Lloyd Howitzer's teeth gritted as both of his hands were bound together with kevlar rope, tightening the veins in his wrists and his blood. The chair he sat on was bolted to the floor. This wasn't the best position to be in, combined with the floor shackles strapped onto the gangster's feet.
He could barely move his legs. Getting stuck was one thing, but this position was on a whole different level.
3 freaking hours he was here. 3 hours. He could have spent that time in a Gentleman's club. This city's full of good looking broads left and right.
Blondes, redheads, or even those with black hair. Broads in the city varied, all from different countries, and for Lloyd that was a plus. That was a good thing in his book; his and all his buddies' books anyway.
But even he knew that he wasn't gonna get any action. No drinks, no money, no broads. Not even seated at his couch watching whatever the hell is entertaining on television. Not like this, not all tied up and bruised since the early hours of the morning.
Howitzer wondered if a 4th hour was going to pass soon. He slowly gave smaller to silent breaths, as his own teeth gritted with fear. If luck was really on his side, then his buddies would knew that something was wrong and barge in saving the day.
That possibility was as far as the moon, and Howitzer wondered if getting to the moon was even possible.
But then again, here he was now, tied up like a lamb about to be slaughtered.
The available light within the basement came from the narrowed windows, closed shut and the only thing he could hear was the loud traffic passing by. His heart was beating at the same pace as his breathing. His eyes, once looking at the blood on the floor, shifted at the man in the long pristine crimson trench coat.
Bright was a Dripper, and in his left arm was the Crimson '45. Howitzer knew about that particular kind of weapon, that it was different from every other weapon known to mankind. It wasn't necessarily because the gun was drowned in a coat of crimson red and had silver linings.
It wasn't because he heard whispers just steaming out from the gun itself at times. It also wasn't because the room was painted in thick crimson coats of paint to the point it was soundproof at this point.
It was more of where Bright got it from. That, in addition to who gave it to him.
Howitzer couldn't think more as Bright appeared in front of him, and slapped him with the crimson revolver. The gangster felt the force of the revolver's barrel and cylinder equilevent to that of a professional boxer's punch. He coughed, and blood came out, splatting on the floor a few inches away. Said blood of Howitzer's was also dripping from Bright's gun barrel.
Howitzer spat out a few teeth of his. His suit was messy and dirty, following the hours he had been imprisoned here. His hair wasn't any better and neither was his face. Even without a furnace down here, Howitzer could feel the heat coming to him, sweat coming down his face along with the blood he had coming out from Bright's actions.
"Bastard." he exclaimed at Bright, whose fedora covered his face. Of course Bright's face was also covered by that scarf of his. Howitzer noticed it and laughed cynically. "What? That Hellfire Arm of yours giving you a disfigured face as well? You deserved it."
Bright holstered Crimson '45 and went to pick up Howitzer's shattered teeth that were on the ground.
"Hey HEY-" Howitzer exclaimed as one of Bright's hands held his chin, and the other shoved the teeth into Howitzer's mouth. Bright threw another punch at his victim. The tooth from the gangster's mouth flew like a bird out of its cage.
"Asshole!" Howitzer screamed before his knee was struck from Crimson'45, quick wielded by Bright himself. He felt the pain from Bright's gun, one of the bullets struck in his knee, giving a small burn toward the flesh deep inside the knee. "People are gonna find you." Howtizer said in pain towards Bright.
"Having a Hellfire Arm doesn't give you a free pass!". He took another shot from the Crimson 45'. This time Bright fired at Howitzer's abdomen. Like his knee, Howitzer felt the bullet burning inside his flesh and nearby organs.
The man in the crimson trench coat flipped his Hellfire Arm. He was holding the barrel now, and swwn the gun at Howitzer's face, creating a force between it and the gun's handle. Howitzer let out a howl of pain and wheezed as his skull could feel the Crimson 45's handle just crashing down on his head.
Sweat was dripping from Howitzer's face. The gangster was looking down on the floor, his blood included. It was slightly drying at this point, but his fallen sweat liquified it once more.
"Stop". Howitzer exclaimed. Bright fired a shot, but this was just hit the ground inches away from the gangster. "Just stop. Look. I really don't know where he is." He then had Bright glaring at him. "I don't know."
"You sure? Cause your friends told me a lot of things." Bright spoke. His tone was slow, calm, yet Howitzer could sense a grudge, or anger, or both.
"Just because me and the boys did business with him doesn't mean we know where he is. Wait. My friends...what did you to do them?"
"Do you really want to know?"
Howitzer's face turned red, matching the blood on his clothes. His eyes burning. "Drill this into your head. You and every other crazy bastard with a Hellfire Arm just gave a whole new meaning of demon."
"Look at yourself." countered Bright.
"Look at myself? Oh so I'm the bad guy just because I don't make honest money? That I mingle with guys like Wes Riskell? I didn't make a deal with that hellish Gunsmith now did I?" Howitzer yelled. "Didn't throw my life and soul to use a gun from hell!"
"No, you're the gangster that gets way too many free passes in life." Bright countered. "Whether it be your so called charisma, or the paper you use to get people to do things your way; shutting up about stuff or giving you a good time on Earth. Come on Lloyd. You really think you're gonna get away with everything you've done, especially the things you do behind your mistress' back?"
Howitzer frowned. "You really want to find this guy do you? That Guy?" He paused, looking at a silent Bright. "Sure I'll help. Piss off!"
Howitzer's hearbeat increased as Bright positioned Crimson 45' towards the gangsters' forehead.
"I'll see you in hell." Howitzer exclaimed. For a second, he saw Bright's impeccable grotesque smile alongside pale white skin.
"No, you'll be seeing the others, but not now." Bright spoke as he swung his Hellfire Arm, before Howitzer felt a slight force pushing him. He saw a large creature behind Bright. The creature was taller than him, and its snout was that of a bear, it's teeth razor sharp, sharper than a shark. "We have all the time in the world."
"Dammit." Howitzer begged. Even at a distance his nose picked up the foul and dying smell of the crimson creature's breath. The said creature's eyes locked onto him. "Kill me now."
***
Within in the street full of busybodies there stood a suited man. His clothes were elegant and tidy, darker than night, with his tie shining proudly in red. He stood on top of an apartment building, where the fresh wind greeted him, and the overall view failed to capture his attention. In his hands were binoculars, and he saw the sight gangster Lloyd Howitzer being tortured yet again by Bright.
"Nothing I can do." the Representative spoke. Absolutely nothing, he thought, as the weapon that Bright was holding belonged to his boss, the Gunsmith.
That Crimson 45' and the other Hellfire Arms.
Even after the war was finished 4 years ago, people are corrupted by their own ideas and theories, the Representative thought, put them into practice and bingo, they've made themselves into a demon. He put back his binoculars, and proceeded to take out the note he got from the Gunsmith.
Everything was in bold and capitalized letters: Get them all. All of them.
The Representative sighed, he was going to have a lot of work this year. He took out a newspaper from his coat. He was generous enough to give the kid selling the papers a couple of bucks. The Representative's eyes locked onto one of the paper's headlines, also written in bold and capitalized letters. The letters were deeply drenched in black ink.
"Commissioner Bill Rosenthal calling all the stops to stop the Hellfire Arms?" The Representative read one of the major headlines. He folded his newspaper once more, placed into his coat, and had his fedora on. "This should be interesting."