|The Light in the Hole (standard:horror, 3593 words)|
|Author: Chris Herzig||Added: Mar 12 2001||Views/Reads: 2101/1087||Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)|
|A good hitman gets a raw deal from hell.|
A swirl of silver smoke appeared under Vincent’s boot. The hiss of his cigarette extinguishing on the wet asphalt temporarily drowned out the cries coming from behind. As he turned toward his car, the door of the café opened revealing a tall lanky figure. A stale grin crossed Vincent’s lips accompanied by an almost maddening look in his eyes. As the figure approached at a pace reminiscent to a marathon runner on his last leg he dug his hand into his chest. Vincent’s grin grew to the proportion of a full exited smile as he drew his trusty 9mm out of his holster. As the figure appeared more detailed, bursting from the fog on this unusually cold evening, Vincent could see blood, and fear etched upon this mans face. This man, known only as Big Tony even to his friends, was nothing more than a scared little boy to Vincent. With his left hand he pulled another smoke out and inserted it in the right corner of his mouth. The motion was smooth and steady with no trace of dismay. From the inside vest pocket of his hand tailored Italian suit came out a stunning silver lighter engraved with the saying “Some people grin and bear it ... while others smile and change it...” The glee in his eyes grew more maddening. His smile now arched half way up his cheeks. Vincent, now extending his gun with his right hand, set the wick ablaze with his left. At the moment the flame illuminated the rough features on his face, the 9mm expressed its displeasure in a loud ringing crack! Big Tony fell to one knee, as the world grew dark. A loud metallic sound followed the shot. Now Tony no longer held his gun, his respect, or his head up as he fell face first on the drenched terrain. Vincent took a drag from his smoke and pleasingly exhaled from both his nose and his mouth. Big Tony lay stagnant and slain by his own misfortune. Vincent hopped in his custom Mercedes blowing smoke from the tires as he shifted into first. “Boss man should be pleased.” He thought to himself as he headed to his cabin in the remote town of Redville. Back at his cabin Vincent opened the front door exposing nothing more than a sleeper sofa fully extended and a TV standing on an end table. He reached over next to the sofa and grabbed the phone off of the floor. A tiny red light had been blinking for some time now acknowledging an unheard message. The machine started to play a scratchy recording “Vince you there? This is Mike; listen I don’t know what this is, but it’s big. Meet me at the vineyard tonight at 11pm. I’ll be at the bar.” He pressed the stop key and chuckled as if he just relived hearing a good joke. Then headed for his car. Mike had known Vincent for a long time while growing up on the Las Vegas strip. They had done safe cracking, theft and bookie rings together for years. The problem was that Mike had good reason to worry. The word on the street was that he was bragging about his position in the Mafia. The rule is, if you brag, you go to sleep with a shovel. Like any respected member you do what has to be done. That means any remorse you have you don’t show it or you become considered weak. Weak men deserve no respect and respect was harder to come by than money. Now the odd thing about this is that Vincent had no remorse to show. He was a cold-blooded killer with rock hard nerves and the self-confidence to match. He was the perfect hitman. His black shoulder length hair was as dark as his heart. He had a solid frame and an endurance to match. He wore dark suits that upon closer observation would make you believe he was a VP at a multi billion dollar company. The odd part about him was his eyes. They were so blue, that if you looked directly at them you would find yourself trusting in him as if he were an old friend. I think that’s how he would surprise you. Just like tonight at the café. Vincent pulls into The Vineyard and puts the car into park. He lights another cigarette then puts his lighter away. He greets Mike at the bar and welcomes the fact that Mike seems perturbed. “They want to kill me Vince!” Mike exclaimed. “Your just paranoid kid.” He replies. Vincent looks at the bartender “Ill take a whiskey, and some change for your cigarette machine.” Mike takes a nervous slug from his draft beer. “I’m telling you they want me dead.” “Jesus Christ Mike you cant go around whining about every little thing. I mean come-on you can be such a bitch you just make me want to...” A moment of silence passes and Mike’s eyes grow wide. Vincent puts his cigarette out and grasps his shot glass. Without expression he tilts the glass to his lips then returns the empty shot glass to the bar. He Click here to read the rest of this story (252 more lines)
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