a little dead? 2 (486 hits)
Category: NoneRating: 0.07 on 23 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by allyson, bitches. (View user info) at 2006-09-12 15:49:58 EDT
a litle dead? 1 http://www.ubersite.com/m/92917
Manhattan, 4:53PM
Whoever that is in the street, Danny's guessing that by now his dress is starting to chafe. Sure it looks like a classy number, but it's riding so high up his ass that the guy's even starting to sway on his feet. The sign in his hands is as high and proud as ever though.
"GAY AND PROUD, SHAMROCK CLUB, TUESDAY 2100." Fuck, I thought LA was bad...
He shakes his head and smiles, taking another drag from his cigarette. Turning away from the window he wanders back to his half-eaten meal, picking at his stake. It had been little tough but at a fair price. The Stamford isn't the plaza by a long shot, but Danny could care less.
Long as it ain't fuckin' K Rations.
He's been in New York for only a few hours, spending most of it in the hotel room. He loves the city, the vibrancy and incredible variety here, but the Iceman's not here to see the sights. Mike's due at seventeen-hundred, and Danny wants to be here for him, and be in the right frame of mind.
A lot bigger, those were his words. Fee as well.
He'd long given up on TV, deciding after cruising through dozens of channels that there was nothing decent on, unsurprisingly. A shower and shave had sorted him out, got him fresh from the flight and now all he had to do was wait. The anticipation is what's keeping him restless, a pile of butts in the ashtray a big sign. He can feel the adrenaline surging softly through him, eager to get another face in his sights.
I need this now. Gotta keep working.
Just as he finishes another mouthful of spicy beef there's a knock on the door, a man by the sound of it. For a brief second Danny tenses, the unfamiliar noise snapping him into combat mode. But he knows who's probably behind the door, and a quick look at the peephole proves him right.
He unbolts the door and opens it to see Mike standing there. But he's not alone.
"Who's this?"
Mike snorts with laughter, casting a quick look at the lean youth behind him. Cuban by the looks of it, he has dark skin and the restless yet controlled eyes of an ex-soldier. But that doesn't mean Danny doesn't eyeball him any less.
"Shit, nice to see you too, Danny. You gonna let us in?"
Danny pauses but only for a second, not seeing any danger. Mike wants him here for a job, and the last one he'd pulled had been near perfect. Why would he or his bosses want to try anything now?
"Yeah."
He lets them both in, Mike sitting in the chair by the desk and setting his briefcase down. The kid stays standing, eyes wandering quickly over the apartment like he's expecting assassins to leap from the walls. Danny bolts the door behind them, and faces the two, heading for the fridge.
"Wanna drink?"
"Yeah, beer if ya got it." Mike nods to his companion. "Want something?"
The kid just shakes his head, face expressionless, and Danny resists rolling his eyes. Hell, he can't really complain. He reminds him of Danny when he first left the Rangers, wanting to fight the whole fucking world after they'd cut him loose.
But this kid ain't a Ranger. I had to guess... I'd say Marines. "Answer your question, this is Enrique." Mike takes his beer and Danny leans against the door, own can in his hand. "He's your back-up for this job."
Danny stiffens at this, frowning at Mike. In all the jobs he'd pulled for the outfit, he'd never needed back up before. That was mainly because they'd never supplied it, but he'd assumed that they didn't think they'd need to. They knew him; they knew what he could do.
So why the kid?
"What the fuck is-"
Mike puts his hand up and Danny relents. He knows that the ex-Ranger wouldn't want anyone with him, simply because he worked better alone. But he'd been given his orders, and he'd seen the contract. It wasn't out of Danny's league, but they still wanted two men on it. He could see why.
"Hey, you wanna hear me out first?" He plays it tough for now, knowing it's the one way to get through to Danny. Try and pussyfoot round him and you just piss him off. "You think I woulda' brought him all the fuck up here just for fun, huh?"
Danny holds his hands up in supplication, seeing it's not worth the hassle. The rational part of his mind's kicking in, the part that needs to know all the facts.
Always a decent explanation, if only for someone else...
"OK, then." Mike picks up the briefcase and opens it, tossing a USB stick to Danny. He catches the tiny spinning stick effortlessly, walking over to the laptop lying on the coffee table. It had been the only thing he'd brought it town, standard kit for the assignment.
"Then let me why you why..."
"You insist on this?"
"The bosses do."
"But what do you say?"
Mike sighs and lets his head drop briefly, an hour into their review of the Diaz file. He's gone through every detail of it with Danny, letting him see just what kind of man he was after. Miguel Diaz isn't a block dealer or neighborhood gangster, he's a trafficker. The Colombian national is moving tons of cocaine into New York, and he has the muscle to make himself one of the city's most feared drugs dons.
