The Funerals Of Those I Killed

I gotta tell you, I'm numb, wrung out. It's been a very downer day, one of the worst. It's tougher being a criminal than I could've ever imagined. A weird mix of adrenalin and testosterone and we kill easily, then it wears off. "Did I do that?" There was a story the other day about a guy who lived with the skeletal remains of his girlfriend for six years. I know the feeling. It's tough to get over what you've done.

It's even tougher for me, because I'm still a fairly new criminal. I just started this month! And I'm having a hard time shaking the person I've always been, a non-criminal. Killing guys has its upside, don't get me wrong, but there's something unnatural about offing other people's enemies who aren't your own.

So far, though, I'm relatively innocent. I've only killed three guys, two I didn't know and one I was familiar with, the Ciggie gang member who wanted to bar me from Tastee Freez. The first two, I'm not sure what they did to deserve death. Maybe it's like the minister said, they were "senseless deaths." As for the Ciggie, try as I might to be merciful, I believe he had it coming!

Don't worry about me, though, please, because I'm going to get it. Although I'll probably have to do something different than I did today, which was to go to these sons of bitches' funerals. That might be a first in the world of crime, to have three funerals in one day for guys who were killed, then to have the guy who did it in attendance. But nobody knows I had anything to do with it. So I, Machine Gun Ricky Wayward, can come and go as I please! LOL, kind of funny, to be sitting there as these scumbags are canonized! Assuming indeed they were scumbags...

The first two, I don't know. Maybe they owed something on a bet, or hooker fees. And that's fair. You owe, you pay. We provide a valuable service, but it doesn't pay for itself. Their funerals were similar, each in the same funeral home, one in the morning, one in the afternoon. The two ministers consoled the families. One guy had a wife and a couple of kids, the other was single with an elderly mother, looking to be on her last legs. Of course I had my natural sympathy, offering the wife, then the elderly mother my condolences, while reflecting they were straight out of Central Casting. Right down to the worry wrinkles on Mother.

The ministers didn't make a full exploration of how they were mixed up with criminals. Possibly they didn't think it was the time or place. One's biggest lamentation was reserved for the "animals" who did this, and for how "senseless" it all was. I had to wince at the "animals" remark, prompting me to remember him, remember his name, then any physical characteristics that might stick out were I to encounter him some night in the dark.

The Ciggie's funeral had more spirit to it. They were playing '80s rock music, and a contingent of about 15 actual Ciggie members were there. I was dressed in a suit and tie and kept closer to the normal mourners. None of them seemed to recognize me, which was just as well; I may predate the '80s in my basic musical background, but I'm still too young to die.

The minister here, though, was just as conservative and reserved as the others. He paid tribute to the Ciggie's life, naming among his hobbies, painting farm scenes on saw blades and restoring wagons to share with handicapped children. He and his wife -- she with a sad stoic look -- also volunteered at the nursing home, handing out bananas and other prizes to the folks there enjoying Bingo night.

I had to check the program to make sure I was in the right place. This guy deserved to die?! Over a possible misunderstanding about Tastee Freez?! I'm thinking, What kind of animal would do this? Then, of course, it all came back to me... Oh yeah, he was a son of a bitch!

I'm Really Having A Hard Time Killing

When I gave up my normal life for my present life of crime, there were certain things I was sure of. One, that I would really enjoy it, especially the thrills. Thus far I am completely convinced it was the best choice. In fact, my conviction goes so far as to proclaim, This is the only life worth living, the life of a criminal. But, two, I was also sure my reputation would take a hit, and it has.

I'm like anyone else. All this time, I've had the sense that my readers looked up to me, and even looked to me as a role model. I've gotten your emails, and have treasured the confidences you've placed with me about the hang-ups in your lives. For a while, yes, I answered them one by one, giving advice on how to overcome certain difficulties. Then when it got too much, I set it all aside, feeling the mountain of need was too much for one lone man. But I kept you in my thoughts and prayers, always wanting the best for you. And along with that, I was careful to set the best example I could, knowing that in looking up to me you would be greatly encouraged.

I should probably just admit it, now that I've turned to a life of crime, you've been a lot less willing to trust me. My blog traffic has completely fallen off. I figured you'd still be checking in just to see if I'd "returned to my senses" and rejoined normal society. The short answer to that is, I haven't! But it doesn't mean I'm not still the same basically good person somewhere down deep. Because I still am!

How is this for evidence: I'm really having a hard time killing people. It's damned tough. I've had the opportunity for probably 15 hits so far. That's all these guys think of, needing to kill an enemy for some perceived slight. The "normal" side of me says that's going way overboard. You should try to work things out. He might be your enemy today, but with patience -- and dare I say, grace, forgiveness -- you might work it out and be best of friends. But, no, that's not in their basic nature, for whatever reason. Shaken as babies?

So a couple times, frankly just to take the edge off their nerves, so I myself wouldn't be killed, I've had to go out and off a couple of guys. Their offenses were explained to me, albeit feverishly and without benefit of adequately knowing the other guy's side of the story. I've watched these guys go ballistic over getting revenge, knowing, saying to myself, their relief would be brief. Why don't you off them yourself? I'd ask. And you probably know the answer, They've got a lookout for me! But you, meaning me, could get in there and pop them, and no one would be the wiser.

