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The Thread: Graceland

With so many newbies around, it’s probably best to start this with a description. The Thread series is a collaborative writing exercise in which writers take turns building on a single story by adding roughly “500” word sections. These sections are posted in the “comments” box so that the story can be read as a single tale. Please, do not post comments in the comment box as it will disrupt the flow of the story. Below are just a few rules to help this run smoothly:

1. If you’re interested in writing the next section, please come to the forum named, “The Thread: Graceland,” and leave a note. This is to avoid having two or more writers working on the same section. You could say something like, “I’m gonna do the part after Beckett Grey.”

2. Keep you sections to around 500 words. I’d like many people to be able to participate, and this should enable it.

3. End your section with the characters on the verge of an “event.” This will make it easier for the next writer to pick up where you left off.

4. Follow the characteristics that have been established for characters. If in one section “Johnny” has blonde hair, then he should still have blonde hair in your part too.

5. Do not post comments in the comments box. That space is for the continuation of the story. If you wish to leave comments, please do so at the forum.

6. Please submit your story within 48 hours of signing up. This is to prevent the thread from being bogged down.

7. Above all else, have fun, be creative, and get involved! These can be a heck of a lot of fun but it depends on you. Feel free to add or delete characters and to take the storyline in whatever direction you feel necessary. It’s really the only way something like this can work.

Thank you. Now on with the story.





Graceland, a greasy place modeled after Las Vegas and Atlantic City, is populated with all things sinful, like hotel casinos, night clubs, strip joints and prostitutes, and while its surface seems somewhat seedy its dark underbelly is even more so.

The restaurant named the Mirage is strategically located on the waterfront. It caters to Graceland’s elite and as a result, the dining area is open and well lit. People eat here more to be seen than the cuisine, which is expensive and served in small portions on oversized plates. The seating area is tiered with the highest level located in the back next to the large glass windows that afford these powerful diners a spectacular view of the bay and the yachts that travel there.

The bar is tucked in a shadowy corner and it is here that Kyle sips on his gin martini. Assassins rarely have the social clout necessary to garner a table, and he is no different. He stares out over the crowd of mostly “have-s,” who are being served by the “have not-s,” when he notices them all turn to face the door. It is the signal that his mark has arrived.

In a city where celebrities play it is unusual, if not altogether unlikely, that a police detective would rise to such status, but Det. Paul Landsdale has done just that. Graceland’s most famous son glides into the restaurant and receives the adulation that is usually reserved for conquering princes. As if they rehearsed, the diners all stand and clap. Some call out and wave and Kyle cannot help but notice the number of women who appear to be blushing.

“Shit on a stick,” the assassin says under his breath as a great ball of envy forms in his belly. He turns to the bartender for a re-fill, but the young man is applauding and staring at the detective in such a way that one would think they were lovers. “Oh forget it,” Kyle says, “and the same goes for your tip.”

The bartender doesn’t seem to notice and this irritates Kyle all the more. “What is it about this cop?” he thinks. And though Kyle would never admit it aloud, it is obvious that the young detective is quite handsome. His shoulder-length brown hair is combed back off of his forehead and his face is decorated with classic features that appear in the shape of his nose to the dimple that adorns the cop’s strong chin. Kyle cannot help but rub his own nose and chin for a comparison and the fact that they both feel weak and small does nothing to his dwindling self-esteem.

“Fuck him, the city and everyone one who loves him. Tomorrow a new name will be on this city’s lips and it will be mine.” Kyle removes the pistol from his pocket and takes aim. For a moment, he imagines the bullet ripping through the popular officer. He pictures the diners screaming, crying and mourning as the watch their hero collapse in a bloody heap.

Inside, the assassin is filled with an immediate sense of joy and buoyed by this feeling, he gladly pulls the trigger.


------
If you have no questions or fears about your abilities, then you will learn nothing from your mistakes and know nothing about your limitations.


