Post by Deleted on Apr 12, 2016 22:33:00 GMT -5
"Freeze, motherfucker. Drop the fuckin' axe, now... go on, don't make me fuckin' ask twice... good boy. Now turn around... slowly now..."
He stared at the two men holding him at gunpoint. One was older, with white hair and a receding hairline. The other had the sides of his head shaved, the top grown long and tied into a ponytail at the back of his head. Both were wearing brown pants and camouflage shirts. Both were aiming shotguns at him. The older one spoke, "He look familiar to you, Ricky?"
The younger one, Ricky, shook his head. "Naw, all these fuckin' idiots look the same after awhile." The man with his hands up recognized Ricky as being the one that gave the order to drop the axe. "Hold that gun on him, Elgie. Wanna take a look at what this faggot's swingin'."
There were many ways to interpret that, especially as Ricky moved to kneel in front of his captive. Thankfully, all he did was scoop up the axe that had been dropped. The weapon itself wasn't meant as one; in another life, it had been a simple four-pound fire axe. Its head was polished steel sharp and durable enough to cut through sixteen penny nails and still keep cutting. The handle was pure Tennessee hickory, treated, laquered and made as solid as solid could be. Ricky slipped his gun into his belt and twirled the axe in his hands like a child playing with a toy. "Thanks for the present, stranger. Except you didn't write your name on the tag." Ricky waited for an answer, but the stranger didn't give one.
"Are you deaf, faggot?" Ricky asked, pulling the gun back out of his belt and cocking the hammer back. "What's your fuckin' name, asshole?"
The stranger glanced to one side, looking for an answer. "Tree," he said.
Ricky waited for something to follow that answer. When nothing came, he wasn't too pleased. "Your name ain't fuckin' Tree, shit-stain."
The stranger quirked an eyebrow, "How do you know?"
"Bitch, unless your goddamned parents were fucking hippies or Injuns, you weren't called fucking Tree!" Ricky suddenly bellowed. The barrel of Ricky's gun was suddenly pressed into the stranger's forehead just above the bridge of his nose. "Tell me your MOTHERFUCKING name or I will PAINT this FUCKING TREE with your FUCKING BRAINS!"
The stranger looked up at the trigger of the gun, then down at the pinched, reddening face of the man holding it to his face. He sighed through his nostrils and looked back up at the trigger.
"I'm Ralse," the stranger finally said.
"What the fuck kinda name is Ralse?" Elgie finally asked.
"It's the name that's on my driver's license. I'd show it to you, but some kid stole my wallet awhile back," Ralse said, his arms getting tired. "Ain't been around to the DMV to get another one."
"Hey, shut the FUCK up, faggot!" Ricky said, still not having gotten over his slight rage. "Alright, Ralse... Ralsey, whatever the fuck you call yourself. You been followin' us, ain't cha?"
Another sigh. Ralse wondered how much time he had to get to the buck knife in his pants, if any. "Yeah, for a couple days now."
"You been stealin' meat from us at night? Huh?"
"Yeah, I stole some venison. One of the deer you killed--"
"I know what fuckin' venison is, cocksucker!!"
Elgie almost lowered his gun, but seemed to think better of it. "Ricky, for fuck's sake, would you calm down? Jesus Christ, you're gonna bring all kinds of dead assholes down on us if you keep screaming like dickless horse."
"Goddammit you old fruit, don't fuckin' make fun of me right now," Ricky said, gesturing violently at the older man with the axe. His eyes stayed on Ralse, though. When Ricky spoke again, though, his voice was deathly calm.
"Alright, so you must not've gotten the fuckin' news flash, but the cops ain't exactly doin' they jobs anymore. It's the Wild, Wild West all over again. You steal from me an' my people, you take on a debit," Ricky said, though Ralse was reasonably sure that he meant to say 'debt' instead. "You fuckin' owe me for a deer, faggot. An' until you get me my fuckin' deer, I'm keepin' the goddamn axe. Shit, I might even get used to havin' the fucker with me, maybe I'll settle for a doe or a young buck if'n you can't do better and just keep the goddamn thing. Wild West, Ralse. That's the rule, now. Problem is, you don't look like a hunter to me. You a hunter, boy?"
