Chasing Ammo

Cooper Black was travelling back to his home lodgings, with two NATO soldiers, and a driver with an 'Avalon' haircut - and glazed yellow-tinted sun shades - named Exodus Luke. They were bound to fight back against the Russians in California, and stop them from causing chaos in America. The Jeep Wrangler they were riding on, was stolen from a car dealer in Arizona. Luckily, Cooper had left $30,000 bills on the cashier desk. Unluckily, perhaps the dealer hadn't noticed the money on the desks. That's why Cooper Black had to gun him down as always, to shut the bloody mouth from uttering a word to the cops.

Vandermann was seated at the back, with the soldiers. Maybe the Socom 16 rifles in their arms unnerved him.

"Need a drink?" Cooper handed a can of Redbull to Vandermann, and he himself glugged some down from his own can, before flinging it away to drift with the desert winds, with a "Whooohooo!"

They arrived at a road, composed mainly of mud bricks, dried in the sun for weeks, months, or even years; they spotted a milestone beside the road, but the inscribed text was too faded to read.

The soil here was sandy, bare, dry. A vast barren wasteland. The closer they moved towards the west coast, the more frequent number of cracks.

"So... Mr.Black," Vandermann began, after finishing the soft drink. "How far are we from your place?"

"Firstly, just call me Cooper Black," he replied grimly. "And secondly, we are still 15 miles away from the estate. Thirdly, we aren't going to 'my' place. And fourthly, we're going to visit a 'friend' of mine. El Rickardo Viz is his name, and dealing guns is his fame."

***

The ground was crackling under the blazing hot sun, with gaps 11 mm apart. The scenario clearly stated the lack of moisture or rain in that particular region. 'The Rodeo Region' it was called.

In front of them, a bulky collection of blocks was arrayed in a row. The middle block was two leveled, with two single leveled ones flanking on either side. A rusty, brownish red saying "Rickardo's Baestro" hung from two black iron chains.

Ornate, aged glass windows let the outer atmosphere and light in. Two iron-bound wooden doors with brass rings were the only entrance to this estate.

Sadly, the 'lonely' estate lay surrounded by a vast wasteland of desert. The glaring sun reflected off the windows, and the solar panels perched on top of the rooftops were being overcharged by the radiation.

"So this is Viz's estate, huh?" Cooper's eyes squinted to make out the outlines of the bulky mansion.

They knocked at the door, by a brass ring.

Knock! Knock! Knock!

The 2.5-meter-tall doors creaked noiselessly open outwards. And there and then, the impact of bullets came hurtling towards them at lightspeed.

"Everyone, duck!" Cooper yelled, unexpectedly.

They took shelter behind the steel-framed body of the 4x4D car. But the lead-antimony bullets were being shot at such a speed, that the car's body was about to be pierced through, after a dozen hits.

The soldiers, along with the driver, lay crouched with their hands covering their heads. Cooper Black and Vandermann flanked the doors, dodging bullets.

Cooper gestured at Vandermann, and he was off!

Both of them performed an edge-to-edge barrage, running to and from each side of the doors. They kept at it until a blanket of smoke covered the interior of the mansion.

The duo reloaded their SMGs, while the dust cloud cleared.

When it seemed safe enough, they scoured the insides.

It was a mess, inside. Picture frames lay torn and broken, and yet, they hung on the walls. The walls were covered and coated with scarlet wallpapers, decorated with patterns of the attackers' blood. There was a peach leather couch, flipped over for the back to face the doors; it had acted as a kind of hiding spot for covering and shooting at the same time. The floor was a field of Turkish carpets, scattered randomly around the room.

From the left and right-hand-side of the room, staircases emerged and led to the upper floors and halls. Used shells of bullets lay scattered on the floor.

However, even when there were countless stains and splotches of blood, there wasn't any sign of the bodies of the ambushers.

"You, Vandermann," Cooper pointed his index finger at him. "You stay here, and guard the doors. Make sure nobody leaves. I'm goin' upstairs, to see off El Rickardo's men, myself."

