NationStates Jolt Archive

Down with the Sickness

This is a story about two kids: 16 and 22. The children of a Cottish man and a Layartebian women, they are more than just troubled. Their parents are deceased. Their father died whilst trying to assassinate the Cottish Emperor and their mother drank herself to death months later. Her blood alcohol content, at death, was 0.62. The children progressively grew worse. Both were kicked out of schools for disorderly conduct, drug possession, theft, and assault. Grand theft auto would soon be added to the list. Nonetheless, neither of them ever spent a night in jail, the product of a corrupt uncle, who just so happened to be a judge, and a bad guilt trip. Their uncle and mother were enjoying a good time in the bar the night she died.

Living in Hell's Kitchen, on the 4th floor of an apartment building that looked as if it weren't a place cockroaches would stay, they both are more than just screwed up. Both of them are seriously derranged. To them, fun is blood and crimes.

Lastly, before you read please do not pass any judgement that this will be a pathetic post. If you must have a reference, please go to to the list below and you will see the abilities of me to tell a story. I am a writer. Please welcome Cotland to the RP as well.
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Legend
All text in red type is top secret classified. It is unknown to the normal reader and even anyone else other than those present in the text. All are loyal to the government so please none of that, "We had spies" nonsense because I'm going to ignore it.

Italic text is text that is speech. It is italic to differentiate from normal text.

Italic underlined text is thought.

Orange text is a memory.

Small, green text is documents, communications, etc.

Bold, small, green text in quote form is used to mean something that isn't in the document.

Red test is documents, communications, etc. that is top secret classified. It is considered the same as red text.[/size]

Blue text is just a minor announcement.

Bold, blue text is a service announcement meant in OOC form
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Notes

This will be updated on an irregular basis. Pictures may be included with horrible images of death but I will try to keep away from that and keep it PG-16. If there is ever something that violates NS rules (and no nothing illegal will be had here) please inform me and I'll take care of it. An example is in Part II (of the Layartebian Chronicles) with the test subjects. I could not find any images on the internet of what it would look like to be exposed to something like Ebola and even if I did they would be horrible images so in the interest of stomachs and decency I have just put in a small comment. Swearing will be curbed and if anything you will see the first letter and asteriks at least so you know the word they are saying. If you are offended don't read! Simple as that. Lastly, in the area of sexual explicity, I will NOT deviate away from PG-16 (1980s PG-13, not 2004 PG-13 which is almost soft core porn). I understand the number of minors here and will certainly, without a shadow of a doubt, respect that.
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Other Role-Playing Stories

Isla del Enfermo (Earth II) (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=398102)
Sehnsucht für das Glück (http://forums2.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=386920)
The Kingdom of Forgotten Warriors (Earth II) (http://forums2.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=380343)
The Knight of Dark Chaos (http://forums2.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=384906)
The Layartebian Chronicles (http://forums2.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=384916)

Table of Contents


Part I: Air of Mysery (Page 1)
Part II: Grand Theft Auto

Characters

J.C.
http://www.theforsakenoutlaw.com/Graphics/Nation-States/Role-Playing/Down%20With%20The%20Sickness/01.jpg

Age: 22
Height: 1.80 meters
Weight: 78 kgs
Hair color: Black
Eye color: Green
Addiction: PCP
Weapon of Choice: Military Issue M33A5 Pisol (.357SIG), Seal Knife 2000, & Sawed Off
Nationality: Layartebian (Cottish father, Layartebian mother)
Priors: 2x Grand Theft Auto, 10x Disturbing the Peace, 6x Assault & Battery, 1x Drug Possession


Josh
http://www.theforsakenoutlaw.com/Graphics/Nation-States/Role-Playing/Down%20With%20The%20Sickness/cp20040430l.jpg

Age: 16
Height: 1.69 meters
Weight: 52 kgs
Hair color: Black
Eye color: Green
Addiction: Hashish, Marijuana
Weapon of Choice: Beretta 92F (9 x 19mm HP), Springknife, & Hands
Nationality: Layartebian (Cottish father, Layartebian mother)
Priors: 4x Grand Theft Auto, 11x Assault & Battery, 26x shoplifting, 12x Breaking & entry, 4x Violence against police-officer, 3x Drug posession, School dropout due to extended drug use in class and violence against teachers

Organizations


LCPD: Layarteb City Police Department.

