Author's Note: There is an author's note which I was going to say in the beginning of the last chapter, but unfortunately I forgot to do so, so here it is now in response to a review of a previous chapter:
Zane Longsharks: Thanks for your kind words. As always it is a pleasure to hear from new faces, nothing wrong with the my already constant reviewers, but always looking to expand, and yes I always have a fun time working with Donnie Cappelli, he's supposed to be like a more violent version of Glenn Quagmire from "Family Guy." To answer your little inquiry, the Banditelli Mafia is supposed to be the most powerful gang in all of Rushmore City, so powerful they were able to take down 4 other mob families and thus I try to portray them as having eyes and ears everywhere to the point someone farts they'd hear it and if they didn't like the smell, they'd be out to get that person right away, which is what Johnny Sneed is. He's supposed to be their eyes and ears on Lincoln Island, so if something happened to him they would know right away. Artie does have allies in the Aces and the Luciferian Brotherhood, yet they themselves are also on the ropes with their own struggles and wouldn't be able to devote the manpower necessary to help their friend out. I don't know if that answers much, but hopefully it does give you at least some insight into the dealings of Rushmore City.
Chapter 33: Shakedown
Artie pulled to a screeching halt outside of the Shyster Savings and Loans Bank, knocking over a hotdog cart in the process.
"Hey what are you doing? That is my damned hotdog stand you brute!" the vendor cried out, only to be silenced by an animalistic roar from a very enraged Artie that sent him fleeing down the street.
Bolting up the stairs he pushed his way through the front doors despite the protests of a nearby security guard and made his way over to the first person he saw, a slim brunette wearing a mauve-colored pant suit who was currently in the middle of dealing with an elderly man. Slamming his hands down onto the desktop he screamed in her face like a man possessed.
"Where's Johnny Sneed?" he demanded, "Tell me where the fuck he is!"
"Sir, you're going to need to calm down," the guard said cautiously approaching him from behind, only to eat a backhand that broke his nose.
"Oh, you must be Mr. Cappelli," the woman squeaked, "He said something about you having an appointment. He's down the hall and your last door on the left."
Ignoring the stares of the employees and customers present, Artie bolted down the hallway and reached the door he was directed to, nearly knocking it from its hinges as he threw it open.
Gino Cappelli was in the center of the room tied down to a swivel chair with his mouth gagged, his face covered in fresh cuts and bruises with both his blackened eyes almost swollen shut.
Johnny Sneed stood tall over him with the sleeves of his pink dress shirt rolled up to his elbows and a pair of gold-plated brass knuckles on his right hand, delivering another punch to the bloodied man's face that left him giving a muffled scream of pain.
"You bastard, don't you fucking touch him!" Artie screamed making a beeline for Johnny, only to be halted by the loan shark's bodyguards stepping in front of him with their guns drawn.
"Maybe if your cousin were able to pay up on time, then there would be no need to touch him," Johnny said to him before returning his attention to Gino, "Isn't that right?" he asked before backhanding him hard.
Artie stood in place breathing heavily, restraining himself from lashing out at the weasel before him knowing what would happen next if he moved. It pained him to stand there and watch his cousin take that brutal abuse, feeling the veins wanting to pop through his skin knowing he couldn't do anything about it, except clench his fists and grit his teeth until his jaw hurt.
"Why do you have to do this to him? He might be a slacker and a piss poor liar, but he hasn't hurt you in any shape or form, now let him go!" he demanded, hearing Gino's muffled grunt of offense at the 'liar' comment.
"Heh, just because your cousin's shithole dive might be starting to make money for once doesn't mean he's off the hook with me just yet. Your cousin owes me much more than you think, yet another lie of his," Johnny said tugging hard on the bound man's ear as he finished his sentence.
Artie didn't know what to say and stared hard at his cousin, bloody tears streaming down his face.
"Getting down to business," Johnny said adopting a more business-like tone, "I know you don't like me and to be frank, I sure as hell don't like you either. To tell the truth, if I had my way both of you would be dead right now," he said looking back to Gino.
"Then what's fucking keeping you, huh?" Artie asked motioning with his arms, "How come you haven't killed us already?"
Johnny stopped pacing and scowled viciously at him, "My employers want the money back that your cousin borrowed and they still haven't gotten it back yet. You see, I'm really just the middleman who makes sure they get what they want," his tone turning to one of disgust, "and apparently you can't collect tax from a dead man," he said again looking to Gino, a low rumbling in his stomach.
"And why have you summoned me here?" Artie demanded, furrowing his brow towards the loan shark.
Johnny chuckled and took a seat on the edge of his desk, "Your cousin tells me you're quite the 'busy little bee' and that you've already done quite a few successful jobs for him and your friends. From what I've heard you're quite efficient with your work and cutting to the chase, I want you to work for me," he said pointing a thumb to himself.
Artie laughed harshly at the comment, "You want me to work for you? Keep dreaming pal! What the hell makes you think I would ever work for you after all the shit you've pulled on my family? You should be lucky I haven't killed you yet!"
Now it was Johnny's turn to laugh.
"You sure talk big for a punk with nothing to back you up. Seriously, I get the impression you think your 'Johnson' is too big to keep in your pants, typical grease ball gusto!" he spoke, earning a few annoyed stares from his bodyguards, whom Artie assumed must have also been of Italian descent.
"And what if I say no? What if I decide that I'm above working for your kind?" Artie asked, clenching his fists at his sides.
Johnny reached behind him and pulled out a nickel plated Colt Anaconda, placing it to Gino's temple.
"Then your cousin dies," he snickered.
Beneath the cloth gagging him Artie could make out his cousin screaming "Do it! Do it!" as he squirmed wildly.
Artie steeled himself as the words hit him like a freight train, knowing he was faced with a difficult decision: either work for somebody he absolutely hated or his cousin would be murdered in cold blood. He was truly backed into a corner now and knew he wouldn't like the outcome either way.
