For a few days, Em Cal and S.D. stalked the ice cream vans. Using different cars, they learned the daily routine of the vans and what time they stopped distributing the Triple Effect. The vans would then head back to Diamondback Desert to an old two level factory that used to make Cherry Bomb Cola sodas before they discontinued it. Em Cal discovered that they were using the factory to create Triple Effect pills. The factory was surrounded by iron gates that only opened for the ice cream van.
Meanwhile, the deaths of Amarico Villapando and Paulie Knuckles spread like wildfire throughout the underworld. Em Cal knew that he couldn't waste anymore time with this operation. There was a plethora of witnesses who could identify him on both occasions. So on a busy Friday evening, Em Cal called S.D. and told him to get ready. He sank several shots of Jack Daniels, lit up a Winston and readied himself for battle. He slipped on his leather duster and sunglasses. He armed himself with a .50 Desert Eagle, two silenced Uzi submachine guns, and a sawed off 12 gauge. It was dead quiet as Em Cal mounted the V-Rod. He did not feel nervous. He had saw and done so much murder, that his mundane human emotions were virtually non existent.
S.D. was waiting for Em Cal. In contrast to Em Cal, who was cool, calm, and collective, he looked as if he just recovered from food poisoning; he was pale, sweaty, and slightly shaky. His expression was more far out than usual.
"Hey, whatever nervous feeling you have, you better get rid of them boy," said Em Cal coldly. "You agreed to do this, so if you freeze up on me, or back out of this, you might as well sign your death certificate."
"Cal, I won't turn on you," said S.D., I'm down, I swear I am."
Em Cal heard the sincerity in his voice and said. "Good, we're about to put Operation Camisado in motion. Have you taken care of what I told you to take care of?"
"Yeah," said S.D. "I called an hour ago. Bravissimo's should be down in flames by now."
"Good," said Em Cal. "It's ten-fifteen, which means that one of the ice cream vans will be headed toward Barrow and Parker Freeway by now. Let's see if we can catch up with it."
"For the first ten minutes, Em Cal did not see any ice cream van on Barrow and Parker. He sped up the Escobar Bridge and searched far and wide for it. He didn't find any van, until he spotted the ice cream van with the discernible Bravissimo's logo on it, taking the ramp at Manson Parkway. Like a lion stalking a gazelle, Em Cal went after his prey.
"When I say when!" Em Cal shouted at S.D. over to the V-Rod's roar, "you're going to jump onto the van and get inside. I'm going to match the truck's speed!"
"WHAT?!" S.D. exclaimed. "You want me to jump off of this bike and onto that van? Do I look like a leap frog to you?"
"You look like a guy who's going to get my foot shoved up his ass, if he doesn't jump!" said Em Cal. "Now stop whining and get ready!"
"If I die, man, tell Angela I love her, no matter what I've said!" said S.D.
Em Cal pulled up to the left side of the ice cream van. S.D. positioned himself to get ready to jump. When Em Cal got close enough to the van, he shouted, "GO!"
The guy driving the van had no idea what had happened until S.D. made a Spiderman-like leap off of the V-Rod and onto the van, smashing the window with a Beretta. Em Cal watched the van veer off course, as the van's driver and S.D struggled for the wheel. After three grueling minutes, S.D. shot the driver four times and pushed his body out of the van. He then pulled the van to a complete stop. Em Cal hopped off of the V-Rod.
"I'll be back," he said to the V-Rod. He got inside the van, where he found S.D. in the back, going through the freezers.
"Man, it looks like Lindsey Lohan's stash back here." he said. "Hey Cal! There's 50 Gs back here, man!"
"S.D., stop fucking off and get in the front." said Em Cal patiently. "I need you to take the wheel."
S.D. obediently got into the driver's seat, waving a popsicle at Em Cal.
"Hyper Stripes," he said with a 6 year-old's enthusiasm. "I love these man!"
Em Cal slapped the popsicle out of S.D.'s hand and said. "Just drive the van. Dammit, boy!"
The sun was starting to set over Diamondback Desert. Em Cal loaded the 12 gauge up and said to S.D. "Now there's guards watching the gates and they're armed. The window's broken, so if they see that we're not their regular driver, they'll probably shoot on sight, so have the guns at the ready."
"Got you, boss," said S.D.
They arrived at the factory. Two of Saracino's gorillas were at the gate, armed with assault rifles. As they let the van in, Em Cal and S.D. waited until they were at level with the goons and clapped iron on them. Then they parked the van with the other vans.
"We're entering a world full of peril now," said Em Cal, cocking the sawed off. "Keep those guns, loaded, boy,"
"Say, Cal, started S.D., loading up his SIG, "when're you gong to stop calling me boy?"
Em Cal's icy viriscent eyes met S.D.'s dim hazel ones.
"When you stop acting like one, boy," he said.
Both men walked to the main entrance. Em Cal aimed the sawed off shotgun at the door and shot it down. There were voices of surprise issuing from the factory.
"Who was that?" said a voice Em Cal recognized as Joey Albertelli, the capo for the Saracinos.
"It's Death, coming to claim your soul, grease ball!" said Em Cal truculently, sending shells flying into Albertelli's chest.
Em Cal and S.D. ran into the factory, ready to kill anything moving. But Saracino's men, who were anticipating an ambush, were ready as well. Em Cal's voice was something like a war call.
