Author's Note: Yes, the title of this chapter is a reference to the song from Guns n' Roses' "Appetite for Destruction."
Chapter 41: Out ta Get Me
Without bothering to honk his horn, Artie blew past a Pony van that had been poking along his lane and then made his way over into the opposite lane, getting back into the right traffic lane before he could collide with a Sprunk-owned Burrito.
Now fully dressed and having been able to make a pit stop at the Chinatown Ammu-Nation, Artie was racing towards the off ramp that would take him to Roosevelt Hills and from there he would make his way back to the Podunk town of Red Sands in an effort to save his drug-addled boss.
"Could be another drug-induced delusion for all I care," he told himself as he pulled onto the off ramp, ignoring the angry honks of a Huntley Sport he cut off, Bloodsimple's "Dead Man Walking" blaring over 94.3 CSKD. "Christ, I can't believe I'm saving this coke fiend's life. What the fuck else do I have to gain from this aside from one man's gratitude?"
He continued along the road, once again entering what was practically a different world as the city skyscrapers were replaced by quaint hamlets and farms, sports cars and luxury cruisers replaced by pickup trucks and various farm vehicles poking along the roads, the hitman speeding past them, not caring what the lines along the road said.
It was only a matter of moments before he was pulling into the sleepy village of Red Sands and was speeding down the main street, cutting off some haggard-looking fellow on a WMC Freeway. Unknown to the manic hired gun, the biker diverted from his previous course and began following after the Deimos SP.
Artie ended up taking an impromptu shortcut through a Beaver's drive thru before he found himself on the street containing the Inside Track horse betting parlor and he came to a screeching halt out front, startling the nearby pedestrians. He hopped out and was about to make his way inside until he was cut off by the roar of a motorcycle engine coming up behind him and coming to a halt.
"Hey you!" a voice called out from behind, no doubt someone wanting to start shit with the hitman.
Artie took a deep breath and attempted to block out the raspy voice and continued towards the parlor entrance until he felt a heavy finger tapping on his shoulder.
"Hey you, city boy! Yeah you, I'm talking to you!" the biker shouted into his ear, causing the hitman to wince.
There was no escape as he felt the strong hand gripping onto his shoulder and spinning him around to face the haggard-looking man before him.
"May I help you?" Artie asked trying to sound professional with the man, suppressing the urge to gag as the man's pungent stench struck him in the jaw.
"Yeah you can boy!" the man shouted in his face, flecks of chewing tobacco flying onto his shirt, "We don' take kindly to city slickers like you comin' 'round here with your fancy cars and your thousand dollar clothes and be pushin' us around like you're fuckin' better than everybody else!"
"Well I'm deeply sorry to have troubled you sir, but I really don't have time for this," Artie replied trying to turn around and walk away.
"Boy, I ain't through with you yet!" the biker shouted and took a swing at the hired gun, who brought his forearm up to block the man's attack and then quickly reached into his holster for his Jericho 941 and fired a shot that sailed past the man's head and shattered a nearby streetlight.
"Run along and take a fucking bath while you're at it!" Artie shouted.
"You're fucking crazy man!" the biker yelped leaping backwards and stumbling over his own motorcycle before quickly pushing himself back to his feet and bolting down the street.
Artie walked into the betting parlor and was nearly deafened by the shouts of overzealous patrons pulling for their chosen horse to win as they watched the thoroughbreds racing down the track. Aside from the people standing in line and people watching the TV screens there were a few sitting around at tables enjoying drinks and reading the local paper, all of them too preoccupied to take notice of the hitman. He paid them no mind and looked around for Lloyd Freeman, yet couldn't find the taxi proprietor anywhere.
He knew the man wouldn't have gone far with as mistrustful as he was, but then again with as high as his paranoia would go he wouldn't have wanted to be anywhere near other people and it was then his eyes fell upon the men's room. Looking around to make sure nobody was looking, the hired gun made his way inside.
