28(E3S2)- Messy & Ugly

28

(Season 3, Episode 2)

Messy & Ugly

3:00 pm Tuesday

Creegan’s alarm went off and he heard it deep inside his hurting head.

He slapped the top of it and there was silence.  He then slowly pulled himself out of his bed, and the now warm ice pack that he had placed on his head the night before slipped off and hit the floor with a ‘splat’ noise.

The clock read 3:00 PM.  He had thirty minutes until his shift at the Bent Elbow bar.  He lived in the building above the bar so time was not a concern.  He sighed as he sat on the edge of the bed, giving his throbbing head time to subside.

Slowly, he bent over and picked up the pack before rising uneasily to his feet.  He walked to the small apartment’s one window and slid open the curtains revealing the bright sun, slowly on its descending pattern in the west.

Jim Creegan winced and turned from the window, touching his hand to his eye slowly to check the damage.  A searing shot of pain rushed through his face at the gentlest of touches.

“Shit,” Creegan mumbled to himself as he stumbled to the bathroom.  He clicked on the light and examined the damage.  His right eye was nearly swollen shut and bright purple.

He immediately thought of his co-workers who would, yet again, grill him on the reoccurring damage to his face.  These were conversations that he would like nothing more than to avoid.

****

1:00 AM Tuesday

“You have to make it last more than five minutes.”  Harry yelled at Creegan over the sound of the crowd.

“Five minutes is an eternity, Harry.  You know how long these fights last.”  Creegan responded as he continued to tape his hands and wrists.

Harry was a small weasely man in a cheap suit.  He didn’t look like much, but he was one of the better underground fighter agents in the greater Ohio area.  He owed Creegan a favor and when Jim had come to collect it, Harry couldn’t have been happier that the favor was to promote him in the fights.

“Look, the betting continues after you step into the fight.  The longer it lasts, the more people bet, and the more we win.”  Harry countered.  “And the last four fights you have been in, you won in less than a minute.  Jimmy boy, you have been cutting down on our ends!”

Creegan gave the smarmy man a dirty look.  “Don’t call me that.”

They heard a wet thud and then the noise of a man falling to the concrete floor.  They were in a warehouse on the river downtown and the acoustics were amazing.  The crowd roared and Creegan new the fight before him was over.

He stood and took his shirt off.  He had gained a little in the stomach area but he still had the skills and knowledge to do what had to be done.  He and Harry started to walk toward the center of the ravenous crowd.

“Remember, Jimmy, five minutes.” Harry said again as the crowd cleared a path to the right center.

Standing in the middle of the people was a mountain of a man, muscles on top of muscles.  He stood two inches taller than Jim, which was difficult given that Creegen was 6’5’’ already.  The man had a hard chin and a big nose that looked like it had been broken thousands of time.  The giant scowled at Creegan and roared like a beast.

Harry and Creegan stared aghast for a second.

“Harry,” Creegan began, “I don’t think we have to worry about me winning too fast.”

***

3:15 Tuesday

 Creegan picked up his Bent Elbow ‘Staff’ t-shirt off the floor and slipped it over his head.  He then pulled on a pair of jeans and headed downstairs to face the news.

In all fairness, even he could not understand what he was doing.  It had been two years since he knocked out Maggie and left his past behind him, but yet there was something still in his gut that kept him fighting.

An unexplainable need.

He walked through the front door and Saturday Jones, a heavy-set, black woman gave him a hard look.  “Damn it.  White boy got his ass kicked again.”

Lisa was whipping a table and looked up, her face curling into shock and sympathy.  “Oh my God, Jim.  What happened?!”

Jim sighed and thought to himself. ‘Here we go.’

“It’s nothing, I fell down the stairs.”  Creegan answered, trying to end this quickly.

Saturday did a mock laugh.  “Shit, I had a sister that used that excuse when her husband beat the shit out of her.  How about it white boy?  You got a husband at home beating the shit out of you?”

Creegan scowled at her.  “Jesus, Saturday, does it always have to be about race?”

Saturday returned the scowl tenfold.  “I can’t be racist, I’m black.”

“Alright everyone, leave Jim alone.”  Paul had come from the back and decided to end things.  “But damn, Creegan, what happened to you?”

***

1:03 AM Tuesday

The blow nearly took Creegan’s head off.

It had been the brawler’s first big blow of the night, catching Creegan in the right eye and it was all he needed.  Jim was rocked, staggering backward and hitting the concrete.