Ralse stared at Ricky's trigger finger. "No, I'm not a hunter."
"You a city boy, ain't cha?"
"I'm a carpenter."
Ricky started to chuckle, glancing back at Elgie just to make sure he still had a gun on their captive. "That's real goddamn funny, but you can't exactly whittle me back the venison you stole, now can you?" He paused for a second, then shoved the barrel deeper into Ralse's forehead. "Can you, boy?"
"I thought the question was rhetorical, my bad," Ralse said as calmingly as he could. "No, I can't whittle you any venison. You're right... I owe you a deer, but I don't know how to hunt, so you might be waiting awhile."
"How the fuck you been living, then? I don't see a bunch of empty cans with you," Elgie piped up.
The truth was, Ralse had been stealing food from these pricks for awhile now. Before that, he was eating MREs from a surplus store he'd broken into that hadn't been thoroughly looted yet. What to tell them, though? "I had some food in my pack," Ralse said. "Jerky, canned meat, crackers."
Elgie took a step forward before Ricky gave the go-ahead. The pack that Ralse had was on the other side of the tree, its strap visible around the edge of the trunk. There was a twinge of anger in the pit of Ralse's belly as he watched the older of the two rifle through his bag, pulling out bag after bag of turkey jerky. "Shit yeah!"
"That ain't enough to make up for the deer, though," Ricky said, keeping his eyes on Ralse. "It's a start, but it ain't enough. You got more somewhere, though, don't ya, faggot?"
Ralse began to lie, Yessir, I sure do have more of that hidden behind this bush. And when Elgie would go to look, Ralse would jerk away from the gun, pull out his knife and begin to whittle a venison steak out of Ricky's face. Instead, something worse happened. Elgie opened the right back pocket of the backpack and pulled out a small stack of photographs. "Woo-hoo-hoo, lookit this shit!"
Ricky backed up just enough to get a look at the pictures in Elgie's hand. "It's pictures of some Mexican bitch, so what?"
"You dumb shit, she ain't Mexican, she's European," Elgie laughed loudly, showing a mouth full of brawl-broken teeth. "No nudie pics, though... oh, wait, wait..." Elgie singled out a photo and held it up for Ricky to see. Ricky's face became calmer, crueller. "Well, well, well... Ralse got himself a bitch, huh?"
Elgie held the picture up for Ralse to see now. It was a picture of a younger man that looked remarkably like him wearing a handsome black suit next to a beautiful woman with dark hair in a white dress. "This your wife, boy?" Elgie asked, grinning.
"Yes. She's dead," Ralse said simply. "That's all I got to remember her by. So take whatever else you want. Take the clothes off of my back, just leave those pictures alone and leave them here."
Elgie and Ricky exchanged a glance. "Nah," they both said in unison. "Shit, I ain't had nothin' to jerk off to in two years. I think this'll do nicely, except for this one with you in it, faggot." Ricky flicked the wedding photo off into the bushes, stuffing the others into his pocket. "You bring me a deer and maybe they won't be too sticky when you get 'em back."
Elgie scooped up Ralse's bag and slung it over his shoulder, then re-trained his gun on their captive. "Keep your camp here. We'll be back in a couple days to see what you got for us, boy."
"I'll give you one last chance," Ralse said, eyeing Ricky coldly. "Give me the pictures back... and that'll be the end of it, I swear it."
"Or what, faggot?" Ricky stopped, cocking the hammer of his pistol back again, aiming it at Ralse.
"...you'll regret it, Ricky," Ralse responded. Ricky pulled the trigger and fired, hitting the tree just above Ralse's head, causing him to duck for cover. Ricky and Elgie laughed loudly, continuing to do so as they walked away.
Once they were out of sight, Ralse walked over to the bush where his wedding photo had been thrown. He wiped some mud off of it and looked at the two smiling faces in the picture. Wordlessly, he slipped it into his back pocket, sat down at the base of the tree and waited until dark.