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The following comments are for "The Thread: Graceland"
by Richard Dani

Graceland: part II
With an audible click the gun produces a small flame from the barrel, revealing it as a novelty lighter. With a quick motion of his left hand, he retrieves the cigarette from its resting-place behind his left ear and lights up. Cigarette, dangling in his mouth, he uses a quick slight of hand to make the lighter vanish into thin air, while in actuality dropping it into his right coat pocket. No, only an amateur would go out like a vengeful cowboy. A pro would use some finesse.

Kyle grabs his drink and begins circling the room; glory boy has taken up position with a group of newly rich hoping to gain validation by his presence. Kyle makes his circuit of the room, enjoying his smoke and sipping his bourbon, a casual observer, in a sea of casual observers. Detective Landsdale has settled into conversation with one of the younger more delectable female members of the group, allowing himself to enjoy the perks of his celebrity.

Kyle takes one last drag off the cigarette, before extinguishing it at a nearby vacant table, with a twist of his wrist he sends Kentucky’s finest spilling onto his jacket. "Do or Die." He mutters as he begins his purposeful stride toward the handsome detective. Kyle eases his left hand into his jacket pocket, palming the small packet of powder concealed there, his stride taking on the look of a stagger, halfway to his target. The bump is textbook perfect his left hand deftly depositing the contents of the packet into Paul’s drink, while his right hand, is waving his bourbon about, drawing attention.

"Sorry," he slurs as he continues past the staring couple. "How rude, some people.." the woman’s disgust is drowned out by the room’s ambient noise. A frown temporarily cracks the detective’s statuesque looks, but, his smile returns as he resumes his conversation with the pretty young thing.

He directs his stagger towards the men’s room, walking in such a way as to be able to keep an eye on his intended victim. A cold chill ripples down his spine as he watches the detective sip from the glass.

"Bang" he whispers, as he enters the bathroom.

( Posted by: kross [Member] On: August 17, 2002 )

Graceland: Part III
Still playing the role of drunken oaf in the chance that another patron should enter the bathroom and sense a change in his demeanor, Kyle staggered over to the line of urinals, fished himself out of his pants and stood there head down, hiding his satisfied grin from view. This job was too easy, to think that he had almost considered turning down this assignment because of the risks involved in eliminating such a well known public figure, but the payoff had been too sweet.

The door to the bathroom swung open, letting a burst of dinner conversation and the music from the restaurants sound system before it swung shut. In the silence that followed Kyle heard the tapping of footfalls approaching, probably boots or hard soled shoes on the white tile floor, whoever it was coming right toward him.

“Nothing to worry about, just some other drunk needing to tap a kidney.” Kyle reminded himself as he let his head slip forward resting his chin to his chest, lips parted slightly, expression slack and unfocused, eyes on the stained urinal lozenge in front of him. He heard a stall’s door open then close, followed by the sound of a zipper. Waiting a moment he began to raise up slightly, eyes still down and zip and button his pants muttering drunkenly under his breath. The years in the drama club in high school had really paid off.

All that was left to do was make from the bathroom to the front door, catch a passing taxi and collect his payoff in the morning. Only a few more minutes and he was home free. Kyle straightened up and was just about to head to the door, when he felt something hard and cold press against his neck.

“Pretty impressive, that little stunt with Landsdale’s drink. What was it? Tetrabenocycline, or perhaps a bit of something more pedestrian: rat poison. It would be appropriate for that scumbag.

Recognizing the honey over whiskey sound of the voice, Kyle turned around slowly a cautious smile playing over his face.

“It’s been a long time, Abigail. Too long to tell you the truth, I’ve missed you. Are you still pissed about that weekend in Jersey?”

Abigail didn’t respond. Her smile however, which would have been impish if not for the compact Glock in her hand, said it all. She blew a strand of her chestnut curls out of her face, and pointed the Glock directly at Kyle’s groin.

“What do you think?”

( Posted by: Bartleby [Member] On: August 17, 2002 )

Graceland: Part V
“Pull the trigger Abbie and they’ll be in here in seconds. You think that a cop like Landsdale is going to let you walk out of here. No, I think you’ve been setup.”

Kyle slowly, with constant force pushed forward into the barrel of the Glock.

“Stop. You’re just trying to talk your way out of this”

“Keep your voice down Abbie, you’ll get us both caught. Think about it. He’ll look like a hero if he catches you.”

