Author's Note: Once again I apologize for my lengthy "sabbatical." I've been low on ideas for this and have been busy working on my "Deadliest Warrior: Season H" fic to keep me occupied.
But alas I have returned!
XXXXX
Chapter 42: Pimpin' Ain't Easy
The missile flew through the air and in less than a split second later, the Middle Eastern terrorist was blown to bits.
"Goddamn you fucking noob!" an exasperated voice called out.
"Suck on that Almighty Nerd Boy," Artie shouted back into his headset.
"Artie, quit your shit talking for once and guard my rear flank!" Zeke shouted as he waited for his minigun to power up and cut down another swath of death upon the rival team members trying to storm their base and capture their flag.
"So this is what you guys do all day, huh?" Artie called over to Randy as he typed in the commands for his character to reload his sniper rifle. Hard to believe the real life super nerd was such a badass in this fictional land, having scored a kill tally in the triple digits while Zeke was right behind him and Artie naturally trailing way behind the two more experienced gamers. Now he could tell why the socially awkward genius spent so much time on these things, here he was someone important, hell he was practically a god.
"Less atterchay and more illingkay the adbay uysgay!" Randy shouted back in Pig Latin.
Artie complied with the nerd and took cover behind the smoldering wreckage of a military transport truck, his character popping out and firing a barrage into another charging terrorist, prompting the frustrated grunts of the unseen player.
"Beginner's luck asshole!"
Artie only chuckled at the comment.
"Little boy, do you even know how to back up half the bullshit you spew?" the hitman laughed into his headset, "Christ, you trying to overcompensate for something with a screen name like 'Dangerous-J?' I bet the only thing dangerous about you is your own body odor. Fuckin' A! I can smell the jizz on your breath over here every time you open your fucking mouth!"
"Why you! You! You!" the unseen slacker shouted back, grunting in defeat as he struggled to think up a comeback.
"Never mind that foul profligate, just focus on getting the flag!" Randy shouted before dropping another terrorist with a well-placed headshot from his sniper rifle.
"I got your six," Zeke called out, his character armed with a heavy machinegun and chasing after him, laying down suppressive fire, trying something different as opposed to his usual sniping duties.
"C'mon Artie, we're almost there!" Randy shouted before tossing a grenade at an enemy terrorist, "Quick, get your RPG out!"
"Sure thing Chief Longwood," Artie snickering as he referred to Randy by his 'Sworn for Battle' username. "He wishes," he told himself as he switched over to his RPG and fired the rocket that sent two more enemies flying and opened the door for Randy to charge forth and grab the red flag.
"Ha ha! You foul Carcer cretins have failed! Victory is ours!" Randy whooped while doing a little victory dance that saw him accidentally kicking over the coffee table and spilling the chips, salsa and sodas onto the carpet.
"Uh…I'm from Los Santos," Dangerous-J called out, his protest barely heard.
"Goddamn it Randy! I just washed that! As if cleaning up all of Pukin' Pete's messes isn't bad enough!" Zeke shouted grabbing a nearby pillow and chucking it at his friend.
"You Rushmore bitches got off lucky, but we'll be back! You hear me? We'll be back!" the rival clan leader, Luvs2Snowball, called out.
"Anytime, anywhere," Artie chuckled while setting down his controller and taking out his earpiece. "Now if you boys will excuse me, I have to perform my post-game 'sacred ritual,'" he said rising from the couch and stretching out his limbs before making his way back into the bar and then approaching the men's room, which thankfully was devoid of Pukin' Pete's rancid presence.
Artie took his time doing his 'business,' while also admiring the graffiti covering the stalls, one being a caricature of Gino's face with a dick splooging all over him. When that was done he made his way back into the bar to see who all was there.
Gino for once had taken the incentive to slither out of his office and was manning the bar, that is if taking down multiple shots of whiskey could be considered 'working.'
Pukin' Pete was passed out down at the opposite end and seated a few stools down from him was the same blind guy who had come stumbling in looking for a drug store shortly after Artie's arrival in Rushmore City. Aside from them there were two others and when he got a look at their faces he let out a small chuckle.
Seated at the bar was Solomon Horatio Ignatius Tennyson and his cameraman Kevin, both of them nursing a White Russian and eCola respectively. The would-be producer's eyes lit up upon spotting Artie.
"Arthur Cappelli, I must say it has been too long since I have last met your acquaintance," the Brit said patting the countertop motioning for him to take a seat.
"Ah Mr. Tennyson indeed it has been far too long," Artie said adopting a patronizing tone as he casually reclined against the bar, "So how is your little 'cab wars' drama playing out? Is Vinewood throwing itself at you? Should I be looking for you on CNT anytime soon?"
The usually swaggering Brit gave him a confident smile, which quickly deflated into a frown.
"Not at the moment my dear boy. Let's just say there was a series of 'unfortunate events' which followed your 'audition' if you wish to call it that," Solomon said stealing a glance towards Kevin before returning his attention to Artie, "Apparently someone thought the man with the blow up doll would be too disturbing for the younger viewers, thus the executives refused our generous proposal. Nevertheless, we shall continue to soldier forth!" he triumphantly exclaimed while raising his drink into the air.
"Uh yeah, sure thing boss," Kevin said looking over to Artie, who shared his similar look of bemusement.
Solomon suddenly stopped himself and began scanning his surroundings and rubbed his chin in deep thought.
"Hmmm, this place…no matter how rancid it may be it still possesses a lot of character," he said before eagerly grabbing Kevin by the shoulder, "Look around you Kevin! Picture all the early anticipation…the broken dreams drowned in oceans of alcohol…the passion discovered in the men's room…(that comment nearly making Artie throw up his lunch)…the fury as the bartender is forced to raise his shotgun to dismiss some unruly ruffian-"
The would-be reality TV producer was immediately cut off by Artie slamming his fist down onto the countertop.
"I will not let you make a reality TV show here in this bar!" Artie said getting in the Brit's face, "My cousin already has enough problems from every asshole on this island wanting to shake him down for money and he doesn't need you adding fuel to the fire!"
Solomon seemed taken aback by the hitman's sudden outburst before leaning back and casually taking another sip from his cocktail.
