“Liking this so far,” Jones coaxed.
“Right, so one guy hangs back, a big fat guy, I figured he was just too wasted. He calls me into the cabin, says they got no booze left. I crawl in there to check and the dude jumps me, pins me to the floor between the seats, and starts squeezing my junk and slobbering all over me.”
Holy shot! I remember his breath, puke and something else… garlic, he smelled like garlic. He was so heavy and I could feel his hard-on digging into my leg.
“Sex and violence, this is what they want to hear!”
“Fat fuck had me pinned, but I managed to get one arm free and I pushed my thumb into one of his eyes. He starts yelling. I keep pushing his eye, I was fucking pissed, then something in there snaps and the dude starts screaming like a bitch. I squirm out from under him, through the partition and into the front seat, and grab the beater under the seat.”
“Beater?” Jones cried, eyes wide with feigned shock.
“A beater, a small bat, like t-ball size, for kids you know. The fat fuck gets out, he’s super pissed, screaming about his eye and about how he’s going to make me pay. Says he’s going to skull fuck me in my eye. I keep the beater low, I didn’t say shit but figure if the fat fuck thinks he’s going to get all medieval on me he’s in for a big fucking surprise. Fucker rushes me and I crack him in the knee, hard. It sounded nasty, something definitely broke.”
His face, he knew he was fucked. I was so angry, I wanted to kill him, to beat him to a bloody pup right there and then.
“So the guy’s rolling around the parking lot, screaming his lungs out. I go to whack him again to shut him up. Supposed to be in the back of the head but he moved and I hit him right in the face. Busted his nose, his lips split like rotten bananas, teeth flying, dude was a mess.”
Maybe I killed him. Maybe that’s why I’m here, for killing a fucking rapist.
“Good show! Go on!”
“So fat boy is all busted up and bleeding all over the place. I know it’s time to split but I haven’t been paid, and there’s no way I’m getting stiffed because fat boy tried to rape me. I dig through his pockets but he doesn’t have a lot of cash but I found a handful of forty pieces.”
“Forty pieces?” Jones made a bewildered face.
“Yeah, um…cocaine, little envelopes of cocaine worth forty dollars each.”
Why do I know that?
“Cocaine, yes! Very good, you bad boy!”
“Just as I’m done with fat boy his crew comes stumbling from the club. They don’t know the deal but they see me standing over their unconscious friend, and they’re all jacked up so O knew what was coming next. They come at me hard, one or two are too wasted to function but it’s still five guys. The little dude whose party it was gets to me first. He never saw the beater until I whack him with it and he didn’t see much after that. Next guy goes all Jackie Chan, tries some stupid kick, misses, falls on his ass and I put him to sleep.”
Wow. I’m definitely not who I thought I was but maybe that’s a good thing.
“I see one guy fumbling in his pants, I know right away he’s got a gun. I bail, dive into the limo and slap it in reverse because I parked nose in like a fucking moron. The other two are wailing on the car, trying to get in. I look in the rearview and the guy with the gun has it out, and he’s aiming right at the back window. I floor it, hit him hard and blast him across the lot and crashes into the fence, it was like some movie shit. The cocksucker never got off a shot.”
“Dead?” Jones whispered dramatically.
Did I kill him? Is that why I’m here?
The memory movie played on.
“No, I saw him moving a little but his boys thought he was and got the fuck out of there with a quickness.”
“You let them live?” Jones asked, appalled.
I did. I didn’t kill anybody.
“Yeah.”
“Maimed? Crippled at least?”
Bobby remembered being a wreck for weeks, thinking every knock on the door was either the cops looking to arrest him or the assholes looking for payback. “I think that was it.”
“A tad anticlimactic Mr. Grant but entertaining at least, although Shakespeare you are not.”
“Just telling you what I remember,” Bobby answered plainly.
It might not even be my memory. He could have put it there just to mess with me.
“Perhaps, perhaps not.” Jones replied.
Bobby shrugged, it didn’t matter. He was where he was, the how and why weren’t going to save him.
“Potential Mr. Grant, I see potential. A cool head, a brave heart and dare I say a thirst for mayhem, bravo.”
“Thank you.” Bobby forced a smile.
