Wednesday, September 26, 2012


As I heard the door close behind me with a soft, but discernible 'click', I knew that the way back was closed to me for ever, or at least for the rest of the night. As my eyes were still adjusting to the gloom of the alleyway into which I had been shoved, I became certain that this was not the way to grandma's house after all. However, the good news, if there was to be any good news at all, is that I always carried a handy, dandy blade whenever I visited the drinking den that I had just been, none too gently, expelled from.  Truth be told, I had done what I thought was the sporting thing to do, and offered to throw myself out this time just for variety. An offer than was frowned upon by the hulking brute at the door. With a grunt and a very menacing nod (who nods with menace?) he made it clear to me that he was more than able, and very willing to help me find my way out of the bar. It was my choice, one that was quickly being decided for me, as to whether I walked out, or landed out on the sidewalk.

I, being a thinking man, decided that one more rough, unceremonious landing would be bad for both my physical and mental health. Therefore, I graciously agreed to allow the trained ape to 'escort' me to the door, and bid him good night, good health, and a undefined sexually transmitted disease, as he pushed me, none too gently, into the welcoming alley. Perhaps welcoming is not the right word for the unnamed alley that ran behind this particular bar, but it didn't appear to be particularly foreboding at the time. Boy, was I wrong about that.  As the door finished closing behind me, and I straightened out my slightly rumpled clothing, I realized that it was a lot later than I had thought, and that perhaps those last two drinks were not, in hindsight, a very good idea.  Unsteady on my pins would be one way to describe me, if you were being generous, knee bobbling drunk would be another, more accurate term for me at that time.

Either way, drunk me was now clearly no longer welcome at the bar to his back, and decided that home was probably the best place for me to be, if I could just figure out which direction home was, then I would be golden. Bleary eyed, I took a gander in both directions of the alley, and was able to puzzle out that home was probably located somewhere in the opposite direction of the brick wall that was at the end of the south end of the alley. Pleased with myself for my ability to form such complex navigation, I set off in the direction of the open end of the alley.  It was only after about three steps that I heard the noise and saw the vague shape looming (with just the right amount of loom, I might add) at the entrance to the alley.  I peered off in that direction, in a futile attempt to ascertain whether or not I knew the shape blocking my path to my nice warm bed.

Slowly, it dawned upon my booze addled brain, that I did know the person, and they were no friend of mine. I reached ever so slowly in my left pocket and began to ever so slowly draw out the switchblade that I carried with me for just such an occasion. As they walked closer to me, I realized my mistake. Not the mistake of recognition, I knew exactly who this person was, but the mistake that was to be my last. I looked at the revolver in their hand, and realized with a bit of terror, and a bit of irony that I had brought a knife to a gun fight. They just looked at me with a great deal of anger, a bit of disdain, and a dash of hate, as they realized my mistake as well. 'Always the tough guy huh?' they rasped out with a bit of a chuckle. 'Well I am not tough, I am just efficient' and with that, and before I could respond with some witty retort, they shot me three times in the chest.

The first bullet wouldn't have killed me, they say, but it sure as fuck hurt like hell. It was a bit high and to the left and it enter my upper chest near my collarbone, came out of my back and broke my left scapula. Once again, not fatal, but it certainly was going to keep me out of the weekly cricket games for a while. I guess they had time in those few seconds between shots one, and two to steady their aim, and the second bullet caught me dead in the chest. It entered between the 2nd and 3rd rib on my left (ish) side, did all sorts of damage to those bones, nicked my aorta, and lodged against my spine. The third bullet I never really knew much about, because I took about 5 steps towards my killer, and dropped like a stone. I wasn't dead before I hit the ground, but I died about 8 seconds after I landed in the heap that they would find me in come morning. Once that aorta is ripped open there isn't much hope for you, in case you wondered. I didn't have time to wonder all of this lovely medical knowledge, I was a bit too wrapped up in dying.

The person at the open end of the alley, the person that had just murdered me, looked down at me with the distaste that one normally reserves for dog shit, and shook their head once slowly from side to side. They then pocketed the murder weapon, turned, and walked away into the night as pretty as you please, and as cool as the other side of the pillow. I am not sure how well they planned my murder, nor am I certain as to all of the reasons they killed me, I have a couple of theories, but once you are dead, theories don't carry a lot of weight.  Not much really matters after that death thing. They got away with it, because they were clever, or because no one was around, or if anyone was around they never came forward. I was scraped off the alley, put into the meat wagon, sliced open like a xmas turkey, my cause of death ruled multiple gunshot wounds, and my manner of death a homicide. Sometimes the bad guys win. 

1 comment:

chall said...

nice. very well written.

Of course, it's the "why?" that would really make me frustrated beyond belief. Then again, I guess dead people don't really care so I don't have to worry about it...