TheFlyingFishy:
Harold and Timothy; 1,000 words:
Pharaoh Llandy:
Jukebox Jimmy crept down the dark alley between two buildings. His head swivelled from side to side, betraying his nervous tension as his feet led him unerringly forwards. He’d just reached the green dumpster when he felt an unnatural chill pass over his body, and he yelped in fear.
After the yelp had stopped echoing around the alley, like a lost voice looking for its owner, he noticed how everything seemed a little… different… now. After crossing the invisible threshold, the shadows seemed a little darker, a little deeper. A little more… alive.
He didn’t let his mind dwell on that particular thought. It was just his imagination running away with him. And rightfully so; everybody knew that The Black Cat was the best damn assassin in the whole damn world, and only the desperate, the rich or the suicidal ever sought him out. The Cat was said to be able to move as if he himself were nothing but a shadow, existing in a world between lightness and dark, between sunshine and shade, a world of eternally shifting grey.
Which was just a bunch of bull**** made up to impress the women and the clients, of course.
Of course.
He finally spotted the door, in a particularly deep patch of shadows. When he approached, the shadows began to swirl like black ink in grey water, and he hesitated. But he’d come this far, hadn’t he? And he was desperate, wasn’t he? Certainly, he wasn’t rich, and he wasn’t suicidal, which left only desperate. So he reached up to knock on the door.
It swung open before his knuckles could land, and he knew he’d just been invited in. The Black Cat probably had the door on a piece of fishing wire or something, a strand of thread barely visible with which to impress those who weren’t savvy to the trade.
He stepped inside, being very careful not to touch the shadows, and found himself in a long, dark tunnel. There were torches set at regular intervals along the wall, but they did nothing to dispel the darkness. In fact, the shadows seemed to dance with glee at their presence… Jimmy fancied he could even hear someone humming a happy tune. Which was really frigging creepy.
There was a door at the end of the corridor, which itself had gone on for an impossibly long distance, and that too swung open as he approached, without so much as a creak or a groan. Figuring he had to see this through, Jimmy stepped inside, and found himself in a room so large that the single light above did not reach its walls. He shivered again for another reason. The Lair of The Cat! Few had been here and survived. Fewer still had seen The Cat’s face. Some said he didn’t have a face, which was just stupid.
“H—hello?” he asked, and his voice ran away from him, echoing around the room as if being passed from shadow to shadow.
“Jukebox Jimmy.” The responding voice was smooth, quiet, all whispering silk and keen edges. It made Jimmy’s hair stand on end.
“Y—you know who I am?”
“I make it a point to know all within our trade. I was very impressed with how you got your name.” There was a sound… it could have been a throaty chuckle, or a purr of pleasure. “That banker never saw the jukebox coming.”
“Thank you, Mr Cat,” he replied, as politely as possible. To be complimented by The Cat… it was a dream come true!
“What brings you to my abode, Jimmy?”
“Oh, well, it’s nothing really,” he said, feeling unsure of himself. The voice in the shadows was moving around, and Jimmy had no idea where The Cat was standing. “Just a small favour. What’s a small favour between men like us, eh?”
“I do not do ‘favours’ for my rivals. Not without good incentive.” The sound of something metal and knife-like accompanied the words.
“I can pay you!” Jimmy squeaked.
“I know.” Jimmy let out a sigh of relief, and The Black Cat continued. “Here are my terms. You will first pay me to accept the job. You will then pay me the full fees you would have received for the job.”
“That sounds fair.”
“Then there is the additional ten-percent I always charge for women. And, of course, my bribery fee.”
“Um, bribery fee?”
“You would not have come to me unless you had already tried and failed to terminate your mark. Really, Jimmy, poison on the hairbrush? A little obvious, don’t you think? At any rate, your professional credibility is at stake. I will terminate your target for you, and I will allow you to buy my silence. Say thank you.”
“Th—thank you.” Jimmy’s insides had gone cold. The Cat knew. About the mark, about his failure, about how much he’d had to pay just to find this place and save his own rep. And The Cat knew he had Jimmy by the balls.
“You’re welcome. Now, you may leave. And consider this a lesson. Next time, do not bite off more than you can chew.”
“When—”
“It’s already done. I’ll send you my bill.” The door opened behind Jimmy, admitting some of the dancing firelight. “I believe you know the way out.
Jimmy turned and took a few steps towards the safety of the corridor. A bead of sweat tracked down his forehead.
