IGKTW: Wanted Man (1112 hits)
Category: NoneLabels: competitions
Rating: 1.99 on 37 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by Orgasmatron (View user info) at 2006-04-25 11:06:51 EDT
These days he wakes up and he doesn't know where he is anymore. Charleston. Chicopee. Pittsfield. Buffalo. A hotel room. A train car. The backseat of someone's pickup. The feeling is the same wherever he is at the time: the headache and haze slowly give way to confusion, which buckles instantly under the weight of the realization that it doesn't much matter where he is. The places are all the same now. Every one's the destination and every one's a way station.
His hands hurt every morning. They burn and pulse like he's been punching a wall in his sleep.
It's not like he really knows where he's going. All he has is the map and a name. The shadow of a name. An alias.
The cities the man frequents are circled in red, but the cities are all he knows. And one of these days he's going to find the right city at the right time, and the right person who knows the man's real name. And then he's going to make the man pay for what he did to her.
"I'm going to wear his blood on my knuckles and never wash it off. I'm going to kill the son of a bitch who murdered you."
He doesn't know he's talking to himself until the words leave his lips. He knows he shouldn't do that, especially in public. People might notice.
He can't afford to have people notice him. Not now. If they do they may give him a second look, and they might recognize his face. Then it's sirens and running and hiding out for another few weeks while everyone forgets again.
People always forget, though. People can forget anything.
And he can always change the way he looks. Again.
He knows the police are looking for him. He knows the police have it all wrong. He tried to tell them once, over the phone. Tried to tell his side and the truth of it all. They didn't believe him then and they don't believe him now.
He needs to find the man to clear his name as much as he needs to exact his revenge.
Trucks race past him on the side of the road and he sits up, finally remembering where he is. He recalls how he pulled his car off the side of the road and caught a few winks in the back seat in the night. The man wasn't in Davenport after all, but he was too tired to take off to his next stop last night.
Where is he going now anyway?
It was all so much easier a year ago. Back when he had more than just a beat-up map with a bunch of cities marked on it. Back when he had addresses, phone numbers, names of people to talk to in these towns. Back when he knew exactly what Jack Brown - or whatever his real name is - was up to.
Bill? Will? He'd heard a hint of a first name before, but can't be sure. Jack Brown is all he has to work with. All those hours spent collecting information, all the time spent slumming in dead-end dives and juke joints, in factory towns and farmland telling the same story over and again to see if anyone knew the whereabouts of the man who killed his wife. Gone now, gone for good, thanks to that barfight in Bangor. He ran away with a handful of his possessions - the map, a change of clothes and some old tapes - and, luckily, his life. The rest of it lay scattered and spread on the sawdust floor with a fair amount of his blood.
He wonders sometimes what it will be like when he finds him. When he finally comes face to face with the man who turned his whole life upside down. He knows that killing him won't bring satisfaction. It won't bring her back. It won't make up for the fourteen months spent on the run from the law. It won't make up for the fourteen months spent tracking him down. But it'll be a good start.
He wonders if the man will have any idea how many miles he's killed to find him. How many cities he's seen, seen them all it seems, afraid, always afraid, of anyone he meets and any public place he goes. How he's learned to fear the sounds of sirens, to stay two miles above the speed limit, to blend in, not make a scene, draw no attention, look plain, look like everyone, swallow every tell and tick he's ever had to become a nobody. How many skies he's walked below, full of Wichita clouds, Tulsa rain, and sunlight beating down from above Oskaloosa air. How many fields he's walked upon and worked in - Boston with its autumn leaves, the Texarkana clay sticking to his shoes, sand from Santa Fe still trapped in the deepest corners of his pockets.
He knows even a thousand bullets wouldn't make the man understand, and that he'll only need one to do the job. A thousand wouldn't be enough. He wants one for every mile. One for the night he spent in Spirit Lake running from the cops. One for the week spent in Nashville working as a janitor to make enough pickup money to get him on his way again. Two for the cars he stole in Little Rock and Shreveport. One for the woman he hit in Charleston. The one who wanted to pretend she was his wife to turn him on. Ten for falling asleep on a train in Houston and waking up in Kingston with a knife to his throat. A hundred for the life he had and won't get back again.
