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Author Topic: short story :CHAPTER TWO ADDED>  (Read 1992 times)

Offline The_Wisecrack

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short story :CHAPTER TWO ADDED>
« on: October 09, 2008, 10:52:05 PM »
Got bored of writing fantasy so thought i would start a gangster pulpy story. hopefully have part two up this or next week.  :D

Manhattan- blood and vomit


“Manhattan” mumbled the tallest P.K.M with the green bobble hat on, his long black beard ruffled against the rough leather of his coat.
“What about it?” asked another, Standing in the doorway to Louis’s Diner, a small blue building tucked in between the tall orange brick office blocks.
“I didn’t ask you a question” the tall man answered. “Damn whores, guns, money, and blood. Don’t it ever stop?”
There was a foreboding silence as the shorter man, lit a cigarette and taking a strong inhale thought about his answer. A small ring of smoke ascended into the mist as he did so,
“No, it don’t, so get used to it.” The taller mans face dropped as if he had been called ‘big’ or ‘fat’ in a mocking way.
“I am damn used to it, that’s the fucking problem.” He paused “a smoke?” he asked in a pitiful way, like a child asking if he could have a toy of one of the high shelves.
“SSHHH, here they come!” the shorter man stooped into the shadows of the alley behind a small pile of bin bags and other waste. The taller man fell back into the doorway of the club.
 Two well dressed gents walked out of a lightly lit doorway halfway down the alley. Classic jazzy tunes played across the air for a few seconds before the door was pulled shut by one of the guards in the bar. The men walked up the alleyway towards the two P.K.M’s and chatted in a formal manor.
“You make out what they’re saying?” asked the taller man stooping down to be at a similar level. 
“shut it you big head giant” the other man replied stubbing his cigar in a small puddle of god knows what next to his foot “you’ll blow our cover!”
 The two gents were growing much closer to the P.K.M’s and the conversation grew louder, snippets of “oh but I do disagree” and “ah but you see” could be caught upon the air and otherwise only the whispers of the wind were audible.
 The two P.K.M’s stayed dead still until the two gents were within a meter when the smaller man gave a signal with his left hand and the two men jumped out to confront the gents.
 The reaction of the gents was totally unexpected, one extended a hand to shake with the smaller man and the other gent turned and introduced himself to the taller man, only to be greeted with a knife to his gut!
The gent, not spluttering blood up the alley walls, realised what was happening soon enough and turned to run back down the alley, as he did so the smaller man threw a small wire lasso around his head and whipped it back with a quick cracking motion. The man lay headless on the floor.
 The dyeing gent turned to the two men and asked in a blood sodden voice
“Who are you?” he coughed up a bit more blood, his perfect white shirt was no longer perfect white. He turned to look over in the headless mans direction.
“Personal”
“Killing”
“Machines”
 answered the men in turn, and finished in a high pitched cackle of laughter.
With that the gent cough up his evening meal in an almighty heave of blood and vomit, and passed out not to wake.
 The shorter man took his top hat.
“….how do I look?” he asked, bursting into laughter and running down the alley.
The taller man by his side, plodding one footstep to every three the shorter man took.
« Last Edit: October 12, 2008, 02:19:35 PM by The_Wisecrack »
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Offline Doomhippie

  • Scatterbrained Genius
  • Posts: 2688
Re: short story :CHAPTER ONE : MANHATTAN - BLOOD AND VOMIT
« Reply #1 on: October 10, 2008, 04:30:55 PM »
Personal killing machines? That sounds like a task for Betsy Brown, star reporter.
Any more where this is coming from? I'm hooked already.
Roky Erickson flies my spaceship!

Offline The_Wisecrack

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  • Posts: 744
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Re: short story :CHAPTER ONE : MANHATTAN - BLOOD AND VOMIT
« Reply #2 on: October 10, 2008, 11:45:37 PM »
FORENOTE: the Manhattan in my story is purely fictional.
thanks
enjoy.



