Dead Men Tell No Tales

[Micky_Tohmpson 225]

((I hope you all don't mind that I am practiacally stealing the idea of The Idnentity from @ItsRaiden , but I can't help but find myself late at night writing, so here Is my take in writing a book related to Identity with a criminal side. No hate Raiden, much love brother, read chapt. 1 and loved it. Keep it up))

Chapter 1 - Morning

Micky is awoken by the sound of his phones alarm. He sluggishy sits up and puts on his round glasses, walks to his closet and struggles to put on a black pair of jeans. After successfully accomplishing such an easy task, Micky, still half asleep slips into a "Support your local m.o.m chapter MFFM" hoodie. After slipping socks on he ponders over to his window, which is covered by a Gadsden flag draped from the window sill. It's still dim outside and a low fog covers the streets of Mickys working class neighborhood. He turns around and walks to his bedside table. It's littered with dollar bills, full ashtrays and packs of cigarettes. With a push of a button on his Bluetooth speaker The Who begins to play. "Time to start the day" he murmurs to himself. He pulls the cheap wooded door and a surprise is imminent. His house is stil dirty! He pushes himself towards the kitchen, which is only a few steps past two other cheap wooden doors on both sides, bathroom and closet. Once he is exposed to the wonderful smell of a leftover Italian sub from Marcellus sub shop hidden in the almost empty fridge, he is instantly revived from the sleepy daze. Taking a Lucky Strike from a pack on his small kitchen table and resting one on his lip and uses the gas stove to light his "toasted". After waiting for what seems ages his coffee is brewed and he pours it into his Harley Davidson mug. A gift from an old friend.

The smell of fresh coffee, oh so sweet and elegant. He walks out onto his back deck overlooking a thick forest. Homes and there yards are on either side. The bitter cold air flys past his slim yet beer bellied body. He pulls his hood over his shaven head and slicks his small 70's style stache. The Who can still be heard in the distant bedroom. To the left his neighbor Mr. Hardy is outside in his backyard, taking his wifes small yapper dog for a walk. Standing there looking as if he's just experienced sub zero temp he turns to notice Micky.

"You need a real dog!" Micky says with a heavy smile

"You know the wife, gotta have her little precious. You know I had no say in this" He says as he devil eyes the young dog

"Oh the shit we do for women" They both snicker blowing cold air "I'm going back into the heat, I suggest you do the same!" Micky exclaims as he steps back into his house. Hardy shivers back into his house, distant arguing can be heard between him and his wife. Micky chugs the rest of his coffee and places his mug in the sink. He moves his way into his tiny bathroom. Taking off his glasses and eventually pulls off his hoodie. Realizing why he ever got dressed in the first place. He stares at himself in the mirror and slowly takes off his white t-shirt. Uncovering his chest tattoo. Across his upper body reads a simple saying "dead men tell no tales"

Edited November 16, 2017 by Micky_Tohmpson

[Norway174 269]

This was excellent.

Micky I feel like is one of the few truly fleshed out characters around here.
And with that avatar, fits so well!  

[Micky_Tohmpson 225]

[I'm not dead, took a long break. Not sure why I did to be fair]

Chapter 2. Night

Micky is awoken by the sound of gunshots outside his house. Cracks and pops ring throughout the neighborhood along with strung out automatic gunfire. Micky grabs his pistol from his bed stand. In just underwear and a T shirt he creeps over to his window and pushes the drapes to the side. A grey minivan is creeping along the street doing a drive by right across his house. "Holy shit!" Micky says to himself while watching the muzzle flashes of uzi's and pistols going to work. Within 10 seconds of watching the van flys away down the street. Bullet holes scatter the siding of the house, windows are smashed and a man lay dead in the street. 

Micky sits on his bed and hurries to put his boots on, once tied he runs out of the house and sprints to the man in the street. He lays silent on his stomach, bullet holes litter his body with a massive pool of blood surrounding him. Lights turn on in surrounding houses, blinds creep open with neighbors eyes locked on the sight of a dead body. The local gossip unwinding before them. The door opens to an older man, Roger. A black working class family man, succumbed to gang violence introduced to by his only son. Micky and Roger exchange eyes, a lonely teardrops from the father who stares at his dead son. A crip, dressed in blue; covered now in red. 

"I'll call the cops!" Micky walks into their house. Roger is known to have barbeques and both consider themselves family friends. Micky has known their son since he moved to the Island 13 years ago, when the boy was only 8 years old. 

[2 Months Later]

Micky rides down route 8 towards the city. The wind blowing through his unbuttoned cut. He stops at his usual convenience store "Marty's Place". He backs his chopper in and puts the kickstand down. He fixes his cut up, straightening his flannel underneath. A black SUV with tinted windows parks a couple spaces down, two black men hop out, the driver and the passenger. They both wear the color red. Red bandanas, red shirts, red jordans. Micky hops off his bike and walks behind them.

