The Streets 2 by Tai Goodman (classic literature books TXT) 📕

the back of his spine. "Everybody down! NOW!"

 

All of the innocent citizens of the nightclub hit the floor, covering their craniums with their hands on their heads. Wayne pumped his shotgun and aimed around. A mobster scooted out of a booth in the corner and came at Wayne. "Sit your ass back down!"

 Wayne fired, and shot the mobster, sending him backwards. Michael aimed over the ridge of the tilted table, and fired a bullet, missing the shot. A mobster grabbed an innocent and walked into Michael's sight. "You shoot, I'll kill the bitch!"

 

Wayne pumped the shotgun and walked up behind him, and fired. A big set of holes were blasted into the back of his clothes. She hit the ground, along with the mobster's dead body. "Come on, I'm pretty sure that wasn't just everybody." Wayne pumped his shotgun and snuck behind the bartending counter. "What's the point of hiding? You and your friends are dead!" Wayne screamed into the back room, waiting at the doorway. Nobody approached the doors. 

Michael noticed a mobster on the floor trying to load his gun. "Someone's not prepared." He shot the man in the head, spraying blood below the other side of his head. 

 

Damion: "The Las Vegas Big-Time Nightclub was raided and assaulted that day by Michael and Wayne. Wayne was the overall leader of the entire movement though, he kind of used Michael Levine as a dog on a leash. But these two weren't the only people active at the time. Ivan Winchester's movement was also on the line as well. You'd think he'd sit in his office and monitor his casino, no. No, that's not how Ivan was."

Chapter 4: Bittersweet

FREMONT CASINO

LAS VEGAS, NEVADA

2 DAYS AFTER THE MASSACRE

 

Ivan sat down behind his desk alongside his men. His men were sitting around an arch shaped table. Five men to be exact. Named Smithy, Oxford, Judeau, DePinto, and Eustice. "You all know what happened at that one nightclub, right? A pair of masked individuals, oooohh so spooky! With a couple of guns. Let's take a minute to think about this. 

2 men. Killed... How many was it again? One, two, three, six, seven- SEVEN people. That's sad."

 

"So what do you want us to do about this? How can we make this right, boss?" one of the men asked. "Smithy, do you know what the term elite means?" Ivan asked him with a sarcastic smile on his face.

 

"It means... uh... High tier?"

 

"Yes it does! Ringadingding! You get a prize!"

 

"Oh... what's my prize?"

 

"A second chance not to mess this up again, THAT'S YOUR PRIZE."

 

"Alright, boss. That's a... very good prize."

 

Damion: "William Smithy was one of Winchester's closest men. He actually went, while ordered by his boss, to go rid a hotel of Hispanic American men that took refuge in a hotel for the day, led by the notorious Josephano 'Jose' DelToro. He escaped with two shots in his thigh, but DelToro was pretty pissed to say the least."

 

Wayne: "Let me summarize DelToro for you: Dickhead."

 

THAT NIGHT...

FLAMINGO HOTEL, LAS VEGAS

 

Smithy brought a dufflebag with him through the entire crowd of guests in the lobby. They were all waiting, conversating, drinking booze, and other nourishments. He kept a stern look on his face to prevent suspicion from ensuing as he walked over to the counter. "I'm Jet Wilkes, I called a little bit earlier today at about 5?"

 

"Oh, yes! Mr. Wilkes, your room is on the fifth floor, 506. Here's your key," said the bellhop. The man handed him the key to 506. "Great, thanks a lot." As he headed up to his room, he met a janitor on the way to the elevators. "You Smithy?"

"Yeah. You put the thing in the room?"

 

"You bet. It's stashed in the air ducts, I loosened the screws for you."

 

"And are our 'guests' here today?"

 

"Yes they are. They're on the same hall you're on."

 

"Great. Here's something for your courtesy."

 

Smithy snuck him a stack of 100 dollar bills and said, "Now get outta here."

 

He ran into the elevator with the dufflebag. Smithy pulled the zipper down a little bit and revealed what was inside. It was a silenced pistol. The silencer on the end was shaped like a small funnel for some reason. The barrel itself however was pretty big. Smithy walked over to the hotel room and opened it with the key. "Air duct, air duct..."

 

 

 Smithy noticed the air duct the janitor mentioned, it was grey with the screws sticking out. "Bingo." He removed the bolts, and pulled out a pump shotgun, partially wood, partially metallic. Mossberg 12 Gauge. "This'll do just fine..." Smithy opened the dufflebag up all the way and pulled out a box of shotgun shells. 12 Gauge. "Alright.. Let's go to work." 

 

30 minutes later...

 

 

Smithy exited his room with both of the guns in hand; The silenced pistol, and the shotgun. His feet wore socks, to silence his footsteps' sound effects from compromising his location. "Olly olly Oxenfree..." 

He had the room numbers written on his arm in black ink: 501, 503, 505, 507, 509, and 502. Smithy arrived at 501, the first room. He noticed the peephole in the door. As he pushed the end of the barrel against the peephole, he knocked on the door.

