[Go Lucky Mart, 64 Lumina Lane | 1015 hours Central Time, Day 1]
Mendez lied on the floor, absorbing the aftermath of the shotgun blast.
The egg rack was completely devastated. Pellet holes punctured the cartons on display, severely damaging them and their contents, making the yolks and the whites pour out profusely like some omelet waterfall. Not to mention, the rack itself, which was chipped and disfigured to all hell, holes scattered all over the place making the rack look like cheddar cheese.
Such a waste of perfectly fresh free range eggs, Mendez thought.
Schuk-chuk.
Shotgun's getting pumped again.
Mendez scampered on his feet.
Dude's got a shotgun, and his pal most likely got something else to shoot Mendez with. Mendez got nothing.
For now, he'll have to settle on finding something to throw at the shotgun dude. Stun him with that something, then take the gun--and control of the situation--from him. Or her, for all that matter.
To his left, rows of beer bottles neatly lined up in a fridge.
Beer bottles would've made a good hail mary projectile. One good throw that lands on the shotgun dude's forehead would've been enough to stun him. Hell, if Mendez was even luckier, the forehead hit would've knocked him out cold.
Thing is, it's behind a closed fridge door. Which would've taken some time to open, thus giving the shotgun dude more time to blast Mendez to smithereens once he found him. Even if it's just a second or two. Even if there's a glass fridge door blocking Mendez from the shotgun barrel.
To his right, however, a column of soup cans.
Heavier, throwing them requires more wind-up time. But no pesky fridge doors stood between him and the soup cans.
Mendez reached out with his right hand. Soup can it is.
As his right hand was firmly clasped on the soup can, Mendez turned around, his hand gaining momentum from the motion.
There was, indeed, someone where he's facing.
And he's carrying a shotgun.
The soup can was heavy, but Mendez' got just the momentum to make the throw in time before the shotgun dude pulled the trigger.
"Catch," quipped Mendez calmly, although loud enough for the other person to hear.
Hit.
Not exactly on his forehead, but the soup can land on his face, which was the second best thing.
And stunned did he become, his aim becoming off.
Mendez seized the opportunity.
He reached for the shotgun, pushing it upward so that it doesn't accidentally blast his guts off.
Stunned or not, this guy was not going to let his arms off the shotgun easily, Mendez thought.
A little physical persuasion, then.
Mendez launched his head at the other guy's face.
He could've sworn he felt bones cracking and teeth falling out on his head. There's probably some blood spilling on his crown as well, although Mendez wasn't sure about that.
Grip's still somewhat strong. Time to switch up the tactics.
Knee. To his rib, to his stomach, to his groin, whatever. Long as it hurts.
One to the rib. Another crack.
Two to the stomach. Shotgun dude was staggered, but there's still some resistance on his grip.
Three to where it hurts the most. It's loose now.
Mendez pulled his grasp back violently, finally yanking the gun off the guy in black.
Common sense dictates that Mendez flip the gun and pull the trigger ASAP, but Mendez thought about sending the shotgunner a parting gift of sorts instead.
Mendez held the gun by the barrel and swung hard as if it's a baseball bat.
Thwack!
Square on the other guy's jaw.
Shotgunner went flying backwards to the aisle he came from.
Mendez' got one over the assailants now. A shotgun.
As he took a gloating look at the now out cold shotgunner, another question burned into his mind: where's this guy's accomplice?
Mendez looked up and got his answer.
At the end of the aisle was the other guy, machine gun in hand. Judging by the T-like shape, it was an IMI Uzi submachine gun. His finger's already on the trigger, his aim already trained on Mendez.
Mendez dove to his left, taking cover at one of the aisle racks.
Bullets fly. Not one of them hit their target, though.
The shooting didn't stop. The egg rack became more and more demolished. More yolk and white burst out from the egg cartons. The same applies to the cold drink fridge right next to it: the glass shatter, beer bottles explode, and soda cans burst.
No way of getting a clear shot at this guy, too. It would seem that the gunner was aiming at where Mendez was hiding, seeing that the bullets ricochet right off the rack that shielded him from the bullet hail, mere centimeters from his body. Should Mendez take a peek, surely he would've gotten hit.
Guy's laying down suppressing fire. Best to wait until he ran out of bullets.
Click.
Without even looking at the shooter's direction, Mendez trained the shotgun out to the aisle and pulled the trigger. It's a shotgun after all, accuracy is of no importance here.
The blast rang the entire room.
And with that, came a scream of agony.
Mendez peeked out from his cover.
Dude got hit in the legs.
Standing up, Mendez reflected on how--or why--all this shotgun shenanigan came to be.
Let's get this out of the way: no way this is a regular store hold-up.