Part I: Air of Misery

J.C. sat on the couch. It has hot out, 81°F and they didn't have air conditioning. Hell, three quarters of the time they were late on their electric bill as it was. Smoke filled the living room, half of it marijuana and the other half from cigarettes. Josh was smoking again, needing the high and the buzz. J.C. just inhaled his tobacco, for now. The television was on but nobody paid attention to it.

They both hungered, hungered for blood and hungered for the desire to spill some. They had murdered, between the two of them, a total of eight people already but were never even charged. Fate or rather luck, was on their side, so they thought. They needed cash, about §5,000 worth. They were planning on robbing someone, someone on the way home from work, in the subway, near Wall Street. They were both going to be armed, abduct the guy on the train, scare the shit out of him, rob him, kill him, and leave his body on the tracks, hidden. They'd done it before and their murders had been in the newspaper.

"What time are we going?" J.C. asked. Josh just looked at him, high as a kite. He repeated the question, "Dipshit, what time are we going?"

"Twenty-two."

"Alright. You better be ready by then."

"I will." Josh was too high to know what was going on. That was a mere two hours away and they were both anxious, very anxious. They had enough weapons in their apartment to make the entire city tremble, but they were also low on ammunition, something else they needed to steal. "What about ammo?" Josh asked.

"We're going to hit the ammunition store afterwards."

"We'll rob him too?"

"No. That'll be walking into a fortress. We're looking to score eight thousand tonight."

"Alright."

"Wall Street brokers leaving at twenty-two will be perfect. If we get two of them we can get at least that much, especially in cash. You know how some of them are."

"Work the market but not the credit cards."

"Yes."

"Alright." He puffed more and J.C. smirked. He finished his cigarette and dropped the butt into a plastic water container, a container used for one of those water dispensers. Between the two of them, they had nearly filled it up in a mere eight months.

Josh was sitting on a chair, high as a kite, watching the pretty colors fly by. It was a habit he had gotten into after he and J.C. had been told of their fathers death, shot to death by Cottish soldiers in a hail of bullets after the dad had tried to assassinate the Cottish Emperor. That was five years ago, and Josh had been an addict ever since. That, combined with trashing everything from furniture to other people, including his High School principal had gotten him thrown out of school for good. A psychologist would probably say that Josh's violence, drug abuse and other misdeminiors were a desperate cry for help, but there the shrink would be completely wrong. Josh liked taking drugs, he liked stealing, and he most certainly liked punching in the face of the teacher who had tried to take away the joint he had been smoking in class a years ago. He also admired his older brother very much.

With less than an hour left till the time was twenty-two, J.C. rose from the couch and beconned Josh to follow.

"Where are we going?" Josh asked, all f***ed up on weed and having forgotten where they were going.

"Dumbass, we're going to get the brokers. Get up." J.C. replied, slightly irritated by the lousy memory of his younger brother, something that was part weed, part puberty's fault.

"Right," Josh said, still having that distant stare on his face as he stumbled after his brother down the stars from their apartment.

As the two walked through the streets of Layarteb City, a squad car from the LCPD came rolling by. The brothers were slightly nervous, but the squad car just rolled by, not paying attention to them. The rest of the trip to the subway station at 57th Street and 7th Avenue went off without a hitch, although Josh stumbled over J.C. a couple of times. The kid was high as a kite and acted accordingly.

After a short wait, the 7 train came and both got aboard. The train was filled with people, and Josh and J.C. had to stand. It didn't matter though. Josh had another hidden talent other than murder, and it was pickpocketing. When the two brothers finally got off the train at the Rector Street station, Josh pulled J.C. over to the side and displayed the evening catch. Four wallets with a grand total of § 526. J.C. smiled at his brothers achievments and gave him a smile.

"Good job bro. Let's do the same with the brokers."

