“So explain to me what we’re doing here again?”
Ricky asked, shifting his ass which was directly on a crack in the seat.
“We’re gonna kill this guy.” Jason replied,
wanting to make a shift of his own but not trusting himself to control
the car which they’d stolen off some cheap ass rental lot in Brooklyn.
It lacked power steering.
“Right,” Ricky started again with the tone of
somebody who was trying not to lose their temper with somebody they feel
is directly fucking with them.
“I get that we’re gonna kill a guy. I’m with you
on that part.....but I guess what I’m asking is why?”
“Look,” Jason said, “I already went over this part
with you.”
***
“Parchesi?” Jason asked, somewhat doubtful.
“S’what I fuckin’ said innit?” The wizened old
man said from his full on lounge in an Emes chair. Jason knew it was an
Emes chair because this was the second meeting and his
whatever/girlfriend was an interior designer and had nearly wet herself
when he described it.
“But.......” Jason started again.
“WHAT!” The old guy screamed, “S’what you pricks
do innit? Kill people?”
Jason looked around as obviously as possible and said
with as much emphasis as he could muster:
“Sir I don’t know what you’re talking about. You
contracted an exterminator. I am here to get rid of your PEST PROBLEM.”
If it was possible to speak in underlined italics Jason was doing it.
“I don’t have a fucking pest problem you obstinate
little shit, I need you to kill this fucking guy for me, thats what I’m
paying for. Who pays 8K to wack a fuckin’ bug? I got a newspaper I
bought for a buck. Fucking Times....”
Jason rubbed his forehead and eyes wearily thinking this
had to be real, even the cops weren’t this fucking dumb.
“Okay......so Parchesi?”
“You can’t let that shit go can you?”
“You brought it up sir. Care to elaborate?”
“Look at you with your eighty dollar fucking words...”
Jason thought that it was the same in every job he ever
had. The beginning was nothing but putting up with assholes. Fuck,
killing might’ve been different.
“Fine. You young people have always gotta know fucking
everything.” He continued in a whiny voice that Jason guess was
supposed to approximate youth. “Why is the sky blue. Why do Uncle
Billy and Uncle Jason living together? Why did you come in my eye? The
fuck! Here’s the deal.
He explained.
“You want me to wack this guy because he always wins
at Parchesi?”
The old man just looked at him.
“But you play Parchesi with dice, I thought.”
The old man continued to stare but now he was turning
colors.
“Which means it’s about luck... What does he load
the dice?
Jason stopped talking to watch the rainbow happening in
the wrinkles in front of him. Eventually one of the wrinkles opened,
turning out to be a mouth, and said:
“When I was your fucking age you little toe-rag fuck,
the customer was always right. Now, here’s 8k and an address. Now fuck
the hell off and kill this prick.”
Jason took both paper and envelope and left, shaking his
head and wondering when it was in life you got to stop paying your dues.
High-school, parents, military and then working in some bullshit
restaurant. Then acting. At least some producer wasn’t demanding to
suck him off while he read the Torah out loud, pausing every now and
then to wipe off his mouth and scream “Zieg Heil!”
***
“Fucking Parchesi?” Ricky asked again.
“Look, I’ve been over this bullshit, once with that
old fucker whose face has more wrinkles than my nut bag, and then again
with you. Fucking shut it already. Time to work. You wanna go back to
the restaraunt? You wanna go back to hustling for acting gigs?”
“You still cleaning that producers spit off your unit?”
“Fuck you, Ricky. We got the job didn’t we?” Jason
pointed out.
“I don’t know dog, you got the job, I was acting....”
“Shut up.”
Ricky laughed as they pulled up to a two family house in
the ass end of Queens.
“I can’t believe this guy still lives with his
mother.” Jason remarked as they picked up the third member of their
crew.
“They’re Armenian.”
“So?”
“So they’re a genocide surviving culture.”
“The fuck does that mean?”
“Means they’re more likely to believe in keeping the
family unit together.” Ricky said solemly.