"Fine, I'll do it…" he grunted, hating himself for having to utter those words, "…but only under one condition, you have to leave my cousin alone. I swear to God, if you touch him in any shape or form, the deal is off!"
"Alright, you've got yourself a deal," Johnny said placing the revolver back onto his desk, "Do as I say and no harm will come to your cousin."
"What do you want me to do?" Artie inquired, unable to believe he was asking him such a question.
"Ready to get down to business right away, I like that in an underling," Johnny snickered, really wanting to rub it in before giving his marching orders, "Your cousin here hasn't been the only business owner who's been copping out on me in regards to repaying his loans," the loan shark said producing a list from his pocket, "Quite a few have been refusing to pay me back and I cannot have that happen. They need to repay their loans and I don't care what you have to do to get the money back, whether you have to break something, fuck their wife right in front of them, kill one of their employees, anything that will make them cough up my money!"
Artie barely stifled a grunt of disgust, hating the thought of having to push people around knowing it would make him no better than that rat bastard Johnny.
"I thought you said the money belonged to your employers and that you were just the middleman," the Italian-American replied, unable to hide his irritation.
Johnny narrowed his dark eyes at him, "Well I'm entitled to a percentage, being that I am their employee and everything…but enough of that," he said handing the list to Artie, "I am a fair man and I will personally see to it you are given a percentage for a job well done, even if you aren't worthy of it. Now, just get your ass out there and get the money back any way you can. If you do this for me, then I promise I will be out of your life and your cousin's forever. Now, get to it!" he said clapping his hands.
"Understood," Artie replied with a nod. Deep down he doubted the man would live up to his promise, but would do whatever he could to protect his cousin. "What about him?" he asked pointing towards Gino.
"Oh, that asshole, well I'll see to it that he gets over to a doctor as soon as possible, think of it as my form of 'compensation' for the day," Johnny replied with a smirk.
"You better," Artie said exiting the office and making his way outside.
"Goddamn it Artie, what the hell have you gotten yourself into?" he asked himself stepping through the double doors, feeling as if he had been forced to sell his soul to the Devil.
He noticed the patrol car he arrived in was nowhere to be found, but that there was a nice black Schafter left in its place. Running over to it he found a pair of keys left inside along with a note from Johnny:
"There's a toy waiting for you in the trunk if things get too hairy."
"That rat bastard actually looks out for his employees? That's a first," Artie thought switching on the car and flipping the station over to 94.3 CSKD, currently playing "Knee Deep" by Job for a Cowboy, perfect music for him to vent his frustration to.
His first stop would be the Screw-It Center, which fortunately wasn't too far away from the bank and he was there within minutes pulling up outside the one story red building.
Artie switched the car off and exhaled deeply, hating himself for what he was about to do.
Stepping out he walked inside and was greeted by a chubby older man in a blue boiler suit whose balding head was covered by a matching cap advertising the company logo. A patch on his shirt identified him as 'Otis.'
"What can I do for you son?" the man asked with a friendly grin, giving off a fatherly aura that instantly made Artie feel uncomfortable.
"Look, Johnny sent me," he replied, showing his reluctance, "Now I don't want trouble any more than you do so just hand over the money and I'll be on my way."
The older man's genteel demeanor quickly faded and he reached beneath the counter, pulling out a thick white envelope and shoving it across to him, "Just take it and get the hell out."
"Fine, I'm gone," Artie replied accepting the envelope and turning on his heel.
As he left the shop Otis took notice of his behavior, "Hmmm, he ain't like those other wise guys who come marching around here. Must be a new guy, he'll probably turn into a punk sooner or later."
Artie climbed back into the Schafter and saw the next target on his list was the Mack's Knickknack Shack antique store over in the adjoining Stoker district, again another short drive.
"Sooner I can be done with this the better," he told himself, still feeling sick at the thought of being Johnny Sneed's errand boy.
Within moments he arrived in Stoker, another district dominated by small mom and pop businesses, shoppers out in full force for whatever deals they could get. The presence of so many people forced him to slow down as he carefully searched for the antique store.
"Alright, where the fuck are you?" he quietly asked aloud waiting patiently for a Contender pickup truck to pull into traffic, "Where the fuck are-"
Artie's thoughts were interrupted when he looked over to his left to see a Yardie Lobo in the lane next to him, the driver slapping his hand against the door to the beat of Sly and Robbie's "Penny Lover as they waited behind several other vehicles at a stoplight.
He could feel his stomach almost leap through his skin and quickly turned his head to the other side hoping they wouldn't recognize him. Playing like he dropped something on the floor, he lowered his head and then carefully looked over his shoulder to see if they were reaching for a gun.
He watched as the driver reached for something from his passenger and scrambled for his Beretta, placing it in his lap to avoid drawing the Caribbean gangsters' attention or frightening any pedestrians. His heart pounded in his chest and his trigger finger itched as he fought the urge to raise his gun, but when he saw the plume of smoke he sudden relaxed, the Yardie driver and his passenger casually passing a joint back and forth. The light soon turned green and they went on their way.
"Fuck that was close," he muttered to himself as he waited for the Contender ahead of him to move, which was held up by a Flatbed transporting heavy machinery in the process of making a wide turn.
With his obstruction out of the way Artie continued along the street until he found Mack's Knickknack Shack nestled between the Musashi Karate Dojo and Duckbutter's Custom Furniture. He waited for a Regina station wagon to pull out and then made his way into the parking spot, nearly scraping another sedan parked behind him.
"Heh, why should I care if I scratch this car? It's probably Johnny's personal ride for all I know," he thought climbing out and approaching the store.
Mack's Knickknack Shack looked like the kind of shop that would have been a burglar's dream come true.
There appeared to be items from all over the world present in a tiny shop located in the middle of an industrial shithole. Cases along the walls displayed pottery and jewelry that had to be more than a century old, along with statues, paintings, books, clocks and furniture that had to be even older. Also present in the cases were plenty of Medieval-looking weapons, far eastern swords and armor mixing with western pistols and rifles.
