11-15-2006, 12:54 PM
Alright, well, here's the deal: This is the piece about the Pepsei company hiring someone to kill a Coca Cola factory leader.
P.S.: I'd like some c&c on it. =)
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Somehow I found myself in the cold interrogation room of the Northwestern Police Station of Baltimore. Man, how the fuck did I get caught? Hell, it doesn?t matter now; all of the evidence was so obvious to the policemen at the scene of the crime. But for a group of officers to be there within a few moments after the infiltration, someone had to have snitched on me. Bitch ass motherfucker. Whoever it was I will see to it that their head will be severed from their body, no doubt. For now, however, I had to find the best way to tell my story and get the least amount of time for this act as humanly possible. I am not sure how much time will be removed from the life sentence that I will most certainly receive, but hey, I am not picky.
?So, Mr. Hopkins??The officer said to me as he paced around the small room slowly; his hands laced behind his back. ?Would you care to tell us how this occurred?? He asked me as he came to a stop by the metal table in front of me.
I simply looked up at my lawyer, who was to my left. I said nothing to him, but he knew what I was asking him. I wanted to know if it would be safe to recollect the events. He nodded. There wasn?t much to defend myself with, especially since the murder weapon was in my pocket when I fled the warehouse.
?Alright, I?ll tell you how it went down.? I said as I leaned over and placed my hands on the table. ?Yeah, it went like this??
The night before the crime was a beautiful night indeed. For once, there were no screams of agony coming from the Park Heights area of West Baltimore, which is where I proudly call my home. The only sounds that could be heard through my window were the sounds of the local ?corner boys?, as us old guys refer to them as. They were yelling out their drug jargon, hoping that some fiends would approach them to buy their next hit.
I had finally taken off my boots after a hard day of work at my job, which was construction. The corns on my ashy, poor feet had been burning since the early afternoon, and I just about to lay some ice down on them. Suddenly, however, my phone rang. Usually an even such as that was common in my house, for I lived with two other people, both of which were fiends, but this time it was different. Nobody answered the phone, so I decided to get my lazy ass of my small twin bed and walk over to pick it up.
?Hello?? I said as I picked up the phone.
?Greetings.? A very peculiar voice replied; his tone full of deviance. ?Are you a resident of 4900 Wylie Avenue?? He then asked.
?Yes, this is,? He responded as he took the phone with me over to my bed so I could lay down on it. ?And how is this??
?No one unparticular,? He replied with a small chuckle. ?I just wanted to know if you wanted to take up a great offer.?
?What type?? I questioned as I brought my foot up to my head to rub its sole.
?One that pays immensely.? The voice replied, pausing after the words of encouragement.
I immediately sat up, eager to hear more of this proposition. ?What do I have to do to get my hands on this nice sum of cash?? I asked.
?Well, first you must meet me at 5687 Santa-Monica Road.? He said as he then hung up.
?Wait!? I shouted, but it was too late.
?So you?re saying that someone was going to pay you for this?? The policeman asked; taking his rightful place in his chair. ?Wow, who would have thought that some nig?I mean someone like you would be hired for such a job.? He continued as he placed his foot up on the table and removed a pack of Marlboros from his pocket; the cigarette of choice for most cracker-ass motherfuckers like him. ?Alright, please?go on.? He said as he pulled out one cigarette and placed it in his mouth, quick to light it.
I glanced back up at my attorney, who at this point was leaning against one of the walls, growing tired; a yawn revealing that. ?Okay.? I replied, my eyes shifting back over to the officer. ?Now, being a middle-aged black man in a neighborhood as horrible as Park Heights, I had to learn more about this offer??
I arrived to the address given to me by the mysterious individual on the phone. When I looked at the structure, I was struck with dismay. It was a Pepsi Corporation building. My first couple of thoughts was about how the Whiteman was going to fast talk me into a shitty ass job, like can filler, or something fucked up like that. I wasn?t about to sell my pride away for a few extra cents per week. But for some reason I decided to at least enter the building. Why? I am not fully clear about that, but all I knew was that the man on the phone said lots of money, and that was all that was required of him to say to keep my feet moving towards the building.
As I neared the building, I pulled on one of the old, rusty double-doors that appeared to be the entrance, but nothing happened. Apparently they were locked. That?s when I noticed a buzzard mounted to the side of the wall. I pressed and held the button.
