What Happens In Vegas

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Quinn Simard
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What Happens In Vegas

Post by Quinn Simard » September 10th, 2017, 2:27 pm

It was a quiet evening for the Raymonds, dinner was at five and they spent the remainder letting it digest as Mary and Tom went about their nightly ritual. Dishes were washed, laundry put in, and the kitchen was given a thorough wipe-down. Their daughter, Sandra, was getting ready for bed, brushing her teeth in the upstairs bathroom when a loud knock came at the front door. Her mother Mary hadn't been expecting visitors, nor had her husband Tom for that matter, and it knocked them from their blank face reverie of the television screen before them.

"Damn it, I'll bet you it's those damn kids again Tom. I told you to do something about those hooligans," She rose up from her spot on the couch and aggressively bee-lined for the front door, her husband rolling his eyes as she did so and shoveling a handful of Gold Fish into his mouth. Just what he needed, a fight before bed.

But when Mary opened the door there were no retreating kids trying to sprint down the street and out of eyesight. Instead there stood a pint-sized woman about four inches shorter than Mary, her frame, and posture suggesting years of unresolved tension and rage that threatened to bubble over as she stood beaming up into Mary's face. It was Quinn Simard, a recently new arrival in their community. A small woe, until one pieced in the fact that Quinn's identical twin sister Gwen had a daughter in the same class as Mary's own. You see, Mary was a born-again Christian, the kind of woman who thought that illegal immigrants were tearing apart the country and homosexuals ought to be locked in insane asylums, a prejudice that inevitably had led the twin sister to her front doorstep at nine o'clock at night.

Though she had really no way of knowing this; her own feelings for Quinn came from the younger woman's appearance, all tattoos and masculinity, with a rash personality to boot. Her sister was no better really, save for her lack of visible tattoos and the mask she at least attempted to wear at PTA meetings.

"Oh. Hi," Said Mary, purposely neglecting to tag a name onto her greeting. This only served to heighten the fire in Quinn's stomach, blazing it into a raging inferno with the combination of the annoyance and dismissal of Mary's tone. This was to be far from a social call.

"Hi Mary, I just had something I wanted to talk to you about regarding the PTA. Would you mind stepping outside for a moment to have a little chat?" For her part, Mary found the request profoundly unusual given her counterparts scores of tattoos snaking across her bare forearms and up her bicep. They crisscrossed her entire upper frame, covering any bared skin from the chest up to her neck and just barely sneaking up past her collar whenever she wore one. Now, this vile creature wanted to talk to her about the PTA? If it was up to Mary then Quinn and her sister would be locked away in a Supermax, never mind being members of the PTA at their children's school!

But no matter how strange she found the request, Mary still did as she was asked, given that she was so absolutely required within her own mind to be well-liked by everyone she met, especially her despised rivals, Mary felt it necessary for the most part to do what she was asked of, within a certain boundary of course. How could she know what this tiny terror had in store for her?

When the door clicked shut and the housewife took her first step forward a wicked grin spread out across Quinn's features, reflecting the light from Mary's porch in ominous and sickening ways, seemingly revealing the vile underbelly of Quinn's dark personality. She gripped Mary's arm with a sudden surge of speed and before the larger woman could protest she was slammed down onto the ground with a toss over the smaller woman's hip. From here Quinn dropped her knee onto the other woman's throat and cranked her hand so her wrist cracked and popped, pain surged through her like a volt of electricity but the scream she meant to release was withheld by one of Quinns small, lightning fast hands.

"You listen to me you fucking egotistical cunt, you ever say another dirty fucking word in the context of me, my sister, or my beautiful fucking niece and it'll be your last. Ever. Don't doubt me bitch, I'm the goddamn grim reaper and I'll collect my dues even if it means fighting the whole goddamn world to do it," Her tension of Mary's arm laxed just a fraction then cranked up past the point she'd stopped before until Mary felt as though her wrist were about to tear apart at the joint. "Have I made myself abundantly fucking clear to you?" Her victim had no choice but to try and nod her head, the effort against the force of her knee almost too much to bear, but driven as she was by the fire in Quinns eyes she had to comply.

When she released her hold on Mary's arm it fell to her body and she wrapped it against her chest with her free hand, whimpering and wallowing as the pain subsided - but the damage had been done. She'd not be using that hand for a good few days. Still, Quinn left her knee there on her neck, dominating the much larger woman and relishing in the entire ordeal, the grin on her face a caricature of her undercover mild-mannered self and Mary withered in the face of such evil. Moments later the pressure on her throat released and Mary was left lying there on the steps in front of her door, watching the retreating figure of Quinn as she faded away into the darkness of the street. Confusion fogged her memories and embarrassment kept her mouth closed, but the pain in her wrist and the terror in her breast was what really drove the message into her. Where would Quinn stop if she was pushed any further, and how did they know what she'd said?


Earlier that night on the other side of Summerlin, Gwen, Quinn's identical twin sister, was just putting her daughter to bed. Izzi was a rambunctious five-year-old girl with a mind all her own. Raised as she was by Gwen and her twin sister, Izzi was taking on traits of each of them with every passing day. Just that night she'd told the two about how she had stood up for her friend Alejandra when the young immigrant child was being bullied at their school.

"And when Elsa told Alej that Mexicans were useless and that they should all go home I told her that Alej was different and so was her family," She'd told the pair of twins earlier that evening over dinner, Quinn reading the local paper and Gwen just settling in to enjoy her meal of sauteed chicken breast and wild rice. "Then Elsa told me that I should be quiet because gay people don't get a say and-" The sisters perked up, clear outrage masked by the turmoil of their expressions.

