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View Full Version : Need Help: Where to go from here? (page and a half) *slightly gritty/ violent*



xminnis
October 27th, 2010, 07:59 PM
As the Silver Yukon turned into the driveway, the headlights flashed through the bush where Ronald lay hiding, silent as a predator stalking its prey. He didn't let a single muscle flinch as he lay face down in the wet grass behind the bush, pressed up against the foundation of the house. The driver opened the door and hung his feet out for a few moments, the chiming of the car door reverberated through Ronald's body. After a decade the driver finally stepped out and made his way to the front door passing Ronald on his way, unaware of what was about to become of him as he fiddled with his keys.

As soon as Ronald heard the click of the deadbolt, hands quivering, he pulled his beat up .38 snub-nose revolver from his belt, and hopped out of the bush. The man's eyes grew wide as Ronald snatched a fistful of t-shirt and buried the barrel of the gun into the side of his neck. The man knew exactly what was happening as soon as he felt the cold steel against his skin. He cursed and dropped heavily to his knees, like he had already been shot, and began to sob.

“Get the **** up and get inside,” Ronald said calmly, eyes closed, consciously hiding the tremble in his voice. He couldn't bare to look at the man. The man rose to his feet mumbling something inaudible and scuffled into the house inhaling heavily between silent sobs.

Ronald knew he didn't have a weapon on him, they would be in a shoot-out already if he did, but he patted him down anyway. Leading him through the living room towards the kitchen, Ronald opened his eyelids slightly so that he was gazing through his intertwined eyelashes. He made sure not to let his eyes wander, in fear of seeing the family portraits or the photos of wide eyed children hugging their daddy. But Ronald knew the reminders must be there, this was the fourth night in a row he had stalked this house. He had turned back the previous three because he heard the kids laughing inside.

“Sit down and don't move,” Ronald said calmly, eyes closed, consciously hiding the tremble in his voice. As he moved around to the front of the man for the first time he opened his eyes all the way and pointed the gun at the man, making himself look confident. He stared at the man's nose to avoid seeing the pleading, glassy eyes of a father in his last moments. Ronald backpedaled to the pantry and started rummaging through... gun still pointed at a loving three-year-old's hero. He found a potato and jammed it on the barrel of the gun to help muffle the pop.

---

It was a fairly nice night about 60 degrees, Ronald had his window cracked barely catching a breeze. Hard to believe how much cheese could come in just a night, karma may catch up but he could put up a fight.

He sat silently in his car at the edge of the bluff in Case Park, waiting for his call from the boss. He loved this view, it was his favorite in the city, overlooking the west bottoms, the “ruins” of a once bustling business district. Most people either forgot all about this place, or go just once a year for scares around Halloween. But Ronald loved it, a ghost town in the middle of a city of over 2 million people. They could keep the fountains, the Paris of the Plains moniker, this was for him.

“Incoming call from: Blocked Number” lit up on his phone right at 1:30, as usual. The boss doesn't give out his number, instead, he gives all his guys a designated time that he will call them everyday to keep tabs on them.


Ok when first wrote the couple paragraphs after the break I was envisioning this scene being Ronald talking to the boss and letting him know the job was done and where he could pick up his reward. But after reading it again I am wondering if I should use this as a flashback of Ronald receiving the job from the boss. Both have their pro's and con's. Which do you feel would work better??

xminnis
November 5th, 2010, 08:23 PM
Thanks for all the advice guys lol. But it is finished now just in case anyone was interested, maybe not. If anyone is please leave some feedback. So here is the whole thing from the beginning because I may have changed a few things in the opening


Title: I’m Just a Felon on Probation


As the Silver Yukon turned into the driveway, the headlights flashed through the bush where Ronald laid hiding, silent as a predator stalking its prey. He didn't let a single muscle flinch as he laid face down in the wet grass behind the bush, pressed up against the foundation of the house. The car door opened and the driver hung his feet out for a few moments, the chiming of the door reverberated through Ronald's body in sync with his heartbeat. After a decade the driver finally stepped out and made his way to the front door, passing the invisible predator on his way, unaware of what would become of him as he fiddled with his keys.

