Chapter 39: Severed Ties Yield Severed Heads
It had been two days since Artie carried out his latest job for Donnie and following a very dramatic night spent dangerously close to a no-talent teenage punk who will likely be in the nearest rehab center by the time he's 18, he decided to give himself the weekend off.
He was currently visiting Rockstar Autos looking for a new car to replace his blown up Sentinel. He had saved up enough money and knew he could have afforded any car present.
"Only problem is, I destroyed a lot of the good ones the last time I was here," he told himself while closely inspecting a 2010 Willard, not exactly the kind of car known for oozing sex appeal.
He then walked over to where another Huntley Sport was parked, very similar to the one stolen from the Yardies, but with a blue, white and silver paintjob. Granted the S.U.V. he had right now would have been plenty dependable, but he still needed a car he could maneuver around tighter corners in, that plus Lincoln Island wasn't exactly known for being much of an 'off-road heaven' where such a vehicle would have been ideal.
Next up was a Perennial, similar to the kind Aunt Gracie owned, shuddering at the sudden thought of the bipolar granny. It would have been an ideal vehicle for him…if he had to lug around a bunch of little brats to soccer practice.
"I trust you are finding everything alright, sir?" a voice called out from behind.
Artie turned to find the same proprietor he had intimidated not long ago, the dealer recognizing his face and falling backwards against an '08 Presidente luxury sedan.
"You again!" the man gasped, his skin turning snow white and looking like he was about to wet himself.
"Yeah, what about me?" Artie asked, "I'm just here to buy a car! If I wanted to kill you I already would have done it. Sheesh!" he chuckled as he resumed looking over the cars until he happened across a '98 Deimos SP.
"Holy sheep shit!" the errand boy called out and whistled in amazement.
"Ah yes…yes! That's a '98 Deimos SP!" the dealer blurted out.
"I know what it is jackass. I have eyes you know," Artie snapped back.
"Yes, yes! Quite the beauty I know!" the dealer again blurted out, only to be cut off by another sharp glare from the hired gun.
"How much does it cost?" Artie demanded.
"Well…seeing as it's used…I'm going to slash the price in half-" the dealer spoke while tugging at his collar the entire time.
"Slash it even further," Artie ordered, lowering his sunglasses so the man could see his narrowing eyes.
"Yes sir! I'll get the paperwork to you right away!" the dealer said pulling himself along the Presidente, stopping to pull out a handkerchief and wipe his sweat from its surface.
"Hold onto it for me," Artie called out before the man could walk away, "I've got plans for the day, so I'll come by to pick it up tomorrow. Make sure nothing happens to this car, or else do you remember the last time I was here? Well, you'll be lucky if you're left alive this time!"
The dealer whimpered before blurting out another "Yes sir!" and disappearing back into his office. Artie simply laughed to himself as he made his way out of the lot and towards the street.
He had made plans with Iceman and Zeke (Randy being unable to attend due to a so-called 'prior commitment') to have another 'big day out' and had been told they would pick him up outside the dealership.
"Alright, any minute now," he muttered to himself as he reclined against an empty bus kiosk, trying to ignore the loud snoring of a bum passed out nearby in a cardboard box and the 'end of the world' rhetoric a delusional street preacher was spouting outside the C.R.A.P.A. auto parts store.
The screeching of tires came from a distance and Artie was snapped from his train of thought. Knowing how both his friends liked to drive like maniacs at times, he uncrossed his arms. "About time," he said turning to face the source.
"What the hell?" he asked himself when instead of spotting Iceman's familiar blue and silver Patriot; he found a black limousine coming towards him at a high speed. Not knowing what to expect, he ducked into the nearby alley and placed a hand to the side where he kept his Beretta M9 holstered.
The limo pulled to a halt in front of the alley and he watched warily as a man in a black suit stepped out.
"Arthur Cappelli, I know you are back there. Come out at once!" the man demanded.
Whoever this fucker was, he already knew Artie. There was no point in hiding and the hitman stepped into the open with his Beretta raised.
"What's it to you?" the errand boy replied, his aim trained on the man's chest.
"You need to come with me. My boss wants to have a few words with you," the man spoke.
"Is that so? Well what if I wanted to tell your boss to go fuck himself?" the errand boy replied.
On cue, the doors opened and three additional black-suited men emerged, each of them equipped with Steyr AUG assault rifles.
"Then we'd be forced to paint the brick wall behind you with your own brain matter. Four against one, I don't like your odds. Now are you going to come with us, or are we gonna have to ventilate your sorry ass?" the man asked.
"Don't think we won't hesitate for one second pal! Now stop being a bitch and c'mon!" another thug called out.
