a little dead? (789 hits)
Category: NoneRating: 1.58 on 38 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by allyson, bitches. (View user info) at 2006-09-12 00:33:08 EDT
Las Vegas International, 9:32AM
The flight had been pretty good for economy class, but as always Danny spent the whole trip going nuts for a cigarette. Now, strolling out of the Las Vegas International, it was the first thing he did as he hit the sun.
Ah... lot better.
He's dressed in casuals, pair of jeans and a tee shirt under a jacket. His only piece of luggage is a travelling briefcase, big enough to hold anything for a week or two. Now his sharp eyes scan the teeming road for a cab, eager to get on with his job here.
"HEY, BUDDY!"
The universal raised arm and yell get a cab squealing next to him, and he clambers in the back, car screeching off as he closes the door.
"Tropicana, pal."
"You got it."
The drive over is a good chance for Danny to relax some more. The cabbie is mercifully quiet, obviously seeing that the man's in no mood to talk. Still, he remains his usual stoic self the whole ride, eyes staring out from behind dark shades. His shoulder still aches, the angry blotch of a 7.62mm round always tingling when he flies. All it does is remind him... make him think.
The shining buildings part and Danny sees the vast desert beyond, stretching on in an endless wasteland. This is what he's been waiting for.
Home.
"Thanks, pal."
The cabbie smiles and roars off a second later, leaving Danny to check in. the Tropicana knows he's coming, having made reservations a few days before. He's steps inside and can see it's the usual cut-rate Vegas fare: garish trying so hard to be elegance.
"Can I help you, sir?"
The middle-aged woman behind the desk smiles grotesquely and Danny manages a smile, hand going his jacket.
"Here to get a room, I booked it earlier." He hands her a driver's license, between two fingers, keeping the smile. "Mitchell?"
The woman frowns a little and flashes that monstrosity again, scuttling over to a computer.
"One moment, sir..."
A few seconds of typing later and she hands him a room key, giving a nod.
"Enjoy your stay, sir."
Danny Thorn smiles, knowing damn well he will, but not with anything she's got. He's back in his element now, the only life he's ever been good at. And it feels good.
"Thanks."
The room's what he expected: functional tinged with... well, yet more garish. But he can handle that. Shit, he can handle night temperatures in fucking Afghanistan, he can handle a shitty Vegas room.
A few crucial minutes later and the fire alarm's disabled, letting him get his nicotine fix. The door's locked and his bag's on the table. He goes to the bathroom to freshen up, in no hurry. A long, hot shower freshens him up, as it always done after a plane journey. As he dries he checks out the 9mm wound on his stomach, noticing it's gone down from it's swelled state a few months ago.
Just another scar now.
Once that's done, he's in the right mood. Lighting another Marlboro he unpacks the laptop inside his bag. It's perfectly clean now, just a new, blank PC, but it's probably going to be the best tool he's got. Then he goes back to the bag and feels along it's inside, feeling for the slit he'd cut before the flight. He finds it and slowly eases out the thin USB pen inside. He didn't figure on anyone finding it but he's always careful when he's working. No other way to play it.
He sits down with the cigarette hanging loose, looking at the screen with cool but keen eyes. He sticks the pen inside and starts to look at the file, a full dossier on this latest man. Danny smiles as he scans over the file names, impressed as always with the outfit's work. He didn't know how they did it, but they always got the best Intel.
Addresses, photos, associates, daily fuckin' habits... perfect.
Danny takes another drag and clicks on a file named "Ed Conyard", leaning closer. The screen suddenly filled by the colour image of a forty-something man, native Nevadan by the looks of him. He's looking pretty good but apparently only due to plastic surgery, and his hair's starting to recede fast. But the hand-tailored suit and gold necklace on him mark him out as a man who can afford to look how he wants.
Danny slowly expels the smoke through his nose, letting it rise in front of him as he gazes into the face of the man he's here to kill.
Tampa, Florida, four days ago
Summer in Florida is beginning to test Danny's patience. Despite growing up in the middle of the Nevada desert, he'd never fully got the heat down here. Christ, even in the shade his skin felt on fire.
So he's grateful for the blissful air conditioning as he strolls into the neon-lit bar in downtown Tampa, in the early afternoon. As expected for this kind of place, it's noticeably sparse, only a few diehard drunks still boozing into their latest day. Danny walks across it, pocketing his glasses. Here and there he sees recognition in some faces, even a little surprise.
Disappear for six months, word gets around.
Finally he gets to the stairs and starts walking up, immediately seeing the massive bouncer standing at the top. The man's at least 6"10, dwarfing Danny's none-too-shabby form. But the big ape just smiles when he sees Thorn's face, and Danny returns it.
"Howyadoin', Frank?"
"Not too bad, Danny." The giant chuckles and shakes Danny's hand, practically enveloping it in his sausage-like fingers. "I heard about what happened. Sorry man, really."
Danny smiles a little wider, slapping the guy on the shoulder. A few months ago he wouldn't have managed it, he would have snapped, even with this monster. But now... now he's getting used to the idea, if that's even possible.
Used to knowing they're gone.
He hasn't heard a lot of condolences in the last six months, vanished off the face of the planet as he has, but it means a lot coming from Frank. Not a guy in Florida could take Frank one-on-one, but once he was your friend, he was all fucking heart.
Probably get him killed one day.
"Thanks, buddy. Appreciate it."
Franks nods again and opens the steel door behind him, letting Danny into the spacious office beyond. Once he was inside he closed it again with a hollow clang, resuming his silent vigil.
As far as he could tell, Mike hadn't changed the room much in six months. It did reflect his style though, functional and not flashy, but with a few nice touches. The plush couch to one side was, as was the small liquor cabinet close to the desk. Mixed up amongst the top-of-the-range computer, satellite phones and flickering CCTV monitors scattered around, they gave the office a human touch.
"I didn't change anything."
"Didn't think you were into feng shui."
Mike Jameson chuckles behind his desk and gestures for Danny to sit, standing up across from him. He's a decade older than Danny but in great shape, at the gym every day. Clad in a well-fitting suit, his jewellery was not ostentatious, just classy, once again reflecting the man.
Smooth guy. Guess that's how he got where he is.
"Always something to say, huh Danny?."
The two men shake hands and Danny just shrugs, Mike chuckling again. He pours them a glass of Scotch each from the bottle on the table. Thorn takes a sip of the fiery liquid and relaxes a little more into his seat, now blessedly cool in the office.
"I guess asking how you been'd be pretty fuckin' dumb, huh?"
"Good guess."
Mike grimaces and looks briefly into his lap, oddly enough looking a little helpless. But Danny could understand. He's seen it a lot in the past six months, the frustration, the plain awkwardness, the utter lack of words for something like that.
How the Hell do you talk to a guy whose lost his wife and kid?
"You coping?"
Danny decides to be merciful, and just shrugs, taking another sip.
"I'm back here. I got your message, so here I am."
Mike nods, taking the hint and getting to business. He leans forward and clasps his hands in front of him on the desk, like he often does when talking business. Danny lights a cigarette and opens his ears.
"Job in Las Vegas. Bit a security round the problem, so we're talking a hundred K. With expenses."
Danny nods appreciatively, knowing a good deal when he hears it. Now he knows it'll be a little more lively, with some protection around the target, but that just makes it all the sweeter. He's been out the game for to long now, spiralling down to nothing and for no reason.
But that's over. Time to get back to work.
"Time frame?"
