Post by Church on Feb 5, 2021 9:46:27 GMT -6
6/14/2006
Hobbs, New Mexico
“You rub that goddamn thing any more, it’s gonna cum buckshot.”
Church slowly looked upward from his chair in the corner.
“It’s called bonding,” Church responded sharply. Sean, who had made the comment from across the room, shook his head in disagreement.
“It’s called foreplay,” Sean said. Church let his eyes fall back down to the shotgun in his hands, the rag had a bit more gun oil left on it to aid the shine.
“Besides, it’s fuckin’ two days old, man. You bought that shit yesterday and you’ve shined it twice already. Spent all your damn money on that thing, you couldn’t even afford fuckin’ shells for it, man! Like a bitch...I haven’t even shown you yet what I got.”
The teenage kids were gathered at their usual spot. Sean’s house. The inside felt like a shed. 4 rooms, the kitchen off to the side of the living room like a forgotten last-second addition to the build. His mother had passed; his father came home once every month or so. The latest round of dick measuring between the friends revolved around guns - flavor of the week.
Sean Cutright, shoulder-length raggedy blonde hair, thin build. Talked tough to make up for lack of stature; especially around the much-bigger Church. Sitting at the table were 2 other friends; Gavin and Pete. It was a white trash collective; a scumbag orphanage.
Sean grabbed a paper bag; a squirrely smirk on his face as he did so.
“THIS is what I’m bringin’ to the table. Bitches buy guns from the store, you wanna see a real gun?” He asks, as he slowly reached into the bag that had previously housed a 40 oz. of gas station vodka.
He pulled out a Desert Eagle - a gorgeous handgun. Immediately holding it outward, unable to resist posing like he was Clint Eastwood. The two at the table let out an ‘ooo’ and ‘ahh’ you’d hear at a fireworks display. Church’s reaction was different as soon as he saw the gun. Sean was laughing with arrogant pride.
“Oh fuck…” Church said as he approached Sean, gun still held outward.
Church looked at the piece closer, a rattlesnake decal up the side of the grip resulting in a sword through its head up by the trigger.
“I can smell your jealousy. You go ahead and hold on to your shiny new toy until you can afford fuckin’ ammo. This didn’t cost me a cent and I’m gonna go tomorrow and buy bullets for it right away.” As he spoke, his hand wavered from the weight of it. Church slowly started to back up, his eyes not shining with impression, rather, wide with fear.
“Where...did you steal that from?” Church asked as he leaned over and peered out the nearby blinds.
The two quiet friends at the table grew a bit uncomfortable with the reaction.
Sean was unaffected, smile wide and chest puffed.
“I was down at the Marathon gas station gettin’ smokes, right? I come out and there’s this big black Escalade parked by the front. I didn’t even care much to walk by it, but I did. And whatdya know, the big window was rolled all the way down. There wasn’t nobody in it, there wasn’t nobody around it. And sittin’ RIGHT fuckin’ there on the back seat with this beauty. Just askin’ for rescue, just askin’ for a good home.” As Sean spoke, Church slowly ran his hand through his lengthy hair, eyes closed tight.
Church knew exactly why that window was down.
“You FUCKING MORON,” Church yelled out, checking the window again. A car slowly rolled by. Eyes darting back and forth, he backed away from the window and retreated a bit towards the corner he was sitting in. They’d never seen fear from him before. After yelling, his voice became quiet and he said plainly...
“That’s a bait gun.”
Confused silence. Church slowly sat back down in his chair, mind racing. Sean wasn’t even sure what to ask as he looked at the beautiful gun in his hand; puzzled but not any less excited.
“The Cartel comes through about once a month--Where do you think all the fuckin’ meth around here comes from?--And, uh, this is the kind of thing they’ll do if they start to become weary about dealing in a certain neighborhood or area. Like danglin’ the piece of cheese in front of a rat kinda ordeal.”
Church had done some dealings for the Cartel. They needed some local muscle and His friends didn’t know that.
“Fuck that shit man, what the hell are you talkin’ about? All I did was steal a gun from a car, dude. It’s mine now. If anyone wants to lay claim, they’ll have to do it to my face with this bad boy in my hand.”
“Listen, Sean, you’ve gotta listen. They’ll already know you took it, it’s pointless getting rid of it, we’ll have to-
The back door SLAMMED open from the force of a boot and, like a SWAT team, two guys with guns drawn stormed in. All 4 friends jumped back. The man in front looked around quickly. Church knew exactly what he was looking for.
He wasn’t looking for the gun.
He was making sure they weren’t coming into a meth lab before bullets started flying.
BANG! He let a shot rip right into the surprised expression on Sean’s face. He flew back, painting the shoddy cabinets behind him with blood. BANG! The second gunman set a bullet through Pete’s right shoulder, cutting right through deep into his chest as he fell over towards Gavin who- BANG!- took a bullet right above his right ear.
Church grabbed hold in his new shotgun and swung it like a baseball bat into the first man’s gun hand. Shoving it forward immediately after, he caught the second man right in the face with such force that it sent him flying backwards out the door he just entered.
He clutched the gun towards his chest and went to shove it again into the first man he had hit, but as he did so, the man did a barrel roll, switched his gun to his left hand and BANG! Fired straight into the chest of Church, who found himself immediately floored, breaking through the bookshelves behind him.
The two men from the Cartel gathered themselves quickly and grabbed the Desert Eagle from the floor next to the officially-brainless Sean Cutright. They left, but as they did, lit an entire book of matches against the back of another and tossed it directly into the only curtains in the room.
Flames lit the room like a sunrise. Zero consciousness found.
Until Church’s eyes opened and he took in a deep inhale of smoked oxygen. He coughed as he looked down, expecting to see his chest caved inward 8 inches and his heart resting in his lap.
The shotgun, still clenched across his chest, sported a new dent. A small crater in the steel behind the ejection port.
Church had no new holes. There was no blood.
His new toy caught a bullet.
He was able to pull himself to his feet and leave the growing fire behind him as his boots shuffled as far away from the house as possible.
2/4/21
Aria Casino Security Room
Church sat back comfortably in his chair, rag in hand as he rubbed oil up and down his prized shotgun. Up the barrel, down the magazine. He spent extra time rubbing clean the dented portion not far from the trigger as Amanda, a remaining part of his old security team, walked into the office. She smiled with a head shake, finding him with the gun in hand yet again.
“When are you actually gonna take that thing into the streets and shoot somebody?” She asked slyly. She walked slowly; seductively; closer to the desk.
“Some guns ain’t for shootin’, Ms. Porter.”
“Well isn’t that cute. I bet it’s seen some action though, huh?”
“You could say that. It’s never shot anybody, though. I’ve never even loaded it.” Her eyebrows perk up in surprise.
“A virgin shotgun. Interesting.” She said, as she rounded the desk. Church scooted his chair back a bit, slowly resting it against the wall behind him.
“Not exactly.”
As he answered ambiguously, Amanda swung one leg over his lap and sat in a straddle.
“You gonna beat down Tuxedo Max this week or what?”
“Man, you are lovin’ this fighting tournament, aren’tcha?”
“You look good beating down folk.”
“I haven’t lost yet, darlin’. I’m gonna beat every single last one of ‘em on my way to that million...will that million dollars turn you on as much as the fightin’?”
“Please...I’m not that cheap.”
Her hips made Church’s hands look gigantic as he lifted her with ease and placed her on the desk in front of him.
*Credit to J.C./McManus for the banner*