The Hit

[unscratchedfoot]

For years after the event, people wondered why a lowly cleaning maid, one of a cheerfully ignorant contenance, would turn on her master, an elite killer of professionals. Why she so foolishly threw away her life was thought that perhaps she tired of a life of manual labor and abject poverty. She had no friends. No one cried when she died. Only the man who bribed her would ever know why she did it.



The Hit



The Mendez family sat down at the dining table loaded with a fabulous spread of meats, salads, roast potatoes, exotic fruits and various colorful drinks in pitchers. Momma Mercedes sat at one end of the table, the two little kids Hannah and Peter sat beside each other in the middle, with pappa Mendez at the other end. It was unusual for them to be together at dinnertime, especially with pappa Mendez so involved in his social affairs.

Mendez, the most notorius and intelligent drug boss to take control of the Columbian cocaine trade since the collapse of the Cali cartel, normally spent his evenings being entertained out on the town or in his jaccuzzi by a bevy of young women he referred to as his 'kittens'. Both his family and business were second thoughts and nothing that didn't resemble the shape of a coke bottle could hold his attention for long. He had long messy dark hair, a skinny frame and wore gaudy colorful clothes in the loose, baggy style common among the people of the area. Only at night did he take off his sunglasses. A mess of black curly hair poked out over the edge of his shirt at the base of his neck.

"We're almost done, please wait a moment." Mabel was one of two hispanic maids who worked in the cottage doing all the chores required of them. Mabel was in her 20's, was thin and had a long dark braid going all the way her back. She usually went back to her family's home at night if allowed some time off, unlike Rosalyn, the second maid with the fat cheeks which gave her a permanent look as though she were upset or about to breakdown and cry. Rosalyn was middle-aged and pudgy with stubby fingers made rough from a life of labor.

Mendez was usually quiet around his family, but not always. The cocaine he snorted frequently throughout each day brought on all kinds of moods. He swung from being exceedingly kind to his family and workers one day to exploding in violent anger at seemingly nothing at all the next. Family relations were understandably icy considering pappa Mendez's unrestricted socializing habits, so they sat in silence waiting for the maids to finish preparing the meal.

While waiting for her mushroom suffle to finish cooking, Rosalyn stared out the window across the coca fields to the north of the cottage and at the coffee plantations on the low lying hills beyond. The gentle green hills covered in the little coffee bean trees with a background of the setting sun took her mind of her work. She wished she was a child again without a worry in the world and could play in the trees and... Ding! The stove timer indicated her suffle was done. She put on the kitchen mits and carried the orange colored glass pot to the table and put it on the little flowery mat next to pappa Mendez, silently praying that the suffle would not collapse before being served which might ignite his anger again. She took the lid off and saw with relief that the suffle had come out just right.

Bored with waiting, little 4 year old Hannah fidgeted with the pillow from her chair and held it over her face. Her innocent brown eyes peeked over the edge of the pillow and she proclaimed, "Smells like pus-sy."

Mercedes gasped and yelled at Mendez, "Did you hear that? That's because of you using such filthy language around the children. They're gonna grow up to be f*cking perverts or something if you don't stop it!" Mercedes was a hard woman of thirty years of age. She had put up with all kinds of abuse from Mendez, even being beaten on occasion, bruising her pretty tanned face. It was a mystery why she would stay married to such a callous man as he.

"You looking to get messed up again?" Mendez was slouched back in his chair resting his hairy forearms on the light blue tablecloth.

Mercedes sighed and looked away.

Mendez was in one of his foul moods. "If you don't like it here you can pack your bags and get lost." He looked at Hannah and said, "And you can go too if you don't like the smell of the pillows."

Mendez picked up a spoon next to his plate and took a scoop of the suffle which caused it to collapse. In an instant, he stood up, put his hands on the corners of the table and heaved it over to the side where no one was sitting. The splendid array of food avalanched off the table and onto the floor while the maids froze in shock.

