Getting Ugly (8 page)

Big Ugly practices knife play in a mirror.

He tries out different gun at the in-house range, fine tuning his game.

Cleans each of his guns with the greatest of care, carefully inspecting every detail and then going over them again. He polishes a handcrafted samurai sword with a fine shammy.

Big Ugly sits naked in the middle of an indoor basketball court.

Old bullet wounds, knife scars, teeth marks decorate his chiseled body like medals of honor. With legs crossed, he lets his mind cleanse itself. Letting himself go, he releases his soul into deep mediation. The battle is won before it’s fought. Big Ugly visualizes his war without knowing whom he will be fighting. It doesn’t matter. They will die, and die badly. Big Ugly will be entertained. His mind weaves in and out of reality, and the false reality he’s created over the years.

The lies, the covers, the truth…none of it is clear anymore. The stories he’s used over the years range from him being an orphan to the son of a dentist, from an only child to the third child in a family of ten. He’s been straight, homosexual, bi-sexual—there was also that thing with the goat, whatever that was. He’s been married, divorced, murdered wives, strangled gay lovers and was the live-in penis for two bi Israel chicks for a bit.

He’s deep down in his own head now.

The one thing, the only thing he wanted to hold onto, was his memory mother’s face. No matter what happened, no matter how many false versions of him there were, he wanted to remember the face of his mother. The details of her life and the life Big Ugly had with her were not important—he sure as hell can’t keep all that straight anymore—but if he could just hold onto Mom’s beautiful face he could hang onto something that was still his own.

His mind fumbles through images of women he’s known, fucked, killed, and seen on TV, but none of them are Mom.
Where is she? She’s here somewhere, right?
He squeezes his eyes tight. Sweat trickles down his forehead as the faces spin faster and faster in his mind.
She’s not there.
His brain is out of control, flipping through an endless loop, unable to find her.

Big Ugly pops his eyes open.

Snaps his fingers.

Fuck Mama.

Big Ugly surveys the impressive wardrobe in his gigantic walk-in closet. Silk button-downs, polished shoes, pristine suits hand-tailored by the finest craftsmen around the globe. He slips on a black Brioni suit that carries the price tag of a BMW. He tightens a blood red tie. He chooses socks with care. Shines a loafer.

All of this as if he was a knight selecting armor, suiting up in proper battle attire. Choosing the clothes he’d like to perhaps die in.

The room Big Ugly selected for his office is the size of the average tech start-up’s entire building. It’s filled with the best of everything, and when that best is outdated he gets the new best of everything.

Big Ugly takes a seat in front of a wall of monitors sporting a look that would make most GQ cover boys run away shrieking like frightened, homely bitches. He waits. His eyes bounce off each screen, one after the other. He syncs a handheld, wireless LG video surveillance tablet. The touch screen now buzzes through the same views as the wall of monitors, missing nothing.

Touch of the screen…a bird flies.

Touch…Brobee’s Cadi on the road, the crew’s empty Suburban parked next to it.

Touch…a squirrel scampers.

Touch…big smile from Big Ugly. “Hola.”

O
ut from the woods steps the crew, armed with enough firepower to invade a small country.

Brobee points to the mega mansion with great vindication and whisper-yells, “There. There, ya dicks. Everybody happy?”

Everyone soaks in the scope of the place.

Pike utters, “Ya fuckin’ kidding me?”

“I pray the bastard did not spend all our money,” says Vig.

“Pray the bastard is home,” says Oleg.

Leon’s focus is razor sharp as he takes note of everything. He feels it—something is off. “He knows we’re here.”

Rasnick studies Leon. “How do you know?”

In the distance there is the low hum of something coming their way. They turn to the hum, two four wheel ATVs motoring toward them. One ATV rides behind the other in a very careful, precise straight line. Manning the ATVs are two naked hookers, one blonde, one brunet. The male crewmembers’ heads follow the dancing double Ds rolling their way. The off-road tires of the ATVs leave ruts in their wake.

Patience notices Pike taking in every not so subtle boob bounce and presses a .45 to Pike’s head. Pike coughs, then recovers by quickly looking to his shoes. Chats scratches his nuts with a knife.

The ATVs come to a stop in front of the crew. The blonde hooker, the dumber of the two—cheerfully dumb, but dumb nonetheless—calls out like a medieval messenger. “I bring word from Big Ugly.” She pauses to read her hand. “If you want blood, you got it.”