Standing behind the counter was an elderly man in a plaid sweater vest ringing up an order for a red-haired man purchasing a war lance adorned with eagle feathers.
"Oh man, I'm so going to score with that chick from my Native American history class," the young man squealed in delight as he exited the store.
The elderly shopkeeper took a hit from an inhaler just as Artie approached, "Can I help you today sonny?" he croaked.
"Johnny sent me, says you need to pay up," Artie said trying to remain business-like, "Now just do as you're told and we can have this over with."
"Go to Hell!" the frail-looking man roared, "That Johnny Sneed is nothing but a two-bit punk with no appreciation for those around him, or for fine art!" he said motioning towards the curios in his shop.
"Look, just give me the money and we won't be having any trouble," Artie said trying to reason with the man, "To be quite honest, I don't care much for the prick either, but he's holding my cousin hostage and if I don't do what he says he's going to be a dead man."
"Fuck your cousin! I have an entire family to support ya' know!" the man protested, showing much more determination than expected.
Grunting in frustration, Artie looked around and took notice of the valuables present, all of which were very expensive-looking. With no other options he withdrew the nightstick he acquired from Lisa's cruiser.
"Fine, then we're going to do things the hard way," the errand boy spoke taking a swing and smashing a nearby Ming vase to pieces.
"What are you doing?" the clerk screamed, "That was a priceless treasure from China!"
"And now it's dust," Artie replied as he kicked over a grandfather clock and then snatched a candelabra from another shelf and tossed it through an Impressionist painting positioned on an easel near the front door, ripping through its material.
"Hey, hey stop that at once!" the proprietor demanded, trying to walk out from behind his counter, only to wheeze after taking a few steps and again pulling out his inhaler, "Please…stop it…" he gasped.
Artie wasn't through, smashing open a bottle containing a model pirate ship before knocking over a suit of armor and then kicking over an armoire filled with several tea sets.
"Please stop!" the owner begged, tears filling his eyes, "Please just stop it!" he whined as the errand boy took an upward swing with his nightstick that sent a silver tea set flying into the air and clattering to the floor with an ear-splitting drone. "Okay, okay I'll pay up! I'll pay up!" the man screamed before reaching for his inhaler.
"That's all I needed to hear," Artie replied approaching the counter and slapping his hands down onto its wooden surface, accepting a thick envelope from the quivering man.
"Please, just take it and leave!" the elderly man pleaded raising his hands above his head to guard himself from any possible blows.
"A pleasure doing business with you sir," Artie smirked before disappearing through the front door.
"Johnny would be so proud of you," a voice in his head spoke, forcing him to wince.
With two businesses down he wanted to focus on getting to the next location, Blojobski Laundromat over in the Red Light District.
This drive would be a little longer so he stopped by a vendor to grab a hotdog and then went over to a Secsi machine and grabbed himself a soda, enjoying his brief meal before moving on.
For the most part it was an uneventful drive from Stoker to the Red Light District, aside from when he was driving down Bonaparte Blvd., where there was a full scale gun battle going down between members of the Uptown Yardies and the Hellcats, a bullet-riddled red and white Rancher nearby surrounded by the shot up carcasses of four Redcoats.
Artie could only smile in ghoulish glee at the sight.
"As long as they never find out the truth," he thought watching the last Yardie fall after taking a barrage of high-powered rounds from a Hellcat's M4, the first thing that had made him smile in a few hours.
It was now in the early evening hours and the hookers were starting to come out in full force as the sun set, like creatures of the night, as did their pimps and the ever present john looking to blow their day's wages.
"Gonna have to make this quick," he muttered passing a junkie waving around a Styrofoam cup looking for his next high, looking like he was ready to pick up a nearby brick to bash a passerby's head in and steal his money.
Blojobski Laundromat was situated between the Mani-Cure nail salon and the Eros' Erotic Emporium sex shop, where a pimp dressed in a bright turquoise outfit that violated fashion laws on so many different levels was in the middle of smacking around one of his 'employees' with his ring-clad hand. The chivalrous part of Artie wanted to step in and put the bastard out of his misery, but at the same time he couldn't risk compromising his mission and went inside.
There were still a few customers present, either loading their laundry into the washers or sitting around waiting for their clothes to dry. A middle-aged woman stood at the front counter with her nose buried in a 'Persons' magazine, looking up as Artie approached.
"Hello and welcome to Blojobski Laundromat, do you have any clothes needing to be picked up?" the woman asked in a thick Polish accent.
"No, but I have protection money that needs to be picked up," Artie replied.
The second he spoke a dark-haired man emerged from the office and got in his face, "We are no longer paying you or the bastard who employs you!" he roared with the vigor of a lion, startling the seated customers and causing a young woman to drop a loaded basket onto the sandal-clad foot of a young man who was using his Whiz Ballsak to browse Spacebook.
"Hey man, I'm just here to do a job-" the errand boy continued until he was again cut off.
"We will not pay!" the man hollered, "We did not come to this great country to be bullied by a bunch of piss ant hoodlums like you!"
Without warning the man grabbed a laundry basket as he spoke his last words and tossed it in his face before bolting out the back door.
"Motherfucker," Artie spat shrugging off the blow and making his way out the front door towards the waiting Schafter, knocking over a construction worker and performing a baseball slide across the sedan's hood before pulling himself inside.
The screech of tires reported from the back alley and he watched as a dark red Burrito advertising the aforementioned laundromat sped out from the darkness, nearly running over the pimp who had been abusing his employee.
"Muthafucka' watch it!" the pimp screamed.
Shifting the car into reverse, Artie pulled the sedan backward onto the sidewalk and smacked into the pimp's side, sending him tumbling against the building's front window, but not killing him.
"Take that you woman beating prick," he grunted shifting the car back into drive and taking off after the fleeing van.
