The Memoirs of Theodore Chance - Chapter 3. Employment.

[Chinaren]

Employment..

The next few weeks were quiet for me.  Harry had told me to keep a low profile and just get on with my normal life, whatever the fuck that was supposed to be.  So I went to college, drank and generally hung out, which seemed to fit the bill.  Even managed to get laid a few times.

College, what a great time that is.  In hindsight I always say that college chicks are wasted on college dudes, but at the time I enjoyed it.  Good times, good times.

Still, I was kind of bored.  After the adrenaline rush of wasting a few people you can’t easily settle in to normal life.  I guess it’s kind of like when you take drugs or something.  At first you’re okay with coke or smack, but then you want more, and the next thing you know you’re shooting heroin into you dick.

Okay, maybe I wasn’t quite that bad back then, but you get what I’m on about.

I was settling down into a regular routine when Harry called me on the house phone.

“It’s me,” he opened with. 

“Who’s me?” I asked.  Dumb shit I was back then sometimes.  Some people would say I haven’t changed.

“Who do you think?  Your old girlfriend’s friend, remember?”

“Oh, Harry.  What’s going on?” I said.

There was a sigh from the receiver.  “Listen you dumb shit, we try not to go about using names over the wires, okay?”

“Oh sure.”  I remember thinking at the time that the dude was taking it a bit too far, but since then I’ve learned better.  You’re only paranoid if they’re really not out to get you.  “So, we on for the meeting?”

“Yes.  Meet me tomorrow, outside your ex’s place.  Midday.”

“Should I…”  I stopped talking, he’d hung up. 

I replaced the receiver back on the hook and, after a few moments of contemplation, went back upstairs to my room and pulled the gun I’d taken from Flappy’s place out of hiding.  Making sure the bullets were unloaded, you can never be too careful, I spent a few minutes playing with the thing and posing in front of the mirror.  What?  You’d do it too, admit it.

“The name’s Bond,” I said.  “James Bond.” 

God I was cool.

Then I put the gun away and spanked the monkey.

~

The next day I rolled up outside old Flappy’s place at exactly noon. 

When I say rolled up I actually arrived there on foot.  I didn’t have my own transport back then, unless you counted a pushbike I’d not ridden for about a year.

The gun was in my backpack.  Like I said, I was cool.

A car pulled up about ten minutes later, just as I was wondering if Harry had set me up.  It was an old blue Ford if memory serves.  The driver wound down the window and leaned over to me. 

“You Harry’s friend?” he asked.

I nodded.

“Get in then.”

I did as I was told.  Climbing in to the passenger seat.  The cassette player was blaring out Marc Bolan. 

“Hey,” I said.

The driver just grunted and pulled out. 

Sitting next to him it was quite hard to size the driver up, but I got an impression of a fat guy with a stained green t-shirt and greasy dark hair. 

“So,” I said after about five minutes of silent driving.  “Where we going?”

“Shut up kid,” he said.

“Fine.”  I stopped asking questions, but sang along to the tape, just to irritate. Okay, not just to irritate.  I liked his music.  Still do.

“…just like rock and roll…”

“We’re here.”  We pulled up in front of a rather dilapidated building, interrupting my singing.

“Looks snazzy,” I said, opening the door and climbing out.  “You not coming?”  Fatty was still in the car. 

“Second floor,” he replied. 

I’ve since found that pretty much everyone in the industry tries to be cool, whilst trying also not to appear to be trying to be cool.  This includes being short to the new kid. 

“Thanks,” I said.  Politeness costs nothing, as me old Gran used to say.

I must admit, the building wasn’t what I was expecting.  I’d though a crime boss would have some kind of penthouse suite.   I was wrong there too, but that comes later.

Climbing the smelly stairs, I made my way up to floor two and the one door that was apparent there.

It opened as I approached, some kind of security system I guessed, so I stepped inside.


>>>>>>

Okay, typing is getting harder, so I’ll leave it here for now.

SP:  What is the boss like?  Remember he’s a small crime boss with big plans!   I’m looking for personality and description here.  Let’s hear your ideas!

<<<<<<

[ViP Perry Tratchett]

Enjoyable little episode Chinaren. 

Well, there's so many options for the suggestion!  Let's see.

I'm going to go for a thin man, underwhelming to look at, but someone who has an explosive (and deadly) temper. 

