Another Dirty Day

         1
Felix
         
Felix’s cigarette gently blew smoke as it cradled in his mouth, and the car rumbled across the free ranged morning roads. A small amount of dew grazed the windows, and Felix used the side of his jet-black suit to wipe some off, for viewing out the glass. Felix felt it safer in the passenger side, rather then driving and looked towards his friend Truman attentively driving in the dead silence. The smell of smoke and brisk morning air was all that filled the car, until Truman began to speak, and added a third spice of noise, “Felix…do you know what I heard this morning on the television set?”

         “No…what did you hear?”

         “Ok, get this…I’ve been working the gambling rig for about 3 years now, right. You know the horses, and the poker nights, for 3 fucking years now, I make a tad of money here and there but its luck man, all fucking luck. I could wake up in the morning an be the richest guy in my apartment building, next day its all to shit. Gambling man, it’s fucked up.”

         “So, what did you hear?”

         “About what?” Truman looked towards Felix puzzled, the first time he had taken his eyes off the road the whole trip.

         “The television, you idiot, come on Truman…” Felix strangely looked at Truman, as he put out his cigarette in the ashtray. Felix blew the smoke from his mouth, and pulled another cigarette from his pack, and lit it up. Felix blew his first smoky breath and waited for Truman’s response.

         “Oh ya, so gambling’s a fuck job right, its for the birds, but…on the TV this morning around 6:00 or so, this infomercial comes on you know?”

         “Ya”

         “And this thing it says a Chiropractor is one of the fastest growing career choices, and you make a killing. You do one year of school, and that’s it, and you go and get a job or whatever and in comes the cheddar…ha, you know man?”

         Felix looked towards Truman, blowing a cloud of smoke from the side of his mouth, “Well…looks to me like it’s a scam…”

         “What?”

         “Ya, it’s a fucking scam I know man, I know, I once bought like a…what the fuck was it called, a sweeper thing to clean my stairs…right? And then it came and it didn’t…fucking work!”

         “Ya, but this is advertising a career option you know? Like you don’t order, it just gives you like a…um…number to call for your school and shit.” Truman kept his eyes on the road, and talked at the same time. He was almost desensitized to the watching the road through a cloud of smoke, and a tad of dew on the windshield. It wasn’t a cold day; it was just the morning and it was a bit chilly. Truman had his big high school jacket, from the 15 years ago when he actually got in school. It was still big on his skinny body that hadn’t grown much since his grade twelve year. “Man, I don’t know I just thought it sounded interesting, but look at you Felix, you got that insurance rig shit going on and stuff, of coarse your gonna stay in that”

         “Ya, I know Truman, there’s the diner” Felix put out another cigarette and pulled another from his pack, and lit it up quickly with his Zippo lighter.

         “Ya I got it, so Felix man, why the hell do you wear that jet black suit, on your day off?” Truman pulled up to small diner that had about three other cars in the lot, “I mean its kind of silly to wear that thing everyday Felix…”

         “I’m a professional ok, a business man, I wear it so that it says…hey look at me I Fucking mean business,” Felix got out of the parked car simultaneously as Truman and slammed door, and flicked his cigarette away, “Plus, this way I don’t have to decide what I’m going to wear, everyday I don’t know if there is a fucking statistic somewhere but I bet that like 15% of an average mans day is making the morning choices right. So the way I look at the situation is if I’m not worrying about those choices, I can 15% of my time doing something like…going to this diner with you Truman.” The two continued to walk through the bell-hung door with an instructing ring and led themselves to a booth in the back corner.

         “That’s a botched stat there Felix, there’s no mother fucking way that an average man can take that much time to just get ready, I mean I through this on without even thinking, man nope your wrong.”

         “Well either way, I’m saving time on it” Felix shut the case on the conversation as he watched the waitress come toward their table with a hot fresh pot of coffee. She walked with a friendly smile and a bit of a lope.

         “Hi there, boys how are you?” the waitress spoke calmly almost as she could stop a war with her voice, and she poured her brew into Truman’s coffee mug. She turned over Felix’s mug and began to pour…

         “Hold on a fucking minute there, missy!” Felix’s words let the kind waitress be stopped in her tracks, “Did I order a coffee? Did he order a coffee? No I don’t fucking think so!”

         “Actually Felix I’m Pretty cool with coffee” Truman spoke trying to calm down Felix.

         “Sorry, ok I’ll take a Coke please” Felix pulled a cigarette from his pack and lit it up, as he calmed his way down.

         “Its alright there, no I’m sorry we don’t have any coke, is Pepsi alright?” the waitress looked towards Felix, thinking in her mind of how crazy this guy is.

         “No its not fucking alright did I ask for a Pepsi?” Felix again began to explode, “Like holy fuck a Pepsi is not a coke and visa versa ok so I will have no drink. Thank you” Felix relaxed himself as the waitress left, “Since when is it customary for the waitress to fill your coffee mug before you ask for that coffee?”

