An Original Short Story by Gavin.

Here is another piece of writing I did for my discovery project. It was kind of last minute and thrown together with haste, but I actually feel like it's one of my better pieces in some ways. Maybe because it is far different from my typical style. I hope it's easy enough to follow, because when writing it I envisioned it as a comic and would one day like to give it a treatment for comics or another medium.
As always, ENJOY!

Think Outside The Box

I can’t see a damn thing! Stuck in this box, rattling around, my hands tied behind my back. I’m taking a beating because I can’t even put them up to defend myself from this unstable, shaking cube that retains me. I wonder where they’re taking me, why didn’t they just try to kill me at the motel? Doesn’t matter, they’ll all be dead soon regardless.

Open that lid, please, just open that lid so I can give you all what’s coming to you! They don’t even know what they’ve gotten themselves into, trying to kill a guy like me. Hired guns, professionals, they’re good, but not as good as me. You don’t make it as long as I’ve made it in this business unless you’re the best.

I’ve made a career out of fucking people over, on the highest level. I steal from the rich, but only the kind of rich that can’t go running to the law when I do. I only steal from criminals, you know, gangsters, thieves, drug dealers, mobsters and I dabble with the occasional Terrorist. Scum, where it doesn’t matter to me if they live or die. Just as long as I get my end, that’s all that matters.

Two years ago, I worked for the government, running covert ops in Mexico and Columbia, rubbing elbows with these kinds of people undercover. Eventually, after a 6-month stint in Tijuana, I stopped receiving orders, and they cut all ties with me. I guess they feared I was in too deep, that I defected, I don’t know. All I know is they abandoned me, and that’s what I get for serving my country.

So what’d I do? I applied my training, and my skills. I decided to make a career of doing what I do best, and that’s deceiving these criminals. I deceive those who intend to deceive others in order to run a successful business. I pray off that business, because business is always good in the black market.

This time however it appears I may have barked up the wrong tree. When you do what I do, you’re always expecting that someone is going to be after you, so you get used to disappearing quickly. I’ve got countless passports and identities. Add them all up and I’ve got over a dozen aliases and I am a citizen of more than 10 different countries.

I don’t stay anywhere for more than a few months at a time. I’m a millionaire who lives out of a suitcase. But life is catching up with me quickly.

There are some basic rules to follow when you do what I do. For one, never go out the same door you came in, anywhere, because you never know who might be watching. Two, get lost in a crowd, quickly, because playing Where’s Waldo is way harder in real life, especially when Waldo is moving. Third, don’t stop to make a call, buy a drink, bang a whore, visit your mother on her deathbed, not anything. You keep moving until you’re completely out of sight. Oh, and final rule, don’t fuck with me! It’s the last mistake you’ll ever make.

.

This is one job I probably shouldn’t have done, but the payday was too nice to pass up. Which is exactly why I should have passed on it. Usually, in my line of business, as long as you keep the takings small, and get the hell out of sight, you won’t be pursued unless you’re really worth the hassle. Guys want to make an example of those who fuck with their money, to try and ensure it doesn’t happen again. But if it doesn’t make sense from a business standpoint, and they don’t really know who you are, then all you usually need to do is get far enough away, and they’ll give up eventually. Taking one shipment out of 50 usually doesn’t put anyone’s panties in a ruffle. It’s considered leakage, collateral damage, all just part of the business. If a guy loses a few hundred grand out of 50 million, he just considers it a form of taxes. These guys, they didn’t give up though. They chased me across two continents. Now here I am, knocking on death’s doorstep, but it’s not the first time.

These situations are not foreign to me. In fact, I’m quite comfortable, even right now, tied up in this box. The key to being able to get yourself out of these situations is to remain absolutely calm. If you can maintain composure and think clearly during a scenario like this, you have a step up on everyone. That’s why I’m the best at what I do, because I can get out of situations like this one. I’m the best because right now, as I can overhear the muffled voices outside the box discussing how to dispose of me, I’m not panicking. I’m thinking of a way out of this.

I’m a trained killer, there’s no other way to put it. These guys don’t stand a chance, even with the upper hand, because that’s their disadvantage. They think they got me right where they want me, but I have a plan.

Before they knocked me damn near cold and threw me in the box back at the motel, I noticed that one of them, this big Russian guy, had a knife in his belt. I can tell, even with the muffled voices, that the American is on my left, as well as the Brit.  Since I am leaning to the right, there is only one guy carrying the box on my right, and he has a thick accent. Therefore, I can confidently conclude that the big Russian is the only man on my right.

