One of the men chuckled coming from the driver's seat, a brown hand resting on the steering wheel, the other fidgeting with the centre console. A chapped lip quirked up, revealing a white teethed smile, his sneakered foot pressuring the gas, the van rolling through the side streets of the city, strangely vacant, the passerby’s of pedestrians were nil, the drone of another engines hum, or the melody of another's music, nothing was seen.
“Looks like clear skies huh?” he spoke, a small off kilter comment, casual and stagnant. Dressed in a plaid button up and simple denim jeans, he wasn’t like the rest.
The men in the back of the van brooded easily, 4 of them, in different corners of the van. There on one of the faux leather seats sat one, short black hair, faded to the side, an angled jaw line covered in scruffy stubble, a dirtied face, a cut lip, a scar across the right brow, and a smirk that rivaled life. A slanted, quiet nose, thick dry lips and eyes that bagged with the likes of withdrawal.
Faded grey eyes proved a fading view of life, yet a spark lit inside them, one of vicious energy. “That fuckin mask man.” His voice proved fiery, with a certain bark to it, one full of youth and rebellion, an angsty chuckle gurgling in his words, subtly imposing, brutefully mocking. A layer of complexity, all within the young mans voice. His chapped lips perked into the corners of his narrow cheeks, shady, yellow glinted teeth, darkened by the likes of drugs. His head shook casually, leaning back into the faux black leather seats, the seatbelt beside him, dangling anxiously.
Dressed head to toe in thick, rough black over alls, covering from ankle to wrist, a thick sturdy collar. Small pockets and pouches laid on hip and chest, chains of synthetic fibre and plastic clasps proving room for weapon holsters, an intimidating, darkened pistol fashioned by his hip.
A man stood next to him, imposing and brutish. A mockery of charisma, standing with thick arms crossed, one leg tucked over the other, feet sturdily, yet anxiously planted. Another set of deep dark over alls, casted with weaponry holding more tallies than he ate breakfast, his rifle hanging by his chest. Broad shoulders, a thick, sturdy frame, hiding an anxious and fringed personality, hidden by a round bald head, a slack, strong jaw, clean cut face and a set of dark brown eyes, rotten with the sights of his murderous life style.
Stood there watching, the bald headed pack of muscle aided the contrast of the group. Hot headed and yet without a voice to speak it, self assured, though not a morsel of dignity to stand up for it. Experienced, yet too suicidal to show it.
Just opposite the first drug addict was the most innocent man there.
Clean shaven, weak jaw, long face. Medium black hair furled off in jagged cut edges to the side, gleaming, light blue eyes that refused to admit his lack of innocence, his iris tucked behind the thin, blackened veil of his eyelid, bruised and ailing.
Paranoid, fidgety hands clasped together, fingers tickling and intermitting, caressing and snuggling, rubbing against each other like a sensitive couple, his hands laying on the carbon grip of his own assault rifle, rattling with each bump of the van. The rifle laid dormant, steady and focused, while it’s owner couldn’t be more the contrary.
A weak slim frame adorned with tiny fragments of the occasional toned muscle, a body left behind compared to the wit and snap of his battle-hardened mind, tactical and thoughtful, you wouldn’t have thought of it. Though frail and uncalm, his hands held stiffer against the rifles grip, his dormant calluses would shun against the guns harsh recoil, his elbows would lock and hold--His brain wouldn’t care to think about the poor soul in front of his sights, and before he knew it, he’d be back in the van again, extorted and unwilling, yet all the military experience backing his employment.
His thin lips slowly pulled open into an uneasy, quiet chuckle, white teeth clattering quietly and stiffly, seatbelt wrapped tightly around his torso.
And the last sat next to him.
Chubby frame bulging out the likes of his similar over alls, rifle clinging to his body, pushed out by his own body weight. Slouched over, held back by the tight fibre elastic of the seatbelt, meaty elbows pressing into his thick knee’s, one hand lazily clasping the edge of a white plastic mask, a simple and sleek design, rounded flat to fit the face, nose holes for breathing, a simple, practical, yet all the more cruel design on the front. A small, painted black smiley face, beady black eyes with a crooked smile no bigger than a tube of toothpaste.