"Hold on sweetie, who said this?" Asked Quinn, her eyes feigning softness as he leaned forward to address her niece.

"Elsa did! But Alej told her I wasn't a gay," She seemed triumphant but the sister could see the ordeal left more questions in her young mind than answers. The sisters exchanged a glance, the kind that only twins who'd spent their entire lives together could possibly share, and Quinn rose up from her empty plate and discarded the newspaper she'd been glossing over. "Where are you going, Auntie Quinn?"

"Auntie's just going to go to the store sweetie, do you want anything?" Quinn was rolling up her sleeve as her sister answered for her, the tension in her body wouldn't have let her speak anyway, and she scooped up her boots silently and slipped them on quickly.

"Ummm...could I have a bag of skittles mom?" The adorable tyke turned to her mother, Gwen, who was still rooted to the chair and cranked her cute levels up to eleven, a skill she'd only recently really honed. But her mother was resistant, at least as far as she could be, and smiled with a cock of the head back at her.

"Auntie Quinn can pick a small bag up for you sweetie, but you can't have it until tomorrow okay?" The child frowned and downcast her eyes, another of her wicked tricks.

"Okay," She made sure to pronounce each syllable and made it deliberately slow to draw out the effect, but even as she pouted her Aunt was stepping out the door feeling the cool desert air lick across her body. It was a beautiful cloudless night in Sin City, the car was sitting silently in the gravel parking space in all of its glory. Quinn's only solace and muse outside of her sister. A beautiful 1989 BMW 3 Series, Quinn had bought it when the two moved out to Vegas and spent most of her free time in the first few months they'd spent there rebuilding the damn thing. With a mess of new parts and a ton of body work, the vehicle was almost perfect for the pair now and the various jobs they performed across the Vegas strip, but mostly it was used as a daily driver and still had Izzi's car seat strapped into the back.

When she popped out onto the street she couldn't help but floor it, the tires screeching across the pavement in the pale Nevada moonlight as rage pumped steady through her veins and the question of 'What To Do Now?' solidified in her brain. A single resounding voice called back: 'Kill the fucking bitch!'


When Quinn returned home the house was silent, still, and encompassed in darkness. The ordeal with Mary hadn't taken very long, maybe a half an hour to forty-five minutes at the most, and she hadn't quite expected Gwen to shut everything down so absolutely. With a quiet precision, Quinn removed her boots and placed them back by the door, sealing it behind her and locking it as she continued farther into the abode. There was a clock mounted in the kitchen and she could faintly hear it ticking as she passed through the doorway leading into the dinner. Then the air changed, the ticking stopped for just a fraction of a second and the figure that stepped away from the wall had her: one arm snaked across her throat while the other pressed a cold steel muzzle into the soft spot where her kidney was.

Prevented as she was from turning to the right, given the gun pressed against that side, and too disadvantaged to turn left, Quinn just froze with one hand on the arm around her neck and another on the wrist that held the pistol against her side. A slender, smooth wrist, and a thin but hardy, muscular forearm; she rubbed a small circle on the inside of the wrist she held and felt a warm coo at her ear.

"Don't do that," Breathed Gwen, her lips brushing ever so lightly against her twin sister's ear. As Quinn's mouth opened to say something her sister hissed for silence, and she promptly shut it. This was not usually the way this went down. "What did you do? Where did you go?"

"I hit the bar, had to cool down," Unsatisfied and hearing a trace of a lie, Gwen bit down sharply on the tip of Quinn's ear and elicited a sharper inhale from her victim.

"No lies; you know you can't lie to me. Did you go there? Did you see...Mary?" The bite was soothed with the flick of a tongue now and Quinn relaxed against the grip her sister held her in, not necessarily of her own volition as her knees threatened to buckle. "See? I know you better than you know yourself," There was a pause and Gwen's grip relaxed, a fraction of a percentage but enough for Quinn to feel the change and she decided she'd rather be in charge.

With the hand on her sister's wrist, she snapped it out to their side, clearing the pistol from her body as she bucked back against Gwen and heaved her arm up over her head. They twisted there in the pitched dark of the room, aware of the other objects around without even having to see them; a trait they'd learned from their father amongst others. When the tide finally turned, Gwen's resistance broke down and she found her hand pressing the muzzle of the pistol up beneath her chin, controlled as it was by her sister's own hand.

"What's my reward?" The tattooed sister hissed, their faces now so close that they could see each other faintly in the sparse light that filtered into the room. Without a word her sister leaned forward, forcing the pistol harshly inter her own throat and planting her lips firmly against Quinn's, and the rest of the night was a blur for them both.


They stopped sharing a bed when Izzi was born as a way of normalizing their relationship, and though it did little of anything to that effect, Quinn dreaded the mornings. Waking up alone, cold, and in the darkness more often than not was disorienting, and often she spent as little time there as possible. A side-effect of this, of course, was a constant shortage of sleep, and thus the remedy; an extra-large mug of steaming black coffee with too much sugar every time.

"I'd ask you to get me a coffee," Gwen was just a few minutes behind her sister, stumbling into the kitchen as bedraggled as her counterpart, the pair's eyes locked for a few fractions of a second before they went about their routine. A slightly smaller mug was filled for Gwen, while Quinn retreated to the dinner table and took a seat for a bowl of Count Chocula, a treat reserved for her alone. "And I really don't understand how you can have so much sugar in your diet," This was really too early in the morning for Quinn. She shrugged one shoulder in the well-known ritual of 'Drop it', and Gwen joined her at the table.

