Greetings and welcome back, loyal readers! So sorry it tool longer than usual to get this chapter up. Between work, family and a whole slew of humdrum and bothersome things I don't wanna bore you with, it took a while to get around to it. But I'm happy to finally get this one out, and I'm sure you'll dig it. So without further ado, enjoy!
"You asked to see me, Mister Sweet?" Frost said, standing before the crime boss' desk. The light brown cat looked up at him severely.
"Yes, Frost." Sweet answered darkly. "Tell me you plan on getting rid of those Lackadaisy rats soon."
"I have a plan." Frost stated in his low monotone. "In fact I'm working on it right now. Take a few days. That is, if they don't turn tail and run."
"Not good enough." Sweet declared. "I want them eliminated, and I want them eliminated now. That is what I hired you for, isn't it?"
"It is." Drake responded. "And it is being done. Why the…rush job?" He noticed the way Asa Sweet's eyes darted to the side for a brief moment.
"That's none of your business, Frost." Mister Sweet grumbled. "It's just…things are happening. Big things. We need them out of the way. How soon can you do it?"
"One week."
"One week." Asa repeated. "Not going to get shot up by some punk kid again, are you?" Frost sneered.
"Not if I can help it." He answered. "Question."
"What is it?"
"How you want it done? Fast and messy…or slow and clean?" The gunman inquired. The crime boss gazed up at him with an unreadable expression.
"The last if you can. The first one if you have to. So long as it can't be traced to me, I won't object at the moment. Now, there's one more thing I need you to do." He noticed Frost staring at him and drew three hundred dollars from his desk and slid it in the gunman's direction. "Need you to take a drive, across the Mississippi…tonight."
"What's the job?" Frost asked, tucking the money into his pocket.
"We had a truce with the Fallon Gang over in Springfield." Sweet explained. "They were supposed to keep to their own. They brokered a deal with one of our double-dealing suppliers from Owensboro, and now the rat bastards have a whole shipment that was meant for us. I need you to go teach them a lesson. Convince them to deal only with us"
"Where are they?" Frost asked.
"I was…informed that Smiley Fallon, the boss' brother and lieutenant, along with a few of their guys are supposed to be meeting with a couple of the upper ranks of the suppliers tonight at 9. They're going to be over in Vandalia, about sixty miles from here. They bought out a roadhouse outside of town for the night." He looked at a paper on his desk. "Yeah, Milton's Roadhouse. Old wooden thing, looks like it came out of Dodge City, you can't miss it."
"That's all I need." Frost stated in a growl. "Gimme a clean car. Lot of .45 Automatic…some '11 magazines…and the Savoy's."
"Take 'em." Asa waved. "Tell Bertram down in the club to get your bullets and anything else you need. This thorn in my side gone and Lackadaisy in smoldering ruins, I'll have the garden weeded all it needs to be."
"Yes sir." Frost muttered, narrowing his eyes.
Frost rapped on the door to the suite down the hall from the Marigold bass' office. It opened, revealing Serafine, wearing men's black pinstripe trousers and a red high-collar shirt. Her hair was done up in a French bun with kiss curls on her temples.
"Ah. Frost…" She greeted coldly. "What you needin', tall dark and spooky? A pers'nality perhaps?"
"We have a job." He returned. "Over in Illinois. Tonight. I need you two."
"Oh…so mister solo needs some help now, est-ce que?" She cooed, a smirk on her face. "Or did you decide you need da comp'ny, hmm?"
"I need a good wheel man." Drake replied. Her smile fell. "Nico is a good wheel man. Neither of you run alone. I'll take you too. Might could use a…another gun."
"Damn…" She sighed. "You're so all business all de time, you need to hire you a manager." She commented. "Très bien, Frost. You got us."
"Meet me out back at 7pm. And bring a fresh car."
Frost leaned against his car in the lot behind The Maribel. He checked his watch and then took a swig of whiskey from his flask. He looked as a vehicle pulled into the lot. As it neared, he could see that it was a teal-colored 1927 Dodge Brothers Series 126 Sedan with Illinois plates. Nico was driving, and Serafine sat in the passenger seat, smoking a cigarette. Frost opened the back door of his own car, pulled out his Thompson and carpetbag, and unceremoniously slid into the back seat of the new automobile.