One of the men walks into the bathroom, in the back away from the main store. The other walks towards the drink aisle, away from the counter, Micky follows. The man stops and opens the door, Micky turns around behind him to look at the snacks. He reaches into his leather vest pocket, unravels a wire and wraps it around his fists. Micky turns around and wraps the wire around the kids neck, tugging him tighter and tighter, slowly choking him to death they both lock eyes in the doors frozen mirror. Micky slowly lays the kid on the ground, dropping the wire next to the motionless body. Turning around and walking away, he looks at Marty behind the counter.

"Pack a Luckies please Marty" 

Marty turns around to the cigarette cabinet and grabs a pack. "So, doing anything this week?" Marty asks while ringing him up.

"Nothing, nothing at all"

Edited January 6, 2018 by Micky_Tohmpson

[Norway174 269]

Voted sad, because... Well, poor kid.

Wonder what will happen once the other one comes out of the bathroom.

[Micky_Tohmpson 225]

16 hours ago, Norway174 said:

Voted sad, because... Well, poor kid.

Wonder what will happen once the other one comes out of the bathroom.

Why Micky kills someone is sometimes not so easy to notice. Read carefully in my next post. 

 

[Dilsea 116]

Great work! I look forward to the next part.

[Micky_Tohmpson 225]

[It's a pretty long post and I feel as if this one could've been better, yet it is pretty vital for my next post]

Chapter 3. 

Micky stands in his driveway, looking towards the street. The sight of the murder. Dark red spots still stain the blacktop. It's a very hot day out and Micky wears black baggy jeans, a white T-shirt, his cut and black vietnam combat boots. He begins to walk towards Rogers house, treading off he tries not to stare at the darkened blood in the street. Roger is working on his car, inside of his garage.

"Got the date for the funeral?" Micky asks, beginning to light a cigarette.

"The fifth" Roger says, still looking at his cars engine. He chokes up "I just wish I could have done something" 

"Like what?" 

"Like... like did something to those men" Roger exclaims, turning around yet looking at the ground. Micky slowly walks towards him, leaning against the car to his side.

"member' those murders at that strip mall last week?" Micky says, looking down at the ground with Roger and taking a puff of his lucky.

"Yea, those gang members killed at that convenience store on Route 8?" 

"What I'm going to tell you stays here, you got that? Roger looks at Micky, and nods his head "Those were the kids who did that. To your son."

"How do you know?" Roger asks while reaching for a cigarette. Thoughts begin to race around in Mickys mind, sweat drips from his brows. He stands up.

"Just remember who I run with"  

Roger looks at Micky, now walking away from his garage. His gun showing from his waistband, the patch on his cut is enough to make Roger know everything. 

[2 hours later]

"The sight of the horrific murder scene between what's said to be rival gang members at this quite convenience store is shocking to the authorities, chief Marston says. Here we have the shop owner himself" Marty stands in the heat looking at the camera. "Don't you do something stupid Marty". "Well Marty can you tell us what you saw that night?" The ridiculous looking reporter asks  Marty looks at the camera "I can't say, I was in the back of the shop, grabbing more items to stock the shelves. Once I heard the gunshots I called 911, I didn't want to go out there" Micky raises the remote and turns the TV off. 

Micky stands up and walks out the back sliding glass doors, connecting to his driveway. Across the street a channel 3 news van is interviewing neighbors. The reporter notices Micky, standing in the driveway next to his bike. Micky just stands there, blatantly waiting for the reporter to rush over. Mickys cut lays on the seat of his bike, the patch showing for the camera. A lanky man in a cheap suit carrying a microphone rushes up to Micky, who stands there, arms crossed and as tall as a mountain.

"Did you witness the murder sir? Can you tell us what happened that night?" The reporter asks with the mic stuck in the air

"I'll tell ya" Micky says, eyeing down the man "More fucking gang violence the police won't take care of"

"Sir we're live please don't swear" 

"I don't give a fuck. You aren't helping in any way. We'll forget about this shit and just move on" Micky exclaims

The man turns around, dumb witted and faces the camera "Well obviously some residents feel very deep about what happened here"

Micky puts his cut on and sits on his bike. "Get the fuck off my property" He says, pulling out the kickstarter and jumping down on it. The roar of the shovelhead engine scares the camera crew, who run away down the driveway like little kids. He pulls out the driveway and heads down the road, the scream of the chopper can be heard several blocks away.