“He’s still a mystery but perhaps not as dark now that we’ve had a glimpse into his past. Ladies and gents, here he is, a solid one hundred and ninety pounds of suburban muscle, standing at an even six feet tall, he’ll beat you down and steal your coke, Robert ‘The Mystery Man’ Grant!”
The Irishman looked through him to where his chance at revenge waited. Bobby would do all he could to deny him, to survive.
“Almost forgot the robes.” Jones snickered bashfully and stripped the fighters and spectators, whisking the garments toward the burning sky with the twitch of one finger.
This sucks!
“Weapons!” Jones roared.
Two scythes descended, the others floated above the stage along with the robes, a bizarre lightless chandelier.
“Ready?” Jones boomed.
Fuck this guy! Fuck this shit! Fuck this whole fucking scene!
“Kill or be killed!” Jones’s stupid catchphrase echoed, and the battle began.
Murphy danced sideways, his scythe low, slicing back and forth as he approached. Bobby bent his knees, game ready, it would’ve made Coach Jackson proud. His hands were flexing, his grip too tight on the stick, he’d lose it if it took a hit.
Just a game dude. Just a game. If you can’t get the ball, get the stick. If you can’t get the stick get the man. Thanks coach!
Murphy attacked. Bobby managed to jump just out of range as the blade sliced the air not two inches from his chest. Bobby watched him recover, his footwork sucked, his balance was way off. Bobby moved in, Murphy raised his blade.
No shot Bobby. Stop him before he can swing.
Bobby swung, connecting with Murphy’s scythe and driving it to the floor, ramming his shoulder into Murphy’s chest as he did. Jones cheered and roared, Bobby heard none of it. He was in the zone.
Murphy caught him with a well-placed elbow to the jaw that sent him wobbling.
Fuck. Dirty bastard.
Murphy recovered and turned to attack. Bobby was dazed but the Irishman was too eager, running at him, blade high, his stomach exposed. Bobby lowered his head and lunged, driving his shoulder into Murphy’s gut to the deeply satisfying crunch of cracking ribs. They tumbled, Bobby rolled with it and out of Murphy’s range. There was no need, the Irishman was slow getting up, using the scythe as a crutch instead of a weapon.
In that moment Bobby doubted he had what he needed to finish him, to actually kill the guy. Murphy saw it in his eyes and screamed, “Come on ya cunt! I’ve no fear of Hell, I’ve lived it! Come on you Yankee wanker!”
Bobby knew what he meant, and what he meant to do. Murphy charged again, exposed again.
Bobby swung as if shooting on goal, whipping the blade around from behind his ankles and up, leaning back and pulling hard. His blade disappeared into Murphy’s stomach and up into his chest, jolting to a stop when it hit bone, stopping the Irishman mid-stride. Bobby didn’t stop, he couldn’t. After ripping the wide curve of metal free, the Irishman fell to his knees, and Bobby circled quickly behind him.
Don’t look at his face. Don’t think about it, just do it, finish it.
Focusing on his form and technique, he swung with power and precision, slicing Murphy’s head from his body to the roar of Jones’s approval.
Holy shit, I did it. I won.
“We have our first Reaper! Ladies and gentlemen let’s hear it for The Mystery Man!” Jones bellowed and danced and clapped around Bobby like a pyro at a campfire. “You are full of surprises Mr. Grant, chocker block full of surprises! Take a bow! Take a bow!”
Bobby did as he was told, bending over, trying not to look at what he’d done while doing so. Jones stepped back and kicked him hard in the ass, sending him flying from the stage to crash awkwardly at the feet of the audience. “Don’t be such a show off!” Jones cried with delight.
Bobby stood and turned to face him, his scythe still in his hand, squeezing all the venom and all the hate he had for the instructor into the staff.
Fucking asshole. I’d love to shove this fucking thing down your fucking throat. Shit, shut up Bobby.
“Cover yourself boy! You’re a Reaper now, have a little self-respect!” Jones roared. “That worm is nothing to be proud of!”
Bobby’s robe wrapped itself roughly around him a millisecond after his scythe ripped itself from his grip and joined the others in the odd chandelier.
“Don’t want that overactive mind of yours to conjure up any more stupid ideas.” Jones smirked, he hadn’t missed the rebellious thought as Bobby had hoped.
Shit!
