.
Diego fell to the floor convulsing violently and Artie grabbed him by the collar, dragging him into the opened stall. Shutting the door behind them he pulled out the nightstick and proceeded to bash the man's skull in, but remained careful enough to not get any blood on him. With a final crack he knew the job was finished.
"That's one down," he thought to himself making his way over to a sink to wash his hands.
There was no time to sit back and collect his thoughts. There were two more targets on Donnie's compiled hit list and he needed to get them taken out as soon as possible. For once he felt grateful for the blockade, knowing it meant they couldn't skip town he told himself as he casually strolled out of the strip club, again doing what he could to avoid the temptation from all the hot naked ladies around him.
"Damn it, this would've been easier if I were gay," he told himself, watching as an athletic Latina slowly stripped out of her faux police uniform and down to nothing but her fishnet stockings underneath. With a forcible yank of his neck he returned his attention to the front door and made his way back outside towards the waiting patrol car and climbed inside.
Pulling out the list he saw the next name was that of a 'Latrell Riggins.'
He whispered the name to himself while typing the perp's name into the R.C.P.D. database, revealing him as a pudgy African-American male who appeared to be in his late twenties, currently out on parole after having done time for credit card fraud and extortion.
"Another dead man," he thought to himself closing the database and starting the car up, making his way towards the Little Jamaica district.
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Artie made his way into the Yardie-controlled district with the car's lights flashing and siren going, sending several cars pulling to the side, as well as several of the Caribbean gangsters running for cover, believing him to be a real cop.
"Man, these drugged out psychos have no problem attacking me, yet they're scared of the actual cops?" the hitman asked himself, finding the sight humorous, "Unless they're actually sober for once in their lives and not high out of their mind on whatever shit it is they're on," he noted, thinking one of them would have charged head on frothing from the mouth with a machete in hand.
He needed to get over to Surrey Drive, where Riggins' address was listed, and he wanted to get there fast, not knowing the man would still be home or not.
"I've gotta ride around in one of these more often," he remarked aloud, smiling at the other cars swerving out of his way, including a Sentinel that rammed into a Yardie-owned Lobo, "As long as I'm the driver and not in the backseat, only car I can think of where I don't wanna be in that position."
He made a left turn onto Surrey, interrupting a drug deal in progress, finding it to be a surprisingly upscale part of town lined with modest, yet comfortable-looking apartment buildings, the one place he wouldn't expect to find a convicted felon residing.
"No doubt paid for by extortion and credit card fraud," Artie told himself slowing the car down to carefully read the buildings' numbers, "All that matters is he's going to be a dead man sooner than later."
Eventually he came to a six story apartment building that had been painted a gaudy shade of light green. He pulled the patrol car to a halt in front of the tenement and noticed a few shady-looking characters standing around with their hands in their pockets as if they were serving as lookouts.
"Fuck," Artie muttered to himself keeping a hand at the ready for his newly-acquired Beretta as he observed the men, knowing they had seen him exit the car, but didn't know if his casual clothes would be enough to convince them he wasn't an actual cop, especially as a young kid barely out of high school in a black hoodie with a skeleton design began sizing him up like he was ready to challenge him.
"Crap, this little shithead's gonna fuck things up," Artie thought until the honk of a car's horn came from right behind him, causing him to whirl around with the Beretta drawn.
"Oh shit, Artie don't shoot! It's just me! It's just me man!" Randy Spitz called out from the front passenger seat of a Tahoma, clad in what appeared to be a plastic Viking helmet and football shoulder pads decked out in spikes that were barely staying glued on.
"Randy, what the hell are you doing here? You're going to get me fucking killed!" Artie hissed the last part before looking over his shoulder, breathing a sigh of relief none of the suspicious-looking men hadn't reached for any concealed firearms of any kind just yet.
"Ar-Ar-Artie…jus-just please l-let me ex-explain!" the nerdish man stuttered before finally taking a deep breath and catching himself, "There's no need to go pulling out your guns like that!"
"What you need to explain to me is what the fuck you are doing here?" the impatient hitman snapped.
"Relax Artie, we were passing through and I saw you here and I was just wondering if you wanted to join us over at Hawking Park," Randy nervously explained.