?Hello?? I asked, hoping that someone would respond. ?Hello??
?Yes?? A voice replied; the same one that called my house.
?This is the resident of 4900 Wylie Avenue.? I clearly stated. ?I am here about that money you mentioned.?
?Ahh?? The voice replied, remembering who I was. ?Yeah, I?ll buzz you up.?
A loud buzzing sound emerged from the double-door, and it was soon followed by a clicking sound. The clicking sound was of the locks instantly being unlocked. I pulled on one of the doors and let myself in. I slowly entered the building, letting the door slam behind me. The lights were not on, leaving the building in a cast of total darkness, which though I was used to, because of my days of solitary confinement in prison, I did not welcome it. However, my eyes were good enough to picture a flight of stairs in front of me, and an elevator behind me. I chose the stairs, for I did not trust the proclaimed mechanical perfection of man-made machinery.
As I reached the top of the steps, I peered down the long hallway presented before me. I had hoped that the lights were on this new floor, but they weren?t. Luckily I could see that there was a dim light on in a small room at the back of the hallway. That must have been where I was supposed to go.
My feet dragged against the tiled floor of the building as a gradually neared the room. I was not quick in my arrival, for I was still skeptical about this visit.
?Is that you?? The voice asked as I approached the doorway. ?Hell, come on in!? He exclaimed with enthusiasm; a hand gesture waving me in.
I entered the small office-like room and took a seat across from the old, greedy looking Caucasian before me. ?So, what is this offer about?? I asked; my thumbs fiddling in my lap.
?Well, it?s kind of like this?? He said as his hands scurried into his drawer, pulling out a few poster-sized charts. ?See, for the last couple of weeks, Coca Cola has been outselling us at a two to one ratio, which is utterly ridiculous.? He said, coughing; his hands still busy enough, however, to roll out the charts for my viewing pleasure. ?See how our line goes down on this graph and theirs goes up?? He asked; his finger gliding across the chart, directing the lines.
I looked back up at the man. ?And this has what to do with me?? I asked, leaning back in my chair; the two front legs lifting off of the ground.
?Well, I was going to get to that, but since you asked?? He said, putting his charts away. ?It?s like this, I want the head honcho of the rivaling Coca Cola factory dead.?
?Wait.? The officer demanded as he smoked on his cigarette. ?Are you trying to tell me that a Pepsi CEO was going to pay you to assassinate the CEO of an opposing Coca Cola factory?? He asked. ?Bullshit.? He muttered as he dabbed out his cigarette in the ashtray on the table. ?There?s no god damn way that some big shot Pepsi man is going to hire some poor ass guy like you to whack off a Coca Cola guy. It?s bullshit.?
?Look,? my lawyer said as he walked over to the table, slamming his fist down on it. ?My client has decided to tell his story, and you?re going to listen.? He said as he leaned over towards the officer. ?No more interruptions or outbursts from you, or my client is going to cease his storytelling.?
The officer grunted. ?Fine, carry on.?
I took a moment of silence to deliberate. What he was asking me to do was commit murder for some money, which though I did need, I did not want to go to jail. However, my small family needed the money. Also, I had hundreds of dollars I owed child support. Was eternal damnation worth giving my children and baby?s mother a prosperous life? I thought about it for a few seconds until I came to my conclusion. Yes, they were worth the pain I would endure in hell.
?So, you up for the challenge?? The man asked as he leaned back in his chair.
I pulled my chair back to the ground. ?Yes, I am.? I replied as I got up out of the chair. ?Now, how much will I be rewarded with for this??
?Well, seeing that it is a tremendous task and all of that jazz?? He responded as he began to gently beat on his stomach as if it was a bongo drum. ?Eight hundred grand.?
My eyes widened as if I was in the presence of Jesus. ?Eight hundred grand?!? I repeated from what he said.
?Yeah, now get to it.? He replied as he raised his hand, pointing me to the exit of his office.
I simply nodded and made my exit. The words of the amount of money he was willing to reward me with echoed through my head. It was the type of amount that would make a heterosexual man contemplate pleasing a homosexual man orally. Yeah, I was going to go through with this.
The closest Coca Cola factory, to my knowledge, was the one off of route 95. That must have been the one he was mentioning.
