Start of extracts from ABSOLUTELY DONE-by Dominae Primus
“Rascal, your time is up!”
“I’m not going yet punk!”
Out steps a cloaked figure with a grim expression and scythes in both hands.
“You fancy punk, think you can take me out with that?”
“You have sinned enough Rascal. Time to burn.”
“Burn yourself with lead punk!”
A rash of bullets discharged by the automatic submachine gun, rattles off its firepower.
The scythed figure weaves past the wave of bullets, moving his arms in a slicing motion and manages to turn the barrel sideways at close range. A follow up scythe attempts to slice Rascal’s neck, when Rascal pulls out a pistol from behind his back and fires point blank. The cloaked figure is momentarily surprised and the loss of momentum results in a small gash on Rascal’s right arm.
Rascal steps backwards and re-aims his automatic weapon fired from the left arm at the cloaked figure. “Die, you fancy vermin!”
Again the cloaked figure sidesteps the gunfire and rushes backwards with the grace of an ice skater.
In a fit, Rascal stirs and cups his face in his hands. Shaking himself awake. Grunting and snarling, he opens his eyes, removes the cupped hands from his face and stares at the ceiling of his room. “A blasted dream that was!”
He senses wetness on his right arm. Switches on the bedside lamp. He sees a slight scratch on his arm with a small trace of blood.
“So it was him, Death himself trying to take me out! Well he failed, that miserable creature, he failed! Rascal lives and he defies Death again!”
He rushes out to the balcony. “You hear that Death! I defied you again. Same way I defied the authorities. Each time they got close I beat them back. You hear that God! I made a pact with the Black Duke! I won’t be killed by Death! I’m untouchable! I’m alive!”
Turning away he mutters. “I can’t be killed in my sleep!”
The Grim Reaper had failed to claim the life of Rascal Common, who had exceeded his threshold of wickedness. Alone he rushes into the dark, disappointed by his failure. God will not be pleased by his weakness. He wanders into the dark, with nowhere to go and hide from the gaze of God who notes once again on his lack of precision and firmness.
But we do not have a God who strikes Death, nor God striking down Rascal Common with a thought though he very well could do so. There will still be those who deserve their fate even though this chain of circumstance drags longer than initially expected.
“Anchorius, scythes are just not my style. I don’t sashay the same way The Grim Reaper does.”
“You mean to weave the same way he does?”
“Yes, Master and also I prefer a sword. A least I know it’s straight to the point!”
“Well you did fine against Johnny Badseed. I wish you well with Rascal Common.
God has seen all possibilities and he is deemed to have expired all lease of life this night.
Remember he cannot be killed in his sleep for he had made an unholy pact!”
“ I bid you well, Master!”
Absolute makes his way to his second mission. No less grim a task to do in his business of death dealing to the death defying.
He makes his way to the Rascal’s Cove, hidden in the maze of alleyways of the city. Known only to those with special passes who wish to have a peek into the playground of the city’s most notorious dealer kingpin, known only as Rascal Common. A moniker after he had built a reputation for skilful sinning.
Rascal Common sits in the upper floor, overlooking all activities, designed like an opera box, where he is able to pick out those he fancies and those he wishes to eliminate. Surrounded by a phalanx of tough looking bouncers and bodyguards, he is every inch a Depression Era gangster kingpin incarnate in an immaculate suit, hat and glass of fine wine. Sophisticated, deadly and sure of his powers of having a mass of well dressed hoodlums at his beck and call. Sure that his Black Duke will uphold the bargain in return for a slice of his soul. He will not be killed by Death, the Grim Reaper.
While smaller hoodlums negotiate deals of smaller stakes, Rascal Common is updated on the successes of his latest larceny and takings. All done on his behalf with no name to tie him to the act. The authorities had tried to prosecute Rascal Common but without witnesses to attest to his orders, no case can be had. But tonight, the authorities will have some help.
Absolute makes his way to the main entrance, a solid wood and metal framed humongous door with the sign of the jolly roger as its door knob. Two large mean looking bouncers man the entrance asking every patron for their passes.
“Where’s your pass?”
