Dalton awoke slowly, after-effects of last night's partying still lingered, giving his head a cloudy feeling, not quite able to remember how he finally got home.  He tried to sit up, but felt weighted, anchored even, to the bed. He saw the reason quickly, as two prostitutes (two of his favorites) had been using his shoulders as pillows.

Okay girls. Parties over.

Dalton slipped his arms out from under their heads, made his way to the washroom for a quick shower. With some fresh clothes and a shower, he was starting to feel human again, but the activities of the night before was still a blur.

When he returned to the bedroom the girls had already grabbed their shit and split. They knew the rules. No drama, no small-talk, just sex, company, and get-the-fuck-out in the morning. He checked his hold-out weapon, and made sure it was out of sight, just inside his boot.

He was just checking his .38 and fitting it into his shoulder strap, when he heard a shuffling noise on the other side of the door. He cocked the hammer back slowly and edged his way toward the door. He got close enough to put his ear to the door, then the next few seconds seemed to go past in slow-motion.

Just as his ear touched the door, it seemed to splinter, disintegrating, pieces flying everywhere. Dalton was sent sprawling across the room as the force of the door against his face sent searing pain through his already muddled head. The light grew dim, then all was blackness...

Dalton started coming to again, waking up for the second time that morning, but no warm, hard-bodied hookers on his arms this time. Just dust and wood splinters from his front door. Being knocked unconscious had certainly not helped his memory any. The side of his head stung where the door had hit him, and he could feel a bit of blood, matted into his hair, just above his ear.

Dalton stood up slowly, brushing saw-dust off his recently freshly washed and pressed clothes. He checked for his .38, which wasn't in his shoulder holster, remembering that he had been holding it when the door got bashed in. He grabbed his holdout weapon, which was still snug in his boot, and started looking around.

Waking up on what appeared to be his favorite park bench because he can never make it home. Cristo felt the pounding in his head like a parade of drums. Recalling brief flashes of wild adventures with Dalton the night before.

Cristo realized that he had less that an hour to meet up with Dalton at the local bar, for there hangover cure a shot of jack. He rushed home to shower and change his clothes. Barely getting ready in time; he hurries over to the bar.

Arriving a little late, he realizes that Dalton is not yet in the bar. This sends up a few red flags because he knows that Dalton is never late. Cristo begins to worry. Deciding to head over to Dalton's to see if he made it home safely. Arriving at Dalton's house he find him standing in a daze looking around, blood covering his face, front door smashed into pieces. He asks him,

“what happened.”

Startled, Dalton spun and aimed his holdout weapon toward his bashed-in door. Then, seeing it was Cristo, he lowered the weapon, relieved to see a friendly face.

Bro, this is one fucked up morning.

Dalton briefly recounted that mornings activities to Cristo.

I'm not sure if anythings missing yet, I haven't looked around. My .38 seems to be missing.

Hearing the recount from the mornings events Cristo says

"Damn man, rough morning. We need to find that gun though. We should go and see what the girls saw, if we can find them."

Aye, but first I want to find my .38, and see if anything was stolen.

Dalton made a quick sweep through the apartment, found his .38 under the bed, where it must have landed after the door blew up in his face. There was only one thing missing, as far as he could tell. A locked drawer in his desk had been destroyed, broken into pieces, most likely because they couldn't find a key. The contents were strewn across the floor, although an envelope full of tribute for Gohan was nowhere to be found.

Bastards stole my tribute money. There was a weeks worth in there, almost 10 mil. (OOC: For the benefit of this story, please imagine 10 mil can fit in an envelope)

There has to be a clue as to who did this. I'm sure if the girls had seen something, they would have come back to warn me. I hope they are alright.

It was a fairly slow morning. Ronan has got his rounds done early enough and with the heat of the day now starting to set in he decided to stop for a drink. There was a little corner store just at the end of the street - it even had an ice cream sign outside. 'Jackpot', he thought to himself. A few dozen steps later and he was in the door, but the place was lifeless apart from an old man of about seventy sitting behind the counter. He looked at Ronan as he walked in.

Oh come on, I already payed up this week. You guys are killing me here!

A bit taken back, Ronan quickly laughed it off and approached him.

Don't worry, old timer. I'm just here to get out of the heat. Got any ice cream left?

Yeah, I'll get ya' a cone. 

He shuffled on into the back to get the treat. While he was gone, Ronan dropped a c-note into the tip jar. He felt bad for guys like this that were wrapped in to whatever sort of protection racket that was going one. Especially when times were so tough.

A few minutes later and Ronan exited, cone in hand. Suddenly, there was an enormous bang, almost like an explosion, from a few streets away. It was louder than a gun-shot definitely. Not wanting to appear to suspicious he casually followed the direction the sound came from, happily licking away at his ice cream.

When he got to the scene everyone had scattered from the area, leaving him the only one there. He noticed a couple of thuggish looking guys emerge from an alley and jump into a very non-descript car. 'Shit' he thought to himself. He'd better get out of sight before anyone suspected him.

He took a seat on a bus bench a few meters down. The bus didn't arrive for another forty-minutes, but from here he could watch the drama that he knew was coming unfold. 