"So where to, spooky?" Nicodeme asked.
"Vandalia. Illinois." Frost replied stoically. "Milton's Roadhouse. Old joint…outside of town." The tall white cat nodded and put the car in gear. Serafine leaned over the seat.
"An' what we doin' over at Miilllton's Roadhouse, Cher?" She asked deviously.
"Negotiation." The gunfighter said. "Sweet wants some…competition eliminated. I am going to eliminate that competition."
"Now dat sounds fun." The Cajun woman grinned. "About time too. Ha. Since you blew into town, ever-body's been mindin' dere P's and Q's. You done scared all the vermin back into dere holes."
"Mm." Frost grunted. "Dunno why. I'm a pleasant guy. Real friendly." Serafine cackled as Drake sat in the backseat with a blank expression.
They drove across a long bridge and into Illinois. The trip to their destination would take about an hour and a half, and Frost did not feel like conversation. No, he normally didn't like engaging in pointless chatter. At the moment, he despised the idea. He blandly stared out the window at the passing landscape as it grew dark. The Savoy's were in the front seat, talking and debating about topics ranging from voodoo loa to the fastest automobiles. Somehow they got on the topic of how to cook alligator tail, and this led into a friendly dispute over whether or not certain calibers could kill one of the large reptiles clean. Frost glanced over as the subject of this debate shifted from alligators to people.
"You want de job done right?" Serafine pronounced. "Bigger's always better." She looked back at Drake. "Mmm…ain't that right, Frost?"
"Serafine…" Nico chided in a low voice. She rolled her eyes.
"Any gun can kill…depends on how you use it." He muttered. "Use the tool for the job. Don't use a screwdriver to…hammer a nail." She smirked.
"Well I see you brought you a special tool tonight, cher." Serafine purred. "Dat magnifique chopper." He glanced down at the weapon. "Use one a dem durin' the Great War?" Frost frowned and turned his head away, staring out the window at the darkness. "Aww…c'mon now cher. Heller said you was a soldier man. Bet you was a prime cut a' soldier too. You harvest a lot of souuullls wid one a' dem Tommies?"
"They weren't developed yet." Frost finally replied tersely. "We didn't have choppers in the war."
"So what did you use…a knife and a stick?" She asked. The mercenary huffed. "C'mon. Gimme a rundown."
"Chauchat…" Frost began. "Colt 1895 machine gun. Vickers, Maxim, 1917 Browning…" He turned his head to meet her gaze. "The BAR, 1897 shotgun. Model 12…1903 Springfield, the Enfield, 1911 and Colt's revolvers." His lip turned up in a snarl. "Blew a kraut up with a hand grenade. Run a knife through his gut. Pulled the pin. Stuffed it in his mouth. Know what that looks like?" Serafine's eyes widened at the intensity of Frost's eyes and the chill in his tone.
"Oh merde... tu es complètement fou, Frost. Oh bon sang." She breathed. "Non…I don't know what dat's like." She leaned in closer, and he could feel her breaths on his face. "But fuuuuck cher…you ever wanna impress a girl on a date…"
"Serafine." Nico said tersely from the front seat. Serafine's eyes darted that way, her tail swished, and she let out a sigh.
"Oh d'accord, mon frère…" She muttered. She stared silently at Frost for a few moments more. "So…you really rob banks, Frost?"
"Why?" He shot back in a low growl. "You want to rob a bank, crazy woman?"
"Never robbed a bank before…" Serafine mused. "What's it like?"
"Fast." Frost answered. "Gotta be fast. Under three minutes. No dragging ass. Go in…control the lobby. Put some lead in the ceiling. They grab a piece of floor real fast. Demand the money. Bag it up and get out. Keep it under three minutes, the coppers can't get there in time. Don't kill anybody, they don't try as hard to find you. Ball it up, you're finished. Kill a bunch of bystanders, they'll give you the chair. Roast you good." Serafine's tail swished, and her eyes darted from side to side as she took all of this in.