The parlor's men's room was in terrible condition with two urinals that looked to have been out of order since the 1950's, both their large mirrors shattered, walls covered in graffiti and three stalls, two of which had doors heavily dented. The last stall was at the far right-hand side of the room with its door shut and he could hear whimpering coming from within, followed by heavy sniffing.
He knew he had found his man and went over to knock on the stall door.
"Mr. Freeman, you in there?" he asked, only to be met by a strangled shriek.
"Who's there?! I know nothing! Leave me alone!" Lloyd Freeman cried.
"Mr. Freeman relax, it's me Artie! You called me and now I'm here," the hitman replied.
The sniffing stopped and the stall door slowly creaked open. As usual Lloyd Freeman looked like death warmed over, his shabby clothes hanging off his skin and bones frame and a face covered by a white powdery substance which Artie didn't have to second guess what it was.
"Artie, thank God! Someone's out to get me! I don't know if it's one of those Borgnine bitches or someone else! I don't fucking know, but you gotta get me outta here kid!" Lloyd squeaked out, his eyes nearly bulging out of their sockets with every word he spoke.
"Calm down Mr. Freeman-" Artie started before again being cut off.
"Calm down? How in the fucking hell am I supposed to calm down at a time like this?" the drug-addled businessman blurted out before again looking around and lowering his tone to a near whisper, "Someone's out to fucking get me! They wanna do God knows what to me and God knows what to my fresh carcass afterwards! How the fuck do you expect me to calm down?" he squeaked out the last part, clenching his knuckles until they were snow white.
"And you're basing all of this on you spotting some Sabre Turbo?" Artie asked incredulously, "How can you be sure when there's a million of those things out there?'
"Don't get fucking fresh with me boy!" Freeman snapped, again raising his tone before catching himself and quieting down a second later, "I've seen that same exact car every time I've left my group therapy sessions, bright red with a black racing stripe. At first I thought it was someone who worked over at the Lifeinvader office, but then I saw the camera…almost like he was casing me or something," he said, panting heavily and bracing himself against the nearby sink."
The middle-aged man stopped to catch his breath before continuing, "Who the fuck else would do that aside from a Japanese tourist or a pedophile at Dickeyland? Don't you watch the movies kid? Spies and assassins do this shit when they're looking to whack somebody! I'm a fucking dead man if you don't do something!" he half-shouted just as a shotgun blast came from outside.
"Alright, nobody fucking move! This is a holdup!" a voice shouted.
"And you're gonna be a fucking dead man if you don't keep it down," Artie hissed clamping his hand over the man's mouth and shoving him backwards against the nearest bathroom stall.
"Give us everything you got!" the same voice called out, followed by the sounds of people being roughed up.
Lloyd Freeman looked frantically to his employee and clamping his own hands over his mouth before he forced himself to ask "What are you going to do now?" his voice muffled.
Artie did not reply immediately, looking past his employer to see they were totally boxed in. Whoever these robbers were they would soon storm the bathrooms looking for anybody else and he had to think fast.
He soon remembered he hadn't stopped by Ammu-Nation for nothing and he pulled out his Jericho 941, the middle-aged man's eyes widening in horror.
"No, don't tell me you're going to!" Lloyd squeaked out, loud enough to be heard in the other room.
"Hey, did you hear that?" another robber's voice called, "That came from the men's room! B, go check it out!"
"Real smooth crackhead," Artie spat before pushing his boss back into the stall. "Hide in here. I'll deal with them."
"But someone forgot to flush!" Freeman hissed while pinching his nose.
Artie didn't answer the cab proprietor's protest and hugged the wall near the entrance, narrowly missing the tall, burly man who came rushing in, the robber wearing a creepy 'baby face' mask and carrying an AK-74 carbine. With no time to waste, he jumped the man from behind and shoved him head first into the nearby wall before clamping onto the sides of his head and snapping his neck.
Mr. Freeman was alerted by the sickly crack and he peeked his head out of the stall, his mouth falling open when he saw what had just occurred.
