PDA

View Full Version : Bang Bang You're Dead (Warning Bad Language) 3k



CharlieParker82
January 24th, 2013, 02:53 AM
This is a story I wrote after looking through some pictures of some famous singers. I suppose its crime, but I tried to include some romance.

If you could take the time to read it that would be great and let me know what you think.

1.

It was a two bit town, full of red necks and broken dreams. The gun shots rang out across the street from Big Joe's, little Josie Brooks stuck her nose up against the glass of The Cherry Apple Saloon, cast eyes over to her daddies pawn shop, saw no good was coming to him.


The small bell rang as the suits made their exit, glass crunched under foot, shot gun shells rolled backed and fourth. The four of them lit up, shot a glance across to the Saloon as the door was thrown open and a young girl spat out.


Her head was down, tucked in as she tore across the street, shotgun held across her chest. The four men watched as she slammed to a halt right in front of them. The shotgun thrown up erect, the dirty muzzle pointed in their direction.


Josie: You shot my daddy you pigs.


She spoke tough, wore a patch across her left eye.


Tommy's finger twitched, real greedy like. Nick gave a shake of the head, asked for a moment with his eyes.


Nick: Your daddy big Joe?


She nodded.


Nick: Well, I'm sorry.


A pause, his mouth dry.


Nick: So what you plan to do? You going to shoot us? If you do you should know Tommy here will have you off your feet before I even hit the ground. Then we'll both be dead. Now you're welcome to kill me, if that's what you want, but then your poor mama is going have to bury you as well as your daddy. You understand?


Josie nodded.


Nick: Good. Well then you got a choice. You can let us leave and mourn the death of your father, or you can start this bloodily mess all up again, add mine and your name to the list that fell here today.


Josie didn't answer straight away, eyed Tommy who eyed her right back, gave a sly grin confirmed Nick's threat.


Josie: Go!


She finally answered, still pointing the shotgun, waved them off with both barrels. Nick turned on his heel, made his way to the car, followed by the others, Tommy the last to leave, making sure Josie was being a good gal.


The day was hot and the business messy. Sebastian drove, Warren and Tommy sat in the back. Nick sat up front and watched the girl as they passed, recalled a young kid with the same grit and grim, realized he hadn't changed a whole lot in the years between.


2


The dirty young things at the Neon Cowgirl rode the greased pole and sold sex for a buck. Tommy sat back stage and drowned his sorrows in whiskey, watched Baby as she hurled abuse at him.


Baby: Leave me then. Go and fuck your french fancies Tommy!


Tommy buried his head in his hands, had tried explaining the purpose of the trip but Baby was hot to the head. She grabbed her boots and laced up, growled as she did.


Baby: So you got nothing to say to me?


He had said plenty already but she weren't listening. Getting up to stand he gave it one more shot, put his arms around her and looked deep into her eyes.


Tommy: I love you Baby, but I got to do this


Baby took a moment then pulled herself free, gave Tommy a slap and turned to the stage, hit it just as her song began to spin.


Tommy found the bar and ordered a top up, spoke with Iggy who was gyrating to the beat as he served the drinks tall and strong.


Iggy: She mad at you?
Tommy: Yeah, she's mad.
Iggy: What you do?
Tommy: I got to go Paris, something I have to finish. You make sure she's here when I get back?
Iggy: Got it boss.


Tommy finished his glass, wiped his mouth with his sleeve, watched Baby as she made the punters howl. The girl had something about her, perhaps it was the way she twirled her nipple tassels.


The heat hit you straight on as you got outside, a real sucker punch. The good time gals selling cheap tricks on the corner of 9th Avenue, the bums scoring some pills and curling up in shop door fronts and getting high.


Tommy made his way home, had to stop off and pick up his shit before hitting the airport. He hadn't walked twenty yards before he noticed the guy in the trench coat following, got him nervous, Tommy picking up his pace and sliding himself into the State Street Theatre in an attempt to lose his shadow.


