SHORT STORY COLLECTION
BY NICK ARMBRISTER
He screamed in rage aiming the gun at Gant, simultaneously a dozen pistols and a four or more rifles and machine guns were aimed at the ragged looking man. Safety catches clicked off and time moved in slow motion. Gant threw his half empty beer bottle at the tall Finn and sprung from his chair, upending it. With a speed of a leopard and the tact of a fox, Gant saw his bottle glance from the other man’s arm momentarily startling him. Vargg fired a single shot that sped over Gant and hit a mirror above the bar, shattering it. The old speckled mirror advertising John Smith’s beer was no more. Gant was on Vargg, immediately slamming a straight left, followed up by a double right, into the gunman’s head sending him staggering back four paces, more punches followed reducing his face to a bloody mess, a snap filled the bar when his nose broke. A snap kick into Vargg’s stomach doubled the attacker up; raising his left knee Gant held onto Vargg’s dirty hair and slammed his head down fracturing his cheek bone. Six more punches followed as the Finn stood holding his gun, he tried to swing it round onto Gant but Gant was right on top of him, in front of him almost in an embrace. He looked into slightly lesser evil eyes and smiled; speaking in Finnish he whispered words of death to the other man, an understanding passed between the two and Gant thrust a small three inch blade knife into Vargg’s stomach and whipped it across, up and down. Vargg staggered back, dropping the Magnum and bringing up his hands to cover the fatal wound. Gant stepped back waiting for Vargg’s counterattack. A Finnish right hook missed, a side kick caught Gant on the right thigh sending him back a step but spilling half of Vargg’s intestines onto the floor from his sliced open stomach, blood, guts, food and shit splashed onto the floor. Several tough men were physically sick as this horrendous sight. Vargg slowly collapsed to the floor. Gant circled him never taking his eyes off the dying man, picked up the Magnum and aimed it at Vargg. Gant kicked the Finn in the head and shouted: “Don’t ever do this again you fucking idiot, I’m the fuckin’ daddy round here! You got that?”
“Fuck you, you stinking dog!” Vargg said in broken English.
“Say sorry you son of a bitch! Or I’ll kill you right now, you got it? Have you?”
“Okay, okay! I’m sorry, I’m ever so sorry…” Vargg stammered in hideous pain.
“Hey lads do you hear that? He apologised, I kicked his arse, I won!” the victor shouted, eyes wide with joy and bloodlust. Gant always won.
“Kill him! End his bloody life!” a fellow thug from near the bar shouted.
“Do it now, go on Gant. Blow him away!”
“I wanna see you wipe him out!”
“Use his own gun on him, fuck him up!” the shouts went on and on, ending with: Bang! Bang! Bang! Three shots to the head blew it from the Finn’s shoulders, leaving a bloody stump jetting blood onto the sawdust filled floor. Gant bellowed in happiness turning red, jumping up and down on the spot, “Yea! Yeah! I’m the daddy, I’m the daddy! I killed the tosser, I won! Fuckin’ A man!”
Gant returned to the table, picking up a new bottle of beer and drinking the contents in one, he threw the empty bottle at the steaming corpse and picked up a new bottle, taking half of it back. He shouted to the scantily clad barmaid behind the bar, “Hey Tracy catch! Put Vargg’s gun on the wall in place of the broken mirror, it deserves pride of place in our pub.”
She caught the weapon and replied, “Will do boss! Good kill! I’ll bring some more beer over for you and the boys.”
“Good lass Trace!” Gant thanked her.
“No problem. You want the mess cleaning up?”
“Yea please lass.”
“Right then. Hey, I want two volunteers to clean this crap up. And I mean now!” Tracy bellowed. Ten men leapt to the chore, falling over one another to gain favour with the bargirl. She picked two men at random to move the body and clean up the detritus of battle.
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