"Get ready to run. I'm gonna shoot our way out," Artie said snatching up the dead man's carbine along with his ammo before taking a position in front of the door. For once the cab proprietor did as he was told, nodding nervously as he took a protective position behind the gunman.
Bringing his boot upward the hitman kicked the door open with enough force to drop one of the robbers to the floor, guy wearing a hockey mask. Immediately they found themselves back in the lobby with all of the patrons rounded up into a corner nearest to the bookie's stations down on their knees with their hands behind their heads. All eyes fell upon them and the cocking of an automatic weapon sounded.
"Fuck! Kill those fuckers!" the leader called out, a tall man in a monkey mask armed with a semi-automatic Saiga-12.
Immediately three more goons would emerge, each of them wearing a cutout paper smiley face mask, Republican Space Rangers helmet and a rabbit mask respectively.
"They just had to have a fucking rabbit!" Artie shouted raising his carbine and firing upon the robbers, quickly dropping the rabbit masked goon with a barrage to the chest and the wannabe space ranger with a burst that shattered his helmet's glass.
"Fucking run now!" Artie shouted to Lloyd Freeman, laying down suppressive cover fire as the cab proprietor bolted for the front doors. He was forced to take cover behind a pillar and leapt out to fire a three shot burst that wounded the smiley faced guy before making his way for the doors.
"Don't let them get away!" the leader shouted to the hockey masked thug, who by now had regained his wits and the duo made their way after the escapees, leaving their wounded colleague to his fate.
"Quick over to the Deimos SP!" Artie said pointing towards the bright red sports car and gracefully pulling himself over the driver's side door and landing in his seat, whereas Freeman was still somewhat impaired due to his earlier cocaine usage and stumbled head over feet into the passenger's seat.
"Buckle up and hold on," the hitman said jamming the key into the ignition and firing the engine up, only to jump a second later as bullets riddled the side of his sports car.
He looked over to see both the monkey-masked leader and his accomplice had followed them outside and were firing upon them. Nearby a Boxville delivery van pulled up behind the two robbers and another accomplice wearing a nylon mask popped out of the passenger's side door firing upon them with an MP5.
"You fuckers! I just got this car!" Artie hollered back before firing a few rounds from his Jericho.
"Get us outta here!" Lloyd Freeman screamed, only to find himself nearly flung face first into the dashboard as Artie gunned the engine and pulled out, the latest gunman leaping out of the way before he could be mowed over.
"After them!" the lead robber shouted as he and his colleagues piled back into the Boxville and took chase.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck! Can't this thing go any faster?" Lloyd screamed.
Artie could barely hear him over roar of his engine and the sounds of Demons and Wizards' "Terror Train" pumping in over the radio, coupled with the popping of automatic fire coming from behind, more bullets riddling the Deimos SP's once pristine surface much to the hired gun's consternation.
"C'mon, c'mon kid!" Freeman screamed in his ear as the car took a sharp turn and nearly sideswiping an oncoming scrap truck.
"The fuck you think I'm trying to do?" Artie shouted back struggling to keep his hands on the wheel and nearly running over a teenager on an Endurex race bike.
The sharp turn had eaten away at the sports car's sizeable lead and it was only a second later when the Boxville finally managed to catch up and ram the car from behind, prompting another string of curses from the frightened cab proprietor. There was a loud thud a second later and the hired gun's eyes widened when he looked into the rearview mirror.
One of the robbers (the guy with the nylon mask to be exact) had leapt from the charging Boxville and landed just behind the sports car's seats, reaching down and wrapping his arm around Artie's throat.
"End of the road shit for brains!" the thug hollered, wrenching the hitman's neck backwards and causing him to nearly collide with a Bodhi that had been in their lane, the truck swerving off road.
"G-G-Get off'a him you bastard!" Lloyd Freeman screamed reaching over and pounding his fists against the burly man, much like a petite woman would attempt to fight off a rapist in all the movies. Unfortunately for him, the man's gaunt, wiry build coupled with his drug use left him unable to achieve much progress and he was backhanded for his troubles.
