Just call me John and get it over with ~ A poetic tale of a rather unpoetic man

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Mistermafio -> Just call me John and get it over with ~ A poetic tale of a rather unpoetic man (1/5/2009 15:34:48)
Chapter 1: Another day, another murder “Another day, another murder.” He moaned to himself, as he looked into the mirror. Carefully scraping the razorblade over his stubby cheek. He glanced over his face, the face of a rough man, an older man who had seen the worst of life. His face was scarred, his once happy light blue eyes had darkened, as the world around him had darkened. The bags under his eyes, told a story about his life. About never sleeping, and lots of coffee, about sleazy motels, and cheap take-out food. His dark hair, once almost black, had started thinning 'round the back, the first strands of grey already showing. He'd sigh, though that'd mean he'd mind. And honestly, he didn't. One last stroke over his sharp cheek, to make it as bald as he needed. He could see the flashing lights through the window, he recognised them, for he'd seen them every day this week. They would come to get him, bring him to the scene. They'd explain what had happened and introduce who they thought it could've been. “Another day, another murder.” He whispered again as he tightened his tie, the expected knock at the door surprised him. “They must really be in a hurry, someone important must've died. One of those people that are as rich as day, and as powerful as night.” The officer that came walking in, was the same as ever. Officer Lee or Kim, or something like that. He could never remember. “Quickly John, you need to come, something terrible has happened!” He smiled and took a sip of scotch, out of the bottle he was holding. “Don't worry, take it easy, the guy is dead, there's nowhere he'll be going.” Officer Tian sighed and looked at him, a mix of agony, and pity, in his eyes. “Once I looked up to you, John, a long time ago. Once you stood for good, for all that was right in this screwed up city. But you have changed, such a pity.” He looked at him, as he tucked his gun in the holster under his vest. “I might have changed, … Bob, you know I'm still the best. Now bring me to this body, and let me handle the rest.”

Mistermafio -> RE: Just call me John and get it over with ~ A poetic tale of a rather unpoetic man (1/5/2009 15:40:10)
Chapter 2: You boys know you won't get far, right? Tires squeal over the tarmac, as the sirens blaze. The noise alone gave him a headache, and the fact that he was hungover, didn't actually help. He groaned and leaned back, looking up to the roof of the car. Glancing over to the officer next to him, he groaned something similar to; “Tell me, is it far?” All he saw was that officer shaking his head, though he wasn't sure if it was in disappointment, or reply. For the former he wouldn't care, and the latter would only buy him time. So he didn't ask, he just smiled, and fooled around a little with his tie. “For such a noisy place, it is awfully quiet. I still don't know who died, but his pockets must have been full of money, and probably full of holes.” He smiled for a moment, at his own little joke. Knowing very well what was about to happen. These cops would pretty soon, ask him for his weapon. They'd beat him, and they'd threaten, they'd tell him to stop his investigation, to the death of him or her and he would have to pay them, just so things kept clear. This wouldn't be the first time it was tried, heck, in this here city, he was fighting more corrupt cops then there were gangsters on the streets. Tomorrow there would be an entire new team waiting to assist him, full of smart-ass punks who think they know it all. Even if they started out loyally, before long they'd just sell out. They'd be asked to scare their old boss, they'd be paid to do so too. And before you know it, everything would've started over again, only the rookies would be new. He looked around the car, and sighed deeply as he did so. Two young man stared back at him, one was driving the car. He smiled and shook his head, as the squad car parked on the side of an empty road. “You boys know you won't get far, right? Or didn't they tell you that when they briefed you, yesterday... Or was it just this night?” The youngest of the three pulled out his gun, and pointed it at him. “Very funny John, but we all know you are only an old man, who has seen too much movies, or read a book too much. Now hand over your weapon, or I'll shoot you in your crotch.”

