I, Human part 4: Decision (562 hits)
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Submitted by A-Daamage (View user info) at 2005-05-20 14:48:12 EDT
http://www.ubersite.com/m/62726 - part 1: Desolation
http://www.ubersite.com/m/62785 - part 2: Passion
http://www.ubersite.com/m/63538 - part 3: Confusion
In my line of work, the gray area is pretty nonexistent. Not many unknown factors or unanswerable questions. I get my orders, I follow through, no questions asked. And I'm good. I worked my way up the ranks until I was approached by Mr. Valerio's personal assistant. Apparently my reputation had spread higher up the food chain than I thought. I accepted the offer to work for Mr. Valerio instantly, knowing this offer was most definitely one time only.
During the day, I drive for Miss Rusch, also an employee of Mr. Valerio's, who meets with upscale customers in out-of-the-way places so they can live out their fantasies that their upscale wives won't provide. I like Miss Rusch. She doesn't flirt with me or even speak to me as she would her wealthy friends, but she doesn't look down her nose at me either and always treats me with a sort of reserved respect. I think the latter has to do with the fact that every once in a while, a customer decides to get a little rough with Miss Rusch, and then I have to get a little rough with the customer.
During the night, I am a soldier for Mr. Valerio. Sometimes someone needs reminding of a certain due date on a payment, sometimes someone needs reminding that Mr. Valerio has a very low tolerance for insubordination, and sometimes someone needs reminding that life can be shorter than they realize. I get the mark, I do my job, no questions asked. It's very good pay and I'm fairly well-respected. I never talk back, I treat all of Mr. V's employees with respect and courtesy, and like I said, I'm very good at what I do. I work out constantly, I study many forms of martial arts and I'm a dead shot. I've only had to reload my gun once, and that kid was fast. He was an 18-year old track star who made the unwise decision of robbing his heroin hookup, who was an employee of Mr. Valerio, of two grams at gunpoint instead of paying for it. I was called in, and after a twenty minute chase, tagged the kid in the leg with the second bullet of my second clip. I congratulated the kid on his agility, then put a hole in his forehead and dumped him in the river. Sad, really. He could've gone far, perhaps even the Olympics. But, Mr. Valerio gave me the mark, and that's the end of that kid's story.
When I came into Mr. V's office tonight, Miss Rusch was sitting on the leather couch on the left side of the room and softly crying into her hands. She normally isn't here during the night, usually having left for her beautiful apartment and parties with her rich and powerful friends. I looked at Mr. V, who was sitting behind his oppressively large mahogany desk, but he was frowning over some paperwork. Neither of his guards made a motion to me, so I decided to go over and see what was troubling Miss Rusch.
"Excuse me, Miss Rusch. I don't mean to pry, but may I ask what's troubling you?", I said.
She took her hands away from her face and looked up at me. There was a bright and ugly bruise under her right eye. It was very swollen and the color of angry thunder heads. As ugly as that shiner was, what stopped my breath was the long, red laceration that ran from her left temple to the left of her top lip, where it split the skin on the lip in a severe cleft, large enough to fit three quarters, side by side. I have always had a keenly perceptive eye, and noticed the way that red line didn't run straight from temple to lip, which would indicate a quick, sudden slash, but rather how it zigged and zagged slightly, turning here and there, meaning the assailant had taken his or her time carving through the flesh of her cheek.
That old, cold anger began to build its way up inside of me, slowly removing all other matters out of my mind, until all I saw was Miss Rusch's face, which was really quite striking (I always thought she should have been an actress): one eye swollen to the point of almost closing it completely, and that bright, scarlet line, zigging and zagging its way down to her small but full, pouty lips, splitting the top one like an overcooked bratwurst. As I felt my fists begin to tighten, nails digging into the palms, Mr. Valerio spoke up.
"Eddie, I see you've discovered the reason behind Sarah's tears. Unfortunately, we do not know the name of the individual who did this to her. I have little doubt you'll have trouble finding this individual. You rarely do. Sarah can give you the description and the places she's seen him frequenting. Eddie, this is more than just a routine job. Sarah is like a daughter to me. This is personal. You make him hurt and I want it recorded on video. Do you understand?"
"Perfectly, Mr. Valerio."
I needed no push from Mr. V. I saw this man's handiwork. And like I said, I like Miss Rusch, who's always been nice to me and even bought me a Rolex on one occasion, after reminding a customer that leaving three bruises on my client's back equals a broken toe for each bruise. She presented it to me with a small smile and a brief hug. No, no push from Mr. V. was needed at all. This man is going to hurt and I'm going to make it slow.