         “It’s a diner Felix, how many people do you see not drinking coffee people just come here for that, you know? No one orders a Coke at 8:00 in the morning.” Truman new Felix was an odd character suffering from a thousand different things, dyslexia, chronic fatigue, germ phobia, and obsessive-compulsive disorder. Truman still thought that half the time Felix was crazy. Felix didn’t answer and continues to smoke his cigarette and rearrange the saltshakers, and ketchups on the table.

         “So Felix what’s your favourite number?” Truman asked as he pulled a sheet of paper and a magazine from his inside pocket, “I need to make a final pick on the races today, just tell me your favourite number”

         “8”

         “8, is your favourite number ok,” Truman marked down some things on his sheet, and flicked through a couple pages of his magazine, the whole idea was foreign to Felix, “Why 8?”

         Felix finished his cigarette and put it out in the ashtray, “Well, you see you have 8 fingers”

         Truman interrupted, “No you have ten!”

         “No, thumbs aren’t fingers, so you see, that means you have 8 fucking fingers ok. So basically, eight is how many fingers your have if you take your thumbs there’s two…right?”

         “Ya,” Truman took a sip from his coffee, “So that’s not eight?”

         “Yes but if you times 2 thumbs, but by 4 fingers its 8”

         “Felix that is so fucking retarded”

         “Well that’s why I like the number, ok so shut the fuck up Truman!” Felix calmed again, and he lit up a cigarette and began to smoke. The waitress came back, this time with her guard a little higher.
         “Can I get you boys anything to eat?” the waitress asked calmly.

         Truman looked over the menu, “I’ll have the hungry man breakfast.”

         The waitress looked towards Felix, “Me too please, no eggs though” Felix bobbed his head back down, and continued to smoke. The waitress then left with the orders.

         “No eggs?”

         “They come out of a chickens ass Truman!” Felix looked up towards his friend, waiting for a response. Truman stared off in the distance right past Felix, “Truman!” Truman still stared out past the window.

         “Oh shit!” Truman got up completely ignoring Felix, “No not today damn. Felix got up and put out his cigarette, he looked out the window. Outside were two men dressed in sharp black suits beating on Truman’s car with baseball bats. Truman began to walk towards the outside of the diner, “I have till tomorrow damn!” Truman talked under his breath walking outside, and the far drawn Felix followed close behind him.

         The two walked out the door and Truman began to plead, “Guys guys, stop please!” Truman stayed back from the two men giving heavy blows to the car.

         “Black told you Truman,” one of the two men spoke to Truman, and they stopped the battering, “You had till today, were the fucking money”

         “Black said tomorrow, I have till tomorrow you know that”

         “He said to you today, today is Saturday”

         “Really?”

         “Ya”

         “Oh shit,” Truman looked back at Felix who was standing in front of the diner door, “Well I can get the money, give me an hour ok?” Truman’s face turned to a shade of being frightened and he looked back at Felix once more, when he turned back both the men had pulled out guns. Truman’s face broke into a scared look, and Felix stepped back a small bit, but one of the men aimed his gun at Felix freezing everyone in the position.

         Truman’s eyes glanced back and forth trying to survey the situation, “Ok, how much do I owe again?”

         “One, of the men spoke up and answered, “$1,500 Truman”

         “Holy, ok can I check my glove compartment I think I have a bit of a stash in there, please boys just let me check” Truman pleaded looking at the two men, “Jack, Ray come on guys, I’ve been working for Black along time, now you guys gotta let me check”

         Felix stayed frozen, as the one man, Jack, was holding his gun steady on him, the other man Ray began to speak, “Alright check it Truman, now move!” Truman graced his way over to the car, as a light buzz of police sirens rang in the distance, probably called by someone in the diner. Truman split the two men by walking between them and opened the passenger door that now had a broken window. Truman bent inside rustling through some napkins, a coffee cup, and a few envelopes. No money to be found. Jack kept his gun steady on Felix, as Truman pretended to find money.

         “Yep, here’s a grand just let me check for the rest,” Truman spoke as he grasped a gun from deep in the glove box. Now that the talk of money had been let out, Ray let his guard down and lit a cigarette and set his gun on the roof of the car. Jack on the other hand kept his gun steady on Felix, who was puffing on the smallest cigarette known to man. Truman heard the sirens getting closer to diner, and shouted again, “Ok here’s the $500” Truman began to pull the gun from the deepness of the glove box, sirens got closer and matched his heartbeat with every ring, he felt Jack behind holding his innocent friend up, he knew that Ray was pacing the lot with a fresh cigarette. Truman pulled the gun into the light of that summer morning…

         Snap! Truman kicked the leg of Jack out from underneath him causing a bullet to fly for Jacks gun bursting out a diner window sending Felix for the driver side of the car, with a spin pivot Truman fired a bullet into Ray’s leg before he could blow a final breath of smoke. Ray shot to the ground with a thumb and the cigarette rolled across the morning cement, Jack began to get up and crawl for the gun, the sirens rang and a police cruiser showed up, revealing two officers at the ready to fire, Felix was in the car starting up the engine, beginning to hyper ventilate from the action.

         Ray yelled from the ground, “Fuck…Jack get them!”

