Rommel watched Rainer land neatly on the concrete and begin his steady, deliberate stride toward the bar.
"Fuck!" he cursed, spinning around to snatch his bag and descend the opposite side of the container. The clock was now ticking twice as fast.
Rainer advanced, each footfall on the salt-crusted concrete a metronome counting down toward chaos. He didn't have a detailed plan, but a single, crucial piece of data from the files was his lifeline—his only chance.
Reaching into his duffel bag, he drew out both .44 Magnums, oogling them with regret before letting them drop onto the ground with a clatter. He repeated the gesture with their heavy bullet packs, the metallic clacks on the ground the sounds of his heart breaking.
Now, only the boombox remained within his bag.
It didn't take long for the guarding gangsters to notice the solitary, strolling figure.
"What the— Hold it! You're not allowed here!" One sprang up.
"Hold! Or I'll shoot!!!" another gangster yelled, his voice cutting through the night.
Instantly, everyone was alerted. The barrels of five guns swiveled to track his approach.
Rainer tilted his hat down, a soft, almost imperceptible flare of golden patterns flashing beneath the brim.
"Better make this count," he muttered, a thrill of anticipation coursing through him.
—❦—
*Bang!*
Rommel shoved a door open, bursting into a dim, cluttered administrative room. He stood panting for a second, his eyes piercing the low light until a glint on the wall made his heart leap.
'There! The keys!'
Suddenly, a hand clamped down on his shoulder.
"Hey! Who are you? You aren't supposed to be—"
Before the security guard could finish, Rommel grabbed his arm, pulled him close, and with a surge of raw strength, executed a brutal overhead flip, slamming the man into an office chair that splintered apart on impact.
"Argh," the guard groaned, dazed.
Rommel felt no mercy. He sent a savage kick crashing into the man's mouth. The guard's head snapped to the side, teeth and a spray of spit flying through the air.
Instantly, he lay motionless, unconscious.
Sighing in grim frustration, Rommel snatched the keys and ran out, slamming the door shut behind him.
'Rainer, you bastard!' he inwardly cursed, turning to sprint down a nearby stairwell.
—❦—
"Roaring tides! Liberty waits!"
A male vocalist's voice boomed from the speakers, the energizing beats reverberating through the Mermaid Bar's walls.
The young woman was led through the crowd, her absurdly frilly maid outfit making her an instant spectacle. Festus, from his throne on the stage, saw her and felt his gloomy mood evaporate, a wide, possessive smile spreading across his face.
She was lean, with fair skin that seemed to glow under the garish lights. Her long hair was dyed a striking blue to match the outfit, and light makeup accentuated her features. It was clear she had been thoroughly prepared for him.
However, it was her eyes that turned him on. They were a dull blue, worn and utterly forlorn, reflecting a deep-seated resignation.
As she was brought to a halt below the stage, those lifeless eyes drifted up to meet his smiling face. And he could almost swear he saw a chemical reaction occur, of a pure terror ignited within them, swirling into an emotion too complex to decipher.
Intrigued, Festus leaned forward on his throne.
"I am Festus. I lead the Beach Boys gang in this city. Abroad, across the world's beaches, my father wears the crown." He gestured magnanimously. "So tell me, woman. What's your name?"
The music died down. And she stared at him for a moment too long until a gangster nudged her sharply from behind.
"A-Aqua," she sputtered.
"Hmm. Aqua?" Festus mused, then smiled. "It's a beautiful name."
Aqua looked down, and Festus mistook her shame for bashfulness. And a light, gracious feeling settled in his chest.
"Come up to me," he commanded, reaching a hand down.
Some gangsters moved to pull her up the side stairs, but he stopped them with a sharp gesture.
"Leave her," Festus ordered. "Let her come to me on her own."
The gangsters drew back. Aqua glanced up, then shuffled forward, eventually making it onto the stage to stand before him.
For a moment, Festus sat back and took in the view.
"Can you dance?"
She gave a slight, hesitant nod, one hand crossing her torso to grip her other arm in a protective gesture.
He scoffed satisfied.
"Kneel," he suddenly commanded, then leaned forward to caress her face when she obeyed.
She trembled as his hand slowly approached.
Festus smiled, glancing at his captains. "I like her. She'll warm my bed tonight. But first, she'll danc—Grahh!"
Aqua suddenly lunged, biting his hand with the ferocity of a shark the moment it touched her skin. Festus jerked his hand back with a roar.
"Fuck!" He cradled the bleeding wound, his expression darkening into a thunderous scowl.
Owen, standing nearby, grimaced in appalled realization. He knew Festus's temper would now poison the entire evening.
Without a plan, but needing distance from the impending explosion, he turned and melted into the crowd.
Aqua stared back, petrified yet mulishly defiant.
Festus gritted his teeth, the veins in his head pulsing. Suddenly, he sent a backhanded slap that cracked through the air like thunder, rocking her head and sending her tumbling off the stage.
Breathing ragged, he stood, his eyes burning with fury. His gaze immediately swerved to his cowering captains.
"What is this!? You dare bring me a rabid dog to bite me on my birthday?!"
The captains trembled, huddling closer for support.
Festus flung his hand, an angry gesture toward the whole bar.
"What kind of party is this anyway?! No bitches?! No proper entertainment?! Who the fuck planned this!?"
"E-eh, Bo-Boss," a captain stuttered.
"W-we felt you would want to spend ti-time with just the guys on this special day."
"Idiots!" Festus yelled, the veins on his neck bulging. "All of you—fuc—dumbasses!"
Festus was on the verge of insanity. He turned and gripped his heavy throne, preparing to hurl it into the crowd, but was quickly swarmed and restrained by multiple men.
"Fuckers! Let go!"
"B-boss, please calm down! The party's not over yet!"
"Ye-yes,Boss. Hold on. We've still got another surprise for you!"
Another gangster looked on, confused. "We do?"
"Jus–just shut up, idiot!"
Just then, Aqua sat up on the ground, cradling her swollen, bleeding mouth. Suddenly, a gangster roughly hauled her to her feet.
"See what you've done, bitch," he scolded, then gestured frantically toward the bar. "You have to appease him. Go to the bar! Prepare him a drink! Honeyed gin. Yes. He likes that one. Go! Quickly!"
He shoved her forward, and she stumbled toward the bar, the roaring cries and pleas at the stage now a dull roar in her ears.
She quickly found the mentioned bottle. But as she prepared the glass, her gaze dropped to a slightly open box beneath the counter.
Immediately, she froze, eyes widening. Not at some exotic liquor, but at the dull, metallic gleam of the butt of a rifle, poorly hidden beneath a carelessly tossed cloth.
Just then, a loud BANG echoed as the bar's main doors were thrown open.
Startled, her gaze shot up to rest on an odd figure at the entrance.
His face was covered by a stark white, smiling mask, as a result, she couldn't tell who he was, but his classy black outfit set him worlds apart from the garish gangsters within.
The mysterious figure came to a slow stop, and his gaze swept the room before locking directly onto hers.
In a gesture that froze her in place, he tipped his hat her way. And for some strange, inexplicable reason, beneath that eerie porcelain smile, she knew he was offering her one of his own.
An assuring smile.