"Pretty loose." Mike reaches into his desk and tosses a bulging envelope in front of Danny. He talks as Thorn opens it, seeing a wad of cash, a passport and some other necessary bureaucracies. "We just need it done, preferably within a month."
Danny nods, not expecting many details, not not anyway. This is business, and in business you don't add unnecessary flourishes. So Mike's being his usual, professional self. It ain't like Danny needs to know the reason anyway.
A hundred grand's a hundred grand no matter what body drops.
"These clean?"
"As always. We got someone in Las Vegas." Mike shakes his head little dismissively, even snobbishly. "Bottom-feeder, doesn't know shit. He'll be holding the hardware you need for this. Knows you're coming, you just have to go round there."
Danny picks up a small silver USB pen from out the case, and hold it up briefly.
"Intel?"
"Everything you'll need. Spent a week getting it together for you."
Danny smiles crookedly, studying the little plastic stick no bigger that his thumb and half as wide. It always amazed him that nowadays you didn't get a photo or a few scrawled notes, you got a little stick that could hold War and Peace a few dozen times.
Times they are a' changin'...
"Anything special I should know about?"
Mike nods once, eyes a little harder.
"Just one thing. Make sure it goes messy. We want this fuck to suffer."
Danny nods coolly as he hears this, eyes unfazed. So that's why the high price: they want this guy truly fucked up, but done professionally. He pockets the envelope and finishes his drink, mind already made up. He paused for a second upon hearing it was in Nevada, but nothing serious. Just a distant memory, remnants of something no longer important.
Some fuckin' homecoming.
"I'll get out there as soon as I can."
Mike smiles and stands straight up, almost bubbling. He's obviously happy to have Thorn back working for him, valued shooter as he is for the outfit. His bosses have been waiting for the guy to return, and resume doing what he does best.
"Good to have ya back, Iceman."
Now Danny smiles, hearing his nickname for the first time in months as well. They shake hands again and he just feels, at that exact moment as they grasp hands, that he's back where he belongs.
"Yeah."
North Las Vegas, 1:15AM
"Wanna blow job, mister?"
Thorn looks down at the girl peeking out of the alley, guessing that she's about fifteen. But she's get up in some hideous cocktail outfit and he can see her eyes are strained and bloodshot.
"No thanks."
He walks on without another look at her, face inscrutable. He knows the best way is to just walk away, let them vanish back into the background. Behind him the girl's vacant eyes turn back to the pavement, and she moves back into the alley.
Third time in an hour. Girls here are desperate.
Danny once read Hunter S. Thompson describe North Las Vegas as a "mean scag ghetto", and now he's starting to remember just how right he is: it's still the same shithole he used to tear around in when he was a kid. The boarded-up buildings, piles of trash everywhere, man-sized shadows flitting in the alleys...
Feeling more like home?
He's been walking for an hour or so, not trusting a cab to get into this place. Besides, the less people know where he's going, the better. A few more streets and he'd get to Happy Joe's diner, and his outfit contact, and as always, he's keeping this clean.
That's why they hire you. Because you can do it professional.
A minute or two later he walks into the faded storefront of Happy Joe's. It looks at least twenty years old from the interior and about as prosperous. In fact, there's no-one inside but a middle-aged bruiser of a bartender idly cleaning a table.
"We're closin', buddy."
"You own this place?"
As he expected the bartender stops and looks up, narrow eyes flickering over the tall, calm customer. He didn't know if this was the guy, but he is the only one here, and looks like the kind of mook who'd be in the outfit's pocket.
"Yeah, fuck's it to you?"
"I'm Iceman." Danny's voice is cool and unemotional, utterly in control. No way was he gonna be muscled by some loser in a shitty bar. "You got some things for me."
A flash of recognition washes over the man and he seems to stiffen right there. His eyes widen and he step away from the table, a lot less sure of himself. His voice is almost wavering when he speaks again.
"Mike send you?"
Danny nods and the bartender seems to slump right there. But he manages a half-smile and gestures to the back, Danny following him. The guy tries to talk as they go to the back.
"Expecting you earlier, man. Fuckin' Mike called me and said this guy should-"
"Stick to business, Angelo." Danny's voice cuts him of like a blade in his eye, his name making him flinch a little. Thorn knew everything about this guy as well thanks to the USB files, and he wasn't gonna get sidetracked by him. "I ain't a great conversationalist."
Angelo clams up the rest of the walk, leading Danny into the basement, right into the corner. He stands to one side as the bartender shifts a few crates of beer to reveal a hole in the ground, hidden by the booze. He smiles and pulls out a large briefcase, just fitting into the hole, and hands it to Danny.
"All here."
Danny takes it with a nod and places it on the nearest table, opening it up. He smiles as he sees the contents, impressed that the outfit have come through again.
He picks up the black Beretta 92 lying on top of the Kevlar vest, hefting it in his hands as he pulls it out of a hip holster. Practised hands move seamlessly over it, checking the trigger mechanism, the slide, the magazine. He could do it in his eyes closed, and has done.
"You need anything heavier just, ah, leave my a message." Angelo cuts in just as Danny screws the silencer onto the gun, a good seven inches long but a top model, actually reducing the sound like it did in the movies. As Danny knew, that term was mostly bullshit: a 9mm round silenced still sounded pretty damn loud. Only .22's and .38's made that celluloid "mouse fart" sound.
But this thing... quality item.
"Don't think I'll need it, but thanks anyway."
He chuckles as he pockets the K-Bar knife, a deadly, razor-sharp combat blade he'd used dozens of times in the past. It was standard Ranger training to be an expert with this vicious little bastard, and Danny trusted himself with it as much as a gun.
Useful for this job.
"So, ah..."
Danny rolls his eyes as Angelo starts up again, beginning to get on his nerves. Surely Mike had told this prick to just shut his mouth and let the man work?
"This guy, who is he? Is-"
"You ever taken a truncheon to the ribs, Angelo?"
Danny's stark, blunt question shuts Angelo right the fuck up. He checks the last of the three cloned cell phones before he can even respond, letting the shock sink in. This asshole wanted to know his world, then he could know all of it.
"Wh-What?"
"That's how Vegas PD used to get confessions when they rounded guys up, least when I was a kid. Strap you over the table and play your spine like a damn xylophone. After a few hours a' that... shit, you'll say anything to make 'em stop, believe me."
He slams the suitcase up and leaves it on the table, satisfied with the vest and the last little item in the case. Well, not little, but as he'd requested after hearing Mike's order for a "messy job".
The last item would ensure that.
That done, he turns to Angelo and meets his gaze, cold eyes boring into his, sure as a bullet.
"They pull that on you, you'll crack, and you'll spill anything I've told you. That means two things." But his voice retains a cool tone, almost conversational. But somehow... prophetic. "Firstly, I'll get in serious trouble with my bosses and that will really make me angry. Far more importantly..."
Danny stops a foot before his face and looks down at him, the man seeming to wilt before him under a relentless stare. His voice has lowered to almost a whisper, but is so hard and steely it's like a scream.
"I'll have to come back here, and kill you. So... you really wanna know?"
For a long second Angelo meets the Iceman's gaze, and then turns away, unable to take it. Danny's voice gets a little lighter, but not too much.
"Didn't think so." He walks back to the table and picks up the case, heading for the stairs. "I need anything else, I'll come round again."
With that he leaves the shaken bartender downstairs, breezing out onto the grimy city street beyond, walking back to his hotel room on the other side of town. In a few blocks he'd get a cab, and wasn't worried by a bad neighbourhood. The Beretta was resting at his hip now, one in the chamber, ready for instant use.
