\chapter{Make My Day} \by{Orgasmo} The telephone rings. The cacophony breaks through the utter silence of my New York flat overlooking Times Square. I can barely move. Even breathing hurts. These late night bar fights are getting rougher each night and one of these nights I'm going to wake up at a hospital instead of my warm bed. I recalled earlier events. I was at a bar doing some recon on a street gang by the name of the Dark Hawks, a gang of murderous thieves. Their leader tried to make off with Lori's handbag before I intervened. I grabbed the large man before he could make off with it. ``What is your name, villain?!'' ``The name is Brickwall. Let me show you why.'' All of a sudden I was thrown through a brick wall. Through the rubble I grabbed a sleek, unyielding object and showed him the business end of my pool cue, cracking him and his four goons out cold. These bar fights are often brutal. But I always win. My name is Luke Bavarious. The phone rings again. I let it go to voicemails. My rippling muscles ached as I turn over to address the device that is emitting the noise. The caller ID showed that it was Marty. Who left the message. I hit play. ``Luke, listen, I don't have much time. I'm down here in the South Street Seaport and shit's about to go dow-`` Click. The line went into an eerie quiet like a tombstone. He sounded frantic. Perhaps I should have taken his call. I got up, careful to not wake up Lori, and headed to the restroom. I take a rough inventory of the various bleeding cuts and bruises Brickwall had incurred upon me the night before. Back in the room, I grabbed my Beretta from the nightstand. The sleek black metal filled my hand and I felt its power coursing through my veins. I cocked the hammer and chambered a bullet. Who knows what evil darkness will be faced. I set out into the dark and macabre night. I turned on my Walkman and played the same song I listen to before I embark on all my dangerous missions. I howled into the night: \begin{quote} Pump up the jam \\ Pump it up \\ A pump it up - yo pump it Pump up the jam \\ Pump it up \\ A pump it up - yo pump it I don't want \\ A place to stay \\ Get --- your booty --- on the floor tonight \\ Make my day I don't want \\ A place to stay \\ Get --- your booty --- on the floor tonight \\ Make my --- \end{quote} A kid stepped out onto the path. His clothes were in tatters and he smelled like an outhouse. Snot ran profusely down his nose and he slurped it with his tongue. ''Sir, please don't go out to the docks. I foresee something terrible happening.`` ''Beat it, kid." I glared down at the rapscallion and pushed him aside. He lost his balance and fell backwards into an open manhole cover. His yelp was cut off when he landed on a mangled shopping cart that lay at the bottom of the sewer and blood flew out of the open manhole, landing all over Bavarious. The noxious mixture of blood, snot, and the liquefied shit of the entire Lower East Side sewer system covered my face and I vomited back into the sewer. I lost control of all bodily function and for several minutes vomit came out of my mouth and shit came out of my ass. Everytime I turned around I resembled a human sprinkler of shit and vomit. With the help of a lemon-scented wipee I regained my composure after this unexpected ordeal and continued on my way. At the Seaport, an eerie quiet abounded. One boat had some lights on but it was offshore. I rappelled down the Brooklyn Bridge and back-flipped onto the deck. I lay there crouched for a few minutes, my duster billowing in the wind, eyes scanning the deck for movement. I maneuvered towards one of the lit ports. Inside, several thugs were playing poker. The guy nearest me had a deuce and a seven off-suit. ``I'm all in,'' he growled. I announced, to their shock, ``and I'm all out{\ldots}'' and proceeded to open fire into the room, spraying metal and lead into their shocked bodies. My Beretta rang into the still night. ``{\ldots}of bullets.'' The scene before me was of utter horror. Dead or dying men lay everywhere. Where chips used to be, brains now covered the table. One man was choking as rust-colored blood sprayed intermittently out of his neck. He looked at me in a shocked way and giggled. This grotesque scene played out for a few minutes. Suddenly, he was dead. After the carnal scene was complete, I made my way down the stairs stepping with my feet sideways like a ninja would take a flight of stairs. I grabbed the sides of my duster so as to not give away my whereabouts. In the darkness, a hand gripped down upon my shoulder. Suddenly, I was thrown through a brick wall and blacked out. The last thing I heard was a terrible laugh that sounded like a burp. When I awoke Marty was standing over me with a sneer. ``You stupid son of a bitch. Did you think I'd really turn informant? You've pissed off a lot of people, Bavarious. A lot of people who wouldn't be sad if you took a long drink in the Hudson.'' I tried to move but was stuck. My feet were incased in cement. ``Ok, Brick, drop `im.'' With a sneer, the large man behind him pulled a lever and the floor opened up beneath me. The cold water shocked me as I hurtled to the bottom of the riverbed. When I finally hit bottom the force was so large that my cellphone flipped open and accidentally called Lori. Back in the flat, Lori groggily picked up her cellphone in the darkness. ``hello..?'' ``{\bf Muglarhghargh}'' ``I'm sorry?'' ``{\bf Rhugluglrah}'' Click. When her phone rang again, she let it go to voicemails.