THE RUNNER/SCREENPLAY - BRIAN R. LUNDIN (read an ebook week .txt) 📗

muscles will constrict and your trigger finger won’t work right, at 100 ticks you lose your motor skills and couldn’t hit an elephant in the ass. One bullet, one kill,” he remembered his Marine Corp sniper instructor say. He could feel his heart beating against the pool of rainwater beneath him on the wet soggy ground. He inhaled and quietly exhaled to slow his heart rate. Michael and Anthony watched Vito as he leisurely strolled towards the rear of the house humming an Italian song.

ANTHONY
Don-don-don’t kill him, Michael, Anthony whispered and touched Michael arm, “I want to make him suffer for what he did to the boss.

MICHAEL
Got you, I’ll take a leg out.
Michael wiped the biting rain from his face. The cold rain became heavier pounding the sidewalk and pinging against windows. The rain splashed across both men face momentarily, causing them to lose sight of their target.

ANTHONY
“The-There he-he is!

Michael used the sleeve of his uniform to wipe the scope and centered the cross hairs on Vito’s right leg. The men waited as a car roared along the street, Michael shuddered, as it passed. There was no sound around him except for his own quiet breathing. Watching Vito in the orange light, he slid his index finger gently down onto the rifle trigger and breathed slowly. His finger took in the slack of the trigger, but before he could squeeze the trigger, Vito whirled and pulled an Uzi machine pistol from under his coat. Vito fired a burst from the weapon into the forested area shattering the nearly bald trees. Anthony hiding behind one of the trees felt the heat and the shock wave as the bullets slammed into the trees. Splinters of wood were suddenly shattering everywhere around him as another loud blasts echoed in the darkness. Slugs of lead slammed into trees and ricocheting off rocks as death defying madness played out in the darkness and rain. Michael rolled to his right, “Fire and Maneuver,” he remembered his drill sergeant saying while at Fort Bragg. After rolling three times to his right, Michael pressed his body against the cold wet ground and rolled to his left. He crawled silently through the dense underbrush; his arms; legs and feet’s working like a primitive hunter’s; warding off branches, over rocks and tangled foliage. Dead pinecones scratched his arms and legs as he tried to maneuver for a kill shot. Through the scope, Michael saw Vito sprinting like an Olympic track runner. Vito was moving swiftly, running in a zigzag pattern into the forest. Michael did not see Anthony. The pleasant smell of evergreen pinecones stuffed his nose as he crawled behind another evergreen and felt himself becoming numb all over from the cold. The wind got stronger and his sweat and soaked uniform were biting cold against his skin as his wavy black hair threw off water.

Anthony’s mind was in a haze as he darted from tree to tree. Bullets tore off bark from the trees and he tripped over a dark slab of rock. Anthony went down on one knee cut his hand and tore his pants. He was up running again through thick bushes that grabbed and ripped at his face and arms. Rat-a-tat! went the weapon again seemingly right in his face. Anthony saw Vito, walking towards him holding the automatic weapon smiling and he could swear he heard Vito singing a country and western tune. Another burst from the machine gun. Anthony screamed as a series of bullets erupted in his chest, knocking him to the ground. Anthony looked down and saw blood smeared on his hands. He twisted and turned eerily in the cool night air. His ears were ringing as he tried to scramble into the woods. Another machine gun blast exploded almost an instant later, shattering his left leg, the pain was excruciating. Anthony started to crawl on his belly, a jarred piece of bone broke through the flesh in his leg and it went limp as his body arched spastically then spun toward the ground. His heart pounded and his chest burned as if on fire. The bullets ricocheted inside his body, breaking bones and puncturing organs as it burst out his back, leaving a bleeding, gaping hole as he watched his heavy brown coat turn red. He pressed his hands against his stomach, and the blood ran between his fingers. Anthony started blinking rapidly as the cold rain beat against his face. He couldn’t feel any pain yet; but he couldn’t move his legs. Laying face down, each breath he took roared through his lungs and his salty blood filled his mouth. Anthony sucked in painful breaths and it felt as if someone had torn open his chest. Anthony watched as his blood mingled and absorbed into the dirty wet mud. His eyes were watering and flickering like a weak electric bulb as he attempted to crawl away, to do something, but he could not move as a death rattle rumbled in his chest. Vito finally appeared from the shadows, ten feet away. He walked forward, stepped over Anthony’s sprawled spread eagle body and stared down at an oily mixture of sweat and stubble on Anthony’s face. Vito stared at Anthony for a long silent moment. Anthony could hear Vito’s heavy breathing and the ejection of the twenty round bullet magazines that Vito threw close to his head and he heard the metallic click of another magazine sliding into the weapon. Suddenly, everything was clear to him, he was going to die. Anthony heard the sliding bolt slipping into the firing position and he felt an immediate sharp pain in his chest and the last sensation he felt was the emptying of his bowels and bladder. Before the last burst of machinegun fire, Michael heard Anthony cry out, “Fuck you asshole,” there was another short burst and then there was silence as Anthony’s dead eyes stared blindly at the dark sky.

