Max Thares... (Open for comments)

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Max Thares... (Open for comments)

Postby Max Thares » Fri Jul 11, 2008 4:38 pm

Look folks, I don't write. I've never been real good with writing and such. My first college English class I failed two times. Granted, my attendance was abysmal the first time. And the second time I just drank to much that semester...

But from what I turned in, the teachers weren't fans. Evidently I write, 'like I talk'.

I figured it was a compliment, since I don't use big words. ;>

But I like to read, a lot. And I read pretty quickly. So I figured I'd try my hand at writing stories, it seems to be all the rage on these boards right now anyways. I'm not up to some long fancy story yet. I'm taking baby steps if you will. This is the first one, just a brief short story. I'll post a bunch of them with the same character through different scenarios, just trying stuff out. (I'll admit my biggest fear is 'conversations'... trying to type those scare the crap out of me.)

So - here ya go. Nit pick it, whine about it, praise it, bash it, whatever.

This is just a trial run.

On with the show.






"I don't know why I get into gunfights. I guess sometimes I just get lonely."
-Billy Clanton, "Gunfight at the O.K. Corral".


My back was pressed against the dumpster, my legs spread out before me, my eyes on the alley entrance. My pants were soaked with rain water, stale beer, urine, and probably some vomit thrown in for good measure. If you ever have to run and hide, don't run and hide behind a bar. Not only is it filthy, it smells mighty bad also. The other side of the alley was made up of white bricks from a florists shop. I thought that painting bricks white took away from the brick type look when it comes to architecture, but then what do I know? I'm neither a painter nor an architect.

The blood from my wounds had smeared on a portion of the wall across from me... it looked better red. Shame I was leaking like I was, I might have been able to get another one of them before I boarded the black cadillac. I coughed... more red. How did that country song go? "They say heavens at the end but so far it's been hell'"... I didn't figure that feller who wrote the song had ever been shot up before, but he sketched the last fifteen minutes up pretty quick in that one line.

By the way, I'm Max and I'm pretty certain I'm dying.

I've never died before, so I can't be real sure. Heck, I've never even been shot before, broke a leg once though. Jumped off a roof in third grade to impress a girl but it didn't help my cause any when she fainted at the sight of my bone sticking out. Back to present time, it hurts real bad and I don't figure I can escape. I probably watched to many movies as a kid anyways... thinking I could get away with this. They don't do real gun fights much justice. Maybe if that first slug that hit me in the left shoulder had thrown me back 15 feet I would have missed the one that hit me through the lung. I also had to shoot them more than once to get them to die. Hell, I didn't even hear any music playing. I was cinematically ripped off.

Their buddies are on their way, I can hear the tires squealing as they arrive. I close my eyes and try to breathe. The screaming had finally stopped, folks on the street had taken off yelling and running the moment the shooting started. That little gray haired lady with the walker took off so fast she left it behind. I guess its high noon now. Since I'm dead anyways, I would have prefered to walk into the street to face them like a real hero.... or perhaps just lean around the corner and ambush them like a real scoundrel. Instead I'm laying on my rear surrounded by floating cigarette butts, rat droppings, and withering flowers waiting for them to find me.

This wasn't what I wanted. I had planned on getting away and I damn sure planned on not being shot. Both of them plans got shafted from the get-go.

I reached into the puddle and grabbed a floating reciept. $73.50. Focusing on the last line hurt so much that I didn't bother seeing if someone was in the doghouse with his wife or had a helluva party at the bar. I just crumpled it and stuffed it into the hole in my shoulder. By God that hurt like hell also. I wish they'd hurry up, death ought to be pretty pleasant after an evening like this. Certainly more peaceful.

I hear boots pounding on pavement. Gripping my pistol tighter, I try to remember how many rounds I have left. It carried fifteen rounds of .40 in a mag, I had three magazines with me when it started. I shot my first magazine to slide lock taking out the first two. Then I emptied an entire magazine trying to hit the last one. I didn't need all fifteen rounds, but it felt good to put the last few through his skull after he was already dead for good measure. His ability to fit that pudgy body of his under the car was truly miraculous anyways and I didn't want him to pull another miracle out of his butt. Course my aim might have been off, since he had put the slug through my shoulder beforehand and than another through my innards.

