Story CROW: Pt 3

CROW Story: Pt 3:

Mack's Bar, Ellesworth.


Smoke rolled through the air as music played softly, laughter roared, money changed hands, deals were made, and drunks were kicked to the curb at Mack's bar. The poker tables were always full of gamblers, the side booths full of dealers, gangsters, or guns for hire. Maf kept his head low and nursed his tankard of water absentmindedly as he rested his back against the wall were no one could possibly sneak up on him.
Bacca slid into the table across from him, water in hand. It was unprofessional to get drunk on the job.
“Client hasn't showed up yet." He muttered. “About ten minutes past the agreed time. He could be a no-show."
“If he's a no-show, I'll personally hunt him down and beat the information out of him." Maf growled. This was a job specifically for him and Bacca. They had been close for as long as they could remember, Bacca having been adopted by Maf's father at the age of eight. Technically, they were brothers. Realistically, they were longtime professional partners.
“I know how you feel, Maf. Your dad was just as important to me, if not less, than he was to you. We've been patient, and we can be a little more patient."
Maf muttered an oath and clenched his right fist.
Bacca sighed, and took a drink from his water.

Fifteen years prior. .

The tin can rattled on its wooden stake as the .22 revolver bullet pinged into its side. Eight year old Maf grinned as he squeezed off another shot, shaking the can.
“Nice one bud!" Maf's dad said. “Keep doing what you're doing, and we can turn you into the best pistol shooter this side of the country."
“Thanks Dad." Maf beamed. He broke the pistol cylinder forward and ejected the spent cartridges, loading more and snapping it back into place, clicking the hammer back and raising the sights to eye level.
Their camp wasn't mutch. There was a single tent with a circle of rocks that contained the fire sat near the entrance. A pot of stew simmered over the fire.
“All right. Dinner time." Maf's dad announced. He had a lever action shotgun, custom made by Winchesger, slung across his back and a C96 Mauser in his thigh holster. It was technically illegal, but Maf hasn't grown up with an everyday Dad. His father still loved him the same, though.
Dad passed Maf a tin cup of stew and a wooden spoon, and they sat there eating for a while. Maf had his tiny .22 snub nosed revolver in his boot where he could reach it handily without it being obvious.
Something moved in the bushes. Maf's father didn't seem to notice.
“Dad. . ." He said. “There's something in the bushes."
“Probably just a fox. They're everywhere in these woods."
“Ok. Maf replied. He went on eating his stew, trusting his fathers judgement.
The bush shook again. Maf thought he saw a blue fabric jacket. Suddenly, he wasn't so sure his father was right.
There. He saw it again. Slamming his tin cup down, he whipped his pistol out of his boot and cocked the hammer.
“It's just a fox bud." Maf's Dad said, laughing. “Check if it makes you feel better."
Maf took a tentative step forward, pistol still raised. He had to be cautious.
The bush moved again. He still saw a snatch of fabric.
“I'll shoot." Maf said towards the bush.
The bush moved again, and a small boy who couldn't be older than Maf stepped out, hands raised. He was crying. “Please don't shoot me." He whimpered.
Maf's Dad was interested now. He had his Mauser in his hand but not raised. “Put the gun away Maf."
“But Dad -"
“I said put it away. He isn't a threat to us."
Maf reluctantly lowered the hammer and slid the pistol into his boot.
“Now, son." Maf's Dad said, kneeling in front of the boy Maf had discovered. “I need you to be completely honest with me. It could be dangerous if you aren't."
The boy nodded, still crying, but he was calm now. It could have been a reflex.
“Is there anyone here with you?"
“No sir."
“Has anyone followed you to where we are now?"
“No, sir."
“How did you get all the way out here?"
The boy paused. “My parents and I were taking our cart to Ellesworth to find work. We were attacked by bandits."
Maf's father nodded, obviously understanding the young boys situation. “Well then, you can travel with us. Come have some stew." The boy trudged over to the fire and sat down wearily. “What's your name son?"
The boy accepted a tin of stew gratefully and took a slurp before responding. “Bacca. M'names Bacca."

