Untitled #1
Contributors: Ahchie, The Diesel, Brother Nature, Throcksmorton, Albuquerque Tom
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen (stay tuned...)
While Herman was taking care of loose ends back home, his sister, Charlotte Gunderson, was almost ready to begin phase two of their global extermination plan as she sat on the balcony of her 4th floor hotel room reviewing the last few details. Herman was a bit unstable, she thought, but he should be able to take care of things and meet up with her tonight.
Charlotte looked more like her father than her mother, and she was thankful for that. She never could understand why her mother did not take care of her facial hair other than to keep it neatly trimmed. Known as the kids whose mother had a mustache they felt like outcasts during most of their childhood.
She remembered being happy as late as age seven, but everything changed after their father was murdered. Mother became a lush. School became impossible. And Herman, three years older, became more and more unpredictable.
Herman. Herman often would hear in his head music from the 1980’s. It was at these times that he was his most resourceful and dangerous. In the early days of his hippie hunting he single handedly took on four longhairs armed only with brass knuckles while he claimed “You Spin Me Right Round” was playing somewhere nearby. That was the night he stuffed their heads into four suitcases and shipped them to top executives of selected Fortune 500 companies. The suitcase became Herman’s trademark. He even --
A loud knock interrupted her reverie. It was too early for Herman to be here. She hid the map she had been working on under the room service tray and made her way to her bedside where she had a 38 special. It wasn’t much of a defense, but no one should have known she was here. Frank couldn’t have known what they were up to, could he?
- - -
Frank answered her unspoken question himself as he shouted through the door, “Charlo! Open the frickin’ door!”
Charlotte panicked. She ran for her gun but when Frank pounded on the door again she stopped and ran for her suitcase. Again, she changed her mind, instead running to the balcony to see if there was any way out. She was like a dog on the freeway jerkily dodging cars, only prolonging the inevitable, not realizing that it’s probably better to lie down and die. Frank kicked the door and the frame popped like a firecracker sending splinters flying into the air. The door didn’t open all the way but Frank could see her and he spoke quietly. “Hi, Charlo.”
She ran back to the bed, grabbed her gun and whirled around as the door swung violently open, hit the wall and slammed shut again. For a flash she saw Frank and fired nervously through the door, twice. It should have hit him. Instead, the bullet missed Frank, passed through the hallway wall and struck the man in room 455 who at that very instant was enjoying a three dollar Arrowhead Water that he thought was complimentary. His brow furrowed, he mumbled, “Uhhh?” and slumped over.
Frank was not amused.
Frank, now halfway into the suite, picked up the hairdryer on the table and threw it at Charlotte. The dryer was flying towards Charlotte’s head when the power cord reached its end, dropping it by the doorway of the bedroom. Charlotte looked up from instinctively watching the dryer’s decent and released another bullet towards Frank. It was becoming difficult to see through the room of smoke, but the wet thump of the bullet piercing his flesh was distinct.
Charlotte, knowing she had done at least some damage, slowly worked her way over to the open bedroom door by sliding along the wall. Just as she was about to move around the corner, into the living room, she heard a gunshot. She looked down and saw a smoking hole in her right thigh. No pain, no blood, just a small hole with thin black edges. Immediately after registering that she had been shot, blood began to flow from the wound and down her leg. She screamed, partially from the pain, but primarily from the fact that she was now vulnerable and didn’t know what would happen next.
Looking down, expecting another bullet to burst through her chest and finish the job, she was startled when she heard Frank step up beside her. Before she could react, she saw the bloody handle of the hairdryer moving towards her face and landing with brutal force. The sound of her facial bones shattering and the dryer handle snapping amplified in her head. As she fell unconscious to the floor, Frank pulled out his cell phone and selected a number that brought up a photo of Herman. As blood from his damaged hand began to soak the phone, he listened to the ringing on the other end.
Four rings, five rings, “Hmmm, he should have answered by now!”
Click, then, “Yello, leave uh message. Beep.”
Frank began to clench his bloody hand but felt a twinge of pain; he paused for a second, then spoke angrily, “Herman, where the hell are you?! Call me you son of a bitch!”
As he closed the phone he looked down at Charlotte lying in a small pool of blood. He thought to himself perhaps he did a little more damage than he meant to, but she fired first. “I guess last month must have meant nothing to you, huh?!”
Frank, a.k.a. the Pusher, walked alongside of Charlotte and kicked her for good measure. He then heard a beep on his cell phone. It was Herman Gunderson. Gunderson wondered if he whacked Charlotte. Frank answered in the affirmative, saying, “She was just too slow on the draw, so she had to visit the bone yard.” The cell phone went out on Frank. As he lost reception a thunderstorm began and he had to go to higher ground.
“You’re an idiot, Frank.”
The
voices in his head were starting again. They came as whispers, but were very
distinct and unmistakable.
“Why’d you kick her, Pusher?”
This is the way it always went. Voice after voice would chime in until he couldn’t take any more. He called this a thunderstorm and suddenly he was afraid he would not be able to make it to his “higher ground.”
“Charlo was good to you.”
Frank began spinning around the room, his eyes unable to focus on anything.
“You’re lost again, aren’t you Frank?”
Frank managed to sit down on the edge of the bed. Normally standing at an imposing six foot four, he did not cut an impressive figure as he hunched over, almost as if he were about to go into a fetal position.
“Just like the old days, Pusher. Why don’t you go get yourself another drink?”
Frank could not shut out the voices. He felt the insanity creeping in.
“She’s not dead. Check her pulse.”
Charlotte was motionless on the floor. Frank made his way over to her and felt her wrist. She was alive, but bleeding badly.
“Let her live, Frank. She’ll forgive you – she always has.”
In his rational mind, Frank knew that Charlotte and Herman were dangerous. He knew his job now was to get rid of them both. But the voices were just too strong. Tearing a strip of cloth from the bed sheets, Frank applied a makeshift tourniquet to Charlotte’s leg.
“Hey Pusher, Gunderson’s coming for you.”
Frank didn’t know what was real anymore. Had Gunderson really called him? Why would he ask if his sister had been whacked? Long ago Herman and Frank made quite a duo. While one was hearing “99 Luft Balloons”, the other was hearing insults and instructions on how to extricate themselves from another jam.
“Check your phone – Gunderson didn’t call you. I did.”
Frank managed to look at his bloody phone. It wasn’t even working anymore. He felt he had to get out of here, but he couldn’t move.
“You’re just a tool, Frank. I’m gonna tell you what to do now.”
Sweating profusely, Frank felt the undeniable urge to vomit.
“You can’t shut me out. You need me.”
Frank staggered toward the bathroom and vacated the entire contents of his stomach on the floor next to the door.
“You and Charlotte need to leave now, Frank. The cops are almost here.”
As badly as he wanted the voices to stop, they were the only thing keeping him going. He gave in to the thunderstorm and followed their every instruction.