Mistermafio -> RE: Just call me John and get it over with ~ A poetic tale of a rather unpoetic man (1/5/2009 17:08:30)
Chapter 3: Four dark figures Four dark figures exit the car, slowly, and one by one. He is number three, and finds that rather fun. “You know, the last guys that did this, they let me out first. Well you can imagine, that didn't go quite how they planned.” He laughs loudly as he adjusts his tie, but the other three do not agree. As a quick kick from behind, forces him to his knees. He sits there kneeled before his captors, a gun pressed to his head. Yet he doesn't stop laughing, as he keeps remembering the fun he had, last time this happened. The one with the gun starts shouting, something about him being too nosy and stuff. The other two get out their police batons and walk up to him slowly. He just sits there and takes their bluff. He counts their steps, loudly, backwards from five to one. With each step they take, they realise, something's very wrong. At five they just look at each other, a smile on their face, by four they begin getting a little bit nervous, and slow down their pace. Three gets them sweating, two gets them scared, at one they remember, all the things they've heard. And then there is zero. Nothing happens, nothing at all, he just sits there looking, and looking rather small. It takes them a few seconds, but one regains his wit. This brave one laughs and smiles, and gets ready to strike. But just as the baton moves down upon him, he drops and spins to the side. The man with the gun pulls the trigger, as fast as he can, but instead of hitting his target, he hits the upper leg of his own man. John hits the ground, and rolls onto his back. He reaches up and grabs hold of the gun, while lifting up his leg. As he pulls his enemy down, to within range of his foot. This old man proves he is still rather flexible, by kicking his opponent right on his face. Before even awaiting the effect of his attack, he rolls back onto his feet, using one hand to grab hold of an incoming baton, while the other points the gun at the only enemy that didn't yet bleed. As he smiles and turns around, throwing this last cop into the mud. He yells; “If you wanna keep that pretty mouth, I'd be a smart boy, and keep it shut.” He points at the trunk of the car, and orders simply; “Why don't you help your buddies? Don't worry about size, I know it'll fit. I've gotten guys trice your size into it.”

Mistermafio -> RE: Just call me John and get it over with ~ A poetic tale of a rather unpoetic man (1/5/2009 19:17:14)
Chapter 4: Remember five years ago, when our record was twelve? He pulls up to the police station, and parks the car. He makes sure he doesn't park too far away, as he doesn't really feel like walking very far. As he paces across the street, and past the offices, he can feel them watching. The traitors and the dealers, the kidnappers and murderers, the scum of the world, just wanting to put a bullet through his brain. Even within the police building, the staring doesn't stop. These days its gotten impossible, to tell a criminal from a cop. He knocks at the door, of the only person he knows he can trust. Not because he likes this man, but simply because he must. “It's open,” is the simple reply he needs. He quickly adjusts his tie, before he walks in. “Harry, how good to see you again. Still alive I see.” He laughs as he walks in. Half joking, half seriously. “Ah, John, you know me. I just stay in here, with a freshly pumped shotgun by my side. I won't be killed, ask the idiots that tried.” It aren't just the bodies one could ask for proof, the bullet holes spread throughout the office, and the fact Harry still is alive. Well, that should be all the proof you need, and else, you can always try yourself, though then you shouldn't be afraid to bleed. “I got three more of them for you chief, that makes twenty this year. Not bad for the summer, if I may say so myself. Remember five years ago? When our record 'round this time was twelve?” He laughs, and so does Harry. Though his laugh seems a bit less, enthusiastic, today. “What's up Harry? You seem down, like your mind is miles away.” Harry sighs, a rather sad sigh. “John, I don't hope you ordered Chinese for tonight, 'cause I'm afraid you're about to die.”

Mistermafio -> RE: Just call me John and get it over with ~ A poetic tale of a rather unpoetic man (1/7/2009 18:08:02)
Chapter 5: The greatest hero of our time “Die? What do you mean? Harry? Not you too!” He asks, slightly panicked, more annoyed. As he reaches for his gun. “No John! Not like that! If I wanted you dead, I'd killed you long ago. No... I need you to do me a favour, just listen to what I have to say. You won't like it, but remember I don't either, ok?” He looks at Harry, clearly confused. But after a while, – a second or two – he adjusted his tie, sighted a deep sigh, and grumbled. “Do tell me then, why? Why did you say I was about to die?” Henry looked at him, a sad look in his eye. “I have a mission for you, John, but it requires a great sacrifice. You will loose a lot of the little you have. But if you succeed, you'll be a hero. You'll be forever famous, forever known as the guy who took down all of crime. The greatest hero of our time.”