The rules stated that if Creegan didn’t get back to his feet in a five count he was eliminated.  The first three seconds he was on another continent, then, he came out of the daze and pulled himself up.  This was rewarded by another ear shattering roar as the mountain charged him again.

Screw making the fight last five minutes, if Creegan didn’t do something now it was going to be over in five seconds.  Creegan brought himself back to reality and forced himself to focus on the task at hand as he ducked under another big right hook.

He was facing a tank.  You could not fight a tank head on.  The best you could do was to pull it apart.  Disassemble it.

The bruiser wound up and charged with another big right hand.  Creegan flew into motion, bringing his own hand around into a rare right hook.  He didn’t aim for the face, not yet.  That would be for later.  Instead, his blow struck the inside of the big man’s elbow as he hooked.  The man yelped at the sensation and the blow put him off balance.

Creegan stepped inside, at the same time spinning and bringing his left elbow into the giant’s collar bone.  The giant gasped for breath and staggered.  Creegan used the time to get back into defense and focus.

Most would press the advantage after laying a blow like that, but Creegan knew better.  He waited for another opening to counter.  Although the blow had surprised the big man, it was superfluous.  More insult than injury.  Creegan hoped it would enrage the man into another mistake.

Creegan got his wish.

The mass of muscle lurched forward, coming with a huge left, meant to put Jim down for good.  Jim was ready for the sloppy attack and ducked under it at the same time cocking his arm and rising with a perfectly placed uppercut to the arm pit of the extended hand.  The blow connected and a loud pop could be heard throughout the warehouse.

Jim had dislocated the man’s shoulder.

The man yowled in pain and staggered.  Now, Creegan pressed the advantage, stepping in and side kicking the man’s outer knee.  He was taken off guard and the knee buckled.  Creegan brought his right arm above his head.  With the opponent now below him, he brought the point of his elbow downward onto the bridge of the man’s nose.

The blow broke the man’s nose, again, and pulled the skin away from the bone.  Blood gushed out of the now open wound.

Creegan stepped in and drove his knee into the man’s face.

The Stallone wannabe rocked back on his knees and Creegan grabbed his head and pulled it forward while bringing up his other knee full force into the man’s face a second time.

This blow was the straw that broke the camel’s back.  The giant fell and did not get back up.

The crowd watched in silence as the ref counted to five and then they went ballistic. Creegan raised his fist weakly then turned to leave, the crowd parting for him.

Harry was grinning as he came out.  “Hell of a fight.  Never doubted you for a second!”

Creegan raised his good eyebrow.  “Really?  ‘Cuase I did.  I doubted the hell out of me.”

Harry chuckled and began to count out Creegan’s share.  “You know though, it still didn’t last five minutes.”

Creegan snatched his money and leered at Harry.

***

3:20 PM Tuesday

“It’s a long story, Paul. Do you think I could get an ice pack from the back?” Creegan replied as he stepped over to the bar.

Paul smiled softly, thinking better of the lecture he wanted to give his constantly troubled bouncer.  “Sure, Jim.”

The door behind Creegan opened and closed and he ignored it.  He heard Saturday say.  “We aren’t open for another 40 minutes, lady.”

Creegan then heard another voice speak but not loud enough to hear.  Saturday responded to the newcomer in a confused voice.  “You are queer for a vegan?  What the hell does that mean?!”

Jim eyes widened and he turned around.

Standing there in all her glory was the pierced, tattooed, red-headed, scarred, Patti O’Shaughnessy.

“I said, I’m here for Creegan you daft woman!”  Patti yelled back, furiously, in her inaudible Irish accent that no one could understand except for people who had spent a lot of time around her.

Very few who had, were still alive.

“Patti.”  He said and her eyes turned to him as she grinned.

He knew this was bad.  Anytime one of those mother fuckers walked into his life, things got ugly and messy.  He should have been pissed that she was here.

But for some reason, he found himself grinning.

 

 

 

27(S3E1)-The jerk-off in the floral print

Episode 27

(Season 3, Episode 1)

The Jerk-off in the Floral Print

“I’m tellin’ you that shit is amazing.”  Roland said with more feeling, as he and Carlos sat in a car outside the strip club.

“You have got to be kiddin’ me.”  Carlos shook his head as he watched the strip club front doors that their target had entered three hours ago.

“Seriously ‘Los,” Roland continued.  “I didn’t think it was going to be good, but once I tried it I, got fucking hooked!”

