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Twins in Death: Chapter One – Part Seven

Twins in Death

A Tale of The Weirdo

By Brett N. Lashuay

 

 

Chapter One: The Ballad of Captain Scourge

 

 

March 11th, 2002

3:21 p.m.

 

            The Weirdo was sitting with Tommy and Jack in Central Park watching the world go by. There was something odd about their lifestyle, which allowed them to be some of the most famous and at the same time, anonymous people in the city. Everyone knew who they were, but people rarely ever seemed to notice them. That is to say, they were known on their TV screens, and if they saw them they recognized who they were, but they were never bothered. There was some sort of aura about them that said just leave them alone, don’t hassle them.

 

            It was because of this that they could sit around Central Park and watch the girls running around in tight clothes because it was a sunny day. Jack was wearing a silk jacket and a pair of jeans with a gray t-shirt that had the name of a pub in Kilburn on it. Tommy was wearing a pair of gray Dockers and a blue oxford shirt, the sleeves of which he had rolled up. The Weirdo looked the most disreputable of them all, wearing a pair of gray sweat pants, a gray shirt in the Henley style and a light flannel shirt.

 

            The Weirdo was noticing the girls, looking at them by their aspects, the hair, the legs, and the breasts. He noticed the way that fashion seemed to dictate that he be able to tell if they were wearing underwear or not. He could make out the lines of the bras under the shirts and the lines of panties along the buttocks. He wondered if other people noticed and then wondered how they couldn’t. If he asked, they would most likely say that now that he mentioned it they did notice. He often found that people didn’t notice the most obvious things. He always noticed them though. The Weirdo was born with a problem in that he didn’t have any filters. He saw everything, heard everything, noticed and thought about everything.

 

            He watched as the women went by, wondering if they noticed him noticing them. Did it please them to know he was noticing, and appreciating them, not leering, but appreciating? He liked to see people, but not talk to them. The Weirdo not only didn’t suffer fools gladly but would likely make the fool suffer after a bit. The worst thing you can do is turn an incredibly bored genius on a moron. If the genius has any social skills they will likely use those skills along with a sociopath hatred of stupidity to entertain themselves by confusing the idiot.

 

            It wasn’t quite summer weather yet, but it was warm today and people like to celebrate the fact that the winter has taken at least a respite if not gone into a full retreat. They watched the women in a way that only straight attached men in a happy love life understand. You could ask a woman or a gay man, or even a single man, but they wouldn’t get it. There is a special way that a man who is attached looks at other women. This has three distinct stages and is done without any turning of the head or making any gestures, it’s all in the eyes.

 

            First you have the initial glance of appreciation. This is the same thing a single man might do, but the head doesn’t move much, just the eyes. After the first glance to appreciate the body and movement of a young lady who for example, has the body for spandex and doesn’t mind wearing a pair of bright pink spandex shorts. The second stage is a bit more complicated, the subject, or girl is then compared to whomever the man has at home, the third stage is where the young lady is dismissed as she does not measure up to what they all ready have.

 

            When men get into a group, they sometimes will let certain parts of the rules slip, usually they will look with heir heads, or nudge each other, but this is rare or at least should be.

 

            These gentlemen were men of the old rules though, and thus only watched the girls, they did not discuss who was the better looking, what sort of underpants they might wear, or if they would be good in bed. These gentlemen simply observed what went by, enjoying the art of creation, as displayed by spandex and tight cotton.

 

            “Spooks already showed up for that kid.” Tommy said.

 

            “Oh yeah?” The Weirdo asked.

 

            “Took him away in a van that was heading for Virginia I understand.”

 

            “I see.” The Weirdo said and then looked to his right. He was staring into a thicket of bushes, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly. “Hang on a second.”

 

            He stood and walked slowly, without a sound. He moved not unlike a snake slithering in the grass. They didn’t see where he was going with this, but they could see that he was looking at something. Jack watched with interest, his hand simply resting against his right hip where the small pistol sat in its holster.

 

            The Weirdo stood back, watching someone who was crouching in a corner or something. A pair of young girls in spandex ran by, and The Weirdo was watching the corner. A young man stood up, a small revolver in his hand. The Weirdo’s hand snaked out, and wrapped around the young man’s hand. His other hand struck foreword and hit the man in the chest. The young man looked at him for a second and then began to run down the concrete path. The Weirdo watched him go and then came back to the other two men and resumed sitting on the bench. The Weirdo sat on benches by sitting on the back of the seat and placing his feet on the seat. This gave people the impression that he was somehow perching on the seat but it actually just gave him a higher eye view of what was going on.

 

            “I would like to point out.” The Weirdo said examining the revolver. “That I did not kill that young mugger, nor did I kill Captain Scourge.”

 

            “I have noted these facts.” Tommy said, “Why are you mentioning it is the question I would like to ask?”

 

            “Do we kill too many people?” The Weirdo asked. “I mean really, do we?”

 

            Tommy thought about this for a moment and looked at Jack who seemed to be thinking about it as well. They both had to think on that, as it was a complicated and complex question. You couldn’t just say yes or no to that, not if you were one of them. These men didn’t just make fast yes or no answers to questions like that. When it came to life or death matters they chose in an instant, when it came to unimportant discussions they took their time. It was important to make a well thought out answer at any rate.

 

            “Define too many.” Tommy said. “I mean are we talking in relation to Stalin or Pol Pot or are we discussing more along the lines of what the average guy does?”

 

            “Well,” The Weirdo said. “Pol Pot and Stalin had people do their killin’ for them. So I think we must be talking on a personal man to man scale.”

