tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-42194126493812290182024-02-18T21:45:23.766-08:00The Big AdiosAiden Cobbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05354445410666810830noreply@blogger.comBlogger18125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4219412649381229018.post-5593930023079168372011-02-02T10:41:00.000-08:002011-02-02T10:41:10.334-08:00Chapter 17 - One Last Issue<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:OfficeDocumentSettings> <o:AllowPNG/> </o:OfficeDocumentSettings> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:TrackMoves/> <w:TrackFormatting/> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:DoNotPromoteQF/> <w:LidThemeOther>EN-US</w:LidThemeOther> <w:LidThemeAsian>X-NONE</w:LidThemeAsian> <w:LidThemeComplexScript>X-NONE</w:LidThemeComplexScript> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> <w:SplitPgBreakAndParaMark/> <w:EnableOpenTypeKerning/> <w:DontFlipMirrorIndents/> <w:OverrideTableStyleHps/> </w:Compatibility> <m:mathPr> <m:mathFont m:val="Cambria Math"/> <m:brkBin m:val="before"/> <m:brkBinSub m:val="--"/> <m:smallFrac m:val="off"/> <m:dispDef/> <m:lMargin m:val="0"/> <m:rMargin m:val="0"/> <m:defJc m:val="centerGroup"/> <m:wrapIndent m:val="1440"/> <m:intLim m:val="subSup"/> <m:naryLim m:val="undOvr"/> </m:mathPr></w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" DefUnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<div class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>Farmers Bank of Possibility sits on the corner of Main and Fisherville. The bank started a few miles away back in the late 1800's but constant flooding forced the entire town to move two miles upward to higher ground and rebuild everything literally brick-by-brick. The outside is kept looking the same: Corinthian pillars on the far left and right. Inside it's as modern as any bank in New York City.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>Aiden walks through the front entrance and reminds himself to keep a pleasant demeanor. <i>No need for shaking these people up. </i>A happy-go-lucky looking hitman is an interesting sight.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>He proceeds to the first teller window where Natalie, brunette hair with a flower-print dress, is keeping herself busy tapping the keyboard, keying in whatever.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>“Hi, my name is Natalie. How may I help you?” Her accent is strong. Not Georgia. Not Mississippi. Not Kentucky. <i>Maybe Tennessee?</i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>“Hi,” Aiden tries to mimic her accent, or come close to it, “I would like to start a safe deposit box.” He smiles.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>She smiled back. Bigger. “Awright... one moment please.” She shakes her head quickly, tossing back a strand of hair that falls into her eyes before turning and exiting stage right.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>Minutes and forms later Aiden is looking down into a rectangular metal box. <i>So this is it.</i> He carefully lays the DVD inside along with a note on top of it. Closing the lid and locking it he walks away. <i>She's going to be pissed...</i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>It's not difficult to find Veronica. She has been marching back and forth outside for the past fifteen minutes conducting business while sucking down cancer stick after cancer stick. The double-helix of perfume and cigarette smoke led Aiden to her.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>“Yeah, I don't fuckin' care what it takes! That shipment was supposed to be here fuckin' yesterday, it's not fuckin' here today and I swear to God if it's not fuckin' here tomorrow...”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>She could feel his presence. She stops. Turns around. He faces her.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>“Just get me that fuckin' shipment or you'll find one of my Stiletto's where the sun doesn't fuckin' shine. You got me? Are we clear?”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>She presses a button on cellphone; one of those with a GPS, Internet, and it could do the fucking laundry if it needed. Tossing the cigarette butt on the ground she places another on her lips and lights up, taking a long drag before exhaling and walking over to Aiden, tossing it on the ground.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>“Aiden! Darling!”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>Aiden keeps his distance. “Thanks for the help yesterday.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>“Oh, that? Well... it doesn't come cheap.” She stops. He doesn't know if she's planning on hugging him, fucking him, or just playing nice.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>“I figured. I have something for you, but I need a few assurances...”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>“Aiden, hunny... what did your mother tell you about your reach exceeding your grasp?” Her teeth are white. Shiny. She missed her calling as a great white. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>“Thad's dead. There's no contracts to be honored. Let the handler go.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>“Awww... can't I keep him a little bit longer? This one amuses me.” She grins again.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>“I'm leading this dance and if you want it to end your way, let him go.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>She wantsto keep playing the game. Aiden wants to cut the dance short.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>“Why should I do that?”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>Pulling the key out of his pocket, he holds it tightly between his thumb and finger. “This.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>“The DVD?”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>Aiden nods.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>“Aiden, when are we going to dance for real?”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>He shakes his head. “Make the call.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>Veronica looks down at her phone and punches something in. “Sending the message. You should hear from him in thirty.” She puts her cellphone away and grabs the key.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>Aiden lets go, watching her smile. “Another time, Vicky.” He turns and walks away.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>“Where is this to?”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>“A bank.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>“No shit! Which one?”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>Aiden stops. “Give Tony something to do.” He continues forward. She watches him walk away.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>Deep down he laughs. Deep down he knows that the DVD is only a movie, not what she thinks<span> </span>it could be. Deep down he won. Which means he may have to keep an extra eye out for himself but for now victory has an incredibly great taste. Like beer and a burger.</div>Aiden Cobbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05354445410666810830noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4219412649381229018.post-67806077817565398022011-01-01T10:30:00.000-08:002011-02-02T10:40:30.367-08:00Chapter 16 - The End<div class="MsoNormal"> Cooler than a body on ice Thad sits back in his leather recliner. He knows what's next and has no qualms. He had been planning on it.</div><div class="MsoNormal"> The door swings open. Aiden's gun drawn, he quickly waves it side to side before kicking the door close behind him. Thad hasn't moved an inch.</div><div class="MsoNormal"> “<i>Mister</i> Cobb,” came from Thad's mouth, drawn-out in that James Bond villain way. </div><div class="MsoNormal"> “<i>Thad,</i>” Aiden replies in cold-hearted hatred.</div><div class="MsoNormal"> Aiden calmly keeps the gun pointed at Thad as he walks in front of the large oak desk. Everything seems nice and tidy and Thad doesn't making any moves. The fact he isn't moving at all should have been a red flag for Aiden, but he's past giving a shit.</div><div class="MsoNormal"> “Do you think you're the only motherfucker to point a piece at me?”</div><div class="MsoNormal"> “No.” A moment of pause. “But I will be the last.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"> Something is pinging him in the back of his mind but he buries it. <i>Time for answers...</i></div><div class="MsoNormal"> “Would you care for a drink, Aiden?” </div><div class="MsoNormal"> No response. He keeps the gun point-blank on Thad's head.</div><div class="MsoNormal"> “Mind if I have one?”</div><div class="MsoNormal"> “What are you? Some kind of fuckin' Bond villain?”</div><div class="MsoNormal"> Thad shrugs. “If I'm gonna go, might as well have me some Scotch.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"> “<i>Fuck that</i>. Tell me what I want to know and don't dick around with the details.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"> Breathing in heavy, Thad only replies, “No.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"> Aiden moves closer, pressing against the desk. “Why?”</div><div class="MsoNormal"> “It's all over now, Aiden.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"> “No it's not. Tell me why the fuck the disc is so important.” He <i>needs</i> to know.</div><div class="MsoNormal"> “It contains a movie that can't be found in the United States. I'm going to make copies of it and distribute them across the Internet.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"> “Bullshit.” Aiden stands his ground.</div><div class="MsoNormal"> “The movie contains the top secret foreign sites that when I offer it to the CIA, I can broker a deal.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"> “Still bullshit, Thad.” </div><div class="MsoNormal"> “I'm a fan of the movies like you're old buddy... what was his name? Steven Hitchcock? Face blown off and everything. Terrible way to go.” Thad tries being melodramatic, shaking his head side-to-side.</div><div class="MsoNormal"> Aiden leans in further. “Bull shit, fucker.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"> “How about it's my movie and I want it back?”</div><div class="MsoNormal"> Staring in rage. Aiden feels his blood racing, turning cold. No attention is being paid to the muffled footsteps behind.</div><div class="MsoNormal"> “Aiden?”</div><div class="MsoNormal"> “What?” comes out as a growl.</div><div class="MsoNormal"> The revolver's cold muzzle presses against the back of his neck. He slowly takes a step back.</div><div class="MsoNormal"> “Fuck.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"> He “pulled a Hickock.” When you have one of those moments where you do something against your better judgment, or you veer from routine and something bad is destined to happen, you have just pulled a Hickock. And that's what's happening here.</div><div class="MsoNormal"> “You know Cory, right? Your pal Dennis's nephew?”</div><div class="MsoNormal"> Cory stands behind Aiden, holding the pistol firmly against his neck. He wants to make this happen.</div><div class="MsoNormal"> Aiden makes a quick calculation: <i>how blood-cold is Cory?</i> <i>Any fuckhead can pull a trigger but can he do it on command?</i> He breathes in for a moment. <i>Relax. Change the strategy.</i></div><div class="MsoNormal"> “So you wanted in. Right Cory?” Aiden talks straight into Thad is if he talking to him.</div><div class="MsoNormal"> Cory keeps his mouth shut. Aiden can tell that he wants to tell the motherfucker off; give the fuckwad a taste of his own medicine. <i>Who was he to humiliate him?</i></div><div class="MsoNormal"> “Have you ever killed someone, Cory? Not with a group of friends or playing some bullshit video game. For real. Have you?”</div><div class="MsoNormal"> Thad stares up at Aiden and watches him deliver the speech.</div><div class="MsoNormal"> “You pull the trigger. The gun goes off. There's a loud bang. My brains, and maybe Thad's, fly everywhere. And a moment later when you realized what you've done, you're going to throw up. You'll lose your cookies right there on Thad's expensive rug under your feet.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"> “Give me the DVD, Aiden.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"> “No.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"> Cory presses the pistol harder into Aiden's neck. Aiden stiffens.</div><div class="MsoNormal"> “Do it, Cory.” Aiden says. “If you don't kill me, he'll kill you and trust me, he's not one to take someone not obeying orders lightly. Pull the trigger. It's easy.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"> “Give him the DVD. Aiden.” Cory sounds unsure about killing him.</div><div class="MsoNormal"> “No. I'm dead either way.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"> The three are frozen in a moment in time, locked in place. One can feel the temperature drop.</div><div class="MsoNormal"> Everything happens fast, like a light-speed frenetic ADD shaky-cam movie action sequence. Aiden jabs his elbow and spins to the left, ducking down. Cory fires. Thad tries ducking but the bullet rips through his skull quickly halting that idea. Blood splatters Cory's face. Thad's gray matter splats painting hanging behind him and his body falls to the ground.</div><div class="MsoNormal"> Aiden gets to his feet and checks for blood on his clothing. Under the low-lighting of the room he can't immediately spot anything; he'll have to check later. He reaches into his pocket and pulls a white handkerchief, offering it to Cory.