|Bloody Gutters : Sin City Shorts
Author: DeadAccount092 PM
A collection of short stories from the grimy streets of Sin City.Rated: Fiction T - English - Chapters: 5 - Words: 6,461 - Reviews: 7 - Favs: 4 - Follows: 2 - Updated: 06-25-08 - Published: 03-22-08 - Status: Complete - id: 4146874
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
# 1 : This Job's a Favor
I look through the scope for the fourth time in the last minute and see what I've been seein' the entire goddamn night.
Mr. Big Money still hasn't left.
I know he's still in that dingy shit pit they're trying to pass off as an apartment. I can see him and the Torrence girl still going at it hard and heavy through the open window.
The Kalashnikov I'm holding isn't exactly the most accurate thing out there.
I don't really care though.
It's good enough.
Plus people walking around in this dump holding a fancy sniper rifle get noticed. A nice common gun like this Russian trashcan is perfect for the job.
Kind of fucked if you think about it.
Unfortunately that's all I've had to do so far. Think. And Watch.
I'm a pretty competent shooter. I learned the trade the hard way, in Uncle Sam's latest fuck fiasco they still lie about and call 'peace keepings' and other such Democratic bullshit.
It's been a year since my discharge and I gotta tell you, I'm pretty proud. I kinda thought I'd wind up a drunk vet, down at the dives and shit bars those kind of poor sons of bitches take to.
Wind up like my old man.
Been doin' good so far though.
I've had a few nights where the darkness and silence choke me and I lie awake and remember patrols and fire fights and picking my buddies remains up off some god forsaken sand blasted highway.
Got me work though and I'm usin' my G.I. benefits to put myself through school.
"He still screwin' that bitch?"
The idiot behind me speaks up. For a moment the sound of greasy snack food being inhaled disappears as the fattenin' bastard pulls his ass off the couch and walks up beside me to look in Mr. Big Money's room.
"Ohh ho ho he he! Fuck me fuck me fuck me!"
I don't know his name. I only know that Mr. Torrence hired him to help back me up. I don't need help, especially from an idiot like this one beside me, but I guess when I offered my services for free old man Torrence probably got a little confused.
You thought I was a merc, some sick assassin that makes messes rich folks can't be bothered to make?
No, I got real work baggin' groceries at the local SaveWay.
This job's a favor.
"Fuck me fuck me fuck me true!"
The idiot is slappin' his knees about his own shitty poem and laughing that stupid horse laugh.
His pistols bounce and clank together with each convulsion.
The guy is decked out worse than Rambo. We both watched Mr. Big Money long enough to know he only has three regular body guards.
One on the nights he meets the Torrence girl.
Yet he's packin' like there's gonna be an army knocking on our door. I don't even know how he's standing up with all that lethal packed onto his chubby frame.
"Man o' live!" He pulls out a cigarette, lights it and offers me a drag. I refuse.
"Man o' live," He continues; "Gotta give the old sumbitch this! He's still got quite a bit o' screw left innem! Look at him jus' rail the jesus outta that Torrence bitch!"
Yes, I've had to look at that for the last five hours.
I'm not gettin' any pleasure out of it.
The girl's name is Cindi. Despite the I on the end she isn't no slut. She goes to my College.
Nice girl, great bod, one in a million beauty. And a great mind too, but that's an asset I doubt Mr. Big Money concerns himself with.
I only found out about her and Mr. Big Money's bi-weekly meetings from her old man.
I gotta admit right off the bat…I love Cindi. You might have guessed it but in case you haven't there it is.
I could tell she liked me too, but Cindi always kept me at arm's length. I never knew why until a month ago when Mr. Torrence came up to me in the middle of a busy street and spilled the beans.
Do you love Cindi?
I would have given anything to see my face. An old guy who looks too timid for Suburbia let alone Basin City comes up to some scar faced punk and asks him if he loves his daughter?
I said I did.
He told me the story.
Cindi's twin was deep in Mr. Big Money's pockets already. Real deep.
Cocaine, ecstasy, liquor, smokes. Danni was a big time partier with a small timers wallet. It was only a matter of time before a prime young looker like that would get swept up by some rich ol' fuck.
