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Hatchet Man


saltinespike

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Disclaimer

 

All characters and their plots belong to me.

 

Warning!

 

The following story contains strong language, graphic violence, and some adult situations. Reader discretion is advised.

 

Summary

 

Bounty hunter Shawn Dillard is arrested and thrown into prison for murdering three people. He loses his job, his family, his life. When a self-caused prison war hits, Shawn takes a huge risk and escapes. He revisits the world of crime which seems to have gone haywire while he was in jail.

 

Chapters

 

War

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

NegotiationsPart One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

EmergencyPart One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four (Coming Soon)

Edited by saltinespike
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This looks set to be your best yet! colgate.gif

I'm absolutely freakin' deadly serious.

 

D'you know when the first part will be up yet?

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Updated. Shawn Dillard's image has been changed, I've added a banner, and made myself a fancy new signature. Anyways, if everything goes smoothly this week, I should have it out BY next weekend. So possibly sometime this week.

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Updated. "Mario Galfini" added. He will play an important role in the story. The first chapter is under way, and now that this new character is figured, I should be able to move at a considerable pace. smile.gif

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Dude, you should post some of what you've written as a teaser, 'cause your skills deserve feedback! colgate.gif

 

Can't wait till the first part's up, mate. I'm hyped 'bout this one!

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Dude, you should post some of what you've written as a teaser, 'cause your skills deserve feedback! colgate.gif

 

Can't wait till the first part's up, mate. I'm hyped 'bout this one!

Haha, I've already seen a little teaser of it. A few paragraphs, nothing much, but it was still amazing.

kdr9l4.png

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About time Spike! Nice to see some more work from a master. But don't rush, I want you performing your best...

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Updated, once more. And since you guys are dying for a preview, here is a paragraph that doesn't reveal anything except how the story will be written:

 

 

Cigarette smoke pollutes the crisp morning air. Mario Galfini inhales the last of it and flicks it at cement of the sidewalk, where it finds its ranks with many other littered cigarette buds. He wears a dark red button up, with rolled up sleeves, and open at the peak of the chest, revealing a volume of chest hair. Below his black leather belt dwells unwrinkled khakis, above unscathed leather shoes. The man’s hair is greased back. His two eyebrows nearly unite, but manage to stay distant by a faded comb of peach fuzz. His right hand grips a wooden baseball bat and his back presses against a brick wall.
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Nice teaser, saltinespike. icon14.gif I like the theme of this story. I’m looking forward to the first installment.

Edited by Ryunday
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I love how the story will be written! Your skills have really evolved and will undoubtedly make this story that much better. colgate.gif

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Oh, beautiful teaser. It is terribly descriptive and well written! Nice work and hopefully, this'll turn out great smile.gif

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Alright, I've decided to break the chapters apart, since they will become pretty damn long. I figured it would be more appealing to have a smaller amount and post sooner. Sooo, here is part uno of "War".

 

----------

 

War (Part One)

 

Vincent Moretti slaps his grandfather, Joseph, hard across the face. They are nose to nose, and Vincent has his long index finger pointing at Joseph’s face accusingly. Joseph is slumped back into an office chair; his facial expressions show a mixture of shock and fear. Vincent has the old man pinned by grasping his chair by either armrest; he speaks with a threatening tone. “Don’t you ever call murder on me again, you hear? I loved my father, more than my own son. If you ever gamble mumbling that again, I’ll slit your throat in your sleep.”

 

“Get away from me, you sick f*ck!” Vincent slaps him again, drawing blood this time. He throws the chair to the ground, causing a loud thud. “I think you’d better go to bed, before I decide to kill you now.”

 

---

 

Cigarette smoke pollutes the crisp morning air. Mario Galfini inhales the last of it and flicks it at cement of the sidewalk, where it finds its ranks with many other littered cigarette buds. He wears a dark red button up, with rolled up sleeves, and open at the peak of the chest, revealing a volume of chest hair. Below his black leather belt dwells unwrinkled khakis, above unscathed leather shoes. The man’s hair is greased back. His two eyebrows nearly unite, but manage to stay distant by a faded comb of peach fuzz. His right hand grips a wooden baseball bat and his back presses against a brick wall.