"This is why I always go out for dinner. Damn maids might be good at cleaning but they can't cook worth beans." And he walked out of the room, slamming his heels into the wood floor in case anyone had any doubt about him being angry.

[Kaos XIII]

"Smells like.................



Dude, that caught me completely off guard! I just bursted out laughing. Now everyone here is wondering, what the hell's wrong with me?

Excellent.

[forgorin]

All of my coworkers now think I'm derainged. There I was reading a "serious" story then all of a sudden it cums out. Now to try to convince my coworkers that im not some sort of Fanny loony!
Keep it up you really got me there.

[Richelieu]

Good start, and great style!

[Easthaven I]

lol, hehehe. That was good. heh.

Keep it goin, always liked mafioso stories...

[Jeremy 2.0]

I keep picturing the bald guy from "Hitman" when I read this story title.

[ChrisiusMaximus]

A most amusing start Scratchy please continue

[unscratchedfoot]

Thanks for the feedback. I'm just sorting through the details on the rest of the story and trying to weed out what doesn't need to go in. Oh and just so you know, this is not intended to be a funny story at all. Parental guidance is advised.

[steamthunk]

An interesting cast of characters you've started with. Wondering what you'll do with them!

[unscratchedfoot]

Things That Go Bump in the Night


Mercedes sat in the kitchen, not caring enough to go to one of the luxuriously funished living rooms which were the pride of the cottage. She was lost in her sad thoughts with a half full bottle of beer waiting to be finished on the table infront of her. Brushing back her long dark hair, she still looked like a model out of any trendy fashion magazine but even her rare level of attraction was still not enough to entice Mendez back home. It was midnight. A powerful wind billowed the leafy trees outside and pummeled the sides of the sturdy cottage. The moonless night was chillingly dark.


Tic, tack, toe.


In one of the bedrooms, Hannah looked down over the edge of the upper bunk bed at Peter who was wide awake on the lower bed. The loud wind blustering outside coupled with the fear of what may come in the night was keeping them awake.

"Peter, let's go again." whispered Hannah.

"To the tree fort? Ah... I don't know. I hate the trip to get there. It's so freaky."

"I know but I'm scared. You remember when they came right? It was windy then too." her voice was like a whimper.

"You say that everytime. Forget it okay? Cause the guards here are pretty good. Mom says so anyways, and Dad can kick anybody's butt, if he's here that is. And the walls of this room are supposed to be bulletproof right? We'll be okay."

"No, I want to go. Last time was close. We almost got killed you know!" Hannah shout-whispered the last part. Then a more powerful blast of wind buffeted the outside wall sending a surge of fear through the stomachs of the toddlers.

"Alright, we're going." said Peter and hopped out of bed in his Incredible Hulk pajamas and opened the closet. He took out the 2 dark green garbage bags with eyeholes cut in them and gave one to his sister who had finished climbing down the little wooden bunkbed ladder. They put on the garbage bags which made them look like a couple of gnomes and made them fairly difficult to see in the dark night as long as no light reflected off them.

"I'm too scared to go now." said Hannah from inside her bag. Their parents had no scruples about letting them see the horror movie DVD's they left around the house. The effects of those movies impressed their scariness so much easier upon the children's untempered minds. These memories along with the dark night and roaring wind outside conjured up images of monsters stalking the cottage, ready to wreak some gruesome fate upon anyone foolish enough to go outside or get too close to a window.


Tic, tac, toe.


"Just follow me. We have to be real quiet so the guards don't hear us going by." Peter was scared too in a little boy's way, but he pressed on just like his father had done in his tales of when he used to be a Sandinista death squad leader, the scourge of the night. He concentrated to keep out the thoughts of axe wielding zombies waiting behind each corner to slice up anyone who passed by.

The 2 kids opened the bedroom door very slowly and then scampered off down the hall. They halted at the top of the oak steps and eyed the fourth one with extreme suspicion for it was the creaky one. They gently laid their little feet on each step and then made one long step from the fifth stair to the third.

