Willis

Aaron Brooks walked into the “Pad” as they called the room in the back of Arrington’s bar. He was nervous, and he wasn’t even attempting to put on a poker face to hide it. His hands were shaking uncontrollably, while he pushed all of the beads out of the way that hung in the doorway. He sheepishly looked around the room, waiting for someone to jump out and finish him right then and there.

“Hello?” He whispered listening to his voice echo throughout the empty room, which was quite unnerving. He sharply inhaled as a door in the corner of the “Pad” opened with a creak. He hadn’t been aware of door, and hearing it suddenly open was enough for him to wet his pants.

“Get over here Brooks.” A young black man said who’s eye’s were hidden. Probably bloodshot considering how the Pepper Hill Gang rolls, Aaron thought as he trudged over to where the man was waiting for him. He took to long however, considering how the man grabbed him and took him across the room when he was going to slow.

“Sit the hell down, and wait for Peppermint Joe, Mints, and Fresh. You’ll be lucky if Mints doesn’t come.” He threw Aaron into the couch in the dimly lit room and then slammed the door closed.

Aaron took a quick and unsure glance around the room, and could just barely make out three cushioned chairs sitting a few feet in front of him. He wiped the bead of sweat falling down his face, and started to tap his foot against the aluminum floor, just as another door opened. This time, he was somewhat prepared for it, since he’d heard the footsteps.

The huge menacing figure stood at the doorway for a moment, possibly fumbling for the light switch. When the lights came on, Aaron immediately wished they hadn’t. He was sitting there, helplessly, with a huge piss stain on his crotch; while Peppermint Joe was standing in his midst. Looking just as evil as everyone said he did.

“Aaron. Long time no see.” P. Joe said as he walked over to the cushioned chair in the middle and slowly sat down. I’ve just got one thing to do before I have to do before I can speak to you. Do you mind?”

It was a foolish question yes, Peppermint Joe knew it was. But Aaron answered it either way. “Of course not.” He somehow managed to get the words out, although he was on the verge of an emotional breakdown.

“Good, good. Mints, bring in Bush.”

Soon after the words came out of his mouth, a young black teenager, who seemed to have some white blood in him also. He came in dragging a bruised and bloodied man, holding him by his shirt collar.

“Hey, how’s it going Bush?”

The man incoherently mumbled something that Aaron couldn’t make out; yet it seemed Peppermint Joe had heard this type of incoherent speech a lot, as he laughed and mocked him.

P. Joe slowly stood up, his heavy weight making the chair breathe a sigh of relief being relieved from the pressure of his body.

“I heard you’ve been stealing money. Forty grand. Tsk..tsk..bad move.” P. Joe grabbed Bush’s chin forcefully and slapped him across the face. “No one steals money from me, let alone with bad breath like yours.”

There was a long silence as P. Joe gave the man a defying hook to the chin. It was then that Aaron noticed the gun that Mints was holding. It looked like a Shepard, but Aaron didn’t really know guns. “Before you finish the little problem Mints, let me give him his last rites so to speak.”

“First, one firm handshake.” He murmured taking the now unconscious Bush’s hand, and placing it within his. Then a sickening crack echoed through the room. It sounded as though every bone in his hand had been broken. Aaron wasn’t to surprised to see a evil all knowing grin growing across P. Joe’s face.

“Second, a parting gift of a peppermint.” He laughed forcing Bush’s jaw open, and placing a still wrapped peppermint in his mouth. As Bush began to choke, P. Joe erupted in a crazed laugh. He calmly walked back to his cushioned seat and sat, just as Mints cocked his pistol. “Stay fresh playa,” He remarked as the trigger was pulled, and Aaron was splattered with blood.

Aaron sat there unsure of how to react. He knew if he began to yell, they’d forcefully shut him up. But the sight before him, it was just…sickening. Aaron vomited a little in his mouth, and knew better than to let it come out of his mouth. He forced the mixture of food and stomach acids back down his throat. Would the same thing happen to him?

Peppermint Joe repositioned his tie as he sat down on the cushioned chair. Calmly he placed a red peppermint in his mouth, and while placing the wrapper on the arm of the chair and apologized, “Sorry for the delay Mr. Brooks. Where were we?”

This time, Aaron not only pissed himself again, but shit himself as well.
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“Whoa now Mr. Benoit, we didn’t come here to arrest you!” Moe said trying to calm the rabid man who was fast approaching him, aluminum bat in hand. He’d been successfully avoiding being within striking range with the man, but now he’d found himself in a narrow hallway. With no way out.

“I’m going to stomp on you like a rat,” Benoit grinned as he slowly advanced towards Moe. It was then that Moe realized that his partner, Ham, was stealthily crouched behind the man, trying to figure some way to get the drop on him.

He figured he’d give him some help. “A rat is always more dangerous then cornered,” he replied smugly, charging Benoit, who took a wild swing at Moe. He easily dodged the swing, and grabbed his arm, disarming him with a simple maneuver. Then he spun him around allowing Ham to performed a two leg take down.

Moe breathed a sigh of relief as they subdued the man, and placed him in a pair of regulation handcuffs. The man, Wallace C. Benoit still struggled even when they’d placed the handcuffs on, but they simply ignored him. “He isn’t getting out of those anytime soon,” Ham joked as they walked over to Benoit’s house phone and Moe began to call his boss, Chief Barnable. Ham however, decided to check around the house.

“I’ma head over to his bedroom. Get some personal information,” He said giving the restrained man one last look, and walking off into the master bedroom.

The room was huge, with two elegant hand craved dressers placed below an ivory mirror. And the carpet seemed as though it’d never been walked on, not once. “This guy keeps his stuff in order.” He whispered to himself, walking over to a nightstand positioned near the queen-sized bed. He rifled his hands throughout the nightstand, looking for anything that could help convict Benoit. But, alas, he found squat.

“Damn, just need one piece of evidence, and we can get this guy.” Ham then proceeded to get on his knees and check under the bed. It wasn’t the best of hiding places, but you never knew with criminals these days, Ham reasoned flicking a rogue dust bunny out of his way.

Being underneath the bed, he didn’t see or hear, Benoit sneak into the bedroom, hands free of handcuffs. However, Benoit saw him, and decided he was going to get a little payback for what had just transpired in the hall. So he stood there in wake, waiting for Ham to pull himself out from under the bed. But it was taking far to long, so he decided to force the little rabbit out of his hole.

He pulled the private detective from under his bed and hoisted him up to his feet. “I didn’t kill them,” he stated as he reared back and punched the wind out of Ham, who would’ve crumpled to the floor; except Benoit was holding him. Ham almost unconscious from the devastating blow looked over the man. He was short, at least five foot four, and he had quite the aftershave. Blue eyes, brown hair missing molar, stocky well built chest- his quick once over was interrupted by a series of attacks from Benoit. First he was kneed viciously, smacked around a bit by a set of overly built forearms. Then he was irish whipped into the dressers.

“You’ll be feeling that tomorrow,” he said smugly looking at a wrecked Ham as he opened up the window. “Tell your partner Peppermint Joe sends his regards to P.H.P.D..” Then the man leaped out of the two story window, just as Mo ran into the room.

“FUCK!” Was all he could say as he rushed to attend his injured partner.

Willis

cough...anythoughts?

Knocking

Is that it? If so, it doesn't have much of an ending. If not, you should post the rest. Not my taste in reading, but it was funny at parts. Keep writing!

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"We don't read and write poetry because it's cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race. And the human race is filled with passion. And medicine, law, business, engineering, these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for."

--John Keating, Dead Poets Society