boiler maker... ( part two of the gun in the mouth saga)

A Story by Scott Troy

again, was playing with the story a long time ago

The bar turned into world war three. The table didnt do much to protect me and besides that my whiskey was gone. Henchmen have no tact at all. The bartender is somewhat safe, probably laying on the ground pissing himself, which is more than i can say for the patrons. Blood spatters the wall and floor. They never knew what hit them. The wounded sound out in corners bleeding to death. My gun is gettin hot and that presents the problem of jamming. Eight in total. I took out the first two that rushed the door. They brought in the heavy ordinance or shotguns and semi-automatic widow makers. I don't think they were on the guest list. My shoulder prevents me from any chance of decent aim, luckily these idiots aren't marksmen and just unload like bullets are going out of style. If you kill everything they obviously you took out your mark. Its what happens when you hire muscle off the streets. The back door is surrounded by alot of open space so my chances are slim. Guy on the floor clutching my heel, begging me to save his life. I notice the hole in his neck and the slurred speech. He's a dead man. I help myself to a cigarette in his flannel shirt pocket. He doesnt need them anymore. heh, a suitable antismoking ad if i ever saw one. The brutes are actually gettin in order and spreading formation, not so dumb after all. one clip left. I lean under the corner of the table and take out a few shins and kneecaps. Grown men tend to yell like little girls with scraped knees. I throw my glass and connect with the jackass at the front door. down to three, maybe three and a half. Onna the guys i plugged smearing blood on the floor with whats left of his knee but still letting loose with his rifle. I have one chance, and it makes me a b*****d. I am just hurrying the process tho. I pick up the poor b*****d next to me, thank him for the cancer stick and he provides an instant human shield. They give it all, he still stands. I sprint for the back. If luck holds they didnt think to far into this forray. I shoot at the door, aiming at the door nob and surrounding area. I make like Christopher Reeves. The door gives. I almost feel sorry for that poor f**k. He had no chance anyway. Atleast one of us got out alive. As i suspected the alley was clear. I didnt have time to revel in the fact. My shoulder was gnawing at me. Head throbbing. I need more painkillers. Down to four bullets. Luck of the irish. However the drinking could wait. This mick took to his escape route quickly. I know this neighborhood, they dont. I'm gone in five minutes. I can still hear them shooting, probably hoping to get lucky. For now its over. wait, no its not. I still have business to finish with their boss. Its time to head to the city.