 

A younger man, of about 30, walks proudly along the same sidewalk, dressed in a new suit. Despite his arrogant stance, his eyes dart around constantly, searching for danger. All he can see is normal life in this Chicago ghetto, nothing excessively threatening, except for him. A mysterious man, about a decade older than him, leans against a store wall holding a tattered bat. Apart from the bat, his clothes stand out the most. This man has a shiny nickel to his name, it’s obvious. He’s out of place. The younger beau’s heart pace quickens, and his nervousness shows, for he tightens up his coat and hastens his step. He passes the mystery man, and lets himself relax for a second.

 

He is pulled backward and heaved into the dirty enclosure of the backstreets. His climb up is interrupted by a slug to the back. He is kicked twice after his drop, once in the gut and once in the chest. Galfini boosts him up and slams him against the wall. He looks around in a daze, trying to regain sense of things. Things become clearer: he realizes what is happening; a large man is wheezing nasty breath in his face.

 

“You tell Moretti death is near,” Mario speaks with a Brooklyn accent, “are we clear?”

 

The younger man yelps at a sudden twist in his leg. After a few gasps, he speaks. “Who do you work for?”

 

“Tell him… Giordano.” With that, he releases the man, and hastily retrieves his bat. The victim still stood there, trying to catch his breath. Galfini presses his palm into his chest and whacks his knee out.

 

“AGHHH! F*ck!” Mario heads for the streets once more, ignoring the cries of the mark. “You son of a bitch! You’re dead, you hear me?! F*cking cocksucker!”

 

---

 

A loud buzzer sings, leaving an irritating ring in Shawn Dillard’s ear. A dark “R00591242” is printed on his white tee shirt, assembled with black pants and hand-me-down shoes; his wrists and ankles are shackled. He steps through the rusted doorway and into a large room. Cells align each side, for three stories, all occupied. The inmates seem half interested, at most. They arrive at a blank cell. As Shawn organizes his small bundle, the guard informs him of what he shall do. “Getcha sh*t unpacked, and I’ll bring ya to the cafeteria,” a few seconds pass, “and the warden told me to give ya this. He says to read it immediately.”

 

The tension is dangerous, but only Shawn Dillard knows how vulnerable the guard is. He reaches for the paper and pulls, but the guard keeps his grip. He soon lets go, to where Shawn slowly opens it, keeping the paper intact. It reads:

 

“Shawn Dillard,

 

Welcome to Marion Penitentiary. You should be locked up in a Special Housing Unit, but I’ve been informed by your employer to keep you away from there. Watch yourself. Give this letter to the guard in front of you immediately after reading this.

 

The Warden”

 

He breathes in, marking his completion of the letter. He hands the flap of paper to the guard and flashes him a fake smile. The guard tucks it into his back pocket. “Come on now, boy. Time for lunch.”

 

(To Be Continued...)

Edited by saltinespike
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I am really starting to get into this story. The whole theme is intriguing. I will definitely being following this. Good work man.

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F*ck!

That was incredible - exceeded any expectations I had.

 

And the plot is, like Ryunday said, very intriguing. I'm looking forward to more of this! In fact, I think it could be one of my favorites.

 

Phenomenal.

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Well, I might not have the next installment up within the week, as I have found Halo 3 to be highly addictive. Quite the backstabber I am, I know. Anywho, there is a chance it will be done soon, but I cannot pinpoint a date for you junk-monkeys. To keep you interested, here's a small scene I've been rolling around in my head. It may or may not turn up in the draft you see, because it is set a while into the future (of where we are now).

 

 

"Yes, that is it there. Turn left." Vincent leans into the gap between the two front seats, eager to arrive at their destination. Louis drives, slightly irritable at Vincent's constant commands, but he is used to it at this point. Shawn slumps into the passenger seat, glaring at the building whose lot they just entered. He appears confused; Vincent spots the look and explains. "Did you think that Giordano would treat his soldiers with mansions? Please, do not be irresponsible. His empire is growing so fast, he can only give one substandard warehouse to every handful of soldiers. That is where their base of operations is. Now do you see why I was so confident about fighting this estate, yuh? Let's go in then! You can have your assistant chaperon the car. You can handle that, right Louis?"