</div><div class="MsoNormal"> Cory lowers the weapon and sees what he's done. The pistol is still smoking; that cannon-boom repercussion feeling still shaking him inside. Aiden forces the handkerchief into Cory's other hand.</div><div class="MsoNormal"> Nothing for Aiden to say. No comment. He glances over at Cory who looks three sheets from the tenth stage of white. Calmly, Aiden paces toward the door.</div><div class="MsoNormal"> Cory turns his head and the contents of his stomach erupt onto the floor. He feels a burning sensation in his mouth as he thinks back to what Aiden said earlier.</div><div class="MsoNormal"> Aiden stops, his focus still on the door. “That's a fuckin' ten-thousand dollar rug.” He reachs the threshold and stops again. “I don't know if the police can dust for vomit, but you might want to get out of here as soon as possible.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"> Cory takes a few steps back, bumps into the wall, and slumps down to the floor. He places the pistol on the ground before shoving it away from him. </div><div class="MsoNormal"> Aiden makes it to the staircase. It's time to tie up the loose ends.</div>Aiden Cobbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05354445410666810830noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4219412649381229018.post-37738612783889477412011-01-01T10:05:00.000-08:002011-02-02T10:32:55.694-08:00Chapter 15 - Price of Refuge, Part 3<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:OfficeDocumentSettings> <o:AllowPNG/> </o:OfficeDocumentSettings> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:TrackMoves/> <w:TrackFormatting/> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:DoNotPromoteQF/> <w:LidThemeOther>EN-US</w:LidThemeOther> <w:LidThemeAsian>X-NONE</w:LidThemeAsian> <w:LidThemeComplexScript>X-NONE</w:LidThemeComplexScript> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> <w:SplitPgBreakAndParaMark/> <w:EnableOpenTypeKerning/> <w:DontFlipMirrorIndents/> <w:OverrideTableStyleHps/> </w:Compatibility> <m:mathPr> <m:mathFont m:val="Cambria Math"/> <m:brkBin m:val="before"/> <m:brkBinSub m:val="--"/> <m:smallFrac m:val="off"/> <m:dispDef/> <m:lMargin m:val="0"/> <m:rMargin m:val="0"/> <m:defJc m:val="centerGroup"/> <m:wrapIndent m:val="1440"/> <m:intLim m:val="subSup"/> <m:naryLim m:val="undOvr"/> </m:mathPr></w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" DefUnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<div class="MsoNormal"><span> </span><i>Aiden flashed-back to that night, thirty minutes later after he left his apartment for Steven's place. He sat on the couch watching Steven, understandably crazy, pace back and forth. The guy had every right to be pissed.</i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span> </span>“The truth. I fuckin’ know now. Thank fuckin’ God.”</i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span> </span>Aiden could’ve saved himself the time and punishment but something inside convinced him that he owed it to Steven. God knows what it was.</i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span> </span>“It’s a fuckin’ relief. I mean, all this time I’m going miserable. I’m stressed-out as it is, she’s stressed-out and stressing me out and all the times that you two look at each other. I kept saying to myself, ‘I wish they would just FUCK and get it over with, y'know?’ FUCK.”</i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span> </span>There was a way he kept saying “fuck,” like each time he said it he was trying to fit “Why did this fucking happen to me?” into the sentence. And each time that exasperation in his voice.</i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span> </span>“You know what?” He closed his forefinger and thumb together. Aiden guessed it to be half-an-inch. “I have this much respect for you.”</i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span> </span>“That’s not why you called me over here.” Time for Aiden to stop this shit. Steven could play pity party on his own time.</i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span> </span>“Gawd! Dammit!” He paced for another moment. “I lost the key.”</i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span> </span>“To what?”</i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span> </span>“The disc. It’s in a deposit box because it’s worth something…”</i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span> </span>“More than you know, Steven.”</i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span> </span>“What do you mean?”</i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span> </span>Aiden laid it down: someone steals someone else’s thing, in this case a collectible movie, and puts it up on the Internet for auction. DVD nerd Steven bids for it and wins not knowing that a fucking ruthless gangster is on the lookout for it. Steven happens to be friends with Aiden who is wanted dead or alive by said gangster Thad. And wasn’t this all a fucking coincidence or what?</i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span> </span>And then he pushes Aiden. Slams him in the chest. Aiden's surprised.</i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span> </span>Aiden stands in place because he's sure Steven won't do anything incredibly stupid. Like pulling a gun on him. Which is something you don't want to do to Aiden.</i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span> </span>Steven stands there and waves the gun around. Aiden is sure that he doesn't know what he's doing; doesn't know how to use it. Pushing Aiden is one thing; pulling a gun is a whole other fucking deal. </i>Two items checked off the list...</div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span> </span>Steven continued to grow confused and crazier by the moment torn between asking for help from the guy who was fucking his girlfriend and wanting to tear him to pieces. He wanted to kill him. Aiden tried controlling the situation but he did something unprofessional: he lost his cool. He thought about grabbing the gun and smashing Steven in the nose with it. Probably should have. Instead his senses went into that dark place. He drew his weapon, Steven screamed and fired, missed Aiden and everything went black.</i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span> </span>That’s all he remembered before standing on the beach outside the house staring at the moon. Rage is a weird creature best saved for those “temporary insanity” cases.</i></div>Aiden Cobbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05354445410666810830noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4219412649381229018.post-72310651036751257212011-01-01T00:04:00.000-08:002011-02-02T10:31:02.123-08:00Chapter 14 - Guard Level<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:OfficeDocumentSettings> <o:AllowPNG/> </o:OfficeDocumentSettings> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:TrackMoves/> <w:TrackFormatting/> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:DoNotPromoteQF/> <w:LidThemeOther>EN-US</w:LidThemeOther> <w:LidThemeAsian>X-NONE</w:LidThemeAsian> <w:LidThemeComplexScript>X-NONE</w:LidThemeComplexScript> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> <w:SplitPgBreakAndParaMark/> <w:EnableOpenTypeKerning/> <w:DontFlipMirrorIndents/> <w:OverrideTableStyleHps/> </w:Compatibility> <m:mathPr> <m:mathFont m:val="Cambria Math"/> <m:brkBin m:val="before"/> <m:brkBinSub m:val="--"/> <m:smallFrac m:val="off"/> <m:dispDef/> <m:lMargin m:val="0"/> <m:rMargin m:val="0"/> <m:defJc m:val="centerGroup"/> <m:wrapIndent m:val="1440"/> <m:intLim m:val="subSup"/> <m:naryLim m:val="undOvr"/> </m:mathPr></w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" DefUnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<div class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>He thought about driving up to Thad's residence, popping out of the car with guns blazing while the car swerved into the general direction of one of the guards. That unfortunate guard would stand like a deer in headlights being pommeled and decapitated by the car, all the while screaming as he shot his Uzi into the air. That's Hollywood's style, Aiden's. He prefers the personal approach.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>The estate's front is wide open; you can be seen driving up for miles. Having ditched the car down the road Aiden is cutting a path straight to the front door.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>Two guards. Both pop enough steroids veins are popping out of their biceps. One white, the other black and both have a hulking build. They stand watching him walk up. Neither know what to say or think; it's like a scene from one of those old movies where the guy coming to exact revenge has been walking through the desert for the past half-hour. You can almost see the heat rising from the concrete making a mirror image of Aiden, pissed-off and dressed entirely in black, heading their way.<span> </span>The black guard, the one on the left, grabs his walkie-talkie and shouts something. Yes, whoever answered<span> </span>is<span> </span>watching the same thing and no, Thad says not to do anything. Both know a shitstorm is coming.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>Aiden plays the angles in his head but it really doesn't matter. If they haven't shot at him by now they weren't going to which makes it easier to get to Thad. He knows Thad was waiting for him. <i>So much for that element of surprise</i>...</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>The guards aren't about to shit bricks because they have learned, have been trained, to keep their cool; but they're fucking close to it. A small seed of doubt begins to grow into a weed. Both know this can't be good.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>“Stop! Who goes there?”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>They both look at each other. The black guard who said it suddenly feels like the biggest idiot on stage during the high school play. The white guard replies with that “Dude, what'd you just say?” look.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>Aiden isn't stopping, which is confirmed when he clocks the black dude with his fist.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>“<i>CRACK</i>!”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>TKO. Match over. The white guard responds in slow-motion with that “expletive of your choice” look on his face, followed by grabbing his gun. Both reactions are too slow.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>“SMACK!” Aiden hits the guy so hard it'll take him six months to get well enough to die.<br />
<span> </span>He walks behind the white guard to the left side of the door. No use in waiting to see if they spray bullets through wood and wouldn't you know, Thad has taste. <i>Gotta give the guy some credit</i>. Aiden swipes a walkie-talkie from the white guard, makes sure both are incapacitated, then pushes the lever down. The door opens an inch.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>Round Two. All point values are doubled. Taking a deep breath Aiden kicks the door open and rushes in.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>The idea that this part is like the video games enters his head. He remembers watching some kids at the electronic store wander around inside a mansion picking off zombies or mutants or guards or dogs or Nazis. Now is the moment of silence because those kids knew, as Aiden knows, they're watching him. He's not expecting expert snipers or anything; they could be but this is the domicile of a drug lord not Fort Knox so the odds that he'll be shot at instead of killed are in his favor. Hopefully. The real problem lies in the fact that there are no cheat codes and he can't hit 'reset' because he gets all pissy that the level doesn't turn out the way he wanted it to.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>“<i>BLAMM</i>!”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>Aiden shoots first in an off-direction to find out where they are. They Morse Code it back with hot lead. <i>The schmucks</i>.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>The China room consists of a small but expensive oak table in the center and an actual China cabinet sitting peacefully on the right. For the moment.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>“<i>CH-CH-CH-CH-CH-CH-CH-CH</i>...”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>“<i>BLAMM! BLAMM!</i>”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>It takes two shots. Aiden hardly ever shoots more than once. Maybe he needs to go down to the gun range. Good thing the second shot struck the guy in the face. <i>Gotta keep moving...</i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>Aiden carefully rounds the corner of the room to the library when...</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>“<i>BOOM!</i> Chik-chik. <i>BOOM!</i>”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>Two shotgun blasts. In the library. From another thug. <i>Forget Colonel Mustard with the lead pipe...</i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>Aiden hits the floor. Aims at the guy's ankles. Fires with extreme prejudice.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>The guy screams and blows another hole into the library, the gun pointed at the ceiling. He<span> </span>goes down easy enough.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>A staircase up ahead leads to the Thad's office. Aiden lifts himself off the maroon carpet and quietly paces across the library's hardwood floor. Bookcases line the walls and Aiden's eyes speed over their titles. Encyclopedias, Who's Who, a dictionary, thesaurus, some Stephen King books...</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span> </span><i>Stop</i>. “They're Eyes Were Watching God.” Hardback.