Bump! Hannah had to hop to make it so she landed a little heavy. They froze in abject terror waiting for any door to open. Only the usual sounds of cheers and fighting came from a room just down the hallway. The guards were playing video games again leaving a couple of men posted outside on the top walkway going around the cottage, watching for both intruders and Mendez who could either be expected to sing out his stories of conquests for the night, or explode with rage at the guards' laziness.

Up on the catwalk outside, the two guards on duty, however lazy they were, did not take their eyes of the treeline about 25 meters out. The trees swayed to and fro and the fooshing sound was enough to ensure that any intruder, no matter how amateurish, could approach without being heard.


Tic, tac, toe.


One guard looked almost identical to the Palestinian leader Arafat with a hankerchief tied over the top of his head. He mumbled about how the wind made his kidney's ache, while his companion, a typical heathen with long sha-ggy hair, jeans and untucked wrinkly shirt complete with permanently cocky look on his face and stinky BO, wondered about the odds of another 'adventure' being undertaken to conquer the cottage.

"Well its super windy like this about once a month and this cottage is 8 months old with one attack on it so far." said the heathen. "So thats like one time in 8 or something and like we gotta figure out what chance it'll happen tonight. Whaddya think there raghead? You good at math? You sure don't look like it."

"I'm smarter than your dumbass anyday, buddy." retorted Arafat. "And who focken knows what odds there are of another even dumber ass than you tryin ta make it in here. I'll focken waste the bastard."

"Aw hell, you're just another sh*t scared ole hillbilly aren't ya?"

"@%#$ you man, I could kick your ass or anybody's ass I wanted to, even Mendez if I didn't need the money."

"Yeah? Well how about this then Mr. Asslicker, let's see you walk out to that there treeline and back without taking your security blanket with you. I dare ya." the heathen nodded at the machinegun hanging from a shoulder strap on Arafat.

Arafat was hesistant. He looked back and forth from the trees to the heathen and after a moment said, "Alright. Alright, I'll do it. I ain't scared like you. I don't need no gun to take care o' myself either." Arafat took off the gunstrap and laid the weapon on the thick edge of the balcony. He went off down the stairs and then the heathen could see him walking across the grass towards the trees.


Tic, tac, toe. I will slay a hoe.


Arafat slowed down as he made it too the treeline. His heart was beating so hard that he feared it was leading into a heartattack. Thump! Thump! Thump! He wondered what buddy back on the catwalk would do if he keeled over clutching his chest. Start shooting up the woods? Run like hell? Arafat turned around under a huge tree with long skinny leaves and a trunk at least a metre thick. He held up his arms in a triumphant display for the heathen to see and couldn't help expecting at any moment the thin wire of the executioner to drop down from a branch, wrap around his throat and hoist him up.


Tic, tac, toe. Only a little more to go.


Back in the cottage, the kids unfroze and made their way to the back door, going along in various ninja style poses thinking it made them more stealthy. On the last stretch, a streak of dim light expanded across the floor, the telltale sign that they had been heard, but adrenaline overcame fear and they ran for the door hoping not to be seen by whoever or whatever it was for they knew one thing for sure: it was not the door of the guard's room that had just opened.

Peter jumped up to unhitch the bolt lock. It took him 3 jumps as usual while Hannah unclicked the lower lock and twisted the doorknob back and forth to unlock it as well. Certainly whatever it was that had seen them would hear the sounds.

They opened the door, half expecting some grotesque creature to be there waiting to do something mean, and then they ran out across the grass. They never got far.

"Ungh!" Peter went down. Hannah again froze, thinking he'd been shot. "There's something here, a bump in the ground or something... wasn't here before." said Peter, apparently unhurt so far.

Then the bump stood up, some kind of swamp monster, all green with various types of vegetation hanging from it. Both kids screamed full out, now conversely hoping to attract the attention of the guards inside to come out and rescue them. Strangely enough, the monster ignored them and rushed at quite a high speed to the door the kids had just exited. It opened the door with ease and went on inside.

