short
Just wrote this short because I had to write, but I really don't feel like editing it so...
Note and similarities of characters to any persons living or dead is purely coincidental except that craig is a blond jerk who I heard likes to shoot people
“As I looked down at the shit and cigarette filled backed up toilet I thought to myself there's no justice.”
Scott looked up from the toilet. He let the drag blow out through his nose to kill the shit smell if only momentarily. He smirked at his reflection in the mirror when he heard the conversations coming from outside the stall. There was a, “Fuck, man I’m fucked up,” intoned with an idiot dose of volume. Another voice man “I’m gonna fuck that bitch with out a condom south Florida style,” followed by the skin smack of what had to have been a high five. Scott smirked harder and shook his head. “Spring break, how easy” he thought.
Scott dropped his cigarette butt in the toilet. “I’d been watching them for over an hour now. Three best friends more than likely frat brothers down in so fla for four to five nights with an optimistic amount of condoms, popped collard, more booze than cloths and all the weed $300 could buy in Midwest college town Americana bullshit. Probably the first time they’ve gotten to wear shorts in months. Cock locked and ready to fuck anything that’s warm. I couldn’t decide if it was traveler’s checks or money hidden in the shoe or Gideon Bible back at the beach side hotel. Easy as sin regardless. I’d picked them. Hell it was my 5th season maybe more. I had probably enough stashed away for a decade sabbatical. But they say it’s never enough. I could bullshit myself straight to church saying this is my last time but…why. Well anyway anonymity wasn’t as hard as anyone would have thought. Some people said it was stupid to keep working the same spots every year. As long as you were smart you changed your look a little here and there, worked with a different crew ever so often and kept moving around up and down the beach you could do alright. You always exploit the drunk or get your marks royally fucked and how good could they remember anyway? I remember when I was in college I took a sociology class and the professor said that 40%of the jailed population of the country didn’t have high school degrees. That’s the thing no one ever gets leave crime to the educated. I’d never spent more than a month in jail at a time. If you could pull a couple of marks in a day you were damn good at what you did. I pulled five once. No bull shit. I always worked in threes. Usually I used a girl as the bait, when I was minus the beer gut I even used myself to mark girls. Once in awhile you’d get a fag that would plan on Elton Johning you for the rest of their vacation, but that just made things easier. You could dump your girl and split the profit two ways instead of three.”
“When I was young I use to just go to clubs and lift wallets out of purses in the flashing lights and big crowds it was perfect. Cash was ideal but you could use a credit card to buy yourself drinks maybe go buy as much as you could at any store that was still open but you had to get rid of the card in the morning. I got the idea for robbing tourists…well I don’t really remember when but I tried about every method under the sun. I got jobs in hotels scoped as much out as I could then robbed all the rooms I could in a day or two then showed up drunk to work so they’d fire me but it was too risky. You had to keep going to work or they would have known it was you and you had to get fired before they caught on. It was petty anyway, and I hated wearing a uniform. Then I picked pockets in spring break hotspots. It seemed easy, you would get dry humped a dozen times trying to get to the bar but I was never very good at it. So, I moved my way up to methodical conning. You could ruffie them, bullshit them into bed rob them in the morning, or the less subtle beat the shit out of them and shake them down, I’d done it all. And it felt like the season lasted a little longer every year. But still spring break there was nothing like spring break.”
