Sorry for the ultra-violent Part 2 guys.
Part 3
Light Purple. The sky has turned to a light-purple as I continue my way to Sam's. I take out another cig and light it. The tobacco is welcomed in my lungs like a stripper to a bachelor's party. I had managed to use my knife to get the bullet out of my arm while biting down on the barrel of my gun. It hurt like hell.
I take a left on Maple Avenue and now cars are passing me by on a regular basis. Taxis and cars takin' people to work and what not. That used to be me. The schmoe who took crap from people and smiled in their faces. Not anymore. I'm too old and dumb to be fooled by that anymore. I make another right and right on the corner of Walton Drive and Maple is a medium sized restaurant called Sam's Diner. The owner's name is Sam Hyllian. Some mob boys tried to punk him for protection money and I set them straight. Now, I get free food and coffee whenever the hell I want. And who ever said violence never solved anything?
I open the door into the bright light of the diner to see Sam standing at the front counter, arms wide open. He's a short, pudgy guy with thinly balding hair. I can see the grease stains on his white apron and smell the faint smell of ground beef on him as I approach him.
"My man Brock! How's ya hammer hangin'?" asks Sam in his Brooklyn accent.
"Nothing much Sam. You haven't seen or heard anything on the streets have you?" I ask him sternly.
"Besides the hookers and cops at night, not really," replies Sam smiling.
I break the promise I made myself earlier and crack a smile. I even manage a genuine chuckle.
"Get me a large coffee with two creams, one sugar and a shot of Jack Daniel's to go in it," I say to Sam as I turn around.
I see a thin man with a laptop computer and black wire frame glasses sitting in a booth towards the back. The guy looks like a wreck. The bags under his eyes looks like the kind you would take on a vacation. I walk over to him and sit down in the seat across from him.
"You wanna tell me why the hell you called me at 1:30 in the morning or do I have to smash your computer?" I ask the guy.
"If you were as smart as you were about 10 years ago, you might still be a crossing guard," says the guy smartly, looking at the laptop the entire time.
I sigh and put my hand on the screen, closing the computer. The guy is now looking me in the eyes. I can smell the alcohol on his breath and see his redshot eyes of despair. He really needed my help.
"Eddie, let's get down to business. What do you have for me?" I ask.
"Client has a business in downtown Pembleton and she's been getting calls from the mob about protection. Now, seeing as this woman is from Los Angeles, she's got protection of her own. However she left her office one day and came back to find this," says Eddie as he opens the laptop and turned it around towards me.
I look and see a picture of about fifteen dead men, all with their heads cut off. Execution style.
"Jesus," I say silently.
"The client also found a tape in her VCR. The bastards who killed her boys took her son and daughter hostage and is holding them for ransom. Now she wants you to find out who did it and kill the bastards who did it. She wants the main leader's head as proof and her kids back safely," says Eddie turning the laptop back around.
I went over the information in my head. Something didn't smell right.
"If this is a homicide and kidnapping job, why didn't she call the cops?" I ask Eddie suspiciously.
"I think it's clear to say that smuggling immigrants through customs and running a racketeering business qualifies for illegal," says Eddie smartly.
"No one likes a wise-ass Eddie. However, why did you say if we don't get it done we die?" I ask nervously.
"Well..." begins Eddie as he takes out an inhaler from his jean coat pocket and takes a quick puff. "This woman wants her kids back by noon. "If we don't do that, she'll send over a hundred guys to do us in."
A cold lump manages to slide down my throat. Ten, maybe even twenty guys is nothing. A hundred though, and I can kiss my ass goodbye.
"Does the broad got any idea where her kids could be?" I ask hopefully.
Eddie takes a pen out of his pocket, takes a napkin and quickly writes something on it. He then slides it across the table.
"Go here and you should be able to find out some information about the kidnappers. Brock, plase don't **** this one up. I don't feel like dying today and I know we haven't gotten laid in a while," says Eddie looking at me smiling.
I chuckle.
"Speak for yourself buddy. Anyways, got anything else for me?" I ask him as I start to stand up.
Eddie reaches under the table abrings up a black vest. He tosses it to me and I smile again.
"Standard issue Kevlar vest. It's not even my birthday yet Eddie," I say as I take off my jacket and put the vest on.
Eddie smiles but then notices my wound and frowns.
You might wanna get that thing bandaged up so it doesn't get infected," he says.
I turn towards the front counter.
"Hey Sam, you got a bottle of peroxide back there?" I yell to him.
"Yeah, come up front and get it," yells Sam from the back in his kitchen.
I carry the trench coat in my left hand and walk towards the front counter. Sam emerges with a black bottle and tosses it to me. I grab it with my right hand and grimace slightly from the pain. I leave my coat on a stool and walk for the bathroom to the left. If I was gonna get this job done, I needed to be focused and leveled headed. No one like a gu covered in blood.