Jason stared at him. “Where do you come up with this
bullshit?”
Ricky shrugged, “A culture that has survived that kind
of ethnic clensing it going to appreciate life that much more, sons and
daughters are valued and kept close. You don’t see them kicking the
kids the fuck out at eighteen like our folks did.”
“You’re taking the piss.”
Jason had been indulging in too much British
enterainment lately and it had crept into his speech.
The front door opened and a man in his late 20’s
trotted down to the car, in the doorway stood a woman of perhaps sixty,
but it was clear that, at some point, she has been a beauty. Her proud
features twisted with love as she watched her son get into the car.
“Yo Ball-Sack!” Jason and Ricky chorused as the door
shut.
“Hey. Oh, and I wish you would shut the fuck up about
that, it was just a phase.” Ball-Sack answered of his brush with
French existential philosophy.
“You ready to work?” Jason asked.
“Need you ask?” Ball-Sack answered lifting the hem
of his shirt to expose the handle of the colt-python resting between his
belt buckle and slightly sweaty flesh.
“But what’s this about?” Ball-Sack asked.
Jason explained.
“Fucking Parchesi?” Ball-Sack exclaimed.
Ricky laughed harder than ever as Jason looked pained
and hit the gas.
***
“Parchesi?” Bob, the lates addition to the car ride
asked.
“FUCK!” Jason finally lost it. “What is there a
fucking ECHO in my LIFE? Yes FUCKING PARCHESI. In a minute I’m just
gonna kill one of you pricks!”
There were now three sets of eyes staring a Jason with
open mouths. Bob, the newest addition, had been picked up from his home
is Canarsi.
“Easy, Jason, but its funny. Right?” Ricky said.
“Lets just fucking get this over with, what’s the
address?”
Ricky whistled in admiration,
“You’re gonna love this.” He said, “Go up to the
light here and hang a left.”
***
“Here it is, West 74th street. And this is the
buidling here, stop the car, bro.” Ricky was already starting to get
out the car when a passing BMW nearly tore the door off, horn blaring.
“Fuck.” Muttered Ricki.
“You mind if I park the car before you get out,
Starsky?” Jason said.
Ricky sits back and waits while Jason tries to park the
car between two others.
“Dude, you could buy two of the cars we’re sitting
in with one of the hub-caps of those cars.” Bob says from the back.
“Is this your car, Jason?”
Jason stops, and looks at Ricky, and then pins Bob with
his eyes via the rear-view mirror.
“Yeah, Bob, I’m using my car for this job. It adds
spice to the normally mundane job of offing people.” Then he went back
to parking.
Bob screwed his face up but stayed quiet.
Jason started to reverse the car, having got the nose
in, but was having a hard time swinging the back end in.
“Dude, “ Said Ball-Sack, “You’re gonna ding the
car behind us.”
“You live with your parents still Ball-Sack.” Jason
said irritiably.
“So?”
“So shut the fuck up.”
“Dude, genocide survivors man. Its all about the
family unit.”
Jason turned to Ricky who was smiling and trying to hide
it.
“What the fuck, Ricky, you two compare notes or
something?”
Ricky just shakes his head.
Jason hits the gas and a crunch rises up from the back.
Jason stops and lays his head on the steering wheel.
“I’m just gonna go home and give my gun a blowjob,”
He thinks and the pounding in his head grows louder to the tune of three
taiko drummers and a fat guy in tap shoes.
“I told you.” Bob said smugly.
“Hang on bro,” Ricky said, looking at Jason in
worry, and got out of the car. This time he checked for traffic. He
paced around back to the rear of the car and banged on the trunk to get
Jason’s attention. Then he started making hand motions.
“Jason, man,” Ball-Sack called up to the front,”He’s
gonna guide you in bro.”
Jason picked up his head, fought back tears of
frustration, and starting responding to Ricky’s signals. He juked the
car forward a touch and immediately there was a matching crunch from the
front.