As soon as Ronald heard the click of the deadbolt, hands quivering, he pulled his beat up .38 snub-nose revolver from his belt, and jolted out of the bush. The unlucky man's eyes grew wide as he felt his t-shirt being snatched up and the barrel of a gun burrowing into the side of his neck. He knew exactly what was happening as soon as he felt the cold steel on his skin. He cursed and dropped heavily to his knees, like he had already been shot, and began to sob.

“Get the hell up and get inside,” Ronald said sliding his tongue across his slick gold teeth, eyes closed, consciously hiding the tremble in his voice. He couldn't bear to look at the man. The man rose to his feet mumbling something inaudible and scuffled into the house, inhaling heavily between silent sobs.

Ronald knew he didn't have a weapon on him. They would be in a shoot-out already if he did, but he patted him down anyway. Leading him through the living room towards the kitchen, Ronald opened his eyelids so slightly that he was gazing through his intertwined eyelashes. He made sure not to let his eyes wander, in fear of seeing the family portraits or the photos of wide eyed children hugging their daddy. But he knew the reminders must be there, this was the third night in a row he had stalked this house. He had turned back the previous two because he heard kids laughing inside.

“Sit down and don't move,” Ronald said motioning him to take a seat at the kitchen table. As he moved around to the front of the man for the first time he opened his eyes all the way and pointed the gun at him, exuding a confidence that wasn't really there. He stared at the man's nose to avoid seeing the pleading, glassy eyes of a father in his last moments. Ronald backpedaled to the pantry and started rummaging through... gun still pointed at a loving three-year-olds hero. He found a potato and jammed it on the barrel of the revolver to help muffle the pop.

---

It was a fairly nice night about 50 degrees, Ronald had his window cracked barely catching a breeze. Hard to believe how much cheese could come in just a night, karma may catch up, but he could put up a fight.

He sat silently in his car at the edge of the bluff in Case Park, waiting for his call from the boss. He loved this view. It was his favorite in the city, overlooking the west bottoms, the “ruins” of a once bustling business district. Most people either forgot all about this place, or go just once a year for scares around Halloween. But he loved it, a ghost town in the middle of a city of over 2 million people. They could keep the fountains, the Paris of the Plains moniker, this was for him.

His phone lit up right at 2:30 am, as usual. “Incoming Call From: Blocked Number” read across the screen. The boss doesn't give out his number; instead, he gives all his guys a designated time that he will call every day to keep tabs on them.

“The turkey in the oven?” A low urban voice said through the speaker. This was the code word for, “Is the guy dead?”

“Yeah... it is” Ronald said, once again hiding the tremble in his voice.

“Good. I'll have Mary drop off the desert in half an hour.” The voice said, Ronald’s reward would be waiting for him in the usual spot.

Maneuvering through the sparse late night traffic he couldn't wait to get back home to Monet. The thought of her big brown eyes and bald head brought the tears to his eyes, and he couldn't hold them back any longer. He wished none of this had ever happened and they could continue to just scrape by with his part-time job at K-Mart. It seemed miserable back then, stocking shelves from midnight to 6 in the morning, but he would trade anything in the world for that life again, for Monet to be happy again. The street lights began to blur and stretch apart like putting a drop of water on a watercolor painting. Pulling into the Denny's parking lot he stared into the mirror and collected his composure for a few minutes, letting his eyes dry up so it wouldn't be so obvious.

A stocky man of about 30, dressed in a Chiefs jersey and sweatpants sat at the far back of the diner next to a window sipping on a milkshake. He wasn't sure if that was his guy, but he was the only one here alone. As he approached the table the man looked at his phone, then looked back at Ronald, then gave him a slight head nod. He must have had his picture on his phone.

Ronald sat down at the table and there was already a plate of pancakes there for him and a backpack in the seat next to him.

“This is mine, I'm guessing,” Ronald said motioning to the bag.

“How should I know?” The man said with an aggravated face, adjusting his dreadlocks in a rubber band behind his head.
Both men ate in silence.

“So...uh... is there anything else available?” Ronald asked.

The man snatched a napkin a started scribbling on it. The waitress came by and slid the check onto the table, the man placed a $20 dollar bill down and sat his glass on it to hold it in place, pushed the napkin towards Ronald, and walked out.

Ronald stared at the napkin.

“5202 Euclid Ave”

He stuffed it in his pocket and picked up the backpack that was worth a human life.

