terror.
“Come on, guys. Let’s not be dramatic. Accept the situation as a result of poor life choices. One of you is going to die today. And one of you is going to tell me what I want to know.” Charlie walked over to the door and opened it just far enough to grab the sack he’d left outside on the steps. He heaved it up on the counter. “This,” he said, opening the sack, “is a vibratory tumbler.”
Still, both men remained silent.
“I’m pretty lucky that guy at the gun range had an extra. I thought about getting a paint shaker, but who the hell knows where to get one of those these days. Can you guess what I’m gonna do with it?”
Guessing wasn’t necessary, as both men knew. “Wait,” Dick yelped, and Clarence mumbled something through the duct tape along the same lines. Being the shake-and-bake entrepreneurs they were, they were fully aware that shaking the bottle too much meant the gasses would build up and explode.
Charlie was glad he didn’t have to explain it to them and sound more dramatic, though he was wondering if he could actually punch through a man’s chest. He felt a pang of regret when he realized Dick would have been an better crash test dummy, but the floor was a better surface to get the desired impact.
“I-I know who she is,” Dick said. “I just didn’t recognize the picture right away. Her name is Kay, right?”
Charlie looked over his shoulder, down at the man who was taped to the floor. “It’s not looking too good for you, Clarence.” He turned back to Dick. “Go on.”
“I saw her hanging around with Damon. She’s one of Damon’s girls.”
“Damon?” Charlie asked.
“Yeah, Damon. I thought you worked for him. I mean, no one’s dumb enough to just walk in here and rip Damon off. Obviously you’re one of his guys, right?” Dick started to sweat.
Meanwhile, Charlie walked over to where Clarence was still moaning about something or another on the floor. “Well, Clarence, I guess that’s it for you. Sorry we didn’t get a chance to talk.” Charlie got down on his knees, then paused for effect. “You know, I’m not entirely sure this won’t give you a heart attack. I guess we’ll find that out together.”
The first punch landed flush over Clarence’s heart with a dull thud . Clarence let out a low moan. It was a strange sound to hear, but Charlie hadn’t really knocked the wind out of him, nor had he hit him in the face. It was all a learning experience. The second punch landed a little more crisply, and Charlie felt a rib crack. It all snowballed from there, and as he thought about Kay and all the others who were strung out because of those asshole makeshift chemists, he couldn’t help himself. All he could see was Kay lying there, cold, dead, and pale on the coroner’s table. His mind wandered to her walking around the trailer park, and he pictured her sitting on a couch somewhere, stoned out of her mind and being assaulted by faceless forms. He saw it all and pounded away on Clarence’s chest over and over and over again. Soon, all Charlie could hear was the rush of blood in his own ears.
Somewhere in the background, Dick’s whining voice wailed, “Oh, Jesus, Oh, God,” over and over again.
Charlie face dripped with sweat by the time he stood again and he wiped his chin with the sleeve of his shirt. Clarence was motionless, his eyes bulging with broken blood vessels, and Charlie wondered if it had been a heart attack or some kind of aneurism that killed him—not that it really mattered. He grabbed a paper towel from next to the kitchenette sink and wiped his brow. “So, Dick,” Charlie said, slightly winded, “now that Clarence is out of the picture, how about you tell me a bit more about this Damon?”
Dick was very accommodating. He told Charlie as much as he could remember. He recalled the important details, like where Damon lived, about how many guys worked for him, when major pickups were supposed to happen, and stuff like
“Come on, guys. Let’s not be dramatic. Accept the situation as a result of poor life choices. One of you is going to die today. And one of you is going to tell me what I want to know.” Charlie walked over to the door and opened it just far enough to grab the sack he’d left outside on the steps. He heaved it up on the counter. “This,” he said, opening the sack, “is a vibratory tumbler.”
Still, both men remained silent.
“I’m pretty lucky that guy at the gun range had an extra. I thought about getting a paint shaker, but who the hell knows where to get one of those these days. Can you guess what I’m gonna do with it?”
Guessing wasn’t necessary, as both men knew. “Wait,” Dick yelped, and Clarence mumbled something through the duct tape along the same lines. Being the shake-and-bake entrepreneurs they were, they were fully aware that shaking the bottle too much meant the gasses would build up and explode.
Charlie was glad he didn’t have to explain it to them and sound more dramatic, though he was wondering if he could actually punch through a man’s chest. He felt a pang of regret when he realized Dick would have been an better crash test dummy, but the floor was a better surface to get the desired impact.
“I-I know who she is,” Dick said. “I just didn’t recognize the picture right away. Her name is Kay, right?”
Charlie looked over his shoulder, down at the man who was taped to the floor. “It’s not looking too good for you, Clarence.” He turned back to Dick. “Go on.”
“I saw her hanging around with Damon. She’s one of Damon’s girls.”
“Damon?” Charlie asked.
“Yeah, Damon. I thought you worked for him. I mean, no one’s dumb enough to just walk in here and rip Damon off. Obviously you’re one of his guys, right?” Dick started to sweat.
Meanwhile, Charlie walked over to where Clarence was still moaning about something or another on the floor. “Well, Clarence, I guess that’s it for you. Sorry we didn’t get a chance to talk.” Charlie got down on his knees, then paused for effect. “You know, I’m not entirely sure this won’t give you a heart attack. I guess we’ll find that out together.”
The first punch landed flush over Clarence’s heart with a dull thud . Clarence let out a low moan. It was a strange sound to hear, but Charlie hadn’t really knocked the wind out of him, nor had he hit him in the face. It was all a learning experience. The second punch landed a little more crisply, and Charlie felt a rib crack. It all snowballed from there, and as he thought about Kay and all the others who were strung out because of those asshole makeshift chemists, he couldn’t help himself. All he could see was Kay lying there, cold, dead, and pale on the coroner’s table. His mind wandered to her walking around the trailer park, and he pictured her sitting on a couch somewhere, stoned out of her mind and being assaulted by faceless forms. He saw it all and pounded away on Clarence’s chest over and over and over again. Soon, all Charlie could hear was the rush of blood in his own ears.
Somewhere in the background, Dick’s whining voice wailed, “Oh, Jesus, Oh, God,” over and over again.
Charlie face dripped with sweat by the time he stood again and he wiped his chin with the sleeve of his shirt. Clarence was motionless, his eyes bulging with broken blood vessels, and Charlie wondered if it had been a heart attack or some kind of aneurism that killed him—not that it really mattered. He grabbed a paper towel from next to the kitchenette sink and wiped his brow. “So, Dick,” Charlie said, slightly winded, “now that Clarence is out of the picture, how about you tell me a bit more about this Damon?”
Dick was very accommodating. He told Charlie as much as he could remember. He recalled the important details, like where Damon lived, about how many guys worked for him, when major pickups were supposed to happen, and stuff like
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