What are kids doing outside in the middle of night? Lost all surprise. Gonna have to wing it now. The assassin, once inside, almost ran smack face first into a middle-aged woman with cheeks so fat like that of a squirrel loading up on nuts for her winter hibernation. She stood there unmoving, petrified by the sight of the fully camouflaged soldier who had almost bowled into her. Whether she even knew he was a human or not was uncertain, but that didn't stop the assassin from taking out a green envelope from a pocket and thrusting it down the collar of the maid's shirt.

"Here! It is good for you." Just as he said that guards came rushing into the room and what looked like Arafat himself came running in the back door. The hitman, surrounded, was experienced enough to know that to continue the mission ran an extreme risk of immediate self-destruction. The presence of the maid infront of him was the only reason the guards didn't open fire on him and amazingly the man who seemed to be Arafat behind him didn't fire either. The assassin put up his hands in surrender.


About one hour later...

Mendez came in the front door of the cottage while his driver parked the car. Mendez was in a bad mood today, the crack he had taken was wearing off and abandoning him in a ditch of despair. He mumbled some curses about the women he had been with and paid no attention to the guard who approached him.

"Mendez, we captured a hitman. We got him downstairs. The boys are breaking him a little."

Mendez seemed to snap out of his drugged coma and said, "Eh? Really? He hurt anyone?"

"Nope, we got him good and clean. We're getting better boss." The guard grinned a toothy smile, but was still too ugly for Mendez to want to look at, especially after being with his poochy kittens just before.

"Lemme see this fool."

The guard led Mendez downstairs to a maintenance equipment storage room. The captured hitman lying on the floor was a very thin man in his mid-20's with a blond crewcut and had bruises on his face from being worked over by his captors. One of the guards kicked him in the stomach to try and get his attention.

"Hey now, that'll be enough." Mendez motioned for the guards to back off and then squatted down next to the wouldbe assassin. "Tell me, did you come here to kill me?"

"I just wanted to use the restroom. Been out fishing."

"Okay. What's your name?"

"Jolt"

Mendez looked over at a work bench on which the guards had laid out all the belongings the hitman had been carrying. "Jolt, huh? You like shooting fish? The grenades might work but that's not how a real sportsman does it. I like fishing myself, especially for piranha cause they're a real challenge to bring in. They're real big and fat, good for fryin up. Musta been that big meal they got when our place here was last attacked by a squad of hitmen. You know Jolt, I like people who share my interests and I want to give you a chance to get yourself out of this mess in one piece."

Jolt made no response.

Mendez explained, "I'd really like to help you out so how about you tell me your boss's name and address and then we can all get some sleep. You can use the guest room until morning. It's got a nice futon I hear is real comfy." Mendez took one of Jolt's arms and bent the wrist at an unnatural angle.

"I don't talk to ugly hippies."

SNAP!

"AAAAAHH! That focking hurts!!" Jolt was definitely becoming more talkative.

"I really don't want to break anything more because you're waking up the kids and my wife with your screaming." said Mendez and he put the same arm in a painful elbow lock.

Jolt talked very quickly. "His name is Lazarus the Gimp. His base is in that big abandoned shopping mall covered in grafitti in eastside Columbia."

CRACK! "Don't lie. There's no one in that mall. Hurry up cause if you pass out before telling me, the piranha are gonna get another meal." Mendez dropped the busted-up arm and shifted to the fresh one.

Jolt screamed even louder and then moaned, gasping for air like a landed fish. "He lives in a... a.. secret cellar underneath that... upscale restaurant named 'Le Diabla Rouge'."

"Alright, that'll do. I can't believe a feared syndicate boss like Lazarus would hire a wan-ker like you. About time I found out where he's at though. I've been wanting to put him down for some time now. He's killed some of my people with his hit contracts." Mendez turned to the guards and ordered, "Someone call in my doctor to clean up our friend here and tell the maids to ready the guest room."

Then a weak voice came from behind Mendez, "How did you know I was lying?"

