Dungeons & Gangsters 3 Read online

  DUNGEONS & GANGSTERS 3

  Marco Frazetta

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  From the Author

  Chapter 1

  I have a lot of depravities, rages and passions… Dead bodies? I’ve left some on the road. Truth is, I have an insatiable greed... a lot of sinful lusts. The worst of them? Well... I like to people watch. In a manner of speaking, it’s what made me a criminal in the first place.

  My grip on the wheel tightened. Some might call it nerves. By this point, I’d say it’s concentration, an unconscious plea to the gods of larceny.

  The old man walked out of the shop, his stooped, bony shoulders pushing on his knitted polo, heavy black frames resting on his hook of a nose. His reflection swam along the window. A quiet dusk, the birds chirping their goodnights in Bridgeport, West Virginia. The stars would be shining soon, and so would gunmetal. I felt for the reassuring, powerful steel at my hip.

  “That’s the last one. Get ready.”

  “I’m ready, boss! I’m ready! We’re gonna steals ALL of em! I’m gonna go in there n’ BLAM BLAM BLAM—gimme all your guns n’ knives! Bitchezzzz!!! BLAM BLAM BLAM! Heehee! Hreehree! Hee—mph!”

  My gloved hand clamped over the little green snot’s jaws. “Settle down.”

  Don’t get me wrong, being born into this thing of ours, that certainly helped send me down this road. The money and the broads, that certainly helps. The hobgoblin thirst for prestige, for glory, that helps too. But in the end, for me, it all starts with observing others’ behaviors, then deciding that you can figure them out, like a lock that you can pick, like a good hand of cards to play, realizing that we’re all out to fuck each other, and just becoming the best at this strange game of ours. That’s all. It’s a simple life, really. It’s so much simpler, to play life to win it, than try to understand it.

  “You might think this is a good time, Skreech, but we wouldn't be here if you hadn't fucked up. Who the hell throws away ammo?”

  “We were worried boss, about getting caught. The girls was scared!”

  “Don't bring the girls into this. They were fresh out of a mind fuck, locked up in some crate. You knew better.”

  “Well... Big Fats said this was gonna be a score, right? Maybe it turns out good?”

  “Yeah right. As much as I need the money, this isn’t ideal. In fact, this is about the last place you’d want to rob.”

  Skreech nodded, looking at me intently, taking every word comin’ from my mouth as gospel since I scolded him for his little fuck up earlier.

  “Remember, no cowboy shit. We’ll be in and out.”

  “Right, boss,” he replied, sitting up, stretching his neck, peering out the window. Bridgeport Gun & Firearms Outlet, the Best for Less.

  The parking lot was emptying. An orc with a bulky backpack hurriedly walked down the other side of the street, nearly knockin’ the bewildered old human on his ass. The last employee, a middle aged human wearing what looked like a fishing vest over a white polo, walked out the door. He set the electronic lock to the door, shut it, and walked around back to his car.

  “Alright,” I said, turning my mustang off, “we’re gonna post up right here for a minute, just to make sure the coast is clear.” Skreech nodded and kept an eye out. I waited a good ten minutes, saw no activity, no cars, no asshole rollin’ by on a bike in the dark, no happy wanderers walkin’ along, possibly putting themselves in the unfortunate position of a witness.

  “Get them bandanas out,” I nodded toward the goblin.

  “On it, boss,” Skreech grinned, quickly opening the glove compartment and grabbin’ the two black bandanas, passing the one to me and tying the other up around his face. The little goblin was buoyant; he loved a good smash and grab, whether it was money or bullets or dope, goblins in general just loved to steal shit, and the more aggravated the robbery became the better. They loved crashin’ through windows, bustin’ up glass displays, destroying the furniture and shittin’ on the nice carpets on the way out, carryin’ out the pilfered goods in a big sack. Tell you the truth, it was a pain in the ass when you wanted it to be a quiet job.