Scott cupped water from the sink and splashed it in his face. He’d had a few drinks and needed to awaken the senses. He dried his hands on a paper towel, and opened the stall door with the damp paper to not have to touch the handle. “I had a bad start to a bad day. I didn’t have enough water pressure to even turn on the shower so I had to wash off on all fours in the facet leak, like a goddamn animal. Of course on the plus side the water was cold enough to shrink my dick near oblivion, but I guess that’s all irrelevant. What really got to me was that Matt my partner crapped out on me an hour before I went to go pick up Kate. So in a panic all I could get was Craig. We got along all right but I’d only worked with him twice. He was unproven and he insisted on packing a rod. I never even fired a damn gun let alone worked with one. I didn’t like even being around one. It was stupid of me but I didn’t have another choice. Craig was willing and I had to take him. That’s how capitalism works, supply in demand and when you’re desperate you get the worst that was Craig. To tell the truth I would have picked Kelly over Kate or even Kristen. Kel was my favorite girl to work with but she wouldn’t talk to me anymore. I guess I dumped her one too many times, but she should have expected it working south beach. Kristen kept bitching about getting a bigger cut so I dumped her indefinitely. But unreliable as Kate was she was beautiful. I would have thrown it to her anytime. Her problem was she just didn’t give a fuck about anything, and she could be hard to work with. Bad start to a bad day.”
Scott used the paper towel to open the bathroom door. His song was finally playing on the electronic jukebox: Velvet Underground, “I’m waiting for the Man.” You had to have good music to work to. He always carried about $15 in singles along with two packs of cigarettes one of lights the other of menthols. They were social currency. He worked his way back to the bar. He sat on the east side of the bar. The west side had a mirror behind it and Kate was working her magic on the three marks at a table behind him. Craig was stationed at the opposite end of the east side of the bar. He shot Scott a glance and a nod. “Good work Craig let’s show everyone we’re together. If we’re lucky anyone that saw will just think you’re a fag. Geez you’re a real commodity. What was I thinking?”
This was the crucial moment. Did Scott throw himself into the mix, or did he play shadow and let Kate do the work. It was early in the season so he decided to play shadow tonight. He’d save the best of himself for later. He ordered another Heineken, “Hell make it two.” He double fisted to two beers and watched intently in the mirror with out the appearance of watching. Kate laughed, the three idiots laughed drunk and boisterous. “Kate had dyed her hair again. I couldn’t tell if I liked her more as a blonde or a brunette. She changed it too often. She was beautiful. Always pushing her bangs back off her forehead. Wearing the brown skirt I loved. Shit, just focus. Mark one is 6,1 well built shaved head. Mark two, 5’11 short hair, well built requisite tribal tats. Mark three is the same story a little taller. Jesus, can they know how ridiculous they look, how typical. Put your collars down ass holes.” An older man had sat next to Scott and starting talking about W.C. Fields and how he had lived San Francisco, “before it was full of fags and Christ the mayor was a republican.” Scott feigned interest in nods and looked down at Craig he was ordering another drink. Had to have been the 5th at least. “Great he’ll be blonde and drunk with a gun.” Scott looked back at Kate. “She’s doing better than I would have thought.” The shaved head mark was moving in close around her. “Hell maybe I should let the blonde gunslinger there shoot these assholes. Might make the world a better place.” Kate was making her move. Short mark was going to pay. “Karma Police” came on the jukebox another Scott selection. A shot of adrenaline pumped through his heart; it was time to go to work. “I’d stayed too long picking songs at the juke box and I broke the seal a few drops in my pants. I hate that feeling. I shouldn’t have drank as much as I did. That was just plain stupid of me.” He rubbed his face under her glasses and that was the signal for Craig to get the car.
Craig left first to get the car. It was parked in garage behind the bar. Kate left with the three marks two minutes later. Scott threw $10 down on the counter and left the bar with Jim Morrison crooning in his wake. Craig had parked the car at the surf shop across the street. Scott walked over. Craig was sitting on the hood. “I’m driving,” said Scott. Craig reluctantly moved to the passenger side. Scott drove south. It was just a hunch. Craig exuded a drunken glaze. Scott hoped he would keep silent. His hopes were shattered, “Kate’s a sweet little number. I mean fuck my kittens she’s hot. I would…” Craig was cut off by Scott, “how is fuck my kittens possibly an expression that any human would ever use Craig? I mean come on blondie between you me an the window you’re not making a strong case in opposition of everything I’ve heard about blondes.” “Well you’re so fucking great Scott…” Now Scott turning the radio up cut off Craig. Scott’s phone vibrated he turned on the dome light and handed the phone to Craig. “What’s it say?” “She said the Embassy suites room 360.” It was half a minute down the road.