[Angel]

I think he'll be fat with a walrus moustache and slightly bulgy eyes. He has a lisp which is infectious and goes mental at anyone who starts doing it. People have been known to lose limbs.

[NicTei]

I think the boss is frigging Santa Claus.  In demeanor, of course.  Jolly old fat guy.  May even be big on charity for poor children.

[Chinaren]

Thanks fellows, good suggestions all.

I'll leave this for a few more days and then put it out to poll.

[Chinaren]

Very well, poll is up.  Fondle the genitals of voting.

[ViP Perry Tratchett]

Looks fairly clear cut so far.

[Chinaren]

I wrote most of this last night, but then got too drunk to carry on, so finished it this morning for your viewing pleasure...



I didn’t know what I was expecting really, but with Harry blarting on about some big crime boss, it was certainly more than the reality I was confronted with.

The apartment was fairly big, but it wasn’t exactly the Ritz.  A manky brown carpet covered the floor, and various items of furniture rested upon it.  I’d not heard of feng shui at that time, but if I had, I’d have known this wasn’t it.

The furniture was old and mostly covered in cigarette butts or ash.  The source of these was sat in the grubbiest armchair I’d ever seen. 

Frank was a large man even back then, with a huge walrus moustache that dominated his face.  He’d probably grown it to take attention away from his features, which weren’t going to earn him any beauty awards.  A large red nose sat underneath two small blue eyes, which twinkled with an intelligence that could easily be overlooked.  His head shone under the harsh glare of the unshielded lamps and, for a moment, for some reason, I was reminded of the lampshade that I’d used on Scotty.   His attire looked like something Sherlock Holmes would wear, all tweed.  In one hand he held a scotch glass half full (always the optimist me) of what I could only presume was whisky.

“So, you’re the lad that Hawwy sent.”  I couldn’t see his lips move under the ‘tache.

“Sorry?” I said.

“Don’t make me wepeat myself boy.” 

I stifled my giggle. Probably not best to laugh in the face of a crime boss, even a fat faced red nosed one.

“Yes,” I replied, then, thinking something else was in order:  “Name’s Theodore, Theodore Chance.  What’s up?”

“Hawwy says you’re a cool one. Is that so?”

“As a cucumber.”

“Heard you killed some negwo.”

“Sorry?”  I asked.

“I said,” the man repeated slowly, “I heard you killed some negwo.”

“Negwo?”  I asked again.  As I’ve said before, I wasn’t all that bright at times back then.  Call it an area of weakness.

“Are you fucking with me boy?”  Suddenly he looked a lot less friendly.  And a lot more red in the face.

“Hey, take it easy old timer…”  I started, but then had to duck as he threw his glass at me.  Shocking waste of good alcohol.  I straightened up in time to see that he had closed the space between us with frightening speed, right in front of me. He grabbed my collar, that shirt was never the same again I’ll tell you now, and slammed me against the wall.

“I said,” he snarled, getting scotch flavored spittle all over my face, “Are you twying to be funny?”

“No!  No.  Not at all,” I said.  “Sir,” I added for good measure.

“Good, because I don’t like people who extwact the water, are we cwear?”

After a small pause to decipher this, I nodded. “As crystal.”

He glared at me for a moment with those piercing blue eyes.  Someone told me once, or maybe I heard it on the TV, that everyone has one beautiful feature, and Frank, one of nature’s ugly creatures, had all his charm in his eyes.   They were his only redeeming feature, at least visually.  He was sharp as a tack as well, but that wasn’t immediately obvious.

“Good,” he said, and let me slide down the wall.  “Because Hawwy has vouched for you we’ll call that your one chance then.”  He walked over to a dwinks… sorry, drinks cabinet and poured himself another glass.  “Want one?” he asked, all calm again.

“No, I’m good.”  I was never really one for drinking at lunchtime myself, unless I was going to continue on for the rest of the day at least.  And whisky has never really been my drink of choice anyway.

“So, you don’t mind a bit of violence then?”  He sat back down in his chair and pulled a cigarette out of somewhere.

“When it’s called for,” I said.  “And as long as it’s me giving it out.”

“Intwesting.”  He lit the smoke and took a long pull, followed in quick succession by a large swallow of whisky. I half expected him to ignite, but he didn’t.  “So then, a little test is called for I think.”

“What do you need?” I asked.  I’d been half expecting this.  I mean, a crime boss is hardly going to only go on the word of someone else alone.  Am I right?  You know I am.