It was 3:15 in the morning now. This was not a good time to be around 5202 Euclid Ave. One of the most murderous gangs in the city claims territory from 51st to 57th street, between Swope Parkway and Paseo. But what needs to be done needs to be done. So after he hopped back in his car and took quick gander through the backpack full of bundled up bills to make sure it was at least approximately all there, he took off down Broadway in his beat up '93 Corsica.

---

He stayed heading south from downtown on Broadway for about 30 blocks where Broadway changed to J.C. Nichols Parkway and came to an abrupt stop just past the Plaza. He turned left on Ward Parkway and went down about ten blocks till he hit Prospect and made a right. Passing underneath 71 Highway he couldn't help but notice all the blue graffiti on the underside of the bridge saying RIP this and RIP that. He wondered if there would be any new names added there soon.

He passed 49th street, 50th, 51st, and made a slow right turn onto 52nd. His palms began to sweat. Euclid was only 3 or 4 blocks up the street now. But the road ended. He forgot about Blue Hills Park. He circled around the park and got back onto 52nd and his headlights immediately illuminated the next street sign ahead of him, it read “Euclid Ave”. He spotted 5202 and it was exactly what he did not want to see.

There were four men sitting on the porch, eyes glued to his car as he rolled by. When they saw him glance over, they reached for their laps signifying they had something sitting there that would do damage if he didn't keep on rolling. He could feel a bead of sweat run down his ribs from his armpit, and his hands were making the wheel slippery in his grip. When the thoughts of what he should do began racing through his head, the sweat began to dry up.

“It's time for the big boy toys,” He said, as he punched the gas down Troost heading north to his apartment on 27th.

The usual couple of bums sat outside the apartment building as he made his way inside. He knew they would ask him for money. They always did. He hated the two of them, asking for free handouts all day long, look what he had to do to make ends meet.

“Hey, man you got a dollar?” One of them slurred as he approached the front door.
Ronald reached in his bag and pulled out a bundle of twenties and tossed it at them.

“That should tide you over for a day or so, you think?” Ronald said, he wanted to kick their teeth in, but his mother taught him how Jesus treated the poor.

The DVD menu music from The Princess and the Frog looped over and over as he put a heavy shoulder into the rickety door to dislodge it. His 16 year old brother Marcus lay sleeping on the couch with precious little Monet on his lap. Ronald shut the TV off and lifted her up. Her Dora pajamas were getting a little too small, he'll take some money out of the bag and let her pick out some new ones after her doctor’s appointment tomorrow. Marcus probably let her stay up late since she wouldn't be going to kindergarten in the morning; he loved him for everything he did around here.

After their mother died in a car accident four years ago Marcus had been bouncing from foster home to foster home. He was the only person there to greet Ronald when he got of prison two years ago, after serving five for the possession of cocaine with intent to sell. He was 14 years old then, and only nine when Ronald got locked up, so he wondered how much he even remembered him. But Marcus knew Ron was all he had. Ever since then, they have been struggling to keep together what little family they have. It was just the two of them then, and just the three of them now. They would do whatever it takes to not lose another one.

He carried Monet into the bedroom and laid her on the bed, covered her up, and kissed her soft bald head, leaving his lips there for what he wished could be an eternity. She was dropped off at his doorstep when he was released from jail, two years ago. He hasn't seen the mother since that day. No one knows where she is. He hated himself for remembering how much of a burden he thought his beautiful little daughter was back on that day. They scraped by on his shelf-stocking salary for a while, but when Monet got sick, there was no way this job would cover the bills, and it definitely didn't offer health insurance.
He headed to the closet and reached up onto the top shelf and pulled down the “toy” he was thinking of. The Fully-Auto Osama, better known as the Russian Chop Stick, or AK-47 has only been used once, last Fourth of July when he taught Marcus how to shoot it in case anyone ever broke in when he was gone. They keep it loaded, cleaned, and oiled at all times. He shoved it in the bag meant for baseball bats, which he bought just for this purpose.

As he walked back into the front room, he grabbed the blanket from the couch and threw it over Marcus and gave him a kiss on the forehead as well, before he turned and headed out the door.

“It's all worth it when I see those two.” Ronald said getting back into the car.

