It started with blood, like it always does, normally though, it’s not mine, I tasted it in my mouth, and spat a wad of it to the ground, then forced myself to my feet. The room spun like some fucked up merry-go-round, and he laughed, fucking piece of shit, if he didn’t crack me in the back of the head like a coward, this would be a fair fucking fight, shit, anything right now would be fair, but, when you can’t make heads or tails of the scenery, you either cop-out, and join all those pieces of shit that have gone before, or you find that inner harmony, that sonar, and use it.
Sadly, for this Russian piece of trash, my inner self and I had spent way too many moments like this together, so, I just close my eyes, clench my hands into fists, and let everything else do the talking.
I felt his fist connect with my stomach a few moments later, and the wind got sucked out of me. Okay, sure, I’m rusty, but give me a fucking break, it’s not exactly simple, fuck, even a bat or two hit something from time to time.
He swings another one, I was ready this time and ducked, swiveled, twisted, turned, then swung one of my own haymakers back, it connected. Unfortunately with a fucking brick wall, and he was on my back, driving several solid punches into my kidneys, piece of shit.
He gripped my hair and slammed me into the wall face first, I felt my nose burst over my face, and then, everything shuddered to a stop, I felt weightless, as the ground came up and hit me as well, then the shit drove a kick into my stomach, then another.
And then, for no apparent reason, he stopped, fucker was going to gloat, I could feel it coming.
When he started talking I had to force myself to listen as his accent was pretty strong, I couldn’t make out much of what he was saying, but the jist I got from the shit I could understand was apparently my employer Mister Killdone had screwed his boss out of a pretty big deal, and he wanted that fat fuck dead and buried, but first he wanted his operation hurt, seems they decided I was a good place to start, I grit my teeth together and wonder why they didn’t go after his slut of a daughter, or his shitty other kids.
That’s when I started to laugh, so the big fucker pulled me up by my head and wrapped one of his big meaty fucking hands around my throat like it’s a sausage fest and I’m knee-deep in German bratwurst. I think he asked me what was so funny, but I can’t be sure, like I said, his accent was thick, and that’s when he started choking on his own blood, courtesy of a six-inch blade I’d stuck there.
I crashes into the ground followed seconds later by the big Russian son-of-a-bitch, he was on his knees next to me, coughing and spluttering, then, nothing as he hit the ground face first. I felt the warmth of his blood pool underneath me, and hoped he didn’t have anything I could catch, because I wasn’t moving for a while, not that I didn’t want to, I just couldn’t.
One hundred and seventy-two staples, three teeth, a small amount of blood in my urine, my left finger, three boxes of pain killers, three balls of coke, a copy of playboy playmate of the year, nineteen eighty-two edition, half a box of tissues, and seven Russian gangsters, all in all, a very action packed thirteen hours, although, I left out the rash running down my right leg, it could’ve been there before all this started.
The guy who was slowly choking underneath the bar of my seat was known around the area as The Bear, mainly because he’s big, hairy, and likes girls with little hands to hold his tiny cock, because he can make-believe it’s a torpedo, and not a B-B-Gun pellet, sick fuck had albums of photos, some of the girls in them look underage, others, just look disgusted, but, obviously they needed something, and, he needed something in return, I pushed down on the chair the more I thought of the look on the girls faces.
I gave the slimy fucker a smile as I downed a glass of seven hundred-dollar scotch and let it burn the back of my throat, that’s around the time I heard them coming, charging towards the back area, his face was pale, his eyes bulging from his head, fat fucker left before the fun began.
The door crashed open and they came charging at me, the first collected friendly fire in the back of the head as one of the guys at the back got excited and his gun went off before we started, what I expected from inexperienced kids, I drove the palm of my hand up into the face of the next guy, the cartridge from his nose acted like a spear, and shot up into his brain, he was dead almost instantly, I used him as a shield, spinning around and firing six shots into the heads of the next two, leaving me and the early starter as the only two standing, he was wiping bits and pieces of everyone else off him by the time I was up in his face and pinned him to the wall.
He screamed, petrified, begging for me to let him live, said he was only doing this because the big moose has his family, he swore this was the first time he’d done something like thing, kept saying he was a good kid, he gave me great reasons.
So, I asked him the one question I ask everyone who begs for me to spare them.
“Do you personally know Shannon Tweed, and can you get me her autograph?”