[About 30 min later]

The sun is high in the sky, blue as far as the eye can see. Micky rides slowly on a long, windy driveway, surrounded by trees and thick brush. Coming around the corner is the well kept MC clubhouse. It's a fairly big house, with two large garage doors in the front instead of walls. A large flag with the Men Of Mayhem patch drapes from one of the garage doors, as well as a confederate flag and an SS flag on another. A separate two car garage is off to the left. The house is lined with members bikes. Ranging from custom built choppers to regular Harleys. Micky backs in next to the sergeant at arms bike, hops off and begins walking to the side of the house. The door opens and he's greeted by T, a patched member. They shake hands and T offers Micky a beer "There's plenty inside!" He says, smiling while grabbing his pack of cigarettes. Micky smiles back and walks in, he's greeted by a large crowd of members and some wifes. A prospect comes over and hands Micky a beer and a Lucky Strike, Mickys usual two things most requested. The prospect lights the cig and he twists the beers cap off and drops it on the ground, the Prospect pics it up.

Off to the right is the kitchen, separated by a long table with chairs like a diner. To the left is a small stage in front of the main hall. Behind the crowd is a lounge area with leather seats, multiple pool tables and a jukebox connected to speakers around the garage. Think of it as a huge studio apartment. Behind the stage is a painted mural of the clubs patch, spread around the walls are more flags and wooden plaques for poker runs, charity events and various related awards.

After the usual ball breaking jokes, pool playing and drinking T; the one who greeted Micky begins to strike up a conversation. 

"You here about the murders on route 8?" He asks, looking at Micky, who nods his head slowly.

"Join me outside, I need a smoke" The two get up from the leather chairs and head out the door. The sun is going out and some members take off on their bikes, Tristan and Micky wave and smile goodbye. Both strike up cigarettes, T offers a friendly light. 

Micky looks at T while walking out back "That was me" T looks in confusion "Who carried those murders out" T nods 

"May I ask why?" 

"They killed my neighbor's son. I knew him since he was eight" Micky looks down, blowing the smoke out of his nostrils. "Back when I first came here, it was roses and white sheets, suburban families with little dogs, American flags and open doors." 

"I remember" T says, resting his cigarette in his mouth.

"And we sit home, watching the TV doing nothing. Looking desperately at the reporters and casters, like they'll somehow fix the whole fucking problem. We walk around with our phones in our pockets and pistols in our waistband." They both lift their cuts up, showing their pistols and laughing. 

"You know what. I agree. We live in constant fear but nobody has the balls to stand up to it. Families walking down the street, walking down the isle of the grocery store get spat on by low lifes who get to walk back home to their government paycheck." 

"The mayor says everything's alright, the TV reporters say it's alright... So it must be alright. I wanna do something about it" They both look at eachother

"Ulysses. Five o'clock tomorrow. Your serious lets meet and talk." T looks at Micky, providing a serious look.

"Good. I'll see you then."

Edited January 9, 2018 by Micky_Tohmpson

[Dilsea 116]

This one is my favorite one! really good job

[Micky_Tohmpson 225]

7 hours ago, GreyFox said:

This one is my favorite one! really good job

Thank you! It means a lot, Surprisingly I work kinda hard on these.

[Micky_Tohmpson 225]

[Sorry for the long waited delay, I've got bigger projects in front of me.]

The smell of cigarette dampens the cramped private room of the Ulysses pub.

A large round table separates Micky and T, who currently talk politics.

"I guess I'm just sick of petty criminals getting away with everything" T says, taking a sip from his pint

"Same here. That's why I did what I did earlier this month. Our politicians don't do anything, anytime something goes bad 'don't worry about it our top people are on it' bullshit". Micky replies, also taking a gulp from his belhaven ale.

T leans back in his chair and rests a cigarette on his lip. "So what now, are we gonna become superheroes or somethin'".

Micky shrugs

"Seriously? What's your new name" He gushes

"I think I have a good idea" Micky nods his head "We can help families". 

"By doing just what". 

"I don't know, extort those who fuck with the innocent. Like what I did to that kid at Marty's, Like a glorified revenge". 

T rolls his eyes "Go on a killing spree then".

"Alright so you don't care" 

They both look at eachother. 

"Did I say I didn't like the idea?".

They both smile and grab hands. Micky walks out of the private room, making sure to hold the door open for T. The bartender gives a stern glare to the brutish bikers, who linger out of the front door. The two are quick to start their bikes and trot off down the narrow city street. The scream of the engines can be heard several blocks away. They get looks from the street corners as they sit at the traffic light. A pack of bikers ride down the opposing lane, and with harsh braking they all stop in the middle of the intersection. An enforcer from the pack pulls out in front of the coming traffic in which they block. Micky pulls up and parks in the front of the pack, a spot is open in the middle for T. Michael "Sarge" Costa, a skinny bestial hillbilly, greets his VP and they slowly begin riding down the street. The enforcer pulls out and rides in the back of the pack.