As the two walked up to street level, they spotted a nice 2002 model Mercedes parked outside. J.C. noted the location before he moved on towards Wall Street, Josh following closely behind, trying to light up a fresh joint. The effects of the previous one was starting to fade. When they got to Wall Street and the Layarteb City Stock Exchange (LCSE), the two stopped and leaned in the shadows of the stairs, in a pretty damn good position to spot a mark and grab him/her. All they had to do now was wait for the time to become twenty-two.

J.C. stood there, in the shadows. He was calmer than his little brother, much calmer. It was the benefit of being older. Josh just wanted to get the job done and leave. J.C. took some bloodlust in his crime. He wanted to do it slow, do it right, and do it effectively. Whenever he killed, he took his time, lusting in the death of his victim, making them aware of what was happening to them. He stood in the shadows, his double-barrel sawed off shotgun in his left hand, barrels to the moon, and his pistol in his right. The pistol he had was a military-issue, M33A5. It was bored to hold .357SIG bullets, powerful, abundant, cheap, and deadly. It too pointed to the moon. All was quiet in the area. They were standing against the high stoop face of a house. The height obscured them from the moonlight and the street lamps. It was the perfect place to hide.

The car outside was wired with an alarm system and wired well. J.C. looked at it prior to going into the shadows and realized that it was too dangerous to break in and steal the money. It definitely belonged to someone from Wall Street as well, the parking pass showing in the windshield. Then he saw his prey. Look at him. Spiked hair. Blonde tipped. Fancy suit. I bet he's got coke! He leaned over to Josh, "Stay cool and don't be a dumbass." Then he took a deep breath as the man approached his car. He jumped out of the shadows, the barrels of the shotgun pointed right at the broker and his pistol pointed as well. "We're going for a ride. Open it up, now!" The man was scared and he looked it. He had ducked his two-year, mandatory, military service by claiming he had asthma, paid off a doctor to give him the results, and basically left himself defenseless in this situation. "I will turn your head into goo! Toss the keys over here, now! And don't hit the alarm or else you'll be picking up your ears." The man nodded and did, Josh now behind him. "In the back." J.C. nodded as he motioned to Josh and the broker. "We're going for a ride."

J.C. started the car and shut the door. He put his shotgun in his lap and his pistol away. "Meet my brother. Move and he'll eat your liver." J.C. smiled and put the car into drive and headed off. His goal was to get to Staten Island, to the garbage dump, to dispose of the body he was about to create. "How much money do you have in here?"

The broker was scared s***less, having gotten the weapons to his head after a stressful yet profitable day at the stock exchange. Now, he had a guy dressed completely in black with a sawn-off shotgun in the front seat of his car, and a younger, more shabby dressed kid next to him in the back seat. The kid pulled out a pistol, a Beretta 92F and aimed it at his skull.

"Where's the cash, a**hole?" Josh asked while blowing smoke in the eyes of the broker, who was too scared to talk in a manner in which the two brothers could understand, so he merely pointed at the glove compartment. "T-t-there.." J.C. wasn't hard to ask, and he had the compartment opened quicker than you could say Layarteb City. Inside, there lay more than §4,900 in 100-Shingrot bills. A nice price, but Josh had spotted something else. The man had a golden Rolex and a nice Nokia cellphone.

"Give me your watch and phone."

"Huh? Please..." the broker begged as the Mercedes rolled over the Brooklyn Bridge. Josh just got infuriated by the hessitation, helped by the narcotic mixture in his joint, and slapped the broker over the head with the barrel of the Beretta.

"Give me the phone Goddamnedit! Stupid p****" he said as he took it from the bleeding broker. "Do s*** like that again, I'll kill you." The broker only nodded as he clutched the bleeding gash in his head. J.C. looked back, but saw that his brother had it under control. "Take it easy bro." he said to Josh, who didn't answer. The rest of the trip, south through Brooklyn and over the Verrazano Bridge, passing straight through the toll post thanks to the EZPass and onwards went without a hitch, although the broker wet himself once or twice, only to be rewarded with a slap over the backhead and a curse.