“You have a weapon?”  He waited until I nodded then carried on.  “Good, then I’m going to send you out on a little job. If you pass, you’re in.”

“Right on,” I said. 



>>>>>>

So what’s the  job?  Nothing too heavy just yet please!

<<<<<<

[Chinaren]

Still need suggestions for this one guys, if anyone's still out there.

[araell]

It would appear that im not the only one who disappeared over July 

Anyway...Job...hmmmmmm....maybe he has to retrieve some form of objects which was lost to them, making as many kills as possible to prove how merciless he is.

BTW...haven't the police caught onto the fact that someone is out there killing people. Sirely there should be a news report realeased or something...missing persons i mean someones bound to have noticed that Theodore is acting strangely right 

[Chinaren]

Nope, so far he's only done in a mugger, a drug dealer and Scottie, if I remember correctly.  With the mugger and drug dealer there was nothing to connect the two, and it's fairly likely the cops wouldn't try very hard anyway, being in the line of work they were in.   He doesn't have a record at all, and this was back some years too, when there were fewer cameras about and DNA and all that wasn't around. 

Scottie was 'cleaned' if you remember.

[ViP Perry Tratchett]

I missed this one somehow!

I'm going to suggest that it's a collection job. Someone is overdue on their money/debt/something and he has to go and get it back, or make an example of the customer if they don't have the cash.  Should allow for some violence.   In fact, maybe he means to beat him up but accidentally kills him, adding another notch to his tally.

[Chinaren]

Suggestions!  Wooo! 

Right, I'll leave this up a tad longer and then put it out to poll. 

[Chinaren]

Seems there's no more Suggestions, so the poll is up with two choices.

Give a kicking to the victim of voting.

[ViP Perry Tratchett]

Voted!  Glad to see you haven't forgotten this one China.  I was worried you had dumped it for work on Grief. (Though I am enjoying that a lot).

[Chinaren]

Voted!  Glad to see you haven't forgotten this one China.  I was worried you had dumped it for work on Grief. (Though I am enjoying that a lot).

I used to work on about five or six stories at the same time, because one day I'd feel like writing one thing, the next another, and so on. These days I try to limit how many I work on, but it's hard.  I have two more that I really want to start, as well as Tears, Lord of All, Full Gloom, Third Power and goodness knows what else pending. 

Anyway, I've been feeling in a very non-writing mood lately. I'm trying to break it though. In fact I did some writing this morning, albeit on one of those new ones.   

Anyway, this story is my 'write when drunk' story.  

I want to finish off Grief, as it's probably 80% done, which is why I'm posting that until I'm up to the point I stopped.  Then I want to finish Lord of All, which is also nearly done.  Then I'll (try to) go back to Tears and Gloom and so on... 

Anyway, hopefully I'll be drunk again on Tuesday, so I'll leave the voting up for a day or so more...

[Chinaren]

Yay!  Anothe r drunken chapter!  Wooo.


“There’s a fellow,” Harry said, sitting down in the chair again and lighting up a fag.  “He’s been a good customer before, but his latest loan is overdue.  I need a chap to go along and give him a fwendly weminder.  Do you think you could manage such a task?  You awen’t a vewy big man, physically I mean.”

“S’not what the lasses say,” I responded.  You have to have a bit of bravado in these situations, tempered with humor of course.  Everyone likes a bit of levity, know what I mean?  You and the dead clown over there.

“Vewy well. I’ll see you when you weturn.  The dwiver will take you to the location.”  He waved a hand and took a deep pull on his cigarette. 

“Sure thing boss.”  I nodded, all confident like.  Balls of steel, that’s what you have to have in interviews.

I made my way back downstairs trying to bring myself back under control. Fucking interviews, I’ve always hated them.  I’m sure a shrink would have said it’s my fear of failure or something.  Well, fuck them, sure it is. Who the hell likes to fail?  Stupid wankers.

The same blue ford, with the same fat arsed driver, was waiting for me outside.  I climbed in and nodded at the bloke, who didn’t respond even as he started the car up.

I sang along a bit again on the journey, but my spirit wasn’t really into it.  I was working myself up, ready for whatever was ahead.

I don’t know if you’ve ever been involved in any violence, but it’s best approached in a certain state of mind.  Drunk is one state of mind of course, and panic/fear are others.  But they aren’t controlled states of mind.  To approach someone with aggression deliberately in the picture takes a different sort of mindset.  I was learning this quickly.