  The bandana was snug against my face, the smell of old cloth wafting into my elongated nostrils. I grabbed my flat cap from where it was, pulled it down to cover the tips of my ears.

  I tapped the goblin on the arm, “come on,” I nodded towards the gun store.

  I quietly got out of the car, slipping my Smith & Wesson .40 caliber out from the door compartment and holding it against my thigh, finger on the trigger.

  My legs carried me across the street at a low jog. I turned to the right and realized Skreech wasn’t next to me. I stopped and looked back. This asshole was lookin’ both ways before crossin’ an empty street.

  “Yo, you dizzy motherfucker,” I hissed, “you’re about to rob a fuckin’ gun store and you’re worried about lookin’ both ways to cross an empty street?! Get over here!”

  The goblin hustled over to me, breathed a “Sorry, boss.” We came up along the edge of the parking lot, keepin’ to the shadows. We got near the entrance, a glass door with a shabby ‘OPEN EVERYDAY FROM 9AM TO 6PM’ sign dangling on it. I took a quick scan of the area, the street, makin’ sure I saw no headlights comin’ or some asshole walkin’ by, then, deciding I was in the clear, I slipped out of the darkness, taking a few long strides ‘til I was right in front of the door, Skreech followin’ behind me. I studied the door and quickly concluded it was time for some razzle dazzle.

  “Watch my back, Skreech.”

  “Got it boss.” The little gobbo hopped up next to me, his big ears swaying like he was a fucking rabbit, a revolver in his hands.

  I looked around again, making sure no one was about to pop up on us, then, closing my eyes... I felt for the Weave. Skreech on lookout meant I could really focus, and so it was easier than usual to get locked into the magical matrix. My mage hand started blooming its fiery shape in front of me. Now, the next step. A concentrated effort started elongating the magic hand’s fingers, until they became fine as needles. Part of my awareness went along with them, flowing through a dark maze of metal as I tried to click open the lock. First priority was disabling the alarm. I had to be real careful with this, because one wrong move and it would go off. There was a wire on there. Break the electrical circuit without first turning its power supply off properly, and the alarm would go off just like we’d broken in like regular old thieves. After a moment of feeling around, I saw the circuit, uncoupled it with two of these needle fingers. I felt around a bit more, gettin’ anxious that I wasn’t feelin’ a spring latch release, but then I felt it, turned the latch ‘til I heard a little click. All I had to do then was twist the knob and push the door inward. I slipped in, grabbed Skreech by the collar and pulled him in behind me, then quickly shut the door.

  When we had walked through
to what I guessed to be about the center of the gun store, I turned to Skreech and whispered, “alright, you know what to do. Take this.” I handed a duffle huge bag to him. “Fill it up with as many rifles and shotguns as you can. Oh and boxes of rounds. Keep it simple, just what we need. I’ll go for the handguns.” The little goblin nodded almost imperceptibly in the dark, then scurried off, happily draggin’ the bag along behind him, his ears flopping like a fuckin’ muppet. I walked around, perused the shelves, then I came to the glass displays and walls loaded with gun racks. Nice, I thought, checkin’ out the variety of pistols, then, noticing a couple registers, I started to move towards them. A little cash injection wouldn’t hurt, either, I thought. I’d take care of this first, since it was a lot lighter than the guns I’d take with me.

  I heard a click behind me, then what felt like hard metal pressing into the back of my skull.

  “Don’t you move a fuckin’ muscle, scumbag, don’t you even fuckin’ think about movin’,” an angry voice growled behind me, pressing the barrel of his rifle right into the flesh of my neck, leaving an indent in the skin.

  “Listen, pal,” I began nervously, tryin’ to think of what I could possibly say so I wouldn’t die here and now, ignobly and ignominiously robbin’ what I thought was a closed and empty gun store, somewhere in bumblefuck West Virginia. This vulnerable, I couldn't even use my mage hand since I didn't have eyes on him. “Just take it easy.”