"Dressed like that?" Artie asked again looking over the ex-cashier's costume.
"Yeah, we're going LARP-ing today. You wanna join us?" Randy said motioning towards his friends in the car while producing a crudely crafted morning star.
"Ferguson's bringing the cupcakes today," called out a narrow-faced man from the backseat who had fake elves' ears placed over his real ones and was clad in a purple mage's robe, "His mom makes the best!"
Artie stifled laughter as he looked over the other young men in the car with his long suffering friend, all of them clad in similar Medieval-inspired costumes, "Jesus Sheep Fucking Christ, no wonder you're all still a bunch of virgins living in your mothers' basements."
"Sorry, but I'm in the middle of something. I'll talk to you later," Artie replied, his voice cracking beneath the pressure of his suppressed laughter as he brusquely walked away from the group of nerds. At the same time he found himself wanting to strangle Randy.
"That's the second time that turd's nearly gotten me killed," Artie thought, remembering a while back when he received that text message from him while hiding from those N.O.O.S.E. operatives in the garage, barely escaping with his life from the confined quarters, all because he just had to boast of him getting what was likely yet another shitty dead end minimum wage job.
He made his way towards the apartment building, ignoring the snickers of those same suspicious-looking fellows who had been sizing him up, making his way into the building's foyer and over to the line of mailboxes to his right, scanning through the list of names until he came to the one he was looking for.
"Latrell Riggins, 34C," he muttered to himself and began making his way up the stairs to the third floor.
The corridor was devoid of life, but Artie could hear the signs of life coming from within the surrounding apartments, either being a man shouting at his TV over the Rushmore Chompers blowing yet another important play, the loud moans of a couple having sex, a baby wailing loudly, a man yelling at and assaulting a woman who spoke no English, and even some guy playing an organ and singing a god awful rendition of 'Amazing Grace,' which Artie attempted to block out, developing a severe case of tunnel vision as he scanned the numbers on each door before finally happening across Latrell's apartment.
Looking around to make sure he wasn't followed Artie then placed an ear to the door listening for any activity coming from within, hearing a cluster of electronic beeps.
"Man nigga', you couldn't shoot your way outta a nut sack if you're life depended on it," a voice called out.
"Hey, fuck your bitch ass! You oughta' be one to talk the way you nearly shot your pecker off the other night!" the other gamer shot back.
"Hey Latrell, when you gonna share some of that shit ya' got this morning? I can tell by the smell alone it's some Grade A muthafuckin' Jamaican grass!" one of the men shouted.
"Yeah, c'mon an' quit bein' so fuckin' greedy nigga!"
"He's here," Artie mentally noted, ready to plan on his next course of action.
"Alright, what's next? Do I nicely knock on the door? No, he'll want to know what's up. Can't tell him I'm the pizza delivery guy, sure as hell not saying I've got some flowers for him, yeesh! Doubt he's expecting the cable guy. Could say I was his parole officer, but then again I don't have a fucking death wish," Artie told himself just as he heard the bubbling of water from within, followed by some deep exhales.
"Man nigga, that's some good fuckin' shit ya' got there!" one of the men chuckled.
"I only get the best," Latrell Riggins replied, "Ain't no low quality shit going into these fuckin' lungs."
"Hmm, they sound pretty stoned if you ask me. Maybe I could go for the more heavy-handed approach," Artie told himself before realizing "Why the fuck am I sitting here thinking about this?" and brought his foot up kicking the door in.
The thunderous crack stirred the apartment's inhabitants from their drug-induced hazes and Artie found himself in the living area with three other men present.
"Latrell Riggins," the hitman spoke.
"I ain't goin' back motherfucker!" Riggins screamed bolting into the adjoining room while one of his cohorts reached for an Uzi.
"You're going someplace alright, but not where you think," Artie grunted as he dove back into the hallway to avoid the cluster of bullets fired in his direction, sticking his arm back through the doorway and blind firing upon his attackers.
"Bitch gonna pay," one of the men shouted as the shatter of glass and the crackle of sparks followed his counteroffensive.
Both of Riggins' associates returned fire and there were screams heard coming from the adjoining dwellings.