He stared at the two men holding him at gunpoint. One was older, with white hair and a receding hairline. The other had the sides of his head shaved, the top grown long and tied into a ponytail at the back of his head. Both were wearing brown pants and camouflage shirts. Both were aiming shotguns at him. The older one spoke, "He look familiar to you, Ricky?"
The younger one, Ricky, shook his head. "Naw, all these fuckin' idiots look the same after awhile." The man with his hands up recognized Ricky as being the one that gave the order to drop the axe. "Hold that gun on him, Elgie. Wanna take a look at what this faggot's swingin'."
There were many ways to interpret that, especially as Ricky moved to kneel in front of his captive. Thankfully, all he did was scoop up the axe that had been dropped. The weapon itself wasn't meant as one; in another life, it had been a simple four-pound fire axe. Its head was polished steel sharp and durable enough to cut through sixteen penny nails and still keep cutting. The handle was pure Tennessee hickory, treated, laquered and made as solid as solid could be. Ricky slipped his gun into his belt and twirled the axe in his hands like a child playing with a toy. "Thanks for the present, stranger. Except you didn't write your name on the tag." Ricky waited for an answer, but the stranger didn't give one.
"Are you deaf, faggot?" Ricky asked, pulling the gun back out of his belt and cocking the hammer back. "What's your fuckin' name, asshole?"
The stranger glanced to one side, looking for an answer. "Tree," he said.
Ricky waited for something to follow that answer. When nothing came, he wasn't too pleased. "Your name ain't fuckin' Tree, shit-stain."
The stranger quirked an eyebrow, "How do you know?"
"Bitch, unless your goddamned parents were fucking hippies or Injuns, you weren't called fucking Tree!" Ricky suddenly bellowed. The barrel of Ricky's gun was suddenly pressed into the stranger's forehead just above the bridge of his nose. "Tell me your MOTHERFUCKING name or I will PAINT this FUCKING TREE with your FUCKING BRAINS!"
The stranger looked up at the trigger of the gun, then down at the pinched, reddening face of the man holding it to his face. He sighed through his nostrils and looked back up at the trigger.
"I'm Ralse," the stranger finally said.
"What the fuck kinda name is Ralse?" Elgie finally asked.
"It's the name that's on my driver's license. I'd show it to you, but some kid stole my wallet awhile back," Ralse said, his arms getting tired. "Ain't been around to the DMV to get another one."
"Hey, shut the FUCK up, faggot!" Ricky said, still not having gotten over his slight rage. "Alright, Ralse... Ralsey, whatever the fuck you call yourself. You been followin' us, ain't cha?"
Another sigh. Ralse wondered how much time he had to get to the buck knife in his pants, if any. "Yeah, for a couple days now."
"You been stealin' meat from us at night? Huh?"
"Yeah, I stole some venison. One of the deer you killed--"
"I know what fuckin' venison is, cocksucker!!"
Elgie almost lowered his gun, but seemed to think better of it. "Ricky, for fuck's sake, would you calm down? Jesus Christ, you're gonna bring all kinds of dead assholes down on us if you keep screaming like dickless horse."
"Goddammit you old fruit, don't fuckin' make fun of me right now," Ricky said, gesturing violently at the older man with the axe. His eyes stayed on Ralse, though. When Ricky spoke again, though, his voice was deathly calm.
"Alright, so you must not've gotten the fuckin' news flash, but the cops ain't exactly doin' they jobs anymore. It's the Wild, Wild West all over again. You steal from me an' my people, you take on a debit," Ricky said, though Ralse was reasonably sure that he meant to say 'debt' instead. "You fuckin' owe me for a deer, faggot. An' until you get me my fuckin' deer, I'm keepin' the goddamn axe. Shit, I might even get used to havin' the fucker with me, maybe I'll settle for a doe or a young buck if'n you can't do better and just keep the goddamn thing. Wild West, Ralse. That's the rule, now. Problem is, you don't look like a hunter to me. You a hunter, boy?"