Abbie’s hand started to shake. It was the opportunity that Kyle needed. It only took one moment of indecision. Kyle pushed forward hard putting Abbie’s hand at an awkward angle. He stepped inside pushing her wrist out, snapping it, and taking the gun. In one swift move he’d spun her and put his hand over her mouth to cover her scream.

After bouncing her head off the sink a few times, she was out like a light. He propped her up on one of the toilets in a stall. Kyle returned to the sink to wash up, splashing a little cold water on his face to help clear his mind. If Landsdale knew, then this was a setup from the start. The real question is why? Even better, who?

Kyle dried his hands and face before leaving the bathroom. He’d have better chances of getting out of here if he was in public. As Kyle walked out of the bathroom, he could see Landsdale looking across the room at him. The look on Landsdale’s Face was priceless. He tried to recover with his patent pending, trade marked, shit-eating grin. Kyle’s temper was starting to get the better of him.

Abbie could always get under his skin. Telling him he was slipping. Who did she think she was? Kyle returned to the bar and refilled his drink and wandered the room. It’s all about the angles. Scanning the room, Kyle started to notice things he wished he hadn’t. Before, he was focused on his mark. The room was full of people who didn’t belong. It was little details, they way they watched everyone else. The seemingly random patterns in which they made their rounds, but weren’t random at all. These were pro’s alright.

This wasn’t going to be easy. Kyle knew he wouldn’t have another chance to get close to his mark and this thing was getting worse by the second. Kyle pulled out his smokes and fired one up. For all he knew, it might be his last one.

Kyle knew this could get messy, but he had to get out of here before the shit really hit the fan. What would Landsdale really do if he tried to walk out? Kyle decided he was just going to walk out the front door.

Kyle slowly made his final round of the room before heading for the door. No one seemed to be watching him. Kyle grabbed his jacked and started for the door. Two goons stepped forward. Kyle kept walking like he didn’t notice. He tried to push past them.

“Excuse me fellas, it’s getting a little crowded in here tonight”

“Sorry, we can’t let you leave sir” One of the goons said. “Mr. Landsdale’s orders”

Kyle could see two more guys approaching from behind him. He knew for sure this was going to get messy.

( Posted by: Chrispian [Admin] On: August 18, 2002 )

Graceland: Part VI
It was too late, he knew.
These guys were huge. He hadn't got an icicle's hope in hell of slipping past them, not without drawing attention. So, he stopped, biding his time, waiting for his moment.
There was the familiar sensation of having a a solid, cylindrical object thrust into his lower back. Kyle gulped, beads of sweat almost formed on his brow. And, then one of the hulking goons behind him spoke.
"Somebody wants to talk to yous, in the kitchen."
Just like that. The accent, thick and drawling, was so stereotypical, that Kyle had to choke back a laugh.
So, ~someone~ had involved the Mafia in this? No prizes for guessing who.

"No problem," Kyle thought, as he allowed himself to be bullied through the swinging double doors.

The stench of heated bodies which swept past his face was almost solid, despite his human shields. The tasteful piano music was immediately drowned out by clatterings and calls. Chefs and waiters scurried about, the new scrubber dropped one of the canoe sized dishes, smashing it to smithereens, adding to the scene of chaos. It really was like stepping through the Mirage, and seeing the reality behind it.

Not one of the many workers looked up, when Kyle and his mock entourage entered. In fact, they all seemed to be doubly intent on their menial tasks.
"Thanks muchly for your help," Kyle muttered, as he was wheeled past a young vegtable chopper, who dared to take a fleeting look out from the corner of her eye, before quickly returning her attention to the counter top.

The Mob Squad steered him round a corner, to where overworked grills and ovens raised the temperature from unbearable to 'swimming in a vat of boiling lava' heat.
Kyle pushed the thought aside, when the goons in front of him parted, giving a clear view of a tall, suited, American-Italian.