*
“Tough act to follow but follow it we must! Fight number two!” Jones continued, determined to keep the river of violence flowing. “These two love killing innocent children! One because she’s an idiot and the other because he didn’t get enough of mommy and daddy’s attention. Ladies and gents, the lovely Abeer ‘The Jihad Princess’ Haneef and the Chase ‘The Cowardly Killer’ Tennen!”
Haneef’s head dropped. Tennen looked at her, the pox faced teenager didn’t look scared, he didn’t look anything. His face held an expression of tedium, as if the whole thing was just another level in some bizarre video game he’d played a thousand times.
“Come on down!” Jones called and they marched up to take their places on stage.
“Weapons.” The two scythe’s obeyed.
“We know a little about the lovely Ms. Haneef but Mr. Tennen’s past is still a bit foggy. Allow me to enlighten you. This young man took it upon himself to take up the trend of attacking defenseless elementary schools, a truly exciting time modern day America is experiencing. With two fully automatic rifles he managed to kill nearly thirty-four darling children and three teachers before taking two in the chest by a pistol packing MILF who had been preparing for just such an occasion. Not exactly my cup of tea, if you ask me, that kind killing is too fast to enjoy but to each his own I suppose.”
What a piece of shit! I hope she cuts his balls off!
“Mr. Tennen, would you be kind enough to explain the reason behind your assault?” Jones strolled to the kid’s side and propped the microphone against his lips.
Pale and lanky, Tennen shook but said nothing.
“Mr. Tennen answer me.”
Tennen closed his eyes instead. Jones shook his head and backhanded him across the face with amazing speed. Tennen swayed but Jones snagged a handful of the kid’s overgrown hair and hauled him upright before he could fall. “I will not ask again.”
Tennen was sobbing. “I…I…I wanted to see what…what it was like.”
You gotta be kidding, what a piece of shit.
“To see what it was like!” Jones bellowed into the crimson microphone. “And tell us, what was it like? How did it feel to kill with such impunity?”
“Um, I…ah…I don’t know.”
“What do you mean you don’t know?”
“I mean…it was, like, weird I guess.”
“Weird? Mr. Tennen, you can do better that that!” Jones pushed and bopped him on the nose with the microphone.
Tennen howled and cowered. Jones growled. Tennen nodded and obeyed, “They were like, like…little kids. They were, I mean the first one was wandering the hallway, she just kinda looked at me, like…like she didn’t understand. I shot her in the face…it disappeared kinda, like it folded in on itself. That was when the screaming started, I didn’t know little kids could scream like that.”
Fucking piece of shit!
Tennen squeezed his eyes, trying to hide from the memory, to unsee what only he could.
Jones was titillated, “Go on.”
“A teacher popped her head out, I tried to hit her but I missed but I followed her into the classroom. They were all just standing there, staring at me, waiting kinda. The teacher was begging me to leave but I couldn’t, it was too late. I pulled the trigger and they…I don’t know, it was like they were dancing.”
“Dancing?”
“Yeah, kinda, like…I don’t know, the bullets made them dance I guess.”
Jones nodded, smiling, encouraging.
“I got most of them but a few made it out into the hallway. I reloaded and went out after them. Fat Freddy, umm…Mr. Ingberton, the gym teacher, I remembered him, he was a real jerk, he was calling the kids into the gym. I opened up on him right away, must’ve hit him like six or seven times. Someone in the gym locked the door from the inside but I could see all the kids running toward the emergency exit in the back. I emptied the clip in the door but it was metal so the bullets didn’t go through. I moved down the hallway toward the next class but Mr. Belmont, he was cool, a science teacher, he pops out and calls my name from behind me. That kinda freaked me out a bit.”
“Of course.” Jones goaded him on.
“Yeah, he says to put the gun down, you know, that the kids were innocent, that he can help me if I stop and just give up.”
“But you didn’t.”
“I wanted to. I knew I fucked up, but I had to finish it, I had to finish what I started. I shot Mr. Belmont in the face. More kids start screaming, it was so fucking loud. I went into Belmont’s classroom, it looked just like it did when I was in it, weird right?”
Jones nodded.
“I start shooting but the piece of shit AR jams. The kids who are still alive scattered while I tried to clear it but it was fucked. I ditched it, lock and load the M-16 and walk back into the hallway. There were no kids but there’s this lady just standing there, right outside the main office, crying. I go to aim at her but she raises this silver and pink hand cannon, a Sig 380 I think. She was quick and I just froze. She had me, I was so fucking scared I pissed myself. She screams something and starts shooting. She hit me three times out of three shots, all in the gut, she knew how to shoot. It pissed me off big time, getting taken out by a bitch with a pink gun. Fucking pink!”
