I was going through some old documents on my computer today and came across a short story I wrote around age 16-17. It's always a bit odd for me to see my earlier writing styles because I always find tons of fault with them. At the time I was reading tons of 30's pulp fiction and felt like doing my own twist on the genre. I applaud you if you make it through since it is a bit of a hefty story to post on here. Anyhow, enough rambling. Hopefully enjoy, GM-2X A Long Time Coming by ...Grand Master Two Times “Your turn.” The old men had forgotten their games of chess and checkers and were now shooting the shit. Each enjoyed the boring banter on times long past and had formed a circle as if they were young boys sitting round a campfire. “Hey chap. You got a story to tell?” Eyes magnified the size of the glasses themselves stood fixed on the next fellow in line. “I...I don’t have one.” “Oh come on now. If not our health the one thing we have are our stories.” The man did not seem convinced. He looked dazed as if channeling some old spirit which he had once called himself. A scar earned many decades ago ran from his eye down his cheek to his chin. The intensity of the cut made it appear fresh. It wasn’t the only life threatening wound he’d received. The nurse that gave him his baths had discovered this after removing his button-up shirt the night he’d arrived at the nursing home seven days before. “Don’t be shy man. It doesn’t need to be too personal if you don’t like. How bout you tell us how you got that pretty little gash on your cheek.” His gaze was broken as he made up his mind that he wouldn’t hide his life from the men he would share his later years with. “Ok. You want to know? I’ll tell you. I used to run guns back in the 60’s. Liquor, gambling, broads, we did all that and plenty more. Plenty of cash to be made if you stick your hand in all that. I got pretty high up the chain too. They used to call me Dirty Sal, Dirty Sal with the dirty style.” It was a pretty night in 62’. Stars out and about with the smell in the air that makes you glad to be young and alive. I’d pulled in to Piggy Park and ordered myself a cheeseburger deluxe. I drove a yellow Cadillac Seville. You would’ve liked it. Any man would’ve liked it. Anyhow, I was high up enough now with quite a reputation which was nice because the guys wouldn’t call on me for just any ol’ job. When something got around to me doing it you knew someone had already failed at it or it couldn’t be done. That night it so happened I’d get a call. This cat called Johnny Two Shoes came pulling up beside me. He was quite a character. Hair greased back with the leather jacket before Grease or The Outsiders or any of that other shit. He got greased out before the end of that year. Anyways, Johnny rides up beside me and jumps out his car real frantic like and hops over into my passenger seat. Shoes starts talkin’ allot of shit faster than I can really comprehend about the Big Boss this and the Big Boss that. Now none of it really made a difference to me ‘til he says that they’ve been looking all over town for me and apparently aren’t happy that I’m unable to be found. “He says he doesn’t want anybody else Sal. He says your the best. No one else will do, just Sal.” “The one and only baby. Don’t you forget it.” Johnny was gone just as soon as he’d turned up. I didn’t wait on my cheeseburger. I had an excuse to speed cross town and I took it. The Big Boss’s place was twenty minutes away. I was there in ten. Upon my arrival I was greeted with a mass of cars and no where to park. After a walk in the chilly air I lit a cigarette for warmth. I rushed inside as someone else was leaving. Up a flight of stairs and I‘d achieved my workout for the day. “Where the fuck have you been Sal? Seriously? Maybe I should start paying you less so you don’t have a wad of cash to blow. Every time I turn around your out and about with some fancy shit in the works.” I now understood Johnny’s tone. “Come on boss. I got here in two shakes of a lambs tail. Now what’s the problem? Ain’t something I can’t fix.” My boss was tough as nails. He didn’t show admiration and wouldn’t take shit off of anybody. The look on his face showed me he was concerned. I knew him better than his own brother. “Fellows, give me and Sal some space. It’ll take a few minutes.” About three or four dispersed. Boss looked long and hard before opening his mouth again, “I need you to perform a hit.” “Gosh. Is that all?,” I was incredibly relieved, ”You got all worked up over a hit. It’s a done deal baby.” “No, Sal. I’m not talkin’ some hit and shit. I mean a big one.” I put my hands on the table in the center of the room and leaned in with intensity. “You know I’m the best man.” “No, Sal. You do this and you’re going to have to retire.” What a drag I took on that cigarette. I don’t think a man’s ever inhaled that deep in the history of mankind. “Then why me boss?” My