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The Abattoir

By John Jack All Rights Reserved ©

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Chapter 1: Monkeys

Brazen nymphet whores paraded up and down Broadway in giant stiletto heels while suburban voyeurs were hustled by junkies, panhandling bums and two dollar hookers. Every night was a Saturday night in the rotten apple and the action came nonstop 24/7. Fledgling suckers crunched pork rinds as they pitter-pattered through the puddles of blood, piss and vomit that awaited the rain to wash them away. It was a dog eat dog world, only they ate all the dogs a long time ago. The cops frisked the feeble hearted for dope and pennies, they came up with peanuts, but that’s what you get when you shake down monkeys.

A pencil thin pusher with sharp threads and a sharper face tapped the windows of battered cars as they trundled by,”Weed? Speed? Smack? Crack? Acid?” Sample sewn linings opened like bat wings revealing a smorgasbord of deadly chemical preparations. “Just name your poison – I can turn you on.”

A moon faced born again ding dong chanted Hare Krishna hip hop style; his hands spasmed before him signing in ancient semaphore to stay away. The innocent and gullible were herded and fleeced in a revolving strip show of brutality, horror and vice. Layers of degradation and corruption were being peeled for their delectation. Most of them would make it home, but some would end up with their teeth in somebody’s necklace, the rest was just hamburger meat.

The hyena in the leather jacket stopped before the dark man smoking in the doorway,

“Got a smoke?”

The dark man ignored him, he looked right through him.

“Hey, mista! I’m talking to you.”

Mac looked at the boy before him for the first time and thought it was a pity that he’d probably have to kill him. Give him a cigarette and you’d have to give some to his friends standing on the corner. Give them all cigarettes and they’ll ask for your wallet, maybe your gun. Mac thought it wise to draw the whole gang closer to him.

“Last one.”

He took another from his packet, lit it and took a hard pull. He blew the smoke in the boy’s face. The boy was outraged,

“You got smokes; give them to me you fuckin’ fool!”

Mac just shook his head smiling and continued smoking,

“Smoking kills son.”

The boy was red in the face and losing his patience, he signalled his buddies and as they approached Mac spoke quietly to the boy,

“Just so you know, you’re about to die for a cigarette.”

The boy pulled a homemade zip gun from his jacket pocket, but before he could even point it, his head exploded and he fell backwards in a lifeless heap.

Mac’s gun fired three more times and each shot felled another hyena, clean head shots. Mac cast around for any gang members he might have missed, he made sure his entire quarry was dead. He knew they would be; those .45 Hydra Shok rounds can take a man’s head clean off at close range. He went through their pockets and relieved them of their dope and cash.

Mac walked away wandering what kind of world it was where he had to kill four boys over a cigarette, but whatever he did back there his life would have been in danger. He tried to rationalise what had just happened, but it didn’t feel right, it had been a long time since anything felt right.

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1. Chapter 1: Monkeys
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