         “Freeze, hold it!” The cops yelled at them all, causing Jack to stop crawling and stand only a small bit from his gun. Truman jumped in the passenger side and Felix burned out and swerved out of the lot, causing a firing rampage of guns from the police. One of the cops jumped in his car and began to pursuit, while the other stayed hovering over Ray’s pain-filled body, and holding a gun to Jack who stood frozen waiting for the happiness of his warm gun.

         Felix used his poor driving skills, but continued down the now rush hour street, and Truman readied his gun. “Holy shit, Truman you ass I just wanted some breakfast, you idiot now look, this is fucked!”

         “Felix, I’m sorry man, hey don’t worry I’ll get you out of this ok, just drive this guy looks like a rookie he wont get us,” Truman then leaned out the window and began to shoot at the cop, but the speed of the beat up old Chevy, and his poor aim caused for bullets to shoot off like bees from a hive, “I’m sorry Felix,” Truman yelled now from the outside of the car, “It’ll be fine though, You know?”

         Felix ignored Truman’s muttered yelling words that were drowned out by gunshots, and turned a sharp left on a red light, almost bashing into the side of a pick-up truck, “You Fuck, you bloody fuck Truman!”

         “I’m sorry, just drive and be careful, he’s drifting behind, we’ll be good”

         “I need my pills, my uppers grab them from my side pocket man come on grab them!”

         “Ok,” Truman reached into the pocket of Felix’s cheap black suit, and pulled an orange pill jar out with no labels, “Um, I think its empty Felix…” for one of the first times Truman was actually worried to piss of Felix.

         “Ah, fuck I need them…”

         “Felix maybe you should, stop taking you speed pills” Truman spoke, coked his gun and leaned out the window for another barrage of useless gunshots.

         “There not fucking speed pills, they’re MPH it’s a for my chronic fatigue!”

         Boom, Boom, Boom, gunshots went flying and in the distance was the sound of screams, sirens, and destruction. “ Ya ok, well you don’t need as much as you take Felix, you’re addicted, and they’re not even prescribed!” Truman fired a last shot and leaned back in the speeding car.

         “Shut the fuck up, Truman I’m not the one to be messed with right now, I need some fucking pills or something soon…fuck!” Felix turned another sharp turn down and alley and followed it with another quick turn, and Truman looked behind them.

         “Ha, I thin he crashed back there, I’m not sure be we lost him, ha” Truman cracked a small smile, but Felix continued to look pissed, Felix slowed the car a bit and pulled up to small drugstore next to a video rental shop. The sounds of sirens slowly died and the commotion stopped somewhat, but Truman question why he stopped, “Felix…what the hell we cant stop man!”

         Listen, I need a fucking upper right now, you need to get into that drug store and buy me some shit I don’t know what the fuck some Ritalin or whatever the fuck gets you up. I have to talk to my dealer and if I cant get some shit right now, I’m gonna pass out so hurry the fuck up Truman!” Felix rarely became clear and direct. He looked towards the frightened and worried Truman, and stared.

         Truman reached into his pocket and pulled out a twenty dollar bill, “Ok, keep the car running…”
         “Ya, hurry up!” Felix turned on the radio to a random preset that Truman had, the radio station had a new broadcast that talked about what just happened at the dinner the muffled radio spoke.

         “This morning at Flash Pan dinner 4 men had a dispute in the parking lot using fire arms, two men left in a vehicle and are being tracked by the police, while the two other men were being arrested one picked up a fire arm and shot and killed the police officer arresting them. All for men are about the town, no descriptions are released, but they are considered armed and dangerous.”

         Felix clicked off the radio, and pulled out a cigarette and lit it. He watched Truman walk into to the drug store, and the sounds of sirens flowed in the distance. Felix blew smoke from the side of his mouth and readied his hands on the steering wheel, and began to drive away, he muttered under his breath, “Sorry Truman…”





         























2
Truman Florence
         
Truman walked into the brightly lit drugstore, with a shiver. Truman was scared from the previous events and the ring of sirens could be heard even from inside the drugstore. Truman stared down at his watch reveal the time of 10:00am. He looked around the large aisles of bright coloured pill jars, feminine products, and over priced energy drinks. Truman slowly picked up a basket from the pile at the door and moved his way towards the drink fridge, a little old lady stared at him as he moved his way there, and the teller chewed her bubble gum and read a magazine.

         Truman wasn’t a doctor or a pharmacist so he had no idea of what to by for a booster, he first grabbed about three energy drinks from the fried and put them in the basket, he then moved his way to the back where the pharmacy was located. Truman didn’t know how to go about asking for and upper of a pill of some sort, so he stared profusely at the lady working the counter almost freighting her and making her shutter with a customary speech, “Um, can I help you sir?”

         “Ah, yes I need some Ritalin or a…” Truman began to think of what Felix called his medicine, “a M…P…H, ya an MPH”

         The lady at the counter stared at Truman, wondering why he was so confused of the pills, and why he would want them, “Methylphenidate?”

         “Um ya of coarse, is there any other…ha, eh?” Truman had no idea what he was talking about, and could hear sirens reaching closer, his voice was choppy and cracked as if he was still the teenage boy that first wore the big high school jacket that now had his gun stuffed in the pocket.