End of Part 3
PS: Surprised there's no violence? XD
Part 3
Light Purple. The sky has turned to a light-purple as I continue my way to Sam's. I take out another cig and light it. The tobacco is welcomed in my lungs like a stripper to a bachelor's party. I had managed to use my knife to get the bullet out of my arm while biting down on the barrel of my gun. It hurt like hell.
I take a left on Maple Avenue and now cars are passing me by on a regular basis. Taxis and cars takin' people to work and what not. That used to be me. The schmoe who took crap from people and smiled in their faces. Not anymore. I'm too old and dumb to be fooled by that anymore. I make another right and right on the corner of Walton Drive and Maple is a medium sized restaurant called Sam's Diner. The owner's name is Sam Hyllian. Some mob boys tried to punk him for protection money and I set them straight. Now, I get free food and coffee whenever the hell I want. And who ever said violence never solved anything?
I open the door into the bright light of the diner to see Sam standing at the front counter, arms wide open. He's a short, pudgy guy with thinly balding hair. I can see the grease stains on his white apron and smell the faint smell of ground beef on him as I approach him.
"My man Brock! How's ya hammer hangin'?" asks Sam in his Brooklyn accent.
"Nothing much Sam. You haven't seen or heard anything on the streets have you?" I ask him sternly.
"Besides the hookers and cops at night, not really," replies Sam smiling.
I break the promise I made myself earlier and crack a smile. I even manage a genuine chuckle.
"Get me a large coffee with two creams, one sugar and a shot of Jack Daniel's to go in it," I say to Sam as I turn around.
I see a thin man with a laptop computer and black wire frame glasses sitting in a booth towards the back. The guy looks like a wreck. The bags under his eyes looks like the kind you would take on a vacation. I walk over to him and sit down in the seat across from him.
"You wanna tell me why the hell you called me at 1:30 in the morning or do I have to smash your computer?" I ask the guy.
"If you were as smart as you were about 10 years ago, you might still be a crossing guard," says the guy smartly, looking at the laptop the entire time.
I sigh and put my hand on the screen, closing the computer. The guy is now looking me in the eyes. I can smell the alcohol on his breath and see his redshot eyes of despair. He really needed my help.
"Eddie, let's get down to business. What do you have for me?" I ask.
"Client has a business in downtown Pembleton and she's been getting calls from the mob about protection. Now, seeing as this woman is from Los Angeles, she's got protection of her own. However she left her office one day and came back to find this," says Eddie as he opens the laptop and turned it around towards me.
I look and see a picture of about fifteen dead men, all with their heads cut off. Execution style.
"Jesus," I say silently.
"The client also found a tape in her VCR. The bastards who killed her boys took her son and daughter hostage and is holding them for ransom. Now she wants you to find out who did it and kill the bastards who did it. She wants the main leader's head as proof and her kids back safely," says Eddie turning the laptop back around.
I went over the information in my head. Something didn't smell right.
"If this is a homicide and kidnapping job, why didn't she call the cops?" I ask Eddie suspiciously.
"I think it's clear to say that smuggling immigrants through customs and running a racketeering business qualifies for illegal," says Eddie smartly.
"No one likes a wise-ass Eddie. However, why did you say if we don't get it done we die?" I ask nervously.
"Well..." begins Eddie as he takes out an inhaler from his jean coat pocket and takes a quick puff. "This woman wants her kids back by noon. "If we don't do that, she'll send over a hundred guys to do us in."
A cold lump manages to slide down my throat. Ten, maybe even twenty guys is nothing. A hundred though, and I can kiss my ass goodbye.
"Does the broad got any idea where her kids could be?" I ask hopefully.
Eddie takes a pen out of his pocket, takes a napkin and quickly writes something on it. He then slides it across the table.
"Go here and you should be able to find out some information about the kidnappers. Brock, plase don't **** this one up. I don't feel like dying today and I know we haven't gotten laid in a while," says Eddie looking at me smiling.
I chuckle.
"Speak for yourself buddy. Anyways, got anything else for me?" I ask him as I start to stand up.
Eddie reaches under the table abrings up a black vest. He tosses it to me and I smile again.
"Standard issue Kevlar vest. It's not even my birthday yet Eddie," I say as I take off my jacket and put the vest on.
Eddie smiles but then notices my wound and frowns.
You might wanna get that thing bandaged up so it doesn't get infected," he says.
I turn towards the front counter.
"Hey Sam, you got a bottle of peroxide back there?" I yell to him.
"Yeah, come up front and get it," yells Sam from the back in his kitchen.
I carry the trench coat in my left hand and walk towards the front counter. Sam emerges with a black bottle and tosses it to me. I grab it with my right hand and grimace slightly from the pain. I leave my coat on a stool and walk for the bathroom to the left. If I was gonna get this job done, I needed to be focused and leveled headed. No one like a gu covered in blood.
End of Part 3
PS: Surprised there's no violence? XD
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