Mendez smiled and said, "I didn't."

[Paddy]

Wow

Wow

Where did this come from Sir...?

I vertainly hope that is not 6 months before we get some more...

there will be more won't there...?

[ChrisiusMaximus]

Is this the same Mendez that Skilord went after ?

My memory is vague

Good stuff Scratch

[Remick]

I second your concern Paddy.

There will be more won't there?

[unscratchedfoot]

A Grave, Retirement Plans, and a Double Barreled Shotgun


Tic, tac, toe. These two hoodlums have to go.

My stay at the Mendez's turned out pretty well. After the highly skilled doctor took care of my arm, the futon was just as comfortable as promised. After being awoken next morning by Mercedes yelling at her husband about his adventures on the town the night before, I was treated to a fabulous morning feast fit for a tyrant. Pappa Mendez was quite civil and even engaged in a little small talk with me during the feed, amazing considering the original purpose of my visit to the cottage. Apparently the curious man is quite interested in bull fighting and is learning the art himself. Simple for him, since his estate boasts a reputable bull farm with authentic Spanish trainers. Were our relationship a little better, I would most certainly fancy trying my hand at bull fighting as well.

The problem now is these two clowns whom Mendez assigned to escort me home. So vague was the set up that I'm really not sure whether they are with me to protect me and see I get home safely considering my arm is dressed up in a sling and I'm not feeling so great, or just to verify I wasn't lying about Lazarus's operations base. Either way, I think I'd rather be alone.

My escorts are the finest personnel available for the job. One of them is the one everybody refers to as Arafat and his companion is a stereotypical no-name brand heathen. Judging by their continuous high school level banter, they seem to get along quite well. Despite the uneasy circumstances, I have to admit these two pottymouth scalliwags are coming close to being amusing. We've gotten off a bus in Columbia and are now walking down a fairly quiet Saturday morning street to transfer to another.

"Whaddya mean my retirement idea sucks?" complains the heathen.

"It's about as exciting as watching professional golf." says Arafat.

"Well let's hear your hot idea then."

"Just promise me you won't steal my idea. It's a one and only."

"Not too good o' odds on me following your loony lead. So what is it?" says the heathen.

"Ever heard of Uesugi Kenshin?" asks Arafat.

"No. Sounds Japanese. You want open a sushi shop or something?"

"Don't be an idiot. He's a famous daimyo, a samurai clan leader. He was a brave and powerful warrior who led his samurai into battle. The cool thing is, his elaborate gravesite along with some of his favorite generals is in a park and the property is owned privately. The owner is drawing up plans to allow another gravesite beside the great warrior. I'm saving up to put in a bid for the lot."

"What!?"

"I know you think its stupid because you don't respect brave people like me and Uesugi, but its cool. I will be buried beside a legendary historical leader. We brave will lie side by side and be comrades into eternity."

The heathen shakes his head, waving his long ratty hair around. "You need help my friend. A lot of help which even I cannot provide." He cuffs me on the shoulder and says, "You hear this crap? And I have to work with this weirdo."

"It's gonna cost a lot." says Arafat. "We're talking several hundred grand. I'm gonna need a loan plus everything I can save up to get it before someone else does. Don't expect any free beer from me until it's done. And keep your wussy trash talk to yourself. It's an ingenious idea. You see, your problem is you are weak minded. Simply put, I got the goods and you don't." Arafat taps the side of his head.

"I'm weak minded? At least I'm not f***ed in the head like you are." retorts the heathen.

"I can and will beat you to a small pulp if you insult me one more time." warns Arafat.

"Do you know what happened to the last guy who said that to me?"

"What?"

"Absolutely nothing. I was scared of him."

Arafat sighs. "Aw man, what a let down. I was getting ready for a good fight story there."

"In fact I'm scared of pretty much anyone this side of Woody Allen. I'm intelligent, not a brawler." says the heathen.

"Heh, not me. I got a wicked choke hold that'll put anyone to sleep."