"Well, well. Kyle Cole. We meet at last."
Something in the way this guy spoke reminded Kyle of a coiling rattle snake, all cautious and certain of itself at the same time. ~His~ accent made Kyle want to do anything ~but~ laugh. It made him want to get the hell outta there, as quick as possible, in one piece. It made him wonder how he always managed to underestimate situations like this, and also if this was going to be ~the~ situation that ended all that.
He, stupidly, but inevitably, decided to play it cool.
"I am flattered that my fame has travelled to your remote little piece of Pizzeria-ville, whoever ~you~ are. But, don't you think it was a bad idea to wear white with all these grease balls flying around?"
The guy smirked, dangerously.
"This is my play suit, I'm allowed to get it dirty. Besides, white shows up blood stains so well...After this, I might never wash it again."
"Doesn't your Mamma do your laundry?" Kyle taunted, aiming to distract the snake into striking before it's moment.


( Posted by: Jasmine [Member] On: August 19, 2002 )

Graceland: Part VII
“Hey, Kyle, I ain’t gonna fall for your little schoolboy taunts, but my boys here will,” he signalled to his big muscle-headed goons, two of whom took a limb. They tugged at Kyle’s slim but toned body.
There was a pop as Kyle’s right arm tore out it’s socket.
The goons let go.
Kyle’s arm lay hanging lifeless by his side, as he bit back the searing pain in his arm and shoulder. “Anyways, I gotta be goin’ now,” said the Italian American with a big smile on his fat face. “Even though I’d love to stay an’ see you being torn apart, I gots important business to attend to, this restaurant don’t run itself, ya know.”
“Well, guess I’ll see you around then. I would wave but –wait- my arm doesn’t move.” Kyle gave a sarcastic grin.
The tall fat Italian headed for the door, turning just before he opened it. “By the way, Cole, just so you gots something to tell the gatekeeper, tell ‘em Maurice Muertie sent ya.” He chuckled to himself, then carried on through the doors, motioning two of the beefy boys to follow.
“Now,” said the goon to his right, in a very strong Chicago accent.. “How’d you like your arm? Stewed or served wit’ salad.”
He boomed at his own wit.
“I dunno. I always thought it would be better steamed, served with seasonal veg,” Kyle responded, a slight smirk on his lips.
“You’re a real funny guy you, know that?” said the other henchman, patting Kyle on his dislocated arm.
“Seasonal veg for this time of years is carrots and peas,” came a young woman’s voice from behind them.
All three men turned. It was the vegetable chopper, and she was holding a U.S Socom 45 with laser sight and silencer attached. It was pointed right at the trio. “That fine with you boys?” Without waiting for their answer, she aimed and fired twice
The two men drop to the floor, as the spent casings bounced and danced on the floor beside them.
“Do you always get in this much trouble when I’m not around, or just when you want to take it easy and let the girls do the work for you?” said the young girl holding the gun.
“Its nice to see you too,” said Kyle, breathing a sigh of relief. “So, what are you doing here anyway?”
“I’m here on official business and was getting quite far, but now I’ll have to find another way of getting the evidence,” said the girl looking quite annoyed at Kyle.
There was a big bang as the double doors were thrown open.
“What the hell was that?” said Kyle.

( Posted by: Colwyn [Member] On: August 19, 2002 )

Part VIII
The doors to the kitchen slammed back and forth as the kitchen staff hastily departed, putting distance between them and the two dead bodies sprawled on the floor.

With a shrug-like movement Kyle popped his arm back into it’s socket, “Damn, that hurts,” he muttered. Rebecca’s gaze darted about the room, taking in everything. Kyle pulled Abigail’s Glock from his belt with his right hand, drawing his own .45 out of its shoulder holster. The other two Goons burst into the kitchen, fumbling for weapons concealed beneath they’re jackets.

Thwip, thwip. Two more bodies hit the floor. The time for subtlety was over. Kyle walked over to the stove, taking a moment to examine the massive appliance. He grunted with satisfaction as he found the gas line leading into the back of the stove. A sharp boot heel to the line was all it took to bust it free, flooding the room with fumes. Slipping the Glock back into his belt, Kyle produced his pistol lighter from his jacket pocket. He eased over near the kitchen doors, before igniting the lighter. A quick flip of a thumb switch locked the lighter on.