Leon can’t help but stare at the small black heart tattoo nestled just above her right breast.

The hookers blow the crew a kiss and ride off.

The crew looks to Brobee. He shrugs. “Perhaps he did see me.” Brobee pulls a Glock while backing up toward the woods. “Well, kids, I’m outta here.”

“No really, can’t you stay?” Leon asks with fake sincerity.

Brobee keeps drifting backwards, making his getaway. “Cute. My role in this circle-jerk is done. Soooo, good luck with that Big Ugly thing. Looks hard…” A sudden crack from a high-powered rifle sounds, a bullet ripping Borbee’s head off, ending his exit strategy. A heartbeat later his body flops to the grass.

The crew hits the dirt. Pike begins to shake, showing signs of his false bravado crumbling. He mutters, “Holy fuck—shit.” Oleg jumps up, pulls his AK, and sprints toward the house.

Leon doesn’t like the feel of this either. It’s too…something. He calls out to Oleg, “Wait!” Oleg makes it maybe three steps before…

Boom!

A landmine sends Oleg’s body flying. Earth scatters. Oleg’s charred remains thump to the ground in three clumps of human-like pieces. A new level of fear has reached the crew.

Vig freezes at the sight his dead buddy.

Chats fires up a cigar.

Pike continues his shaking. Patience looks to her man, or what she thought was her man—this one has turned into a complete pansy.

Rasnick turns to the one person in the crew who seems to have a clue, Leon. “The fuck do we do now?” Leon has no real answer other than, “Try to stay alive.” Patience is losing hers. “I’m gonna gut this piece of shit,” she says to Pike. “Right, baby?”

Pike is jello.

Leon looks around, searching for inspiration. He spots the ruts left by the hookers’ ATVs. He calls out the remaining members of the once proud crew. “There. Follow the tracks to the house.”

Pike offers a counter strategy. “We could go back in the woods, regroup a bit?”

“Like Brobee?” asks Rasnick.

Leon keeps looking over the land, the situation, trusts his gut—he gets it now. He knows Big Ugly. As if thinking out loud he says, “He wants us to come inside.”

Rasnick asks, “For what?”

Leon looks to the house.
Not sure yet
. He is sure that he has to either lead this pack of whackos into the house or sit there and die. Leon gets up, swallows hard, and starts walking along the tire ruts.

The rest of the crew shares a look.
Is he nuts?
Chats rises, then follows Leon. Rasnick is next. Patience motions for Pike to go. The man is a puddle. Patience punches him in the jaw with a crunch. Pike shakes his head. Patience jabs at him again, this time to the nose. Nothing. Patience stands up and attempts to stomps his balls. Pike finally snaps out of it, grabbing her foot and spinning her to the ground. He jams a Glock under Patience’s chin. His breathing is hard, his eyes wild like a frightened animal. Patience smiles, getting to her feet. “There’s my baby, come on now.” She holds out a hand. Pike pulls it together, takes her hand, and the two follow Leon’s lead.

The crew moves along the ruts with Vig bringing up the rear. He looks back to his fallen comrade Oleg and hate swells. Vig racks his AK. The crew is halfway between the woods and the Big Ugly’s mansion. All is quiet for now, but their thoughts bounce, roll and catch fire knowing that anything could happen at any moment. Their breathing is accelerated, hearts racing, but down deep inside,each of them love this.

The crack of whip snaps in the distance. A voice booms with a cowboy yell. “Yeee-haaa!” The crew stops.

What.

The.

Hell?

A low rumble slowly rolls, quickly growing into rapid thumping. The ground shakes and trembles. Leon realizes what it is.
Shit!

It’s the heart-stopping sound of a stampede coming their way.

The herd of cattle runs riot from the stables in the distance, moving at amazing speed and kicking up earth in their path, storming headlong at Leon and company. This something not even Leon anticipated. Guns?
Sure
. Blood?
You bet
. Pain and anguish?
Without question
. But rumbling cattle driving at them with reckless abandon? No, that did not enter their minds.

Boom!

A cow goes flying as it hits a landmine. Beef sent flying end over end. Across the flood of livestock, a cow shoots up in the air every couple of seconds, with the shock and awe of the landmines causing the herd to stampede even harder towards the crew.

The crew is frozen by the remarkable sight. They can only look on.
Dear God!