"Yeah right. The only way you could choke anyone is by cooking for them."

Arafat emits a high-pitched squawk which I presume is his idea of laughter. "The problem with you is that you are too hesitant. You see, when something big happens, I just jump right in while you stand back and think for awhile about how to handle the situation. That's what makes you weak. You're a coward. Ironic though it may seem, me being brave is what keeps me alive. Hesitation kills. And I think my 'devil may care' attitude might have something to do with looking forward to being buried next to my buddy Uesugi. I'm also worried the jap government might declare the site a national heritage and cancel the whole project so the sooner I get in there the better."

"I agree I do prefer to think but the rest of what you said is seriously focked." The heathen slaps me on the shoulder again, "Jolt buddy, what do you think of his crappy theory?"

I give it to him straight. "I reckon in a tight spot you both wouldn't last longer than an Al Queada fanatic at an NRA picnic."

The heathen snorts. "You know Jolt, if we weren't supposedly enemies I might actually get to like you. At least you're smarter than this clown I have to work with. You interested in making a little pact?"

"What do you have in mind?"

"Let's say that the next time, if there is a next time, we come up against each other in a potentially violent situation, that we do nothing to hurt each other. No shooting, no weapons, no physical contact at all. Whaddya say?"

"I do not know this idiot." says Arafat who's as disgusted as one who's friend just mooned a queue of people standing at a bus stop.

"You wouldn't understand this, Arafat." says the heathen. "I call it life insurance. And if I can get it for free, why not? It's good for both of us."

"I can go with that." I answer. A little challenge never hurts, especially when dealing with such low level adversaries as these. Two hoodlums, not doubt carrying concealed arms while here I am one armed with no arms and constrained by a promise. Lazarus told me sometimes that any enemy no matter how strong can be killed at anytime, anywhere by anyone. One only has to devise the means utilizing whatever resources are at hand.

"So we have a deal then." The heathen grabs my left hand and gives it one firm shake.

"Fair enough."

We're getting close to the bus stop and it's getting high time I ditched them. I just need the right tool. After all, I don't want to break my promise to the heathen.

Tic, tac, toe. Can I do it? Maybe so. And if I can't, Lazarus will kill me real slow.

The tool comes our way. I have to time this just right. The biggest advantage I've always had over everyone else all my life is my ability to run fast. Taking long, swooping steps, people often say my lanky form looks exactly like an ostrich when I run full out. I personally believe even Ben Johnson would be shocked. But not as shocked as the semi truck driver whom I rush out infront of. The driver, a big scruffy fellow who looks so like Brutus from the Popeye cartoons that I start to crave spinach, slams all of his 280 pounds onto the brakes and sticks his head out the window to unleash a string of expletives that would be educational even to a national league baseball coach.

The brakes matter little. I've totally cleared the front of the truck before the breakpads even connect with the wheel disks.

Whump!

The 'brave' but far less nimble Arafat doesn't do so well. He immediately takes chase as I had hoped he would and before the truck can stop, he is knocked onto the pavement where he rolls around roaring in pain while clutching his right side with both hands. His companion the heathen, as per his temperament, has waited until the huge truck comes to a full stop before pursuing me around it. As it turns out, it is a cardinal error.

I leap onto the step on the truck's cabin and open the passenger side door. Thankfully I'm quite dextrous and have no trouble switching my hand to the handicap handle next to the door to support myself once the door opens. Relief, oddly enough, is what I feel when I see the driver doing exactly as I expected: he is reaching under his seat to take out and level a double barreled shotgun at me. I wait the appropriate amount of time, slightly less than 2 seconds, for him to take out and ready the gun, and then keeping a firm hold on the handle, I swing myself out and just behind the cabin the exact moment the heathen jumps up to try and grab me.

BABOOM!