“What in the Hell are you doing Kyle?” he could hear the edge in her voice. Rebecca was not a risk taker. “I scoped the place out before coming in here today,” His voice was calm and steady, no need to get her worked up before absolutely necessary. “They keep the service entrances locked with reinforced locks, so we gotta go out the front.” He laid the lighter on a steel preparation table near the door, once again take out the Glock.

Using the tip of his .45, Kyle eased the kitchen doors open a crack. The sounds of chaos washed over him, people shouting, momentary glances of people running this way and that. “C’mon girl, we need to make the most of this.” Kyle forced his way through the door, making a straight line directly for the entrance. Three armed figures loomed near the door.

“There he is!” one voice blared above the din.
“Damn.”

Kyle fired off three rounds, dropping one thug and sending the other two diving. The whisper of Rebecca’s silenced .45 ensured that one of the diving thugs would not be getting back up. Three more brutes barged through the entrance, semi automatic weapons blazing. Kyle dove for cover, as bullets ripped past. He heard a few grunts as Rebecca took a few rounds in her chest. “Damn, damn, damn…” The entrance was no longer an option neither was sitting still. The large floor to ceiling windows overlooking the water, presented an excellent alternative. Launching his self towards the windows, Kyle emptied the Glock’s magazine into the glass, right before throwing himself through it towards the water below.

( Posted by: kross [Member] On: August 21, 2002 )

Graceland: Part IX

Mr. White’s chair seems small compared to the large wooden desk that looms like a mountain range before him. He waits for Laslo Moran, who has taken a position at the window and appears to be lost in thought. The office is dark save for the errant rays that sidestep Laslo Moran’s bulk. Laslo can feel his sphincter tighten as he eyeballs the Mirage and the chaotic scene that surrounds it.

“What a clusterfuck,” Laslo says more to himself than his guest.

Though the restaurant is three blocks away, the police cruisers and their flashing lights are quite visible. As are the crowds, which have strangled the local traffic turning the streets into congested lines of steel and glass. Behind the eatery, boats cruise the waterway slow and with caution as they search for Kyle Cole.

Laslo pans to his right and staring back at him is a large billboard adorned with Paul Landsdale’s image. The officer’s face emits confidence and authority.

“Are you aware of today’s events?” Laslo asks.

“Somewhat,” Mr. White answers in a voice that is deep and rough.

“A low rent hit man named Kyle Cole tried to take out Graceland’s pride and joy. I assume who know who I’m referring to?”

Mr. White grunts in agreement and Laslo continues, “To put this in perspective, that’s like someone strolling into Disneyland and blowing the head off of Mickey-fucking-Mouse. Christ, we, and by we I mean myself and the rest of the Casino Commission, have not spent millions to create this freaking mascot to have some numbnuts wipe it out. Paul isn’t just a police officer. He gives this hellhole some credibility…and an air of respectability.”

“Was Kyle successful?” Mr. White grumbles not sounding as if he really cares.

“Fuck no… but he was close. That nimrod dumped poison into the wrong glass and to make a long story short, there’s a corpse with a great set of tits chilling at the morgue. Now, since these backward ass cops haven’t found Kyle’s body yet, I’m going to assume he’s alive and well. I want you to find him, and when you do, make an example of him…Turn his freaking body into hamburg. Ya got me? I want every two bit hood in town to know that Paul is off limits.”

“Yes sir,” Mr. White responds while massaging the bulk of his left hand with his right. The flesh of his paws are callused and scarred as if he’s made snowballs from shards of glass. “Do we have any leads?”

“Exactly two. A broad was found in the men’s room. Her face looks like someone mistook it for a soccer ball, but otherwise, she seems to be in good health. She’s currently in police custody and I’ve already arranged for you to meet her. Secondly, another woman, who was in cahoots with Cole, was shot up pretty bad. She’s at ‘Our Lady of Mercy.’ She supposedly stable, but with all of the tubes running out of her I doubt she’ll be able to do much more than blink a response or two. Any more questions?”

Mr. White responds with a shake of his emotionless head.

“Good, and when you’re done with Cole, you know what to bring me?”

“Yes sir,” Mr. White pauses to stand. Then, with all the compassion of a cyborg set on kill, he continues, “You’d like me to bring you his eyes.”