He rests his head back against the seat and thinks of her. He thinks about all he's seen and been through, and how he misses her more than any of it. The travel, the running, the pain, the fear exhausts him and leaves him more weary than the day before, but they will never break him so long as he has her in his heart.
He feels his eyes grow heavy again, and he doesn't resist them. Time, after all, means nothing now.
~
She smells the whiskey on him before he slams the front door shut. It's in the air, on his skin, in his pores. He must be drowning in the stuff, she thinks, his eyes are floating in it.
His fist catches her below the eye before she has a chance to throw a smile his way. She only hears the punch after it's landed, hears its dull smack throb its way through her blood and the hollows of her cheeks.
Fingers grip a greedy handful of her hair and lift her off the ground. She hears the slurred words come out of his mouth and she freezes.
"I kno about Jackie youu bish." His lips peel back into a filmy grin, wet with drink and dry with adrenaline. "You bitsh."
His other hand takes her by the shoulder, and together they hoist her up and hurl her against the countertop. Her back slams against the cabinet doors and she rolls into a ball on her side.
The footfalls grow louder as he approaches her again. Gravel and sand against the cold linoleum, crushed beneath his heavy steps. A boot tip kicks against her arms and ribs. And again. And again.
"Joe un me was talkin' an drinkin' tonight when a fella come up and sed you'n'Jack was havin yerselfes a barnburner the other day while I 'us at work. Clear's day rightthru the winduh. E'en saw that tattoo of yers before you went down onner knees."
Knuckles scrape the side of her face as he backhands her. She feels her nose bleeding and tastes blood and tears.
"Nah whaddyou suppose I haf to say for myself then? Huh? ANSWER ME!"
She says nothing, for there's nothing to say. She knows. He knows.
She gets the palm this time. A jagged smear of red against her cheek left in its wake. She hopes that the blood and bruise can mask the shame that's on her face.
She struggles, tries to claw and kick her way free of him but it's no use. He's too big and too thick with liquor.
His hands wrap themselves around her throat before she has a chance to cry. A silent scream plays out across her face as he begins to squeeze. Her feet thrash about as her little fingers scratch against his knuckles and wrists (oh please no, please God, not like this), while her back arches and falls, her head thrashes back and forth like some sort of crazy pendulum ticking away the seconds of her life (please no I still love you - I didn't mean it, it meant nothing), she feels her eyes bulge and know she's the one with the swimmy look now (and I haven't even been drinking ha ha ha), she smells the flat stale air on his breath and all she can think of is how she bought him those boots for Christmas last year (and now they're broken in I guess), she world becomes a blur before her and she can't see him anymore (daddy why won't you help me??), she feels her eyes close and the darkness consumes her.
The last thing she hears before she dies is not the sound of her own struggle, but his sobs and his crazed laughter.
He chokes her for twenty eight minutes and then he beats her until she's unrecognizable to friend, family or former lover.
When he rolls her over he can see how the flooring beneath her head is cracked.
And then he falls asleep beside her.
~
He wakes with a start. The feeling is always the same. The headache gray haze slowly clears as he tries to remember where he is, and as it fades he feels the heavy ache in his both his hands. Must have been clenching them in my sleep again, he thinks.
Then he remembers it doesn't much matter where he is, because every place is the same these days. Every city a destination and every city a way station.
Today could be the day.
This could be day I find him, baby.
He collects his things from the back and slides into the front seat of the car. The map unfolds easily across the steering wheel and with a finger he traces his latest route. Cadillac, Fon Du Lac, and now here in Davenport.
"Guess it's time to give Idaho a try," he says. "Got a long drive ahead of me."
He doesn't know why he's sure it's the next stop, but he's never had a reason to doubt his judgment yet. Did the bartender say something about it last night? The woman at the bus stop? No matter. He knows, and that's what's important.
"He can run, but he can't hide forever. Not from me. I'll show him, I'll show him for you."
He doesn't know he's speaking out loud.
He starts the engine and speeds the car off towards I-80. To Idaho and, God willing, to that son of a bitch Jack Brown.