"Mm. So if I'm hearin' you right, you go in loud and vicious, and try an get out in three minutes." She said. "Anything else, oh great sage?"
"Yeah. Have a wheel man waiting in the car. Need a boss and a bag man. Three's optimal. Four's better. Five's pushing it." He explained. "Have some big guns. If the law shows up, you shoot yourself out. Disable the cars. Shoot the tires. If they pursue, man in the back…usually the triggerman, wants to fog the cops. Right through the windshield. Change cars after."
"Sounds like a lot a work." Serafine smirked.
"Lotta pay…if you know what you're doing." Frost replied. "You can get two to ten thousand out of a good bank. Ten grand…four guys. That's twenty five a piece. Can you make twenty-five-hundred…in a day…chopping up bootleggers, Savoy?" She grinned, pulled back a little and looked over at her brother.
"Whaddya say, Nico?" She laughed. "When we're done with this little job here, you wanna go try somethin' new?"
"I'm always willin' to try somethin' new." The burly cat chuckled. The gunman raised an eyebrow.
"You are going to rob a bank?" He asked dryly. Serafine leaned back over the seat.
"Non, cher. We are gonna rob us a bank." She clarified. "As in you an' us."
"I'm not robbing a bank." Frost stated in a low voice. "I have a job to do."
"A' course you do, and you're gonna do it." Serafine returned, her voice low and sultry. "But wouldn't it be nice to make a lil' extra bread on th' side? I know it would be fer us. Make a couple a' grand…" He couldn't help but to be tempted. It would be an easy job, and there would be no way to trace it back to him, to Sweet or anyone in St. Louis if the job were executed properly.
"If Sweet finds out…he will kill us." Drake finally said. He fixed Serafine with a disturbing stare. "And if he does…if we get caught…I will kill you. It will not be pretty…" Serafine shuddered a little. She felt herself blushing.
"Naw…naw we won't get caught." She returned. "And ol' Sweet don't gotta know. And he won't. Not unless you tell him." She bit her lip playfully. "I always wanted to try my hand at a bank job. I figured with a real master here, now's the best time. Whaddya think, cher?" Frost contemplated it. The mess he'd gotten himself into in St. Louis was an annoyance, and he wanted clear of the dangerously unpredictable actors there as soon as possible. If he were to blow out of the city once his contract was completed, he would need the money...and lots of it. And banks are where the money is…
"Alright…" He grumbled. "But we do it my way. I'm the boss. You two do what I say. When I say it."
"Alright…fair enough." She ceded. "You take de lead, and we'll follow. But we split dat money in troix, unnerstand?"
"Yeah." Drake growled. "Now shut up and let me alone. I need to think."
They came to their destination, a large two-story building about two miles from the city limits of Vandalia. The wooden roadhouse looked rustic, and had no doubt been here since the days when hunters, cowboys and western-bound settlers had frequented the trails leading to St. Louis and beyond. Frost imagined that it had served the same purpose all this time. Hell, there could be a room upstairs that had been used by General Grant, Brigham Young and Wyatt Earp. From the look of the place, they likely didn't change the sheets between them either.
Frost ordered Nico to turn off onto a country lane across the road from the establishment. He guided them to a wide spot in the road about fifty yards up from the turnoff, where Nico turned the car around and extinguished the headlights. Frost checked his watch. 8:45. He sat back in the seat, drew his 1921A Thompson into his lap. He held it muzzle-up and checked the fitment of the 50 round drum magazine. With his left hand, he grasped the actuator and racked it to the rear, readying the submachine gun for its grizzly duty.
"Now…we wait." He stated. And wait they did. For forty-five minutes, Frost sat stock still in the backseat of the car, only moving a couple of times to take a sip from his flask or to check the time. In the front seat, Serafine whiled away the time picking at her claws with a switchblade, then checking her makeup and hair in a small compact. Nico produced a bottle of Coca Cola, popped off the lid with a bottle opener and drank it, his left arm draped out of the driver's window lazily. Finally, Drake checked his Longines wristwatch. 9:31.