"Is Izzi up yet?" Asked the tattooed twin, shoveling a spoonful of cereal into her craw while her sister munched down on a carrot muffin. A simple nod sufficed, the morning was still like any other with a plan for the pair to take Izzi to Daycare, being that it was the summer, and then head off to their own 'office', it seemed almost as if the violence of the night before had not occurred. "Well, so far so good I guess," She shrugged, Gwen looked confused.

"What's that mean?" She was eyeing her sister intently, and Quinn was a little bit startled.

"Didn't we talk about it last night?"

"We didn't really do much talking at all Q, what did you do?"

The beleaguered sister dropped her spoon into the bowl and leaned back into her chair, propelling herself from the table but not rising up. "I went to Mary Raymond's house last night, had a little talk with her," There was guilt and the hint of challenge in those dark brooding orbs of hers, Gwen was immediate with her response.

"You attacked her?" She kept her voice low, just a harsh whisper that cut deep into her sister's psyche. The fact she knew immediately what had occurred shouldn't have shocked her, but things occasionally still did.

"Attacked is such a goddamn loaded word, Gwen," Now Quinn rose up with her coffee in-hand and beelined for her bedroom to start preparing for the day. Gwen was tight on her heels, any semblance of a normal breakfast blown to pieces, as it normally was.

"You realize that if you put your hands on her that IS assault right? Would you rather I use assault or attack?" Their war of words was ratcheting up but the volume kept to a harsh exchanged of whispers, Izzi after-all was home.

"Okay, whatever, yeah, so maybe I put my hands on here A LITTLE BIT!" Quinn tried to make a show of how insignificant the event was by waving her arms in a foolish display, Gwen snorted and stood akimbo in the doorway to her sister's room.

"A little bit? Nothing is ever a little bit with you Q, you always have to go mental, you know we should have talked to one of the teachers or, or..." Now her sister had stopped what she was doing and was glaring with incredible intent. Eyes that reflected back at her like the cool black orbs of a big cat in the hunt. She pounced forward and closed the distance between them in three quick strides, indignation written clearly on her features.

"You want to ask other people to fight our battles for us? When did you get so goddamn weak Gwen?" She meant to turn back to what she was doing, which had basically amounted to nothing, when Gwen's hand reached out and caught her forearm, stunning the two in space and time. A shift in the floorboards just outside the room brought their pair of eyes to bear and they saw Izzi standing awkwardly in the hall. She said nothing but her face was confused and they separated quickly, attempting to look normal.

"Oh hey baby," Cooed Gwen, hurrying over and scooting her daughter away from the room, back towards her own. "Are you all ready to go? I don't think so, look at your pajamas," The voices faded to the other side of the room and Quinn was left staring at the dust on her window blinds, illuminated brightly by the rising sun beyond. Her coffee was getting cold.

It wasn't much of a process for Quinn to get fully dressed for the day; her wardrobe was fairly small and withered as it was by the rising stack of dirty laundry in the corner, she had few choices left. Pulling up her jeans and winding through a belt, she checked herself in what she could see of the full-length mirror beyond her laundry pile. Satisfied with the loose-tank top and her hipster chic jeans, she fitted the last part of her wardrobe - her Glock 22 - into the hip of her waistband.

Bought on the streets with a pre-scratched serial number, Quinn never left home without it. After all, to leave home without a heater in these days, especially doing what she and her sister did for a living, would have been to toss her life away into the wind. Finally, her kicks were strapped on, and she joined her sister and niece in the kitchen, a small bag of Skittles held behind her back.

"Mornin' doll face," She said as she came up behind her sister's daughter, leaning in close as she did so and startling the young girl.

"Auntie Q!" Izzi started, but when she turned quickly at the sound at her ear and found her Aunt standing there, leaned forward as she was with a hand behind her back, she knew something was up. "What's that?" She was adorable, and Quinn crumbled at her words.

"Well, I guess I have to show you know don't I?" And the bag was revealed, much to Izzi's delight, who grabbed at it quickly and cheered happily, and to the chagrin of her mother who stood with an irritated 'harumph' look on her face. Q just winked.


Once the twins had dropped off Izzi they made their way to the North Side of the city, to one of the many pawn shops that adorned the downtrodden hood of Las Vegas, The Gilded Hand. For Quinn and Gwen, the pawn shop was much more than just some grubby place to pawn off stolen goods or hock your family's shit, it was the place they received their work in the form of contracts. Of course, these weren't paper contracts, not the kind you'd find in any normal offices around the world, no these were contracts written with word of mouth, for they necessitated a level of secrecy and discretion that other contracts neglected.

The twins never used the front door, instead, they parked their white beamer in the back lot near the dumpsters since they never really stayed long. Entering the back door, they were confronted by a wall of mildew stench and old man B.O, their faces only barely contorting to the awful smells as they'd grown used to them with time. Vegas had been their home for just about a year now, and Vinnie Trejo - the owner of this not-so-fine establishment - had taken them on as hired guns almost as long ago.

He was behind his desk when they came in, had seen them on a small bank of monitors, cameras posted around the building, and barely had enough time to stick his dick back in his pants and close all the windows on his laptop. They noticed the change in smell almost immediately and noted his exasperated complexion, the smile on his face turned bitter by his own messy thoughts.

Vinnie was abnormal by any other standards than North Side Las Vegas. Here he fit in, made friends easily, and though his was an abrasive, harsh attitude, he generally had no problems in his life. To Quinn he resembled a thumb; Having started to bald a few years before their arrival Vinnie had started shaving his entire head, and very often his face and scalp were coated with a thin layer of five o'clock shadow. With a face that only a mother could at all stand, and a flabby disgusting body made fat with the minor wealth he enjoyed, Vinnie was really a piece of work as he sat there trying to will his hard-on away.

