Post by Spirk on Dec 5, 2004 14:34:50 GMT -5
Original Story
Blood and guts
Jimmy Sticks
By
R.M. Carroll
Jimmy Sticks always liked to tell people he wasn’t a ‘made’ man, he was actually born this way. People always laughed when he said it, not because they found the joker, or the man funny. They laughed because they feared him and to him fear was like a fine wine, something he enjoyed immensely.
Born James Pastorelli in 1977, Jimmy Sticks was the son of a good catholic Italian mother and a drunken louse of a father. His dad used to come home and beat him and his mother on a regular basis up until Jimmy’s 10th birthday, when while his father, drunk and high, beat his mother to within an inch of her life. Jimmy was sure that the slobbering beast that his father had become would have killed her if Jimmy hadn’t stuck a pairing knife in the man’s neck.
That had been Jimmy’s introduction into ‘the life’ of La Costa Nostra. His mother hadn’t called the police after she had shoved her husband’s dead body off of her. Instead she had called her brother, Vincent Boselli to take care of the situation. Jimmy hadn’t had much connection with his mother’s family, she had kept him away from them, saying they were no good and her son wouldn’t grow up in that life.
Yet as his uncle and his friends came inside, dressed in their flashy five thousand dollar suits and sporting rings and necklaces that just screamed money, Jimmy knew, right then and there what he wanted to do, who he wanted to be. He wanted to be a gangster; he wanted to be like uncle Vinnie.
Eighteen years later Jimmy Sticks stood in the rain as he watched the window on the second level of the corner apartment, waited for it to go out so he could go in and take care of business. At 28 Jimmy was the problem solver for the Boselli family, in the sense that he solved any problem that came their way, usually in a permanent fashion. He had been 18 when he made his bones, 21 when the books had been open and Jimmy Sticks had been made. For his uncle Vinnie and in the name of the family Jimmy had killed fifty-eight men, including two federal agents but Jimmy had never been caught, there had been no evidence of him every being near any of the victims and he always had an airtight alibi. Jimmy Sticks was a ghost, a legend among the alphabet agencies as well as local law enforcement.
Tonight it was a man who had witnessed uncle Vinnie wack Mickey Skaggs, the local bookie who had been holding out. The cops were pressuring the man to testify but the guy was a tough cookie and had refused to speak up to that point. Uncle Vinnie wasn’t one to take chances however, so he was going to send in Jimmy Sticks to make sure the guy stay silent, permanent like.
Jimmy watched as the light in the corner apartment went out but still he didn’t move, he stood his ground, watching inside for movement as he kept an eye on the door to see if the mark was leaving for somewhere. If he took the guy out in the street, maybe shoved him into an alley as he took the guy then nobody would be the wiser til trash day. He didn’t expect to see the guy leave, not on a crappy night like this. He was betting the guy was in for the night.
“Showtime.” He muttered as he tucked his hands into his coat pocket and kept his head low against the rain as he jogged across the street to the entranceway. Jimmy pulled the key from his pocket and slipped it into the lock. Getting the key from the landlord had been easy. The guy was grateful just to help Jimmy in order to keep breathing but uncle Vinnie had always taught Jimmy to take care of his people so he’d given the man five grand for the key as well.
The water dripped softly from Jimmy’s coat and onto the worn carpeting of the stairs as the assassin made his way up the stairs. It would all be in the timing, he told himself as his hand gripped the pistol in his right coat pocket. Key in the door, slip in, and clip the guy while he slept. That was the plan, one he’d used several times before, one that had yet to get him caught yet.
He stopped in front of the mark’s door and stood there. He listened for sounds of movement within, something that would betray the guy and tell Jimmy he wasn’t in bed after all, but he didn’t hear anything, finally it was time.
Jimmy slipped the key in the lock and heard the bolt slide open with a small click that sounded like a gunshot in Jimmy’s ears. He stood outside of the door and listened. He waited and listened for the sound of movement within the apartment, anything that signified that the small click had been heard.
After waiting a few moments more Jimmy turned the knob on the door and let the door swing silently open. He slipped into the room and took a look around at the dimly lit hallway as he pulled the door quietly closed behind him. He didn’t hear anything, no sounds of breathing, no hum of a refrigerator, nothing but the soft rustle of his clothing as he went deeper into the apartment.
The man sat on the leather chair his legs crossed casually, his elbows rested on the arms of the chair and his fingers were steepled in front of his face. “Hello Jimmy.”<br>
Jimmy stood stunned, the gun in his hand forgotten as he found himself totally caught off guard. The mark hadn’t gone to bed; he’d turned off the lights and waited for Jimmy to make his move. To make things worse the mark knew him by name.