I looked at the red building from the beltway, still thinking about if I was going to proceed with this. Memories of my past jail experience had trickled through my head, and it was making me second-guess this decision. Prison was not the most luxurious place to spend your time at, to say the least. The meals were stale and the people were idiots. It was a young man?s place; somewhere that old men like me were no longer welcome to. But all I had to do was remember my baby girl and the concerns of jail diminished. I had to do this to make her life easier.
I approached the red building with my knife firmly gripped in my hand. The time had come. The doors to the Coca Cola factory were much like the ones that the Pepsi Corporation stationed in Baltimore had. Both were old and outdated, and both used buzzards to unlock them. I thought about pressing the buzzard, but then I cleared my head of that thought. Why would I make my presence known to my prey? This was a breaking and entering and murder I was about to commit, so I had to be both silent and lethal, simultaneously.
I cautiously observed the double-door, trying to find any apparent weaknesses I could exploit with the materials I had on me. I found the weakness. The windows on the doors were very thin and could easily be broken with a small touch with my heavy hand. I did not think that the target would be capable of hearing from that far away, so I proceeded with my plan. I smashed my fist into the window, shattering the thin glass. No alarm went off and no one was alerted by the abrupt act of infiltration, so I continued. I quickly shoved more of my arm into the tiny space provided and grabbed the doorknob. Twisting it clockwise, I slowly opened the door and let myself in.
As I entered, I looked at my fist. It had been cut up by some of the glass, but no blood spewed from my wounds, nor did the blood even drip down to the floor. It was all clear.
I slowly made my way up the stairs that were in front of the door. The architecture of the warehouse was much like that of the Pepsi Corporation?s. I slowly and quietly crept of the flight of stairs and stared down the dark hallway at the office room at the end. The light was on, signifying that the man was still in his room.
I tightened the grip on my shank as I grew closer to the room; now able to make out the figure in the room, who had his back to me; a foolhardy move. I approached the doorway, becoming more cautious with my steps as I entered the room. His back was still facing me as he looked through some of his paperwork. I slowly bent over and reached my knife-wielding hand to his neck, urging a quick death from my blade. Then without warning, I wrapped my other arm around his chest, pinning him down to his chair.
The man looked up and panicked. ?What the fuck?!? He exclaimed, bewildered by the actions of me.
I said nothing. I merely brought my blade to one end of his neck and slowly lacerated it, ear-to-ear. Blood spewed from his neck as I removed the knife. He tried so hard to leave the chair as he felt himself dying, but my strength did not permit it. He died only a few seconds later.
I slowly backed away from the man?s lifeless body and made my way down the steps of the building, ready to make my escape. The exhilaration that the death provided me with was overwhelming. I had never killed a man in my life until then, and to be perfectly honest, I enjoyed it. I felt as if all of the stress and tension that I was dealing with suddenly faded away with that one swipe of my knife. Even my confidence level was boosted a few notches, for in that moment I felt invincible.
That?s when I heard the sirens. Somehow the police knew what was occurring. They quickly rushed through the door, finding me at the bottom of the steps, ready to leave. And though I had been seen, I?d be damned if I?d be caught. I recklessly slung my knife around at any officer that was foolish enough o come within my range, and I continued to do so until one of the larger cops tackled me to the ground and forcefully removed my weapon from my grasp. I had been captured.
?And that?s the story.? I said as I looked up at the cop. ?That?s how it all went down.?
The policeman was caught in a small pause. ?So?you assassinated the leader of a Coca Cola factory?? He asked. ?Is that what you?re trying to tell me??
?Yes, it is.? I replied as I looked up at my advocate.
?Well, you know that if you give us the address of this Pepsi facility, your time will be lessened.? He said as he got up out of his chair. ?Just give the address.?
A slight chuckled escaped. ?Look, I may be a murderer at this point, and I may be a thief.? I said as I got out of my chair. ?But I am no snitch.?
The officer smiled. ?Alright, well, just tell me one thing.?
?Sure,? I replied.
?Was it worth it??
?If I had the opportunity to go over it again, I?d change one thing.? I responded as I folded my arms.
?Which is??
?I would have gutted one of you motherfuckers before being arrested.?