“Oh, and Jimmy?” He stopped in his tracks, and looked over his shoulder in time to see something silver and metallic flash dangerously before it was swallowed by shadows. “Just in case you’re thinking of running out on your debt, you should know that you are definitely not more than I can chew. I hope we understand one another.”
Jimmy didn’t bother with a response, he merely turned and walked down the flame-lit corridor as fast as he dared. And behind him, in the Lair of The Cat, the shadows laughed.
BenKenobi:
Lord Tim:
Harold and Timothy; 1,000 words:
Timothy was beginning to get hot sitting outside of the café in his nice suite, but he couldn’t pull himself away from his conversation with Harold. They hadn’t talked in a long time- since high school, where they had been the best of friends- and each was glad of the chance to catch up.
“So, how’re your parents?” Timothy asked, genuinely interested, as he remembered them fondly as the neighborhood “cool” parents.
“Cancer got mom last year, dad blew his brains out a month later.” Harold replied disinterestedly, looking out over the river with the same steady expression he’d worn for much of the conversation.
“What?!” asked Timothy, visibly shocked at the news.
“Yea,” sighed Harold, “but what are you gonna do? Life happens and so does death.” he sighed.
“My most sincere condolences.” said Timothy, somewhat awkwardly, “I know you were close with them…”
“Mhm.” Harold said, looking up from his examining of the river, “Say, why don’t we change the subject? How’s Timmy?”
Timothy cracked a small smile, “Timmy is living well. Remember Lois from freshman year math? We’ve been living together for four months now. Thinking of popping the question soon.”
“Lovely, that.” said Harold “Really fantastic.”
“Yea.” said Timothy, “So, how’s Mister Wall Street doing at the stocks?”
“Lost that job two years ago.” sighed Harold, “ I’m a stock boy at Walmart now. A fantastic and rewarding job, that serves to empower the little man through the virtues of hard work and belittlement.”
What about your car? And that suite? They must have cost more than I make in a year!” exclaimed Timothy
“Plastic’s magic.” said Harold, whipping out a credit card. “ And they say debt is debilitating. Heh, I’m a few hundred-thousand down and I’m living fine. Wonderful, even. Real swell-like.”
“Geeze man, is anything going for you?”
“I’ve learned perseverance and the important lessons difficulties teach. Absolutely everything is going for me.” said Harold with a slight sarcastic grin.
Timothy sighed, “Its hot out here. I told Lois I’d be out until tonight. Want to go to your place for a bit?”
“Sure, its not like I have an incredibly embarrassing, rat-infested, run down place to live in. I’d love to give you the tour.”
“Good!” Timothy said, displaying false excitement and patting Harold on the back in an attempt to cheer him up.
They both got up and walked over to Harold’s state of the art car, Harold leaving a $100 tip for the waitress and lighting up a Davidoff with his silver-lined zippo. After half an hour they arrived at Harold’s pay by the night hotel. Timothy, upon exiting the car heard a crunch and, looking down saw the needle plunger he’d just stepped on. Trying his best to repress his disgust, Timothy followed Harold up the stairs to his room. Despite the venue in which it existed, the hotel room was an oasis of riches, filled up with the latest gadgets and appliances.
“Ahem. Nice place you have here…I like the, um, TV.”
“Yea. That was expensive. Took the last of my Wall Street money. Wanna watch the game? I set the thing to record it before coming out today.”
At half-time the two struck up another conversation:
“Do you think you have your…uh…priorities straight?” asked Timothy cautiously.
“Of course I do!” said Harold, “What’s money for, if not to fill the miserable game of life with distractions?”
“I guess you’re right…but man…all that debt.”
“Forget about it. I know how the banks work. I did work on Wall Street, after all.”
The game came back on and silence followed until it ended. Timothy began to feel a growing sense of worry about his once best friend. How could his life have taken such a turn? How could he, the one that was always successful all throughout school -where Timothy himself had just scraped by- have landed in this mess? He thought about asking Harold directly, but didn’t want to offend him.
Timothy excused himself from the couch and headed for the restroom. On his way back, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a broken picture case on the floor of Harold’s bedroom. Going over and examining it revealed the picture to be a smiling Harold and some woman standing arm in arm. Curious, and hopeful that he may find a way to return Harold to the state he exhibited in the photograph, he carried it back into the living room.
“Who’s this?” asked Timothy.
“Someone that I used to know…awhile back. We went out for a bit, but then it turned up that she was cheating on me after I stopped buying her stuff.”
“Oh,” said Timothy, regretting he had brought the picture in “ I’m sorry.”