Now I see shadows falling across the alley entrance and whispered commands. I stifle another cough, choking the blood and froth back down. I raise my pistol towards the light, waiting for the shadows to step into view. I can feel my focus slipping, I wish I could lay my head back against the dumpster and close my eyes. I wish the pain would go away. I wish I could have a re-do. I wish a pretty brunette would patch me up.

The shadows move, my time is up. I empty my magazine down the alley. Empty brass shells make tinkling noises that are followed by small splashes as they land around me. I lower my pistol, I try to focus on the still forms in the light. I can't. I let my head fall back, I let my eyes close.

"I win."
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Re: Max Thares... (Open for comments)

Postby Eeva » Fri Jul 11, 2008 9:20 pm

Urban cowboy noire, I laughed, I cried and it became a part of me:). Excellent. And I never write conversations, hence the poetry..that will never contain conversations. "You win".
peace
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Re: Max Thares... (Open for comments)

Postby owly » Fri Jul 11, 2008 9:39 pm

i liked it
Lone NUT
Anything you say can and will be held against you in a court of Robo-Cop
If you think I don't make sense think about the evidence that Big Foot is my Papa and he got to protect ME!

DoC... Trench Town Rock... Soul Rebal...Kaya.....Thank you lord
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Re: Max Thares... (Open for comments)

Postby Max Thares » Sat Jul 12, 2008 3:55 pm

"I wonder how police do the chaulk outline if you push someone into a wood chipper."
-Unknown.

I licked my chapped lips and looked through the spotting scope again. The target was small, real small. Luckily for me he had a big head. Midgets are like that. The current problem was how to go about sending a 165 grain .308 boattail through that pumpkin. The little feller won't be still and he keeps pacing back and forth in his kitchen from window to window. I have a perfect shot from here through his living room patio door if only he would sit on his couch. Doesn't he know that theres an Austin Powers marathon on today?

Sighing, I reach over and pick up my rifle and flip the scope caps. I know why he's upset. I know why he's freaking out. There's a partial body stuffed in his fridge and he has two flat tires. I know this because I cut the tires this morning while he snored loudly with a decapitated head laying on the pillow next to him. Sure, I could have off'ed the little troll while he slept easily enough. I did slip into his house to braid the deceased's hair after all... I knew that'd freak him out come dawn. Well, that and I was hungry. I also could have popped him while he was stuffing the body parts in his trunk. Or while he was dragging the parts out of his trunk and back inside when he realized his Buick wasn't going anywhere. But sometimes it's nice to know you can make someone squirm.

I figure he would be more antsy if he knew I was sitting on the hill over-looking his house with a scoped rifle. I sling up and settle into the classic military prone position and rack the bolt to chamber a round. Peeking through the 10x scope, I move the mildot rectile onto his fishbowl. Yeah...real antsy. I wait for the red and white goldfish to move behind the shipwreck, no point in collatoral damage. Squeezing the trigger I send the spinning bullet at 2,650 fps through his window and explode his aquarium all to shit over his kitchen counter.

The little sadist leaves his dying fish behind and tries to save himself. He wasn't short on brains, so he moved away from the windows. But he wasn't real bright either since he took cover between them. The typical outside wall is constructed of 2x6 studs turned on edge, usually filled with a fiberglass insulation. On the outside of the house there is 1/4 inch plywood and siding. In this case, gray vinyl. The inside of the wall consists of 1/2 inch sheetrock and some paint. Judging from what I can see of the other side of the kitchen, it's blue. Sadly for him none of the materials used in the construction of his house is bullet proof. Especially the blue paint, even if there is lead in it.