Michael lay on the ground panning the area with the scope, but there was no sight of Vito. Sweat drenched his brow as he slowly let out a breath until his body was calm and still, he had not forgotten his training. “Deep breaths slows down the heart and calm the nerves,” the sniper instructors would say to his recruits.
Every one of Michael’s senses was on alert. He cocked his head listening, watching, trusting, no one but himself. He remembered his drill sergeant yelling at the sniper trainees, “Take a deep breath to slow your heart beat, slow and steady, slow and steady.” Michael saw a shadow moving in the trees he took a deep breath, held it, aimed, and slowly pulled the trigger. There was a loud crack in the cold night air. Michael wiped the back of his hand across his eyes. The rainwater made them sting like hell. Michael heard a quiet groan, “I’ve got the motherfucker,” Michael said aloud as he pulled the trigger two more times, jumped to his feet and cautiously sprinted between the trees. Michael heard another groan. The sound seemingly came from behind one of the evergreens. Michael was running fast, towards the sound of the groans. He saw two legs on the ground. Michael ran around the tree, rifle at the ready, ready to kill that bastard, Vito Paligreno. When Michael looked down, he saw Anthony’s blood rushing from gaping wounds in his chest and head. Michael felt sick and temporarily lost his breath. He heard a rustling in the trees, when he turned his head toward the sound, Michael panic-stricken eyes locked on Vito pointing the machine gun at him.


VITO
Drop it asshole!

MICHAEL
How did you know?

VITO
I knew you two assholes would try somethin’ to get even for that pimp muthafucka boss of yours that I fucked up, some of my good neighbors saw you sneaking around so I just waited, asshole.

Michael screamed and turned his weapon towards Vito. Vito let loose a five round burst into Michael’s chest. Michael could taste the warm metallic blood in his mouth and piercing pain came with each breath as he fell. His body flexed as his sphincter muscles relaxed and he voided his bowels and bladder. Vito stood over Michael’s quivering body and pulled a soiled handkerchief from his pocket and held it to his nose as he fired four more bullets into Michael’s body. Vito walked slowly over to the dying man who even in death throes his fierce eyes looked defiantly at Vito. Vito kicked the man in the face and then took out his penis and pissed on Michael’s dying body before he walked to the rear yard, rubbed Keisha, and went inside his house.

The State Street Boy’s street gang was doing well. Through Jerome McLemore, Pops had been introduced to the new Deputy Chief of Area One, Ronald Casey and he had promised his help in their drug business, for the proper compensation of course. Pops had inquired about cutting Commander Hollis in on their booming business but were told by the Deputy Chief and Jerome that the Commander was honest. Jerome knew that Commander Hollis was more concerned about street crime. There were more than enough robberies, rapes and murders in the 2nd District to keep his officers busy, the Commander didn’t condone or condemn policy gambling or drug dealing as long as there was no violence involved. He told Jerome to pass the word to the State Street Boys that if there were violence he would come down on them hard. Jerome liked and respected Commander Hollis, he was a good man and a hell of a policeman, and he knew that the Commander meant what he said.

Mexican gangs peddled most of the Mexican mud on the southwest side of the city, they knew the drugs were bad, but the drug suppliers were their countrymen so they gave them their business. The Mexican junkies were getting sick and many had died from the bad drugs. The Mexican gang known as the 26th Street Hombres knew that had to put national pride aside otherwise they were going to go out of business. They had heard of the of the State Street Boy’s and knew they had the connection for the good heroin. They arranged a meeting between their war chief, Jesus Homare and Cinque. The meeting took place in neutral territory, downtown Chicago at the Civic Center restaurant.

JESUS
We want to buy some of your goods.

CINQUE
How much?

JESUS
How about ten keys, to start?

CINQUE
That’ll work.

The two young men shook hands solidifying their deal and the following week the State Street Boy’s started supplying the 26th Street Hombres with ten kilo’s of sixty percent pure Bangladesh heroin.

The former Mexican drug supplier for the Hispanic gangs was an older Mexican named Al Hernandez. For years, he had been the main Chicago supplier for Mexican mud. He had done business with Vito Paligreno in addition to his Mexican clients. He was very concerned when he was told by the 26th Street Hombres that their deal was off and they now were purchasing their drugs from the State Street Boy’s. He requested a meeting with Vito.

VITO
That tamale eater, Al Hernadez wants a sit-down huh?

JIMMY
Yep, seems like the same thing happened to him that happened to us, them young Nigras has taken over his business with the young tamale eaters.

VITO
I ain’t never liked that guy; he is about the ugliest motherfucker I have ever seen. With his shiny, oily back hair and those little slit for eyes, he look like a fuckin’ snake.

JIMMY
Yeah, and he smells bad too, you goin’ to give him a