“No problem.” said Harold, fiddling about in a dresser beside the couch. “Say, Timmy, you think you could do me a small favor?”
“What’s that?” Timothy said, grateful for a chance to do something nice for Harold.
“You think you could blow my brains out?” said Harold, pulling a gun out of the dresser. “I’d do it myself, but every time I try I just think, “You know, I should really say goodbye to Timmy before I do this.”
Timothy broke out in a cold sweat and backed away slowly. “ Whoa man, put the gun down. What’s the matter with you? Ju-Just chill out.”
“I am chill. Chill as can be. I’m icy. Life has lost its spice, Timmy. I’m ready to leave it. I’ve no one to worry about saying goodbye to- ‘cept you - and now that that’s done it can end. I’d rather not do it myself, y’know, Catholic upraising and all. But I guess it is too much to ask a guy.”
Timothy moved forward ever so slightly, and at the last second lunged, but it was too late. Harold slumped down and fell softly off the couch, his credit card falling out of his chest pocket and into the pool of blood.
“So, how’re your parents?” Timothy asked, genuinely interested, as he remembered them fondly as the neighborhood “cool” parents.
“Cancer got mom last year, dad blew his brains out a month later.” Harold replied disinterestedly, looking out over the river with the same steady expression he’d worn for much of the conversation.
“What?!” asked Timothy, visibly shocked at the news.
“Yea,” sighed Harold, “but what are you gonna do? Life happens and so does death.” he sighed.
“My most sincere condolences.” said Timothy, somewhat awkwardly, “I know you were close with them…”
“Mhm.” Harold said, looking up from his examining of the river, “Say, why don’t we change the subject? How’s Timmy?”
Timothy cracked a small smile, “Timmy is living well. Remember Lois from freshman year math? We’ve been living together for four months now. Thinking of popping the question soon.”
“Lovely, that.” said Harold “Really fantastic.”
“Yea.” said Timothy, “So, how’s Mister Wall Street doing at the stocks?”
“Lost that job two years ago.” sighed Harold, “ I’m a stock boy at Walmart now. A fantastic and rewarding job, that serves to empower the little man through the virtues of hard work and belittlement.”
What about your car? And that suite? They must have cost more than I make in a year!” exclaimed Timothy
“Plastic’s magic.” said Harold, whipping out a credit card. “ And they say debt is debilitating. Heh, I’m a few hundred-thousand down and I’m living fine. Wonderful, even. Real swell-like.”
“Geeze man, is anything going for you?”
“I’ve learned perseverance and the important lessons difficulties teach. Absolutely everything is going for me.” said Harold with a slight sarcastic grin.
Timothy sighed, “Its hot out here. I told Lois I’d be out until tonight. Want to go to your place for a bit?”
“Sure, its not like I have an incredibly embarrassing, rat-infested, run down place to live in. I’d love to give you the tour.”
“Good!” Timothy said, displaying false excitement and patting Harold on the back in an attempt to cheer him up.
They both got up and walked over to Harold’s state of the art car, Harold leaving a $100 tip for the waitress and lighting up a Davidoff with his silver-lined zippo. After half an hour they arrived at Harold’s pay by the night hotel. Timothy, upon exiting the car heard a crunch and, looking down saw the needle plunger he’d just stepped on. Trying his best to repress his disgust, Timothy followed Harold up the stairs to his room. Despite the venue in which it existed, the hotel room was an oasis of riches, filled up with the latest gadgets and appliances.
“Ahem. Nice place you have here…I like the, um, TV.”
“Yea. That was expensive. Took the last of my Wall Street money. Wanna watch the game? I set the thing to record it before coming out today.”
At half-time the two struck up another conversation:
“Do you think you have your…uh…priorities straight?” asked Timothy cautiously.
“Of course I do!” said Harold, “What’s money for, if not to fill the miserable game of life with distractions?”
“I guess you’re right…but man…all that debt.”
“Forget about it. I know how the banks work. I did work on Wall Street, after all.”
The game came back on and silence followed until it ended. Timothy began to feel a growing sense of worry about his once best friend. How could his life have taken such a turn? How could he, the one that was always successful all throughout school -where Timothy himself had just scraped by- have landed in this mess? He thought about asking Harold directly, but didn’t want to offend him.
Timothy excused himself from the couch and headed for the restroom. On his way back, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a broken picture case on the floor of Harold’s bedroom. Going over and examining it revealed the picture to be a smiling Harold and some woman standing arm in arm. Curious, and hopeful that he may find a way to return Harold to the state he exhibited in the photograph, he carried it back into the living room.