"In spite of your rather…'brutish' methods for getting things done, I always took you as more of the 'cooperative' type. Guess I was sorely mistaken," he replied, disappointment evident in his tone.
Artie's phone began ringing before the conversation could be taken any further and he looked down to his ID screen to see it was Donnie. "Your timing is impeccable as always Cuz," he told himself as he walked over to the nearby pool table and switched his phone on.
"Cuz, I need you to meet me over at the Washington Point Mall right away," Donnie spoke before his cousin could even offer a 'Hello.'
"Why there of all places?" Artie asked, only to rapidly be cut off by his cousin again.
"Cuz, I don't pay you to ask me questions alright? I need you to meet me over at the Washington Point Mall and I need you there A.S.A.P.!" Donnie half-shouted.
Artie steeled himself before replying, "Alright, where do you want me to meet you at?"
"Heh heh, hell if I know! The Don's on the prowl today! I could be fucking anywhere my heart desires!" he cackled.
Artie rolled his eyes before replying, "Fine, I'll give you a call when I'm almost there," he said and then switched his phone off making his way towards the front door without bothering to say his goodbyes to Gino or Solomon.
His now-repaired Deimos SP was parked out front and he looked over to the Pawn-o-Rama to see a three guys gathered around an Oracle who had been eyeballing his sports car, the one seated on the luxury car's hood smoking a joint. There was a bulge underneath his plaid shirt telling he was packing heat, but nevertheless Artie shot the three of them a sharp glare, hoping it would discourage them from trying anything funny against him or his car. Not taking his eyes away from them he climbed into the driver's seat and started the car up, his radio set to Radio GX and currently playing "Mountain Song" by Jane's Addiction.
Artie made his way towards the Eastwood Bridge, only slowing down as he passed a patrol car that had some guy in a Surano pulled over and currently in the midst of administering a field sobriety test, the man puking halfway through.
"Somebody's day's about to get really shitty," he chuckled to himself, thankful it wasn't him as he continued at a leisurely pace along the bridge, only speeding up when he was confident he was out of the cop's field of vision, knowing Donnie wasn't someone you kept waiting for a long, long time.
He continued along at his slightly above the legal limit speed until he finally reached the Washington Point district, forced to slow down as a trio of ambulances blew past him and hastily pulled into the nearby hospital. He took the time to pull out his phone and quickly dialed Donnie's number. It took three rings before the elder Cappelli finally picked up.
"Talk to me!" Donnie called out.
"Cuz, I'm near the mall. Where are you at now?" Artie asked as he came to a stoplight.
Donnie Cappelli had just finished a hot dog he had picked up from a nearby vendor and was reclining against the nearby fountain when he suddenly looked over into the Viviana's Mystery lingerie store. Seeing what was behind the counter a devilish thought came to mind.
"Meet me at Viviana's Mystery. Second floor," the elder Cappelli replied before hanging up.
"A lingerie shop?" Artie asked before it suddenly hit him and he again shuddered at another nasty mental image. Nevertheless he had been stupid enough to answer his cousin's call and knew there was no turning back at this point or else Donnie would never let him hear the end of it.
Artie eventually found the mall's parking ramp and parked next to a bright red Bison before exiting his car and making his way through the double doors and down the escalator that would take him directly into the mall.
The Washington Point Mall was an underground structure that made him think of some kind of top secret military base with a size that could have probably put the legendary Area 69 to shame, the ideal place to set up shop in the event of an apocalypse. If not that, it was a shopper's paradise with its variety of stores, a food court, a few separate restaurants and everything else in between. It made Artie glad he wasn't a teenage girl with all the clothing and shoe stores available.
As expected the mall was busy with shoppers hefting large bags back and forth hurriedly, eating at the nearby food court, sitting on the benches and chatting or standing around watching some guy juggling chainsaws.
He descended the escalator and made his way past the food court, suddenly realizing he had not eaten much for lunch aside from the snacks during his gaming session with Zeke and Randy, the combined aromas of food from Burger Shot, Cluckin' Bell, Well Stacked Pizza, Bean Machine, Byway, Boinkin Peters, You're My Gyro and Dominican Roastmasters. He wanted to stop and get a proper lunch, yet Donnie's nagging voice eked its way back into his head and he pushed himself forth, nearly knocking over some long-haired kid fooling around with a remote controlled car and making his way towards the stairs.
He continued down and made his way onto a level mostly populated by clothing stores and found Viviana's Mystery situated between a Perseus men's outfitter and strangely enough, a Crimson Matters. Not wanting to look like a creeper, he looked around to make sure no one else was in sight and made his way inside.
It truly was the kind of shop for a woman with expensive tastes, the kind of place where even the cheapest thong would probably cost a month's rent to the average citizen. This looked like the kind of place he would expect some really successful businesswoman to shop at, looking for the skimpiest lingerie she could find to seduce the new intern. The carpet was pink, the walls were painted with pink and white stripes, the lighting was dim and there was soft saxophone music playing over the speakers. He also noticed there was no one else in the store, at least not immediately visible.
"This place would be an all you can eat buffet for the typical run of the mill shoplifter," he thought as he nearly bumped into a mannequin wearing a black corset listed at five thousand dollars. Straightening himself out he walked towards the back of the store and it was then he heard the low moans coming from the fitting room area.
"Donnie," he whispered and made his way towards the back and through the entranceway into the dressing area, finding it fairly nice with a sofa and two comfy armchairs present. To his right was a line of rooms and he strolled down the narrow path until he was at the end and heard the noises coming from within.
"Oh god! Oh fuck yes Donnie! Fuck my tight pussy harder!" a young woman's voice called out from within, "Yes! Yes! Fuck me like the dirty little slut that I am!"
Artie steeled himself as he took a step further towards the door, trying to block out the mental images that would follow, his mind taken back to seeing his naked cousin when he was about to throw that orgy at his condo. Taking a deep breath he reached out and wrapped on the door.
"Cuz, it's me," he called out, drawing a frightened gasp from the woman inside, her voice muffled a second later by a hand being placed over her mouth.
"It's alright, I know this guy," he heard Donnie whisper.
"Maybe I should leave you two talk. Laura will be back in a few minutes anyway," he heard the woman mutter.