Only Mr. Big Money was apparently not the sleazy ol' horn dog that is typical of the Sin City nine digit club members.
He knew Danni had a twin. A clean one.
I don't know what his problem is. I think it's just some kind of power syndrome. He kept Danni as a pet and hunted after the hard to get Cindi.
Mr. Torrence cried as he finished explainin'. I can't blame him.
She loves her sister. She loves her despite her flaws. She'd…She is doing everything she can for her.
To get Danni out of Mr. Big Money's pockets Cindi had to get in.
She did it, bless her heart. She doesn't have Danni's habits of course, but she still has to perform her sister's functions.
I've had to watch this shit, helpless, for a month.
Watchin' the girl you love go through hell takes more than I can explain.
"Oh man looks like this round's done."
Rambo beside me is leering through his 'nocs at the apartment window.
I thrust my eye to the scope and look.
Sure enough, Mr. Big Money is up and at 'em, throwing on his thousand dollar suit over his bright colored grape smugglers.
Cindi's on the bed, sweaty and drained and despaired and I silently vow to make Mr. Big Money's funeral closed casket.
I move my sight to the apartment exit.
"He's goin' down now."
Two clicks of the safety and the Kalashnikov is ready to deal some death. I pull the hammer back and get into killin' mode.
The body guard comes out first. Mr. Big Money is pretty cunning indeed. The guy isn't one of those black suited ear piece jack offs most rich fucks like. He's dressed nice and subtle. If you didn't know who he was you'd never guess that the man passin' you had a Desert Eagle tucked away under that windbreaker.
The body guard is quick. He moves with a purpose, hopping into the used but clean Civic and bringing it around for the currently hidden Mr. Big Money.
My vision's glued to the darkened doorway.
Come on you sick sonofabitch.
The Civic pulls up. The door creaks open.
Mr. Big Money walks out, cell phone in hand.
I know it's Cindi on the other line.
Mr. Big Money stops and his face goes white. My crosshair centers on the right eye.
I don't know what's being said to him, but as his gaze looks up it seems to stare right back at me through the scope and I can fathom a pretty good assumption as to what my beautiful, lovely, innocent Cindi is whispering into it.
The retort of the Kalashnikov is loud, ear shattering. The muzzle flash erupts past the curtains and out the window.
Everyone within a three block radius just heard justice going down. And where it came from.
"GOT HIM MAN! DEAD FUCKIN' CENTER TRIED AND TRUE!"
Rambo is ecstatic. Happy that a paying job he didn't have to do is finally concluded no doubt.
I stand up and peer out into the street. I can see a twitching Mr. Big Money. I can almost smell the shit from his releasing bowels up here.
The Civic's door is skewered open, the bodyguard more than likely already on the third level by now.
Cindi's lights are off.
Don't worry baby, I'm comin'. Mr. Big Money's stink will be all over you but I don't care. I love you Cindi. It's all for you.
Just one thing left.
Rambo is headed to the door.
I drop the Kalashnikov and reach into my coat. My fingers easily find the blocky metal hidden inside.
"Come on bro let's get outta here bef-"
I don't let Rambo finish.
The taser is out and shoved into his back. I set it to full burst. The idiot probably doesn't even know what hit him.
My hands move with purpose. Rambo is muttering fast and incoherent but he doesn't stop me taking off all his guns. I do it and toss them uselessly aside. And I hit him, hard, before giving him one final, parting shock.
Mr. Torrence probably didn't know why I told him to hire Rambo, but he doesn't need to. The jerk still had most of the funds stuffed into his fanny pack.
I leave the convulsing mess and slip out the door, slipping it slightly open, and quickly duck into the next empty apartment.
I sit there in silence and listen as one set of footsteps comes racing down the hall. Mr. Big Money's bodyguard really was good. He goes directly into the room. I think I can hear Rambo say something but it's quickly silenced by a satisfying bone to jaw noise.
More footsteps come running.
I can hear their muffled voices as Rambo is dragged away sobbing.
I'll be there in a minute Cindi.