The van had already reached the end of the street and brushed against a streetlight, sending it clattering to the concrete like a falling tree, following up by ripping off the driver's side door of a parked '92 Fortune the owner had been getting out of when the speeding Burrito zipped past, ignoring the screams of its angry owner.
Artie hammered the gas pedal down to the Schafter's floor, bobbing and weaving around oncoming traffic at a manic pace as he pursued the van.
"It's on motherfucker," he whispered gaining ground on the van and ramming hard into its rear bumper, causing it to jerk back and forth. Not finished yet, he slammed into the backside and kept up until its rear doors came flying open and several laundry baskets spilled out onto his windshield.
"Shit!" Artie blurted aloud, forced to slow down and switch on his windshield wipers, desperate to keep the car straight as his vision was obscured, soon speeding up in an effort to shake the discarded clothes off, a pink thong hanging from the wiper. He continued forth until the entire car was rocked and his windshield was shattered.
"What the fuck?" he asked hearing a loud racket above him and looking into the rearview mirror to see the warped remnants of a motorcycle clattering to the ground behind him, followed by some pissed off bikers emerging from the nearby bar with their guns drawn.
"Damn it," the errand boy grunted trying to floor it out of there, hearing the bullets pelting against the rear end and shattering his rear window and taillights while trying to focus on the fleeing van before him, swerving to the left to dodge another falling basket and ramming it again until one of its rear doors went flying off.
"C'mon damn it, you've gotta give it up sometime," Artie said ramming the Burrito hard again and forcing it to collide with an oncoming Borgnine Taxi, causing the van to whip back and forth again before the driver somehow regained control. He was tempted to pull out his gun and shoot at the van, but didn't want to risk killing the driver, knowing he would be needed alive to collect the money.
The van took another abrupt turn and from the opposite lane the hired gun spotted an oncoming Patriot with an American flag paint scheme, creating another opportunity for Artie to end the pursuit.
"Hell yeah," Artie exclaimed at his good fortune and rammed the fleeing Burrito hard again, sending it flying head on into the bulky S.U.V., which in turn sent it whipping wildly into a nearby winery.
"Hey man, do you have any idea how much this paint job cost?" the driver of the Patriot called out, a scrawny young man with spiked hair and wearing a loud Hawaiian shirt and large shades obscuring his eyes. There were several more young adults in the vehicle, all staring in horror at what had just occurred.
"Get the fuck outta here!" Artie screamed drawing his Beretta and firing a shot that destroyed the vehicle's rearview mirror.
With a falsetto shriek the driver slammed the Patriot's gas pedal and got the hell out of dodge, allowing the hired gun to return his attention to the laundry van and he made his way over, finding the driver bloodied and shaken, but still very much alive.
"Alright pal, as I stated earlier I believe you owe Johnny Sneed some money," he said shoving the gun's barrel through the shattered passenger side window, "Now are you going to further test my patience and make me do something I'm going to regret, or are you going to be nice and do as you're told?"
"Okay, okay fine you can have the money! Just please let me go!" the frightened launderer screamed, grabbing a briefcase out from between the seats and shoving it into Artie's hands.
"Do as I say and next time you won't be having these problems," he replied, wanting to instill the fear of God into the man.
"Just hoping there doesn't have to be a next time," he thought reaching for the list, finding the next location to be Rusty's Trombone over in Bellport.
Just as he was exiting the wrecked winery his phone began ringing and looked at the caller ID to see it was Johnny.
"God fucking damn you Johnny," Artie growled in disgust while switching on the phone, "Hello?"
"You getting my money back?" the loan shark demanded.
Exhaling in disgust the errand boy replied, "Yes, I'm getting your fucking money back and I was in the middle of doing my job when you called!"
"You'd better be you little shit stain. Your cousin's over at Lincoln General, poor guy really needs to stop being so 'clumsy' if you ask me," Johnny snickered from the other end, "He's yours to pick up once you're through, but I warn you, I've got guys watching the place. If you try copping out on me, they'll be more than happy to ventilate both your sorry asses!"
"Fine, fine I'll get the rest of the businesses on your list," Artie half-shouted, wishing he could reach through his cell phone and strangle the turd on the other end.
"That's the spirit," Johnny chuckled merrily, "Keep up the good work until then!"
Artie hung up the phone and had to resist the urge to smash it to pieces, the sound of that slimy bastard's voice reigniting his rage. At the same time, he felt concern for his cousin Gino and had to wonder if he really was being treated well at the hospital, or if he was really locked away in some basement, tied to a chair and having his balls squashed with a sledgehammer.
He climbed back into the beaten up Schafter and was about to proceed for his next destination when a news broadcast suddenly came over 94.3 CSKD:
"Hello harlots and blasphemers, once again this is your host the Metal Harbinger and I'm very sorry to interrupt your badass tunes like this, but the dickhead above me is forcing me to bring you this bit of news, yeah it fucking pisses me off to do this too.
"Anyways, I'm being told to tell all of you to watch yourselves if you are listening to me on Lincoln Island as a full scale fucking gang war has erupted between the Redcoats, the Hellcats and the Uptown Yardies. Those guys were all once tighter than a nun's pussy, but now they're fucking killing each other and there's fucking blood all over the place.
"Why the fuck should I be warning you guys about this? This is the fucking apocalypse baby! This is fucking Satan rising up from the depths of Hell! We oughta' be out there joining in on the fun! Fuck, if I wasn't on the clock I'd be out there with that new L85 I got the other day from Ammu-Nation!
"Oh well, for now I'm gonna have to settle with providing the soundtrack for battle and thus I give you 'Violence' by Dope here on 94.3 CSKD!"
Artie found himself forced to pull over as an ambulance sped past him with its lights and siren going, no doubt heading for one of those battles, its crew likely soon to be slaughtered.
"Their funeral," he whispered while passing the Three Leaf Clover and soon making his way towards Rusty's Trombone, a small ivory-colored building with a rusted trumpet comprising most of its sign hanging over the door and several brass instruments seen in its front display window, the polar opposite of the kind Iceman sold in his shop.
