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Merc-casm:
“You know what I hate the most about runners, it’s that they always think they can outrun you. Hey I have four different people of varying heights and sizes, I can definitely outrun them, especially if I run through this god damn forest.” A rather seasoned, and rough voice beckons out from his position.
“What else am I supposed to do when I see a group of four men stalking me from my house, I got freaking scared man, so I ran. Just let me up, come on, I haven’t done anything. You have no right to do this.” Speaks the man lying on the ground with a boot over each of his wrists that lie folded against his back.
“Afraid I can’t do that, pal. Got this handy piece of paper right here that says I can collect you and bring you back to your wife, Frank.” Speaks the rough voice again.
The man standing on top of the other man raises his left arm, and fishes his hand into the left front pocket of his tan cargo pants, and brings out a folded piece of paper. His pants had seen better days, they had been with him for many years and many adventures that he had partaken in with them. They had been patched and sewn back together over a dozen times, he always joked that he got a new hole or rip from each person hunted down. He finally snaps back to attention and begins to unfold the piece of paper before holding it in front of Frank to look at.
“See it’s right there.”
With the paper now placed in front of his eyes, Frank switches his eyes off the brute of a man and focuses on the paper and starts to read off of it. He’d suddenly stop not even after a second and glance back at the man holding him down, he’d finally notice all of the scars running over the course of his body. They’d be over his eyelids, lips, neck, and both of his wrists, the scars in question look as if they were the result of torture or some sort of wounds that needed to be fused shut with intense heat quickly. Frank shakes his head before gesturing to the paper once more, then back to the man again.
“There’s nothing on the paper, its blank.” Frank speaks out in a puzzled tone.
“Well no shit, Sherlock. You think I took the time and went to the authorities to get authorization to detain you and bring you home to your loving wife. Yes hi officer, I’m just wondering could I get your permission to assault, handcuff, and kidnap this man named Frank? His wife wants to punish him for cheating on her, and I think it’s the right thing to do even though I have no legal rights to do it. Oh sure Mister Riles, you go right ahead and do your white knight thing, we really appreciate your help. Pull your head out of your ass and look at where you are.”
The man named Riles drops the blank piece of paper on top of his head and moves into his right back pocket to retrieve a pair of handcuffs, his monologue reminding him to secure his wrists so he didn’t have to stand on him the entire time. Riles fishes them out after a few moments, and lowers his right hand down to snap and lock each wrist cuff around both of his wrists. His foot finally rises from off his back, and plants down against the ground level of the forest they were in, he’d take an extra second to grind the tip of his left boot against a trampled flower.
“Riles is it? Don’t take me back to my wife, however much she is paying you, I’ll double it for you and your team. I made a mistake, we all do, and we are human after all. When I married my wife she made it clear to me that if I ever cheated on her she’d call her daddy and get him to cut off my balls then make me eat them.” Frank would plead out towards the man behind him.
Riles raises his brows and offers him the most confusing and odd look he could manage before simply shaking his head at him.
“Your wife told you that and you still went ahead and cheated on her? What the hell was going through your head, and why would you even risk that? If I had a woman and she told me that, that is the god damn last fucking thing I would ever do, I’d take that comment, put it in a box, put it on my kitchen table with a table that says, “Don’t fucking do that.’ Christ man. I’d take you up on your offer to double our wage, but the sad fact is that the money your wife is paying us with is from your joint account, you are practically paying us to catch you and bring you back yourself. Ironic ain’t it?”
At the same moment that Riles finishes his speech a short figure emerges from the bushes in front of them holding a phone to his ear. The figure in question is a shorter Spaniard, with his neck length brown hair done up in a ponytail behind his head. His build bolsters a short and stocky look to it, and the features of his face are defined and thick.
“Yes I have him right here, I just found him. Yeah I’ll tell him right now, thank you Monica.” The short Spanish man speaks into his phone before flipping it closed and sliding it into the breast pocket of his clay jacket.
“Carmine, what’s up?” Riles speaks out towards him, his eyes glance down towards Frank and he raises his left boot to place it against his neck.
“You’d do well to keep quiet now as I speak, I hate being interrupted.” Riles speaks down towards Frank.
Frank’s head slowly nods and shuffles in place as best as he can manage due to the foot being against his neck and driving his face into the grass and dirt beneath them.
“He popped up in Georgia, our source has confirmed one of the corpses found. No doubt it’s him. He’s back” Carmine speaks out in a serious and calm demeanor in the direction of Riles.
“The Flesher? In Georgia? Why in god’s name is he there, he has never strayed from the west coast. Unless. You sly old fuck, you found someone worth following. Has the local PD been notified or know of the situation?” Riles speaks out in a rather urgent tone.
“Our source burned the corpse and dumped it somewhere where no one will find it. He also says it’s in rural Georgia somewhere, nothing but forest and a small town there. No where to hide underground.”
“Nothing underground? That was your first and last mistake, Flesher. He’ll trip himself up soon enough, he’s never been above ground for more than a day. I doubt the population there is big enough to sustain his hunger. Carmine, contact Monica and Miles, get both of them on the first plane out there. I want a perimeter set up, and I want his hide out found. I’ll head home and pack up right now, and one more thing, Carmine. Take Frank to his wife and her daddy, ask for a video if possible. I want to see him eat his own testicles.” Riles beckons in a rough but enjoyable tone before removing his foot from Frank’s neck and beginning his walk back to civilization.
During his walk out from the forest, Riles raises his left hand and runs it briefly over each of the scars that adorn his body and allows for a powerful and upsetting shiver to course over his entire body. His mind jumps back to the month he spent captured by The Flesher and the torment he had put him through, cutting parts of his body open then cauterizing them together again. His eyes and lips being fused together so he couldn’t speak or see; his only source of nutrition was from a tube inserted into a hole made in his neck and fed directly into his stomach. An entire month of torture, and twenty five years later he still has nightmares of it every single night, waking up soaked in sweat and tears.
“You made it personal, Flesher, and now as cliché as it sounds, your past is finally catching up to you.”
Last edited by Giles on Tue Oct 21, 2014 10:31 pm; edited 1 time in total