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>Standing in place he reaches over and eases the book out. No other ones moved. Tiptoeing to the staircase he flings the book upward.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>A barrage of bullets decimate the book. Annihilate it. <i>Obliterate it.</i> Hot molten lead like shit through a goose rips pages like toilet paper with pulp shreds feather-floating in the air. Safe to say nothing is left to hit the ground.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>Aiden runs up the staircase through the floating paper shreds and fires below. Reaching the top step he crouches to the left side of the door. Gunfire ceases and nothing moves. His heart races, he clenches the gun in his hand, and takes a deep breath.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>The door to Thad's office. He has reached the Boss Level.</div>Aiden Cobbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05354445410666810830noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4219412649381229018.post-41042946406199828792011-01-01T00:02:00.000-08:002011-02-02T10:29:21.933-08:00Chapter 13 - Expurgation<div class="MsoNormal">Lenny's. A dive bar sitting dead-center of a nondescript strip mall its windows blacked-out and the neon beer brand signs barely visible in the daytime. Then again most people in the daytime opt for the Baskin Robbins at the end.</div><div class="MsoNormal"> Aiden pulls the door's metal bar and enters like he's straight out of a Sergio Leone movie. The light slices through the dim interior. One gray-haired guy sits at the end of the bar wearing a blue jean jacket and a pair of jeans; his head is bent forward, buried in a plate of nachos.</div><div class="MsoNormal"> In the corner of the room sits a jukebox, one of those that plays CDs instead of 45s. Blindly Aiden reaches into his pocket, pulls out some change, puts it in and punches in the code for a song. Walking up to the bar he takes a spot two stools down from “nacho guy.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"> The jukebox ends the song it's on; something by Journey. The wail of a sax soon follows; Bob Seger would be singing next.</div><div class="MsoNormal"> Nacho guy grows restless and talks to the ground but speaking to Aiden. “Have you come to confess?”</div><div class="MsoNormal"> “As much as a non-Catholic can.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"> “Order up.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"> Waving his fingers the guy tending bar appears. He makes the special concoction and pours it into the shot glass sitting in front of Aiden. Touching its sides, thoughts are waiting to flood over him.</div><div class="MsoNormal"> <i>The key</i>. That object of the conversation. A stupid, lost, forgotten key. It's what no one else knows about except Aiden. A world of troubles rests on a thin piece of metal.</div><div class="MsoNormal"> Gulp. “Aagh!” He slams the shot glass on the counter and sniffs. His fingers motion the bartender for another. The bartender immediately pours another and Aiden quickly raises it to his lips.</div><div class="MsoNormal"> <i>Thad</i>. The center of this twisted universe. A million dollar contract on Aiden. A million dollars for anyone who retrieves the movie. All of this tied into what he wants. <i>Fuck him</i>.</div><div class="MsoNormal"> Aiden throws back the shot. Winces. Slams the glass on the bar for another.</div><div class="MsoNormal"> <i>Killing Steven</i>. It was a mistake; an <i>honest-to-God</i> accident. He blacked out, that is to say that between Steven going crazy over what to do with the movie and his brain matter oozing down the face of the TV, Aiden remembers nothing. Blame it on “gut reaction.” A bad one.</div><div class="MsoNormal"> <i>Down the waterhole</i>. Feel the feelings go numb. It doesn't taste like shit so much anymore.</div><div class="MsoNormal"> <i>Women</i>. Bridgette used him for sex; not like it wasn't like-wise. But trying to steal from him? Veronica wants sex but he knows a signed deal with the Devil comes with that. Then again, he may be going to Hell anyway. Who knows? Maybe she could help negotiate better terms.</div><div class="MsoNormal"> <i>And again</i>. The outside world becoming tranquil.</div><div class="MsoNormal"> <i>The movie</i>. Is it just a disc or an actual movie? What the hell does Thad want with it? Some things are never meant to be understood. It never stops the want for the truth, though.</div><div class="MsoNormal"> He feels good. Justified. Time to kick ass. He sets the glass back on the counter and waves off any more.</div><div class="MsoNormal"> “How are you feeling, my son?” Nacho guy sounds a little like the Master from “Kung Fu.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"> Aiden steps away from the bar, straightening his suit. It's business time. He inhales deeply.</div><div class="MsoNormal"> “<i>Vaya con el diablo</i>,” Nacho guy mutters.</div><div class="MsoNormal"> “If he's not there first.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"> Aiden turns and goes for the door. The light blasts in while Aiden navigates into the darkness.</div>Aiden Cobbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05354445410666810830noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4219412649381229018.post-65776324682937737522011-01-01T00:01:00.000-08:002011-02-02T10:25:12.059-08:00Chapter 12 - Security<div class="MsoNormal"> “<i>DOOM-DOOM-DOOM-DOOM-DOOM!</i>”<br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"> The fist pounding the door let Aiden know everything he needed to: this is a business call. Which means it can't be Tony because he would pick the lock to get in. And sure as shit it's not Bridgette because she'd have to be crazy to come back. <i>Then again...</i><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"> “One moment.”<br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"> This inconveniences him. He has things to do. He can only hope that his deal with Miss Satan follows through.<br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"> Opening the door he finds himself half-wrong. Bridgette stands behind Bensinger, himself poised and ready for anything. Bridgette's eyes give that look of hurt, annoyance, and embarrassment. Bensinger looks as if he may get his prize turkey.<br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"> “I didn't think either of you would show up.”<br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"> Bridgette moves forward, her arms crossed and staring at the ground. “I would like my stuff.”<br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"> <i>What stuff did she want?</i> Aiden's mind reels back for a moment. <i>Maybe some stiletto's. A pair of black underwear with shit stains. One of those barrettes that held her hair back...</i><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><i> </i>“Give me a moment.” He begins to close the door but Bensinger's hand stops it.<br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"> “Keep it open if you don't mind.”<br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"> “Not a problem, Officer.”<br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"> Aiden does a quick one-eighty and rushes back to the bedroom. He nearly trips over the six-inch heels while trying to find them, which lead to him picking up the hair barrette sitting inches away. Dropping them both on his bed he quickly walks into the kitchen and grabs a plastic zip-lock bag. Like a crime scene vet he carefully places the undergarment evidence in the plastic bag, hermetically sealing it.<br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"> Grabbing the load he can see Bensinger eagerly awaiting his return. Passing the bathroom he realizes why Bensinger is there: she still has some dope under the bathroom sink. <i>The crazy bitch. She wants me to go in for possession.</i> Nonchalantly he continues to the front door and stops in front of Bensinger.<br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"> “Alright. We got ourselves one pair of six-inch 'fuck-me' pumps. One hair barrette, good for holding hair back during blowjobs. And finally I present to you exhibit 'C', one pair of black, shit-stained underwear.”<br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"> Aiden gives a big smile. Bensinger looks at Bridgette who's trying hard not to look at Aiden or him. She gives that low look before thrashing her arms out and grabbing her shit, holding it close in comfort and humility.<br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"> “Is there anything else, Officer?”<br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"> The bounce left Bensinger's bungee and Aiden hopes that this chick, no matter how bat-shit crazy she may be, won't mention the dope thing. Then again her fingerprints would be all over it and not his, and Bensinger would find himself duped and even more pissed-off than he already is if that's possible.<br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"> “Can you step outside so we can talk?”<br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"> <i>Talk about what? The weather? </i>“Sure, let me grab my keys first.” Aiden walks over to the counter, grabs them and walks outside, closing and locking the door behind. Bensinger moves to the staircase railing and Bridgette positions herself as far away as possible with room to run.<br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"> “Just so you know it's none of my business to get involved...” Aiden has no clue as to why Bensinger would be running down this script. Maybe she wants to see if he would get jealous and do something stupid. Maybe she tipped Bensinger off on the DVD. Maybe she just wants to stand and watch him squirm, which he'll never do.<br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"> “Did you murder Steven Lucas Hitchcock?” Bensinger stares through Aiden with the magnifying glass in his mind ready to call him out on any details.<br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"> “No.” Flat. Plain. Unemotional. The only way Aiden knows to play it.<br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"> Bensinger wants to nail him to the wall; beat a confession out of him. Aiden imagines that Bensinger thinks himself a Bobby Fisher-wannabe. Only problem being that Aiden is closer to Kasparov than Bensinger is to Fisher, or even a guy really good at playing checkers.<br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"> “Is there anything else, Officer?” Time for Aiden to go.<br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"> Bensinger finds himself caught off-guard. He clears his throat. “Don't go cruising around her. And you're not off the hook with Hitchcock's death.”<br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"> “I have better things to do with my time. Good day.”<br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"> Aiden breezes past Bensinger without a care. He looks over at Bridgette who stares intensely at the concrete floor.<br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"> “I got better things to do with my time.”<br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"> He steps down the staircase and goes to his car. As he sits inside two tricked LTDs with giant rims and blacked-out windows pull into the lot. Their sound systems THUMP the apartment complex. Aiden pulls out of the lot and drives a moment before looking back to see the two cars blocking Bensinger in.<br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"> He smiles and laughs. He would have to give the Devil her due.</div>Aiden Cobbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05354445410666810830noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4219412649381229018.post-62147724881356037832011-01-01T00:00:00.000-08:002011-02-02T10:27:20.776-08:00Chapter 11 - Price of Refuge, Part 2<div class="MsoNormal"><i> Aiden's mind went back to that night when Bridgette laid her head on his chest; the previous night replayed in his head. There was the point in the movie where a guy was being cheated on by his blond wife who was with the younger guy. That’s the point where Steven stared at Aiden. Aiden just stood and walked to the kitchen to get some water; no need to hang around for that.</i><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><i> “I love you,” she murmured quickly. It jostled him out of the thought.</i><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><i> Her eyes opened and she followed with, “I’ll pay for that later.” An awkward pause as she closed her eyes again and rolled to the left pulling the comforter over her.</i><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><i> Too late. She broke the rules again. Fuck.</i><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><i> All he could do was breathe in heavily. The mute button killed the already quiet ambient sound of night.</i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