"It's fine sweetheart, he's family," Donnie repeated, "Besides, it's not like he hasn't overheard me fucking before."
"Ain't that the truth," Artie muttered quietly before speaking up, "You said you needed to speak with me right away."
Inside the small fitting room Donnie Cappelli had been in the middle of having sex with the store's barely legal cashier, who was shoving his face between her 36C-sized chest as she straddled him.
"Uh yeah," the elder cousin replied, his voice slightly muffled by the woman's chest. He briefly stopped what he was doing and made her turn around so she had her back to him, riding him reverse cowgirl.
"So what's going on? Spit it out Cuz!" Artie impatiently called out, reclining against the wall behind him with his arms crossed.
"Oh yeah," Donnie replied trying to get his mind back on the business at hand as the cashier bounced up and down on his hard member, forcing him to grip the bench on which he sat, "I have a friend who needs help!" he called over the woman's moans.
"Yet another one. You're quite the popular fellow, aren't you?" Artie replied pulling out his Whiz phone to see if he had any new text messages.
The question caused Donnie to shoot his hands up and clamp down on the woman's nipples, causing her to squeak in pain.
"Cuz, I'm the Don, everybody knows who I am!" he shouted.
"Is that supposed to be a good thing?" the hired gun quietly grumbled to himself, "Well this is your friend we're talking about here, shouldn't you be out there helping him out? Oh wait that's right, you're a busy man," Artie sarcastically retorted.
"Exactly," Donnie called out as the clerk bounced higher and came back down on him, his member accidentally sliding into her sphincter.
"Gah! I told you I don't do anal until the second date!" she squealed.
"Oops sorry," the elder Cappelli spoke waiting for her to get off and insert his dick back into the right hole, "Anyways, my friend needs help, but I've got…business going on at the moment…so I'm gonna need you to do this gig for me!"
"Typical Donnie, always needing people to do your dirty work for you," Artie scoffed.
"I'll pay you!" his cousin grunted back, giving the young woman a hard smack on her ass.
"Just when I thought no one else in this world understood me, my ever so loving cousin steps in to prove them wrong," Artie sarcastically chuckled, "So further enlighten me."
Donnie turned the young woman around and pressed her against the wall, lifting her up so her legs were wrapped around him, struggling not to shove his face between her tits so he could keep talking to his cousin.
"Some people have been giving him trouble and he's getting nervous," Donnie huffed while thrusting into the young woman, "He's been getting death threats up the ass," his choice of words making Artie snicker, "He thought they were just bluffing…until he got a bomb at his office. The fuzz showed up and got it disarmed, but he's still nervous as fuck!"
"Fuck me harder!" the young woman suddenly called out.
Donnie set the woman down and turned her around to take her from behind.
"You're gonna need to pick him up from over at the Sheen Medical Clinic in LaFollette," he said squeezing the woman's breasts while pumping her hard, "You'll have to be over there by 5 o'clock because that's when his shift ends!"
"Okay, who is this guy?" Artie asked scratching the back of his neck.
"His name is Jameson Switzel, he's a doctor there! Ask the receptionist and she'll point you to him," Donnie replied smacking the woman's ass repeatedly.
"Anything else I should know?" Artie asked, raising his voice as the woman's moans grew louder.
"Oh my god! Oh fuck yes! Fuck yes Donnie!" the woman squealed in delight as Donnie began to pump her harder and faster, "Oh fuck I'm cumming!"
"DONNIE!" Artie screamed.
"Oh yeah," the elder Cappelli replied as the young woman collapsed to her knees and proceeded to give him head, "You'll need to give him a special code phrase so he'll know what you're there for!"
"And what is this code phrase?" Artie demanded.
"Man, Mrs. Johnson sure has a bad case of crabs. Don't you agree?" Donnie replied.
Artie sighed heavily and shook his head, "I have no fucking clue who this Mrs. Johnson is and nor did I need to know that! Now tell me what the fucking code phrase is!"
"That is the code phrase numb nuts!" Donnie shot back as the cashier began deep throating him.
"Man, Mrs. Johnson sure has a bad case of crabs. Don't you agree?" Artie muttered to himself, repeating the phrase mentally twice before he was sure it was memorized, "Alright, I've got it. I'll be over there to pick him up."
"Shit, I'm gonna cum baby!" Donnie shouted to the young woman.
"Do it all over my tits!" she pleaded.
Artie had heard enough and exited the dressing room area just as his cousin splattered all over the woman's chest, letting out a lion-like roar in the process. He exited the boutique and checked his watch to see it was just five minutes after four. He would have plenty of time to make his way over to the clinic and pick this man up and made his way over to the nearby stairwell and made his way back up to the first floor.
He looked over to his left and saw an Ammu-Nation situated between a Victim clothing store and the Family Jewels jeweler. Knowing how things could be whenever Donnie assigned a mission, a bad feeling suddenly overcame him and he decided to check the place out.
There were only two other patrons in the store, one being a guy who looked like he spent too much time down in his parents' basement, mumbling something to himself about the 'forthcoming zombie apocalypse,' and the other being a blonde-haired woman in a fiery red business suit placing a Remington 700 and a few boxes of rounds on the front counter.
"Are you sure that'll be all for you today Mrs. Piedermann?" asked the cashier, a bald overweight man with a thick brown beard and mustache, clad in denim overalls with no shirt on underneath, showing off his carpet of chest hair underneath, in his thick Southern twang.
"Those pussy liberals have been at it again Bear, always whining about wanting handouts and what not. They don't have the decency to stay inside their closets fantasizing about sucking Impotent Rage's cock, so they're gonna need some 'convincing,'" the woman replied doing a last minute check over the rifle's scope.
"Amen to that," the cashier called Bear replied as he rang her order up.
"By the grace of God, hallelujah!" the woman triumphantly whooped, "Be sure to see you at the next church service dear boy," she said before exiting and brushing past Artie.
The hitman shook his head at the woman's hypocrisy and began browsing the nearby racks, gathering some ammo for his FN Five-seven, in addition to an FN SCAR and a few magazines. He walked over to the cashier and laid his merchandise on the counter.
"Heh, I knew you were a lightweight the second you walked through the door pretty boy," the cashier scoffed, "Hell, I could smell the shit in your trousers and believe me, I know lightweight shit when I smell it!"