Scott parked down the street from the hotel and texted Kate back, “Tell them you got friends coming over.” The Embassy suites were about ten stories tall right on the beach luxury hotel. Scott and Craig walked. Palm tress shook in a strong spring breeze. Streetlights glared orange haze. A few cars passed. The night was mostly silent. The two partners took the elevator. “Maybe I ought to let her sweat it awhile. Maybe it would drop her down a notch and half.” Scott decided not to wait. He still was holding on to the notion of pulling another job tonight. Room 360 was at the end of the hall way as they got off the elevator. Scott knocked and Craig grabbed the butt of his 9mm. Scott released cold sweat through all his pores. Was it worth letting Craig going in guns blazing? It was too late the door started to open. Craig kicked the door in and pulled his gun. There was a scream. He and Scott pushed hard in to the room. The tallest mark had been smashed behind the door and was on the ground with bloody face. Kate was on the bed next to the guy who had been fondling her leg at the bar. They were both frozen. The short guy was near the window at the back of the room. He made a move fast.
The shortest mark made for a .38 he had stashed in the nightstand. Before anyone had reacted he shot a round and hit Scott in the shoulder. The bullet went through and pierced the door of room across the hall. Gunplay was immediately sobering. Craig fired back three shots. They were all hits. The window shattered. The short mark went down already dead. Before he hit the ground the guy next to Kate made a rush at Craig. Craig fired two more quick shots. One hit the rusher the other hit Kate. They both screamed. The rusher went down hard in to the carpet. One of the bullets had hit the lamp and the room went three shades darker. The mark on the ground witht the bloody nose squirmed futility. “No, no,” was all he got out before Craig fired into his head. There was more blood. There was blood everywhere. The gun smoke hung prevalent in the air. The taste of metal, the broken eardrums and shaken jaws were residual.
“Shit, shit what the fuck man,” Craig was frantic. He tried to pull the former mark that he’d shot in the head into the room so he could shut the door. It was too much dead weight, and he realized how pointless it was anyways. He went for the dead kid’s wallet. Scott had been leaning up against the wall the whole time, only partially aware that he’d been shot as anabolic shook was taking over his body. Craig moved to the next dead kid’s wallet. Scott went to Kate. She’d been shot in the chest. She was silent, but still breathing. Her eyes were locked wide in horror. Scott grabbed her arm. She looked blankly at him, took a last breath and slumped over dead. “There’s a hundred fucking dollars. What the fuck Scott! What the fuck!” screamed Craig. Scott sat on the edge of the bed at Kate’s lifeless feet. Craig grabbed him and threw him back. He fell like a dead lump. Craig pointed and aimed to shoot the last witness. “I always hated you Scott,” he said as he pulled the trigger. There was no response. He was out of bullets. “Fuck!” Since there was nothing else to do he hit Scott hard in the head with the butt of the gun, then put the gun in Scott’s left hand, and made his escape.
Scott hovered on the fringes of consciousness. He brain was rattled. He dropped the gun to the floor near one of the dead marks. He was bleeding down the side of his head and out of his shoulder wound. All that was left of him was adrenaline, which was enough to get him on his feet and make him forget his prints and blood that he left behind. He made his own escape about four feet down the hallway when a burly cop took him down. It was spring break and they were everywhere. They could get their monthly ticket quotas in a good day.
The next hour or so was a rush of lights and pain and confusion. Craig had gotten away it seemed for the time being but Scott was caught and laid out in the back of ambulance that the cops had purposely waited to call until he confessed. Even with five people dead, one in the adjacent room looking through their key whole to see what all the noise was, he’d never even fired a gun. The one Craig had put in his hands was the first he’d ever touched, but that’s how it went.
“As I laid there shot with a cracked skull and cuffed and eternally fucked I thought to myself there’s no justice.”