A loud thud came from the front as the out of control sports car slammed into a deer that had been crossing the road, again slowing its progress and enabling the Boxville to pull alongside it. The monkey masked leader shoved the door open and took aim with his Saiga-12.
Things were getting desperate as the hitman struggled to stay conscious and he did the only thing he could think of, jerking his steering wheel to the left and ramming the Boxville. It worked as the leader dropped his Saiga-12 and the other thug's grip had loosened, enabling Artie to backhand the man and speed up. After some sharp twists of the wheel the thug was finally thrown from the Deimos SP.
"Quick, open the glove box!" Artie shouted while massaging his sore throat.
Lloyd Freeman did as he was told and opened the glove box to find some sticky bombs awaiting him.
"Give them to me!" Artie ordered before ramming into the Boxville's side again.
The proprietor nodded nervously and gave him a sticky bomb just as the monkey masked thug now reached for a Sig Sauer P226. In a deft reflex, the hitman slowed his car and got behind the delivery truck. With a mighty 'oomph' he chucked the sticky bomb in front of him and it landed on the truck's rear shutter. Bringing the sports car to a near halt he pushed the detonator's button and an explosion shattered the truck's rear, sending it spiraling out of control and plowing through the nearby guardrail and falling into the water below.
"Oh my god! You did it kid! You fucking did it!" Freeman triumphantly whooped reaching over and digging his bony fingers into the hired gun's shoulder.
"Yeah," Artie grimaced while shaking himself free of the man's grip, "Let's just get you back home."
The drive back to Komojack Downs had taken a while given their distance coupled with the rush hour traffic, yet it was somewhat blissful given that Mr. Freeman had actually managed to keep his mouth shut for the entire ride back, something the hitman previously believed would have been unheard of for a crackhead.
Following a forced detour created by a stalled Pounder the Deimos SP was pulling into the cab depot's courtyard, where they were met by a worried Trudy and a few of the cabbies.
"Mr. Freeman! You didn't come back from your therapy session and we thought something happened!" the receptionist blurted out as a few of the cabbies looked on in the background (or at least tried to seem interested in the proceedings).
"Gah! Just get me a fucking drink!" the proprietor grunted as he stumbled out of the sports car, again nearly tripping over his own feet.
Artie was about to make a sarcastic comment when his wandering eye suddenly caught the glint of the descending sun off a glass surface. His eyes widened and his heart pounded.
"Sniper!" he cried out, grabbing the proprietor and pulling both of them to the ground, just in time for a silenced round to tear through the chest of a balding man in a plaid shirt that had been standing behind them.
"Oh fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" Lloyd Freeman blurted out as Trudy had taken a position behind the Deimos SP with them, shrieking frantically with her arms thrown over her head. Artie looked around to see the other cabbies had scattered and ducking behind whatever cover was available. Another loud 'plink' sounded and the proprietor again jumped, held back only by the hitman grabbing his ankle and pulling him back to safety.
"They're out to get me! They're out to fuckin' get me!" the proprietor whined over Trudy's ear-piercing shrieks.
The combined racket grated the younger man's nerves, yet he steeled himself long enough to peer over his sports car and towards the source of the gunfire, again seeing the glint of sunlight on the scope.
It was coming from the fourth floor of the abandoned apartment complex across the street, another bullet firing before he could make out any of the gunman's physical features. Things were getting desperate and he needed to take this guy down fast. It would call for rapid thinking and rapid movement.
Sticking the AK-74's barrel around his car he fired blindly upon the sniper before pushing himself out from behind the Deimos SP and then bolting for cover behind one of the Freeman-owned cabs. He then cut into the street, ignoring the angry honks of an Emperor-driving motorist before another gunshot rang out, sending the driver speeding away in a panic.