He walks steadily through the dim street lights, alone on the deserted street.
The Strip, 2:43PM
A couple of days of following round Conyard had told Danny this wouldn't be too easy. His mark shuttled between his villa, nightclub and construction company in an armoured Escalade. More importantly, at least two bull-necked suits followed him everywhere.
Should have just got BODYGUARD tattooed on their foreheads.
Sitting in his rented car across from the Sirocco, he's watching the trio move towards the already moving Escalade. The driver stops just in front of them but Danny can see them, see Ed's balding head above a sharp Armani suit. They don't so much as throw him a glance.
The SUV moves off and Danny follows discreetly at a distance. The Rangers had schooled him in urban warfare as much as desert or jungle, but the streets have taught him how to tail someone. He's danced this delicate dance a dozen times before, and knows the moves well.
Another hour, then break it off for today. Don't want to linger too long.
After a few minutes he peels off towards the Tropicana, letting the oblivious SUV continues down the glitzy, never-stopping Strip. As he drives Danny still muses on where the chink in this fuck's armour is, and maybe is a little pissed that Ed Conyard gets to live one more day.
Whenever he remembers, it's in flashes.
Like a movie on frame-by-frame, it gathers speed as it goes on, one snapshot drifting into another faster and faster. But it ain't no trip down memory lane; he doesn't control any of it, it just comes back to him in bright, deceiving swarms of imagery.
And it always ends bad, no matter how it starts.
A year after the Rangers he never expected to be in love. Danny didn't even believe he could feel it anymore: the only other person he'd loved had vanished without a word before he was even in pre-school. Growing up in foster homes, orphanages and lock-ups hadn't exactly nurtured that emotion afterwards, and the Rangers had finished it off, or so he'd thought.
He'd hooked up with an old friend of his from Nevada, a guy now working with a group in Florida simply known as "the outfit". Just muscle work for the new recruit, guarding properties, protecting the odd boatload that came through, nothing big. Still, it was either that or minimum wage.
So sitting in a bar just outside Miami in late 2004, staring into a glass of beer and keeping his mind empty, the last thing Danny had expected was for some girl to buy him a drink.
"You want a drink?"
For a second he'd thought he'd misheard, then turned to a light-skinned Latino standing next to him. Practised eyes run over her and decide she's more than a little out of place here, amongst the bikers and wasters and thugs that usually frequent the bar. She looks more like a student, not more than twenty-five and with that... softness to her eyes.
Rosalia... first time I saw you, baby.
"You wanna buy me a drink?"
"Yeah, why not." No fear, not even a hint. Just a girl asking a guy for a drink... Christ, why didn't he pick up on that? "You don't look like you get too many offers."
Danny finished his drink and turned round to her, cold eyes looking into hers. But there was no hesitation there; she wasn't going to be scared off so easily.
Never met a guy like me before, had you baby? Can't figure why you would have wanted to...
"What's a girl like you doin' here?" He manages a small smile, feeling uncomfortable for the first time since he joined up. "Woulda' thought you'd like a classy place?"
She shrugs, cool eyes looking over the grungy clientèle, then back to Danny. Jesus, those eyes... innocent was the only word to describe them. They were the eyes of a girl who'd not lived through the bullshit Danny had, never seen any of the pain and filth he'd endured.
"Nah... this is about my kinda place." She ordered two beers from the hulking bartender like she was a regular, placing one in front of a still-stunned Danny. "Now you want it or not?"
Fuck could I say to that?
Then an image of a darkened street, the smoking ruins of a proper little house in suburban Fort Lauderdale. Rosalia's face - so young, so alive - is suddenly a charred ruin, burnt to the bone.
Along with with a blackened pygmy about the size of a doll, looking a lot like a baby.
BEEP-BEEP! BEEP-BEEP!
Bang. Back to reality.
With a strangled yelp Danny jerks awake on his bed as his alarm sounds off. Before his eyes even open his hands snakes under his pillow and grabs the Beretta underneath, finger sliding next to the trigger. But his vision comes back a second later and he's just back in the Tropicana, catching a few hours sleep.
"Urgghhhh... fuck."
He sits up groaning and rubs his face quickly, hot friction snapping him into full consciousness. It's the night after he'd tailed Web to the Tropicana, and he needed to rest. Now he's had it, and it's time to get back to work. Clad just in jeans and a tee, he does some quick stretches and lights a Marlboro, heading resolutely towards the laptop.
You got a weakness, motherfucker. Only a matter of time...
For an hour sharp, trained eyes scan over reams of information, images and notes, the whole life of Ed Conyard on a USB. Cigarette butts pile up in the nearby ashtray as Danny trawls through them , looking for something he can use, but inspiration's a long-time coming.
But it gets here.
"Bingo."
He uncharacteristically speaks aloud as he comes across a little note at the bottom of one file, just a couple of lines. He reads the address there and the couple of sentences with a smile, a plan already forming in his mind. Danny notes the address mentioned on it and stands, deciding to get a shower and get some last minute supplies before he heads over tomorrow.
Last place you'll be expecting it, Ed...
East Las Vegas, 10:20PM
Danny had to admit, if this was Vegas' idea of a mistress, they did things right here.
For six hours he's been sat inside his car, watching the impressive three-bedroom house down the road. It's got a spacious front yard and an even larger back one, as he's seen, and the new brick's in top order. He can see the windows are spotless and there's a late-model BMW in the garage.
Guy likes to take care of them. What a guy.
Danny crams another stick of gum into his mouth, quashing the urge for a cigarette for another few minutes. He's pretty invisible in this darkened car way down the road from the house, just poking out of an alley. He can just see Jenny's house and the road in front of it, so it's doubtful they can see him, especially in this pitch. But doesn't want a tell-tale glow to give him away, not now. The note in the file hadn't been specific on times, but he knew that Webb would be around here sooner or later.
After a long day at the office, what more does a man want than an honest, hard, paid for fuck?
It had only been a few lines at the bottom of one file, like an irrelevant little trivia piece. Something about Conyard having a long-time mistress across town, a pro named Jenny Clark. He visited her usually once a week, and Danny's prepared to wait. He's already deduced this as the best place to do it: out of the way, under cover of darkness and, most importantly, where Ed's least expecting to get hit.
Gotta be soon. Dragging this out too much.
He chews steadily in his trenchcoat, the rest of his tools for the job packed inside them. The few grand Mike had handed over for expenses had paid everything so far, as they always did. Danny had picked up two pairs of handcuffs and some leather gloves during the day, paying in cash. The car had been rented with the driver's licence, a perfect copy that Danny figured Mike had to get from the DMW.
Then there's the silenced pistol at his hip, the knife in his belt and the machete strapped to his waist.
Those'll get the job done.
Three hours and two packs later, a pair of headlights suddenly turn onto the road, bathing it in light. Danny remains motionless in his seat, wide eyes following the beams all the way, peering behind them. He smiles as he makes out the hulking Escalade with tinted windows. The SUV rolls to a stop in front of Jenny's and Danny watches the doors open. Night-sight isn't a problem for him, veteran of a few dozen nocturnal missions with the Rangers. Even in pitch darkness he can still put together a stripped M-16.
Two suited men built like bodybuilders get out the front, and back looking down each side of the street. Their eyes flit voter the apparently empty car at one end then go back to the house. One of them goes for the front door, the other heading for the opposite passenger door.
Danny's eyes glint with anticipation as Ed Conyard emerges out the back, dressed in a tuxedo with the tie off. Obviously had a long day, looking forward to relax. He watches him as he pulls on the black leather gloves from in his pocket, working each finger to get them on tight.
