The troop was back on the suburban highways. Their destination: Yon Roncho's Auto X, downtown California.
Vandermann still didn't understand why they raided the mansion for no fruitful purpose at all. Peurcto Rickon, one of the NATO soldiers explained their cause.
"You see, Mr.Black had lent an epic sum of money to several dealers in the United States. Of the $25 billion, Rickardo had borrowed $10,000; Yon had taken $85,000; Mick Lardo had scruffed up $5,000; and lastly, Philias Cacroe, a hunted gangster/gambler had looted $24,999,000,000 by hacking into Cooper's bank accounts. Now, Cooper Black shall pay. He'll pay his debtors with their deaths."
Vandermann sunk back in thought.
"But Cooper hadn't killed Viz," he found the catch in the previous mission. "All we did was taking down a few of Rick's goons. They were armies of Viz, but not Viz himself!"
"Yeah, we know. It was a failed attempt, since we didn't have the ammo to fight back the demon, Rickardo Viz, who's always handy with his supply of M4 carbines. Plus, he's totally unpredictable.
"Yet, a few thousand dollars won't hurt a bit. The car dealer in California holds much more cash than the estate owner. Okay, Vugerton, let's wait till we reach our... um... destination."
***
When they reached the inner states, the main road was blocked by three concrete barricades, set up by the local police. Ford Interceptors formed quite a picture here. There was some kind of bank robbery taking place, but the thugs were still inside the bank, collecting their swag. The police took positions outside the building, flanking the entrance.
The five parked their Jeep in a nearby alley and proceeded to the bank, toting their SMGs.
Cooper knew that it'd cost them a delay, but yet, saving souls was tenfold better than killing one. Anyways, they didn't have any choice.
The only way they were passing through the barricades, was by stopping the robbery.
A huge block of hollow concrete, riddled with glass windows, air conditioner outlets, and ventilation shafts - not to mention the two glass doors at the entrance - was the CFB (Civil Finance Bank), currently undergoing serious criminal treatment.
Of the five that arrived, only Cooper Black, Vandermann, and Exos Luke pushed their way among the dozen policemen, ignoring the strange glances and expressions they received.
Even from this distance, they heard the continuous tingling of an alarm bell ringing in the ground floor.
Cooper placed a hand on the door handle.
"Sir, watch out," a policeman warned. "What the hell are you doing? This is no place for a civilian."
Cooper frowned at the officer; his eyes burned beneath the black shades.
"Who, me? I'm simply livin' my dream."
"Well dream whatever you wish, mister. Jus'... just don't try to act smart and stupid."
That ought to shut him up. Cooper pulled on the handle to bring to light a world of bright lights, fresh A/C, crisp dollar bills, and fear. The spectacular interior design of the bank took their breath away. Shaded lights and lamps shone evenly across the stretch of the room.
The trio thought they'd bring the robbery off in the end, but all their hopes turned to water when a guard took them in and then held a gun behind their backs.
Cooper saw the point at once, and thought if he could bring him round to releasing them, with a bribe.
"Now lookie here, man," he showed him a $100 bill. "I'll pay you if you release my fellas. Do as I say, pal. Take the money. Take it."
The 22-year-old G4S guard took his words in and accepted his offer. He took back his 9mm pistol and shoved aside Vandermann and Luke while barging his path in an attempt to flee - but failed. He tasted the pain of wearing handcuffs right as soon as he left the gates.
Stupid amateurs, Cooper smirked. He turned back to his main business. The collection of thugs was right in front.
"Well, well, well!" the leader of the thugs, a buffed-up biker-type criminal, chortled in the most iconic cliché way of greeting. "What de hell do we have here! Valiant heroes that've come to *cough* *cough* the peoples' *cough* *cough* rescue!" He hefted a large version of the HK MP5.
His companions were only three in number, but wielded MP5ks for their initial support. The leader of the pack gestured, and the thugs were off into the vaults of the bank, cascading down a flight of stairs situated at the southeastern corner of the room. Before they were through, one of them warned, "Don't you *uc*ing dare!"
***
By the time Cooper and co. had arrived within the bowels of the vault, the goons were already on the move. Sure enough, according to the 'international etiquette of chaotic outlaws and gangsters', they had left their mark.
The metal walls were badly shot at; the flickering halogen lighting couldn't keep darkness at bay; security guards lay dead at their positions, with their guns either missing or broken apart.
A faint clinking noise came from the end of the corridor, with many money-gold safes leading out of doors. At the end of the corridor, a platinum-plated triple layer gate blocked access to the prime treasure inside. The thugs were already through the first layer, drilling with a 15 cm pinwheel. Looks like the thugs were greedy enough not only to claim the money, but also the 'stuff' stored in the most secure place in CFB. Beyond the platinum-tungsten alloy gates, 150 tons of 26 carat gold (extra extra pure gold) stood on platforms, shaped in fresh ingots.