"Morning ladies, didn't think you were coming in today," He tried to act normal but they weren't buying it.

"Why would we have not?"

"Weren't you saying this week was gonna be busy?"

"Or do you not need us around?" The twins did one of their favorite little tricks, working through the menage of questions in rapid bit sized bits and following each other seamlessly, not stepping over each other's words at all, dullness plastered across their faces. Vinnie was thrown off, but this was something he'd come to expect when dealing with these...freaks!.

"Yeah, you're right, Well, since you're here I do have something," He was in the process of opening up a locked drawer at the bottom of his desk when they saw a flash, like the glint of inspiration, cross his features and make him even more hideous. "It's a little...heavy, if you know what I mean," From the drawer he produced a very thin folder with nothing but a single sheet of paper with two attached polaroids held to the inside of the folder with paperclips.

"What's that mean Vinnie?" Quinn was staring at him intently, and neither sister really wanted to enter the office with that smell lingering in the air, but the tattooed woman made a move forward and picked up the folder that Vinnie held out to them.

"It means you're gonna need a little more firepower than what you've got, and things could get a little crazy," The inspiration was gone, replaced with his usual dull demeanor, but Gwen thought he was putting it on, like he wanted them to assume it was business as usual. He picked at one ear with his pinkie while he continued. "It'll be a big take though, we'll split it three ways as usual, and then I hope you two don't come crawlin' around for work for a little bit," Finished with his ear he flicked a big piece of earwax and Gwen watched it splat against the wall.

"Vinnie," Quinn started, her look of disgust plain to see and on the verge of venturing into a lecture with their bitter employer when her sister softly grabbed the back of her belt, hidden as it was from Vinnie's sight. A soft tug told her to keep her trap closed, Gwen had a really awful feeling about this job, and she couldn't put her finger on it.

"Tell us about it then, Vinnie," She peered over her sister's shoulder at the folder she now opened and saw the pictures were of a scummy looking warehouse, one from across the street showing the corner and most of two of the sides, and the other of a dank looking back alley running along the side of the building. She read the top of the sheet on the other side of the folder and felt queasy.

"It's a business called ML Discount Liquors, just a few miles from here actually. Some of my boys went by a couple days ago to check it out, and they owner wouldn't play ball. What you two need to do is go in there and knock the damn sense into that bastard and get me what he owes me. I'm told he has a sizeable safe in the back of the building, and the same person told me the code for it," A devilish grin at his connections. "Should be quite a bit inside of it anyways, I'm thinkin like fifty large, they get the armored car to swing by every Friday," He checked his watch and the twins made a mental note; Friday was in two days.

"That's a really tight fucking window Vin," The swear brought a subtle pull at the back of Quinn's waistband again; Gwen hated when she used profanity.

"Yeah, yeah, but you two are 'creative' so get one with it fuck," Their novelty was wearing off for him and his lecherous eyes were drilling holes through them. It was time to get going. "Grab what you want from the front huh? I'll just dock it from your cut," A wide grin spread across his face and he made a motion for them to leave. Quinn was absolutely disgusted with the pig but left regardless. Vinnie practically studied them as they went.

At the front was one of his goons trying to mentally wrestle an old woman from a fantastic looking gold necklace. As the pair drew closer, forced to pass the exchange, Gwen could see that the piece was especially old, and they could hear the older woman saying that here mother had given it to her as an heirloom. Quinn felt a pang at her chest, for Gwen it was heaving remorse, and neither looked up at the devastating woman. Instead they ventured to the other side of the small pawn shop, to the racks and racks of weapons locked to the wall, guarded by another of Vinnie's heavy-set and equal part ugly, goons.

"What?" He asked derisively. He'd seen the twins around, most of Vinnie's crew knew them but none really talked to them, they kept to themselves and so this particular thug named Pete drew the conclusion they were stuck-up cunts he wanted nothing to do with.

"Vin told us to grab what we needed, he'll dock our next cut," Quinn kept her voice low and leaned in to speak with the putrid glob of human spittle, a mistake as she found he was the most likely source of the disgusting BO smell they'd walked into earlier.

"Didn't tell me shit," Came his smart reply. The twins knew nothing of the man, but his nametag red 'Pete' in the most god-awful handwriting they'd ever seen, and Quinn used it well.

"Listen up Pete, either you give me and my sister what we want and tell the boss about it, or you can go back there now and interrupt his..." She paused for words, knowing without a doubt that he was attacking himself again. "Process," Pete's eyes squinted just a tad before he realized what she meant and sighed with a cock of his head.

"Yeah, yeah, get it yourself," He handed her a key and fucked off down the counter. Quinn took this as a special form of insult - he wouldn't even grab them the pieces that they needed - but decided fuck it and climbed up over the glass and behind the counter. Gwen meanwhile had drifted back towards the old woman, who was now on the verge of tears with the goon who simply stood there menacingly and offered her dirt for her precious piece of jewelry. Gwen couldn't help herself.

Without much thought she reached into her pocket and pulled out a fat wad of hundreds, keeping it out of view of everyone else, and tugged out five bills. When she got closer to the woman, she came up alongside her and barely brushed the woman's purse, enough to slip the five bills into the bag as she leaned in to observe the necklace the woman held.

Startled at the sudden intrusion the woman backed away, Gwen was clearly in her personal space, and made to protest as the younger woman pointed to her purse with a grin on her face. "Oops, looks like your just about to lose that," And when the woman looked down below her arm she found a scarf dangling precariously from inside. It cancelled out her words, and she made to stuff it back inside, feeling the cash and looking up in a mix of horror and disbelief. Gwen just winked and smiled out of the corner of her face, hidden to the goon who was watching this all intently.