I figure theres only three feet between the two windows. The average human body is 20 inches wide... well I guess that doesn't apply to gnomes. No matter. I rack the bolt again, a touch upset with myself since I should have done it sooner. I need to stop thinking about the mathematical improbablities of small people and get back to it. I place the crosshairs on the center of the narrow wall. I ought to atleast wing him...and squeeze the trigger. The split second before the recoil moves the scope, I see a hole appear in the vinyl and a splash of red spray in each window.

I don't hear any screaming, so I figure he's passed out or dead. And judging from the red spray I think I got him pretty good. I work the bolt and pocket my two fired rounds. Police probably won't care to much who the shooter is, when they've a dead feller with a three page rap sheet on his kitchen floor and body parts in the fridge. And they probably won't find where I'm shooting from, their departmental shooting range is only 50 yards and I'm well beyond that. But they could get lost and end up way out here. Might as well control what circumstances I can and hope to get lucky on the rest.

I peek through the scope again to make certain he isn't crawling off anywhere. No movement, and the pool of bodily fluids is getting bigger.

I also can see the opposite blue wall now has a splattering of purple on it, reckon I'm an artist after all.
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Re: Max Thares... (Open for comments)

Postby Eeva » Sat Jul 12, 2008 10:08 pm

Is this further development of the gunslinger or is this a different character?
peace
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Re: Max Thares... (Open for comments)

Postby Voice Elessar » Mon Jul 28, 2008 1:41 pm

Good stuff, keep it coming. Its been my expierence that English teachers arn't intrested in this sort of thing. They like essays and history papers. Try a creative writing class, they should eat this stuff up.
Death is a very dull, dreary affair, and my advice to you is to have nothing whatsoever to do with it.
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Re: Max Thares... (Open for comments)

Postby Dyvim Tvar » Fri Aug 15, 2008 1:31 pm

Bonus points for the midget.
Even though noir inspirid schtick is making a comeback, there isn't enough of it doing the rounds for my taste so even if it's not Brubaker levels of awesome, I'm always going to mark out and tell you this stuff is awesome.
Speaking of which, do yourself a favour and buy Criminal. EVERYBODY!
Eddie Kim sends his regards, motherfucker!
WhY so SeriOUs?
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Re: Max Thares... (Open for comments)

Postby Max Thares » Thu Dec 04, 2008 11:24 pm

Escape.

I won't be wronged, I won't be insulted, and I won't be laid a hand on. I don't do these things to other people and I expect the same from them.
-John Wayne, The Shootist.


It was 2 a.m. and the helicopters gave them away. I was in the kitchen putting the finishing touches to a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. As I drew a smiley face in the peanut butter with my twelve inch Ka-Bar the sound of several approaching helicopters drifted in through the window. Normally I wouldn’t have thought a thing about helicopters passing by. But having a man zip-tied to a steel chair under a hobby lamp in the basement makes you a little jumpy.

Sheathing the knife, I grabbed an AK-74 off the dining room table and hit the light switch at a lunge. Leaning against the window I listened to the helicopters get closer and closer while I waited for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. Glancing out the window at the street lamps, I saw dark shapes began to turn corners in the neighborhood headed in my direction. There were no headlights.

The shapes began to define themselves as they got closer and my eyes adjusted. Half a dozen dark SUV’s. Bad news. I tapped the magazine to make sure it was properly seated than reached under the AK with my left hand to rack the bolt. A 5.45x39 round ejected and bounced off the tile floor next to me. I knew it was loaded already, it was just comforting to double check.

The SUV’s slowed quietly and began to turn parallel to the house, parking next to the curb and surrounding the house. As I watched armed men in black began to pour out of the vehicles, open the trunks, and grab equipment. All moved in silence, using hand signals to direct. They seemed to know what they were doing. Very bad news. One man pulled a rifle from the backseat and began to quietly shoot out the street lamps. The broken glass lightly tinkling as it fell. Clever fellow, I couldn’t see a suppressor or a muzzle flash, so I assumed it was an air rifle of some sort. While Ralphie Parker and his Red Ryder BB gun was dealing with the lights, I racked the bolt again and another round bounced off the tile floor and under the stove. 28 rounds left now. If they take much longer I’ll be trying to brain them with an empty rifle when they kick the door in.