“Come now Jimmy, cat got your tongue?” The mark said with a chuckle as he watched the hitman try to decide what to do. “I know this isn’t exactly what you were expecting now was it? I mean you thought I’d gone to bed, that I would be asleep, making me easier to ‘pop’ right?”<br>
“How do you know who I am?” Jimmy demanded as the anger at the man’s mocking laugh finally sunk in. He pulled the pistol from his pocket and held it out in front of him, pointed at the mark as the man just smiled from behind those steepled fingers.
“Now that’s the spirit!” The man laughed as he suddenly sat forward, his elbows rested on his knees as Jimmy got a good look at the man’s face. “Come on Jimmy, do what you came to do, shoot me!”
“What are you nuts?” Jimmy asked, the confusion and astonishment obvious in his voice. He was the aggressor; he was the one who said how things would be, not the mark, never the mark. Yet here Jimmy stood, in this guy’s home and he had completely lost control of the situation.
“Here, let me help you out with this.” The man whispered into Jimmy’s ear as he yanked the gun from Jimmy’s hand. Jimmy let out a shriek as he tried to move away from the mark but the guy had Jimmy’s arm in what felt like a vice grip and he wouldn’t let go. The mark had moved so fast that Jimmy hadn’t even seen it. He must have done it when Jimmy blinked, that’s all he could think of.
“Who are you?” Jimmy whined as the man tossed the gun onto the couch and used his other hand to grab the would-be killer by the back of the neck. He tried to fight it, tried to slip from the unbelievable strength this guy showed made Jimmy begin to panic all the more.
“You want to know who I am Jimmy? I’m the guy you came to kill, remember? I’m your next victim. No actually let me correct that, I was ‘to be’ your next victim.” He squeezed Jimmy’s neck a little tighter as he elicited a squeak from the killer. “It’s funny really, how these things work out isn’t it. You came here to kill me, but instead you brought me dinner.”<br>
Jimmy let out a long high-pitched scream as the mark turned Jimmy to show him the lengthened jaws, the two long razor sharp fangs that hung down from the mark’s face. “Yes.” The mark hissed, “Sing for me my little killer.” Jimmy began to blubber as his intended victim turned Jimmy’s head so he could get easy access to the mobster’s neck. The fangs pierced the killer’s flesh, the blood spurted into the vampire’s mouth as he sucked the hitman dry and didn’t notice as the body slid from his hands. He was sated for now, but he couldn’t stay here anymore, he would have to find another place to live, but at least he was able to have Italian for dinner.
Blood and guts
Jimmy Sticks
By
R.M. Carroll
Jimmy Sticks always liked to tell people he wasn’t a ‘made’ man, he was actually born this way. People always laughed when he said it, not because they found the joker, or the man funny. They laughed because they feared him and to him fear was like a fine wine, something he enjoyed immensely.
Born James Pastorelli in 1977, Jimmy Sticks was the son of a good catholic Italian mother and a drunken louse of a father. His dad used to come home and beat him and his mother on a regular basis up until Jimmy’s 10th birthday, when while his father, drunk and high, beat his mother to within an inch of her life. Jimmy was sure that the slobbering beast that his father had become would have killed her if Jimmy hadn’t stuck a pairing knife in the man’s neck.
That had been Jimmy’s introduction into ‘the life’ of La Costa Nostra. His mother hadn’t called the police after she had shoved her husband’s dead body off of her. Instead she had called her brother, Vincent Boselli to take care of the situation. Jimmy hadn’t had much connection with his mother’s family, she had kept him away from them, saying they were no good and her son wouldn’t grow up in that life.
Yet as his uncle and his friends came inside, dressed in their flashy five thousand dollar suits and sporting rings and necklaces that just screamed money, Jimmy knew, right then and there what he wanted to do, who he wanted to be. He wanted to be a gangster; he wanted to be like uncle Vinnie.
Eighteen years later Jimmy Sticks stood in the rain as he watched the window on the second level of the corner apartment, waited for it to go out so he could go in and take care of business. At 28 Jimmy was the problem solver for the Boselli family, in the sense that he solved any problem that came their way, usually in a permanent fashion. He had been 18 when he made his bones, 21 when the books had been open and Jimmy Sticks had been made. For his uncle Vinnie and in the name of the family Jimmy had killed fifty-eight men, including two federal agents but Jimmy had never been caught, there had been no evidence of him every being near any of the victims and he always had an airtight alibi. Jimmy Sticks was a ghost, a legend among the alphabet agencies as well as local law enforcement.
Tonight it was a man who had witnessed uncle Vinnie wack Mickey Skaggs, the local bookie who had been holding out. The cops were pressuring the man to testify but the guy was a tough cookie and had refused to speak up to that point. Uncle Vinnie wasn’t one to take chances however, so he was going to send in Jimmy Sticks to make sure the guy stay silent, permanent like.