Kid looked at me like he’d just been given the best blow job in his life and he’d blown his brain out the eye of his cock, he didn’t have time to prepare himself, which was probably better for him, the knife was in and out, and he was lying in a pool of his own blood.
It was a bust, The Bear knew shit, and I needed a new plan, maybe something with bigger explosions, you know, get all the rats to come running to me, instead of the other way around, I looked down at the big dumb fuck, and smiled to myself as an idea hit me.
It was one very dull butter knife later that my plan finally started to pay off, the room was dead quiet, I mean, fuck, you’d hear a mouse fart and swear it was six feet tall, that’s how quite it was. All eyes stared at his, void of life, while his mouth hanged open, with his tongue dangling from it. I don’t know how long it kept the room silent, a few second maybe, but, it felt longer. They just stared at The Bears’ severed head like it was the only thing in the room, and I was nothing, just a meaningless thing, that they would address at a later date.
That later date wasn’t going to come for most of them, as the empty shells hit the polished concrete, by the way, who the fuck polishes concrete anyway?
The first four boys at the table fell to the side, holes the size of breast implants gone wrong in their chests, Pam Anderson would’ve had flash backs, shit, remember when she was all perk and pretty, with her itty bittys? God, my motor turned back then.
One of them made a run at me, everything played out quicker than I gave it credit for, normally some son of a bitch will be telling you how everything slows the fuck down, and it’s like some fragmented movie reel playing in front of you? When really, you haven’t got time to even shake the snake, you just have to react. I grab him by the throat and drove a blade into his skull, he went soft and limp like Johnny Holmes emptying his load over a young and frightened Linda Lovelace. The next guy connected with a haymaker, I felt my eye socket cave in, and everything went blurry, he threw another and I moved, sending one of my own up into his throat, he stumbled backwards and I sent another into his balls. I know, who uses low blows? Hello fuckers, obviously I do, and it fucked him up. I know what you’re thinking, I probably crushed his windpipe with the first shot, so why the low blow? Well, it was kinda my way of say, hey, here’s something else to worry about than trying to breathe.
Two more came at me with lefts and rights, I blocked a couple with my skull, the rest with a few moves even Bruce would stand up and clap for, the room shat itself right there and then, or at least one of the Russian thugs did, because my nose started to sting, as the grotesque smell ripped up through my nostrils and down my throat. It spurred me on, and I found something in reserve, planted a nice solid right into shit head number one, and swung a mean left into shit head number two’s face, teeth, blood and cartridge ripped through his skin, he tried to scream but I planted another, and sent him to the ground, just in time to block, pivot and kick shit head number one to the ground. I did this fancy move, twisted my hips while I had my legs wrapped around his neck like some crazy gymnastic nymphomaniac, and the sound his spine made as I snapped it in half was almost a turn on, if shit like that did it for me.
Then, once again the room was silent, except for Old Man Galboldi, he was crouched down behind his chair, in a puddle of his own urine, crying.
The next few minutes played out like a porno, you know, the ones we wanna see, but sometimes, just for shits and giggles, they give us a story, to flesh out the dull moments, when all we really want, is for them to fuck. Well, Galboldi went straight to the fucking, I called Killdone afterwards, and the fat fuck made a big deal out of the mess I’d apparently made of Old Man Galboldi, fuck, it’s not like I killed the old fucker, in fact, Killdone’s business should only get stronger because of what I did. But hey, that’s what I get for taking it upon myself to straighten out his fuck ups, and, get back at the fuckers who thought they could come here, to my own turf, and put me in the ground, stupid fucks.
It’s water under the bridge anyway, well, almost, Galboldi gave me the name of the shit bag that put my name on the hit list before Killdone, and for the next three hours I sat in a rat infested shit heap waiting for him to hook up with one of his small time smugglers, unfortunately for him, his boys were all taking a permanent nap off the coast, well, that’s where they should’ve been by that time.
Just as I’m beginning to think it was a waste of my time the rat and his small time crew show to pick up their shipment.
I hate to admit this, only because I don’t want to sound like I get my kicks from all this shit, but, this is one of my favorite parts of the chase, when you’re ready, the trap is set, and your prey has no fucking clue whats about to happen. I fired six shots off in under four seconds removing all his boys, and he just stood there, frozen, petrified, fuck, I could see a puddle forming at his feet.
