BANG!

Spicy's recoils upwards, his shoulder pulls bacak into his shoulder, nearly dislocating it - the smoke and gun-powder residue from both barrles of the double-barrelled shotgun fills his nose, with eyes open wide, blood-shot and pupils dialaited - for Spicy, this moment lasted a whole hour, but as he hears the shells hit the floor with the tip of the shotgun following shortly after, the realisation of it lasted only a few seconds causes Spcy's hand to tremble, wiping some of the blood from his heavily sweated brow. "Why?" Breathless and exasperated - Spicy falls to his knees, covering his head with his palms, mixture of salt and blood writhing through his fingers. 

"So, I 'ave a job - it'costa arm'an'a'leg but'cha can't trust anyone theez'days, ar kid?" The blackend teeth stranger says, a couple of months after doing small jobs - learning the ways of the streets, this sentence brings him out of the monotony of stealing from the less abled, while also staying in a lavish place, thirce moved to avoid suspicious - always the same polished floors, always the polish bar and always the dirty, rotten stranger who calls him neph, short for nephew.

"You'av'ta go to Philly, they'll be a two horses, two jockey's and a captian," Spicy hearing this, learning from his past talks with this still unamed man - realises that he's speaking a theives code, two horses meaning cars, jockeys meaning people and a captian meaning getaway driver, "Now, the'jockeys get 40 points, we gett'a 10, rest to the getaway and the info smuggler," 

"Info smuggler? what exactly have you got us in for" Spicy speaking more confidently than before, taking a sip of some vintage whiskey - doesn't know the name nor does the stranger,

"Oh my neph, my neph we're'in for'sumthin' grandiosa!" He raises a glass, throwing a bag that is seemingly heavy towards Spicy's chest, "-And we'll'need this 'ardware to get tha'job done'an'dusted," Glancing with a smile coated in sut, Spicy unsheeths a weapon out the bag, a double-barrelled shotgun, with a hair trigger, "Letss'a go make a bang shall we neph?" 

Inside of a factory floor, broken windows, doors comming off their hinges, lights seemingly flickering with some life left, only life inside the place. An echo flutters out, reverberating on the walls - passing back and forth as the stranger with black teeth bellows out: "'Ello' honey, i'm'ome!" two seconds later, metal hits a conveyor belt - dusty and shredded from misuse and abandonment, Spicy and three others walk into the building, "Nowr', this'is a poin'of operation," the stranger says as he turns around, unloading his gear, "You'all keep kushty, zip'it tight nowr' - especially you," His finger glancing upwards pointing towards Spicy, Spicy shudders - giving a quiet glance towards the rest of the small crew they've assembled, "I'mm'only kiddin' my welcomed prodgidy! We're 'ere with tha'three baddest weirdo's in the Great U, S and A," A dark smirk flashes across his face as the others stay silent with a demented look on their face,

"Shut it old man, we're here to plan, not to fuck'about - lets grab the money and go," 

"We wouldn't be here if it wasn't for him, 'kay? So sit the fuck down and let him speak," 

The third member seemingly mute, holding a bunch of papers, as the stranger comes along and takes a a slide, "Alrigh-Alrigh', keep ya tits on - it's time'ta think abou't-why we're 'ere," The stranger walks off with blue-prints, red markings are already on the backside, looks like dried blood, he slams it on the belt and unravels it, "This'is a genuine cock'muncher of a vault, but with our nephew 'ere, it's more like a ham an'cheese sandwhich," The stranger rambles on about other sandwhiches of various kinds of meats and jams, as the other either stand blankedly or become frustrated, Spicy takes a seat with his elbows on his knees - hearing these common anecdotes about metephors being sandwhiches almost daily, "...As i was sayin', you two will be tha' Rage of Hell, the storm that shocks and shuddas', and the quiet one will be our pony, ridding us in an'out of the join'" The stranger gives off a hefty laugh, taking out a paper bag with a bottle inside and takes a noticeable chug.

With no experience with weapons, Spicy starts to take out some of the weaponary, knowing only how to clean and fix them - he begins with a brush, taking bits apart making sure they're well kept - the other three crew talk banter between themselves while discussing the plan. 

Two doors slam, Spicy sits in the leather seats with him holding a Wesson Model 19 in his left hand - he opens the cylinder see's six sully loaded 6.357 rounds. Spicy feels the car rock as two people bounce into their seats, one of the mercenaries takes the wheel while the stranger takes the front passenger seat, "Righ', you kno'tha' plan ye', my tamale friend?" With a smooth nod, Spicy grips his gun looking down, then back towards the blackened teeth stranger, "Don'be scared now'r, ther's only two things in life; 'Dosh, Gunpowda, and tha' sweet release from this mortal'plain'," The other person looks towards spicy with a confused face, as they both look back at the stranger, "Whot?" The stranger gives off a hefty laugh, "Righ', less raise 'ell boys!" 

