Gangsters, Guns, and Heists, Oh My!

The large black Sedan pulled into the alley way. The door opened, and out came a young, well-dressed Nepleslian. His name was Jackson. He looked around the alley, looking for any potentially hostile observers. Luckily, foot traffic hadn't reached this particular portion of the city for a while.

Not a big surprise. Anyone walking around in this part of town this late at night was begging for a death sentence. Most of the street lights had been broken for two or three blocks in any direction, and what little light there was spilled from the windows of night owls, and from the air traffic above.

Once he had given his surroundings a good inspection, he reached into his black blazer's pocket and pulled out a balaclava which he quickly pulled on. He pulled a SiZi P2 from his waist, loading it with a magazine from his pocket. He pulled the slide, and made sure the safety was deactivated. He was hopeful nothing would go wrong, but of course, when dealing with criminals, especially those of Nepleslian stock, preparedness paid off in droves.

He put the handgun back in his waistband and opened a nearby door. It led to a large warehouse. A number of chairs had been set up in front of a blackboard. Around the setup were several metal crates, all unmarked save for a black band painted around the middle. They were the only things that had apparently been touched in the past several years.

Jackson entered and took a seat next to the blackboard, and waited for his other contacts to show up. His pressed black suit and spotless white shirt a strange contrast to the general grungy atmosphere of the warehouse. He had been told to meet the rest of his crew here before setting up the job.

"Ef...efrything's so.... quit mofing th' street...." mumbled an old man as he stumbled into the alley. As he took a long draw from the bottle of whisky a sound then caught his attention. Despite all of the pounding going on in his head the man heard a door to a building closing. "Ohhhh.... a place t' sleep tonight..." he then muttered excitedly, bloodshot eyes widening in optimism. Wiping his face with one sleeve of his tattered jacket, the homeless man began to stagger ahead towards the door that caught his attention.

There was more than a few times when he tripped on a few things in his way. Yet somehow he still managed to stay on his feet. "Shtupid...shtupid....." he whispered to no one in particular. Finally after what seemed to take forever, the old man finished navigating his way to the door and turned the handle, opening it up before tripping over the step and stumbling over to some boxes. Slumping against the box he then slid down to the floor and began to let himself pass out, oblivious to any other occupants currently inside.

Jackson had his gun out the minute the door started to open. He had a shot lined up with the bum's head by the time the old guy had passed out. "Oh what is this shit?" Jackson growled as he stumbled in. "All over the crates, too."

The younger gangster walked slowly to the old guy, gun still aimed at him. He looked harmless, but you never knew. He approached slowly, and gave the old drunk a sturdy kick in the side, jumping back, hopefully before the strike was retaliated. "Hey, dick. Wake up.," Jackson hissed through his mask, gun still raised.

The only reaction given by the old man was a sloppy swipe with the hand not holding the bottle. "Mmm... Marshee... ge' offa m...." he muttered as he rolled over. Unfortunately there was no where for him to land so he just fell onto the floor in a messy heap. "H-hey.... where?"

With a sluggish look around the man looked around, searching for the source of the kick and yet obviously missing Jackson pointing the gun at him. Shaking his head a bit he then took another swig from his bottle and rolled over onto the floor. "Lousy....noisy kids..."

"Get up old man. Don't make me fuckin' shoot you." Jackson growled, around the crates, and to the front of the old man. He contemplating just shooting the old bastard. Unfortunately, he didn't have a silencer, and wasn't sure just how much sound those walls let through.

Finally there was some coherence to be seen as the man opened his eyes and acknowledged Jackson. He started to speak but a sneeze caught him and prevented him from talking until he sat up. "Oh, gun t' th' fash thish time." he sighed before taking another drink.

"Y'know kid I ushed t' be worth th' bullet till a few yearsh ago." he coughed. "Rude kids can't leave an old bum alone t' shleep in peash. I don't have any money in cash y' haven't notished." he then rasped out.

Jackson let his eyes dart around the room a bit. Door sealed? Yes. Walls? Solid concrete. Looked pretty thick. Windows? None. Jackson gritted his teeth. The bum coughing just brought his guard up higher, spooked him a little more. This was a big job he had been brought in to do. He couldn't let some old dingbat screw it up, could he? Jackson pulled the SiZi's trigger.

What if someone came looking for the guy? Family or someone? He pulled again, letting off another 10mm KZ round towards the guys chest.

How could he clean this up? Here he'd be left with this nasty ass corpse, all over the big shipment... Another bullet. And another. And another.

Barely five seconds had passed since the old man had stood up to Jackson's gun. In those five seconds, the gangster shot five bullets. He now stood staring at his victim, breathing heavily, and praying to anything that would listen that he wouldn't hear sirens anytime soon.