And this nut still wants to go it alone.
"Fuck's sake, Danny, read the file! The guy's got better protection than the Mayor!"
"Answer the question."
The two men lock eyes suddenly over the table they're sat at, nothing but force in them. Danny's pushed him now, made him make this purely business. And right now, it means he's the fucking boss.
"They give me orders, I give you orders. We both do as we're told and if the bosses tell me you work with Enrique, you work with fucking Enrique!"
There's a tense silence as Danny digests this. What he says next will determine if he works for the outfit ever again. It might even put his life in danger, if this job's as important as Mike says. So he asks the really pertinent question.
"What's my end?"
"Quarter-million." Mike pauses, letting the figure hang there impressively. "Delivered upon job confirmation as always, plus whatever expenses you use."
He leans forward to look Danny in the eyes again, voice now softer, almost pleading. He doesn't like using this voice for anyone, but he knows that Danny's the best guy for this.
"Take the job, work with Enrique. Ain't like he's a fuckin' rookie, he used to be a Marine." Danny's eyes darkly over to Enrique's challenging gaze, then coolly turn back to Mike. "You know it's a good deal. If not..."
Mike stands up, looking down at a perfectly calm Danny.
"We walk. Right now."
Danny only needs to think for a minute, a quarter-million dollar payday dancing before his eyes. But he isn't blinded by it, he isn't an amateur. Based on what he's seen from the file, the job's definitely possible with two guys, and could be a cinch if he plans it just right.
So what the Hell are you bitching about?
"OK."
Mike sighs with utter relief and nods, staying standing. He walks back to his briefcase and zips it up, hefting it in his hands. Sensing the meeting's over, Enrique moves to his side as he gets to the door. The ex-Marine steps out first, casting long glances either side of the doorway before letting Mike come out.
"Enrique's in Room 15, just downstairs." Still in the doorway, Mike reaches into his jacket and hands Danny a thick brown envelope, obviously filled with cash. Danny has a quick look and sees nothing but hundreds. "That's ten grand, for expenses."
Danny's eyes shoot up, not expecting this kind of generosity from the bosses. Generally they gave enough but never more than that.
Must really want this done...
"Thanks."
Mike steps out and looks at Danny one last time, extending his hand. With a smile Danny takes it, shaking it firmly, and Mike is reassured that he made the right choice with this contract.
"Good as gone?"
Danny chuckles and nods again, eager to get on with the hunt now, even if he did have some jarhead as his partner on it, and lets not forget the cash.
Ain't just about that, though...
"Betcha' ass."
As Danny had expected, Diaz is a tough customer. But that'll just make it all the sweeter.
He's poring over the Intel gathered on the laptop; map of New York sprawled on the bed next to him. For hours now he's been meticulously going through it, trying to string together the mass of information into a coherent, realistic plan. Just like Vegas he's quietly relishing it, the precision and care with which a strategy like this comes together.
Make a plan and execute it perfect... shit; what guy's like me live for.
And slowly, surely, something's coming together.
There's a sharp knock on the door and Danny moves over to it, looking quickly out of the peephole. He knows as well as anyone the old bullet-through-the-peephole trick, and he never spends more than a second at it. But he knows who it was anyway.
"I got it all, man."
He lets Enrique inside, a heavy pack slung over his shoulder. He drops it onto the floor with a heavy metallic clank, and Danny knows he's done his job.
"Everything on the list?"
"Yeah, man."
Danny ignores the impatience in the reply and instead opens the bag up, eager to look at his tools for this job. He'd sent Enrique to an outfit contact also on the file, some Ukrainian on Brighton Beach who could get hold of serious firepower. Far as Danny can remember, Strakov had never steered the outfit wrong on a job, not the one's he'd done anyway.
He picks up the two Beretta's on top first, checking the slides. He smiles as he sees the serial numbers burnt off, probably the same for every piece in there. He'd been very specific about what he wanted Strakov to do to those guns, and told Enrique in detail.
Still do a job clean, no matter how big it is.
The two pistols come with black silencers, but the SIG 228's at the bottom don't need them. They'll be the backup guns, if things really turn shitty. A Browning pump action comes next, folding stock letting it fit easily into the bag. Danny passes the silenced Uzi to Enrique, the gun the ex-Marine had asked for.
"Thanks."
Danny doesn't bother to ask about the preference. It doesn't matter, and he has the one that he wants.
With a small smile he lifts a sleek, black submachine gun from the case. It has a telescopic scope and a bulbous looking silencer, but is incredibly light.
MP5SD. Fucking magic.
"Ain't you gonna ask?"
Danny sets the gun down and starts stripping the CAR-15, the last gun in there. He's anticipating the need for this beast later, especially if Diaz has got the protection the file says. He unscrews the silencer at the end and ejects the magazine.
