Stories.

Hello All. I'm going to begin posting my short stories here.
Please choose your friends carefully.


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Wicked Sons.

By John P. Spies.

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I love cigarettes. It's rare that you are aware that something your doing is actually killing you, bit by bit. Every breath of poison air is like calmly staring death in the face and saying, fuck you, you bastard. I will have my day in the sun now. And that is why I can never quit. I want to have my day, right here, now.

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Do you know who he is?
No.
Well, what, is he dangerous?
Very.
I’m too young for this horseshit.

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Do you know who I am?
No.
I am a very powerful man, a…captain of crooked industry shall we say.
-Silence-
I need you to get rid of somebody for me.
Why can’t you do that with your own men?
Well, see, that’s the fuck of it…we…we fucked up. And now we don’t know where he is.
You have literally no idea.
Yes, that’s correct.
How much?
We’ll pay you fifty large ones if it’s done by Wednesday morning. It’s Monday. That gives you a day. Understood?
What is his name?
He goes by Danny, but we’re fairly sure that that’s not his real name. Remember, he needs to be dead for you to collect. No free riding here.
-Silence-
Look. My life consists of two things, money and revenge. I embrace my lot, Mr. Young. I know that when I die, I will burn forever. But you want to know something? I don’t give a fuck. If I can shake my fist in the face of God for a moment, only a moment, then in that moment I have become something no other man has ever been.

Well then, for your sake I hope heaven and hell are there. But I wouldn’t hold my breath, my friend.

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Everyday I get up with the sun. It’s like an eternal friend who gives us a reason to step outside in the morning, something to wake up to. I don’t mind it watching me work. When you must kill, do it with somebody watching. That way you can never say, oh God, what have I done? You have to be strong when someone is watching.

The scent of blood is strong today. The time is right for fighting in the streets.

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I need to know.
Oh fuck, oh fuck, please don’t kill me!
Just tell me. I really do need to know.
I swear to Jesus, I don’t fucking know!
Danny. You knew him. He was here.
Yes, I told you, but not for years…

When my hammer clicks back, I feel so free. The power surges through my arm. It’s addicting.

Look. I will kill you. Right now.
No, please, I swear I’m not lying!
One more time. Danny?
I DON’T KNOW

Punk. He’s going to crack. What a fucking punk.

…Danny?
He came here last night…I hadn’t seen him in years…He said he needed 50 bucks no questions…I gave it to him…he said he was going to his mother’s house…I swear that’s the truth. Don’t kill me…please…
BLAM.

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Work is hard. That’s why I don’t work. Why put yourself through the struggle of labor when you can steal or cheat or kill your way to happiness? Some people say they find the lack of moral direction in my life disturbing. I find the lack of reality in theirs to be much more disturbing. Suburbia is an unsustainable fantasy world. It is the breeding ground of all of the failures this country has endured. It is a place that begets bigotry, elitism, apathy, angst, and fear. Anything can be fed to these people and they will believe it as long as it comes from a trusted outlet. They are the reason a fool is president, and a rabble of over sexed drunks are running the country.

I don’t mind killing.
The trigger is more real than a remote control.

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He killed an associate of Danny’s early this morning.
Well I’ll be damned. Did he clean up his mess?
Yes.
Well its fine I guess. I just hope we haven’t unleashed a hound of hell.
We didn’t do a thing, sir.
I know. Did you ever find out anything about his background?
Nothing. He’s not a citizen as far as we know; he has no registrations anywhere, pays for everything in cash.
A real ghost type, huh? One too many Eastwood flicks.
He’s the only hit man we know of who has never once failed to kill a target. For a job of this importance it would have been insane not to use him.
Yes, but still, this better not come back to me. My cover is very fragile.
It won’t.
If it does, you’re going down too, you know that right?
It won’t. Danny will be dead by the morning.

Yeah. I need a drink.

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I walk through Danny’s mother’s house. I take stock of all that’s around me. Pictures. Lots of these. What is it about us and our pictures? Who are you, Danny? What did you do? Were you good to your poor, poor mother?

Well, she isn’t here. What a fucking waste of my time. I should burn the place just for the fuck of it. Just annihilate it…what’s this?

Oh Danny, what have you done? You’ve left your new address on the counter. What have you done, my friend? You’ve been your own Judas Iscariot.

What was that…line…ah yes. “When beggars die, there are no comets seen; the heavens themselves blaze forth the death of princes.”*

And now, to kill.

Funny. I said that out loud.

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You think you’re safe now, Dan?
Yeah, there’s no way those fucking goons could trail me here. Even if they did, we got enough guns here to light them up like it’s goddamn Christmastime. I’m home free.

Why did you do it?
What?
What the fuck you mean what? Why did you kill Yamin’s brother? You know that all that does is derail his takeover of all the crooked outlets in this excuse for city for a while? He’s gonna come back with more hands and more guns than a fucking gun expo...

Shut the fuck up, alright?

I did it because he needed to feel the hurt, the burn that we feel, yeah? The fucker sits in his tower; all protected and shit, nobody touches a hair on his head…the bastard wouldn’t even know what to do in a shootout, he’d probably shit his pants and call his Jew mother. The streets are his but he doesn’t own the people that walk on them. So yeah, I killed Paul. I had the shot, the chance…I couldn’t let it go.
And fuck me Danny, you never miss.
Never. I don’t know a damn soul in this world whose got a better gun.
Nope. Nobody has got a better gun, Dan.
Yessir. I don’t know what it is about the violence Bill, but dammit… I was born to kill. It’s like God created me to be a fuck up. He makes some of us to taste the good life, and others to destroy it. I was born to destroy all that is beautiful in this world. I got a taste…and I spit that shit back out. I wasn’t made to consume. I see these fake ass gangsters selling crank to little punk mall rats, see schools close down because too many kids show up with guns, most of ‘em don’t even show up at all, see these politicians bow to fucks like Yamin, and I just think…God I’ve got to end this. How did we get here, Billy my boy? How?

I have no idea.

Whatsup, Nick? Don’t just bust up in here without asking, ya bitch. God, you look like a ghost…
He killed…he killed…
WHO? WHO KILLED WHO?
He killed…Gates…and Eric…and Lazy Eye…He let me live…to tell you…
BLAM
SHIT, NICKY! WHAT THE FUCK?!!

Hello.
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As the shell casings fell at my feet, and the room glowed with light of a hundred gun blasts, I couldn’t help but smile. I will not die.

You cannot run from a bullet headed for your chest. You can only turn and face it. Then there is no fear.

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He got him.
Thank God! That was for you, Paul.
He wants to know if you want Danny dead, sir.
Dead? You mean he hasn’t killed him yet?
He was waiting for your approval, apparently.
Oh god yes! Shoot him; shoot him, or whatever he wants. Tell him we’ll pay him whenever he gets back here.

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As I hung up the phone I thought, I love cigarettes. It's rare that you are aware that something your doing is actually killing you, bit by bit. Every breath of poison air is like calmly staring death in the face and saying, fuck you, you bastard. I will have my day in the sun now. And that is why I can never quit. I want to have my day, right here, now.

Die, motherfucker.

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END.


this work is mine. please dont copy it, unless you tell me. i'll let you, i promise.
thanks

jp