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A story I wrote...

MalaCloudy Black

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I've posted this before on one of the old EWBs and got a fairly good response. I came across it again today and figured I'd post it again, so the newer members can read it. It was a pain to write longhand, but a fun pain. It wound up being about 11 or 12 pages (that's front & back of a sheet of paper, mind you) and I was quite dissappointed that it only translated to 2 pages/930 words in Microsoft Word 2000.

Here ya go.

      A tall man, shrouded in black entered the small bar. It was a peculiar sight in the small town of Hasting, Wisconsin, where most people knew each other personally. This stranger was wearing a flowing, clean black trench coat that stopped at his heels and a brimmed black hat. He had a black scarf wrapped around his face, leaving only a pair of icey, cold blue eyes peering out. He took a seat at a small round table in the back of the establishment (known as Bailey’s Bar & Grill). A short, balding man, a bit on the chunky side, approached him. “M-….May I get your order..sir?” The short man asked. He did not show visible fear, but it was obvious from the tone in his voice. “Just a shot of vodka.” The stranger replied, amazingly sounding very clear through the scarf. The chunky waiter nodded and gave an uneasy smile, revealing a set of yellowing teeth as he went to fetch the stranger’s drink.

He sighed and muttered incoherently to himself. A line of shot glasses sat on the table – It had been more than an hour since he entered the bar, awaiting the contact. The stranger, albeit having seven drinks or so from the looks of the shot glasses, was amazingly not wasted. He squeezed his eyes shut and the bar door opened with a loud creak. He opened his eyes wearily and slowly turned his head, peering over his shoulder. A fairly built man of about six feet in stature, wearing a dark blue suit had walked into the bar. The man scanned the room, locking eyes with the stranger who had been watching the man from the moment he stepped into the room. The man in the blue suit casually walked toward the stranger’s table, taking a seat across from him. He eyed the shot glasses and smirked.

“You’re late.” The stranger said, eyeing the man in the blue suit.

“I’m aware. I had business to take care of.” The man replied, producing a package of cigarettes from his breast pocket.

The stranger sighed. “Do you have it?” He asked.

“Yes. Have you completed your part of the deal….Grieves?” He answered, replying with a question of his own. Grieves did not reply.

“Did you do your part?” The man asked again.

“….No.” Grieves replied after a pause.

The man shook his head grimly and reached into his suit, producing a gleaming .38 pistol. He brought to Grieves’ head and turned his head to the side, firing a solitary shot. Grieves ducked away with almost cat-like reflexes and made a break for the bar, sliding across the bar top and taking refuge behind it. The few patrons inhabiting the bar quickly fled, as Grieves, still behind the counter, produced two jet black 9 mm pistols from his trenchcoat. He sprung up and fired at the other man as quickly as possible, and then ducking back down behind the counter. The other man dumped over the table where the two previously sat and took refuge behind it, as Grieves loaded his pistols behind the counter. The other man peered over the table and fired, as Grieves ran across the length of the counter, dodging the gunfire and exchanging his own. The other man’s gun clicked and Grieves took the opportunity, firing a piece of hot lead into the other man’s head as he was searching for more ammunition.

Grieves, his face still cold and utterly emotionless, walked over to the dying man. He bent down and picked up a metallic silver briefcase from behind the table that went previously unseen. He opened the briefcases to check its contents and smiled, a cold smile that went unseen through the scarf. He withdrew one of the guns from his trenchcoat and at a point blank range, fired another hot lead bullet into the back of the dying man’s head, ensuring his death.

By the time the police had arrived at Bailey’s Bar & Grill, Grieves was long gone. He left no evidence at the scene; Not even the bullets, for he had somehow found the time to remove them from the man’s head diligently. The man was identified as being Jameson Clarke, a currently un-employed out-of-towner. Witnesses had described Grieves as being very quiet, calm man, shrouded in black. The patron that had phoned the police said that Grieves had left the bar with a relaxed, calm air about him whilst carrying a silver briefcase.

Grieves was already miles out of town, walking alongside a deserted Wisconsin highway. He wasn’t much for driving, which explained why he was walking; He believed that his feet got him around just as well as a car and were much more reliable. Grieves walked onward along the road, deep in thought.

The man (Jameson) had asked Grieves if he did his part of the deal. Grieves replied truthfully; He simply hadn’t done his part. That was when Jameson attempted to kill him, but Grieves was too quick for him. That’s when the gunfight ensued, with Grieves killing Jameson and taking the briefcase. Grieves had figured the rest of Jameson’s Syndicate would be after him for killing one of their higher-ups, but he shrugged that off and continued walking. All he knew is that he needed the briefcase in order to go back home.

Grieves was right; Jameson’s Syndicate would be after him. For, at the very moment, the Syndicate had scattered various members throughout Wisconsin. They were instructed to not let Grieves leave the state….and not to come back to Headquarters without Grieves’ corpse.

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Yeah, I remember reading this before - its still an entertaining read!

Were you planning to continue it at some point? I thought you where - may have imagined that though!!! It would certainly be good, i'm intrigued. Very good story.

Edited by timmayy
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Thanks. And yes, I did plan on continuing it. As a matter of fact, the longhand form of it is finished - I've just yet to type the rest of it up. I will, someday.

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