It's distasteful to me to have to do it, but it's hard to quibble with the reasoning. I'm a newbie. I don't quite have the gritty, sour look of a hardened criminal yet. I might be the pizza guy. I might just be an honest neighbor out for his exercise. I have that friendly look. I wave over the hedge, "Great night, isn't it!" But then, I pull out the gun and pop 'em right in the temple, and I'm off. So I had two jobs like that. Idiots who had it coming.

The only killing I've done for myself -- and I swear there's only been one so far -- is the Ciggie who tried to scare me off from Tastee Freez the other day. I hated that roughneck son of a bitch telling me that I couldn't go to Tastee Freez! Imagine the nerve of the guy, a bonafide hoodlum if ever there was one. Well, I drove by a few times, and, guess who I see? Him, standing there with one foot on the side of the building and the other foot naturally supporting his body weight. He looked like what he precisely was, a real creep.

What I did next I know sounds coldblooded. But I didn't want him to get the jump on me. And the best way to do that is to take him completely by surprise, and kill him without the slightest mercy. I parked in the farm implements parking lot just west of there, across the street. I darted across the road to the north, then came up behind the building. It was amazing. He didn't know what hit him, just one deadly blast in the vital organs. I didn't wait to do an autopsy -- I was gone before he hit the ground! But I shall return to the scene of the crime very soon, for a refreshing sundae!

I confess these incidents not to titillate or to brag, but only to throw myself on the mercy of my readership. I'm not so bad! It's only three killings ... out of a dozen or more that I could have done by now. So you can still trust me. I'm still here for you.

Do Criminals Just Know Each Other?

This is the last thing I would have expected! I've been around this town all my life, and nothing has been off limits to me. I went about my business in all parts of town, never giving a single thought to whose turf it was.

And that's the way it is for everyone else. We always go freely wherever we want, to the grocery stores, gas stations, garage sales, and really everywhere. Sure, I'd always heard rumors about criminal gangs, but since there was never any trouble from them as far as I was concerned, I figured they had a clubhouse somewhere and the rest of the rumors were just overblown.

Now it looks like I might have to watch my step, now that I too am among the criminal class, officially a member of the Skids organization. I've got a map of the town at this link, how the gangs have everywhere divvied up. The Skids have the central district. If you look at the map, we're the only landlocked organization, which might pose a problem if the others get the idea of starving us into submission. That's a fear I have now, a fear I never thought of before, again, because of the easy, unimpeded access to the town I've always enjoyed.

I was going on that assumption earlier today when I buzzed out to the Tastee Freez for a hot fudge sundae. Of course now I know the Tastee Freez is in the Ciggies' district, something that never occurred to me before. I have literally never had any inkling of it. But today, there I was, and a guy with a cigarette stopped by my table and said, "I smell a Skid." I thought, What? I don't smell any different than I ever did, I hope. But I suddenly realized, maybe I do! I haven't been home for several days. I've been sleeping on a couch in one of the empty places on Skidrow, right in the heart of the Skids' headquarters. This guy's obviously honed his senses, if he's able to smell out that you're a criminal and which organization you're with!

I thought maybe I could be cagey, saying, "I don't smell anything, except that cigarette, and I believe this is the non-smoking section." Little did I know he wasn't in a mood for sass. He grabbed me by the lapels and lifted me from my chair. I felt ridiculous, hovering between heaven and earth with a little red plastic spoon in my hand. If I'd brought a gun, I could've killed him and finished my sundae at my leisure. As it was, I'd be lucky to escape with my own life, not to mention my investment in the ice milk treat.

But I thought, This is no time to show fear. You have to show confidence in the face of these bastards, criminals. So I said, "Put me down, Ciggie, if you know what's good for your health. Of course you don't or you wouldn't be dragging on that butt!" He smiled, a big tar and nicotine brown smile, not quite as brown as the hot fudge but still brown enough. Then he lowered me back to my chair. I looked in my bowl. Not much had melted during the interlude.

He pulled out a chair, but instead of sitting on it normal, he flipped it around and sat on it backwards. I thought, Good grief. I'm a criminal myself, but this dude's classless. He proceeded to lecture me about turf, and that the Skids needed to stay in their own place. He pointed out, rightly, that we have a DQ right on the edge of our turf. I allowed that, that he was right, but said I'd been eating at Tastee Freez for years, like everyone in town. "That may be," he said with menace, "but those days are over. Now you're a Skid!"

The whole thing hit me in a terrible way. Just because I'm a criminal, I'm not allowed to go to Tastee Freez!? It's almost enough to scare me straight! What good is a life of crime if you're restricted like that? And obviously if I can't go to this one store, then everything else is off limits, including garage sales. And I've been to a lot of them in this section of town. It's sort of middle class, not too rich, not too poor, so the garage sales are pretty good, things not usually overpriced like in the rich section, but not dirt quality like you see in the poorer neighborhoods. I'm going to have a hard time adjusting!

How did he know me? Was it truly just the smell? I didn't smell anything. If every criminal knows every other criminal, that's really going to cramp my style!