5 - General Psychology part 4

 

General Psychology

Part 4

Death

 

 

I’m sitting in a white room, the chair cold against my arms. The cuffs snapped tightly around my wrist bruise. A folder laid in front of me unopened as my head foggy and pounding clears and the events of my failed murder replays in my head. I shake it quickly, angry with myself, for not killing the boy, for thinking of killing the boy, for taking this job in the first place.

The knob behind me is turned slowly and then is swung open. Expensive shoes slowly and arrogantly find their way around me into my view. Two men, one short and black, the other tall and white stand there, their hands rested on their hips, there shiny badges in my face. “Looks like you made one hell of a mess there boy.” The white one opens up the folder as he says this to me. The black one slides over pictures of me holding the rifle, pictures of me firing the rifle, pictures of me running away from it all. I look at them, past them, ignoring all of this. My shoulders hang heavy. “You don’t care do you, you piece of trash?” The black one eases in as he asks me this, “That kid’s got no father anymore. He watched him die; his father’s blood is all over him you little s**t.” I glare up at him, his face right in front of mine. The white man glances back and forth between me and him, an odd expression across his face. “Okay Williams, why don’t you go outside, grab water or something. Gimme a minute with the kid.”

            As Williams leaves, his eyes still burning with anger, the white man calmly leans back against the wall, loosening his tie. His tone of voice changed now, “Goddamn you, why the f**k didn’t you just shoot the little prick?” The words reach me and throws me way out of my head, “What?”

 

“They told you, who to do, what to do, and you…you still just didn’t f*****g do it. I mean, you suddenly develop conscious, some mad moral code?”

 

“Excuse me…but…f**k…what the-”

 

“Look, seriously you don’t mess with them. You do it and move the f**k on. You’d have been fine. Now…f**k knows what’ll happen to you.” I sit there, like a fool, with my mouth hung open, when it’s all so easy and so simple, I didn’t need to put any thought into this. I gotta get out of here.

 

 

Walking me back to my cell, I already knew how I’d go about doing this. I wasted no time, quickly jumping into it. I stopped walking and stood in place, the white man’s hand like pebbles against my arms. I quickly shoulder him from the side running him into a wall. Bringing my leg up quickly, I knee him in his groin. Dropping my head down against his he drops to his knees. “Uncuff me.” He fumbles with the keys his head swinging from side to side,

 

He releases me, as I rub my wrists, the fresh air getting into the cuts and scrapes. I whack him across the face as he drops to the ground at once. Picking up his chain of keys I drag him into a closet nearby, switching our clothing as quickly as possible. Walking briskly down the hall tyring hard not to stick out as I step outside the front door.

 

I stand at the bus stop, looking around slowly but carefully. Ready for any sound, any sort of commotion possibly coming my way. I get on the bus when it comes and sit myself in the middle, away from the window.

 

Leaning back resting my head on the harsh metal bar behind me, my legs shake with restlessness. My throat burning, “I need to leave.” I tell myself. I need to find myself a brew and a gun, do this thing right, taste the gunpowder. The more and more I wish for it, I find myself dozing off. Yes that’s it. Sleep. On the bus no one will notice. Rest. Shut your eyes, don’t open.

 

 

 

The bus’s tire squealing against the black tar beneath it shakes me out of my rest. I’m thrown forward smashing into the seat in front as the bus comes to a stop. Fully awake I am able to make out the sound of the door opening and people rushing the bus.

“Oh, come on.” I tell myself as I am snatched up from my seat, a black bag thrown over my face. My arms tired and legs asleep, I don’t bother with the struggle. Maybe these guys’ll do it for me I tell myself.

But they don’t, I’m thrown into the back of a cheap car and sped away. These punks, running around snatching me up for reasons they probably don’t even know, rushing me as fast as they can to their boss. I’m sick of all these people.

 

            The bag is thrown off as I find myself in a dark room, with a single bulb hanging low from the ceiling. Marquez, this time in a bright blue tuxedo stands partly in the light.

“Dark cold cellar closed?” Manuel says nothing back to me. He steps in closer and closer, slowly walking, his expensive Italian shoes clicking, driving me insane. He blows the smoke from his cigar in my face. “We’re going to talk Max.”