         “Sir, I can’t sell you Methylphenidate, its illegal to sell any pill with MPH in it to someone who is not prescribed,” the lady’s face turned from looking at Truman, to staring out the window at three police cruisers pulling up outside. Truman followed her face, and turned slowly to the window, in shock. He looked deep for Felix waiting in the car, but noticed he wasn’t outside. Truman immediately dropped the basket with the drinks causing one to break open and fizz across the pale clean floor. The lady began to back up suspected Truman as some sort of a convict and Truman began to walk around to the corner aisle of the store.

         Truman watched as the six police officers walked calmly into the store and talked to bubble gum valley girl working the till. Truman couldn’t make out the words, that they were saying but he watched as the blonde bombshell blew a bubble and pointed to the back of the store, causing three of the officers to work their way to the back of the store. “Fuck me…” Truman muttered swears under his breath as he walked around the aisle playing cat and mouse with cops. He could now make out some dialogue between the pharmacist lady and one of the officers.

         “He was just here, wanting to by drugs?”

         “Yes officer, um he just went around that corner, you could probably catch him,” The lady pointed to the corner where Truman was, and the officers worked there way over. Truman gently swayed down the aisle confused of where to go in the store. A shopping cart filled with shampoo bottles threw him off balance for a moment and he looked up to see and officer at the end of the aisle.

         “Freeze mother fucker!” the cop stood holding a gun with both hands not letting a guard down. Truman thought fast and decided to turn and go the other way down the aisle, but another officer appeared holding a gun, “don’t try it, asshole…on the ground”

         Once again the ability of quick thinking came to play…

         Bam! Truman kicked the cart full of shampoo bottles and sent it flying into the first cop knowing him down and off guard, Truman snuck his skinny body down the aisle and slid on his knees to get out of view of the second cop, he pulled the gun from his coat a shot the second cop in head sending him straight to the ground, with a bit of him going to wall as a new piece of art. The first cop began to rise up but Truman span and fired a bullet from his gun into his side. Truman began to run down the back aisle for the back door.

         On the first aisle a barrage of cops came flying down, but Truman continued down, he picked up a large supplement jar and threw it to one of the cops, breaking the officers nose and sending him to the ground. Truman crossed the rest of the aisles with three cops trailing him. A few bullets began to fire, and Truman watched as the blood pressure machine smoked from a bullet shot, and the lady behind the counter of the pharmacy ducked. Bullets flew through the air, and to Truman the short width of the store from the corner to the back door felt like a mile, every bang could mean the end of his life.

         Truman reached for the door…

         Bang! A bullet worked its way into the back calf of Truman’s leg. Immediately Truman shot to the ground faster then bullet was shot at him. The three cops began to walk towards him and he new his days were numbered. The cops cockily walked slow towards him laughing, and putting there guns away. “You crazy fuck, you must think you Indiana Jones pulling shit like that…” The one cop spokes as he watched Truman try to fight his way up to the door handle just a few inches away, “Those were two great cops, and you fucked them over…now its your time to suffer…ass wipe!”

         Truman fought and fought to rise up to the handle of the door. The store went quite only the sound of Truman’s grunts and groans were heard. Truman’s gun was grasped in his hand, and he looked at the cops with no guns out. He quickly thought to himself about how many shots he had used, and quickly lifted his arm up and shot one cop in the head…

         Bang! The next cop was down, and the third officer began to jog towards Truman but carefully wanting to apprehend him, the cop stopped and Truman locked his gun on the officer, and the cop stood frozen.

         The cop waited petrified, like an old western. Truman groaned but didn’t take his gun off the officer he kept it locked. He couldn’t roll in pain…it would throw him off he waited. The cop stood, knowing his duties could be…permanently suspended. The cop stared, and quickly reached for his gun…

         Bang!

         The cop was dead.

         Smoke blew from Truman’s gun and he rose up slowly to turn the back door handle. Truman put his in his pants, and limped his way out the door leaving six dead cops and some scared employees behind. Truman entered an open allay behind the store. A few dumpsters grazed the ally and the artwork of teenage hoods plastered the walls. Truman stood in pain, and stared at each end of the ally back and forth watching people and cars flowing back and forth. Truman limped his way down the left side of the ally towards the road.

“Should have been a fucking chiropractor,” Truman muttered to himself once again, “Gambling gets you into shit, fuck me!” Truman’s limp was terrible and the backs of his blue jeans were stained with blood. His rugged face was broken into frightened grunt, and jacket from his high school days a dribbles of blood that wasn’t his. He slowly reached the end of the ally, and sirens once again filled the air, getting closer and closer. Sirens were now more common the whistle of the birds or song of the wind in the trees, or speeches of the everyday folks, or motors of cars…just sirens. Truman kept his eye on a parked car, a very nice car a dynasty it was a purplish color and had a classic Cadillac look to it.