He fumbles through his pack and pulls out a worn-out Hank Snow tape. Better to have a little road music for the ride. The tape squiggles and squeaks as he cues up his favorite song. His favorite song in the whole world. He rolls the window down and feels the Iowa air blow across his face. He smiles as he starts to sing:
"I've been everywhere, man
I've been everywhere, man
Across the deserts bare, man
I've breathed the mountain air, man
Of travel I've had my share, man
I've been everywhere
I've been to Reno, Chicago, Fargo, Minnesota, Buffalo, Toronto, Winslow, Sarasota..."
User Reviews
Submitted by darko (user info) at 2006-06-20 02:07:01 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by matnotharry (user info) at 2006-04-27 18:22:12 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Chilling and well written
Submitted by Coyote (user info) at 2006-04-27 17:59:54 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Nicely done. Kinda puts that song in a whole new light for me.
Submitted by Orgasmatron (user info) at 2006-04-27 17:07:28 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Do you have a screencap of that or anything, deeps?
Now I'm curious.
Submitted by inion_de_trua (user info) at 2006-04-27 16:19:48 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
i was running sorting porn from 1985 and i found one with the title orgasmatron. it scared me. she had diana ross's hair except she was a blonde.
Submitted by LittleMonster (user info) at 2006-04-26 09:41:29 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by inion_de_trua (user info) at 2006-04-25 11:20:15 (#)
Ranking: 2
i was thinking memento until the beating. i'ma give a 1.5 because it was good, but reminded me way too much of that movie and i think it doesn't hold water next to your poetry but still not bad.
_______________________________________________________
Me still thinking of memento........good anyway.
Submitted by Orgasmatron (user info) at 2006-04-25 22:46:08 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Who knew a little non-poetry would go so far?
Submitted by Doodles (user info) at 2006-04-25 22:25:38 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
+2 for non-rhyming goodness.
Submitted by Bubba2341 (user info) at 2006-04-25 19:36:41 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
And so it comes to pass...the Bard has bartered his rhyme-stained booty to
present his prose. Did not Hark say it would be so? HUH????
Good shit, dude.
Submitted by Stagger_Lee (user info) at 2006-04-25 19:17:04 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by MyTeeOne (user info) at 2006-04-25 18:30:24 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by Brdn_Nkd (user info) at 2006-04-25 14:08:15 (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by Sacrilicious (user info) at 2006-04-25 11:22:30 (#)
Ranking: 2
I am so proud of you. Not just because you posted something other than poetry, but because it's really good. Gripping story, nice language. I felt the character's frustration and resolve as I read. The little bits about the bullets, and the description of the different landscapes he's seen-these are the kinds of things that make a good story great.
Plus fucking two.
Submitted by goferforhire (user info) at 2006-04-25 17:23:10 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Even your prose is poetic... this contest kicks so much ass
Submitted by Orgasmatron (user info) at 2006-04-25 17:15:59 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
For reference:
I was totin' my pack along a dusty Winnemucca road
When along came a semi with a high canvas covered load
"If you're going to Winnemucca, Mac, with me you can ride"
So I climbed into the cab and then I settled down inside
He asked me if I'd seen a road with so much dust and sand
And I said, "Listen, Bud I've traveled every road in this here land."
