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ARTEMIS JONES. Part 7

Read Part 1. here
Read Part 2. here
Read Part 3. here
Read Part 4. here
Read Part 5. here
Read Part 6. here


Miss Big-Tits is in for a surprise tonight.


I gotta do this right. Get the right gear together, check everything twice.

- The Ruger P89, with weight compensator and red-dot scope.

There’s gonna be 5 people maybe more, figure 3 rounds per person, that’s 15 rounds. The P89 carries 14 in the mag and 1 in the chamber, so I am gonna need to load 2 mags to be on the safe side. Plus a second loaded P89 in case the first one fails.

Check.

- Tactical Bullet-Proof Vest because everyone needs Kevlar.

Check.

- Tactical Shin, Knee and elbow guards.

Check, Check, Check.

- Two Stilleto Blades.

Check.

- Two Flash-Bang Grenades.

Check.

- Finally, one large “Clean-up Kit” suitable for 10 bodies.

Check.

I get dressed, load the Clean-up Kit into the van and then head to the kitchen.

Its the same ritual before anything like this: Two Double shot Jamaican Blue Espressos. They keep me sharp and keep the adrenaline under control.

Besides, if I’m gonna die, I at least wanna have a good coffee first!


It is now 415am. With a bit of luck this should be over by 6am. Not that it matters when I do this, its just that I would like to get to bed before the sun comes up.

Knowing my luck – I wont.

I’m taking it easy now. Sticking to the speed limit. I’m not worried about cops pulling me over – they know better than that. Its just that from experience I have learned that you never ever run to a fight. That’s when you miss things and it all gets fucked-up. Take your time, go in slow.

This sort of job is not something you wanna rush.

It’s something you want to savour.

I put Barry Manilow into the CD Player, and start singing along.

“Her name was Lola, she was a showgirl…”

Nothing gets me in the mood for killing quite like Barry Manilow.


432am, I park 100metres down the road and head out on foot, keeping to the shadows and sticking to the walls. Keeping a wall beside you is important – it means you only have to watch a 180degree area.

Who knew you could learn usefull tactical stuff from your X-Box, huh?

I’m slowing my breathing now. Getting calm, getting in the zone.

1976 Marathon Street is a cinder-block warehouse, single level about 20 feet high.

First thing – check the outer perimetre at 50metres. Learn the landscape, workout my exit routes back to the van.

Next I move in closer checking the number of doors and windows. One large roller door at the front, one single door at the rear beside a small external toilet room. The windows are all louvres starting six feet from the ground – that’s gonna make it hard to get a look inside.

As I move towards the back door it starts to open, I freeze. I’m still hidden in the bushes.

One of Miss Big-Tits goons comes out and goes into the toilet. I wait ’till he starts taking a piss before I quietly make my way over to him.

This has to be a quiet take-down – its time for 8 inches of cold steel.

I stand beside the toilet door with my back to the wall, holding the stilleto back-handed. I hear him flush the toilet and zip-up.

As he steps out I ram the stilleto through his right eye socket into his skull then twist the handle down and up turning his brain into soup.

He doesn’t even make a sound as I catch him and gently lower him to the ground.

They have probably heard the toilet flush, so I have maybe 30 seconds before they get suspicious. I move to a window and get a quick look inside.

The dealer was telling the truth, there’s Miss Big-Tits and her four remaining thugs, sitting around a table with their backs to the door. Excellent!

Amateurs – you just gotta love them!

I move over to the back door, carefully unclip the two Flash-Bangs, gently reach through the doorway and toss them both inside.


I step inside and time slows down with the beat of my heart…

I am the Zen Master

I remove the first P89 from its thigh holster and sight down the red-dot scope on the first guy.

I breath in.

I squeeze the trigger.

His head explodes with the first shot. You just gotta love these Black-Talon rounds!

I am the Zen Master

Two steps forward, I breath out, I sight on the second guy.

I don’t even feel the trigger under my finger now. After the first shot it only takes 3 pounds of pressure to release the trigger again.

The whole side of his head becomes a rapidly expanding cloud of red mist.

I am the Zen Master

Turning to my left, I breath in.

I am alone in the universe, there is only me, the empty vacuum of space, and Barry Manilow… Lola she was a showgirl…

The third guy careens backwards as the third round enters his forehead spraying his brains all over Miss Big-Tits.

I am the Zen Master

I see the last thug going for the shotgun on the table.

…with yellow feathers in her hair and a dress cut down to there…

I have time, as he turns I drop to one knee and release two rounds into his chest and another two into his face.

I breath out.

I stand up.

I exist.

I am the fucking Zen Master

The world comes rushing back at me and finally I notice that Miss Big-Tits is screaming.

She is standing there covered in brains, blood and bits of skull. They cover her face and run down over her body. She reminds me of Carrie White at a High School Dance.

“What the fuck!” she screams.

She wont remember the next bit.

I slam my fist into the centre of her face.

Hard.

Hard enough that even Iron Mike would say “Dude, that’s too much.”

All she knows is something smashed into her face, and the world went black.

Black, and the sweet burnt perfume of spent gunpowder.

As her brain shuts down, she goes limp and drops to the floor. Her body makes a wet slapping sound as she hits the ground. Kinda like the sound you get when you drop a watermelon from 2 storeys onto concrete.

She’s not going anywhere.

I raise the roller door and walk back down the road to get the van. I’ll load the dead monkeys and Miss Now-I-have-a-broken-nose into their own body bags, clean the building, and with a bit of luck I should be back at Ballow Street in a couple of hours.

I’m gonna have so many bodies in my deep freeze that I am gonna lose the space for my Wagyu Steaks.

- The kid.
- Magilla Gorilla,
- the Drug Dealer,
- the five dead Monkeys, and shortly …
- Miss Newly Broken Nose.

Fuck.

Should I tell Miss Broken Nose now, or do you think she would appreciate the surprise?

Anyhoo, its time for some rubber gloves, a mop and bucket, and some showtunes.

I always find that anything from ANNIE really helps the time pass when I’m cleaning up after a job like this.

It’s a hard knock life…


Read Part 8. here

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Artemis Jones is a “Cleaner” for the crime bosses of New Hope City.

Think Film-Noir meets Sam Peckinpah.

Warning: Adult Content & Graphic Violence

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artemis jones

Brisbane-based artist with a passion for grainy B&W photography and digital post-production work. I also teach photography online at The Photography Critique & Advice Group

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Comments

  • Tim  Geraghty-Groves
    Tim Geraghty-...about 4 years ago

    Your a sick fuk Artemis Jones but in a good way. And I like your style.
    Now I’ve got a bloody Barry Manilow ear worm in my head. Damn you Artemis, damn you.

  • Call me “Tyler” goddammit!

    – BYRON

  • robpixaday
    robpixadayabout 4 years ago

    Wooohooooo!!

    This is so VISUAL! You paint superpix and make music with the words, too.
    Manilow for murder…hee……

    Seriously: Wow.

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