42.
The crew. Deep five. Silence, as they headed for the entrance.
The Crew entered a quiet, empty place. A bartender ragged the counter.
"Sorry guys--we're closed," said the bartender. The crew ignored the hash, fanning out. The guy raised his voice and tone,
"Guys--I said we're closed." Bones eyeballed the bartender,
"We're not here to see you." Two Bouncers appeared. Big guys.
Beefcake apprenti. Not intimidated.
"Could I help you gentlemen?" asked a bouncer.
"Tell Big Dave he's gotta big-time fuckin' problem." The Bouncer's jetted a soft, quick laugh.
"Fucking guys, man," said his bouncer buddy.
"Big Dave’s not expecting anybody," the first one said.
"He is now," Rocky pulled a military machine gun from his overcoat. Titanium, high-tech.
"Whoa, whoa.…," went the bouncer. He put his hands up, and stepped back. The other bouncer stepped forward. Whitey whipped out a high-power assault rifle, and aimed it at the second bouncer.
"Hold it up, big guy." The bouncer froze. Bones laughed,
"Now you know who's open for business."
A Guy cut across an overhead walkway. Rocky fired his way.
The bouncers pulled heat. Bones and Shorty opened up, cutting them both. Decked dead.
More guys sprang from the rafter shadows, aimed and fired back. Rocky spun, and pointed skyward, lighting up the belfry.
The glass DJ booth shattered.
Tony and Whitey moved out, in one direction, as Bones and Shorty went the other, tracing the main stage. Rocky, on the stage, in between dancer poles continued to blast. A row of Gangsters, now overhead, fired back at Rocky. Rocky's hardware, a mini-gatling gun, looked more like a kid's toy in his arms.
Two Gangsters fell from the rafters. The rest used the partition as a barricade. The crew's barrage splintered the walls, like hockey boards, exploding chips and dust.
The bartender popped up with a sawed-off, aiming at Rocky.
Whitey turned, and mailed back to the bartender, striking him in the chest. The bartender's chest exploded. He dropped the sawed-off, collapsing behind the bar. More gunfire from above.
Bones and Shorty unloaded. So did Tony and Whitey. The Crew's barrage blasted apart the partition, mowing a row of gangsters.
Two gangsters bounced off the walls, tumbling down the stairwell. Others dropped dead, while another fell over the landing. Bodies sailed to the floor.
The rampage lighting up Big Dave's monitor. Big Dave ripped open a weapons cache. They each pulled out a combat shotgun.
They scrambled, popping the slots with shells. They pumped the springs, and bolted the office.
Dom, Max, and Moose hustle through a hallway, each cradling a combat shotgun. They spilled into the area, and began firing. Max shielded Big Dave, as Dom and Moose fired at the crew. Bones and Whitey, behind the bar, took aim.
Rocky moved, bunkered at a table. Tony spotted Big Dave, and took aim. Tony unloaded. Big Dave ducked, Max shot back.
Heavy gunfire. A blistering exchange. Max rose, as if to work Big Dave off the map. Rocky moved in, boxing out the break.
"I got you now, you son of a bitch", claimed Rocky. The big guy took aim, and just as quick, paused to hold his chest. Another heart slammer.
"Fuck.…," he said. Rocky dropped titanium, and grabbed a belly full of lead. He quickly dropped, dead before he hit the floor.
Max and Big Dave inched closer to the exit. Max fired back as he reached the doorway. The Crew continued the rapid exchange.
The place, blown apart, as Moose and Dom were fatally struck.
Max too, met by a hail of bullets, as the force sailed him through the doorway.
Big Dave lost the cover, and made a run for it. He bolted out the entrance, and hit the lot. Tony spotted the break, and chased after him. He hit the wake, and spotted Big Dave chugging across the lot. Tony ran after him, and raised his pistol.
Big Dave reached his car, and fumbled with the keys. He looked up, and watched Tony race up to him. Tony stopped, and aimed. Tony squeezed one off, sailing Big Dave into the white plastered wall. Big Dave crashed, smearing the plaster with a patch of blood. Tony returned to the strip club.
The calm after the storm. Carnage. Tony passed Dom, Max, and Moose, sprawled-out, bullet-riddled, and dead. He reached Bones, and Whitey. Rocky, on the main stage, dead. Whitey on the ground, clutching his calf.
"Somebody toss me a bottle--they got me in the leg." Bones snatched a bottle of Jack, and tossed it to Whitey. Whitey caught it, took a swig, and doused his wounded calf.
"You gonna be okay?" asked Bones. Whitey ripped the sharkskin sleeve off a dead body, and tied a tourniquet around his leg.
"I guess," Whitey replied.
"Where’s Shorty?" asked Bones.
"I don't know," answered Tony.
"Son of a bitch, they got Rocky," Bones said. Whitey got up, and limped to the bar, right up to Bones.
"Come on--we gotta get outta here," Bones said.
"Gimme a second," Whitey said, scrambling to keep his balance. Bones grabbed him.
Where the fuck was Shorty? Tony searched the club. No sign of him.
"I’ll get the car," Tony said. Scram turned, losing his balance.
He crashed to the floor. On one knee. The sharp pains. He tried fighting it off.