“Insult to injury, understandable.”
“It hurt like crazy. I was screaming and bleeding all over the place. She walks up to me all calm like and steps on my balls to get my attention, it worked. She pointed the pink fucking gun at my face and I knew, right then and there, she was going to kill me, I could see it in her eyes. ‘Rot in hell you piece of shit,’ she says and then pop, it’s over.”
“Why Mr. Tennen? Tell us why.” Jones whispered, he could give Jerry Springer a run for his money.
“Nobody…they never took me seriously,” Tennen cried, his eyes searching Jones’s for understanding.
“Who? Who did that to you?”
“Dad! Mom! Even Kate, my sister, always putting me down, always telling me how stupid I looked or how weird I was! They didn’t know me! They didn’t understand what I was going through! I was a joke to them, a fucking joke! I wanted them to see what I could do! I wanted them to see how serious I could be if I wanted to!”
Jones patted his shoulder lovingly. “Would you not have been better served by killing them?”
“Mom and dad?” Tennen looked appalled, the idea of killing his parents clearly never occurred to him.
“Yes,” Jones said, a concerned pout puckered his lips. “Were they not the guilty party? Why the children, tell me?”
Tennen shrugged, “They were just kids. I figured…kids don’t know anything, right, they just play and stuff, it’s not like they could feel…”
&n
bsp; “I call bullshit,” Jones interrupted. “Tell us the real reason.”
“What?”
“The truth Mr. Tennen,” Jones growled.
Tennen lowered his head, “They were easy and…and…I thought that if I…that I was like saving them from having to grow up and deal with life because…because after elementary school, that’s when kids start fucking with you. I figured if I ended it before they got to the really sucky parts I’d be doing them a favor.”
“So in summary, your life sucked. Mommy and daddy, even dear sister Kate, were assholes, and your schoolmates were assholes. Your remedy for it all was to kill as many little children as possible to save them from the trials of youth and to show mommy and daddy how wrong they were about you. Does that sum it up Mr. Tennen?”
Tennen nodded.
Jones gently lifted the young man’s chin with one finger, and looked deep into his desperate, needy eyes. The Reaper smiled then spit a glob of pus-yellow phlegm in the face of the spineless teenager before pushing him roughly aside. “You proved to each and every one who ever doubted you, ridiculed you, called you a freak or a weirdo that they were one hundred percent correct. And, as a bonus, you proved to be a coward, too chickenshit to hunt down those detractors only to target those incapable of defense. Well done Mr. Tennen! Well done! You might be one most detestable cowards I have ever met.”
Jones shook his head in over animated disgust and returned to center stage.
“Enough chitchat!” he roared. “Kill or be killed!”
Tennen hoisted his scythe. Determined to prove himself, jaw flexing and eyes steady, he ambled into range, careful not to make the same mistake Mr. Shu had by underestimating her. Haneef waited patiently, her doubts about her ability to kill banished by what Jones revealed about her opponent.
Tennen struck. Haneef blocked, the sharp crack of their colliding scythes echoed. He struck again, she easily ducked beneath the swing. He swung wide, she stepped backward to avoid it. He swung again and again but failed every time. Haneef was too quick.
Jones grew bored. “You can’t kill him if you don’t attack bitch!”
Tennen’s frustration drove him forward, his attacks quicker and more desperate. Haneef was tiring, her blocks weaker, her elbows buckled under the blows. A heavy strike knocked her sideways, one foot caught the hem of her robe and she fell. Lunging forward, heaving his blade toward the scurrying woman, Tennen howled with bloodlust. Haneef saw it, realized she couldn’t escape, pushed herself backward, and drove one barefoot up under his robes and into his delicate parts. Tennen let out a grunt of surprise and pain, his grip as his blade struck the floor with a hollow clang. Haneef kicked out again, connecting with his face as he folded over in agony, sending him staggering backward. Scampering to her feet she turned, adjusted her grip and her stance, raised her scythe and hacked Tennen’s head from his neck with one quick, accurate strike.
Death Sucks Page 13