A smile over his chubby, aged face, he looked down to the mask, his other hand rubbing over the edge. Thick lips parted and a gleam of grey, whitening teeth revealed, a long overdue attempt of personal hygiene proven, a thick set of scruffy, dark brown hair hanging from his jaw, neck and upper lip. Wide nosed, a thick oval face framed by a set of shaggy, rag like brown hair, falling down to just below his jaw line in an tangled unkempt jungley mess. Wrinkles and bags underneath a set of dull brown eyes, a stern wrinkle over both of his thick brows.
“Heh, well, it’s been follow’in me for awhile, now.” His voice was croaky and phlegmy, something deep, it had a rumble to it, a loose rumble that sounded like the warm cozy hum of a fire--Enlightened by the tone of a rural southern accent, his voice connotations and annotations deemed him fatherly. “Got’a bit of an err...Y’know, story tew it.” His hands fumbled with the mask, flipping it onto it’s side.
The group of misfits and miscreants were a small band of friends, apart of something bigger, henchmen and peons, among side each other, fighting for the purpose of another grand in their pocket. Though they’re motivations differ, personalities, skill and enthusiasm, one thing was for sure.
They were going to be working along side each other, for a long...Long time.
James slowly pulled his eyes open, tearing away the residue of fatigue from his eyes. He laid on a bed, underneath a set of yellow daisy covers. Bright sunlight shined in from the side window. The faint sound of morning TV could be heard down the hall, the clank of pots and pans smacking together as his ‘friend’ prepared breakfast.
James groaned, his arms pulling up to run over his stubble laden face, sweeping his hair out of his eyes, a deep groan creaking up his throat before he slowly pulled himself to sit up, exposing his bare, hairy chest. He turned his head to the nightstand, an alarm clock revealing “9:32AM”
He turned back to face the tv in the bedroom and groaned, scrunching up his face as he pulled himself out of bed, pressing his bare feet into the warm carpet--Stepping into the bathroom, he turned to the mirror.
He looked into his blue eyes, looking over his face, his hand smoothed over the line of stubble that coated his jawline and upper lip, his soft finger running through the crooked, coarse hair. “Need to shave…” he mumbled underneath his breath, turning back to look at his eyes again before he gave a slight smirk and a thumbs up to himself.
.
Hearing the call of the morning news, James stumbled out of the bathroom dressed in nothing--The kitchen beside the lounge room housed Jessica, curly short brown hair with brown eyes. Dressed in nothing but simple lingerie, Jess leaned over the kitchen counter to look towards James, clutching a bowl in one hand, a frying pan in the other. “Sleep well boo?” Jessica asked with a smirk across her face. James found himself pausing in his efforts to walk to the living room, to turn to view Jessica with a smile. He slowly walked over to the other side of the counter, his hands pressing into the marble countertop before leaning close to her face.
“I did honeypie.” James whispered, his right hand moving up to grab against Jessica’s arm, slowly smoothing up to her shoulder. Jessica bared a smile and chuckled, “You still gotta pay sugar.” Jessica insisted, setting down the frying pan to press her hand onto the countertop. James turned to her palm, and then back up to her. Jessica snickered, pulling her hand away to reveal two small plastic baggies filled with a fine white powder, placed onto the countertop.
James took in a sharp inhale, his hand dragging back down her arm, his eyes turned, held and grasped onto the bags. “Ah...Right...Sure. How er, much?”
James asked, turning back up to look at her before pushing off the counter, starting to creep around the kitchen counter to be beside Jessica, creeping his left hand around her bare hips.
Jessica’s eyes turned to the stove in front of her, a cheeky grin plastering her face. “Just 3k sweetie.” She turned up and looked to James--James stared down at the countertop, his spare hand grasping the cutlery drawer anxiously, slowly starting to shift it out and in, rattling the cutlery inside. “I’ll get it to ya tomorrow…” He mumbled, his hand smoothing up and down her left hip.
Jessica laughed, pouring out pancake mixture into the frying pan. James pulled open the drawer in anxiety, his pupils shifting towards the ground, his right foot nervously tapping. Jessica turned to him, eying him up and down before scoffing with a smile, “Y’look like somethin’s wrong.” Jessica asked, bringing up her right hand to suck some spare mixture off her finger before turning around and walking to the sink.
