Authors Note: This story is very graphic in terms of violence and profanity. Including descriptive scenes of gore and some references to drugs.

Meeting Guests in the Parlor

It is 2:57 in the morning and Razel casually walks down the middle of the silent city street, lost in his thoughts. He never cared for sidewalks, they were only good during the day when the street was filled with vehicles. He didn’t walk down the middle of the street at night to be different or to stand out, he simply enjoyed the open space. There was another reason Razel went on his walks alone during these hours, but that was not something he shared with others.

“Shouldn’t be long.” Razel whispers to himself, studying his surroundings as he makes his way down the quiet street. The nice quaint parts of the city were far behind him now. The nice safe parts of the city were behind him now. Inhaling deep through his nose Razel takes in the bittersweet air. “The revolting stench of rapists, murderers, and crooked drug dealers, it’s my weakness. The sort of smell that I love to hate.” He says, as he slows his pace. Can’t play hard to get

The district he found himself in was one filled with everything out of a dangerous street criminals wet dream. Shady alleys, cheap liquor stores, even gang symbols tagged on apartment buildings that looked to house some of the worse crack heads to plague the street. Anything unscrupulous you could think of, it was here. A neighborhood that had more bars covering windows than a state prison.

Razel liked to wear his white collar worker best on these walks, sometimes he even wore his nice thin rimmed reading glasses that he bought at Lenscrafters. Maybe even his pocket protector lined with some of his favorite pens.

“A chamaeleon whose camouflage is to stick out like a sore thumb.” Razel whispers to himself again. He often had to speak aloud on his walks until his guests would arrive, just to keep his mind occupied. He was looking forward to his company tonight, he missed out last week due to the flu that kept him bed ridden the entire time. Always different, he never knew who he would meet on his walks, but the surprise was always the best part.

Still lost in his thoughts Razel suddenly heard voices echo from farther down the lonely street. Ah, my guests have arrived he thinks to himself with mounting glee. He was itching to get things underway, it had been over a week since last time, Razel again reminded himself.

The street lights eventually revealed to Razel his guests, they were about two blocks away, three men, two black and one white. Skin color wasn’t important to Razel, he was raised to believe that the color of someone's skin did not define their ‘status’ and he firmly believed it. Damn any ignorant bastard to Hell who thought otherwise.

No, it wasn’t skin color that he looked for, it was the personality, the worst kind of scumbag the better, and these three looked like they crawled out from the bottom of the cesspit. The kind of person that would take the blanket from a sick man’s bed and sell it back to him. As they walked and cursed profusely to one another Razel summed them up.

One of the black men was rather scrawny and hyper, he looked like the desperate friend that tagged along, doing whatever the other two wanted in order to be accepted. The kind of friend that made you think ‘Shit, here HE comes’ whenever you saw him walking in your direction. He wore a black beanie, ridiculously large pants, and a wife beater. Actually, all three of them wore wife beaters. His entire outfit was rather tattered, stains spotted his white top and his pants looked like they had been worn for a week straight. Razel marked him. Last.

The other black male was rather big, the largest of the three. After a joke had apparently been told he began to laugh and Razel could see, even from this distance, a nice large four tooth gap in the front of his mouth. A hard crack user eh? His outfit matched that of the scrawny one, actually it was probably the other way around. Trying to be accepted through mimicking of image. Razel wasn’t one to make presumptions about a person before he knew them, but he was well experienced and could guess that the large black male was a crack dealer as well as a user. His wife beater was stretching intensely as his well rounded gut tried to squeeze out an appearance. Razel marked him. First.

The white male appeared to be a hard drug user, constantly moving his arms, repeatedly scratching his chest and head, looking around as if something might jump out at him. Even when he talked he never made eye contact and never let his eyes linger in one spot for more than a second. He was about as scrawny as the other one, but he too had a gut that was poking through. Hard drugs and alcohol, it’s a winning combination. He had long matted hair, it probably hadn’t been washed in weeks, months even. The same probably applied to his disgustingly dirty sweat pants. Razel marked him. Second.

