"BANG"
I overturned a table halfway, providing my brother and I with some makeshift cover as bullets whizzed past our heads,
"What the HELL?" My brother exclaimed as he followed my lead, ducking behind the table. He sported a high top fade and his hazel eyes were wide, shocked at our business partners --turned assailants' betrayal.
This was supposed to have been a routine exchange. Us providing a briefcase of white.. lets just say powder, and our business partners, a briefcase of cash. Needless to say things hadn't gone as planned. I became skeptical when we were asked to come upstairs and if not for my paranoia we would've been swiss cheese about now. Trapped behind a table in a medium sized trap house of sorts wasn't exactly much better, however. My mind raced on a way to get us out of this with our bodies intact.
"Did you see how many?" I called out to my brother. He had recovered from his temporary shock and now his eyes were popping out his head for an entire different reason. Bloodlust.
He pulled out a pistol from his back pocket, appraising it briefly, no doubt wishing it was of a bigger variety. "I saw about three!" He replied before peeking out from the side of the table and letting loose a few shots of his own in their general direction.
I pulled out an identical pistol from under my vest. Unlike my brother, who wore a casual blue jeans with a simple white polo shirt, I currently wore my usual tuxedo suit, only missing a bowtie or any tie for that matter, along with matching black dress pants and black leather closed-laced oxfords. I was a business man after all, albeit what many would call an immoral one.
My brother pulled back as the rain of bullets started back, cursing under his breath. "Any bright ideas? Could really use one right about now!"
I didn't respond, the gunfire ceasing again not easing my mind one bit. That meant they were probably advancing. They had been down a long hall and I had noticed, just barely, the sounds of gunfire seemed to be getting closer and closer which meant I was running out of time to save our asses. They probably had backup on the way too, something we ourselves would usually have but we wanted to do this ourselves and clear our heads. Seems like that wasn't exactly going to happen, unless a bullet to the head counts.
"Ok," I finally said, drawing my brother's attention. "I have a plan but it's gonna be a bit risky and we're gonna have to move quick."
He motioned over the table at our assailants. Not really a choice.
I nodded and dug into my vest pocket again. My hand came back out bearing what looked identical to a grenade. I had been saving this for a rainy day and well, it was currently raining bullets so now or never.
My brother reacted how anyone would react when they realized the person they travelled with had a potentially live grenade just tucked away in their suit the entire time. "What the hell, dude? Are you crazy?" He hissed at me, eyeing the object warily.
I shook my head quickly, painfully aware of our time running low. "It's not real, it's a replica." My brother didn't breathe a sigh of relief at the discovery, instead he now scowled at the seeming uselessness of the object now. Can't please him, eh? "However, I'm going to throw it out there like it's real and it should make them at least pause. T--"
"Then we bolt for the staircase?" My brother interrupted, briefly looking at the staircase that was a few feet to our left.
I nodded. "See if you can shoot them when they're running away , too." Being cornered like animals had left a foul taste in my mouth and I most certainly felt the need for all the people responsible to perish. I banked hard on our attackers believing it was a real grenade because I remembered Mr. Owens mostly employed former military soldiers. With any luck their PTSD would kick in and save the day. I made a mental note to donate a bit to military outposts if we survived, saving Americans indeed.
YOU ARE READING
Vito
ActionAvert your eyes, stay out of their way, ask no questions. These are rules the St. Louis residents have learnt to abide to --or they risk facing the consequences from the organized crime family that plagues their streets. On the outside, the Gang is...