Indeed the hitman didn't like his odds. He knew he could kill one of the men, but his buddies would see to it he was dead before he hit the ground. "Stupid fucking gun laws," he told himself, noting how he was only able to carry his Beretta M9 for the most part due to it easily being concealable.
"If you insist," Artie sighed in defeat, "Christ Artie, what the fuck are you getting yourself into now?" he asked himself while climbing in.
He found himself in the back of an elegantly furnished limousine with an expensive Persian rug on the bottom and well-polished leather seats. A mini-bar and a rack of various alcoholic beverages was present, as well as a plasma screen TV near the privacy window and an HD radio which was currently playing some traditional Italian music.
When Artie saw who was seated towards the front he had to steel himself.
"Arthur Cappelli, how ya' doin'?" Johnny Sneed called out in a mock jovial tone before taking a long sip of his wine.
"Sneed!" the errand boy spat through gritted teeth.
"Yeah, yeah I'm oh so happy to see you too," he sarcastically chuckled as his four goons glared threateningly upon their 'guest.'
"What the fuck do you want now?" Artie growled as he eyed up the assault rifles each bodyguard carried, knowing he was literally boxed into a corner.
"You're quite the hostile one aren't you?" Johnny chuckled while refilling his wine glass, "Sheesh, lighten up already will ya'? Can't an old friend take you out for a drive without you wanting to slit their throat and then fuck the wound?"
"Well you haven't answered my question yet, so why don't you 'cooperate' with me for once?" Artie spoke in a half-growl, his knuckles clenched so tight the bones threatened to burst through his skin.
"Alright, for once you've got me Cappelli. I need your help with another job," the loan shark spoke.
Artie was forced to hold back laughter as he looked around the limo, "And just what the hell would you need my help for with all these apes you've already got with you right now?" he asked, all of the thugs bristling upon being referred to as 'apes.'
"You just watch yourself little boy," one of the thugs called out pointing his Steyr's barrel at Artie, only to be halted by Johnny.
"Let's just say we're gonna be dealing with some very 'well-armed' individuals that are quite unpredictable. When I saw you were in the neighborhood I figured I would look you up," Johnny said casually reclining in his seat and flipping a switch that activated a built-in massager.
"I already had plans for the day jackass," Artie hissed.
"Well you're just going to have to cancel your 'old plans' because now you have yourself some 'new plans,' and by this point I doubt there's any turning back sunshine!" the loan shark replied setting down the wine glass and drawing his nickel plated Colt Anaconda, pulling out a handkerchief and beginning to polish it.
Artie grunted in defeat and clenched his fists, wanting to punch the guard seated next to him. "And just who the hell are these 'well-armed individuals' we're going after today? Or are you just going to be your typical sneaky son of a bitch self and not tell me anything until they're shooting at us?"
"Never short on insults are ya' Cappelli?" Johnny snorted pulling out a speed loader and carefully sliding the rounds into each chamber. "Well if you insist, we're going after the Children of Chaos."
"Oh, the 'Cocks' huh?" Artie asked, "And just what did they do to piss you off? One of their boys fucking your old lady behind your back? Let me guess, she liked it didn't she?"
"Heh, you're just a regular comedian aren't you?" Johnny chuckled slamming the magnum's chamber shut, "It isn't really me they've been pissing off per se, it's my jackass employers."
"Why Johnny, I'm shocked," Artie called out placing a hand against his cheek in mock surprise, "Those aren't very nice words for your employers now, are they?"
"Heh, you try singing their praises when they won't make you a made man because you're not a full-blooded fucking Guido," the loan shark spat.
"Hey, you just remember these 'Guidos' watch your sorry ass you Polack prick!" one of the bodyguards called out.
The revelation caused Artie to suddenly break down into a fit of hysterical laughter, "Well I'll be the black guy at a K.K.K. meeting!" the hired gun choked out while holding his sore side, "You mean to tell me you're really nothing but a fucking Polack? Goddamn you really are low on the totem pole!"
"Enough!" Johnny roared pointing his magnum at Artie, "Regardless of what that ass clown just said I do have Italian blood running through my veins, but that's a story for another time. Now to get down to business," he said resting the magnum on his lap and clearing his throat.
"The Children of Chaos have done a lot of our bitch work in the past and in turn we've rewarded them well for their service to us: money, drugs, broads, you name it we've given it to them for the way they put their necks on the line for us, well all of that has changed," Johnny spoke, looking to his men and the rifles they carried.
"Their new President, Kearney, that son of a bitch apparently thinks his dick is too big for his britches. He is demanding a higher cut than normal and is threatening to sever his ties unless a deal can be brokered. Not that I really give a shit about those grease monkeys, but the boss isn't too thrilled and he's given yours truly the shit job of having to mediate some kind of truce. Why the hell they want me of all people to do it, I have no fucking idea, but knowing those barbarians I'm not taking any chances."