It wasn’t the beauty of this old car that was parked that caught Truman’s eye, it was the fact that it was a way to get the hell out of there. It had a motor and four wheels that was all he needed. Truman slowly loped his way to the car door, and grunted in pain over his bullet wound. Truman’s grim face turned to a broken smile when he noticed the stupid owner had left the keys in the car and it was open, he worked his way into car painfully, and revved the engine, “Ha, yes I’m the fuck out of here…ha!”

He began to drive down the road slowly not to bring attention to himself, and he zipped by the front of the drug store. Out front were the two employees, the old lady and one of the cops that wasn’t quite dead yet. Another flow of cops was there, and a few were talking to the witnesses. Two men that looked like detectives were surveying the area, but Truman didn’t look to hard and continued down the road.

He moved his hand down to the radio not taking his eyes off the road, and clicked it on and it began to play some old chuck berry. Truman cracked a small smile and continued to drive, but the smile soon turned when the pain got worse and worse and blood now covered the brown seats. Truman looked through the windows trying to see a payphone; he then brushed his eyes along the dash to discover a hands free phone, clipped to the side of the radio, “Yes…” Truman began to dial a phone number, and pressed send. He then stopped at a light a waited for and answer as he turned down Johnny B Goode.

“Hey there, you got the funky chicken!” a deep voice rang from the phone and the light turned green, Truman pressed down on the gas.

“Kentucky Brown?”

“Ya brother, this be Truman Florence?” The deep voice of the black man on the other end rang through the dynasty.

“You know it Dr. Kentucky…ha” Truman was glad to here the voice of his friend.

“Ha my man, brother love Truman,” Kentucky’s voice had a welcoming calm to it, “What can Doctor Kentucky Brown do for you my friend?”

“Well Doc, I have a bit of a problem, just ran into some trouble with the cops, and I got a bullet in the back of my leg. I hate to be frank Kentucky, but I need you to get it the fuck out of my leg,” Truman talked, kept his eyes on the road, and gently sifted through the streets, “Can you help Doc?”

“Ha, of coarse brother, I’m mother fucking Kentucky Brown my boy!” Kentucky spoke not cockily but more reassuring, “Listen you come on down to my office, I’ll clean you up. Plus after all you did to help me get my scratch in the horse races, I owe you one, I’ll get the slug out ya leg boy”

“Thanks Kentucky, I’m on my way man” Truman spoke with a bit more confidence now that he knew he could get the bullet from his leg, he still grunted but a little less painful. Truman weaved around corners and took ally ways back and forth and drove in sense that almost seemed he was on a test drive. A good driver like Truman Florence never let himself know he was lost. “Ok so I just take a left here…and right here…” Truman stopped at a light, and turned up the radio now playing Buddy Holly, “Ok, um…oh ya I have to go to Givens Rd, ok…” Truman muttered, grunted, groaned, and tapped his fingers on the dash board as he looked back and forth through grimy neighborhood that he was in. “Ha, fuck yes there it is…ha,” he looked before him at a 4 story building with a restaurant on the main level, a fried chicken shack, on top were apartments.

Truman parked the dynasty out front of the chicken shack and opened the door, revealing a bloodied leg and using his hand to pry his loping body from the burgundy beauty of a vehicle. A set of four steps led up to main door, and Truman hobbled up eat grunting in pain, but more in fatigue. As he opened the front door to the chicken shack the smell of fried chicken filled his nostrils and the small buzz of conversations tickled his ears. The Funky Chicken, Kentucky Browns chicken shack, had universe of its own it wasn’t just a place to eat it was a way of life. The smell was unique, the people were friendly, the chicken was tasty, and the walls had a welcoming feel…and best of all, Doctor Elwood “Kentucky” Brown was always there with a welcoming smile.

Truman loped towards the main counter to ask for Kentucky but before he took a second step the man was there before, “You crazy mother fucker,” Kentucky laughed with every word. He was black as the ace of spades, and the whites of his eyes were like stars upon the night sky and long black dreadlocks rung from atop his head to the middle of his back. Thrown over his back always was long white doctors coat with stains of chicken grease and god knows what, and haunting laugh that crimsoned the air with a golden feel, “How the hell are ya my brother?”

“Well, I could be a little better my friend, could you get rid of the slug in my leg,” Truman put his weight on good leg, “It hurts like a bitch, and I can’t go to the hospital because the fuzz is on my back, and Felix left me the fuck alone in a field of cops!”

“That crazy bitch, well keep it quiet, don’t want to scare my consumers…ha,” Kentucky Brown turned his back to Truman and began to open a door located next to the main kitchen counter, “Follow me cracker…” Kentucky walked down a set of stairs with a dark bottom, and Truman followed. As the door closed behind them pitch black was all to be seen, except for a light buzz of electricity ringing from a corner of the basement. All of a sudden The Funky chicken had turned from a friendly diner to the set of a horror movie. The flicker of electricity continued, as Truman loped his way through the darkness taking one last step on a stare that wasn’t there.

“Now lets see, where’d I put that switch,” Kentucky reached up and pulled a wire flicking on a buzzing light bulb, “Ha, there we are take a seat brother. The flickering light bulb revealed a doctors chair in the middle of the room with some scattered tools around on the walls. Different objects that looked like alien probes glimmered in the light. Truman sat down on the chair.