Gotcha, motherfucker...
The second Jenny had opened the door Ed had made a grab for the tits, which told Danny all he needed to know. Security tonight was Obviously to be forgone for the sake of fucking, and the bodyguards looked pretty bored.
Shitty assignment job, guys. Just routine...
The two hulks either side of him had left the driver and one other suit in the SUV reading a magazine, one following Ed inside. He's exchanged a few words with the other one and the man had walked round the back of the house, into the backyard.
Now Danny watches him from the shrubs, like an animal stalking prey. The guy's about his age, probably capable of bench pressing a few hundred pounds. But he looks too good in his suit, not like a professional. Despite his build he has the restless, fidgeting style of a street hood, and Thorn's guessing he won't even see this coming.
Time to move.
Moving with ghostly silence, he circles the yard to the right. It took him five minutes of roundabout walking to get from his car to the road behind the house, but it'll be worth it. Mike said this had to be a discreet job, not a lot of noise. The outfit wouldn't want bodies pied up everywhere, even out in Vegas.
They pay you, you follow orders.
He stops in a mass of shadows to the bodyguards left. He stands in front of the back door, looking left and right occasionally but Danny's safe in the shadows, cool eyes studying him from just behind the corner. The guy's obviously bored, restless, wanting this fucking night over, and he'll use that.
With a soft hiss he slides the Ka-Bar free, gripping it in his right hands. He tenses on the balls of his feet, ready to move like lightning, just waiting...
The bodyguard turns to his right, back of his head to Danny, and he lunges, moving with speed that only countless hours of training and gruelling, life-or-death missions can give a man.
The thug's only heard the first footfall before Danny slams his right foot into his kneecap, sending him down to his knees in a blink. A strangled scream starts to escape his mouth but Danny's already clamped his free hand over it, moves practised and second nature.
When he slams the blade into the side of his neck, he barely even flinches.
"GRRURHHH!"
The hood spasms and screams behind Danny's hand but the ex-Ranger holds him tight, gripping the blade even tighter before pushing it forward with a brutal jerk. The razor blade cuts through the voice box and jugular vein like nothing, ripping out the front of his throat in one smooth blow. An arc of scarlet sprays over the grass as it opens up like an ugly red mouth, Danny doing his best to avoid it. Then he lets the twitching body fall forward onto it's face, deep, crimson pool building beneath the head.
There's that stark, accusing silence that always follows a silent kill, that feeling of mixed empowerment and horror. Danny emotionlessly cleans his the blade on his gloves and pockets it briefly, grabbing hold of the guy;s legs. He drags him quickly into the bushes a few feet away and then moves towards the door, not looking back.
One down...
"You are the Weakest Link, goodbye!"
That fucking voice is the first thing Danny hears once he steps into the house. The Ka-Bar's back in it's sheath in favour of the Beretta, silencer screwed on tight and safety off. The door's open like he expected, probably to let the bodyguard back in when he needs to.
Ain't gonna need to worry now...
His trainers don't make a sound as he walks slowly through the kitchen, senses in overdrive. His ears pinpoint the TV to the lounge to the left, and there is, of course, the fucking.
It going on low yet roaring right above him, Conyard getting his end away. By the sounds of it the girl's earning her money as well. But now he knows where that second bodyguard is.
The kitchen's well-furnished as befits the house, but he ignores it as he walks towards the open door. Moving slowly he looks through round into the plush room, widescreen TV facing him. The bodyguard is sitting in a chair with his back to him, obviously taking it easy. The drapes are closed and the television's volume is up loud.
Only way to drown that shit out.
He gently pushes open the door just wide enough to get his body through, pistol already trained on the guy's bald head. It takes only a few careful strides to stand right behind him, and the guy doesn't even move. Then again, they can probably hear the TV in the next house.
Perfect.
PHUT!
He pulls the trigger as the muzzle rests half a foot from the the back of the guy's thick neck, 9mm round doing it's magic in a second. Just like Danny wanted it stays in the body but obliterates the top of the spine, killing him instantly. There's a brief spurt of blood and flux as a ragged hole suddenly appears, and then he falls forward.
Danny knows when not to check for vital signs, and instead just picks up the spent shell casing, pocketing it. It's all coming back now: the coldness, the tension, the calculating way he does this shit. His whole life's been about this... or most of it.
Two down. Now for the boss.
Danny hadn't heard the door go as he'd been moving around, and a quick look from the front door told him the two other guys were still in their car. That means it's just him, Conyard and his woman. Nice and simple.
To a point.
He moves quickly up the stairs, intense groaning telling him that those two aren't even near done. He passes through the tastefully painted hall and soon finds the right room. Danny takes one last breath, and thumbs the trigger back.
Now it gets messy.
CRASH!
"Don't fuckin' move!"
One hefty kick at the door sends the lock crashing free, and Danny sweeps into the room with pistol raised. On the bed Ed Conyard looks up from the ferocious doggy-style he's putting to Miss Clark. She looks up panting with something more akin to surprise than fear.
That doesn't last long.
Both of you stand up, and put your hands on your chests.
Conyard stands first, naked body unashamedly stretched in front of Danny, who resists the very strong urge to look away. He can't afford to take his eye of the ball now.
Oh God, try not to think that!
"Who the fuck do you think you-"
"Two of your guys are downstairs. One's missing a throat and the other was dead before he hit the floor. Fuck with me Ed-" Danny takes a step forward and aims the Beretta squarely at Ed's deflated dick.
"And you get to go bad."
Conyard locks eyes with the stone faced gunman in front of him, hard eyes searching for some kind of weakness. But he finds none. Not an inkling. So he simply swallows hard and answers like a little less of an asshole.
"The fuck do you want?"
"Ask you some questions. But not here." Danny's cold eyes flicker over to the woman and his other hand reaches into his jacket.
"You." He tosses the cuffs and a rope to her, nodding to Conyard. "Put one of those rounds his ankles and wrist, behind his back. Then gag him."
"Hey, are you fucking-"
THUNK!
The words die in his throat as Danny lurches forward and buries the end of the muzzle under Ed's throat. He chokes a little as the cold metal silencer presses against his windpipe, suddenly panicked eyes meeting Danny's.
"Don't fuck with me. I ain't gonna say it again."
After a long, bowel-loosening second, Ed nods shakily and sits down on the bed, hands behind his back just waiting for the cuffs. Sobbing gently Jenny Clark puts them on one after the other, Conyard staying quiet the whole time. Danny never takes his eyes off him, eyes cold and distant, almost inhuman.
Keep cool. Think about the job. Nothing but the job.
"FUHHH!"
Ed groans as the rope goes into his mouth, effectively gagging him. Clark seems to take a little too much pleasure in tightening it, but after that she stands to one side. Danny walks to the bed and abruptly kicks over the apparently bound Ed, just to make sure. With an indignant roar he tumbles off, ankles and wrists secured. And he can barely make a sound.
Almost done...
"Thanks Jenny."
PHUT!
Without hesitation he levels the gun at her face and fires, bullet crashing into her right eyes. It snaps her head back and explodes out the top, a gout of blood and brain matter following it. But then she just topples over and lies still, face still frozen in surprise, just another body.
"MUUHUHFUHHH!"
Ed goes crazy on the floor, thrashing and screaming against his bonds. Danny ignores him as he puts the pistol on the bed, followed by his trenchcoat. He calmly covers them with the bedspread, and turns back to his captive like a butcher before meat.