Miss Rusch said the man likes to hang out at a couple of the bars about 8 blocks from Mr. V's building, mostly at O'Leary's. She said he generally frequents these places between 8 and 10 PM on Saturdays. She said there are other days he likes to go out, but Saturday is almost a sure bet to spot him. I knew I would. The thing with these upscale guys is, they think they can do whatever they want and never suffer the consequences. With all their money and power, they think they are above most people. Until, of course, they cross paths with someone like Mr. Valerio, who employs people like me. So, I knew this man wouldn't hide or change up his schedule to keep a low profile. His night with Miss Rusch had probably never crossed his mind since he left her there, face mangled. He'd be out, living it up, without a care in the world. That was going to change very soon.
A week later, I waited down the block from O'Leary's in my car, radio silent, taking occasional drags from my cigarette. It was Saturday night, about 9:30, and I was about to move on to another bar when I saw the man who fit the description step out of a taxi in front of the bar. About 6' 2", dark gray overcoat, slicked back silvery gray hair, absurdly bright purple tie. She said he loved those bright purple ties. Never wore a different color when he went out on the town. And it would be his downfall. I snubbed out the cigarette and began to smile, humming the song that always comes to mind at these times, "Little Red Riding Hood" by Sam The Sham and The Pharaohs. I love those oldies.
I approached the bar at a casual pace, knowing my mark would be just sitting down with a
drink to relax, probably shooting the shit with some of his high-powered friends and laughing it up. That's right, laugh it up, big guy. Have a ball. The big bad wolf is coming and this time he's going to take it slow.
I entered the pub and made my way through the smoky, crowded entryway and up to the bar. I made sure to keep out of my quarry's line of sight. I didn't want him sniffing out danger, the way animals sometimes do in the wild when being hunted by a predator. He was seated at a booth towards the rear of the bar, and sure enough he was laughing and clapping the backs of a few friends seated with him. The bar was fairly large, and from here it was hard to make out faces, but that purple tie was a dead giveaway. I ordered a whiskey double from the bartender and made casual conversation every once in a while with people close-by. I kept a good bead on my quarry, never allowing him to leave my site for more than half a minute. I waited for my chance to arrive. And finally, around an hour after sitting down at the bar, it came. I saw him get up and motion towards the restrooms. If any of his friends decided they also needed to go, I'd have a long night ahead of me. Thankfully, he made it easier on me and left for the restrooms alone. I waited until he was nearly at the restroom door and then quickly made my way around the opposite side of the bar, keeping a good distance away from the booth he and his friends had been sitting in.
The restrooms were down a hall in the back of the bar, men on the left, women on the right. So far, my luck was holding out. There was no one in the hall and the noise from the restrooms was relatively low. I heard a sink running in the women's and two or three voices emanating from the men's. I made my way past the restroom doors towards the rear of the hallway where there was an entrance to the alley in back of the building. I brought out my cellphone and pretended to make a call. I glanced back down the hall when I heard a door open and saw a woman exit the restroom. She glanced at me, gave me a perfunctory, slightly drunk smile and made her way back to the smoky noise of the main room. The men's door opened a minute later and my heart picked up speed. Two men, already well in the bag, were leaning on each other and laughing about some girl named Susie. I smiled. If my assumption was correct, my quarry should be alone in the bathroom. I had to take my chance. I opened the door and went in.
The restroom was long and narrow, with four sinks under four mirrors on the left and five urinals on the right followed by three stalls. The room was deserted save for a pair of expensive leather shoes visible beneath the wall of the nearest stall. I walked to the nearest sink, turned on the faucet, then quietly made my way to the second stall. I opened the stall door, entered and waited. After a few seconds, the man exited the first stall. I slipped out from the stall I was in and quickly pulled the chloroformed cloth from my pocket, grabbing the man around the chest with my left and clamping the cloth around his mouth with my right. He struggled instantly, but his struggles rapidly decreased until he slumped to the floor.
At that moment, the door began to open. I quickly replaced the cloth in my pocket and proceeded to lift the unconscious man up. A very inebriated man entered the restroom and looked at the scene with a mixture of humor and inquiry on his face.
"Hey maan, iss he alrright?"
"Yes, my friend just had a little too much to drink. I'm gonna get him home."
"Hehe, lookss like he needss aaa doctor," he replied, and then almost fell into the sink, but caught himself in the last second on the lip.
