The Good, the Bad, and the Dirty

I

23rd of March, target is John McKinley

age 31

alcoholic

frequents Rocky Shores bar

loves appletini drink

My notes are sloppy as I write down details about my newest paycheck. My handwriting is more slanted than average and even though it's a lame attempt at print, my pencil never leaves the paper making my notes a never ending mess of slants and scribbles. I can still read it though.

I close my notebook and sink down in my booth. It's around nine o'clock; McKinley should be here to order his appletini drink soon. I've already slipped the bartender a bribe, a pretty hefty one too. Money will make people do insane things. Now I just sit here and wait.

It is extremely boring to wait for people. I don't know why I got into the hitman business. There's too much waiting. Eventually my hands open my notebook again and, out of muscle memory, I start to doodle. I usually keep to 3D shapes and drawing houses. Sometimes I get ambitious and draw a tree but nothing past that point. I'm very uninteresting.

Nine-ten. McKinley should be here. Alcoholics don't miss their weekly drink.

My thoughts are interrupted by a slim man sliding into the opposite of the booth. My booth; but it's only a matter of seconds before I realize the identity of the man in front of me: Juno fucking Artreme. Juno Artreme looked like a bag of wheat thins considering his slim frame and young age, but this man was the leader of the most notorious gang in Los Angeles.

I'm in a state of awe and holy fuck I'm going to get shot up and Artreme is quick to notice. He's already tasked himself of looking me up and down; probably taking note of my crew cut. "Damien Marsh. I have a proposition for you." This wheat thin knows my name, shit. I keep quiet and nod shallowly. One wrong syllable or movement and I would be stuck in a ditch.

"You work for the Vipers, correct?" I nod once again. The Vipers was a gang that had sprung up a couple years ago. They're high in numbers but low in experience. They've been taking out The Batters' men ever since they came along. Actually, they pay me to do it. The fact that Artreme even knows I work for them is a mystery.

Artreme only hums and a waiter pops up suddenly, perhaps I didn't notice him. This is all pretty terrifying. The waiter murmurs something to Artreme and sets down a tray holding two glasses of whisky on the table. Oh god, Artreme bought me a drink. Artreme waits until the waiter leaves.

"You've been killing my men." He hands a glass to me. I feel obligated to take it but I make no move to drink it. "But I cannot punish you for that. You've been paid lavishly to kill."

God, he talks like an English professor. What a bore. Artreme takes a drink and motions me to do the same. I don't make an intention to move and it causes Artreme to raise an eyebrow. He shrugs off the disobedience and runs a hand through his black hair.

"I've been told that you've been paid twenty grand for each contract you receive against one of my men." I open my mouth to speak but I'm quickly met with a glare that snaps my mouth shut. Artreme leans against the table, getting closer to me. "I want you to leave the Vipers and I will pay you thirty grand for every kill you make whether it be a Vipers member or not."

Oh hell no. I am not selling myself out like a whore. My mouth is dry and I want to down the whisky but I still don't trust it.

"I don't work for the Vipers, you have the wrong man. Excuse me." I grab my notebook and hightail it out of the bar. So many things are running throughout my head but they're cut off by the two by four that slams into my forehead.

I wake up in complete darkness. I can feel cloth across my face and dread is already filling me up. Oh god, where am I? I try to lift my arms and move my legs but they're tied and I'm in a chair. Amazing. I can hear footsteps and the sizzling of something. There's some shifting before I hear footsteps again. "Marsh. I do not appreciate you running out of our conversation." Juno Artreme.

"I don't work for the Vipers!" I hissed.

"Don't lie to me, Marsh." There's scuffling before I feel intense heat nearly my shoulder and things start to click as my feet desperately scrabble against the floor.

"Fine, fine! I work for them!" The heat draws away and I can feel relief bubble in my chest before getting pushed down with terror again. I've never had an interrogator go to burns right off the bat.

"Good. Tell me the name of your employer." I don't like giving up information. Makes me sick. I hesitated for too long as I grappled with my feelings. The heat soon returns and presses into the front of my left shoulder. I can hear sizzling and a scream gets choked up in my throat. Ten seconds and the heat dissipates but the pain is pulsing. I don't know what happened. Holy shit, god, I can't. I'm gonna vomit I can feel it.

I can hear Artreme's voice but I don't know what he's saying. Sweat is already soaking into the rag on my face and I can only focus on the burn which only makes it worse. So dizzy, lightheaded, so- and my breathing space becomes a mix of undigested food before I pass out.

I wake up in a room. A fancy room. First of all, I'm on this bed with black, silk sheets and a cold, checkered comforter. The pillows are those special padded kind and there's even more luxury. There's these two big windows next to the bed and a couple dressers, closet, desk and an adjacent room which I only presume is a bathroom. It's so nice I almost forget I'm being held hostage. I shoot upright and my shoulder practically screams in pain. I glance at it and it's covered with gauze and bandages.

I don't even have time to inspect it because I'm already on my feet. My shoes clack on the ground as I rush around, frantic to find something. Is there a gun? A knife? A pair of fucking tweezers? Everything is empty and the room door is locked. The bathroom has no windows. The windows by the bed only lead to a fifteen story drop. Where am I?

I can feel my heart in my throat. My shirt is gone, my pants are stained with dirt. I find myself in the bathroom once more and my brown hair is a mess. I try to flatten it down with water but it's too stubborn. There's some blood stained on my face and a ugly bruise is forming on my forehead. Stupid two by four.

I start to peel off the bandage when there's a knock at the door. I peer around the bathroom doorway and see Juno Artreme entering the room. Motherfucker! I want to tackle him and pummel his face. Civil Damien...civil. I glare Artreme down as I lean against the bathroom doorway. As if I was going to make myself closer to him. He's already walking a bit closer to me, dressed as if he worked at an office. Artreme bends his neck side to side, earning a couple pops! from each movement.

"Good afternoon Marsh. I was wondering if you'd like to talk about the Vipers." A slight smirk tugs on his lips. What a prick.

"Actually, I don't." My words come out blunt. Not exactly my intention but Artreme's brow furrows and I know it's too late to take back the words.

He sighs and looks like he's trying to calm himself. "I don't think you understand the situation you're in. See-"

"I understand just fine. What you fail to realize is that you are holding me here against my will and expecting me to spill information when you know damn well exposing the Vipers would get me killed." I don't realize it but I'm chest to chest with Artreme. I have a couple inches on him and he looks small from this angle. His brown eyes are glaring into mine and he steps back and regains his composure.

"You will receive food and drink tomorrow morning. If you are not ready to talk by then, I'll make arrangements." Artreme soon leaves, and I'm left to ponder on what arrangements he would be making.

I stay in the same spot for some time before returning to the bathroom and peeling off the bandage. My breathing hitches and I can feel a lump in my throat.  On the front of my left shoulder was a brand displaying the marking of the Batters: two crossed baseball bats with a circle of barbed wire around it.