  “Shut your fuckin’ trap!” the pissed off gun store employee yelled, roughly shoving his gun into the back of my head, throwing it forward and disorienting me, “you punk think you can just waltz on in here, break through my front door, and take my guns?! Who the fuck are you with? Newy York, Jersey, Philly?”

  “I ain’t with anybody. And I ain’t here for your money, or your guns,” I muttered, my heart thumping hard in my chest. I was still trying to play it cool. “Those are just a bonus.”

  “What?” The guy seemed to tense, not understanding why I’d go to the trouble of breakin’ into his shop if it wasn't for his numerous firearms. I felt the barrel of his gun start to slip down and away just a little. He paused again, then asked, “Well, dang, if you’re not here for the guns, then why the hell did ya go and bust in my door—” I heard a sound like thunk then the voice holdin’ the gun on me groaned briefly, an “uuhhhh!” escaping his lips as he slumped to the floor with a fleshy THUNK.

  I whipped around and saw Skreech holdin’ a hunting rifle by the barrel, then droppin’ it to floor. The guy started to groan and twist around on the floor, so Skreech picked up the gun again and smashed the butt end of it into the back of the store employee’s head, makin’ him go still and breathe slowly, knocked all the way the fuck out.

  “Thanks,” I breathed to Skreech, “you really took your time with it, but thanks. I’d be lyin’ if I said this fuckin’ guy didn’t have the drop on me. Tie him up real quick, I’m gonna check the registers. We gotta hurry the fuck up now. I don't like this kinda shit. We’ll just take what we can in one go then get the hell outta here.” I stopped and looked down at the middle aged human, graying mustache, plaid shirt, and didn't care that he probably couldn't hear me. “Oh and asshole, we ain’t here for the guns, we’re here to send a message.”

  I continued along the path I had originally been taking to the registers, sittin’ on top of two adjacent glass displays. The registers were an old type, the guy runnin’ the place probably never felt like buying the newer ones and learnin’ how to use them. You can’t shoot your way into these, but if I remember correctly from back in the day, I took a closer look at the register directly in front of me, having come around the counter. Yup, there it is. A crack in between the actual cash drawer and the jamb of the register, just wide enough to slip a sharp knife into. I reached down, feelin’ for my black-bladed knife, slipped it out of its sheath, and rapidly brought the sharp point down onto the crack, feelin’ the knife blade slip in about half way. I started movin’ the blade back and forth, side to side for a few moments until the cash drawer shot open, bills spillin’ out of it that the lazy human store owner hadn’t bothered to count and shoot over to the bank.

  “Shit,” I hissed, pickin’ up the bills that spilled out on the floor, then snatching the rest out of the drawer and puttin’ the cash on the display. I picked it up and did a quick count. Six hundred and some odd dollars, okay, not too bad as long as the other has as much or more. I moved over to the other register and performed the same jigg on it with my knife, jammin’ it into the crack of the cash drawer and poppin’ it open. Hey, ya can't use magic for everything. I did it a little more carefully this time, so the money wouldn’t go flyin’ all over the dark ass floor. We already been here too long, I thought, seizing the cash in the second register, doing another quick count. Eighteen hundred bucks, I thought, I guess business is good for this shithead. I put the cash together and stuffed it into the bag. I took a quick walk down the gun display, pocketing all kinds of sweet action, stuffing into a duffle bag of my own.

  A rack, free guns n’ bullets, I thought, walking back towards Skreech, I can’t complain too much about that. We walked out the front door, skirted around the edge of the parking lot, and hurried back towards the Mustang.

  “That asshole really came outta nowhere, huh, Skreech? Still, I wasn’t in the mood to kill the schmuck if we didn’t have to.”

  “Besides, didn't Big Fat say no bodies?”

  “Whatevah. You think if it was between a bullet to the jaw and keepin’ that fat fuck happy I’d have a presidential debate about it?”