“Excellent…and this time keep ‘em chilled. I don’t like them when they’re chewy.”

( Posted by: Richard Dani [Member] On: August 21, 2002 )

Graceland: Part X
Kyle wiped the water from his for head, pushing his hands through his hair to try and squeeze out as much water as he could before pulling himself the rest of the way up the boat dock. Exhausted, he sprawled out on his back to catch his breath. He looked around from his vantage point flat on his back to make sure no one followed him and that no one was lurking about. The docs were clear other than a stray fisherman here and there. Kyle pulled his smokes from his jacket pocket and quickly realized that they would do him no good.

“That figures. This God forsaken night just won’t let up.” Kyle muttered as he pulled his lifeless body to it’s feet.

Kyle walked several blocks more before exiting the docks giving him time to dry off, and to think. He knew he was in way over his head now and that he’d need help to get out of it. But first he had to get somewhere he could lay low to make a few calls. Kyle took four buses, circling around town several times. First uptown, then back downtown, then over to the east side and back before getting off near one of his safe houses. Kyle walked up the old magazine stand on the side walk to grab some fresh smokes.

“You look like you had a helluva night mister” the old man grumbled.

“Tell me about it. Some days it just don’t pay to get outta bed.” Kyle said, shaking his head while he took the pack of cigarettes. “Where’s a good place to grab a bite to eat around here?”

“Up the street there, about two blocks or so there’s a diner. Food’s nothing special, but it’s a pretty quiet place. Nobody asks a lot of questions, if you know what I mean.”

“Thanks pops. Keep the change.” Kyle said as he turned to walk down the street. He hadn’t had anything to eat since breakfast. He didn’t like pulling jobs on a full stomach. Kyle walked a bit and could make out the diner ahead. He could smell the greasy food and his stomach growled at him. He pulled out the pack of smokes and matches and huddled out of the wind to light up and he felt a sharp pain on the back of his head.

Kyle shook his head and tried to clear his vision. The room was dark except for the huge light shining in his face. He could feel the heat off of it, and the sweat running down from his arm pits suggested he’d been there a while. His arms and legs were tied to the chair along with duct tape for good measure. He could see the ropes binding him. They were black and looking like nylon cord. Which meant these guys were pro’s and not just some greaser mob thugs. The good news was no one would be using a mallet on his fingers or toes. The bad news was they’d be using drugs, needles and chemicals. This night was getting worse by the minute.

( Posted by: Chrispian [Admin] On: August 24, 2002 )

Graceland: Part XI
Mr White casually walked through a door at the other end of the room and walked towards Kyle.
“Ah, glad to see you have regained consciousness, Mr Cole,” said Mr White.
“Yeah, thanks. It was good to have a nap,” replied Kyle, with sarcasm in his voice. “OK, before we start with the torture, can I get some answers?”
“Ask away,” said Mr White.
“OK, first off, who wants Officer Lansdale dead? Secondly, why is this man such a celebrity? And thirdly, what happened to my friend from the diner?”
Mr White signalled to his guards to leave him and Kyle alone.
“I am the one who had the contract put out on Mr Lansdale’s head. Secondly, the reason he is like a celebrity is, because he is an icon of public safety in this cesspool. He’s like Donald Duck, to give people a safe image.
“And the reason I want him dead is because I want more power. I work for a syndicate called the Gambling Committee. I’m like the low-end person who runs errands, tortures people, and the like.
And your last question: the female is in our lady of mercy Hospital, but she isn’t doing too good.
“Now, I’ve answered your questions, you can answer mine. Can you kill Lansdale, no screw ups this time?” he sneered. “Secondly, would you do my boss?
“His name is Eric Laslo. I have pictures of him. There are some weapons in a nearby beach house, where you will go and rest up, and prepare.
“The lady friend who you took out in the toilet is in custody down the station, so I’m on my way there to take her out of the equation.
“So, you go out through that sewer there and get to the house. Here’s the key.”
With that Mr White took a knife from his pocket, and cutting Kyle free, gave him the key to the house. Kyle took the key and made his way through the sewer system till he came to an outlet pipe. He climbed out into a blazing hot day where the sun was bright and the water was warm.