Now Ed can see the machete on his waist, and as Danny draws it out, all three feet of razor-sharp, tree-destroying steel, he starts going nuts again.
But Danny just walks forward, raising the machete for the first blow, face inscrutable. But his eyes, his eyes are pools of sheer, primeval bloodlust. They're so hateful and furious that Ed isn't sure which he's more scared of, the blade or this animal in front of him.
But that's the way the Iceman wants it.
The left leg comes off after much squirming from Ed, but it's downhill from there.
A man can;t get away from shit with three limbs, and by now ol' Ed's right on the edge of death. The bedroom looks like a charnel house, blood splattered all over the walls and furniture. The drapes are drenched as well but Danny isn't worried about anyone looking in: they're so thick they could be covered in oil and no-one would know.
"HHHHHH... HHHHMMMM..."
Conyard groans pitifully through the puke and blood spilling from behind the gag. Danny's actually amazed he's still alive. One of his legs is only attached to him by a chain, and the last one's on the way. Half-a-dozen solid hits with the keen blade was enough for the last one, expertly delivered by Danny.
God bless government training...
"Not long now!"
THWHOCK!
The blade comes crashing down again right onto the bloody, gaping wound at the top of Ed's right leg, already cut almost all the way through. The bone's been splintered and obliterated by the savage torture, and yet blood still flows from it... spilling over the whole carpet of the room.
Hope Mike appreciates this.
But with this blow the leg finally comes off, the last of the muscle and fat cleaved away in an instant. Ed howls like an animal behind his gag, eyes about to explode from their sockets. But then he just lies there and pants, staring vacantly, unable to even grasp what's being done to him now.
Time to wrap this up.
Drenched in gore, Danny kicks the legless man onto his back and quickly sits on his chest, pinning him there. He looks into Ed's probably deranged eyes just once, letting the light glitter of the blade into them.
"Time to die, Ed."
His left hand reaches out and grips Ed's hair, holding his head into place. With his right Danny reverses his grip and holds the machete facing down, right above the rope gag.
Then he starts to push.
Ed screams and tells and sobs and pukes behind his gag as it's fired deeper into his throat, machete pushing it in. But soon it's cut away and the blades in his mouth, cutting through the roof of his mouth and tongue.
Conyard's ruined body starts to spasm and Danny keeps his grip, eyes never leaving him.
THUNK!
With a grunt he pushes down hard and the blade slices straight through the back of the head, crunching bone easily and embedding into the carpet beyond. The former Ed Conyard spasms on the floor like an fish on a harpoon, mouth cut to pieces but body not yet dead. As Danny stands the spasming stops, and he admires his handiwork, impaled on the floor.
Yep, I think that's a mission accomplished.
He kneels down and picks up the spent shell casing, pocketing that one as well. Then he leans over Conyard's corpse and takes his cuffs back, not willing to leave those behind. Once he gets those he turns to the bed spread and gets his gun. He shrugs the trenchcoat back on and does it up over his blood-spattered clothing, feeling pretty damn good. He's just made a hundred grand, and is back doing what he does best.
Not yet, asshole. No time to relax.
Face set and determined once again he holsters the pistol and moves quickly back onto the landing. His sharp ears detect no movement downstairs, and is in the kitchen within a few seconds. His mind's moving quickly now, the details rushing through it. The machete's clean, no prints, bought with cash so the fucking cops are welcome to it. The Ka-Bar and Beretta go tonight, along with the clothes and the USB pen.
A small smile cross his face as he steps into the yard.
Then I just call it in and wait for my mon-
"FUCK!"
He sees the broad-shouldered bodyguard just as he sees him, barrelling round into the back door. For a brief second both men just stare in disbelief at each other, but then Danny reacts.
"Piecea'GRRRK"
His hands move quick and brutal before his mind's even grasped the whole situation, close combat training all coming back. Krav Maga had been his speciality, a vicious Israeli martial art that really wasn't: it was concentrated street fighting, designed for nothing less than brutally incapacitating you enemy, and fast.
Danny's been an expert for five years.
The bearded suit rears back as his Adams apple suddenly pops, Danny's lightning knuckle-punch crushing it. He only just starts choking on his own blood when a knee like a freight train smashes into his balls, lifting him clear off the ground. Now barely on the verge of consciousness, a sweeping right elbow to the jaw finishes him off.
He slams into into the side of the house, out for the count, but Danny isn't finished. He knows too well to let someone go on a job; it's just another loose end. He has to finish it, make it as neat as possible, and since he;s started like this...
He straddles the facedown man and grips under his chin with his right hand, left hand bracing behind the head. He waits to get a good grip and then -
CRACK!
The thick weightlifter neck snaps like a twig between Danny's firm, trained hands, and with one final spasm the bodyguard sleeps forever. Forgetting him in an instant Danny continues to the back of the yard, stepping out the back way. He doesn't know why he came round that way, has no idea what he wanted, but now he's dead. That's all that matters.
Danny lights a cigarette as he walks down the back alley, knowing he'll look less suspicious. What's the harm in going out for a smoke? As this rate of speed he'll get to the car fast, even going the "safe" way. But he's guessing the last guard will still be waiting for his boss to finish his session, and by then Danny would be gone.
Now just to clean up...
The minute Danny got out the neighbourhood he found an alley to change. His clothes were starting to stink.
He parked in a pitch black alley between two warehouses and popped the trunk. He had a change of clothes that he got into quickly, throwing the blood-soaked work clothes into a bin bag, along with the trenchcoat. There's a can of gas there as well, but that's for later.
He gets into the car and flips the light on, still on the job. By the bright light of the bulb he strips his Beretta down to it's barest parts, down to the springs and screws. He'd wiped them all down before he came arrived at the house that night, handling the piece with gloved hands at all the time.
Gotta keep it clean.
Once they were in pieces he throws them into a paper bag, along with the Ka-Bar and silencer. He scrunches it up and puts it on the passenger seat, rumbling the engine into life. He eases the car out of the alley and heads for the nearest free way. He flat out burns out of town down the longest, straightest, most desolate road out of town, and the endless black of the desert swallows him up.
After an hour he decides to do it. For the last twenty minutes he's seen only a couple of cars, and there's nothing but sand either side of him. Keeping his eyes on the road he reaches over to the paper bag and opens it, rolling down the window. As the cold night wind whips his face he dumps the disassembled gun, the knife and the silencer out of the window, along with the unused bullets. He knows that within a few hours the winds and sand will have covered most of them, probably for ever.
As he rolls up the window he sees an exit, and signals for it. There's sure to be a rest stop nearby, somewhere he can get rid of what's left. A few minutes of driving later gets him come to a gas station in the middle of nowhere, just across from a railway bridge. Danny drives across it and then parks to one side, heading for the trunk. By torchlight he finds the bloody sack of clothes and the gas can, and starts marching down the bank, under the bridge.
Jesus... what you gotta do to be thorough nowadays...
He douses the bag in petrols and throws a match on, sudden flame lighting up the grey world under the bridge. There's shuffling as God knows what moves out the light, and Danny briefly watches the flames eat hungrily at the clothes. A second later he throws the handcuffs on, and then the crushed remains of a USB pen. He's taken the Beretta butt to it back at the motel.
Quick way to erase files.
Stepping out of his car at the gas station, Danny feels a lot better. Everything tying him to this job has been disposed off, everything. Now he lights a Marlboro as he heads for a payphone, ready to call it in. Mike insisted on being informed promptly.
Fuck knows what this guy getting dead might mean.