‘FUCK!” Jason screamed. He was still screaming swear
words when Ball-Sack got out of the car and got in front of the car and
made signals of his own. By this point the doorman of the building came
out from and was watching them with amusement. In addition an old lady
walking her very overweight rottweiler had stopped and was scowling in
disapproval.
Finally the car fit. Jason was doubtful they’d get it
back out but he was past caring. He and Bob exited the car and went
around to the back to open the trunk. He passed out the small duffel
bags to each man. The four of them already had on all-purpose coveralls
with some kind of forgettable pest control logo on them.
They walked to the front of the building and the doorman
stood in their path.
“You gentlemen here for somebody in particular?”
“Yes, Mr. Langelo in 8B has a cockroach problem. His
wife hired us to take care of it.”
“Let me just check the register, but I don’t recall
anything about an exterminator coming.”
“Yeah, cause you’re one important motherfucker, ain’tcha.”
Ricky muttered.
Jason shot him a look but the doorman had already heard
him.
“You say something, sir?”
“Nope.” Ricky said smiling.
“There’s nothing in the registry, I have to call
upstairs to check, if you gentlemen will just wait a moment.” The
doorman looked down to dial the phone and as he did Ball-Sack unlimbered
his right wrist and a weight in a sock dropped to its full length, the
end grasped in his fist.
Ball-Sack swung hard and the makeshift sap swung in a
tight arc, just before impact Ball-Sack cocked his shoulder over,
chocking back on the length a bit as he stepped in. A dull thud sounded
and the doorman fell over. And started yelling.
“Oww. What the fuck was that?” His hands covered his
face and head.
“What the fuck!” Ball-Sack yelled and jumped over
the desk, swinging down hard, each time punctuated a few of the words in
his sentence of exclamation and disbelief.
“Motherfucker,”
THWACK.
“Must have a.....”
THWACK.
“...Fucking head....”
THWACK.
“....Of stone, or some shit.”
THWACK.
He stood up and whiped off his forehead and looked
around. The sap in his hand was now soacked in red.
“What the hell is that?” Jason asked.
“A cue ball in an old sock.” Ball-Sack answered
sheepishly.
Jason craned his neck and peered at the makeshift
bludgeon and asked:
“Are those little reindeer?”
Ball-Sack looked down and shrugged.
“I got them for christmas when I was ten. I never wore
‘em.”
Jason just shook his head and stood up looking
elsewhere.
“You realize you just earned your nickname even more,
right?” Ricky piped up.
Ball-Sack looked down at the sap and giggled. “Oh,
yeah...”
Jason rolled his eyes. “Could we get the fuck on with
it please?” He called over his shoulder as he headed to the elevator.
The rest of the crew exchanged a look and followed him.
***
Inside the elevator they each dropped to a crouch and
opened the small dufflebags. Slides racked, actions checked and clips
slid home into stocks. Each man held an identical glock .40 cal. Each
glock had a silencer.
The elevator clicked through its old-fashioned numbers
as they reached the 15th floor. When the doors slid open they moved as a
single, lethal mass, down the hall. They saw nobody as they reached
apartment 8, the last at the very end of the hall. Jason, who had been
taking point, moved aside to let Ricky crack the lock. Ricky knelt and
fiddled the lock with various bits of metal, finally it clicked open.
Ricky gave it a gentle shove, but something stopped it.
“There’s something in the way.” Ricky whispered.
“What?” Asked Jason.
“I don’t fucking know.”
“Push harder,” Suggested Bob.
“Thanks, Bob,” Ricky said acidly without looking at
him. But he did push harder and slowly the door opened. When it was wide
enough for a person to step through, Jason did, glock held up high and
close, sighting down the barrel with the gun near his cheek.
He promptly tripped over something and stumbled all the
way into the apartment.
“Fuck....” Jason hissed and turned to look down and
froze.
On the floor was a giant dog. Huge. The fucking massive-asaurus
of the canine breed. And somehow, even for being stepped on, it was
still motionless, eyes closed.
