It was a dark and stormy night. Yeah, I know, but it was.
The only sound to match the roaring thunder, the sound of the muzzle of my gun on his clenched teeth. He was screaming in his gut, and the sound seeped up through his vocal chords. All I heard was a squeal through his teeth.
“I’ll ask one more time. Where is she?” I had asked. I was being forceful, part of my act. I needed the information. That’s just how it was. I remember he had almost loosened his tied hands, and that his squirminess had made my trigger finger twitch. Too bad for him that he couldn’t sit still.
I couldn’t help but form a smile, at the time it was funny. This clean man, in his white shirt, his white tie, his perfectly shaven head, and that damnedable divine and glowing office. And yet, he was giddy, energetic, trying to fight back. Look where that had gotten him, his office was no longer clean, his shirt no longer white.
He hadn’t yet learned that in eagerness and idiocy, we lose ourselves and cause circumstances beyond our control. As it was, I had lost my best possible informant. There were now only few men, far and between that would know where she was. Why she had been taken. What her role in this was.
My gun had been wrapped in cloth and in my coat by the time I hit the street. I pulled my collar up when I hit the rain, and did ever it come down. The sheets of rain had crashed into the equally crushing top of my top hat. Had it of been coming down straight, I wouldn’t of had to worry about my monocle, but as it was, the rain was coming at an angle. My motorcycle was equally drenched, and I found that my back and nether regions were to become very, very wet.
Regardless, I mounted my bike and started her up. My goal at that time had been to acquire a police man in formal attire and blinking lights, and liven up my night. But that was not to be the case. I had a call on my cellular, which I had almost not bothered to answer at the time. It was for the better that I had.
It was my good friend Ron. He had a lovely bit of information for me. My next big informant was found, and waiting for me and the payment in a nearby resting place for the recently deceased. It was a good place for me, as I had been having affairs there as of late.
My wife, none too happy if she were to ever find out.
Back to my story though, I assure you I shant dally from the subject at hand. I would so like a glass of water though. Ahh, thank you. You are a good man.
So my next informant, a skeleton of a man I dare say, had little of interest for my ever hungering brain. He asked immediately for the money. Wanted to know how much there was, how much I had brought with me, where the case was, why I didn’t appear to have it on me. So many Questions.
I noticed his twitch. The way his eye trailed off on it’s own to whatever it was he was then interested in. His veins burned that night, for they had been flushed with some unloveable substance. I understood him. He was asking for me to kill him, deep down. His face melted in my hands, and somewhere in his futile attempts to free himself, I swear I heard him say “Kill” and “Me”.
Yes, so I killed him. I can’t say that I enjoyed it. His corpse was so lifeless, I hadn’t thought it could have become more so than his living abode. I stripped him down afterwards but there was nothing I could do to make his death more fun. He hadn’t even a gun. In his back pocket was a knife, better for skinning animals than for slitting throats.
So I took him into the nearest structure in the graveyard and helped him there. In his afterlife, his skin would do him no good, now would it?
I’ll spare you the details. The operation was a success and he was freed from his mortal shell. I felt quite good with myself, I must say. So good, that I felt the need to celebrate. This is the point at which I went into the café. It was a grand coincidence that it was raining, for the blood on my gloves washed off the extent that it was unnoticeable.
The small coffee shop was on the corner of a fairly busy street, so I made sure to look both ways before crossing. I think that the crowd within the café was used to the different and the absurd, there was, after all, as I’ve given you in my previous statement, a poetry reading going on at the time. I received enough looks from my appearance, but less so because of my difference. I removed my hat each time I passed a lady and bowed courteously, but received little in kind.
I found myself a wonderful little stool to sit on, perched next to a quaint little table, painted in bright colors of varying sorts and shades. A beautiful woman draped in an apron and with raven hair trickling over her brow appeared in front of me in such quick fashion I held a gasp. She asked me if I’d like some coffee.
Coffee. Have you ever had coffee before?
I’ll tell you, I hadn’t. I’d never let that roast touch my tongue after what daddy did with the coffee pot. But I will tell you, I felt at the top of my life that night. I’d freed two men. Two! I asked the young miss for the cup of a coffee that she most liked, and told her not to fret over the price. I had, after all, a quarter of a million dollars within my coat at the time.
More on the coffee at a later date, when we’ve more time. The poetry, though, I cannot wait till a later time to explain that! Over my scrumptious cup of coffee, I heard the most delightful words expressed in the most colorful fashions! Most important of all, was the third to last poet. He seemed not to be much, in fact, he wore a black t-shirt and a pair of ragged blue jeans and a ball cap to contain the mass of hair, but his words spoke something to me.
It was then that I found God. He was an awkward God, and his words slightly shaky, but he was my God. For within his words was the location of the next body. I in turn thanked him with coin and made my bike ride into the night, finding the whore on the street within his poem. I made her talk and had my way with her, all in good fun. I paid her well, and I paid her in large bills. I paid her in bullets.
The location of the girl was so much closer now. I was missing two words. During the rough relations, the whore had spoken out the words that got my path on track. “Beaverdale”, “3251 Hayes Street”, and “Marie”. I made clean my gun of the smell of her vagina, and took my leave to my home.
