Post by Shamino Warhen Ph.D on Jul 31, 2007 5:17:23 GMT 1
"Cigars, Cigarillo's, Cigarettes. You're still inhaling stuff you shouldn't be, why not let it be affordable?"
"Because you can't smoke cigarettes with class."
Shamino's Colibri torch lit the edge of the small cigar on fire, and his silver case went back to his breast pocket. He took a long, several second drag, held a moment, then exhaled in an over exaggerated form of relaxation. Relighting the torch, a black cigarette's tip was caught aflame before being inhaled by a second person. "Cloves are disgusting." Shamino said.
"You say that, but they help my asthma." The man said, taking a drag from the black cigarette.
"Yes, inhaling tobacco and flowers in your lungs cure your asthma." Shamino placed a hand on the polished wooden table that sat in the center of a mass of tables. The chairs had been turned over, the lights were off, and only a few dim lamps around the windows illuminated the empty bar. Two men sat at the table, both of them smoked, both of them equally well dressed.
"I never said cured. I said helped the man said, taking a drag and leaning on the back two legs of the chair, exhaling and sighing at the same time, his arms going to shrug gently. "You're quite sure about this?" The man inquired, placing all four legs down upon the floor and rolling the cigarette to the other side of his mouth.
"Yes." Shamino said, taking a drag and pointing the cigarillo at the man. "Take it all. Its a fool proof operation- you can't simply fuck it up. Maybe i'll come back to buy it some day." Shamino added, looking at the tinted windows that blocked and obscured the city streets. "But I want away from it. Just a small time killer trying to play a big man's game. Its a punk's game- no offense," Shamino looked back to the man. "Kaufman."
The man named Kaufman shrugged again, putting out the cigarette in a filled to the brim ashtray. "None taken. But what'll you do now?" Kaufman asked, pulling out a solid black package that read Djarum Blacks and tapping the bottom. A single cigarette popped out of a square hole on the top, and he took it into his mouth. Shamino's torch lit again, and caught the tip of the cigarette aflame. "Thanks." Kaufman mumbled.
"No problem." Shamino said as equally quiet, before retorting to the question asked. "I figure that if business continues to go slow on the ship, I figure i'll just go back to my roots." Shamino put the cigarillo gently down on the pile of paper and snuffed out tobacco. There was a few moments silence. The lamps rattled slightly, a thunder bolt was heard somewhere in the distance doing its best to follow the lightning before it. Kaufman looked into Shamino's eyes, Shamino into Kaufman's.
"Your roots." Kaufman repeated, at length, after inhaling. "Don't you have people that... Do that kind of thing?"
"Yes..." Shamino admitted at length, gesturing to Kaufman's chest. Kaufman looked down, removed the cigarette pack, and tapped the bottom, offering the exposed butt to Shamino. He took it with two fingers and a thumb, and placed it to his lips, removing a golden zippo lighter and hitting the side of the lid with the edge of his palm, then quickly striking the palm down. the flame ignited the cigarette at a temperature far less than that of the Colibri that rested beside his silver. "But just because they can do it, doesn't mean they do it well." Shamino pointed the cigarette at Kaufman. "So..."
"Nah." Kaufman waved a hand idly, the smoke and flame of the cigarette taking half a second to catch up with the motions of his hand. Shamino was reminded idly of tracer fire. "Times have changed on the west coast. Its all about thugs and rapper feuds now. Last family to get hit was that Asian one at the beach. Very mafia style." Kaufman included. Shamino gave a dry chuckle as he stood from the table.
"Yes, well... You have to change up your style if you don't want to get caught."
Another several, very long seconds of silence. Kaufman turned his back and stood himself as Shamino walked towards the door. "Oh, Shamino..." Kaufman turned, hand in his breast.
"Yeah?" Shamino began turning, his hand on the door knob, when he heard the sound of glass shattering and hot lead puncturing wood and slamming against steel. He fell onto his ass, pressing his back against the door and withdrawing his Glock Seventeen from his backside. "JESUS CHRIST!" He yelled, and during a pause in the firing, bolted towards the bar table and rolled over it, to the other side.