"Smooth move Howitzer," Artie thought to himself, waiting for both of the wildly firing men to run out of ammo before making his move.
A loud click sounded from within the flat and the hitman leapt into action, squeezing off three rounds that caught a tall skinny man with a frizzy afro in the chest and falling backwards onto a coffee table littered with empty beer bottles and random paraphernalia.
"Motherfucker gonna pay!" the other man shouted, yet Riggins was nowhere in sight.
"Yeah, yeah all you druggy bitches say the same thing," Artie replied, firing another round that sailed past the man's head and embedded itself in a book on a nearby shelf, knowing he needed to finish the goon off and find his target.
The second man, another scrawny man wearing a black beanie and a sagging black t-shirt, again returned fire with his own Uzi, but he must have been high enough as most of his rounds soared wide over Artie's head and then his gun clicked empty, leaving him open for the hitman to fire a lethal double tap into his chest and send him collapsing against the nearby steam pipes.
"Alright Latrell, where the hell are you?" Artie asked making his way through the trashed living room and taking a left into the man's bedroom, finding his window opened.
Latrell Riggins was already scaling the second to last flight of stairs as Artie threw a leg out and made his way onto the fire escape.
"You motherfucking asshole! I ain't going back!" Riggins repeated before reaching the ladder, "You pigs are all the same! A brother can't catch a break around here, but Mr. Whitey always gets off with a slap on the wrist!"
It was almost humorous to the hitman, "Bastard really thinks I'm a cop."
Artie continued his way down the fire escape until he was at the very end and found himself sliding down the ladder and coming to the end of the alley, where Riggins was struggling to pull himself over thanks to his excess bulk, only managing to make it over when his pursuer was just a few feet away from him.
"Got you locked down punk," the hired gun shouted continuing his pursuit, able to leap over the fence a bit easier.
Riggins sprinted towards a teal Marbelle parked in a small lot behind the building, turning to fire over his shoulder, only to find to his horror that his pistol had jammed.
"Sucks to be you," Artie taunted, just before he fired a round and caught the young man in his side, leaving him to scream in agony. In spite of the pain coursing through his body, the fleeing dealer gripped a hand to his side and continued staggering towards the waiting sedan.
The hired gun just shook his head at the stubborn man's persistence and fired three more rounds into the fleeing punk.
One of the bullets caught Latrell in the back of his lung and he fell hard against the nearby dumpster, slicing his back open on a sharpened edge and screaming out in pain before connecting with the pavement.
"Motherfucker…" he weakly rasped.
"Now is that any way to be talking about your own mother?" Artie mused walking over to the dying man and standing tall over him.
"Who the fuck sent you?" Riggins managed to get out before coughing up more blood, his time nearly at its end.
"If I told you I'd have to kill you," Artie answered looking down to his gun and then back to the dealer, "What the hell am I saying? You're already dead punk."
Latrell Riggins was unable to verbally reply as more blood seeped out through his pursed lips, his dark eyes glaring hatefully towards his killer until they rolled back into his head and he was no more.
"Two down," Artie muttered to himself before turning on his heel and walking away.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Two targets had been successfully eliminated and now it was down to the final name listed, one Tobias Henderson, remembering the picture from his dossier as that of a Caucasian male with a shaved head and a swastika tattooed between his dark eyes. Further information listed him as belonging to the Whiteskins M.C. and that he had already been busted on several counts of gang related violence, as well as drug trafficking, money laundering and auto theft.
"Great Donnie, you're going to get me into trouble with yet another gang," Artie thought to himself approaching the onramp towards Roosevelt Hills making a mental note of the man's address, which was located at the Valhalla Trailer Park over in Cobalt Hollow, letting out a drawn out shudder at the thought of being surrounded by all the alcoholic, gun-toting, bible-thumping white trash rednecks residing there.
Given the fact this man belonged to an outlaw motorcycle gang didn't help matters much either, knowing where there was one there were likely three, four, maybe even ten more nearby. They liked to travel in packs he reminded himself as he made his way onto the ramp and into the countryside that made up Roosevelt Hills, where the skyscrapers of Washington Dell were quickly replaced by small hamlets and farms and where most of the fancy sports cars were replaced by tractors and other farm-related vehicles.
