Chapter 2 continues

     Mr.Pruce pulled a concealed weapon from his shoulder holster and crept down the hall to extricate Oliver from his hot shower. Charles went to the blinds and pulled them open so he could better see what he was looking for, the four paintings. After glancing around the room he eyed four canvases along the dining room wall. As he came closer he stopped in his tracks his jaw dropped "Oh my God!" Charles exclaimed.
     Meanwhile in the bathroom Oliver sat back in his tub relaxing when he suddenly had the strange feeling he was being watched. He opened up his eyes to make sure no one was there and he screamed in terror when he saw Bengiman Pruce standing above him with a gun in his hand.
     "Mornin' Ollie," Mr.Pruce said dead casual "How are you this morning? Hung over?" he smiled pulling him up out of tub.
     "How did you get in here?" Oliver said in panic as he grabbed for a towel to cover himself.
     "Xation sent me to see you, it seems you are late on your delivery. Now wrap up that little Vienna sausage of a dick of yours and get your ass out here." Mr.Pruce said ushering him out of the hallway and out to meet Charles, who they found staring at the completed paintings.
     "Well," Mr.Pruce said to Charles as Oliver stood there dripping wet, wrapped in a dirty towel
     "What's the verdict?" he asked as Charles remained silent for a moment.
     Oliver did not know who this handsome, dark eyed, stranger was but he was immaculately dressed and looked like a man of great wealth and taste, so Oliver stepped up behind Charles looking over his shoulder and asked him "Do you like my work?"
     Charles did not realize Oliver was standing behind him, so close to him, this made Charles very uncomfortable and he took two steps away from the half-naked, wet, man.
     "Jesus Christ." Mr.Pruce shouted as he looked down at the paintings of Xation's favorite polo ponies. "Unfucking believable," he said "You did this Oliver?"
     "Yes." Oliver replied waiting to hear what the man in the Italian suit had to say.

Chapter 2 begins

                                                                 
     Oliver Gibson stood in front of his bathroom sink dry heaving, painfully gagging and coughing for a few moments before splashing a handful of cold water on his face trying to soothe his fevered brow. Wiping his mouth with a filthy towel he sat on the toilet seat as he reached over to the counter where a still smoldering joint sat perfectly balanced on the edge of the counter. He picked it up inhaling deeply off the sweet pungent marijuana cigarette as the acrid smoke expanded in his lungs Oliver coughed hard as his eyes throbbed, bloodshot, and glazed. Oliver wished he did not drink so much tequila last night, he also wished that he had some more cocaine, but he had snorted it all up a few hours ago.
     "Stupid bastard!" he cursed himself as he ran a paint splattered hand through his short, dirty, greasy brown hair. Oliver took a few more tokes off the joint before flushing it down the toilet. Oliver may have been out of tequila and cocaine, but this was Texas, and he always had plenty of weed.
     He turned on the shower and brushed his teeth as he waited for the water to heat up. As he looked at his reflection he noted to himself the terrible toll drugs and alcohol had taken on his once boyish good looks. All the endless, sleepless nights left him with sand paper for skin, dark circles and bags under his eyes. 'My God,' he thought 'I'm only twenty seven!' He looked like a man of forty and he felt like he was fifty. Finding no comfort in the mirror Oliver got into the hot shower to clean himself up.
     Downstairs Mr.Pruce and Charles were on their way up on the elevator of the high-rise off Hall and McKinney. It was still very early in the morning and most of the residents were either at work or still sleeping. The two men made their way to Oliver's apartment #2838 the door was, of course, locked but our Mr.Pruce had been a very skilled locksmith back in his day and he, with the help of a little metal tool, opened up the door with ease and quickness. Charles thought that this was about all the man was good for. The two men entered the darkened apartment when they were both hit the face with the disgusting odor of rotten milk, mold, oil paint, turpentine and something, they were not sure could be, that was coming from the kitchen off to their right. The living room was covered with trash, clothes, paint splattered drop cloths; which were covering the furniture that was pushed up against the far wall. They could hear the sound of running water coming from the shower.
     "He's in the loo." Mr.Pruce said covering his mouth with his handkerchief.
     "Go and get him." Charles said calmly in a hushed tone.

