• The Dranx, Trip City
    December 18
    0324 hours

    Radio static…


    “Scope, what’s your status?”

    “In position and awaiting orders.”


    “Good, hold there, we’ll keep in touch.”

    “Affirmative.”


    Cell phone rings.

    BEEP…


    “Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap, this is Bullit.”

    “Hey Boss, we followed the target to an apartment building in Kings, He and his two bodyguards are inside as we speak.”


    “Hmm. That wasn’t on the route Clepto told us. Oh well, keep me informed on any other developments.”

    “Roger that Boss”


    CLICK…


    Ten minutes later…

    Cell phone rings.


    “Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap, this is Bullit.”

    “Um…Boss there’s been a development that I think you should know about.”


    “What’s that?”

    “Well, one of you drinking buddies just entered the building.”

    “Huh? Who?”

    “One Mister Trent Casey.”


    “What in the Nine Hells is he doing there?”

    “From what Specs just pulled up it seems that he owns the apartment building.”


    “Drek! We can’t be certain that they’re there for him. Just carry on with the mission, but leave Boomer and Raven behind to check on him. Do not tell Trigger! Text me when they leave.

    “Roger.”


    CLICK…


    Radio static…


    “Okay boys, it seems we’re going to be here for a little bit, so relax some.”

    “Affirmative”


    “Aw frak! That’s no fun!”


    “Yeah!”


    “Well Ike, we can’t just call the mother frakker up and tell him to move it!”

    “Yeah, I guess.”


    “You idiot.”


    “What?”


    “You heard me.”


    “Don’t make me come over there and beat you with the stock of my rifle!”


    “Like you co..”


    “Shut up both of you! You’re giving me a headache!”


    “Thank you Scope.”

    Cell phone rings


    TARGET HAS LEFT. 20 MIN.


    “Alright boys, twenty minutes. Get ready”


