Monday, December 9, 2013

No Bad in Them

Curtis always thought that a criminal wearing a ski mask to commit a crime wasn’t being creative, or original. So when he decided to gather supplies for the robbery his friend and now so called partner in crime Dennis were going to attempt, he purchased two paint ball masks.

“Which of these places is it again?” Dennis whispered.
“It’s the one on the right there with the Santa shit still on the lawn.You don’t have to whisper, unless these dudes have some fuckin’ legit hearing man,” Curtis replied sharply from behind the Ranger’s steering wheel. “They don’t got no lookout.”

Dennis played with the 12-gauge Curtis had commandeered for him from his step-father’s house. He had only fired a gun once in his life, and that was the one year he went deer hunting up north with his grandfather. The gun had gone off accidentally. He had fired plenty with great success in virtual worlds on his Playstation however.

Dennis asked, “So, why is it we’re listening to Amy? I mean, she’s only sixteen dude. This whole “deal” could have been some shit posted on Facebook or whatever.”

“My sister didn’t see this shit on Facebook dude, it’s for real. Besides, what do we got to lose? A shitty apartment and jobs at the car wash aint exactly living the high life. I’d take a chance like this over that any fuckin’ day of the week.”

The two sat in silence for a moment afterward. Dennis actually felt chills from what his friend had said, and came to the realization that maybe Curtis was right. Maybe trusting a sixteen year old girl on the location of a drug deal which could yield grand amounts of money was his golden ticket. Then he thought about how he could just be an idiot.

Curtis wasn‘t waiting any longer, said, “Anyway, they been in their long enough. Get your mask on, let’s fuckin’ roll on em.” The two cautiously exited the truck with their masks on and weapons ready to go. They slowly crept across the gravel towards the trailer. Upon reaching the door, Curtis took the lead. Keeping one hand on his .45 he grabbed the handle of the entrance and without another second of hesitation burst into the trailer like a wild banshee. Dennis followed unquestionably.

“Hands in the air motherfuckers! Don’t fuckin’ move!” Curtis yelled without taking into account the other inhabitants of the surrounding trailers. There were three men inside; a deadlocked hippie, and two older gentlemen. The hippie was seated across from one of the older men at a card table. There were no drugs or money to be seen. The second of the two older gents was already facing Curtis and Dennis with both hands in his pockets.

Everyone stared at each other for what seemed like over an hour, at least to Dennis. His gun was aimed at no one in particular, sweat was pouring out and he was shaking. The standing gentleman was not shaking, or sweating.

“Didn’t you hear me ass holes? I said, hands in the air!” Curtis exclaimed. The standing gentleman calmly removed a pistol with a suppressor attached and fired two rounds, one striking Dennis in the throat and the other piercing the plastic covering Curtis’s eyes, shattering the mask and some of his skull with it. The boys fell to the ground, blood beginning to stain the trailer’s shag carpet.

“Jesus. What was that all about? Vic, see who those punks are.” The sitting gentleman ordered. Vic placed the pistol back in his coat and pulled the boy’s masks off.

“Just a couple kids boss. Early 20‘s maybe. I’ll get it taken care of,” Vic said as he went to the kitchen to grab some dish towels.

“Kids these days,” the boss said to Erik. “I’ll cut you a deal tonight because of this. How about for the next batch we let you keep 30 percent?”

Erik ran his hand through his locks and replied, “Deal.”