Grit
06-17-2010, 02:08 AM
The phone clangs three times and I sit up sweating, my heart beating out of my chest.
Terry’s youthful, vibrant face dominates my eyesight. He was twenty then but looked fifteen. He was wiry and had smooth, baby-like skin complemented with chestnut brown eyes and a sparkling white smile. I'm sure the ladies back home loved Terry, but that didn't matter where we were. It sure didn't help him much in the end.
I turn over and pick up the receiver. The clock reads 2:00 in neon green numbers.
“Jake Ranger.”
“Jake, Linda’s here and she’s screwing with a Euro douche. I thought you’d want to know. She’s real drunk and playing the easy part.” Don, my friend and bartender of local bar Foggy Dew tells me. I groan and sit up.
“Thanks Don. I’ll be there in a bit.” I stand up and take my Levis off the foot of my bed, unfold them and pull them on. I grab the half bottle o’ Cuervo from my bedside table and take a long pull. The liquid burns my throat and settles in my stomach like a fire.
“Drink this.” Terry presses a canteen into my sweaty palm. I almost drop it but instead I swing open the cap and take a deep pull. “S**t’s gunna go awful bad tonight Jake, I can feel it.” Terry squints at the bright oil fires. “Best be numb.” Terry looks at me, the skin of his face is gone leaving the mask of a shiny white skull, grinning.
I take another deep draw from the bottle, only a quarter left now. I grab my keys and walk out of my bedroom into the main part of my mobile home. God damn Linda. She used to be my girl and a good pair we made. Always the drunkest wherever we were and having a great time. Not anymore. Now she just got trashed every night and slept around, leaving the bed I gave so much up to come home to cold. I sigh deeply and take another deep swig of the bottle. I open the front door and finish the bottle. Then I throw it on the cement outside, it shatters. I climb into my truck, slam the door, and start the ignition.
************************************************** ************************************************** ***********************************
I pull into an empty stall outside the Foggy Dew and switch the gear to Park. I crack my third of six Blue Ribbons I picked up from 7 11. The beer froths and spills all over my shirt but I don’t care. I’m not trying’ to impress anyone. I turn on the radio.
“Sweet Home Alabama,” Lyrnard Skynard crackles through my worn out radio.
“Where the skies are so blue,” hollers Terry, as we lie hidden in a trench. I look up; a veil of thick steel-grey smog hides the sky. It smells like tar, oil and blood. “Sweet Home Alabama, Lord I’m coming home to you.” He finishes, grinning at me widely. The pillar of fire twenty feet away sputteres and then a twenty foot fireball explodes into the air. “If this ain’t hell, I don’t know what is.” Terry says to me, that devilish grin still stuck on his boyish face. I guess that’s one way to do it. Smile like an idiot the whole time. I try it, my muscles straining under the pressure. It doesn’t work. “I see someone, stay sharp Jakey.” Terry whispers.
I finish the cheap, delicious beer and burp. I’m almost ready to face this. I crush the beer can in my hand and throw it out the window. Then I get out, walk around back, carrying the rest o’ the beer with me. I pull the handle on my trucks bed and it slams down. I jump up on it and slide the Winchester I keep in my bed towards me as well as the box of shells. I like the feel of Chester in my hands. Power, respect, manhood, hell Chester knows was I’m talkin’ about, he’s hummin’.
Terry and I feel the hot sand heating our stomachs, watching as a group of 6 soldiers garbed in that Arab sultan dress weave they’re way through the pillars of flame. Their mouths are covered, doubtless to prevent swallowing ash. Terry wiggles close to me. “Jakey boy, here’s our chance to kill some mother f***ers. Let’s take these sand monkeys out” He winks at me, his grin still glued on his dumb lips. My hands are shaking. “C’mon Jakey boy, don’t pussy out on me.” He whispers. “Can’t you feel your weapon wants to do it? Mine’s hummin’.” I see madness glinting in his eyes. Gleaming with the insanity that often came from being away from civilization for extended periods. “Three,” Terry whispers to me, his eyes gleaming with the reflection of the oil-fire. “Two,” Terry said, his grin getting wider and taller. “One.” The arab soldier closest to me looks no older than fifteen. “Kill ‘em!”
I load several shells in Chester, grinning and whistling to myself. I pull out my blade and cut a large hole in my final beer. I hold it close to my mouth, pop the top and it’s in me in only a few seconds. I’m soaked with beer now, my shirt sticks to my chest and even my hair is wet with it. I walk over to Foggy Dew, my back straight and grinning wide and tall. I swing open the door and survey the room. It’s packed and Top 40 plays on the high quality stereo system. The pub is darkened and I conceal my weapon by my side. I make my way through the scene of drunken indulgence and stop at the bar.
“Donny, gimme a double of Cuervo will ya?” Don turns around, recognizes me and grabs the bottle from the bar. He carries it over pours me a large shot and leans towards me.