In this kind of patrol car he knew right away he would stand out as a city boy, passing Mama Pearl's Diner where two sheriff's deputies reclined against a rural police Ranger, eying him up as if he were encroaching upon their territory.
"Yeah, I'm happy to see you too," he sarcastically thought passing them by, slowing down a little to take in the B-29 that was perched behind the diner, where a group of tourists stopped their Journey RV to take pictures.
According to a map in the car, the aforementioned trailer park was at the far western end of the city limits, not far from the Cox Rock Quarry, and if he kept on this road he should be there within a few minutes.
"As long as I keep my ass moving," Artie told himself as he passed the Vincent Scrapyard, the old lady sitting out front offering him a wave, the first friendly gesture he had noticed since entering the area. Feeling generous he returned the friendly gesture before continuing with his journey.
He continued further along the highway and past some more 'mom and pop' type businesses before happening across a sign telling him he was just one mile removed from the Valhalla Trailer Park and right away he assumed things would be sketchy for someone spotted in a city-based black and white.
As he drew nearer to the trailer park he ended up passing a small ghost town like the kind he would expect to find in a western movie, two rows of weathered, boarded up buildings with a small two story building at the end he assumed must have served as the town hall at one point.
A group of savage-looking people stared darkly towards him, all armed with crude weapons, similar to those hobos he had encountered at the abandoned drive-in while trying to help out Randy. Apparently the problem of violence created by homelessness was an issue reaching further beyond the confines of Lincoln Island and the hitman floored it on past them, not in the mood for the kind of distraction they would present.
"Like a scene straight out of 'Delivery," he thought to himself, "I can tell already those freak jobs wouldn't be shy at all about killing something and then raping its carcass afterward."
Artie continued further along until he spotted the fenced in compound that was the Valhalla Trailer Park.
Like any typical trailer park, the area was lined with dozens of beaten up old trailers with cheap old beaters parked in front of them. In addition, there was also a small playground with a picnic area and volleyball court set up next to it and a couple of small buildings, the largest which housed a Laundromat, video arcade, liquor store and fishing supply shop all in one.
Knowing of the general lowlifes who typically resided in trailer parks, Artie parked the cruiser at a safe distance down the road and continued forth, passing another police-owned Ranger, this one rocking up and down with loud moans coming from within, once again causing the hitman to let out a bitter laugh at the kind of protection offered in these parts.
Putting the thought at the back of his head, Artie strolled through the gate past a visibly drunken man in a soiled green wife beater and then past a fire pit where a few rednecks were sitting around a fire roasting what appeared to have been a large dog while drinking a few beers and going on and on about how they thought Republican mayor Ron Walker was a 'god among men' and how they wished they could shoot his Democratic challenger Robert Kretchell for daring to challenge 'their man.'
"Eh you, yeah you! City slicker!" a voice suddenly called out.
"What the fuck now?" Artie hissed to himself whirling around to find a balding overweight hillbilly in a heavily stained white wife beater and denim cutoffs marching towards him with a beer can in one hand and a hockey stick in the other. "Oh great, just what I need," he thought as the rednecks gathered around the roast rose from their lawn chairs to join the man.
"Fine, what do you want?" the hired gun sighed.
"Y'know, we don' take to kindly to you an' your kind makin' your presence felt 'round here," the lead redneck spoke in a thick Southern drawl.
"And just what the hell could I have done to so greatly offend a man of your esteemed character?" Artie sarcastically replied, eyes drawn to a noticeable mole on the man's left cheek.
The nameless man spat a wad of tobacco into his beer can before speaking, "Boy, don't cha be gettin' fresh wit' me! Don' think I won't tan your pretty hide for one second!"
"Excuse me, but I wasn't the one who decided to accost somebody just for walking in out of the blue. This is a free country and I can go wherever I damn well please! Who the hell do you think you are to think this is your own private domain?" Artie snapped, clearly losing his patience and struggling to not fire a round of buckshot into the man's bulbous gut, if the shell would even be able to punch through.
"Heh, typical city boy, always comin' in here like ya' own the place an' flappin' yer gums like ya' think yer better than ev'rybody else!" spoke up a bare-chested, weasel-faced man in a high nasally tone, his red hair worn in a mullet.