End Chapter 1

     Charles leered at Mr.Pruce from behind his sunglasses he tried to calm down, but with Mr.Pruce present that was not easily accomplished so early in the morning. Charles climbed up into the s.u.v. fastened his seat belt and tuned the radio to the classical station as Mr.Pruce drove off heading west. The two men proceeded towards downtown Dallas discussing the matter at hand.
     "Now this poor bastard Oliver, did you ever meet him?"
     "Well, sort of."
     "Wha'd'ya' mean, sort of?" Mr.Pruce asked.
     "It was getting late one night and Serena and I had just come back from a ride as we were putting the horses up we came across Oliver and one of Xation's maids rolling around in the hay." Charles explained.
     "How long did you watch?" Mr.Pruce asked eyes wide like a sexual fiend.
     "Shut, up." Charles sneered disgusted by the mere suggestion.
     "Well Oliver," Mr.Pruce went on as he took out a pair of black sunglasses that were identical to Charles' which annoyed Charles for he had once again copied his style. "he was supposed to deliver four paintings to Xation, that was three months ago."
     "Has Xation already paid him?"
     "Of course, so we have to go and look at these paintings and if they are any good than he can live, but if they are terrible, as Xation fears, then we, sorry, I mean you have to put him down."
     Charles said nothing he only thought about what he knew of Oliver. He was a renowned, gifted artist, but that was a few years ago, before fame,drugs and gambling went to his head. Charles feared the art would be bad.
     "What are the paintings of?" he asked quietly.
     "Xation's polo ponies, his favorite, Mr.Whiskey, his first most beloved, than Iguazu, Mr.Friday, and one other I can't recall, but you will be the one to decide if they are any good, Xation is a little more trusting in your taste than mine, but then again I think all art is crap." Mr.Pruce said yawning a little as they headed down the highway, Charles was left with a deep sinking feeling that he would, indeed ,be killing another human being for Xation again today.Poor unfortunate bastard had no idea who he was getting mixed up with by doing business with Xation.
     "Will Xaton let him buy his way out?"
     "No fucking way." Mr.Pruce said dead calm.
     "Why?"
     "Because Charles, Xation hates him. A lot of shit went down last summer at the ranch in Argentina, no need for you to be bothered with, but this little prick is lucky were not going to kill him even if the paintings are good." Mr.Pruce said becoming agitated by speaking about Oliver and what ever it was that happened.
     "Oh really," Charles said a little shocked.
     "Yup, See this boy got on Xation's wrong side, and you always want to be on his good side, you know what I mean." Mr.Pruce smiled.
     "I did not realize Xation had a good side." Charles answered as the skyline of Dallas came into view, the tall glass and steel structures shining in the bright early morning sunlight

                                                       

Chapter 1 cont's

     The screeching of  tires was audible as the green s.u.v. barreled down the quiet country lane. Mr.Pruce was speeding in a new Range Rover along the gravel road, turning sharply to the left, he nearly flipped the gas guzzling behemoth over as he tried to make the turn to the driveway. The massive automobile went up on the lawn Charles watched as the tires gripped into the St.Augustine green grass, gouging out long black tracks in the sod. He stood and watched, mouth hanging open, as the s.u.v. spun around back the way it came speeding towards the mailbox; which was struck hard sending it, and its contents, sailing through the air. Charles clearly
heard the song 'Dirty Deeds, Done Dirt Cheap' by AC DC and the sound of Mr.Pruce laughing from inside the vehicle.
     Charles shook his head trying not to become enraged as Mr.Pruce hopped out of his car reeking of expensive whiskey and cheap whore's perfume. "Sorry 'bout that Charlie." the barrel-chested, bald British bastard said still laughing a little as he eyed the destruction on the lawn.
     "What the hell is the matter with you? You drunken son of a prick!" Charles yelled "Just look at what you've done now." he continued as he began picking up the pieces of mail out of the bushes "Every time you come here, I swear."
     "Look mate.., it was accident."
     "Well so was your birth!" Charles snapped. Bengiman began laughing he thought his remark was funny.
"And what is so amusing." he asked shoving the mail back in the mailbox; which he found under an cottonwood tree.
     "Sorry, it's just that was a really good comeback, you were always so clever." Mr.Pruce took the mailbox he destroyed from him and tossing it in a Nandina bush said "Forget about this Charlie, we have work to tend to." he smiled a little evil smile beckoning Charles to climb in the s.u.v. "Get in I'll tell you what's going on."