Artie pulled to a halt in front of the store and took a deep breath, ready to commit his next heinous act in the name of a bloodsucking leech whose name alone sent shockwaves of anger throughout his body, one he so desperately wanted to rip off and stomp the shit out of.
The hired gun made his way inside, the ringing of the bell overhead announcing his entrance, barely heard over the bellow of someone who couldn't play a French horn if their life depended upon it, their disjointed toots sounding like really bad farts.
The entire room was lined with shelves displaying brass instruments of all different shapes and sizes, as well as various types of woodwind, string and percussion instruments. There was a practice room at the back of the small building from which Artie listened to the French horn session gone terribly wrong and at the front counter was a pudgy man with a ring of dark brown hair around his melon-shaped head, oversized glasses and a poufy dark mustache that almost made him look like a horribly drawn cartoon character.
Wasting no time Artie made his way over to the man and slapped his hands down on the counter, at his wit's end following his recent brush with the laundromat proprietor.
"Alright, getting straight to the chase, I'm here on behalf of Johnny Sneed and I believe you're behind on your most recent payment. Cough it up or else I'm not going to be very nice!"
"Wh-What? What are you talking about?" the man squeaked, "I just paid up the other day! Hell, I offered Mr. Sneed free saxophone lessons as an added bonus!" the man protested, letting out a fart in the process, "Oops…sorry."
"Well according to him you haven't," Artie replied before sniffing at the air and cupping a hand over his nose, "Ah! Jesus Fucking Christ, what the fuck crawled up your fat ass and died?"
"Sorry sir, I have irritable bowels," the clerk replied, his cheeks turning bright red.
"As if I didn't fucking know that already!" Artie snapped using his free hand in a futile attempt to wave the rancid stench away from him, "Now please, just give me the fucking money so I can get the fuck outta here already!" the hitman shouted, feeling his stomach want to perform a triple somersault, "Smells like you slaughtered a fucking cow, ugh!"
"B-Bu-Bu-But please you've gotta believe me! I already sent out my payment to Mr. Sneed! Ask my assistant and he'll vouch for me! I swear on my mother's life I'm telling you the truth!" the man cried.
"And I swear I'm going to rip that turd off your face if you don't pay up!" Artie shouted nearly bumping into a tuba display, "What the hell is that thing supposed to be?" he asked staring at the man's mustache.
"Hey, don't you fucking talk to my uncle like that!" a young man with sandy blond hair shouted, emerging from the office with a baseball bat in hand and making a beeline for Artie.
The hired gun barely ducked beneath the man's swing, which sent the now dented tuba clattering to the floor. Withdrawing his nightstick, Artie struck the man hard in his side and followed up with two more blows before he finally relinquished his grip on the bat and then punched the young man hard in his face before grabbing him by the back of his shirt and sending him flying into a display of clarinets.
"Hey, don't touch my nephew you son of a bitch!" the shopkeeper shouted, reaching for a .38 revolver he had kept hidden beneath the counter. Unfortunately for the small man, he had never fired gun in his entire life and the recoil of such a diminutive pistol sent the man flying backward after he squeezed the trigger, a sight comical to the battle hardened hired gun.
"Man you suck," Artie taunted, walking behind the counter and kicking the gun away from the man's outstretched hand before placing his boot to the man's wrist. "What's it gonna be short stack? You gonna cough up the money or do I have to slap you around like a bitch too? As small as you are I'd probably break you in half."
"Alright, you win! You win mister! Please just don't hurt me!" the clerk whined and reached for a manila envelope hidden beneath the counter as Artie released his grip. "Please, just take it and go!"
"See, if you would be a good little scamp we wouldn't have to resort to this now, would we?" Artie spoke in a patronizing tone before making his way past the man's still unconscious nephew and back to the beaten up Schafter.
"God fucking damn these people," Artie grunted climbing into the sedan and reaching for his list, finding the next location to be Broker Bob's Authentic Broker Style Deli over in Komojack Downs. Switching the car back on he decided to switch radio stations, seeking something that wasn't as aggressive as the heavy metal that had kept his mean streak going, yet something that was fast enough to keep his energy up, eventually settling on Rewind FM, currently playing "Enjoy the Silence" by Depeche Mode.
The streets were still fairly packed and it left the hitman proceeding at a rate much slower than he intended, especially as he again passed through the northernmost edge of Camden Heights, where the police had cordoned off an area. A blood spattered Clover had rammed into a tan-colored Dukes positioned at an awkward angle and nearby a red-clad thug was being dragged kicking and screaming to a squad car and not much farther away was a Hispanic thug in a Hellcat's jacket down on his knees with his wrists bound behind him. Several paramedics were present as well, two of whom closing up a body bag and preparing to lift it onto a stretcher. A Police Maverick circled overhead, now employing its searchlight in the early evening hours.
Once he had passed the obstruction he continued on towards Komojack Downs without further interruption until he had reached the district limits and was brought to a halt by two N.O.O.S.E. Enforcers surrounded by wooden sawhorses. The rattle of automatic fire called out in the distance as he tried peering around the large vehicles, yet couldn't see anything.
A heavily-armored trooper eventually approached the sedan, "Sir, I'm afraid this street is currently off limits. There is a gang battle currently taking place and we need to keep all civilians at a safe distance. We have a detour set up on nearby O'Dell Lane if you need to get anywhere."
"Um…okay thanks," Artie sighed, knowing there was no way around the heavily-armed soldiers, especially with as dangerously low on ammo he was following his earlier battles. "Shit, what the fuck am I going to do now?" he asked looking over to see several concerned citizens gazing out through their windows, until his eyes found their way to the alley located at his left and then an idea popped into his head. Making a U-turn on an empty street, he drove along until finding a parking lot and pulling into a stall, locking the doors behind him.
