|Subject:||Joe Schmuck: Chapter 1 - 04/07|
|Date:||Tue, 16 May 2000 00:10:42 GMT|
"Revenge is a dish best served cold"
One Thumb didn't know who said it, nor did he know that someone had articulated
it. What he did know is that it took a while for the camera drones and
reporters to get bored. One Thumb also knew that getting your gang on prime
time television committing felonies was not as fashionable as it once was.
That particular fashion had peaked with a young-man from the Skullfuckas in
Europe who had performed a dance wearing someone's head as a hat and testicles
as an earring. His execution was the beginning of the end for blatant acts of
depravity and violence.
One Thumb and his cronies liked acts of depravity and violence, indeed that was
the reason many had joined up. One Thumb didn't really get off on them like
Coldcut seemed to - that guy was a bit too much of a freak at times. No,
depravity and violence was simply part of the job description, occasionally it
had to be done to keep people in line. One Thumb accepted that, but he was part
of a growing breed that were smart enough to realize having recordings of them
broadcast across the world was definitely a bad thing. Tonight their minds
were on business. They would do their job and get out - it was simple.
One Thumb signaled a go. Two of the cronies were left in the stairwell while
the rest headed up. These two were to stop people from coming up for the next
few minutes, which they did effectively and quietly, a simple "don't fucken try
it, fuckface" glare was usually enough. Two more went up another floor, One
Thumb didn't need to signal them but he did anyway. It felt good to be in
charge. These two above served the same purpose as those below, and now four
people effectively sealed a floor off from the rest of the world.
On that floor the others appeared, One Thumb motioning at the two hitters, even
though they were already moving into position. In the mean time, One Thumb and
the last man separated, ushering people out of the corridor. It was a simple
act, achieved by the presentation of a heavy caliber machine pistol. Taking
station in the corridor to ensure nobody came back out, One Thumb put his hand
up, hesitating - exercising his control. Bruiser, carrying the crowbar and the
duct tape, was an amphetamine abuser from way back. Coldcut Chuck, packed with
vat grown muscle, was a short man with a short temper, matching his short
barreled Mossberg. Both were at the doorway, waiting impatiently.
Convinced it was clear, and that he'd made his point, One Thumb dropped his
hand and pointed at Coldcut. Two blasts from his Mossberg had the door hinges
shredded, and a hefty kick from Bruiser had the door breached. They entered,
storming the apartment - breaking shit, making a lot of noise. From outside
One Thumb could hear a surprised "What the…" quickly cut off by the sound of
more breaking. Then Bruiser and Coldcut started, laying on a rapid routine of
physical and verbal abuse, before applying liberal amounts of tape to mouth,
hands, and feet.
After a little over a two minutes, One Thumb saw his compatriots reappear from
the apartment. Walking back into the corridor, they had an arm each, carrying
their target back towards the stairwell. As they reached One Thumb he stopped
them briefly - long enough to jerked the target's head back and spit in his
face. This fucking hero was going to learn a life lesson. You never ever fuck
with a Jacker.