"Ask what?"
Enrique snorts and sits on the bed, clicking 9mm rounds into the Uzi mag. There's an open box of 9mm ammo boxes next to him, with more boxes of varying ammunition in the bottom of the bag, enough for all the guns. Danny doesn't even look round as he speaks.
"'Bout the Uzi man, why I wanted this gun." He shrugs and nods to the MP5SD. "That's the sweeter piece, but 'dis... 'dis gun and me got history."
Danny stands and sets the much lighter bag on the desk and examining the rest. He'd sent Enrique to pick up some other equipment on the way, practicalities they'd need other than just firearms.
"Uh-huh."
He's checking the two Kevlar vests inside when Enrique shoots him a look, petulantly outraged that his grand stories being ignored. He works the slide of the sub gun menacingly, metallic hiss-crash echoing through the room.
He just scowls deeper when Danny doesn't even flinch.
"Work OK?"
Enrique snarls at Danny's back and sits down. Thorn ignores him and goes over the rest of the bag. The pair of two-way radios were to be set to a safe frequency later on, and the Cuban gunman had picked up a pair of handcuffs, leather gloves and vicious-looking hunting knives as well.
Competent, kid. Even if you do talk too much.
"Here." He tosses one pair of gloves at Enrique, landing them in his lap. He grunts in thanks and goes back to his Uzi. When he speaks again, his voice has lost a lot of its strut.
"I heard about you, man." He manages a smile and Danny sees it, surprised. "Rangers, right?"
Danny pauses for a second before answering, wondering whether to cozy up to this kid. He's never been good at interacting with anyone personally, except once. The life's he's led since he left the Rangers had isolated him from everyone, even in his own netherworld.
So just chose your words carefully. No need to be a prick.
"Yeah. Four years." Danny drops the bag and turns back to the laptop, lighting a cigarette then tossing it to Enrique. "Marines?"
Enrique smiles nostalgically as he lights a smoke, tossing the pack back.
"Yeah, man. Third Division, Delta Company." He takes a drag and savors the smoke, remembering his brief tours, his first taste of combat. "Saw action in Afghanistan, then... well, then I got caught."
Danny looks up curiously.
"Caught what?"
Enrique shrugs, as if the question's irrelevant. Danny realizes that he's right, and he thinks a little more of the kid.
"Doesn't matter. Just got caught." His voice takes on a slow wheeze, summing up years in a handful of words. "So when I got out I went back to Little Havana, place is the same shithole. Can't get shit work but minimum wage so I asked around and these guys took me in." He chuckles in bemusement and looks at Danny questioningly.
"Shit, what is those guys story, man?"
Danny gives a snort, tapping on the keyboard between looking over at his partner. He's asked himself that question many times, and had never fully answered it. Mike was one of his closest friends, or as close as his way of life allowed, and even he'd not even mentioned one of his "bosses" names.
"I know as much as you, pal. I got in through a friend as well, and then they started me off with this. I get the work and they pay, nothing more." He shakes his own head now in wonder, admiration for such a smooth, anonymous operation. "I don't ask... they ain't gonna tell."
"Huh. Guess so."
There's a short silence before Enrique makes another stab at conversation, voice a little more certain.
"Heard Vegas was you. Couldn't believe that shit when I read it in the paper."
Danny allows himself a grin as he remembers that. Remembering the stealth and the silent death outside, the cold-blooded execution. Painting a room with the blood of a mutilated, still living man. That, he is proud of.
"That's the way they wanted it."
"Yeah, guess so." There's a brief pause as he gets to the real meat of the matter. "Think this one'll be any tougher?"
It told Danny all he needed to know. The bravado and the stone-cold stare were an act, or at least some kind of uncertainty. The kid may have seen action but he hadn't relished it. He'd seen action but hadn't lived it like Danny had in the Rangers. It hadn't got totally under his skin, molding him into something not altogether human.
Told us in boot a true soldier was a killer. They never bothered to bullshit us.
"Shouldn't be." His voice is cool, almost nonchalant, mainly for the kid's benefit. He taps up a file and waves him over. "In fact... I think I got something."
Enrique sits next to him as a picture appears in the screen, a plain-looking warehouse in some industrial estate. Danny already knows it Caribbean Imports, one of Diaz's businesses. The drugs baron has a couple of dozen businesses around the city, laundering his cash and hiding his product, but it's from here that most of his business goes down. His firm is very prosperous, but not because of what it imports.
Well, sort of... more the merchandise inside them.
"That's his HQ, right?"
Danny nods, cogs turning in his head. From what he's seen Diaz's penthouse is almost impenetrable. At least half-a-dozen bodyguards day and night, not to mention security cameras and the best alarms money could buy.
