First page, censored but otherwise unedited, fun, eh!? Tell me what you think!
Chapter one; The story, the gear
So, you want me to tell you a story? My story… Lord knows it’s a long one. For years I’ve lived in denial of my past, nobody knew; all anyone ever saw was the comfortable, invisible… Me. Well, let’s start from the beginning, upon my ascension to manhood.
The day I turned eighteen I was turned loose, and by loose I mean I ran off. Bought myself a lever action rifle, .44 caliber, a more beautiful piece I had never seen. Custom woodwork of Redwood with gold plated trigger and action, her name was Lust. I of course loved her name; degraded and violent, at direct odds with her slim, gentle profile but synonymous with her overall purpose. But Lust is a sad story lacking a mate to pair her with, so I needed a sidearm. Something small, concealable… With a big ‘ol magazine and some real kick.
It didn’t take me long to realize that what I wanted was a compact .45. Just so happens that it aint quite so hard to find one. Oh sweetness… I called him hunger. He was the opposite of Lust in every way. Modern, stocky, mechanical and loaded with all sorts of goodies; I expanded the magazine, gave it a triple-bladed bayonet, some spectacular night-fighting sighting mechanisms and hooked it up with an elongated, slotted barrel. Formed a bit of a muzzle break, even if all of that broke up my original purpose in having a compact weapon, but all’s well that ends well and damn if it didn’t serve me well.
So, all set, eh? I’ve got my guns, my will… What more could I need? Well if there’s one thing I’m not its rash, and don’t I know that lot of good Lust and Hunger would do me if I took a bullet or shiv to the chest. So I bought me a vest. Hot @#%& if that shell didn’t just about tap me out. D’ya know how much actual protection costs? But what one must invest, one must invest. I bought the so-called “concealable model” same protection, twice the price. But you can wear it under your shirt! Theoretically, anyhow, as it turns out it looks like a fat suit and is no less sweaty. Dunno what kind of shirt they were talking about, maybe an oversized trench coat, so I just ended up wearing it over me shirt like some kind of combat gear.
All geared up like that, thirstin’ for adventure, I immediately started advertising. Yup, I called myself a “no-hassle straight-charge armed guard” told my customers that so long as they paid me in cash, beforehand, I didn’t much care what they wanted me to do. So, yea, I suppose you could say I was begging to enter into some unsavory action. My very first job, in fact! I was told to be a doorman, to a rave. Now all’s fine and dandy ‘till people start pulling out “substances” which is lovely because it attracts every @#%&-poor junky within ten miles which again, wouldn’t be a problem if it wasn’t my job to explain that they can’t get their next fix at my employer’s revenue. This taught me a bit of a lesson. Even the most desperate, stupid individuals will shut their trap and walk away if you’ve got a shooter pointed their way. Seems like common sense but I wouldn’ta been there if I had any sense. Now as it turns out my “employer” was not just an event organizer but a scale dealer by the name of Michael Roberts. Not to my taste nor reason but that tells me that he had cash to burn on services like mine. So every now and then MRI, for that is what he liked to be called, who knows what the “I” meant, well he would kick me down a job or two.
I made it quite clear that I would not try nor be paid with his product. This made me unique, in his mind. I was probably the only “guard” on his crew that wasn’t drunk or high or both at any given moment, which meant that I became popular for jobs that required finesse. I suddenly was volunteered to guard private quarters, ride in the head car… I became head thug, really. This gave me an advantage. I suddenly got the big bucks, I got to select and haze new “recruits” to our sad little hill and it was my duty to ensure loyalty. Although me and MRI had disagreements on this point, he thought I should just give them a good whack, I believed that I should give them a whack, tell them what they did wrong and deprive them of the chance to do it again.
There’s no shame in admitting that I was having a blast. Or maybe there is, hell if I know but my point remains that I loved my job. Until July 4th, holiday and as it was it was also the biggest party MRI had ever put on. Now, being an independent contractor, and having a boss that defied stereotypes I didn’t have to go in, theoretically anyhow. I would have tried not to if I could’a but sadly the future is as cruel as luck and the seas. As it turned out that it would the night that I would make my first kill. Now I don’t remember quite when it happened, but the rave had just met its stride, so it’s my guess that it was around midnight. Being a guard, I probably could have made it out of there but… The doors burst in; there was this loud noise… This bang! The room went supernova, I couldn’t even think. Somebody was yelling, people were running and I saw a man with a gun. How could I know he was one of my own, how could I know that the cops were raiding the place? Well Jon Weis, one of my less experienced guards was coming to make sure that I, his immediate superior, was ok. Jon Weis got a .44 semi wad-cutter to the abdomen. The second round hit some raver, the third flew into nothingness and the fourth hit one of the invading officers. Right in the shin, so he’d survive. To this day I don’t know what happened to Jon. I suppose he died, but then who really knows.
Well needless to say I made a run for it, a hotshot behind me, a man by the name of Frank White, some of the muscle MRI had hired to help with the event. So the fact that I had never met this pistol-wielding, mustachioed fellow almost made me put a bullet in him. But I had other business to attend to, business that it appeared he would be accompanying me with. I burst into my apartment with a flourish, and immediately started collecting my valuables; I had shot three people, I wouldn’t be coming back. Some gold watch, a couple of grand and a change of clothes and I was gone, still followed by Frank, who seemed to be in an almost catatonic state.
That night we slept in a nearby motel. I shouldn’t say we slept, we collapsed. I still had never heard a word from Frank. It wasn’t really ‘till afterwords that I even realized he was there. Oh what the proprietor must have thought! Us walking in, worn and beaten, overlarge jackets and excess cash in the middle of the night!
Topic: Memoirs of a bandit- First page of an uneditted novela (Read 1052 times)