This Guy #2
We spent a few days out of state, shacked up in a small motel eating takeout and drinking. The news was reporting the body as a gangland assassination, which pretty much cleared us; we had no connection to anyone or anything. Except for That Guy, he was out there somewhere, waiting for My Friend to poke his head out. I was a little surprised at my lack of feeling about killing This Guy. It didn't really matter to me at all, I did what I had to do, I guessed if I was more religious I might have prayed for his soul or something.
I had made up my mind to find That Guy. I was pissed that he tried to force My Friend to do this thing, mad that it made me a criminal protecting myself, my friends. I was pissed at My Friend too, for being a sucker, a mark. He was just bored though, and bored accountants have way too many ways to find excitement if they go looking. I made My Friend tell me how he ran into That Guy, what started this whole thing.
After he got done with school it had become habit for him to go to a little bar down the street after work and have a few drinks, watch the news, flirt with the waitresses. Nothing serious, no heavy drinking, no drugs he was an average late twenties office drone. My Friend met That Guy one night he was in a suit and looked familiar, so thinking he might work for the same company he invited him to sit have a few drinks. There was a story on the news about some Mafioso from North Jersey who was going to trial for money laundering. My Friend made a comment about how he would have done it different.
That's all it took. A few more drinks and That Guy had him describing how he'd do it. He even gave him some pointers, a few ideas to make it go smoother. They even wrote up the numbers on a napkin figured they could make over 100 grand totally untraceable. The beauty of That Guy’s part was that My Friend needed him to pull it off. It made them instant pals. Compatriot rebels out there fighting the system brought up all those rebellious feelings he had stored inside from high school. He saw That Guy every night he went to the bar after that. He was smooth though, never brought up their plan again, never talked about money; he became My Friend’s new best friend, listening to him talk, commiserating when My Friend complained about money or girls. He kept the drinks flowing, My Friend never had to open his wallet around there again.
A week or so later My Friend was feeling his stones a little and went out and got both his ears pierced with thick heavy rings. He pulled the old leather jacket from the closet started wearing it to work. He was drinking more and more each night, his resentment against the world growing. An old story but effective for all that. Then one late night That Guy pulls out the napkin with the numbers on it and gives it to him. Made My Friend promise to stay sober for a week and think about it, leaves him there. My Friend did, and after going over the numbers a few times, and making a few dry runs at work that weren't noticed, he went ahead and did it.
He took 112 thousand and opened an account in Central America. His plan of course to split it with That Guy, they both have a nice mid- year paycheck. That Guy had his own plans. When My Friend contacted him he sent over a few guys who took the bank codes and info leaving him bruised and bleeding and scared to turn around. He got stuck with nothing and for a few weeks lived in absolute dread the IRS or the FBI was going to break down his door.
Then That Guy paid him a visit, he brought My Friend a check for 12 grand, a “consultation fee”. All neat and clean, safe to deposit. It was such a joke, My Friend didn't throw the check in his face or even hit the guy like I might have. It was smart of him, the first smart thing he did. He told the guy never again, went back to work, tried keeping his head down. That Guy wasn't buying though and gave My Friend a new set of figures, calculated out to a cool million. He refused, but that guy kept asking, kept sending guys by. My Friend thought about the police, thought about the feds, and finally when That Guy gave him a deadline "Or Else" he thought of me.
We decided against trying to return the half mil he'd taken, it was time to relocate. Possibly they already knew about the missing funds, and with My Friend MIA from his job they'd tie it to him pretty fast. I got all the info I could on That Guy and went back up to NJ to try and see what I could about him. I left my friend at the hotel with the murder weapon, told him to move to a mid-rate hotel somewhere closer to the shore, get a tan, play the relaxed vacationer so no one would notice him.