"Whoooa, maybe I neeed to sslow doown mysself," he said.
I smiled and said, "Hey man, to each his own." Then I exited out the door with my catch.
I took a quick glance towards the main room, saw no one coming, and quickly made my way towards the rear entrance, dragging the man with my arms under his armpits and around his chest. I made it outside with no witnesses and let him fall from my hands half a dozen feet from the entrance. So far, this was going fantastically. All that was left was to get him to my car and to the basement of Mr. V's building. From there it would be nothing but pain and regret for Mr. Purple Tie.
I looked both ways down the alley and saw no one observing us. The man lay in a heap on the ground, face down, moaning softly under his breath. I walked back to him and turned him face up.
This couldn't be right. This couldn't possibly be right. It had been at least fifteen years since our last conversation, and the hair had gone silver gray, and the mustache was gone, but there was no mistaking it. At the behest of a very powerful man, I had tracked down a man who had carved up the face of a beautiful, high-class prostitute, only to find I was staring at the face of the man who had brought me into this world.
I was staring at my father.
Emotions seemed to expand out of my control, swirling and ricocheting off each other. I backed away, mouth agape, vehemently denying the truth in front of me. This couldn't possibly be the man who had disfigured Miss Rusch's stunning face. It couldn't be. Not this man, who had taught me how to hook a worm for bait, how to shoot the hook shot, just like Kareem Abdul-Jabar, or how to make a damned fine homemade pizza. It just wasn't fucking possible.
I looked down at him again, moaning and slightly drooling out of the corner of his mouth. I had to know. I went to him and kneeled down. I searched through his jacket and pants pockets. In his wallet I found a large sum of cash, four credit cards and an ID card that proved what I already knew. But I had to confirm what my heart didn't want to believe. From the inner pocket of his jacket, I pulled out his leather checkbook. Behind the checkblanks, my fingers closed on something familiar. My heart sank as I pulled out a business card with Miss Rusch's name and phone number embossed on it.
Only one more piece of evidence was necessary to prove his guilt and shatter my last hope. Miss Rusch said she had scratched the man who had attacked her high up on the inside of his right wrist. She had done this after he had hit her, trying to grab his arm. He got angry and pulled out a knife, threatening to cut her throat if she tried to scream or run. So, she had clamped her teeth shut as he had worked slowly down her face with the knife, trying desperately not to scream.
I slowly lifted the right cuff of his jacket until I saw the long red lines standing out there. It was true. My father had done that horrible, twisted thing to Miss Rusch. My father.
I stood up, trying to gather my thoughts, knowing his friends would be wondering why he was taking so long and would start looking for him soon. I knew I had wasted too much time and getting him to my car would be almost impossible now without being noticed. Mr. Valerio's orders were no longer feasible. There was simply not enough time. There was only one question left: do I let him go?
Then, penetrating through the chaotic fog of emotions, I saw that zig-zagging red line, forever disfiguring that good-natured, angelic face, and that old, cold anger made the choice for me. I unholstered my gun, attached the silencer, and knelt by my old man. I placed the barrel against his forehead, leaned next to his ear and whispered,
"Forgive me, father."
I raised back up, took one last look at the man I had once thought the world of, and pulled the trigger.
User Reviews
Submitted by Wrightcopy (user info) at 2005-10-19 14:20:39 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by A-Daamage (user info) at 2005-05-26 04:47:30 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Well, it's the last one I've done so far, but not the last one I'm going to do, not even close. It's quite a large task I'm trying to undertake, and I think it may be too big to tackle, but I'm going to try.
Submitted by darko (user info) at 2005-05-26 03:39:58 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
is this the last one?
Submitted by A-Daamage (user info) at 2005-05-26 03:13:38 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Thank you, ruthless. Only five more days until summer classes begin. I need a fucking beer. College is sucking the life out of me.
Submitted by ruthless (user info) at 2005-05-24 16:11:32 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I like it.
Submitted by A-Daamage (user info) at 2005-05-20 16:20:00 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Oh for fuck's sake. "Paging Dr. Rohrschach." This shows just how far Lucas's influence runs. In a story having nothing to do with Star Wars, you manage to concoct a nonexistent parallel between stories.
Submitted by JonnyX (user info) at 2005-05-20 14:59:32 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
oh crud - I was all ready to +2 the shit of of this one, and you pull this 'Luke, I am am your father' stuff.
It seems to me you ran out of ideas, and went for the easy close.