"So the great Johnny Sneed is actually scared of somebody after all. Indeed it is a wakeup call when you're dealing with someone who can actually fight back," Artie taunted.
The loan shark shot him a filthy look and was about to say something when the driver called out from the front.
"Boss, get the boys ready. We're approaching Cobalt Hollow!"
Johnny looked towards his driver and then back to Artie, grunting in defeat. "I'll deal with you later schmuck. Now somebody get him a better gun," he ordered.
"Here," one of the thugs said offering him a Steyr AUG of his own, "Try anything funny and you'll be finding your dick ground into pepperoni."
Artie was not intimidated and remained silent for the rest of the ride to the Children's clubhouse, which thankfully didn't last much longer.
"Alright boys, we're here," the driver called out.
"You heard the man," Johnny said sliding the magnum into his holster before turning his attention to the driver, "and no sightseeing this time! You stay where you are until we come back. Remember what I told you after the last time!"
Artie, Johnny and the four bodyguards stepped into the open and found themselves outside a dilapidated three story building with several different kinds of American-made motorcycles parked in front of it, their owners halting whatever they had been doing and now glaring menacingly upon their arrivals.
"Pay those buffoons no heed," Johnny said with a dismissive wave as they walked towards the ramshackle building, ignoring the grungy bikers trying to intimidate him, one of whom cleaned his fingernails with a large bowie knife. Approaching the front door, the sextet found themselves stopped by a tall burly man wearing an open leather vest with no shirt underneath, showing off the multitude of tattoos covering his entire upper torso.
"Bub, unless you've got business here we don't take kindly to a bunch of corporate poseurs trespassing on our turf," the man grunted as some more grungy thugs stepped up behind him.
"As a matter of fact, we do buddy boy. I'm the mediator the Banditellis sent to talk to Kearney. Now are you going to let me in nicely, or do my boys have to 'convince' you?" Johnny asked with a sly grin, motioning to the thugs behind him.
"So you're Old Man Banditelli's bitch, huh? Ah yeah, the boss was expecting you," the guard said turning to face the others, "Let 'em in."
"Thank you," Johnny nodded and one by one Artie and the other Mafiosi entered the bar, the last goon telling the guard to "Take a fucking shower will ya'?"
"Gonna need more than a 'fucking shower,'" Artie thought to himself as he was assailed by a cloud of cigarette smoke mixed in with the various kinds of alcohol and body odor while stepping into a dimly-lit room where two scantily-clad women pole danced in a cage with a red lighted backdrop. The room was filled with more grubby bikers and their old ladies, all of them stopping what they were doing and staring hatefully upon the Banditelli crew.
"Goddamn it Artie. You've really gone and outdone yourself this time," the voice inside his head sarcastically reminded him as he could feel a biker literally breathing down the back of his neck, the errand boy to crinkling his nose in disgust.
"Alright, you all know why we're here. Kearney, get your bloated ass out here so we can get this shit over with!" Johnny called out, "The faster you're done jerking off, the faster we can be outta this shithole!"
"Never thought you'd ask," a voice boomed from the back of the room as Kearney stepped into view, a giant of a man who was roughly six feet seven inches in height and had to be well over three-hundred pounds. With his long fiery red hair and braided chest-length beard he looked like a Viking who would have been more interested in swinging a battle axe into his enemy's face rather than negotiating with anybody. "Alright guinea boy, start talking!"
The creaking wheels of a wheelchair came from behind the giant as its occupant rolled into view, a thin man with long, greasy blond hair. As soon as the crippled biker spotted Artie his hand shot out.
"Shit, that's him! That's the fucker who killed our brothers back in Steel Junction!" he hollered, pointing his finger manically at the hitman.
"Well I'll be fucking damned," Kearney said reaching for a Colt Anaconda, "Kill 'em all!"
"Shit, kill those fuckers!" Johnny shouted, squeezing off a round from his own Colt Anaconda before taking cover behind a pool table.
It took less than a split second for the environment to descend into full blown chaos, the mafia thugs raising their Steyr AUGs and ripping through anything and anybody not quick enough to get out of the way, the wheelchair-bound biker among those cut down in the initial barrage.
The Children were quick to return fire, grabbing whatever firearms they had on hand and squeezing their triggers in rapid succession, immediately cutting down two of Johnny's goons and wounding a third.
"Neither you nor the old man will ever take any of us alive!" Kearney called out before firing the fatal round the claimed the life of the wounded Banditelli thug.