Note and similarities of characters to any persons living or dead is purely coincidental except that craig is a blond jerk who I heard likes to shoot people
“As I looked down at the shit and cigarette filled backed up toilet I thought to myself there's no justice.”
Scott looked up from the toilet. He let the drag blow out through his nose to kill the shit smell if only momentarily. He smirked at his reflection in the mirror when he heard the conversations coming from outside the stall. There was a, “Fuck, man I’m fucked up,” intoned with an idiot dose of volume. Another voice man “I’m gonna fuck that bitch with out a condom south Florida style,” followed by the skin smack of what had to have been a high five. Scott smirked harder and shook his head. “Spring break, how easy” he thought.
Scott dropped his cigarette butt in the toilet. “I’d been watching them for over an hour now. Three best friends more than likely frat brothers down in so fla for four to five nights with an optimistic amount of condoms, popped collard, more booze than cloths and all the weed $300 could buy in Midwest college town Americana bullshit. Probably the first time they’ve gotten to wear shorts in months. Cock locked and ready to fuck anything that’s warm. I couldn’t decide if it was traveler’s checks or money hidden in the shoe or Gideon Bible back at the beach side hotel. Easy as sin regardless. I’d picked them. Hell it was my 5th season maybe more. I had probably enough stashed away for a decade sabbatical. But they say it’s never enough. I could bullshit myself straight to church saying this is my last time but…why. Well anyway anonymity wasn’t as hard as anyone would have thought. Some people said it was stupid to keep working the same spots every year. As long as you were smart you changed your look a little here and there, worked with a different crew ever so often and kept moving around up and down the beach you could do alright. You always exploit the drunk or get your marks royally fucked and how good could they remember anyway? I remember when I was in college I took a sociology class and the professor said that 40%of the jailed population of the country didn’t have high school degrees. That’s the thing no one ever gets leave crime to the educated. I’d never spent more than a month in jail at a time. If you could pull a couple of marks in a day you were damn good at what you did. I pulled five once. No bull shit. I always worked in threes. Usually I used a girl as the bait, when I was minus the beer gut I even used myself to mark girls. Once in awhile you’d get a fag that would plan on Elton Johning you for the rest of their vacation, but that just made things easier. You could dump your girl and split the profit two ways instead of three.”
“When I was young I use to just go to clubs and lift wallets out of purses in the flashing lights and big crowds it was perfect. Cash was ideal but you could use a credit card to buy yourself drinks maybe go buy as much as you could at any store that was still open but you had to get rid of the card in the morning. I got the idea for robbing tourists…well I don’t really remember when but I tried about every method under the sun. I got jobs in hotels scoped as much out as I could then robbed all the rooms I could in a day or two then showed up drunk to work so they’d fire me but it was too risky. You had to keep going to work or they would have known it was you and you had to get fired before they caught on. It was petty anyway, and I hated wearing a uniform. Then I picked pockets in spring break hotspots. It seemed easy, you would get dry humped a dozen times trying to get to the bar but I was never very good at it. So, I moved my way up to methodical conning. You could ruffie them, bullshit them into bed rob them in the morning, or the less subtle beat the shit out of them and shake them down, I’d done it all. And it felt like the season lasted a little longer every year. But still spring break there was nothing like spring break.”
