St Eubrie: A Man with a Plan (740 hits)
Category: NoneRating: 2 on 11 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by ReCall (View user info) at 2006-08-08 11:34:29 EDT
St Eubrie: A Man with a Plan.
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The door to 343 Peach Ave swung open and a lone figure emerged.
As he stepped out onto his lawn the partly hidden sunlight warmed his skin, particularly on his face. Gerald enjoyed the sun, but quickly thought about the two drawbacks to his guilty pleasure:
For one, he looked like hell.
As a wiry man that stood no more then 177 centimeters tall, he had a ghoul like complexion. Floury colored skin and a pock marked face. Maybe shaving the beard off was a mistake. He had short, cropped black hair with a some early gray in the temples. His eyes, like everyone else's, would always be the thing to betray him, he thought. Deep set and surrounded by vicious dark circles. He looked like he hadn't seen daylight nor sleep in weeks. Today he wore what he had been wearing for the past three days. An orange hunting vest and piss stained briefs.
The second drawback was considerably linked to the first. "How can a man be so pale in the middle of August?" he asked himself.
He did that a lot. Ask the questions that others might raise in private after seeing him. Over analysis was his gift and curse.
He decided to play it safe and not draw attention to himself as he went back inside the house. As he slipped on an old Addidas track suit, he began playing the future operation over and over in his head.
He would walk North-North West on Peach Avenue - on the left side of the street so as to watch oncoming traffic. He would cross Cedar Street and fifty paces thereafter would make an immediate left to enter the KwikSnak.
Upon entering he would immediately scan the room for possible hostiles, plan at least three escape paths and finally take mental note of any objects that he could possibly use as a weapon for defense or offense. Not that additional weapons were necessary, rather an obligatory precaution.
After dressing and lacing up an old pair of sneakers, he bent down to stretch his hamstrings. As he was bent over he took advantage of the time by pumping the little basketball on the tongues of his Reeboks, feeling them tighten around his feet as he did so.
After his stretching he calmly walked over to his armoire and opened a drawer, revealing a pistol. He took the Browning and held it firmly in his left hand before spinning around and squeezing off all thirteen imaginary bullets into invisible targets around his room. All his shots hit their mark.
"Looks like I've still got it."
After he reached back into the drawer and found the loaded clip, he slammed it into the 9 mm semiautomatic and flipped the safety back on. The Browning 9mm FN GP35 Automatic Pistol had to be more then 60 years old. Gerald held the barrel of the gun to his nose and inhaled deeply. During the Second World War, many Browning 9mm GP35 pistols were made in Canada, but then sent oversees to China. This one had found its way into Geralds' hands.
"Still smells like maple fucking syrup. What a god damn shame."
Gerald then tucked the pistol into his waste band and then pulled his track jacket over the bulge, doing his best to conceal it.
It wasn't going to be easy.
It looked like he had a noticeable erection.
---
Gerald was a man on a mission. He power walked up Peach Ave with his head down, trying not to make any eye contact. He wished he could have picked a different time to execute the extraction, but circumstances had left him no choice. Three fucking p.m. on a lazy Sunday in St. Eubrie. Everybody was out, all their eyes focused on him.
"How ya doin' there Jerry?"
It was Smitty Hudson. Jerry assessed he had reached the 500 block of Peach Ave. That meant only a little bit more then a block to go. It meant that there was only little bit more until the shit hits the fan.
Gerald stopped dead in his tracks and turned his gaze towards the tub-o-lard of a man watering his massive lawn. His hand shot out in a perfect arc and then moved mechanically side to side as he waved. His face was an expressionless one as he lowered his hand and head in tandem and continued on his walk.
"Go fuck yourself, you fat, godless son of a bitch," Gerald muttered under his breath.
"Go fuck yourself, you psychotic moron," Smitty muttered under his.
---
If Bobby Alscott, the young clerk standing behind the counter of KwikSnak, could have looked in the mirror he would have known what the word "bewilderment" looked like when written across a mans face.
What looked liked a heroin addict sporting a bright green track suit and what appeared to be a massive erection stood no more then 6 feet away from his person.
"W-w-welcome to KwikSnak," Bobby stammered as his sixteen year old voice broke.
The only reply that Bobby received was a cold, blank stare.
The electronic melody that greeted him almost made Gerald draw his weapon.
Gerald quickly checked his breathing and realized that he had to maintain his cool. Any wrong move by him or the gentleman behind the counter could set off a catastrophic series of events. He had to make sure that would not happen. The fate of everything depended on this going smoothly.
He ran through his checklist:
One possible hostile. Two visible routes of escape, not counting the window. A fire extinguisher in the rear of the store, any number of glass bottles and a broom if things got nasty.
He walked around the shoulder high aisles, finally picking up a package of Jack Links beef jerky as he made his way to the counter.
No eye contact.
"Five Powerball tickets and a carton of Virginia Slim Ultra Light 100's."
Gerald carefully reached into his pants so as to not disturb the pistol from its snug position, pulled out a crumpled $100 bill and tossed it on to the counter.
"I'm s-s-sorry sir but we can't take any bills larger then fifties."
Gerald furrowed his brow and could feel the anger rising within him.
"Why the hell did this prick have to ruin EVERYTHING?!" he shouted within his own mind.
He reached into both pockets and found nothing.
Without additional support, there could be no extraction. Gerald wasn't about to let that happen.
Gerald looked up and stared at the young boy as his own left hand started to itch. He felt the warm steel of the Browning against his body.
TBC
User Reviews
Submitted by Brdn_Nkd (user info) at 2007-11-09 12:15:36 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
no follow up?
Submitted by Crystle (user info) at 2006-11-01 23:33:52 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by DrogoRoch (user info) at 2006-08-09 09:25:44 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
There be a lot of strange people in this town. I was going to make my English barman a nice chap, but he would be lost in this town.
Submitted by Stagger_Lee (user info) at 2006-08-09 02:07:25 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by KindaNews (user info) at 2006-08-08 18:48:30 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
1.75 rounded up.
Submitted by sicosemen (user info) at 2006-08-08 15:57:16 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Thanks for including Smitty. I will make note of his fatness.
Submitted by kaos-king (user info) at 2006-08-08 15:25:13 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Totally dug it...
Submitted by joedaddy (user info) at 2006-08-08 14:11:07 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
here's an advance: Thank You
Submitted by recall (user info) at 2006-08-08 14:05:32 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Yeah - I had to hurry to post this. Instead of studying for my MCAT's I find myself writing short fiction.
I read through it after I posted and realized I should have caught a couple of things.
--
Quick question though: If the guy's name is Gerald - is it Gerry for short, or Jerry?
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2006-08-08 14:03:40 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I liked it. Some glitches that could have been caught, but I liked this.
Submitted by Maltese (user info) at 2006-08-08 12:48:39 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
HAR HAR NO REVIEWS