 

            “Killed a lot of people.” Jack said, his crisp British accent coming into the conversation. “I mean I’ve been doing this a long time and I’ve killed an awful lot of people.”

 

            “That’s what I mean.” The Weirdo said, emptying the shells from the gun into his hand. “I mean you take what happened at Christmas, we shot a lot of people then didn’t we?”

 

            “Well credit due.” Jack said. “They were mercenaries and what was left of the mob.”

 

            “But still.” The Weirdo said. “To have killed a hundred and eighty five people in three days. That’s a lot.”

 

            “There were four of us.” Tommy said. “Not to mention Cydrill and Piedmont, plus Michael Darrian.”

 

            “That’s seven of us all together.” Jack said. “That’s only about twenty five each.”

 

            “How many people do you know who kill twenty five people in a weekend?” The Weirdo asked.

 

            “Well.” Jack said, and then he paused, looking up at the sky. “I’ve been to several wars so I suppose I could say I know a few.”

 

            “And there are those people who wear hockey masks and carve up summer camps.” Tommy said.

 

            “And, Max only killed one.” He yanked the revolving magazine from the gun, it made a snap as the bits came out. He then snapped the trigger off and tossed the useless gun into the trash. “Brings up the average.”

 

            “I think that just proves we kill a lot of people.” Jack said. “I mean we must look to the delightful Texans and their unique style of justice.”

 

            “You mean how they take all the black men they can convict on any charge including jay walking and strap them down into lethal injection chairs and kill ’em?” The Weirdo asked.

 

            “Not quite.” Jack said. “I was thinking more along the lines of asking do they need killin’?”

 

            “So not killing them just because they’re black or Mexican?”

 

            “No.” Jack said, beginning to regret bringing up Texas.

 

            For someone who shoots people as much as he did, The Weirdo had a thing against the way that America kept up capital punishment. It wasn’t so much that he was against killing people, he was for that, he was against the way the state and federal government seemed to use it as a not so subtle form of ethnic cleansing.

 

            “Allow me to change my analogy.” Jack said. “I think that we, like Sanjuro, kill people because it’s a better world without them.”

 

            “Hmm.” The Weirdo thought on this.

 

            “And it usually is.” Tommy said.

 

            “I wonder sometimes.” The Weirdo said.

 

            “Besides though.” Tommy said. “You didn’t kill Captain Scourge.”

 

            “That’s true.” The Weirdo said. “I’ve gone this whole day without killing anyone in fact.”

 

            “So what are you worrying about?” Tommy asked.

 

            “I worry that we’re just extremely dangerous psychopaths who’ve been allowed to roam free because we haven’t shot anyone really important yet.”

 

            “You shot that senator.” Tommy said. “A bullet through each knee and one through the gut.”

 

            “Yeah and he was pretty important.” Jack said. “Head of an anti-porn commission and everything.”

 

            The event that these two are eluding two was a massive shootout where The Weirdo kneecapped a senator in a child brothel. It might be important to some people to make a long drawn out explanation of the events, but it’s really not important to the story. Suffice it to say that the senator in question had been found in the act of forced intercourse with an eight-year-old girl when The Weirdo shot him through the knees.

 

            “Yeah.” The Weirdo said. “But what’s another expendable republican in this world?”

 

            “So see, you fuck the important people up and they don’t mess with you.” Tommy said.

 

            The Weirdo’s head turned slowly to look and regard Tommy. A full ten seconds went by with The Weirdo staring. After ten seconds, Tommy raised his eyebrows and smirked. The Weirdo stared for another five seconds before smiling.

 

            “Why you suddenly worrying about this?” Jack asked.

 

            “I don’t want to be…” He paused, while trying to find the right word.

 

            “Evil?” asked Tommy who could read The Weirdo’s thoughts as easily as his own.

 

            “Yeah.” The Weirdo said.

 

            “I don’t think you’re evil.” Jack said.

 

            “No, me neither.” Tommy said.

 

            “No?”

 

            “No.”

 

            “How come?”

 

            “Cause you like kittens.” Tommy said.

 

            It wasn’t such a silly thing to postulate, many people who have been considered evil didn’t. Hitler liked dogs, Stalin liked dogs. Ivan the terrible, dogs. Many people like to point out that Hitler liked dogs claiming it to be his one good quality. History, however, shows that the worst, most destructive and above all evil people in the world, all liked dogs. Really, go check. The most evil and pernicious people in the world, not a cat lover in the bunch, they all liked dogs. The fact that a person prefers cats to dogs should be proof positive to anyone that they are not evil, and in fact prefer to be in the presence of the truly blessed. Some of you may think that I am employing “Pepsi-causes-murder” like logic here, but that’s just the sort of thing an evil dog lover would say.

 

            “Well that’s true.” The Weirdo said. “I do like kitties.”

 

            “And how can anyone who likes kitties be evil?” Jack asked.

 

            “Good point.” The Weirdo said.

 

            “So don’t worry about a body count so high even you can’t keep up.” Tommy said. “You’re making the world a better place, one case at a time.”

 

            “And if anyone says otherwise you could just shoot them and claim to be psychotic and they’ll give you some pills and claim it’s all okay now, he has his pills.” Jack said.

 

            The three of them laughed and went back to causally watching women and discussing the later works of Mark Twain, and how they differed from Tolstoy. This comparison gave a lot of area to talk about since the two authors are more disparate than similar.

 

 

© 2012 Autumn Knight Productions

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May 2, 2012 - Posted by | Uncategorized | ,

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