"Well, gentlethugs, I'm sure that your playtime's over. Come and see us off with guns, and not words or masks."
The leader thug raised his hand, slowly coming into contact with his head, and removing his mask. Beneath his mask, hid a bulky block of flesh with two eyes sunk deep under the weight of his bulging, frowning eyebrows. His nose wrinkled with anger, his large, yellowish teeth gritted against each other, above the bushy black beard, striped with gray. His hair, as well, was colored black as jet, with streaks of gray near the sideburns.
"Ho! I"m Dorritor Kho," the leader of the thugs introduced himself. "I come from Costa Ric—"
"Yes, yes! That's enough, that's enough. No need to provide any further detail of your history," Cooper broke in. "Let's all just get along and be done with it."
Everyone in Cooper's team unholstered their weapons.
But the thugs laughed out loud.
"You... you puny, little, deluded warriors! Which generation are you guys livin' in, huh?" Kho took out a pulse cannon the size and shape of a baby Great White shark. "This is BFG10K, baby! A real 21st century weapon. Unlike your 1980s SMGs!" the thugs broke into another fit of laughter. "Now... now eat these waves of radiobeams!"
The miniature pulsar trapped inside the cannon began charging up, whirring at incredible rates of speed. A green LED display lit up on the side of the gun, indicating a numerical 'loading progress'.
"Ah, snap!" Kho hit the gun with the heel of his palm of his hand. "This *uc*ing thing takes such a long time to recharge! Speed up, you little piece o' weaponry gizmo. Oh, sh*t!" he turned towards his thug mates. "Didn't I tell you lot to bring me some new pieces of raw coronium core? What're you looking at, *itc*es? Take your MP5ks out! We'll show these 'suckers' what we can do!"
Not a moment was wasted.
Cooper aimed a shot at Kho's left knee, but it hit the right hand, and the pulsar cannon went flying towards the floor. In an instant, a fight began and ended, as the other thugs were knocked out cold by Vandermann and Exos.
"Damn you all, moth******ers!" Dorritor cursed while Cooper pinned him down to the floor. "I'm tellin' you, I'll burn down each of you to—*muffle*—"
Exodus inserted the muzzle of the BFG10K into Kho's mouth, silenced by his own weapon.
They heard footsteps of the policemen, marching down the stairs.
***
When all the clapping, shouts of applause died down, and after the police barricade was removed, the trio rendezvoused with the other two NATO soldiers. They hit the road once more, on their Jeep Wrangler.
It was almost nightfall, when the team arrived at a parkway, in front of the forsaken automobile showroom, named 'Yon Roncho's Auto X", beside the road.
No doubt, the place was full of brand-new models of sports cars, travelling limos, patrolling roadsters, etc. The lights were on, and could be seen from afar, since all the walls of the building were made of bulletproof, polished glass; except for the opaque concrete floors and ceilings.
This time, Exos and Black moved out, leaving Vandermann to sit back and chat with the soldiers - plus, they could safely enjoy the view of any possibilities of a gunfight. Furthermore, the walls were made of glass and were transparent, so they'd easily observe any detail of the movements of people inside.
"Hello, and welcome, sirs," Yon Roncho, a middle-aged man of the mid 40s - with thinning gray hair and a freshly-shaved beard - greeted the newcomers with an innocent friendly smile on his face. "How may I help you, to choose the perfect style of your ride? If you like sporting racecars, please step this way. If you prefer roadsters or SUVs, come with me, upstairs. And if you like—"
"Enough chitchat. We're not here for buying or selling automobiles," Cooper fingered a 9mm bullet and a rifle bullet, in his pocket. "We're here for the money. The money you owe Dirt Muncher."
While trading, Cooper usually put forward his pseudonyms, the better to keep his own identity secret. "All eighty five thousand dollars."
"Umm... may I get your role in this business?" Yon felt troubled all of a sudden. Sweat droplets sprinted down his neck, and danced on his forehead. "Who are you gentlemen? Do you work... do you work for Dirt Muncher?"
"Wrong answer," Cooper showed him a revolver, a legendary Magnum 44.8 (doesn't even exist!)."I am Dirt Muncher. Now where is the goddamn cash stash, huh?"
Yon froze solid like liquid CO2. For a moment, they thought he'd faint and drop down to the ground like a hinge at his feet. Without warning, he dashed out of the building and made for a yellow Lamborghini Murcielago, parked adjacent to the Jeep Wrangler.
"Hey, don't you... c'mon mans, lez take him down!"
