A Quick Job, Chapter 1
Ok, here's the first chapter of my first short story in English. It's unpretentious, maybe even silly - just warming up for a longer story I hope I will eventually write someday. Enjoy!
I just had a good day: a quick job in the morning – busting the kneecaps of a couple of fucking chavs who bullied the wrong kid at school. They were all gangsta-tough at the beginning, but with two .40 bullets in each knee, they squealed like pigs at the slaughter, the wimps. Half a grand and a lot of personal satisfaction in a couple of hours.
Then I spent the afternoon at the bar, hanging with the lads. There’s a hell of a lot of people coming and going from the planet, with this resumption of space exploration. And many of them need someone to protect them, or to keep an eye on their rivals. Or to smoke them, as well. So I began discussing a bodyguard assignement with some chap from a spaceship servicing company. Loads of green with little hassle attached, it seems.
It’s just seven in the afternoon, but it’s already night, up here. I leave the bar just to find myself in the fucking cold, damp winter weather. At least my place isn’t far, and today Yoko had nothing to do, so she promised to cook me a dinner. Yoko, what a woman: beutiful and sweet, but she kicks ass like no one else. Well, that’s not too difficult when you’re a Mk4 combat cyborg. And she even does the good housewife, when she’s not out for a job.
I look into the lens of the eye scanner on my door: the lock cliks open and I walk into the warmth, and the smell of… seems like beef teriaki. Good. Yoko is in the living room, sitting in the Japanese style on the floor, cleaning a semiauto shotgun.
“Hello, the smell is delicious!” I say.
She looks at me with her reprimand expression:
“This shotgun was rusty, you know?”
I don’t really know.
“I can’t friggin’ remember that shotgun. Where did you find it?”
“It was at the bottom of the closet”Now I recall: someone gave it to me as part of the payment for a job I did. But I don’t really like semiautos, so I just put it aside and forgot about it. I explain Yoko, and she replies:
“Fair enough, now works smooth like silk”, and puts the rifle aside.
She stands up and kisses me, hot as usual. Maybe it’s because she moved in with me only a month ago, but just a kiss is enough to arouse me. A lot.
“I’ll serve dinner in a minute” she says, and walks to the kitchen. I can’t help but stare at her nearly perfect rump clad in tight shorts. Just time to take off my coat and boots and wash my hands, and I’m back to find a plate of beef teriaky, rice and a bottle of white wine on the table. Life as a couple is fucking good, I think. Yoko as a cyborg eats almost only sugars and carbohydrates; proteins are of little use for her incredible nanomachines metabolism. But she drinks wine. We do some small talk while I eat that delicious beef, and she munches on a potato starch tortilla. Then she says:
“I fixed a job for us tomorrow”
“Yeah? What job?”
“You aren’t gonna to believe it: another research laboratory had an outbreak of a virus that turned the people there into flesh-eating zombies.”
“Don’t tell me. Another fucking time… what the hell are those assholes doing?”
She raises an eyebrow to my profanity, then goes on:
“They need someone to clean up the mess, and will pay ten thousand”
“Ten grand… fucking hell!” I reply grinning.
“And they said they can accept serious damage to the facilities; they want to get rid of the zombies at any cost”.
That’s good, because the last time we had a situation like this, our clients raised a fucking fuss about collateral damage. We could not use grenade launchers, for god’s sake… that’s the best weapon against fucking zombies.
Then I remember that I already have a commitment for tomorrow:
“Oh shit, I didn’t tell you… tomorrow night at nine Massacre are playing at the Seaside Arena”
Massacre are the fiercest thrash metal band on the continent, and I ain’t gonna miss them, no fucking way. We aren’t, because Yoko likes a good mosh session too – I bought the tickets one month ago, dammit. She thinks about it for a fraction of a second then:
“I told them we’ll be there at oh-eight-hundred tomorrow… if things go smoothly, there should be enough time. I sure don’t want to spend twelve hours in there”.
Neither do I, especially considering that a cyborg does not have all the needs of a mere human.
“We’ll need some kick-ass firepower then. I’ll call the Tennant and have a MG-12 ready in a couple of hours”.
“That’s a sensible thing.”
So I call the Tennant, and make the deal; it’s four hundred Crowns to rent the machinegun, plus a 1000 rounds belt. Good chap, the Tennant, he always does discounts to friends.
There's still a couple of hours to go before it's time to go ank pick up the artillery, so we prepare the guns and gear for tomorrow. But temptation is strong... so when we finish the preparations we shag, on the sofa in the living room. And her artificial body is absolutely perfect for that, as well. Or maybe it's just because I think I love her, but it's never been like this with any other woman.
Our little couple gymnastics have kept us busy for quite a while, so I have a quick shower, and Yoko just after me.
Then, I and Yoko jump into my offroad and driving defensively like the most friggin’ honest citizens reach an anonimous warehouse in an industrial district way to the south of the city. Fucking grim place, but we’re not here for fun. The Tennant is already there; he lets us into the building and he and a young bloke take a crate with the machinegun. We inspect it: it’s a five-barrel, 6mm beauty. Money changes hands, we load the crate and leave with the Tennant grinning “Have fun!”. No questions asked, because that’s how it works in our business.