"Gonna have to get a little creative for once," he told himself making his way into the nearby alley, creeping along as he heard the plethora of screeching tires, automatic fire, police sirens, the flutter of helicopter blades, dying screams and even what he swore had to be a rocket exploding.
He watched from a distance as more Yardies and Hellcats fought amongst themselves, a few N.O.O.S.E. operatives getting involved and gunning down a few of the warring gang members before managing to wrestle a lone Hellcat to the pavement and handcuffing him.
"That's right, just keep on murdering each other you fucking losers," Artie thought continuing down the alley until he spotted a lanky man in a blood covered apron smoking a cigarette.
"Fuck what the boss says. I'm not going to let some gunfight stop me from enjoying my menthol goodness," the man cooed before inhaling the smoke into his lungs and then blowing a cloud into the sky.
"You do realize that is bad for your health, don't you?" Artie asked cocking his gun and placing it against the man's temple, causing the cigarette to drop from his mouth as it opened in terror.
"I'm guessing you must work for Broker Bob, am I correct?" the errand boy demanded, forcing the barrel deeper into the young man, who could only nod nervously.
"Ye-Ye-Yes he's inside!" the man finally squeaked before finding himself grabbed by the collar and thrown against the building.
"Very well, your boss and I need to have a little talk. Take me to him!" Artie demanded, letting the man go and following him into the back of the butcher shop.
He was led into the back storage room of Broker Bob's Authentic Broker Style Deli, where several employees had congregated, including a squat man with broad arms and a head of thinning curly hair.
"Connor what the hell are you doing bringing guests in here? Can't you see there's a war going on outside? We can't afford to trust anybody right now," the short man demanded before Artie shoved the lanky man aside and withdrew his gun, everybody raising their hands in horror at the motion.
"Are you Broker Bob?" he shouted at the short man, training his gun on the man's groin area.
"Y-Yeah…I'm B-B-Bro-Broker! What the hell do you want?" the man whimpered.
"You owe Johnny Sneed money, that's what brings me here on this 'oh so pleasant day,'" Artie smirked as he listened to the dying screams of more gang members coming from outside.
"Hey man, I can't just pay up right now! All these goddamned gang wars have been eating away at my profits!" the butcher protested.
Artie carefully eyed up each of the deli employees, shifting his sights back and forth between all of them until he happened across a bald, chubby Chinese man in a sweat-stained striped tank top and fired a round into his kneecap.
"Apparently I haven't made myself clear enough; you owe Johnny Sneed protection money!" Artie repeated, ignoring the employee's screams of anguish as he writhed about on the tiled floor.
"Okay, okay I'll get your money, just please stop shooting everybody!" Broker Bob screamed before turning his attention to an African-American woman with her dark hair worn in cornrows, "Get the money for him now! Do it!"
Without hesitation the woman disappeared into a nearby office and came back with a bulky manila envelope in hand, shoving it into Artie's chest.
"Alright, that's all I needed. Go on with your business," he said nonchalantly as the other employees now attempted to help their wounded colleague.
"Two more to go," Artie whispered to himself as he ran down the alley, eventually happening across an alcove where two exhausted Yardies were hiding out.
"Get cha' ass outta here Yankee boy! Dis be our hidin' spot 'ere!" one of the Caribbean men snapped.
Artie could hear the heavy footsteps and radio chatter of nearby police officers and smiled.
"Officers, there are two Yardies hiding back here!" he shouted, adopting the tone of a frantic streetwalker and wildly waving towards the two men before continuing his run down the alley, smiling ghoulishly at what likely awaited the two men.
"You never take us alive piggy!" one of the gangsters called out and then there was a hail of gunfire.
"Suck on that you druggy bitches," Artie quipped making his way back to Johnny's Schafter and climbing inside. The next store on the list was Jerry Juana's Green Galore in Little Jamaica.
"Probably a smoke shop or something," Artie thought to himself as he switched the radio station over to Radio GX, which was currently playing "Until the Day I Die" by Story of the Year, and made his way out of the war torn district, only to find himself headed for another.
Upon entering the Little Jamaica district, he was cut off by a fleeing Hellcat Dukes being followed by two Yardies on Bati 800 street bikes pelting away at it from both sides with MP5 submachine guns before flames erupted beneath its hood and the muscle car spun out of control. Not too far away there were two more Hellcats engaged in a shootout with Yardies that had taken cover behind one of their customized Huntley Sports, the Jamaican thugs eventually winning the skirmish against their tan-clad adversaries and they climbed into the SUV seeking out new targets.
It wasn't long before he found Jerry Juana's Green Galore and parked out front.
A young woman stood near the store's entrance handing out fliers, her nappy brown hair worn in dreadlocks and dressed in stereotypical hippie clothing. Upon drawing nearer, it was evident she didn't believe in shaving either.
"Like hey man, we're having a bake sale to benefit the starving children of Ethiopia. It's free admission if you bring something!" she called out trying to shove a flier into his hand.
Artie took a sniff and nearly gagged, his nostrils assaulted by a combination of marijuana and body odor, the latter telling him she must not have believed in indoor plumbing either. "Jeez lady, go home and take a fucking shower!" he spat making his way inside.
The place turned out to be a combination of a clothing store, craft store and smoke shop which sold mostly tie-dyed clothing, bellbottom pants, sandals and plenty of hemp-related goods. Indian sitar music piped in through a small radio and the room reeked of marijuana smoke.
"Guess I shouldn't have expected any different," Artie told himself approaching the front counter where two lanky young white guys stood, one with his blond hair worn in dreadlocks and wearing a green t-shirt, purple-tinted shades and a red, black and green knit cap, while the other had long straight red hair and a matching goatee, wearing a long-sleeved green shirt and tan cargo pants.
"Are you two slackers the ones in charge here?" Artie demanded slapping his hands down onto the counter's surface, causing both of them to jump.
Both men mumbled incoherently before the dreadlocked guy finally managed to speak in a language he could understand.