"Oh, my," Started the elder. "I didn't even notice what time it was!" She dabbed at her eyes and smiled back at Gwen, then cast a grimace at the goon. "You have a nice day sweetheart, and you can go to hell!" With her piece said, the old woman departed and the goon crossed his arms, trying to look tougher than he was.

"What the hell'd you do?" Gwen shrugged and returned to her sister, leaving him to stare and grimace. Fucking bitch.


By the time they left, Quinn had drawn down quite a haul of weaponry. Both of the sisters were excellent marksmen, and quite proficient with most mainstream weapons: Armalites, AKs, most handguns, and deadly with anything bolt-action, so the tattooed woman had come to the conclusion that they would need two; two of everything that caught her eye. When Pete went back to the rack he was pissed. At least a quarter of their fucking stock was missing!


It rested in two heavily burdened army surplus duffels, one for each sister, and they tossed them into the trunk and left the pawn shop as quickly as they could, not waiting for a tally of the cost or to hear their bittered employee go on a tirade about how he'd given them the option thinking they'd only take a few pieces. Well, he should've known better.

Back at their rental house the pair quickly got to work disassembling, cleaning, and oiling the weapons using their own personal cleaning kits. The kits were old, at least on the outsides, beaten with time and heavy use as they'd held them since before their great escape. Gifts from their father, one of the few things they ever really cared for that he'd given them, another being the skills they used on an almost daily basis.

Silence reigned as they got down to business, first with their pair of surplus M4s that looked to have lived through at least two wars. Scratched, beaten, and barely held together the rifles looked like they'd have a hard time firing, but the insides looked good and the safety seemed to operate so they just moved on after bombing up five mags for each. Next came a pair of AK74M's, looking a hell of a lot newer than their American designed counterparts. Though the engravings gave away that the weapons were actually American made, they broke down the same anyway and when they'd finished ten more mags were bombed up.

For side-arms Quinn had chosen two brand new Gen 4 Glock 22s, chambered for .40SW. The actual fact that the shop even had such brand spanking new pieces had stunned her into grabbing them. She assumed they'd fetch a pretty penny, the factory grease was still coating their insides, but that was something for future Quinn to worry about. Three mags for each were loaded and set aside just like the others.

Finally they were left with the only two weapons that she'd grabbed as singles. A Remington 700 bolt-action rifle, and a Mossberg 500 pump shotgun. The rifle had already been fitted with a scope and looked pretty damn beautiful as it was, while the shotgun was a mess of ancient parts. She'd decided pump shotguns were about as reliable as weaponry got these days.

When the two were cleaned, greased, and loaded, they sat back and looked at the time. Just about time to pick up Izzi. "Well, what do you say we take a quick scope of the business?" Asked Quinn, washing off the grease and carbon from her hands before taking her sister's in her hands and washing them too. The process would have been strange to an outsider, but for the pair, it wasn't anything really new, though they eyed each other intently and the whole thing was much too sensual for a pair of twins.

"Yeah, I suppose. Should we take anything, or just lock all that up?" Gwen pointed at the neat and orderly ordinance set on their kitchen table, covered as it was with a pair of clear garbage backs to prevent a mess.

"Let's lock em up, no point in really taking anything with us," And so the guns went away, back into the duffels they'd taken and downstairs into the basement where they kept most of their 'tools'. Protected as it was by a single padlock was enough for their tyke to keep from the dangers of the basement, and they had even gone so far as to have a decent sized gun safe brought into the basement. It was here that the gats went, taken from the bags which were deposited next to the safe, and locked quickly before the pair left for the recon.

There was not much to be seen. The building itself was located just off the main throughway a few miles away from Vinnie's pawn shop, just as he had said. The found the outside to be practically barren of any kind of window, save for four tiny windows near the double-door front entrance. It had to have been a warehouse at some point, but now all sorts of banners read 'ML Discount Liquors' and broadcast their deals. To the twins, it looked like a very new establishment.

Along one side was the alleyway that they'd seen in the pictures and found that at the end of it was a double-wide security door that seemed to be ajar as they watched. From the door came a tall man in a sharply tailored suit, who strode purposefully for the only vehicle parked in the lane: A Shiny new black Lincoln Navigator. They'd seen far enough by then to know that this shop was no average liquor store. Customers were sparse for the sheer size of the building, and they couldn't understand why the building was so damn big, to begin with! When Quinn had taken a chance and entered inside to pick up a bottle of malt liquor, the inside dimensions didn't even come close to matching the size of the building, and what should have been vaulted ceilings to cover the great height of the building, was simply a hanging-panel roof.

The twins were perplexed.

They didn't have much time to converse, however, Izzi was due to be picked up shortly and so they made their way to Summerlin and discussed what their plan of attack would be.


The next morning was much the same as the last, though the twins were much more reserved and contemplative as they enjoyed a breakfast with little Izzi, who was quiet as well in the grave atmosphere, and they drove her to daycare just like the day before. However, this time they drove straight back over to the hood where the liquor store was. Their bags of hardware had been moved from the trunk, where they'd put it at the break of dawn, to the backseat, and now they started pulling out their equipment under the cover of their tinted windows.

"Okay, let's just go over the plan one more time," Said Quinn, fitting a hand-made bungee cord sling over her shoulder, attached as it was to the butt of the M4, keeping it snug up against her armpit and along the side of her body. A green army jacket came on next and concealed both her M4 and the Glock she'd fit into the hip of her pants once more. Extra mags littered the pockets of the jacket, the inside of her pants waistbands, and even her pockets, obscured as they were by the heavy jacket she wore.