I took the revolver with me, it hadn't fired a shot, and if I got pulled over they couldn't connect me with the other shooting. Hopefully no one else got killed with it before I bought it. I went to the bar where they met, spent a night or two looking for someone similar then started asking the bartenders some questions. They knew My Friend pretty well, he's always been extra friendly to bartenders and waitresses. No one knew That Guy personally they all saw him, knew him by sight. I got the impression almost everyone didn't like him; they had seen him lead my friend from happy bar-goer into angry drunk. They figured he was a drug dealer or something. His suits were a little too shiny to be a proper businessman.
I was stuck in North Jersey with no leads, no contacts nothing. It was kind of hopeless. I didn't know what I had planned on doing once I got up there. I guess too many movies made me think that bartenders always had the answers. Then I did something really stupid. It seemed brilliant at the time, but it was stupid. I looked up This Guy in the paper, then the phone book, and then I went to the apartment building where he had lived. It was a real slum, lots of criminal types hanging around the whole block.
The first guy I talked to tried to sell me some pot, but was happy to send me on to a guy he knew who knew more about "that Guy". Seems he was pretty regular in the neighborhood, but they all knew him by a different name. That guy must have made a phone call right after talking to me because on my way to see the dealer's friend three giant Italians screamed up in a gold BMW.
I almost went for the gun, but held thinking they would try to talk first. Wrong again, two of them grabbed me, lifted me off the ground and slammed me back first onto the sidewalk. My head bounced pretty hard, but I didn't black out right away. They started hitting on me pretty good, after I got punched in the face a few times my body felt like it was floating and I remember cold little peaks in the concrete poking into my cheek, being ground in before everything went black.
When I finally came to I was in a small room with no furniture and white walls. There was a patio door or something but the blinds were closed. Across the room from me was one of the thugs, obviously The Muscle for That Guy. He had my revolver in hand and was watching me with a bored look.
"What the hell man?" I sat up and took inventory of myself and despite the bruising and the splitting headache I seemed ok.
"You wanted to meet That Guy?" The Muscle asked.
"What?" I shook my head a little until the pain convinced me not to. "What the fuck are you talking about?"
The words were barely out of my lips and the guy had crossed the room in a bound and open hand slapped me across the ear and head, sending me crashing back to the floor. He took his time returning to his chair, keeping me covered the entire time with the revolver.
"Damn." It was about all I could say, I was still dizzy from having my head basketballed around the block, and I didn't want any more slaps like that.
"You were looking for That Guy"?" His voice was flat, calm.
"You watch too many movies." I groaned and held up my hands real fast, but I was still dizzy and he caught me with the pistol right across my jaw.
I spit out a mouthful of blood, from the cut inside my cheek, drooling it onto the carpet. I pushed myself back onto one foot. I wasn’t going to let him hit me again. He saw it, shrugged and leaned forward a little.
"You hit like a bitch." he lunged forward as I leaped toward him, pushing with everything I could force into my legs. I got real lucky and made it under his swing, grabbed him around the middle and just pulled us both to the floor. We fell in a tangle of flailing limbs, him thrashing to get out from under me, punching my head and shoulders with his free hand. I focused on just trying to get my hand on that gun before I blacked out. He managed to roll over enough to get on top just as I got my finger in the trigger guard. In desperate panic I pulled, not even thinking where the bullet might hit as the gunshot exploded around us. The Muscle must have been shot somewhere, he slumped to the side and screamed, but he didn’t let go of me. I held the trigger down, crushing his finger into it, not wanting to let it reset for another shot. He thrashed trying to get his other hand on the gun and free his finger.
We had upset his chair and the small table next to it. The buzzing of the line off the hook caught my attention. I grabbed a handful of phone and bashed him in the teeth with it two or three times, just crunching it into his face. As he tried to turn away I looped the phone cord around his neck twice and pulled. He clawed at his throat but I lurched up putting my knee on both ends of the cord. With my free arm I pulled as hard as I could dragging the back of his neck tight against my leg.
