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Chain Link Fence (468 hits)

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Submitted by TaK (View user info) at 2007-07-14 03:28:25 EDT

~First Chain-Post~
::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
~Clanky and Botch~

Chapter One:
"The Change Chump"

It was a bright sun-shiny day for Pete Norris. One of those rare days where the clouds really did seem to form strange stuffed animals in the sky and the sun never once glared in your eyes. He knew from the moment he awoke and glanced out of his large bay window that today just had to be the best day of his entire life. Swinging his feet to the soft padding of thick bear-hide carpet and slipping out of bed had never felt so good, and by the time he had trundled into The Bathroom, as he thought of it, and let loose a torrential flood from his thankful loins, he was already whistling some sort of medley that only he could hear.

He shuffled over to the mirror and examined the subtle bags beneath the eyes of yesterday that had been replaced by large drooping wrinkles of flesh full of a good nights sleep. And plenty of really good cocaine. Humming that tune under his breath, Pete opened the medicine cabinet that was hidden behind the mirror and began searching for the Ibuprofen. He popped two pills in his mouth, swung the mirror back in place, and had the better half of a second to catch his breath before Botch swung the metal pipe in a neat little arch and landed it directly between Pete's shoulder blades. Pain flared through Pete's back and he dropped to the floor, only to be lifted roughly by his hair to sag against the bathrooms back wall. Botch came up quick with the pipe and planted it firmly between Pete's rib cages, knocking the wind out of him. Pete got a hand full of hair before Botch's country ham of an arm closed off his windpipe and crushed his arm between himself and the gigantic mound of flesh pinning him to the wall.

"That's enough Botch-o," the voice came from somewhere behind the mass of Botch's flesh, utterly lack of grammar and tinted with roughly faked Italian, "He's gotta be able ta breath ta be able ta talk ya fuckin douche bag."

Botch slowly let the pipe fall to his knees and then brought it up quickly to pin Pete's head up by the neck. Pete's vision blurred and the air seemed to burn his esophagus with each gasp for breath.

"How's ya mornin been Pete, hope we didn't interrupt anything important, eh?" The voice came from somewhere impeccably far away it seemed.

"You were done in here anyways, eh Petey?"

His pronunciation of the name curved at the end, like all the mobsters ever known to the big screen: Pe-TEY!

Pete struggled with his eyes and coughed. "Who the hell are you?"

The man walked out from the crevice between Botch and the wall, feet clad in black suede clicking arrogantly against the tiling, and slapped Pete across the face. He was a shorter guy with stylish gray-black hair greased back with what appeared to be tons of gel, and he was wearing a full black suit, complete with a silver buckled string tie lying lazily across his chest. Pete noticed that one side of his shirt had come completely un-tucked, hanging limply across his leg.

"Let's not spoil the moment with trivialities, what do ya say Pete, let's just get on to the fucking point. You have ran your last lap and played your final hand sweetheart, and now it's time to move your beefy ass to the front of the toll line and pay up. You know as well I do that Mr. Wigs don't like it when a man jerks his chain."

The man slapped Pete again as if for emphasis, and Pete could swear he saw permanent stars in the middle of his vision. The man continued:

"The fact that you have no idea who I am does not play a role here, Pete my man, because I know exactly who you are, and I also know that money ain't gonna get you out of this one. Not this time, Pete."

Through the pain in his chest and back Pete somehow found a way to grow some anger for the way this man kept repeating a name that wasn't even his.

"You can't just barge in here like this," he spat, "I don't know who you are or what your talking about, I haven't..."

"See Petey," the man strolled up to Pete, blowing the stench of his cigarette in his face, "that's what I hate about sniveling rich faggots such as yourself. The first thing you ever do is make sure no blame falls on your shoulders. Well guess what sugar, blame don't always fall down, it falls up and side to side and every which goddamn way it may be wantin' to fall at that particular juncture because this world just don't work the way your puny, unprotected mind would like it to work."

Now the man was face to face with Pete, eyes blazing, bits of spittle flying from his lips with each word and landing in Pete's hair.

"Not all things fall down when thrown up and not every prick like yourself gets the last word every time and God ain't always around to pull your pants up for you or be your night light when you get scared in the pitch dark. No, no Pete my boy, not all dreams come true, wishing on a star doesn't change jack monkey shit, you will never grow out of the stage you are in, and Santa Clause is not real, can I get an amen, Hallelujah, Botch kill this motherfucker!"

The pipe came down and cracked Pete's skull with one whack, splitting his face and sending chunks of hair and skull to spray the four corners. Botch slung the pipe down, down, and down again, until there was nothing left to swing at.

"That's good Botch-ee, I think he's probably done for, let's go hit the high road, I need to wind down."

Botch stood, seemed to shake himself clean of his surroundings, and turned to Clank.

"Did you see his eyes Clanky, did you see his eyes, he was pissin himself...Jesus!"

The pipe hung bloody from Botches huge palms and he was sporadically jumping up and down in a pool of Pete's blood like a kindergartener rejoicing for snack-time. Clank noticed, and not for the first time, that Botches resembled a kid more than a kid did. He was humongous sure, (at six foot seven, two hundred and sixty pounds how could he not be?!?) but his entire demeanor was nothing more than childish. Standing there in his jeans and bloodstained t-shirt, hopping around and rejoicing like he had just won his first sack race instead of beating a defenseless man to death with a rusting steel pipe, he looked young enough to be Clanky's kid brother or, with real horror Clank realized, even his son. God knew Clank felt the love of a son or brother for the big goof, why the hell else would Mr. Wigs set them up together the way he had?

"Yea, I saw his eyes big man. Let's get done. Quick. It smells like a pile of rich shit in here," Clank said with real distaste. God, he hated a rich fuck. Almost more than he hated pop rock.

They moved methodically through the house tearing up and smashing everything that could be torn or smashed as a cover up for the victim's wife. The story would be that a burglar had entered the house via the storm window, which Botch had already taken out with his trusty pipe, and stolen near to two thousand dollars from an upstairs safe before being interrupted by Pete. Hence, the dead body and already drying blood and brain fragments in the bathroom.

"Alright, let's get outta here, we've wasted enough time over this change chump," Clank said.

"Don't you mean chump change?" Botch asked.

"No, chump change is what we got for this deal. The guy whose chump change this is, lying on the floor of his inexpensive bathroom upstairs, wishing he could move his arms and legs, unable to reach the toilet and having to be content with filling his pants with his final bowel movements all because of a bunch of green slips of paper - He, my oversized companion, is a change chump."

There was a long pause as Botch tried to figure out exactly what Clank was talking about, and then he gave up and snickered his high pitched giggle, squirting out between breaths that Clank was so funny he should be a comedian.

A comedian. Imagine that.

It was just another day in the life.

User Reviews

Submitted by storm (user info) at 2007-07-15 16:05:34 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2

Not so much.

Submitted by TaK (user info) at 2007-07-15 12:14:12 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0

Well thanks, lungfish, for returning and reading.

This is an old novel I wrote some years ago, and am planning on doing something new with, so I decided to repost it to the newer populace of Ubersite.

Any comments are welcome!

Submitted by lungfish (user info) at 2007-07-15 03:06:43 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2

Okay I read it. Not bad. Interesting enough to get me to read to whole thing anyway. I haven't read any of the other chapters, so...

Santa Claus. Couple other misspellings.

I like "trundled" into the bathroom. I haven't been trundling in years.

Submitted by lungfish (user info) at 2007-07-14 03:43:50 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2

Been drinking. Can't read now, which doesn't help you, but there it is...

Gonna go watch a movie now.