"You know it, Black," Exos Luke kickstarted the 4x4, literally! He slammed his foot so hard at the accelerator, the gears broke loose and fused together to form an "ultra-gear".
"Get the car! Get the car!" Cooper constantly kept shouting and pointing at the yellow - the only yellow - car on the streets. The NATO soldiers drew out their Socom 16s, but Cooper gestured them a 'no'. "No dudes, I don't wanna make him bleed. We only need to chase him down to wherever he desires to take us to."
The Lamborghini was modified, with extra nitro boost tanks, and a 15-turbine transmitter engine. But the speeddevil's speed was no match for the highly-durable and compatible range of the land rover. The engines in both cars hummed, pumped, and whirred, sending clouds of exhaust behind, as a trail.
While Yon Ronch freaked out in his car at every turn of the road, the penta team was having a relaxed atmosphere. They listened to 'MH21 - Trail' on their Mp3 player, while chugging down more cans of 'Red Bull', enjoying every bit of the long run, as they chased their target downhill, along highways, graveled roads, across bridges, and even took to the skies when there was a ramp nearby.
The petrol fumes from the engine, overheating too much, wafted towards their nostrils, as they listened to the natural music of tires screeching against asphalt. Yon Roncho, on the other 'grimy' hand, pressed his shoes hard against the pedals, trying to save himself, and prayed silently as he panicked, wide-eyed, breathing his last gusts of air and muttering his last words, i.e. "How the hell did those bi**h*s find me?"
Eventually, Cooper and co. (penta team) grew bored of the sport. Exos Luke ended it all, with a gunshot at the Lamborghini's rear tires.
The car went screeching towards a cliff with a small patch of the western beach, below. There wasn't much traction between the tires and the sandy soil, hence the car slipped out of control, spun round 180 degrees, and skidded along the dead end of the road, between rows of vegetation fringing as hedges for windbreak, to prevent any form of soil erosion. The sea was open, a mass of glittering blue with a mixture of shades of green, complete with the volatile reflection of the waning moon, now in its gibbous stage. It was quite a peaceful place, but what would happen if somebody's death was planned here, tonight? Who'd dare shed blood in such tranquil waters?
Yon Roncho's car skidded to a halt, just inches from the edge of the cliff. A fall from there would be like falling from a 60 feet high building's rooftop. The cliff's edges already were crumbling down, due to the weight of the Lambo. In a few more minutes, the entire cliff would collapse - along with the car, and Yon Roncho, unless he didn't get out of the car ASAP.
For Yon's part, the stakes were deadly. It would mean madness, if he got out of the car, straight into the hands of Cooper Black, who's currently demanding money in order to save his hide. It would mean death, if he stood locked in his car, as the cliff collapsed sooner or later. Worst of all, it would mean suicide if he jumped off the cliff. He'd receive fatal injuries in either paths, or even if serious, death. What choice did he have remaining?
Roncho's mind flicked from one choice to the other. Yet, each choice was worse than the previous. Only one final decision clogged up his mind: 'fake surrender'.
He planned that, as soon as Cooper and his friends would arrive near his car, he'd hold his hands up high and pretend to surrender. He'd even agree to pay back his debts to Cooper Black, and on their way home, he'd grab a gun and shoot each and every one of them to bloody red pieces of sh*tty sh*tty smithereen-like pulpy lumps of humanoid clusters of messy, gross corpses.
A wide grin spread like 'Jello' on his face, while he pictured the scene. He opened his car door, and changed the devious grin to an innocent pout.
"I surrender!" he lied. "I surrender, sir! I'll obey your each and every —"
A flash of light. A bang. Yon's lightweight body went flying away, down and down, over the edge of the cliff.
"— command," Yon's voice went drifting through the wind, so it sounded more like "chand".
Cooper, not knowing what 'chand' meant, typed the word in Google translate on his phone. His smartphone screen read, "'Chand' is Indian for 'moon'."
"Damn, that Roncho sure is mad!" he scratched his head. "I wonder what he meant by 'moon', when he's only getting his soul wrapped with death."
Cooper holstered the smoking revolver, and gestured his companions to follow him.
Down below, Yon Roncho glided forwards, towards the shallow blue coastline, as his clothes flapped around. The wind rushed against his face. A bullet hole in his left shoulder marked the spot where Cooper had claimed him. The sea crept up to embrace him. A deathly embrace, that one would never forget.
"Shiddamn! Such a waste!" Cooper realized what he had done. "If only I kept my temper and if that crazy, blockheaded Roncho hadn't died! Now there goes all my eighty-five grand down de drain!"
He turned to his mates. "What're you guys looking at? Come, let's find a cheap motel to spend the night in. It's gettin' late and cold out here."