"Kaufman! Still alive?" Shamino yelled amongst the next hail of gunfire. He heard a noise that sounded like a 'yes', so he simply assumed that he was. The bullets stopped, the glass stopped shattering, the wood stopped splintering. The door was kicked open, kicked right off of its own hinges. A tall man wearing a bullet proof vest and reloading an AK-101 looked around to see a bar riddled with lead and broken bottles. No blood, no bodies. Shamino observed through a well placed bullet hole the armor on the man. He stood up quickly, aimed just as fast, and placed two bullets in the large man's skull. He dropped his rifle as he shot off to the right, his head smashing off of a table and severing muscles in the man's jaw. He fell to the floor like a puppet who's wires had been cut. Shamino stared at the body a moment, before raising his firing arm towards the open window, and taking three potshots at the vehicle parked there. He ducked down quickly as his potshots were hailed with a yell of pain and more gunfire.
Shamino felt up his chest to find his extra magazine, and withdrew it from his chest. He raised himself up, taking two well placed shots at the back tires, then spending the rest of his ammo firing at the thugs inside. He heard another scream of pain echo from the vehicle, and at that instant the magazine from his gun exited. The extended magazine in his hand was slammed noisily into the Glock 17, and switched to full automatic mode. "Kaufman!" Shamino yelled, looking over his shoulder to see the man holding onto a Colt 1911 remake behind a thrown bar table. "You out?!"
"I haven't even fired a fucking shot yet!" Kaufman yelled back, before sinking back behind the table as a hail of gunfire hailed his reply. A car at the other window, then... He looked over to the car on his side- all of the occupants were deceased. In the adrenaline rush, he had no idea he had expended the entire twenty round magazine and hit everyone. He looked down at the forty round magazine and the matte black pistol, still smoking from the last round. "You need cover fire?"
"Yes please!" Shamino replied, using one hand to hop over the table and with adrenaline over taking the amount of blood pumping to his brain, he dived out the broken window and rolled to get behind the car he had just placed bullets into. Bullets followed his ass closely, but none of which were able to hit him. He made sure to stay close to the tire and the right quarter panel of the vehicle. When he heard several muffled shots, he spun on his heel and darted quickly, crouched, along the side of the car to the next, and raised himself up. He squeezed the trigger, and it took him a moment to grasp the gun once more when the recoil surprised even him. Forty bullets, in under two seconds, filled the entire vehicle, killing every single occupant thrice over. The magazine hit the ground, Shamino reloaded, and right as he was going to begin firing once more a voice called out to him.
"Get the fuck out of here!" Kaufman yelled, reloading his gun and hopping through the window.
"Wait!" Shamino grabbed the running Kaufman by the shoulder, and as the man turned Shamino shoved his hand into his breast pocket and stole the pack of cigarettes. "I owe you!" Shamino pushed the laughing Kaufman towards an alley, and Shamino ran the opposite direction. It was then he felt fabric and tissue rip, as several bullets scraped his side, his shoulder, and slice along his neck. He turned to his right, raising his gun and as he ran backwards, fired several blind shots. The muzzle flash from the roof across from the bar caught his attention, and he raised and threw his arm off to the side in an attempt to aim. Before he even raised he gun he knew the assailant was too far, too covered, too well placed. He could smell the lead as it flew by his face, feel its heat as they slammed into the ground at his feet. He fired several more blind shots, all of them missing their target by meters. He did the only thing he could do. He ran towards the building.
"What the fuck is this guy...?" The man mumbled. He placed his eye two inches away from the scope once more, and fired several 7.62MM rounds in three round bursts towards the man in the white suit. He straffed off to the right, anticipating the blast, and vanished from his view. He realized he was pointing his gun directly down. His target was climbing the building. Jesus the man thought, his hand going to his side arm.
Shamino had leapt an amazing height. With one hand, he gripped the top of the door frame to the conveinance store. He jumped up, grabbing a vent, his foot finding the top of the door frame which let him push off and grab onto a pipe. With his gun about to fall out of his breast pocket holster (thank god he left it empty) he scaled the pipe, hopping off of it and onto the roof just as he snapped off. The man raised his pistol, Shamino quickly shot his right foot out, kicking it out of the man's hand. Using that momentum, his right leg continued left and when he felt it hit pavement, his left leg shot out to kick at the man's stomach. He felt his foot get caught, and twist off to the side. Shamino lost his balance, falling to the gravel with a thud. He wrenched himself free, rolling back and dropping his gun at the same time. The sniper, with his sidearm on the sidewalk fifteen feet down below, removed a switch blade from his thigh and flicked it open.
