Status: completed.
The Betrayal
The Fourth
Somewhere across the way, a transaction of the same nature but a different species was occurring. Similar to the alleyway, the abandoned factory was filled with the stench of walls caving in and sanitation long forgotten. A few people lay huddled in blankets, curled into themselves because their abysmal lives were better ignored, but they were quickly disposed of with a few lightweight pistols.
Mama was nothing if not efficient.
The pair was an odd one, but nevertheless they worked well together. Butch was a very small man with large hands that almost resembled claws, wiry brown hair matched with dull eyes. He was extremely thin and almost seemed to bend in on himself; his constant shaky hands and jerky movements did not help to dispel the uncomfortable air he put forth. Butch was not the same breed of thug as Vinny – in some ways he was much, much worse.
Mama, on the other hand, was not quite as proper as her husband. Her leather motorcycle jacket covered up a bullet-proof vest which she always wore with spandex jeans and heels that never made a sound. She wore her long, black hair down and wild to offset her light green eyes, hard enough to penetrate even a fortress of lies. Of course, she would never shock her son with this attire, but it was perfect for her “workplace,” and so she donned it faithfully every morning.
“Do you have all the necessary components, Butch? I should not like to have to deal with you as I did last time. Disappointment is what hurts me most, you know that, don’t you Butch?”
“Yes ma’am, oh yes I know it very well, I most definitely have it all today ma’am, there will be no need for reinforcement, no ma’am I have it all.” He unconsciously rubbed at a bandage on his left arm, ragged nails tracing over the slightly soiled protector carefully, but when she looked away he fixed a look of pure malice upon her.
“Wonderful,” she said softly, her voice laced with clever malice, “do let us begin. Our customers don’t like to wait for their poison.”
Butch brewed his best that day.
Mama was nothing if not efficient.
The pair was an odd one, but nevertheless they worked well together. Butch was a very small man with large hands that almost resembled claws, wiry brown hair matched with dull eyes. He was extremely thin and almost seemed to bend in on himself; his constant shaky hands and jerky movements did not help to dispel the uncomfortable air he put forth. Butch was not the same breed of thug as Vinny – in some ways he was much, much worse.
Mama, on the other hand, was not quite as proper as her husband. Her leather motorcycle jacket covered up a bullet-proof vest which she always wore with spandex jeans and heels that never made a sound. She wore her long, black hair down and wild to offset her light green eyes, hard enough to penetrate even a fortress of lies. Of course, she would never shock her son with this attire, but it was perfect for her “workplace,” and so she donned it faithfully every morning.
“Do you have all the necessary components, Butch? I should not like to have to deal with you as I did last time. Disappointment is what hurts me most, you know that, don’t you Butch?”
“Yes ma’am, oh yes I know it very well, I most definitely have it all today ma’am, there will be no need for reinforcement, no ma’am I have it all.” He unconsciously rubbed at a bandage on his left arm, ragged nails tracing over the slightly soiled protector carefully, but when she looked away he fixed a look of pure malice upon her.
“Wonderful,” she said softly, her voice laced with clever malice, “do let us begin. Our customers don’t like to wait for their poison.”
Butch brewed his best that day.