They probably thought I was asleep. That’s why they wait until early in the morning to make their move. Their suspect is in the deepest part of his or her sleep cycle. I would have been, but I was to busy electrical taping wires from a car battery to the fellow’s groin in the basement. Squirmy guy. I had to hit him a few times to get him to stop moving around. It’s not like it’s my fault that I was about to torture him to death. He made his choices. As the saying goes ‘Decision...Consequence’. He decided to be a bad guy, his consequence was me.

The bad news is that he was also someone important. And somehow, they found me.

Outside the men were beginning to position themselves covering various angles of the house while using the vehicles for cover. Gripping my AK tighter I begin to crawl towards the entrance, restraining myself from racking the bolt again.

The front door opened to the left and into a narrow hallway adorned with pictures of me. The hallway stretched into the house fifteen feet before the walls ended. Coming into the house one could either go straight into the living room, or turn right at the end of the wall, step up onto a small landing and head to the upstairs bedroom. Usually guests went to the living room, but tonight’s guest was dragged to the basement. He bounced pretty good when I pushed him down the stairs.

I took cover on the landing. The front door was unlocked, I wondered if they would even bother to check. Or not. I was betting on not.

Crouching, I took an extra AK mag from my rear pocket and set it down next to me. Pressing my the palm of my left hand against the corner, I set the AK’s front stock between my index finger and thumb, holding it in a steady rest. The tritium dial in the front sight was glowing a light green and I placed it on the center of the door. My friends had laughed when I put a $70 XS Sight System tritium night sights on an AK-74 that I picked up for two-fifty. Who’s laughing now pals?

The world was silent, except for the muffled thumping of the helicopters circling the neighborhood overhead.

Then there was a scuffling noise as boots shifted outside the door. I placed my finger on the trigger and began to take up the slack.

The door knob began to turn. The lock set made a soft snicking sound as it retracted from the frame. I braced myself for violence as the door slowly opened several inches. A stubby barrel peeked through the opening first. The door continued to rotate open until it stopped against the wall with a soft thump. The first man stepped the entrance and quickly dropped to a crouch, an H&K UMP in his right fist, his left held in a clenched fist above his head. Behind him a second man was leaning into the opening with his body from the waist down hidden from sight, a TP9 clenched in his fist and pointed down the hallway. A third leaned out from the other side of the door, a shotgun of sorts braced against the door jam. From the size of the barrel, I’d say a 12 gauge. I had learned over the years that big muzzles tend to leave big holes. I needed to watch that guy.

Strangely they were wearing dark suits and matching ties. Red with yellow stripes. If they were attorneys I didn’t stand a chance.

Mr. H&K UMP stood and took a step forward while Mr. TP9 left his cover and moved in behind him and slightly to the left, his pistol pointed down the hallway towards any potential threats. I wanted the Suit with the shotgun to come in also, but it looked like he was going to stay put. They hadn’t seen me yet crouched in the shadows and the street lights being shot out kept me in darkness.

I wasn’t sure if they were wearing body armor or not, and it was possible my rounds may penetrate, but they also might not. So I shot UMP through the skull, red and gray gore spraying the walls and his companions as he dropped like a sack of potatoes. Shifting my aim I fired three rounds as fast as possible into Mr. TP9's chest. The pistol clattered to the floor while his body slid down against the wall leaving a red smear and bullet holes.

The shotgun boomed and sheet rock exploded above my head, showering me with fine white dust and bits of insulation. I ducked back, shoved the rifle around the corner, and emptied the magazine in his general direction as fast as I could pull the trigger. Making a fine mess of the door jamb and hearing a satisfactory scream as one or more of my rounds connected.

Grabbing the magazine on the landing, I tapped it against the ground shaking off bits of plaster and reloaded. I peeked around the corner than took a chance and dove forward towards the door. Ducking behind the body slumped against the wall, I shot the remaining Suit in the back as he crawled away with one arm, dragging his legs behind him. All’s fair in love and war.

