SCARS OF A DEADBEAT
The sign on the wooden door read: Imperial Investments Ltd. Guy opened the door and walked
into the office. Sepp entered the office behind his partner. In front of them in the sleazy slum
financial investments operation was the receptionist Josie, somebody's grandmother of at least 60
years of age. The old lady sat minding a telephone and computer terminal behind a counter. Guy
stood in front of the old woman and looked around the room.
“Hello boys,” Josie the receptionist said.
“Hello yourself, Josie,” Guy said to the receptionist. “Nice fuckin' day, ain't it? Big Rob around?
Wanna talk to him please.”
“He's out,” Josie the receptionist answered, nervously noticing the baseball bat in Sepp's hand.
“What's with the bat?”
“It's my walking stick,” Sepp answered.
“Big Rob's out?” Guy asked. “He was supposed to meet us here at ten.”
“He's doing an inventory appraisal in the basement,” Josie the receptionist said. “Would you care
to leave a message for him?”
“Yup, I would indeed,” Guy said. Guy didn't look at his partner. He didn't need to. “Sepp --”
The baseball bat in his hand, Sepp walked over to the waiting area. SMAAASH!!! SMAAASH!!!
SMAAASH!!! He raised the bat over his head and smashed the metal bat down on a glass coffee
table, shattering the table to smithereens.
Sepp turned his attention to the framed prints of cheapjack Japanese knockoff artwork hanging
from the walls of the seamy downtown fifth-story ghetto rat-hole. SMAAASH!!! Sepp began
systematically smashing every one of the pictures, leaving holes in the wall and sending shards of
glass and mangled picture frames and wires falling to the floor.
The office had several smaller one-room sub-offices where employees worked at computer
terminals and conducted sales calls and cold calls on the telephones. These vacant sub-offices all
had large windows beside the doors. CRAAASH!!! CRAAASH!!! CRAAASH!!! Sepp took the
metal baseball bat and smashed in each of the sub-office windows. Occasionally he'd lay the bat
into the sub-office doors as well.
Sepp's destruction was deafeningly intimidating and Josie the receptionist cringed and cowered in
terror at the commotion Sepp was creating.
When Sepp was done smashing the sub-office windows he returned to the counter where Josie the
receptionist sat frozen like an ice statue. SMAAASH!!! Sepp smashed the baseball bat down on
the counter inches away from the petrified woman's head. Josie winced. Sepp smiled at her
reaction, at how she flinched in fear. The terrorized woman shrieked and threw her hands up in
frightened bewilderment.
“Is it even possible to do fifty thousand dollars worth of damage to this dump?” Guy asked Sepp.
“Not fuckin' likely,” Sepp said. “Fifty bucks maybe. At the most.”
“We'll see if his Beemer's downstairs in the parking garage after we finish up here,” Guy said.
Guy walked around the counter and attacked Josie. He pulled her off her chair and forced her onto
the ground on her back and he sat himself on her belly. He held her face with his left hand. To
Josie, Guy looked like the devil. The next thing Josie saw was the knife in Guy's other hand
coming towards her face.
“Josie, you fuckin' delinquent bitch,” Guy said to Josie. “Pass this message onto Big Rob for me,
will ya?”
Guy started with Josie's right cheek. He took the knife and used it to carve a ragged X into the
flesh of her face. Josie screamed. She shut her eyes and gasped in shock as she felt the cold steel
of the knife penetrate her skin, cutting through her flesh, scraping her cheekbone. Since Guy
wasn't a surgeon his cuts were far from surgical and precise. Josie's warm deadbeat blood spilled
out onto the floor. Then Guy turned the woman's head around to do the other side. His bloody
hand smeared red all over Josie's face. Sepp watched as Guy did the same to Josie's left cheek,
malignantly slashing an X into the other side of her face, severely marking the old woman for the
remainder of her life.
Guy stood up, leaving Josie lying moaning and writhing on the floor.
“I'm gonna find the shitter and wash my hands,” Guy said to Sepp. “Wait here.”
“Right-o, daddy-o,” Sepp said.
While Guy walked away, Sepp walked over to Josie the receptionist and stood over her.
“Josie, you dirty fuckin' deadbeat cunt,” Sepp said to the woman.
Sepp undid his belt and unzipped the fly on his trousers and pulled out his dong and urinated on
Josie's head, deliberately aiming his urine stream directly for her eyes and her open mouth and
especially for the bloodied X-mark knife gashes on her ruined face. It was like pouring turpentine
into an open wound and it hurt her. Sepp's piss burned and singed Josie's face as though it was an
attack with sulphuric acid. Josie screamed in her pain and turned over on her side and away from
Sepp's gushing shower of piss.
Guy moved through the office until he found the washroom. He went into the washroom and
placed the bloodied knife on top of the paper towel dispenser and he turned on the water. Guy slid
the gold ring off the third finger of his right hand and then, after getting the temperature of the water
to his exact liking, he squirted soap onto his hands and he cleaned Josie's blood off himself. He
placed the knife under the running water and cleaned away the blood then pulled out a paper towel
from the dispenser and he dried his hands and the knife. Then Guy inserted the knife in a sheath
hidden under his suit jacket and put his gold ring back on his finger and left the washroom.