<i> </i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i> “Yeah. Sure. Let me get dressed first.”</i><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><i> He snapped the cellphone shut. She was still in his bed. The conversation with Steven was quick and to the point which should’ve kicked-off some alarm in his head that said somethin’ wasn’t right. All Aiden knew was that he was tired and didn’t care.</i><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><i> The apartment doorway opened slowly and Aiden reached under his bed and pulled out his gun. He stood by the bedside and thumbed the hammer as he heard footsteps in the living room. They stopped for a moment.</i><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><i> Bridgette looked up at Aiden but didn’t say a thing; that dose of common sense saying it was best to lay-low. The footsteps started again and they were nearing the bedroom doorway. Aiden raised the gun to the doorway but had a feeling he knew who was around the corner. Bridgette quickly pulled the comforter over her head and dug deeper into the mattress.</i><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><i> Steven. He stopped in his tracks and was pissed-off enough not to notice the gun pointed at him. Bridgette’s bra hung from his fingers; the worst consolation gift for finding out the truth.</i><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><i> Aiden lowered the piece and stood there. He saw that mixture of hurt, frustration, and pain swimming in Steven’s eyes. No doubt Steven wanted to rip him apart but that’s not what he was here for. At the moment he was trying to burn a hole through the bed with his eyes.</i><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><i> “So… you left this is the living room.” He tossed the bra on the bed.</i><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><i> Her arm flailed out, searched aimlessly for a minute before her fingers touched it, and disappeared under the comforter again.</i><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><i> “Bridgette” Aiden called out. A command. A call to senses.</i><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><i> Her head shot up, keeping her eyes locked on Aiden. His head motioned toward the bathroom door. Bra and comforter in hand she slid off the bed and marched to the bathroom.</i><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><i> “Why?!?” Steven shouted. Deep down Aiden was sort of impressed.</i><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><i> Bridgette stopped and stared directly into his eyes before saying, “Because it was fun!” She stared at him for another moment before storming off into the bathroom, slamming the door behind and loudly locking it.</i><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><i> Because it was fun. No, that was not the preferred answer. Aiden breathed in deeply and set the gun on the floor. Might as well get dressed. It was going to be a long day.</i></div>Aiden Cobbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05354445410666810830noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4219412649381229018.post-90994224704654524542010-08-30T07:03:00.000-07:002010-09-03T07:09:07.497-07:00Chapter 10 - Now Taking Requests<meta content="text/html; charset=utf-8" http-equiv="Content-Type"></meta><meta content="Word.Document" name="ProgId"></meta><meta content="Microsoft Word 14" name="Generator"></meta><meta content="Microsoft Word 14" name="Originator"></meta><link href="file:///C:%5CUsers%5Ccandrews%5CAppData%5CLocal%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml" rel="File-List"></link><link href="file:///C:%5CUsers%5Ccandrews%5CAppData%5CLocal%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_themedata.thmx" rel="themeData"></link><link href="file:///C:%5CUsers%5Ccandrews%5CAppData%5CLocal%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_colorschememapping.xml" rel="colorSchemeMapping"></link><style>
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<div class="MsoNormal"> Aiden wanders through his mind like a Scotland Yard detective through London fog. Something is missing. That crucial piece of the puzzle that always eludes. What the hell is he looking for?<br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"> He lays on the couch and stares at the ceiling. It helps him unravel events but there isn't much to go on. <i>Dammit</i>.<br />
<br />
<o:p> </o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"> Reaching into his pocket he takes out his cellphone. Punching a few buttons he raises it to his ear.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
“Yeah, whadaya want?” the voice is raspy.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
“Hey Dennis.”<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
“My man! How's it going? Is it true that happened last night?”<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
“Yeah.”<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
He chuckles. “I laughed my ass off, man. I wish I coulda seen it.”<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
“Do you know if Cory got the info for me?”<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
“Hold on, wait a moment.” He then hears him calling for his nephew. “Gimme a sec. I'll go back to his computer.”<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
Dennis whistles something that sounds like an off-key version of “White Room” by Cream. He has more bootleg Clapton stuff than a normal person should. Then again, Dennis is not known to be normal.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
Aiden listens intently as a pen drops to the floor and Dennis shuffles through papers; closing his eyes it isn't difficult to envision what Dennis is doing or where he is. A drawer opens and closes. “I'm looking.” Aiden imagines Dennis rummaging around Cory's computer, probably in the back room of the store.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
“Take your time.” Aiden rubs his face.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
“Let's see... some funky letters and numbers. That might be it. Says it's worth... I'm trying to make it out.”<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
A pause. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
“Holy shit, Aiden. That's a lot for a fuckin' disc. I should get into the movies.”<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
A cool million. All this over a one followed by six zeros.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
“It looks like... there's a buyer here. Now it makes sense.”<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
“What?” Aiden replies.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
“He was askin' me this morning how to get over to ten-four-oh-one Westport Road. Why do I...?”<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
<i>Thad's address</i>. Aiden had not imagined Cory making a deal with Thad. <i>How did Cory plan on getting the disc?<o:p></o:p></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
“I know where he's going.”<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
“Oh.” Dennis isn't pressing the matter.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
“Thanks, Dennis. Stay safe.”<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
“You too, man.”<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
Aiden cuts the call. Peeling himself off the couch he ambles over to the bookcase. He searches in his pocket and pulls out Veronica's number, dialing it.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
“How did I know it was going to be you?”<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
She has that smoky, erotic voice that makes every orifice in your body stand at attention. Aiden imagines the brick wall like that one old black and white movie Steven made him watch. The one about all the identical kids born in a town trying to take it over.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
“You knew how to find me. Maybe you're psychic, too.”<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
His fingers feel against the spines of the books. “Dune,” by Frank Herbet. “On the Road,” by Jack Kerouac. “The Stand” by Stephen King.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
“Maybe. What can I do you for, Aiden?” The cat wants to play.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
“I've been doing some thinking...”<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
“So have I. Are you gonna play dice?”<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
“Yeah,” his attention stops at a book. <i>The book</i>. “Their Eyes Were Watching God.” “But there's a slight snag.”<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
“Isn't there always?” She says it in that old-time pretentious movie starlet way; a diva whose life is surrounded by expected disappointment.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
“There's these two cops...” Touching the book feels like caressing a bottle of poison. He doesn't know why he has it, nor why he keeps it, but he can't just throw it away, either. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
“Bensinger and Elliot? You're a hired killer, what's the problem?”<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
“Fucks up the ecosystem if I do anything. I just need a favor.” He needs to figure out why he still had it. A worn and faded cover hugs the pulp inside still trapped in the musty smell of the used bookseller. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
“And what do I get in return?” Her fingertips tapped against the phone.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
He pauses. “A blank check for services.”<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
“Anything I want?” A purr could almost be heard inside her voice.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
“Anything in reason.” Reason suggests he throw the book out. Reason suggests that when you get a snakebite you don't go back to pet the snake again.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
“Hmmm...” her voice curls.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
“I'll let your imagination do the talking.” He's used that one a million times.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
“What services do you need?” The idea becomes more attractive to her. Maybe brighter-colored yarn.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
He pulls the book back, rocking it on its spine. “Send some of your low-level guys to watch out for me. B and E get to me, it could be a while before you get anything, especially from me.”<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
He hears smoke blow against the receiver. “I'll see what I can do.”<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
“So will I.” He pushes a button and the call ends. Taking the book with his hand he turns the spine against the wall and pushes it back in, wedging it between Hemingway's “The Sun Also Rises,” and Stephen King's, “The Gunslinger.” Reason dictates that he has to purge the book from the collection but for the moment it stands against the crowd.<o:p></o:p></div>Aiden Cobbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05354445410666810830noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4219412649381229018.post-32585382338105770642010-08-23T06:56:00.000-07:002010-09-03T07:01:42.928-07:00Chapter 9 - Naked March<meta content="text/html; charset=utf-8" http-equiv="Content-Type"></meta><meta content="Word.Document" name="ProgId"></meta><meta content="Microsoft Word 14" name="Generator"></meta><meta content="Microsoft Word 14" name="Originator"></meta><link href="file:///C:%5CUsers%5Ccandrews%5CAppData%5CLocal%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml" rel="File-List"></link><link href="file:///C:%5CUsers%5Ccandrews%5CAppData%5CLocal%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_themedata.thmx" rel="themeData"></link><link href="file:///C:%5CUsers%5Ccandrews%5CAppData%5CLocal%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_colorschememapping.xml" rel="colorSchemeMapping"></link><style>
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<div class="MsoNormal"> <i>Hmph</i>.<br />
<br />
<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"> His eyes adjust to the dim room. She's not in bed with him. <i>No sweat</i>, he thinks, <i>could be in the bathroom</i>. Speaking of which he needs to <i>go</i>.<br />
<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
Pulling the covers to the side he rolls off the bed and lumbers to the bathroom. He flips the switch.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
“Dammit,” he murmurs. It doesn't matter how toned-down the walls are to white light, it still fuckin' kills your eyes.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
He catches the quick whiff of something. <i>Mary Jane</i>. Glancing down the sink has black ashes surrounding a small part of the rim. This really pisses him off; not that she did it, but left ashes behind. He could almost kill her for doing it.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
Not that it matters; it's almost over anyway. Aiden knew the signs: kisses taste different. Her body reacts as if he's a stranger. Sex becomes a chore. The sheen there in the beginning is now gone. Body chemistry is a good indication of how someone really feels and he has been around enough times to know. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
<i>Where is she?</i> Piss first, answer questions later. Aiming for the center he's certain that any moment she will roam by and disappear into the bedroom. The last drop hits the inner bowl. Not happening.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
<i>Reach under the sink. Pull out the gun with the silencer</i>. Either he's going to scare the shit outta her or kill someone. Or both.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
Flicking the switch off he walks into the bedroom. No one there. He turns right and heads into the living room.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
Masking his steps he treads lightly across the carpet. It seems almost funny to him, like a scene in a movie where you're watching the guys doing a heist who don't notice the police are watching them do it. It's a lot like that if you subbed in a blond for the bumblers and a half-wake hitman for the cops.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
There in her panties and his white shirt she crouches against the safe, bent down trying to crack it holding a mini-flashlight with her teeth and pacing a stethoscope next to the combination lock. The whole thing is damn hilarious.<br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"> He cocks the hammer behind her head and she nearly jumps. Actually the mini-flashlight drops out of her mouth and she turns as she stands up and seriously looks like she's about to shit a brick.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"> <br />