P.S.: I'd like some c&c on it. =)
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Somehow I found myself in the cold interrogation room of the Northwestern Police Station of Baltimore. Man, how the fuck did I get caught? Hell, it doesn?t matter now; all of the evidence was so obvious to the policemen at the scene of the crime. But for a group of officers to be there within a few moments after the infiltration, someone had to have snitched on me. Bitch ass motherfucker. Whoever it was I will see to it that their head will be severed from their body, no doubt. For now, however, I had to find the best way to tell my story and get the least amount of time for this act as humanly possible. I am not sure how much time will be removed from the life sentence that I will most certainly receive, but hey, I am not picky.
* * * * * * *
?So, Mr. Hopkins??The officer said to me as he paced around the small room slowly; his hands laced behind his back. ?Would you care to tell us how this occurred?? He asked me as he came to a stop by the metal table in front of me.
I simply looked up at my lawyer, who was to my left. I said nothing to him, but he knew what I was asking him. I wanted to know if it would be safe to recollect the events. He nodded. There wasn?t much to defend myself with, especially since the murder weapon was in my pocket when I fled the warehouse.
?Alright, I?ll tell you how it went down.? I said as I leaned over and placed my hands on the table. ?Yeah, it went like this??
* * * * * * * *
The night before the crime was a beautiful night indeed. For once, there were no screams of agony coming from the Park Heights area of West Baltimore, which is where I proudly call my home. The only sounds that could be heard through my window were the sounds of the local ?corner boys?, as us old guys refer to them as. They were yelling out their drug jargon, hoping that some fiends would approach them to buy their next hit.
I had finally taken off my boots after a hard day of work at my job, which was construction. The corns on my ashy, poor feet had been burning since the early afternoon, and I just about to lay some ice down on them. Suddenly, however, my phone rang. Usually an even such as that was common in my house, for I lived with two other people, both of which were fiends, but this time it was different. Nobody answered the phone, so I decided to get my lazy ass of my small twin bed and walk over to pick it up.
?Hello?? I said as I picked up the phone.
?Greetings.? A very peculiar voice replied; his tone full of deviance. ?Are you a resident of 4900 Wylie Avenue?? He then asked.
?Yes, this is,? He responded as he took the phone with me over to my bed so I could lay down on it. ?And how is this??
?No one unparticular,? He replied with a small chuckle. ?I just wanted to know if you wanted to take up a great offer.?
?What type?? I questioned as I brought my foot up to my head to rub its sole.
?One that pays immensely.? The voice replied, pausing after the words of encouragement.
I immediately sat up, eager to hear more of this proposition. ?What do I have to do to get my hands on this nice sum of cash?? I asked.
?Well, first you must meet me at 5687 Santa-Monica Road.? He said as he then hung up.
?Wait!? I shouted, but it was too late.
* * * * * * * *
?So you?re saying that someone was going to pay you for this?? The policeman asked; taking his rightful place in his chair. ?Wow, who would have thought that some nig?I mean someone like you would be hired for such a job.? He continued as he placed his foot up on the table and removed a pack of Marlboros from his pocket; the cigarette of choice for most cracker-ass motherfuckers like him. ?Alright, please?go on.? He said as he pulled out one cigarette and placed it in his mouth, quick to light it.
I glanced back up at my attorney, who at this point was leaning against one of the walls, growing tired; a yawn revealing that. ?Okay.? I replied, my eyes shifting back over to the officer. ?Now, being a middle-aged black man in a neighborhood as horrible as Park Heights, I had to learn more about this offer??
* * * * * * * *
I arrived to the address given to me by the mysterious individual on the phone. When I looked at the structure, I was struck with dismay. It was a Pepsi Corporation building. My first couple of thoughts was about how the Whiteman was going to fast talk me into a shitty ass job, like can filler, or something fucked up like that. I wasn?t about to sell my pride away for a few extra cents per week. But for some reason I decided to at least enter the building. Why? I am not fully clear about that, but all I knew was that the man on the phone said lots of money, and that was all that was required of him to say to keep my feet moving towards the building.
As I neared the building, I pulled on one of the old, rusty double-doors that appeared to be the entrance, but nothing happened. Apparently they were locked. That?s when I noticed a buzzard mounted to the side of the wall. I pressed and held the button.
?Hello?? I asked, hoping that someone would respond. ?Hello??
?Yes?? A voice replied; the same one that called my house.