Some cheap skin flick played out on screen, Tommy finding himself a place at the back away from the fags and whores to sit it out. He kept his hand on his gun, a small Public Defender Compact, had only ever used it once before, shot a kid outside Texas with it.


As each creep wandered in Tommy got all twitchy, a sweaty hand buried in his pocket and felt the cold steel in his grasp, made him feel better.


Cohen: Tommy


Tommy sat rigid, had got distracted and didn't see the guy come in and take the seat next to him, put a smith and weston between his ribs.


Cohen: I'll take this


Cohen disarmed him. Tommy looked across, Cohen dressed up in raincoat and Fedora. Tommy could curse himself for getting caught so cheaply.


Cohen: You know you've pissed off plenty of people in your life Tommy, but this is the first time someones paid to have you killed. You got any last words?


Tommy shrugged, was going to see this life out as the bastard he had seen it in as.


Cohen: Say goodnight Tommy.


Tommy: Fuck you


Cohen: Close enough.


Two shots, one to the gut, the other right at his heart, took the life right out of Tommy. Tommy on his part thought of Baby as he sat there dying, whispered her name on his last breath.


3.


Princess kicked off her shoes and curled her feet up under her ass. She sat and rubbed Sebastian's chest, giggled in his ear and told him the things she wanted him to do to her. Sebastian sipped his Martini, played with the olive, did his best to play dumb.


The Yeste Montarde was slamming it with Two hot off the press DJ's from Nepel. Tickets cost over a grand and the cocaine was passed out like Candy. The Princess was some heiress to a multi million dollar company, made all there dough in the war selling some bad penicillin.


To Sebastian she was just another pay check to get him through a rough patch; pay off some debt collectors that were handy with their fists. They retired to his flat, fucked and fell asleep. Come morning he was gone, a note left on his pillow, told her he had some business in Paris, that he would be back in a week. It was a lie.


He took the train up, felt his gut twist as he got further north. He hadn't seen Paris in over twelve months, left some loose ends there, wondered if they had grown rotten in his absence.


Paris was just as he left it, some cool cats collecting on the side walk, smoking straight cigarettes and sipping wine, pseudo intellectuals and lazy revolutionaries. Sebastian bounced up the steps from the metro, was dressed in a white suit, enjoyed the evening breeze and smoked him self one as he hung round under the window of his lost love.


Through it a party was in full swing, drunk cha cha cha and posh toff's ha ha ha. His love wore a black dress, came up just above the knee, legs slim, naturally tanned, her descent an exotic mix, hair dark, lips red. Her fingers danced the high notes as some dandy man played the chords.


An rather elegant old lady approached, tapped a long blue nail across her wine glass to draw Mia's attention.


Old Lady: Mia my dear, there appears to be some strange bearded man outside declaring his everlasting love for you.


Mia gave a giggle could guess to who she was referring. She looked out and found Sebastian below, arms wide open, calling for her to jump into them.


Sebastian: My love, I have returned to you
Mia: You've been away awfully long time
Sebastian: I was in Marseille, my father was dreadfully sick
Mia: Your father is dead Sebastian
Sebastian: Then it worse than I thought.


Mia disappeared from the window and reemerged at the front door. On seeing her Sebastian saw that the passing time had only managed to increase her beauty yet further. Slowly she approached him, straightened his collar.


Mia: Do you ever tell the truth?
Sebastian: I try not to


Mia smiled, felt as if no time had passed at all since there last meeting.


Mia: It's good to see you Sebastian. Come back tomorrow, I have guests now.
Sebastian: I could come in...?
Mia: I don't think so Sebastian. You won't like them and they definitely won't like you.


She skipped off back inside, left Sebastian on his own, decided to go and get himself drunk.


The night rolled back with each glass of wine till Sebastian stumbled back to his apartment, collapsed onto the rug that sprawled across the lounge. He laid on the flat on his back, a cigarette perched between his lips, funneling smoke. His eyes were heavy behind his shades, his lips mumbling lines of poetry he wrote as a child. His hand dug out a polaroid from his jacket, propped himself up on a elbow and looked it over.