 

Before Louis can reply with something reasonably sarcastic, Shawn hurriedly speaks up. "Come on, then! You can't enter the building while in the car." Shawn cocks his pistol and jams it into the front of his jeans, afterward covering it with a loose shirt. Vincent exits the car, and starts walking to the building. Shawn starts to follow him, but jogs back by Louis's signal. He rolls down the window. "What?!"

 

"Why the hell do I gotta babysit the car? This is bullsh*t, you promised me a piece of the action!"

 

"You're staying here because... you're my assistant and that's what you're getting paid for. You'll get your chance to shine soon enough. This is boring stuff anyways; politics. Oh! I forgot my bat. Hand it to me, please." Consequential to receiving his weapon, Shawn starts to pace back to Vincent.

 

"Shawn! SHAWN!!! F*CK!" Louis sighs. "What's the point? F*ck, I can babysit this damn car. No, I'm guarding this car. Better than anyone in this damn world. Sh*ttt, I wish someone would come up and start some sh*t. Whip they ass is what I'd do. Sh*t." With that, the driver's window is bashed in, crumbs of glass fly onto the seat and Louis. He sticks his hands up, as if to surrender. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" A gun occupies the new, empty space, pointed at the overweight driver. The man hoisting the gun only says two words:

 

"Get out."

Edited by saltinespike
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This is by far your best work yet! Your skills - I've said this a few times now - are evolving to be something special, and I'm eager to see more of this! colgate.gif

 

Don't worry too much about deadlines ( lol.gif the irony!), as from experience I found it makes you rush and f*ck the chapter you've promised at a certain date right up.

 

So, in conclusion: take your time, no rush, you're legion of fans will be waiting patiently.

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Very interesting, it has been awhile since I've read your work. I haven't rteally taken the time out to view other people's work, but I'll be sure to catch up.

 

Anyways, the story is great. I cannot exactly give my opinion on it, since it is only the beginning, but so far, it is novel-worthy. I'm proud to say I have been friends with many people, including yourself, who are fully-capable of making a living solely off of this pure talent.

 

I can only wish sheer talent from the typed words can technicalogically absorb into my keyboard and consume the tips of my fingers.

 

In point, you know the drill. Give it your usual touch. I'm sure it will be interesting and hooking.

 

Til then, type on, man! icon14.gif

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War (Part Two)

 

“I s’pose I should give you a rundown of how things work around here. This prison has been dubbed “Alcatraz” since it’s opening, and for a damn good reason. There ain’t no f*ckin’ around here, boy. Everyone here means serious business, which is why you gotta watch yourself. These inmates ain’t here for measly theft. Us guards don’t f*ck around, neither. Daily cell checks, random frisks, and at least two cameras watching you at all times is how we do things. Don’t start no fights; don’t raise hell with the guards. Do as you’re told, and you’ll get along good here in prison. Now if you ain’t got no questions, boy, go eatcha lunch. You got ten minutes left.”

 

The guard leaves before the new inmate can get any questions off. He looks around the room he’s in. The extensive capacity is painted white on all its sides, its only features are rows of steel tables and a drawn out lunch line; its seats are sold out by inmates who wear the same uniform as him. The inmates look violent and viperous. They’re scattered as loners, a large white gang, a larger black gang, and a few small groups of seemingly new friends. Shawn finds a lone seat and eats his meal, fighting eye contact with the inmates.

 

---

 

“I want to know all of the goddamn details right now.” Vincent angrily puffed on a cigarette, which he only did under intense pressure. “I’m f*cking waiting!”

 

“Well, sir, he’s stable. He’ll live, but he doesn’t want to continue working for us.” Vincent, Charles, two Consiglieres, and a Capo loiter in Vincent’s dim office. The tension is brutal, and all of those inferior to the godfather are intimidated. They glare at him, then at each other, trying to think of something to say.

 

“Oh, he won’t continue working for us, I promise you that. Those nurses are gonna be undertakers soon enough. YOU WANNA KNOW WHY?! BECAUSE HE’S F*CKING DEAD!!!” He grabs his rolling chair and launches it at the wall. “F*CK!!!” Once again, silence. “Giordano wants to f*ck with me, I’ll f*ck him right back. He’s declared war on this family.” He gasps from the intensity of his yelling. “He’s got a war.”