I've been everywhere, man, I've been everywhere, man
'Cross the deserts bare, man, I've breathed the mountain air, man
Of travel, I've had my share, man, I've been everywhere
I been to Reno, Chicago, Fargo, Minnesota,
Buffalo, Toronto, Winslow, Sarasota,
Wichita, Tulsa, Ottawa, Oklahoma,
Tampa, Panama, Mattawa, La Paloma,
Bangor, Baltimore, Salvador, Amarillo,
Tocopilla, Barranquilla, Ampadilla, I'm a killer
I've been everywhere, man, I've been everywhere, man
'Cross the deserts bare, man, I've breathed the mountain air, man
Of travel, I've had my share, man, I've been everywhere
I've been to Boston, Charleston, Dayton, Louisiana,
Washington, Houston, Kingston, Texarkana,
Monterey, Ferriday, Santa Fe, Tallapoosa,
Glen Rock, Black Rock, Little Rock, Oskaloosa,
Tennessee, Hennessey, Chicopee, Spirit Lake,
Grand Lake, Devil Lake, Crater Lake, for Pete's sake
I've been everywhere, man, I've been everywhere, man
'Cross the deserts bare, man, I've breathed the mountain air, man
Of travel, I've had my share, man, I've been everywhere
I've been to Louisville, Nashville, Knoxville, Ombabika,
Shefferville, Jacksonville, Waterville, Costa Rica,
Pittsfield, Springfield, Bakersfield, Shreveport,
Hackensack, Cadillac, Fond Du Lac, Davenport,
Idaho, Jellicoe, Argentina, Diamontina,
Pasadena, Catalina, see what I mean-a
I've been everywhere, man, I've been everywhere, man
'Cross the deserts bare, man, I've breathed the mountain air, man
Of travel, I've had my share, man, I've been everywhere
I've been to Pittsburgh, Parkersburg, Gravelburg, Colorado,
Ellensburg, Rexburg, Vicksburg, El Dorado,
Larrimore, Atmore, Haverstraw, Chattanika,
Chaska, Nebraska, Alaska, Opelika,
Baraboo, Waterloo, Kalamazoo, Kansas City,
Sioux City, Cedar City, Dodge City, what a pity
I've been everywhere, man, I've been everywhere, man
'Cross the deserts bare, man, I've breathed the mountain air, man
Of travel, I've had my share, man, I've been everywhere.
I've been everywhere
Submitted by shadow (user info) at 2006-04-25 16:19:13 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
ungh... i started reading this at noon and just now finished...
busy day of assasin work... which will be chronecled(sp) in an upcoming uberseries.
Submitted by gank (user info) at 2006-04-25 16:02:37 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
That's a good boy. Leave that poetry to the rest of us from now on.
Oh, and, +2 for the story because of stuff like this: "...she smells the flat stale air on his breath and all she can think of is how she bought him those boots for Christmas last year (and now they're broken in I guess)..."
Submitted by Snark (user info) at 2006-04-25 15:47:14 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by Bigmike (user info) at 2006-04-25 14:23:37 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
You won't get a 1 from me even though I feel this is more like 1.5. I like these tales and yours is a good one.
Nice job.
Submitted by Brdn_Nkd (user info) at 2006-04-25 14:08:15 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by Sacrilicious (user info) at 2006-04-25 11:22:30 (#)
Ranking: 2
I am so proud of you. Not just because you posted something other than poetry, but because it's really good. Gripping story, nice language. I felt the character's frustration and resolve as I read. The little bits about the bullets, and the description of the different landscapes he's seen-these are the kinds of things that make a good story great.
Plus fucking two.
Submitted by MichelleNJ (user info) at 2006-04-25 13:47:40 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Plus fucking 2!
Excellent stuff, O-man.
Submitted by ripple (user info) at 2006-04-25 13:26:41 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
i like your prose.
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2006-04-25 13:16:49 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
The one-armed man did it!
This goes from a 1.5 to a 2 because of this detail...
"When he rolls her over he can see how the flooring beneath her head is cracked."
That, and the Cash version of that song kicks ass with ol Johnny's no-nonsense fuckya delivery.
Submitted by ghola (user info) at 2006-04-25 12:54:48 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
fantastic piece.
this contest was a really good idea.
Submitted by redskieslookfake (user info) at 2006-04-25 12:54:32 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Clearly worth a +2
Submitted by inion_de_trua (user info) at 2006-04-25 12:42:13 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
ok... so i have that song as a "to do" list.
Submitted by Orgasmatron (user info) at 2006-04-25 12:18:44 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
FYI -
The title's taken from a Johnny Cash song, as is the name Jack Brown.
And while Hank Snow originally recorded "I've Been Everywhere" it's the Cash version I had in mind when writing this.
Not the blues, but I felt it fit the 'traveling' theme of this round.
If anyone wants me to post the lyrics, just ask. They may help flesh out what I intended for the story.
