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2024-10-29 19:42:56Thud! Thud! Thud! Palo's feets knock against the floor as he bounces to the middle of the red zone in majestic steps and ice-cool calmness.
"Relax guys. You don't want to hurt this people," Palo preaches to his men and then turns to Jackson wearing a grin, "They put food on all our tables." He scoffs and walks closer to Jackson, pushing his own forehead against his gun muzzle. "That doesn't mean you should ever disrespect me, Jackson!" His voice suddenly swifts to show rage.
In a sudden shift of moods, Palo begins to laugh again, nonstop. In the fifth second Jackson chuckles, coldly though.
In that moment, confusion quickly establishes its throne amongst everyone in the room, as they stand their ground wondering whether to drop their guns low or hold strong.
Still in the joyfulness of the moment, Palo gives Jake a handshake and then a quick buddy hug.
At this point the answer is pretty obvious, the men drop low their weapons and rather choose to observe in alert.
"Like always, your money will be ready when it'd be ready. Just keep my products coming," Palo whispers into Jackson ears and breaks the hug.
"Now where's Teddy?" Jackson asks in his normal harsh tone.
"Who's Teddy?" Palo expresses confusion.
"Over here," From the shadows, Jake walks up to them in his new identity with Teddy, also flexing his new identity, on his shoulders.
"Where did he come from?" Jackson questions Teddy referring to the man on his shoulders.
"I found the asshole in the bathroom. Madafaka tried to rob me," Jake explains, his voice giving off an exact match of Teddy's.
Palo blocks him, "If you find a man in my club, you leave the man in my club."
"In this case the man tried to rob my man. He's coming if he says he is," Jackson opposes Palo.
Palo observe Teddy's mask face closely, "I've never seen this dude before."
Jake scoffs, "And you say you have security." He walks past him giving him a slight shoulder bump.
Palo turns to Jackson in slo-mo with his cigar in between his fingers, and stares at them in a disturbing manner.
"We good?" Jackson inquires.
"Get the fuck outta my club," Palo bounces away.
"Today's your day, enjoy it while you can," Jackson also turns to his way.
The whole crew follows, except for Bravo who stands still glaring at the men. Then in a few delicate seconds, he joins his men out the door.
Outside they enter the ambulance one by one all wearing serious faces inspired from inside the strip club, even Jake, along with the dead body on his shoulder.
Bravo turns to Jake with an eye expressing dislike for what his doing, "What're you gonna do with him?"
"You can't wait to find out, can you?" Jake replies sharply as he takes a seat opposite him.
Jackson chuckles quietly for a brief second.
"Y'all in?" Cybon, a built African-American around thirties, puts his hand on the steering ready to speed off.
"What'd you think?" Jennifer counters his question.
"Yep mam," Cybon kills the red. "The sardine buses are en route."
"That's good," Jackson gives off a sharp side smile.
"But we have one problem," Cybon suddenly keeps shut and gets driving slowly wavering his head to both sides in a dancing motion. He has headsets on.
"What...is...that?" Jackson asks in a calm yet agitated tone.
"Our canned food branch at New York are done with food production, but they haven't canned the drugged with em yet. Here's the problem," Cybon hits the brake of the blue surprising the bus itself with a sudden stop. He turns around to face the crew, "A cop on vacation is holding down our...hay delivery."
Jackson stares into empty air with eyes bath in awe. "How can one cop hold down a train! And how did he find out there are drugs on it?"
"It's a train on an abandoned railroad at countryside. Any cop would wanna poke nose into it," Cybon points out.
"Then I suggest you shut up and start driving," Jackson commands.
"Yes sir," Cybon replies playfully as he makes the bus's engine groan. He pulls the gearshift and the tires gain motion again.
...
A quad bike dives up and down the sloppy countryside sands of California, with it's engine revving off the melodies of a classic guitar countryside music, further enhanced by the cool wind blowing over the grass and sands like a rain of heavenly enlightenments.
The rider is dressed in familiar looking leather outfits, with a bandana made into a nose mask blocking full view of his face, "I can't believe the train is still in the state. It was suppose to be long gone by now." It's Bravo, Jackson's right hand man. He has a earhook pin to his left ear.
Behind him four quad bikes ride through the sand, tearing through the wind in the same fashion as him. They all have bandana nose masks on them as well as earhooks.
"This is not time for picking believes Bravo, if this cop gets a knowledge of our operation then we're blown," Jackson gains more focus and seriousness, driving up in a much greater speed. The wind rumbling with his head of short hair.
...
In the deep quite of the dessert, a dessert jeep is packed in front of a train at rest on the rail bed. A beautiful lady around 30's stands by the jeep in her bikini, netted coat, and sun hat in a gesture that tells she's exhaustedly waiting for someone.
Meanwhile at the center of the train, a dude in a cowboy hat and carton brown shorts stands by one rectangular bunch of hay amongst many, pointing a finger at it aggressively, "I'm not letting this train move until I've seen the content on it. I give you my word."
"This are hays. What else do you wanna see?" The beardy guy standing next to him gets mad alongside the motorman.
"A couple of guys transporting hays on an abandoned railroad. Yeah, I don't buy it," the dude in a cowboy hat utters staring them straight in the eyes like a cop in an interrogation room.
"Sweetheart," the lady standing by the jeep calls out to her husband. "Can we go already?"
"Something sells fishy here. I got to get to the bottom of it," his voice changes to a soft tone of concern.
"You promised you aren't gonna work on vacation," her body language shows extreme disappointment.
"Sweetheart," he voice falls as he walks to her no doubt to console her.
In that time the beardy guy leans to the motorman's ear, "We should just drop this dude already."
"He's a cop. The badge looks pretty real to me. And you know how the government gets mad when a cop gets murdered." The motorman disapproves with reason.
The beardy guy leans his shoulder near him again, "We're in the middle of a dessert."
After a few seconds of beef between him and his wife, the cop bounces up to meet them again, "Now where were we?"
Boom! A fire bullet to the heart drops him on the hot sand, face first. In the same instance, struck with the torture of intensified shock his wife screams out loud stretching every corner of her lips.
The two train drivers stare at each other briefly, then at him wondering where the bullet came from. Then the sound of quad bikes overwhelm the area. As always, it's Jackson's crew.
Screeeeech! Jackson drifts the bike and hits the brake, making the dust of dry sand rise over the area. With eyes squinted, the train drivers can see the manly figure of Jackson dismounting his bike and moving towards them. The whole crew pack their bikes around his, resting on them as they await Jackson.
The dust suddenly clears off and there's Jackson right in front of the train drivers staring at them in vividly provoked eyes, "You couldn't handle one man!"
"He's a cop," the motorman's voice raises slightly mostly out of shock and fear.
"So...?" Jackson walks towards the lady, the cop's wife. "What do we have here?"
"You killed my husband," the lady screams in tearful eyes as she charges towards Jackson.
She throws her hand in the air, launching a slap towards Jackson's cheek, he grabs her two hands, and as she struggles he throws her on the dessert floor. With this she creeps to her husband's breathless body and weeps beside it.
"Get in the train and drive. We'd talk when you're back," Jackson commands.
"There's a jeep on the railroad," the motorman points out.
"I'm sure you've heard bout the word ram." Jackson pulls out his pistol, and briefly his hands emit fire through it, blasting the woman from behind with a fire bullet, "No witnesses." He bounces to his bike.
Bravo pulls down his bandana and gives off a silent mischievous laugh staring at the dead couples as his crew rides away. Shortly, he revs his bike and joins them.
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