The sound of running water filled the room, “We can go down to the bank after breakfast n you can take it out sweetiepie.” Jessica explained, sweeping soap over her hands and palms. James turned to her, gritting his teeth in his nervousness before turning his head back with a sigh--Staring at the cabinet, he looked over the details of the cutlery.
“Y’know Marcelo ain’t gonna be very happy if we don’t pay again this time.” Jessica rung out happily, before she was pushed forward, lurching her head into the sink, crashing her skull against the steel faucet-She opened her mouth to cry out, yet she only felt a sharp burning stab in her right shoulder blade.
James held Jessica by the left shoulder, forcing her head over into the sink, the cold water dousing and crashing over her head. “James!” She cried in a sharp gasp- He felt the wooden grip of a knife within his clutches before he threw his fist down into her back--He felt the solid surface of her skin fold underneath the blade, the serrated steel clashing and catching on her flesh before he felt her skin pop underneath him, the sharp point sheathing into her back, a crimson flow starting to bubble up past the blade, dragging down her shoulder
Jessica found herself unable to cry out, her mouth started to fill with spit that tasted like silver, she tried to speak again, her hands grasping the counter top to pull herself up, yet she only lurched forward again, coughing out a pool of blood into the sink, she felt a cold emptiness in her back before it swole up and throbbed with a burning pain, each thrum of her heart only enhancing the pain.
“JA-HAIMESS!” she whined out, her legs kicking underneath her. James’s breathing ran ragged, haltered and laboured--He brought his arm up fiercely, yanking the blade free of it’s fleshly prison, a string of blood flaying out violently, spraying onto the window and slightly on the roof, the leftovers drooling down from the tip of the blade, coating down his wrist.
Her hands crashed up, her arms yanking away from underneath her, smacking against the blinds with a metallic crash, attempting to free herself. Yet James pushed forth, holding his ground, he shivered, her legs kicking against his. He grunted, placing his right elbow onto her head, shoving her further down into the sink, pushing her neck up against the marble. “JAMES! JAMES!” She yelled out, “Jess just stay fuckin--” He paused, a strain coming from his throat, Jessica kicked back, lurching back, leaping and pouncing back and forth as James wrestled his left hand off of her shoulder and onto her head, pressing and pressuring her into the sink basin
James drew in a breath each second, filling his lungs and then dragging back out. “GET OFF! GET OFF!” She yelled again and again, crashing her knees against the cupboards beneath her, her hands now smacking and crashing against James’s torso, each slap leaving a hefty red handprint. James pushed the tip of his blade up against the crevice of the back of her head, a small bridge of taught flesh. “NO JAMES!” she sobbed, a flurry of tears pooling down her face. Each harsh, panicked breath only brought a sharp, crushing pain to her lungs, she felt fluid build up against her throat, each rapid yell only broke the fluid down to be swallowed.
James yanked up his elbow and soon snapped it down into Jessica’s neck, the blade digging and hacking through her thick skin, carving it aside before jamming straight into the brain stem-Jessica lurched forward, crying out in a roar of panic before he drew his arm up again, yanking the blade free from the strong, callus like prison before thrashing in again, hacking
At a different angle, slashing and stabbing into her skin to slice and carve away at her neck. He brought his hand up again and again, rapidly slamming into her neck and skull.
James yanked his hand up again, the blade crashing against her rough skull, skidding off and digging the blade into his palm. He yanked his hands up, throwing away the knife against the wall, clutching his wrist and back stepping, backing into the kitchen counter, he panted, drawing in breath after breath.
He felt the adrenaline in his veins, each drum of his heart made his extremities boom with pressure--He felt like he was going to explode. He slowly drew in his breaths, attempting to calm himself down, he turned towards the countertop, his blue eyes scanning over everything he might need--Leaning over, he snatched the two bags of coke and dashed into the bathroom, grasping a shaving razor before looking up to the mirror.
His blue eyes looked into themselves, a shaky, uncertain hand moving over his blood lined jaw, scraping over his stubble and over his curved, crooked, grinning lips.
He looked to himself in the mirror, a crooked smirk covering his face. An awkward, nervous cackle slowly starting to build up as he looked at himself, easing the grip on the razor before he brought it to his face, dragging down the stubble as he began to shave.