 

---

 

A large room buzzes with activity; men and women dressed formally scatter amongst themselves, rushing to different computers or offices, most with papers gripped in their hands. Fax machines whir, computers seem to kindle the already light room, the employees yell over each other. It is chaotic. It is the Chicago FBI Headquarters.

 

An office door opens, and a young man, Mark Hammond, rushes in. Another man sits behind a desk, tearing his bloodshot eyes away from his glowing computer. He looks at the subordinate, surprised at the outburst. Mark lays a peach folder onto the desk. Catching his breath, he explains. “Breakthrough! Louis Jackson: heavyset black male, 28 years old, and heavily associated with Shawn Dillard. I heard one of their recorded conversations and tracked it to this man. He doesn’t have any major offenses, but he’s managed to live middle-class without ever attaining an official job. I’m thinking conspiracy to commit robbery, battery, kidnapping, even murder. That’s what we put Dillard away for, right?”

 

George Beyer, the middle-aged man behind the desk, reviews the papers, pondering his employee’s theory. “Hmmm. You said you heard them speaking?” Hammond nods. “What about?”

 

“Vincent Moretti, sir.” Beyer drops the papers and adjusts his position within his chair.

 

“Acquire a search warrant for the residence of Louis Jackson… for conspiracy to commit murder.” He hands Mark the folder he came in with, dismissing him to leave afterward.

 

---

 

“Watchoo in for, white boy?” Daryl Adam questions as he pushes downward in harmony with Shawn. The killer ignores the question at first, dismissing him as a loudmouth prick, but the gangster had been pleading all day, to the brink of exploding, so he answers.

 

“Triple homicide.” Blood Money, as Daryl liked to be called, continues on the job, unmoved by his partner’s crime. He grabs a hunk of metal in unison with Shawn and places it under the monstrous machine. They once again push down together. Shawn looks at the man, finally giving in to conversation. “You?”

 

“Got caught doin’ a drive-by. I’m in for 25 to life. Doin’ this sh*t.” They haul another heap of metal into the machine. “Only thing I got to look forward to… this damn machine.”

 

“I’m not so sure. Might be some sh*t going down soon enough. Gotta finish a deal, with some people pretty high up there. Gonna be chaos. Just a heads up.” Blood Money’s eyes widen; he stares gape-jawed at Dillard.

 

“You don’t mean a,” he starts to whisper, “prison war.” After a nod, Daryl loses his temper. “Nigga, are you crazy? This sh*t is high security; you can’t make it through these damn walls!”

 

“Already bought the plane ticket to Chicago and I can’t miss my flight.”

 

“Sh*t, they say black people is crazy. Yo’ honkey ass is gonna get shot. You know that, right? Yo’ ass is fittin’ ta get shot. That’s all I gotsta say about that.”

 

“Last piece.” They once again heave the metal onto the platform and press down, tossing the remaining shape with the others. “Alright, I’m going to bed. Watch ya back, and have a good night, brother.”

 

(To Be Continued...)

Edited by saltinespike
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Shawn seems so calm about the prison war, and just overall. Great so far, Ryan. Keep up the great work.

kdr9l4.png

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Nice! Very good writing as usual, and I'm liking where you are going with the plot. The only part that seemed to bother me was the very last section, where Shawn and Daryl are... pushing metal around? You never exactly explained what they were doing, and it just makes everything confusing. Other than that, it was good. Shifty41s_beerhatsmilie2.gif

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Nice! Very good writing as usual, and I'm liking where you are going with the plot. The only part that seemed to bother me was the very last section, where Shawn and Daryl are... pushing metal around? You never exactly explained what they were doing, and it just makes everything confusing. Other than that, it was good.  Shifty41s_beerhatsmilie2.gif

Oh, I was trying to describe factory work, which (I think) they do in prisons. The visual I got is the factory in 8 Mile, which is a sheet metal factory: cheap, simple, repetitive work.

 

Sorry for the mistakes too, guys. I just read over it and realized how tired I was when I wrote and posted this. Some editing is in order.

 

EDIT: Mistakes revised.

Edited by saltinespike
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