Too Far Gone (Urban)

53| Bar Fight

2 weeks later

“Chug, chug, chug!” The crowd cheered loudly as the boss downed a 32oz of vodka. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down with each hefty gulp, his eyes squeezing shut in an attempt to ignore the burning, acid-like sensation of the alcohol. His head tilted back gradually as he reached the bottom of the glass, and when he got his last sip in, he slammed the glass on the counter and let out a sonorous exhale that was drowned out by the crowd's uproar.

     The boss smiled, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand whilst being patted and shaken in adulation. He was out celebrating at Club Koi with a group of his Saints after their strategic defeat of the Sons of Samedi. After his talk with his Curly during the heritage festival, he was more determined than ever to take down the Sons of Samedi and take back the city of Stilwater like he had in the past.

     “Everyone's drinks are on me!” The boss shouted, causing the crowd to roar in praise again. After this, he didn't know what the future held for him and his gang. When he walked down the streets of Stilwater, people no longer feared him or taunted him, but instead lifted his name and showered him with compliments. Even the police didn't give him much trouble anymore; all they would say to him is, “Watch yourself, Saint,” with a playful grin.

     In some instances, people even asked him for autographs. It was something unfamiliar to him, being admired by strangers. Gat wasn't too fond of all the attention. To him, he felt as if all the positivity and praise will get into their heads and they'll act more like feeble celebrities instead of sticking to who they truly are. The boss shrugged off the idea, believing that would never happen as long as he was in charge.

     A scream echoed in the confined room as a shot rang out above them. Everyone ducked down behind something; tables they turned over, flipped chairs, some even jumping over the counter like the boss. The boss peered over the edge of the counter, noting who dared disrupt his party. He was expecting to see the last of the Samedi, maybe even the Ronin or the Brotherhood if chance had it, but instead, he saw only men dressed in heavy black armor, the body of their uniform a full, dusty orange. Their helmets covered their faces fully and they were armed with military grade weaponry.

     “Target sighted,” one of the men spoke as he trained his aim at the boss.

     “Shit!” The boss cursed. A few of the Saints that were behind the counter with him looked over to him.

     “What do we do, boss? I'm not strapped,” a Saint said worriedly as a soldier spoke into his intercom.

     “Bring in the Masako Team,” the soldier commanded.

     "This could be going better..." The boss muttered to himself. The boss himself was unarmed, believing today's outing would be a peaceful one since only his gang ruled the city, but it seems he thought wrong. The boss glanced at the bartender, who laid face down on the wooden floor. “Hey, do you have some heat?”

     The bartender nodded, slowly falling back onto his knees till he was upright. He pulled a small key out of the pocket of his apron just as a soldier yelled for the boss to get up and surrender. He slid the weapon cache door open, revealing an automatic shotgun. The boss bit his bottom lip, a sadistic half grin forming on his face. The bartender handed him the weapon, and the boss called out to the Masako soldiers. “I'm coming up, okay?”

     The soldiers muttered something in reply, and the boss adjusted his position into a low crouch, weapon clutched tightly in his hand. He'll be damned if some fake police dared to crash his party. He popped up without warning, taking out the first soldier his eyes fell upon. The gun was as quick as his aim, and before the soldiers could retaliate, the boss had already taken half of the group out.