Since they found no trace of a clue in the apartment, Dalton decided to take the search outside. Maybe there was a witness or two. Someone must have seen something.

Watch my back, Cristo. I have no clue if anyone's going to be lurking around for an ambush. We'll go out the back way and enter the street from the ally. Keep your eyes open.

They proceeded out the back way, looking for clues as they went. It was strangely quite, and Dalton's ears were still ringing slightly. They reached the street, and barely saw anyone, except for a man sitting on a bench further down the street, most likely waiting for the bus.

Dalton sighed, then slapped his hand to his forehead.

FUCK! Nothing...I'm stumped.

Looking out, for potential threats Cristo kept a look out down the alleyway, it was to quiet the only sounds other than, Dalton slapping himself in the forehead, was a distant rumbling getting closer by the second, Cristo started to reply to Dalton

Don't worry man we will fi-----

Dalton had heard the motor rumbling as well, and had turned his attention to an approaching car which seemed to slow down once it got within range. He barely saw a flash of metal from the car window, when he turned and pushed Cristo into the ally, cutting him off, mid-sentence.

Dalton didn't follow Cristo into the alleyway, but instead jumped behind a group of trash cans, closer to the street. Not providing much cover, Dalton prayed that in the next few seconds, his luck would hold.

As the bullets started flying, Dalton tried to get a clear shot, but merely shot out the back window as the car pulled away. This had all happened in seconds. His heart was pounding out of his chest. His hands shook with adrenaline, and rage.

The one thing he had noticed, as the car sped away, was Delaware plates. Tyler Durden's Crew was from there...

As the shooting was happening Ronan dived behind the bus stop bench. Luckily the Durden men never fired at him, but he did have his gun drawn. As he peeked his head back up after the car had left, he noticed the other two men emerging from their hiding spots also. One of them even had managed to get a shot in. He kept his gun drawn and he was on heightened senses as the atmosphere came back into focus after the drive-by.

Vito was walking down the street of a normally-quiet neighborhood when he heard several gunshots down the street. When he noticed a slick-looking car speeding towards him he threw himself against the side of a brick building, flattening himself against the wall. The car drove past, the windows rolling up. Vito craned his neck and noticed the back window was shot out. Always curious, he placed his hand on his holstered colt and began jogging down the street towards where the incident had taken place.

Rounding the corner, Vito noticed three men. One man hid behind a bus stop bench with his gun drawn, another stood behind some garbage cans, also with his gun drawn and a shell casing laying at his feet, and the third man emerged from an alleyway.

"Hey now, what's this all about?"

Vito eyed up the two men with weapons drawn, he backed away towards the side of a building but was still visible to the men.

Dalton attempted to steady his hands, as he kept his .38 trained in the direction the car had disappeared.

Cristo! You okay? You hit?

The man who had been sitting on the bench had seemed more interested in the car, and the man making his way toward them was asking what was going on, so Dalton decided they most likely had nothing to do with the hit attempt. You could never be to careful though.

I hope to god you guys are friendly.

Ronan's attention was snapped from the car as one man approached from his right. He swiveled around to see a familiar face from around the HQ.

Vito! Did you see the Durden guys?

Before he could get a response however the men he had been watching before were now calling in his direction also. He looked around again, and after the inquisition as to their friendliness, Ronan raised his hand to clearly display his gun, then slowly placed it back into his holster in clear sight. 

Yeah, we're good. Are you guys alright? That was a nasty bit of shooting.

Seeing, the man that was watching from the bus stop put away his gun and the man approaching from the other direction ask what was going on, Cristo realized that they meant no harm, loosening up a bit, Cristo quietly responds to Dalton.

I am fine was not hit, thanks for the quick thinking and pushing me out of the way saved my life man i owe you one. It looks as if everybody is alright, we need to find out what is going on.

Then turning to Ronan eying him up and down, still a little weary despite his show of peace Cristo tells him

Yeah, that was nasty, it looks like we have a major problem going on, we are fine a little shaken up though.

Vito recognized Ronan and a slight smile broke on his lips. He released the grip on his colt and walked out into plain sight towards Ronan. He was still weary of the other two men, although they seemed friendly, Vito was never one quick to trust a stranger.

"Those were Durdens? Ah, should've known those bastards would be behind a sloppy attempt like this. Were you the target Ronan?"

Dalton in turn slowly showed his .38, and returned it to his shoulder holster. He was relieved to see that Cristo was okay.

Fucking Durdens will pay for this. We'll have to head back to HQ to report this.

Dalton turned toward the strangers.

I'm glad you two weren't more Durdens. I'm Dalton, and this is Cristo.

Naw I'm grand. I came over after I heard an explosion or something. I was only here a couple of minutes when they came around blasting.

Ronan glanced back at the other two. There was a little mutual understanding now, they were sort of on the same side ... the side that was the Durden one.

Ah now you can't take us for Durdens. Our suits are nowhere near that tacky!

There wasn't really a laugh, but a smirk from everyone at the joke.

Anyways I'm Ronan, and this is my pal Vito.

They shook hands all round. The enemy of my enemy is my friend....right? Dalton called someone to come fix his door and clean up his place, then he and Cristo headed back to HQ to report what had happened, and to plan some revenge...

Revenge will be sweet...