![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Page 4
To show I didn’t care, I shot him in the head. He wasn’t responsible, but I didn’t really care. Killing him had always been a goal of mine, and I hadn’t been able to get him sent to jail. That said, I’d surely get in trouble for what I had done here. I might have given a fuck if I wasn’t basically a corpse already. I smiled, and left the private dining hall, surveying the rest of the restaurants patrons. Was there anyone else here I’d always wanted killed? I frowned, disappointed. No, none of the other people I really didn’t like were here, how disappointing. I finally have the chance to kill anyone that I want to kill, and the only one who I have at hand is Stan. Such a pity, such a waste of a perfect opportunity.
I walked to 11th and 23rd, making only a pathetic attempt to hide the crossbow in my trench coat. Come on, coppers, try and stop me, I thought to myself. Killing cops was bad for business, like I gave a fuck right now. No one tried to stop me, and the part of my brain that had lived as a fairly regular guy for the last 20 years was happy for it, but the rest of me was fairly disappointed. This was going to be the most pathetic killing rampage ever, only two guys dead. Briefly pondering the cold blooded murder of innocent, uninvolved civilians, I started climbing the stairs to the 8th floor of the building at 11th and 23rd.
In retrospect, it was certainly one of the easiest jobs I’ve ever done. The building was a shit whole, which meant that even a pussy like me easily kicked the door in with a single blow. The apartment had only one room, and the bed was easily visible from the door. The son of bitch was in his bed, screwing a hooker, when my bolt went through his eye. It occurred to me that I was actually doing the mafia a favor. As Stan said, if this idiot was here instead of in Liberty trying to kill me, then he was in deep shit with them. The hooker was screaming, but I didn’t care. I considered shooting her, too, but it just didn’t seem worth it some how, so I picked up the remains of the door, propped them in place, and left, her screams clearly audible the entire way.
What now, I wondered in a detached fashion. I hadn’t bothered to find out who had hired the now deceased Mace, but my instincts gave me a few clues. I didn’t give a damn if I lived or died, so it seemed like a perfectly reasonable idea to go from potential target, killing each one until one of them or one of their guards successfully took me out. In fact, it sounded kind of fun. Decided, then, on this course of action, I did a much better job of hiding my crossbow as I descended the stairs and headed back out in the street. Many would think that a crossbow would be a difficult thing to hide on a scrawny little guy like me, but it was all about experience and practice, and being willing to walk in such a way that’d blow out your back.
It was much later in the evening, now, when I headed back to the little bar where poor Stan even now lay dead. Deaths were pretty common, there, and his would probably bring out a couple of bigwigs to inspect the scene. There first, then, it was certainly worth looking into.
The cars out front of the little bar told me all that I needed to know. Never had such a seedy street seen so many Mercedes, Jaguars, and BMW’s. Lots of tough looking guys lounged about as well, looking casually dangerous and greatly intimidating all the normal people who went by. Before I could get close, though, there was a tap on my shoulder, and as I turned around to look, a solid fist punched me in the face, sending me sprawling into an ally across the way.
I walked to 11th and 23rd, making only a pathetic attempt to hide the crossbow in my trench coat. Come on, coppers, try and stop me, I thought to myself. Killing cops was bad for business, like I gave a fuck right now. No one tried to stop me, and the part of my brain that had lived as a fairly regular guy for the last 20 years was happy for it, but the rest of me was fairly disappointed. This was going to be the most pathetic killing rampage ever, only two guys dead. Briefly pondering the cold blooded murder of innocent, uninvolved civilians, I started climbing the stairs to the 8th floor of the building at 11th and 23rd.
In retrospect, it was certainly one of the easiest jobs I’ve ever done. The building was a shit whole, which meant that even a pussy like me easily kicked the door in with a single blow. The apartment had only one room, and the bed was easily visible from the door. The son of bitch was in his bed, screwing a hooker, when my bolt went through his eye. It occurred to me that I was actually doing the mafia a favor. As Stan said, if this idiot was here instead of in Liberty trying to kill me, then he was in deep shit with them. The hooker was screaming, but I didn’t care. I considered shooting her, too, but it just didn’t seem worth it some how, so I picked up the remains of the door, propped them in place, and left, her screams clearly audible the entire way.
What now, I wondered in a detached fashion. I hadn’t bothered to find out who had hired the now deceased Mace, but my instincts gave me a few clues. I didn’t give a damn if I lived or died, so it seemed like a perfectly reasonable idea to go from potential target, killing each one until one of them or one of their guards successfully took me out. In fact, it sounded kind of fun. Decided, then, on this course of action, I did a much better job of hiding my crossbow as I descended the stairs and headed back out in the street. Many would think that a crossbow would be a difficult thing to hide on a scrawny little guy like me, but it was all about experience and practice, and being willing to walk in such a way that’d blow out your back.
It was much later in the evening, now, when I headed back to the little bar where poor Stan even now lay dead. Deaths were pretty common, there, and his would probably bring out a couple of bigwigs to inspect the scene. There first, then, it was certainly worth looking into.
The cars out front of the little bar told me all that I needed to know. Never had such a seedy street seen so many Mercedes, Jaguars, and BMW’s. Lots of tough looking guys lounged about as well, looking casually dangerous and greatly intimidating all the normal people who went by. Before I could get close, though, there was a tap on my shoulder, and as I turned around to look, a solid fist punched me in the face, sending me sprawling into an ally across the way.