Still, I figured, it’s all or nothing.  Like Harry had pointed out, I wasn’t the biggest block of meat on the block, but then that doesn’t have to be the case.  I knew a kid in school, Richard was his name.  Skinny runt he was, skinnier than me back then even, but none of the school bullies would touch him. 

Richard had been a new entry to our class, and one kid, a big lad, had tried to put the screws on him. Well, Richard had just fucking exploded.  Went totally mental like. The teachers had to peel Richard off the cunt, he was biting and scratching and hitting with every available body part.  The bully was in hospital for months.

That taught me something there and then.  Being mental helps, at least in certain situations.  Do what people don’t expect.  I took a deep breath and nodded to myself, just as the car pulled up at a small terraced house.

“In there,” said my fat driver friend. “Name of John.  He owes the boss two hundred, from last week.”

“No problem,” I said.  Then a thought struck me. “You have any sort of beating implement about you?  I didn’t bring mine.”

Fatty jerked his head, and I saw a large cricket bat resting on the rear seat.  “That will do nicely,” I said, appropriating the device.

The garden was a nice affair, reminiscent of some old lady who liked to potter about planting potatoes and herbs and whatnot.  All very pleasant.  I strolled up the path in a strange state of mind and knocked on the blue door.

Blue again.

It opened, and a tall, skinny guy with greasy black hair peered out.  “What?” he asked

I pushed at the door and shoved him on the chest, making him stagger backward,  then swung the bat as hard as I could at his leg.  It made a satisfactory cracking sound, very quickly replaced by screams.

“What the fuck did you do that for?” he cried, from his new position on the floor.

“I think you know John,” I said.

“John’s my brother you cunt!  He’s upstairs!”

“Oh.  Sorry.”  There was lesson one. Always make sure the person you’re beating is the right one.  “Better put some ice on that,” I said, as I made my way towards the stairs that were through the nicely decorated living room.

John wasn’t hard to find.  He was the one trying to climb out of the window of his bedroom. 

“No!! Please!” he squealed as I stepped inside the room. “I’ll pay double next week!” 

“Harry’s more concerned about last week,” I said, looking around the rather sorry environment of my target.  “Why don’t you climb back inside?  You could hurt yourself like that.”  John was sitting on the sill.

“I don’t have the money!” he wailed. “My overtime was cancelled and I  FUCK!!!” 

The last was because I’d quickly tired of his whiney tone, which sounded like a bitch nagging, and hit him on the knee with my newly acquired bat.  Some sports implements are just great. Unfortunately this had the unforeseen side effect of causing him to lose his balance and fall off his perch to the ground below.

“Fuck,” I said, walking over and peering out.  It wasn’t my day; John had landed on his head, making a big mess on the garden path. 

“Fuck.”  I repeated. 

After a quick evaluation of the situation I retreated downstairs, ensuring I wiped off prints from anywhere I’d touched. 

That only left John’s brother, who was still blubbering at the foot of the stairs.


>>>>>>

So what does he do with the brother?  Threaten him?  Do violence upon him?  Kill him?  Bring him back?

Let’s hear your ideas!!

<<<<<<

[Angel]

Calm the brother and use him to get the money from his account with the promise of if he cooperates then he'll live. Once with money Teddy disposes of him, loots the house and calls in for a clean up before presenting the boss with his findings.

[ViP Perry Tratchett]

Finally, a new episode.

There were a few small things that you could probably tighten up on that I saw, but you will probably see them yourself when you sober up!

What about the body?  Another drop from window death?  Bit repetitive isn't it?     Is the body visible from the road?  If so, getting it out of sight would be a priority, though making sure the brother doesn't phone the cops would be another.

He has his gun right?  Now might be the time to pull it out and use it for Angels' plan, which I endorse.  I'm assuming he didn't use his gun this time because it was too OTT? 

[Chinaren]

Thanks Petch.   Yes, reading it in the cold, harsh light of day, even with a headache, I can see a few areas that could be improved. 

I'm not sure about the garden, but let's assume there isn't a really high chance of the body being seen, at least for a little while.  And for the falling out of the window thing, maybe you're right! 

Oh, and thanks to everyone who voted! Option two was a clear winner, with five votes to zero.

[Angel]

Call it his signature kill with the window thing.

[Chinaren]

Call it his signature kill with the window thing.

Great minds think alike Angey.   I was thinking along the same lines.