Cheese's last job before hooking up with the party
Just another stick up…
A beat up red euro car slowly pulled into the garage, after and hour of watching a nervous ork that must be D-loc’s muscle sitting on the stoop. He ducked inside as the door slid down with one last glace at the scene. “You think he saw us yo ?” “Naw man, calm down. He ain‘t seen shit.” Mo has always got doubts right before we go over the top. “Three in the car, three more inside…” Mo might get nervous but he’s stone cold under the heat. That motherfucker has had my back on all the rip and runs, all the shoot outs, that come along with our stickup business for the last 3 years. His juiced out troll friend who looked like he could rip open the top of a car was along for this job, Rocky, he was the only thing I was worried about. Great for kicking doors open, but not all that level headed you know, not to mention another cut of the loot. But with six marks the job need at least three shooters. “Hit the back and come in when you here me open up. Keep the room on lock and let me do the talkin, you feel me?” I made sure to lock eyes with Rocky, I knew Mo would do his part just fine. I holstered my wheel guns and latched the sawed off to the whip-it strap on my shoulder. Then pulled on my duster and slid out the passenger side door. I slumped against wall on the corner and lit up a cig. The first 2 shots in the sawed off Remington where high density powder too breach the door and although powdered lead will snap off a deadbolt it would merely be a nuisance to the gang soldier in the garage. The last two rounds where buckshot. Much more annoying. I gave Mo and Rocky ten minutes to set up and then I started across the street.
Two shots later the door to the garage office was fraged and the street was running for cover. I rolled right in behind the busted door as it swung free and brought my shotty up on six very surprised faces. A look washed over the face of one D-Loc’s people. “Shit, fuckin Cheese!” The other two in D-Loc’s crew immediately shrunk, almost visibly. They didn’t move but I could smell the fear. In the back I heard Rocky boot in the door and Mo was quick around the corner, Ingram 10 up. all business. One of the suppliers turned to pull his piece and Mo put three in his chest. The suppliers other goon now became a issue, despite having his hands up I didn’t know what he thinking, what he was capable of... At six feet the buckshot nearly ripped his knee off and he was no longer an issue. I managed to cracked a smile, “Hello gentlemen, I’m here to pick up the Nova and creds, my large friend here is going to check you for weapons, for your on safety” Rocky’s standard search technique apparently relied heavily on punches to the gut but in five minutes we where in Mo’s van with all the creds, drugs and guns from the scene.
We hit the express lane over the Redmond barrens, outta D-Loc’s turf, no pursuit, more easy money. At least 100,000 creds and over 200 nova caps. After I checked the count I was like “Big haul Mo-” and was cut short Rocky’s massive hand griping the back of my skull. He didn’t waste a second too throw me face first out the double doors in the back of the van. With my knees and elbows out the pain came from everywhere while the world spun, like I was getting a boot party in a dryer. When I stopped rolling and got my bearings I saw that the van had crashed into the divider wall. Then it backed up with a jerk and tore off. Everything hurt. I crawled off the expressway and jumped down onto one of the old buildings in the barrens and made my way home slowly from there. I never saw Mo again, or the money, but I caught up with Rocky two weeks later.
He was high rolling at a casino in Vancouver. A well paid little bird told me he checked in at the Jade Palace last week. I still had stitches from my road rash and a pronounced limp and here he was a massive troll covered by casino security. But I had a plan... I managed to limp my way in to the casino and not catch anybody’s eye, the live grenade stuffed into the inside of my knee high sock felt like it was a watermelon strapped on my leg, but nobody seemed to notice the way I awkward way I was walking wasn’t from my limp. Slowly and deliberately I bought some chips and made my way to his table. I stepped up to the table with a smile and locked eyes with him once again. He made his most fearsome expression he could muster and as the dealer announced “New bidder!” I pushed the grenade out of my sock with the other knee and kicked it out my pants leg under the table. He lunged across the table for me and I in turn dove the opposite direction on to another table, game in progress. Everybody started yelling all at once, Rocky was sprawling across his table atop of the pile of thousands of creds when his table blew up. The fire protection kicked in and everybody pushed their way out kicking and screaming out into the street in one scared drenched throng. The authorities showed up. Cops, Fire, Medics. trying to calm the crowd of drenched, scared, histerical, corperate yuppies who had only come up for the weekend for some thrills. "So many ruined suits" I laughed quietly to myself and turned to go. I limped back to the tram station thinking the entire time I need to find a new game. That was the last I ever saw of Rocky.