“Run!” screams Leon.

They sprint hard, legs pumping and knees riding high, all while trying to remain in the tire tracks. The rampaging cattle bear down on them like a bovine tsunami.

Boom!

Another cow is hurled airborne, flopping down within inches of Leon. He hurdles the meaty mess, landing in a pile at a side door to the mansion. He throws open the door and is immediately met by a shotgun blast. He manages to flip the door shut just in time. The door takes the shot, blasting it back open.

Leon tumbles back planting himself spread eagle against the wall, taking safety in the inches available to him as the stampede is almost there.

The remaining crew does the same, lining up as close to the wall as they can on the other side of the door. Everyone is as tight against the wall as humanly possible, all except for Vig.

Vig’s grief-fueled rage gets the better of him when he sees Big Ugly through the blown out door. His veins pop. His mind unsnaps. Vig runs full tilt, crashing through what’s left of the door while unloading his AK into the mansion. His wild bullets miss Big Ugly who, bored with this, calmly fires his sawed-off shotgun.

The scatter blast hits Vig, sending him flying backward just as the rambling stampede blows by, ripping Vig along with them. His body bounces along limply, contorting like a rag doll atop the raging grain-fed mass.

Along the wall the crew braces themselves as the rush of cattle rips past, trying to make themselves one with the bricks and mortar behind them. The cattle roar by, heading off into the woods. The crew gathers themselves. Leon moves closer to his side of the door as Rasnick does the same on the other side. They share a look.

A shotgun pump echoes from inside the house.

Leon pulls a tactical smoke grenade. Rasnick nods, turning to Pike, Patience and Chats huddled behind him.
Ready?
Leon tosses the grenade into the doorway. Smoke quickly spreads, overtaking the room and seeping back outside.

They hear a cough.

The crew all looks to Leon.

He gives the signal.

The crew unleashes a hellfire maelstrom of relentless fire, unloading buckets of bullets into the smoke. Leon empties his Glock, slam loads and waits. The others keep pounding away. Leon yells out, “Stop!” They don’t. The bullets continue to run ripshit. Leon screams out again, nearly tearing a vocal cord. “Stop, dammit!” The rest of the crew finally ceases fire. They hold smoking guns at the ready.

The smoke starts to thin out.

All’s quiet.

Leon slips inside the house, swinging his tricked out assault riffle from left to right. Checks the corners first, sweeping, clearing like a good boy should. Rasnick follows suit, sweeping the room like a pro, just like Leon. Leon takes note of Rasnick’s technique.

The once Caesars Palace-like room is now a war-torn shit pile. Bullet holes decorate the walls, marble and granite gouged in chunks. Not a hint of Big Ugly. Pike, Patience and Chats file in with guns drawn.

Leon speaks low to Rasnick. “He’s somewhere in the house.”

“How do you know he didn’t slip out the back?” asks Rasnick. “Maybe hauled ass to Switzerland or some shit?”

“Does it look like he’s running scared?” asks Leon.

Chats pumps his shotgun, moseying up the spiral marble stairs toward a massive set of double doors. “Where are you going?” asks Leon. Nothing from Chats as he checks the knives that decorate his chest, then the 9mm at his side, before slipping through the doors. Patience agrees. “He’s right. Divide and conquer.” Pike finds his nuts again. “Hell yeah, baby doll.” They start moving toward another set of doors on the right.

Leon grabs Pike’s shoulder. “Let him go.”

Pike whips his arm free. “He’s gonna take all the money.”

“Think. We’re on his home field. This guy will chew us up one by one if we separate.” Leon stops just short of adding
you fucking idiot
to the end of that sentence
.

Pike fails to see the logic. “Fuck that. We split up and…”

“Dead this fool,” Patience finishes.

Leon hates these people, he really does, but he realizes he needs them in order to survive this thing. He moves in front of Pike and Patience, working to maintain eye contact. Not unlike training animals, he realizes he needs to speak on their terms while maintaining some form of dominance. Leon says, “Our strength, our only strength, is we are four hard-hitting, ball-busting, badass fuckers here with some death to deal, and get paid doing it. Right?” It’s a lot of work and hurts his head to talk this way, but Leon sees he’s winning Pike and Patience over by spewing their special brand of bullshit. Leon now has their complete attention and keeps at it. “I need to know something. You got the heart for this?”