Unkempt and dirty as they seemed Razel would not treat his guests until he discovered their intentions. I can’t go and misjudge these fellows, just because they look like low lives doesn’t mean they’re real underhanded miserable leeches. Of course, he had been doing this for a while now, he was a very good judge of who people were. The worst society had to offer were like ingredients to a recipe that Razel used to cook up his favorite dish.

After sizing up all three men Razel stopped walking and situated himself underneath one of the light posts. He found himself on the corner of a four way intersection, there was no red light, green light at this hour, only flashing yellows. There was also a quiet buzzing sound coming from the light post he was standing under. Razel then began to nervously fidget, glancing at his wrist watch, shoving his hands in and out of his pockets, pacing back and forth and running his fingers through his short dark hair. He was of course a geeky white collar who was not in his cliche’d surroundings.

The three men suddenly stopped walking and their conversation broke when they spied Razel, they were only about less than a block away by now. They began to talk hurriedly as they started walking again. Razel listened closely, it was not a nervous type of hurry, but an excited discussion. As they drew nearer, the conversation died down again.

“Hey! Whassup man.” The large black man greeted in a deep voice. Razel gave a nervous start and looked over to him.

“Oh, uh, hello gentlemen.” He replied in a quiet tone. All three of the men laughed and prodded one another, they looked like three children up to no good.

“Hey man, what you doin out here on these streets all alone anyway?” The large black man continued.

“Oh, uh well, I was hoping that the bus passed through here. I’m Stephen by the way.” Razel said, he always liked coming up with different names. “You are?” ‘Stephen’ inquires.

“Yeah, I’m Jerome, man. I don’t really give a shit who you are though. You know it’s not safe out here?” Jerome said, grinning mirthlessly, showing off his shiny gums.

“Yeah! Tell him Jerome!” The scrawny black fellow pipes up in a high pitched voice. Knowing that he would never catch his name, Razel decides to call him Mosquito. Jerome the ringleader already spouted his name, there was no need for the underlings to be known.

“Shut the fuck up man!” Jerome snaps at Mosquito causing him to cower down and close his mouth. Mosquito still gives Razel a stare of superiority. “Hey, you hungry?” Jerome asks the white male, Razel decides to call him Empty. Empty looks at Jerome with a blank stare, processing the question before responding.

“Yeah, I’m real hungry, real fucking hungry. My arms man, they’re fucking hungry too.” Empty responds in a slow hollow voice, as if he’s unsure of what he’s even saying. As he talks Razel catches glimpses of the mans horribly gangly and discolored teeth. He also notices the tracks on his arms, blackened veins snake their way under his skin.

“I’m hungry too, but you got any money?” Jerome asks Empty. Again he is silent for a couple seconds, processing Jerome’s words.

“Nah man, I don’t have any money. Uh, yeah, no money.” Empty slowly replies.

“Hey I got some money man!” Mosquito pipes in again.

“I said shut the fuck up! I didn’t ask you!” Jerome snaps. He stares Mosquito down for a couple seconds before turning to Razel. “I’ll bet you got money, don’t you?” Jerome asks, he already knows the answer, Razel knows he already knows the answer. By asking he emits a feel of uncertainty and helplessness on Stephen.

“Um, well uh, yeah, I-I do, why?” Stephen sputters his response. There is no guessing now, Razel knows what kind of people his guests are, the low life scumbags that he’s looking for.

“Yeah well guess what motherfucker, you’re gonna hand that green over, or I’m gonna fuck you up. Nerdy-ass pencil neck like you shouldn’t be out here anyway. Consider this toll money, toll money to keep me from breaking your scrawny ass in two!” Jerome says, laying his demands out as he edges closer to Stephen. It was true though, Razel had a rather thin and limber frame. And dressed as he was, a nine to five outfit encased in a large raincoat, he was a nerdy pencil neck.

“Uh, hey man, I don’t want any trouble. D-Don’t come near me Jerome.” Stephen says in a shaky voice. Razel liked to call his guests by their first name, it threw them off. Sometimes even angered them even more. He liked that.

“Oh yeah? And just what the fuck are you gonna do man? Gimme your fucking money!” Jerome begins to get heated, he menacingly moves in closer and closer.

“Yeah man, the fucking money, were starving here. Hee hee ha ha!, We’re fucking hungry man!” Empty joins in, the thought of scoring more needle is beginning to seep in.

