by Danny Hogan
Now the two boys are whimpering like dying dogs and I can hear those, cruel, wicked bastards down the knoll laughing at what they’ve done. My eyes are starting to burn and well-up and I realise that I, that we, are done for. The last time I cried it was over my dead man with one of those rat bastards’ cocks up my ass.
I summon the courage to at least look at the girl. She coughs and splutters; she’s still alive. That’s kind of worse in a way ‘cos she needs medical attention or it’s gonna be a slow and painful passing for her.
I clutch the repeater and look at the skies, but you can be sure there’s no answer there. I rest my forehead on the barrel. This cannot be it. Fuck.
I’m all about ready to throw it in and give up but something weird is starting to happen. My head is beginning to throb and my arms are shaking and I feel real hot. Then, my God, do I start to feel pissed off. Hatred, hellfire burning, white hot hatred, along with the undying need for a vengeance pushed out of Nemesis’s own cunt are the best healers a woman can have, as I said before.
I can’t control myself now.
‘You bastards, you fucking bastards think you can go around and fuck with people like this and just nothing happens? Think you can shoot kids that ain’t even had a chance to fuck up for themselves yet?’ I’m shouting.
‘Shut the fuck up, bitch,’ One of Gilberto’s goons shouts back at me.
Oh yeah, it’s on now.
Right, time to take hold and get things into perspective. Fact, this is fucked up. Fact, we have one down and she’s just a kid. Fact, there are more of them than me. Fact, these bastards have no hope ‘cos I love killing.
I get up and put myself in plain view. They can take as many shots at me as they like ‘cos you can bet all you got that I’ll be shooting back. I’m not as clear headed as I thought and I’m facing the wrong godamned way. I spin around guns at the ready.
Sometimes, just sometimes, luck works in my favour. Not only have I found myself perfectly balanced but the repeater seems to swing so that the sites are lined up just right to take a shot at the first fuck that’s got his weapon aimed at me. I am Jezebel Misery St. Etienne.
The fuck raped me, so I blow his nuts through his asshole. I pump the handle to chamber the next round as a bullet gives me a haircut, and get the next man well acquainted with an antique as I rip his heart out with a .44 rimfire. The third gets a good old gut shot. He’ll have plenty of time to realise he shouldn’t have messed with me as he dies slowly and painfully, poisoned by his own shit.
That leaves that dirty fat fuck Gilberto, who’s peeling shots off at me like there’s no tomorrow. I drop the repeater and run like a crazed bitch diagonaly to his position. Most of the shots whiz past but, smack, and I feel like someone’s hit my shoulder with a sledgehammer. There’s fucking blood everywhere. I’m stumbling and can’t help falling onto my hands and knees. I don’t know what he’s firing but it’s gone right through. I use every bit of strength I’ve got to push myself up and carry on but the next one is gonna finish me off. I’m wrong, oh shit, right in my butt cheek, fuck.
I’m spinning around now in agony, but I’m close enough and it’s all or nothing. I get my bearings, aim Comeuppance, and take Gilberto’s knees out.
Ha, I knew it, he’s a pansy. He drops his weapon and collapses to the ground, squawking pathetically.
I’ll do it just like my old man wanted me to. No prettying it up. No big last speeches, just do it.
I hobble up to him (my shoulder and ass are killing me, and breathing is a real drag). Hmm, something occurs to me. I press the business end of the barrel to his forehead and I wonder if, perhaps now, I can get the answer I’ve been looking for and I pull the trigger.
Nope, his head doesn’t come clean off. I guess the .44 magnum just can’t do that after all. There’s a neat whole plum in the middle of his forehead where the round went in and the rest of his head is a red mucky smear on the ground behind him. Ha, good enough.
A shot rings out. Oh Christ, I think I’ve been hit under my right shoulder blade. I hear another shot but I can’t feel anything. I don’t know, what the hell’s happened? I’m face down in the dirt and I can hear small foot steps making their way towards me double time. Shit, in all this excitement I forgot about the kids. Ahead of me I can see someone, not a kid, running towards me, oh shit, damn and fuck. Now it really is over.
