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"Deal," Rook answers without a moment's hesitation. “Beers on me when all this is over.”
Nodding, Moose throws open the door to his big rig, hops into the driver’s seat, and starts the engine. It sounds like a tank on eighteen wheels. Over the roar of the diesel beast, he calls out, "Follow right behind me, boys. I'm going to battering ram that fucking gate and run down any gun-toting gangster I see. I'll leave you boys to handle the rest."
"Wait!" Bullet yells above the rumbling thunder. "You need a piece, Moose?"
Moose grins, leans over to grab something from his glove box, and holds a Desert Eagle out the window. "I'm good, thanks. Follow me, boys."
His rig rolls forward, a powerhouse in motion, and we ride behind it as it gathers speed until it's the most fearsome battering ram I've ever seen. Unstoppable, it speeds down the road toward the gates to the Vertucci compound. With a grin, I watch as the guards scamper out of the way, desperate to escape the death rolling toward them. Moose blows through the gates with incredible force — steel screams and goes flying, stonework shatters into hundreds of pieces — and Moose, with his window rolled down, fires shots at the rifle-toting guards, hitting two with shocking accuracy as he flies by in his big rig of death. It is shock and awe that not only blows open the gates and shatters the Vertucci defenses like they’re nothing, but sends more than a few guards running in terror at the sight of a semi barreling through their compound at full speed.
"I like this guy," I yell above my motorcycle's engine.
"Oh my god, this is just like that time I went to Atlantic City for my thirtieth birthday. You would not believe the party scene there," Moose shouts with joy as he unloads a series of pinpoint accurate shots that take out two more Vertucci men.
"Guys, I might actually be excited to have a drink with Moose," Rook says, somehow sounding giddy even over the screaming engines. "The destruction, the Desert Eagle, the headshots... it's all so beautiful."
"Rook and Moose, sitting in a tree..." Thunder yells as we blast through the destroyed gates and go straight into the swirling chaos. Bullets, screams, the smell of smoke and burning rubber fill the air.
"Don't you dare profane what we have with that vulgar song," Rook snaps as he fires his gun, pinning down several approaching Vertucci guards. “This is pure. This is beautiful. This is… fuck, that man is really affecting me.”
"Just like old times, right, brother?" Smokey yells to me as he leaps off his bike, pistol in hand, uncorking several bullets that take an approaching Vertucci man right in the face. The man goes down without a sound, his face destroyed by hot lead. "We could die at any second. It’s fun. You think I should make a flamethrower?"
"You know the answer to that question is always 'yes'," I reply, laughing.
Combat rages. The club advances under heavy fire toward the main Vertucci villa. That's where Michael Vertucci is most likely to be. That's where Dani is most likely to be, too. Either hiding out or as a hostage. No matter what, I'm getting to her. No matter what it costs me, I'm getting her out of here.
The battle flows like a river around us as Smokey and I battle toward the main villa while the club and Moose have our backs. The courtyard fills with bullets, with screams, with blood and bodies. We get to the entryway and Smokey turns and jumps at me, pulling me to the ground as a hail of bullets flies right past where my head was a split-second ago.
Hitting the ground, I roll, Smokey rolls, and we return fire.
A Vertucci man goes down, and I let out a yelp of joy. He's carrying one of the HK-33's. Finders keepers.
"I've always wanted to play with one of these," I say, scooping the rifle out of his dead grip. He won't be needing this any longer. I check the ammunition and heft the rifle. It feels nice. Real nice.
"Looks like you're taking point on our entrance... Unless you want to pass me that sweet piece of hardware?" Smokey says.
"No fucking way."
We mete out death to all comers on our way up to the second floor, where resistance from the Vertucci fighters stiffens. There's a big guy with a shotgun sheltering behind an overturned wooden table that's so thick it looks like it could take a mortar round. But we have to get past him — Vertucci's suite is on the top floor.
"I'm open to ideas," I shout to Smokey.
He chuckles and shrugs, then a strange look overtakes his face.
"Oh, I got it. Get ready," he replies. “Lay down some cover fire for me, will you?”
"For what?"
"You'll see."
Before I can ask what he means, Smokey jumps up from cover and charges straight at the table, shrieking like a demon. The big guy with the shotgun takes aim and fires, but Smokey dodges and weaves, slipping around the table and closing in on him. With a roar, Smokey tackles the big guy and the two of them go crashing through a window, shattering glass and sending shards flying everywhere. They land on the balcony below, and I hear bones breaking as they hit the ground.
I rush over to the broken window and look down. Smokey is on top of the big guy, pounding him in the face with his fists. The big guy tries to fight back, but Smokey is too quick, too agile, and the big man’s body is too broken. Blood sprays from the big guy's nose and mouth, then Smokey rips a knife from his pocket, extends the blade with a flick of his wrist, and plunges it into the man's throat.
Suddenly, I hear a sound above me. Rapid gunfire from the direction of Vertucci's room.
Dani, it has to be her.
"Get your ass back up here," I shout down to Smokey. He rolls his eyes at me.