pride was deeply hurt. I had been wounded many time but never felt the pain of hurt pride. “Is it something I’ve done? You want to off me?” “Stop that bullshit man. Why do you think I’m so fucked up over it? I’m pacing man. I don’t fuckin’ pace.” “But why me?” “Because it’s gotta be you, no one else. You know you’re the best.” “But those other guys. Anyone of em’ could pull a pretty fine job. I could walk em’ through it. It won’t be no thing.” “Sal. If you were the shit of the earth you’d still be the one doing this job.” “How come?” “Your the only one who can get near the guy.” “Spit it out man.” “Your good friend Paul is a fucking dead man.” Paul? Anybody but him. I never had a brother but if a man ever came close to filling that void it was Paul. We were kids together and soon we were crooks. Into our twenties two roads diverged and one took the other. He was successful at what he did. Higher up then me. Of course back then I thought it to be the other way around. He’d joined an opposing organization. They ran their side of the tracks and we ran ours. In the world we lived where gods and governments made no laws we followed there was one rule. Don’t stick your nose in business across the tracks. It seems Paul did just that. My hands were on the steering wheel but my mind wandered elsewhere. The Big Boss had explained the situation once but it must’ve played in my head a hundred times since then. Of course, he had made sure to tell me, I would be set up nicely after this was all over. I would lay low on an island somewhere basking in the sun. Problem was I don’t like sand and I don’t particularly like sun. I opened another pack of cigarettes. Cigarettes have never tasted so good since that year, to me anyway. Paul had crossed the line. Slowly at first, but after tonight he was practically mocking us to our face. I pulled out my colt .45 from my glove box and counted the notches on its handle. There are two things I trust in this world, my gun and myself. So Paul had gotten cocky. First selling on our territory. Then running patrols. Then paying off our men. But finally ending with tonight’s fiasco. Bye bye Paul. So long. See Big Boss walks into his own home to hear his wife moaning to someone who is not him. Big Boss walks into his own room to find Paul on top of his wife and loses himself. He trys strangling him with his bare hands but Paul pulls a knife and takes two of Big Boss’s fingers. Away Paul scurried into the night. As you can guess Big Boss didn’t like that. I would feel sorry for Paul. But now there wouldn’t be a bit of mercy. He’d costed me my life. See I know Paul real well. He could have any girl he’d like. What he did tonight was some real personal shit. Of course he hadn’t planned on being found out the way he had been, but none the less he had wanted to stick it to the Big Boss in a more literal sense. And there I enter the story. Giving up myself to send this motherfucker to his grave. I knew exactly where he would be hiding away. I was the only one. I dimmed my lights as I came round the corner to a rundown motel. Back when me and Paul ran together we could often be found laying low at this joint. It had sentimental value. Paul was a sentimental guy. I was sure of it. There were maybe three or four cars parked outside the place. None of them expensive enough for Paul. He had always been a crafty guy. My colt was tucked in my left back pocket. Carefully I approached room #420. Here it was. If this was a different night Paul could be right beside me chuckling as I unlocked the door. I collected my thoughts. Kick the door in and blast every fucker in sight. The time had come. The wood splintered and collapsed to the ground. It was pitch dark but instinctively I fired on my memory’s map of the bed and chairs. I heard nothing but my gun’s explosion. A flick of the light switch and I saw that no one resided in the room. Quickly I retreated to my car and lit a cigarette. It didn’t take long for the motel’s occupants to scatter from their rooms like ants from an anthill. One, two, three I calculated the people matching them to the lot’s vehicles. They matched perfectly. Paul wasn’t here. I had been wrong. Which was fine. This was my last job I wanted a challenge. Turning the key my car ignited with a roar. I was sure if the people had sense they had already called the cops. Besides there was nothing for me there anyway. He had eluded me once and I had no base of inquiry. My blinker lit up the road. I was headed to the only other idea I had. It was a bad one. The radio kept me company as I parked my car in front of Paul’s complex. I had begun to lose my nerve. When you’ve got to kill you don’t want to wait. There was no use in trying to sneak in. I had already been noticed and my every move was most likely being watched. I walked up the steps to the front door. Paul lived downtown. Sure enough as my foot hit the last step the door