Horrors2/stories/Orgasmo.Make_My_Da.tex

\chapauth{Orgasmo}
\chapter{Make My Day}

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\includegraphics[height=1in]{art/blue-ribbon.pdf} \\
{\scriptsize First place: {\em Horrors 2} writing contest}
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\noindent 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.