“Linda’s here with a real fruit Jake. A real fruit. He ordered a merlot, what the hell is a merlot. Does this look like a French restaurant I ask you? Smash the guy's head in Jake, it’d be a favor to everyone.” I swallow the contents of the shot.
“Where is she?” Donny points behind him to a quiet area near the bathroom. Linda is leaning against the entrance to the mens room. She slips and then catches herself, hands held out like a surfer for a moment and then she leans again. Her eyes are fluttering and she’s close to passing out. Time to wake that ***** up. I slam a twenty on the bar and make my way over to her.
“Linda.” She looks up at me and rolls her eyes.
“Screw you Jack, I’m busy with someone. Waitin’ for a real man, with real money to come out so he can take me home and screw me like you never could.” She slurs her words and pauses in between and finishes with a rough caress of her pelvis. She doesn't even remember my name.
“I don’t know why I put up with your crap Lin, you’re god damn awful to me. What the hell happened to you?” I notice my voice is raising but I don’t care, the bar is starting to go silent. “You used to be a nice girl and now you’re just a drunk whore. I’m not gunna take it anymore.” I finish yelling and pull out the shotgun. Someone behind me screams and I hear people rush for the exits. Linda just wheezes with laughter.
In between deep-chest hoarse spurts of laughter, she says “What are you gunna do Jake? You’re a pussy.”
Terry flies over the trench, screaming and fires his gun at the Arab soldiers. He gets one in the shoulder and then they all turn around and begin yelling and returning fire. I can’t move, I’m glued on my stomach to the hot sand watching Terry’s suicide unfold. His chest gets shredded with gunfire, his body dancing with an imitation seizure at each bullet’s contact. Then he collapses, unmoving, on his stomach facing me. His blank eyes stare directly at me and that stupid grin is still painted on his face. I close my eyes and squeeze them tightly, trying to escape. I feel a warm hand on my shoulder.
“Jake, it’s okay, the boy had a death wish.” I look up and see a tall, wealthy man with oil slicked hair and thick sideburns crouching beside me. He’s wearing an immensely expensive black suit and is holding a ivory cane almost as tall as he is. “You don’t like this all, do you Jake?” I shake my head frantically side-to-side, no. “Well I can make a deal with you and it’ll all go away. Does that sound good to you?” I nod emphatically. The man smiles and I notice his teeth are filed to points. “The only catch is” he continues, now picking at something under his nail, “there will be a price to pay. A steep one. Is that okay with you?” I gaze deep into his eyes. His iris’ are orange, like embers. I nod again, slowly. He holds out his hand to me, “Let’s shake on it then, shall we?” I reach out and grip his hand tightly; it’s hot like bathwater. The man stands and looks at the soldiers.
One by one, the soldier’s heads implode. Their foreheads collapse in on their heads and their faces crumples and fold. They fall limply after this transformation until none are left. I look up at the man and he holds an open hand down to help me up. I take it.
“F**k you!” I roar and unload a blast into Linda’s mid-section. Her torso explodes, painting the framed picture of dogs playing poker behind her. Her shoulders and head fall precariously against her legs, the only parts of her well used body left. I turn around and see Don is slowly approaching me slowly holding a shotty of his own.
“Now let’s just calm down Jake. I know she did a lot to hurt you and I know you’ve been through a lot but I’m you’re friend and you should just calm down.” I hear clapping behind me.
“Well done Jake,” says the devil, in his classic black expensive suit. His cane clicks against the floor as he walks closer to me.
Don looks stupefied. “You know this guy?” He asks me incredulously. “This fruit was all over Linda.” The devil puts a warm hand on my shoulder.
“Let’s face it Don. She was all over everyone, all the time. Hell, I know you screwed her.” I accuse him, loudly. My friend in black told me so. I look at him and he nods reassuringly.
“He screwed her Jake,” my friend hisses in my ear “screwed her every single night, in every single way possible while you were off fighting for his freedom. He really enjoyed it. He got off on the fact that you were such a sucker, had the worst draw of straws. He’s vermin, Jake, vermin. You know what to do, Chester will guide you.” I nod and pump the gun again, a shell flies out and clatters against the cheap wood flooring.
Don looks at my friend wide-eyed. “What are yo-“ I squeeze the trigger and Don’s face explodes, raining flesh and gore down on the bar behind him. Blood squirts like a fountain from the opening where his head used to be.
“Very good, Jakey boy.” My friend says and he pats my arm. “Why don’t you grab a bottle of the good stuff and we can blow this joint. I don’t think the barkeep will mind much.” He kicks Don’s carcass to demonstrate. I laugh and nod, it makes sense. I walk over to the bar, lean over and grab a bottle of Cuervo. My friend wraps his arm around my shoulders and we walk out in unison, drinking from the bottle and singing Sweet Home Alabama.