"Yeah, if you ask me we oughts ta' be roastin' his punk ass instead of Billy Ray's dog!" spoke up another long-haired hick wearing a green Don Beere baseball cap and a white sleeveless t-shirt with a Confederate flag proclaiming 'The South Will Rise Again.'
"Heh yeah, this yuppie's got that commie Kretchell's stench all over 'im!" added a toothless gray-haired guy at the back of the pack with a red headband and black Hank Williams Jr. t-shirt.
"Hey, I'm not here to cause any trouble with you," Artie said raising his hands defensively, "Believe me I'm not. I'm just here to visit with an old friend I haven't seen in forever. Now if you'll excuse me, how about you just let me go about my own way and I'll let you 'fine gentlemen' go back to sleeping with your sisters."
"By golly he's got a point," spoke the bare-chested hillbilly, "I ain't gotten the chance ta' give poor Brandie Mae her 'vitamins!' or whatever the big word be that those city slickers call 'em. Help her sleep through it all!"
"Shut up Billy Ray!" the leader snapped before returning his attention to Artie, "Now this be yer last warnin' city boy, either ya' gets your scrawny faggot ass on outta here or we're gon' be teachin' ya' some of our ol' rough justice!"
"Heh, like I'm scared of your xenophobic fat ass," Artie chuckled towards the leader.
"What chu' say boy?" the man hollered dropping his beer can and going for a swing of his hockey stick.
"Let me make myself clear," Artie said before delivering a right hook into the man's right cheek, sending him falling to the gravel and causing his buddies to back up, "I told you I wasn't here to give you any trouble, but would you listen to me? No!" he shouted following up with a soccer kick to the man's considerable gut, feeling the rolls of flab vibrate as his foot connected.
"You think I'm going to apologize to some sister-fucking fucktard like you? Jesus Goddamned Fucking Christ! How many chins does your son have? Your baby girls got webbed toes too? How many of them do you fuck at night? I mean surely you've fucked your first cousin right? When did you fuck your last cousin you fat, ugly son of a bitch?" Artie screamed as he kicked the man relentlessly in the blubbery surface numerous times.
The man's cries of pain indicated he actually felt the boot connecting with his stomach and his buddies could only look on in horror, proving they were all bark and no bite.
"What part of 'I'm not here to give you any trouble' and 'Mind your own fucking business' did not get through your thick inbred skull? For one final time fuck you, you cock sucking piece of fucking shit!" Artie screamed before stomping hard on the man's testicles, forcing him to throw up a torrent of blood.
"Fuck you asshole," the hired gun hissed one last time before spitting on his fallen opponent, "Oh wait, I'm sorry your horse already did that for you," he called out over his shoulder before walking away.
"The poster child for birth control. Fucking white trash," Artie thought to himself while trying to mentally recall the number of Tobias Henderson's address, eventually coming across a heavily dinged up green and white trailer with several motorcycles parked out front.
Withdrawing his shotgun he crept around to the empty backyard, finding a garage and the sounds of raucous laughter and oldies rock coming from within.
"Damn brother, you gotta be fuckin' kiddin' me," a voice called out as Artie took cover behind the stripped down frame of a former Stallion muscle car.
The moans from a pornographic movie could be heard below the radio's din, followed by some loud whistles.
"Hey Toby, come check this blonde out!" another man called out, "I'd almost swear that's your sister there man!"
"Alright, he's here," Artie told himself as he crept up to the building and peered through one of the smashed grimy windows to see six grubby men inside, but none of them matching Henderson's physical description.
"Fuck you all, I gotta take a piss!" one of the men announced, prompting Artie to rush back for cover behind the rusted Stallion frame.
A burly man with long sandy blond hair emerged from the garage and made his way over to the wilted, yellowed remnants of a shrub and proceeded to relieve himself, far enough away from the garage's entrance and with his back to Artie.
Firing up the stun gun the hired gun crept up on the burly man and jabbed it into the side of his neck, knocking him out cold.
With the one man incapacitated he crept towards the garage's side door and looked to see two new faces inside, one of them being a tall baldheaded man.