Mistermafio -> RE: Just call me John and get it over with ~ A poetic tale of a rather unpoetic man (1/8/2009 16:58:45)
Chapter 6: This is gonna be a long night. “Yeah, yeah. Blady-bla. I don't need to be a hero, I don't want to be one. I'm content to be a nobody, a zero, if you will. As long as I'm alive. And having fun being so, I'm content.” He looks at Harry, as he puts away his gun. “Though Harry, what you are proposing, does sound like fun to me. So tell me more. Please.” “You are a strange man, John. Most certainly unique. “ Harry replies, as he smiles. He reaches under his desk, and takes out a bottle and two glasses. He pours them in and hands one to him. “This is serious John, I can't even begin telling you how. This stuff is need to know, and only then the information I can give you, is only so-so. I can't even tell you what you'll be doing, before you say yes. All I can say is that you will loose everything. Your self-respect, your dignity, the way you look, and how you behave. You'll have to completely change the way you live. John will die, and never fully revive. If this mission doesn't kill you, it'll change you forever. Most probably not for the better.” Henry takes a sip. As he looks at John. And after a few moments of pondering, John smiles, and loosens his tie, before taking a large drink. “You wanna know what I think? I think you'd better fill up some more. This is gonna be a long night, full of explaining this mission to me. And we wouldn't want your troat to get soar, now, would we?”

Mistermafio -> RE: Just call me John and get it over with ~ A poetic tale of a rather unpoetic man (1/18/2009 18:30:38)
Chapter 7: He is new in town. A dark figure walks through an even darker alleyway. In the distance he hears the booming sound of music. He sighs as he puts on his grey hat, knowing that no matter how horrific the sounds resounding from his destination are to him, they can't be as bad as what he'll see in there, not by far. He is new in town, he got here from far, far away. He has no relatives he can think of all the way over here, in this city of woman and beer. He hasn't come for family or friends anyway, nor he has he come to make a career, or get pretty. He's come to make money, lots of it, and preferably rather quickly. He takes the final steps, towards the heavy, rusty, metal door. He knocks once, twice, he knocks trice. And waits. “What?” A voice resounds. “Let me in.” The man responds. A laugh is heard, through the thick metal door. “No!” The voice sounds, louder then before. The man sighs, and knocks again. “You're making a mistake, bro, just let me in.” The voice laughs again, and somewhere a lock is heard. Two large man emerge, as the door swings open. The first, -origin of the voice- laughs when he sees his opponent. “You? Threatening me? I'll have you know, little man, that I'm the guy that runs this show. Look at you, I outclass, and outnumber you two to one. So what are you gonna do? Step on my shoe? Hah! I'll make tomorrows dinner out of you.”

Mistermafio -> RE: Just call me John and get it over with ~ A poetic tale of a rather unpoetic man (1/28/2009 13:38:15)
Chapter 8 : Those buggers are pricey A grin appears upon his face as he looks at his opponent. “A rather specific threat you make there friend, though it lacks some imagination. Didn’t you mean to torture me to no end? To say just how you’d kill me as well as every single one of my friends? Or is that too specific? However you make a point, no matter how pathetic. I couldn’t take you on in battle, especially not considering this is two versus one. But did you really think I didn’t expect this, when I decided to come?” The man reaches into his inner pocket, Slowly moving his hand as he stares the bouncer right in the eyes. The bouncer doesn’t wait and cries “Gun!” from the top of his lungs as –almost in slow-motion- he jumps to the side. A loud explosion fills the alley, barely heard through the noise inside. A much softer thud, -much like that of a dead body hitting the ground- was found to be completely un-hearable through that same sound. “Let that be a lesson,” the man whispers with a grin, as he looks at the bouncer on the ground, who is slightly shivering. The bouncer looks up, shocked to see a steadily expanding pool of blood where his colleague’s head used to be. With the gun now pointed at his face the bouncer can't do much more then stare into the dark barrel. Sighing silently about this annoying peril. The man just laughs, and with a chuckle in his voice, he commands for the bouncer to stand up and regain his former poise. “You will bring me inside, to the man I seek. You will not warn anyone or I’ll put another hole in your cheek. With a bit of luck this can all go over peacefully and without another wasted bullet... Those buggers are pricey.”

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