An Hotline Story

10th June 1984, Miami

Dring ….dring … “Hello?”
“Hey sweetie! That new order that you asked me for has arrived! Come and pick it up at 34 Highway Road, second floor.  It’s in the usual safe where I keep things.”
“Who are you? What do you want from me???? Stop calling me!”
What do you mean? Don’t you remember me? The drinks we had together, the evenings in the disco, that time in Vietnam … Come on! Come and get the new gadgets, then you’ll have great fun when you get back home!”
“shit”
“shall I expect you?”
“yes, I’m on my way”. Click.


I go into the bathroom, wash my face and when I look in the mirror I see the black bags under my eyes which by now look as if they are tattooed on. I look like some kind of fucking red Indian. Christ! I dress sportily and put on my bullet-proof jacket:  it’s saved my skin too many times by now. I hide it under a sweatshirt and then go and pick her up:  I found her at the door two months ago and since the calls have been arriving… the wolf mask. The sender’s address wasn’t there but it was a clear sign that that someone wanted me to do something, something for my country, again.
I leave the house, get into the car and arrive at the place. At the door there are two men smoking and speaking with a Russian accent. Bloody Russian bastards! I take the gun out of the glove compartment and check the charge, put the earphones on to hear the music which was sent with the mask.  
It’s the moment to begin the dancing.

I get out of the car with decision hiding the gun behind me, I approach one of them and as soon as the one on the right starts shouting something at me, I plant a bullet in his head; the other one turns, but it’s too late for him. I run at him and floor him with a punch, I throw him against the wall and point the gun against his head. I watch him while he begs me to spare him his life, then I lower the gun and kick him in the face until his face is a bloody mess. I hear screaming behind me, it sounds like two people. I flatten myself against the door and wait for them to arrive. As soon as the first one opens the door I grab him by the scruff of his neck and drag him in front of me so he shields me. When the second person sees me he starts shooting like a madman but only manages to shoot his companion. I reply to his bullets with two of my own; I miss him on the first but the second catches him in the chest, I kick my shield towards his buddy and, once he is on the ground I finish them both off with a bullet to the head. Maybe I am too kind to these Mafia shitbags! I leave the empty gun on the ground and take the dead man’s machine gun.


I run inside keeping as close as possible to the walls. I hear other guys shouting, laughter, joking, I would like to be able to speak Russian only so that I could tell them to shut the fuck up. I come out into the open and empty a whole cartridge on the group. One by one they fall under my fire except for a gorilla armed with a baseball bat who screams furiously and attacks me. Before he can get too close I throw the machine gun at his face. The weapon distracts him and he trips over one of his companions and falls to the ground. I grab the baseball bat from him and spit on his suit, then use the wood to make his face the same colour as the carpet.
I climb the stairs with the badly damaged bat and things start to get difficult: I see armed men patrolling the zone in alert, talking together, planning, but they don’t know who they have in front of them. I stealthily get closer to the last man in the row and I break the bat over his head forcing him onto his knees, I slide the knife out from his thigh pocket and, after slitting his buddy’s throat, I throw him against the other one. I await with bated breath to see the blade fly but… shit, the handle hit him! What the... Fuck! I see him point the shotgun at me, I roll back, towards the wall and take the pistol from my last victim and see the bullet destroy part of the wall; the headphones fall off me and I hear the suffering voices of those agonizing shitbags. I see the first guy starting to get up  and hear the footsteps of the other one with the gun who is coming round the corner. I wait for him with my heart in my mouth knowing that a mistake now will cost me my life.

I look at the shadow on the floor and as soon as he rounds the corner I grab him by his jacket and give him a head butt on his nose. He starts bleeding but is still conscience enough to shoot a wild shot. I open my mouth and the rubber teeth of the mask open at the same time; as in the past I bite my victim and my fangs strip off a piece of his throat. This cost me a week in solitary confinement in Vietnam. Blood starts flowing freely and I let him fall to the ground while I hold him by the throat. The other guy, horrified, picks me up like a fucking rugby player and throws me onto the ground.  He punches me and I see stars, but as he is preparing to throw the next punch I empty the cartridge of the gun into him and he falls on top of me.  I get my breath back, shove him off and get up.

I massage my jaw and still hear the cries of pain of the guy with the gun who is still losing blood, at the end of the day he fought well. I take the gun from his hands, charge it and make his head explode into a thousand pieces. I put the headphones back on and go around the room: people who stick swords into their veins, others who are doll-like and look at the walls, I am tempted to get rid of them all one by one. American shit, Russian shit… is this really what I risked my life for in war?

I enter the last room and there I find my objective, “their” objective. I see him while he is sniffing coke… he is so high that he doesn’t even realize what is happening around him.  I drop the gun and go towards him and while he mumbles something in Russian I pick up some pens, I pull his head back and stick the pens into his nose until they reach his brain. I watch him struggle between spasms and feel only pleasure. However, to crown the moment something else is needed: I grab him by his hair and drag him to the window, then I hoist him up by his trousers and with much pleasure I throw him out of the window. I watch him fall until he is impaled on a parking meter. I look around until I see the “safe”, an old style safe which is open wide. Among envelopes of coke and wads of money I find a wrapped package, this must be what they want. I take everything except the drugs and run away. My mission is accomplished


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