“Oh my God! It's you!” She puts her hand over her heart to either fake a heart attack or calm her heart down. “What the fuck are you doing sneakin' up on me like that?”<br />
<br />
<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"> “I don't know, babe. What the fuck are you doing trying to crack a safe in the middle of the night?”<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
The words are unimportant because every sentence has that backpedaling sound to it. Every truth nestles itself between two lies and becomes exponential to the point of migraine. An acceptable answer would've been “Re-enacting a scene from 'Starsky and Hutch.'”<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
He keeps the gun pointed and stays a few steps away until she finishes explaining whatever she's saying. Again, more gibberish and not even an acceptable answer. He knows the answer; sometimes, it's just wanting to hear someone say it.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
“How bad, babe?” He has that <i>serious</i> look.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
“I dunno. I mean... I don't know...” She runs her fingers through her hair.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
“Did you think the lucky lotto number was in there?”<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
“Is it? Because that would be...”<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
He raises the gun a little. “Let's talk about Thad.”<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
“I only met the guy once...”<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
“Enough to get you all stopped-up?”<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
She bites her lip and fakes thought. “Well, if Steven had delivered on what he <i>promised</i>, I wouldn't be in this mess! He <i>promised</i> me he had one of the most priceless things ever, and it's...”<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
Aiden shakes his head back and forth. “Not in there, baby.”<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
A moment of silence.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
“Take my shirt off.”<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
She reaches for his arms. He presses the silencer into her chest.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
“No. My shirt. The one you're <i>wearing</i>. <i>Take it off</i>.”<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
She slowly takes off the shirt, letting it drop to the floor. Quickly she grabs her upper arms and holds tight.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
“Walk to the door.”<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
<br />
Her eyes grow big. She doesn't want to believe what he's suggesting.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
“Now!” he snaps in clipped speech.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
Tears stream down her eyes; he doesn't care if she cries all night. She walks to the front door and stops. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
“Open the door and go outside.”<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
Her hand shaking she turns the knob and opens the door. A snap of air hits and a shiver runs through her body. The silencer nudges her lower back.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
“Go down the staircase and across the the parking lot.”<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
“What?!?” She faces him. “I'm fucking freezing!” <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
“I'll give you one second before you imagine the words 'bullet' and 'brain.'”<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
Shivering and pissed, she turns and walks down the staircase to the parking lot. The steps are cold and aren't getting any warmer. Her left foot touching pavement is enough incentive to run across the lot.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
It's a sight for anyone watching from the windows: a guy in boxer shorts with a silencer gun targeting a naked woman in her panties. Aiden gets some amusement out of it.<o:p></o:p></div>Aiden Cobbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05354445410666810830noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4219412649381229018.post-5715802446780014282010-08-17T21:03:00.000-07:002010-08-17T21:03:25.506-07:00Chapter 8 - Bigger Fish<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> “Fuck.”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> Nothing from his handler. <i>Nothing</i>.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> No new job. No assignments. No return e-mails. Nothing.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> He only uses his computer for keeping in contact with his handler and assignment info. That's all. Afterwards he deletes all applicable info.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Why is his handler out of contact? He came back into town to lie low for a bit but now needs an assignment. <i>Something</i> to happen. He needs to get out of town again but that doesn't look to be happening anytime soon.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> Aiden heard the knock on the door and walks over to the peephole. Looking through it Tony stands on the other side, looking both directions to make sure no one else is watching him or paying any attention. In the city hundreds of people could watch something but still not see it. It all matters on the price of an opinion.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> He watches as Tony leans into the door, grabbing the doorknob to jimmy the lock. The lock inside is coerced and he turns the knob.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> “SMACK!” as Aiden pulls the door open with his right hand and smashes Tony with his left.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> Tony flies backwards and hits the walkway ass-first. The downside to not having a sense of hearing? Not being able to listen through the metal door to know that Aiden is waiting on the other side.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> “Whuhthefuck man?!?”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> Aiden stands in the doorway and looks down at the parking lot where two guys, big fuckers, look back up at him. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">He could take them on but a guy like Tony never comes with brute force. <i>He must've brought some company.</i></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> “Get the fuck up, Tony.”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> Tony knows what's said without reading lips. He scrambles over and props himself against the railing. The two guys remain standing there, dark clothing, sunglasses and all, staring up at Aiden. The world suddenly grows cold like he just stepped into an old Western movie.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> Aiden closes the door behind him. Pointing down at Tony he says, “Stay,” before rounding the staircase down to the lot.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> One of the guys, the one on the left, takes out his cellphone and punches a few buttons while keeping his other hand on the gun. <i>These guys are pro, alright</i>. Aiden walks toward him as a limousine pulls up.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> Before the door opens, before the limo even stops, Aiden knows the occupant. Veronica. That's all anybody really knows about her. How she and Tony got acquainted Aiden doesn't understand but he has a hunch.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> The door opens and her legs uncross as her body turns. Aiden soaks it in from her fuck-me heels, up her strong legs, to her French-tipped fingernails, to her smooth arms, and up and down the work of art she is, all wrapped in million-dollar jewelry. A major league player in the drug racket she runs a legit shipping company and messenger service downtown. Whatever she doesn't own she will soon enough as if she bought it yesterday.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> “Would you like to join me, Mister Cobb?” The voice alluring and all-business. And, when you're only other choice is two bodyguards with a few hundred lead-filled buddies and a low-level gopher bleeding on the walkway in front of your apartment, there are worse things; it's just difficult to recall them at a moment's notice.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> “If I must...” He walks around, the two guards watching his every move. He opens the door and steps in, closing it behind. She closes hers as well.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> “Mister Cobb, can I call you Aiden?”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> Trying to butter him up. <i>Sure, why not?</i> He nods.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> “I'm a big fan of your work,” she continues, making it sound like he has an exhibit at the museum. “I feel like I know all about you. Would you care for something to drink?”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> “No thanks. I had a big lunch.”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> She smiles. “I see.” He looks up and down her body again and she doesn't mind; he wants to see what she really wants.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> “I would ask about the shipping and messenger services, but it looks like business is good.”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> “So it is, so it is. Mind if I get to the point?”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> “By all means...”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> “I think you have access to something I want.” A lulling sound in her voice.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> “I'm sure that anything you want you can buy online.” He replies nonchalamtly. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> She gives a wry smile. “That's so under my taste, but I understand what you mean. Let me put it to you this way: I have something you want.”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> The idea of her body crosses his mind, but there would be Hell to pay. He's sure of it. Like an old “Twilight Zone” episode where the guy finds out too late he sold his soul to the Devil.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> “Veronica, what do you think it is that I want?” He uses all his well-learned politesse.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> “I have your handler.”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><i><br />
</i></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> <i>That explains it</i>. He keeps his emotions back.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> “Is that so?”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> “And all you have to do is give me what I want.”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> He turns his focus to the guards outside the window. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> “You have to give me the movie.”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> He turns back to her. “What would a cineaste like you want with a DVD?”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> “Call me sentimental. It was one of my favorite movies.”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> “What's your favorite scene?”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> She leans over and squeezes his leg, slowly working toward his thigh. “The scene where the big bad hitman meets the hot woman in the limo...'”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> It's nothing less than tempting. He wants to fuck her; to taste the fire and feel the world burn around him. Hellfire and brimstone and maniacal laughing would soon come after. He stops her hand from going any further. “That's no good if I'm dead.”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> “I put a hold on your contract.” She leans forward. “That's why no one has collected on it, yet. You get me the disc and I'll let your handler go.”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> “And you broker a deal with Thad that cancels the contract?”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> Looking into her eyes he knows there is no truth in that. His hand reaches over and touches her leg, his fingers slowly traveling up it.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> “How do I know?”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> She moves forward and tugs his ear with her teeth and whispers, “We don't.” She leans back and rests against the door.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> He clears his throat. “I'm gonna have to think about it.”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> “Limited time offer. I'm the only one to redeem it.”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> “If I don't?”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> Her face goes sour. “Then B and E get info on the mysterious hit on Mister Steven Lucas Hitchcock by a very dead and mysterious hitman.”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> Aiden smiles. “Nice doing business with you, Miss Veronica. I'll see myself out.”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> He opens the limo door and steps into the bright light. Both guards are watching him.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> She rolls down her window as he walks back to his apartment. “Consider my offer.”