Terry’s youthful, vibrant face dominates my eyesight. He was twenty then but looked fifteen. He was wiry and had smooth, baby-like skin complemented with chestnut brown eyes and a sparkling white smile. I'm sure the ladies back home loved Terry, but that didn't matter where we were. It sure didn't help him much in the end.
I turn over and pick up the receiver. The clock reads 2:00 in neon green numbers.
“Jake Ranger.”
“Jake, Linda’s here and she’s screwing with a Euro douche. I thought you’d want to know. She’s real drunk and playing the easy part.” Don, my friend and bartender of local bar Foggy Dew tells me. I groan and sit up.
“Thanks Don. I’ll be there in a bit.” I stand up and take my Levis off the foot of my bed, unfold them and pull them on. I grab the half bottle o’ Cuervo from my bedside table and take a long pull. The liquid burns my throat and settles in my stomach like a fire.
“Drink this.” Terry presses a canteen into my sweaty palm. I almost drop it but instead I swing open the cap and take a deep pull. “S**t’s gunna go awful bad tonight Jake, I can feel it.” Terry squints at the bright oil fires. “Best be numb.” Terry looks at me, the skin of his face is gone leaving the mask of a shiny white skull, grinning.
I take another deep draw from the bottle, only a quarter left now. I grab my keys and walk out of my bedroom into the main part of my mobile home. God damn Linda. She used to be my girl and a good pair we made. Always the drunkest wherever we were and having a great time. Not anymore. Now she just got trashed every night and slept around, leaving the bed I gave so much up to come home to cold. I sigh deeply and take another deep swig of the bottle. I open the front door and finish the bottle. Then I throw it on the cement outside, it shatters. I climb into my truck, slam the door, and start the ignition.
************************************************** ************************************************** ***********************************
I pull into an empty stall outside the Foggy Dew and switch the gear to Park. I crack my third of six Blue Ribbons I picked up from 7 11. The beer froths and spills all over my shirt but I don’t care. I’m not trying’ to impress anyone. I turn on the radio.
“Sweet Home Alabama,” Lyrnard Skynard crackles through my worn out radio.
“Where the skies are so blue,” hollers Terry, as we lie hidden in a trench. I look up; a veil of thick steel-grey smog hides the sky. It smells like tar, oil and blood. “Sweet Home Alabama, Lord I’m coming home to you.” He finishes, grinning at me widely. The pillar of fire twenty feet away sputteres and then a twenty foot fireball explodes into the air. “If this ain’t hell, I don’t know what is.” Terry says to me, that devilish grin still stuck on his boyish face. I guess that’s one way to do it. Smile like an idiot the whole time. I try it, my muscles straining under the pressure. It doesn’t work. “I see someone, stay sharp Jakey.” Terry whispers.
I finish the cheap, delicious beer and burp. I’m almost ready to face this. I crush the beer can in my hand and throw it out the window. Then I get out, walk around back, carrying the rest o’ the beer with me. I pull the handle on my trucks bed and it slams down. I jump up on it and slide the Winchester I keep in my bed towards me as well as the box of shells. I like the feel of Chester in my hands. Power, respect, manhood, hell Chester knows was I’m talkin’ about, he’s hummin’.
Terry and I feel the hot sand heating our stomachs, watching as a group of 6 soldiers garbed in that Arab sultan dress weave they’re way through the pillars of flame. Their mouths are covered, doubtless to prevent swallowing ash. Terry wiggles close to me. “Jakey boy, here’s our chance to kill some mother f***ers. Let’s take these sand monkeys out” He winks at me, his grin still glued on his dumb lips. My hands are shaking. “C’mon Jakey boy, don’t pussy out on me.” He whispers. “Can’t you feel your weapon wants to do it? Mine’s hummin’.” I see madness glinting in his eyes. Gleaming with the insanity that often came from being away from civilization for extended periods. “Three,” Terry whispers to me, his eyes gleaming with the reflection of the oil-fire. “Two,” Terry said, his grin getting wider and taller. “One.” The arab soldier closest to me looks no older than fifteen. “Kill ‘em!”
I load several shells in Chester, grinning and whistling to myself. I pull out my blade and cut a large hole in my final beer. I hold it close to my mouth, pop the top and it’s in me in only a few seconds. I’m soaked with beer now, my shirt sticks to my chest and even my hair is wet with it. I walk over to Foggy Dew, my back straight and grinning wide and tall. I swing open the door and survey the room. It’s packed and Top 40 plays on the high quality stereo system. The pub is darkened and I conceal my weapon by my side. I make my way through the scene of drunken indulgence and stop at the bar.
“Donny, gimme a double of Cuervo will ya?” Don turns around, recognizes me and grabs the bottle from the bar. He carries it over pours me a large shot and leans towards me.
