Two absolutes in the world of hardboiled crime: prison is where crooks go to become criminals. And payback is always a bitch...
One thing's for certain, you'll never look at that Chris Farley flick the same way every again.
One thing's for certain, you'll never look at that Chris Farley flick the same way every again.
Tommy Boy by Laramore Black
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I never thought I’d do another…but just one more job. One
more job and I’d be sipping martinis with umbrella straws on a beach somewhere.
The shrimp cocktails, goddamn I could taste those. A simple smash and grab was
all that was needed of me.
Within minutes of entering and firing off warning shots,
the floor was covered in cowering bodies and crying echoed off the walls. It
must have been amateur hour because Tommy wasn’t paying attention to his
hostages. A daring teller tripped an alarm but soon met his end at the end of Tommy’s .45.
“Fuck,” Tommy says, “They’ll have us surrounded any
minute!”
“Stick to the plan,” I say, “we’ll be fine. Gather the cash.”
I’m already lying.
The red and blue lights slowly begin flickering through
every window. There is no way we can make it out of here free, or alive for
that matter.
Tommy is just a street thug, always one step away from
being a complete lunatic. I have to remain confident to stop him from going
ballistic. I want to keep him from the crowd of people, so I let him be the one
to crack the safe with the manager at gun point.
My prediction of time measures the screaming, and gunshots
come in after the vault is opened.
“Tommy, what the fuck was that?” I say.
No answer.
“Tommy, what the fuck?”
This is a mess. “All right,” I call out to the crowd, “if anybody moves, I’ll
kill them.”
The crying, sobbing, and
sheer over-dramatized noises of the bank’s daily suburbanite visitors drains
into the background as I move swiftly to the back, every step mixing the
ambience of the separate atmospheres. I slow down to examine the sounds to
predict the upcoming confrontation.
Light sobbing.
Is that someone from the lobby
I am hearing?
I take another step
approaching the corridor to the vault.
Panting.
I take a step around.
It begins to grow louder.
Manlier.
Upon recognizing the sound
of the voice, I consider the situation assessed.
I burst through the vault
door, never expecting the sight that lay on the other side.
There is a heavily
breathing Tommy rising to his feet, pulling pants over his freshly moistened
member.
“You know,” he stammers, “I
figured we’re going to prison.”
“Tommy.” It is all I can
say, over and over, while watching what must have happened play out through my
head. The bank manager lay in the corner. Her breasts ripped out of her shirt
and no clothes below her waist. Barely breathing and bleeding out across
thousands of dollars.
The nail marks on Tommy’s
face show she put up a fight. Unfortunately, for her, it looks like Tommy put
up a bit more. He had fired a round into each of her elbows to stop the
squirming, but even then she must have kept fighting because he had fired
another two rounds. One in each of her kneecaps. Then spread her damaged legs
for swift access.
By the time he finished she
must have been in such a catatonic state from shock, he was practically screwing
a corpse.
“You motherfucker,” I say.
“Do you have any idea what prison feels like?”
Tommy begins to shake his
head no as I backhand him with the barrel of my gun.
“Get used to that, Tommy.”
On his head’s return to
look me in the face, I flip the barrel into my hand and deliver a swift pistol
whip to his temple, knocking him to the ground.
“This part of my life was
supposed to be over!” I scream standing over him.
Tommy begins struggling to
stand up. I put bullets through each of his elbows. Then he begins crying and
flopping his shoulders on the floor. I go to roll him over on his stomach, but
he keeps kicking at me and trying to roll over. So I shoot out his kneecaps as
well.
“How do you like it?”
The sound of gunfire, bone
and concrete are exhilarating.
“The place you’re going
will feel like this. It’s a place where the predators become the prey, where
the strong become helpless at a monster’s whim. Are you listening? Tell me,
Tommy, are you still feeling like a tough guy now?”
But I’m not going back.
That is all I can think as
I remove his pants.
I’m not going back.
I repeat that line as if
other thoughts don’t even exist as the repetitions sync with
the strokes of my hand across my dick, before strapping myself into Tommy for
one last ride into sweet insanity.
Soon the sounds of blood
drips and smacking meat blend with a foreign noise; it is rubber rapidly
clacking across concrete. They must have stood there stunned for at least a
minute. Unsure whether to restrain me or let me finish. Three people, one dead,
blood covered cash, and my dick thrusting away at unconscious Tommy’s ass.
When the climax comes, lost
in a euphoric daze, I grab my gun, and look up to the SWAT officers, smiling…
“I’m not going back.”
