In The Shadows Of Power
Kevin John Skinner

 

The encounter

Overweight and forty cigarettes a day, fast unhealthy food washed down with alcohol far too often. Well above the daily requirement for an operative, no physical training for the last two years. This is not the way forward in a heated confrontation. This situation just burst the thermometer.

 I stood half shitting myself because of this realization, and half buzzing from the adrenaline pumping through my veins. The situation was one I knew I would encounter eventually, but not today, of all the days. I had a hangover and felt like shit. My fuck up, for not being prepared!

It felt like I just walked on a Hollywood set, turn a corner, bump!

 �Oh hello!�

 I stood being a comic for that instant. I made myself look more bedraggled than I already felt and not a threat by any means. All part of the psychology.

 I don�t back down when I know I am going to get a kicking. Regardless of what I did, there was no way of talking my way out of this stand-off, that�s a given! This was going to be more than a kicking, this was life or death. It was time for me to do or die!

Now I stood relaxed and comically confident, although inwardly I was shaking, and my mind blistering for the ideal scenario, combat chess! I clenched my thumbs straight against a firmly clenched fist, just like a good soldier standing to attention, but unlike a good soldier my arms were relaxed waiting to whip out.

Three against one, with no running ground and high walls surrounding the confined area I had entered. [Again my fuck-up, I should be wise to routine, routine kills! Every Sunday I wander down this close to this bakery]. I could scale the wall with relative ease, but in this situation I would be hauled down and vulnerable.

Think! Think!

 The only exit was 10 meters behind me with three larger than life henchmen blocking my way.

Think!

If I ran and barged out the way and managed to break free, this would lead to a chase. I am in no state physically or mentally for a marathon and the certainty of a cap in the back was not the way I would like to be remembered. More so, I don�t know what is waiting outside the close?

Three, leather coats, dark suits, all looking inbreed. Typical Albanian wannabe mafia �wankers�. I clocked the faces, and knew why and who. I was in shit.

I had to take out two and fast, the one with the 9mm first, the last would shit himself, and hopefully bolt. I would still be a target in the future, but a least I have room to make alternative plans or get out. I had nothing to utilize as a fighting tool, I scanned the area, only dust, not even a set of keys in my pocket, and I�m sure 10 euro would not strike a deal. Just two thumbs and my trusted timberlands sprung to mind.

 I know if I want to take out a man with a 9mm and two of his team, it would be far better if the 9mm was pointing at me. It would be far easier to disarm with his weapon exposed than to grapple for a 9mm concealed allowing the two to beat the shit out of me trying.

I just drew lucky number 13, he flashed the weapon on his side, a bulky Glock, made fists and smiled, they all smiled, the wankers. Why? I just made their boss loose three quarters of a million a month. I suppose doing me must pay well. Or they were just happy to be out for the day? The matter of the fact is that I was fucked, and my chances were minimizing by the second.

 Seconds passed, it seemed like eternity. My brain and training had instinctively advised me to take out weapon carrier and take him out painfully enough so the weapon will be the last instinct on his mind, and I must make sure he cant think to use the weapon. Next step take out the monkey on his left just as fast. The left, just because I am left handed and because my instinct told me he was handy. I could smell the fear and the greenness of the third member; it was probably his first outing in gangland.

It was time, I smiled, [A split second later] as fast as I could, and with all the force I could muster, I rammed my thumb into his eye socket and twisted my left arm to its extremity, I gauge in deep then curling my thumb backwards making a thumb hook and pulled back out just as rapidly, it was soaked in blood and his eye ball followed.

 I ducked my head down and rammed in to the second like a taunted raging bull both hands tight under my chin, and elbows in, I connect with a full frontal head butt, simultaneously I reached up grabbing his ears. I felt the impact on my head with extreme pain, it was a good hit! With his ears firmly in my hands, I tightened my grip like a vice and pulled my complete body weight down while twisting his ears with all my power, I scream out with this action, [this was not to be dramatic in my artwork but it made me stronger].

I was fully pumped, and wanted to savor blood.

I stood in silence, I had an ear in each hand, one body on the floor holding his head with blood pissing everywhere, he was screaming, although I could not hear. Have some you fucker!

 I was in overdrive, instinct had taken over. My eyes darted everywhere, assessing faster than real time, I was ahead of the game. The weapon bearer, was screaming, one hand blending with his blood covered featureless face, his eye ball bobbing on his shoulder and around his neck on a grungy cord,[ two eye balls would have reminded me of a toy I had as a kid, two balls on a string that you banged together, clack, clack, clack] as he franticly tried with his other hand to play catch. He was out of the game, lost the plot, in hysterics, shock had set in. The ball was in my court so to speak.

I stood with full eye contact within arms reach of number three, frozen, dazed, lost in body contact translation. My hands were smeared in blood and some other gunk. I screamed at him in a slightly Irish accent [This was for drama, I pick humor at the oddest moments]

 �Fuck off now, or you�re a dead man!�

 Brothers in Arms he was not, an Olympic contender for the 100 m possibly! He bolted. I was his only obstacle; I stuck my size eight boot straight into his chest and grounded him. I leapt on his chest grabbed his head and proceeded to blend his skull with the concrete, he lay twitching, the dust dancing around had more life, job done!

 Thank god, I could not move, I was exhausted, this was maybe a four second assault and my lungs heaved, I was absolutely fucked. I must keep my mind clear

 Think!

 I knew I had to leave a message, a statement, before I made my exit. I grabbed the weapon from the �smiler� number one while grabbing his hair and wrenching his head back. He was helpless; I suppose he has never experienced being cross eyed before? I took the pistol butt end and smashed into his mouth until the butt end had no resistance, I threw his head back with rage, he slumped to the floor, a dead weight. His face looked hideous, it scared me! But he was unconscious and in no state to be a threat.

Think!

I have to move fast, and I am fucked, I need more air! Just do it, get on with the job I was telling myself. Finish what the fuckers started. I felt heavy but my mind yards ahead.

  Number two�s turn, he stared in fear, but unable to orientate himself, his ears ripped off, his balance was gone because the damage I did would have ruptured his ear drums, and that loud high pitched ringing in his head must have been like white noise training torture on day three as a young recruit.

 I was absolutely shattered; it was time for the timberlands to do some work. I stamped on his skull until I could not breathe, and I was coughing two years of polluted mucus. Eventually my boots were making contact with pulp.

I felt as if I was the one on the receiving end; I was trembling. Ironic if I had a heart attack on this spot I could just imagine the dialog.

�How did you finish him?�

�Ah well we let him beat us near death�

� A cunning tactic!�

Think!

 It was time for me to disappear and fast.

My next move if I escape would be to wait for further instructions, but I would have to do a little damage in the mean time. This was for my own good and safety. I would rather be the hunter than the hunted.

Waiting for the word always entailed �Sit tight old chap�

 Fuck me, wise words from London on a chesterfield, in a men�s Club, drinking brandy and puffing a good cigar. I had no chance of making contact within the next few hours.

 

 

Copyright © 2005 Kevin John Skinner
Published on the World Wide Web by "www.storymania.com"