The bred on Macdonald's driver in his haste has assumed all 3 of us are truck hijackers and doesn't care who gets it first. The splatter sound and red haze is all I need to see of the heathen to confirm he's been properly dispatched by the two point blank federal low-recoil tactical buckshot rounds to the face. Arafat's prophesy has been fulfilled; he the brave is still alive while the thoughtful heathen has gone down under fire. The driver is no combat specialist and has foolishly emptied his gun in one shot and is now cracking it open and panicking to take out the 2 empty cartridges to insert new ones.

It's ample time for me to swing myself into the cabin landing with a crunch on top of several styrofoam food containers and grab the driver by the pressure point just under his collar bone. Anyone, no matter how big and tough, who is not specifically trained in resisting the paralysing pain of have a nerve pinched in such a way has any hope of maintaining an effective frame of mind. The helpless big man squeals piglike and begs me to stop while his shaking hands stop trying to reload the gun.

"All I need is a ride. Can you do that for me?" I give him a firm smile.

"Alright, just stop. Please!"

I let go and immediately after snatch away the shotgun and put it to my side instead of throwing it outside. The driver is innocent and doesn't deserve to have his gun thrown away. Better left unloaded I reckon. The truck grunts and starts moving while I reach my free hand across myself to close the door. I now realise I've sat on 3 empty Big Mac containers and a half full large fries. Of course this lunch course is accompanied by an extra large size coke sitting on top of the drink holder which isn't designed to fit such a big drink container. I brush the mess onto the floor and wipe the potato remains off the seat of my pants. A sticker on the glove compartment reads 'Fight the fuzz. Turn a cop to slop.' The cartoon picture shows a truck squishing an evil looking policeman into the road.

The shaken driver is understandably reluctant to chat. He's dazed from the experience of blowing away the heathen. It's hard to tell exactly what he's feeling since he's obviously one of those types who keeps the softer emotions inside. I give him directions so he can drop me off a block away from my destination and then I gradually succeed in getting him to tell me about his trucking business. Basing my logic on the sticker, I explain that I was trying to shake off my escorts who were 2 undercover cops arresting me but I'm not sure he believes me. He also doesn't believe me that I'm a carpet installer. I guess he's smarter than he looks.

[forgorin]

Keep it up! Man is Jolt cool or what! I just wish that I could be just like him! Na...

[Paddy]

Thanks for this Scratch...

Looking forward to where this could be going

[ChrisiusMaximus]

Lovely stuff Scratchy

Most entertaining, please write more soon !!

[unscratchedfoot]

At the Schoolyard


"I wonder if you'll be sent to an orphan school?" asked Andrew.

"Just shut up already!" retorted Hannah. She had made the mistake of telling her classmates about the hitman's attempt to murder her father, Mendez. On recess break, they stood about her, pestering her in the vulturish way kids tend to do when they find a weakness.

"Actually I don't think Mr. Mendez'll go down so easily." said Curtis. A kid with a long, concave face and spikey blond hair. "I've heard some scary things about him. Like he used to be a leader of a death squad working for the Sandinista. They used to go around killing people at night. They'd sneak into guarded buildings at night, kill whoever they wanted and leave. All done up close and dirty to be silent, no guns at all."

"So what he's tough?" said Billy who had a fat round face and wore a baseball cap with tuffs of sandy hair sticking out from it. "Lazarus the Gimp is the meanest rootin tootin son of a bi*ch badass killer alive. If he were here right now, he'd kill each and every person in this whole school and not get a scratch on him. And I heard he likes killing women and children too. Let me tell you pal, Mendez is going down... hard."

Hannah shouted, "My dad's a rooty fruity mean killer too you know!"

"Rooty fruity? Hyuk hyuk! Did you guys hear that?" chortled Andrew.

Then Steven spoke up. He was an exceptionally bright boy who always had the right answer for the teacher and had a unique way of analyzing everything with cold logic rather than making brash judgements so typical of kids. "Did anyone else see that Learning Channel documentary called, 'Elite Killers for Hire'?