"Dude, why you gotta yell? We're on the clock man," he spoke in a faraway tone and when the errand boy saw his bloodshot eyes he could tell right away he was higher than a kite.
"Cut the crap, I'm here because you owe Johnny Sneed money," Artie spat, wanting to get out of this place as soon as possible when he noticed a woman who likely hadn't bathed in over a month doing some weird New Age dance with some bells in her hands.
The two employees looked to each other in confusion as if they were beginning to zone out into another stupor.
"I'll only repeat myself once, I'm here because you two drugged up losers owe Johnny Sneed protection money! Now are your worthless asses going to comply, or do I have to make you?" Artie growled, cracking his knuckles for emphasis.
"Oh…you're talking about that suit guy…" the redhead spoke up, "…that dude's so lame, he's a total buzz kill!"
"Yes and if you don't pay up it's going to be me killing more than your buzz," Artie said withdrawing his Beretta and pointing it in their faces.
Unfortunately for him, both men began snickering, too stoned out of their minds to comprehend what kind of danger they were really in.
"Oh man, I so need another hit," the blond-haired stoner said raising a green bong made of glass and inhaling the smoke filtering through it.
At the end of his patience, Artie raised his gun and fired a round through the bong, shattering it into tiny pieces and sending both employees falling to the ground.
"Dude, you're just as bad a buzz kill as the suit guy," the redhead groaned.
Artie ignored the man's comment and looked into the back office, where he found several bags of marijuana lying in plain sight on the desk along with several bongs and other smoking paraphernalia that had been recently used. He then looked down to the floor to see both men clambering around for any unused joints. Their next big hit seemed to be all they cared about and it gave him an idea.
Walking around the counter into the office he began throwing bags down onto the floor and started stomping on them, loud enough to attract the stoners' attention.
"Hey man, what are you doing?" the blond-haired guy cried out.
"That's our weed man!" his buddy protested.
"Well this is what happens when you're too fucking stoned out of your mind to do as you're told!" Artie hollered shoving the bongs to the floor and laughing as they shattered to pieces.
"Please bro' we'll do anything! Just don't kill our weed!" the blond whimpered, tears flowing freely down his face. The redhead found an unused joint lying nearby and clutched onto it as if his life depended upon it.
"Then fucking cough it up you worthless fucking pothead!" Artie screamed grabbing the blond stoner by his shirt and tossing him towards the safe, "And I meant the money," he figured he should add in case the punk would be too stupid to comprehend.
Doing as he was told, the cashier scrambled towards the safe and began fidgeting with the keypad before finally getting it right and grabbing a bulky envelope.
"Take it man! Take it!" he cried, forcing it into Artie's stomach, "Just please, never touch our weed again!"
"Call it a deal," the Italian-American chimed as he whirled on his heel and made his way back outside to the waiting Schafter.
"Christ, you would've swore I was trying to take his own daughter away from him," he thought climbing into the car and looking down to Johnny's list, "One more place to go and then I'm done with this fucker," Artie whispered as the final location was revealed to be Rockstar Autos over in Stilsen.
"Indeed, safe to say nobody on this island is safe from that prick," Artie told himself starting up the car, but then he couldn't be one to say too much. He could only hope Gino was still alive, unsure if he could trust that snake in the grass Sneed to keep his word.
The ride from Little Jamaica to Stilsen normally wouldn't take very long, but once again the full scale gang war between the now warring factions would impede his progress as he passed through the Blue Hook district, where more N.O.O.S.E. operatives, this time joined by F.I.B. agents, struggled to contain another skirmish, this one necessitating intervention by the city fire department, who struggled to put out a blaze that was consuming a tenement building. Nearby there were agents from both units preparing to raid another establishment caught in the throes of bloodshed, a loud pop heard as an armored officer tossed a flashbang through the front doorway and all the men piling in one by one, followed by the rattle of automatic weapons. Once an officer had given him the go ahead he was able to proceed without a hitch.
It wasn't too much longer before Artie was pulling up to the aforementioned auto dealership, only to find its front gates locked and a man smirking from behind with his arms crossed.
"Are you the owner of this dealership?" Artie demanded.
"Yes I am and I know why you're here. I'm through with paying money to Mr. Sneed and you can tell that sanctimonious son of a bitch to go fuck himself for all I care because I'm tired of his worthless ass pushing me around!" the owner roared, a man of medium height with short black hair and a matching goatee, clad in a bright sky blue sport coat and shades that were a few sizes too big for his face, apparently trying to make himself look like an actual 80's rocker.
"Johnny said he left something in the trunk for me in case things got hairy, well I'd say this situation is hairy enough. Better go check it out," Artie thought making his way back to the Schafter and popping the trunk, only to have his eyes nearly bulge out of their sockets.
An RPG-7 rocket launcher rested in the trunk along with five missiles.
"Now I know why so many people actually view that slimy weasel as a threat," Artie whispered scooping up the heavy weapon along with its ammo and then spotted a condemned building behind the auto dealership. Looking around to make sure nobody noticed him, he made his way inside and then continued up the stairs until he reached the rooftop and got into position.
"Man, now I have another reason to hate Johnny Sneed," Artie thought to himself while observing the beautiful sport and luxury cars housed in the lot, "Oh well, I have a cousin to save."
Taking aim, the hired gun squeezed the trigger and sent his first rocket flying head on into a 2012 Pegassi Infernus and swallowing up a line of sports cars in a chain reaction.
The owner came running out of his office gasping in wide-eyed horror at the smoldering remnants of the cars.
"What the hell are you doing you maniac?" the man screamed, "Do you have any idea how much it costs to have these cars shipped here from Liberty City? The Gambettis are gonna have my balls in a juice maker for this!"
"Compliments of Johnny Sneed," Artie hollered back, "the very man who will have your balls on a silver platter if you don't repay your debts!" he added before launching another rocket that took out two Cognoscenti luxury sedans. "Goddamn it, I can't believe I just said that. Damn you Johnny Sneed."