It had given the hitman the precious extra seconds he needed as he was now at the complex's front door, kicking it off its hinges and making his way into a crumbling building that had recently been inhabited as evidenced by the broken crack pipes, beer bottles, soup cans and used condoms littering the floor. There was no time to stop and admire the 'scenery' as he had a sniper to stop and quickly rushed down the nearest corridor and looked around until he came across a door labeled 'Rooftop Access' in faded paint. Kicking it open he made his way up the stairs and mentally counted to himself until he reached the fourth floor.
Wanting to get the jump on this guy he cautiously opened the door and crept down a darkened hall with some of its walls torn down, knowing the guy would be able to see him coming if he were nearby. He had enough bullets left in his current clip to take this punk down and crept along a decaying wall, kneeling as he came to the end, again listening for any movements only hearing what almost sounded like the mechanical whirr any piece of machinery in motion would make.
Artie quietly rounded another corner and peered through a hole in the wall of a nearby apartment and it was there he finally caught a glimpse of the silhouetted gunman with his back to him. Not wanting to give him a chance at firing off any lucky shots he raised the carbine and fired a three shot burst into his back.
Yet there was no cry of agony, no splash of blood and no heavy thud of a human body hitting the floor, just a splinter of plastic.
"What the fuck?" Artie asked running over and examining his target, which had turned out to be nothing more than a mannequin affixed with a Springfield M21 sniper rifle outfitted with a 6X scope and an extended clip. There was a small mechanical whirr as the rifle began moving up and down, connected to a small mechanism that moved the rifle via remote control.
But who was the controller and what did they want with Lloyd Freeman?
Artie looked down to the cab depot to see Mr. Freeman and his employees slowly emerging from cover and looking uneasily towards the apartment building and not too far away he could see a young man in a green sanitation worker's uniform putting away what appeared to be a remote control and making a beeline for the cab proprietor.
"Not on my watch," the hired gun muttered to himself and taking aim upon the sanitation worker as the cab company employees suddenly took notice of the man, now reaching into his uniform. Raising the carbine he took aim and fired another salvo that dropped the faux garbage man in a hail of gunfire, a silenced pistol clattering from his hand.
With the threat neutralized Artie made his way back down to the street to find the Freeman Cab Co. employees gathering around the dead would-be assassin. Kneeling down he began to pat the dead man's pockets and found two critical pieces of evidence.
"Well what've we got here?" he said pulling a photograph of Lloyd Freeman out of the man's back pocket, along with an actual contract from an unknown benefactor where the would-be assassin was promised fifty thousand dollars for the successful elimination of the cab proprietor, "Heh, who knew that old crackhead would be worth that much money," he thought to himself.
Mr. Freeman stared at the contract in a mixture of horror and awe before letting it fall to the ground and suddenly hooting in triumph.
"Ha ha! Suck on that you mysterious motherfucker whoever you are!" he shouted to the skies above, "You thought you could get one over on Lloyd Freeman, didn't you? Well you're fucking wrong! I live to fight another day and you can count on that cruel fucking world!"
"Mr. Freeman, you might wanna settle down," Trudy said placing a hand on his shoulder, only to be nearly knocked from her feet as the ecstatic cab proprietor suddenly leapt into the air with a vigor not felt in years.
"This is a most glorious occasion! One where Lloyd Freeman looks Death in the eye and spits in his face, letting that bony motherfucker know I'm not his just yet! This calls for a celebration!" and with those words the businessman disappeared back inside, only to reemerge with a bottle of whiskey in hand.
"A toast to life!" the emaciated man called out before putting the bottle to his lips and downing its contents in one gulp before tossing the glass bottle to the tarmac.
"Now who's-" Mr. Freeman started, only to lurch violently a second later and begin to spasm violently before falling to the ground with an acidic substance frothing from his mouth.
"Mr. Freeman!" Trudy screamed, "Quick, somebody call 911!"
Artie stared quietly in horror before looking down to the glass shards of the shattered bottle and the liquid within now scarring the pavement. It was then that everything began to make sense.