"Nico…stay with the car." Frost stated as he opened the door. "Roll up when you hear the shooting. Serafine. Come if you want. I don't care." She shot her brother a shrug, and got out of the vehicle as Frost began walking down the road toward the intersection.
"Frost…" Serafine called, ten yards behind the gunman. "What's the plan? You never…" He didn't answer, and continued his mechanical march toward the roadhouse, his Thompson in his right hand, the muzzle almost touching the ground. She jogged to catch up, her BAR swinging at her hip. "Frost?! Hol' up!"
"And so we're agreed." Hector 'Smiley' Fallon said with a grin. "A hundred percent of your liquor goes to us, and we pay you ten percent over what those classless circus clowns were." A few of the cats in the common room of the roadhouse laughed. The yellow cat in the blue suit wasn't finished. "Look at me, I'm Mister Sweet…mister bigshot fatass pimp with a two-bit hotel." More laughter. The skinny grey cat next to him on the leather-upholstered settee, wearing a cheap brown suit and newsie cap nudged him.
"And you can guarantee protection for the shipments?" He asked. "I don't want any problems from those Marigold assholes, see?"
"Ey. As long as you stay on this side of the river, you ain't gonna have no beef." Fallon shot back. "This is our turf, all the way up to Peoria. See them guys there…" He motioned toward the four cats in the room. Two were playing billiards, while two more nastier-looking customers looked on. "I got more muscle than that idiot across the big creek does. Bigger guns too." Terrance, the moonshine baron from Kentucky, looked over to his own cadre of protection. Two of the the burly cats he'd brought were standing by the corner of the room by the piano, the bodyguards smoking cigars and playing with their revolvers.
"Then yeah…we got ourselves a deal, Mister Fallon." Terrence said.
"Then let's drink to a profitable business venture!" Fallon declared. "And when the…" He was interrupted by the sound of the front door opening. "Whoseat?" The gangster called. The thugs playing pool laid their sticks down on the table and stood erect as a stranger entered the room. Dressed in a grey pinstripe suit and long black coat and fedora, the dark grey tabby stepped in slowly and deliberately, a tommy gun swinging at his side.
"Who the Hell are you supposed to be?" One of the thugs, a tall brown cat in shirtsleeves and a flat cap asked in a gravely tone.
"Mister Sweet...sends his regards." Frost stated in a low voice. Just as Serafine reached the doorway, the cats by the billiard table all drew their weapons. Frost pivoted their way and in a flash had his chopper up to chest height, the stocked tucked into his armpit. He let fly a long burst that quickly strafed the four gangsters, sending two of them bounding into the wall behind them. He then quickly turned about and let fly a fusillade of fire on the two gunmen the moonshiner had brought along, only one getting off a single shot before they were cut down, a wild shot that embedded in the wall to Frost's right.
Two more cats, one armed with a Browning Auto-5, the other with a Mauser 1914 pistol, came running through the doorway near where their two comrades had fallen, only to get caught up in another burst of .45 caliber fury from Frost's submachine gun. He heard someone call out from above, and spun on his heels as a cat in a suit fired at him from the balcony above. He dumped the last of the weapon's ammunition into his foe, sending the thug crashing through the wooden railing and falling to the floor below. He turned back to the gangster and the liquor supplier, both of whom had their hands upraised meekly. He took a few steps toward them, smoke curling from the muzzle of the Cutts compensator at the end of the gun's barrel. Their hands went up a little more.
"Whoa whoa whoa…" Fallon stammered. "You got us, big guy…you got us dead to rights. We'll do whatever you say."
"Yeah…yeah…" Terrence agreed shakily. Frost took another step closer, slowly picked up a glass of watered-down moonshine from the table before them, turned it up and drank it like water. He sat the glass down as Serafine watched from the doorway, her cheeks a bright pink.
"You uh…" The gunfighter began in a low, calm voice. "You look like the uh…kind of guys who'd shoot an unarmed man in the back…" He turned his back to them and unceremoniously tossed his empty Thompson onto the billiard table. Fallon and Terrence glanced at each other, and Fallon nodded almost imperceptibly. Both cats stood slowly and silently, their hands reaching inside their coats. Frost's tail twitched. In a heartbeat, he had spun around, his 1911's in hand.