He went crazy as he felt his throat close up, I was struck by his fists and head a few times, I was petrified to let go so I twisted my arm around a few times so I wouldn't lose my grip on the line. I tucked my head down away from him and lay there panting holding the line taut. His flailing had lost all strength, his face filled with blood and was turning dark blackish red. His hands weakly slapped at my leg and arms, but I could not let go. All the color had been squeezed from my hands and the cord looked imbedded in my skin. I could feel his body trembling through the cord, his tongue was dark purple and protruded from his mouth, his eyes finally rolled back fully in his head.
I pulled the gun from his grasp and I sat back kicking myself away from his body letting the phone pull away from my twisted cramped hands. He wasn't moving anymore, but I checked for a pulse a few times. I almost shot him too, but I didn't want another shot drawing attention to the area. I pulled aside the curtains, saw I was in some kind of office complex. It was still daylight out, but beyond that I didn't know anything about where I was.
I pocketed the gun and took his wallet and keys. I left out the patio door, taking care to use a shirt to slide the door open and closed. I could have laughed then if I wasn't so sore. The cops of my blood and fingerprints on the phone and carpet, it was a little late to try to hide myself now. Around the corner of the building the gold BMW was parked, the keys matched and I took it and left.
It was pretty late that night when I got back to the hotel with "My Friend" he took one look at me and blanched.
"Don't worry. I won."
"Won what? What'd you kill the other guy?" He winced as he said it, but I couldn't help but laugh. My head was killing me, most of my face was swollen and bruised I had at least 3 giant lumps on my head. I started with a wheeze and soon was lying on the bed giggling like a little kid.
My friend looked a little scared, and then pulled out a bottle of rum from the fridge, held it out for me to take a swig. It braced me up a little, and I grabbed it from him and drank deeply, wanting the numbness. I choked up for breath and looked over. "My friend was sitting in the chair looking at me. I took another swallow of rum, swished around my mouth to clear the blood taste.
"Yeah I killed him." I started another chuckle but a bubble seemed to swell up right below my throat and it came out as a sob. Tears welled up in my eyes; I was shaking all over a little overwhelmed by an immense feeling of black dread. I think my friend turned away to be nice as I wiped my swollen face gently with my sleeve.
"Yeah, I fucking killed him."
I had made up my mind to find That Guy. I was pissed that he tried to force My Friend to do this thing, mad that it made me a criminal protecting myself, my friends. I was pissed at My Friend too, for being a sucker, a mark. He was just bored though, and bored accountants have way too many ways to find excitement if they go looking. I made My Friend tell me how he ran into That Guy, what started this whole thing.
After he got done with school it had become habit for him to go to a little bar down the street after work and have a few drinks, watch the news, flirt with the waitresses. Nothing serious, no heavy drinking, no drugs he was an average late twenties office drone. My Friend met That Guy one night he was in a suit and looked familiar, so thinking he might work for the same company he invited him to sit have a few drinks. There was a story on the news about some Mafioso from North Jersey who was going to trial for money laundering. My Friend made a comment about how he would have done it different.
That's all it took. A few more drinks and That Guy had him describing how he'd do it. He even gave him some pointers, a few ideas to make it go smoother. They even wrote up the numbers on a napkin figured they could make over 100 grand totally untraceable. The beauty of That Guy’s part was that My Friend needed him to pull it off. It made them instant pals. Compatriot rebels out there fighting the system brought up all those rebellious feelings he had stored inside from high school. He saw That Guy every night he went to the bar after that. He was smooth though, never brought up their plan again, never talked about money; he became My Friend’s new best friend, listening to him talk, commiserating when My Friend complained about money or girls. He kept the drinks flowing, My Friend never had to open his wallet around there again.
A week or so later My Friend was feeling his stones a little and went out and got both his ears pierced with thick heavy rings. He pulled the old leather jacket from the closet started wearing it to work. He was drinking more and more each night, his resentment against the world growing. An old story but effective for all that. Then one late night That Guy pulls out the napkin with the numbers on it and gives it to him. Made My Friend promise to stay sober for a week and think about it, leaves him there. My Friend did, and after going over the numbers a few times, and making a few dry runs at work that weren't noticed, he went ahead and did it.