“So Kentucky, how you gonna do this?”

“Well man, I just take this tool here,” Kentucky pulled a tool that looked like a large set needle nose pliers from a droor and lifted Truman’s leg onto a stool so he could underneath, “Then I just stab it on in…”

“HOLY SHIT!” Truman screamed in pain as the large tool wiggled inside his leg making odd sounds, “Kentucky fuck!”

“Hold on cracker, I can feel it…” Kentucky began to pull, “wait that’s the bone…sorry brother.” Truman just screamed in pain. “Hold up a second, I got something for ya better then morphine…ha” Kentucky reached over and pulled a bottle of clear fluid from the table, “This shit be called Miser’s Moonshine, the guy that made it was some old mother fucker, but it be good man. See usually I must mix it three to one with water, but in your case, I’ll give it straight. Be careful though, this shit burn the skin off the roof of ya mouth…ha, ha, ha”

Truman pulled the bottle from Kentucky hands and quickly chugged down about five shots, and concluded with a flow of heavy breathing, “Holy fuck, that shits peroxide…”

“Ha, ha…I think I got the slug cracker,” Kentucky jammed the tool up once more and pulled revealing a small piece of metal clung to a blood covered silver tool, “On ya, how you like me now bad ass,” Kentucky taunted the bullet with cocky dialogue, “Alrighty my man, let me just rap this up and you’ll be good.”

“Man Kentucky, this helps a lot man…your good. Why don’t you ever get licensed and make a bit more money?”

“Then I wouldn’t be able to make my bad ass, soul food my cracker…” Kentucky set down the tool, and rapped a tensor around Truman’s bloodied leg and pulled the now red jeans over the wrap, “And its fucking good man, I’ll send you home with a bucket…”

“Hey you ever get into, um… chiropractor stuff Doc?” Truman asked as he stood up from the doctor chair and brushed imaginary lint from his jacket.

“No brother, but I do hear its something like the fasting growing job, or some shit like that?”

“Ya man you make a killing!”

“I’ll have to look into that brother…ha, ha, ha” Kentucky chuckled as he began to lead Truman up the stairs and the door then opened.

“Doctor Brown?” a voice rang from upstairs.

“Ya boy, what be the problem?” Kentucky began to walk up the stairs.

“This just came through the window…” The young chef atop the stairs handed Kentucky a brick with a note attached, and he unraveled the note from the brick. Doctor Brown looked over at the big front window of the restaurant to see a van swerving down the road and an empty window blowing cool air into dining room. Kentucky began to read the note…

We have brown sugar. She will be killed if  $20,000 is not brought to James St warehouse in the next 3 hours. We mean it…act now!

                                                                               X


         Kentucky looked up and shoved the note in his side pocket, “for fucks sake, why?”

Truman looked at Kentucky confused and asked why such a cheerful guy would be so devastated over a broken window, “What’s wrong Doc?”

“Brown sugar, little ginger, my baby girl, they have her…they fucking have her!”

“Brown sugar, the stripper from the dock club, that’s your daughter?” Truman asked, and then thinking it was probably the wrong context of asking it.

“Ya she’s my fucking daughter…and they have her…” Doctor brown began to walk back into his office in the basement.

“Hey, can I do anything Kentucky?”

“No cracker, no you can’t, your good to go…I have to this shit on my own…”

“Do they want a ransom?”

“Ya…20 grand…ha, ha, ha”

“Why you laughing Doc?”

“Cause they told me where they are, there gonna learn a very valuable lesson today Truman…ha, ha, ha”

Truman began to lope his way toward the door, and open it, “and what lesson is that Kentucky?”

Kentucky headed down the stairs, as he knew Truman was leaving, and yelled up them “Don’t Fuck with Doctor!”








3
Kentucky Brown


Brown walked back into his lightly lit office and stood silently for a short moment and glanced across the entire tool collection on his workbench, he then looked at another doorway and walked towards it. He twisted the knob quickly revealing a few steps up to the back ally. Kentucky moved the fastest that he ever had and ran to the back allay through the doorway. In the ally sat a large Grumman truck with the Funky chicken logo painted on the side; a large bird with shades on, holding a bottle of BBQ sauce basting him self in deliciousness. The Doctor opened up the sliding door at the back of the truck and revealed a small BBQ used for catering, and the rest of the truck was completely open.

Kentucky ran back down to his office and began to grab a Varity of tools, saws, knifes, and probes. One by one Kentucky loaded the tuck full of his little buddies, and he went downstairs for one final trip. Brown walked towards a table with a large white sheet thrown over it. Kentucky stared at the table almost not wanting to reveal what was under it, until realizing there was no time to be wasted, and he pulled the cloth away and there she was…Lucille. Kentucky had one thing he prized other then his baby girl Brown Sugar, his saw Lucille. It was huge and had a circular blade sharper then Albert Einstein, a built in motor, for cordless comfort, and it was the cleanest tool in the entire basement…but not for long.