[15 minuites later]

The club rides down the newly paved road, slowly revealing the clubhouse hidden in the trees. The pack parks in front of the garage doors. One slowly opens, a prospects their to great them.

“Brother, get me a water” Micky says

“One here too” a patched member says

The prospect hurries off to the kitchen. Micky follows.

“Where is he?” Micky asks the prospect, who grabs two water bottles from the fridge.

“In the shed” he says.

“Good”.

Micky steps out the front, everybody follows. In the backyard stands a beat up shed. Opening the crooked door reveals a broken man, chained to the wall in shackles. Naked, but wearing a bag over his head. Barely being able to move he drools on the ground and his slashed stomach is covered in dry blood, hiding tattoos which surround his body.

Micky unchaines him and carries him out of the shed and into the deep forest.

“You fat motherfucker” Barks Micky

Falling with every step, a patch member kicks his back making him stumble to the ground. Micky just drags him. Now a safe distance from the clubhouse, the bag is pulled off of his head. 

[Staxx 0]

Future Author?

keep up the good work on these

[Micky_Tohmpson 225]

On 3/14/2018 at 9:30 AM, Staxx said:

Future Author?

keep up the good work on these

 

Thanks! Writing is just a hobby/past time. 

[BigT 2]

Always look forward to another part of the story, Keep it up Bro

[Micky_Tohmpson 225]

[Here is a link to the google doc with the work in progress story. I write slow. https://docs.google.com/document/d/1ooXWP5VlvhquYvAAfAC_pmkVNICKRKokKyrav2TLnzo/edit?usp=sharing]

Steve, T and Micky drive down Rigaro Blvd, a road known for gang violence, robberies and murders. The cars clock reads three a.m, and the block is relatively quiet at this hour. The trio drive slowly down the road, peering over at every soul who ponders the dim lighted alleyways.

“Where's our guy” Micky says, while gripping his cigarette In his right hand

“Around here somewhere” T says.

Steve stays quiet in the back seat. The sedan pulls into a Dunkin Donuts. The cool shore breeze flows in and out of the open windows. The three slouch down in their thrones, waiting for their pray. Micky looks up to notice a man slowly walking into the parking lot. He taps T’s shoulder and points at the man.

“That him?” Micky asks

“That's him alright”

“He's black?” Micky says

“Yea, so”

“What does it matter, his face is gonna be red in a couple of seconds” Steve growled

“True” they both say.

Steve grabs a chain from the floor of the car and swings the door open. He promptly walks over to the kid.

“Hey!” Steve yells “I didn't know you were allowed on the north side!"

He swings the chain and smacks the guy across the face with it. He falls down and Steve begins to stomp his face. The kid lets out a painful groan and Steve lets his boot off. 

“Your ever talk to D again, you'll be saying hello to old fuckin’ mee maw!”

The lights of the car turn on, enveloping Steve and the kid behind him. Who now rolls around in pain, bellowing with every breath. Micky reaches over his seat and pushes the back door open for Steve. He slides in and slams the door.

“A bit corny?” Steve says doubtfully

“A bit… yea” Micky replies

They all laugh as T peels out of the parking lot. They begin to drive down the street as they notice a suspicious looking prostitute on the corner of a side street. The car slows down and stops at a red light. The three look at a kid on the side of the street next to the light. He’s in all black with a backpack. Stander attire for a huster.

“Unusual” T says

Micky rolls the window down and hollers him over to the curb. The two sigh, micky follows up with a chuckle. He walks over and Micky grabs a 38. Snub from the cubby hole in the door and rests it under the window.

Sense the three don’t have their colors on and seem relatively calm at the moment, it’s fairly common for people to stick up three guys. Even a little kid. The bloody chain hidden on the floor out of sight of course.

Micky rolls his window down and he walks over to the curb. His ripped shoes drag on the concrete and his is face is revealed under his hoodie, he’s a white kid with a bloodshot left eye and a bruised right one.

“What you want” The kid says.

“What do you have” Inquired Micky

“Crack” hissed the kid

“Alright…” Micky pauses and looks at the guys “Let me get it all”

The kid makes sure the coast is clear “I got an eight ball for ya”

“Ok. Hand it over”

He hands it over, clearly he’s new to this. Micky grabs it with his right hand and throws it over his shoulder, his left hand; sitting calm on his gun.

The three laugh hysterically, but Micky makes sure to keep an eye on the young fellow.

T leans over to get a looks at his face “What’s your name kid”  

"Why do you wanna know" The kid says

“Kids got balls” Micky says to T

“Sure does”

Micky lets out a little sigh. “Where'd you get the shit from”

Edited April 30, 2018 by Micky_Tohmpson