Tuesday, November 20, 2018

Assassin Retired


However once upon a time I was the 3rd most sought after assassin in the world.
Only John T “The Gentleman” Morgan and Clifford “Sudden Death” Belchere have more confirmed hits.
 I am a big fan of “The Gentleman”.
Morgan is an old school artist.
I really admire his work.
 I am not as much a fan of the Haitian.
Oh he will definitely put down his target, but I think he lacks finesse.
Not to mention the hit that incapacitated me; that motherfucker finished it.
It should have been an easy elimination.
No muss no fuss, no struggle.
A freaking televangelist. The television preacher supposedly only had his church members working security, so I have no idea why the chief of security was so good.
I had blended into the crowd for the Sunday service, the client asked that the hit be messy and public. I planned on killing the charlatan as he preached “The Word” right on National Television.  I played the role of a cripple flawlessly my blades tucked into my cane.
I rose with the congregation in song. I waited for the fat showman to ask for people to come down to be prayed for.  I had mapped my escape, I planned on putting my 9 inch blade into his heart and being out of the sanctuary before anyone noticed.
The large bald man at the preacher’s side, seemed to know that something was off about me.  I have never seen a man that large move that quickly before.
I was disarmed and the big bastard had cut the nerves in my arms and legs leaving me flopping on the floor. The cameras that had just been focused on the “Reverend Doctor” were now focused on me trying to rise off the obnoxious purple carpet in vain.
Me, Joaquin “Espectro” Cardenas! Thirty seven flawless kills.  Flopping around atop his churches emblem I have seen myself on cable news at least a thousand times since. My fellow inmates at The Federal Correctional Institution in Marianna Florida tease me about it.
The doctors have sewn my nerves back together but I won’t ever be able to do the fine detailed knife work that I once did at will.
My walk is very distinctive now. I doubt that I qualify as “the Spirit” anymore I couldn’t sneak out of an earthquake.
Fortunately, my attorney has convinced the judge that I was just a crazed fan.  I won’t be in prison long. I have money saved and hidden all over the planet.
Three more years. Actually 38 months.
38 months and I will be back on the street. The first thing I am going to do is find that head of Security and put him down.
It’s the only thing I live for, I fight hard to gain my strength again my physical therapist says he’s never seen anyone so determined before.
If only he knew. I exercise long after my session is over I pull myself up on the bars on the recreation yard over and over despite the agony that each move floods me with.
My people will locate the former Security Chief, and whenever I return to the street, his days will be limited.
I don’t really ever have to work again.
I have always been frugal, even though my fees have made me a very wealthy man.
Prison is full of braggarts. A bunch of losers who think that they shouldn’t have lost. I listen to my fellow prisoners. I pretend that I don’t understand a lot of the conversations here. I wonder how the Russians would react if they knew that I understood all of the things they say in my earshot, or the Chinese, or the Koreans. I speak 22 languages, but it’s easy to convince everyone that I am a simple minded Mexican who was fascinated with the preacher.
I saw the way that the Haitian butchered the television minister. Even I have to admit it was a thing of beauty. Impalement on the neon cross of the Sanctuary.  Nice one Belchere nice one.
My arms have gotten stronger, I am tempted to start a fight just to see if I am still as lethal as before. I bid my time.
It’s prison after all and someone is bound to do something that earns them a one-way ticket to the land of the dead.
I had a visit today.
A visit from one of the last people I would have expected. Death himself.
The Haitian somehow got in as my new head shrink, I can’t help it, I’m starting to like him.
I can’t believe he offered to take out the Security chief for me. Simply out of mutual respect, yeah the Haitian has more class than I gave him credit for.
I won’t be needing his help.
Even if the bodyguard kills me, I will die the way that I want. Facing an enemy who is actually good enough to kill me. What more could anyone in my field ask for? Violent people tend to die by violence. I have always suspected that I would die at the hands of a foe. The guard seems like a worthy one. Even that Haitian phantom respected the bodyguard’s prowess.
19 months. I am stronger than before my injury.  My arms and legs feel like they are made of the same brick and metal of the penitentiary.
I have killed. The Aryan Nation is down two of its shot callers.  My client was the son of a very wealthy actress.
The Aryan’s sodomized him. I don’t feel sorry for him. He should have been tougher.
Money, is money though.
Money dictates that the racists die.
That is all that matters to me.
I’m trying not to make this about revenge. I am trying to find any other excuse for killing the late Reverend’s bodyguard. I have never killed anyone for personal reasons before. I guess there is a first time for everything.
10 months. I have located the bodyguard, he lives outside of Atlanta a small town called Hiram.
His record seems underwhelming. Former Marine, former boxer, former prisoner, nothing says that he should be good enough to have presented a challenge to two of the most formidable death dealers in the business.
5 months. My sources tell me that the bodyguard has left Hiram. He is now working for a Saudi Prince? Something in the milk is unclean. Maybe I need to reconsider.
I am free.
The bald man is in my sights.
As soon as take off the safety it seems like he is looking in my scope.
He disappears from view.
I’m breaking down my rifle when I hear a deep bass voice.
“You should let it go. If I had wanted the damage to be permanent it would have been.”
Yeah, either this guy is amazingly good or I have lost a step either way. I am retiring.