"Great, just what I need, another knuckle dragging sister fucker," he thought reaching for his wallet. "Whatever, just ring me up and shut the fuck up," Artie snapped.
"Heh, I didn't know lady boys knew how to swear," the big man chortled, "Where did you learn that from? That sissy 'Ghetto Eye for the Queer Guy' show? My faggot nephew loves that show, hell I oughta' give you his number. You two would make a cute couple-" he continued until Artie slapped his hands down on the counter.
"Now listen here you fat inbred fuck! I have a job to carry out and I need some of your wares to make this job possible. Now are you going to sit around being a fucking dickhead, or am I gonna have to paint the walls with your fucking brain matter?" Artie roared getting into the man's face, smelling an overabundance of moonshine on his breath, so strong it nearly made the hitman drunk.
The large clerk only laughed back in his face, "You think you could take me little boy? I was a Golden Gloves champ-"
He never had the chance to finish as Artie decked him with a vicious right hook that sent him falling backwards into the display case behind and knocking him out cold.
"Fuck it," Artie said scooping the merchandise off the counter and also noticed the H&K MP5K Bear kept hidden underneath the register. Taking the submachine gun along with the rifle and ammo he purchased he made his way out of the store, stopping to grab a fresh Kevlar vest on the way out, all the while ignoring the frightened gasps of the other remaining customer.
"Can never go wrong with anything you get for free," he chuckled to himself, passing a security guard standing near the entrance of the Man Cave sporting goods store, more engrossed in picking his nose than doing his job.
Artie made his way towards the escalator and rode it back up to the parking garage, where his Deimos SP still waited for him in one piece. He climbed inside and started up, Deadlock's "Code of Honor" now playing, prompting him to turn the volume up and leave the music echoing off the concrete walls.
The hitman roared out of the underground parking garage, cutting off a street sweeper and racing into oncoming traffic, causing a six car pileup, yet he sped on without a care in the world and continued forth until he was approaching the ramp and making his way over to Jefferson Vale, cutting off a green Moonbeam and causing another traffic jam before finally reaching the first street.
He didn't let up on the gas even as he sped down narrower, more populated streets, still a little agitated after having to listen to his cousin in the middle of sex, so agitated he nearly clipped a jogger in a blue track suit.
"You crazy fucker! You're gonna kill somebody!" the man shouted waving his fist angrily.
Artie ignored the man's comment and continued further along, passing Arnold Square where yet another group had convened to protest with a few cops gathered to watch them closely and then cut off a Rumpo being utilized for Robert Kretchell's mayoral campaign, the progressive lawyer's picture emblazoned on the side and the attached megaphones blaring his message, yet unable to be heard clearly due to the hitman's radio being turned up.
It was only a matter of time before he was pulling up outside the Sheen Medical Clinic, familiar with the route from having dropped off previous fares during his work with Freeman Cabs. Artie pulled into the closest available stall to the front door and made his way into the shady overhang and walking past a parked Stratum, where an elderly lady was carefully being helped out of the backseat and into a waiting wheelchair.
Artie walked inside and found himself in a nicely-furnished lobby, the only other occupant being the guard at the security desk.
"May I help you?" the guard asked setting down his Playhouse magazine.
"I need to find Dr. Switzel's office," Artie replied.
The guard did not reply immediately, staring at him quietly before his brown eyes suddenly widened and he was struggling to hold back laughter.
"What's so funny?" the hitman snapped.
Again the guard did not reply right away, taking a few seconds to compose himself before he held in his laughter long enough to answer, "Nothing! It's nothing! His office is down the hall and is the third door on your left."
Artie didn't even bother to thank the man and walked down the hall towards the doctor's office, a suspicious feeling overcoming him as he wondered what the guard could have been laughing at.
When he came to the doctor's door he suddenly stopped.
"JAMESON SWITZEL, GYNAECOLOGIST."
Artie was at first incredulous before he found himself shaking his head and pinching the bridge of his nose.
"Donnie, what the fuck have you gotten me into now?" the hitman groaned aloud, ignoring the stares of the doctor and nurse passing him by. Taking a deep breath he hung his head in shame as he walked through the door.
The waiting room was small in size and decorated with various flower pots and paintings of nature scenery on the walls, yet the pleasant imagery did nothing to assauge the hired gun's embarrassment, especially as the three women present stopped everything they were doing and looked up to him. One of the patients, a young woman in her early 20's with long blonde hair and wearing a pink hoodie suddenly pulled out her iFruit and started texting an unknown recipient, giggling the entire time.
"Since when did my life get so fucked up?" Artie asked himself as he slowly approached the front desk and looked down to the receptionist, a fair-skinned woman in her early 30's with her long red hair worn in a bun.
"And how may I help you...sir?" she asked, trying to remain professional while at the same time staring awkwardly at him.
"I have...an appointment with Dr. Switzel," the hitman blurted out, his cheeks turning fire truck red in embarrassment, "Donnie I'm going to fucking kill you for this later on!"
"For a Cappelli?" the woman asked after typing a few commands in on her computer.
"Yes," Artie grunted wanting this to be over with as soon as possible.
"Oh yes, Dr. Switzel should be expecting you at any moment," the woman spoke trying to suppress a snicker, "He's just right through the door to your right."
Again Artie didn't even bother to thank the woman for her forced kindness and proceeded through the door, finding himself in a small office with an examination table to his right and the wall covered in various posters depicting the internal organs of the female body.
The room's lone occupant turned to greet him, an African-American male who stood around his height with a lanky build and his black hair cropped closely to his head, accompanied by a thin mustache and goatee. He wore the typical white lab coat of a medical doctor with a pink button up dress shirt and red tie underneath, a gold Crowex on his wrist and a stethoscope hanging around his neck.
"Ah hello there," the doctor spoke attempting to be polite before reluctantly extending his hand, "And how may I help you today, Mister-"
Artie was about to reply before the passphrase Donnie gave him suddenly kicked in.
"Man, Mrs. Johnson sure has a bad case of crabs. Don't you agree?"
Dr. Switzel stopped dead in his tracks and stared intently at the hitman before composing himself, "Um, you'll need to excuse me for a second."