?This is the resident of 4900 Wylie Avenue.? I clearly stated. ?I am here about that money you mentioned.?
?Ahh?? The voice replied, remembering who I was. ?Yeah, I?ll buzz you up.?
A loud buzzing sound emerged from the double-door, and it was soon followed by a clicking sound. The clicking sound was of the locks instantly being unlocked. I pulled on one of the doors and let myself in. I slowly entered the building, letting the door slam behind me. The lights were not on, leaving the building in a cast of total darkness, which though I was used to, because of my days of solitary confinement in prison, I did not welcome it. However, my eyes were good enough to picture a flight of stairs in front of me, and an elevator behind me. I chose the stairs, for I did not trust the proclaimed mechanical perfection of man-made machinery.
* * * * * * * *
As I reached the top of the steps, I peered down the long hallway presented before me. I had hoped that the lights were on this new floor, but they weren?t. Luckily I could see that there was a dim light on in a small room at the back of the hallway. That must have been where I was supposed to go.
My feet dragged against the tiled floor of the building as a gradually neared the room. I was not quick in my arrival, for I was still skeptical about this visit.
?Is that you?? The voice asked as I approached the doorway. ?Hell, come on in!? He exclaimed with enthusiasm; a hand gesture waving me in.
I entered the small office-like room and took a seat across from the old, greedy looking Caucasian before me. ?So, what is this offer about?? I asked; my thumbs fiddling in my lap.
?Well, it?s kind of like this?? He said as his hands scurried into his drawer, pulling out a few poster-sized charts. ?See, for the last couple of weeks, Coca Cola has been outselling us at a two to one ratio, which is utterly ridiculous.? He said, coughing; his hands still busy enough, however, to roll out the charts for my viewing pleasure. ?See how our line goes down on this graph and theirs goes up?? He asked; his finger gliding across the chart, directing the lines.
I looked back up at the man. ?And this has what to do with me?? I asked, leaning back in my chair; the two front legs lifting off of the ground.
?Well, I was going to get to that, but since you asked?? He said, putting his charts away. ?It?s like this, I want the head honcho of the rivaling Coca Cola factory dead.?
* * * * * * * *
?Wait.? The officer demanded as he smoked on his cigarette. ?Are you trying to tell me that a Pepsi CEO was going to pay you to assassinate the CEO of an opposing Coca Cola factory?? He asked. ?Bullshit.? He muttered as he dabbed out his cigarette in the ashtray on the table. ?There?s no god damn way that some big shot Pepsi man is going to hire some poor ass guy like you to whack off a Coca Cola guy. It?s bullshit.?
?Look,? my lawyer said as he walked over to the table, slamming his fist down on it. ?My client has decided to tell his story, and you?re going to listen.? He said as he leaned over towards the officer. ?No more interruptions or outbursts from you, or my client is going to cease his storytelling.?
The officer grunted. ?Fine, carry on.?
* * * * * * * *
I took a moment of silence to deliberate. What he was asking me to do was commit murder for some money, which though I did need, I did not want to go to jail. However, my small family needed the money. Also, I had hundreds of dollars I owed child support. Was eternal damnation worth giving my children and baby?s mother a prosperous life? I thought about it for a few seconds until I came to my conclusion. Yes, they were worth the pain I would endure in hell.
?So, you up for the challenge?? The man asked as he leaned back in his chair.
I pulled my chair back to the ground. ?Yes, I am.? I replied as I got up out of the chair. ?Now, how much will I be rewarded with for this??
?Well, seeing that it is a tremendous task and all of that jazz?? He responded as he began to gently beat on his stomach as if it was a bongo drum. ?Eight hundred grand.?
My eyes widened as if I was in the presence of Jesus. ?Eight hundred grand?!? I repeated from what he said.
?Yeah, now get to it.? He replied as he raised his hand, pointing me to the exit of his office.
I simply nodded and made my exit. The words of the amount of money he was willing to reward me with echoed through my head. It was the type of amount that would make a heterosexual man contemplate pleasing a homosexual man orally. Yeah, I was going to go through with this.
The closest Coca Cola factory, to my knowledge, was the one off of route 95. That must have been the one he was mentioning.