His shotgun was laying on my step. I reached over the body and grabbed it as rounds began impacting the carcass beneath me. Throwing myself onto my back I kicked the body out of the entrance onto the front step than slammed the door behind him.

Looked like I got me a new FN SLP semi-automatic shotgun for free. Might even be a few rounds in it. I was no shotgun fan, but it may come in handy.

Raising myself up, I looked through one of the bullet holes through my house. Several of the men were beginning to unfold portable road barricades between the Suburbans, while others grabbed large spotting lamps and moved them around the perimeter in silence. Everyone else was pointing a gun in my direction.

This was beginning to get out of control.
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Re: Max Thares... (Open for comments)

Postby Max Thares » Thu Dec 04, 2008 11:25 pm

Chapter Two.

“Mr. Thares, please step onto the stand.” I walked to the chair, laid my left hand on the bible and raised my right.
“Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?” I looked at the judge.
“So help me God.”
“I’m sorry?” He leaned forward, dropping his head to look over glasses at me.
“So help me God, you forgot the last part.”
“We no longer use that part, please have a seat.” I sat. The straight backed chair was uncomfortable and if you fidget to much you look guilty. Lose lose situation. The pot bellied judge had a leather chair that swiveled. I envied him.

The D.A. stepped up to the plate. Holding a yellow legal pad in one hand and a pen in his other, he paced across the courtroom floor as he began his questioning.
“Mr. Thares, will you please describe your encounter with my client?”
“Sure. I was pulling into the Seven Eleven gas-station-“
“Where were you coming from?” He kept pacing, focused on his legal pad as though what I was saying was irrelevant..
“Work. As I was saying, I pulled into the gas-station around 8 p.m.” I tried to throw in more details so he wouldn’t interrupt me again. “There was only one car parked in front of the store, a brown four door sedan of some sorts. The front glass of the store was busted out. I parked at the pump, got out and started to walk into the store to see what was going on. That’s when I saw him standing over the attendant with a pistol pointed at him in his right hand. He was pulling money out of the register with the left. He-“
“You keep saying ‘He’, who is ‘He’?”
“He’s the man I shot. I didn’t know his name. I found out later it was Estan Demirez.”
He stopped in front of the jury, rested his hands on the rail in front of them and lowered his head.
“And what exactly did you shoot him with Mr. Thares?”
“A Glock 27.”
“Please inform the court as to where you were carrying the gun.”
“In an inside the waistband holster on my right hip... a CompTac Minotaur to be precise.”
“You do realize that it is illegal to conceal a firearm in this state?”
“OBJECTION!” My attorney was finally beginning to earn his money, “Self discrimination!”
The D.A. smiled and said, “I withdraw the question” before the Judge could say ‘sustained’. The D.A. had played this hand before, anything said before the Jury was impossible to remove from their conscience and it will play a part in their decision regardless of the Judge telling them to ignore it.

“Mr. Thares, where were we.... what sort of ammunition were you carrying in your gun?”
I hated when they called it a gun instead of what it is, a pistol. They way they twist the word to make it sound as something despicable and wrong. As though it was something beneath them to refer to it by it’s type or model.
“Winchester Ranger, 155 grain jacketed hollowpoint.”
“And what is this ammo designed for?” So this is where he was going with it.
“It’s designed to expand upon impact, to provide better stopping power and reduce the chances of over-penetration and hurting of bystanders.”
“So it’s sole purpose is to kill!” He lifted a photo of Mr. Demirez’s chest wounds. They were taken right after the shooting. A lot of blood and gore.
My attorney stood and yelled “Objection!” But it was to late, the jury was transfixed on the photo. One fainted, others gasped, a pretty blonde looked she was about to vomit. The judge began slamming his gravel on his desk. The members of the jury were turning to look at me, I could see the disgust on their faces. I knew where this was heading.