The rest of the crew filed in, gingerly stepping over
the dog.
“Is it dead?” Asked Ball-Sack.
They all looked at each other and shrugged. Ball-Sack
knelt down and prodded the dog with the barrel of his gun, the rest of
them shrank back. Ball-Sack looked up at them.
“I think its dead.” He offered.
Then the dog let out a massive, deep-chested growl.
Ball-Sack jumped and his gun hand cleched, the gun went
off and took off most of the top of the dogs head. Splashing the rest of
them with brains and blood.
Bob reared back swearing under his breath, clapping his
heads to his face.
The rest of them just looked at Ball-Sack angrily.
“Dude, you’re fucking fired.” Jason said.
Ball-Sack sat their shaking and wiping at his face,
which out of the four of them, was the only one not spattered with the
dogs blood.
Bob plucked something out of his face and looked at it.
A tiny white flake was pinched between thumb and forefinger.
“Dudes look,” He said extending his hand. “Dog’s
skull!”
Jason ignored him and headed further into the apartment.
A door opened off to the right side of the massive
apartment.
“Puppy!” A huge man stepped out of the doorway,
weighing in at an easy 300 pounds. What you could see of his face was
soft, unformed, the eyes small and dull. The rest of it was obscured by
a football helmet.
“Oh fuck....” Ricky said from behind Jason.
“What?” Said Bob, tearing his eyes away from the dog’s
carcass.
“Its a, a,”Ricky groped for the term, “A
watchamacallit...”
“Its a retard!” Ball-Sack said triumphantly.
Jason was approaching the large man carefully, but the
large man ignored him and walked past him to the dog, and nudged it with
a foot. Then stooped to pet the dog, smearing his hand with red in the
process.
“Good doggy, doggy sleepy!” He bellowed, and then
sat down and farted. He stayed there inhaling deeply through his
nostrils.
“Okay, guys, lets do this.” Jason motioned them to
follow him to the other closed door, from which quiet noises were
coming.
“What about him?” Bob motioned to the huge guy,
sitting and smelling his farts, absently tugging at the straps of the
helmet.
“Leave him, we didn’t get paid for a retard.”
Jason turned and moved to the door.
“We didn’t get paid for a dog either.” Ball-Sack
pointed out.
Jason ignored him.
Each man lined up behind him and placed their free hand
on the shoulder of the man in front. Ball-Sack brought of the rear,
Ricky was behind and Jason, Bob was next to last.
The hallway was lined with framed pictures. Lavishly so,
the frames gilt and ornately decorated, the wood carved in whorls of
greco-roman pillar curvature. In each frame were exquisitely rendered
pictures of fairies and unicorns. Each one a minor miracle of fantastic
anatomy. Each pair of tiny wings, feathered or bat-like. Each face a
beauty with a sharp edge. Each unicorn posessed a magnificent horn
extending from its brow. In one picture the one of the mythic equine was
being restrained by the gentle ministrations of a maiden, in another it
was sinking its horn into a pond, ringed by forrest creatures.
“Wow....” Whispered Ball-Sack, “Look at the
fairies!”
Jason turned around.
“I only see one at the moment.” And pinned Ball-Sack
with his eyes.
Ball-Sack scowled and shrank.
Jason turned back around and stage-whispered, “Lets
get it done.”
Now that they were close doors at the end of the hall,
sounds became a little clearer. Two voices wafted through the door to
the killers’ ears.
“That’s right, your’re my little slut aren’t
you, take it like the little fuck-pig you are!” This voice was
certainly female.
“Oh, yeah, give it me with your hugeness, I’m a
worthless little recepticle fill me, goddammit!” This voice was male.
Jason shot a ‘what the fuck’ look over his shoulder
to his crew who all shrugged and Jason kicked open the door.
They rushed in, each man cutting to the left and right
so that soon each was two and two on either side of the door, weapons
out. Automatic motion governed this, so they didn’t really look until
they stopped and were in position. But then, oh did they look.
