Phantom's Rain

Chapter 1 :Death

(Note from John)
Let me just start this off with one thing; I am not a good man. Never have been, never will be. Some may find me disturbing but I don’t care, think what you want, I don’t regret a damn thing I’ve done, everyone I’ve hurt deserved it and as long as that’s what I see thats all that matters to me. My name is Johnathan Jack Ryker, and of course the media has been calling me “The Phantom” or my favorite one I’ve heard so far has been “The Holy Ghost”, some call me hero or a martyr, others say I’m a monster and a terrorist . Hell I can be counted as all of them, there all true to an extent. So sit back and enjoy my tale. 

    It all started late evening on a Saturday , I lay in my bed a little hungover from a long night of celebrating my coming from Afghanistan, served 3 years over there. Seen and done some horrible things, don’t regret much though. It was all in the name of good intention. Once I started to really wake up I reached over and grabbed a cigarette and lit it up. Looked over and saw a woman next to me, “Shit” I mumble to myself hoping we used protection. I groan and sit up, look over at the blonde next to me still passed out. I grab my notebook and pen from my nightstand and write her a note for when she wakes up and I’m gone. I rip the page out and leave it next to her on the bed, I stand up looking around for my jeans. I find them in the kitchen along with an empty condom wrapper, guess that answers my question from earlier.  I buckle my belt and throw on my usual black long sleeve and combat boots, tuck the jeans into the boots and make my way for my jacket when I hear my phone ring. It’s an old Nokia cellphone, damn things are reliable and durable and also very hard to trace because they're so old nowadays. I answered the unknown number, the voice on the end had the typical Italian mobster tone to it. The man on the other end goes: “ Ay, Johnny Boy. I got a job for ya’.” 

“What is it”? I respond. 

He says “Painting someone’s floor”

“How much?” I ask

“1,500” He said.

“Damn, what’s the address?”

“122 Baxter st” 

He hung up. I sigh as I realize the price means more than one target. “Imma need more ammo, a new silencer and probably a lightweight bulletproof vest if things get messy. I exit my beat up old apartment building and say goodmorning to the landlord to which he replies the gentleman that he is “ That bitch you were railin’ last night kept half the floor up last night, Ryker. Any more complaints and I’m gonna have to evict you!” I keep walking and flip him off knowing he won’t do anything after the beating I gave him last month. Broke his wrist, kept saying I was a sociopathic narcissist. He isn’t wrong but he needed to be put in his place for what I caught him doing the night before. 

I walk through the doors and inhale the autumn weather smell mixed with the stench of pollution. I get on my black Harley Davidson Bobber, start it up and put on my gloves and helmet and make my way to my buddy Kayde’s  place. He always hooks me up with gear for a good price because I saved his ass from being jumped a few years ago. He owes me ever since. I knock on his door and he welcomes me in and asks me what he can get me. “ A M1911 Silencer, some ammo for said M1911 and a lightweight bulletproof vest.” He says “Alright man, let me go into the attic.” In his little middle eastern accent. He comes back down with a box and hangs it to me, “That’ll be 600$ my friend.” I take out my wallet, hand him the cash and leave. I strap the box to my bike and drive to the target address to scout it out for later that night. 

It was a nice small house. Didn’t look like anyone was home so I looked in the backyard immediately to see if there was a dog. Nope, no dog. Pulled my lock picking kit out of my jacket pocket and got in the house. Looked around, no cats, no pets, no anything. Just practically new furniture. Went upstairs to check for kids rooms, none thank God. I don’t hurt kids, if you're over 18 then yeah I’ll beat your ass up and down the street.  It was about 8 p.m., my contractor texted me and said they’d be there at 9 and I’d meet him near the Southside Diner. Waited about 5 minutes until 9 p.m., out on my vest, screwed the silencer on, cocked my gun and waited until they came in the front door. I slowly creep down the stairs. Sneak over to the living room entrance, five men. All in suits, well kept together, one black guy, three white guys, and one asian. 

I fired a shot in the head of one of the white guys, one in the elbow of the black buy so he can’t get his gun.  Two shots in the two other guy’s chests. I stop for a second forgetting about the fifth target. I fall to the ground face first from getting hit in the back, thankfully the vest caught it but the unexpected force will make anyone fall on their ass. I roll over and fire one in his knee making him fall and yell in agony, I shoot the other one taking out his gun with his good arm in his head dropping his body with heavy force. I stand up and walk over the injured one with a smirk on my face, listening to his pained screams. I stomped on his wounded knee making him scream even more. Then silence fills the room as the shot to his skull makes the crimson ooze all over the floor.

I stand panting for a minute, I sigh and figured I’d need proof for the job. I say to myself “Favorite fucking part right here.” with sarcasm. I kneel to the ground and take out my six inch steel combat knife I used all too well when I served. Sliced off the thumb of each of them, reached in my pocket for a plastic bag, I fish it out of my left jeans pocket. Put all five thumbs in the bag, put them in my jacket pocket. Walked out the back door to avoid witnesses. Took off the vest and threw it in a nearby dumpster. Ran back to my bike and headed to the SouthSide Diner. After a good hour ride with typical NYC traffic I arrive there. I saw my contractor, immediately  recognized him. It was Vinnie, snake of a man, one of the head honchos of what's left of the Italian Mob. He and about 5 others were there waiting between the diner and an apartment complex alleyway. I toss him the bag of thumbs, he smiles and says “ Thank ya’ Johnny but I can’t just let ya’ go with who you saw. No loose ends, bud. Get em boys.” As soon as he said that I started cursing and screaming at him “I’m gonna fucking kill you!” I screamed. Then his men hit me and dragged me deeper in the alleyway. 

They kept beating me, kicking me,  and cutting me. I tried to get my gun but one of them stomped on my hand. Vinnie yells “Alright, alright boys. That's enough, let’s put this rabid dog out of his misery. Last thing I saw was his gun then blackness and the sound of footsteps leaving me and rain starting to downpour, cold and alone in a dirty alleyway. Not how I wanted to go, I blackout.