“Who’s this?” asked Timothy.
“Someone that I used to know…awhile back. We went out for a bit, but then it turned up that she was cheating on me after I stopped buying her stuff.”
“Oh,” said Timothy, regretting he had brought the picture in “ I’m sorry.”
“No problem.” said Harold, fiddling about in a dresser beside the couch. “Say, Timmy, you think you could do me a small favor?”
“What’s that?” Timothy said, grateful for a chance to do something nice for Harold.
“You think you could blow my brains out?” said Harold, pulling a gun out of the dresser. “I’d do it myself, but every time I try I just think, “You know, I should really say goodbye to Timmy before I do this.”
Timothy broke out in a cold sweat and backed away slowly. “ Whoa man, put the gun down. What’s the matter with you? Ju-Just chill out.”
“I am chill. Chill as can be. I’m icy. Life has lost its spice, Timmy. I’m ready to leave it. I’ve no one to worry about saying goodbye to- ‘cept you - and now that that’s done it can end. I’d rather not do it myself, y’know, Catholic upraising and all. But I guess it is too much to ask a guy.”
Timothy moved forward ever so slightly, and at the last second lunged, but it was too late. Harold slumped down and fell softly off the couch, his credit card falling out of his chest pocket and into the pool of blood.
Pharaoh Llandy:
From One Professional to Another
Jukebox Jimmy crept down the dark alley between two buildings. His head swivelled from side to side, betraying his nervous tension as his feet led him unerringly forwards. He’d just reached the green dumpster when he felt an unnatural chill pass over his body, and he yelped in fear.
After the yelp had stopped echoing around the alley, like a lost voice looking for its owner, he noticed how everything seemed a little… different… now. After crossing the invisible threshold, the shadows seemed a little darker, a little deeper. A little more… alive.
He didn’t let his mind dwell on that particular thought. It was just his imagination running away with him. And rightfully so; everybody knew that The Black Cat was the best damn assassin in the whole damn world, and only the desperate, the rich or the suicidal ever sought him out. The Cat was said to be able to move as if he himself were nothing but a shadow, existing in a world between lightness and dark, between sunshine and shade, a world of eternally shifting grey.
Which was just a bunch of bull**** made up to impress the women and the clients, of course.
Of course.
He finally spotted the door, in a particularly deep patch of shadows. When he approached, the shadows began to swirl like black ink in grey water, and he hesitated. But he’d come this far, hadn’t he? And he was desperate, wasn’t he? Certainly, he wasn’t rich, and he wasn’t suicidal, which left only desperate. So he reached up to knock on the door.
It swung open before his knuckles could land, and he knew he’d just been invited in. The Black Cat probably had the door on a piece of fishing wire or something, a strand of thread barely visible with which to impress those who weren’t savvy to the trade.
He stepped inside, being very careful not to touch the shadows, and found himself in a long, dark tunnel. There were torches set at regular intervals along the wall, but they did nothing to dispel the darkness. In fact, the shadows seemed to dance with glee at their presence… Jimmy fancied he could even hear someone humming a happy tune. Which was really frigging creepy.
There was a door at the end of the corridor, which itself had gone on for an impossibly long distance, and that too swung open as he approached, without so much as a creak or a groan. Figuring he had to see this through, Jimmy stepped inside, and found himself in a room so large that the single light above did not reach its walls. He shivered again for another reason. The Lair of The Cat! Few had been here and survived. Fewer still had seen The Cat’s face. Some said he didn’t have a face, which was just stupid.
“H—hello?” he asked, and his voice ran away from him, echoing around the room as if being passed from shadow to shadow.
“Jukebox Jimmy.” The responding voice was smooth, quiet, all whispering silk and keen edges. It made Jimmy’s hair stand on end.
“Y—you know who I am?”
“I make it a point to know all within our trade. I was very impressed with how you got your name.” There was a sound… it could have been a throaty chuckle, or a purr of pleasure. “That banker never saw the jukebox coming.”
“Thank you, Mr Cat,” he replied, as politely as possible. To be complimented by The Cat… it was a dream come true!
“What brings you to my abode, Jimmy?”
“Oh, well, it’s nothing really,” he said, feeling unsure of himself. The voice in the shadows was moving around, and Jimmy had no idea where The Cat was standing. “Just a small favour. What’s a small favour between men like us, eh?”
“I do not do ‘favours’ for my rivals. Not without good incentive.” The sound of something metal and knife-like accompanied the words.