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> He walks up the staircase to his place. Tony winces as Aiden stops at the doorway and unlocks the door. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Stepping inside he slams the door behind.</div><div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"> Veronica lights a cigarette and blows the smoke out the window. The limo pulls out of the parking lot.</div></span></span>Aiden Cobbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05354445410666810830noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4219412649381229018.post-75701732776382360272010-08-09T18:53:00.000-07:002010-08-09T18:53:29.347-07:00Chapter 7 - Discount Dennis<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> Discount Dennis' Army Surplus is a one-story shop in a two-story building Possibility City's downtown sandwiched between other buildings that in the turn-of-the-century housed tobacco or were clothing factories. They now stand in days of forgotten history in danger of becoming a parking lot. Dennis moved there in the Seventies when the population peaked. No one goes downtown anymore and it's everything he can do to pay the bills.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> Aiden got to know Dennis from the get-go of his career. Back then crackpots and wingnuts were few and far between. He would drop by and they would shoot the shit, have a few beers sitting around the back patio, then he would gather some equipment and be off on a new assignment. Since he got back into town he’d been meaning to drop by.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> An overhead cowbell announces Aiden's entrance. Must and dust assault his senses. The place hasn't changed. A few new “shiny, flashy” electronic toys maybe. The right wall showcases surveillance equipment going back to the reel-to-reel. He could swear a CB caked in dust sat at the end of a shelf. Jackets, pants, hats, and any other military clothing jumbles and crowds the clothing racks in the center walkway. To the left a glass case is filled with “Rambo knives”, samurai swords, switchblades, and daggers.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> Cory plods to the front. Aiden watches as this punk in the t with cut-off sleeves and baggy blue jean shorts and brand name tennis shoes walks up to him. The kid couldn’t be more than sixteen and already he has blue flame tattoos on both sides of his neck. <i>Does he think he's some kinda bad-ass or something?</i></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><i><br />
</i></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> “Discount Dennis's Army Surplus. Can I help you?” delivered with a Chicago ‘tude.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> “Who are you?” Aiden's words cut through the kid with knife accuracy.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> Cory stiffens up. “I... I work for Discount Dennis,” he clears his throat. “How can I help you?”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> “Do you have a name, 'Help'?” the words are clear. Precise. Crisp.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> “Eduardo Rodriguez.” He nods his head. He's trying to hold his ground.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> “Well... Felipe Benedito Ramirez, or Jose Carlos Hernandez, or whatever your name is, I want to see Dennis.”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> “Someone givin' ya trouble up there?” a raspy retort comes from the back. Aiden knows that it's Dennis.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> Cory turns around. “This guy...” </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> Aiden cuts him off. “Wants to speak with the proprietor of this establishment.”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> “Proprietor?” The footsteps come closer. “There's only one motherfucker I know who uses fifty-cent words.”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> Dennis approachs from the same hiding place the kid came from. A few inches shorter than Aiden, in his early fifties, with glasses and receding hair his years-of-smoking gravel voice is unmistakable. Aiden holds out his hand and Dennis grabs it, shaking it.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> “How the hell ya doin', boy?” A huge smile on his face showing his yellowed teeth.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> “I'm good.” Aiden smiles back.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> Dennis looks at Cory who steps back to watch the camaraderie. “Don't you have something you should be doing? Get fuckin' gone.”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> He throws up his hands, turns and heads back the direction he came. Dennis returns his attention to Aiden.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> “My sister's kid. Cory. He wanted a job for the summer. I ain't getting’ younger, so I decided to take him on. Now I have to decide between him and the light bill.”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> “Can we talk?”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> “Sure, sure. In the back. Hey Cory!”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> “What?!?” he yells back.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> “Watch the front door, willya? We're goin' out back.”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> “Fine.”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> “Yeah, whatever,” Dennis mumbles. “Follow me.”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> Dennis cuts through the coat racks with ease while Aiden tries not to touch anything. He's particular about not catching fleas or disease. Stopping at a wooden door Dennis unbolts it. He pushes the door open and instantly they are blinded by the outside light.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> The patio's badly painted white table and thin aluminum folding chairs sit in back against the ten-foot wooden fence. Aiden surveys the area before calmly taking a chair and sitting down. Dennis grabs his, sits and lights a cigarette. A long moment of pause as Aiden breathes in heavily.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> “What have you heard?”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> “Nothin' good.” Dennis blows smoke out of his mouth.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> “Like what?”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> “The contract.”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> “Right,” Aiden draws out.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> “No one knows if it’s real or not and it must not be serious 'cause yer still walkin'.” Dennis takes a drag from his cigarette. “Don't they get other professionals to take out professionals?”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> “That's what I don't understand.”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> “Idle threat?”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> “You know Thad never makes an idle threat. He's trying to get my attention.”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> Dennis nods.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> “He has to raise his hand and wait his turn in class.” Aiden replies. Coldly.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> “Shit.” Dennis crushes the cigarette out in an ashtray, “What's this about some movie?”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> “DVD.”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> “That came up. No one knows the name of it. Thad wants it back.”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> Aiden is silent.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> “I take it you got it?”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> Aiden nods.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> “I heard your buddy is missing a face.”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> Aiden looks away. <i>Now is not the time to deal with it.</i></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> “That's all I know.”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> Aiden turns right, gazing off into the background. <i>Nothing happening on the river today.</i></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> Aiden takes a deep breath.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> “Bridgette?”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> “He found out.”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> “Would anyone have believed him?”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> “It doesn’t matter.”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> Dennis pulls another cigarette from the pack. He's down to five. He lights it and looks at Aiden.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> “Helluva thing to do, Aiden.”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> “I didn’t make the decision lightly.” He is precise on these words. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> “I'm sure.”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> Dennis sits and smokes. Aiden sits in his own thoughts. The cigarette burns down to the filter.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> “Bridgette. She’s stopped-up.”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><i><br />
</i></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> <i>This is news</i>. “How?”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> “Fuck Aiden, I ain't her accountant and even if I was I wouldn't a done what she did?”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> “What did she do?” The sentence very <i>cool</i>.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> “A while back she got in over her head on something. Some say student loan bullshit, but you one of them…” </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">He began waving his hand in a circle.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> “Deferrals,” Aiden calmly replies.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> “Yeah. You can get one of them deferrals. So anyways I don't know what she got into but it was pretty bad. Maybe the loan shark she went to liked her because of her tits and ass; I don't know. Anyway, she shacked up with your boy Steven maybe 'cause he kept talkin' 'bout that stupid movie as if it was some pot of gold or somethin'. Anyway I'm thinkin' maybe he let info on you slip to her. There's a contract out on you and yeah, somebody'd have to be stupid to claim it and while she may be smart in some areas, she just might be that stupid.”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> The wheels turn in his head. Was it happenstance that they met at the airport? It isn't looking that way.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> “Now if she gets the movie she can turn you and it in and be square with the loan shark who, of course, works for...”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> “Thad,” Aiden says flatly. Reaching into his pocket he pulls out a slip of paper. “Nephew any good with computers?” He scrawls on it and folds it over.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> “Shit, Aiden. If they had Internet in the womb...”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> Aiden handed the slip of paper to Dennis. “I need you to run this code and find out whatever you can and get back to me.”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> Dennis takes the paper and gazes at it. “Sure thing, Aiden.”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> “Thanks for the talk.” Aiden gets up and leaves.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> “Anytime, man. Next time we'll grill out.”</div><div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> Aiden opens the door and disappears into the surplus store.</div>Aiden Cobbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05354445410666810830noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4219412649381229018.post-46389301416226819042010-08-03T20:57:00.001-07:002010-08-03T21:02:18.197-07:00Chapter 6 - B and E<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> Aiden stands up to leave his apartment. There's shit that needs to be done. Looking down on the lot he spots two assholes sitting in a mid-sized car.</div><div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><i>B and E</i>, he mutters. </div><div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">Bensinger and Elliot, or B&E as the neighborhood collective call them. White, in their forties, and forget Pilates they didn't know shit about being physically fit but they do know all the dealers, bangers, pushers, and all-purpose shitkickers in the hood and how to control them. Elliot is the ever-faithful sidekick; the Tonto to Bensinger's Lone Ranger. If not for Bensinger, Elliot would've been kicked off the force eons ago but the two were pals; buddies. They cook out, share family holidays, the works. What are partners for?</div><div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">Bensinger. In the <i>Who's Who of Crooked Cops </i><span style="font-style: normal;">he's</span><i> </i>somewhere close to the first page. The guy could show up in a courtroom, point at the criminal and demand the death penalty. The jury would automatically believe him. Somewhere someone is constructing a case against him that would level and call into question each and every case he ever touched. For the moment he is clean.</div><div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">Aiden winds down the staircase and to his nondescript maroon Eighties Chevy Cavalier. Everyone owns one and there are a lot of them driving around.</div><div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">B&E open their car doors and the two hulking mastodons pound the pavement toward him. What they want Aiden doesn't know. Coolly he reaches into his pocket for his keys and stops.