Yes, the formatting is rather awkward, but Blogger did it.
A Quick Job
I just had a good day: a quick job in the morning – busting the kneecaps of a couple of fucking chavs who bullied the wrong kid at school. They were all gangsta-tough at the beginning, but with two .40 bullets in each knee, they squealed like pigs at the slaughter, the wimps. Half a grand and a lot of personal satisfaction in a couple of hours.
Then I spent the afternoon at the bar, hanging with the lads. There’s a hell of a lot of people coming and going from the planet, with this resumption of space exploration. And many of them need someone to protect them, or to keep an eye on their rivals. Or to smoke them, as well. So I began discussing a bodyguard assignement with some chap from a spaceship servicing company. Loads of green with little hassle attached, it seems.
It’s just seven in the afternoon, but it’s already night, up here. I leave the bar just to find myself in the fucking cold, damp winter weather. At least my place isn’t far, and today Yoko had nothing to do, so she promised to cook me a dinner. Yoko, what a woman: beutiful and sweet, but she kicks ass like no one else. Well, that’s not too difficult when you’re a Mk4 combat cyborg. And she even does the good housewife, when she’s not out for a job.
I look into the lens of the eye scanner on my door: the lock cliks open and I walk into the warmth, and the smell of… seems like beef teriaki. Good. Yoko is in the living room, sitting in the Japanese style on the floor, cleaning a semiauto shotgun.
“Hello, the smell is delicious!” I say.
She looks at me with her reprimand expression:
“This shotgun was rusty, you know?”
I don’t really know.
“I can’t friggin’ remember that shotgun. Where did you find it?”
“It was at the bottom of the closet”Now I recall: someone gave it to me as part of the payment for a job I did. But I don’t really like semiautos, so I just put it aside and forgot about it. I explain Yoko, and she replies:
“Fair enough, now works smooth like silk”, and puts the rifle aside.
She stands up and kisses me, hot as usual. Maybe it’s because she moved in with me only a month ago, but just a kiss is enough to arouse me. A lot.
“I’ll serve dinner in a minute” she says, and walks to the kitchen. I can’t help but stare at her nearly perfect rump clad in tight shorts. Just time to take off my coat and boots and wash my hands, and I’m back to find a plate of beef teriaky, rice and a bottle of white wine on the table. Life as a couple is fucking good, I think. Yoko as a cyborg eats almost only sugars and carbohydrates; proteins are of little use for her incredible nanomachines metabolism. But she drinks wine. We do some small talk while I eat that delicious beef, and she munches on a potato starch tortilla. Then she says:
“I fixed a job for us tomorrow”
“Yeah? What job?”
“You aren’t gonna to believe it: another research laboratory had an outbreak of a virus that turned the people there into flesh-eating zombies.”
“Don’t tell me. Another fucking time… what the hell are those assholes doing?”
She raises an eyebrow to my profanity, then goes on:
“They need someone to clean up the mess, and will pay ten thousand”
“Ten grand… fucking hell!” I reply grinning.
“And they said they can accept serious damage to the facilities; they want to get rid of the zombies at any cost”.
That’s good, because the last time we had a situation like this, our clients raised a fucking fuss about collateral damage. We could not use grenade launchers, for god’s sake… that’s the best weapon against fucking zombies.
Then I remember that I already have a commitment for tomorrow:
“Oh shit, I didn’t tell you… tomorrow night at nine Massacre are playing at the Seaside Arena”
Massacre are the fiercest thrash metal band on the continent, and I ain’t gonna miss them, no fucking way. We aren’t, because Yoko likes a good mosh session too – I bought the tickets one month ago, dammit. She thinks about it for a fraction of a second then:
“I told them we’ll be there at oh-eight-hundred tomorrow… if things go smoothly, there should be enough time. I sure don’t want to spend twelve hours in there”.
Neither do I, especially considering that a cyborg does not have all the needs of a mere human.
“We’ll need some kick-ass firepower then. I’ll call the Tennant and have a MG-12 ready in a couple of hours”.
“That’s a sensible thing.”
So I call the Tennant, and make the deal; it’s four hundred Crowns to rent the machinegun, plus a 1000 rounds belt. Good chap, the Tennant, he always does discounts to friends.
There's still a couple of hours to go before it's time to go ank pick up the artillery, so we prepare the guns and gear for tomorrow. But temptation is strong... so when we finish the preparations we shag, on the sofa in the living room. And her artificial body is absolutely perfect for that, as well. Or maybe it's just because I think I love her, but it's never been like this with any other woman.
Our little couple gymnastics have kept us busy for quite a while, so I have a quick shower, and Yoko just after me.
Then, I and Yoko jump into my offroad and driving defensively like the most friggin’ honest citizens reach an anonimous warehouse in an industrial district way to the south of the city. Fucking grim place, but we’re not here for fun. The Tennant is already there; he lets us into the building and he and a young bloke take a crate with the machinegun. We inspect it: it’s a five-barrel, 6mm beauty. Money changes hands, we load the crate and leave with the Tennant grinning “Have fun!”. No questions asked, because that’s how it works in our business.
Yes, the formatting is rather awkward, but Blogger did it.
posted by Fabio | 1:05 PM
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