He took 112 thousand and opened an account in Central America. His plan of course to split it with That Guy, they both have a nice mid- year paycheck. That Guy had his own plans. When My Friend contacted him he sent over a few guys who took the bank codes and info leaving him bruised and bleeding and scared to turn around. He got stuck with nothing and for a few weeks lived in absolute dread the IRS or the FBI was going to break down his door.
Then That Guy paid him a visit, he brought My Friend a check for 12 grand, a “consultation fee”. All neat and clean, safe to deposit. It was such a joke, My Friend didn't throw the check in his face or even hit the guy like I might have. It was smart of him, the first smart thing he did. He told the guy never again, went back to work, tried keeping his head down. That Guy wasn't buying though and gave My Friend a new set of figures, calculated out to a cool million. He refused, but that guy kept asking, kept sending guys by. My Friend thought about the police, thought about the feds, and finally when That Guy gave him a deadline "Or Else" he thought of me.
We decided against trying to return the half mil he'd taken, it was time to relocate. Possibly they already knew about the missing funds, and with My Friend MIA from his job they'd tie it to him pretty fast. I got all the info I could on That Guy and went back up to NJ to try and see what I could about him. I left my friend at the hotel with the murder weapon, told him to move to a mid-rate hotel somewhere closer to the shore, get a tan, play the relaxed vacationer so no one would notice him.
I took the revolver with me, it hadn't fired a shot, and if I got pulled over they couldn't connect me with the other shooting. Hopefully no one else got killed with it before I bought it. I went to the bar where they met, spent a night or two looking for someone similar then started asking the bartenders some questions. They knew My Friend pretty well, he's always been extra friendly to bartenders and waitresses. No one knew That Guy personally they all saw him, knew him by sight. I got the impression almost everyone didn't like him; they had seen him lead my friend from happy bar-goer into angry drunk. They figured he was a drug dealer or something. His suits were a little too shiny to be a proper businessman.
I was stuck in North Jersey with no leads, no contacts nothing. It was kind of hopeless. I didn't know what I had planned on doing once I got up there. I guess too many movies made me think that bartenders always had the answers. Then I did something really stupid. It seemed brilliant at the time, but it was stupid. I looked up This Guy in the paper, then the phone book, and then I went to the apartment building where he had lived. It was a real slum, lots of criminal types hanging around the whole block.
The first guy I talked to tried to sell me some pot, but was happy to send me on to a guy he knew who knew more about "that Guy". Seems he was pretty regular in the neighborhood, but they all knew him by a different name. That guy must have made a phone call right after talking to me because on my way to see the dealer's friend three giant Italians screamed up in a gold BMW.
I almost went for the gun, but held thinking they would try to talk first. Wrong again, two of them grabbed me, lifted me off the ground and slammed me back first onto the sidewalk. My head bounced pretty hard, but I didn't black out right away. They started hitting on me pretty good, after I got punched in the face a few times my body felt like it was floating and I remember cold little peaks in the concrete poking into my cheek, being ground in before everything went black.
When I finally came to I was in a small room with no furniture and white walls. There was a patio door or something but the blinds were closed. Across the room from me was one of the thugs, obviously The Muscle for That Guy. He had my revolver in hand and was watching me with a bored look.
"What the hell man?" I sat up and took inventory of myself and despite the bruising and the splitting headache I seemed ok.
"You wanted to meet That Guy?" The Muscle asked.
"What?" I shook my head a little until the pain convinced me not to. "What the fuck are you talking about?"
The words were barely out of my lips and the guy had crossed the room in a bound and open hand slapped me across the ear and head, sending me crashing back to the floor. He took his time returning to his chair, keeping me covered the entire time with the revolver.
