Takin' Care O' Business

The roar of the guns dies away, and as it does, I’m the only one left standing- as always.

I brush myself down and smile at the wreckage I have wrought in the room- blood-spattered bodies lie everywhere, and a haze of smoke and cordite hangs over the scene, capturing it in a frozen tableau- Aligheri’s Hell as re-imagined by Peckinpah and Tarantino, I chuckle to myself.

It’s been a good job.

Now to finish it.

The gas can I left in the corridor is still there, and I take great delight in sprinkling the contents of it liberally over the bodies, into gaping wounds and silent shrieks and sightless eyes without flinching once.

I guess you could call me a bad person.

I also guess I don’t rightly care.

Looking back into the room at my handiwork, I feel a sudden surge of pride.

Not a single innocent soul met its end today- I’m one of the good guys, dammit.

I roll my head around, delighting in the sensation of the tension leaving my body, and catch sight of myself in a mirror, miraculously unscathed by the gunfight.

My eyes blaze with holy fire.

“Michael, my boy, you are a handsome devil.”

I chuckle at my own joke, and run a hand through my long blonde hair, sweeping it back out of my eyes.

My hand comes away bloody, but it’s not mine.

It never is.

Lighting a cigarette, I watch myself in the mirror, luxuriating in the moment as I take that first drag, basking in my reflected magnificence, glorying in the completion of my appointed task.

All too soon it ends- I remember I have a job to do, and I turn back to the corpses strewn around the room.

“It’s like the man said, fellas- some days you’re the windshield… and some days you’re the bug.”

I flip open my cell and dial 911.

“Officer? I want to report gunfire in a derelict building on 316th- it sounds like a warzone in there.”

I hang up before they can reply- I always do, always have done.

How long have I been doing this?

A long time.

Smiling as memories of past jobs dance before my eyes, I flick the Zippo open and stare into the flame for a second, before tossing it into the room.

Flames leap everywhere, obliterating the scene of my crime- if you can call it a crime- and I walk away.

Stepping out into the sidewalk, I discover that the rain has stopped.

I smile, and drop my cigarette into a puddle in the gutter, allowing myself a grin at an old, old memory as it hisses out before crushing it under my boot-heel.

A plane soars past high above me as I flick out my sunglasses, on its way to God-knows-where.

Sirens howl in the distance, but I don’t care- by the time they get here I’ll be long, long gone.

The Las Vegas sun glints off their mirrored lenses as I fold the top down of my convertible- this is too beautiful a day for anything else.

Sure, the Boss will give me new mission soon enough… but for the moment, today is mine.

Sliding into the front seat I turn the key and the radio assails me with music- Guns ‘n’ Roses, just the way I like it.

My grin widens.

Axl and the boys serenade me as I drive away, leaving wreck and ruin and regret in my wake.

All the cops will find is a few dead drug-dealers…

…and a few feathers.