The Engine revs a couple of times, as they wind the engine a bit more - the second car does the same. As the group pulls off - the car with the Stranger in goes second, as the "Captain/Pony" takes lead. His silence is only in his vocals, but his actions with the car seems he revels in, slamming down on the accelerator, the stranger gives his own lion's roar as he follows suit. 

Speeding down into the city of L.A, Spicy feels the heat from the blazing sun, people on the streets wearing their suits with ties, women wearing dresses - he knows that the life he leads only encompasses looks, looks and power - money isn't what they're doing the job for, for these people = it's the thrill and notoriety, the power of letting the government know - they're not safe, and the people, their money isn't safe either.

Following through into a busy market - fruit and markets filled people with a crowd, the two cars halt - they take themselves a couple of blocks from the bank as planned. Spicy feels sticky to the seats, opening a window, taking his hat off, "Righ' - our contact is apparen'ly selling french bread, yo'kno', crunchy, dick shaped food - as the french like it," A hefty laugh is let out as the stranger finishes - getting out the car, "You stay righ'ere, don'you worry lads - i'm a great negotiator," The stranger says, winking - walking through the crowd of people, as the stench splits it in two as moses did with the Red sea.

Spicy, taking a bottle of water from his jacket - taking a few sips, looks onto where the stranger walks - the stranger looks back giving a slight wink. The crowd full of people mixed from working to middle class, some covered in sut or oil, while others in fancy clothes with their partner - enjoying the sun and buying small items from the market - noise of salesment shouting their prices, trying to intice customers bellows throughout the small market courtyard as Spicy wipes his head inside the car, "Hey, kid," One of the crew says, sitting in the front passanger seat, "You know about this guy? Because you should, all he is, his accent - his movements, all an act," The girl turns her head back towards Spicy - putting her hand on the drivers seat, "I heard you've been with this guy for a while, and let me tell you - your not the first - that's what they all think," The woman stares, with a slight grin, before turning back in the seat - opening her window, using her knife to fan wind. 

Spicy sits there, the sweat becomming heavier as people walk past the car, but it's not from the heat - it's more internal, "W-what do you mean?" Spicy shudders, "we know each other well, we've been through, alot,"

"Ever questioned how you got here in the first place? Ever questioned why you were picked?" 

"I have everything I wanted, booze, money - the life," Spicy sits up, moving forward, "No, i haven't.." The woman stops fanning,

"Maybe you should go out, check on the weirdo, might find some answers," She winks, giving a light chuckle as she puts both legs on the dashboard, and starts fanning again.

The sound of a car door creeks open, Spicy takes a step outside the car, placing his gun inside of the holster - using his jacket to cover it up - he throws his cap inside of the passanger car, "I'll be back."

Taking a cigarette from his coat pocket with a match, he walks up to a near-by person, "You haven't got a match hav'ya?" 

"Ye-ye, hold on a sec," taking out a match and lighting it, as Spicy leans in, 

"Good one mate, cheers," Spicy says in a full american accent, he looks kind of embarassed, flustered even - as he slowly walks away as the person glances at him with a weird look.

As Spicy walks down, following the stench of the stranger, seems his smell is much stronger than the others - like comparing a sewer to rotten food, foul stench of one out powers the other, giving Spicy ample room to find the suspicious figure. Remembering where he said he was going, there was no french bread stall, in fact - this place was a simple local market, no outside food other than your traditional sandwhiches and hand knitted clothes - Spicy found this to be even more suspicious as he starts to hear a local voice in the distance, something that set his heart beat alert;

"ANOTHA'?" The bellowed talk shushed by the dirty stranger, seemingly two of them - one looking dirtier than the other - and that's it.. Spicy thought he'd never see the man, never thought he'd be able to thank the man for his unbridled help in finding a home, and more money than what to do with, "Joe doesn't grab people like fucking i'm a, fucking human trafficker - you said this was the last one!" Again the stranger shushed with his blackened teeth, walking through the crowd, most of the sentances were inauidable, catching glimpes of some conversation,

"Nowr', don't a roast beef san'which yea'? I need anotha', the one i'ave 'as lost'its mojo, too... complacent," The stranger says with no remorse or emotional connection, "Maybe gett'me a woman this time, it's always men with'ya,'" Hearing that same chuckle the stranger always bellows, a deep, belly filled laugh.

Spicy, turns around, but his legs don't seem to work - bumping into some people behind him, as he is semi frozen stuck, yet loose limbed from the information he just recieved. Throwing himself back forcefully with his whole body, pale as a Scott - he rushes towards the car - the once perfume like smells of food, the aroma of hand made clothes now turn to a musky feat of betrayal - Spicy knew his time was up.. 'Maybe i run away? ... No, he has money - he knows people.. Maybe i go to the police? ... N-no.. and say what, i helped him steal and kill...' Thoughtless and countless options, yet spicy was already at the car, hand on the door - starting to sizzle from the head but his hand appeared numb,

"So'did ya find what you wanted to know?," Sitting there, fanning herself with the knife still - her legs on the dashboard as they light up from the sun, "I tooooold' you, welcome to the meat grinder greenhorn,"