Lamb
Ovine Member
Seeing that their previous tactics weren't working, the gunfire from the junk piles came grinding to a halt. With the crane operator far more than dead at this point, blocking off the escape route was no longer an option for the junkyard dogs. Most of them scattered into the corridors where Rennik and Caffran were trapped. A few others began to slowly rise up from behind massive stacks of cars, each bringing round a massive spotlight as they reached their respective platforms. In the graying light, the lights were blindingly bright, casting a heavy glare among those still gathered in the main yard. Sammy let out a cry as some of the lights panned over to him. The salesman scrunched himself up further and tried to make himself look as tiny as possible. His plaid suit made for a perfect target.
"We have you all surrounded!" A voice came from the west. "Get back in your truck and leave, Dalton."
"I just wanted to b-b-b-buy some boats!" Sammy shouted back. He cringed as a bullet struck the ground between his feet.
"Why the muscle if yous just wanteds some boats, Sam?" This time, the voice was higher in pitch, and from the east.
"Muscle?! Muscle!?" Sammy started pulling at his hair with his free hand, waving the revolver over his head, "They were for the boats, you assholes! For the d-d-d-damn boats! They were for the bo-"
What shut Sammy up for a second was the extreme pain of being shot in the foot. After a good few seconds of staring at the bleeding appendage, he shouted out again, full on bawling, "YOU SHOT ME! YOU JERKS THIS HURTS REAL BAD! YOU SHOT ME! AGH! WHY WOULD YOU SHOOT A GUY?!"
In the nearby passageway, Caffran could hear some of the workers laughing.
"Hey Butch, sounds like they shot him, eh?"
"Yeah, sounds like it hurts real bad, eh?"
"Heh, you guys, I wonder if Miss Lucille is gonna come out an' put a bandaid on it?"
"Yeah, yeah! An' maybe- wait!" The laughter was over, "What's that smell? Smells like a cheap cigar. Hey, Butch. Hand me one of dem firebombs, yeah?"
"We have you all surrounded!" A voice came from the west. "Get back in your truck and leave, Dalton."
"I just wanted to b-b-b-buy some boats!" Sammy shouted back. He cringed as a bullet struck the ground between his feet.
"Why the muscle if yous just wanteds some boats, Sam?" This time, the voice was higher in pitch, and from the east.
"Muscle?! Muscle!?" Sammy started pulling at his hair with his free hand, waving the revolver over his head, "They were for the boats, you assholes! For the d-d-d-damn boats! They were for the bo-"
What shut Sammy up for a second was the extreme pain of being shot in the foot. After a good few seconds of staring at the bleeding appendage, he shouted out again, full on bawling, "YOU SHOT ME! YOU JERKS THIS HURTS REAL BAD! YOU SHOT ME! AGH! WHY WOULD YOU SHOOT A GUY?!"
In the nearby passageway, Caffran could hear some of the workers laughing.
"Hey Butch, sounds like they shot him, eh?"
"Yeah, sounds like it hurts real bad, eh?"
"Heh, you guys, I wonder if Miss Lucille is gonna come out an' put a bandaid on it?"
"Yeah, yeah! An' maybe- wait!" The laughter was over, "What's that smell? Smells like a cheap cigar. Hey, Butch. Hand me one of dem firebombs, yeah?"