“Linda’s here with a real fruit Jake. A real fruit. He ordered a merlot, what the hell is a merlot. Does this look like a French restaurant I ask you? Smash the guy's head in Jake, it’d be a favor to everyone.” I swallow the contents of the shot.
“Where is she?” Donny points behind him to a quiet area near the bathroom. Linda is leaning against the entrance to the mens room. She slips and then catches herself, hands held out like a surfer for a moment and then she leans again. Her eyes are fluttering and she’s close to passing out. Time to wake that ***** up. I slam a twenty on the bar and make my way over to her.
“Linda.” She looks up at me and rolls her eyes.
“Screw you Jack, I’m busy with someone. Waitin’ for a real man, with real money to come out so he can take me home and screw me like you never could.” She slurs her words and pauses in between and finishes with a rough caress of her pelvis. She doesn't even remember my name.
“I don’t know why I put up with your crap Lin, you’re god damn awful to me. What the hell happened to you?” I notice my voice is raising but I don’t care, the bar is starting to go silent. “You used to be a nice girl and now you’re just a drunk whore. I’m not gunna take it anymore.” I finish yelling and pull out the shotgun. Someone behind me screams and I hear people rush for the exits. Linda just wheezes with laughter.
In between deep-chest hoarse spurts of laughter, she says “What are you gunna do Jake? You’re a pussy.”
Terry flies over the trench, screaming and fires his gun at the Arab soldiers. He gets one in the shoulder and then they all turn around and begin yelling and returning fire. I can’t move, I’m glued on my stomach to the hot sand watching Terry’s suicide unfold. His chest gets shredded with gunfire, his body dancing with an imitation seizure at each bullet’s contact. Then he collapses, unmoving, on his stomach facing me. His blank eyes stare directly at me and that stupid grin is still painted on his face. I close my eyes and squeeze them tightly, trying to escape. I feel a warm hand on my shoulder.
“Jake, it’s okay, the boy had a death wish.” I look up and see a tall, wealthy man with oil slicked hair and thick sideburns crouching beside me. He’s wearing an immensely expensive black suit and is holding a ivory cane almost as tall as he is. “You don’t like this all, do you Jake?” I shake my head frantically side-to-side, no. “Well I can make a deal with you and it’ll all go away. Does that sound good to you?” I nod emphatically. The man smiles and I notice his teeth are filed to points. “The only catch is” he continues, now picking at something under his nail, “there will be a price to pay. A steep one. Is that okay with you?” I gaze deep into his eyes. His iris’ are orange, like embers. I nod again, slowly. He holds out his hand to me, “Let’s shake on it then, shall we?” I reach out and grip his hand tightly; it’s hot like bathwater. The man stands and looks at the soldiers.
One by one, the soldier’s heads implode. Their foreheads collapse in on their heads and their faces crumples and fold. They fall limply after this transformation until none are left. I look up at the man and he holds an open hand down to help me up. I take it.
“F**k you!” I roar and unload a blast into Linda’s mid-section. Her torso explodes, painting the framed picture of dogs playing poker behind her. Her shoulders and head fall precariously against her legs, the only parts of her well used body left. I turn around and see Don is slowly approaching me slowly holding a shotty of his own.
“Now let’s just calm down Jake. I know she did a lot to hurt you and I know you’ve been through a lot but I’m you’re friend and you should just calm down.” I hear clapping behind me.
“Well done Jake,” says the devil, in his classic black expensive suit. His cane clicks against the floor as he walks closer to me.
Don looks stupefied. “You know this guy?” He asks me incredulously. “This fruit was all over Linda.” The devil puts a warm hand on my shoulder.
“Let’s face it Don. She was all over everyone, all the time. Hell, I know you screwed her.” I accuse him, loudly. My friend in black told me so. I look at him and he nods reassuringly.
“He screwed her Jake,” my friend hisses in my ear “screwed her every single night, in every single way possible while you were off fighting for his freedom. He really enjoyed it. He got off on the fact that you were such a sucker, had the worst draw of straws. He’s vermin, Jake, vermin. You know what to do, Chester will guide you.” I nod and pump the gun again, a shell flies out and clatters against the cheap wood flooring.
Don looks at my friend wide-eyed. “What are yo-“ I squeeze the trigger and Don’s face explodes, raining flesh and gore down on the bar behind him. Blood squirts like a fountain from the opening where his head used to be.
“Very good, Jakey boy.” My friend says and he pats my arm. “Why don’t you grab a bottle of the good stuff and we can blow this joint. I don’t think the barkeep will mind much.” He kicks Don’s carcass to demonstrate. I laugh and nod, it makes sense. I walk over to the bar, lean over and grab a bottle of Cuervo. My friend wraps his arm around my shoulders and we walk out in unison, drinking from the bottle and singing Sweet Home Alabama.