Brown grabbed Lucille from the table and ran it up the stairs into the back of the chicken truck. Kentucky slid down the door and stepped into the driver’s side of the truck. Brown lit up a cigar and started the chicken truck up with a rumble. It wasn’t long before Kentucky was at the end of ally burning out tires and speeding down the road. “James St warehouse…you fucks…no one messes with the browns…no one you fuckers!” The rumble of tool rang in the back of the car as it sped over bumps and hugged turns back and forth. Brown leaned forward not wanting to become relaxed or calmed, he was running completely on impulse and couldn’t ruin his gas. More smoke poured from his cigar, then from exhaust pipe flaring in the back. The radio blared George Clinton funk music as the bass beats matched the rumble of the cars transmission.

Kentucky was on a mission and no one new the streets of this town better then Doctor Elwood Kentucky Brown, and he sped at full throttle. Brown didn’t slow for the turns only drifted on brakes, and crashing slightly into the sides of buildings in the sharp ally way turns. The music blared and the cigar in the doctor’s mouth juggled from side to side shooting off clouds of smoke rapidity.

Kentucky was surprised at the view of no police after him and thought that his luck may run out, so he decided to slow down. It didn’t matter much since he had reached James St, and the large wooden building known as James St warehouse was in view. Brown didn’t want to get messy now, and started to gently squeeze the chicken truck into a small ally behind, the old warehouse. He looked up the ally to see man dressed in a sharp black suit parading back forth guarding the back entrance. He was one of blacks, that’s who did this…


Black wasn’t the nicest of men, and he had everyone who had even a fingernail in crimes under him. It wouldn’t be politically correct to go as far to say, that he was part of the mob, or owned a mob. Although, you could say that he was a crime lord of sorts. His full name is Harold Black and once and a while he pulls a stunt like this, usually on prostitutes and strippers and gets there family’s or pimps to pay a ransom, when its not a good year for money.

Kentucky never did much business with Black except for the odd bullet removing or a bet on a sports game, but it was because of his daughter brown sugar, a sleek sexy stripper from the docks club that caused this problem. Brown stared at hired muscle parading the back ally, as he blew another breath from his cigar putting in out in the ashtray. Brown waited in the car until the sharp dressed man’s eyes grazing the chicken truck. Kentucky got out of the car and stared down the man at the other end of the ally. Brown began to walk to the back of the truck and pulled out a small hand held saw and plugged it into a generator that he hooked to his belt. “Come on you fuck…” Kentucky muttered to himself as the dumb headed man walked towards him curiously. Brown started to walk towards the man until they were both a small bit away from each other.

The man took a second to realize that Brown had a small saw in his hand with a wire hanging into a generator, and before he could pull his gun…

Buzz!

The neck of the hired gun was slit and it sent him to the ground, “Don’t fuck with the doctor,” Kentucky laughed as he stared down at the dying suit, “Where the hell is brown sugar?”

“The stripper…” The suit had trouble speaking and it came out sounding muffled but brown could understand it, “She’s…in the cellar, you’ll never…make…it…your mother fucker!”  Kentucky just laughed a raised the saw above his head…

Buzz!

The suit was dead.

“Cracker!”

Kentucky retracted his way to the back of the truck and double took a few times to scope the area. Brown then began to ready himself, first he placed a belt around his waist and quickly loaded it with every tool in the back of the truck, first with a pair of pliers, then some strange probes, until all his small tools were clipped on like a fine built construction worker. He then slipped his hardware store generator powered saw at his waist holster. He then took a large blowtorch and threw it across his back, followed by a drill across his heart. Brown was soon covered in tool of his trade like a commando switching battle bases.
Once again the doctor stared at his pride and joy Lucille, until quickly grabbing the large circler saw and holding with both hands. Brown once again looked back and forth to check for anyone watching and then he soon walked towards the back entrance, after dragging the suits body behind a large dumpster.

The door of the old warehouse creaked and Kentucky tiptoed his way in, not knowing where there might be a suit with a gun ready to shoot. The door led to a large open room full of crates, above was a small loft hold what looked like an old car, and some more mysterious crates. A few steps to left of Kentucky was a stairway leading to what looked like the cellar. Brown prepared himself to enter the basement of the old warehouse. Each step he took was precise and took care. He looked behind him every once and while knowing Black’s men were crafty and ruthless.

A small breeze was coming through an open window and it blew the tail of Brown’s white coat gently. Kentucky began down the stairs each with a creak as he reached the door at the bottom. Brown waited for a moment using his sense to feel what was going on behind the large wooden door. A small bit of smoke seeped through the keyhole, and the crack underneath the door. Voices of men were heard very close, suggesting that two guards were right in front of the door on the other side. Kentucky waited a bit longer until the voice of Brown Sugar was heard. Brown couldn’t wait much longer. He grazed his hand across Lucille’s large red button and readied himself for some killing. He waited…he took a breath…he took another…he grazed his hand over the red button…smoke seeped…laughter rang from the room…Brown Sugar’s voice murmured…he took another breath…

BANG…BUZZ!