I wake up and I’m in a bed with some damned bright light shining right above me. Well, I realise pretty quick that I’m in the safe haven. Pottering around me I can see the usual folks you get peopling these places, you know, the shit don’t stink types with their stupid haircuts and identikit outfits.
My clothes are gone and I’m wearing some kind of flimsy gown that ain’t doing what it ought to. I’m also bandaged up to fuck.
‘You saved those young ones, child,’ says some grinning idiot of a woman in scrubs.
‘Yeah, the girl?’ Goddamit, my throat feels as dry as fuck. I need some rum or something. She’s putting her idiot hand on me, oh so gently as she says, ‘Sarah’s fine, they’re all fine thanks to you.’ She carries on in that pussy, butter wouldn’t melt tone. ‘You’ve been here two weeks but you’re physically in good shape now. We were just worried you wouldn’t wake up.’
I look her dead in the eye. ‘Great, so I can go. Suppose you’ll be willing to take care of the kids, because I sure as fuck ain’t.’ That takes the smile off her face.
‘Our resources are very limited…’
I glare. She looks worried.
‘…but I am sure we can find something.’
The last thing this righteous bitch sounds is sure.
I ain’t going to be recuperating in this place, no fucking way. I am as weak as a lamb but I grab my things, ignoring smiley, get changed and make my way to see the kids. I want to make sure they’re really OK. I find’em, all smiling and jumping around, like nothing ever happened. Except, that is, for the dopey Adam, the runty one. He seems a bit withdrawn. I ask him if he’s OK. Then James the cocky one pipes up instead.
It’s then I find out what happened out there. The guy who I’d gut shot, managed to lift his gun and he shot me in the god damned back before he collapsed. That’ll learn me. James says he ran to get help from these safe haven halfwits. Bastards were glad to come out, once they knew the coast was clear. Turns out they had been watching the whole scene from the safety of their compound. They probably had the popcorn out and everything, cunts. Anyways, while he was running, James says the youngest boy, Adam, picked up a gun and, very efficiently, eliminated the threat of Mr. Gut Shot. Shit. Ain’t no disease more infectious than violence.
The kids are OK. Maybe the young one’ll forget this ever happened after a few years of being locked up safe in here. Time for me to go get some decent booze and do a bit of that brawling, bragging and booty chasing I was so looking forward to.
I am Jezebel Misery St. Etienne, junky, psycho and tart; though I’m sure you’ve noticed I do have some flaws. You may be with me now, you may not. Either way I don’t give a fuck.
The Beginning
I would like to thank the following most dearly:
Mum, Dad, Big Modge, Tim, Vicky, Jay, Matt & Chloe, Nicola, Nathalie & Simon, Rebecca, Brian Bell, Alan Kelly for being so patient and of course Dominic Milne & Becky, Dark Daze “French” Kev Mason & Tasha & the rest of Garage Studios (www.garage-studios.co.uk), hyper-talented Jen Harrison (www.feralfriend.com) for the Pulp Press website, burlesque legend Bella de Jac & Matt, the amazing Kitty Peels, living legend Cathi Unsworth & Mike, Tony Black, Allan Guthrie, Matt Louis and Out Of The Gutter, David Brazill, Jason Michel and Pulp Metal Magazine (www.pulpmetalmagazine.webs.com), good old Keith Rawson, Nick Quantrill, Matt Coleman and Helen, Buz Bunker & Em. Agnostic Front, Madball, Cro-Mags, The Business, Deadline, Morrissey and Nick Cave for the sound track. Red Stripe, Guinness, rum and Bombay Sapphire for the fuel.
Special thanks goes out to:
Danny Woollard for acting as consulta
nt on this project.
Lynn & Caroline, Grace & Gina, Kathryn, Catriona, Jacque and Rocky at Indepenpress without whom none of this would be possible.
Alex Young although it pains me to say so.
And of course Kim, for all the love support and the earhole that gave me a kick in that arse in the right direction.
And I’d like to use this opportunity to remind everyone that Hardcore still lives.