Catch "Dragon Night" By C. William Russette in
PRO SE PRESENTS Masked Gun Mystery #1
BUY YOURS TODAY AT http://stores.lulu.com/proseproductions
The word I got was the Yakuza, Japanese mob bastards, were running heroin out of some kind of a pharmaceutical plant that molds silicon and rubber parts. Their Italian counterparts wanted it busted up and had the cash for the job. I was there to fix their little problem.
The Pharmco East Company was outside of McQuade city limits, right on the line of the industrial sector and a stretch of trees I couldn’t identify if I wanted to. The greenery surrounding the plant concealed everything except for the front entrance facing the highway. I parked a few miles up the road at a gas station and broke into the woods to conceal my approach while the sun set.
Time was a factor.
I went through the woods fast and quiet. I needed a good tree to stash my change of clothes and a plastic lined duffle bag. If things went the way I figured there was no way I was going to walk out of that plant clean. I’d need to change into something less red and wet.
Once my gear was stashed I stuck to the tree line until I could see the side of the building I needed. A couple of big rigs were backed to the shipping bay doors. I saw some kind of raised, fenced-in area with tables behind it. Standing at the foot of the stairs leading to the break area were two Japanese idiots in dark suits with Uzi’s.
It was moving night all right. The sun was already below the horizon. The fading light made visibility possible but seeing wasn’t what concerned me. I needed the sun down if I was going to pull off this suicidal gig.
I’d been doing this work for long time. Longer than any mortal could. It was like running some kind of assembly line that never ends, just like clockwork. I just go on and on and the stain of blood on my hands never comes off. It’s soaked into the creases of my fingers like oil.
I waited until daylight only had a fast thirty minutes left, put on my black leather gloves, drew both Beretta’s and attached the disposable plastic silencers. I started down the small slope that took me from the trees to the sea of blacktop, the guns behind my back. Both punks had silencers on their Uzi’s, too much hair spray in their hair and plenty of cash gauging by their clothes.
I walked straight for the two shooters.