It was now down to Artie, Johnny and one bodyguard. Despite them carrying the superior firearms, they were overwhelmed by the Children's greater numbers. The hired gun peeked out from behind the pool table he used for cover and even when seeing dead bodies covering seemingly every inch of the clubhouse's floor, there were still more popping out of the woodwork to fire upon them.
"Ain't nowhere to run Sneed! We're gonna chop your dicks off and mail them back to Old Man Banditelli!" Kearney shouted again.
Artie popped out and fired a barrage at a biker firing upon them from behind the bar, tearing through the man's torso diagonally and shattering all the bottles behind him in one messy display before he cut down a woman who had been firing upon him from behind a jukebox and then shot the knee out of another burly biker before that man would be finished off by a burst from the last remaining Banditelli bodyguard.
"The only one dying today is you Kearney, you rat fucking bastard!" Johnny shouted back before squeezing off another round from his magnum, failing to hit anything.
Most of the bikers had been finished off and the stubborn last few were cut down by Artie and the other Banditelli thug. With most of the bikers dead, the duo pressed further into the clubhouse after Kearney, shoving a few frightened 'old ladies' out of their way as they proceeded up the stairs to the second floor.
"Fucking hold up will ya'," Johnny called out, maneuvering his way through the carpet of corpses to catch up with his companions, bounding up the stairs just in time to have his face covered by the last bodyguard's brain matter.
"It's the end of the road for you fucking grease balls!" Kearney shouted, ducking for cover as he was forced to reload his Anaconda.
"I always thought you and the Children were nothing but hunks of dog shit! You have no idea how happy I am to finally blow your fucking head off!" Johnny screamed to the Children's president before leaping out into the open, "Ha, got you now shit for brains!"
Unfortunately for Johnny, his overzealousness got the better of him and he ended up taking a round to the gut, crumpling to the floor and wailing in agony.
"Ahhh! Get that son of a bitch! Fucking kill him!" the wounded loan shark ordered, a pool of blood rapidly forming beneath his writhing form.
Artie was forced to duck as Kearney stepped back into view and fired his remaining shots at the errand boy before making his way up to the third story.
"I'm coming for you Kearney!" Artie shouted charging towards the stairs and making his way up to find himself in a grubby living space. Expecting some kind of ambush, the hired gun took cover behind a support beam and poked the barrel of his Steyr AUG around for any threats. He kept as quiet as possible, able to hear the heavy footfalls of the gigantic biker and his labored breaths as he hoisted something into the air. As soon as the lumbering figure trudged into view he was ready to jump out and end him once and for all, until he saw what the big man was lugging about.
"I wonder how a wop tastes after they've been flame broiled!" Kearney shouted, now equipped with an LPO-50 flamethrower.
"Oh shit!" Artie blurted, leaping out of the way just in time to avoid the arc of fire launched in his direction.
"Burn! Burn! Burn! Burn! Burn! Burn! Burn! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!" the President cackled maniacally while spraying another torrent of fire at his target, not seeming to care if the entire clubhouse burnt down around him.
"This bastard's fucking crazy," Artie muttered, coughing violently as he was overcome by a thick cloud of smoke. Once again he was left in a desperate situation and needed to think fast or else risk being burnt alive.
"C'mon, think," he whispered to himself as he snuck around to another part of the living area and found the giant with his back to him, still spraying whatever he could with red hot flame. The flamethrower's tank was facing the hired gun and it was there Artie saw his golden opportunity.
Raising the Steyr AUG, Artie unleashed a salvo of hot lead until the tank was penetrated and a yet of fire shot from the holes, followed by an explosion which propelled the Children's president forward like a rocket through a decaying wall and out of the building.
"Now to get the fuck outta here," the hired gun said quietly to himself, looking forward and thanking whatever was out there that his path to the stairwell was left unobstructed. Wasting no time he made his way down the stairs and was about to make his way out when a still alive Johnny called out to him.
"Hey, you're not leaving me here are you?" the loan shark shouted, reaching a bloody hand towards him.
"And just why the fuck shouldn't I?" Artie shot back, smiling at the sight of the slimy weasel writhing in pain, just like he had done to so many others before.
Johnny laughed harshly and gave him a bloody grin, "Heh, do you honestly think your troubles are gonna be over if I'm dead? Ha! You'd be fucking wrong buddy boy! The old man knows who you are. Believe me, if I die there's only gonna be more of his boys coming after you and your shithead cousin! It won't be over by a long shot!" he spat before gagging harshly.
Artie glared hatefully towards the loan shark and overcome by a fresh wave of rage punched a hole into the wall next to him.
