A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to My Suicide
Its not about talent or being professional. Anyone who says otherwise is obviously an amateur or an idiot... and neither last long in this job. Its all about timing.
Timing and being really goddamn lucky.
For example, if that fat piece of shit Harvey hadnt taken that exact moment to try and pull a gun on me, and if he hadnt been such a fat piece of shit, Id be dead.
See, its timing. Harvey, the lazy fuck I had used as a supplier for the last five years, needed to stand at that exact moment so the sniper across the street, who had pulled his trigger probably 0.0001 seconds before, would be watching his flabby backside take the the large caliber projectile intended for my head. And the luck part was that Harvey, whod been swearing up and down that he was finally gonna get his fat ass on a diet for the last five years, was still a lazy enough fuck that the shell got lodged somewhere in the rolls of fat in his chest, instead of just passing through him and taking me out.
Timing and luck. Remember that.
Now the real question was why would I care? I mean, Id woken up this morning and decided that I was done. Finished. Getting the hell out of it. And not just this chop-chop business. I was tired of all of it. I wasnt just getting out of the business, I was getting out of life.
So why would an intended suicide care that he wasnt dead to some paid gunmans bullet? Call it professional pride I guess. I mean, I may have been getting the hell out of it all, but I had a reputation to maintain, and a mean enough streak to not want anyone else have the satisfaction of doing the job I had taken.
There are rules. Standards. Shit like that, you know?
So anyway, here I am, only two goddamn drinks in me so far this morning, and not even the first round of pills that keep me going, and Harveys chest has just gone and exploded fat and blood and all kindsa nasty shit all over my face. Apparently the fuck across the street really wanted me dead, as he was using some type of explosive round. Something to make sure that even if I somehow survived the shot to the head, the resulting bang would leave nothing but a messy smear.
Obviously I was dealing with an amateur. Professionals dont need any silly goddamn insurance's.
I wiped blood and shit outta my eyes, picked the occasional sliver of rib out of my face, and rifled Harveys pockets for something to get me going this morning. Fortunately, despite his other faults, Harvey is also a professional, and comes prepared to meet his clients needs. Even if he intends to gun them down for past slights.
Seriously. Did that fat fuck really think he was going to get the better of me? People must think Im getting soft in my old age.
I found my favorite brand of amphetamines in Harvey's back pocket, and carefully set about munching on them as the diner cleared out around me. My sniper friend was continuing to prove his stupidity by not firing a few more rounds into the surrounding area. I mean, the fuck is using explosive rounds! Its not like this is a subtle fucking hit. Idiot coulda taken the whole damn building down by now, and then gone over the rubble till he picked out my remains.
Fucking amateurs.
The drugs had just started to kick in, when I reached into my coat for my own piece. Harvey, in true lazy fat-ass fashion, had not even brought a real goddamn gun to take me out. Some cheap little Jap piece-a-shit. I swear to god, the Yakuza flooded the market with these things as a laugh. Its gotta be funny as fuck to watch some shit head try to actually gun someone down with one of those things. Any one with even the slightest sense, and a cheap set of body armor, is gonna just stand there and stare at the shit head. And that's only if said shit head was actually lucky enough to get one that is accurate enough to hit what its aimed at.
Anyway, in the process of searching for drugs, Id also taken a careful inventory of what armaments Harvey had. Dumb fuck wasnt even wearing a projectile vest. Shitty gun and no protection. Christ Harvey, dying was the only thing you ever did right.
Fortunately, I am a professional, and even when not working I am prepared for the shit heads of the world.
Mind you, I was assuming the moron across the street was at least better armed than me. They were obviously carrying a high powered rifle and some serious ammunition. Joes, my favorite diner and grease pit, was no stranger to the windows being blown out. Its that kinda place. So Joe himself had replaced the windows with the latest in high density, impact resistant polymer in an attempt to cut down on the property damage. You had to be packing some serious heat to get anything through those windows.
That means that while an amateur, the fuck had a hell of a bankroll. Weapons of that caliber do not come cheap, and I could safely assume that the idiot was at least sporting some other high end, serious gear. The question was what, and more importantly, how much of an amateur was I dealing with?
Another thing to know in this business: good ordinance is great, but only useful if you know what to do with it.
Now me, Im getting goddamn old, which means while I have a healthy respect for the new toys out there, I tend to stick with the things I grew up with. So while prepared, I wasnt exactly packing the latest in equipment. But what I had, I was good with. Real fucking good.