Gwen had much less to wear: a simple black long sleeve shirt and a pair of jeans were enough, she was planning to be the getaway driver. "Alright. So you go in there, get the cash, dip out the back, get in the car, and we're gone. Yeah?" Quinn was nodding and slipping a three-hole balaclava onto the top of her head like a toque, her appearance much more like a homeless woman then when she'd first got into the car that morning.

"Are you ready?" She turned to her sister who was staring back at her, fear written on her face and love in the depths of her eyes, this was the worst part of every job they'd been on. Gwen nodded; she'd placed the Remington on the floor between her legs as Quinn got ready, and now when her sister popped her door she did the same and calmly walked around the car and slid into the driver's seat.

From where she was Gwen had a clear line-of-sight down the back lane where Quinn would retreat, and the rifle next to her was to cover her tracks. But at that very moment, she was drawn from the deplorable conditions of the alley and to her sister's form, striding with purpose across the quiet side-street, the bustle of the city seeming far off, the throughway just a few hundred meters behind them.

When Quinn hit the front door she kept her head low, they'd made out the cameras on the recon the day before, and beelined through a pre-planned route down one of the aisles she'd decided had the most concealment. Halfway to the front desk, she dipped lower, concealing the top of her head below the aisle and quickening her soft footfalls, the man behind the front counter seemingly not even aware of her presence. By the time she'd cleared the aisles and stood before him, her M4 was up at her shoulder and the mask was down below her collar, his face across the counter was grave and menacing even in the face of such firepower.

This was a weird one.

Before she could even make a noise, the man was in motion, diving to the side for something below the countertop he didn't make it far as Quinn opened fire, full auto and peppered him at point blank range. She vaulted the counter with grace and avoided the carnage of his body, neglecting whatever it was he'd gone for and disappearing into the back behind the counter.

Four sets of eyes glared at her.

You see, the building was more than just a new discount liquor store. It was slated in certain circles to be the source of all operations for an out-of-town operation seeking to make a move into Las Vegas. Of course, this was lost on Quinn and Gwen, neither had even a whiff of what was behind that front counter, so when Quinn broke through the door that divided one world from another, she was speechless.

The four eyes were distinctly Italian in appearance; olive skin, designer threads, and expensive looking jewelry would have been enough for the sharp eyed gunwoman. But add to that the horde of cash sitting at the center of the poker table, and the pieces that they were all now pulling out, and she was in trouble.

"Fuck!" She shouted and broke to the right as the guns came up, loosing a burst from her M4 at the table sending chips, chunks of the table, and shreds of paper bursting up into the air. One of the guineas on the far side of the table took a solid round to the chest and caught a ricochet from the table to his face and collapsed backward with a heave, his counterparts finally drawing a bead on their assailant as they all rose up in unison and opened fire.

Their volley was a mess, one of them seemed to have never really fired a pistol before and another was trying to cover his face and run for cover at the same time. Only one of them stood and blasted with a purpose, his rounds just narrowly missing Quinn's retreating figure as she slid behind a skid and heard the rounds impacting it behind her.

Questions were pounding her skull. Laced with expletives they all revolved around one central notion: Vinnie had fucked us. How could he possibly not have realized that this was a heavy business? The only real answer was that he knew and sent them regardless, maybe he'd hoped the pair would die in the process.

Her guinea gunmen counterparts were shouting now, their hasty gunfire dying down as they maneuvered through the disorganized mess of what she could only assume were stolen goods from cargo truck hauls. There'd been an unsolved string of them in recent news.

"Who the fuck are you? Messed with the wrong motherfuckers! Fucking cunt, just wait till we get our goddamn-" They were all shouting now, thinking that they'd either scared her or killed her in their hellish volley of slugs, so when she popped out around a distant corner and let loose another volley that caught one of the three left stalking through the cargo across his torso, their shouting died out with him.

"I'm sorry about this, got the job from a motherfucker I'll be sure to pay back for it," She tossed her voice around using an old carnie trick she'd picked up in her youth and swapped her nearly empty mag for another in her waistband, replacing the spent mag into the back of her waistband.

One by one she stalked and devastated her attackers until finally the silence of the warehouse was deafening and she made her way back to the destroyed poker table and the last living guinea in the building. Barely. He was choking on the blood that was flooding through his windpipe, barely getting enough air with his one lung that hadn't collapsed, and leaking profusely from the ricochet just below his eye.

He tried to speak, eyes wide and full of the terror that came with the sight of the void. She just stared down at him, scarce minutes had really passed since she'd burst through that door, but already he was almost dead there on the dusty, dirty floor. Finally, he got enough wind to say his dying words: "Rizzo," Though it didn't mean much to her at the time,
and she watched him expire right there.

The safe she found just beyond the table; a makeshift office space had been assembled near the back exit though it seemed much to clean for any of the men she'd face off here. It took no time at all for her to pop it with the code that Vinnie had given them, but his info was bad and she stopped where she stood.

"That looks like a lot more than fifty large..." While she stuffed the bags an SUV rolled to a screeching halt just behind the twin's BMW, and Gwen scooted low in the set to keep her presence unknown while dialing her sister's number and fitting her earbud to hear here. "Yeah! What!"

"You've got company baby sister," Four men hustled from the suburban and when they'd made it to the cover of the alley they all drew out their sidearms, leveling them at the door before them and pacing themselves carefully as they moved forward.

"Where are they?"

"The alleyway, they're moving slow but they're just about halfway there," Gwen was pulling over her rifle and leaning back across the center of the console in order to keep the barrel from sticking too far past the window.