The Banditelli Mafia was the biggest gang in all of Rushmore City and with eyes and ears seemingly everywhere, they would know right away if Johnny Sneed was dead. With the limited resources and few allies he possessed, combined with Donnie's lack of willingness to help his struggling brother out, the powerful organization would easily stomp him and everybody he cared for out like a couple of ants.
"Well what's it gonna be buddy boy?" Johnny laughed harshly, "You're gonna be getting fucked either way!"
"Just shut the fuck up," Artie spat walking over and helping the loan shark to his feet, wrapping the man's arm around his shoulders and dragging him to the stairwell.
"Ha ha! I knew you'd make the right choice," Johnny grunted, "Hey, fucking watch it!" he snapped a second later as his side bumped against the stairwell's railing.
"What did I tell you about shutting the fuck up?" Artie grunted as they made their way through the bar area while struggling to navigate the corpses strewn about, "If I had my way, you'd be fucking left to die here."
"Heh heh, ain't fate a bitch?" Johnny painfully grunted as they finally came to the front door, only to be met by another horrific sight.
Johnny's driver had been extracted from the limousine and now had each of his limbs tied to the back of a different motorcycle, the Children revving their engines menacingly.
"This is what happens when you cross the Children!" one of the bikers shouted, "Drive!"
The bikers gunned their engines and slamming on the gas, each one of them took off in an opposite direction and it was only mere seconds before the hapless Banditelli driver was ripped to pieces.
"Motherfuckers," Johnny grumbled weakly as the bikers took notice of the two and began charging after them.
Forced to drop the loan shark to the ground, Artie raised his Steyr AUG and fired upon the closest biker, tearing into his chest and knocking him backwards off his Daemon, which continued speeding forth without its driver and crashed head on into the burning clubhouse, resulting in another explosion that left the already ramshackle building going up even faster.
The errand boy ducked for cover behind a parked Wayfarer to avoid a blast from another biker's sawed-off shotgun and the rounds that followed from another's MAC-10, the motorcycle starting to smoke and then catching fire, again forcing Artie to bolt as the cycle exploded, swallowing up two more parked nearby in a violent chain reaction.
Through all the chaos Artie was able to raise his Steyr AUG and gun down another one of the bikers that had been gunning for Johnny and then he struck the guy with the sawed-off in the leg, sending him skidding along the ground and forcibly dismounting his Nightblade, the motorcycle flipping violently in three chaotic rotations before it finally came to a rest in a nearby ditch. That left just one biker and Artie wasted no time cutting him down as the man struggled to reload his empty submachine gun.
"Gah! My limo…use that," Johnny rasped, his bloody hand reaching for the aforementioned vehicle.
As tempting as it was to leave the slimy loan shark there to rot, he remembered the man's words and again scooped him up, dragging him over to the limo, yet not giving a damn how badly he cried out in pain with every step they took.
"Serves you right to be the one suffering for once, asshole," Artie said opening the back door and tossing the man inside.
"Take me over to the Tumblety Medical Center…over in Red Sands…step on it…I ain't got much blood left in me…y'know," Johnny spoke between ragged gasps.
"Whatever you say asshole," Artie replied climbing into the limo's driver's seat and switching the radio to Rewind FM, playing "The Final Countdown" by Europe. Shifting the limo into reverse he struggled to move the lengthy vehicle around and in the process ran over the biker with the mangled leg before finally straightening the car out and pulling out of the gravel parking lot and onto the nearby dirt road.
Artie looked in the rearview mirror to see Johnny had pulled himself onto one of the seats and lay on his side, his blood quickly pooling up beneath him even as he held a hand over his wound to apply pressure.
"Gah…fucking grease monkeys…" he groaned weakly.
Artie ignored the man and sped along the trail, eventually making his way onto a narrow suspension bridge over a boggy creek and blowing past a tractor driven by an unkempt hillbilly. The road he drove on was thin, constantly winding and full of potholes, the limo rocking violently and causing Artie's head to nearly bounce against the roof, held in place by his seatbelt.
"Gah…will you…fucking take it easy…I'm dying back here…don't you know," Johnny wheezed.
"Like I didn't know that dipshit," Artie replied, his voice barely heard over the music and the violently rocking.
Eventually he would finally make his way back onto a smoother surface, but it was then his eyes widened.
"Shit, more of the Children!" Artie shouted, the aforementioned bikers having formed a blockade on the main road, all of them armed to the teeth.
"This limo is bulletproof…just fucking drive damn it," Johnny called out from the back.
The bullets pinged off the limo's surface and a few caused the windshield's glass to spider web, yet the hitman sped forth and plowed through the obstacle, killing two bikers in the process. It would not be smooth sailing from there as a loud pop rang out and the limo jolted violently, sideswiping a Walton truck.
"Gah! This ain't fucking bumper cars numb nuts!" Johnny shouted in pain.