"Henderson," he whispered pumping the shotgun before kicking the door open and firing into the chest of the thug closest to him, a burly dark-haired man with a Viking-like beard who had been leafing through a 'Playhouse' magazine.
It was time to show no mercy, knowing none would be shown to him.
"Motherfucker! Kill the yellow bastard!" Henderson shouted scrambling for an Uzi resting on a nearby shelf and squeezing off a few rounds in his direction.
There wasn't much cover aside from the rusted husk of a Wolfsbane motorcycle, but he was left with little choice as the bikers began firing relentlessly, the bullets flying towards him like a herd of mosquitoes.
"No one kills a brother and lives!" another thug shouted.
"I'm gonna have fun dragging your maggot-filled carcass along the road when we're through with you boy!" shouted a pot-bellied redhead firing upon him with dual Berettas.
Seeing a shelving unit full of old engine parts nearby, Artie withdrew his Beretta and fired at the bolts supporting it, causing it to collapse onto one of the thugs and impale him with the various sharpened hunks of twisted metal.
There was no time to celebrate the brief victory as he popped out and caught one of the others with a round nicking the man's shoulder, before switching back to his shotgun and tearing through the crates the man hid behind before finally striking him with a fatal shell fragment through his lung.
"You're fuckin' dead you son of a bitch!" Henderson shouted having gotten his hands on a pump-action shotgun and returning fire, his shells decimating Artie's cover and forcing the hitman to dive behind some empty oil drums for cover before he was able to squeeze off another round of buckshot that wounded one of the Whiteskins.
"You spout a lot of shit Henderson! I can see why people want you dead!" Artie shouted back before firing another round which caught the redheaded fatass in his side and then another which obliterated the man's lower abdomen. He was alive, but not for much longer.
"Fuck you asshole!" called out another guy who had run out of ammo and resorted to tossing monkey wrenches at the hired gun from a nearby toolbox.
There was another shelf behind the man filled with heavy-looking objects that would no doubt kill the man in the same manner as his one brother and Artie popped up to fire a wild shot, failing to sever the links holding the shelf to the wall, but able to knock off a heavy engine block which squashed the wounded outlaw biker taking cover next to it.
"Oh shit, Toby get outta here!" the last man shouted before trying to bolt off in the opposite direction, only to eat a round of buckshot to the shoulder with fragments lodging into his neck.
"No you don't fucker!" Artie shouted as the baldheaded man fled towards a backdoor, only to find himself distracted by gunshots coming from behind.
The man he zapped with the stun gun outside had recovered and was firing away with an Uzi, his bullets flying wildly and forcing him back into cover behind a red toolbox.
"You won't stand in my way you limp dicked faggot!" Artie shouted back before pumping his shotgun and firing another burst before the gun clicked empty. With no time to reload he again withdrew the Beretta and blindly fired around the toolbox, managing to strike the remaining underling in his upper arm, forcing him to drop his firearm. Within two more rounds the thug was sagging to the ground with two fresh smoking holes in his chest.
The revving of an engine came from outside and the errand boy looked through a window to see Tobias Henderson mounted on a Diabolus.
"Sayonara dickhead!" the bald man laughed before producing a lighter and a Molotov cocktail and then tossing it through the window.
"Oh no you don't," Artie growled making his escape through the same backdoor as his target and began firing wildly at the fleeing man, who was forced to slow down as he made his way through a backyard filled with random junk and then attempting to maneuver his way through the parked motorcycles left behind by his deceased brothers.
Artie chased after the man and eventually reached the main road, Henderson beginning to pick up speed and seconds away from making his getaway.
The hitman checked his current clip to see he had one bullet left.
One bullet left.
"Goddamn it Artie, why the fuck do you always gotta find yourself with these kinds of odds stacked against you? You surely goddamn went and fucking pissed off somebody today," his inner pessimist whined.
"Shut up," he whispered taking a deep breath, keeping his back straight and steadying his aim. There was no time to chicken out and no room for fuck ups. He had one bullet left and he needed to make it count.
Taking one final deep breath he squeezed the trigger and his bullet caught the fleeing biker in the shoulder before he could disappear over the hill, sending him falling to the ground, hard enough to damage his spinal column.
