Cold Storage (continued)

"You Bastard. Give me one reason I shouldn't shoot you right now."
He stared Jimmy down, waiting several seconds before responding.
"I'll give you two. Number one, because who's gonna get your goons out of that fridge if you do? You?"
Jimmy didn't back down.
"And the other?"
"Number two, because even you, Jimmy, wouldn't shoot your own brother."
A gasp went up from the still-concious chefs.
"You didn't come here to kill people, Jimmy. If you had you would have armed your guards with guns, not clubs."
"You're wrong, Ed. The clubs were for your staff - most of 'em 'll wake up later with headaches and nothing more. This gun is for you. And I came here to use it."
Jimmy was moving forward, still pointing his deadly weapon menacingly.
"You're right, you are my brother. But that only makes what you did that much worse."
"I couldn't let you kill those kittens, Jimmy."
"Oh no!? You couldn't!?"
BANG!
Jimmy let off a shot at the restaraunt cieling as he gesticulated.
"Of course you couldn't. You always have to be the hero, don't you Ed?"
"I just -" Ed was backed up all the way to the fridge again
"Shut up! Just shut up! You don't get to be the hero this time, ok? You can't save them, and you can't save yourself. This ends here."
Jimmy leveled the gun and aimed.
"You don't have to do this Jimmy!"
"Shut up!"
"You didn't really want to kill those kittens, and you don't really want to kill me."
His face was scrunched up, trying to maintain the look of mad rage, but he couldn't hide the tears in his eyes. He tried to aim the gun and fire, but he couldn't see through the tears. Finally, he cast the gun down, fell to his knees, and began to sob.
As one of his chefs secured the discarded gun, and another called 9-1-1, Ed ran to his brother's side and embraced him.
"I never wanted to hurt anyone, Ed. It all just got out a hand, and it's so much money, and I don't know what to do, I just don't know what to do. I wasn't gonna kill you, I really wasn't gonna kill you. I love you, Ed. I just-"
"There, there. It's okay. It's okay."
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Well that's all I'm going to write of that story. I don't know the rest of it. Anyone is welcome to try to tell the beginning and, if necessary, the end. Maybe I'll even pick it up again.

Cold Storage

Thump.
Another waiter had hit the floor.

Thump. Thump. CRASH!
Two more, one holding a drink tray. This had to stop. A four star restaurant needed a full waitstaff.

"I know you're out there, pally!" the familiar voice called from the other side of the refrigerator doors.
"When I finish with the waiters, I'll start in on the chefs, and then the customers. Come on out and it can all end!"
'I bet it can,' he thought, 'It can all end.'

Thump. fizzzle. "Argghhhh!"
Someone's face had hit a hot toreen of soup of or something.

It was getting cold. He should never have hidden in the fridge, but it was the only place Jimmy wouldn't dare to look. He grabbed a strawberry out of a box and ate it. What was he going to do?

Thump.
"I ain't kidden, bud! Get the hell out hare and nobody else gets hurt!!"
Thump-Thump.
"That's all the waiters Eddy. I'm given you twenty seconds before I start in on the chefs. Jesus! I know you're in here!"

His hand reached for the door, but he pulled it back. He wouldn't give Jimmy the satisfaction. A new voice spoke, more timid and reserved.

"Ed... He's serious. He's gonna kill people, Ed. Please, come out. Do it for me." It was Bob, the restaurant's head chef and oldest employee. Ed could hear the fear in his voice.
"Please, Ed, plea-"
Thump.

That was it! He flung the door open, and the whole scene opened up before him. Waiters were lying all about the kitchen - Hugo, Leopold, Jesse, Samson. Men he'd hired and trained. Men who were polite and gave good tips. And in the middle of it all, with Bob's crumpled form at his feet, was Jimmy. He looked exactly as he had 12 years before, when this had all started, save a scraggly beard and the addition of two huge goons with clubs. Jimmy still clutched his signature handgun, and the look of fear on his face told Ed everything he needed to know.
He chewed and swallowed another strawberry while the room watched, paralyzed.

"You want me, Jimmy? Come in and get me."
Jimmy didn't move. Ed knew why. Jimmy's fear of refrigeration went back to his father's untimely death. His face betrayed the conflict between looking weak in front of his men and facing his greatest fear. And then, as Ed knew it would, it dawned on him that he didn't have to.
"Go in and get him, boys."
The huge goons lumbered towards him, picking up speed as they neared the fridge. He knew he'd only have half a second, but he was confident it was all he needed.

Closer...
Closer...

He leapt between the two goons, rolling past them as they crossed the threshold into the fridge. He'd made it! But he didn't stop to congratulate himself. Springing up, he slammed the huge metal door, locking the goons in cold storage. He slammed the lock down.
"This is between us, Jimmy. Let's leave the help out of it."
Jimmy finally found his voice, and raised his gun.
"You bastard. Give me one reason I shouldn't shoot you right now."

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Hell of a time for the bell to ring, eh? maybe I'll finish it later.