A Short Story I wrote a Year ago.
The boss says they gona have a big shipment come in to the docks, and he wants US to make sure things stay, civil. Lou is always casual about these things as he tells us the boss’s orders. I look around the Room and see caskets. Talking to dead men is a waste of words. He and I both know this so we humor the others by telling them how much money they will make and what a big shot they will be once they get back. The greens make good shields as they will be the first ones out of the cars and the first ones to hit the floor.
A lot of the new guys are a mix of anxious kids that have dreams of Being a wise guy, and others are just doin it for the money. Neither motive will make them last Very long. Wanting money doesn’t mean you can shoot. And the kids that want to be big men will die crying in a puddle of their own urine and blood.
Me?
I don’t do it for the money, if it was, I would just rob a bank. Shootin is like sex, when your there, its over before you’ve had your fill and, when your not, it’s all you can think of. My appetite insatiable, it’s what drives me. I consider myself an artist in this field, my brush, the lead spray out the end of my Tommy, or if I’m feeling more Gentile and Precise, my Colt .45. My canvases are the men whose bodies explode in red arcs like flowers sprouting from the ground. They call me smiley because in the flash of the gun fire the only thing visible is my smile. Big and gleaming in the muzzle flash.
Soon as we step outside, the wind swipes at our faces, leaving little nicks. Invisible cuts assisted by the snow fall.
Lou leads us from the den to the cars parked across the street. The snow crunches under our feet and we look like a procession of statues emitting steam from our mouths as we lumbar across the quiet street. All around us the windows are shut and curtains drawn, rooms inhabited by people scared of being caught in our anger. Thinking that if they are quiet enough, we would simply go away or cease to exist; As if we were the boogie man and if they stopped believing in us, we would disappear.
I’ve been in this business for years, and I still get a little bit excited every time I’m out. Today I’m painting with my colt; I’ll make it neat and simple today. It adds some excitement to my routine because I have to load the bullets individually,
Giving me more time to enjoy the moment and think about each shot, as each brush stroke is placed so will my bullets carefully select their target. If things get a little dicey I’ll unload Betty on em. She’s a little messier; her rage can even catch some of our guys. If things happen to go right, or wrong dependent upon if you’re looking at the situation from my point of view or that of my colleagues, I like to have an order. I usually paint the older ones first, because they have less of a thirst for life. Their eyes sunken in by seeing too many deaths, their misty pupils begging me to snatch away their light with one quick pop. I’m actually doing them a service really. Then I progress towards the younger ones, with each brush stroke making picture more complete, until finally the last man is left, broken, with holes leaking life from his body. I like to stare him square in the eyes, and make it clear to him beyond any doubt that I am the reaper. I like it because the last one left clings to life the tightest, and I will be there to snatch it from him. The last thing he will see is the gleam of my smile.
As the boys pile into the cars.
Everyone is worried about things going wrong. About the deal being a setup, about us not getting paid, about their gun jamming in the cold. I don’t understand whey they can’t enjoy this moment; the calm before the storm. No amount of worrying will change the course of this night.
Looking down I notice that I’m stroking my gun. My Tommy is named Betty after my ex wife. Fitting because she was a raging bitch whose uncontrolled anger spewed from her mouth. I guess I get some of my inspiration from her.
My revolver’s name is rose. Elegant and a work of art in herself. I had her custom made, all her parts perfectly fitted and balanced from the muzzle to the Custom handle contoured for my hand only.
Painfully exquisite.
Rose wastes no effort sending those to the depths beyond and so I Shall channel that perfection and drive it into those lucky enough to receive my silver gifts.
The ride to the docks is Quiet with the odd joke, attempting to break the silence but failing.
I get lost in my thoughts sometimes and the drive seems to end quickly for me. When we arrive the boys in the car with me are pale as ghosts. They are halfway to hell; bloody persuasion will pull them to their final destination.
The trucks are lined up next to the boat in single file order, and our buggies are round it on all sides. I’m waiting Outside of the warehouse underneath the buzz of the light bulb above me. Our boys are scattered around the perimeter, twenty meters to my left a guard is pacing nervously. Drawing circles in the snow with his feet, as he waits impatiently for his death. Funny how these men dread death, and yet can’t wait for it to be over.
It’s damn cold and my lips are bout chapped. Lou’s checkin up on everything to make sure its all there. This is the first time we’re doin business with the with the Valentino family so Lou is more careful than usual. Their men look more nervous than ours, they probably have something planned.
I look at one of their younger ones and stare directly into his eyes. He notices me staring and looks over. His eyes meet mine, and then quickly he looks away. Just like the people in their houses, he thinks that if he doesn’t believe I’m here, I’ll go away. The boogie man likes it when people are frozen in fear, it lasts longer and its more fun to take them piece by piece. I shift my stance to face him, extend my index figure to point at him and make my hand like a gun. I open my jacket a little to show I am actually packin, and right as I catch his eye, BOOM! I pull the imaginary trigger, and though the bullets are invisible I know they have found their mark. The boy starts breathing faster in quick succession and he glances around nervously. I see a line start to run down his leg and a puddle form at his feet. Sweat forms on his brow, he then quickly walks away; but no matter how far he tries to run, he can’t get away from me. I will haunt him, I will be there to hunt him in his dreams, and every car that backfires in the street will make him jump just a little, and he will think I have come for him. Sometimes art can be invisible, and even if I don’t murder him here, he will have bullet wounds in his soul. I laugh to myself, and here I thought it was going to be a boring day.