Carlos shook his head and decided to change the subject.  “I still don’t understand why the Senator wants this guy.  What’s so special about this jerk-off in a floral print shirt and a fucking fedora?”

Carlos and Roland were part of Senator Jared Roman’s security detail.  Normally, the job of following and capturing men of questionable stature would not be on the list of duties for a couple of bodyguards, but they were part of a private service.

Full service.

When it came right down to it, these were more like mob enforcers than bodyguards. That is why the Senator paid the big bucks.  He wanted a private army.

“He knows something about some hit man who was hired to kill the Senator.”  Roland explained.  “They think he can help.”

“So they hire one lunatic to deal with another?  Seems pretty stupid to me,” Carlos replied, “and anyway, isn’t that our job?”

“Beats me.  They pay me, I do what they say.  You know?”  Roland responded, then continued, unwilling to let the previous conversation go.  “So, why the fuck won’t you try it?”

Carlos turned toward him.  “Why the fuck would I ever try haggis?”

Roland frowned.  “Aww, come on man, you don’t know till you try, right?”

Carlos shook his head.  “Mother fucker you are black!  What the fuck are you doing eating cut up sheep’s heart and oatmeal boiled in a fucking stomach?!”

Roland frowned.  “Really, you’re playing the race card?”

Carlos looked surprised.  “The race card?  Mother fucker how am I playing the race card?”

“Because, you are using the color of our skin to get out of trying something new.” Roland defended.

“You dumb nigger, the race card is when a black person uses their race to accuse a white person of racism.  We are both black.  I can’t use the fucking race card on you.” Carlos yelled at Roland.

Roland looked sullen.  “You’re avoiding the issue.  You should try the shit before you knock it.”

“No self-respecting nigger eats haggis.”  Carlos said, finally.

“I totally agree.  Haggis is not N-word food.”  The voice sounded from the backseat.

Carlos and Roland turned and saw the man they had been sent to follow and capture. Rockwell was wearing a cheap fedora and a floral print button up t-shirt.

There was a moment of absolute silence, and then both Roland and Carlos went for their guns.  They were both trained professionals, despite their conversation selections, and would be more than fast in any normal situation.

At the time, they had their guns in shoulder holsters under the suit jackets.  With the seat belts clicked in it was rather difficult to reach them.

Rockwell, on the other hand, had his .38 caliber revolver on his thigh.  This gave him plenty of time to casually pick up his gun and pull the trigger.  The shot hit the back of Roland’s head then passed through seven inches of brain matter, ripping its way out of the front of his forehead.

Carlos had his hand around the butt of his gun when he felt the barrel of Rockwell’s gun against the back of his head.  He stopped moving.

The corpse in the passenger seat that used to be called Roland lurched forward until his head met the dash.  Blood leaked from the hole in his head and onto the floor.  The bullet had passed through the windshield, making it spider web.  A spatter of blood and brain matter colored-in the disturbing work of art that the glass had become.

“Aww, poor Roland.”  Rockwell crooned, “but it goes to show, true n-words don’t eat haggis.”

Carlos slowly pulled his hand out of his coat and raised them up in surrender.  “N-word?”

“You know,” as Rockwell answered, he waved the gun around carelessly.  “I try not to say the word itself.  I believe it only contributes to a cultural stereotype and racial hatred.”

Carlos raised an eyebrow.  “What the fuck are you talking about?  You just shot Roland!”

Rockwell’s eyes narrowed.  “Don’t play the race card.”

Carlos shook his head.  “Does anyone know what the race card is?”

Stone was sitting next to Rockwell.  “It’s calling someone a racist even when they are not, in order to get away with something.”

Carlos didn’t hear Stone because Stone wasn’t really there.  He was in Rockwell’s head.

“Of course, you would agree with him.”  Rockwell said angrily, to the empty seat.  “You always were the sympathetic one.

Stone rolled his fictional eyes.  “This is about the school house again, isn’t it?  I’d like to remind that you didn’t exactly want to kill all those kids either.”

“Fuck you Casper!” Rockwell yelled at the phantom.  “Just because I didn’t want to, doesn’t mean that I wouldn’t have!”

 “Yeah right, tough guy,” Stone muttered.

Carlos, feeling that the random screaming match with the backseat had moved the conversation off topic decided to take it upon himself to center it.  “Look, I was sent to bring you back to my boss, that’s it.  I don’t get paid enough to deal with this lunacy.”

Rockwell’s attention returned to Carlos.  “Well, in that case, I’ll make this simple.  You tell me who your employer is and what he wanted me for and I’ll let you go on your way.”