Submitted by Sphagnum (user info) at 2006-04-25 12:13:22 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
You're a good storyteller, Orgasmatron.
Submitted by Stuch (user info) at 2006-04-25 12:11:09 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Damnit.
Submitted by inion_de_trua (user info) at 2006-04-25 11:59:24 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
i fucked your rating. permission to kill me.
Submitted by badassmofo (user info) at 2006-04-25 11:43:34 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
yeah, I think I came to the same conclusion you did. Blues is cliche but it's how you get the cliche across.
Oh and sorry to the ladies below.
I'm just a grumpy old man.
Submitted by Orgasmatron (user info) at 2006-04-25 11:34:39 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by badassmofo (user info) at 2006-04-25 11:23:39 (#)
Ranking: 2
Have you ever read 'The Bad Place' by Koontz?
That said, I'm trying to work out in my mind whether the idea behind a blues theme is actually supposed to be cliched?
---
I think I've read just about every book Koontz has written. It's been years upon years since I've read The Bad Place, though. I sort of recall the plot, but I wouldn't stake my life on it. Cold Fire, either. He's matured in the past few years, and I prefer most of his newer books to his older stuff.
And I wrote this with cliche in mind, for the very reason you mentioned. Blues, to me, isn't so much about the story as the telling, so I tried to tell it in a different way than people would expect (from me, anyway).
Submitted by badassmofo (user info) at 2006-04-25 11:27:12 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Oh and another thing, and this is for your reviewers and not you.
HELLO PEOPLE, BADASS' STORY IS UP SINCE 9:30 AND NONE OF YOU REVIEW IT YET AS SOON AS ORGASMATRON POSTS YOU COME OUT OF THE WOODWORK?
I feel no love round here.
Round here we're carving out our names
Round here we all look the same
Round here we talk just like lions
But we sacrifice like lambs
Round here she's slipping through my hands
Submitted by badassmofo (user info) at 2006-04-25 11:23:39 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Its a +2 for now...for now and I'll tell you why
Have you ever read 'The Bad Place' by Koontz? I know shitty author but it was probably his best book.
Anyway, add woman to the story and that is what you have written.
Now if you've never read it, it's not your fault but the story is still a bit cliched even down to the title.
The whole bad man, looking for a worse man, centered around a woman or some other wrong doing is a story told again and again.
That said, I'm trying to work out in my mind whether the idea behind a blues theme is actually supposed to be cliched?
I dunno...I might get back to you on it...I might not.
================
You know this was harder than I thought and I threw away 4 stories of about 2 pages each before I cranked out the one I submitted, I wrote it this morning between doing two proposals and handling a littany of phone calls.
Perhaps I do best when I stop thinking about a story and just type.
Submitted by Sacrilicious (user info) at 2006-04-25 11:22:30 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I am so proud of you. Not just because you posted something other than poetry, but because it's really good. Gripping story, nice language. I felt the character's frustration and resolve as I read. The little bits about the bullets, and the description of the different landscapes he's seen-these are the kinds of things that make a good story great.
Plus fucking two.
Submitted by inion_de_trua (user info) at 2006-04-25 11:20:22 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
No Comment
Submitted by inion_de_trua (user info) at 2006-04-25 11:20:15 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
i was thinking memento until the beating. i'ma give a 1.5 because it was good, but reminded me way too much of that movie and i think it doesn't hold water next to your poetry but still not bad.
Submitted by CaptainThorns (user info) at 2006-04-25 11:16:25 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
When I first started reading this, I immediately thought of Harrison Ford in "The Fugitive"...by the end, I was envisioning a mad Anthony Hopkins from "Silence of the Lambs."
Damn. So you CAN write prose. Great stuff.
And I'm glad to see that you got your interstate number from Davenport correct.
Submitted by Orgasmatron (user info) at 2006-04-25 11:08:46 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
Bleh. Serves me right for deciding to shuck poetry and go with prose late last night.
There's a section missing that I debated reintroducing while I was rewriting part of this this morning, but I didn't want to take up any more time since this is already late enough as is.
Maybe once this round's over I'll provide that section in a reply and see if it adds anything.