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Gasoline, Gears and Gun Oil -6-

Zane Richards's picture

With the heavy blanket over the window, the only light in the room is cast from a dim sodium lamp hanging from a nail in the wall above the work desk.  Zane leans back in his chair, a haze of cigarette smoke hangs lazily in the room, as he lights another off the last one before dropping the remains in an empty bottle.

He takes a long swig off the half empty whiskey bottle in his hand, his jet black eyes slowly coming to focus on the large rat helping itself to the remains of his sandwich.




"Bold fucker arn't ya..," Zane chuckles sourly, staring at the rodent who seems unconcerned about the comment. "Well at least I got someone to talk to now."

The rat looks up as if listening, before moving to get some more of the left over food.

"I coulda been noble, said nothin' swallowed my anger and just pretended nothin' happend, but nope...not me...I had to act a bloody fool and open my yap."

Zane takes a hard swig from his bottle, then a draw off his smoke, blowing the smoke out through his nose in a long slow exhale.

"Maybe I should have just shot the fucker when he grabbed her...coulda claimed it was an honest mistake..."He grabbed her I didn't know what was goin' on" Zane snorts derisively, as the rat looks up at him. "Yea I know not really my style huh...I'm alotta things but I'm no liar, and sure ain't gonna shoot a man in the back, even if it is that one."

He toys with the bottle, looking through the whiskey at the sodium lamp, and the rat.

"Just wish I knew why she got under my skin so quick, or at least why the situation did.  Like a bad taste, familiar and sour.  Cut deeper than it shoulda, she don't owe me nothin', we ain't nothin' least not, nothin' like that."

Zane takes another draw off his smoke, blowing the smoke out into the glass bottle, watching the way the smoke swirls around inside.

"Memories maybe...stuff I can't remeber...I didn' ask so I got no right, still tastes sour though, specially it bein' that scarred up fugly bronze."

He turns to look directly at the rat as it tries to pull a particularly large piece of cheese out of the sandwich, "Still burns me that he comes up tryin' ta tell me what's what.  Fuck it...don't give a shit what scarface thinks anyway.  Me and V are straight...least I think so...hell...I don' know."

Taking another swig from the bottle he gets up and wanders toward the blanket covered window, and pushes the makeshift curtain aside.

Its well after midnight, a few guards wander about on patrol, but its relatively quiet, the soft moans of a couple drift from the open window across the way.

"Maybe its just bein' lonesome that makes men crazy"



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