“I can pay you!” Jimmy squeaked.
“I know.” Jimmy let out a sigh of relief, and The Black Cat continued. “Here are my terms. You will first pay me to accept the job. You will then pay me the full fees you would have received for the job.”
“That sounds fair.”
“Then there is the additional ten-percent I always charge for women. And, of course, my bribery fee.”
“Um, bribery fee?”
“You would not have come to me unless you had already tried and failed to terminate your mark. Really, Jimmy, poison on the hairbrush? A little obvious, don’t you think? At any rate, your professional credibility is at stake. I will terminate your target for you, and I will allow you to buy my silence. Say thank you.”
“Th—thank you.” Jimmy’s insides had gone cold. The Cat knew. About the mark, about his failure, about how much he’d had to pay just to find this place and save his own rep. And The Cat knew he had Jimmy by the balls.
“You’re welcome. Now, you may leave. And consider this a lesson. Next time, do not bite off more than you can chew.”
“When—”
“It’s already done. I’ll send you my bill.” The door opened behind Jimmy, admitting some of the dancing firelight. “I believe you know the way out.
Jimmy turned and took a few steps towards the safety of the corridor. A bead of sweat tracked down his forehead.
“Oh, and Jimmy?” He stopped in his tracks, and looked over his shoulder in time to see something silver and metallic flash dangerously before it was swallowed by shadows. “Just in case you’re thinking of running out on your debt, you should know that you are definitely not more than I can chew. I hope we understand one another.”
Jimmy didn’t bother with a response, he merely turned and walked down the flame-lit corridor as fast as he dared. And behind him, in the Lair of The Cat, the shadows laughed.
BenKenobi:
“Hey, mommie, that’s V16! Cadillac 452B!” shouted the girl as she ran towards the black limo standing by the side of the street.
“Kat, get back! Back!” screamed the older woman, apparently her mother, in response; all frightened by the little lady crossing the street all on her own. But luck was on the side of little Kat that day and soon she was standing on the sidestep, peeking into the automobile. Imagine her surprise when the window was rolled down by an elderly man sitting at the back seat.
“Hello there, trooper!” said the man, amused by the sight of little girl all eager to see what’s inside.
“I…um…” stuttered Kat who was expecting the empty automobile to be a little more…empty. “Sorry, mister…I…I didn’t mean to disturb you.”
“No, no, that’s all right, sweetie. What’s your name?”
“Kat…I mean…Catherine.”
“How would Kat like to have some cake? And maybe some hot chocolate too. What do you say, Kat?”
“I…my mom said I shouldn’t talk to strangers.”
“We will take your mommie with us then. It is Christmas and people should help each other. It’s really the slightest thing I can do for you. Besides, one gets lonely in a big car like this.”
As unlikely as it may sound, the trio really had fun; especially little Kat who, unlike her mother, was not concerned by the presence of men with suspiciously bulked overcoats standing by the entrance to the café at all. And they talked and talked and laughed so loudly that the sounds of street were completely inaudible for them. Such as the sound that is usually heard when numerous Tommy Guns are shattering window panes of the ridiculously expensive 1932 Cadillac 452B.
“Sir, we don’t quite know what happened. There were…two automobiles driving by and shooting at your car. The chauffeur is dead. You were very lucky to take the walk. You would’ve been dead by now if you’ve stayed in the car,” whispered a man into mob boss’s ear.
Group of gunmen then escorted the trio out of the café and the convoy of vehicles left the place and flew through the city until it reached the house of Kat’s family.
“Miss, may I talk with your daughter for a moment?” asked the boss the mother.
“Well…of course,” said the mother, still shocked by recent events.
“Kat…”said the mob boss when he was in the car with Kat besides him. “…you probably don’t know what exactly had happened, but let’s say you’ve done a big favor to me. And I would like to repay it. Name anything you want. Anything, really,”
And even though Kat was thinking about ponies and dolls and sweet rolls for a moment, like every little girl would have, she was very practical child and didn’t want her wish to be wasted.
“Can…can your friends…help me…with homework from time to time?” asked she reluctantly.
“My friends? Oh Kat,” replied the man and nearly burst into laughter. “Of course they can! And they will!”
“Can they also walk the dog and wash the dishes?”
“Well, if your mother agrees…Sam! Thomas! Paul! You will go with the young lady and do whatever she will ask of you,” said the boss. “You will be paid as usual.”
“All right, Mr. Saliante,” replied the men.
