Originally Posted by
Living on a Prayer
The beats of a generic techno song were making the club into a place of deafening silence.
Not sure if this sentence makes much sense. How can a place of music be a place of deafening silence?
The thump thump was making the pistol in my pants vibrate. I could feel each 9X19mm bullet rattle around in the magazine. I could feel the silencer vibrate in my pocket. It was awkward. I tried to walk properly, but, it was difficult.
You've repeated I could feel and vibrate. I'd change that, maybe turn both sentences into one, like 'I could feel each 9X19mm bullet rattle around in the magazine and the silence move about in my pocket' etc.
My mark was a big-shot drug dealer who liked to sling coke to school-age kids. Some called me a vigilante; I called myself for-hire. This job was given to me by a kid, not even 15. He called himself "Three Piece". I told "Three Piece" I would take care of his problem. Following this player to Midtown in proved to me that he was serious. An assassination in Midtown was going to be incredibly difficult.
Firstly, you can get rid of the '-age' in the first sentence, it's un-needed. Secondly, the highlighed sentence might be missing a word or lacking structure, as it just doesn't read right. Look over it and you should see what I mean. The second 'in Midtown' isn't needed also. Just put 'here' and it works.
I’m always up for a challenge.
Nice stand-alone line.
It didn't matter to me; I was doing it for "the kids". "Three Piece" was a real kid, but the job was given to me by a corrupt DEA official. He had been tracking the player for a few weeks now and decided he was too much of a scumbag to live. The DEA guy often gave me jobs, and he paid pretty well. I had gotten the low-down on this low-life and took it because of the connection to the kids, plus, I just hate guys who sell drugs to kids. I felt empathy for Three Piece.
Firstly, this paragraph confused me. You contradict yourself by saying Three Piece gave him the job and then saying DEA gave him the job. I kind off know what you're trying to do, but you really need to clear it up because it ain't making much sense. To me, anyway. Also, you repeated Kids in the second to last sentence. Maybe change one of them to 'youth' or something, make it sound easier?
The thump thump stopped. The pistol sat still, and I took in a sigh of relief. The scratches of a DJ killed my alone time, and back to the thump thump.
I suggest either reworking this whole paragraph to make it signify what you want it too signify (it being a long night) or scrap it all together. It seems very unneeded and quick. Maybe something like: 'The thump thump stopped. The pistol sat still, and I took in a sigh of relief. A few seconds passed before the scratches of a DJ killed my alone time, and without even a moment to enjoy the silence, it was back to the thump thump.' Just a suggestion though, feel free to ignore it.
It was going to be a long night.
I took a moment, with the cheesy beat of the song beating my brain to a pulp, to look at the venue. It was large, open, and dark. Flashes of all colors of the rainbows danced on the walls, but the patrons grinded like cheese getting grated. Patrons wore a variety of clothing; women were wearing revealing clothes, men, standard "How you doan?" attire. Blazers, expensive dress shirts, designer jeans, etc.
If you add the 'with' in the first sentence, the statement of the cheesy beat doesnt seem so out of place. Also, rid yourself of the 'of the rainbows' in line three, definitely unneeded.
Fitting in was no difficult task. I picked out a nice neutral gray sports jacket, a recently ironed pink dress shirt, and a pair of Levis. I completed the look with a fauxhawk and Adidas trainers. I wore the shirt buttoned high, unlike the other clubbers. Wearing a Kevlar vest means concealment; can’t have anyone seeing a low-pro body armor, much less the mark or his guards. I had tucked the pistol into my pants because a holster would cause too much of an outline and concealed carry holsters were not fast enough for my needs.
Walking up to the bar, I ordered a Grey Goose on the rocks. I wasn't going to actually drink the vodka-alcohol slows you down too much and all I needed was speed. The bartender passed me the drink, I passed him a 5 and a quick, acknowledging smile. I sat down, staring at the glass as though the ice was going to jump out and hit me in the face.
This move had apparently attracted the attention of a well-sloshed woman. She was relatively attractive, hair was a mess, and she was obviously stumbling. I took a pretend sip of my drink as she clumsily waltzed over to me.
The 'was' is unneeded.
"He-e-ey h-h-hot st-t-t-uff...c-c-c-ome back," she said, slurring every syllable, "to my p-p-place, and w-w-e'll get it ON," And with that, she grabbed for my crotch. I reached out, whether of instinct or just not wanting to get it on with an obviously smashed woman. Grabbing her arm and gently placing it back in its place, I flatly refused, and she returned my sincerity with a slap across the face.
