Josh stumbled from the blinding summer day through the door in the dark room and waved around for a light switch. He saw a newborn sleeping in the corner momentarily, conserving energy for its next screeching fit. Tin foil, baking soda, and liquor bottles littered the should’ve-been-replaced-long-ago carpet. There was a leg sticking out of a doorway and Josh wondered briefly where the other leg was. There was a moaning in another room, but josh ignored this too. He wasn’t there to save the newborn, but he figured by doing so he could spin this situation such that he wasn’t a complete bad guy.

He clutched his nine millimeter in his left hand, choking up on the grip. People in the movies think that there is some ritual the killer must do for the person about to be murdered, but in reality the ritual is for the killer to prepare them for the act that one never gets accustomed to. The ultimate rush that comes with draining your soul. He took a deep breath and said his mantra that got him through doing things like this. Josh was disappointed that the door was open to the room with his target (he had imagined he would have to kick one down) so he simply whacked the wall as he entered. The scrawny, writhing putrid white bodies were locked in an act that one would hardly call love-making. The couple cursed when he whacked the wall and they fell off the soiled mattress in surprise. They were whiter than the mattress, but not because they were scared, mostly because they hadn’t seen the sun much and the mattress had seen way more than it deserved to. Josh stepped up to the man with his gun raised to his head and for a minute, no one said anything. “Godamnit,” Josh finally sighed. The man began to plead pathetically then get angry, lashing out in his futile last breaths. Josh was frustrated. These two were a waste of good bullets. But the man was beginning to piss him off. WAP! The woman’s purple brains oozed down the wall. Shit. He forgot about the baby, who had a good set of little lungs, apparently.

Josh watched the man’s face turn to horror and grief and Josh smashed his head with the gun. Josh always appreciated getting a small workout in however he could and this guy took a while to die. The cops didn’t come quickly if at all to this Southern California neighborhood, but the baby could potentially attract attention. Josh wondered what he could fashion to swath the child in before he brought it to a fire station. As he searched the decrepit furniture for sheets or something he heard a click. The click of a gun racking. He rolled to the side and raised his gun. “Trevor?”

“Been a while, J.”

“I didn’t hurt them.”

“Fuck off. As if I don’t have 20 other reasons to kill you.” In Josh’s line of work, one made enemies every day and made themselves cohorts with just about each type of depraved individual. Trevor was the latter.

“What the fuck are you waiting for? You missed your best opportunity. Matter of fact you completely wasted your element of surprise.”

“It’s not our time yet, jackass.

Benmo has a job for us.” Josh wiped the sweat from his brow. Why the hell did he have to wear that leather jacket in the summer anyway. It was just too useful the way he had modified it as tactical gear. He lit a cigarette.

“You deal with that leg sticking out?” Trevor didn’t reply but simply wiped blood from his knife in his other hand on his pants.

“And the kid?”

“There isn’t time for that shit. Make your call and act fast.”

Josh grabbed tablecloth from the kitchen and swaddled and carried the child out into the relentless sun.

One response to “Chino”

  1. Engaging plot, but character development lacking. Reads a bit staccato and therefore confusing. Not always clear who is the subject of each sentence/phrase.



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