Saracino's goons charged at the two intruders. S.D fired the Beretta at the first goon, getting him in the legs. He fell with a scream. Em Cal blasted a few more with the sawed off and crouched behind cardboard boxes, avoiding more shots.
"Cal!" S.D. half shouted, half whispered. "I'm taking cover!"
Before Em Cal could stop him, S.D. turned the corner and started firing away. Em Cal put his sawed off back in his pocket and got out of the two silenced Uzis. Then he ran after S.D., who was crouched behind two large crates, only emerging to shoot at the three goons he was battling with.
"Move, S.D., I got you!" yelled Em Cal, riddling the goons with a fusillade of bullets spitting from the Uzis.
"That's my dude!" said S.D. with glee. He jumped on top of the crates and started shooting blindly. While he got one goon, he also missed the others, but hit tables full of Bunsen burners and stacks of money, sending glass and money flying everhwhere.
"Dammit boy, stop fucking off and get a good shot!" shouted Em Cal. While yelling, he hadn't noticed a large wiry haired man coming toward him. He tackled Em Cal from the back, knocking the Uzis out of his hand. The fat man and Em Cal rolled around on the floor, punching and struggling. The fat man trying to keep Em Cal from getting his guns. Em Cal finally got on top of the fat man, then wrapped his large hand around his short thick neck, depraving him of his oxygen. Then, he took out the .50 Desert Eagle, stuck it in his mouth and pulled the trigger, causing the fat man's skull and brains to splatter everywhere. Wiping his blood and the fat man's blood from his face, Em Cal got to his feet and retained his Uzis.
There were only two men left now, but they were still fighting fiercly. Catching up with S.D, he looked at him and muttered. "Let's take it home."
S.D. nodded and along with Em Cal, sent the last of them on a one way trip to Hell.
Em Cal and S.D. looked at the carnage. Blood, bodies, money, glass, and drugs carpeted the floor. Em Cal examined the bodies. None of them were Johnny Saracino's.
"I know he's here," said Em Cal. "If he's anything like his old man, he's going to be in the thick of-"
Em Cal was cut off by the sound of two gun shots being fired. The next thing he knew, S.D. was on the ground, yelling, clutching at his bleeding arm. Em Cal spun around and saw from the top of the stairwell, a young man with slightly tanned skin, a smart nose, and heavily gelled hair, stood, holding a P89 Ruger. Furious, Em Cal fired a shot at him, but missed. He smirked and ran off.
"Ahhhh, fuck," S.D. groaned. It hurts, man, it fucking hurts."
"Shut up, boy," said Em Cal, taking out a strip of cloth and tying it tightly around S.D.'s arm. "That's all I can do for you for now. I'm going to kill that little fucking weasel."
"Yeah," gasped S.D. "Shoot that mother fucker, Cal."
Em Cal took off, and with great agility for a man his size, ran up the stairs, looking for Johnny Saracino. He was several feet away from him when he fired several shots at Em Cal. Em Cal answered back with two shots that missed Johnny by the skin of his teeth. Letting out an inarticulate yell of frustration, he pursued Johnny, who heading toward a door that led to the top of the roof.
When Em Cal finally reached the roof, Saracino was trying to jump off of it and into some dumpsters. Em Cal fired the Desert Eagle once more and struck gold. The bullet embedded itself in the small of Johnny's back.
The sky was now a deep lapis lazuli. Like the predator that he was, Em Cal sauntered toward Johnny, who was gasping and moaning, unable to move. Em Cal kicked him over so he could face him. He picked up the P89 and threw it far away.
"You done got me pissed off now, boy," said Em Cal, his voice harsher than usual. "You made me run after you, and then you make me waste bullets on your sorry ass. I could kill you right now, and not think nothing of it, but I won't, not just yet. Did you come up with the idea of the Triple Effect or is someone else pulling your strings? ANSWER ME!"
"It was me, all me," Johnny groaned. "Our family was crumbling before my very eyes. And there was people talking, saying I was doin' a shit job, that I would never been as good as my pop. I had to prove them wrong, I had to do something. So I came up with the idea of creating a unique drug that would not only bring in a lot of money, but put the family back on top of the food chain. And I did just that. My empire's big. Bigger than my father ever made it, bigger than V.K. McMahon's ever was. Nobody can touch me, nobody!"
"That's where I come in to contradict you, boy." said Em Cal. "Y'see, I killed your correspondent, Amarico Villapando, that fat greasy meatball, Paulie Knuckles, your precious little ice cream shop is burning as we speak, and I just wiped out all of your men. And here you are, on this roof, a millisecond away from being killed by one of the most cold blooded, dangerous son of a bitches to ever walk this earth. You should be honored, boy; Many men greater than you have died by my hand. Any last words?"
"Fuck you!" Johnny Saracino shouted, his face defiant. But Em Cal knew it was all a facade. Deep down, he was terrified, he could see the fear in his blue eyes.
"Y'know, Johnny, you look a lot like your pop," said Em Cal. "But you ain't a bit like him. Right before I killed him, he embraced the fact that I was going to kill him, he was not afraid to die. Look at you, lip twitching, eyes wide like a deer's. You don't really wanna die, do you? Let me put you out of your misery. How do you Sicilians say it? Arrivederci!"
He unloaded the Desert Eagle into Johnny Saracino's body. Johnny's eyes stared without seeing. Em Cal stared down at the body, uncaring, as he took out his phone and took a picture. Then, he walked back downstairs, the moonlight illuminating the rugged, apathetic features of his.