Thursday, November 8, 2018

Cuss Words

When I was a kid I spent most of my days running and playing in the woods behind my house.
I could, would, and did stay in those woods for hours.
I also loved a good book. One of my favorites was The Three Musketeers.
I didn't have a lot of friends at that time, but the story of such endearing and lasting friendships touched me.
I practiced my sword many days in those woods, I probably had slain every tree in a few miles radius.
I had just been punished for my recent watermelon caper.
I didn't tell you that story?
 Alright, so next time I am going to tell you how a dog snitched on me in the watermelon caper. Tonight I am going to tell about and the first and last time I cussed at my daddy.
I had a few shows that I liked on television series like Star Trek and Buck Rogers in the 25th century.
One day I found out that coming to television was something truly worth watching. The timeless story of The Three Musketeers.
Now, in my household opportunities to watch television were few and far between.
We had two religious events outside of our house each week, at least one at our house and on those days no television.
I knew that if a show was on one of those nights I was not going to see it. I didn't complain about that. There was no point complaining anyway, that was like complaining about the sun being in the sky.
As a result, I rarely got excited about anything that was in the T.V. guide.
I knew from personal experience that playing sick wasn't wise.
So when I discovered that the movie was coming on, that Saturday.
I got excited. Very excited.
That Saturday I was snuggled into the carpet ready for my show.
Suddenly my Father says in that, Clint Eastwood, Morgan Freeman voice. "Everybody get dressed we're going to town."
The hell are we going to town for?" I  wondered.  Town held no appeal for me at the best of times. 
I really didn't want to go that day.
My Father was not the type of man that you questioned. 
Throwing on my husky jeans a generic polo I thought, about how I didn't ask for much. 
I did whatever my parents asked and I hadn't poached watermelons in months!
My siblings and I hustled into my family's Caprice Classic.
We hadn't gotten far when my dad asked the car as a whole car; "Is everybody happy back there?"
My brother and sister sensibility replied yes, not me, I said, "No!" with all the venom and bass I could generate.
My father adjusted his rearview mirror so that he was looking directly at me.
"I said is everybody happy back there?"
His tone remained even but I knew he was angry.
I matched his anger. "And I said NO!" He didn't seem to be getting my point so I needed to impress upon him how much this meant to me, so I decided to give him the few cuss words I knew. I had no skill at cussing at the time so I just gave him my best three.
 "Shit, Damn, Ass!"
 In case he hadn't heard me the first time I repeated it, again and again, getting louder each time. "SHIT, DAMN, ASS!"
As my curses reached their loudest my father calmly pulled to the side of the road and beat the shit out of my damn ass. That whipping made me not want to ever watch the three musketeers, and I have not since.
No matter how many versions have come out. 

Abduction

It's hot in here.  Stifling. Suffocating. Dark.  Almost hope they come beat me again, just so that I can get out of the trunk.  They do....