Ralse stared at Ricky's trigger finger. "No, I'm not a hunter."
"You a city boy, ain't cha?"
"I'm a carpenter."
Ricky started to chuckle, glancing back at Elgie just to make sure he still had a gun on their captive. "That's real goddamn funny, but you can't exactly whittle me back the venison you stole, now can you?" He paused for a second, then shoved the barrel deeper into Ralse's forehead. "Can you, boy?"
"I thought the question was rhetorical, my bad," Ralse said as calmingly as he could. "No, I can't whittle you any venison. You're right... I owe you a deer, but I don't know how to hunt, so you might be waiting awhile."
"How the fuck you been living, then? I don't see a bunch of empty cans with you," Elgie piped up.
The truth was, Ralse had been stealing food from these pricks for awhile now. Before that, he was eating MREs from a surplus store he'd broken into that hadn't been thoroughly looted yet. What to tell them, though? "I had some food in my pack," Ralse said. "Jerky, canned meat, crackers."
Elgie took a step forward before Ricky gave the go-ahead. The pack that Ralse had was on the other side of the tree, its strap visible around the edge of the trunk. There was a twinge of anger in the pit of Ralse's belly as he watched the older of the two rifle through his bag, pulling out bag after bag of turkey jerky. "Shit yeah!"
"That ain't enough to make up for the deer, though," Ricky said, keeping his eyes on Ralse. "It's a start, but it ain't enough. You got more somewhere, though, don't ya, faggot?"
Ralse began to lie, Yessir, I sure do have more of that hidden behind this bush. And when Elgie would go to look, Ralse would jerk away from the gun, pull out his knife and begin to whittle a venison steak out of Ricky's face. Instead, something worse happened. Elgie opened the right back pocket of the backpack and pulled out a small stack of photographs. "Woo-hoo-hoo, lookit this shit!"
Ricky backed up just enough to get a look at the pictures in Elgie's hand. "It's pictures of some Mexican bitch, so what?"
"You dumb shit, she ain't Mexican, she's European," Elgie laughed loudly, showing a mouth full of brawl-broken teeth. "No nudie pics, though... oh, wait, wait..." Elgie singled out a photo and held it up for Ricky to see. Ricky's face became calmer, crueller. "Well, well, well... Ralse got himself a bitch, huh?"
Elgie held the picture up for Ralse to see now. It was a picture of a younger man that looked remarkably like him wearing a handsome black suit next to a beautiful woman with dark hair in a white dress. "This your wife, boy?" Elgie asked, grinning.
"Yes. She's dead," Ralse said simply. "That's all I got to remember her by. So take whatever else you want. Take the clothes off of my back, just leave those pictures alone and leave them here."
Elgie and Ricky exchanged a glance. "Nah," they both said in unison. "Shit, I ain't had nothin' to jerk off to in two years. I think this'll do nicely, except for this one with you in it, faggot." Ricky flicked the wedding photo off into the bushes, stuffing the others into his pocket. "You bring me a deer and maybe they won't be too sticky when you get 'em back."
Elgie scooped up Ralse's bag and slung it over his shoulder, then re-trained his gun on their captive. "Keep your camp here. We'll be back in a couple days to see what you got for us, boy."
"I'll give you one last chance," Ralse said, eyeing Ricky coldly. "Give me the pictures back... and that'll be the end of it, I swear it."
"Or what, faggot?" Ricky stopped, cocking the hammer of his pistol back again, aiming it at Ralse.
"...you'll regret it, Ricky," Ralse responded. Ricky pulled the trigger and fired, hitting the tree just above Ralse's head, causing him to duck for cover. Ricky and Elgie laughed loudly, continuing to do so as they walked away.
Once they were out of sight, Ralse walked over to the bush where his wedding photo had been thrown. He wiped some mud off of it and looked at the two smiling faces in the picture. Wordlessly, he slipped it into his back pocket, sat down at the base of the tree and waited until dark.