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Ole GeeThis story may contain adult content. |
| Written by Neil Sweetman | |
| Tuesday, 13 May 2008 | |
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Share it:      I could hear him coming, them coming maybe? probably not. We never send more than one, it's some grease-ball tradition, but who gives a **** about tradition these days? I could probably reach my piece with little effort, probably before he got to my door, my old bones my be brittle but I can still move, why, it was only three days ago I floored that little prick, Santriano, the kids a ******* degenerate mouth-piece, no respect, just like his old man. I caught him good, left my index finger and wrist in a bit of a state though, ******* doctors, arthritis, getting old is a ******* drag. The ***** must have sold me out, I don't blame her, if it wasn't her it would have been someone else, its all been collapsing in around me for a while now, little ****, good ride though. I don't think ill reach for the piece this time, I think I've had enough of it now. I've had a swell run of it, more successful than most and longer than many, probably too long. These times have changed, i'm the only original crew member left, all I got now is loud-mouth tough guys, young punks high on coke and Hollywood, none of ‘em will last. Not like me. I've had it all, now that I have some time to think about it. I've made the dough, loads of dough, enough dough to realise that that much dough means absolutely nothing. I've had the women, Christ I've had some women, stunners, real knock-outs, actresses, models, beauty queens, even royalty once but a gentleman don't name names and I've got class. Cars, clothes, restaurants and bars, I did all that ****, one thing I couldn't do though was move out of the neighbourhood, its transforming into a real shit-hole but I just never had the heart to leave, I suppose I'm the last one who cares about these things, soon they can do what the **** they like with it, real soon. Power, I had the power, it's what we all want. My old man had it before me so I already had a reputation to uphold, some people had their doubts but that's why those people disappeared, nip it in the bud, my old man's wisdom, solid. At least I wont be going out like the old man, what a ******* tragedy that was, hit by the car used for the drive-by, dead before he got to hospital, sad but embarrassing. In the bath, I like it, not very original but very old school, just like Tall Freddy Vito back in the day, my day, before drugs and rap, and before Willy Manchini's dope war, before it became only about the dough. I can hear the bastard's footsteps, growing louder and louder, they stop outside the door and I can see their shadow blocking the light from the gap under the door, stupid, lazy, cant even turn off the light switch, schoolboy stuff. My only regret is leaving this idiot thinking that he got the drop on me, he'll probably boast to the goons about how I shat in my water at the very sight of him and how he shot me in mid-reach of my piece and how I cried like a suck pig, out like a sucker. Oh well, **** it, we all bullshit about our work, once I was drunk on a hit and had to shoot the poor bastard in the head just to put him out of his misery after I missed his temple with the ice-pick and got him in the eye, he was bouncing off the walls and screaming bloody murder, literally. Of course I reported back with casual smoothness, a piece of cake, I even picked him in his ******* eye before I whacked him, punishment for whatever the **** he done. The door swings open and there he stands, flashy tracksuit, baseball cap and sneakers, no class, this guy, this generation. He's a bit podgy and sweating, his gun is obviously concealed under that newspaper in his hand, that's a classic I suppose. I lay there looking at him, he keeps glancing at my gun, he's a *****, no professional, he's never come up against anything like me, if I felt like it I could get out of this bath and casually stroll naked across this room and slice this punk's nose off with my trusty switch-blade, Sally. Old Sally's retiring with me though, we just don't feel like it any more. I wish this punk would hurry the **** up already. I get angry just as he pulls out his gun. ‘DO IT!' I yell as the flash blinds me and I feel a slight burn in my chest, the ringing in my ears only seemed to last a split second and then it all became good, I became a legend, I was really made. Copyright 2008 Neil Sweetman |
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