Bum-bum bumbumbumbumbumbum-bumbumbum-bumbumbumbumbum
The two turncoats lay upon the sofa, blood pooling on the floor beneath their feet. Frost stood there like a statue for a few seconds, then dropped the magazines from his pistols, the clank-clank of them hitting the hardwood floor reverberating through the now silent building. He slid in two fresh magazines and dropped the slides before holstering his weapons.
"Yeah…that's what I thought…" He muttered. Frost scooped up the Auto-5, turned and walked back through the room, his shoes scattering the empty casings on the floor with a tinkling sound. He picked up his Thompson and paused at the doorway, where Serafine was standing, panting, her tongue half-hanging from her mouth. "We're done." He stated. "Pull yourself the fuck together, girlie. Let's saddle up."
They drove south on route 51 for the next 45 minutes at the behest of Frost, the gunman methodically reloading the drum magazine for his Thompson during the trip. They pulled off the road just before crossing the bridge over Crooked Creek. Nico expertly navigated the car through a grassy field, and underneath the railway bridge, where he parked by the first support of the trestle. It was now 10:35. They would wait until morning before driving into town. He sat his submachine gun in the floorboard and lay back on the car's soft bench seat.
"I can't believe we actually getting' ready to hit a bank!" Serafine beamed. "Brother a' mine, how many times we talk about doin' this?"
"Too many times, Serafine…" He answered. "Guess we never got around to it. Heh. Kinda went straight working for Sweet." Serafine laughed.
"Hahahaa! Hoo! Only time we ever goin' straight is straight to the slammer or straight to the coroner. How's about you, Frost? You ever lived the normal borin' life?" She looked back to see him laying on the seat, his hat obscuring his face.
"No." He stated simply.
"Lemme guess…you spent your whoooollle life on da run." She jested.
"Everybody's…on the run from something…" He mumbled. "Predators and prey. Run to eat. Run to keep from being eaten. Gobbled up…bones and all…ain't no way to go out. Better run, dollface. Better run." Serafine's smile fell.
"Damn if you ain't a wet blanket." She commented. "So, how we doin' this little job a' ours tomorrow? You know, since you the reigning prince a' banditry an' all." Nico chuckled.
"Leave the BAR with Nicodeme." Frost explained in a low voice. "Nico, you'll stay with the car. Keep the engine warm. Serafine…you take this Auto-5 and your revolver into the bank. If I'd known I was going to be pulling off a heist…would've brought bigger guns. No matter. I will take the chopper. I go in first…"
The car pulled to the curb in front of the First Savings and Loan Bank on Main Street. The doors swung open and out stepped Frost and Serafine, both wearing black bandanas over their noses, and Serafine wearing a black fedora she'd nabbed from some poor sap's head as they drove down the street. Frost had a 20 round magazine in his chopper, and Serafine was wielding the Auto-5 12 gauge. Nico backed the car fifty feet down the street and sat with the car in gear, a foot on the clutch, and his right hand on the grip of the BAR propped muzzle down beside him. Frost bounded up the concrete steps as fast as his injured leg would take him, Serafine close behind.
"Everybody grab a piece of floor!" He commanded in a loud, growling voice as he burst into the bank. He fired a volley from his Thompson into the ceiling. "Down! Down on the floor. Keep them hands empty or I'll kill the Hell outta you all!" He moved quickly across the lobby and hopped onto the counter, sliding over it to the other side. Serafine picked up on his cues, and walked to the middle of the lobby, covering the people on the floor, as well as the front door as he'd instructed her to do. She fired a blast from the shotgun into the ceiling.
"Dat's right you buncha lousy stiffs! Stay down!" She ordered, then slid another shell into the weapon's magazine. Meanwhile, Drake was pointing the muzzle of his Thompson at the two cashiers behind the counter. He pulled a stack of white cotton money bags from the shelf beneath the till and tossed them in the trembling cats' faces.
"Fill them up! Now!" He barked. When the bank tellers began fumbling with the cash drawers, he made his point even clearer. "I will shoot you in the face!" They immediately seemed to steel their resolve to live by cooperating more efficiently, shoveling money from the drawers and into the bags as fast as they could. He ticked off the time in his head. Thirty seconds.