More From Chapter 1

     Charles wanted a stack of pancakes, eggs Benedict with a huge side of crisp bacon and a gallon of milk, but he did what was right for his body and ate, instead, one banana sliced over yogurt topped with granola and almonds and honey. He washed this light meal down with a tall glass of cold grape juice. Rinsing his dishes and placing them in the dishwasher he turned off the kitchen light and went into the living room; which once was spacious but now was over crowded with the antique furniture Charles had purchased over the past year. He made his way past the collection of tables, paintings, objet d'art all covered by white sheets wondering how he collected so much stuff so quickly. He knew it would all one day be worth a fortune as for now he went upstairs to get the items he would need for his 'appointment'.
     He went down to the last room on the right and unlocking it Charles flipped on the light and went in. Sitting behind a long metal and glass desk Charles thought for a moment about what would be best to put Oliver down. He spun his desk chair around to the large medical supply cabinet behind him. "Let me see," he said taking out three small vials of deadly poison: tetra dioxin, succinylcholine and potassium chloride. He then took four syringes out and filled each with certain various amounts of the liquids. He placed these in a small black zippered bag used by diabetics and slipped the slim pouch in his inside breast pocket. Charles took a pair of surgical gloves from the cabinet filled with drugs, bandages, medicines etc... and put them in his pants pocket. Charles stood up, locked the door and went back downstairs. Mr.Pruce would soon arrive and Charles wanted to be outside waiting for him, he didn't like Bengiman in house not after what happened last time. Charles grabbed his keys and sunglasses opened up his front door and stepped outside into the full fresh fragrant morning. He took in a deep refreshing breath and looked around at the pure perfect morning. The sun hung low over the eastern horizon casting long cool shadows over the emerald green, perfectly manicured lawn as the sickly-sweet scent of the dogwood trees permeated the air. Birds began stirring in their nests waiting for the warmth of the sun to awaken their insect prey, softly chirping waiting for the day to begin. Nature was just about the only thing Charles valued. All was serene and calm until, off in the distance, Charles heard the thump, thump of a car stereo turned up way too loud, heralding the arrival of Mr.Pruce.

More Chapter 1

     Putting his self hatred and loathing at the back of his troubled mind Charles brushed his teeth before getting into a steaming shower. He was too weak to stand so he settled himself down on the tiled floor as hot water pulsated over his aching muscles as the pain in his head abated momentarily. "Ah," Charles said as he exhaled deeply while the thermodynamic properties of the hot water helped to expand the veins and capillaries of his cranium. He found relief under the water so he sat there for as long as he could before he had to get up and get ready for another horrible day to begin.
     After his headache subsided he climbed up out of the shower hurrying to shave and comb his hair. Wrapped in a thick white robe Charles went into his walk-in closet emerging five minutes later dressed immaculately in an expensive hand tailored Italian merino wool suit, black like his short,slicked back hair. He adjusted his Armani silk tie that matched his Prussian blue french cuffed shirt. Charles looked at his reflection in the full length mahogany mirror. Charles was pleased, he could still pull off the G.Q. look. Even though he felt horrible about every aspect of how his life turned out, he still looked like a movie star. He thought how nice he would look in his coffin in this suit. He thought he would be a fine specimen for the old boys at the mortuary. Then he laughed to himself a little knowing full well he would not be so lucky as to have a funeral. There would be no friends or family to bury him. As good looking as he was, it would never really matter when he ends up in a small bag of ashes, and bits of bone and teeth, in a box, on a shelf, in the basement of some funeral home. Charles exhaled turned off the light then went to the kitchen to eat something before Mr.Pruce arrived in twenty minutes.