The D.A. set the photo down on the table in front of me, looked me in the eyes and winked.

I lost it.

Grabbing the back of his neck, I slammed his face against the desk with every intention of putting it through the cheap fake walnut particle board. It didn’t go through, but I got a glance of his shattered greasy smile as I lifted his head and slammed it down again. The top of the desk cracked.

The courtroom had turned to chaos. The honorable judge was slamming his gravel. My attorney was screaming ‘Objection!’. Several honorable members of the jury were screaming while the others sat frozen, to shocked to react. No one seemed to know what to do.

I had just let go of the D.A.’s slicked back hair and was wrapping his tie around his throat when the bailiff hit me over the head with his pistol butt. I gripped tighter. He hit me again and all I saw was darkness.

The next time we saw each other, I was in shackles and wearing orange. He was dressed in a gray pinstripe suit, his dress shirt collar buttoned to hide the bruises around his neck. His eyes were blackened and his nose was reset with a white bandage across his face. He was wearing braces, with blue bands.

He smiled at me.
“Mr. Thares. If you recall our meeting last time, you’ll understand why you are shackled in place.”
“Get on with it.”
I glared at his metal mouth. I wish I had been there when they fixed his mangled teeth. I hoped they didn’t knock him out with the gas and that he screamed a lot.

Turning towards the jury, he straightened his back and began looking each juror in the eye.
“Ladies and Gentlemen of the jury. As you have both seen and heard, Mr. Thares is a violent man. Instead of calling the police, he took the law into his own hands and shot Mr. Demirez without offering him the chance to surrender peacefully. He would have you believe that he was protecting himself and the attendant. This is a lie, he jumped at the opportunity to reek death and destruction. Mr. Demirez was stealing, but does that justify death? Everyone deserves a second chance, the opportunity to right the mistakes that they have made. What chance did Mr. Thares give him as he shot him down in cold blood? As we speak he is in critical condition and may not survive the extensive damage caused by Mr. Thares ‘killer bullets’. I ask that you rule guilty and we keep this dangerous man off our streets.”

He sat down. Poured a glass of water and leaned back in his chair. He knew I was shafted.

The jury ruled ‘Guilty’.

Demirez survived my hollowpoints and was killed a year later during a botched liquor store robbery by an off-duty police officer carrying a concealed pistol. It was ruled a justified shooting. The D.A. became a District Court Judge several months later. As for me, I wasn’t given a second chance and spent the following five years in prison.

When I stepped out of the barb wire fence half a decade later, I wasn’t about to give any second chances either.
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Re: Max Thares... (Open for comments)

Postby Max Thares » Thu Dec 04, 2008 11:26 pm

Chapter Three.

I was busy when the phone rang and I ignored it. It rang again. I risked leaving my position to grab it from the kitchen. I didn’t answer until I was back in place behind the entrance door, watching them scurry about through the 5.45mm sized peep holes I had created.

“You have something that belongs to us.”

Must be one of the Suits. From where I sat I could see one holding his hand to his ear and looking in my direction. He stood out. Where most of the suits were trim with crew cuts and guns, he was balding, paunchy, and held a clipboard.

I was beginning to wonder if this was an IRS audit.

“Hey pal, I paid my taxes.” I said as I emptied the shells from the FN shotgun onto the floor between my legs.
“We hope you haven’t hurt him any.”
“A matter of timing, I had just hooked him to a car battery before you crashed the party.” I counted five shells left.
“He might forgive you for that if you let him go.”
“In exchange for....”
“Your life.”
I loaded the shells, chambered a round, and flipped the safety.
“I still have it, but let me figure the odds up.” I disconnected from the call before he could reply and stuck the phone in my back pocket. I needed time.

The basement was dark except for a hobby lamp hanging from the ceiling, illuminating a trim naked man duct taped to a chair with a bag over his head and wires running from his groin to a car battery.

It looked like a scene out of a fetish magazine. All it lacked was a woman in tight black leather with a braided whip.

Really not my kind of thing.

