Last bullet in the chamber, a cheap revolver - rusty, but his fathers. With zero risk of it being jammed, he takes the last shot - droplets make a groove in the sand, almost instantly drying as the density of it sinks further into the silky smooth grain, deeper into the millions of other particles that the figure stands on. With a flick of the revolver hitting the toothpick - it lands on the floor, next to the (now) three cadavers that already start to rot from the scorching heat. 

"Ey', Amigo - you's in Chicago already homes?" A figure statically making it through on one of the payphones,

"Ay, ay, ay - you act like one of my chicas, lay off - even in the summer it's chilly, where's the nearest bar I can dip my polla," Vicente speaks up, putting on another layer, his thin build and his style of only wearing a plain white t-shirt calls for two more coats as the clouds grow around the city of Chicago,

"Idiota', I brought you 'ere homes, you's gunna like it 'ere - the boss 'as seen yo'r history an' he impressed," pausing to what sounds like smoke being blown, chuckling in delight as he starts to speak again, "I's got you a place inn-aaa-lado sur?" the person on the other-side of the phone stops as Vicente speaks up,

"Oo's the idiota now, cabron - I'll find it, gracias again amigo, this should be a great fiesta after the last incidente," stopping, giving a slight smirk - he puts the phone on the holster and walks out with two suitcases. Being the only Latino sitting in the Loop, he puts one hand to his mouth and his other hand up, whistling shouting,

"TAXI!"

Watching the pick being consumed by the unforgiving sand, the blood follows through it. As the smell starts to hit hard, Vicente takes his ride - as the wind picks up, he throws up the bandanna - not knowing where to go next. The only lucid memory was sitting in his house with two out of three lines of cocaine on a chicas buttocks.

Inside the bar, Vicente takes a shot of whiskey as he taps the table, with tattoo's covering his left cheek and full-arm, wearing a tore apart work-shirt, his glass being filled he throws a salute with his two fingers towards the bartender. Hearing some commotion outside, he takes only one glance and takes another hit as the back of throat burns. Instantly the door of the establishment gets forced open, with dust particles flying everywhere and a badly beaten body of the large bouncer being thrown onto the floor - two other large figures with weapons take their aim towards the patrons,

"We're looking for a Spig," pausing with laughter, the figure carry's on, "with tattoo's, carry's around a bat - if you give him us, you'll be in debt to our boss," ending with an intense formal tone, Vicente holds his breathe behind a flipped table, with the bat on the floor next to his left leg, grabbing the revolver from his holster - he only counts three bullets with a quick glance.

As he hears footsteps get closer - Vicente puts the barrel against the table grabbing his glass nearby - the dust starting to settle, he throws it to the right - forcing the figures to take cover. Taking a peak, with the placed the gun in the right position, he fires, hitting one of the figures in the lower torso, the injured man with his weapon fires several times with no accuracy towards the direction where the shot came from, while shouting,

"THERE, SHOOT!"

As the noise is loud, any bystanders from either outside or inside the bar would be inclined to intervene or leave the establishment.

Being assaulted behind the table, with bullets flying through and around the table - a third shot pierced the collection, making the already downed figure wails again in pain before fainting. With one incapacitated, and the second figure on his own, runs for the bartender, hopping over the side taking cover, as the foot patter on the wooden floor starts as many of the patrons legged it for the outside door.

Vicente peaking his head up as he see's another head poking out to his right, the floating head looking at Vicente. He, with a confused look to see someone helping for once, looks to his left as a barrel flashes. Jumping from his cover to another as the bullet pierces through, Vicente is two tables away from the Samaritan.

Taking his revolver, Vicente holsters his weapon and grabs his bat - trusting in the hunk of wood, Vicente waits until the blood of the two assailants coat his only friend. Hearing a scuffle and a clicking sound - he hears shouting behind the bar as the figure starts to yell,

"This didn't need to happen!" The figure momentarily pauses as he loads another mag into his weapon, "We'll still be looking for you even after me," Pausing again he stands on top of the bar with two colt's in his hand, "You fucks!"