Chapter 1 Continues

     As Charles arose out of bed every muscle and joint in his body ached he felt more like a man of sixty then forty. He felt old, broken and alone. Charles slowly made his way to the open window as the curtains softly billowed up gently brushing against his right hand as he reached out to close the window. When there he saw a black mass moving behind the curtains on the window ledge as he slowly moved the curtain back he jumped with a startled scream as a massive black cat hissed up at him lashing out with a huge paw, white fangs bared, slashing the back of his right hand, tearing four long crimson gashes, with all the pain and precision of a surgeon's scalpel. "Jesus Christ!" Charles shrieked as the startled cat leapt from the window sill down out to the lawn where it disappeared behind a long row of lilac bushes. Blood spurted from the wound as he slammed the window shut, with so much force it nearly shattered. Frightened and in sudden agony he stepped back as he saw fresh red stains on the white drapes Charles stumbled to the bathroom to clean and disinfect the wound.
     Fumbling to turn on the light he went to the sink and ran cold water over the scratches though it caused him great pain to do so. As the water flowed he looked up at his reflection in the mirror. His dark blue eyes were bloodshot and glazed, his short black hair was greasy and disheveled. Charles noticed his blond roots were beginning to show and he would have to dye his hair again soon, but he hadn't the time this morning. He had not shaved in many days, nor brushed his teeth, he felt a thick coating of plaque and bacteria on his tounge like a blanket of algea. He looked into his cold dead eyes and wondered if he had any remnants of a soul remaining after all the things he had done. Shaking his head Charles let out a heavy sigh feeling more alone and isolated than ever before.

More of Chapter 1

     "Hello." Charles answered softly.
     "Good morning." came Xation's deep Latin voice.
     "What time is it?" he yawned.
     "It is time for you to get up and go to work." Xation informed Charles as he sat up in bed dreading hearing those words come out of Xation's mouth. Saying nothing Charles wished, more so than ever, he had managed to build up enough courage to swallow those damn pills. Too late to kill myself now he thought as Xation continued "Do you remember the artist I had visit me last summer, at my ranch in Argentina?"
     "Vaguely." he replied "Why do you ask?"
     "I need you to go and pay him a visit this morning, Bengiman will pick you up in an hour. He can tell you more. Oh, and Charles, be prepared, you may have to kill this one." Xation said a little distracted.
     "How?" Charles asked upset by the news.
     "However." he said calmly "So get up out of your lonely bed and get cleaned up, make yourself presentable." Xation hung up the phone.
     Charles set his phone back down just as the grandfather clock down the hall softly chimed five times. Shivering slightly Charles sat up taking the little bottle of pills in his hand he threw it against the wall; which it bounced off of falling to the floor, then it rolled along the hardwood floor gently bumping against his big toe. Charles bent down picked up the bottle and set it back on the nightstand. He would just have to try again tonight.