Ten minutes after crossing the Verrazano Bridge, the Mercedes rolled into the garbage dump. When the broker saw it, he realized what might happen and started to scream. Both Josh and J.C. cursed and slapped at the screaming broker, but nothing helped. Finally, in the middle of the dump, J.C. stopped the car...

J.C. smiled at the sight of the money and whacked their hostage with his shotgun. It shut him up. "Good work. So what's your name?"

"Does it matter?"

"Yes."

"My name is George. George Basile."

"George, we have a situation here."

"What's that?" He was on the verge on peeing in his pants. "First off, you can identify us. That's pretty bad. Secondly, you just don't shut up. And lastly, you're a hundred shingrots short."

"Short? Identify?"

"Yes. See it's easy to understand if you stop the shaking for a minute." J.C. looked in the rearview mirror and smirked. He had his glasses of and he could see clearly. "If you go run to the police we're in deep trouble."

"I...I...I won't."

"Yeah, because I haven't heard that one before. Come on, we're going for a walk." J.C. got out and so did Josh and George. They walked, him in the front, them in the back, ready to shoot. "Keep your mouth shut. See that crane over there?"

"What crane?"

"Four hundred yards that way." He pointed with the shotgun. His pistol was holstered. "See it?"

"Yes."

"We're going there. Move fast too, I don't like the smell of garbage."

"You are garbage." George turned and spat at them. Josh went to smack him again but he was stopped.

"Calm yourself. Don't worry. He's just scared. Keep walking George." The night was dark except for the moon. However, the garbage dump wasn't monitored, nor was it patrolled by any police. Anyone walking through it generally went unnoticed. Nobody lived near it, mostly because of the smell.

"You're going to kill me aren't you?"

"That depends on you."

"How so?"

"Depends on how you cooperate."

"I cooperate?"

"Just keep walking and be quiet."

"Fine!" George was scared as hell and he walked quickly but slow enough. They came close to and approached the massive crane. It was high in the air, its hook attached to a massive magnet, the magnet sitting on the ground. Next to it, about fifteen yards away, was a massive hole. Inside it was garbage, metal parts, and all sorts of debris. It was the perfect grave. "So this is it? I get to die and be buried in a pit of garbage."

"You could. Now lets go down there."

"How, there's no..." J.C. gave him a push and watched as he fell down the pit and landed onto a pile of dirt. "You alright George?"

"Am I alright? Fuck you!"

"Calm yourself."

"Calm myself? You fucking trashbag. I will kill you myself."

"Josh, cover me." J.C. jumped down, his shotgun in his hand. He handled better, obviously being aware of the fall, unlike George. When he landed he pointed the shotgun at George and smiled. "Have any prayers to say?"

"Fuck you!" He spat at them again. "Fucking dirtbags. Fuck you!"

"I guess not." He squeezed the trigger and watched as the shotgun fired. A single, 12-gauge shell fired, throwing its 00 buckshot at the man's leg. The force, spread, and power of the spread removed George's leg at the hip and put shots throughout his chest, but he was still alive. As George writhed and screamed in pain, J.C. walked over and pointed the shotgun down. He aimed it at George's head and fired the last shell, completely liquifying and removing his face and head. There wasn't anything left. "Have a good afterlife."

Josh watched his brother murder the broker in cold blood, and he enjoyed every single second of it. The only thing he didn't like was the fact that he hadn't gotten to take the life of the bastard. While Josh stood on the edge of the garbage hole and smoked his joint, J.C. called out.

"Help me up."

"I want to off the next one."

"We'll talk about it when we get home. Now help me up."

Josh was satisfied with the promise, and leaned down to help pull his brother up from the pit. After J.C. got up, he reloaded the shotgun before the two walked back to the Mercedes. On the way, J.C. lit up a cigarette and Josh lit up a new joint. It was his last one.

"Dude, I need more weed. This is the last one."

J.C. looked at Josh and thought That kid smokes almost too much of that s***. "Sure, we'll fix it after we get another broker and some ammo."

"Dude, I need it now. Right now."

J.C. nodded at he entered the drivers seat in the Mercedes. Josh entered on the passenger side, still clutching the Beretta.