I dont think you need to repeat the letters in the dialogue, as you've already described her as slurring her words. Also, the highlighted 'and' has replaced an unneeded comma that ruined the flow of the sentence.
It was the perfect opportunity to get close to the dealer, the owner of the club. I dramatized this slap, falling over, throwing my drink. She obviously took this as she was stronger, so she started kicking me. I took a few blows, knowing I would feel it in the morning. I got up, and slowly backed away. She swung wildly; I grabbed her arm, twisted slightly, and she dropped her drink. The shot glass smashed, she writhed in pain, and we were both in Security's hands before I finished.
Getting dragged away by a large black man is entirely no fun. He dragged me through the club, the dealer in hot pursuit, like a dead man. He opened the door, threw me in, and I got up. I could act natural, for now.
Taking in my surroundings, the room was for storage. It was lined with crates, boxes, and paraphernalia common to a club or bar. I felt for my pistol; still safe in its place. I saw a convenient metal chair, which I promptly sat down on. My story was, as usual, I was Matt O’Donnell. I was from up in Boston; (With an emphasis to be from Baw-Ston). I worked a fancy job at a computer firm, and made big bucks. I came down to NYC occasionally to get away from the Irish and their pubs.
The large black man from earlier, looking thirsty, walked in. I was supposed to play Wussbag guy, but I decided against it and be Nick Memphis, ex-FBI Agent.
"You’re looking parched, big boy. What's up? They ain't paying you too good?" I said, with a half sarcastic, half sincere tone.
"Shut up, crackah," He commanded. I decided to piss him off.
"What's up, they not letting you use the White stalls?"
It was meant to be low and to piss him off nice and well. I again switched personalities to Bobby Lee, from the Ouachitas in Arkansas, racist as a 50's schoolteacher, great shot with a Savage rifle. The large black man, who I had named Bubba in case of later need to identify, swung at me. I attempted to move, but his meaty fist hit me directly in the jaw, snapping my head back. He hit well; proper rolling of the shoulder as he stepped forward.
"Ow, big guy. Get your boss in here before I give you 124 grains of pain." I said, with a smirk.
Within two minutes, Bubba let the boss in. Guy had to be 5'4'', wiry build, Afro-American, small afro. He wore tinted Ray-Ban aviators. I saw my own reflection in them, bleeding from the lip, nice black eye. Bubba stayed outside.
"Listen up, whitey-" he said, but I interrupted.
"I'm sorry, did I piss off Bubba back there? He was trying to play touchy-feely, but I'm not into that." I said.
New person speaking, which means new paragraph.
"Wooooo-wee, whitey's got a mouth. No wonder Jacques gave you a nice shiner. Where you from, boy?"
"From the Ouachitas, in case your sub-par education didn't tell you, Arkansas." I said, with a Southern twang on Ouachitas.
Try something other than said.
"A good country western boy up in my Midtown club? A'ight, it gonna be like this then. Yous in here, messing with the customas, messing with my boy like that, yous gonna pay." he said, hands up, nearly shouting.
When people put their hands up, either from fear or anger, it’s a great time to pop them. I put out my left hand, to distract him momentarily. Right hand faster than left, the Sig Sauer P226 was up in the dealer's face, 124 grains on a mission, helping to stop this crack dealer from slinging dope to kids.
"Surprise, Bubba!" I said. Another bullet flew into Bubba's head. He died with an expression of surprise. The club wasn't as loud as I had guessed- people were screaming, and running. I could start to hear sirens. I was screwed...unless; I disposed of the gun, and exited with the crowd.
I hit the slide release and pulled on the slide of my pistol. It flew off, but I caught it in my hand. I hit the magazine release, and that sent my clean magazine, sans two bullets, to the ground. Rattling the slide of the pistol sent the spring flying. Running out of the club with the others had caused me to be unseen, for now.
The 'it' was to replace the second 'slide' you put in there, and the 'caught' sounded smoother than 'kept', and made more sense.
Overall, I think there's a lot of potential with this piece. Your dialect in particular was fun to read, and you did a good job with making it flow well and true. The character needs some development, but you've made it plain that he's good at his job and knows what he's doing, which makes the surprise of him potentially being caught all the more...surprising. The only thing I didn't like, was the concept. It seems overdone, the whole assassin crap. You could insinuate this character into something more interesting and less general. There's definitely something else here. Good luck with it.
Tom.
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