On the bed was the subject, Mr. Langelo, on his hands
and knees at the edge, the sheets gripped in each hand, in his hair
twined the hand of the woman behind him. He looked sideways in shock at
the quartet of shock and guns that had just burst into the room.
The woman behind him was naked and sported one large
breat and one mastectemy scar. Around her waist was a series of black
leather straps.
“Is that what I think...” Ball-Sack spoke and
trailed off.
“A strap on.” Jason finished.
“Ewwww.” Said Ricky.
And then the moment snapped and the woman pulled out of
Mr. Langelo who groaned and half dove, half rolled off the bed, she ran
screaming past the four gun-men and out into the main apartment, single
breast bouncing.
“Mikey, baby, get in your room and stay there. Mikey!”
The four men stood in shock, until they saw Mr. Langelo
scamble out the window and onto the fire-escape. Then the guns started
going off, chips flew from the walls and Jason screamed.
“Bob, get that prick.” He said motioning to the open
window, “Ball-Sack get the woman.”
Bob climbed out of the window shooting upwards, Jason
stayed in the room watching the window, Ricky went out into the other
room, gun high.
Jason heard cursing from the other room and a gutteral
scream and the sound of running feet. He kept his position.
***
In the other room, Ricky stepped out just in time to see
Ball-Sack pursue the naked woman into the kitchen. He lost sight of both
of them. The retarded guy was still sittiing near the dead dog. He heard
Ball-Sack scream from the kitchen and several small “thwacks” from
the gun going off. Ball-Sack staggered out, clutching his gun and the
handle of the large carving knife sticking out of his chest.
“Fuckin’ hell, he said, “And pitched forward
dropping his gun.
“Oh, fucking no.” Said Ricky. “Uhhh, Jason?” he
called towards the room.
“What?” An irritated yell.
“We got a problem.” He said peering into the kitchen
and seeing the dead woman, slumped with a perfect trio of holes in her
one whole breast, slumped against the fridge, sans rubber cock. Damn
shame he thinks to himself when he hears Jason yell.
“Ricky, get the fuck in here!”
Ricky ran across the apartment to the bedroom.
***
Jason watched the window, waiting for the sound of Bob
coming back down. Instead what he saw was both Bob and Mr. Langelo’s
naked form, intertwined like lovers, plummet past the window, screaming,
on their mutual 15-story drop.
“Ricky, get the fuck in here!” Jason yelled.
He moves to the window and looks out. Bob and Mr.
Langelo, grossly clasped in each other’s arms, are sunk into the hood
of a parked car, blood everywhere.
“Well, mission accomplished, I guess.” He thinks to
himself as Ricky rushed in.
“Where’s, Bob and the target? He get him?”
“In a manner of speaking,” Jason replies.
“Where the fuck is he?”
Jason just points down.
“Oh shit....” Ricky says.
“Yup.”
“So, Ball-Sack is dead too.”
“Shit. How’d that happen?”
“Lady with one tit stabbed him.”
“Fuck.”
“Yeah.
“Two way split huh?”
“Fucking optimist aren’t you?” Jason said,
smirking.
Ricky smiled back. Then they both snapped their heads as
a massive primeval screen came from the living room
“EEEEAAAAHHHHEAAEHHAHHAAH!”
They walked out into the living room just in time to
watch the Mikey run from one side of the apartment to the other, with
the strap-on cock attached to the football helmet, like some kind of
mythical sex-fiend.
“I”M A UNICORN!” He yelled happily, smacking into
a wall and then wheeling to run back the other way.
“Well I’ll be butt-fucked sideways by
howler-monkeys.” Ricky breathed.
“Careful, he might decide he’s a howler monkey next.”
Ricky clamped his mouth shut.
“Mommy! Look! I’m a unicorn!” The retard yelled as
he ran into the kitchen.
“Mommy?”
“Uh oh,”Said Jason.