Shamino raised his jacket, showing a small leather pouch which he opened to reveal a titanium butterfly knife. He let the bite handle slide forward, catching it with his middle finger, and let the safe part of the blade bounce off of his thumb and let him twirl the knife to an open position. "Alright asshole, kill me..." Shamino grunted. "Fucking COME ON!"
The man hesitated, and ran forward shortly there after. He slid along the gravel, taking two quick thrusts towards Shamino's chest. He yelped in pain as he felt three near-surgical cuts slide along his arm, and then his feet lose the grip they had on the ground as Shamino took his free arm, wrapped it around the man's neck, and proceded to plunge the knife into his side and up. His muffled yelling and protests were silenced after the second stab up. Shamino pushed the back of the man's head away from him so it slammed against the cement of the edge, cracking and fragmenting his skull. The body rolled off to the side lifelessly as Shamino observed the battleground. Destroyed bar, two shot up cars, at least ten dead bodies... Sirens. Fuck, sirens.
Shamino leaned down, picking up his gun. He looked down at his hands, forgetting the white leather he wore over them. Short, well kept hair... No hairloss at the bar, or anywhere that would be found on the street. No finger prints... The blood He looked down at his side, and realized the adrenaline through his veins had numbed the pain of being grazed and shot. Am I in the system? What if they cross reference me? Shamino ran towards the ledge, jumped off, rolled his way towards the bar, and dived through the window. Grabbing two Texas mickey's of Jack Daniels, he ran towards his blood trail and began to pour the alcohol over where he had walked, over towards the building, and finally threw the rest of the bottle at the vent. That'll have to do. He thought as he vanished into the closest alley. Now... Where is it...
He arrived fifteen minutes later, at nine thirty, at the Legion Club and Bar. Without knocking, he pushed at the door- then read the sign with blurred eyes:
Setting up for evening events.
Open again at Ten.
Shamino nodded, then kicked at the door. With the last ounce of adrenaline, he was able to kick open one of the two large doors that gave entrance to the establishment. It swung open, and with his foot, he kicked it back into place. He looked around, sniffing once. He had removed his jacket and cut off his sleeves, using them as temporary bandages for his arm and waist. "Hello?" He called out lazily.
"Because you can't smoke cigarettes with class."
Shamino's Colibri torch lit the edge of the small cigar on fire, and his silver case went back to his breast pocket. He took a long, several second drag, held a moment, then exhaled in an over exaggerated form of relaxation. Relighting the torch, a black cigarette's tip was caught aflame before being inhaled by a second person. "Cloves are disgusting." Shamino said.
"You say that, but they help my asthma." The man said, taking a drag from the black cigarette.
"Yes, inhaling tobacco and flowers in your lungs cure your asthma." Shamino placed a hand on the polished wooden table that sat in the center of a mass of tables. The chairs had been turned over, the lights were off, and only a few dim lamps around the windows illuminated the empty bar. Two men sat at the table, both of them smoked, both of them equally well dressed.
"I never said cured. I said helped the man said, taking a drag and leaning on the back two legs of the chair, exhaling and sighing at the same time, his arms going to shrug gently. "You're quite sure about this?" The man inquired, placing all four legs down upon the floor and rolling the cigarette to the other side of his mouth.
"Yes." Shamino said, taking a drag and pointing the cigarillo at the man. "Take it all. Its a fool proof operation- you can't simply fuck it up. Maybe i'll come back to buy it some day." Shamino added, looking at the tinted windows that blocked and obscured the city streets. "But I want away from it. Just a small time killer trying to play a big man's game. Its a punk's game- no offense," Shamino looked back to the man. "Kaufman."
The man named Kaufman shrugged again, putting out the cigarette in a filled to the brim ashtray. "None taken. But what'll you do now?" Kaufman asked, pulling out a solid black package that read Djarum Blacks and tapping the bottom. A single cigarette popped out of a square hole on the top, and he took it into his mouth. Shamino's torch lit again, and caught the tip of the cigarette aflame. "Thanks." Kaufman mumbled.