I slept well that night. I had done some good.
The only sound to match the roaring thunder, the sound of the muzzle of my gun on his clenched teeth. He was screaming in his gut, and the sound seeped up through his vocal chords. All I heard was a squeal through his teeth.
“I’ll ask one more time. Where is she?” I had asked. I was being forceful, part of my act. I needed the information. That’s just how it was. I remember he had almost loosened his tied hands, and that his squirminess had made my trigger finger twitch. Too bad for him that he couldn’t sit still.
I couldn’t help but form a smile, at the time it was funny. This clean man, in his white shirt, his white tie, his perfectly shaven head, and that damnedable divine and glowing office. And yet, he was giddy, energetic, trying to fight back. Look where that had gotten him, his office was no longer clean, his shirt no longer white.
He hadn’t yet learned that in eagerness and idiocy, we lose ourselves and cause circumstances beyond our control. As it was, I had lost my best possible informant. There were now only few men, far and between that would know where she was. Why she had been taken. What her role in this was.
My gun had been wrapped in cloth and in my coat by the time I hit the street. I pulled my collar up when I hit the rain, and did ever it come down. The sheets of rain had crashed into the equally crushing top of my top hat. Had it of been coming down straight, I wouldn’t of had to worry about my monocle, but as it was, the rain was coming at an angle. My motorcycle was equally drenched, and I found that my back and nether regions were to become very, very wet.
Regardless, I mounted my bike and started her up. My goal at that time had been to acquire a police man in formal attire and blinking lights, and liven up my night. But that was not to be the case. I had a call on my cellular, which I had almost not bothered to answer at the time. It was for the better that I had.
It was my good friend Ron. He had a lovely bit of information for me. My next big informant was found, and waiting for me and the payment in a nearby resting place for the recently deceased. It was a good place for me, as I had been having affairs there as of late.
My wife, none too happy if she were to ever find out.
Back to my story though, I assure you I shant dally from the subject at hand. I would so like a glass of water though. Ahh, thank you. You are a good man.
So my next informant, a skeleton of a man I dare say, had little of interest for my ever hungering brain. He asked immediately for the money. Wanted to know how much there was, how much I had brought with me, where the case was, why I didn’t appear to have it on me. So many Questions.
I noticed his twitch. The way his eye trailed off on it’s own to whatever it was he was then interested in. His veins burned that night, for they had been flushed with some unloveable substance. I understood him. He was asking for me to kill him, deep down. His face melted in my hands, and somewhere in his futile attempts to free himself, I swear I heard him say “Kill” and “Me”.
Yes, so I killed him. I can’t say that I enjoyed it. His corpse was so lifeless, I hadn’t thought it could have become more so than his living abode. I stripped him down afterwards but there was nothing I could do to make his death more fun. He hadn’t even a gun. In his back pocket was a knife, better for skinning animals than for slitting throats.
So I took him into the nearest structure in the graveyard and helped him there. In his afterlife, his skin would do him no good, now would it?
I’ll spare you the details. The operation was a success and he was freed from his mortal shell. I felt quite good with myself, I must say. So good, that I felt the need to celebrate. This is the point at which I went into the café. It was a grand coincidence that it was raining, for the blood on my gloves washed off the extent that it was unnoticeable.
The small coffee shop was on the corner of a fairly busy street, so I made sure to look both ways before crossing. I think that the crowd within the café was used to the different and the absurd, there was, after all, as I’ve given you in my previous statement, a poetry reading going on at the time. I received enough looks from my appearance, but less so because of my difference. I removed my hat each time I passed a lady and bowed courteously, but received little in kind.
I found myself a wonderful little stool to sit on, perched next to a quaint little table, painted in bright colors of varying sorts and shades. A beautiful woman draped in an apron and with raven hair trickling over her brow appeared in front of me in such quick fashion I held a gasp. She asked me if I’d like some coffee.
Coffee. Have you ever had coffee before?
I’ll tell you, I hadn’t. I’d never let that roast touch my tongue after what daddy did with the coffee pot. But I will tell you, I felt at the top of my life that night. I’d freed two men. Two! I asked the young miss for the cup of a coffee that she most liked, and told her not to fret over the price. I had, after all, a quarter of a million dollars within my coat at the time.
More on the coffee at a later date, when we’ve more time. The poetry, though, I cannot wait till a later time to explain that! Over my scrumptious cup of coffee, I heard the most delightful words expressed in the most colorful fashions! Most important of all, was the third to last poet. He seemed not to be much, in fact, he wore a black t-shirt and a pair of ragged blue jeans and a ball cap to contain the mass of hair, but his words spoke something to me.
It was then that I found God. He was an awkward God, and his words slightly shaky, but he was my God. For within his words was the location of the next body. I in turn thanked him with coin and made my bike ride into the night, finding the whore on the street within his poem. I made her talk and had my way with her, all in good fun. I paid her well, and I paid her in large bills. I paid her in bullets.
The location of the girl was so much closer now. I was missing two words. During the rough relations, the whore had spoken out the words that got my path on track. “Beaverdale”, “3251 Hayes Street”, and “Marie”. I made clean my gun of the smell of her vagina, and took my leave to my home.
I slept well that night. I had done some good.
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