If I can just get this rope untied before he gets that box open then they’re all as good as dead. The knot is sloppy, not perfect, but firm, I’m not going to be able to wriggle my way out of this one.

I’m keeping a mental note playing back in my head about the Big Russian and the knife on his belt. I’ve got an idea.

These guys are more traditional in their style, a more refined breed of assassin. They aren’t carrying guns, I only saw the knife on the Russian, and the other two had batons, which I was rudely introduced to earlier. Some guys these days, they like to keep things simple. Ballistics’, traces of gunpowder, you forget the casing, there are a host of reasons why some professional killers don’t like to use guns. Not to mention they are loud and messy. Guys like this, they like to keep it quick, clean and above all, quiet. I can smell the salt and seaweed; we must be getting close, got to think fast.

My guess is they’re hoping to put me right by the edge of the dock, slit my throat, and toss me into a watery grave to bleed to death and get eaten by a shark. They’re within mere moments of accomplishing that goal, but if they make one crucial mistake, which I think they are going to, then I have a chance.

The Russian is going to open the lid of the crate…I think. I can’t be sure, but it would make sense. Considering these guys know how dangerous I am, they would want the biggest and strongest guy being the one who deals with me. Plus he has got the knife so I got to believe that he’s the one expected to do the deed of slicing me. I really hope they don’t baton me to death; I’m getting flashbacks to the end of Casino when they beat Joe Pesci down with baseball bats and burry him alive. I really hope they don’t plan to beat me numb and then throw me in the ocean to die. Like I said, when you fuck with these kinds of people, they like to make an example of you.

I’ve stopped moving. They’ve set me down on a solid surface, and the crate makes one last auspicious rumble before coming to a complete calm. Damn! I really don’t know exactly what my plan is yet.

I hear muffled arguing of some kind between the Russian and the Britt. I can’t make out the words, but something is holding them up. They’re jabbering back and forth at one another in their thick accents. It sounds like they can’t quite agree where to kill me. The Brit and the American sound like they’re saying this is the spot, and it sounds like the Russian wants to do it further down, near the beach. I overhear him more clearly say that the current is better further down the shoreline, and will carry me out to sea more effectively.

No dice for him, the Brit and the American both insist this is the best spot. This works to my advantage, any apprehensiveness on the Russian’s behalf completely works in my favor.

I hear a few heavy footsteps make there way closer towards the darkness in front of me. I hear the clanking of metal, the twisting of a combination lock, the snap it makes when it is unhinged, and then, a crack of light appears. The box opens, and I see the Russian starring down right at me. His knife is still in his waistline. I have to make a conservative effort not to divert my eyes towards it or I might give away my plan. He pulls me up by the back of my collar, positioning me so that I am standing in the now open crate, my body facing sideways to his gaze. I can only presume, that to take all precaution as a professional, he is going to tell me to turn around and step out of the crate backwards. My hands are still tied behind my back. I’m not panicking, but it’s definitely crunch time, I have only one viable option, and everything has to go perfectly for it to work out. I’m going to need a little luck on this one, and I’m not so sure karma is exactly on my side.

The man directs me with a circular motion with his fingers to turn around, and step backwards out of the crate. I need to nail this perfectly if I’m going to leave this seaside alive. I hope lady luck will grace me on this day.

“Step out” says the Russian and just at that moment, I hear his belt buckle clink ever so slightly. No doubt, he has just removed the knife from his waste line, but my eyes are still diverted from him so I don’t know exactly where he is holding it. Alright, it’s now or never. I snap around at the Russian and jab step at him, faking a head on charge. Just as I suspect, he flutters back a step and thrusts the knife forward to skewer me in my would be foolish charge. I kick the knife out of his hand into the air, the Russian draws his eyes to the fluttering knife a meter above his head.  I boot him square in the teeth with my Prada loafers, and feel the grinding and dislodgement of his enamel Chiclets from the force of the blow.

I look up, see the knife on it’s downward course, and lay in my final judgments on its positioning before spinning around and catching it behind my back like a gymnast. I twirl the knife around with ease in my confined hands, and firmly slice through the ropes that bound me with the incredibly sharp blade. Not that I didn’t already know, but based on the sharpness, this knife was definitely intended to slit my throat.