Mr. White turned round, pulled out his gun, headed for the door. He tapped for it to be opened.
As one of the heavies looked, he got a piece of hot cylindrical lead in his forehead. Then, the other one did too.
Kyle heard the two gunshots through the pipe. He thought to himself, “Why do I always choose the clusterfucks that end up destroying whole towns?”
Kyle headed to the house, took out the key and let himself in.
“Whoa! This place is huge,” said Kyle, out loud, as he walked through the 200 square foot living room.
He proceeded through to the kitchen and opened the fridge. It was full to the brim with different kinds of cooked meats, salad vegetables, and beverages, of all types, were cooling in the door.
Kyle decided he needed a shower, since he had just walked, ankle deep, through all sorts of crap in the sewer. He went and got undressed, stepped into the huge enclosure and turned on the water.
After his shower, Kyle made his way down to the kitchen to make himself some food.
He got out a joint of ham, took a knife from the drawer and started carving.
Someone approached him from behind.
“Don’t move, Cole,” said the strange voice.
“Fuck this,” Kyle thought to himself.
He dropped the knife to the floor, blade up, catching it between his toes.
He raised his hands. As the stranger moved closer, Kyle kicked, his right foot ending up over his shoulder.
The knife had pierced straight through the brain. Kyle reached behind him with his left hand, and the corpse twitched as he removed the knife. The body slumped to the floor.
As Kyle wheeled round, two more thugs walked through to the kitchen…

( Posted by: Colwyn [Member] On: August 28, 2002 )

Graceland Part XII
The hospital is like a giant hive with nurses scampering from room to room. Exhausted, overworked and underpaid they barely have time to notice Mr. White and those that do are too afraid to get in his way.

Mr. White glides down the over-waxed corridor while ignoring the smell of ammonia that fills the air. He enters room 328 and lets the door swing closed behind him. Inside, a desk lamp illuminates the room but the bed clad in white sheets is quite visible. As is the patient who has a tube running from her trachea, one from her left nostril, one from her bladder and an IV tucked into the back of her right hand.

Ignoring the whooshing sounds of her breathing apparatus, Mr. White approaches Rebecca’s bed and whispers, “It seems you’ve come to the wrong town and stepped in the wrong pile of shit.”

The patient’s eyes flutter but otherwise, she does not respond. This saddens Mr. White. He considers the “suffering” to be one of the perks of his job and unfortunately, this patient seems to be shielded by medications. He sighs deeply and removes the pint-sized bottle of bleach from the interior pocket of his dark blazer. He unscrews the cap and peels back the protective seal allowing the chemicals to bleed into the air. With one gloved hand, he yanks the trachea tube from the patient’s neck creating a jagged, plum-sized opening in her throat. The woman opens her gray, distant eyes in time to see Mr. White bury the bleach bottle into the wound. Some of the acrid liquid backs out of her neck and some seeps out of the sides of her mouth. But Mr. White is satisfied that enough has made it down her throat and into her lungs.

With the container empty and the woman twitching, Mr. White heads for the window. He knows that one of the machines will signal the medical staff. He slides the glass pane over and kicks out the screen as the beeping device behind him flatlines and buzzers begin to sound. With one leap, he is on the sill and another he is descending two floors to the first story roof. He lands with a tumble and rolls back to his feet. Five quick strides and another short drop, he is on solid ground and heading for the police station where one last witness needs to be silenced.

( Posted by: Richard Dani [Member] On: September 2, 2002 )

Graceland: Part XIII
Kyle threw the sharp instrument of death.
It caught the first goon straight in the throat. Then using his skills, Kyle jumped, catching onto a low ceiling beam and clambered up. He jumped to the next one. Then the next, until he was above the second Heavy.
He dropped onto the guy’s shoulders. His thighs wrapped around the man’s neck, cutting off his airway. With a sharp movement, Kyle shifted his weight, and flipped, the head still clamped between his legs. Goon number two's skull crunched on the concrete floor. Blood sprayed from the mutilation.