He drops some change in and dials the number he'd memorized earlier, one of the last things on the USB pen. It's a Miami code yet after only a few seconds later a familiar voice answers the phone.
"Yeah?"
"Hey, is Jack here?"
Mike pauses only for a brief second hundreds of miles away, the realizes who it is.
"Uh, nah man, he ain't here."
"Oh... shit 8753?
"58, buddy."
Danny manages an embarrassed laugh, message delivered. "Shit, sorry to bother you, pal."
"No problem."
CLICK!
The line goes dead and Danny hangs up, heading back for the car. It's done now, Mike's got confirmation. The next day he'll get word of how he'll get his money, and after that...
See how things go.
Fort Lauderdale, six months ago
"He's got your eyes."
"Poor bastard."
"Language!"
"He's three months old! You think he knows what bastard means?!"
Rosa makes a sharp scolding sound like a cat and Danny puts his hands up in mock surrender, facer a picture of parodied fear.
"Jesus, OK, Mom!"
Rosalia Thorn, just turned twenty-four, laughs at her husbands then turns back to the baby in her arms. Like most young babies he's ugly as sin and yet strangely enchanting, a half-blind little creature still at serious odds with the words. But his mothers warmth is keeping him happy and quiet, occasionally gurgling.
Danny just looks at them both. He could spend hours doing it. But he can't.
"I gotta go."
Rosa looks up at him and he sees the sadness in her eyes, the knowledge. He doesn't want to go again, disappear for a week where he can't call her, can't see them. But he has to. He works for the outfit and they've taken care of him. The modest new two-bedroom house they're standing in was aid for with their money, and now they want him to go to Seattle.
So he'll go. No matter how much he wants to stay.
"I know..." her voice sounds almost broken, choked by knowledge. She knows, but she doesn't care.
She loved you. No matter what you were.
"Just be careful."
Danny drops his bag and walks straight over to her, cupping her soft cheeks in his hands. He kisses her deep and slow, like the second date they went on (actually Danny's first for several years). He'd kissed her that night and the world seemed to stop, he just lost himself inside her. All the pain and uncertainty and loneliness and sheer goddamn rage he felt at the world just... went.
"Don't worry about me." He never used that tone for anyone but here. "I'll be OK, I always am. You just take care of him."
He looks down at his son and gently brushes his head, feeling how soft and warm it is. A smile spreads across his face and he doesn't even realize it, but Rosa does. She looks up at him with pure love, but he's lost looking at his son. Danny pats him gently and squeezes one tiny hand.
"Bye, Felix."
Felix. She'd asked but I told her she could name him.
He kisses Rosa one last time and walks over to his bag, walking quickly out the door. He knows if he doesn't leave soon, he'll miss his flight. He steps into the Florida sun and walks to his Ford, parked down this very unassuming All-American street.
Jesus, felt like a fuckin' freak moving in here at first. But it was nice... I guess.
As he gets to the car he sees Rosalia standing in the doorway, waving to him, baby Felix smiling in her arms. He grins like an idiot and raises his own hand, chuckling in amazement at his own damn luck.
Then Rosalia's face bursts into flames, her body enveloped quickly in an orange inferno.
Felix shrieks in agony as they gobble him up too, then flames eat up the house.
In a single horrific instant Danny's smile vanishes and his face contorts in unbelievable pain, the kind of agony that can kill you stone dead just like a bullet. He falls to his knees just as Rosa collapses like charcoal, and screams to a blind and uncaring Heaven.
"NOOOOOOOO!!!"
The phone rings, and Danny wakes up screaming.
North Vegas, 12:21AM
The stake was fucking awful but Danny hadn't expected haute cuisine. In fact, he thought as he munched on the stringy meat, he'll be lucky if he doesn't get E-Coli.
Some things never change...
He's sitting in a quiet corner of Lucky Joe's like he has been for the last hour, waiting for his money. Mike had been on the phone, and after a few seconds of realizing he's back in Vegas, he answered. His employer called from a secure phone and Danny's were untraceable, so they could talk.
"Someone's bringing your money at twelve-thirty tomorrow night at Lucky Joe's, along with a clean passport. Be there."
That was all, so Danny had gotten ready. He didn't know who they'd send but it hardly mattered. All it'd be would be a quick handover and he'd be on his way out of town. Danny wanted to... revisit a couple of things, then he'd fuck off out of Nevada for another decade.
"You want another beer?"
Danny looks up at a furtive Angelo and shakes his head. The guy's obviously learned his lesson and just moves off, ignoring the handful of other customers. They're the same kind of waster and loser Danny is, so he isn't too worried about witnesses.
In this neighbourhood, you learn to mind your own business.
A few minutes later and some of them wander off, just as a stout biker crashes through the door. He's carrying an attaché case, and immediately starts peering for his man from under a bushy beard. Danny catches his eye the second he gets in the door, and he nods slightly, sighing.
Shit. Not fucking Theo.
"Well, well, well..." The muscular nightmare in a leather jacket swaggers over and drops into the seat opposite Danny. "The fuckin' Iceman..."
Danny looks coolly at Theo, not about to rise to this shit. Theo's a grade-A asshole who just loves fucking with people, and a broken nose a way back from Danny had given him cause to hold a grudge. But the cunt had deserved it, trying to shove something into an outfit whore that certainly didn't belong. Danny just happened to have been there.
Fucking animal. Let's just get this over with. "Theo." He nods to the case as he pushes his plate away, all business. "That for me?"
The biker nods and pushes it over with a foot, letting Danny get it onto his lap. He chuckles as the ex-Ranger opens it up, leafing through the wads of cash inside. Yep, looks like a hundred. His hands slip into one of the sleeves on the lid and pull out a clean passport, just missing a photo. He gives a tiny smile as he pockets that.
Nice one, Mike.
"Disappeared for a while, din' ya? Fuck you go man? Bottom of a fuckin' bottle?"
Danny closes the case and puts it to one side, sipping what's left of his beer. His face is calm and coo, but inside he;s trying to control himself.
The fuck does this shit know what it's talking about?
"Something like that. Mike say anything else?"
Theo shakes his head slowly, relishing the temporary power he has, another thing Danny hates about the guy. Theo's the kind of low scum who got kicked out of the Pagan's for being too much of an animal, until the outfit found him. Since then he's been a pompous errand buy playing at gangster, and he's playing with the wrong man tonight.
"Nope, nothing." He leans forward, mocking smile still there. "So what now? Back to Florida to hide for a few more months, huh? Shame about the family..."
Barely restraining himself, Danny finishes his beer and makes to leave, shooting the biker an acidic glance, the most he's willing to do right now.
"See you around, Theo."
"Think they were dead it happened?"
Danny's just about to get up when Theo's rumbling voice spits the words, like they're some kind of joke. He freezes in something like shock, knowing exactly what he means. There's a cold rage there now that he hasn't felt in months, but Theo doesn't see it, or ignores it. He just chuckles even more
"When they got burnt up, I mean? Fuck... that woulda been a way to go, eh?"
Danny can only look at him with increasingly enraged eyes, watching as the biker slaps the table open-palmed like he's just told a cracking joke.
"Fuckin' barbecue, man-"
"RRRRARRGH!"
With an inhuman yell Danny's hand grasps his stake knife and plunges it with all his might at Theo's hand. It punches straight through the bone and muscle, blade stabbing out under the table, pinning him there. The biker shrieks in agony and tries to move but Danny grabs him by his greasy hair and slams his face into the reinforced plastic table.
THUNK!
"Ahh... fuck!!!"