The Other two men are rushing towards me with their batons readied in their hands. The Russian is just making it up to his feet, stumbling around in a daze from the kick he received. He stumbles backward further towards the edge of the dock. The other two men are only steps away, and though I want to prepare for our duel, I realize that this is probably my best chance to dispose of the Russian. I turn my head ninety degrees, and then sprint to the Russian. I jump kick him square in the chest. As he stumbles backwards towards the dock edge, I fling the knife at him and make contact right over his heart. His eyes roll back in his head, and he falls backwards in a soldier stance into the water.

Just as I expected, by the time I turn back to the other two men, a baton is already flying towards my face. The blow is forceful, I feel my jaw disconnect and rattle around from the impact. I fall to the ground, the world is spinning, and I don’t have my bearings any longer. Crack! I feel the same impact again, though this time on the base of my spine, and I collapse down onto my chest, face first on the ground.

“Thought you could get away from us did ya?” says the Britt in his thick accent. “Shoulda known we wouldn’t let ya off that easy, shoulda just let us kill you, like you deserve, take your penance like a real man, mate.”

“Lets not kill him yet, lets have some fun with him why don’t we, for all the trouble he’s caused” says the American.

Luck is with me, as the two men break from their beat down of me to taunt me and showboat. A critical mistake, one I would never make.

I play possum for a moment, even though I really am seriously hurt. I remain motionless on the ground, with my ear to the wood, and my eyes, though squinted, open just enough to see everything that’s going on. I hadn’t thought ahead this far, I only really had time to figure out a way to take out the Russian, but I never had any idea how I was going to deal with these other two.

For the first time in my life, I feel at peace, even if for just a moment. I accept the fact that I am going to die, and finally pay for all of my transgressions. I’ve had a helluva run I think to myself. I’ve lived life to the fullest, and did so off the dime of others. I’ve travelled the world, and I’ve seen about all there is to see in this life. Goodbye to this life, and on to the next. Why not, this one was getting kind of bland anyways.

Nah, snap out of it! Don’t you want to bang bitches, make big money, and continue living life to the fullest just a little longer? Maybe so.

A sudden burst of adrenaline overtakes me, and suddenly the throbbing in my head and my back ceases to exist. I shoot up out of my lifeless sprawl, standing straight, right between the two men. I swing my head backward and crack the American in the skull with the back of my head while he is in mid swing of his baton. The Britt’s baton is headed straight for me, and I just barely manage to duck it. I feel the wooden stick swing overhead, touching my hair, and then hear the impact of it bluntly interacting with the American’s face behind me. I collapse to one knee, and punch the Britt directly in the crotch. I hear the sound of the American’s body hit the deck, and not a moan or groan to go along with it. I can safely assume he’s out cold or brain damaged at this point. The Britt drops to his knees, holding his jewels, the baton stick dangling at his side. He would have dropped it from the pain had it not been attached to him, with the leash wrapped around his wrist. I put him in a frontal clutch, and lift my knee with as much force as I can humanly muster right into his nose. I feel the cartilage crumple upon my upper thigh.

The Britt crumbles lifelessly to the deck, and I see that I now have full control of the situation, not like there was ever any doubt. I squeeze the unconscious American’s head between my feet, and make a sharp twist, breaking his neck and killing him. I proceed to do the same to the Britt, this time via headlock.

I brush off my hands, look around, and head towards the landside of the dock. The boatyard entrance is straight ahead of me. I’ll have to walk through the warehouse to get out.

I enter the warehouse, and see open gate doors of the front entrance. I’m feeling pretty good about myself at this point. Like I said, I’ve been in these kinds of situations before, but this is the closest I’ve ever come to certain death. I overcame it though, just like all the times before. I’m too slick to be killed, too slick, and simply too good at what I do. I might as well be God, or be invincible, I might as well be…

(gunshot)

Finally, the bastard is dead. After all the trouble he has caused for so many people in my line of business, he is finally dead. I put a few more bullets in the back of his brain for good measure, just to make sure he is dead.

I knew, I knew that the only way I could get this sly son of a bitch was if I put him in a situation where he would never see it coming. It’s not my style to overlook an operation like this, but after what this punk thought he could get away with, I had to deal with him myself. Honestly, I wasn’t so sure he would make it off that dock, those guys were expensive, and supposedly some of the best. I watched the whole thing though from afar, because I knew there was a good chance that he would walk away from this hit. I knew that when he did, that would be my chance to get him, when he was walking away. Thinking the threat had been neutralized, feeling high and mighty.

This piece of shit has caused a lot of trouble for far too long. Now, finally, he can’t bother people like me any longer. I can conduct my business without worrying he is going to show up and steal from me.

There are certain rules to follow when you want to play in this game. The most important one of them all, don’t fuck with me.