"Now, how could they have found me?" Kyle said to himself.
He sighed, taking the serrated edged knife from the neck wound of the minion. He strolled over to the joint, and carried on carving.

At the front desk, a burly man appeared, flashing a Sergeant’s badge.
He said, in a slow lingering voice, “ I’m here to question Abigail Holt. I believe you are expecting me.”
The young rookie looked extremely nervous. Mr White sneered.
“Let me just check. Sir,” he added, taking the badge. He looked at the number and checked it against the database, in the computer.
He handed it back. He spoke precisely, tense around such an important Official. “Yes, Sir. She is being held in interrogation room 7. Would you like me to show you to it?”
“No. I’m sure I’ll find it.” An evil grin spread over his face.

He walked on down the corridor, looking at signs for ‘Interrogation’.
There seemed to be none. On the right, however, almost hidden in an alcove, was another desk, which was labelled just that.
“Here to see Holt. Number 7,” stated White. “Buzz me in.”
“Yeah, ok.” The pencil pusher, judging by the look of his deep lined features, was a veteran, who had probably seen more action than half the force but had been indignantly ‘promoted’ to a desk job.
*BZZZ*
The door lock released, and Mr White strode into another corridor.
“It’s the third room on the right, Sergeant,” said the vet.
“Thanks.” Mr White responded, pitying the great men that were overlooked in the wake of piss ants, like Lansdale, who fed on publicity and not much else.
He stalked towards door number 7.
He opened the door, slowly, smiling grimly at Abby.
He closed it, quietly, behind himself, and shut the metal blinds on the tiny window.
“Hello, young Abigail,” Mr White said as he approached the desk.
“Who are you?” she replied, looking uneasy at the sight of this suited Colossus.
Mr White turned away from her, blocking his hands from her view. Removing a polythene bag, from his right hand pocket, he placed his left hand into it, pulling out a black cylinder. He reached under his left arm, unholstering the .45, and screwed on the silencer. He placed his entire right hand, gun and all, into the bag, and tied it off with an elastic band.
“You’re probably wondering what this is all about? See, pistols have this annoying habit of triggering smoke alarms.” His back was still turned towards her, as he finished off his preparations. “The bag will stop this from happening. Also, it’s handy for catching loose casings.”
He turned, flashing a menacing grin, and cocked the hammer.
Abigail Holt barely had time to draw breath, but the look of terror, that White had been hoping for, was in her eyes.
He drew back on the trigger, before she could scream, and unloaded a round between her eyebrows.

( Posted by: Colwyn [Member] On: October 1, 2002 )

Chapter XIV
As Mr. White is standing over Abigail’s motionless body, Kyle feels her fall as well. It aches in him like a veteran’s war scars after the years of battle are gone. The vibe is something he hadn’t felt for years on end. Feeling it now was refreshing,, new, and valuable to his soul. It escapes him why he feels it now after so many years of blindness to it. It hurts him to realize why he was feeling it. His connection to her was strong and now it was tragically ended.

“Oh well,” he forced the harsh thought from his mind, “business is the cause, and the cause is what matters now, just an acquaintance.”

He knew the thoughts he materialized weren’t true though. She was a smart girl, a great deal of potential to make him great if he could have kept their relationship to business, which he never could. She could have been the driving force behind his own rise to power over Landsdale. Kyle knew he was now merely and grunt worker in the planned demise of the great man. It disgusted him to feel what it was like to be reduced in such a way. The end of his last true friend had not left this decaying world. He was left to his own devices.

At that moment he felt as though he could have been struck by lightening, but it wasn’t like that. It was like a refreshing blast from a cool mountain spring. A clean spring, as they existed in the older world. He felt a new reason for his life. And he began to believe there was a real purpose for him, to avenge. Freedom from his doomed career was imminent. A new world lie just around the corner, and he was determined to set foot in it.

Out the door he flew. Thoughts blazing through his already wicked train of thought. “Now it’s my turn. I’ll take the fame, and make justice for Abbie.” He thought as he ran off into the darkness. He was off, off on his new quest…to find Mr. White. He was first on the list.

( Posted by: free_mind_7 [Member] On: May 16, 2003 )





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