"Put the gun away. It draws attention," J.C. said sharply. Josh looked down at it, just now realizing that he carried it in his hand before he put it in under his jacket. As the two cruised back to Wall Street, Josh spotted a dealer and told J.C. to stop the car. The Mercedes stopped right next to the dealer, and Josh jumped out.

"Dude, I need some. I've got the cash."

The dealer, a hispanic male in his early twenties looked at Josh, then to J.C. sitting in the Mercedes, then back to Josh before he nodded and beckonned Josh to follow him into an alley. Once there, the dealer opened his jacket, in which Josh saw a Glock 17 9mm handgun and several bags of various narcotic substances.

"What you want?"

"Weed dude. Weed."

"I'll sell you a gram for fifty shingrots."

"Deal. Give me all you got."

The dealer rumstered in his backpack for a moment before he pulled out a package.

"There's sixty grams there. That'll be three hundred. Pay up."

Josh nodded and stuck his right hand down in his pocket, seemingly searching for the money. However, the hand came up quickly with the springknife ready. The blade opened and Josh stabbed the man fifteen times in the chest. Of those fifteen stabs, three penetrated the heart and would lead to the dealer bleeding to death within minutes. However, Josh didn't stop there. He also stabbed the dealer in the throath five times, cutting the throath of the man and killing him. When he was dead, Josh took the weed, the Glock, some of the other dope he carried and the dealers money. Another §630 made. Wiping the blade quickly, Josh took the stuff, hid it in his jacket and quickly walked out to the waiting Mercedes, where J.C. was getting slightly nervous when he saw the brother come out with blood on his hands.

"Here," Josh said, tossing the money to J.C. before he hid the dope in the glove compartment. He also showed his brother, who had now started the car and drove back to Wall Street. "Nice, isn't it?"

"You fool. Get out of the car now. What happens when you leave blood in the car with fingerprints? That brings them to us." J.C. was furious now. "Get out of the fucking car alright." He too got out. "Son of a bitch I swear this kid!" He walked over to him and looked at him and down the alley. "You had to kill him huh? Sure you got §630 but what the hell. Now we have to dispose of him. Come on, we're going to have to make a pit stop."

Josh looked around. "I'm sorry J.C. I didn't think."

"When do you ever. Hurry up, let's get the body in the trunk."

"Alright. I'm sorry." They walked over to the body and looked around. Blood was pooling on the ground.

Just great! Just fucking great! J.C. saw a bunch of paint cans in the corner. "They're painting over there. Let's see if they have a tarp or something. Hurry." They darted over to the corner and found a small, blue, plastic tarp. "Come on, we'll use this." They brought it back to the body, wrapped it in the tarp, and carried it to the car, where they dropped it in the trunk. "Stay here while I go clean the mess up."

"Okay." Josh lit up another joint as J.C. jumped back to the alley. He went back to where the paint cans were and looked around. This damn kid, I swear. Ammonia. Perfect. He picked up the ammonia and began to douse the area with it. The ammonia would contaminate the blood stains and obscure a legitimate sample. Then, he picked up a can of red paint and threw it up in the air as high as he could. Then he ran as the can came flying down. It landed on the ground and burst open, splattering paint all over the alley. It was perfect. He returned to the car, got in, and looked back at Josh. "Think before you act boy!"

"I'm sorry. Want some?"

"No. I need a clear head with you making all of these mistakes. Let's go. We're done for the night. We're going to dump the car at the junkyard. I know someone." They proceeded to drive north, to the Bronx, to one of the many junkyards. J.C. knew someone from high school that owned one after his father had died. He'd give the man §600 and he would dispose of the car, body and all, without a single question asked. The man had to, J.C. had once saved his life.

It had been autumn, two years earlier. J.C. was with a friend from high school, a friend who used to help him beat those who challenged him. His name was Mark, a boy a year older than he was. Mark was the son of a junkyard owner, rich and spoiled. He had a nasty cocaine habit but fortunately for him, J.C. always knew where to get some. This night was that night. They were going to score some coke. J.C. never touched anything other than PCP and only when he was really stressed out. His dabbled mostly in tobacco and alcohol, never in excess.

