Steele didn’t have time to tell his uncle goodbye. He tucked his phone into his back pocket and pulled out one of his Glocks, quickly screwing on the suppressor. As he moved along the side of the restaurant, he could hear yelling and commands being barked. There was no one else in the Buick, but it was still running. Steele aimed at the tires and shot out the back two… just in case. The sound of his gun a muted pop that was impossible to hear over the chaos inside.
He tucked his firearm into the small of his back and walked back into the restaurant. It only took a three-second glance around the dining room for him to assess the situation. The few patrons that were dining in were on the floor under their tables, shielding their heads. Steele cut his eyes to Ruxs and Green, who were still sitting in their chairs looking somewhere between uninterested and angry. A hooded man with an ancient handgun that looked like it was made in the 1980s was controlling the customers. He moved around the small area and when he got to Ruxs and Green’s table, he pointed the gun at them, shouting at them not to move.
“Get that thing outta my face,” Ruxs growled.
Steele had to suppress a laugh at Ruxs’ bravado. When they said the Enforcers were fearless, it wasn’t an exaggeration.
The guy looked stunned but he clutched his gun tighter and backed away. “Either of you moves and I’ll cap your ass.”
“Be cool, T. Just watch ’em,” the one up front yelled and turned back around to face the front. Two of them stood at the counter demanding the cash from the registers. The employees were terrified. One of them looked old enough to be a grandmother, her hands shaking so hard she could barely hit the keys to open her drawer. The man raised his shotgun higher, making her yelp and cringe back from it, and Steele had to make himself known.
“Hey! Don’t fucking move, man! Get over here!” one of them barked, finally noticing Steele just inside the door. The man clutched his shotgun with both hands, using it to motion towards the counter. The guy had on a stocking cap, stretched over his face, distorting his features, but Steele was able to make out he was Caucasian and in his late thirties. His voice was deep, but he caught the slight quiver – he was nervous – and he should be. If he only knew.
Steele raised his hands and moved closer to the counter. Exactly where he needed to be. He wasn’t going to let these petty thugs hurt innocent civilians who were trying to earn an honest living.
“Don’t you try anything, man,” the hoodlum snarled, his teeth clenched tight. “Don’t be a fuckin’ hero.” He gave his partner in crime the nod. “Go to the safe. Quick, go.”
The shortest of the trio jumped the counter and pointed his AK at the manager, shoving him hard enough to knock the young man to the ground. “Get up! Get to the safe! Now. Hurry up!”
Amateurs.
“No one move and you won’t die today,” the guy whispered sternly. Steele didn’t know if that was the guy was trying to sound menacing, but it came off as weak. When the third man was all the way in the back, it was time for Steele to make his move. He looked over at Ruxs and Green and they both gave him an imperceptible nod that only he would understand.
Steele kept his hands up in the air. “Just get what you want and go.” Steele spoke up, knowing it would piss the guy off. He needed to draw him closer.
“On the floor!” the man barked, looking at Steele like he’d lost his mind, especially when he didn’t move. “Don’t make me kill you, motherfucker!”
The employees’ sounds of fear became louder as Steele stood motionless, watching the thug’s trigger finger.
“I hate thieves,” Steele snarled, his lip turning up in the corner. His disdain and disgust were real.
The guy walked up on him, moving to put that barrel to his chest… wrong move. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Ruxs’ arm moving. When the leader was in his reach, Steele snapped his arm out and caught the barrel of the gun, thrusting it up in the air – exposing the man’s ribs. Simultaneously, Steele swiped his knuckleduster from his sleeve and struck his fist into the bastard’s side three times before he could even react, turning his body into each blow for maximum impact. The sound of ribs cracking was louder than the customers’ gasps of shock. A blow from the grip of his knife was like being hit with brass knuckles. Steele cocked his fist back and caught the man’s temple once – ripping the shotgun free, sending him to the floor, dazed and disoriented. The fucker’s head hadn’t even hit the tile when Steele spun around at the sound of the third man coming out the back office. With his knuckle-blade still secured in his left hand, Steele drew his gun from behind his back with his right, making it appear like magic, and squeezed the trigger twice, the suppressor silently sending two bullets into the man’s thighs.