Litkicks Message Board Archive

Day One- harsh critique wanted

Posted to Action Poetry




The nock upon the door should frighten me- I am not; instead I remain composed, attempt to check my reflection in the mirror only seeing brown wall blotch in otherwise dirty off-white room; realizing my potential reflection still lays flat on bed, one more line tempting and long across in diagonal pattern, spanning corner to corner- the rush- the precision placing mirror between paintings of ducks amongst tall, brittle grass beside little trickling stream; seeing my face of rock and red irritation one last time before strutting to door- I Unbolt, open up- there on time- tinted black Mercedes behind shoulders blending with black trench coats covering bodies of latent cold piercing eyes behind black rim glasses; slicked backed hair shinny in my unusually light hotel room an hour outside the city- a city containing me in short time after these proceedings and realization of my sure master plane. One spoke, glasses remaining on preventing me from seeing the whites of his eyes and knowing if this was routine- an event not requiring thought and safeguard- or if I am a force to be dealt with- which I am, and will prove so. My mind worked these events out to completion and I remain composed. There is four of them, two in each corner facing me, two in front, all with diamond pierced left ear- two men behind, in the corners with folded arms across chest- two men directly in front, each with their hands clasped and hanging down. I am the highest point of this triangle and at the vantage point needed for execution. The voice is familiar to me, one not easily forgotten with the conviction accentuated in each word, however lightly spoken. This man speaking to me was known as simply, J. That is all I know for fact about this man, all the rest in merely roomer or urban legend.
The body found in the river last year around this time, just as the ice was thawing, river slowly gaining momentum, was clearly the work of J. The autopsy hypothesized that the manÂ’s stomach was carefully sliced open, skin cut away, and organs exposed- this all done in such a manor as to cause severe pain but slow death. A fire was then started on the open stomach, kindling placed between organ and organ and presumably ignited with a flammable liquid. The man witnessed his open stomach burning for only a short time. J had his men, earlier that night, cut a chunk out the thick cool ice of the river- a chunk the size of a body, about two feet thick, seven long. Well aflame the man was slid into ice coffin and a hose was brought over from a nearby factory- it was the dead of night- each breath seen as a dissipating cloud. The manÂ’s fire was put out with the cold hose water filing in the two by 7 space. A rock was placed on burnt skin preventing escape. J stood there, it is said, until all the water froze and left the body suspended in agony. Said no words but smiled, turned perfect 180 and walked to black tinted Mercedes. The man left in ice was a seventeen-year-old boy that went to school with JÂ’s daughter- apparently said something wrong in gym class, caused some tears. JÂ’s slick though, covers all his tracks. The government canÂ’t seem to touch him.
J is on the left front of me, three feet away- just short of arm reach- gesturing to the ridged man to his left he slowly and clearly says, “the money is here, in this briefcase this man holds. Do you have your part of the deal?” I nodded my head towards the bed, his vision following mine and resting on oversized briefcase of alligator skin brown and blotched. “Open it” I said with an equal voice of conviction holding strong on my pinstripe suit. J sent the two men from the rear to inspect. Moments later they nodded signaling that in fact twenty kilos of coke did exist and are in this room at present. “Count the money well my men pack this away, by all means count the money.” This said to me and as a command. I began counting- it was all there. J was over seeing the packing operation. They began placing the kilos in two black duffel bags writing me off as an amateur and a dame good opportunity to bring in some founds. They know I intercepted a run on the east side late last night, that this stuff was still hot, people out for my heart. I knocked out their competition that had, recently, the upper hand in transactions. A hundred thousand dollars was coming my way, and with it a chance for a new life with my Mely. I sat at a coffee table as I placed the stacks of hundreds, crisp and smelly, back into the briefcase. J had noticed me out on the streets about two years ago. Saw how suave I was, how I always had the upper hand. He would call me his little Machiavellian on the phone and used me for small jobs that popped up from time to time in his line of work. I never did meet him, just knew his authoritative but calm voice. I was paid by his men, a different one each time, each telling me that J was pleased with my work and the big one is coming soon. “Be ready,” they would say. I would nod. Under the coffee table where I sit are two double barrel shot guns attached to the top and pointing towards J and the man beside him. I was ready for the big one. The shotguns hang with wire from the crisscrossing bars that give the table its stability. Having completed the packing job, J’s two grunt me return to their accustomed corners of the room in accordance to J’s defenses.
J was pleased with me and took this time to request my assistance in the near future, not sure of the date it would all be going down. “I'm going to need you in my Mexican venture. I like the way you work. You will be apart of us now. You will be with the winners.” This all said behind his glasses that he only now took off after his last word was realized in front of a closing mouth. The whites of his eyes stood in contrast to piercing blue. My hands were folded on the table; I raise them and to my head interlocking fingers. I stay in this position for a count of three seconds, all this according to plan. Unfolding my hands I take them to my lap continually looking J in his eyes. Leaning forward like I am about to get up my hands find the two double barreled shotguns under table out of routine- I had practiced from twelve in the afternoon and it was now the time when day burns into night- I fired both guns at the same time hitting both J and the man that stood beside him in the belly, swiveled the guns to each man standing in the corner and fired two shots directly in their respective groins. J stood bending over hands dripping in blood, the man that had stood next to him was on the ground in the fetal position twitching. I did not look at the two men behind until I stand up, smile upon face splattered in blood, remove the magnum from between my pants and back and fire a shot into each of their brains ending their attempts to find their guns. In the tub two barrels of gasoline wait no longer; I dice the place grab the coke and the money, and stand by the door sunset behind shoulder and just above windless pine trees. Striking a match my cigarette is lit, take one drag glancing down at my destruction and precision, smile and exhale, throw the match down to red stained inch high rug and walk out for my hour drive to the city. I walk slow as flames fume behind brown curtains. A hush of fire builds, me opening trunk of an old woody, placing the briefcases and two duffel bags that change my life within and drive off to the south, the only logical place to go after all this madness. Have to pick up Mely first- before all the rats get to her, then were off to spend this hundred thousand dollars fast then do something for more. This is a cycle you see, well you will see. Today it’s J tomorrow who knows what could be. My life of whim continues…each act gets more sever.