It was of Mia on all fours, crawling the red velvet of the Elysee Monmartre, lips red, tights green.


Behind him the door pushed open, light cast into the darkened room. Sebastian didn't need to look round to tell who was there, could smell the familiar scent, sweet and crisp of Mia drift into the room. Intoxicated him with memories.


Sebastian: You can't leave me Mia, you are my muse, my love.
Mia: And you're a thief Sebastian
Sebastian: Yes that is true


Mia stopped by the door, wrapped her lips round a cigarette and sucked.


Mia: If i stay?
Sebastian: Then i will stop, perhaps get a job. Maybe i could sing


Mia walked into the room, a little short of Sebastian, her skirt showed off her legs, framed Sebastian in them as he thumbed polaroids and chewed tobacco.


Mia: Wash your hands Sebastian. We are going to make love.




4.


Nick and Warren sat at the small tables outside the La Cafeotheque, drank their coffee back and smoked Red Stripes. Nick was browsing some newspaper he didn't understand a lick of it. Sebastian arrived late, took a seat and inquired into the absence of Tommy.


Nick: He's dead, was shot twice. Appears Mr Sinatra hasn't taken kindly to us taking what's his.
Sebastian: Who killed him?
Nick: We don't know but our money's on a Mr Cohen, a real slick bastard, got a way about him. Lives in the shadows, kills without remorse.
Sebastian: What we do now?
Nick: Same as before, no change to the plan. Tommy wasn't a snitch, he wouldn't have told them where we were going to do the exchange. Our man arrives in at Paris at 7.50 tomorrow morning, we do the deal and then split as agreed.


Sebastian nodded his head, taking it all in. Warren just sat there, arms crossed. Sebastian had never heard the guy say more than a couple of words at a time, had two eyes that told you not to mess with him.


Warren: Nick, I'll see you later.


Was all Warren said as he got up from his seat, gave Sebastian a jerk of the head before he headed off into the city.


Sebastian: Where is he going?
Nick: Warren's taken a fancy to some whore.
Sebastian: Warren? I never had him down as the sort.
Nick: The guy had a family once, was a real model citizen
Sebastian: What happened?
Nick: Somebody cut them up and sent them to him in little pieces.


Warren watched as the jon left Isabellas. He gave her twenty minutes to sort herself out before he headed heading over, gave the door a stiff knock.


Isabella: Warren. I didn't expect to see you today.


She stood in the doorway, hair wild, cigarette hanging out the corner of her mouth, eyed Warren up, eyes that saw right through you. Warren shifted, felt like a kid with a crush. He spoke to his feet.


Warren: I thought I would come round and make sure you was okay.


His Australian accent was thick, Isabella liked that. Isabella took in the world around him, seemed a little bit bemused by the hairy oath at her door but thought him cute.


Isabella: Come in, I've made coffee.


Warren sat on the couch, watched Isabella put the tray down on the small little side table. She sat herself, wore a loose blouse, a pair of black tights and a skirt. Looked like somebody's secretary, had class, didn't remind Warren of any prostitute he had ever seen before.


Isabella: Was there something you wanted Warren?


She was playing with him, could see the guy had something to say, but stumbling over how to say it. Warren took a deep breath, put his cup down and braced himself.


Warren: I was wondering if you would like to go out to dinner with me Miss Huppert.


He rushed it out, Isabella giggling a little as he did before worrying if she had hurt his feelings.


Warren: I can pay you for your time if you would prefer.
Isabella: No, I would like to go to dinner with you Warren.
Warren: Good


He slammed his hand down of his thigh as if to seal the deal.


The night outside was delicate, a piece of fine beauty carved by a masters hand. They ate at a cheap bistro, Warren full of stop start awkward conversation.


Isabella: Tell me, why are you in Paris Warren?
Warren: Business
Isabella: You don't strike me as a business man
Warren: Right


Warren took a slug of drink, prayed for something to say.


Warren: Do you like your food?
Isabella: Its nice, thank you


Warren cursed himself for lack of conversation, shock his head in disapproval, mumbled words trying to straighten himself out. Isabella saw his distress placed her hand on his.


