Friday Flash Fiction time again. As usual, Cormac Brown puts up with us subjecting him to our ramblings and, as usual, I thank him for his time and effort….and his pure craziness for putting up with us. Thanks, mate!
I hope you enjoy……(If I’ve gone too far, let me know…)
Welcome To Hell.
He walked in and slid the photograph across my desk.
“Oh…my…God,” I stuttered.
“I thought you’d like it.”
I looked at the photo again, swallowing hard to keep my lunch where it should be.
“You look a bit pale there, boss.”
“Why would you think I’d like that? What happened?” I asked pushing the photo with its horrific content out of my sight.
“I done what you asked. I taught the guy a lesson. He was a fighter though, so…”
“So you fucking killed him?” I said.
“What did you want me to do? He’d have gone blabbing to the filth. I had to…”
“Look, Paul. I pay you well, because you’re good at your job. But I’m not happy when I end up with death on my hands. You’re hired muscle. You go in and get the job done,”
“I got the job done,” Paul butted in.
“Don’t interrupt me, Paul. Don’t ever fucking interrupt me, again.”
“As I was saying, you go in and get the job done but you always go too far, and I’m getting a bit sick of it. Now, you come in and show me that photo and expect me to be happy. What the fuck do you think I am?”
“Boss,” Paul mumbled, “I don’t….what…I got the…”
The bullet ripped through his thigh muscle, just above his left knee.
“Arghhh! The fuck you done? Aarrgghhh!”
I got up and walked round the desk to where Paul was writhing on the floor.
“Sneaky, eh? You know, I’ve had that gun under the desk for years and in that time I’ve had to use it four times,”
“Arghhh!” Paul screamed, holding onto his ruined leg, blood covering his hands.
The three punches dazed Paul, his screams reduced to moans.
“Yes, four times I’ve had to use it. And do you know what? The other three, they’re no longer about. Do you know why? Cause they fucked up, just like you have.”
“Too late, boy. I’m going to show you who’s the real deal, now. You come in here with your photo’s, thinking they make me puke. Do you know what’s laughable? I’ve got reflux. Yes, reflux. If I’ve eaten and I see something that’s not quite right, I get the pukes. I used to get it when my kids chucked up or shit themselves when they were babies.” I couched down and looked into his eyes. “But, do you know what, they were family. Family comes first. Hired help, you’re not worth a shit. What, do you think I’ve never been there, dishing it out? Oh, I’ve been there. Big time. They didn’t call me the Torturer for nothing.”
Paul’s swelling eyes opened as wide as they could, his pupils reducing as if shrinking with fear.
“Now you’re going to meet the devil himself.”
I grabbed hold of his knee and forced my finger into the wound.
“It’s a little….tricky at first….cause sometimes you have to give it….a bit of finger, but…then you…find it.”
I had the gristly sinew between my finger and thumb.
“You wouldn’t believe how many nerves are connected here. Welcome to Hell, Paul.”
You know the drill. Whatever you think………let me know. 🙂