"Damn." It was about all I could say, I was still dizzy from having my head basketballed around the block, and I didn't want any more slaps like that.
"You were looking for That Guy"?" His voice was flat, calm.
"You watch too many movies." I groaned and held up my hands real fast, but I was still dizzy and he caught me with the pistol right across my jaw.
I spit out a mouthful of blood, from the cut inside my cheek, drooling it onto the carpet. I pushed myself back onto one foot. I wasn’t going to let him hit me again. He saw it, shrugged and leaned forward a little.
"You hit like a bitch." he lunged forward as I leaped toward him, pushing with everything I could force into my legs. I got real lucky and made it under his swing, grabbed him around the middle and just pulled us both to the floor. We fell in a tangle of flailing limbs, him thrashing to get out from under me, punching my head and shoulders with his free hand. I focused on just trying to get my hand on that gun before I blacked out. He managed to roll over enough to get on top just as I got my finger in the trigger guard. In desperate panic I pulled, not even thinking where the bullet might hit as the gunshot exploded around us. The Muscle must have been shot somewhere, he slumped to the side and screamed, but he didn’t let go of me. I held the trigger down, crushing his finger into it, not wanting to let it reset for another shot. He thrashed trying to get his other hand on the gun and free his finger.
We had upset his chair and the small table next to it. The buzzing of the line off the hook caught my attention. I grabbed a handful of phone and bashed him in the teeth with it two or three times, just crunching it into his face. As he tried to turn away I looped the phone cord around his neck twice and pulled. He clawed at his throat but I lurched up putting my knee on both ends of the cord. With my free arm I pulled as hard as I could dragging the back of his neck tight against my leg.
He went crazy as he felt his throat close up, I was struck by his fists and head a few times, I was petrified to let go so I twisted my arm around a few times so I wouldn't lose my grip on the line. I tucked my head down away from him and lay there panting holding the line taut. His flailing had lost all strength, his face filled with blood and was turning dark blackish red. His hands weakly slapped at my leg and arms, but I could not let go. All the color had been squeezed from my hands and the cord looked imbedded in my skin. I could feel his body trembling through the cord, his tongue was dark purple and protruded from his mouth, his eyes finally rolled back fully in his head.
I pulled the gun from his grasp and I sat back kicking myself away from his body letting the phone pull away from my twisted cramped hands. He wasn't moving anymore, but I checked for a pulse a few times. I almost shot him too, but I didn't want another shot drawing attention to the area. I pulled aside the curtains, saw I was in some kind of office complex. It was still daylight out, but beyond that I didn't know anything about where I was.
I pocketed the gun and took his wallet and keys. I left out the patio door, taking care to use a shirt to slide the door open and closed. I could have laughed then if I wasn't so sore. The cops of my blood and fingerprints on the phone and carpet, it was a little late to try to hide myself now. Around the corner of the building the gold BMW was parked, the keys matched and I took it and left.
It was pretty late that night when I got back to the hotel with "My Friend" he took one look at me and blanched.
"Don't worry. I won."
"Won what? What'd you kill the other guy?" He winced as he said it, but I couldn't help but laugh. My head was killing me, most of my face was swollen and bruised I had at least 3 giant lumps on my head. I started with a wheeze and soon was lying on the bed giggling like a little kid.
My friend looked a little scared, and then pulled out a bottle of rum from the fridge, held it out for me to take a swig. It braced me up a little, and I grabbed it from him and drank deeply, wanting the numbness. I choked up for breath and looked over. "My friend was sitting in the chair looking at me. I took another swallow of rum, swished around my mouth to clear the blood taste.
"Yeah I killed him." I started another chuckle but a bubble seemed to swell up right below my throat and it came out as a sob. Tears welled up in my eyes; I was shaking all over a little overwhelmed by an immense feeling of black dread. I think my friend turned away to be nice as I wiped my swollen face gently with my sleeve.
"Yeah, I fucking killed him."
posted by Goodkingalan | 3:57 PM
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