Isabella: You know, your a very kind man Warren. You have a good heart, I can tell.
Warren: I don't know if anyone has called me a kind man before, well not for a long time anyhow.


Warren filled his mouth with a fork full of meat, chewed with a glow as the two exchanged glances over the candle light. It wasn't perfect but it was what both of them needed right now.


The two returned to her flat, Warren waiting as Isabella tried to fish the keys from her bag.


Warren: I was once married. It ended. I didn't think I would ever meet a woman that I would fall for.


Warren had killed plenty of people in his life with little more than a moment spared for the deed done, but now he got caught offside by some emotional reflex, had his eyes filling up. Isabella left the door, came to his side and placed a kiss gently on his cheek.


Isabella: Come inside Warren, we can talk there.


It felt like the start of something and perhaps it would have been but for the man in the raincoat and fedora that stepped out the shadows, gun in hand.


Cohen: Warren Ellis?


Warren turned, didn't think anything of it till he saw the gun, wanted to say something but wasn't fast enough, was sent to the floor with two bullets. Isabella did little better, barely got off a scream before Cohen gave her a couple of bullets of her own to play with.


5


Sebastian lay in bed, Mia curled up beside him. She smelt pretty like wild flowers and candied popcorn. It was early, the sun had barely said hello to the world when the door bell rang, interrupted the beauty of it all.


Nick stood at the door, hand leant up against the frame, looked impenitent, wore a long night on his face.


Sebastian: Nick, you look like shit.
Nick: Warren didn't come back last night.
Sebastian: The whore?
Nick: Maybe, maybe not. You said you got a car.


The two men left Mia in bed, found the garage round the back of the apartment block. Inside sat Sebastian's pride and joy.


Nick: A Citroen? Like Le Samurai?
Sebastian: Oui, like Le Samurai.


Nick had a hard on for it, had been kept in pristine condition. Not a single scratch or dent.


Sebastian: Here


Sebastian tossed the keys, told Nick to look after it.


Nick: I'll come back here after the exchange, if Warren turns up tell him I went alone and to sit tight till I return


Sebastian held Nick, gave him a squeeze to wish him luck


Sebastian: My friend. I await your return.


Sebastian stood in the street and waved Nick off, watched the Citroen as it disappeared down the winding Parisian roads. He stood and looked for a cigarette, found a empty box in his pocket. Needed to stock up, looked east and found the old man Renoir opening up the newspaper stand.


The morning was crisp, a gentle breeze that promised a fine day. Sebastian made chit chat with the old timer, spoke about love and life and ordered his smokes.


He pulled the wrapper off, dragged one out with his teeth, was lighting up as he caught sight of someone out in front. As soon as their gaze met the figure disappeared back into the shadows. Slowly Sebastian turned, tried to act casual about it, took his phone out and punched in Nicks name, brought up his number.


Sebastian: Nick it is Sebastian, tell me what does this Mr Cohen look like?
Nick: Why?
Sebastian: Ah, just curious.
Nick: Short guy, in his 50's, wears a raincoat
Sebastian: A hat?
Nick: A fedora yeah,
Sebastian: Ah, well it seems that Mr Cohen has found me.
Nick: I'm coming back
Sebastian: No, stick to the plan, I know Paris I can lose him. Just make sure you make the exchange. I will call you later.


Sebastian hung up, tucked his phone into his pocket and listened to the sound of footsteps behind him. Quickly he picked up his pace and disappeared down towards the metro.


The place was empty but for a few bums waking up from a bad night into a hangover. Sebastian leapt down the steps as he heard the train pulling in, got to the platform just before the doors open, was halfway down the train when Cohen arrived in pursuit, managed to get in towards the rear of the vehicle before the doors shut.


Nick arrived at the station, parked up and checked his hair, brushed the sides of his mustache and took a lucky strip and lit up.


Outside the morning rush was beginning to swell, the drones filling past, zombies on there way to make a dime. Nick had been there once, didn't wear the suit well. It was a bad pair of shoes that never fitted right. This suited, this was the life he was born into and would probably the life that would flash before his eyes when the end came.