Happy times had arisen for Kat. And even though her mother was not particularly thrilled by the presence of armed men in her house, she soon had to admit that another three pairs of hands were very helpful in the household, not to mention that she would probably had confessed having some feelings for Thomas in her weaker moments. Kat’s school results had improved rapidly – while these particular gunmen were not exactly Harvard graduates, they were more than capable of solving problems for children of ten years of age.
Her friends had also noticed the difference in her behavior and were generally more kind and friendly towards her. By simple confidence she befriended all of her classmates, even the ones who had been bullying her for years, such as Annie, spoiled child from prominent family. Even she had become friendlier; or at least more calm and silent. But maybe, just maybe, it was just her trying too hard to conceal the tears from weeping for her suddenly lost beagle. Evelyn had also realized she shouldn’t had bragged about her doll house so arrogantly, but only after a group of three men left her family’s house, with doll’s strands of hair still on their baseball bats. And God knows that Tommy would probably have never stolen Claire’s pink ribbon if he had known that Claire was one of the best Kat’s friends. He was quite shocked when he was dragged to a hairdresser and saw his precious haircut turning into a completely shaved head.
And lastly, it was her generosity and new position that had finally driven her secret sweetheart towards her. Although the meeting was not particularly pleasant for Charlie, as he had little space to be as manly as he would have wanted, Kat smiled every time something reminded her of this first…date.
“Kat, they made me give them my lunch money! I could do nothing but hand it to them - there were four of them and all older than me. Those boys from the eighth grade, you know? They said they’re going to beat me if I resist. I am alone and I cannot go to the school representatives – you understand that, Kat. I just want justice!”
“Charlie…Charlie. Why had you never been my friend? If you had been my friend, those bullies would have their heads shoved in the toilet this very day. I care for my friends, and I do them favors. And I know they would do me a favor one day, even though that day may never come. That’s friendship, Charlie,” said Kat silently.
“Be my friend, Kat,” replied humbly Charlie and kissed Kat’s hand.
Power is not so bad, thought Kat.
“Kat, get back! Back!” screamed the older woman, apparently her mother, in response; all frightened by the little lady crossing the street all on her own. But luck was on the side of little Kat that day and soon she was standing on the sidestep, peeking into the automobile. Imagine her surprise when the window was rolled down by an elderly man sitting at the back seat.
“Hello there, trooper!” said the man, amused by the sight of little girl all eager to see what’s inside.
“I…um…” stuttered Kat who was expecting the empty automobile to be a little more…empty. “Sorry, mister…I…I didn’t mean to disturb you.”
“No, no, that’s all right, sweetie. What’s your name?”
“Kat…I mean…Catherine.”
“How would Kat like to have some cake? And maybe some hot chocolate too. What do you say, Kat?”
“I…my mom said I shouldn’t talk to strangers.”
“We will take your mommie with us then. It is Christmas and people should help each other. It’s really the slightest thing I can do for you. Besides, one gets lonely in a big car like this.”
As unlikely as it may sound, the trio really had fun; especially little Kat who, unlike her mother, was not concerned by the presence of men with suspiciously bulked overcoats standing by the entrance to the café at all. And they talked and talked and laughed so loudly that the sounds of street were completely inaudible for them. Such as the sound that is usually heard when numerous Tommy Guns are shattering window panes of the ridiculously expensive 1932 Cadillac 452B.
“Sir, we don’t quite know what happened. There were…two automobiles driving by and shooting at your car. The chauffeur is dead. You were very lucky to take the walk. You would’ve been dead by now if you’ve stayed in the car,” whispered a man into mob boss’s ear.
Group of gunmen then escorted the trio out of the café and the convoy of vehicles left the place and flew through the city until it reached the house of Kat’s family.
“Miss, may I talk with your daughter for a moment?” asked the boss the mother.
“Well…of course,” said the mother, still shocked by recent events.
“Kat…”said the mob boss when he was in the car with Kat besides him. “…you probably don’t know what exactly had happened, but let’s say you’ve done a big favor to me. And I would like to repay it. Name anything you want. Anything, really,”
And even though Kat was thinking about ponies and dolls and sweet rolls for a moment, like every little girl would have, she was very practical child and didn’t want her wish to be wasted.
“Can…can your friends…help me…with homework from time to time?” asked she reluctantly.
“My friends? Oh Kat,” replied the man and nearly burst into laughter. “Of course they can! And they will!”
“Can they also walk the dog and wash the dishes?”
“Well, if your mother agrees…Sam! Thomas! Paul! You will go with the young lady and do whatever she will ask of you,” said the boss. “You will be paid as usual.”