The burlap bag over my guests head said ‘Danner and Tanner Fertilizing Manure’. I thought it was fitting. I pulled it off and as his eyes adjusted to the light they widened in recognition. Sometimes fear is a beautiful thing to behold. I jerked the duct tape off his mouth as savagely as possible.
He screamed.

I smiled.

“Last time we met you said I was a violent and dangerous man. I’m beginning to believe you may be right after all.” I began to reload my empty AK magazine as I watched his eyes dart back and forth for help that wasn’t there.
“Wha-wha-what do you want from me?” Tears rolled down his cheeks.
“Five years. A real shame you can’t give that back to me. Cause this is going to end badly for you.”
“But-“ I hit him across the face with my partially loaded magazine.

The look on his face reminded me of a court room so long ago. I held the magazine up before his face and smeared the speckling of gore on it with my thumb.

“Like to see someone try that with an AR mag. Don’t work as well I’d bet.” I rapped the steel mag against the chair between his legs to make the point stick, than loaded another round.

“I don’t know what you-“

I hit him again. This time hard enough to whip his head to the side and send a piece of his front tooth skipping across the linoleum floor. His perfect teeth weren’t so perfect anymore.

“Stop. Talking. This mag is just gonna get heavier.” I pushed another round in.

His lower split lip quivered.

I watched the tears fall and mingle with the blood on his chin as I finished loading the magazine. Than using my Ka-Bar I cut him from the chair, taped his hands together behind him and pushed him up the stairs before me.

As we passed through the kitchen I grabbed my sandwhich from the counter top and kept the muzzle brake pressed against my favorite nudists spine, guiding him back to my spot near the door. Pushing him down in front of me against the front door, I took a bite. Chewing, I peeked out through one of the bullet holes again. Not much had changed out front, the spot lights were up and turned on. Helicopters were still swirling. Some of the more nosy neighbors were peeking out their windows. Suits were ducking and weaving around, using the SUV’s as cover. I didn’t know what was going on out back and there was no way I could watch the entire perimeter by myself.

The only comfort I had was that if they came again, from the front or rear, the naked man would get it first. And than as many more as possible.

When your chances are slim to none, you can’t be surprised when you get screwed.

The phone rang. I swallowed another mouthful of peanut butter and jelly and pulled it from my back pocket.

“Thares Residence, Max speaking.”
“Have you weighed the odds?” It was Baldy again.
“Yeah. I unhooked the battery from his balls.”
“A wise choice. I need to speak with him.” I pointed the AK towards the ceiling.
“Okay.” And pulled the trigger, firing several rounds into the plaster above my position. It rained down on me. The spent casings bounced off my guest as he whimpered and tried to curl into a ball.
“What just happened?! What did you do? Let me speak to him!” Panic was creeping into his voice.
I held the phone towards my naked guest. “Your buddy wants to speak to you.”
As he leaned forward, I pressed the hot muzzle against his cheek. He howled in agony and jerked back to cower next to the front door as the stench of burnt flesh filled my nostrils.

I laughed manically and put the phone back against my ear. “Satisfied?”

“You son of a-“ CLICK. I hung up. I was never a fan of potty mouths.
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Re: Max Thares... (Open for comments)

Postby Eeva » Wed Dec 10, 2008 9:02 am

I reread your first post, "I don't write". I don't believe you. This is better than some of the books I read in my book club. Maybe you better start researching an agent or publisher, 'cause someone might just pick this off the web and do it for you. Or just keep writing here..I'm enthralled.
peace
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Eeva
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Re: Max Thares... (Open for comments)

Postby Atla » Thu Jan 01, 2009 5:18 pm

I was directed to this thread, and this stuff is so right up my alley!

WRITE ON MAN!

(and check your pm box)
~Atla!
Before God I swear this creed. My rifle and myself are the defenders of my country. We are the masters of our enemy. We are the saviors of my life. So be it, until victory is America's and there is no enemy, but Peace! -MajGen Rupertus, USMC.
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Atla
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