    Ten minutes later…

    Bullit held the large clip that he had ejected from his large custom made gold plated automatic pistol, dubbed Natalya; for she was the one who had had it made for him. It held ten seventy caliber rounds and had a kick that most sentient races couldn’t hold with both hand without having their wrists bruised, if not broken. But Trigger had had it made especially for his left arm; a mechanical augmentation from an injury from back in the war. Thus he could wield it one armed.
    After a short examination to make sure that it held all ten rounds, he slipped it back into the firearm, making sure the safety was on, as he did every time, then slid the weapon back into it’s holster on his left thigh.
    He then pulled the gun in the holster on his right thigh out, a customized silver plated fifty caliber Desert Eagle; the bits that were customized we won’t go into because that might take awhile, but anything Bullit could customize a late twentieth century firearm with from the later part of the twenty-first century equipment, he did.
    He examined the barrel to make sure it was clean; which it was, he always gave his weapons the finest care, he hit a small switch and the clip fell into his hand. A small examination of the contents, then popped it back in, checked the safety, the slipped it back into its home on his right thigh.
    This had taken the better part of ten minutes.
    Bullit then rested his head on his fist and stared through the window of the large white van and out into the empty street. This was a particularly empty part of town, mostly the exceptionally poor and drug dealers who wanted little trouble with the law, which rarely even came out here.
    Clepto had informed him that the Jester made weekly visits out here too visit the Andretti families’ dealers to get their cut. Clepto had been nice enough too add in The Jester’s full schedule for night for the price that Bullit paid.
    “Hey boss, I thought you said twenty minutes?” Came Mike’s voice over the receiver in Bullit’s ear.
    “Shut up Mike, you know how bad traffic is in the tunnel, even this late.”
    “Who’s the idiot now?”
    “WHAT!”
    “Don’t start you two.”
    “Sorry Boss,” Mike and Ike said in unison.
    Bullit turned his head as he saw light reflect in his side view mirror. There was their target. “Okay Scope, you get the driver, but wait until he opens the target’s door. That car’s armored and I don’t think even my seventy cal could penetrate it. Mike, Ike; you take out the bodyguards.”
    “Gotcha!”
    “Roger!”
    “Affirmative”
    “On my command.”
    Bullit watched as the long black limo drove past and parallel parked some thirty yards ahead.
    After a moment the headlights turned off and the driver door opened up. The driver got out of the vehicle and made a quick survey of the area then moved to the back of the long car, sweeping his eyes back and forth. He seemed very observant, his eyes moving to every shadow and peering into it.
    If it hadn’t been a group as experienced as Bullit’s crew he might have spotted Mike or Ike.
    But these were former special operations recon troops that had fought in many battles during the third world war in the jungles and deserts of southern Asia, both urban and rural.
    He had moved up to the back door and made one last sweep of the surrounding area, then slowly opened the door and out climbed the biggest black man Bullit had ever seen.
    “Wow! I claim Cue-Ball!”
    "Actually Ike, that's Eight-Ball."
    "What?"
    "His name is Eight-Ball," Bullit told him, "Cue-Ball is that bald white guy that's now getting out of the limo."
    “Fine, then I claim him!”
    “As long as you both know who shooting who and you don’t hit me.”
    Bullit watched as they moved around the door in a defensive pattern and he noticed that Cue-Ball had a severe limp and had a bloody cloth around one of his upper arms. They both had a bandage across their noses.
    He smiled; he knew TC would never go down without a fight, that’s how they had met. TC might not be a student of any martial disciplines, but he could brawl with the best of them and anyone going up against him had better have good insurance.
    Then the last occupant of the limo placed his feet onto the pavement and stood up; a man dressed in a black tuxedo with blue lining, his face painted white with black lips and black around the eyes and a blue skull under his left eye, and a belled black and blue jester's cap.
    Bullit waited for them to close the door and move away from the car before he opened the door to his van and climbed out; then slammed the door shut behind him. He then moved around the van and began walking down the street towards them.
    Upon hearing the noise of a vehicle door slamming, the driver turned and pulled a pistol from under his coat and pointed it at Bullit as he yelled for him to stop. The two giants promptly stepped in front of Bullit's target.
    “Scope.”
    There was no noise, no flash, the driver’s head just simply exploded and the body hit the limo, leaving large blood splatter on the tinted window when it fell to the ground.
    The two bald giants quickly looked around with wide eyes, then looked straight at Bullit and began to make their way slowly towards him while The Jester had pulled a large pistol from under his tux jacket.
    “Fire Team.”
    From both side of the street came a short burst of auto fire, this time loud and the flashes from the barrels of the small carbines illuminated the outlines of Dirty Deeds’ fire team. The two huge men went down, Cue-Ball's chest was wide open and Eight-Ball had a line of holes that went down his side and across his stomach.
    The Jester gaped silently for a moment, not believing that anyone would be so bold as to attack him, a member of one of the most prominent crime families in Trip city. He quickly got over this and brought the firearm up to bear and aimed it at Bullit.
    With lightning speed Bullit had his Desert Eagle out and seemingly without aiming he fired; the round lodging itself in its target’s shoulder, making him drop his weapon. He then replaced it in it’s holster and kept moving forward
    The Jester turned and began to flee.
    With the same speed as before Bullit drew his seventy caliber and fired. The round drove itself into the flee man’s left leg, right behind the kneecap , and separated lower part of his left leg from the rest of him.
    He flew forward and did a face plant into the cement. He lay there screaming and holding the bloody stump of his left leg.
    Bullit slowly walked up to him and kicked him in the side to make him turn over as he looked down at the screaming clown.
    “Wow. You’re supposed to be one of the most feared men in this city. Untouchable. Seems you got to complacent in your position,” Bullit said to the fallen man as he lay there moaning in a growing pool of his own blood. “I could leave you here to die, but with my luck you wouldn’t and you’d just pop up again to annoy me. And don't worry about collecting your money, we already offed them and took it.”
    Bullit raised Natalya and squeezed a round off into the middle of The Jester’s face. It vanished in a cloud of red spray.
    Bullit holstered his pistol and turned to see Mike and Ike come out from doorways from both sides of the street and check their targets. Mike looked down at 8-Ball and fired a three round burst from his carbine into the man's head, he must have still been alive.
    "Alright boys, good job." Bullit said to them as he saw another set of headlights coming, which would have been Johnny and his team, "Let's get the hell out of here and get our money."
    Bullit's phone rang again and he pulled it out of his pocket and flipped it open.

    TC OKAY


    "Well, this has been an all around good night."