Then I got that feeling, you know, the one where you start thinking this is way too easy. That’s when it hit me, a weasel like this would never have the balls to come after me, let alone be in Killdone’s league. I can sense from your hesitation in reading this that you got it too. Anyway, my sixth sense began working over time, and I moved out-of-the-way just in time, as the eight inch blade misses doing any permanent damage, not saying he didn’t stick me with it, just saying if I was a chick, I wouldn’t be getting pregnant.
That rat Galboldi had fucked me, but, that’s okay, I’m a solid performer, like Huston at the 500, I’ll take all the blows in every hole, and I’ll still smile, because I know I’ll stand at the end of all this, sure, I’ll be totally fucked, but I’d handled bigger dicks than this and walked away.
A right smashed into my face, then a left, this guy was quick, but he wasn’t Chuck Norris quick, well, Chuck in his prime quick anyway, not that I’m bagging out Chuck, no ones that stupid. His punches were soft, he’d done a lot of gym work, but he’d never really hit someone to break bones. I drove a kick into his knee, it snapped and he screams, you see, the angle is everything, and I knew exactly where to hit. I threw a knee into his jaw as he was coming down, shattering it. He was out, that’s when bullets wiz past, all his boys are jocks, talk the talk, but shit themselves when the walk gets complicated, I fired three shots, perfectly centered, each hitting where I wanted them to go.
For a few moments, it looked like tonight was going to be a lot more fun than I though it was going to be, that’s when I slip off, into the water, I could hear them all chatting away, moving in on my location, fuckers are just that stupid, I got some distance then worked my way back, I could hear them yell he’s not here, he’s not.. Then the explosion ripped through the dock like a war head, everything for a bit over a thousand square meters had been rigged up with something I like to call the Ron, because when it blows, it blows, hard and long.
Galboldi had put himself back on the list, I knew Killdone won’t like it, but you know what?
Fuck that fat fuck Killdone, that’s what, I’d come to the end of my rope and was sick and tired of all this shit, it was time to start removing pieces of this fucking puzzle, permanently, starting with Galboldi.
So four hours later, I had Galboldi sitting in a chair, stinking of piss and shit, his hands were both a mess of bones, flesh and blood, and his fingers, well six were wedged up his nostrils and the other two were sticking out of each ear, I won’t mention where his thumbs ended up, but they made sitting uncomfortable, although, I’d guess two thumbs shoved up his arsehole wouldn’t’ve been at the top of his shit list right then and there anyway.
He gave up the upstart early on in the piece, but I was having so much fun I just kept on hammering the old fucker.
Punk kid by the name of Tommy West had moved in and wanted Killdone’s turf, but he went about it the wrong way, and Killdone sent some of his low par boys over to shake up his operation, they messed him up, but, let him live, a mistake I’d never make.The kid turned out to be the grandson of some Russian thug called Salvador The Cunt, cute name, it’s not exactly the correct translation, but it’s my interpretation of it. Regardless of what it’s supposed to say, Salvador earned his name on the bastard hills of his home land, slaughtering the peasants, and other such awesome shit I don’t want to mention here. Anyway, after the beat down Tommy contact his grandfather, and he sent over his prized pupil, the fucker who gave me the staples and the whistle while I say my s’s.
I passed on this info to Killdone and he shat bricks, he told me to clean the shit up, whatever the cost, including his low flyers.
I started there, sent them all to the bottom of Shallow Creek Bay, sorta like Dawson’s Creek, but without big head Dawson and Pacy trying to get Joey into a three-way cum bath.
Tommy was a simple task, he was so full of himself, he never though anyone would try to touch him after his grandfather sent The Russian, the blood drained out of his face when he came home and saw my fucked up face sitting at his kitchen table, surrounded by the bodies of his boys, and Old Man Galboldi’s finger licking head waiting for him.
I didn’t waste too much time on the kid, I’d already wasted more time on this than I wanted, but sometimes, when you want to really screw the pooch, you’ve got to commit and follow thru with all the hard thrusts.
So, that’s pretty much how it ended, well, that part of my day, now I get to have some rest, the flight’s going to take a few hours, and I know by the time I get there, they’ll be waiting. But hey, like I said, when you commit, you really gotta commit, no condom, full bareback, balls deep, and not a fucking care in the world.
Russia, here I come.
To Be Continued Soon In – Bad Day – From Russian, With No Fucks