“Yeah, Uh-fucking-oh.” Echoed Ricky.
“Mommy’s not moving.” The Retard said coming out
of the kitchen, “I think mommy’s sick.”
“Uhhh, yeah, about that, I think you’re mommy might
be dead.” Ricky said before Jason could hiss:
“Shut the fuck up!”
“Dude, just shoot him.” Ricky said.
“You shoot him, I told you, we didn’t get paid for a
retard.”
“Why do you keep saying that?”
But they were interrupted.
“Mikey needs a hug!” The huge man yelled, tears
streaming down his cheeks.
“What the fuck did he say?” Jason asked though he
had heard perfectly.
“Mikey needs a hug.” Ricky answered.
The big man tottered forward with his arms outstretched.
The two men, guns raised watched him come eyes wide, bodies motionless
as prey in a cobra’s gaze. Mikey walked uncertainly, crying towards
Ricky.
Ricky had just enough time to say, “Oh no,” before
Mikey was on him, clasping him tight. Ricky looked over Mikey’s
shoulder at Jason, who shrugged helplessly, gun now held at the end of a
bent wrist, forgotten.
“Who’s gonna take care of Mikey!” The huge
simpleton wailed, leaning on Ricky, who struggled with the burden.
“Its okay, man, I’m sure somebody will take care of
you.” Ricky said, lamely, and awkwardly rubbed the huge child’s
shoulder. Jason caught Ricky’s eye and his brows shot up. Ricky used
his face to make a shrug. Mikey’s face crumbled anew and he howled and
clenched his arms together.
Ricky had just enough time to grunt “uh oh” before
Mikey bowled them over and they both landed on the coach, but Mikey’s
weight bore them forward, Ricky’s back hit the top of the couch and
bent in the wrong direction. A sickening wet crack sounded and Ricky
screamed. Mikey continued to squeeze, Ricky kept screaming, and then
coughed red out onto Mikey’s face and shirtfront.
Mikey was screaming and Ricky was screaming and then
Jason was screaming and pullling the trigger of his glock.
The tiny bullets slapping into the massive body like
kamikaze wasps. By the time the trigger fell on an empty chamber, Mikey
was silent but Ricky kept screaming.
Jason tried to move the huge man. Ricky hollered louder
when the weight shifted. Jason stopped and looked at his friend
helplessly.
“Fuck it bro, my backs broken, I’m screwed.”
“What the fuck are we gonna do?”
“Reload.....its gonna be a one way split.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah. Do it, I don’t wanna have to tell people the
story of how I ended up in a fucking wheel-chair. Can you imagine that
sorry shit?” He coughed out.
Jason took out a fresh clip, pocketed the old one and
racked the slide, chambering a round.
“Later on man.” Ricky said just before Jason pulled
the trigger.
***
Jason darted around the apartment collecting evidence,
still hoping he could maybe get away with this, putting guns, clips and
equipment into as few duffle bags as possible. But he had to admit to
himself that this was thoroughly fucked. He had just picked up the last
bit of spent brass when the cops kicked the door down. Ahh fuck it, he
thought, I’m done, and dropped the gun and hit the floor.
***
Downstairs the suspect was put into on of the eight
waiting black and whites.
Bieber was the officer in charge until the homicide boys
arrived. He was speaking to one of the two officers who had hit the
scene first and actually made the arrest.
The paramedics near him could be heard bitching about
how they were gonna need this extra large gurney and five more guys.
“He say anything?” Bieber asked.
“Yup. Just keeps repeating the same two words.”
“What?”
Bieber bent his head and consulted a fat notebook.
“Fucking Parchesi.”
Copyright 2008 by Justin Porter
Justin Porter was born and raised
in the New York City. He's been published in Thuglit, Demolition
Magazine, Muzzleflash Fiction, Plots with Guns and Pulp
Pusher. He can be reached at six.gun.chimp@gmail.com. Email him and
tell him you hope he likes his day job.