Lesson: the only thing you can be certain of about an old man in this business is that he knows how to survive.
My favorite piece is an old, refitted Slav .52. They Czechs produced these things in very limited quantities back during the last East-Euro uprising. Only the best of the best in the Czech Blackguard got these things. I had had to kill a two hundred year old, half rebuilt monster of a brothel operator in Neo Hak Nam to get mine. The evil fuck had actually been one of the original Blackguard. It cost me my leg and my first lost eye to get the thing, but it had never let me down. Plus I got the satisfaction of taking that evil old fuck of a thing apart for three days after I blew all its limbs off. Toughest sunovabitch I ever knew. I miss him a lot these days.
Anyway, over the years I had had the gun refitted a couple of times to accept some of the newer ammo they keep coming up with. These days, it seems like every half hour theres some new innovation for killing shit. Goddamn kids and their technology.
Today, however, it was just loaded with the old standby: hollow point, .52 caliber shells. No matter how innovative people get when it comes to killing, some things will never change. Still surprises people that such an archaic kinda ammo can turn you to a bloody mess. Like I said, goddamn kids and their tech.
So here I am, diner table and the lower half of Harvey for cover, pushing off the safety on my favorite gun, and watching out of the corner of my eye while Joe calmly goes about loading the sawed-off shotgun he keeps behind the counter. That's why I like Joe, nothing fazes him and he still sticks to the old reliable shit.
Theres a sudden burst of rapid fire. I hear shots ricochet off the metal paneling that lines the partition between the diner proper and the kitchen. Joe ducks behind the counter with the smooth grace of someone whos had to do this before. As the sound of gunfire dies down I can still hear him steadily loading the chamber of the shotgun. Hes even started to whistle to himself.
I hear the soft crunch of several booted feet on shattered polymer. Apparently the amateur is not alone, or there are some really stupid people sticking their heads into a gunfight. Its happened before, I shit you not. People are fucking morons.
enjoy my madness and evil.
Things I have learned this week: my ex is a spiteful bitch and i still love her. my parents have been uncommonly kind to me - obviously they are trying to kill me again. i have a very funny shaped head.
that is all.
Its not about talent or being professional. Anyone who says otherwise is obviously an amateur or an idiot... and neither last long in this job. Its all about timing.
Timing and being really goddamn lucky.
For example, if that fat piece of shit Harvey hadnt taken that exact moment to try and pull a gun on me, and if he hadnt been such a fat piece of shit, Id be dead.
See, its timing. Harvey, the lazy fuck I had used as a supplier for the last five years, needed to stand at that exact moment so the sniper across the street, who had pulled his trigger probably 0.0001 seconds before, would be watching his flabby backside take the the large caliber projectile intended for my head. And the luck part was that Harvey, whod been swearing up and down that he was finally gonna get his fat ass on a diet for the last five years, was still a lazy enough fuck that the shell got lodged somewhere in the rolls of fat in his chest, instead of just passing through him and taking me out.
Timing and luck. Remember that.
Now the real question was why would I care? I mean, Id woken up this morning and decided that I was done. Finished. Getting the hell out of it. And not just this chop-chop business. I was tired of all of it. I wasnt just getting out of the business, I was getting out of life.
So why would an intended suicide care that he wasnt dead to some paid gunmans bullet? Call it professional pride I guess. I mean, I may have been getting the hell out of it all, but I had a reputation to maintain, and a mean enough streak to not want anyone else have the satisfaction of doing the job I had taken.
There are rules. Standards. Shit like that, you know?
So anyway, here I am, only two goddamn drinks in me so far this morning, and not even the first round of pills that keep me going, and Harveys chest has just gone and exploded fat and blood and all kindsa nasty shit all over my face. Apparently the fuck across the street really wanted me dead, as he was using some type of explosive round. Something to make sure that even if I somehow survived the shot to the head, the resulting bang would leave nothing but a messy smear.
Obviously I was dealing with an amateur. Professionals dont need any silly goddamn insurance's.
I wiped blood and shit outta my eyes, picked the occasional sliver of rib out of my face, and rifled Harveys pockets for something to get me going this morning. Fortunately, despite his other faults, Harvey is also a professional, and comes prepared to meet his clients needs. Even if he intends to gun them down for past slights.
Seriously. Did that fat fuck really think he was going to get the better of me? People must think Im getting soft in my old age.