Manhattan – investigating gold

“Right off you say?” asked chief detective inspector Jackal, a tall slender man, medium build but with a slight hunch. It is rumoured he developed the hunch while being held hostage by the Caprielli’s, they supposedly locked him in a really small room, more of a cupboard for four days and chained him to the wall, it is said that they fed him chicken liver through a tube every 6 hours.
“y-y-yes right here…s-see” answered a small shaky forensic, indicating a long clean slice along the neck of a tall well dressed gent, the cut was like that of an axe, if it had been bought down full speed, on a piece of balsa.
“well, whatya think did it?” queried Jackal in a menacing tone, “was it a knife? An axe? … well come on”
“we’re not exactly s-s-sure sir!” blurted out the forensic as he pushed his finger into some small hole only to have a small fountain of fresh crimson blood attack his face. He jumped and stood with an un-amused look on his face, his stark ginger hair seemed to be dripping.
“go clean yourself up boy” remarked Jackal, turning he bumped straight into a shady looking character, collar up, Stetson perched precariously on his thin and frail looking black hair.
“excuse me” asked Jackal politely.
“Jackal Rimedius Jhonson?” asked the man, lifting his head and revealing a long black moustache that seemed to tickle the collar of his coat and hang of his nose in a rather curtain like way, a big grin spread across his face and yellow teeth shone through the controlling gaze he exerted.
“uh sorry, yes. How can I help?” answered Jackal more than taken aback by this meeting. There was only him the man and four forensics in the lane, and the dark light seemed to play down the alley walls in the most peculiar way.
“Come with me” commanded the man. He turned briskly and marched off towards the street.
“I am sorry, but what the hell for?” called Jackal to the reseeding silhouette that was this ‘shadow man’
“to meet Carleeto.”  Murmured the man, it is a wonder Jackal heard him, but he trooped on never the less and followed after the man. After all, what could two men do in broad daylight?
   After about two minutes of walking, the crossing of two roads, down three more alleys, and stepping in a pile of dog shit. Jackal and the man arrived at an old warehouse. The air itself seemed fishy. The whole given circumstances of the meeting seemed fishy, and it wasn’t helped by the undeniable fact....it was a fish market.
  The man signalled to Jackal to wait and slipped into a narrow crack in the tall corrugated walls. Now Jackal has some time alone he had time to think, the first thought that came to mind was, where am I. he studied his surroundings and came to the conclusion he must have been somewhere near the old docks on ferdoe street.
And then it hit him.
Carleeto was right hand man to Margo-Le-fort, A.K.A the one man fort, So called because the gangsters of Manhattan had practically NO imagination.
He had to escape, last time he got mixed up with Margo he ended up hanging in a large net from a flag pole outside his office.
It was as he turned to make his escape that two men appeared from the shadows where the other had gone.
“Jackel?, I praysume’” called one man, in a very heavy French accent, The kind of accent that wheedled into your ear and got on your nerves.
“That’s me, what d-ya want with me?” asked Jackal making an aggressive move towards the gangster.
“Heh’….” He waited for Jackal to calm down, then pulled out a small silver case from his jacket.
 “Cigar?”
Jackal took a cigar with hesitation; he let the other gangster light it then lent back on a tall oil can.
“so?” he asked waving his cigar about a bit.
“I am euuuhhh, Carleeto, This here. Is Fled.” He pointed at the shadow man.
Jackal choked a nervous laugh, for a man with such a strong aura of suspicion the name Fred hardly suited.  “we want-e’ you to keep it clean” he indicated the way Jackal had entered.
“What? You mean the streets?” asked Jackal, confused. “look Carleeto, I int no bent copper. Im a C.D.I, I take my job a bit more serious-“
He was cut off by Fred who pulled back his coat to reveal what Jackal thought was the largest pistol he had ever seen, and made a zip sign on his lips. Jackal’s stomach dropped into his legs.
“you do as we say yes? And we rewards you” Carleeto waved his finger and Fred walked back into the building. He reappeared a moment later with a small crate in his hands. He opened the crate swiftly and held it up for Jackal to observe. Jackal almost let out a small squeal. Three of the largest golden bars lay perfectly aligned in the crate, as if someone had let a group of O.C.D sufferers go mad inside. slowly and nervously stroked one bar. He weighed out his options. He could either, turn run and most likely be shot in the back OR, do as they say and clean up the case. he took the crate from Fred’s arms. It weighed at least as much as Jackals work desk to him, but then again he was a skinny little man.
“EEEYYY you take my offer yes? Merci Merci!” hailed Carleeto and then without further ado span and briskly sped off into the darkness.
The whole scene was very surreal, and as Jackal stood their with the box in hand, he realised one thing.
 How exactly do you “clean up a case” the whole forensic department knows about.
He looked to Fred as if he knew the answer.
Popping his collar and crossing his arms he mumbled in French
“ok. est maintenant votre temps de partir.!”
Raising one eyebrow Jackal started walking down the alley he came in by, crate in hand.
And stepped right in the dog shit- again.
 

 

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