Someone had laced the cab proprietor's whiskey with acid, but how?
He then began staring suspiciously towards the cabbies present and began to wonder if one of them had gotten close enough to carry out the deed, knowing someone would have to have an intimate knowledge of the man's habits, including up to the kind of whiskey he preferred.
There was no time to ponder further as a younger cabbie named Ollie had reached for his i-Fruit phone and dialed 911. The authorities would be here in any minute and he would have to split, but first he had to get rid of the hitman's body.
"Alright we need to get rid of this body," Artie said stepping up and taking charge of the situation. He looked over to a freckle-faced, redheaded young man in a Beanton Catholics basketball jersey and matching turned around baseball cap, "Carrick, get that beater over there up and running," he said motioning to a rusted Buccaneer parked next to a cab, "We're gonna take it over to the car crusher in Jansport." He then looked over to Percy, "Help me with this guy. We've gotta get him outta here fast."
The cabbies did as they were told and within seconds Carrick was pulling the beater Buccaneer over and Percy was helping him stuff the assassin's body into the trunk. When all was said and done, he climbed into the driver's seat and rolled down the window to speak to Trudy one last time.
"Just act natural with the fuzz, but don't mention I was here. I don't need you guys getting dragged down into whatever this was all about."
The receptionist nodded sheepishly towards him before he rolled the window back up and then made his way over to the car crusher.
XXXXX
Unknown to all, a bum digging through a nearby trashcan had witnessed the proceedings and could only smirk quietly to himself.
Reaching into the aluminum can he pulled out a trash bag and opened it up to reveal a disassembled sniper rifle, complete with a silencer, a bottle of chloroform with a rag, a stiletto, some smoke grenades, a spare set of clothes, a small vial of acid and a cellular phone.
He took one last look around to make sure no one was nearby before hitting the speed dial.
"Report," spoke the voice on the other end.
"It's done. Freeman is finished," the 'bum' reported.
"Excellent. You weren't followed were you?"
"Just some punk who must have had it out for him too. It was way too easy to plant that photo and contract on him. Really threw the others off. That twit wasn't as smart as he thought he was," he chuckled.
"Very well. Your payment will be deposited into your account immediately."
"Understood," he said before switching his phone off.
Removing his wig and fake beard the true killer went about changing his clothes and within seconds he was walking the street with his bag slung over his shoulder, creating the illusion of a tenant taking his trash out.
As he walked down the street he was passed by a heavily-rusted Buccaneer headed towards nearby Jansport. When he looked into the car he immediately recognized the driver, his extensive training enabling him to memorize every little detail about him within a split second.
It was that same guy who had prevented him from assassinating Monica Belding a few weeks back, only to show up at her house after finally eliminating her along with her husband. Just the other day he had spotted him at some mom and pop joint over in Red Sands, slipping out the backdoor when he engaged in a scuffle with some of those Whiteskins ruffians.
Whoever this fellow was, he was becoming a constant presence, something that was never good in his occupation. That was okay though, he would get his if he crossed his path the hitman told himself as he made his way towards his parked Sabre Turbo.
XXXXX
Author's Note: And so ends yet another installment of "Rushmore City," albeit on a darker note. I realized I wasn't doing much with Lloyd Freeman so I decided to put him out of his misery. His death scene was inspired by "The Dark Knight" in which the Joker had Commissioner Loeb's whiskey spiked with acid.
There was also another Batman reference with the dummy rigged with a sniper rifle, that scene was inspired by "Arkham City" with the dummy hidden in the church clock tower.
All of the masks worn by the robbers (sans the Republican Space Ranger) were all references to the gangs in "Manhunt." I always liked killing the Innocentz in that game because their baby face masks always spooked the shit out of me, that plus them being sick pedophile bastards as well.
Well I think that's pretty much all on my end so as always read and review! This is Metal Harbinger saying SPREAD THE SICKNESS, ONE MIND AT A TIME! \m/