Tobias cried out in panic as he found himself unable to feel his legs, flailing his arms wildly as he looked back to see Artie running towards him.
"You motherfucking piece of shit! You fucking crippled me! I'm gonna have your fucking balls in a blender for this you cock sucking faggot!" the man screamed, "My brothers are gonna fucking murder you for this!"
"Not if you're not around to tell them who did it," Artie said before firing a blast into the man's face and ending his suffering.
"Mission complete," he said to himself walking along the main road leading into the trailer park, where a crowd of horrified residents gathered around the broken inbred hillbilly, who lay in a fetal position whimpering in pain.
"There he is!" a woman who had to weight roughly six hundred pounds called out, clad in a muumuu that on her looked like a tarp covered in faded flower designs. "You! Don' think I don' know what you did city boy! You're the bastard that beat up my baby Buford!" she shouted while attempting to run towards him, visibly winded following her first step and nearly collapsing to her knees.
"Get back here!" she huffed, "I ain't lettin' you get away wit' what chu done did to my baby!" the morbidly obese woman gasped, nearly stumbling over as she stepped on a pink roller that had fallen out of her already thinning black hair.
"Jesus Fucking Christ, you mean to tell me something actually sleeps with you?" Artie replied, revolted to the point of nearly vomiting and then turned his attention over to Buford, "I thought bestiality was illegal in this state, guess I thought wrong."
"You!" the mountain of woman screamed before doubling over and sounding as if she were about to hack up a lung.
"Holy fucking sheep shit! I'm surprised anything would be able to sleep with you without you crushing them. I mean goddamn, you coming at me right now I'd swear you're that same boulder that rolled after Arizona Holmes in 'Shrine of Kismet!' Goddamn!"
"God fucking damn! I'm surprised anything would be able to sleep with you without you crushing them. I mean goddamn, you coming at me right now I'd swear you're that same boulder that rolled after Arizona Holmes in 'Shrine of Kismet!'"
"I'm a gonna kill ya' for that!" the woman hollered hoarsely as she again took another labored step towards him.
"Heh, I'd be more worried about you killing yourself right now. I bet you're not used to this much exercise unless it's you reaching for a meatball sub!" Artie laughed, "Man, now I know I've definitely spent too much time around Donnie."
"Lorene I think you oughta' give it a rest sweetie, remember your blood pressure," a much smaller woman with her blonde hair worn in a messy beehive hairdo called out walking over to the massive mountain of fat, which now had a name.
"Jesus fuck lady, I know your husband isn't a small guy, but goddamn I bet after sex he rolls over twice and he's still on top of you!" Artie laughed, causing the fat woman to let out another roar of frustration.
"You, I'm a gonna get chu' for this boy! Mark my words," Lorene called out as Artie turned on his heel and walked away, having had enough fun.
As soon as he made his way out of the trailer park Artie pulled out his cell phone and dialed Donnie's number. After the third ring his cousin picked up.
"Hello?" Donnie asked, sounding very out of breath.
"Donnie, I got those scumbags taken care of. I don't think they'll be coming back to bother your friends anytime soon," Artie reported.
"That's good to hear…" the elder Cappelli cousin trailed off like he was about to fall asleep.
Donnie Cappelli was sitting on one of the couches in his living room, exhausted after having carried out a full blown orgy with eight women, all of whom were passed out. Mischa, one of the Russian twins was passed out next to him while her sister Illyana had fallen asleep with her face buried in his crotch.
"Are you sure you're alright?" Artie asked.
"Cuz, I just had sex with eight different women. How could I not be alright?" Donnie chuckled.
"Uh, thank you for sharing that…but seriously I just took out those three guys on your list. As soon as you're able to you can forward that ten thousand dollars to my account."
"Sure thing Cuz, I'll do that…but I don't think it'll be happening tonight…sorry…" Donnie trailed as he noticed Mischa beginning to stir, meaning he might have to go another round with her.
"Fine, but don't forget. You owe me for my troubles," Artie replied.
"I've always paid you for everything you've done for me. I never forget!" Donnie snapped, causing Illyana to awaken as well. "Um, I'm gonna have to let you go now. I'll talk to you later."