"Hello? House cleaning!"

 

Smithy put his ear up to the door, and listened through the wood. He heard faintly, "You call housecleaning?"

 

"Nah, man. But admit this: The room IS dirty after all."

 

"Alright fine, we'll let him in and go out for a smoke or something."

 

Smithy heard footsteps getting closer, and closer. Then he heard, "What the fuck is that?" and then the lock unlocked. PEW! He heard the body drop on the carpet. Smithy kicked the door in, and saw the other enemy in the room. He was standing there with an assault rifle, in a shotgun way of holding it. "GET BENT, MOTHERF-" 

Smithy fired and killed him with a blast to the chest with his shotgun. "Too bad."

He spun around and saw the other corpse. A big bullet hole in the man's left eye.  Then he moved out of the room. People in the other rooms were attempting to call hotel security. "Gotta go.. gotta go!" Smithy told himself in a hurry.

 

At 503, the door flew open and out came three people from the rival gang. "OVER THERE AT 501!" the leader of the trio yelled. Smithy blew one backwards, not killing him but stunning him. Smithy, with his other gun, fired twice, and hit one in his face. The second one took cover behind the doorway of his room. The leader sprayed fire away, and hit Smithy in his leg twice. "GOD- SHIT! MY FUCKIN' LEG!" 

Blood poured through the fibers of his jeans. A second later, and Smithy shot the leader in his throat. He fell on his knees, then Smithy shot him in his forehead. Smithy cocked his shotgun and aimed at the doorway. "I surrender!" Smithy said aloud.

The second one came out from behind cover, and Smithy shot him with a shotgun blast. 

 

Smithy walked over to 505, and pushed the barrel of his pistol against the lock. PEW! The lock shot through the hole of the door, and hit a window in the room. Three shots came from the back of the room, and punched three wooden bullet holes through the top of the door. Smithy pushed the door open and aimed around. Quickly dropping his pistol, he sprinted past the bathroom, aiming to the left, and right there was a man behind the wall. Smithy shot the man in his head, blowing most of his skull into pieces. He took six steps backwards, near the doorway, and looked to the left. The bathroom door was closed. But it was inferrable from underneath the door that somebody was inside, as the light was one. 

"Did you say your prayers this morning?"

There was no answer. "Then you better pray fast." Smithy blasted a hole in the door with his shotgun, and twisted the knob a little bit. It was unlocked. "What in the fuck?" 

As he opened the door, a German Shepherd leaped out and pounced on Smithy. "JESUS- GET THE HELL OFF ME!" he squealed, pinned down. Smithy noticed his silenced pistol laying near his head. With his right hand blocking the dog's jaw, Smithy grabbed the pistol and pointed it upwards at the dog's skull. "Mutt!"

PEW!

 

Smithy noticed the crack in the window as he tossed the dog's carcass off of him. Once he was back on his feet, he slowly strolled over to the window. Down below, police cars were lined up. "DAMN IT!" 

He ran out of the room and ignored the other rooms of the task. "Fuck this, I'm out of here!" 

 

Smithy strolled over to the elevator, and pressed the button on the panel. "Come on, come on, come on!" The meter over the doors of the elevator reached 5, and once the doors opened.. There were five police officers inside. All five locked eyes on Smithy, without moving. Then Smithy shot all five, holding down the trigger of his shotgun and repeatedly pumping the shotgun.

Smithy stepped into the elevator, and pressed GF on the panel. The elevator car was traveling down, slowly. Then once he hit the ground floor, he exited the car and screamed, "EVERYBODY GET DOWN! ON YOUR KNEES!"

Then he sprinted out of the building.

 

SMITHY'S RESIDENCE

 

Smithy opened the door and entered his house. His wife was waiting there for him. "William, where have you been? We were waiting for you to come home and it's like 8 P.M!" she told him, angered by his late arrival.

 

"I had to stay at work a little later. I promise it won't-"

 

"YOU SAID THAT LAST TIME! You said that like 50 times all ready! Do you even care about our children, WILLIAM?" she screamed loudly throughout the house. Then a little boy walked into the foiyer. Smithy walked over to him, got down on his knee, and said, "Hey there, Kenny! Go back to bed, me and mommy have everything under control."

 

The child walked back to bed, and Smithy's wife said, "You either quit with the late night bullshit, or it's divorce time. Do you hear me?"

 

Damion: "We did interview Jillian Smithy."

 

Jillian: "William was gone- Every. Single. Night. And came back at about 8 PM to 12 PM. The times I called his boss, that Ivan Winchester guy... He always said, "He's doing work."

Chapter 5: Double Dragons

Damion: "So... Jose decided to throw fire back at the Italian Mafia. He found one of their joints by the intersection of an alley between four buildings."

 

ALLEY INTERSECTION

 

Jose popped his neck in place, as he watched Italian mobsters walk into the intersection's entrance from