Risky Business

A car pulls up to the door of an abandoned warehouse and screeches to a stop.  The windshield is shattered, the engine smoking.  One man bursts from the car and limps up to the front door.  His chest is heaving and his clothes - a new black suit, tags intact - are soiled.  He pushes through into the massive whitewashed room, probably once a pristine factory, but now filled with nothing more than spiderwebs and dust.
-Hello?  Anyone?  It's Gunnar!  God dammit!
He sits down against a wall a tries to catch his breath.  He's the first one here.

Gunnar can't figure out how everything went wrong even after running it over and over in his head.  Sure he had failed before, but it shouldn't have turned out like this.  Finally the drumbeat of his heart began to slow down and he made a mental note to start working out again.  He hadn't stopped moving since earlier that day, when everything went to hell.  Maybe it was the adrenaline that kept him sprinting down the street, never pausing to catch his breath.  He had fired like a madman into the sky, a tactic that worked surprisingly well, and the crowds parted before him, this disheveled besuited man.  The case - the case!  He realizes that he should bring it inside, just to be safe - swung back and forth as he dashed over the sidewalk, threatening to throw off his balance.  He bolted across the street and directly into the hood of a car.  Getting back on his feet unfazed, Gunnar brandished his pistol, now probably out of bullets, and ran to the driver's side to pull the lady out of her seat.  Having secured a form of transportation, he could finally get to safety and meet up with the guys.
This was supposed to be a clean job: no one hurt, no police, just in and out.  Unfortunately, some punk decided to be Charles Bronson and set off the alarms.  Generally, once the alarm has been tripped, there's three minutes before the feds show.  Three minutes is a long time.  But that's why something else must have happened because not a minute and a half went by and suddenly the street outside the front door was lit up like the fourth of July.  The new guy - Eddie was his name? - just went nuts and started shooting at everything that moved, and Gunnar barely got out alive through the back door with the case. They were surrounded; the only thing left to do was run.