Go in there, I'd have to bring down the whole fucking floor. No. This is cleaner... safer.
"You think we should hit him there?"
"It's the best place. One of us on the roof with the rifle, other downstairs on the street with something lighter. Sniper misses when he appears, second guy finishes it or covers him." He shrugs, no obvious flaw in his plan. If they do it right the whole job could be done with a single bullet, and he knows who should fire it.
"You can take the shot with the rifle."
He turns to a wide-eyed Enrique, like the kid's honored to have been asked. But Danny isn't ignorant or contemptuous of the Marines. He knows they've always made the best riflemen, men who can hit the centre of an Ace of Spades at two hundred feet without breaking a sweat. He's no slouch with the rifle as well, but he thinks the kid would be the better choice.
Besides, simplifies things for him. Less likely to fuck up.
"Marines, right?" He smiles winningly, almost genuinely. "Best shooters in the Army."
Enrique raises his Uzi in a mock salute, puffing his chest out.
"HOO-AH!"
The two ex-soldiers laugh briefly, a moment of camaraderie shared between them. It isn't much, but often it's the most men like than can expect. But after that's done Danny starts gong over the plan in detail, analytical mind gong over every possibility.
This is it. Quarter-million with one fucking bullet...
More tomorrow, or whenever i get to pasting it in.
hope this is shorter.
User Reviews
Submitted by locksly (user info) at 2006-11-19 00:35:09 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by matnotharry (user info) at 2006-09-13 06:20:00 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I know everyone complained about length in part 1, but without any action this feels a bit filler-ish. That said I'm definately going to continue reading.
<thumbs up>
Submitted by paint_it_black (user info) at 2006-09-13 01:06:43 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Allyson, you did not answer my question who is Webb or Web in the first post thats twice you have ignored my question which leads me to beleive
SHENANIGANS
Submitted by Allyson (user info) at 2006-09-12 23:39:27 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
nope, did not cut and paste from anywhere, except my own word doccument.
and i don't HATE oathmeal. i just think he's a retard with a computer.
Submitted by paint_it_black (user info) at 2006-09-12 23:29:56 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Alright I like these 100%
BUT in the last post I can't help but think you copied and pasted this from somewhere else and changed the names....
For instance who is Webb or Web in the first post?
Since you hate oatmeal and since jaypig gave you a -2 I MUST GIVE YOU A PLUS @
Submitted by Allyson (user info) at 2006-09-12 23:13:02 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
it's almost midnight...
therefore i'm not breaking that dreaded once a day law.
fuck. if i want to post this shit, i should be able to, and not be penalized by you who say "one post a day"
the story is long, and that's why i'm breaking it up. It's allready written, it just needs to be copied and pasted here.
so i suppose i'll go at one a day, even if i don't want to.
Submitted by jgreening (user info) at 2006-09-12 23:09:25 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
GAH! MINE EYES, THEY ARE TEH BLEEDED!
Submitted by Allyson (user info) at 2006-09-12 23:05:51 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
what?
Submitted by skrapmetal (user info) at 2006-09-12 22:46:50 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
GBOT
Submitted by WatchMyStep (user info) at 2006-09-12 21:42:42 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
No Comment
Submitted by simple_catalyst (user info) at 2006-09-12 19:43:05 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
.
Submitted by Stagger_Lee (user info) at 2006-09-12 19:18:45 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by apollo88 (user info) at 2006-09-12 17:05:41 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
No Comment
Submitted by St_Jimmy (user info) at 2006-09-12 16:24:11 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Much better length-wise.
Don't beat yourself up too bad over the spelling. It's just uber, there's really not that much at steak. ;)
Submitted by KindaNews (user info) at 2006-09-12 16:10:50 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
No Comment
Submitted by JonnyX (user info) at 2006-09-12 15:59:42 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
big chunk o' words - tasty, but I don't know what I'm eating.
Submitted by Beano312003 (user info) at 2006-09-12 15:59:07 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
One a day.
Submitted by Allyson (user info) at 2006-09-12 15:58:31 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
oath, when'd you join???
when'd i join?
eat me.
Submitted by UnderOathMeal (user info) at 2006-09-12 15:56:57 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
1 post a day n00b
Submitted by Shlongy (user info) at 2006-09-12 15:55:28 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
I'm with ya on the hate.
Submitted by Allyson (user info) at 2006-09-12 15:52:50 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
damnit...
i just saw that i wrote stake instead of STEAK
STUPID STUPID STUPID
ugh, i hate my writing.
Submitted by moneyshotforyou (user info) at 2006-09-12 15:51:36 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
oneperday
Submitted by Beano312003 (user info) at 2006-09-12 15:51:02 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
May I be the first.......
WTF..?? I'm not reading all of that.