TAKEOVER By: Lars Adams
Thursday, February 12th, 2009The catfish churned. Their hideously round and seemingly sightless eyes stared at nothing and everything as they writhed against one another. Their tentacle-like whiskers twisted obscenely as they clambered for a better feeding position. Their poisonous spines stuck into each other with the force of their blood lust. Coco bay, Florida churned with them under the darkening sky.
Frank Calrone and Krael Martino stood on a dock, watching. Frank was much shorter than Krael, but was muscular and thick necked. He was very confident and self-assured for a middle-aged man with huge, thick glasses. Krael was very tall, and very dark. His high cheek bones and cavernous sockets made him seem lanky, but further inspection showed him to be quite fit. His shadowed eyes revealed nothing of his inner thoughts. Frank was talking, at length, about the catfish swarm, but Krael had no interest in fish. He smiled where appropriate, frowned were deemed advantageous, but mostly he remained blank.
“See, the water’s brackish, means it’s sorta salt, sorta fresh. The catfish don’t mind it. They ain’t too good eating, so they just keep collectin’ here.” Frank threw in a hunk of steak left over from his dinner at the local restaurant. A three footer leapt clear out of the water. “Tourists have fun feedin ‘em. So do I.” He threw the last of the steak in and pulled out his .38 snubnose special. He took careful aim and shot Krael in the shoulder. Blood spattered; Krael winced, but didn’t cry out or even look surprised.
“Boss says you’re tryin to muscle him out, take over the Miami operation. He ain’t stupid, you little punk, he sees right through you.” Krael smiled. “Alright man, you gotta die, so here’s the choice. I can shoot you, then dump you in with the fishies, or you can be eaten alive. Boss said ta let ‘em eat out you’re eyeballs while you were thrashin’, but I’m not that cruel.”
Krael’s smile got deeper, as if he was taking great pleasure in this, like a little game. He walked to the edge of the dock, stood with his back to the catfish. Frank wasn’t sure what Krael was doing, but he cocked the revolver. Krael gave him no chance to shoot, for he fell backwards into the water with the same sick smile. Frank gasped, astonished he would opt for being eaten alive. Indeed, he seemed to relish it.
Krael’s body was under water, his head and neck visible. He jerked here and there where he was being gnawed, but still smiled. A small fish attached itself to his face and removed his eyeball, but his grin grew deeper and more hideous. As the water turned red, Krael remained silent, and he grinned.
Frank couldn’t take anymore. He suspected that image would be burned into his growing collection of bad memories. He tried to forget the innocent woman and little girl he was ordered to kill, among others, and the burden was heavy. He shook those thoughts away. It did no good to dwell on them.
“What the hell kinda name is Krael anyway?” he mumbled to himself, “Sure as hell ain’t Italian.”
“You can rest assured of that. Sure as Hell.” came a voice behind him. Krael. Standing on the dock. Rather than his normal Itallian accent, this one seemed like some strange cross between Nordic and African. Krael had no eyes. His left hand was a gnarled stump, and he bled from a monstrous wound in his side. The gunshot to the shoulder was the least of his injuries. He put his good hand to his face as if he were playing peekaboo, and moved it down ro reveal his eyes totally restored, though with vertical pupils like a snake. Frank gasped. He did the same to his side and was healed. He tucked his bloodied stump into his suit and pulled it out, totally unscathed.
“What the hell are you?” asked Frank in horror.
“Well, the good Lord saw fit to cast me and a lot of others out of heaven. We’re doomed, ultimately, but we’re going to take out as many of you as we can. We’re taking over, Frank. Mayors, police chiefs, senators, soon we’ll get the Big Chair. It’s my humble mission to take control of all the east coast operations, not just Miami.”
“L-L-listen, s-sir. I can help you. Then you’ll have a guy on the inside. Y’know, make it easier?”
“That would be tempting if I actually wanted to do that. Do you trust me, Frank?”
“No.”
“Good answer. But do you believe I could offer you a far worse fate than at the hands of those pathetic little fish?”
“Yes”
“Then jump.”
Frank whimpered and said a prayer for the woman and child he killed. He jumped into the foaming water. A part of him was relieved as the groping mouths came for him.
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© 2009 Lars Adams
Lars is from Waukegan Illinois, factory worker by day and writer by night. Lars is currently finishing up his novel, putting the final polishes on it, and is doing short stories to keep him sharp while he proof reads and re-drafts. He too is struggling to stop talking about himself in the third person.