The doctor brushed past him and into the nearby broom closet, only to reappear a split second later wearing a totally different outfit.
Gone was his lab coat and dress clothes, now replaced by a metallic purple pimp suit with tiger-print trim and covered by a floor-length mink coat. His eyes were covered by a pair of shades that looked to be ten times too big for his face and lined with diamonds, a matching wide-brimmed hat on his head with a lone white feather sticking out. In his right hand was a cane with a diamond tip, gold rings on each finger.
"Jimmy Sweet, at your service," the man said extending his hand and smiling, his gold tooth glimmering under the lights. "I take it you must be the cat sent by the Don, am I correct?" he asked, his tone taking on a 'funkier' edge as opposed to his previous erudite, cultured approach.
"That I am," Artie said reaching out and shaking his hand. "Uh, just how did you change your clothes so fast?" he asked cocking an eyebrow.
Jimmy's smile only grew before he gracefully twirled his cane, "The Don says you're better at 'shooting shit up' than you are asking questions."
"Yeah, you could say that," Artie replied before placing his hands on his hips, "Donnie tells me you've been having some trouble lately."
Jimmy's smile vanished and he casually sat himself on his desk and crossed his legs, "Some squares have been hatin' on yours truly as of late, real biblical fellas if ya' catch my drift. Apparently they ain't being too fond of my efforts to 'entertain the masses,' if you will" he said making quotation gestures with his fingers.
"Right, do go on," Artie replied reclining against the wall and checking looking down to his Crowex.
"Well yours truly was out the other night, selling some of my 'Grade A merchandise.' It was a sweet time for all until some choir boy decided to put his hands on Jimmy. Nobody puts their hands on Jimmy, ya' dig? Anywho, this cat's got some homies that don't take kindly to that kinda' stuff, so now they been makin' threats. Jimmy can't die yet, Jimmy still has the lonely men of this fair city that need the satisfaction only he can provide...the merchandise that is, and that's where you're gonna be comin' it," he explained lowering his diamond-encrusted sunglasses.
"So you want me to do your pimping for you?" Artie asked uncrossing his arms.
"Now why ya' gotta be goin' usin' that word?" Jimmy asked incredulously, "'Pimp' has such negative connotations behind it. I prefer 'high class urban entertainment provider' if you will."
"Who knew a pimp...I'm sorry 'high class urban entertainment provider' could be politically correct," Artie snickered.
"Anyways, gettin' to the good stuff, one of my ladies tells me those squares might be plannin' 'something big,' and by 'big' I ain't talkin' 'bout the size of that Puerto Rican guy who paid me fifty thousand G's for a good time," Jimmy started trailing until he was cut off by Artie.
"Can we please keep things on the subject at hand?" he snapped.
"Right-O Daddy-O!" he nodded pointing at him playfully, "Anyways, Jimmy Sweet is gonna need some protection for a little drive to his love shack."
"Fine, my car's out front," Artie said gesturing towards the door, only to be cut off by Jimmy raising his hands.
"Ah, ah, ah! Jimmy Sweet only rides in style!" he said reaching into his pocket and pulling out a set of car keys, "It's the Remington out front. Just don't scratch the paint job playa!"
"Right," Artie replied making his way back into the reception area and doing what he could to ignore the stares as he made his exit.
XXXXX
Jimmy's car was a heavily-customized '77 Remington lowrider with a purple body and a sweet flame decal job. The tires were whitewall and had gold-plated twenty inch rims that sparkled in the late day sunlight. The interior had a gaudy zebra-print design and the roof had a bright red velvet finish that nearly strained his eyes, yet the seats were of a suede material that made things more comfortable. He also found himself chuckling at the pair of fuzzy pink dice hanging on the rear view mirror and the golden gear shift crafted like the upper torso of a nude woman.
He looked around for the pimp, impatiently drumming his fingers on the leather steering wheel. Looking forward he eventually spotted the purple-clad man in the midst of chatting with a nurse and handing her a business card, no doubt looking for a new employee.
"I'm guessing the term 'off the clock' means nothing to him," Artie thought as the pimp walked through the sliding double doors, "I wonder how he manages to hide that from his co-workers walking around dressed like that, if at all."
Jimmy strolled over and climbed in, "Alright playa', let's get these wheels rollin'. Jimmy's got places to be ya' know," he said switching the car's radio over to Funked Up 105.3, currently playing "Atomic Dog" by George Clinton.
"Right," Artie replied, waiting for a Phantom hauling an oil tank to pass before pulling into traffic, "So you're a doctor on the side, huh?" he asked trying to build conversation.
"You seem like a cool cat so I'll let you in on it being more of a 'front' ya' know? Gotta look legit, easier way to get new 'employees.' Jimmy's gotta be creative like that, ya' dig?"
"I get it yeah," Artie sarcastically replied as he made a right-hand turn and nearly collided with a gaggle of skateboarders, "You still haven't told me how you pulled that stunt back in the office, you know, being able to suddenly change into your different clothes in less than a split second."
Jimmy chuckled, "A master has to have his secrets ya' know. The world would be less magical if I told ya' everything," he said reaching into the compartment between the seats and pulling out a martini glass and bottle of chardonnay.
"Whatever you say 'master,'" Artie scoffed, "Wouldn't wanna spoil anything for your holiness."
"Damn right playa! Jimmy's too sweet to be sour!" he said taking a drink from his glass and then pulling out a Cohiba and lighting it up.
Artie didn't reply and just focused on the road ahead of him when it suddenly dawned on him, "So where to?"
Jimmy did not reply immediately, busy staring at a barely legal tanned brunette in an aqua blue spaghetti strap tanktop and lime green short shorts as she strolled along the sidewalk. Artie saw what was happening and forcefully clasped the pimp's shoulder, only to have a gold-plated Desert Eagle shoved in his face."
"Nobody puts hands on Jimmy! Ya' dig?" the pimp shot back.
"Alright, alright! Sheesh! You can put the gun down now," Artie replied, jumping again when a blaring horn came from behind and he looked in the rearview mirror to find a Hauler almost tail-gating them. He looked back to the speedometer to see they had slowed to a near snail-like pace and quickly stomped the gas pedal, nearly sending Jimmy flying face first into the dashboard.