"Faster'n that…come on!" Serafine yelled, and fired a load of buckshot into the wall over the heads of the tellers.
"The cash, the vault, gold, everything!" Frost demanded. "Fill those bags, gentlemen." The first bag of loot was tied off and laid upon the counter, followed closely by the second. The bank tellers now moved to the open vault, with Frost poking them in the backs with the muzzle of his submachine gun. One minute.
"Don't shoot…don't shoot." One of the clerks, a wiry cat in a visor cap and apron worn over his suit begged.
"Do as I say. Think slow and move fast and you'll live through this." He assured them gruffly. The two tellers quickly filled four more bags with banded stacks of bills. One of them, at a flick of Frost's barrel, took the bags over to the counter and sat them down, while the other filled a bag with a combination of loose bills and gold dollars. Minute thirty. They now had seven bags of money, and he calculated that this was sufficient for the time they had spent inside the building. Frost now leapt up onto the counter and fired into the ceiling again, this time only five rounds on semi-auto.
"Alright!" He called. "Stay down till you hear us drive off! You can be a live coward or a dead hero, your choice, ladies and gentlemen!" He glanced down at the cat on the floor in front of the counter. The old-timer had a small wad of dollar bills in his hand as if to use as an offering to the bandits. "Put that shit away!" Drake ordered. "We ain't here for your money. We're here for the bank's." He hopped off the counter and changed out the empty magazine of his weapon with the 50 round drum he had in a large pocket sew into the inside of his coat. Serafine picked up three bags of money in her left hand, holding her shotgun in her right. Frost did the same, picking up the remaining bags in his left hand.
Serafine covered the lobby with her Auto-5 as Frost backed out of the front door of the bank. Nico spotted them, and started to coast forward when he saw a passing patrol car screech to a halt. The two officers in the Ford sedan spotted the gunman as he exited the bank. The sight of a cat in a long coat, black bandanna over his face, holding bags of money and a Tommy Gun in the small quiet town was enough to send them into an instant frenzy. The officer driving jerked the wheel to the right and goosed the throttle, sending the front passenger tire of the squad car up onto the curb. He tumbled out of the driver's side as his partner grabbed the Winchester Model 12 riot gun from the back seat and bolted out his side of the car and around to the cover of the other side of the vehicle.
"Aw merde…" Nico grumbled. Frost was halfway down the steps when he heard the car thump up onto the curb. He spun about in time to see the cop with the scattergun beat feet around the patrol car. The gunfighter instantly raised his Thompson and fired a two-second burst into the police vehicle. He moved down the steps and onto the sidewalk, in the direction of the awaiting getaway car, stopping to fire another short burst to keeps the cops' heads down.
Serafine exited the bank a couple seconds after Frost, and just in time to see his first broadside into the police car. She grinned and held the A-5 at arm's length like a pistol and fired, shattering the windshield of the automobile. The cop with the shotgun spotted her and she had just enough time to duck behind a pillar of the bank's Grecian façade as two rounds of buckshot slammed into the stonework. She popped out from behind the other side and fired two more blasts from her semi-automatic shotgun that made the cop duck for a moment.
"Frost!" She called. "Could use a hand here cher!" Drake shot a glance in her direction.
"Damnit." He grunted. By now, another car had pulled up, and two more officers had joined the fray. Serafine had just finished topping off her shotgun's tubular magazine with three more shells. She eyed the bags of money at her feet. There was no way she was about to leave that much bread laying on the ground. She popped out from behind her cover and fired all five rounds in the shotgun at the new threat. One of the officers took a few pellets of buckshot to the right arm and chest, and fell to the ground. The side windows and back tire of the newly-arrived police car were hit as well before she pivoted back around the pillar as more bullets came her way.
Frost was in the open, firing his Thompson one-handed. He hoped that Nico remembered what he'd told the Savoy brother to do in this kind of situation, and he looked toward the getaway car before running back up the steps, covering his movement by firing between the squad cars with short bursts from his weapon. He made it behind the pillar Serafine was stuck behind, and reloaded his short-barreled submachine gun with his last 50 round drum.