"You're a fucking asshole! I'll never pay money to some bastard who destroys my merchandise!" he screamed defiantly.
"Suit yourself; you're just going to lose more business then!" Artie retorted before firing another rocket into the center of a line of luxury sedans, destroying them in another chain reaction which sent the closest one to the end landing on top of a nearby Banshee.
"Stop it at once! Stop it you barbarian bastard!" the owner cried, now on the verge of tears.
"Pay up the money and I'll stop!" Artie spat before firing his fourth rocket, striking a row of Turismos.
"Please! Please just stop! Just stop it! I have a business to run and a family to support…and a mistress threatening to blackmail me if I don't keep paying her to keep her mouth shut! Please, just stop at once!" the owner pleaded, throwing himself across the hood of an orange Comet that remained untouched throughout the carnage.
Artie was now down to his final rocket and took aim at the owner, hopeful he wouldn't have to resort to killing the man.
"You give me the money and I'll let you walk away alive," he demanded, "Do we have ourselves a deal?"
"Okay, you win! You win!" the man whined as he pitifully scampered towards his office and emerged with a briefcase in hand.
"I'm coming down and you'd better have the money ready or else I've got another rocket with your name on it!" Artie said hefting the launcher onto his shoulder and then making his way down the flights of stairs to the outside, where the trembling owner waited for him with briefcase in hand.
"Here's everything! Please just take it and leave!" the man begged.
"See, it wasn't that hard now, was it?" Artie chuckled as the wail of a fire engine's siren called out from a distance, "Just remember, if the authorities ask you anything, I was never here. You got it?"
The man nodded curtly as Artie turned on his heel and rushed towards the waiting Schafter, throwing the briefcase onto the passenger seat and pulling out his cell phone. Speed dialing Johnny he waited for a few rings and was about to hang up when Johnny finally answered.
"Talk to me!" the loan shark snapped before sniffing heavily, like he might have been in the middle of snorting cocaine.
"I got your money," Artie reported.
"Well spank my ass and call me Nancy! There's a Cappelli that can actually do something right for a change!" Johnny laughed harshly.
"Cut the crap Sneed, is my cousin still alive?" Artie demanded.
"He's just fine and dandy my good man! But before you can pick him up you're gonna have to drop the money off. I've got some guys waiting over in Nixon Park. Get your ass over there and give them what they need and then you'll be able to pick up your 'beloved' cousin!" Johnny spoke before another loud sniff was heard.
"Alright, you'd better not be playing me Sneed!" Artie spat before hanging up.
Making his way towards Nixon Park a news broadcast came in over the radio, interrupting the techno music he had switched over to.
"This is Mark Kohn with Weazel News, reporting live from Lincoln Island where things are finally calming down following a series of bloody skirmishes between the Redcoat, Hellcat and Uptown Yardie street gangs in which both N.O.O.S.E. and the F.I.B. had to be notified. Altogether there have been thirty-two reported deaths and eleven arrests. The cause between the sudden breakdown of the gangs' well-known allegiance is still unknown at this point-"
Artie switched off the radio as he reached Nixon Park, where another black Schafter was waiting for him near the entrance. Pulling up behind it, two men in matching black suits stepped out before he could get out of his vehicle.
"Artie Cappelli?" one of the men asked.
"Speaking," the errand boy replied with his gun ready in case they tried anything funny.
"You know what this is all about," the man spoke.
Without a word, Artie handed over all of the protection money he had collected and the two men carefully inspected each envelope to make sure everything was there.
"Alright, here's your cut," the man said handing him an envelope with two thousand dollars inside. "Your cousin is waiting for you over at Lincoln General," he added before he and his partner climbed back into their Schafter and made their exit.
"Finally," Artie exhaled deeply while switching his radio over to The Traveler 107, in the middle of playing some Arabic music.
His next destination would be Lincoln General Hospital, where he would pick up his cousin and get him home as quickly as he could.
"Gino has never liked waiting and after this ordeal, I doubt he's bound to start."
XXXXXXXX
Author's Note: And so our favorite errand boy has found himself forced to work for the Devil, or someone who's damn near close, the very man who has been making his and Gino's life a living hell for quite some time, the needle-dicked snake in the grass whom we call Johnny Sneed. What's poor Artie to do in a situation like this?
And onto the random notes and parodies:
The Screw-It Center is a spoof of the Do-It Center chain of hardware stores and Rusty's Trombone is a play on the "rusty trombone" sexual innuendo.
This chapter also borrows elements from several GTA4 missions.
Artie chasing after the laundromat owner is inspired by the "Hung Out to Try" mission for Vlad and him shooting the guy in the kneecap at the deli was inspired by Mikhail Faustin's "Do You Have Protection?" mission where you've gotta lower your aim to target that one guy's kneecap.
I would also say that some of these missions with Artie smashing things up are inspired by this one mission from "The Warriors" game and could just picture a damage meter on the screen with Artie having to fill it up before the owner finally gives in.
In another random note this got me thinking how if this were an actual video game I would have it where Artie would only be able to get certain kinds of melee weapons at locations based upon their everyday usage.
For home improvement-based melee weapons such as a hammer, screwdriver, sledgehammer, shovel, fire axe or chainsaw he would naturally go to a hardware store.
For sport-based melee weapons such as a baseball bat, hockey stick or golf club he would go to a sporting goods store.
For his bladed weapons such as a knife, machete, meat cleaver, katana or battle axe he would stop by a hobby shop, such as Mack's Knickknack Shack, in this case him completing this mission would result in him getting all items for a discount from there on out.
Tune in for the next installment to see what progresses as Artie continues his work for Johnny, Gino, the Aces, the bum under the bridge and whoever else crosses his path as he remains stuck in Rushmore City! As always read and review! This is Metal Harbinger saying SPREAD THE SICKNESS, ONE MIND AT A TIME! \m/