Danny holds his head tight there, still gripping the knife with his free hand. Theo's other hand is pitifully raised up by his head in mixed surrender and defence, breath coming out in short bursts. For a brief second Danny thinks about crushing his fucking skull against the table, but then just kneels down to him.
Looking at him sideways, Theo can see into the Iceman's eyes, and he is afraid. Danny twists the knife and some blood spurts out, making him yelp again.
"I'll only say this once." Danny's voice is almost a whisper, but the threat in them is overwhelming. He's far beyond games now, far beyond bullshit and posturing. He's just saying exactly what will happen.
"You ever even mention them again... and you die. Got it?"
Theo can only mumble and nod feebly under Thorn's grip, and after a few seconds Danny rips the knife free, sending blood spurting into the air. He steps back to avoid it, picking up the briefcase. Theo groans and cradles his ruined hand, swearing viciously under his breath.
Danny looks down the diner and sees no-one looking back. Those that haven't got their back to them are studiously studying their food. He throw another hateful glance at Theo and takes one step closer. The tough-looking man cowers as he does, trying to cover his bleeding hand.
"And tell Mike not to send an asshole next time."
With that he turns on his heel and walks out of Lucky Joe's, passing a shaken Angelo without even glancing at him. His heart's still racing from the sheer fury he'd felt, but the night air's cooling him down. He knows Mike will be pissed at him for this, but he's past caring, not after what that fuck had said. But he knows he has to get back to the Tropicana fast: the killing rage is still coursing through him like smack, and he's enjoying it too much.
Get some sleep. Get it before you kill someone.
Baker, north-east Nevada, 5:30PM
Danny's a big fan of Hunter S. Thompson. He'd feel in love with Fear and Loathing In Las Vegas when he first read it just into the Rangers, especially as it was all set where he was from. He'd seen another side to the dreary sunspot where he;d grown up, something more wild and exciting.
Not just painful and hard.
"Stinking desert crossroads." That's what he called this place... and he was right.
Now, sitting in his car, alone on the streets of the dusty town, he back home. At the middle of town - which is a crosswalk and nothing more - he makes a left and heads for the trailer park at the edge of Baker, in no hurry. He isn't exactly sure why he came back here, two hundred miles outside of Vegas when he should be getting on a plane.
No risk. Nothing connecting you to it now.
The General Store hasn't changed much: bread's apparently still the sale of the week. There's no-one on the streets now, save a couple of people on their way home from work. His car glides pas them without even raising a glance.
Then he's at the trailer park. A huddle of steel trailers and mobiles ringed with razor wire, it's a very familiar site to him. He can probably still remember where all five of his stash spots in the place are. Hell, there might be some left, in fact. Danny did leave the state pretty abruptly.
Meth lab explodes and your the sole survivor, you don't stick around to answer questions.
He stops a few metres down the road, seeing the last trailer on the left. It's facing him, like he knew it would, there in all its rusted glory. Even at this distance he can sill make out the brown-rust door, see the dead plants lifeless in the desert sun. But there's a bike outside, so it tells him someone's home.
Fuckin' Harley. Very fitting.
Danny's staring at it now, chin propped up on one hands and shades on. He's suddenly found himself lost in a whirl of memories and images, things he thought he'd long forgotten.
Good home. Had a nice little bunk in it, then the main bed. Mom took up less space... until she left.
He shoves that thought to one side and thinks further down the road, past those first years in Juvy. Christ, what an animal he'd been then, and he sits smiling about it. Running with the Scorpions every fucking night, tooled up and shot up on whatever they'd got, just being outlaws back where they were invented.
Wild fuckin' times. But everything has to end.
Those three years at Carson City for conspiracy should have told him it was coming to a close, but Danny had been adamant: he'd ride this fucker out. That ended quickly when he and four friends visited a dealer in a Meth lab to pick some stuff up. Unfortunately, the guy was a fucking moron.
They were inside, Danny minded the door. He got first degree burns to his legs, but he was still breathing after the explosion. By morning he was headed the fuck out of Nevada.
Then onto the Army. Thanks for training an animal into a monster, guys.
Danny's so lost in thought he only just notices the cellphone ringing away in his pocket. Snapping out of it he reaches for the vibrating phone and holds it to his ear.
"Yeah?"
"This phone clean?"
"Yeah."
Back in Miami Mike talks through a satellite phone, fixed up for an encrypted frequency. Since Danny's using clones anyway, his end won't matter. So they can talk business; and Mike can have a bit of a grudging scold.
"Three hundred bucks, man. That's how much it cost to stitch his hands back up." Danny sighs and lowers his head as Mike's mildly pissed voice comes over the line. "You know how much that motherfucker's gonna whine after that shit?"
"He made a crack about Rosa, Mike." Danny cuts this of short, knowing Mike's called him for another reason. Besides, he wasn't about to start apologizing for cutting up a prick like Theo. "The fuck you expect me to have done?"
Mike sighs and relents, knowing he's right. Shit, he'd have done the same thing if that asshole had said shit about his family. But with a guy like Danny... sometimes he takes it all the way.
"OK, OK. Got the message by the way: won't sent that dickhead again."
"Good to hear." Danny takes a last look at the trailer and starts the engine, rolling onto the main street with the phone to his ear. "So, what else?"
"Very happy with the job, Iceman." Mike uses Danny's nickname again, obviously pleased. He'd figured his machete piece would attract... approval. "Even got it down here. They're calling it the Sin City Slaughter."
"Ah, those witty writers."
"You really don't give a fuck who it was, do you?"
Danny shrugs, not expecting the question but not fazed by it. He's learned after years in the game that a body's a body. Whatever Conyard did to warrant death, he wasn't part of it. He wasn't the reason; just the result.
"Why the fuck should I?"
"Fair enough. The bosses are even more impressed, man." Mike's voice takes on an urgent tone as Danny cruises towards town limits, facing an endless desert. "They want you to handle something else, something a lot bigger. Let's just say..." Mike gives an impressed snort, and Danny smiles "- that includes the fee."
Danny takes this in with a simple "hmmmm", thinking for a few minutes. His eyes flicker into the rearview as he takes one last look at the fast disappearing town. But even as he looks he mulls this over new proposition. It strikes him that right now, he's just as he was ten years ago. No roots, no past, no plans. Just the urge to get the Hell outta town.
So why not take it? What you got to live for now?
"Danny? Hey, you there?"
"Yeah." Danny grins coldly as he blasts towards Las Vegas on the smooth freeway, Jumpin' Jack Flash Playing on the radio. "I'm interested."
Las Vegas International, 7:53AM
"Flight UA117 to JFK International, boarding in twenty minutes."
Danny pricks up his ears once he hears that, looking up from his copy of Fear and Loathing. The book store at the airport had a copy and he'd snapped one up, spurred on to read it as he left town.
Still as fuckin' weird as ever.
He's got the same bag he came in with now, packed up anew. He's been waiting for an hour here in a casual suit, using the passport that came with the money. He likes to use two a job, make it really tough for anyone to pick up his trail. Danny can't even remember the last time he used his real surname on any kind of document.
That's the life. That's the cost: you a ghost even before you're dead.
At the sound of the call he pockets the book and picks up his bag. Slinging it over his shoulder. As he stands something hits the back of hit foot and he turns suddenly, free hand already balling into a fist just in case some -
A toddler no older than four stands a metre or so from him, red ball rolling next to Danny's foot.
The two of them lock eyes briefly, the former Ranger's cold, calculating glare lost on the wide-eyed curiosity of the boy. After a while he manages a smile, which Danny can't help but return. Right now, he can't do much else.