"Hey! Hey! Watch it will you?" Jimmy shouted, his tone losing all the jive and resuming his previous erudite tone. He looked down a second later to see the liquid still in his glass, "At least you didn't spill on the threads. Jimmy likes that."
"Yeah whatever. Now can you please tell me where I'm supposed to take you?" Artie asked again.
"Oh yeah, take me to – Ooh, I love this tune!" Jimmy was about to say when "You Dropped a Bomb on Me" by The Gap Band suddenly came on the radio and the pimp reached over to turn the volume up.
"JIMMY! FUCKING TELL ME WHERE I HAVE TO TAKE YOU!" Artie screamed, his tone causing the windows to vibrate.
The pimp was suddenly stopped dead in his tracks, his large sunglasses hiding the anxiety that was likely in his eyes right now, yet the man spoke in his usual cool tone.
"Oh yeah, Jimmy's got himself a sweet love shack up in Batholith Peak. Take me there and I can promise you a sweet deal in the end," the pimp replied.
"Sure thing," Artie replied.
Batholith Peak was considered the "high end" community of Roosevelt Hills where all the city's A-listers had their fancy mountain getaways. Located on a decommissioned Devil's Cone ski resort, it would be quite a long haul so he figured he might as well try to make the most of it.
"Nice gun by the way," Artie commented, "I bet it must have cost you extra to have one of the Ammu-Nation guys do that gold-plated finish for you."
"Ammu-Nation," Jimmy scoffed, "Motherfucker please! My shit is custom!"
"Well then I gotta get me some of that," Artie laughed.
"Keep it real for me an' I might jus' get you some of that and more," the pimp replied.
"Keeping it real is what I do best...if you're that willing to take my cousin's word for it," Artie spoke as he pulled onto the Arness Expressway to Roosevelt Hills, the Remington finding itself passed by a pack of bikers headed for the Riding Bitch biker bar.
The duo drove along Highway 67 in relative silence, passing along a small clearing where there was a Cluckin' Bell, 24/7 convenience store and gas station, a Flappers pancake joint, and a Red Shirt Inn motel. Unknown to them, a motorcycle cop was watching them and tossed his half-eaten donut to the ground, starting up his lights and siren and beginning pursuit.
Artie was rounding a curve near the scenic overlook of Lake Tete when he heard a siren blaring from behind him and looked in the rearview mirror to see a police motorcycle closing in on him.
"Shit, it's the fuzz," the hitman grumbled.
"Pull over," Jimmy spoke.
"Huh?" Artie asked cocking an eyebrow in the pimp's direction.
"You heard me playa, pull this chariot over. The fuzz 'round these parts know Jimmy's too sweet to be sour. Let me have a few words and I can have this buster off our backs in no time," the pimp said straightening his hat.
"If you insist," Artie spoke reluctantly easing the lowrider to a halt on the highway's shoulder, looking down to the Walther P22 tucked at his side. He brought the Remington to a halt and shifted into park, waiting patiently for the officer to approach and watching him in the rearview mirror the entire time.
"Evening officer," Jimmy spoke before the man could get a word in, "What is it Jimmy can do for you tonight?" he asked, hoping this was another unhappy officer he had lent his 'services' to in the past.
The tan-clad officer eyed the pimp suspiciously beneath his mirrored aviator shades before his hand went for his pistol.
"By the hand of God, I smite thee heathen!" the officer cried.
"Square!" Jimmy screamed, but Artie had reacted faster and shot the Remington's door open and knocked the fake police officer to the pavement. He drew the P22 and prepared to finish the man off, only for the passenger side window to explode behind him.
"That ain't right!" the pimp shouted looking over his shoulder to find a hole torn through the headrest behind him and his wide-brimmed hat knocked from his head. "Ain't nobody touchin' Jimmy unless he says so!"
Artie ignored the pimp's comment as he looked ahead to find a bright white Roadtrain semi-truck rushing towards them. Without warning he shifted the Remington into drive and slammed the gas pedal to the floor, just barely dodging the semi's charge as it sped past them and collided head on with the mountain behind them in a brilliant explosion that caused the lowrider to rock onto two wheels before hitting the pavement with a bone-jarring rattle.
"Repent at once sinner! Let your life be the price of your actus reus!" a voice called out over a megaphone and the duo looked ahead to see two white Picadors charging towards them, their windows made of stained glass and large crosses painted on the hoods. A megaphone was mounted to the hood of each car and in each cargo bed he could see a person in a monk's robe with a vest worn over it. When he saw what was strapped to them his eyes widened.
"Suicide bombers!" Artie shouted, but he was too late as one of the Picadors raced past and its occupant leapt from the cargo bed, landing on the Remington's hood and latching on for dear life.
"Foul heathen! Do not resist the punishment you are due! It is by God's will you bathe in the fires of righteous vengeance!" the religious fanatic cried.
"I got this playa," Jimmy said flipping a switch beneath the radio and the Remington's hydraulics kicked in, the lowrider bouncing up and down as Artie struggled to keep it on the road. It would be enough to finally rock the suicide bomber from the hood and sent him flying backwards, rolling along the road before his explosives detonated and one of the white Picadors was swallowed up in the blast.
"One down," Artie said switching the hydraulics off as the other Picador pulled an abrupt U-turn, cutting off a Tailgater and charging after them.
"By the Lord's will, you will fall blasphemer!" the driver cried over the megaphone.
"Slow down!" Jimmy shouted.
"Are you fucking insane? Don't you realize we've got bat shit religious zealots on our tail?" Artie called back, narrowly missing a Bodhi when they were forced into the opposite lane.
"Has Jimmy bullshitted you before?" the pimp asked flipping another switch beneath the radio.
Knee cappers suddenly shot out from beneath the tire's rims and Artie slowed the lowrider down as instructed, getting close enough to pierce the Picador's tires and sent the coupe utility swerving out of control, colliding head on with a motorcyclist driving a Bagger.
"Whew! I knew those squares were uptight, but damn!" Jimmy hollered.
Artie found himself blinded a second later, followed by the flutter of helicopter blades.
"Spawn of Satan you only delay the inevitable! The will of God is inescapable!" another voice called out from a megaphone, this time above them. A white Buzzard attack helicopter hovered in the air and Artie was able to make out the rocket launchers on both sides.