Everyone said no so Steven began the tale. "There was an episode on Lazarus the Gimp. It was a good watch. A long time ago there was an elderly couple in America who wanted to donate most of their savings to charity before they passed away because they had no kids. They got involved in foster parent programs helping to feed starving kids in third world nations and came upon one case of a preschool African boy in Zimbabwe named Mulahuglia Bopo or something like that."

"Nice name." said Andrew.

Steven continued. "Mulahuglia had been written off by the local doctors as being beyond hope for having leprosy. You know that disease makes your skin fall off and stuff, real yucky. Anyways, Lazarus the old guy..."

"You mean the killer dude?" blurted out Billy.

"No, just wait and I'll explain. The old man was Lazarus. He and his wife were so saddened at hearing that a child had been left to die in such a grim way that they decided to pay for Mula's medical fees but Mula had to be shipped to America to be properly treated and it would cost like huge cash, most of Lazarus' money. Okay?"

"Yeah yeah, keep going." said Curtis.

"So Mula gets fixed up in an American hospital but now he's all gnarled up with skin patches missing or all red and covered in scar tissue, a real freak. Imagine Chucky after rassling with the Texas Chainsaw murderer and you get the picture. So anyways, he has to stay in Lazarus' home and take schooling through correspondence. If he was ever seen outside probably some redneck would off him with a high power rifle thinking he was an alien or a gamma radiated creature."

"So like how did the old man become this badass killer?" asked Curtis.

Steven continued, "No, the old man was no killer. Eventually the old couple passed away when Mula was in his late teens and he was left alone in their home to take care of himself, not an easy thing to do when you can't even leave your home. Mula couldn't get a job or anything so he decided he had to start an internet business to make a living. First he learned how to hack computers in order to cover his own electronic tracks and then he spent hours studying up about everything in the business of killing: contracts, weapons, major players and how they operate etc. It's rumored he got lucky and hooked up with some mercenary who taught him the ropes and even came to Mula's home to train with him. The mercenary's name was Misia and no one knows anything else about he or she cause its just a rumor."

"After awhile, Mula adopts the field name 'Lazarus the Gimp' in honor of the old couple who took him in. He started lining up contracts on the internet by becoming a kinduv murder wholesaler who intruduced people who needed killing done with prospective killers, mostly low-level desperados like junkies needing cash for drugs. As the middleman, Lazarus arranged for payments and took a small cut for himself each time to pay for his work. He used a flashy website with the theme, 'Order your murder online with our easy as pie add to basket system'. Time went on and Lazarus made himself a reputation among mercenaries and he began dealing with higher and higher level people. The attempted assassination of Taiwan's President Chen in March 2004 is considered to be one of Lazarus' contract jobs and was intended to only wound Chen to try and influence the voting ironically in his favor. Better a wounded Chen in power than a healthy unemployed one was the logic. Few people believe this but its supposed to be true."

"Early in his career, Lazarus sold his house and now no one knows where he lives because he meets no one except his most trusted mercenary friends. At least no one can say they've knowingly met him cause he's all covered up now. He usually wears a hooded robe and looks like an evil Dungeons & Dragons warlock, real creepy with glowing eyes in the blackness under the hood. The program said he likely changes his cover to look like a veiled muslim woman or like a burn victim wrapped in bandages so he can go out sometimes. But its weird how he's never been caught since he's one of the top criminals in Columbia wanted by police and there's a 15 million US dollar reward on his head, funded in part by the American government."

"The program concluded that Lazarus the Gimp is reputed to be the most deadly assassin in the world. That doesn't leave good odds for Mendez, death squad leader or otherwise." Steven stopped talking and the kids were quiet now, digesting the odd tale they had just heard.

[Paddy]

thanks

oh, and sorry to hear how you lost your leg... that was terrible...
I really hope they are looking after you... you did such a good job in Vienna...

[ChrisiusMaximus]

So like whens the hit going to take place

[Remick]

This is one of my favourites - cant wait to see more.

[unscratchedfoot]

Yeah, I'll be adding more material to this but not for awhile. The story gets more complex from here and will take a lot of time to write.