Jimmy watched as the light in the corner apartment went out but still he didn’t move, he stood his ground, watching inside for movement as he kept an eye on the door to see if the mark was leaving for somewhere. If he took the guy out in the street, maybe shoved him into an alley as he took the guy then nobody would be the wiser til trash day. He didn’t expect to see the guy leave, not on a crappy night like this. He was betting the guy was in for the night.
“Showtime.” He muttered as he tucked his hands into his coat pocket and kept his head low against the rain as he jogged across the street to the entranceway. Jimmy pulled the key from his pocket and slipped it into the lock. Getting the key from the landlord had been easy. The guy was grateful just to help Jimmy in order to keep breathing but uncle Vinnie had always taught Jimmy to take care of his people so he’d given the man five grand for the key as well.
The water dripped softly from Jimmy’s coat and onto the worn carpeting of the stairs as the assassin made his way up the stairs. It would all be in the timing, he told himself as his hand gripped the pistol in his right coat pocket. Key in the door, slip in, and clip the guy while he slept. That was the plan, one he’d used several times before, one that had yet to get him caught yet.
He stopped in front of the mark’s door and stood there. He listened for sounds of movement within, something that would betray the guy and tell Jimmy he wasn’t in bed after all, but he didn’t hear anything, finally it was time.
Jimmy slipped the key in the lock and heard the bolt slide open with a small click that sounded like a gunshot in Jimmy’s ears. He stood outside of the door and listened. He waited and listened for the sound of movement within the apartment, anything that signified that the small click had been heard.
After waiting a few moments more Jimmy turned the knob on the door and let the door swing silently open. He slipped into the room and took a look around at the dimly lit hallway as he pulled the door quietly closed behind him. He didn’t hear anything, no sounds of breathing, no hum of a refrigerator, nothing but the soft rustle of his clothing as he went deeper into the apartment.
The man sat on the leather chair his legs crossed casually, his elbows rested on the arms of the chair and his fingers were steepled in front of his face. “Hello Jimmy.”<br>
Jimmy stood stunned, the gun in his hand forgotten as he found himself totally caught off guard. The mark hadn’t gone to bed; he’d turned off the lights and waited for Jimmy to make his move. To make things worse the mark knew him by name.
“Come now Jimmy, cat got your tongue?” The mark said with a chuckle as he watched the hitman try to decide what to do. “I know this isn’t exactly what you were expecting now was it? I mean you thought I’d gone to bed, that I would be asleep, making me easier to ‘pop’ right?”<br>
“How do you know who I am?” Jimmy demanded as the anger at the man’s mocking laugh finally sunk in. He pulled the pistol from his pocket and held it out in front of him, pointed at the mark as the man just smiled from behind those steepled fingers.
“Now that’s the spirit!” The man laughed as he suddenly sat forward, his elbows rested on his knees as Jimmy got a good look at the man’s face. “Come on Jimmy, do what you came to do, shoot me!”
“What are you nuts?” Jimmy asked, the confusion and astonishment obvious in his voice. He was the aggressor; he was the one who said how things would be, not the mark, never the mark. Yet here Jimmy stood, in this guy’s home and he had completely lost control of the situation.
“Here, let me help you out with this.” The man whispered into Jimmy’s ear as he yanked the gun from Jimmy’s hand. Jimmy let out a shriek as he tried to move away from the mark but the guy had Jimmy’s arm in what felt like a vice grip and he wouldn’t let go. The mark had moved so fast that Jimmy hadn’t even seen it. He must have done it when Jimmy blinked, that’s all he could think of.
“Who are you?” Jimmy whined as the man tossed the gun onto the couch and used his other hand to grab the would-be killer by the back of the neck. He tried to fight it, tried to slip from the unbelievable strength this guy showed made Jimmy begin to panic all the more.
“You want to know who I am Jimmy? I’m the guy you came to kill, remember? I’m your next victim. No actually let me correct that, I was ‘to be’ your next victim.” He squeezed Jimmy’s neck a little tighter as he elicited a squeak from the killer. “It’s funny really, how these things work out isn’t it. You came here to kill me, but instead you brought me dinner.”<br>
Jimmy let out a long high-pitched scream as the mark turned Jimmy to show him the lengthened jaws, the two long razor sharp fangs that hung down from the mark’s face. “Yes.” The mark hissed, “Sing for me my little killer.” Jimmy began to blubber as his intended victim turned Jimmy’s head so he could get easy access to the mobster’s neck. The fangs pierced the killer’s flesh, the blood spurted into the vampire’s mouth as he sucked the hitman dry and didn’t notice as the body slid from his hands. He was sated for now, but he couldn’t stay here anymore, he would have to find another place to live, but at least he was able to have Italian for dinner.