Carlos wanted this over and had no real loyalty to the old white bastard.  “Senator Jared Roman.  He wants you because he has made some international hit list because of his purposed gun laws.  He thinks you can protect him from the guy they hired.”

Rockwell listened then when Carlos finished he pulled the trigger and put a bullet through Carlos’s head.  “Be on your way then.”

“That was unnecessary.”  The apparition of Stone had returned as Rockwell stepped out of the car and slid the revolver into the back of his pants.

“You are such a softy,” Rockwell said as he walked away.

****

Jared Roman was little over 50, but he looked like he was 90.  He was old and short and thin.  His hair was full white and coming out in husks.  He walked hunched over because of a back issue he had since he was 20.

Bolo, the walking mountain of midnight that was his head of security, secretly hated the old bastard.  Bolo was positive that his team had been hired because Roman still believed in slavery.  Not to mention, the stuff he was positive Roman had done to his daughter.

The sad fact was that Roman paid well.  Better than the rappers that Bolo had worked for in the beginning of his career.

“This is a bad idea,” Bolo said again, still trying to talk Roman out of bringing Rockwell into this.

“Do I pay you to think?” Roman snapped with a raised eyebrow.

Bolo frowned, his heavy brow furrowing.  “Yes, you do. About your protection. This is unsafe.”

“Well, you think all you want, but it is my call to bring him in and I pay your bills, so you will deal with it.” Roman said sternly.

Bolo momentarily entertained the idea of crushing the little man’s head.  “Your call, sir.”

The door to Roman’s office where the two had been talking was punted open.  The door slammed into the wall and Bolo instinctively went for his gun but stopped as he saw Rockwell standing there with his revolver trained on the big man.  “I think it’s actually my call, fuckers!”

Bolo frowned and took his hands out of his suit.  Roman stared, wide-eyed.  “Who the fuck are you?”

Rockwell was taken aback.  “Who the fuck am I?!  I’m the fucking man of the hour!”

“Rockwell?” Roman asked.

“The one and fucking only!” Rockwell answered, walking in and sitting down in the comfy guest chair.

“Where the fuck is Roland and Carlos?”  Bolo asked angrily.

“They retired.” Rockwell said then smiled. “From life.”

“That was awful.”  Stone appeared in the corner of the room.

“You murdering son of a bitch!” Bolo yelled but Rockwell ignored him.

Instead, Rockwell focused on his personal ghost.  “Oh, up yours.  You wouldn’t know good taste if it bit you on the ass.”

Bolo stopped, confused.  “Who the hell is he talking to?”

Roman’s narrow bird like eyes watched the lunatic, interested.  “He’s talking to his old partner, the man died two years ago and Rockwell now talks and sees him wherever he goes.”

Rockwell’s attention turned to the old man.  “You really have done your homework.  You got you hands on my mental health records.”

Roman nodded slowly.  “I trade in favors boy, something you might be interested in.”

“Well I’m not, sorry to burst your bubble.”  Rockwell said with a grin.  “I am however, interested as to why a U.S. senator would want a committed, psycho, hit man to protect him?  What could possibly scare you so much that you resort to coming to me?”

Roman watched him for another second then walked to his desk and pulled out a file slapping it down in Rockwell’s lap.

“Shaky.”  He said the one word with endless weight.

Rockwell became serious and looked down at the file.  “How do you know that name?”

“Because he is hunting me as of two days ago.  I have a source in the C.I.A that told me he entered the country today.” Jared said, matter-of-factly.

“No.”  Stone was now right in Rockwell’s face.  “You can’t do this.”

“Why not?” Rockwell asked his specter.

Jared looked confused.  “Are you talking to me or Stone?”

“Because you can’t win.  Not without me.”  Stone said with concern.

“I’ll do it.  Where can I go to sleep?”  Rockwell asked Roman.

Roman hesitated, trying to figure out who Rockwell was speaking to.  “Bolo, show him to the guest room.”

Bolo was shocked.  “Are you kidding?  He killed two of my men!”

“They signed on knowing the dangers.  Now don’t talk back to me, boy!” Jared snapped back.

Bolo again curbed his pride.  It was a lot of money.

Rockwell stood to find Stone in front of him.  “Seriously, you remember him Rockwell.  He’s on another level.”

Rockwell cocked his head to one side.  “You always did love to tell me ‘no’.  You don’t get to tell me ‘no’ anymore.”

Rockwell walked forward and Stone’s ghost relented… at least for now.