opened as if I said open sesame. Two goons were blocking the entrance. “You got business here?” “Just an old friend of Paul’s.” “An old friend of Paul’s wouldn’t have any weapons on him would he?” One of the two started padding me down. My heart jumped as I remembered I’d forgotten to remove my colt. I had truly lost my nerve. “What would you call this Franky? Looks like something of a weapon to me. Wouldn’t you say?” “I sure would.” “You know what we do to bastards who bring weapons to our front door?” I had lost my fucking nerve. One more job and I lose my nerve. Put the colt back in the glove box and conceal a knife, it wasn’t difficult. “Sal?” “You know this guy?” The fellow who padded me down turned to look Paul in the face. “Yes. Yes. Of course. He’s an old friend.” “He was packing. I figured it was some bum trying to make a name for himself.” I stood on the doorstep like an unwanted salesman. “Well let him in.” “If you’re sure.” I stepped in the warmth of the building. Paul knew how to live. Vaulted ceilings, chandeliers, it was quite a sight. We’d both come a long way from our days as petty thieves. “To what do I owe this visit Sal?” “You know.” “Do I? You were never one to straight shoot a question. Come, come to my office.” It was the second flight of massive stairs I had walked within the span of two hours. I should quit smoking. “I haven’t seen you in...What two years? “ “Sounds about right. You’ve made good for yourself Paul.” He genuinely seemed not to know why I had showed up like a stray cat on his doorstep at one in the morning. “So how are things, you know, on your end Sal?” He was always one cryptic bastard. Maybe I was already dead where I stood. “Lets quit the cat and mouse Paul. You know why I’m here.” “If not to chat? No I don’t. But before we continue what do you say to a midnight snack?” I hadn’t had supper. “I suppose so.” I followed him down stairs to the kitchen plotting over his head. Along the way I noticed that besides the two guards, the house was relatively empty for a man who just openly waged war. I heard a toilet flush and saw Paul’s right hand man descending the stairs behind us. I’d have to get Paul alone. “Do you want a sandwich?” “Yes please.” Paul was wearing a robe as well as a holster. He began laying the bread out on the counter. “Charlie. You want a sandwich?” Charlie came strolling in the kitchen giving me a glare that was supposed to intimidate me. “In matter of fact I would.” I decided to introduce myself, ”Charlie right? I used to run with Paul here. I guess you’re sort of my replacement.” Paul chuckled his signature snide chuckle. “Charlie this is Sal.” “Pleased to meet you.” He tried his best to break my grip. Paul could have been a chef if he hadn’t chosen life as a criminal. Though sandwiches couldn’t really show his cooking prowess they were still damn tasty. “Hey, Charlie you mind taking out the trash?” Paul placed meat and cheese on the bread. “Sure.” He walked slowly all the while making it obvious that he was disgusted with my presence. The kitchen’s screen door slammed shut as he exited the house. I had caught a break of maybe a minute. I probably needed more time but I didn’t want to risk the chance of not getting another one on one. “Sal hand me the salt and pepper will you?” I walked across the kitchen and discreetly slipped a knife under my shirt. I grabbed the salt and pepper and placed them next to Paul as he diced onions. “Paul. I love you man. Why’d you have to do it?” “Why did you?” I’d lost my nerve. Paul caught me off guard and sent the cleaver slicing in my face. A normal man would have died on instant but I’m not normal. Through the blinding pain I drew my knife and slit Paul’s throat. That was Paul’s achilles heel. He was normal. “A doctor would later tell me that I should’ve died that night, but I didn’t. Immediately after I headed to the Caribbean where I’ve lived until returning last week. I decided I wanted to live out the last of my days in my home town.” The circle of old men looked very much in shock and interest after hearing the events. One brave individual dared ask a question as they all pondered the relived memory. “So Sal, if you don’t mind my asking, how did you escape that night with the three other guys left in the house?” “Well I knew I had very little energy left and the kitchen door was my best option. I remember grabbing Paul’s six-shooter off his holster and unloading it in Charlie’s direction. I heard him yell and I think I hit him one or two times.” “Three.” Sal looked up. “You hit me three times.” Sal was riddled with holes as the old men’s shock turned to screams. Charlie stood up and being in good health easily outmaneuvered the nurses who came running at the sound of gunfire. He hid quietly in an abandoned room and raised a window which lead to freedom. Charlie put on his jacket before heading into the cold night air. He was an old man after all.