They were in Central Park, waiting for the dealer, when shots echoed. "What the hell?" Mark said, drawing his Beretta 92F. "Something is wrong."

J.C. looked around. "Yeah, very wrong." He drew his military-issue M33A5. "I think it came from over there." He pointed and they began to move. Both of them were aware of the surroundings and of the location. This was a favored spot for drug dealers, rapists, murderers, and the like. They were all of the above, except for the rapist part. Neither of them enjoyed the crime much, they just preferred to rob, kill, and deal.

As they approached a darkened corner, they saw a man hovering over a body, his pistol drawn, aimed down. He was saying something, most of it hard to understand due to his accent. "You...I told...You...Understand...Cop..." They approached quietly but they didn't know what was going on. The man holding the gun wasn't Layartebian, he was definitely foreign. This had been a time when the government was really cracking down on drug dealers, part of the Drugs Are Not Tolerated program, instituted by the Emperor.

They moved in slowly, their guns drawn and came upon the murderer and the drug dealer. Both of them raised them guns and shouted, "Put the gun down!" It was too late. The man turned and squeezed off a round. Within the instant, J.C. pushed Mark down and fired off two himself. Both of his rounds connected, driving a .357SIG bullet into the right lung and upper shoulder of the murderer. His bullet, on the other hand, missed and hit a light post. Had Mark been there, it would have been his heart. Lying on the ground, the murderer smirked, his pistol far from his grasp.

"Freaks. Are you cops too?" Was all they understood. "I'll get you." J.C. smirked and with a driving force, slammed his boot down onto the murderers neck, crushing his windpipe, snapping his spine, and sending the guy into convulsions, which lasted a good thirty seconds before he died, slowly and painfully.

"Did he say cop?" Mark asked, getting up. "Thanks man. I owe you!"

"Don't mention it. Yeah he did, check the body."

"Alright." Mark rummaged through the body and found a wallet, with a badge, for the Drug Enforcement Agency. "DEA. Would you get that?"

"Fuck man! We almost got pinched. Alright, check his weapon."

"Military. M33A5. Same as you?"

"Good. Here." J.C. bent down and switched pistols. The serial number on both had been scratched off, standard proceedure for a criminal.

J.C. and Josh arrived shortly after 0300. They parked the car outside the office and went in. Mark was pleased to see J.C. "Hey buddy, how are you?"

"Fine. I got a problem." He shook his hand. "My dumbshit brother over there can't watch his temper and I have a car that needs disposal. Would 600 do it?"

"Package in the trunk?"

"Yes sir."

"600 will be fine. Need a ride back?"

"No. We'll take the train. Call me in three days, we'll chill."

"You got it." They shook hands and left.

"See what you've done? We raised §6,056 and we are stuck with §5,456. We can spring 456 for ammo but that'll be tight. We could have had §6,056 if you would have done it right. Now let's get home before I slap you."

"Shit. I screwed up bigtime now..." Josh thought as he walked after his brother to the nearest subway station. While they waited, Josh whispered to his brother.

"Chill bro. I'll pick a few pockets on the train."

"Are you stupid? What if you get caught? Haven't you caused enough trouble for one evening?"

"It'll be a walk in the park. Just chill."

Before J.C. could answer, the train came and the brothers boarded. They sat down in the very last car, in the back. Unfortunately, there weren't too many people on the train, but Josh didn't care. He was high and needed to make up to his brother for screwing up so much.

"I'll be right back," Josh said to J.C. before he got up and scurried forward in the train. As he passed by people, he accidentally bumped into them and appologized. The boy looked younger than he was, and most people didn't think much of it. He was polite. That was all they would remember, and the cops wouldn't even consider Josh as a suspect if it came to an investigation. After five stops, Josh was at the front of the train and waited for the train to stop. At the sixth stop, he exited the train and ran down to the end, just making it inside before the doors closed. He sat back down next to J.C. and smiled.

"Easy pickings. I'll show you when we get home."

"If you get caught, I'll kill you." J.C. answered.