* * * * * * * *
I looked at the red building from the beltway, still thinking about if I was going to proceed with this. Memories of my past jail experience had trickled through my head, and it was making me second-guess this decision. Prison was not the most luxurious place to spend your time at, to say the least. The meals were stale and the people were idiots. It was a young man?s place; somewhere that old men like me were no longer welcome to. But all I had to do was remember my baby girl and the concerns of jail diminished. I had to do this to make her life easier.
* * * * * * * *
I approached the red building with my knife firmly gripped in my hand. The time had come. The doors to the Coca Cola factory were much like the ones that the Pepsi Corporation stationed in Baltimore had. Both were old and outdated, and both used buzzards to unlock them. I thought about pressing the buzzard, but then I cleared my head of that thought. Why would I make my presence known to my prey? This was a breaking and entering and murder I was about to commit, so I had to be both silent and lethal, simultaneously.
I cautiously observed the double-door, trying to find any apparent weaknesses I could exploit with the materials I had on me. I found the weakness. The windows on the doors were very thin and could easily be broken with a small touch with my heavy hand. I did not think that the target would be capable of hearing from that far away, so I proceeded with my plan. I smashed my fist into the window, shattering the thin glass. No alarm went off and no one was alerted by the abrupt act of infiltration, so I continued. I quickly shoved more of my arm into the tiny space provided and grabbed the doorknob. Twisting it clockwise, I slowly opened the door and let myself in.
As I entered, I looked at my fist. It had been cut up by some of the glass, but no blood spewed from my wounds, nor did the blood even drip down to the floor. It was all clear.
I slowly made my way up the stairs that were in front of the door. The architecture of the warehouse was much like that of the Pepsi Corporation?s. I slowly and quietly crept of the flight of stairs and stared down the dark hallway at the office room at the end. The light was on, signifying that the man was still in his room.
I tightened the grip on my shank as I grew closer to the room; now able to make out the figure in the room, who had his back to me; a foolhardy move. I approached the doorway, becoming more cautious with my steps as I entered the room. His back was still facing me as he looked through some of his paperwork. I slowly bent over and reached my knife-wielding hand to his neck, urging a quick death from my blade. Then without warning, I wrapped my other arm around his chest, pinning him down to his chair.
The man looked up and panicked. ?What the fuck?!? He exclaimed, bewildered by the actions of me.
I said nothing. I merely brought my blade to one end of his neck and slowly lacerated it, ear-to-ear. Blood spewed from his neck as I removed the knife. He tried so hard to leave the chair as he felt himself dying, but my strength did not permit it. He died only a few seconds later.
I slowly backed away from the man?s lifeless body and made my way down the steps of the building, ready to make my escape. The exhilaration that the death provided me with was overwhelming. I had never killed a man in my life until then, and to be perfectly honest, I enjoyed it. I felt as if all of the stress and tension that I was dealing with suddenly faded away with that one swipe of my knife. Even my confidence level was boosted a few notches, for in that moment I felt invincible.
That?s when I heard the sirens. Somehow the police knew what was occurring. They quickly rushed through the door, finding me at the bottom of the steps, ready to leave. And though I had been seen, I?d be damned if I?d be caught. I recklessly slung my knife around at any officer that was foolish enough o come within my range, and I continued to do so until one of the larger cops tackled me to the ground and forcefully removed my weapon from my grasp. I had been captured.
* * * * * * * *
?And that?s the story.? I said as I looked up at the cop. ?That?s how it all went down.?
The policeman was caught in a small pause. ?So?you assassinated the leader of a Coca Cola factory?? He asked. ?Is that what you?re trying to tell me??
?Yes, it is.? I replied as I looked up at my advocate.
?Well, you know that if you give us the address of this Pepsi facility, your time will be lessened.? He said as he got up out of his chair. ?Just give the address.?
A slight chuckled escaped. ?Look, I may be a murderer at this point, and I may be a thief.? I said as I got out of my chair. ?But I am no snitch.?
The officer smiled. ?Alright, well, just tell me one thing.?
?Sure,? I replied.
?Was it worth it??
?If I had the opportunity to go over it again, I?d change one thing.? I responded as I folded my arms.
?Which is??
?I would have gutted one of you motherfuckers before being arrested.?
![[Image: 1stAerosig.png]](http://i137.photobucket.com/albums/q218/Aerogfx/sigs/1stAerosig.png)
Placed 3rd in Dante's Abyss 08