The Grab

A short Shadowrun story. This is 5/52

“Just git the hell in there and git the money jake!”

“I don’t know If I can do it Frank. I really don’t.”

“If you don’t, then you’re not commin’ back ever.”
Frank stared Jake in the face. “Listen you.” His face turned bright red, and his eyes twitched as he spoke, “If you leave us hangin’ in this damn van all masked up, you’ll never live this down. You understan’ what I mean?”
Jake nodded while glancing around at everyone else. The others stared at him too. Their eyes burned a hole right through him as if he was an ant in the magnifying glass of life. The beams of their stares became uncomfortably intense, but the voices inside were telling him that this was it. This next move would decide his lot in life.
Frank grabbed a black ski mask lying on the van floor and shoved it at him. “Git it on Jake.” Black fabric masks covered their faces, the five of them armed to the teeth, and Jake, already regretting his decision, slid it over his head. Frank grabbed both handles to the back doors of the van and pushed them wide open, exposing the group to the outside world.
Cool air rushed in as they hopped out, weapons at the ready. Neon lights from the buildings all around blanketed the area and shined off their eyes.
“Ok men, check your guns. We’re goin’ in hot. I don’t want any guts bein’ splattered unless provoked.” Frank looked down and spit on the floor. “And it ain’t gonna take much to provoke. If shootin’ starts, it ain’t stopping until everyone’s shredded.”
Each man nodded in agreement, but Jake instead swallowed down the lump in his throat. The message Frank sent was loud and clear. Either you’re in, or you’re taken out permanently.
Together they rushed the darkened glass doors to the dispensary. The bright green florescent light radiated throughout the white walled room. Cyberware, and Wired Tech sat laid in glass cases along the walls, and the front counter. One of the six stopped at the front doors and locked them, flipping off the red neon open sign. Another rushed to the left, while his comrade went right. The other three, Frank, Jake and Tokoyama, flew over the counter past the now subdued front staff. Wasting no time Frank slammed his boot into the back door.
Pieces of splintered wood and shards of broken metal flew into the hallway. Several screams echoed down the narrow passage as people on the other side cowered to the floor. Frank Grunted and pointed his hand toward the hall, inviting his team in. The three fell into single file with Frank leading the way. “Which one Toko?”
“Third door on left,” he said. His broken English and his thick Japanese accent presented itself in full force.
All three doors were close together, plus, the small hallway made it tough to move in the black armored suits they were wearing. The tech made them light enough, sure, but equipment still needed to be carried.
They stayed in tight formation while Jake pulled out a mini battering ram and placed it next to the door handle on the lock’s side near the frame. Jake looked Frank in the eyes seeking approval, and then pressed the small red button on the handle. The device shot forward with great force and exploded into the door, forcing it open and partially off its hinges. All three went in, guns pointed.
They stormed in, Frank first, Tokoyama, and then Jake, who stood just inside the doorway. All three had their guns ready, as well as intent. The small room was host to a few men sitting behind a counting table. Stacks of Nuyen laid about in neat rows. The group had caught these moneymen by surprise, but one, who was not completely out of shape and looked to have several enhancements, was quick on the draw. As soon as the gun was raised, Jake fired. A well-placed shot had landed right between the man’s eyes, his pudgy body flung from its chair. Frank joined in, and right behind him was Tokoyama, their bullets littering the floor with fallen casings being ejected with full-automatic pace. Frank dropped the empty mag from his M4 and replaced it with another. “Thanks kid, you saved our bacon. I damn sure missed it.”
Jake stood there, the sights still between his eyes, and his finger still on the trigger. His arms shook with anxiety and his body was lost in the nervousness of his first kill, but his thoughts were still at his shot, the death of another man. That’s the moment when Jake knew he’d forever be the monster he reluctantly, but willingly became. He couldn't take it back.
Suddenly a door opened from the left back corner of the room and the shooting continued. Frank yelled out to Tokoyama, but he clearly saw what was coming and slammed his body into Jake, knocking him down and covering them up with one of the tables money was stacked on. Firing went both ways as the three were tucked behind a large table, which had enough equipment behind it that took most of the gunfire.
“You’re not getting outta here alive; kutabare!”
Frank attempted to return the insult, but Jake, seemingly woken up from his temporary trance, was now firing in their attacker’s direction.
“Ahhhhhhhhhh,” Jake yelled as he continued firing with steady aim. He hit several men, who were now writhing on the floor and calling for help. Frank threw a grenade and ducked. The explosion rocked the room and caused the firing to stop on both sides. With the room L-shaped it was difficult to see the remaining men.
“Damnit, we’re all pinned down,” Frank said.
Tokoyama looked around. He pointed to the stacks of Nuyen on the floor and started shoving them in a black bag he had clipped to his waist. Frank laid down a few rounds of covering fire and tossed Jake a bag.
“I think Toko got it right,” Frank whispered while continuing to fire.
Jake began to grab for the stacks on the tables next to him and within a minute those bags were full of cash. Tokoyama had not stopped. He kept pulling drawstring bags from his jacket and filling those as well. In the middle of their cash grabbing, the gunfire started up again between the two groups.
Bullets came whizzing by Jake’s head as he peeked above the table to get a better view. He returned fire and dropped his magazine, and then reloaded his gun.
“We’re stuck down here Frank,” Jake said, “We have to get out.”

“Toko grabbed most of the money and that’s why were here. I’m gonna drop a grenade and we’re gonna git out of here. I only got a few, so you head to the van and start it. We ain’ gonna get much time. You got me?” Frank pulled out a key from his pocket and handed it over.

“Ok Frank. We’ll go when you’re ready.”

“Toko, git on, I’ll be right behind.”

With a nod, Tokoyama stood up and ran to the door, disappearing through the opening. Frank looked at Jake and grabbed the pin of the pineapple with his teeth.
“Git,” he said, his words slurred with the pin still in his mouth.
Jake looked at the doorway and back at Frank, then grabbed the bag he filled and slinked out the doorway undetected.
Halfway down the hall Jake heard an explosion and stopped moving. His ears rang from the pressure and the noise. Somehow, being in the same room with the explosion caused less trouble for him. The walls, made with cheap sheetrock, sent white power and dust everywhere. He scrambled to his feet and ran through the back doors they came through. “We got to go,” he yelled. “We have to get out of here now.”

“Where is Frank,” one of them said.

“He said to meet him in the van. Come on, grab what you can and let’s go.” Jake ran outside to the van as Frank had asked, and started it up. He watched as the building, half on fire, billowed dark black smoke from the top. The smell of the fire was acrid and thick. He noticed it now. The doors to the back of the van opened and he could hear Tokoyama and the others yelling amongst themselves. “Are we ready?” he said. “Hey! Can we go?”

“Frank not back. Just a minute please,” Tokoyama said.
Another explosion rocked the street and Frank, running at the speed of a man trying to flee for his life, came barreling out of the building, right through the glass doors. “Goooo,” he yelled, as he got closer to the van. Jake stepped on the gas just as Frank had gotten three fingers on the handle and a foot on the bumper. With his grip in enhanced mode, his fingers locked.
The doors swung about and Frank did also, but Jake didn’t slow down. He picked up speed as fast as the vehicle would allow and watched the place in the side mirrors. Bullets riddled the back from men standing just outside the shop. By some miracle no one had been hit. They had gotten away from the neon lights without injury and all the money. Now they were filthy rich.

Author's Note

This is short story 5/52. Thanks for reading.