"Remember what I said." He stated. She looked up from reloading her shotgun and nodded. "Fire and maneuver. Leapfrog to cover."
"I'm ready t' roll, Frost." She grinned.
"Laying cover." He said, then came out around the pillar, firing his Thompson on semi-auto until he'd reached the large stone planter at the base of the steps. "Gogogo!" He called. Serafine picked up the moneybags and ran down the steps and Frost fired, stopping when she was behind the opposite planter, nearest the car.
"Lightin' 'em up ma chérie! Lez have sum fun!" She stood and fired the shotgun at the police cars as the gunfighter limped quickly past her, to a mailbox on the sidewalk. Some of her buckshot found the driver of the first police car, sending the officer to the cobblestone road with a thigh full of buckshot.
"C'mon soeur, c'mon…" Nico muttered anxiously, watching his sister and the gunman fight their way from the portico of the bank to the sidewalk. Nicodeme saw that the time was right, and raised the chopped-down BAR from it's hidden position in the floorboard. With a growl, he slammed the muzzle into the windshield, shattering the glass and stabbing the machine rifle in the direction of the coppers that were shooting at Serafine and Frost. Nico let his left foot off the clutch and floored the accelerator as he squeezed the trigger. The back of the nearest squad car practically disintegrated as the storm of 30-06 bullets tore into the body panels, flattened both rear tires and sent the spare tire falling to the road.
"Go!" Frost ordered over the increasing din of the firefight. He fired at the closest police vehicle, which was simultaneously being shredded by Nico with the BAR. The Dodge Brothers sedan pulled up to the curb. Serafine tucked her shotgun under her left arm and drew her .38 Fitz conversion, firing as she ran to the car. She threw open the front door, tossed the money and the shotgun inside and hopped in. She took over the Browning Automatic Rifle from her brother, and pulled Boudreaux from the broken windshield. She quickly swapped out the depleted 30 round magazine with a spare 20 round one, and agilely snaked halfway out the window, straddling the door.
"Allons Frost, Alons!" She called out. He ran from the cover of the mail box and tossed his bags through the open rear window of the car. He opened the rear door and hopped upon the running board. "Décoller Nico!" She yelled, and her brother floored the accelerator, whipping the car around on the street as Serafine howled with laughter, firing her powerful rifle at the police cars. Frost fired a couple of bursts from his own weapon until it clicked, then slid into the back seat and closed the door. The car rounded the first corner in second gear and the next in third. Serafine slithered back into the car, laughing so hard that tears streamed down her cheeks.
"Woo! Daaaaaamn that was a blast!" She exclaimed. "Mon cœur is beatin' so fast she sound like a steel drum at a party! Hoo boy!" She turned to the backseat, where Frost was rubbing the wound on his leg, a dark wet splotch of red on his pantleg from the overexertion. "It always go like this?"
"Sometimes." He replied. "Sometimes better…sometimes worse." He growled and stretched his leg out on the seat. "You two good?"
"Oh I'm on cloud nine, cher." Serafine answered.
"Dat was a reeeaal fine bit of fun back dere, ami." Nicodeme laughed. "Reminded me of the good ol' days. Back when we was just startin' out, eh soeur?"
"Oui, tout à fait." She sighed contentedly. Serafine's lips twitched upwards and her expression softened for a moment. She looked back at Frost, who was already in the process of opening one of his drum mags, a box of bullets on the seat beside him. "Ey Frost…"
"What?" He grumbled impatiently.
"Thanks for comin' back for me." She said. "Dat was real chivalrous of ya." The gunman froze, his hands in the process of pulling a round from the box. He felt his fingers start trembling a bit.
"I don't leave nobody behind." He growled dismissively. He threw the box of ammunition down, grabbed a bottle of whiskey from his bag and drank two swallows of the contents.
"I thought you always worked alone…" She cooed. He grunted and started loading the drum without looking up.
"That's how I don't leave people behind." He returned. "Drive someplace secluded. Steal another fucking car. Burn this one. Let me alone crazy woman."