</div><div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">“Can I help you, gentlemen?”</div><div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">Bensinger, the one on the right and two inches taller than his partner, eases over.</div><div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">“Just a moment of your time, Mister Cobb.”</div><div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">“I'm really busy, gentlemen.” Aiden tries turning away. It's difficult for him to look away from Bensinger's ugly, fat, white tie with green stripes </div><div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">“Do you know Steven Lucas Hitchcock?” Elliot approaches Aiden from the other side.</div><div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">“I may have heard the name.” He stares at his reflection in the window.</div><div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">“Your buddy was found dead, missin' half his face,” Bensinger rubs in.</div><div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">“He wasn't my buddy. I said I may have heard the name. That's all.”</div><div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">He begins to pull the keys out of his pocket. For every action there is a B&E reaction. Which means having his face smacked against the windshield and keeping his cool. </div><div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">“Is that a concealed weapon, Aiden?” Bensinger's lips an inch shy of Aiden's ears.</div><div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">Prying his lips from the windshield: “Are we on a first name basis, Jack?”</div><div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">Bensinger grabs Aiden's hair and smacks his head against the windshield again. He tightens his mouth. “Call me Jack again. Just one more time.”</div><div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">“What do you want?” Aiden spits out through gritted teeth.</div><div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">“Word on the street is that your boy got killed over a fuckin' movie.”</div><div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">“A fuckin' movie?” It surprises the hell out of Elliot, who thought he had heard <i>everything</i>.</div><div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">Bensinger turns to Elliot. “Do me a favor and shut the fuck up, willya Robert?”</div><div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">“Sorry.” He takes a step back.</div><div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">“Thad is lookin' for the movie and I'm thinkin'... what would Aiden do?”</div><div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">“Nice to know you put me before Jesus,” Aiden says through gritted teeth.</div><div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">“Jesus wasn't no killer for hire.” Bensinger leans into him.</div><div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">“You didn' say he was no hitman.” Elliot now glares in shock.</div><div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">Bensinger turns to Elliot. “Robert. <i>Please</i>. Shut the <i>fuck</i> up!” He returns his attention to Aiden, still gripping his hair. “Now Aiden, do you know about this movie Thad is lookin' for?”</div><div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">“Nope. I don't even Redbox.”</div><div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">Bensinger takes Aiden by the shirt, swings him around and throws him forward. Aiden hits the concrete in front of his car. It sounds worse than it looks. Bensinger readjusts his jacket.</div><div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">“If you find out anything, you know where to find me.”</div><div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">B&E walk to their car and get in. Immediately, they take off.</div><div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">Aiden peels himself off the pavement. He pats his arms and clothes, dusting himself off.</div><div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">“Fuckin' crooked cops.”</div>Aiden Cobbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05354445410666810830noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4219412649381229018.post-27857352069387574342010-07-27T20:53:00.000-07:002010-08-03T20:56:21.249-07:00Chapter 5 - TonyFlinching and being surprised are two traits Aiden had drilled out of himself. Things happen or things don't happen. Be ready for death but live life. Easy enough.<br />
<br />
<br />
The apartment door is cracked open and he doesn't care. In his line of work if you're going to be killed, they fuckin' kill ya. There's no Hollywood prelude where the next two hours are spent trying to reverse that decision.<br />
<br />
Tony “Tone Def” Stern's ass pokes out from behind the fridge door. He's rooting for something to eat in the land of condiments. Aiden half-heartedly wishes him luck with that.<br />
<br />
Tony has a hawkish-look; thin build, hook nose, dark eyes, sullen face, and dirty skin. His clothing is mismatched: tennis shoes, tan polyester pants, green and white-striped alligator shirt and thin, blue corduroy jacket.<br />
<br />
Tony got his nickname from the fact that he really is deaf. He wasn't always that way. Back in his early twenties Tony had been a smooth operator in the drug trade. Problems came when he crossed Thadeous Brown, a black gangster with enough attitude to serve a cellblock with room for dessert. <br />
<br />
Two of Thad's thugs rounded Tony up and handcuffed him to a telephone pole in the middle of East Moses Nowhere. Next the goons took opposite sides and unloaded he didn't know how many clips of ammo but they shot 'em into the air, holding the gun barrels by his ears.<br />
<br />
Most guys probably would've given up and given in after that. Not Tony though Aiden couldn't put together why. He changed his career title to “gopher,” doing whatever for whoever for the money. On occasion Aiden would imagine himself in that scenario: what he would do, how he would do it. Never for very long.<br />
<br />
“Aiden! Business slow?”<br />
<br />
“Nah. None of my assignments happen at a grocery store.” Aiden walks through the entrance and paces toward his black leather couch. <br />
<br />
“Funny.” His voice always sounds off. “Funny guy. Speaking of, did you hear about..”<br />
<br />
“Steven. Yeah.”<br />
<br />
Tony kicks the fridge door shut with half a pack of crackers and half a log of summer sausage in his hands. “Someone just told me.”<br />
<br />
“News travels.”<br />
<br />
“Did you do it? I mean, I don't care. He's your friend and all.” <br />
<br />
Aiden pulls his gun out and lays it on the end table next to the leather couch. It was the one apartment luxury he afforded himself.<br />
<br />
“Outside of food what do you want?”<br />
<br />
“He had something of interest.” Tony walks toward the couch.<br />
<br />
“What type of interest?”<br />
<br />
“Let's say... I could get Thad off your back.” He's smiling, like he's holding the biggest secret in the world and plans to dangle that fact over Aiden. Aiden is smarter than that.<br />
<br />
Tony sits on the opposite sides of the couch, lowering himself into it. The sound from the cushions is loud.<br />
<br />
“He had something Thad wants. Thad wants you dead. If you have what he wants...”<br />
<br />
“Isn't it early to be brokering a deal?” he says wryly.<br />
<br />
“Not in my line of work.”<br />
<br />
True. Very true.<br />
<br />
“What is it that Mister Brown is looking for?” Aiden smoothly asks, acting nonchalant.<br />
<br />
“A movie.”<br />
<br />
Bingo. The out-of-print blood-smeared DVD, now conveniently hiding in his glove compartment.<br />
<br />
“Thad likes movies?”<br />
<br />
“Thad likes money.”<br />
<br />
“What does Thad want with the DVD? What's so important that's on it?”<br />
<br />
Tony shrugs. He stuffs crackers into his mouth and chews loudly.<br />
<br />
“Ah...” Aiden sat back. “Tell him that I don't know what the fuck he's talking about.”<br />
<br />
“Is that your final answer?” It's muffled but Aiden gets the gist.<br />
<br />
“With sugar on top.”<br />
<br />
“Thad's not going to like it.”<br />
<br />
Aiden bobs his head side-to-side in a way that said, <i>well, whooped-dee-doo</i>. “The feeling's mutual.” <br />
<br />
Tony jumps up. “I'll tell him I didn't see you. Consider us 'even.'”<br />
<br />
“Awfully big favor for some crackers and summer sausage.”<br />
<br />
“I also ate up all your yogurt.”<br />
<br />
Dammit. “I <i>knew </i>it was someone. Feel free to let yourself out.”<br />
<br />
He turns and walks out of the apartment.<br />
<br />
“Don't let the door hit ya on the way out.”<br />
<br />
“I heard that!” he shouts, his footsteps and voice echoing off the staircase.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7VlG3P7HTMd638KJCdEA0ZutYnyipZbwuju1VpArL5zS4YZbjh_m4OswXKXSog1OFTU1UF9J9o9qI-UNHa1w7ep_MyqxficgFPAYz4hKEN4h6tpu16-EiboPJihgiZgVIjKVV_-TE9SQb/s1600/Week+5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7VlG3P7HTMd638KJCdEA0ZutYnyipZbwuju1VpArL5zS4YZbjh_m4OswXKXSog1OFTU1UF9J9o9qI-UNHa1w7ep_MyqxficgFPAYz4hKEN4h6tpu16-EiboPJihgiZgVIjKVV_-TE9SQb/s320/Week+5.jpg" /></a></div>Aiden Cobbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05354445410666810830noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4219412649381229018.post-63825230540512105162010-07-20T19:09:00.000-07:002010-07-20T19:09:52.729-07:00Chapter 4 - What He Told HerDolphins. That's her theme. Some women decorate the walls with unicorns or horses. Some women plaster their places with pictures of cats and kitties. Not Bridgette; she loves dolphins. Amusing to see and funny if you realize she has at least twenty cans of tuna in the cabinet.<br />
<br />
<br />
Aiden sits at the table and looks around. He's on round four of counting all the dolphin pictures and figurines in plain sight. Yep, twenty-five.<br />
<br />
A popping sound comes from the kitchen. She's now wearing his white long-sleeve shirt but has also put on a pair of gray sweats and is now making breakfast. When she asks him what type of eggs he wants for breakfast he always answers, “Scrambled.” That's all she knows how to cook. He once asked for over-easy and since then came to the realization that scrambled eggs were good enough.<br />
<br />
“So what were you doing at three a.m.?”<br />
<br />
He hates that; the fact that women always ask the questions that they already knew the answer to. “Do I look fat in these pants?” “How do I look compared to her?” “Do you love me?” In some alternate universe, “Shit, I'm with you, aren't I?” is an acceptable answer. Not in this one.<br />
<br />
She wants to know if he had killed Steven. And then she doesn't. If he didn't she would want to know why not and if he did, she would want to know why. Details either way are less warranted.<br />
<br />
“I just missed you, babe.”<br />
<br />
Simple. Easy. True enough.<br />
<br />
She scrapes the eggs out of the pan onto his plate, walking over and placing it in front of him. Aiden picks up his fork and she kisses him on the forehead.<br />
<br />
“I really missed you, too.”<br />
<br />
He starts eating and she goes into the kitchen, coming back with two glasses of orange juice and sets one in front of him. Walking over to the opposite side she sits and watches.<br />
<br />
He stops and looks up at her. “Are you eating?”<br />
<br />
“I'll warm up a bagel in a few minutes.” Clasping her hands together she smiles.<br />
<br />
“Hmmm.” He returns to eating. In some situations, in heightened paranoia, he would stop eating altogether because whatever he ingested would have poison in it. He's dead certain she isn't that crafty; he has to be.<br />
<br />
Reaching across the table she strokes his hand. “Wanna talk about it.”<br />
<br />
He stops again. He wants to say, “It was fucking senseless,” but it that turned to, “There's nothing to talk about.” Grabbing the glass of juice he tilts his head back and washes down the eggs.<br />
<br />
“Are you sure?” Her hand retracts.<br />
<br />
Grabbing a tablecloth he wipes his mouth “I went in. He was freaking out.”<br />
<br />
“About us?”<br />
<br />
“No.” He stares down at the plate in front of him.<br />
<br />
She sits back for a moment, then leans forward.<br />
<br />
“About what?” She's now looks curious. Intrigued.<br />
<br />
“He picked up this Criterion, whatever, out-of-print master copy of some obscure movie. He didn't realize it was hot.”<br />
<br />
“Hot?”<br />
<br />
“Someone took it from Thad.”<br />
<br />
“Who's Thad?”<br />
<br />
“Or what is Thad. Big, black, mean as fuck gangster. I'm numbero uno on his hit list right now.”<br />
<br />
“What did you do?” She sits back again, the chair making a sound.<br />
<br />
“Long story. Steven found out the he was numbero dos and there was a hit out on him.”<br />
<br />
“Why would they want to kill Steven?” <br />
<br />
“We all gotta die, baby. It's just a matter of when and how. He screamed and pitched a fit when I told him. After that things got worse.” <br />
<br />
Silence. She only sits there.<br />
<br />
“I scored a deal with Thad. If I got him the DVD and killed Steven, all debts are clear.”<br />
<br />
She slumps in her chair. He doesn't know if this is what she wanted. Or maybe she had thought she wanted it and the realization is just beginning to sink in and buddy, the Titanic went down with more grace. <br />
<br />
Looking into her eyes the dam of tears is about to crack. No doubt the water would come rushing. He could play this two ways...<br />
<br />
Jolting up he pushes the chair back and walks over to her. She looks up as he takes his right hand and caresses the left side of her face. Her eyes close and tears run down her face. There's a shudder in her breath as his fingers touch her face and slowly move to her neck. Aiden hears her small gasp for air and can feel her heart quicken. Raising her head he kisses her on the lips.<br />