Scott cupped water from the sink and splashed it in his face. He’d had a few drinks and needed to awaken the senses. He dried his hands on a paper towel, and opened the stall door with the damp paper to not have to touch the handle. “I had a bad start to a bad day. I didn’t have enough water pressure to even turn on the shower so I had to wash off on all fours in the facet leak, like a goddamn animal. Of course on the plus side the water was cold enough to shrink my dick near oblivion, but I guess that’s all irrelevant. What really got to me was that Matt my partner crapped out on me an hour before I went to go pick up Kate. So in a panic all I could get was Craig. We got along all right but I’d only worked with him twice. He was unproven and he insisted on packing a rod. I never even fired a damn gun let alone worked with one. I didn’t like even being around one. It was stupid of me but I didn’t have another choice. Craig was willing and I had to take him. That’s how capitalism works, supply in demand and when you’re desperate you get the worst that was Craig. To tell the truth I would have picked Kelly over Kate or even Kristen. Kel was my favorite girl to work with but she wouldn’t talk to me anymore. I guess I dumped her one too many times, but she should have expected it working south beach. Kristen kept bitching about getting a bigger cut so I dumped her indefinitely. But unreliable as Kate was she was beautiful. I would have thrown it to her anytime. Her problem was she just didn’t give a fuck about anything, and she could be hard to work with. Bad start to a bad day.”
Scott used the paper towel to open the bathroom door. His song was finally playing on the electronic jukebox: Velvet Underground, “I’m waiting for the Man.” You had to have good music to work to. He always carried about $15 in singles along with two packs of cigarettes one of lights the other of menthols. They were social currency. He worked his way back to the bar. He sat on the east side of the bar. The west side had a mirror behind it and Kate was working her magic on the three marks at a table behind him. Craig was stationed at the opposite end of the east side of the bar. He shot Scott a glance and a nod. “Good work Craig let’s show everyone we’re together. If we’re lucky anyone that saw will just think you’re a fag. Geez you’re a real commodity. What was I thinking?”
This was the crucial moment. Did Scott throw himself into the mix, or did he play shadow and let Kate do the work. It was early in the season so he decided to play shadow tonight. He’d save the best of himself for later. He ordered another Heineken, “Hell make it two.” He double fisted to two beers and watched intently in the mirror with out the appearance of watching. Kate laughed, the three idiots laughed drunk and boisterous. “Kate had dyed her hair again. I couldn’t tell if I liked her more as a blonde or a brunette. She changed it too often. She was beautiful. Always pushing her bangs back off her forehead. Wearing the brown skirt I loved. Shit, just focus. Mark one is 6,1 well built shaved head. Mark two, 5’11 short hair, well built requisite tribal tats. Mark three is the same story a little taller. Jesus, can they know how ridiculous they look, how typical. Put your collars down ass holes.” An older man had sat next to Scott and starting talking about W.C. Fields and how he had lived San Francisco, “before it was full of fags and Christ the mayor was a republican.” Scott feigned interest in nods and looked down at Craig he was ordering another drink. Had to have been the 5th at least. “Great he’ll be blonde and drunk with a gun.” Scott looked back at Kate. “She’s doing better than I would have thought.” The shaved head mark was moving in close around her. “Hell maybe I should let the blonde gunslinger there shoot these assholes. Might make the world a better place.” Kate was making her move. Short mark was going to pay. “Karma Police” came on the jukebox another Scott selection. A shot of adrenaline pumped through his heart; it was time to go to work. “I’d stayed too long picking songs at the juke box and I broke the seal a few drops in my pants. I hate that feeling. I shouldn’t have drank as much as I did. That was just plain stupid of me.” He rubbed his face under her glasses and that was the signal for Craig to get the car.
Craig left first to get the car. It was parked in garage behind the bar. Kate left with the three marks two minutes later. Scott threw $10 down on the counter and left the bar with Jim Morrison crooning in his wake. Craig had parked the car at the surf shop across the street. Scott walked over. Craig was sitting on the hood. “I’m driving,” said Scott. Craig reluctantly moved to the passenger side. Scott drove south. It was just a hunch. Craig exuded a drunken glaze. Scott hoped he would keep silent. His hopes were shattered, “Kate’s a sweet little number. I mean fuck my kittens she’s hot. I would…” Craig was cut off by Scott, “how is fuck my kittens possibly an expression that any human would ever use Craig? I mean come on blondie between you me an the window you’re not making a strong case in opposition of everything I’ve heard about blondes.” “Well you’re so fucking great Scott…” Now Scott turning the radio up cut off Craig. Scott’s phone vibrated he turned on the dome light and handed the phone to Craig. “What’s it say?” “She said the Embassy suites room 360.” It was half a minute down the road.
