At least ten, all rapidly popping off in quick succession.
“The fuck,” Mickey hissed. He pulled his guns from their holsters and busted in through the front door.
Tony and Robert were on the floor dead, and the bartender was trying to crawl away toward the front door, headed right for Mickey.
Two young men were standing over Tony, and they stared Mickey down, guns pointed right at him. One was nicely dressed in a three-piece suit with a fedora and the other, who was roughly the size of a house, was wearing torn jeans and a t-shirt that read ‘Bucky’s All-U-Can-Eat Wings’.
Mickey had a gun pointed at each of them, and he tried to figure out his next move. None of his planning could have prepared him for this. The men he wanted to murder were already dead.
Well, most of them.
He glanced down at the bartender, firing off a quick shot to his head to finish him.
The nicely dressed man started to speak, but the door in the back suddenly swung open.
It was the men guarding the money, and they were armed. Mickey could see their guns about to fire, and the nicely dressed man and his companion tried to turn to defend themselves.
They were too slow.
Mickey was not.
He fired two shots, each landing neatly in the would-be assailants’ heads and dropping them to the floor before they could attack.
The nicely dressed man arched a surprised brow, and he seemed to be thinking something over as he looked back at Mickey.
Mickey took aim at him and his companion, trying to weigh his options. He could kill them, but they’d done him a bit of a favor killing the Luchesi men. That itself was most curious.
He couldn’t think of anyone crazy enough to openly attack members of the most powerful family in the city.
Well, other than himself, of course.
“You’re Mickey Tamerlane,” the man said, finally lowering his gun and motioning for his companion to do the same. “The Shadow.”
Mickey flinched.
Before he could comment on how this man knew who he was, Tony rolled away from his puddle on the floor and groaned loudly.
“Still alive,” the big man grunted. “Tough ol’ bastard.”
“Hey, hey.” Tony dragged himself up to paw at the nicely dressed man’s shoes, gurgling weakly. “Come on, Roddy! Please! Fuckin’ please! We’re like fuckin’ family? Didn’t I look out for you and your little sister?”
The man visibly flinched at the touch, roughly kicking his hands away with a scowl. He then kneeled down to look Tony right in the eye.
“Please, Roddy…?” Tony whimpered.
“Perhaps you should have looked harder,” the man said, eerily calm as he suddenly pressed the barrel of the gun beneath Tony’s chin.
“Roddy! No!”
Bang.
Tony dropped, and the man stood abruptly.
The big guy offered him a stained handkerchief to clean up.
“Damn,” Mickey laughed. “That was cold.”
The man smirked.