"Try telling that to them assholes!" Artie shouted back, looking in his rearview mirror to see that the Children were mounting their motorcycles and beginning to chase after them. Unfortunately the limo was still rocking violently thanks to its popped rear tire and its speed was reduced, enabling a gutsy biker to ride up alongside them while another who was riding bitch peppered them with rounds from a TEC-9.
Loud booms came from the right as another Cock had withdrawn a sawed-off shotgun and was blasting the opposite side. Once again he was in a tight spot and needed to think fast as the limo was violently jolted by another deep pothole.
Another narrow bridge was coming up and the Children seemed to fire at a more frenetic pace, their bullets causing the glass to spider web even more. Whoever installed this glass had done a piss poor job and it was going to cost Artie if he didn't act.
Approaching the narrow bridge, the hired gun made a desperate move and swerved the limo hard to his left, sending the Streetfighter skidding into the grass and off the ledge, both the driver and his passenger flying into the river below.
Artie mentally patted himself on the back for having one threat down; looking over to a road sign letting him know Red Sands was two miles away from him. He needed to deal with these last Children fast or else they would hunt him all the way to the medical facility.
A loud thud came from above and the ceiling dented above him as one of the Children had managed to land on the rooftop and was chipping away with what he assumed had to be a pickaxe.
"Not today asshole," Artie said again shaking the limo violently. A loud crash came from his right, a telltale sign he had dispatched the other biker. It took a few more shakes, followed by the limo slamming into an oncoming Yosemite before the plucky biker was finally thrown from the roof and landed on the ground with a bone crunching thud.
Artie gasped loudly as he shot his eyes open, his hands still clamped down on the steering wheel. The limo's front end buckled under the force of the collision and the engine was smoking, telling him their ride was totaled.
"Hey buddy, you alright in there?" a voice called out. It was the Yosemite's driver, a middle-aged man in a yellow shirt and red baseball cap.
Artie looked over to see the sturdy pickup truck was still in fairly decent shape and would suit them well. Kicking his door open, the hired gun emerged with the Steyr AUG in hand, pointing it at the driver.
"Hey man, take it easy! I'm sorry, but I really didn't see you coming until it was too late!" the man shouted, getting on his knees with his hands in the air, "Please don't shoot me! I won't tell anybody!"
"Get the fuck outta here!" Artie shouted, firing the assault rifle into the air. The man quickly complied, rising to his feet and running into the nearby field.
Johnny was still alive and groaned weakly from the back, "Why…we stopping?"
Artie wasted no time and ran over to the back door, reaching in and yanking the bleeding loan shark out, dragging him over to the Yosemite and forcing him inside. Running over to the driver's side he quickly climbed in and shifted the truck into reverse before making a Y-turn and speeding towards Red Sands, not even bothering to change the country station currently playing.
"Heh heh…never thought I'd say this…but you're…actually…worth something…for once," Johnny groaned before coughing up more blood onto the window he was slumped against.
"Don't get too comfy Johnny, you know I still think you're a fucking asshole above anything else," Artie harrumphed as he sped along the lonely country road as a few houses came into view, letting him know he was getting closer to town. It wasn't much longer before they were coming to the main street of the relatively sleepy community of Red Sands.
His foot still on the gas, Artie didn't even bother to stop for a guy who was about to cross the street with his Yorkshire terrier, the frightened dog walker quickly scooping up his beloved pooch and running for safety, instead he was focused solely on reaching the medical center, a sign on a telephone pole directing him to take a left. He did so and was soon pulling up to the one story Tumblety Medical Center, skidding the truck to a halt in front of the automatic doors.
Quickly climbing out, Artie pulled himself around the crumpled front end and made his way over to let Johnny out, the bleeding loan shark nearly tumbling to the pavement until his associate caught him and dragged him towards the front doors, where by now two nurses had arrived to see what the commotion was all about.
"This man's been shot! He needs help right away," Artie called out to the two ladies. By then two orderlies had overhead the racket and were rushing for a nearby gurney.
"What happened to this man?" a doctor asked rushing over as the wounded loan shark was being lifted onto the gurney, quickly rushing over to check the man's pulse. It was obvious what had happened judging by Johnny's wound and the amount of blood he was covered in, yet as it was anywhere they needed an explanation.
"Hunting accident," Artie choked out, knowing he probably sounded like a complete and utter fool, yet it was the first thing that came to his mind and his mouth acted before he could catch himself.
"Heh, must be a hunter from Vinewood. Who else dresses like that to go hunting?" the doctor chuckled, "Don't worry sir; we'll have your friend dealt with immediately. He's very lucky to have someone like you by his side."
Artie bristled at the comment and immediately felt sick to his stomach.
