Outside the Olympus Mons Gentleman's Club a large Samoan bouncer Zebra-striped with tribal tats stood like a totem pole menacing the first European eyes. Howl and Vincent emerged from another more discreet entrance, Howl counting a sheaf of bills while Vincent pointed a Smith and Wesson Dirty Harry style at some imaginary target.
"This is a big fucking gun for a couple of fags to be carrying," Vincent said as he planted a fresh smoke between his lips. "Where do you suppose they got it?"
"Probably one of their dad's liquor cabinets or something," Howl said off-handedly, shuffling the cash like playing cards. "This is a nice wad of cash," he added after a third count and flashed the extorted money with satisfaction. To be sure, the man owed them. In a blow-frenzied rage he snapped one of his girls' neck, and Howl and Vincent showed up out of the blue to clean up, no questions asked. But now all of a sudden they came back, demanding two-thousand extra for "unexpected trouble."
"We ran into a bit of a snag. Cost us a bit, and we think a little extra compensation is in order," Howl explained diplomatically. Naturally, the man refused, but Vincent had thought of that and brought the gun just in case. Howl joisted himself on the man's desk, eyes cold and unrelenting. "Take your girls' tips, I don't care what you have to do. We want our money." Then he straightened up, some of the hardness going out of his face, only to be replaced by a wily sort of look. "Or not. I'm sure the cops would love to know what happened to--what was her name, Vincent?"
"Bitch." Vincent gave a jackal's grin at the four barely clothed girls in the room. The man remained tense and quiet, sweating .44 Magnum cartridges, and the girls started making all manner of useless displays of distress and terror, exasperating Howl's impatience.
"Ladies! Get. The fuck. Out!" He nodded at Vincent who scattered them with a gesticulation of the gun, giving one girl a firm slap on the ass on her way out. "Our payment," Howl intoned gravely.
The Pontiac started with a cough and a rumble, like a sick horse. Vincent drove and talked, while Howl swam around in his own thoughts.
"Just like Sierra Leone."
"I remember."
"Except easier. What do you mean you remember?"
"It wasn't that long ago." Vincent plucked the smoke from his mouth and scratched his head with the same hand, sprinkling ashes on his hair.
"You were just a kid, I didn't think you were aware--"
"I wasn't stupid." At this Vincent laughed, while Howl resumed his thoughtful vacancy almost bitterly. A moment later he looked up. "Stop at a gas station."
"Why?"
"We need gas." Vincent looked down to see that they were near empty. At the station Howl went inside to piss and fill his pockets while Vincent filled up the tank, smoking a cigarette while he waited. When Howl returned, he had a few lotto tickets, two pockets full of Tylenol and Ibuprofen, and a pack of Red Vines.
"I was thinking," Vincent said, racking the pump and crushing the smoke underfoot, "We should buy a house. You know, as an investment. We could save up a bit for the down payment. I mean, my credit's shot, but yours is cherry." Howl nodded from outer space, where he was apparently playing chess against Bobby Fischer's ghost. Vincent snapped his fingers at his face. "Yo Howl. What's up?"
"I'm gonna get our two-grand back. And your Remy."
"Eh, it's not worth it anymore. We made it up in spades with those fags' guns and now this two in our pockets." Howl's resolve seemed to solidify into two tightly clenched fists.
"I'm gonna do it." Vincent shrugged nonchalantly.
"Well, if you want her that bad."
[back] No fate. No future. No GED.
[back] No fate. No future. No evidence.
[back] No fate. No future. No acquaintance.
[back] No fate. No future. No mercy.[back]
No fate. No future. No heiress.
[back]
No fate. No future. No Columbine.
[forward]
No fate. No future. No gossip.
Comments (30)
Honestly? I'm running out of shit to say in these first comments. I saw DMV doing it, so I thought I'd do it too, but now it's really become a chore. On the other hand, it's also become a habit. Oh well.
Wowza.
*MONEY* (blood of the world!)
Well, considering you're more in shape, don't have asthma, and I'm guessing did this for fun instead of being forced kinda makes a difference. Plus, I had 30 lb back pack, there were cliffs and shit like that because we went on the WRONG trail. We were basically doing rock climbing for beginners, and let me emphasize how much of a beginner I am. SOOO, you did one up me on anyyytthhiinngg. And there just so happens to be mosquitoes here in NY too, so bam. It was a mountain we climbed, the altitude of it I don't know, though.
well thats one of the good parts of it, it's not such a good idea. and i can bring blankets and pillows. no prob.
...ANOTHER stripper dies?
NOOOOOOO. You don't like stripper, do ya?
why do you torment me
seems like that would be both convieniant and inconvieniant. tough break man.
btw, your writing makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
@be_lie - not another stripper. it's the same one, these pieces aren't in chronological order, if you've paid close attention.
RYC: The human soul is resilient. I'm one of those odd masochists who only finds pleasure in being burned so I figured if I ever got to a place called hell I don't know what I'd do. I was also finding flaws in basic Christian theology.
RYP: "This is a big fucking gun for a couple of fags to be carrying," Love that line. LOVE it.
Well I really dont think you would have a problem with some loser writing "zmg first comment."
Except I do like to do that..
@Roninism - Oh okay! My bad. I haven't paid close attention.
these are pretty sweet. every time i read one i have to dig through this foggy mess of a plotline in my head and figure out where we are, what's happened and what hasn't. kind of like that movie, "vantage point," only not shitty. ha.
@Roninism - maybe you should just be yourself and not do what dmv does. although i do like reading your first comments.
is it hard writing from a continuous story so much?
I think maybe, but I'm not sure I remember him so much as I remember Armpit, I think? The one that had the sweating problem. Always good to find other 90's Nickelodeon show fans. :)
Nice writing, by the way.
And about your last entry; maybe that's also why The Exploited decided to write a song in which "Sex and Violence" were the only lyrics the entire length of the song.
So how do you come up with these peoples' names?
RYC: You really think so?
are you peeing on the buildings in your photo... tsk tsk ;)
ryc: yep, just kinda make it up as i go. the best way to it.
you're very good at written dialog.
I was thinking, "This guy gets 50 comments for.. one-liners"?
Hi, I'm Sophia. =D I think you're pretty darn spooky, too.
it is a song. and a bad one at that.
in fact... i'm kind of embarassed that i even posted lyrics from it on the xanga.
ah, well... what's done is done.
It's amazing how we always associate what happens to non living objects with living objects. Like the stomping on a cigarette as being associate with the stomping on somone's feelings for example. I sometimes try to tell myself: no it just means he needed to put his cigarette out.
assuming there is enough context and info to assume the stomping of feelings*
'Olympus Mons Gentleman's Club' ...now there is a very cool allusion to a prominent geographical feature of this solar system...or to the ol' mythical clubhouse of the gods...either way...cool.