"Are you ready? You pop one and I'll make my way out,"

"Yeah, just careful with the crossfire, and Q?" There was silence on the other line as her sister waited for the words. "I love you," There was no need to reply, so she didn't wait. Down came the window about halfway and Gwen leveled the rifle, taking aim at the Rizzo soldier in the center of their hasty formation.


When the shot came the man dropped instantly, the bullet tearing through his spinal column and wrecking his entire chest cavity. Beside him, his fellow Italians were terrified and spun around in quick succession at the source of the gunshot, firing off quick and hastily aimed rounds, some at the apartment building to the rear of the beamer and others hit the side of the vehicle itself. Gwen was next to invisible in the dark recesses of the BMW.

Meanwhile her twin kicked open the back door, heavy duffel set across her back, and let loose a long burst of automatic into two of the Italians on the far side of the alley, careful with her recoil not to the bring it down on the beamer and relishing in the buck of her shoulder as their bodies toppled to the floor. Realizing there was no hope the fourth and final Italian leaped for cover between a dumpster and a pile of garbage bags, a move that made him an easy target for the elder Gwen Simard.


When Quinn came parallel to his tiny hidee-hole she stared back at his glazed over eyes of pure surprise, dead as a doorknob and clutching at his neck where the bullet had caught him simply by chance. She sent a thumbs up and slid the M4 back beneath her armpit and concealed behind her jacket, jogging back to the beamer and making a quick check around for any lingering guineas. Not a soul in sight.

Sirens, however, were drawing louder in the open air of the street, and Quinn leapt into the driver's seat, removing her mask with a profound sigh, Gwen had pushed over completely by then, and the pair eased off and rounded the far corner as a cop car peeled around the corner behind them.

Just the narrowest margins available for a clean, albeit messy, getaway.


"What the fuck was that all about?" Queried Gwen as Quinn focused intently on the road before her. She honestly didn't know what to say, and the name that the dead man had whispered kind of tumbled from her mouth.

"Rizzo," She risked a glance over at her mirror image and was troubled at the intent expression she now wore.

"Did one of them say that?" Quinn nodded. "Jesus fucking Christ Q, that's one of those fucking mob family's from like, the East fucking Coast or something," The tension in her voice was threatening to break apart her composure and was already drawing her to expletives. They'd tried to cut their swearing out when Izzi was born.

"That explains their greasy fucking complexions, goddamn Italians," Quinn was smiling, Gwen didn't find it so funny and slapped her sister on the shoulder, harder than maybe she'd meant to.

"This is not fucking funny Quinn, these people will fucking kill us and everyone around us if they ever find out we did it," Terror was awash across her face.

"That's why we're going to go pay Vinnie a surprise fucking visit. That slimey cocksucker had to have known that they were mafia, there's no way he couldn't have! That whole entire back part of the building as a massive warehouse full of all kinds of goddamn shit! Next to nothing was liquor!" Contrary to her sister, Quinn was chock full of rage and throttled the steering wheel with white knuckle fists.

Gwen was silent, and changing from terror to fury only took a couple of seconds as the realization hit her as well. Sliding the rifle into the bag in the back, she extracted her own Glock, fitting it into the opposite side of her pants from her sister, along with its magazines in the waistband and pockets around the piece. Next, she withdrew her M4 and fitted it much like her sisters was: bungee'd with the magazines littering her waistband. She didn't even both to really try to conceal it, and her own mask came out from her back pocket.

Silence all the way back to the pawn shop.

When the BMW was less than a block away they pulled off into a parking space and eyed the business with unfettered rage. Here was the greaseball that had so royally fucked them. Here was the reason they'd forever be running from this day forward. Here was the mid-morning rush hour.

"Jesus Christ the Street's busy babe, maybe we should wait until tonight or something?" Quinn shook her head, it was now or never, by nightfall she planned to be long gone from this city.

"No, here's what we do..." And the plan was developed, there in the white beamer with almost unnoticeable gunshot holes in the driver's side paneling.

After their pow-wow, Quinn got out of the car and headed for the side walk, looking every bit like the homeless woman she had when they'd made the attack on the liquor store. Eyes averted as she started towards the pawn shop. Meanwhile, Gwen slid across the console and watched as her sister neared the shop, waiting for the point that they'd discussed before pulling out onto the street and down past the shop. She turned into the lot and drew up to the back door, obviously she was going to be watched on the CCTV.

Quinn in the meantime had made it to the side of the building, just beyond the view of the camera watching the front entrance, and quickly pulled down her balaclava. With a sprint, she cleared the front door and found herself in a shop littered with customers, the busiest she had ever seen it.

"Get the fuck on the ground!" She screamed and the three goons she could see went for their pieces in surprise as customers shrieked and dropped to the floor. Gunfire erupted and the loud pops drew Gwen from the concealment of the car and immediately through the back door, her own mask pulled low over her face.

Vinnie was trying to both stuff away his cock and draw out his pistol, a mistake if Gwen had ever seen one. The second she stepped into the doorway he knew he was dead, and smiled with something like surrender as he held out both hands, palms up, and took the four round burst all across his chest. Dead.

Out front Quinn was in trouble, the pistol totting thugs were concealed behind the counter, she'd only managed to hit one. Meanwhile, the customers were rooted to the floor and scared shitless of the insane violence tearing through the building. One of them, a well built and clean cut looking man darted to his feet with a pistol in his hand, blasting at the place Quinn had taken cover and stepping forward as he did so, closing the distance with a purpose.