Two tough looking tall hoodlums in sharp suits stare at Absolute, towering above him in height. He looks up from the brim of his hat, flutters his lapels and looks them in the eyes.
“That’s my pass.”
For a moment there was nothing. As if the hoodlums will inevitably seize his impudent form and throw him on to the road. Then they were both struck, not with the arms of destruction, but with wrenching shame. Absolute saw through their souls, torn by what they do as a living against what their families expect them to be. It is easy to put on an air of respectability for mortal eyes, but what if the Divine eye were to gaze into your soul and see your every doubt and exposed your shame in the raw?
They continued their duties with a twist by turning away every other patron after Absolute. Patrons dared not question the hard gaze or sturdy forms of the pair of armed bouncers.
He enters the foyer and sees the mass of people who live their lives by sinning well and mutters, “That only takes you that far.”
The smoke winding trails and tinkling of glasses lead him to the murmurs of the inner chamber, where music plays in the backdrop amid a glistening sea of sophisticated felony. His gaze follows the trail up to the opera box like top, where Rascal Common is having a briefing with his hoodlum lieutenants.
Absolute makes his way up to the front and is accosted by a woman, whose dress betrays her profession of indulgent pleasure.
“You’re new here. Let me show you around.” She stealthily winds her palm into his breast pocket.
“There is a good book at your bedside, You never got to read it.”
He seizes her wrist and continues in a firmer tone, “I suggest you go home and have a look at it tonight.”
She looks at him and tries to use her charms, then realises that it is useless. She wriggles her palm out of his grip, gives him a quizzical piercing look of irritation and hurries away.
“Not your night, eh?”
She gazes sideways and sees another woman dressed in a similar manner.
“I don’t feel well. I’m going home.”
“Well if you don’t make a killing Molly I will!”, came the response.
She hurries along, not hearing one bit of it in her haste.
Absolute is trailed by Molly’s colleague, a woman dressed in the same manner as she is.
She accosts him and attempts to catch his attention.
“Absolute looks at her. Firmly grasps her arm, and pronounces, “Repent while you still can!”
Absolute walks away.
“You’re not giving me the same drift Holy Joe!”
She runs up and pulls his sleeve.
He turns. Meets her gaze. Pulls her chin up. “You’re not my type. Go home!”
In a huff she storms off, irritated by the firm rebuff.
Absolute disappears from the vantage viewpoint from the box. Distracted by his lieutenant’s briefing, Rascal Common fails to notice the arrival of the determined stranger.
Absolute takes the escalator to the box area. He meets a trio of hoodlums at the top.
They gaze at him menacingly and draw back their coats to reveal firearms in holsters.
“Remove your coat! What business do you have here?”
Absolute obliges them. He removes his great coat and it falls to the ground to reveal a pair of drawn swords that he plunges into the two hoodlums on his flanks. The middle one attempts to draw his weapon and is met with a head butt up his chest. He crashes against the hard wall panelling. His head hits the hard panels and the blow knocks him out. Absolute fishes up the firearm by the trigger guard and throws it into the disposal bin nearby. Sheathing his swords he wears his coat again. Now he props one of the fallen hoodlums near the door, hooks up his jacket lapel, where his form can be seen, appearing to be guarding the place if seen from a small glass panel.
Now he walks into the chamber where the opera box is.
“I’m here to see Rascal.”
Thinking that he had access to the enclosure he is let in.
The sentinel who lets him in thinks that the one propped against the door is still on duty.
Sure of their numbers and their firepower, the burly bodyguards of Rascal Common are seated on plush cushions, sipping on drinks and inhaling fat cigars for their fix of nicotine. They eye Absolute, but since he had cleared at least two lines of defences, they figured that he indeed had some business with Rascal Common. A lieutenant ushers Absolute to the box.
“Someone to see you Rascal.”
Rascal puffing on a cigar, cross-legged with his well polished shoes reflecting a glow from the overhead lights, eyes the newcomer with an air of defiant haughtiness.
“What have you got for me?”
END of EXTRACTS from ABSOLUTELY DONE by Dominae Prmus
Excerpted from "Absolutely Done" by Dominae Primus. Copyright © 2010 by Dominae Primus. Excerpted by permission. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher. Excerpts are provided solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.