  I was close to the door, looked over and saw Skreech was still standin’ next to me, the big satchel bag that I thought looked like a duffle bag weighing him down, bulging with rifles and boxes of ammunition.

  The trunk flew open. “Come on. Toss the stuff in.”

  We got into the front seats. Skreech grinned his sharp little teeth at me. The goblin lifted up an incredible lookin’ gun, holdin’ it out to me.

  “Couldn’t leave this behind, boss.” He held it up higher, presenting it to me. “Right? I grabbed it for ya.” I looked down, admiring the beautiful firearm. I greedily took it from Skreech’s paws, caressed it. I never seen such an elegant gun. It looked sort of like an updated Ak-47, but converted. The real model name of the gun was the AK-107, equipped with a 40 mm GP-25 grenade launcher. I lovingly moved a hand down the curved clip.

  “Wait, what the fuck are we doin? We gotta get outta here.”

  I handed him the rifle so he could put it away in the back. Tires screeched as I pulled outta there.

  We got a few blocks away real quick, me holding the wheel all stiff and wired up.

  “You did good in there, Skreech, I’m proud of ya.”

  He nodded and started chattering excitedly.

  “I told ya, boss! I told ya I was gonna go BLAM BLAM BLAM! Now I just need a pound a’ tree and two hundred pounds of orc girl! I want her real fine, boss! With three titties like yurs! And then I’m gonna—”

  “SKREECH!!!”

  “...yeah boss?”

  “Shut the fuck up already.”

  Chapter 2

  I grabbed a coffee and a box of donuts at Dunkin and headed down route 13 to Big Fat Ton’s orc playground, let Skreech get a box for himself as well. After I ate one of the glazed pastries from the center, I suddenly got the notion to put Big Fat’s fuckin’ money in the donut box. It was roughly two racks in total, one from the Dozen Diamonds, and another from the gun job we’d just pulled—part of my payment was in guns n’ ammo, of course, but I had to give Big Fat a big share of the cash we’d taken. At the next red light I hit, I pulled out the envelope with the two racks I owed him, his fuckin’ tax on me, and put it in the empty spot, right in the middle, surrounded by bear claws and glazed donuts, powdered sugar ones, some oozing a thick vanilla cream, others a thick dark purple jelly. I chuckled to myself. What can I say? I was in a good mood from finishing the gun store job early, despite the complications.


  “Here.” I handed the box to Skreech as he sat next to me in the Mustang.

  “Can I eat some of em’ boss?” Skreech pried the box open with his little green fingers.

  I batted them away.

  “You already ate a half dozen. You picked em’ out at Dunkin’ yourself!”

  “Yeah, but none of em’ was like these with the purple jelly.”

  I chuckled as I shook my head. “Skreech, you're like a little kid who wants somethin’ only because some other kid is gettin’ it. A dog with two bones.”

  “I like dogs, boss.”

  When we got to the playground I parked and snatched up the donut box. “Wait here.” Grinning absurdly, I walked over to the opening in the chain link fence, where the orc B-Robb and the fat orc with the ugly chin strap were posted up.

  “Oh, it’s you, hob,” B-Robb said unenthusiastically, taking a swig from a bottle wrapped in a brown paper bag. “Big Fat expecting you today?”

  “Nah, not exactly—”

  “Then what the fuck you doin’ here?” Chin Strap snapped at me, flexing his muscles, which sat so deep under his thick layer of fat that all he succeeded in doing was making the chubby flesh of his chin and chest wobble a bit. He was clearly trying to impress B-robb.

  “Alright, listen, you cocksucka.” I raised an eyebrow and stopped smiling. “I got Big Fat’s dough. All I mean that he doesn't expect me is on account a’ me finishing this job early. I got the goods he asked me to risk my fucking life for. Pieces. Lots of em. You gonna let me through or you gonna be the asshole that’s gotta explain to the big fella that you slowed down him getting his cash, and his specially ordered merchandise?”