11 AM. It was a cloudy morning at the Angelus National Forest. Jason and his henchmen had their guns drawn and were deep in target practice, shooting at bottles, cans and posters of Yes, Queen, The Eagles and other awful bands propped up.
Outside of a few sports hunters giving them the fish eye, the partners in crime weren't noticed firing away. Robotman's brother Franco furnished the guns as a loan and half the guns were operable. The other half were problematic and worked badly.
BANG! BANG BANG!!!
"It figures my brother would come up with some shitty pistols", Robotman griped, jerking his neck nervously in between shots. Jason strolled behind each shooter, inspecting their aim and judging their aptitude.
"Mine keeps jamming", King Steve frowned. "Did he do this on purpose?"
"I wonder", Jason mused, smelling a rat.
"Mine works fine", The Fireball Kid smiled, his flaming red mane flashing against the gloomy gray sky. "I just shot out Freddie Mercury's horse teeth, Glen Frey's smelly beard, and Rick Wakeman's tiny dick".
"Well done, fuck face".
"My pistol's cool but I gotta go pee. Here, Robot", Allen Wrench handed his over to Robotman. "Be back in a few, Big Jace".
Allen Wrench drifted off to the Ford Mustang borrowed for the job, parked off the beaten path to discourage any suspicion.
Robotman squeezed out a few rapid shots at Jon Anderson's chest, enjoying the new gun.
"Now that's what I call shootin'!"
Wrench has been gone too long for a piss. What the fuck? Jason wondered.
"Yo, Steve, hand me the binoculars, willya?" Jason asked.
Steve put his crap pistol down, handed over the binoculars and then grabbed the thermos with hot coffee for a short break.
"I'm no gunman, fuck this shit!"
"You can say that again", Jason mumbled, aiming the binoculars at the Mustang, sharpening the magnification.
Allen Wrench wasn't taking a pee at all, just like Jason thought. He was inside the car leaning over the dashboard with a straw in his nose inhaling over a tiny mirror. I should've known...this isn't the time for this kind of bullshit...it's almost show time and now this...guns that don't shoot and a fuckin' wired wheelman...what was I thinking about, bringing in all these people...maybe I should call it off...fuck...it's too late...Jesus, Patrick and Seamus.
He sighed deeply, getting cloudier than the sky.
"Okay, executive decision", Jason spun around, facing the gang. "Fireball, you'll be slinging guns. Steve, Robotman I have other plans for you guys. You guys'll be running subterfuge, it's a lot safer than busting caps, and -"
"-Sorry I took so long, guys. I'm back!" Wrench walked down the hill wearing a pair of dark sunglasses. Everybody laughed.
"The clouds too bright for you, asshole?" The Fireball Kid joked.
"This is my punk gangster look, douchebag. Got a problem with it?"
"Yeah, I can't steal shit if I'm laughing my ass off".
"I'll shoot that ass you're laughing off, dickhead".
"Not with these bullshit guns you won't", King Steve threw out the rest of his coffee out of the cup.
Wrench grabbed a Colt .45 off a rock and pointed it cocked at The Fireball Kid's head.
The Fireball Kid jumped back and pointed his Luger at Allen Wrench's head in return. They both stared each other down with guns pointed at each other.
"Knock it off, you fuckin' clowns", Jason cursed.
"Think you're tough?" The Fireball Kid clenched his teeth. "My gun works, you're holding one of the junk guns. What do you think are your chances?"
Jason shoved his way between them. "The first person that shoots gets their balls ripped out and served in some Chinese restaurant. KNOCK IT OFF, I said!"
Knowing that the Colt .45 would misfire he wisely chose to knock that pistol of the two, slamming it out of Wrench's hand.
"I've got a good mind to can both of you two clowns off this job. God damn it!"
The Fireball Kid put down his pistol.
"All we need is those fuckin' hunters to catch us shooting each other up and the job is dead before it even begins. Jerkoffs!"
12:45 PM. The offices of Rocket USA. Jack Sterling scratched the surface of his desk five times, picked up his phone two times, whispered "Longhorn" the name of his ex-TV show seven times and then got up and locked his office door.
He walked over to a tall, framed poster advertising his biggest show. He took down the poster and stared at the wall safe that was now revealed.
He pulled out a key, unlocked the safe door, which opened to yet another door with a combination lock.
He then took out a tiny piece of paper which had his birth date along with knob turn directions.
Turning the knob carefully, he opened the safe which was deep inside. Sterling pulled sheafs and sheafs of bills, more than anyone even suspected.
"Thank God it's all still here", Sterling thought. "I'd have to be crazy to trust a bank with all this fuckin' cash. Two-thirds of everything I've made from this club stays here and will never leave this place. Yeah, it was a good idea depositing thirty percent of the take into a bank to make it look kosher. Fuck, that was smart. No one will ever know how much I'm really holding. Yeah".
Sterling's paranoia was consoled in a few minutes of repetitious counting of bills. Hearing footsteps nearing his office, he quickly threw the money into the safe, locked up and put the poster back on the wall.
2:30 PM. Whenever Raquel Tequila felt down in the dumps she always put on David Bowie's "Diamond Dogs", the best gloomy record to cry or mope to. She already changed her clothes three times that day to cheer up but it didn't quite work.
She laid on the sofa, sulking through "We Are The Dead" and by the time "Big Brother" came on Jason barged in.
"Where's Wrench? Is he here?"
Raquel looked up with tears streaming down her face. "No. That's all you're going to say? How about 'how's it going, baby'?"
Jason stomped over to the fridge and ripped open a can of soda.
"Yeah, whatever, what are you crying about?"
"Lily hasn't called me since the loft show. What did I do?"
"Didn't do shit. Lily's got shit to do, too, important fuckin' stuff. Fuck, Wrench bugged out on me and cut out. Did you know he's using?"
Raquel's eyes got bigger.
"What??? I never knew".
"Yeah", Jason crumpled the can and threw it on the counter top. "Him and his sodas. Shit, I knew he was playing that hyper shit some other way".
She scratched her head cartoonishly. "Check the garage, maybe you'll hit pay dirt".
"Good thing I still have the pickup truck. Okay, I'm heading out".
"Hey! Are you going to be seeing Lily anytime soon?"
"Yeah, but don't blow your cool. I'm here, remember?"
Jason barreled over to her and grabbed her in a tight hug and kissed her.
"Everything's cool. I gotta run!"
As soon as he reached the door, he stopped and turned around.
"Fuck, I forgot, did you go to the Mexican toy store like I asked?"
Raquel wiped away the tears from her pretty face. "Yeah, I got your masks".
"Aw, cool that's my girl!"
"Yeah, but all they had was Ringo. The other Beatles were taken".
Jason thoughtfully rubbed his chin. "Well, I guess Ringo will do. Why the hell not?"
Thank you for reading "Every Bitch For Himself". The complete novel will be available via BookBaby this coming October 2014. Don't miss it!
(c) 2013, Andy Seven. All rights reserved.>