“All right, Mr. Saliante,” replied the men.
Happy times had arisen for Kat. And even though her mother was not particularly thrilled by the presence of armed men in her house, she soon had to admit that another three pairs of hands were very helpful in the household, not to mention that she would probably had confessed having some feelings for Thomas in her weaker moments. Kat’s school results had improved rapidly – while these particular gunmen were not exactly Harvard graduates, they were more than capable of solving problems for children of ten years of age.
Her friends had also noticed the difference in her behavior and were generally more kind and friendly towards her. By simple confidence she befriended all of her classmates, even the ones who had been bullying her for years, such as Annie, spoiled child from prominent family. Even she had become friendlier; or at least more calm and silent. But maybe, just maybe, it was just her trying too hard to conceal the tears from weeping for her suddenly lost beagle. Evelyn had also realized she shouldn’t had bragged about her doll house so arrogantly, but only after a group of three men left her family’s house, with doll’s strands of hair still on their baseball bats. And God knows that Tommy would probably have never stolen Claire’s pink ribbon if he had known that Claire was one of the best Kat’s friends. He was quite shocked when he was dragged to a hairdresser and saw his precious haircut turning into a completely shaved head.
And lastly, it was her generosity and new position that had finally driven her secret sweetheart towards her. Although the meeting was not particularly pleasant for Charlie, as he had little space to be as manly as he would have wanted, Kat smiled every time something reminded her of this first…date.
“Kat, they made me give them my lunch money! I could do nothing but hand it to them - there were four of them and all older than me. Those boys from the eighth grade, you know? They said they’re going to beat me if I resist. I am alone and I cannot go to the school representatives – you understand that, Kat. I just want justice!”
“Charlie…Charlie. Why had you never been my friend? If you had been my friend, those bullies would have their heads shoved in the toilet this very day. I care for my friends, and I do them favors. And I know they would do me a favor one day, even though that day may never come. That’s friendship, Charlie,” said Kat silently.
“Be my friend, Kat,” replied humbly Charlie and kissed Kat’s hand.
Power is not so bad, thought Kat.
Lord Tim:
Everything went according to plan, alas, my alternative plan. Running through the jungle with my hands in the air was a perfect excuse for going even slower. A few blows to the head wouldn’t change anything about that. They brought me all the way back to the camp. While most people would have been looking for a way out of there now, I couldn’t help but notice the smell of dry sweat crawling up my nose. I wasn’t sure whether it was mine or one of the mercenary’s (or just a combination of them all), but it bothered me greatly as I realized this was probably my last chance ever to inhale fresh air. Everywhere were men running, scavenging, looking behind every corner, under every bush. The gates to the temple were sealed off, in case they were still inside. As we approached a small barrack, one of the mercenaries grabbed my right arm and placed it on my back, while pulling my head back by the hair. As if I was going to run anywhere. Another opened its door. They pushed me inside and placed me on a wooden chair, my hands tied with carrier straps. They closed the door again.
The interrogator was a typical Mexican mobster, dark sunglasses, a white suit. I always thought it was a symbol of power, and a symptom of overconfidence. It was as if they felt like no one could stop them, so why wouldn’t they show off a little? “Where are the others?” he asked, trying to befall friendly, although I could clearly hear the trembling of frustration in his voice.
A man behind me slapped me in the head again and repeated the question. “What others?”, I replied. One may have thought I was trying to be funny, but actually I was just winning time. The man in the white suit nodded and a hard blow from the back of a rifle stroke my head. For a few seconds, the room blurred out and I could hear bells ringing all around me, but then I was brought back to life when someone poured a bucket of water over me, minus the bucket.
The interrogator came really close to my face, and for a second I thought it would be smart to bite him, but I figured that wouldn’t do me much good, so I just spit. He drew a tissue from his vest and wiped his face, but did not move. He kept staring at me as if the answer was written in my eyes. Any man would understand that I kept staring back, and that kind of machismo may have insulted him a bit. He started whispering, as if the others were not allowed to hear it, but it was probably just his way of trying to intimidate me.
“Listen you little ****, there is no way that they can hide out on this island forever, so we will find them eventually. It’s just up to you whether you’d like to live your last hours in a lot of pain and agony, or if you want me to make it short and painless.”
I said nothing, I just kept staring at him, like an angry dog staring at a trespasser from behind the window. “Very well.”, he said, “Rip his shirt open!”. Two men grabbed me from behind and ripped my shirt open while the Mexican exposed a knife hidden under his socks.
