Editing Getting the Band Together (section)

==='''Biker's Barbeque'''===

Sitting on a rooftop with their backs to a wall, Wrecker and Reggy contemplated their options.

Wrecker was a stocky, husky man with broad shoulders covered in tattoos. He wore a short, neatly trimmed Mohawk in red, green, purple, blue, and white. He had a camouflage jacket over his lap and camouflage pants, having gone through an army surplus store and picked patterns from different countries. He sat on a Belgian rucksack and smoked a small cigar, exhaling multicolored smoke.

Beside him, Reggy snored softly, wearing a Denver Broncos sports jacket and blue jeans, his head on a Belgian rucksack. He seemed fairly relaxed, snoring his relaxation.

Wrecker crawled over and slipped up to look down over the roof edge at the ground with a rifle scope.

Reggy mumbled, “How many? Is he there?”

Wrecker said, “About seven in cuts. Couple of girls. They’re barbecuing.”

Reggy, "Yeah, I can smell it. I’m fraking hungry." He rolled over and fell deeper asleep.

Time passed as Reggy slept, and Wrecker checked the ground.

Wrecker looked over a computer tablet, checking many details. He mumbled.

“Murder, murder, murder, armed robbery, vandalism, vandalism, rape, rape, rape, assault, assault, assault, assault, assault, drug running, gun running. Theft, cleared, cleared, cleared. Payoffs, payoffs. Twelve targets. No female targets. Black Carl... the president of the MC. Dale Genkin, Vice Pres.”

As dusk started, Wrecker looked over the edge of the roof. He laid back and kicked Reggy to wake him.

“Black Carl and Genkin just arrived. Take a look.”

Reggy crawled over and looked down. He nodded. “I see them. Say when.”

Wrecker said, “Thirty seconds.”

Reggy and Wrecker both pulled up M4 rifles, racked rounds, checked the clip, and pulled two extra clips out for each of them.

They turned around and knelt by the roof's edge, putting the four clips between them.

Wrecker said, “I don’t see Smiley. Maybe he’s inside. So let’s both hit Dale and Black Carl, then you get everyone to your right. I’ll get everyone to my left.” Reggy nodded, "Heads are yours, chests are mine."

“One, two, three," Wrecker whispered.

On three, the two swung up and aimed their rifles, taking targets.

The firing lasted fifteen seconds, then there was screaming down below, and the women fled the backyard, running and jumping into two cars and fleeing quickly.

Wrecker surveyed the damage. He and Reggy pulled up their bags and slung their weapons over their shoulders. They leapt off the roof and landed on the ground. Walking through the backyard, they took low-order pictures of the dead. Then they went through pockets, collecting money, wallets, and pocket lint. They piled weapons in a duffel bag.

Dale moaned in pain, and Wrecker looked into his dying face. "Should have made a deal, Dale. Such wasted potential." He drew his Glock and issued the coup de grâce.

Going into the house, they walked through, seeking others.

Reggy stood by the door. "All the listed targets except Smiley were outside. Didn’t see that Prospect either. Hey Wrecker, you realize we’re psychopaths?"

Wrecker nodded. "It’s crossed my mind. I became convinced on the streets of Ahyk. Let’s see what’s inside." He raised his hand, and a small glowing symbol rose in front of it. He moved the glowing symbol around the room. “Something... Move the couch.”

Reggy pulled the couch, pushing it over on its back with ease.

Wrecker knelt down, running his hand along the floor. Stopping, he punched the floor hard, pushing his hand through. He pulled hard, pulling up a large secret door. Looking down into the hole, the first thing they saw were two girls who crouched in fear. Beside them were bags of packed powder. A large collection of guns. Grocery bags of cash held together with rubber bands.

Reggy raised a symbol similar to Wrecker's. He cast a sleep spell, and the two girls went to sleep.

Wrecker removed a cell phone and called. “Wrecker. Targets neutralized except Smiley Russel. Two captives asleep. Weapons in a hole. Drugs. Send in the Cleaners.” Reggy pulled out several bags of the pressed powder, the bags of cash, and a couple of fancy pistols and stashed them in the duffel bag, smiling at Wrecker.

“That was rough out there. Mostly rough on them, of course. So... Pizza?” Reggy said.

A few minutes later, a van showed up at the Motorcycle Club's house.

The black van screeched to a halt outside the motorcycle clubhouse, its headlights cutting through the fading twilight. The Cleaners stepped out—a team of five, clad in nondescript dark clothing, each carrying specialized gear. Among them, a tall woman named Iris took charge, her presence commanding as she assessed the scene.

Inside the house, Wrecker’s phone pinged with a message: “Operation secure. Proceed to drop point.” He nodded to Reggy as he raided the biker’s half-stocked fridge. “Let’s move,” Wrecker said.

The Cleaners began their work. They cataloged the weapons, retrieved the drugs, and carefully extracted the unconscious captives. Iris paused to look at the crude bunker beneath the floor. “They knew what they were hiding,” she muttered to one of her team members, who nodded and bagged up a stash of ledgers. "Any trouble outside?"

Wrecker shook his head. "A few building code violations..."

Walking away from the scene, Wrecker with a duffel bag over his shoulder. Reggy stopped and grabbed steaks and sausages from the BBQ, tossing them in his gun bag.

Wrecker and Reggy cut through a side alley. The city’s glow contrasted with the grimness of their mission. Reggy chewed on a cold slice of leftover pizza he found at the clubhouse. “So,” he said between bites, “how long we gotta stay under the radar now?”

Wrecker smirked. “Not long. Couple of days. Iris's Cleaners know what to do. Black Carl and his crew were overdue for a reckoning. The streets are better off without them.”

Reggy grunted. “Still. It’s a slippery slope. We’re not the law.”

“No,” Wrecker said, pausing. He exhaled multicolored smoke from his cigar. “But sometimes, we’re all that stands between order and chaos.”

Back at their safe house, Wart's Station, a dingy flop in the industrial district, Wrecker checked their spoils. Among the wallets and cash, he found a photo of a young girl tucked into Black Carl’s wallet. Frowning, he set it aside. “Even monsters have something to lose,” he muttered.

Reggy looked over. “You getting soft, or just tired?”

“Neither,” Wrecker said. He locked the photo in a drawer. “This fight isn’t clean. It’s never clean. Gadget really picked a messy place to come. Crap load of thugs. Crime rate higher than the cops can manage. Cops on the criminals' payrolls.”

They turned their attention to the drugs they retrieved. Wrecker pulled out a small vial from one of the bags and examined it under a desk lamp. “This is good stuff. High quality. Got a good connection. This stuff hasn’t been cut yet.” He looked at the rest of the take; cash, pistols, sausages, steaks, herb. Counting cash, sorting it, "About 15 grand of operating money. The pistols look OK, got a nice Desert Eagle. One of their pretty guns. Couple of bags of weed. You had to throw meat on all? The cash smells like grease."

Reggy pulled over the sausages and steaks, setting them on top of an empty pizza box as he listened to his partner. "I learned my lesson, daddy. Eat a good meal before mass murder."

Reggy leaned over, looking at the cut-open bundle. He scooped out a cup full with a coffee cup, cast a Clean cantrip on the table, poured out a pile of powder, and started cutting lines.

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Certainly! Below is the continuation of the story, revised to maintain consistent past tense. I'll continue from where we left off, ensuring all tenses are corrected and the narrative flows smoothly.

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