Present time . . .

“He's here." Muttered Maf.
Bacca didn't turn around to look at the informant. The man they were meeting had a warrant out for his arrest, and they didn't want to draw any attention to themselves.
Footsteps came from behind Bacca, and Maf looked up into his face. He wore his beard short, and a wide brimmed hat covered his eyes in shadow. He sat down in between the two, and meshed his hands.
“I'd like to stay and chat, but I'm a little short on time." The informant muttered gruffly. Bacca and Maf didn't know his name for privacy purposes, and, likewise, he didn't know theirs.
“What have you found so far?" Bacca asked.
“Not much. All I know is that the man you're looking for works somewhere out of Harshaw. His gangs nasty, and he himself isn't much better."
Maf nodded slowly, taking a small bag out of his coat pocket s d dropping it on the table. The sound of gold coins came from within it.
“I don't have much more time. I can't tell you much more than he operates everywhere in the desert surrounding Harshaw. He's hard to track."
Maf added a second small bag to the pile and slid it across the table. “Thank you. We will contact you if we need more information."
The informant nodded, slid the bags into his pocket, and turned to get up.
He was met with the barrel of a Smith & Wesson revolver, held by the last person Maf and Bacca wanted to see.
“Good evening, gentlemen." Serine said, cocking the hammer back on the revolver. “I believe I have a warrant for this mans arrest, and you seem to be associated with him."
“Just business." Bacca said. Maf reached under his coat and felt for his Remington magnum revolver he kept for dicey situations where he didn't carry illegal weapons.
Clack-clack. A rifle lever cycled. “Keep those hands where I can see em, buddy." 18 said.
“Names, gentlemen?" Serine asked, pistol still held to the informants head.
“Bacca."
“Mafias. Maf for short."
“RMST." Serine called. We got any issue with these two?"
RMST glanced down at his notebook, and looked up shaking his head. “No sir."
“Really? 'Cos I do." The pistol turned to Maf. “I'll tell you again, Maf, keep them hands where I can see them."
Maf's hands came back up onto the table.
“Now." Serine said. “Why were you meeting this man, and why did you pay him?"
“We were looking for information on the tobacco industry." Maf had to admit, Bacca was a smooth liar, and he hardly lost his cool in situations like this. “Trading secrets and such. We were looking to speak with one of the producers, and our friend here was telling us he worked around Harshaw."
“Mhm." 18 said. A quick glance out of the corner of his eye confirmed that Randy was out front of the bar. “And you just decided to get this information from a criminal."
“Secrets can come from anyone." Maf said. “Be it criminal, citizen, or sheriff even."
“That may be." Serine said. “And I don't like it. But there's no solid ground to bring you in on."
“Well then." Bacca said. “Maybe you should go have a chat with your new friend."
The informant glanced at Bacca then back to the handgun. He might have been plotting to swipe the pistol and open fire, but he never got the chance. Serines hand clamped down on his shoulder and guided him up and out of his seat. His other hand held his revolver, which was jammed in the informants back. 18 kept an eye on Bacca and Maf as the squad of sheriffs exited the bar. It was only until the door had slammed shut that the pair relaxed.
“Let's just be glad they didn't recognize us." Maf muttered.
“For sure." Bacca exhaled slowly, calming some of the adrenaline in his system. “When do we head out?"
“We have to do this alone, remember? We have to come up with an excuse for the others. Probably send them on a job that will take a while."
“I'll find something." Bacca said. And with that, he drained the rest of his tankard of water, stood up, and walked out the door.
Maf leaned back in his seat again. The pair's slow road to revenge had begun at last.

@TheMafias @Serine1002 @randomcitizen1 @18kss @TheWubzsters @NeoGer @RMST1

Thanks guys <3 short on time, Pt 4 soon.

 

Cuz you been gone for way too long and I forgot about chu.

Jk, it's original members mostly. May throw in some newer peeps.

Leak: BOTW to be featured in next part, it's been held off way too long.

 

You're somewhere :v

 

Leather trench coats*

 

Again, come back. Please bro, it ain't the same without you.