Week Six - Not My First Rodeo
11/16/18 05:50 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jenwithapenOkay, look. Obvs. fiction, but I wanted to try my hand at sympathetic hitman, so! We have a warning for triggers to... wow, I'm just not sure how to do this one. Okay, triggers for violence (though, I honestly don't think we go above a PG, here!) and the suggestion (again, I really think it's a light PG) of child assault! I totally understand, though, if this one isn't for you! No commitment here on reading. =D Maybe comments will help allay fears. Anyway, just wanted to be careful with this one!
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It wasn't Besht's first rodeo. Not my first, not my first he ambled in his mind.
It was a calming refrain. Not one of those things you just said, but when shit went sideways, it was always a decent reminder! Not my first, he cautioned, his hand still on the knob!
Life, as Besht'd decided, was the kind of thing where experience won out. Besht had been doing this kind of work since he was old enough to swing his dick. He had a natural aptitude. Hell, everyone said, and after what went down at Kahill and Ramblewood and Dowser, it wasn't like the world was leaving him many options, anyway.
So yeah, pick up a gun for country, or pick up a gun for sport, and everyone loves you, but pick up a gun for hire, and there's no wiggle room on what people think.
You're a monster, and that's just what Besht had become.
But if he could explain it, why he was standing at Eric Stanton's front door like he was delivering a pizza, or the evening news, he'd say there was more to it. He'd say that Celia and Marisol and twelve year old Vatti, who was still using a catheter after what he'd done to her nearly 14 months ago!... well, if he could say, he'd say he was doing it for them.
But this kind of thing was always messy. Not the killing part, that was always fairly clean -- a ritual his father had taught him -- but the cases were FOREVER a shitshow.
There was always a politician to bribe, or a long exposition on the whys and the wherefores. The only honest wisdom in all of it, quite seriously, was to just STOP!
But then he'd close his eyes, and the lines in his face would smooth and settle, and the deep dark scar near his temple would pound out his discord with every beat of his heart. There, in a chair in his study, he'd see the faces of every little girl he'd "fetched."
Turned out, Besht was a mighty fine dog.
So that's what brought him out to Eric Stanton's front door. Well, that and the red card. It's not like they had a whole lot of vernacular, but that was one. Red-carding a mark wasn't exactly literal, but he supposed the outcome was explicit enough! You turned a key inside a metal box and there you had everything you'd need. A name, a figure, a location, most times, even a clean gun.
And that's where Besht was having problems, tonight. Not really his gun, but apparently, Stanton had help.
Besht's heart squeezed, catastrophically, nearly crumpling him by the door. It was a total surprise when his knees held out. This was not his first rodeo. Not his first, the wheeze in his brain reminded him! The hole in his chest was still smoking, but it wasn't really a sight that he -- at the moment -- could see. The hole in the door was quite another thing.
And had his reflexes not been what they still were at 53, he's not sure he would have pulled off the shot that spun Eric Stanton fully around! But the first shot spun him, and the second put a stop to any motion the guy would make in the future, so... he was still considering it a win! Even with the smoking hole in his chest!
That didn't mean he was going to make the trifecta. Not only in getting help, but in getting it in time. It's not like he could stroll up to a clinic or an ER with a through-and-through about nine centimeters past the midline! Luckily, there were workarounds in place. But first, the girl!
She'd appeared in the man-made peephole Stanton put in the door, but considering he was dead, and she had no idea which end of this chicken-egg scenario she'd walked in on, of course, she was going to be a little standoffish. That wasn't the way she was at all, though. For some reason, it didn't really matter what their age, they all seemed to know what Besht was there for. Taking them home always seemed to translate.
The little girl was cold when she put her arm around him, after Besht'd talked her through opening the door. She was so small in his arms, he could feel each Swallow breath, the tiny cage of her ribs. How anyone could pervert something so innocent, he'd never understand.
It wasn't his first rodeo. He was losing blood by the bucket, but he could make it. He could! He was only six miles from the vet that would help him. Who'd help them both! He was so damn close. The car felt like it was skating on applesauce, and his world was starting to slide, but goddammit, if it was the last thing he was gonna do, he'd get it done!
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Nine miles off Route 9 in rural Pennsylvania, a small girl played in the mud. Her birdbone body spun around and around, swinging her gingham dress into the shape of a bell. He name was Daisy, named for the flowers she and her grandma took to daddy's grave.
Of course, the body in the grave never belong to her daddy, and they were as far from her grandparents as any person could be, but, if she grew up strong and she grew up happy, it would have been Besht'd dying wish.
It was still too soon to tell, but all outlooks appeared good!
It wasn't Besht's first rodeo. Not my first, not my first he ambled in his mind.
It was a calming refrain. Not one of those things you just said, but when shit went sideways, it was always a decent reminder! Not my first, he cautioned, his hand still on the knob!
Life, as Besht'd decided, was the kind of thing where experience won out. Besht had been doing this kind of work since he was old enough to swing his dick. He had a natural aptitude. Hell, everyone said, and after what went down at Kahill and Ramblewood and Dowser, it wasn't like the world was leaving him many options, anyway.
So yeah, pick up a gun for country, or pick up a gun for sport, and everyone loves you, but pick up a gun for hire, and there's no wiggle room on what people think.
