Chapter Seventeen - Rub OutMature

In two years, a lot had happened to Jack Blake. After revealing his evidence of the Vance Family’s criminal endeavours to his captain, he was rewarded with the loss of his job. His mild mannered captain was replaced with someone who obviously never pounded the beat; rather he lived behind the book. Undeterred, he kept his operations against the Victor alive. Wrestling back Kaufman cabs, Jack Blake had established a rare peace among the citizens of Little Havana; more than his entire precinct had done in ten years. The Cubans, fearful of Mitch Baker’s bikers, stayed clear of Jack Blake due to fear of reprisals. That was fine with him; the Cubans kept a strange serenity in southern Little Havana. Thankfully, the Haitians were long gone so he hadn’t had to deal with them.

Sitting in Phil’s trailer, he reloaded his Desert Eagle and enjoyed the sun shining through the stained window. In two days he had seen no action but in truth, he was starting to get a little restless.

As on cue, Phil burst through the trailer door, his hair askew in a mess of sweat and gunshot powder.

“J-Jack” He said, taking a few breaths to compose himself. “V-Victor’s on the warpath. Damn asshole has been cutting down some of our men.”

Jack stood up suddenly, gripping his gun as his stomach tightened with expectation.

“He’s sent a small army this way. We gotta send ‘em back out.”

Jack nodded. “Go get your guns and get to high ground. I’ll call for some backup and block off the entrance.”

All Hell was going to break loose and Jack knew it. Good thing he had a gun-loving pseudo-war veteran and a bunch of alcoholic bikers on his side.


Victor had decided to sort his problems one at a time. First Jack Blake and the bikers then his dear old brother. He decided to reclaim his businesses as his own and restore his place at the top of the Vice City food chain. Perhaps after this, he could even form an alliance with the Forelli mob. The original bust of two years ago must certainly be a memory now.

Despite sending out a small army to sort out his biker problem, he remained in his skyscraper fortress with only a few dozen of hired men at his disposal. His cold, calculated gaze never left the opposite wall of his office as he made his calls and sorted his business.

A small crash from down the hall didn’t deter his steely look nor did the louder one followed by several muffled shouts and a burst of gunfire. Victor didn’t move from his seat though he did pull out the colt from his desk drawer and held it close.


Lance had run through the bare lobby with a cluster of his men in tow. Thanks to Kent Paul, he knew when to strike Victor at his weakest. The men that did spot Lance and his men either hid or were cut down by the piercing Ruger bullets and reduced to a bloody mess. Lance had sent some of his men to sort out the security men; most of whom were Patrol Investment Group men who fled at the sight of gang members.

It was on the top floor however, that Victor was heavily guarded. Lance took down two men with a single shot before the rest were able to retreat and able to respond in kind. Though he wished to take cover initially, his own men ran forwards fearlessly and fired round after round into the defending men; most of whom Lance was on first name basis with.

“YOU’RE HISTORY, VICTOR. HISTORY!” Shouted Lance as all the anger he had at his brother exploded out of him. Recklessly, he took a grenade from his inside pocket and threw it down the hall. A large explosion threw two of Victor’s men into the line of fire and thus were shot dead instantly.

With fury raging through his very being, Lance stormed forward and booted the door down. Victor instantly took to a combat stance and both men’s weapons shared a violent fascination with one another.

“You sold us out.” Victor said simply, though his voice was quiet and dangerous.

“No.” Lance shook his head as he barely contained his rage. “I sold YOU out.”

Victor snorted. “What was the big plan? Storm in here and carry out my head on a fucking stick?”

“I just wanted to piss you off before I killed you.” Lance responded as sunlight flooded the office. As the light hit both their faces, they both pulled triggers with their highest hopes on having the winning bullet.

One large bullet missed Lance by inches, ruining his perfectly combed hair.

The entire magazine of Lance’s Ruger hit Victor full on in the chest. He tried to say something but he could only mouth the pained words no one heard. Stumbling backwards with a stomach gushing blood, he fell straight through the window and into the waiting arms of death.


As Lance was leading the assault on Victor’s skyscraper, Jack and Phil were fending off the tenacious attack of Victor’s men. Phil blew up several of their gang cars which rose up in a crimson fireball ultimately crushing two of their unluckier men. Though the biker’s were unable to join them, Jack held them off impressively. Sending back a bullet for each chunk of wall decimated by him, he took down twelve men alone.

“Reach for the stars” Jack quipped, as one of the attackers flew backwards from the sheer force of his Desert Eagle. He looked up to Phil who spotted the oncoming bikers. “Phil! I’m gonna solve this crap once and for all. Victor’s gotta be close to defenceless if we’ve took down this many of his men.”

Phil smiled, spitting onto the floor. “Sure thing, Jack. Give the bastard Hell!”

With the arriving bikers providing adequate cover, Jack ran to his Cheetah and burst out onto the open road. In a cloud of black smoke, Jack left a blazing trail on the way to Downtown.

The End

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