Vandermann nodded as the great Cooper Black ascended up the stairs, pushed through a partly-locked door (he shot at it), and entered a dimly-lit room full of bags, crates, and boxes full of white powder, bearing the logo of the 'USS Enterprise'. Cooper recognized the powder as cocaine.

But as Cooper Black approached one of the crates, two muscular, hairy, and oily arms grabbed at his neck and dragged him backwards, with a muffled cry of pain.

It was too dim, too dark, to make out the details of the muscular cannibal's face, and Cooper wriggled and sputtered about. Having no other hopes left in his mind, Black tried one last attempt to get rid of the mugger's grasp. He chose the craziest option available in his mind. He licked the mugger's hand with his tongue, before spitting a large glob of saliva.

"Eww... yuck! Sh*t! Moth*r***ker!" the mugger release him, to wipe the dirty stuff from his hands. But big mistake for the mugger! Cooper Black didn't take it pleasantly when a stranger attacked...especially NOT from the back. He aimed one kick at his face, but the mugger caught his foot mid-air, causing Cooper to lose his balance. He fell in a heap on the floor.

The mugger grinned a nasty, satisfied grin. Only, it became 'nasty' when Cooper completed his revenge by knocking three of the mugger's teeth out.

Enraged, the mugger punched the gun from Cooper's hand right as soon as he drew it from the holster. Cooper, too stunned to speak, gulped as another strong blow made a dent on the side of his face.

"Ow... hey! I spent $399.50 for my facial issues, man! Not the damnable face, man!"

This made the weirdo mugger's grin wider by 5 mm, as he laid another satisfactory blow on the other side of Cooper's face.

Cooper now had his 2nd revenge done in his own absurd ways: he sent his opponent howling as he smashed his groin with his kneecap.

Cooper dived across the rotten, hardwood floors, and picked his gun back up.

On instinct, the mugger held his hands up high, and dropped down on his knees. In his mind, Cooper tossed a coin - either Mercy or Death. Tragically and psychopathically, the coin landed as Death. Cooper shot three magazines full of rounds at the mugger, spraying blood, guts, and flesh everywhere. He hoped Rickardo wouldn't mind him messing up his storage chambers.

Instantly, a cry filled the rooms below. More like a shout. Gunfire followed by the sound of broken glass. Vandermann was in trouble.

***

When Cooper reached the ground floor, he found another mugger sprawled on the floor. He had been knocked out by a blow from a wine bottle, swung by Vandy. Vandermann held another such glass bottles in his grasp when Cooper found him.

"Oh, there you are! I thought I had lost you," Cooper dragged the corpse down the stairs, and placed it over the 'other' mugger's body. Wiping sweat off his forehead, he noticed the bottle of alcohol in Vandermann's hand. "By the way, where did you get that bottle from? Here, lemme see that!"

He snatched the green-stained glass container and read the label.

"Well, well! It's a bloody Osgerdo 1984, a priceless vintage nowadays, indeed! Will you bother a sip or two, Vandy?"

Vandermann shook his head, "I'm not into drinking alcoholic stuff, sir. I suggest you should drop the habit, too."

" 'Kay then, as you wish," Cooper yanked the cork off and glugged down half the drink within a single gulp. He refrained with a relieved "~Aaaah!"

"So where to now?" Vandermann asked when Cooper Black drained down the full bottle and left it on the upturned couch.

"Now..." he wiped his mouth on his sleeve. "We strike direct gold! Follow me, for money's sake."

They strode off outside, into the warm, fresh sunlight, unlike the cold, dusty chasms of the so-called mansion. The soldiers and the driver were dozing in the car, for they hadn't slept a blink since they had left for California.

"Everyone! Onboard!" Cooper commanded his crew, half-drunk and half-sleepy. "I wa-want a n-new carr-rr. We now lea-leave for Cala-Ca... California, where a c-car deal-l-ler awaits. C'mon you bluh-blood-uh-bloody mates. Let's get the heh-hell outta dis phlaice."