FirstLineFiction beta

from Contest #6

Almost everyone thought the man and the boy were father and son. The fact was they were far from it. The boy, Michael Renald, was infamous for what he did as an undercover cop. Phineas Reden, the man, was an old, Retired, Librarian, who had never seen or wanted to see the violent life style of the licentious city. And what a surprise it was when Michael knocked upon the lethargic old man.

"eh, what is it lad?" growled the cantankerous old scotsman, a scowl so typical of the highlands etched on his face. 

"I was calling upon you," returned Michael, in his 'oh, so smooth' tone, which always seemed to pull atleast a small herim of girls to his feet "for assistance"

"I can't give you any,"

"ah, but you can, my dear doppleganger. you see, about eighteen years ago, it was that you abandoned your son to an orphanage..."

 

"SHUT UP!" snapped the decrepit old man. his eyes were fierce now, immolating the young man where he stood. "I never would abandon him! I had to! the mafia..."

"no need to get defensive, old man. anyways, the man responsible is out. and angry. seems the address they gave you to turn the kid to was how the police caught him."

"what's his name?"

"Redford Milina."

"and he'll try to kill me?"

"he just did. don't worry, both the assassins just got decapitated." and with that, Michael doned his fedora, unpoped the collar of his beige trench-coat, and absconded.

 

Three days later, Phineas was walking back to the library. such a serene place. a sanctuary from the horrible economy, screwed up government, and crime wars that raged around him. he popped a mint into his mouth, feeling the taste of tinfoil with a slight spearmint flavor on his tongue, and continued onward.

it was then he noticed he was being followed. four men, leather jackets, shades, jeans and greased hair, each holding a knife, chain, or brass knuckle. turning the corner, Phineas shot around the brick edifice, leaped onto the fire escape, and began to climb. he heard the clack of engineer boots behind him and then, the sound of feet on the wrought iron stairway upward. he frantically pulled himself up to the roof of the library, turned, and slammed his foot in the face of the thug directly proceeding him. the man fell downward five stories to his death. the three others, however were more prepared. kicks didn't fell them, and they ascended to the roof. Phineas readied himself. Then one brute ran at him with a switch. the old man counter attacked by shoving a hand into his armpit, dislocating the joint the flinging him backwards to join his compatriot with a sickening splat. he instantly ducked to avoid the chain swinging at his head, head-butted his antagonist in the waist, and as he hit the asphalt roof, drop-kicked his throat, crushing his trachea.  in the process, however, the man with the brass knuckles punched him straight in the face. He rolled across the tar roof, and felt the figure stratling him, punching, punching punching. and he knew him. the man who had taken his son.

 

WHAM! WHAM! WHAM!

 

each punch brought back a memory. the little boy sitting on his lap, playing his games, being dragged into a jeep, screaming, crying, 'Daddy!! Daddy!! Don't let them take me.

WHAM! WHAM! WHAM!

and neither Phineas or Redford noted the shotgun toting Michael until it was too late.

Michael cleared his throat. "hello Dad."

And Phineas understood. understood, not only who his son was, but who had arranged the whole scheme, and who hated him. and who was going to kill him. Michael pulled the trigger. In a blast of buckshot, the librarian and Goodfella were eviscerated in the hail of lead. Michael smiled, Pointed the gun to his head, and puled the trigger. 

back to Contest #6