"Jesus Fucking Christ, I am not this man's friend you fucking twat waffle! This guy is nothing but a fucking rectal cancer in my life and if I had my way, he would have been fucking left to die back in that shithole!" the hitman thought to himself as the doctor rushed after the gurney and they soon disappeared through a set of double doors.
Muttering another curse to himself, Artie made his way to the nearest bathroom and proceeded to wash all the blood from his hands.
"Jesus Fucking Christ," he whispered, the same phrase repeating through his head fifty million times. "Goddamn that fucking cocksucker Johnny. He had to pick on my cousin of all people. Damn it Gino, why couldn't you just get your fucking shit together? Yeah, I know you were probably depressed after Bella left you, but you should've kept a goddamned hold on yourself. All you've done is dig yourself deeper into a hole and now you're dragging me, Zeke and hell, even Randy down with you."
Artie managed to wash the last of the blood away from his hands and looked into the mirror, his brow furrowing.
His dark eyes were filled with hatred: hatred for Johnny, hatred for the Children of Chaos, hatred for all of Rushmore City.
His jaw stiffened and his teeth gritted, stopping the scream of rage that was supposed to follow. Instead he grabbed a nearby trashcan and tossed it against the bathroom stall door, the metal door denting and the receptacle's contents spilling all over the floor.
Artie fell against the nearby wall and braced himself as his head rested against it. His pulse was racing and he wanted to kill somebody for all the shit he was being put through. He desperately wanted to walk into that operating room and put a bullet in Johnny's head, regardless of what the consequences would have been.
But then he thought of Gino, a man who had already gone through enough suffering already. It was his cooperation that was the only thing keeping the elder Cappelli alive and through everything, he was still family.
Artie gasped loudly and took a couple deep breaths, his pulse gradually returning to normal. He looked up to see he was still alone in the room and knew he had to get out of there before anybody could happen across his handiwork. He made his way back into the lobby and walked out the double doors, ignoring the tow truck crew that had arrived to collect the smashed up Yosemite. They could keep it for all he cared; right now he needed to clear his head.
He walked down the street past a Krapea furniture store and an Inside Track horse betting parlor before he happened across a small mom and pop restaurant called Lilly & Larry's and went inside, thinking some food would calm him down.
The small restaurant had a western theme to it with several wooden sculptures of native chiefs and cowboys present, including the infamous outlaw Brown Bill, who robbed the town's bank back in 1883, earning his moniker after he was forced to cover himself from head to toe in pig shit so he could blend in with the muddy ground to avoid the posse sent after him. Aside from that there were numerous autographed photos of famous country singers and acoustic guitars covering the walls and Patsy Cline's "Stand by Your Man" played in the background.
It was sparsely populated for the time of day, the only other patron being some guy in a beige suit with a charcoal fedora and tortoiseshell glasses who had been in the middle of leafing through a 'Popular Schematics' magazine until his cell phone rang.
"Hello and welcome to Lilly & Larry's dear boy, I trust your day is going well," an elderly woman spoke up as she laid a menu down in front of him, traces of a southern twang in her voice.
"Yeah, sure," Artie lied not making eye contact with her, wanting her to be gone as soon as possible, "I'll take one of your Lucky Steaks, extra barbecue sauce. Get me an orange Sprunk too if you have any."
"Very well sonny, you just sit tight and we'll be right back," the lady said scooping up his menu, seeing the nametag that identified her as 'Lilly,' the same Lilly from the establishment's name. She disappeared into the nearby kitchen and the hired gun was left alone with his thoughts.
The hired gun wouldn't be alone for long as the establishment's front door flew open and three burly men came striding in like they owned the place, all of them wearing the colors of the Whiteskins MC.
"Hey Larry, your old ass in here? You owe us money remember!" the lead biker called out, overturning the nearest table and spilling its contents all over the floor.
Larry, a gaunt-looking older man wearing a sullied apron, emerged from the back with Lilly close behind, a meat cleaver in hand.
"What the hell are you punks doing back here? I told you I was done paying! We didn't come here to be bullied by a bunch of grungy sleaze bags like you! Now get outta here or I'm gonna chop your fat asses into bits!" Larry defiantly screamed.
The bikers looked to each other and laughed heartily before one of them reached over and knocked Larry to the floor with a vicious right hook. The same guy was about to stomp on his skull when Lilly threw herself over her husband.
"Please, don't hurt him!" she pleaded.
"Outta the way ya' old bag," the leader spat reaching down and grabbing her by the hair and tossing her aside, "If you were years younger, I woulda' taken you for myself, but now you're just an old fucking fossil. No way am I sticking it in your rancid, decaying, toxic cunt."