“Yeah! We about to fuck you up!” Mosquito says, hopping around trying to assert some sort of importance to the group. Stephen begins to back away, fright apparent in his eyes.

“I’m gonna gut you like a fucking fish.” Jerome growls as he reaches behind and pulls out a knife.

“I-I’m s-s-sorry Jerome...” Stephen stutters out, reaching behind for his wallet, “...but heads, you lose.” Razel finishes.

“What the fuck you...“ Jerome begins, before he can continue the quiet of the early morning is shattered by a sudden cracking explosion that echoes down the streets. The silence resumes in the blink of an eye, only interrupted by the sound of a small metal object clinking on the pavement.

What Razel held in his hand was not the money filled wallet Jerome was seeking. Instead it was a .357 caliber Smith & Wesson handgun with a thin wisp of smoke rising out of the barrel. Blood trickled down Jerome’s face from the one inch hole in his forehead, considerably smaller compared to the exit hole in the back of his skull. His lifeless body stood on its own for several moments before falling backwards onto the ground, his white wife beater now a soaking red.

“Aghh! What the fuck man! What are you doing?!” Empty’s mind is so far gone, eaten away over time by his abuse of drugs, he can barely comprehend the situation. He stumbles backwards and falls over, quickly trying to slide away with his hands and feet as he watches Jerome’s body hit the ground.

“”Will you walk into my parlor?” said the spider to the fly.“ Razel says in a soft voice, swinging his arm in Empty's general direction. They briefly make eye contact before he pulls the trigger again. Razel does not blink at the deafening explosion and the bright flash that follows. Nor does he blink when he watches Empty’s head snap backwards in a bloody mess.

“H-holy shit! What the fuck?!” Mosquito yells out, completely petrified at witnessing his friend’s face explode in a spectacle of blood and bone. He was even standing close enough behind Empty to have some of that blood spatter on his face and clothes. Razel swings his arm again and points the gun at Mosquito, the nervous and vulnerable Stephen is gone.

“”’Tis the prettiest little parlor you ever did spy” ” Razel continues in a cool and unwavering voice as he pulls the trigger again for the third and final time. The silence is shattered mercilessly once more as the gun’s muzzle gives off an instant flash of light. Traveling at 300K feet per second the bullet tears into Mosquito’s throat like it was simply passing through empty air.

Mosquito frantically clutches his exposed esophagus, his face is twisted in terror and panic as he quickly bleeds to death, painting the ground around him a wet crimson red. He tries to talk but succeeds in only choking on his own blood, letting out a low gurgling sound as it pours out of his mouth. Falling face down onto the bloodied street, Mosquito’s body twitches for a few seconds before laying still.

The best laid trap isn’t a well hidden one...

Razel stands in silence, arm extended, hand still tightly grasping the smoking handgun. He slowly lowers his arm and returns the gun to its holster. Razel pauses for a moment, looking over his work, his guests. The street is a grisly canvas, painted with three fresh corpses in a pool of blood. He then quickly turns and makes his way down the middle of the street back in the direction he came.

As Razel walked quietly back home, he was already eager to meet his next group of guests, in due time of course, let life settle back into its normal pace. Can’t become too consistent and suspecting. Then again, who would suspect the nerdy pencil neck nine to five with the thin rimmed glasses from Lenscrafters and the pocket protector lined with pens? No one.

...No, the best laid trap is the one that is visible to see and feigned as something perfectly innocent.

Three crack heads were shot dead last night? Yeah. Happens all the time right? Of course. Nothing new there. What a shitty neighborhood.

Epilogue: This entire story and story idea began when I randomly typed, ""Hey life is a bitch, you don't always get what you want, and you don't always want what you already have." Razel says before he pulls the trigger on the .357 caliber handgun he has firmly clutched in his hand." That of course did not make it in the story, but it spurred ideas in my head. After about ten minutes of thinking about the story line I then commited two hours of writing and about an hour of editing. What you have just read is the end result. This was only a short story, but I am playing with the idea of using the same character, Razel, (pronounced: Ruh-zell) and the same idea of this story for a longer version with a more solid plot.