"Where the fuck do these Jesus freaks keep getting all this stuff?" he shouted before looking over to Jimmy, "Please tell me you have more surprises in this baby."
"Sounds like you still ain't trustin' Jimmy," the pimp grumbled before flipping enough switch and the whoosh of nitrous activating sounded, sending the lowrider racing down the highway at breakneck speed. Artie struggled at first to maintain control of the wheel, but would eventually steady the car as they sped down a straight stretch of road, the Remington managing to dodge a cluster of missiles fired in its direction that tore apart the pavement behind them.
Fate eventually smiled upon the duo as they entered a tunnel, buying them a temporary reprieve from the religious fanatics' assault.
"Now I know why I hate organized religion so much," Artie spat as the Remington raced down the tunnel. Seeing the light at the end he steeled himself for any other surprises the zealots could have in store.
The tunnel led the duo onto a bridge where sure enough there was a seemingly normal Squalo in the water. The normalcy was gone when the 'fisherman' on board suddenly produced an AT4 anti-tank rocket launcher and fired a rocket towards the bridge, the lowrider barely dodging the explosive and making it off the collapsing bridge just in time.
"Jesus, don't you have a rocket launcher on here?" Artie asked looking down to the switches beneath the radio.
"You're on your own there playa," the pimp shot back.
"I thought you said I was supposed to 'trust' you," Artie said giving the man an incredulous look.
"Hey! Hey! Hey easy there cool cat. Jimmy's got his sources, but they ain't told me nothin' 'bout no damned birds in the sky! Jimmy knew those Mars Pentecostal cats had their fat load a' paper, but nothin' ain't been like this!" the pimp called back.
"Fuck it," Artie grumbled and looked back down to the meter to see the nitrous was now fully replenished. He looked back up to see they were coming across a set of train tracks with the gates lowered and the red lights flashing, a freight train fast approaching. "Shut up and hang on!" he said flipping the nitrous switch. There was another loud whoosh and the lowrider rocketed through the gates, just as the Buzzard fired another cluster of missiles that struck a car transporting a large oil tank and creating a massive explosion that swallowed up the entire train in a domino effect of chaos.
The earth quaked beneath them and the Remington was finally forced off the road, plowing through a wooden fence and into a corn field, coming to a rough halt when the numerous stalks began clogging the cars under chassis.
"Fucking hell," Artie spat unable to move the car. He looked over to Jimmy and withdrew the P22. "Wait here," he ordered.
The hired gun forced the driver's side door open and had to struggle through the mass of stalks before he came to a open row and ran to the edge and had a clear view of the road. In the distance he saw the towering inferno and beyond that he was able to make out the Buzzard that had attacked them, only it was flying away in the opposite direction. Perhaps the pilot thought they were dead and was abandoning the hunt.
Artie sighed in relief and made his way back to where the Remington had come to a halt, finding Jimmy standing out in the open whimpering at the sight of his wrecked car.
"My baby...what have those squares done to you? Daddy's gonna make them pay. That's a promise," the pimp whined, only to stop himself when he noticed Artie was witin earshot and resumed his 'smooth operator' jive tone, "Man, now that ain't gravy! Those finks wrecked a masterpiece. Ain't nobody one to put hands on Jimmy's pride and joy an' get away with it. Ya' dig?"
"Whatever, but right now I need to get you back to your place," Artie said looking further down the open row and spotting a Duneloader parked in the distance, "C'mon!"
Jimmy lowered his shades and cocked an eyebrow at Artie before letting out a small chuckle, "Playa' get real for once. Jimmy only rides in style!"
Artie glared back to the pimp, "You wanna fucking walk or what? This is our only ride out of here. Now get your bitch ass in gear or else I'm leaving your ass behind. Your choice bub."
Jimmy stared at him long and hard before pulling out a gold-plated lighter and flicking it open.
Less than a second later, an explosion occurred and the luxurious Remington was no more.
"What the fuck?" Artie asked regaining his bearings and bringing an arm up to shield his eyes from the orange glow.
"Now we can go," Jimmy said walking over to join him.
XXXXX
It took them a little while longer, but Artie found his way to Batholith Peak and it wasn't long before they were pulling up to a light purple-colored mansion with a matching wall that would have made any normal decorator throw up.
"To each his own...I guess," Artie thought to himself as he came up to a wrought-iron gate with some of the bars stylized to resemble musical notes and a large circle with the initials 'J.S.' engraved in the center.
"Alright, that's far enough!" a woman's voice called out and the hitman slowed to a halt, finding himself met by two shapely women, one blonde and the other black-haired, both of them wearing matching camouflage-patterned bikinis that were a few sizes too small and carrying HK416 assault rifles.
"Whoa! Whoa ladies it's fine! It's just yours truly daddy-o!" Jimmy called out stepping out from the truck's passenger side.
"Oh my goodness, Papa Bear!" the blonde called out pushing a button that opened the gate.
"My goodness, you look like you've been through Hell and back," the raven-haired beauty said running over and massaging his shoulders, soon joined by the blonde.
"Papa Bear ain't gonna let a few squares bring him down just like that," the pimp said reaching into his pocket and producing a roll of dollar bills, "Here take this playa, you've earned it!" he said tossing the roll to Artie. "You're actually a cool cat. Jimmy'll have to give you a call sometime in the future. Keep things on the down low until then," he said as the gates closed behind him and the ladies.
"Yeah sure," Artie said out of earshot. Reaching into his pocket he pulled out his cell phone and speed dialed Donnie's number. "Cuz, it's me. Jimmy is safe and sound back at his mansion."
"Hell yeah! That's a Cappelli for you! I knew you could do it," an enthusiastic Donnie called back, techno music thumping in the background.
"Yeah, sure thing," Artie called back.
"Oh and by the way Cuz, I'm buying out Freeman Cabs," Donnie announced.
"Seriously?" Artie scoffed, "Lloyd Freeman hasn't even been dead a full 48 hours and you're already buying that place out?"
"Does the Don ever bullshit you?" the elder Cappelli cousin asked only to cut Artie off before he could even reply, "I got the deed and everything. Pretty soon the public will be saying hello to the Cappelli Cab Company! It's just the next step in a growing empire, one that you will be part of for sure."
