All You Got

08/24/11

Damn alley stinks. Dumpster stinks worse. How can people eat this shit? I think. My inner voice says, ask yourself, fuckhead. I’m about to backhand my inner voice across the chops when the service door slides  up and Dickhead slides out. I’m out of the Dumpster and on him before he sees me. I get the Colt up under his chin and my face an inch from his. His breath reeks worse than the alley so I make it quick.

“Where’s your brother?”

He screws his face into that old I ain’t gonna tell you shit expression so, before it gets completely set on his puss, I knock out three of his front teeth with the gun butt. He swallows two of them and gags out the third.

“Where’s your brother?”

I rake the front sight across his forehead and a curtain of blood floods down into his eyes.

I start to repeat the question but he’s there ahead of me.

“Jesus,” he says. “Jesus. I don’t know.”

I click back the hammer.

“Anything comes out of your ugly fucking mouth but where your brother is and . . .” I let the words trail off and shrug.

Give the guy credit. He tries.

“He’s on the run. Left town I don’t–”

I plant a slug in his left knee. Fucking forty-five sounds like a bomb in the alley. I got GSR burning my face and  my ears are ringing. I also got a big, green blob right in the center of my vision from the muzzle flash. He’s jabbering now and crying. Eyes rolled back. Not ready yet. I pop his right knee.

He’s almost out and he ain’t going nowhere on two blown knees. There’s plenty of time. People in this neighborhood don’t call the cops, so I settle back a while to let the green blob get out of my vision. Let him calm down a little. This time he’s ready.

“Last time I saw him he was at mom’s,” he chokes out.

“Yeah?” I say and plant the barrel on his right shoulder. He’s doing his best to roll his shoulder away from the gun.

“Your mom’s place?”

“Yeah, yeah. Oh Christ. Yeah. Please.”

I cock the hammer back.

“Where’s mama live?”

“Oh Godgodgod . . . she . . . Jesus Christ . . . fuck.”

I nudge him again. Come on, man,” I say. “You can do it.” I twist the barrel slightly. It comes out in a babbling rush.

“1722 East Clark. It’s an apartment house she’s in 235 second floor oh God!”

The last part’s a scream when he realizes he’s given me all I need to find his mother and what I’m going to do to her when I get there. I can see it all in his eyes.

He doesn’t need to worry about living with that knowledge though. I shoot him in the head and he droops like an empty trash bag. Which he pretty much is. I look down at him for a little bit. I flip my phone. Dial the number.

“Yeah?”

“Done.”

There’s a pause.

“You sure he –”

“1722 East Clark. Second floor. Number 235,” I say.

“He ratted me,” she says. “The little fucker ratted me. What kind of son would give up his own mother?”

“The kind you gotta put to the test to be sure of,” I say. “The dead kind.”

There’s another pause. A long one. I know she’s calculating the odds on what happens if she doesn’t pay me. I guess she doesn’t like those odds and besides, she’s got another son. One who won’t rat. Now.

“I transferred the funds,” she says finally.

I hang up and find a bar on the other side of town. Order a drink and dial my phone.

“Hi, mom,” I say. “How are things?”

I mean you gotta take care of family. They’re all you got in this world.

~ fin ~

AJ Hayes was a talented, nurturing writer who flourished in the short story medium. Known for hard tack stories that were lean and without an ounce of waste. He flourished writing short stories, and as much as he enjoyed writing the brutal tale, he was more than ready to lend a supporting word. AJ Hayes lived in a small town near San Diego, California where there is no mafia . . . now.

Apologies for my lateness. That was perfect it every way. Great job, AJ.
David Barber
September 26, 2011
It doesn't get colder than that. Positively perfect!
Joyce Juzwik
September 08, 2011
Aj--would you call this a disfunctional family? Brutal and jaw dropping. Go for another beer, pal. I know you like'em tough.
Brstateham
August 27, 2011
yes! cruel is a good word for this one. dark humor sorta in its peripheries, too. i can't wait to link to this next Mother's Day. she will love it. no joke.
David James Keaton
August 27, 2011
Brutally well done!
Glenn Gray
August 26, 2011
Good one, AJ. I especially liked afterimage of the muzzle flash. It's the little things . . .
Garnett Elliott
August 25, 2011
Thanks You Guys. I appreciate it very much.
AJ Hayes
August 25, 2011
Great job, AJ. The phone call at the end is very touching.
Sabrinaogden
August 24, 2011
Savage and cruel - nice work!
Julie Lewthwaite
August 24, 2011
Cruel cruel world! Great opening.
August 24, 2011
Brutal is the best word. I'll leave it at that.
Ryan Sayles
August 24, 2011
AJ takes rusty razor to that edge of skin and keeps peeling. Real as it comes, brilliant dialogue, great ending, and like a raw steak.
Richard Godwin
August 24, 2011
Nice one, man.
August 24, 2011
Solid story A.J, I like the dialogs.
Ben
August 24, 2011
AJ Hayes knows how to flash. As nasty as they come and perfectly paced.
Chris Rhatigan
August 24, 2011
Brilliant
Jim Mcleod
August 24, 2011
Brutal! good job AJ!!
Thomas Pluck
August 24, 2011
Oh that was good! Dark, dirty, and delicious. Enjoyed that :)
Julia Madeleine
August 24, 2011
That's how you do it, AJ. Always liked this one. Just pops from the get-go.
John Kenyon
August 24, 2011
Hits the ground running and doesn't stop. Powerful like a sledgehammer to the kneecaps. No De-caff fiction from AJ!
dusty123
August 24, 2011
Great bit of hardboiled.
Paul D Brazill
August 24, 2011

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