!!KXY0i5Og9kN 02/22/10(Mon)02:19 No.8218934|
[Me too, and thanks. :D Now back to your regularly scheduled quest!]
You used to come to this place all the time back in the day. Back when the Marshalls were a shining figure of authority, back when you were young and all your academy buddies would come here for lunch. Mortimer (Short Mort to you and your friends) always had the best pastrami, hands down. Who else bothered to make his own spicy mustard, pickle all his own goods... your stomach growls and you press the gas a little harder. Damn, this is making you hungry. How you go from horny to hungry without batting an eyelash has always been a strength for you, Mr. Imperturbable. You pull up to 57th, and look over to your right.
You hunger becomes a cold lump that drops when you see what's become of Ol' Short Mort. You recognize his balding head, attached to the bullet-riddled body slumped over the counter. The entire deli is shot to hell, with two cruisers parked out front, lights still flashing around. The front of the place is strapped over with yellow crimescene tape, and you see a uniformed officer interviewing a blood-smattered young woman. Your best guess (and judging from the resemblance, the apron...) is, that's Mort's niece. She's shivering, wrapped in a towel. This shithole of a city didn't even send out an ambulance.
You sit in your truck, dumbfounded. The closest person you had to a father, shot dead. Anger takes hold of you, and you dial Sergei.
"Get down here, ASAP," you growl.
"What? Why w-"
"Sergei, I haven't asked you for *jack-fucking-shit* up to now, and now I'm calling in a fucking favor. Your ass down here, NOW. Bring the biggest fucking guns you can."
Having hung up without even bothering to say goodbye, you know Sergei's packing every ounce of Semtex he can, and strapping in for the worst. This is unlike you and he knows it. The emotional turbulence subsides, and you steel yourself, wondering what to do next.