"Sure thing," Artie said before hanging up.
Slipping the phone back into his pocket the errand boy made his way towards the cruiser pondering what he would do for the rest of the day.
"Don't know," he answered himself aloud, "Might just hang out at the bar and have a few drinks, maybe invite the guys up for a pizza…hmm, maybe I'll give Gladys a call. I haven't done anything with her in a while."
Before he could continue with his thoughts he was interrupted by the ringing of his cell phone and looked down to his caller ID to see it was coming from an unknown caller.
"What gives?" he asked before switching the phone on to see who it was, "Hello?"
"Artie Cappelli, how the hell are you doing today?" a slimy voice called out from the other end, one that made the Italian-American's blood boil.
"Johnny Sneed you rat fucking bastard, how the fuck did you get this number?" Artie screamed into the phone.
The loan shark laughed harshly, "Let's just say I have somebody here who wants to talk to you."
A loud slap resounded in the background before a familiar, panicked voice called out, "Artie! Artie it's me!"
Hearing the voice caused his heart to nearly stop.
"Gino, what the hell gives? Are you alright? What has that bastard done to you?" Artie demanded.
"C-C-C-Cu-Cuz…j-just please get over here r-r-right away! Johnny really needs to talk to you about something!" Gino blurted out before another slap was heard followed by his screams of pain.
"You'd better listen to what your cousin just had to say and get your worthless piece of shit ass over here!" Johnny shouted from the other end, "And you'd better make it quick or else your cousin doesn't have much time left!"
"You leave my cousin out of this you fucking bastard! I swear to God if you so much as breathe on him I'm gonna come over there and put a fucking bullet in your worthless fucking skull!" Artie screamed into his phone, threatening to crush it with his iron grip.
"Hey, hey, hey! You just remember you're not the one in the position to be making threats wise guy. Enough talk, get your ass over to the Shyster Savings and Loans Bank in Horgate and we'll discuss this matter further," and with those words the line went dead.
"That motherfucking piece of shit," Artie screamed before picking up a trashcan and tossing it through the windshield of a Rancher parked nearby, "How dare he put his hands on my family…" he blurted out, catching his breath and trying to calm himself.
"I've gotta get Gino back," he whispered making his way over to the police cruiser, throwing on his seatbelt and speeding towards the Horgate district.
"I swear to fucking God one of these days I'm going to kill Johnny Sneed."
XXXXXXXXXX
Author's Note: And so ends yet another mission for our long suffering antihero. Will he be able to save his cousin, or has Gino Cappelli rolled the dice for the final time? Tune in for the next installment, which sadly won't be as sexually charged and full of naked women as this chapter.
Onto the random notes, like what Afro Spirit did in his discontinued "Laugh Now, Cry Later" story, I wanted to include a comedy bit and I wanted to incorporate Gabriel Iglesias because I fucking love that guy. His bit about being pulled over is inspired by a clip from his "I'm Not Fat…I'm Fluffy" DVD, of course some of the dialogue had to be modified to fit in with the GTA universe.
The part where Artie is talking to Dr. Casey is inspired by a scene from "I Now Pronounce You Chuck and Larry" where Chuck is in the middle of hosting a huge orgy at his apartment and then Larry shows up and recognizes one of the ladies there as the same doctor who treats him and Chuck after they almost die in a crumbling building, questioning him about his current condition while she's wearing some skimpy lingerie.
The name of the Mexican restaurant Casa de Chavez y Chavez is a reference to the friendly Mexican bandit Jose Chavez y Chavez from the Rockstar video game "Gun."
Mama Pearl's Diner is inspired by Mama Pearl, the leader of the Boomers from "Fallout: New Vegas" and the bomber airplane on display behind the diner is inspired by the sunken Boeing B-29 Superfortress which you have to help them recover in the "Volare!" side quest.
"Delivery" is a spoof of "Deliverance," Don Beere spoofs John Deere tractors and Arizona Holmes is a spoof of Indiana Jones and "Shrine of Kismet" spoofs "Temple of Doom."
Well I think that's all for my end of chapter notes so as always read and review! This is Metal Harbinger saying SPREAD THE SICKNESS, ONE MIND AT A TIME! \m/