<br />
“Baby, baby, baby. It's okay. Alright?”<br />
<br />
“Yeah,” she whimpers so low Aiden can barely hear her.<br />
<br />
“It's okay, baby. Alright?” Moving his thumb across her tears he wipes them away.<br />
<br />
“Yes,” she sniffles.<br />
<br />
He moves down to kiss her again and she closes her eyes. This kiss lasts longer as her teeth pull at his bottom lip.<br />
<br />
Letting the moment fade he pulls back, walking to the front door.<br />
<br />
She watches for a moment. Hearing the lock turn she jumps up she runs over to him.<br />
<br />
“Do you have to go?”<br />
<br />
“Yeah,” he says in that way that says he has stuff to do that he doesn't want to. “I need to see a man about a DVD.”<br />
<br />
She looks up into his, him down into hers. Burying her head into his chest, she tightly hugs him.<br />
<br />
“I'm sorry,” she says through sniffling. “I'm just confused.”<br />
<br />
“Yeah, baby. I have to go.”<br />
<br />
She looks up at him again. “Promise me you'll be back.”<br />
<br />
“Before you know it.” He smiles.<br />
<br />
He bends forward and kisses her lips. They were two of the best but the electricity felt flat.<br />
<br />
Opening the door he walks out, leaving her standing in the doorway. She slowly closes it.<br />
<br />
Racing over to her purse she pulls out her cellphone. She texts someone. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu1yF4LN43y8s1zBeNPfDpjsMx-04PiYQYUCyK8rniglTCRvKPnE-CXhPqQ4vngSmyWnbXt6TwG_6QDMGDZ3o7g7h4mpbSSwMqskwy5gRALIrqyR_ETm6RaeWcNo2N1u661nN9N_RmgzEX/s1600/Week+4_c_edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" hw="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu1yF4LN43y8s1zBeNPfDpjsMx-04PiYQYUCyK8rniglTCRvKPnE-CXhPqQ4vngSmyWnbXt6TwG_6QDMGDZ3o7g7h4mpbSSwMqskwy5gRALIrqyR_ETm6RaeWcNo2N1u661nN9N_RmgzEX/s320/Week+4_c_edit.jpg" /></a></div>Aiden Cobbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05354445410666810830noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4219412649381229018.post-42862653113907536402010-07-13T21:14:00.000-07:002010-07-13T21:15:27.627-07:00Chapter 3 - Price of Refuge, Part OneSteven knew. Aiden knew that. Now all that's left is a lifeless body and a life sans a decent guy and a gaping black hole for what happened.<br />
<br />
<br />
It’s not that Aiden didn’t cheat or hadn’t been cheated on; it's just that it never became personal. He didn’t know until it too late who was being cheated on, which broke some unwritten guy rule. Guys who did that had to look up to see the gutter. Aiden wasn’t comfortable with that feeling. Either Bridgette was oblivious to the rules or didn’t give a fuck about them. Probably both.<br />
<br />
Life goes cinema when you can look back and say, “That should be in a movie,” or hell, you repeat the script word-for-word. On a Saturday night at Steven’s place the pick was some old black and white film. His conversation excited, his hands flew everywhere while he talked; Aiden could correctly apply the term “gesticulation” to Steven. The intro could be summed-up this way: Kubrick, black and white, heist, racetrack, and Sterling Hayden.<br />
<br />
In a moment he saw those eyes; the eyes that know something is going on. Ones that try burning a hole through you as if to say, <em>I know. I know it’s you, you piece of dogshit.</em> <em>I will fuckin’ murder you.</em> Not that they ever do but if looks could kill Aiden would’ve been done in sometime during high school.<br />
<br />
Steven stood in front of the widescreen TV talking about various aspects of how the movie was made and what Kubrick was thinking ad nauseum. Aiden sat in the chair to the right of where Steven would be sitting taking it in calmly; he had to play it cool. Bridgette, while far from being an Oscar-winning actress, made herself pretend as much as she needed to show. In the crosshair of glances and stares Aiden just sat and let the show play out until the final frame <em>fwapped</em> on this story’s projector reel.Aiden Cobbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05354445410666810830noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4219412649381229018.post-44220924181448476532010-07-07T05:12:00.000-07:002010-07-07T05:12:09.937-07:00Chapter 2 - BridgetteAiden opens his eyes and doesn't remember what the hell happened the day or night before, but knows there should be receipts for it. Rubbing his face and trying to wake up he realizes the sheets he's lying on are nice. Really nice. Which means that this isn't his place.<br />
<br />
<br />
Bridgette. Before he could turn over the comforter is pulled off of him while she gives one of those satisfied sounds. She smiles and bunches the satin pillow under her blond head.<br />
<br />
An invisible icepick continues to stab the back of his mind and he doesn't know why. Something inside says that he shouldn't be there. But the sex is great and last night that chick went for broke.<br />
<br />
Bridgette. Aiden couldn't recall how much longer Steven knew her than him but he knew them separately. Not until after their third time together did he find out that she was cheating on him. By that time the voice of reason got sealed in a locker and dropped to the bottom of the Marinara Trench.<br />
<br />
She is stacked for a librarian. Kids librarian. Not the prudish, pent-up with a pencil holding the weave of her brunette hair librarian but the kind of chick you'd find on an episode of Babewatch. The kind of chick that clothes wear to make themselves look good. The kind of chick that God himself takes envy on sitting in a bar somewhere knocking a few back and bragging, “I fuckin' made that!”<br />
<br />
Maybe Steven had mentioned her. The first time Bridgette mentioned him she cuddled beside Aiden and talked about Steven's awkwardness; the fact that his eyes weren't so much talking to hers as they had sunk into the crevice of her cleavage. Aiden laughed. “Yeah, that's Steven.”<br />
<br />
They first met at the Possibility City International Airport which is about as international as a continental breakfast is continental. Which is to say not at all, unless the breakfast in Pango Pango has bagels, dried malt cereal, mini-muffuns, coffee, and Orange Passion Guava to drink. Sitting at the gate he thumbed through his default novel, “Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance,” because all the new stuff was crap. The gate area looked as desolate as the loneliest plain in Nebraska so when she walked by in her black high heels, low-cut white blouse and tight black skirt he'd have to be dead not to notice her. When she sat across from him and crossed her legs with scissor-precision...<br />
<br />
“Enjoying the book?” she said in that sweet, low voice. He could make love to that voice.<br />
<br />
“Yeah, until I realized there were no pictures.” <br />
<br />
He smiled. She laughed. It all starts simple enough.<br />
<br />
Now she lies beside him and seems happy. Content.<br />
<br />
“What's the matter?” Her voice almost a whisper, but happy.<br />
<br />
“I... was thinking breakfast.”<br />
<br />
“Hmmm...” she rolls over and faces him, touching his arm. “In bed?”<br />
<br />
“I figured we would fly to Aruba, book a nice hotel and look down at the beach.” <br />
<br />
“I would need to get dressed first.” She smiles. <br />
<br />
That momentary pause when anything could happen. She bolts up. He looks into her eyes. “Stay here for a moment.”<br />
<br />
He watches her naked body slide off the bed and disappear into the bathroom, the door closing behind. Her heart-shaped ass a commodity; one of the best.<br />
<br />
Lying in the bed nothing pops in his head. Searching for something; some clue as to what went down. All circuits are busy.<br />
<br />
She swings the door open and his concentration breaks. She's naked except his black tie that's touching her perky, globe-shaped tits. <br />
<br />
“Morning sex first?” she smiles and climbs into bed, straddling him and dangling the tie over his mouth. He bites the tie, tugging on it.<br />
<br />
“Why not? I'm always up for an appetizer.”Aiden Cobbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05354445410666810830noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4219412649381229018.post-46086378038022965932010-06-30T21:57:00.000-07:002010-06-30T22:01:49.612-07:00Chapter 1 - The Big AdiosSenseless. Fucking senseless. He stares at the crashing waves.<br />
<br />
The memory of standing on the Seal Beach pier is the only thing he can concentrate on. It moves around the frontal lobe like the guy who didn't get the memo that the party has been canceled. He could see the green water below and remembers casting the crap in his head into it, letting the sound soothe and wash it all away.<br />
<br />
Tonight’s story is different. Tonight the sea is dark and the moon looms unusually large and full like someone had cut it from a full-page magazine and plastered it against the black background of sporadic, pinhole stars. Tonight the path back to the house is even longer.<br />
<br />
There’s a dead weight hanging inside his chest. He didn't want to kill Steven and hadn't planned on it.<br />
<br />
Usually on these nights he would drop by, watch a movie on that beautiful wall-sized plasma TV, have a few beers, shoot the shit for a bit, and then go home to sleep it off. Tonight strayed far from schedule and now there's a cave of bloody mush where his Steven's face had been. He didn't plan on spending the evening this way.<br />
<br />
From the daze he remembers looking at the TV, muttering “Goddamit,” and walking down to the edge of the beach. There's nothing else that he could fucking do.<br />
<br />
Steven was a friend. Not his best friend, because he didn't have any of those, but a good friend. Being with her fucked everything up and more than changed the group dynamic. Those days were dead and gone.<br />
<br />
Gripping the nine millimeter in his left hand he's pissed to the highest point of pissitivity. His forefinger repeatedly touches the trigger and he wants to kill something. Or somebody. The whole thing is rotten. And senseless.<br />
<br />
With his black hair, dark complexion, and dark clothing his silhouette is a fixed shadow on the beach. Standing there he continues watching the waves.<br />
<br />
Fuckin' reflex, he tells himself. He's not a believer in blind rage or blacking out or whatever some shit sitting on the witness stand with enough money to get out of killing somebody can come up with. No clinical shrinks to second-guess what he had been trained to do; what he taught himself to do.<br />
<br />
His mind races back to touching the door. Did he cover his tracks? He used his coat to open the sliding glass door that led to the beach but that's all he could remember. <br />
<br />
Water encroaching, his black loafers sinking into the sand: time to get back to the house. Not that he wants to and there's no telling if or when the cops will show. He trudges up the beach in anger and determination. His friend’s ticket just got punched and damned if someone isn't heading for the Big Adios.<br />
<br />
Returning to the living room he glowers at the crime scene. He hates to look left but does so anyway.<br />
<br />
Black cherry syrup dripping down a sundae: that's what it looks like. The rivers of blood snaking down Steven's body run over his “Creature from the Black Lagoon” tee and onto the beige couch.<br />
<br />
Turning to the TV he stares at the splatter pattern surrounding the spider web cracks with bullethole centerpiece. Then his reflection to the right. Not pretty.<br />
<br />
Sitting on the end table under Steven's hand the object of at least half the trouble stares back at him: a DVD. Its plastic cover is suffused with blood, bone, and brain droppings in no particular pattern of clumps. Briskly walking into the kitchen he rips a paper towel from its holder and cleans the DVD's plastic cover. <br />
<br />
They were supposed to watch it, some long-lost and thought to be held by only the greatest and wealthiest of collectors. Out-of-print and with a hefty price tag on eBay, Steven painstakingly had coughed up the cash for it. What Steven didn't know, and his “friend” reluctantly told him, is that a mean as fuck gangster named Thad is looking for it. At that point Mr. Movie lost what little composure he had and went “emotionally kerblooey.” <i>One less movie nerd in the world...</i><br />
<br />
Back inside his car he slides the key into the ignition and the lights pop on. Grabbing the gearshift he yanks it into reverse, slowly backing out of the driveway and turning toward the main road. Reaching into his pocket he pops out his cellphone and blindly dials a number. Her voice, in dreamy confusion, answers.<br />
<br />
“Yeah, whatcha doin'?” he softly says.Aiden Cobbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05354445410666810830noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4219412649381229018.post-55169698086726989472010-06-28T18:58:00.000-07:002010-06-28T19:00:15.927-07:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIFTO-9neXYKD7V9ki1KlnGH8AO0l1NWVhzrrjBkW5KKjer95TyAKf7gf96cW_5OMIBGLp7RRGYY9Y6HNPzpnNIvXbdPU1MUq_dlNsoNhUltDdgljP7s2hVQO4KYlUAlxLKqrpr3y5lWFQ/s1600/Big+Adios+Cover+Art+-+collab.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 248px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIFTO-9neXYKD7V9ki1KlnGH8AO0l1NWVhzrrjBkW5KKjer95TyAKf7gf96cW_5OMIBGLp7RRGYY9Y6HNPzpnNIvXbdPU1MUq_dlNsoNhUltDdgljP7s2hVQO4KYlUAlxLKqrpr3y5lWFQ/s400/Big+Adios+Cover+Art+-+collab.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5488009351353201922" /></a>Aiden Cobbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05354445410666810830noreply@blogger.com1