The transfer is almost complete; the trucks are almost all loaded up, with the last barrels making their way off the boat. We are business men that have tapped the newest available market. Not much different from the oil tycoons cept we have to pay the police. Disappointed I light a cigarette to calm my nerves.
Today things went wrong, Rose and Betty got all dressed up for nothing.
Inhaling deeply I feel the smoke sweep down my throat into the depths of my lungs, and then with all that built up tension in my belly I exhale it out. The grey cloud of tension releasing from my body upwards.
As I’m looking up watching the smoke float higher, there seems to be a problem with one of the barrels. My pulse quickens just a little bit, and I can help but to smirk just a little. I can faintly make out the argument to my left,
“This is the last of your barrels! Mr. Guliani will be very disappointed if ya don’t get everything ya paid for!”
“This one ain’t goin on the Trucks ya hear! It weighs too much to be rum, and its not on the list, so we ain’t takin it!”
At that moment Lou takes charge of the situation. Walking towards the barrel but keeping his distance, Lou looks over and signals to me that the snow is going to get a whole lot redder.
My hand as if acting on its own slides down to my hip and I don’t even notice it pull out my Rose and tuck her neatly behind my back.
“Fellas calm down; we all got wives to go home to. Listen, if the barrel is not on our list then it ain’t goin on our trucks. Simple as that, think of it as a Gift from Mr. Guliani. You fellas can keep one and have a night out on us.”
CLICK, and then deafening explosion that makes my eyes tear and blurs my vision.
I find myself on the ground face implanted in the snow, my ears still ringing from the explosion moments ago. Stiffly craning my neck I look to my left and see a pile of red and black on the ground where a man once stood. It is steaming from the heat, and its face still has an expression of heightened anxiety. Rolling to the side I situate myself behind some pallets. Adrenaline surges through my veins and I feel it course through my body, pulsing in my neck and tingling in my fingers. My face contracts, to a shining arc.
Lou dives behind a crate and shouts for the trucks to get goin, might as well make some money from this disaster. The first truck lurches forward as the driver puts it into gear.
And as if the bullets were in a race, they rush out in all directions. Some of the new guys don’t know what to do, and in that instant they freeze, like deer caught in the headlights of a car. Falling like cut grass, they hit the floor with nothing more than a whimper, their minds not fully connected with their bodies. They’ve done their job, acted as bullet magnets as us veterans pick our targets.
This is where I go to work; I’d like to dedicate tonight’s piece to my dog Lucky, I’ll be bringing fresh meat home, and hopefully he wont bite into a bullet and chip his tooth like last time. Rose moves on her own, a lady with discriminating taste she looks for the best ones they have to offer, 1,2,3,4,5,6. 6 new red dots in this landscape portrait. I see them fall and yet I don’t hear any noise, all I hear is Pachabel’s Cannon in D. Moving to the tune I fill Rose back up, taking my time with each bullet, feeling the weight and the smoothness of each casing. Standing slowly I extending my arm fully and paint other men slowly 2 seconds apart. Rose sends her love with fiery kisses. The bullets trace through their bodies and continue out the back leaving little red streaks. When the kisses plant themselves on the men, they are pulled to the ground and the breath leaves their now empty vessels. With so few of them left I decide to slow my pace. Then squealing down the Warf, 3 cars come barreling down upon us. Guns blazing they spray the docks with lead in all directions. They are ruining the elegance of my painting! I have to start over with one strong brush stroke. Betty is lying in wait. With her rage I stand up and let her fury scream towards these Amateurs. Sweeping across the cars Betty sends hundreds of flares splashing against the black doors. Horizontal rain falls and through metal and men, both left smoking and broken. When Betty expires with no more words left to be shouted into these men, I walk closer to see if there is one left I can burn my memory into. In the first car I pull out of the passenger seat one still breathing, it’s good he can see. Pulling his weight up I throw him onto the pocked marked hood of the car. He is trembling from loss of nerve control and a dash of fear. Leaking from all of his orifices; some of them new, he is hanging on only by a thread. Betty really didn’t have to be so mean, however I understand because she was caught up in the moment. His eyes are wandering up to the sky, but I want him to realize that he isn’t going anywhere. With my left hand I grab his greasy hair and look directly into his eyes to make sure he can hear me.
“Your soul is staying where you stand.”
“Your flesh is nothing but another meal for my dog.”
“Your life is nothing but another addition to my work.”
With those final words, his eyes open wide, and his body starts to shake even more. I can hear a gurgling coming from his throat, and before he is able to die from shock, Rose paints for him the last thing he sees.