As he neared the edge of the counter, pistol leading the way, and just started to catch sight of his target, the man took a full-auto burst to the side as Gwen stepped out from the doorway at the back of the room, sending the man sprawling much to the horror of the other customers. The goons were on her then, jumping up from their cover and blasting rounds into the plaster all around the doorway forcing Gwen to retreat back into the relative safety of the backrooms. Now Quinn helped her sister, popping out just long enough for a shot at the far goon, the one who had less of an angle on Gwen, while Gwen stuck just her rifle around the corner of the doorway and loosed a blast that drained her magazine, catching the goon in the legs as he tried to move out of her line of sight.

Bleeding on the floor behind the counter, Q leapt up from where she had hidden and vaulted the counter like the one at the liquor store, bringing one heavily clad boot down onto the man's throat with a purpose. He choked then, struggling for air and not realizing his windpipe had collapsed, as Quinn drew her pistol and put a round through Pete's forehead.

Farewell and good riddance, Pete.

They had next to no time for anything else, they barely cleared the back door as more sirens started up nearby, and peeled out from the back lot onto a back lane and away from the approaching sirens. Once more they were clear.


Izzi was upset when her mother and her aunt came and picked her up early from daycare, she got along with the other children and loved her time there playing games and watching 'The Wiggles' when the staff put it on. So when Quinn and Gwen showed up out of the blue, barely containing their ecstatic moods and dressed entirely differently than she'd ever seen them dressed before (dark ball caps pulled low, heavy black sunglasses and nondescript clothing) she was expectedly angry.

"But I don't want to go!" She protested as Gwen swept her up in her arms and Quinn dealt with the daycare staffer. "I like it here!" Izzi was starting to pout but Gwen just hugged her tightly and made her way out the front door, telling her child that they were going to be going on a quick trip and that she'd love it where they were going. "But The Wiggles were on!" As she was fitted to her car seat her face contorted from the acrid stench of the car. "What's that smell?!"

Quinn jumped into the front; she'd paid the staffer handsomely and assured her they'd be back next week, and Gwen was explaining that the smell was just something that had been spilled in the car. Their bags of cash and weaponry were stashed in the trunk, and though they needed to switch out vehicles they made their way slowly to the bus stop. A Greyhound to Chicago was their ticket out, and they abandoned the car in the parking lot of the depot, Quinn remaining behind long enough to make sure nothing had been missed, and they took their heavy bags with them.

"Don't worry baby girl, we'll be at our new home soon!"


Later that week the police finally arrived at Mary Raymond's front door, face set in grim expectation at the line of questioning they were set to explore. She greeted them with something nearing a manic frenzy and before they'd even started on their questioning she told them all about her altercation with one-half of the Simard sisters.

"What did you say her name was ma'am?" Asked one of the officers as he sat down in Mary's living room and nodded at her offer of water.

"Elizabeth Bouchard, and her sister's name is Jeanine Bouchard. Those two are the de-" The officer cut her off with a raise of his hand and his partner scribbled furiously.

"Ma'am, we believe those names to have been falsified. Do you have any idea of any other names they went under? Did they ever refer to each other differently? Even pet names they may have had for each other?" Mary was confused. How could the names have been false? It didn't quite register, and no, no she hadn't ever paid enough attention to catch what those sick fiends called each other. The nerve of such a question! The officer sighed loudly and removed his hat.

"Thank you for your time ma'am,"

NPC Gwen Simard, Quinn's identical twin sister
NPC Izzi Simard, Gwen's daughter
Death of Vinnie Trejo and three of his goons at The Gilded Hand Pawn Shop
Death of Eight Rizzo soldier's at the 'ML Discount Liquors' storefront
Discovery of the warehouse of stolen goods
The disappearance of [$x] from the Rizzo's safe. The starting fund for their expansion into Las Vegas.
2 x M4's - Well worn but fully operational, five magazines each
2 x AK74M's - Brand-new and American made, five magazines each
2 x Gen 4 Glock 22s - Brand new, three mags each
1 x Remington 700 - Fitted with a scope and down two rounds from their firefight
1 x Mossberg 500 - Fully loaded and well worn
Three tickets on a Greyhound to Chicago (So, to be on their way currently to Chicago)
Critique, please! Little things, big things, whatever your impression is!

I understand the ending is probably a little weird, nowhere else had I noted that they were living under assumed identities, but I felt that this was the best way to bring it up for the piece. Honestly, it's just such a pain in the ass referring to the characters as one set of names and then writing out an entirely different name in conversations, and so I just tossed it in at the end to avoid any confusion.

I also never mentioned that they're illegal immigrants, but I'll cover that in the next piece in a roundabout way.

"There are two things in life for which we are never truly prepared: twins."

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Re: What Happens In Vegas

Post by Godzilla » September 11th, 2017, 9:38 pm

Wow, another home run in my book. Truly.

Are you a parent? I am and the way you described Izzy, the relationship between Gwen and Izzy, both parental figures getting so upset to hear about the bullying at school: it was spot on. All the way to the "Okay" part in regards to the skittles. It was details like that which I felt made this piece feel so realistic.

Speaking of relationships, I may have misinterpreted things and if I did I am so, so, sorry but Gwen and Quinn are lovers as well as sisters? If that's the case its very bold and different. Best of luck with such a unique story arc.

As for the end, I enjoyed the reveal that Gwen and Quinn were living in Vegas under fake names.

All of your requests are granted. This piece was so great I feel comfortable with granting you $1,000,000 of Rizzo's hard earned money. As a bonus I am giving you [1] Chinese Type 56 SKS, and [2] Level II Armor Express "Halo" series ballistic vests.
King Kong can eat shit!


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