After a few more stops, the train stopped at the subway station at 57th Street and 7th Avenue, and the two got off. After walking a few blocks, Josh and J.C. walked into a alley and counted up the catch. Six wallets with a grand total of §621,50. Josh gave the cash to J.C. and tossed the wallets into the nearest garbage container.

"Happier now?" he asked as he lit up another joint.

Part II: Grand Theft Auto

The brothers slept until 1430, Josh having fallen asleep with a cigarette in his mouth, again. Lucky for him he didn't start a fire. Groggy and hung over, Josh trodded into the kitchen and poured himself a cup of four day old coffee. J.C., on the other hand, was just groggy. He poured himself a glass of orange juice, a carton they had bought a month and a half ago, the last time they bought any groceries. They had been eating out for the past two weeks since then and it showed. That was a hellish night, a night that involved a stolen Mercedes, two bodies, and a lot of stolen money. They had paid their rent and bills and fixed the back payments. Even, finally, they were going to set out for another night, a bigger night, a night with a big stash.

The two brothers had been planning this for a week now. Every Sunday, the shop owner of a jewelry store about a mile away, cleaned out the vault and the cash stores and counted his profits for the week. They'd staked him out three times already and everything was the same. First, he turned off the lights and the cameras, definitely planning to steal a little bit of the loot himself so that he didn't have to give his partner a full 50% of the take. Tonight would be the night. J.C. would break into the jewelry shop with his lockpick set and they would kill the owner. Then, they would take as much cash as they could carry and as many jewels as they could carry also. Listening to the police radios for a week gave them the timing they would need, as well as the whereabouts of pretty much every unit for a sixty block radius, both on foot and in a squad car.

Armed with their weapons, they made for the shop at 1938, after playing Grand Theft Auto 3 for the past four hours.

Josh lit himself a relatively fresh joint as they wandered down the street to the store. In his jacket pocket, Josh had his trusty springknife while the Beretta was relatively safely confined to Joshs pocket. J.C. had his gun in a holster, much like federal agents and cops did. Speaking of cops. A cop on the beat walked past the two in the dark street, and turned to look at them again. Josh saw that, and dispite being high, recognized the cop. It was the cop who had arrested him the last time he nicked a car.

"Dude, just go. I'll catch up."

"What the f*** are you talking about? Oh no you don't..." J.C. started.

"Yes I am. Now move!" Josh said quickly while tossing his joint away and stopping.

"What you looking at, pig?!" he said in a saucy voice, eyeballing the cop. "No backup, no squad car nearby. Want a piece of me?!"

"You... I recognize you, ya little p****! You walked on a technicality the last time. I'm not about to repeat it this time around." the cop answered as he started walking towards Josh. Dispite being high, Josh was an agile kid, who started running in the opposite direction from J.C., who had stopped a short distance away and watched. Josh bolted away from the cop, who followed closely. Darting into a dark alley, Josh ran past the homeless people and junkies who looked up and saw the kid followed by the cop run past. In the end of the alley, there was a fence some two and a half meters tall, something Josh knew from past experience. He counted on the momentum of his running to get him over in time to get away from the cop. There it was. Ten meters. Five meters. Two meters. Josh jumped and grabbed a hold of the top of the fence and tried to haul his ass over. Unfortunately, the cop followed close and grabbed Joshs feet.

"You're not getting away from me now!" he shouted, grabbing on to Joshs feet. Josh was starting to freak out now and shouted all kinds of curses against the cop, cursing in both Layartebian and Cottish. He also kicked fiercely with his legs, eventually kicking the cop in the head with such a force that his skull fractured, causing him to let go and fall to the ground. Josh used the opportunity and got over the fence. Once over, he kept on running. His shoe was bloody, but right now Josh didn't give a s***. He met up with J.C. at the store as planned.

"I told you that I'd meet you here." Josh said triumphantly to J.C., who answered with smacking Josh over the head.

"Stupid dipshit! You know what I saw come out of that alley? A lot of cops and paramedics. They said something about a fractured skull. You know the shit you're in now?"

"Dude, I just kicked him..." Josh said, uncertain as to why J.C. was reacting so harshly.

"F***ing moron. I doubt uncle Jim'll be able to bail you out this time."