"No problem." Shamino said as equally quiet, before retorting to the question asked. "I figure that if business continues to go slow on the ship, I figure i'll just go back to my roots." Shamino put the cigarillo gently down on the pile of paper and snuffed out tobacco. There was a few moments silence. The lamps rattled slightly, a thunder bolt was heard somewhere in the distance doing its best to follow the lightning before it. Kaufman looked into Shamino's eyes, Shamino into Kaufman's.
"Your roots." Kaufman repeated, at length, after inhaling. "Don't you have people that... Do that kind of thing?"
"Yes..." Shamino admitted at length, gesturing to Kaufman's chest. Kaufman looked down, removed the cigarette pack, and tapped the bottom, offering the exposed butt to Shamino. He took it with two fingers and a thumb, and placed it to his lips, removing a golden zippo lighter and hitting the side of the lid with the edge of his palm, then quickly striking the palm down. the flame ignited the cigarette at a temperature far less than that of the Colibri that rested beside his silver. "But just because they can do it, doesn't mean they do it well." Shamino pointed the cigarette at Kaufman. "So..."
"Nah." Kaufman waved a hand idly, the smoke and flame of the cigarette taking half a second to catch up with the motions of his hand. Shamino was reminded idly of tracer fire. "Times have changed on the west coast. Its all about thugs and rapper feuds now. Last family to get hit was that Asian one at the beach. Very mafia style." Kaufman included. Shamino gave a dry chuckle as he stood from the table.
"Yes, well... You have to change up your style if you don't want to get caught."
Another several, very long seconds of silence. Kaufman turned his back and stood himself as Shamino walked towards the door. "Oh, Shamino..." Kaufman turned, hand in his breast.
"Yeah?" Shamino began turning, his hand on the door knob, when he heard the sound of glass shattering and hot lead puncturing wood and slamming against steel. He fell onto his ass, pressing his back against the door and withdrawing his Glock Seventeen from his backside. "JESUS CHRIST!" He yelled, and during a pause in the firing, bolted towards the bar table and rolled over it, to the other side.
"Kaufman! Still alive?" Shamino yelled amongst the next hail of gunfire. He heard a noise that sounded like a 'yes', so he simply assumed that he was. The bullets stopped, the glass stopped shattering, the wood stopped splintering. The door was kicked open, kicked right off of its own hinges. A tall man wearing a bullet proof vest and reloading an AK-101 looked around to see a bar riddled with lead and broken bottles. No blood, no bodies. Shamino observed through a well placed bullet hole the armor on the man. He stood up quickly, aimed just as fast, and placed two bullets in the large man's skull. He dropped his rifle as he shot off to the right, his head smashing off of a table and severing muscles in the man's jaw. He fell to the floor like a puppet who's wires had been cut. Shamino stared at the body a moment, before raising his firing arm towards the open window, and taking three potshots at the vehicle parked there. He ducked down quickly as his potshots were hailed with a yell of pain and more gunfire.
Shamino felt up his chest to find his extra magazine, and withdrew it from his chest. He raised himself up, taking two well placed shots at the back tires, then spending the rest of his ammo firing at the thugs inside. He heard another scream of pain echo from the vehicle, and at that instant the magazine from his gun exited. The extended magazine in his hand was slammed noisily into the Glock 17, and switched to full automatic mode. "Kaufman!" Shamino yelled, looking over his shoulder to see the man holding onto a Colt 1911 remake behind a thrown bar table. "You out?!"
"I haven't even fired a fucking shot yet!" Kaufman yelled back, before sinking back behind the table as a hail of gunfire hailed his reply. A car at the other window, then... He looked over to the car on his side- all of the occupants were deceased. In the adrenaline rush, he had no idea he had expended the entire twenty round magazine and hit everyone. He looked down at the forty round magazine and the matte black pistol, still smoking from the last round. "You need cover fire?"
"Yes please!" Shamino replied, using one hand to hop over the table and with adrenaline over taking the amount of blood pumping to his brain, he dived out the broken window and rolled to get behind the car he had just placed bullets into. Bullets followed his ass closely, but none of which were able to hit him. He made sure to stay close to the tire and the right quarter panel of the vehicle. When he heard several muffled shots, he spun on his heel and darted quickly, crouched, along the side of the car to the next, and raised himself up. He squeezed the trigger, and it took him a moment to grasp the gun once more when the recoil surprised even him. Forty bullets, in under two seconds, filled the entire vehicle, killing every single occupant thrice over. The magazine hit the ground, Shamino reloaded, and right as he was going to begin firing once more a voice called out to him.