I found my favorite brand of amphetamines in Harvey's back pocket, and carefully set about munching on them as the diner cleared out around me. My sniper friend was continuing to prove his stupidity by not firing a few more rounds into the surrounding area. I mean, the fuck is using explosive rounds! Its not like this is a subtle fucking hit. Idiot coulda taken the whole damn building down by now, and then gone over the rubble till he picked out my remains.
Fucking amateurs.
The drugs had just started to kick in, when I reached into my coat for my own piece. Harvey, in true lazy fat-ass fashion, had not even brought a real goddamn gun to take me out. Some cheap little Jap piece-a-shit. I swear to god, the Yakuza flooded the market with these things as a laugh. Its gotta be funny as fuck to watch some shit head try to actually gun someone down with one of those things. Any one with even the slightest sense, and a cheap set of body armor, is gonna just stand there and stare at the shit head. And that's only if said shit head was actually lucky enough to get one that is accurate enough to hit what its aimed at.
Anyway, in the process of searching for drugs, Id also taken a careful inventory of what armaments Harvey had. Dumb fuck wasnt even wearing a projectile vest. Shitty gun and no protection. Christ Harvey, dying was the only thing you ever did right.
Fortunately, I am a professional, and even when not working I am prepared for the shit heads of the world.
Mind you, I was assuming the moron across the street was at least better armed than me. They were obviously carrying a high powered rifle and some serious ammunition. Joes, my favorite diner and grease pit, was no stranger to the windows being blown out. Its that kinda place. So Joe himself had replaced the windows with the latest in high density, impact resistant polymer in an attempt to cut down on the property damage. You had to be packing some serious heat to get anything through those windows.
That means that while an amateur, the fuck had a hell of a bankroll. Weapons of that caliber do not come cheap, and I could safely assume that the idiot was at least sporting some other high end, serious gear. The question was what, and more importantly, how much of an amateur was I dealing with?
Another thing to know in this business: good ordinance is great, but only useful if you know what to do with it.
Now me, Im getting goddamn old, which means while I have a healthy respect for the new toys out there, I tend to stick with the things I grew up with. So while prepared, I wasnt exactly packing the latest in equipment. But what I had, I was good with. Real fucking good.
Lesson: the only thing you can be certain of about an old man in this business is that he knows how to survive.
My favorite piece is an old, refitted Slav .52. They Czechs produced these things in very limited quantities back during the last East-Euro uprising. Only the best of the best in the Czech Blackguard got these things. I had had to kill a two hundred year old, half rebuilt monster of a brothel operator in Neo Hak Nam to get mine. The evil fuck had actually been one of the original Blackguard. It cost me my leg and my first lost eye to get the thing, but it had never let me down. Plus I got the satisfaction of taking that evil old fuck of a thing apart for three days after I blew all its limbs off. Toughest sunovabitch I ever knew. I miss him a lot these days.
Anyway, over the years I had had the gun refitted a couple of times to accept some of the newer ammo they keep coming up with. These days, it seems like every half hour theres some new innovation for killing shit. Goddamn kids and their technology.
Today, however, it was just loaded with the old standby: hollow point, .52 caliber shells. No matter how innovative people get when it comes to killing, some things will never change. Still surprises people that such an archaic kinda ammo can turn you to a bloody mess. Like I said, goddamn kids and their tech.
So here I am, diner table and the lower half of Harvey for cover, pushing off the safety on my favorite gun, and watching out of the corner of my eye while Joe calmly goes about loading the sawed-off shotgun he keeps behind the counter. That's why I like Joe, nothing fazes him and he still sticks to the old reliable shit.
Theres a sudden burst of rapid fire. I hear shots ricochet off the metal paneling that lines the partition between the diner proper and the kitchen. Joe ducks behind the counter with the smooth grace of someone whos had to do this before. As the sound of gunfire dies down I can still hear him steadily loading the chamber of the shotgun. Hes even started to whistle to himself.
I hear the soft crunch of several booted feet on shattered polymer. Apparently the amateur is not alone, or there are some really stupid people sticking their heads into a gunfight. Its happened before, I shit you not. People are fucking morons.
enjoy my madness and evil.
Things I have learned this week: my ex is a spiteful bitch and i still love her. my parents have been uncommonly kind to me - obviously they are trying to kill me again. i have a very funny shaped head.
that is all.
VIEW 12 of 12 COMMENTS
See...Canada rules.
good luck on the interview tomorrow... i had mine today and a few hours later i received a call saying i got the job
[Edited on Oct 28, 2003 12:01AM]