He had been married twice, still wore both rings on his finger, liked the memory a lot better than the real thing.


A group of people had gathered inside, spoke in hushed voices and ushered some kids away, told them to avert their eyes. Nick didn't need to know French to have his curiosity picked. Slowly he joined the mass, got sight of the dead body causing the hold up. It took Nick a moment to recognize the face, kicked him hard when he did. It was his contact, slumped in the old photo booth at the Gare Du Nord, throat cut.


6


The train only moved on one station before Sebastian jumped off, was out of breath by the time he got to the top of stairs, didn't dare look back over his shoulder. Outside it was hot, the sun beating down, didn't appear to respect the urgency of the moment.


He weaved through the streets, looking for a hole to hide and wait for the storm to pass. A cafe on the corner offered refuge a little table tucked away at the back. He grabbed a paper from the stand, sat himself and threw up the ink to hide behind.


Nick's head was fuzzed up, hazed to the core. Everything was a mess, the deal was dead, slumped in a pool of his own blood, offering business men a side show on their morning commute.


Everything to this point had been going as planned, but the problem with plans; they fuck up, leave you high and dry, looking over your shoulder for a guy with a bigger gun than yours. He eyed the car, got his keys ready, wasn't in a hurry to stick around. He needed to get out of Paris, cross into Germany, knew a girl there he could shack up with till the heat had cooled down.


Sinatra: Nick, not so fast. I think we need to talk.


Nick froze, key halfway in the car door. The voice crawled over him, got the hair on the back of his neck on end. There were plenty of people Nick hated, but Sinatra was number one.


Sinatra was flanked by muscle either side, two big jocks dressed up in cheap black suits. They eyed Nick, told him to be cool.


Sinatra: Nick, so please explain to me how it is you thought you could steal from me and just expect me to sit back while you did it.
Nick: I didn't think you would notice over your ego.


Sinatra smiled, gave his muscle the eye, told them to rough Nick up a bit. Nick braced himself as he saw Tweddle Dee and Tweddle Dum approach. Knew it was going to hurt.


Sebastian was sat right in the middle of the world and yet was all alone, just his heart beat for company. It raced, sounded off in his head, loud enough to give him away. He peeled back the corner of the paper, was in the clear, would leave it another five before heading back to the flat. He decided there and then everything was going to change. He would wake Mia up and take her in his arms, promise her the world and then some. He would tell her he loved her, that the two of them should run away and start again, have some children, laugh some more. Drink screw and sleep. Sounded good to him. He was a new man, one born only to devote his life to his love. She was only thing that mattered.


One last look, but as he peaked out he met the stare of Cohen, was stood twenty yards away in the street, had already got his gun up as Sebastian returned behind the newspaper, his eyes closed shut, as if that might save him.


The first bullet rocked him, the second and third sent him tumbling from the chair. Cohen had got his pay day, didn't stick round long enough to enjoy his work, already back in the shadows.


Sinatra: So tell me, where all those buddies of yours?


Nick was on his knees, a bloody mess. Had felt the best of the chumps left and right hooks. Had the breath knocked from his gut, could feel the swelling, a dull thud in his head.


Nick: There dead


He spat, was coughing up blood. Frank smiled.


Sinatra: You got greedy didn't you, ask that buddy to help you out, Mr Fucking L Cohen?


Nick didn't say nothing in response, didn't need to. He knew his crimes and that was enough.


Sinatra: Well well, you know if i wasn't going to kill you I should probably hire you. Men like you are hard to find, men that would sell the souls of dear little grandma if there was a profit in it.


Perhaps Nick deserved it, karma coming at him and giving him a bitch slap.


Sinatra: Well I guess this is it. I can't say its been nice, I really do hate the French, but I do appreciate a happy ending.


Nick smiled, still wore it as the end came at him, fired out the barrel of the gun.

Stephanie1980
January 25th, 2013, 10:35 PM
When and where did you get the inspiration to write this?