He wasn't going to go straight up Euclid this time and hop out right in front of the house. He would have no chance. Their guns would be out before he could even take aim. Instead, he would park one block over on Garfield and sneak up to the back of the house, then around to the front porch. He turned off his headlights before even turning down the block, so that no one would be awaken by the lights and look out to see him exit the car with a three-foot rifle.

He parked, got out of the car, and didn't even worry about shutting the door in fear of someone hearing it. He pulled the black ski mask over his face and silently moved between two houses, AK clutched by two gloved hands. He hopped a fence and was in the backyard of the house directly behind 5202 Euclid. Placing his gun down over the next fence he hopped over and his foot caught on the chain link fence, making a loud rattle in the complete silent night. He dropped flat to the ground and lay still as stone. No one seemed to notice, but he gave it some more time just to be safe. After a couple minutes on the ground, he slowly got back up and began creeping towards the house.

Hopping the next fence to sneak up beside the house he made certain not to get his foot caught again. As he crept closer to the front his heart began beating out of his chest, he swore they could hear it. Putting his back up to the wall at the corner he held his breath and slowly peeked his head just far enough around to survey the situation. All four men were still there, lightly nodding their heads to their music, playing from inside the house. Taking a last few deep breaths, Ronald took in the lyrics of their song.

We’re not in slavery but still in social segregation.
Mediocre education, without an explanation.
I think it's time I caused some self-inflicted vindication.
But who am I to judge, I'm just a felon on probation.

With this Ronald aimed the barrel of his weapon around the corner and let bullets cut through the wind. He knew he didn't have any extra ammo to reload, so once he saw one guy go down he let his finger off the trigger and re-steadied his aim. But he also knew the cops would be converging on the block within minutes, so he held down the trigger again, ripping through the neck of his second victim.

By this time the two remaining men had their guns aimed and were firing back. Ronald was safe behind the corner of the house, but he had no chance of hitting them just sticking the gun out and blind firing. So he saw a tree in the front yard and made a bee line for it, shells hopping out of the top of his rifle the whole way. Before he reached the tree he felt burning lead hit him in the shoulder and the thigh. He fell to the ground behind the tree, but jumped right back up and pressed his back to the tree. He could hear bullets smashing through the bark of the thick oak. There were sirens in the distance now. He had to make this quick and somehow get back to the car with a bullet in his leg.

He swung around the tree in a last ditch effort and began raining bullets at the two men. One went down hard in the first couple seconds and Ronald felt another bullet pierce into his ribs. The last man remaining must have been out of ammo because he stopped firing. Ronald was gasping for breath and fell to the ground, the bullet took a toll on his lung. He could see the police lights in the distance now, a few blocks off. The survivor on the porch saw this as well, hopped down the steps, and took off running.

Gasping, Ronald lifted his rifle and fired three bullets directly into the back of the fleeing man, he dropped and Ronald peeled his eyes from him to the approaching police cruisers. He tried to stand up, but slumped back down, he couldn't breathe. He continually tried to take in air, but it felt as if something was stopping him. Everything began to fade black. He could hear the sirens right next to him now, but it didn't bother him. A peaceful feeling was overtaking his body, and all he could see as he drifted away was the beautiful smile Monet would have had on her face tomorrow picking out her new clothes.

---

The next morning when Marcus woke up and saw Ronald wasn't there he tried to text him, when he never responded he made a couple calls. He wasn't too worried, this happened from time to time, but never before has it happened on one of Monet's appointment days. The appointment was in an hour, if Ron showed up soon they would make it, but if Marcus had to take her himself they would need to catch the bus now. So he called a couple more times and when there was no answer he bundled Monet up and headed for the bus stop.

After an hour or so of testing, the doctor called Marcus into the room to take a look at the scans.

“See this part of the brain right here” The doctor said circling a portion of the scan with his finger.

“Yeah…” Marcus mumbled fearfully.

“That’s where the tumor was before her last treatment,” The doctor said.

“What do you mean 'That's where it was',” Marcus said.

“I mean exactly that, there is nothing there now.” The doctor said with a huge smile. “As of right now Monet is cancer
free.”

Tears streamed down Marcus' face, he slid down the wall to the floor with the heels of his hand pressed into his eye sockets. His smile felt permanent. Finally, something was going right for them. He scooped up Monet and ran out of the building with her in his arms, half asleep, clinching him around the neck. He couldn't get home quick enough, he couldn't wait to tell Ronald.