"Fine, congratulations to you then," Artie sarcastically replied before switching his phone off.
Artie needed to find a way back to the medical clinic where his Deimos SP was still parked and looked off to his left where a Seminole SUV was parked in front of an A-frame house. With no other options he ran over and brought the P22's butt down onto the window and 'invited' himself in, reaching down and hotwiring the car. He sped down the street and waited until he was out of earshot before turning the radio on, which was set at Total 101.9 and playing "Break Your Heart" by Taio Cruz.
Thankfully the stolen SUV had a GPS in it and he typed in clinic's coordinates, although knowing he would have to take an alternate route back home thanks to the railway disaster and bombed out bridge. As long as those religious fanatics thought he and Jimmy were dead he was hopeful it would be smooth sailing back to the clinic.
He had driven for quite sometime until he spotted another flaming wreck in the distance.
"Since when did life get so fucked up?" he asked himself as he was about to pass the overturned Fugitive, only to come to a screeching halt when a woman threw herself in front of him.
"Lady, what the fuck?" he shouted after rolling down his window, only to stop when the woman rose to her feet and stepped into the light.
She was a young woman of Mexican-American descent with long black hair worn in a ponytail and wearing a gray zip up hoodie covered in blood, a large gash on her forehead.
"Please...you have to help me!" she said throwing herself against the Seminole while clutching at a bullet wound just beneath her shoulder, "I'm shot. I've got money and I can pay you!"
Artie noted the flaming wreckage behind her and eyed her closely again before nodding, "Okay, get in."
"Thank you," the woman grunted pulling herself in and slinking against the seat.
"I'm heading for the Sheen Medical Clinic. I can take you there," the hitman said, only for the woman to suddenly spring to life with renewed vigor.
"No! Don't take me there! Take me to Gilmore! Please...I have a friend there!" the woman pleaded.
"Der Chirurg, huh? Been a while since I've seen that guy," Artie replied, knowing this woman must not be on the right side of the law if she's asking for him.
Her dark eyes widened as she stared at him, "Wait a minute, you know who I'm talking about?"
"Let's just say a friend of mine and I required his 'services' at one point," Artie spoke, noting the blood still gushing from her bullet wound and speeding up knowing she probably didn't have much time left. "So what's your story?"
The woman eyed him warily before speaking up.
"Three guys and I did a pawn shop job in Osbourne Dale, I was the driver. Should've been an easy job and another twenty thousand each...but it was a fucking sting! The pigs killed one and pinched the other. Me and the other guy got away...cleared two roadblocks too...pigs have been hunting us for the past three hours," she explained, her voice a tired croak.
"What about the other guy?" Artie asked.
"Greedy fucker shot me, made me crash the car. For all I know he's nothing but ashes," the woman replied before drifting off. Artie reached over and felt her neck. She still had a pulse, but was getting weaker by the minute.
The rest of the drive over to Gilmore passed by in silence and it was only a matter of time before he was approaching the same bungalow and pulling into Ludwig Schwarz's driveway.
"Alright, c'mon," Artie said pulling the passenger side door open and helping the woman out, who groaned loudly and opened her eyes as he wrapped her arm around his shoulders.
"Where am I?" she slurred.
"Relax, we're here to see Der Chirurg," Artie said dragging her over to the front door and pushing the intercom button.
"Yes, who is it?" the same German-accented voice called out, clearly irritated at being disturbed from his nightly routine.
"We're here to see Der Chirurg," Artie spoke into the microphone.
"Artie Cappelli?" the man asked clearly recognizing his voice, "Just a minute."
An electronic buzzing noise sounded and Artie pulled the woman through the door to be met by Ludwig.
"She's been shot," Artie said handing her over to the mob doctor.
"I'll get started right away," Dr. Schwarz said taking hold of the woman, who stopped him before he could lead her to the makeshift operating room.
"Wait..." she said reaching into her pocket and handing the hitman a stack of bills along with a piece of paper with a phone number written on it, "...here's for helping me out. Call me if you need help with anything in the future."
Artie looked down to the note, the woman's name listed as Hayleigh Marquez and the stack amounting to one thousand dollars total.
"Alright, I will," the hitman said exiting the mob doctor's house and making his way back for the Seminole.
"God I'm gonna need a drink," the hitman thought to himself as he climbed in and made his way for the clinic.
XXXXXX
Author's Note: And so ends YET another installment of "Rushmore City." Aside from my pre-occupation with my Deadliest Warrior fic I've also had the time to beat "Grand Theft Auto V" and hope to play it again soon when I have the free time.
Speaking of GTAV, for those of you who might have picked it out, Jimmy DeSanto does make a pseudo-cameo in this story in the beginning, the 'Dangerous-J' screen name being a reference to one of the nicknames he uses in the game.
Viviana's Mystery is a spoof of the Victoria's Secret franchise and the Washington Point Mall itself is inspired by the Rounds Square under mall from "Saints Row 2." Speaking of SR2, the scene with Donnie having sex with the cashier is inspired by the 'Ho-ing' diversion from that game as well.
The Ammu-Nation cashier Bear is inspired by Bear Hugger from Nintendo's "Punch Out" series.
Jimmy Sweet is physically inspired by Mike Epps and his portrayal of L.J. from "Resident Evil: Apocalypse," along with heavy influence from Zimos in "Saints Row: The Third." His line "Motherfucker please, my shit is custom" is a line he uttered in that movie and his suddenly change of clothes is inspired by Superman's classic phone booth changing sequence. Since GTA and SR characters are known for having their quirks, Jimmy's is that he has a secret identity as a gynaecologist by day.
The white Picador driven by the Mars Pentecostal members is inspired by Brimstone from "Twisted Metal: Black" and the suicide bombers is inspired by his special attack.
Rescuing Hayleigh would be a 'randon event' inspired by GTA5 had this been an actual video game and her physical appearance would be inspired by Alanna Masterson who plays Tara on "The Walking Dead."
Well I think that's everything for the time being so until then read and review as always! This is Metal Harbinger saying SPREAD THE SICKNESS, ONE MIND AT A TIME! \m/