When Saul received the call from Sean, he was genuinely taken aback. He knew Sean was furious, but he never anticipated that Sean would escalate things by using an RPG.
RPGs are not for civilian use; gun shops can't sell them. The single RPG in question, along with its one bullet, had been secretly crafted by Saul as a memento of his retirement. Sean had clearly lost it.
Despite his distress, Saul responded quickly. As soon as Hector was blasted into the air, he dove to the ground, rolling beneath the van for cover. He understood that crossfire would erupt any moment—bullets don't discriminate, and he didn't want to become a casualty of stray shots.
The Salamanca family had a long-standing presence in Newark, and even though their boss had just been taken out by Sean's RPG, the surviving members showed remarkable resilience. They fought back fiercely, despite being outnumbered.
With submachine guns and pistols, the four remaining members of Salamanga gritted their teeth and retaliated. The air filled with the sounds of gunfire, turning the scene into a chaotic battlefield.
"Bill, keep them suppressed. I'll lead a flanking maneuver," Sean yelled to Bill before sprinting off with two others to circle around.
As he ran, Sean realized his equipment was inadequate; their communications were poorly coordinated. He regretfully noted that he should have prepared walkie-talkies in advance. The bulky FM and AM radios of this era were cumbersome and powered by heavy AA or nickel-cadmium batteries.
In a world without mobile phones, communication challenges were frustrating. After this incident, Sean was determined to establish a radio station to enhance their operations. He recalled the Motorola SCR300 backpack-mounted FM walkie-talkie used in World War II, which provided a communication range of up to 10 miles. He planned to get a 30-80M HF short-range walkie-talkie installed in his car to cover half of New Jersey.
Focused on these thoughts, Sean swiftly circled the battlefield. The remaining Salamanca members were effectively suppressed. When he emerged from behind cover with his submachine gun, the gangsters were caught off guard.
After a barrage of gunfire, the last of the Salamanga crew collapsed in a pool of blood. Breathing a sigh of relief, Sean turned his attention to a group of onlookers from Jersey City who had come to witness the chaos.
He aimed his weapon at them, and panic ensued. They raised their hands in fear, pleading for mercy. "We never intended to oppose you! The Salamanca forced us into this!" one shouted, desperate to placate Sean.
"Why didn't you inform me?" Sean asked coldly.
The group exchanged worried glances, realizing they had underestimated Sean's ferocity. After all, Salamanca had dominated Newark for years; who would dare report to him, fearing retaliation?
"If you want my forgiveness, it's going to cost you. One hundred thousand each, no exceptions. If you can't pay, prepare for the consequences," Sean replied, his tone chilling.
The crowd was visibly shaken; a hundred thousand was no small amount. Many began to reconsider their bargaining tactics.
Just then, Saul rolled out from under the car, surveying the carnage and cursing under his breath. "Damn it! They were going to dump me in the Hudson!"
Turning to see Saul injured and bleeding, Sean felt a surge of anger. He spun around and fired a volley of bullets into the air, causing chaos among the onlookers.
"Let this be a lesson," Sean warned coldly. "I don't care about your excuses. Next time, you'd better be prepared. One hundred thousand, in cash, when we meet again!"
The survivors quickly acknowledged his demand, fear etched on their faces. They understood they were dealing with someone far more ruthless than Salamanca.
Unbeknownst to Sean, the onlookers recognized that Newark had shifted power dynamics, and the new boss was now him.
Sean, however, had no illusions about his role. "I'm not a mobster; I'm a legitimate businessman," he muttered under his breath.
As the wounded lay moaning in the crowd, Sean made no effort to help. Instead, he instructed his men to end their suffering swiftly.
In an instant, silence fell over the scene.
Looking around, he noticed that the spectators had come empty-handed. Frustrated, Sean summoned Bill. "Take a team to the front. If the police arrive, keep them at bay. Don't hurt anyone, but make sure they understand the situation."
With so many bodies left behind, the media would have a field day, and Sean wanted to minimize the fallout. Bill nodded and moved out.
Turning back to the gangsters, Sean ordered, "Get the bodies out of sight—drive them into the Hudson. Now!"
His command was met with swift compliance, and the group sprang into action.
"Let's move, too," Sean "Let's move, too," Sean said, signaling to his team. Saul was severely injured and bleeding profusely—they needed to find a place to treat him quickly.
"There's too much heat here. We can't go to a hospital; the cops will be on us immediately," Saul said, his face pale from blood loss.
"I know, I have a place," Sean replied. He had been in Newark long enough to have a few safe spots and connections.
They quickly loaded Saul into a vehicle, and Sean led the way, navigating through backstreets to avoid any unwanted attention. The drive was tense, with Saul groaning in pain with every bump in the road.
After what felt like an eternity, they arrived at a nondescript building on the edge of town. Sean knocked on the door in a specific pattern, and a few moments later, it opened to reveal a middle-aged man with a stern expression.
"Sean, what the hell happened?" the man asked, taking in Saul's condition.
"Long story, Doc. Can you help him?" Sean asked urgently.
The doctor, an old friend who owed Sean a few favors, nodded and gestured for them to bring Saul inside. They laid him on a table, and the doctor quickly got to work, cleaning and stitching up the wound.
Sean watched anxiously. Despite their line of work, Saul was like a brother to him, and the thought of losing him was unbearable.
"Will he be, okay?" Sean finally asked.
The doctor glanced up; his hands stained with Saul's blood. "He'll live, but he needs rest and time to heal. Keep him out of trouble for a while."
Sean nodded, relieved. "Thanks, Doc. I owe you one."
"Just keep my name out of whatever mess you're in," the doctor replied, returning to his work.
With Saul stabilized Sean stepped outside to make a few calls. He needed to ensure that their operations continued smoothly despite the recent chaos. He also had to figure out how to deal with the aftermath of the Salamanca family's downfall.
As he stood in the cool night air, Sean's thoughts turned to the future. This incident had shown him the gaps in their equipment and preparation. It was time to upgrade their gear and improve their communication systems. He made a mental note to start sourcing better radios and other essential equipment.
Returning inside, Sean found Saul resting, his breathing more stable. He sat beside him, reflecting on the day's events. The power dynamics in Newark had shifted dramatically, and while it meant more control for Sean, it also meant more responsibility and more enemies.
But for now, all that mattered was that Saul was alive. Sean knew they would face many more battles, but they would face them together, stronger and better prepared.
With a final glance at Saul, Sean stood up and addressed his team. "We've got a lot of work ahead of us. Let's get ready. Newark is ours, but we need to make sure it stays that way."
His men nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation. They had a long road ahead, but with Sean leading them, they were ready to face whatever came next.