"Whatever." Josh said, indifferent to the prospects of doing heavy time. At the moment, he just wanted to kill that owner.

This kid, I swear! J.C. said as he looked at his dumb brother. "The next time I tell you not to go off and do something stupid I expect it to be followed!" Josh just shook his head. They were sitting outside of the jewelry shop, looking at the back door, just waiting. J.C. was going to rush the guy as soon as he appeared. The owner always checked the rear of the building before he counted the money and always after he turned off the camera system. With his knife out and a clear bee-line towards the door he saw the handle jitter and he prepared. The door opened a crack and the owner peeked out. Deciding it was safe, he opened the door more fully, which was when he was tackled and stabbed, right in the upper thigh. J.C. hit him hard and with force, driving the knife into his leg, a powerful blow, one that would ensure he couldn't escape but it wouldn't kill him either. Writhing and screaming in pain, J.C. dragged the shop owner back, behind the counter. "Alright. Now shut the f*** up. I want it all man. The money, the jewels. All of it!"

"Who the f*** are you?"

"An associate of your partner. He's sick of you screwing him over and over."

"Bulls***!"

"Go ahead. Question me. But the longer you take, the more blood you lose." J.C. drew his sawed-off shotgun and pointed it at the owners head. The double barrels pointed right at him and he nearly pissed his pants. "Are you going to take me seriously now?" Outside, a pair of police cars darted by, their lights and sirens on. J.C. only shot Josh a look. Now we have that to contend with. S***head!

"The money is in there. In the box. The key is on the desk behind the table. It's got §560,000 in it."

"Good. Go get it." J.C. said to Josh who merely nodded and looked perturbed. "Now. We want some jewelry and not the laser-etched stuff."

"Over there." The shop owner held his leg, trying to get the bleeding to stop. J.C. looked at the case that the shop owner pointed to and his eyes lit up. There had to be at least two hundred jewels in there, many precious, many diamonds, very expensive. He was on contract though and he had to take only what he was ordered to take, which included all of the cash and all of the non-laser-etched jewelry. He and Josh would walk out with almost §800,000 worth of cash and jewelry. For their service they would recieve 40% of the score, a big bust. They were rather confused though, why would the shop owner have so much cash on him. Was this a set-up? J.C. kept asking himself but he knew to play it off. They were about to recieve §320,000, of which he would have to give him moronic brother half, all of which he knew that he would spend on drugs. J.C. was going to keep that stuff hidden and slowly deposit it in an unnamed but numbered bank account half-way around the world. He wanted something should he ever need a big payoff. He already had nearly §4,000,000 in it and he wanted to make at least 20 before he called it quits to his horrific lifestyle.

Entering the shop, Josh looked around while lighting a new joint. After deeply inhaling the narcotic substance, he yet again returned to the awsome feeling of floating high above the skies, looking down at the world below. It was a great feeling, but unfortunately for Josh, he was way too addicted to the weed. He was nearly out of joints. Again. Looking around, he saw the box with the cash and opened it, remembering to use the key and not shoot the damned thing open like the last time. It was more cash than Josh could remember ever having seen at once in his life, and he stood there, smoking the joint and admired the sum for a while, thinking of all the weed and hookers he could get for that much money.

"Hey dipshit! Get your a** out here!" J.C. called from the other room, shaking Josh back to the world. He grabbed the wads of cash and threw them into his backpack. Unfortunately, he dropped ashes from his joint into the now empty box. Ash which would be gathered by the cops and used to give them the idea that crackhoes or gangsters had done this when the cops discovered the dead, mutilated owner the next morning.

Josh stalked back into the room and threw the backpack over to J.C. before producing his own Beretta and slammed the barrel into the owners head. The weed had gotten to his head and gotten him aggressive against everyone but his brother, just like it tended to when he was high, which was all the time.

"You think you're big huh? Well guess what f***face! You've been owned! B****!"

Josh then aimed the Beretta into the eye of the man, pressing it into the eyeball and cocked the trigger. He stared at the man as the pistol brought a 9x19mm hollowpoint round into the chamber and readied it for discharge.

"Can I do this one bro? Please?"

.:. bump .:.