"Get the fuck out of here!" Kaufman yelled, reloading his gun and hopping through the window.
"Wait!" Shamino grabbed the running Kaufman by the shoulder, and as the man turned Shamino shoved his hand into his breast pocket and stole the pack of cigarettes. "I owe you!" Shamino pushed the laughing Kaufman towards an alley, and Shamino ran the opposite direction. It was then he felt fabric and tissue rip, as several bullets scraped his side, his shoulder, and slice along his neck. He turned to his right, raising his gun and as he ran backwards, fired several blind shots. The muzzle flash from the roof across from the bar caught his attention, and he raised and threw his arm off to the side in an attempt to aim. Before he even raised he gun he knew the assailant was too far, too covered, too well placed. He could smell the lead as it flew by his face, feel its heat as they slammed into the ground at his feet. He fired several more blind shots, all of them missing their target by meters. He did the only thing he could do. He ran towards the building.
"What the fuck is this guy...?" The man mumbled. He placed his eye two inches away from the scope once more, and fired several 7.62MM rounds in three round bursts towards the man in the white suit. He straffed off to the right, anticipating the blast, and vanished from his view. He realized he was pointing his gun directly down. His target was climbing the building. Jesus the man thought, his hand going to his side arm.
Shamino had leapt an amazing height. With one hand, he gripped the top of the door frame to the conveinance store. He jumped up, grabbing a vent, his foot finding the top of the door frame which let him push off and grab onto a pipe. With his gun about to fall out of his breast pocket holster (thank god he left it empty) he scaled the pipe, hopping off of it and onto the roof just as he snapped off. The man raised his pistol, Shamino quickly shot his right foot out, kicking it out of the man's hand. Using that momentum, his right leg continued left and when he felt it hit pavement, his left leg shot out to kick at the man's stomach. He felt his foot get caught, and twist off to the side. Shamino lost his balance, falling to the gravel with a thud. He wrenched himself free, rolling back and dropping his gun at the same time. The sniper, with his sidearm on the sidewalk fifteen feet down below, removed a switch blade from his thigh and flicked it open.
Shamino raised his jacket, showing a small leather pouch which he opened to reveal a titanium butterfly knife. He let the bite handle slide forward, catching it with his middle finger, and let the safe part of the blade bounce off of his thumb and let him twirl the knife to an open position. "Alright asshole, kill me..." Shamino grunted. "Fucking COME ON!"
The man hesitated, and ran forward shortly there after. He slid along the gravel, taking two quick thrusts towards Shamino's chest. He yelped in pain as he felt three near-surgical cuts slide along his arm, and then his feet lose the grip they had on the ground as Shamino took his free arm, wrapped it around the man's neck, and proceded to plunge the knife into his side and up. His muffled yelling and protests were silenced after the second stab up. Shamino pushed the back of the man's head away from him so it slammed against the cement of the edge, cracking and fragmenting his skull. The body rolled off to the side lifelessly as Shamino observed the battleground. Destroyed bar, two shot up cars, at least ten dead bodies... Sirens. Fuck, sirens.
Shamino leaned down, picking up his gun. He looked down at his hands, forgetting the white leather he wore over them. Short, well kept hair... No hairloss at the bar, or anywhere that would be found on the street. No finger prints... The blood He looked down at his side, and realized the adrenaline through his veins had numbed the pain of being grazed and shot. Am I in the system? What if they cross reference me? Shamino ran towards the ledge, jumped off, rolled his way towards the bar, and dived through the window. Grabbing two Texas mickey's of Jack Daniels, he ran towards his blood trail and began to pour the alcohol over where he had walked, over towards the building, and finally threw the rest of the bottle at the vent. That'll have to do. He thought as he vanished into the closest alley. Now... Where is it...
He arrived fifteen minutes later, at nine thirty, at the Legion Club and Bar. Without knocking, he pushed at the door- then read the sign with blurred eyes:
Setting up for evening events.
Open again at Ten.
Shamino nodded, then kicked at the door. With the last ounce of adrenaline, he was able to kick open one of the two large doors that gave entrance to the establishment. It swung open, and with his foot, he kicked it back into place. He looked around, sniffing once. He had removed his jacket and cut off his sleeves, using them as temporary bandages for his arm and waist. "Hello?" He called out lazily.