Illegal Firearms (weapons series I)

"Works at the pizza place- the one where that guy was bitten. Night shift started a few hours ago, I think you could get 'im while he's inside"

"No punch-tab thingy to show he was inside?" I asked her.

"No, it'll be like he was never 'air add all." The fat, blonde bitch grinned, teeth as yellow as her matted hair and cracked, long nails. "Just show me you got 'im, skin or Polaroid- an' we'll be gold."

"Mmm. Money, I'll get that around two in the mornin'. Body takes like an hour to lose. I'd drop off here after I do the hard part of it, but I'm sure you don't want a dead guy stinking up this place, huh?"

"Got sumffin in the kitchen you could use." My cutting wit was evidently lost with this woman.

"Nah, I think I've got a few tools," I called out as I made my way out of this dim-lit drainage grate.

I was careful to side-step what was either a smoke-stained sleeping mattress, or a piss-stained mattress. Could be both. It was discolored a shade of dark yellow, not unlike the wallpaper and dim light-bulbs. Trash covered every table, and as I let myself out; my eyes wondered over the smoke-fogged room and saw the woman downing cheap wine and putting a cigarette to her lips. Place smelled like shit

I still didn't feel bad about taking the job. When I first killed a man, I was fifteen. He was a local creep, hanging out by my school. Grabbed my leg, so I grabbed his broken bottle in return and shoved it in his skull, boring a deep, empty abyss in his eye. Nobody's really asked me why I did that if they ever ask for my story, but it's simple. De-humanizing whatever's a threat to you makes it all the easier to fight it off.

Didn't really stop me from becoming the big bad bogeyman. I live in a shit, low-rent apartment facility. Bertha's one of the more lucid tenants here. Funny enough though, she has no idea of what I'm capable of. She went around knocking on her door after "Radical Phil" as I called him , stormed out in a fit of rage. Guess he took up a hostel somewhere. Makes sense too- guy's face looked like A Trip to the Moon.

Anyway, Bertha flopped onto each door, is the better phrase really. She was hysterical, needed rent or she'd be evicted. Wanted that life insurance money. Bertha beseeched us to "nab dat fucker". Nobody else opened their door because to them, this was just another verse in the saga of Bertha. But I did. For the next few days, she wouldn't be straight enough to tell the roof from the floor.

I don't do it for free; though I felt a bit generous on this one. Two hundred and forty bucks for nabbing Phil. Quick, easy money. What else am I gonna do on a Friday night?

As it turns out, a lot of things.

Drive over wasn't bad. Little traffic at these later hours though, surprisingly. During a nasty jam, my watch told me it was 5:15. That'd give my forty-five minutes to get over there.

I pulled over to four blocks from the pizza place, and walked over.

Ah, yes. Freddy's Pizza.

 I was a wee lad when the first one shut down, never really cared about Freddy's to be honest with you. If I wanted shitty, expensive food I'd eat at an Olive Garden or something. At least the waiters don't try to publicly embarrass you because "it's their programming." The Bite really entertained my older brothers- "Don't be out of bed, or ol' Fred'll getcha!" but it never really fazed me; just provided another reason for the parents to bully loyal customers out of the PTA.

I snaked around the building, looking for a way in. The place was surprisingly well secured. All of the windows were painted over, for starters.

I found a door on the back-wall of the building. Coupled with the concrete, flat surface of the wall and the steel doors, I assumed this would let me into the security office. I could easily grab him right then and there, if I was quiet. Avoiding the hassle of camera footage, too.

I wriggled my torque and pin in, and after about thirty seconds of work, I heard a soft clicking noise.

Carefully, I opened the door, and peered inside.

And then, my morning took a nasty dive.