It was noisy, loud, and the kitchen was still bustling despite the front of the restaurant being closed. Everyone was probably trying to clean up and shut down for the night, and these men had definitely not been expecting company.
Mickey could see the surprise in their faces as he shot them, firing off a single shot for each of them before anyone could draw their weapons.
He continued into the kitchen, his eyes scanning the startled staff and watching them as they fled. He heard another door open off to his left, and he turned in time to see a large man pointing a gun at him.
Before he could fire to defend himself, Jules was there to intercept.
Jules grabbed the man’s arm and twisted it back with a loud crack, sending him howling and stumbling into a rack of dishes.
The man had come out of a small office, and two additional armed men now emerged. They rushed at Mickey with their guns blazing.
Mickey grabbed the man whose arm Jules had broken, pulling him into the line of fire to use as a human shield.
Jules ducked back into the storage room to escape the hail of bullets, shouting angrily, “Assholes!”
It sounded like he was hurt, but Mickey couldn’t be sure. He stuck out his arm from around the man’s body, glancing out quickly to aim. He only had a split second to look, bullets flying all around him, and he fired twice.
Both men fell dead.
Mickey dropped his shield, and he scanned the kitchen interior for any more enemies.
It was empty and silent except for the faint clanging of pots that had been disrupted during the exchange of bullets.
Jules came back through the door with a scowl. There was blood dripping down his arm.
“You’re hit,” Mickey said.
“I’m fine. Come on.” Jules jerked his head to the office, calling over his shoulder. “You’re up, Lorre.”
Roger came slinking out from where he’d been taking cover in the storage area and hurried into the office. Jules and Mickey followed him and kept their weapons at the ready.
The office was small and cramped, dominated by a safe nearly as tall and wide as Mickey. There was a desk covered in cash, all neatly arranged in little stacks, and more in bags down on the floor.
“Cold was right,” Mickey said, looking over a large number of bags that had yet to be filled. “They were getting ready to move it.”
“Let’s help ‘em out, huh?” Jules grinned and shoved the money on the table into a bag.
Roger was kneeling in front of the safe, and he had popped off the casing around the locking mechanism.
“How long is that gonna take?” Mickey asked, eyeing Roger’s quick fingers.
“Don’t worry, Mickey,” Roger replied. “I’ll be done in plenty of time for our date.”
Mickey wished he hadn’t asked.
“Date?” Jules scoffed.
Mickey made a face.
There was movement in the kitchen, immediately drawing Jules’ and Mickey’s attention and their guns.
“Shit!” It was Galavant, the young dancer from the club. “Hey!”
Mickey almost didn’t recognize him with all his clothes on.
“Come on!” Galavant cowered back a few steps with his hands up. “Hey! It’s me!”
Jules dropped his gun, grabbing ones of the bags of money and shoving it at Galavant. “Here. You know what to do.”