He... He could have been...
Danny kicks the ball back and the boy gathers it up, squealing with laughter as he runs back to his mother. The Iceman manages a weak smile and then turns towards the boarding area, eager to get on the move. The New York job's apparently worth middle six figures, according to Mike, and it'll be serious action. Danny's looking forward to it, despite bracing himself for five hours of non-smoking.
Behind him the little boy watches him go with curious eyes, watching as the tall man with the rucksack strolls into a crowd... and is gone.
maybe this is better. Tell me what you think.
User Reviews
Submitted by locksly (user info) at 2006-11-19 00:39:14 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
i like these
Submitted by Allyson (user info) at 2006-09-13 22:45:00 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
ok!
Submitted by Brdn_Nkd (user info) at 2006-09-13 16:21:20 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Others have mentioned the typos/mistakes so I'll leave that alone.
What I've read so far has been good but little things hinder, like : "He goes to the bathroom to freshen up, in no hurry. A long, hot shower freshens him up." that is reduntantly redundant. break this into paragraphs to make it easier to read, i know you've already posted two more after this but when you post the next please do it!
Submitted by Spacegrass (user info) at 2006-09-13 10:07:49 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Read up until North Vegas, 12:21 AM yesterday, then read the rest today. It was excellent, but I noticed more typ-os at the end than in the beginning. That either means you got lax with the proofreading towards the end, or I was too tired to care yesterday. Anyway, here's the one's I saw this morning:
North Vegas, 12:21 AM (so you can find them)
stake
coo
he;s
buy
Baker 5:30 PM
he;d
pas
I think there were more, but stupid work keeps interrupting me. Great work!
Submitted by JonnyX (user info) at 2006-09-12 19:33:38 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
oh honey, I love your stuff, but this is WAY too long, really keep it shorter.
Submitted by Hypatia86 (user info) at 2006-09-12 17:22:25 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
*claps* this story kept me entertained all day between phone calls, bravo. auto +2 for the Hunter S. Thompson refrence.
Submitted by apollo88 (user info) at 2006-09-12 17:05:30 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
No Comment
Submitted by Allyson (user info) at 2006-09-12 15:07:46 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
next piece will be cut up... alot.
i'm gonna post it in a few minutes.
Submitted by inion_de_trua (user info) at 2006-09-12 14:45:39 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
from what i've read so far it's good. but christ it's long. i'll finish it later.
Submitted by Uberjunkie (user info) at 2006-09-12 14:37:44 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
Long but worth it but too many typos to get the +2.
Submitted by St_Jimmy (user info) at 2006-09-12 11:41:08 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I'll have to agree that it was long, but it was really worth it.
Excellent work.
Submitted by Allyson (user info) at 2006-09-12 11:37:24 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
thanks everyone.
shlongy, suck my non existant dick.
Submitted by Shlongy (user info) at 2006-09-12 09:57:44 EDT (#)
Ranking: -1
I fell asleep at my desk in the middle of paragraph 6.
Submitted by matnotharry (user info) at 2006-09-12 09:46:56 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
As said before, this needs a lick into shape but is altogether fantastic
Submitted by ICO (user info) at 2006-09-12 09:28:17 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Only Halfway through, but I'll probably finish it up later. good one.
Submitted by bcm (user info) at 2006-09-12 08:15:27 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Read and loved it.
A mild shame about the odd mixed same sounding work, stake-steak etc but regardless an enjoyable read for sure.
Submitted by Antioxident (user info) at 2006-09-12 08:03:25 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by matnotharry (user info) at 2006-09-12 07:34:38 (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by lechuza (user info) at 2006-09-12 00:39:58 (#)
Ranking: 0
WTF I'm not reading all that
------
me either, but I'll be back
__
yeah same
Submitted by matnotharry (user info) at 2006-09-12 07:34:38 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by lechuza (user info) at 2006-09-12 00:39:58 (#)
Ranking: 0
WTF I'm not reading all that
------
me either, but I'll be back
Submitted by HurtByTheSun (user info) at 2006-09-12 06:42:40 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I read all this, nice one, but could have done with being broken up a wee bit.
Submitted by moneyshotforyou (user info) at 2006-09-12 02:32:31 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
http://www.ubersite.com/m/82339
holyfuckingwords
Submitted by Darth_Famine (user info) at 2006-09-12 02:29:50 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
gruesome, but a good read, you did really well at getting us into his head
Submitted by coley (user info) at 2006-09-12 02:14:30 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by Chroniclysm (user info) at 2006-09-12 01:30:51 (#)
Ranking: 2
Shitfuck and Stagger, actually.
Ohhhhhhhhhhhh.
==========
you bastard.
Submitted by paint_it_black (user info) at 2006-09-12 02:07:28 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
I call shenanigans.
who is webb?
Submitted by Stagger_Lee (user info) at 2006-09-12 01:33:29 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Yeah, righteous! I am trusted.
Submitted by paint_it_black (user info) at 2006-09-12 01:32:37 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
worthy
Submitted by Chroniclysm (user info) at 2006-09-12 01:30:51 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Shitfuck and Stagger, actually.
Ohhhhhhhhhhhh.
Submitted by coley (user info) at 2006-09-12 01:26:11 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
OMG now the big question is...does CHRONICLYSM TRUST ME
HMMMMMMMMMM
Submitted by Chroniclysm (user info) at 2006-09-12 01:15:25 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
This is gonna have to be a project for tomorrow, but I trust a couple people who +2d this.
Submitted by Allyson (user info) at 2006-09-12 01:12:57 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
i just wanted to do this one, to get you hooked. I have a lot more to show, and i will break that up.
yeah, sorry about it being long, but i didn't really see a place for me to break it up. Thanks for the typos, i'll fix em, before i send it to my editor.
Yeah, i agree that the "perfect family" thing was cheesy... but it seemed to work with it.
Submitted by Stagger_Lee (user info) at 2006-09-12 01:11:28 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Forgot to add: I liked most of your dialogue. It got the job done.
Submitted by coley (user info) at 2006-09-12 01:11:19 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
And by the way, I didn't give up. I *will* finish reading it.
Just not this moment. :)
Submitted by Stagger_Lee (user info) at 2006-09-12 01:07:36 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
This is long for an ubersite post. I read it, but I don't know if many people will. You might want to break it up into chapters or something.
You have a few typos in here "right eyes", "stake" (instead of steak), and a couple others that I've forgotten.
In general, I dislike the use of "sound effects" in stories like this, such as when you just write "CRACK!" and things like that. I don't think they translate that well and it adds a sort of cheesy element to the whole thing. The flashback sequence where he remembers the murders of his family were a little cheesy too. I don't think that much detail is needed, and that sort of "perfect happy family that got ruined" thing is just a bit too pat.
All in all, the story is pretty cool, however, it just needs some work.
And finally, here's some self-promotion of related material.
http://www.ubersite.com/u/Stagger_Lee/l/noir
Submitted by Maltese (user info) at 2006-09-12 01:01:11 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by Allyson (user info) at 2006-09-12 00:55:59 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Thanks
btw, shitfuck, why are you giving me a +2 on all my other work???
Submitted by Amontillado (user info) at 2006-09-12 00:54:25 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Incredibly long, but excellent.
Submitted by coley (user info) at 2006-09-12 00:50:54 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I read most of it.
Damned good so far.
Submitted by shitfuck (user info) at 2006-09-12 00:43:24 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Read it. Wow.
Submitted by lechuza (user info) at 2006-09-12 00:39:58 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
WTF I'm not reading all that