You're a monster, and that's just what Besht had become.
But if he could explain it, why he was standing at Eric Stanton's front door like he was delivering a pizza, or the evening news, he'd say there was more to it. He'd say that Celia and Marisol and twelve year old Vatti, who was still using a catheter after what he'd done to her nearly 14 months ago!... well, if he could say, he'd say he was doing it for them.
But this kind of thing was always messy. Not the killing part, that was always fairly clean -- a ritual his father had taught him -- but the cases were FOREVER a shitshow.
There was always a politician to bribe, or a long exposition on the whys and the wherefores. The only honest wisdom in all of it, quite seriously, was to just STOP!
But then he'd close his eyes, and the lines in his face would smooth and settle, and the deep dark scar near his temple would pound out his discord with every beat of his heart. There, in a chair in his study, he'd see the faces of every little girl he'd "fetched."
Turned out, Besht was a mighty fine dog.
So that's what brought him out to Eric Stanton's front door. Well, that and the red card. It's not like they had a whole lot of vernacular, but that was one. Red-carding a mark wasn't exactly literal, but he supposed the outcome was explicit enough! You turned a key inside a metal box and there you had everything you'd need. A name, a figure, a location, most times, even a clean gun.
And that's where Besht was having problems, tonight. Not really his gun, but apparently, Stanton had help.
Besht's heart squeezed, catastrophically, nearly crumpling him by the door. It was a total surprise when his knees held out. This was not his first rodeo. Not his first, the wheeze in his brain reminded him! The hole in his chest was still smoking, but it wasn't really a sight that he -- at the moment -- could see. The hole in the door was quite another thing.
And had his reflexes not been what they still were at 53, he's not sure he would have pulled off the shot that spun Eric Stanton fully around! But the first shot spun him, and the second put a stop to any motion the guy would make in the future, so... he was still considering it a win! Even with the smoking hole in his chest!
That didn't mean he was going to make the trifecta. Not only in getting help, but in getting it in time. It's not like he could stroll up to a clinic or an ER with a through-and-through about nine centimeters past the midline! Luckily, there were workarounds in place. But first, the girl!
She'd appeared in the man-made peephole Stanton put in the door, but considering he was dead, and she had no idea which end of this chicken-egg scenario she'd walked in on, of course, she was going to be a little standoffish. That wasn't the way she was at all, though. For some reason, it didn't really matter what their age, they all seemed to know what Besht was there for. Taking them home always seemed to translate.
The little girl was cold when she put her arm around him, after Besht'd talked her through opening the door. She was so small in his arms, he could feel each Swallow breath, the tiny cage of her ribs. How anyone could pervert something so innocent, he'd never understand.
It wasn't his first rodeo. He was losing blood by the bucket, but he could make it. He could! He was only six miles from the vet that would help him. Who'd help them both! He was so damn close. The car felt like it was skating on applesauce, and his world was starting to slide, but goddammit, if it was the last thing he was gonna do, he'd get it done!
Nine miles off Route 9 in rural Pennsylvania, a small girl played in the mud. Her birdbone body spun around and around, swinging her gingham dress into the shape of a bell. He name was Daisy, named for the flowers she and her grandma took to daddy's grave.
Of course, the body in the grave never belong to her daddy, and they were as far from her grandparents as any person could be, but, if she grew up strong and she grew up happy, it would have been Besht'd dying wish.
It was still too soon to tell, but all outlooks appeared good!
no subject
Date: 11/17/18 01:06 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 11/17/18 01:39 am (UTC)Otherwise, as to the entry? Fantastic. You are always compelling to me.
no subject
Date: 11/17/18 09:26 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 11/18/18 04:37 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 11/18/18 10:02 am (UTC)I really dig Besht! He has such a rich history in my brain ALREADY, and I only just met him a few days ago! =D I'd love to create more Besht stories! <3
Thanks for your sweet, kind, and thoughtful comment! <3
no subject
Date: 11/18/18 10:02 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 11/18/18 10:04 am (UTC)I'm so grateful for the comment, sweetie! Thank you so much for being here!
no subject
Date: 11/18/18 10:06 am (UTC)Thank you so much for reading doll! I have you on my radar, I'm so close, too! LOL. Let's just hope I don't die out like right before I get there! Me and Besht! ;D
no subject
Date: 11/18/18 02:35 pm (UTC)Even before reading I was pretty much gripped by this:
wanted to try my hand at sympathetic hitman, I love reading and writing about villains, anti-villains, anti-heroes etc... more than any other kind of characters, so I was really excited to see that.
And this story delivered :D I absolutely LOVE Besht so much and I want to read more about him!
I could also really see this as a tv show or movie (that I would definitely watch)
no subject
Date: 11/19/18 03:00 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 11/19/18 04:55 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 11/20/18 01:48 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 11/20/18 04:46 am (UTC)I had no idea where you were going with this, but you had me at "hello" and you never let me go. Brava!!!!!
no subject
Date: 11/21/18 02:20 am (UTC)And then I started to think, "Hold on... it seems like he's rescuing them instead." You kept me teetering to the end with this unusual character and who might hire him to vigilante abduct tormented children when more regular solutions have probably failed.
Well done!