Scott parked down the street from the hotel and texted Kate back, “Tell them you got friends coming over.” The Embassy suites were about ten stories tall right on the beach luxury hotel. Scott and Craig walked. Palm tress shook in a strong spring breeze. Streetlights glared orange haze. A few cars passed. The night was mostly silent. The two partners took the elevator. “Maybe I ought to let her sweat it awhile. Maybe it would drop her down a notch and half.” Scott decided not to wait. He still was holding on to the notion of pulling another job tonight. Room 360 was at the end of the hall way as they got off the elevator. Scott knocked and Craig grabbed the butt of his 9mm. Scott released cold sweat through all his pores. Was it worth letting Craig going in guns blazing? It was too late the door started to open. Craig kicked the door in and pulled his gun. There was a scream. He and Scott pushed hard in to the room. The tallest mark had been smashed behind the door and was on the ground with bloody face. Kate was on the bed next to the guy who had been fondling her leg at the bar. They were both frozen. The short guy was near the window at the back of the room. He made a move fast.
The shortest mark made for a .38 he had stashed in the nightstand. Before anyone had reacted he shot a round and hit Scott in the shoulder. The bullet went through and pierced the door of room across the hall. Gunplay was immediately sobering. Craig fired back three shots. They were all hits. The window shattered. The short mark went down already dead. Before he hit the ground the guy next to Kate made a rush at Craig. Craig fired two more quick shots. One hit the rusher the other hit Kate. They both screamed. The rusher went down hard in to the carpet. One of the bullets had hit the lamp and the room went three shades darker. The mark on the ground witht the bloody nose squirmed futility. “No, no,” was all he got out before Craig fired into his head. There was more blood. There was blood everywhere. The gun smoke hung prevalent in the air. The taste of metal, the broken eardrums and shaken jaws were residual.
“Shit, shit what the fuck man,” Craig was frantic. He tried to pull the former mark that he’d shot in the head into the room so he could shut the door. It was too much dead weight, and he realized how pointless it was anyways. He went for the dead kid’s wallet. Scott had been leaning up against the wall the whole time, only partially aware that he’d been shot as anabolic shook was taking over his body. Craig moved to the next dead kid’s wallet. Scott went to Kate. She’d been shot in the chest. She was silent, but still breathing. Her eyes were locked wide in horror. Scott grabbed her arm. She looked blankly at him, took a last breath and slumped over dead. “There’s a hundred fucking dollars. What the fuck Scott! What the fuck!” screamed Craig. Scott sat on the edge of the bed at Kate’s lifeless feet. Craig grabbed him and threw him back. He fell like a dead lump. Craig pointed and aimed to shoot the last witness. “I always hated you Scott,” he said as he pulled the trigger. There was no response. He was out of bullets. “Fuck!” Since there was nothing else to do he hit Scott hard in the head with the butt of the gun, then put the gun in Scott’s left hand, and made his escape.
Scott hovered on the fringes of consciousness. He brain was rattled. He dropped the gun to the floor near one of the dead marks. He was bleeding down the side of his head and out of his shoulder wound. All that was left of him was adrenaline, which was enough to get him on his feet and make him forget his prints and blood that he left behind. He made his own escape about four feet down the hallway when a burly cop took him down. It was spring break and they were everywhere. They could get their monthly ticket quotas in a good day.
The next hour or so was a rush of lights and pain and confusion. Craig had gotten away it seemed for the time being but Scott was caught and laid out in the back of ambulance that the cops had purposely waited to call until he confessed. Even with five people dead, one in the adjacent room looking through their key whole to see what all the noise was, he’d never even fired a gun. The one Craig had put in his hands was the first he’d ever touched, but that’s how it went.
“As I laid there shot with a cracked skull and cuffed and eternally fucked I thought to myself there’s no justice.”