Monday, March 18, 2019

Southie Unbound by John Patrick Robbins


The bag was already around his head duct tape around the neck.
And the agony of suffocation was in its last seconds.

Ben didn't enjoy the scene it just becomes part of your existence.
Bruce on the other hand was different sort of sick.

Philip tied to the chair was fighting a losing game.
His body convulsed fighting for air.

Bruce sat in front of him and viewed the whole thing.

"God he really takes longer than anyone I have ever seen to die."

Bruce laughed.

"Man this prick got any beer in that fridge?"

Ben opened the fridge without a second thought.

It was a sad situation some old Chinese food cartons and a bottle of ranch dressing.

And of course a few cans of beer.
Well guess if old Philip had the bank to have a fully stocked fridge he probably would have had enough coin to pay his fucking debt.

Ben took two beers out.
Tossed one to Bruce who still sat directly in front of Philip’s now lifeless body in the small living room.

Bruce cracked the beer took a drink and spit it out all over Philip.

He looked at the beer.

"What the fucks this Goddamned shit."

"I believe it's spring IPA in other words what candy as yuppies call beer."

"Yeah well it takes like yard clippings and piss fuck this shit."

Bruce said as he hauled off and punched Philip’s face.

It was a weird sight as the head was like a speed bag.

Ben twisted as it was had to laugh.

"Yeah don't take any shit from him there Brucey, I mean he should have went and bought some better beer being we came all the way across town to kill his ass."

"Fuck you Ben that shit is disgusting besides I never liked this prick anyways!"

"Well he’s fucking dead and this isn't a bar so unless you want use this guy as a punching bag some more lets split."

"Yeah fine by me man hold up one second."

Bruce said as he went through Philip’s pockets looking for his wallet.

It never failed Bruce always had to have something extra.

He eventually produced it taking whatever money was in it.
Tossing it aside down at Ben's feet.

He didn't know why he did but he picked it up.

Looked through it found some pictures of what could only assume was Philip’s family.

There was a gorgeous blonde with a cute little girl.
They looked happy.

Ben tossed tossed it away.
You just can't think of shit like that in this line of work.

And Philip was no saint but still he was somebody's father and husband.

Playing God was something that never sat well with Ben.

And everytime he did something this fucked up he just wanted to turn a the gun on himself even more.

But this was his job.
He had a penchant for violence.

He texted the number with the code word let let the boss know it was done.

And as they sat warming the car in the parking lot outside the Riverview apartment complex.

Ben saw that same little girl walking hand in hand with her mother.

The little girl looked towards their car.

Bruce didn't notice and for once Ben was happy his coworker was a sloppy bloodthirsty psycho.

Although he thought maybe just putting a bullet Phillip’s family was far more merciful.

Then forever scarring that child from the vision of hell that lay on the other side of that door.

And as they drove off Ben remained silent.
As Bruce rattled on.

Gleeful as he played with the radio.

"Man that this job fucking great dude lets stop by Killarney's fucking first rounds on me you silent prick."

"Yeah sounds good."

Ben replied as Bruce just was in the glee of a job well done.

He was ready to get blasted out of his socks probably get some crack and burn through his money as always.

Ben would sip his beer and wait patiently.

For little did his partner know Ben's night was far from over.
There was no off the clock for him.

The only difference in this job from any other is when the moment came to punch Bruce's card.

Ben would for once enjoy his work.

There's no rest for the wicked and no walking away from this life.

Sometimes you just have to take out the trash.

Bless me father for I am sin.











About John Patrick Robbins:


   John Patrick Robbins

Is the editor of The Rye Whiskey Review, Under The Bleachers and Drinkers Only.

He is also the Author of Smoking At The Gas Pumps by Soma Publishing and A Cold Beer Beats A Warm Heart by Alien Buddha Press.

His work has also been published here at the,

Dope Fiend Daily, Ariel Chart, The San Pedro River Review, The Mojave River Review, Stanzaic Stylings, Blognostics,  Red Fez,  Punk Noir Magazine,  Blue Pepper, Angry Old Man Magazine, Spill The Words, Academy Of The Heart And Mind, Piker Press, A Beautiful Space.

His work is always unfiltered 




No comments:

Post a Comment

Donna DeBonise by Dan Provost

The first love of my life… I would suck in my fat when she walked by with her zit-faced best friend Laura Stark. I asked her out in 7...