Kentucky kicked down the door with a rampaging blow sending the two guards flying forward one being knocked off his feet and the other almost tripping. Lucille’s buzz gave a torturing noise to the ears of suits, “You mother fuckers!” Brown revved the saw and brushed it across the footed guard severing him across the torso. Kentucky then went into an offensive position and waited for the fallen suit to come to his knees, Brown then span around checking the area for guns and swung the saw across the neck of the kneed guard.

Both guards were dead.

Kentucky looked across the dim lighted cellar to see a chair holding Brown Sugar with a small light above her swing from a chain. Kentucky wiped speckles of blood from his face and pressed the button, which powered down Lucille. “Brown Sugar, my little girl…”

“Dad, they’re here don’t let your…”

BANG!

A bullet shot from the darkness into Kentucky’s arm, causing Lucille to drop to the ground. “Hi there Doctor Brown…” Black appeared from the darkness hold a smoking revolver, “Where’s the money, I need the ransom or she dies in about an hour and a half”

“You sick fuck, I don’t owe you nothing,” Kentucky grasped his arm in pain as spoke with a groan, “Let her go Black!”

“Well Brown I need that money,” Black prepared his gun again to shoot, “Are you gonna give it to me?”

Kentucky let go of his bloodied arm and reached for a sharp pointed scalpel on his waist, “no fucking way Black!” Black pulled the trigger on his gun…

Click…

He was out of bullets…

Fling…Kentucky flung the scalpel across the room straight into Black’s left eye. Brown ran towards Brown Sugar and began to untie her, as Black fell to the ground in excruciating pain, “come on baby, and let us get the hell out of here”. Kentucky took Brown Sugar by the arm and led her towards the cellar door, as Black’s screams flooded the room. Kentucky once again held his bloody arm in pain as he worked his way to door. “Those bastards, taking you in…no right, no right at all,” Brown reached the door behind the two dead suits and flung it open, for it was off its hinges. Kentucky made Brown Sugar stay put for a second and he ran through…

BANG!

Doctor Elwood Kentucky Brown was dead.

His body flew across the small hallway behind the door. Brown Sugar stood in her spot for a second, petrified, and frozen in her converse sneakers as if they were glued to the ground. The yelps and screeches of Harold Black rang behind her and the sounds of small footsteps and light conversation came down the stairs. Brown Sugar still waited almost wanting to figure the mystery rather then let it fall behind in the darkness. A light sound the came…

CHICKA-CHICK!

A large empty shotgun shell fell to the ground with a tap, and was framed lightly in the doorway like an Andy Warhol painting. All that was seen was the bullet shell; Brown had flown to far to be framed by the doorway, only the shell remained. Then two men revealed themselves…

Two men dressed in sharp Black suits stood framed in the doorway, they were grinning and looking up and down at Brown Sugar wondering what to do. One of the men, the one on left had large white bandage rapped around his leg. The bandage had bloodstains on it suggesting he had a shot in the leg, while the other man holding the shotgun had a shit covered in bloodstains, although the blood didn’t look like it came from him.

Black’s screams of pain soon turned to grunts of recovery as he worked his way up from the ground still with a bloody scalpel lodged in his eye. Brown Sugar stared at the two men in the doorway and used her ears to realize Black was getting up. “Jack and Ray?” Black used his good eye to decipher the names of the two men, “What the fuck happened, the blood?”

The man with the shotgun, Jack, began to speak, “Well sir, we ran into a mess, and long story short I had to take out a cop and he decided to make his last wish…messing up my shirt,” Jack took his eye off Brown Sugar to glance down at his blood covered shirt, “Ray took a shot in the leg from Truman, the crazy fuck”

“But did you…get the money?” Blacks words were muffled and pain filled, but still delivered a chilling impact on his suits.

“Well Mr. Black,” Ray, the man with the leg bandage looked towards a wall to take his eyes from his boss, “No, he got away…”

“Are you fucking serious, it was an easy job you ass holes…fuck this hurts…come on!” Black walked closer to the still frozen Brown Sugar and grabbed her by the arm. “Take her back to the strip club, she’s of no use to us now”

“Sir, are serious, just take her back?” Jack lowered his shotgun a small amount and looked towards Black.

“Listen you fucks, the only person who could pay us money is Kentucky Brown, and now he’s dead. I don’t need her around with me, and I’ll be damned if I have another murder on my hands.”

“But Mr. Black she could go to the cops, or get someone after us…” Ray limped a small bit towards Black with a puzzled look.

“Are you gonna go to the cops?” Black tugged on Brown Sugar’s arm. She shook her head, no.

“Great, here you go you fucks now get out of here!” Black tossed Brown Sugar across the room and she stumbled into Ray, who then grabbed her arm and led her out of the cellar, “and you can talk to Hank while your there,” Black said as he yelped at the pain of the scalpel. Jack lowered his shotgun and followed his partner as the passed Kentucky’s dead body. Brown Sugar couldn’t bring herself to look.

“That’s a shame!” Jack sarcastically said following the other two up the stairs into the main room of the warehouse. Ray then stopped at the top of the stairs and looked down to see Kentucky at the bottom, and Brown Sugar finally looked. All three then stood at the top of the stairs and stayed silent…

I guess you can fuck with the Doctor.