The leader then turned his attention to Larry, "Now if I didn't make myself clear enough the first time, you owe the Whiteskins some big bucks. Now are you gonna pay up? Or am I gonna have to be the one to cut your sorry old ass into strips?" he asked, producing a switchblade and running it across the old man's face.
Artie had watched in silence as the bikers brutalized the old proprietor as did the suited man in the corner, who continued scrolling along some menu on his phone as if nothing was happening.
Watching the elderly couple being terrorized made him think of how Johnny bullied Gino and it caused a fresh wave of rage to wash over the hitman. Rising to his feet he picked up the wooden chair he had been sitting on and chucked it at the closest biker, knocking the man out cold.
"What the fuck?" the second biker asked, but before he could fully turn around he was knocked to the floor by a flying kick that would have made Bruce Lee blush.
The lead Whiteskin turned around just in time to have a knee driven into his groin, followed by a spinning elbow that caught him in the side of the face. With the burly man down on the floor, Artie stomped on the man's nut sack repeatedly until he was coughing up blood. Satisfied the man was at his mercy, he grabbed him by the collar and forced him to look directly into his eyes.
"Alright asshole, now that I have your undivided attention it's time for you to listen," the hitman spat, "Now I believe these nice people are trying to make an honest living for themselves and I believe they deserve to be able to do so without being pushed around by a bunch of shitfaced grease monkeys like yourselves. Now I'm only going to tell you this once and I'm not going to fucking repeat myself, get the hell out of here and never come back!"
With those last words, Artie hoisted the man to his feet and forcibly led him over to the front door, kicking him through and sending him to the pavement outside. By now the other two bikers had recovered, yet were powerless without their leader.
"You want get away with this! Nobody crosses the Whiteskins and lives!" one of the bikers shouted as they both scampered through the front door. The roar of three motorcycles followed and the men were gone.
Artie turned around to be met by the grateful owners, helping Lilly lead the battered Larry over to a nearby chair.
"Oh my god, thank you so much son," she said throwing her arms around him, "You have no idea how much trouble those hoodlums have been giving us. I wanted to get up and move outta here a long time ago, but ol' stubborn here wouldn't budge. Now I have a reason to be hopeful knowing a nice young man like you is willing to stand up for us. Have yourself a free meal on the house, hell have whatever you want!"
"Anything to help," the hired gun nodded, "I know what it is to be bullied by some asshole with too much time on his hands, so I do what I can to help others in need," he replied, satisfied he had an excuse to let out some of the frustration built up after dealing with Johnny.
"Well you just sit yourself down and we'll have something for you as soon as possible dearie," Lilly said leading him back to his chair.
"I will and thank you," Artie replied, looking over and suddenly noticing the suited man was nowhere to be found. "What the fuck?" he whispered as Lilly stepped out of earshot. "Dude must've snuck out when I was beating those Whiteskins up, but still creepy shit nonetheless. It's like he's a fucking ghost or something."
Artie was brought out of his thoughts by the ringing of his cell phone and he looked down to see it was Iceman.
"Oh shit, Iceman!" he blurted out quickly switching his phone on, "Hello?"
"Dude, where the hell are you? We stopped by the car dealership and you weren't there?" the gun runner demanded.
Artie sighed heavily, "It's a long story. I'd tell you right now, but I just got done letting out my aggression on some piss ant Whiteskins and I really don't wanna get riled up again."
"Well alright, we've still got plenty of time to hit up some clubs. Zeke really wants to check out the 7th Circle again. Whereabouts are you?" Iceman asked.
"Red Sands," Artie replied.
"Red Sands? What the fuck are you doing all the way over there?" Iceman demanded before catching himself, "Oh wait, yeah it's 'a long fucking story,' I get it. We'll be right over to pick you up."
"Sure thing," Artie said hanging up and waiting patiently for his dinner.
XXXXX
Author's Note: And so ends yet another installment of "Rushmore City" and now it's onto my random notes as usual:
The comment Johnny makes about "wanting to slit his throat and fuck the wound" is inspired by the opening lyrics of the Slipknot song "Disasterpiece" from their 2001 "Iowa" album, one of the albums I credit with making me the hardcore metalhead that I am today.
Brown Bill is a spoof of the Wild Western outlaw Black Bart.
C.R.A.P.A. is a spoof of the NAPA auto parts chain.
Kearney is inspired by Mark Boone Junior, the guy who plays Bobby Munson from "Sons of Anarchy" and Detective Arnold Flass, Jim Gordon's corrupt partner from "Batman Begins," albeit given red hair.
That should be it so until next time, read and review! This is Metal Harbinger saying SPREAD THE SICKNESS, ONE MIND AT A TIME! \m/