He placed it against my chest and carefully moved it downwards to my right nipple. With a grunt he pierced through the flesh into the nipple. I had promised myself not to scream, but once such a thing happens, you lose all control. The pain lasted, even once you’ve calmed down, you’re just learning to tolerate it. He slapped me again to draw my attention. “Where is the Tiger’s Tail?”. I tried to speak, but it proved more difficult than I thought. After muttering a few vowel sounds I managed to utter a full sentence. “Look behind you.” And of course, the fool turned around to see the wall of the barrack.
“Where? What’s behind me?”
“It’s certainly not up your ass.”, I said.
I purposely pissed him off, in the end, what else was he going to do? Hurt me more? He was going to kill me anyways, why would I bother? In a rage, he brought the knife back to the wound like a predator ripping the flesh of his prey, he cut the nipple lose. I burst out in agonizing screams mixed with insane laughter. It’s funny, how a man can laugh at his own misery sometimes. That’s when I heard it, that’s when everybody heard it. It started as an engine far away until it flew over the camp. A small airplane, carrying them and their treasure; the Tiger’s Tail.
The mercenaries kicked the door open and outside were others, firing at the plane pointlessly. This was when I saw my chance. I jumped up while still tied to the chair and bit the Mexican in the throat. I bit like a mad man, without losing my grip. I felt the knife going through my body again and again, until all movement finally stopped. And there we were, lying next to each other, bleeding to death. The plane was gone, it was done, they saved the Tiger’s Tail.
The interrogator was a typical Mexican mobster, dark sunglasses, a white suit. I always thought it was a symbol of power, and a symptom of overconfidence. It was as if they felt like no one could stop them, so why wouldn’t they show off a little? “Where are the others?” he asked, trying to befall friendly, although I could clearly hear the trembling of frustration in his voice.
A man behind me slapped me in the head again and repeated the question. “What others?”, I replied. One may have thought I was trying to be funny, but actually I was just winning time. The man in the white suit nodded and a hard blow from the back of a rifle stroke my head. For a few seconds, the room blurred out and I could hear bells ringing all around me, but then I was brought back to life when someone poured a bucket of water over me, minus the bucket.
The interrogator came really close to my face, and for a second I thought it would be smart to bite him, but I figured that wouldn’t do me much good, so I just spit. He drew a tissue from his vest and wiped his face, but did not move. He kept staring at me as if the answer was written in my eyes. Any man would understand that I kept staring back, and that kind of machismo may have insulted him a bit. He started whispering, as if the others were not allowed to hear it, but it was probably just his way of trying to intimidate me.
“Listen you little ****, there is no way that they can hide out on this island forever, so we will find them eventually. It’s just up to you whether you’d like to live your last hours in a lot of pain and agony, or if you want me to make it short and painless.”
I said nothing, I just kept staring at him, like an angry dog staring at a trespasser from behind the window. “Very well.”, he said, “Rip his shirt open!”. Two men grabbed me from behind and ripped my shirt open while the Mexican exposed a knife hidden under his socks.
He placed it against my chest and carefully moved it downwards to my right nipple. With a grunt he pierced through the flesh into the nipple. I had promised myself not to scream, but once such a thing happens, you lose all control. The pain lasted, even once you’ve calmed down, you’re just learning to tolerate it. He slapped me again to draw my attention. “Where is the Tiger’s Tail?”. I tried to speak, but it proved more difficult than I thought. After muttering a few vowel sounds I managed to utter a full sentence. “Look behind you.” And of course, the fool turned around to see the wall of the barrack.
“Where? What’s behind me?”
“It’s certainly not up your ass.”, I said.
I purposely pissed him off, in the end, what else was he going to do? Hurt me more? He was going to kill me anyways, why would I bother? In a rage, he brought the knife back to the wound like a predator ripping the flesh of his prey, he cut the nipple lose. I burst out in agonizing screams mixed with insane laughter. It’s funny, how a man can laugh at his own misery sometimes. That’s when I heard it, that’s when everybody heard it. It started as an engine far away until it flew over the camp. A small airplane, carrying them and their treasure; the Tiger’s Tail.
The mercenaries kicked the door open and outside were others, firing at the plane pointlessly. This was when I saw my chance. I jumped up while still tied to the chair and bit the Mexican in the throat. I bit like a mad man, without losing my grip. I felt the knife going through my body again and again, until all movement finally stopped. And there we were, lying next to each other, bleeding to death. The plane was gone, it was done, they saved the Tiger’s Tail.