For if this is a run-of-the-mill store robbery, the shotgun guy wouldn't have pulled the trigger so early. Instead, he would've shouted at Mendez to get down on the ground, effectively making him a hostage. They would've avoided killing hostages if possible, especially a supposedly harmless and innocent bystander like Mendez himself.
Unless they know that Mendez wasn't just a harmless and innocent bystander.
Which led Mendez to another question.
"Is this a hit on yours truly?" asked Mendez as he pointed the shotgun to the gunman's face. "Who sent you?"
The gunman's expression of pain was still there, but it was slowly getting replaced by a look of contempt. Of anger, disappointment, and embarrassment all contorted into one, all while he looked back at Mendez' twisted satisfied grin.
But other than the obvious facial expressions, the gunman gave nothing.
Mendez chuckled. "Not much of the talking type, I see," he said, as he made his way to the gunman's mangled up legs.
No way he was going to walk properly after that. The legs and their insides were completely frazzled. When Mendez took a glimpse into the red pool of blood that was the gunman's shins, he could've sworn he saw the legs' sinews and tendons, all shredded to bits. What a complete mess.
However, instead of cringing and feeling nauseous, Mendez chuckled once more, this time in a disturbing amusement.
"Now that's a lot of damage," he said.
Mendez pumped the shotgun and aimed at the leg. "How about a little more?"
"Wait!" said the mangle-leg guy, now looking terrified. "We only spoke on the phone!"
"Now, was that so hard?" replied Mendez with a smirk. "You got his number?"
After Mendez saved the number to his phone, he grabbed a miraculously unscathed carton of eggs from the egg rack and then went back to mangle-leg, now fruitlessly attempting to crawl away from him.
"Hey," called out Mendez, his voice tone still disturbingly calm, as he grabbed mangle-leg by the collar, shoving the shotgun to his chest. "You know you're gonna have to pay for this, right?"
Mangle-leg was beyond scared straight now. His breath became uneven, his face sweating hard, his eyes becoming watery.
"P-p-please don't kill me," he stammered.
"Oh, we can get to that later," replied Mendez. "But actually I was talking about the damage you caused to this store."
"What?"
Not exactly a million-dollar loss in monetary value, but the store needs some serious fixing, especially at the egg rack section. Most of the egg cartons were punctured and thus can't be sold, the egg rack was devastated and needs replacing, and even the wall behind the egg rack's got quite a lot of holes on it as well. Doesn't require a lot of money to cover the damages, but money is still required nonetheless.
"You heard me," answered Mendez as he glanced at the destroyed egg shelf, his shotgun still on mangle-leg's chest. "Your wallet, please."
Right after mangle-leg handed Mendez his wallet, he opened the wallet to see how much's this guy got: $2,500, all in cash. And stupidly enough, his identity as well. Surely the cops can work on that. Satisfied, Mendez set off to the cash register with mangle-leg's wallet, the unscathed egg carton, and the shotgun in hand.
Mid-way to the check-out counter, Mendez glanced back at his would-have-been assassin. "I hope this goes without saying, but I do sincerely hope we don't cross paths again."
Once he got to where he wanted, he found the store owner curled up to a ball in the corner, terrified of what just happened.
"Excuse me," asked Mendez as he put the egg carton to the check-out counter.
The owner looked up and cut Mendez off before he got the chance to say anything else. "Just take it," he said, his voice still shaking. "You don't have to pay for this one."
"Oh?" said Mendez as he took the egg carton away and slid mangle-leg's wallet in its place, "still, allow me to pay for all damages incurred," remarked Mendez as he gestured towards mangle-leg, "courtesy of them."
Initially unsure of what to say at first, the store owner's expression turned into that of gratitude.
"Thank you."
"Well, you can thank me by calling the cops," replied Mendez. "His wallet right here, got his ID card in it," he said as he slid mangle-leg's wallet across the counter. Mendez then set off to the store exit before the store owner got any chance to ask any further.
"Oh, uh, almost forgot," said Mendez as he was halfway outside, "sorry for what happened to your store."
Once Mendez got to the front of the store, he noticed a car parked right outside, a car he hasn't seen before he entered.
Mendez was still considering whether or not the car belonged to the two dinguses that tried to kill him earlier when the car doors open, dissipating his thoughts.
Two men, both wearing full suits and sunglasses, exited the car hastily, each apparently holding something.
Once Mendez recognized what exactly the two were holding, he let out a quiet sigh. A combination of disbelief and tiredness, but also more than anything else, annoyance.
"Here we go again," he said, unimpressed.
Annoyance is right.
For the two men were holding sub-machine guns.
And both of the guns were aimed at him.