Continuing Chapter 1

     So it was with much gentleness and great care the old man led the doomed, unfortunate soul slowly down the long corridor. Making their way through the tunnel the rattling of the chains echoed down the hall then back again. Furiously his heart beat against his chest, feeling as if it would surely burst as a rush of blood pulsated in his brain. He walked with much difficulty in great pain and not a word was uttered between the two men as they came to a door. It was a massive, twenty feet high, double wooden door with a large X carved into it, from top to bottom. The old man pushed it opened as it creaked and moaned under its own weight. There they stood on the threshold of a brightly lit chamber and the horror that awaited. Gazing up the chained man's eyes widened then watered,his heart sank as he beheld the sight of the shining, sharp, gleaming guillotine.
     The little man's eyes lit up like a boy at Christmastime as he smiled with a glow about his face as he stared at the newly fashioned, ultra-modern, finely crafted, killing machine. The prisoner grew very dizzy, nearly fainting and the old man had trouble steadying him on his feet. Carefully he led the condemned man over to the long metal platform where his body would lie. There the happy little fellow lay his prisoner face down, with no thoughts of releasing him from his chains, although he begged to be released if only to kneel and pray. His last request was refused with a laugh. His heart raced as he felt the cold metal brace slide down over his neck, this was to prevent his head from thrashing about, so the cut would be nice and clean. A frigidness crept up through his body to his bones as he felt the old man stroking his hair as is if to provide some last bit of human comfort. Then he whispered something softly in his ear in a language he did not recognize.
     He began to panic as he caught sight of the basket on the floor in front of him, it was just large enough to accommodate a human head. The old man positioned himself behind a long metal handle protruding from the device. A paralytic fear gripped the prisoner as he struggled to breathe, an uncontrollable trembling caused his chains to move and shake, a little. The old man shook his head placing his hat over his heart as he reached out resting his hand on the lever controlling the forty pound, razor-sharp blade. With a click the terrified, poor, unfortunate man heard the sudden rush as he cried out "Sauve moi!"
     Clutching his throat Charles awoke choking as he shot up in bed his heart racing, body aching. It was the terrible dream haunting him once again. On the verge of hyperventilating Charles did his best to catch his breath and calm down, all while a vein on the side of his skull pulsated painfully with every rush of blood from his heart, he thought surely it would burst. Drenched in sweat the silk sheets clung to his muscular thighs as he tried kicking them off with no success. Breathing in slowly he stared up at the ceiling, he was freezing. Charles looked around his dim bedroom seeing the softly billowing curtains of the window he had neglected to close last night. It was a cold Spring night here in North Texas and very early in the morning a pale blue light from the slowly brightening sky filled his room. Charles was alone. He lay there a moment longer ,fixated by the blowing of the curtains; which gently blew in the breeze causing his tension to cease. His heart calmed the pain subsided as he breathed in deeply with ease.
     "God help me." he said into thin air as he glanced over at the nightstand, where the small, still full bottle of vicodon sat next to a glass of water; which he had placed there with the full intent of swallowing the entire contents of the bottle. However, yet again, Charles had lacked the courage of his conviction and had fallen asleep whilst contemplating the dread deed. He let out a heavy sigh growing more depressed and disgusted with himself than ever before. Then the telephone rang startling him a little. He knew there was only one person it could be calling him so early.

Chapter 1 contiues

     Click,click getting closer. One step, two steps, getting closer. With each dreadful footfall the helpless man's heart and mind filled with morbid fears of a variety, heretofore, unknown to him. If only he could free himself, he would scurry away out into the empty city streets and disappear forever, but there would be no escape. Still he struggled trying to move but the heavy weight of his chains kept him always in one place. Then he closed his eyes and gave up hope as he felt the presence of someone standing over him.
"Look up." came a raspy voice in a whisper as tense as wire.
Lifting his head slowly the terrified man opened up his eyes where, to his surprise, stood a small, frail, elderly gentleman dressed in a dark suit with a wide-brimmed hat pulled down over his eyes. His complexion was as pale as a bottle of milk, with deep grooves and wrinkles etched into his face. A strange pale blue light seemed to emanate from him. His eyes were black as coal. He gave a little wink to the bound man as he stared down at him with a look of disgust mixed with pity. He smiled a wide, toothless grin as he beckoned for his prisoner to stand, but stand he could not.
The little man bent down slightly grasping him by the elbow. Smelling like Lilly's he proceeded to lift the chained naked man to his feet. This tiny old man had a huge well of strength in him as he lifted the condemned prisoner up, as easily as if he were merely plucking a weed from a garden. Now standing upright the chained man towered over his captor, and if were not for his chains he could have easily choked the life out of the odd looking little fellow, who smiled up at his prisoner with a laugh as if sensing his murderous thoughts.

Chapter 1 begins

     In the darkness of a long dank tunnel a naked man, in chains, leans against the cold stone wall. His hands are tightly bound behind his back, his head hangs low, eyes closed as water drips down beside him while a violent storm rages. Breathing is difficult as the frigid air cuts deep into his lungs like tiny shards of glass. Every muscle in his body ached from the heavy weight of his chains; which bit into the flesh of his ankles and wrists causing him to bleed slightly. The poor confused, frightened man could not recall how it was he came to be trapped down in this terrible place, with no hope of escape. When suddenly out of the blackness a loud banging of a door being slammed shut echoed down the corridor, followed by the click,click, of footsteps getting closer to his position. Panicking he stumbled forward blindly falling on his knees with a crack! An excruciating painful sensation shot up through his knees to his legs to his groin, finally settling in the pit of his belly; which churned up a bitter bile into his throat tasting of blood and sulphur as it spewed out onto the floor splashing back on his face and chest.