ONE TWO FUCK YOU
Guy and Sepp left the office and took the elevator down to the parking garage level. They walked
through the concrete catacombs of the garage, their footsteps echoing in the underground chamber.
After looking around the dark sepulcher they found Big Rob's black BMW M6 Cabriolet.
Raging like a rabid bull on steroids, Sepp took the Louisville Slugger in his hand and --
CRAAASH!!! -- he smashed out the front headlights and the front grill of the BMW. The car's
alarm system was automatically activated and the siren howled and reverberated throughout the
secluded parking garage. The wailing alarm didn't deter Sepp at all. He walked to the back of the
car and smashed out the rear brake lights. SMAAASH!!! Sepp bashed out all the windows of Big
Rob's BMW M6 and he swung the bat at the doors and the hood, denting the shit out of the vehicle.
That's when Big Rob himself showed up. He came out of the door of a storage locker room to see
what all the racket and noise was about and standing on either side of Big Rob were two big beefy
bodyguards. Big Rob was a big fat greasy businessman; a six-foot, two-hundred-and-eighty-pound
huge lumbering mountainous beast of a man. He'd had the shit kicked out of him before and his
nose was flattened and deformed to prove it.
“Ah look who,” Guy said to Sepp. “It's the asshole who owes us fifty grand.”
“Hey, what the fuck's going on?” Big Rob roared, his voice booming and thunderous. “Whatta ya
two faggots doin' to my new car?”
“Let's get it on, motherfuckers,” Guy said.
The time to fight like delinquent bastards was now. Guy and Sepp paired up with each of Big
Rob's security men for a scrap. Guy pulled his blade from his sheath and closed in on Bodyguard
No. 1. He brazenly taunted the guard, threateningly flashing the shiny six-inch blade in the air in
front of the man's eyes. Bodyguard No. 1 recoiled backwards away from each slice through the air
of the razor sharp steel threatening to shear his nose clean off his face. The thug kept retreating
from Guy's advances until Guy had him cornered between two cars with his back up against a
concrete wall and no way out.
Trapped with no escape, Bodyguard No. 1 took his chances and brazenly lunged at Guy. A bad
move. A very bad move. SLIIICE!!! Guy easily slid the blade of his knife into the man's belly,
plunging the steel through his shirt and into his soft, flabby gut. Guy pulled the blade out of the
goon's stomach and a stream of blood gushed out of his belly and Guy watched the disabled thug
slither to the concrete floor of the parking garage.
Brandishing his baseball bat, Sepp confidently moved in on Bodyguard No. 2 and when he got close
enough he started casually swinging the Louisville Slugger through the air, the intent being to let his
opponent know extreme and severe physical damage happening to him was as imminent as his next
breath.
“You're in trouble, fella,” Sepp quipped. “I gotta three-seventy batting average. Sammy Sosa ain't
got nothin' on ME.”
Sepp stepped in close enough to land a strike and he swung hard. Big Rob's hired thug put up his
left arm to block himself from the impending hit. The metal bat made powerful contact and the
bones of Bodyguard No. 2's wrist snapped like a piece of frozen celery when it fractured and
broke. The bodyguard held his wrist with his other hand and groaned in pain. Sepp brought the bat
up over his head like he was a lumberjack with an axe and he aimed the bat at the dazed
bodyguard's crown. Then he swung. CRUUUNCH!!! The bat came pummeling down and
connected with its full, intended force, crushing the security goon's skull in, splitting his head wide
open and mashing splinters of skull into his brain, wasting him instantly.
“Time for my induction into the hall of fame,” Sepp said to himself proudly.
Of course Big Rob panicked at the sight of the men he'd retained to protect him from this very
variety of trouble getting their asses so brutally and violently handed to them. He started running
like a maniac for the exit. But Big Rob was so obese Guy had no problem overtaking him and
running him down. Guy chased after him and caught up to him with ease. Then he hit him with
the pile-driver move. Guy decked Big Rob, slamming him violently up against the hood of a parked
car. Guy punched Big Rob in the rolls of his fat stomach and -- OOOFF!!! -- Big Rob buckled
over like a limp sheet of cooked lasagna, dropping to the ground, his gut bursting with pain.
Sepp came over to where Guy was standing looking down at his quarry and together Guy and Sepp
started kicking the living shit out of Big Rob with their expensive Italian leather shoes, stomping his
jowly face, breaking his teeth in, snapping his ribs, hammering at his legs, his crotch, both men
enjoying the sound of the crunching and cracking of Big Rob's breaking bones.
BAD BOYS
Meet Guy Kroeger and Sepp Pearce. Shake their hands. Then count your fingers. It wasn't even
twelve o'clock noon yet and these two bad boys had already marked a woman for life and had been
attacked by two mangy thugs and had laid waste to those same two goons and for the morning's
coup de grâce they'd shitkicked a delinquent debtor to his death.
Guy's a semi-grizzled old-timer ex-alcoholic ex-con who did a five-year bit for armed bank
robbery. He's known on the street as the Sadist. Sean Penn has got to play this character when
Paul Verhoeven directs the movie about Guy Kroeger one day.
Sepp's a cocky not-so-smart half-retarded money-starved twenty-three year old midnight cowboy
hooker who'll do pretty well anything or anyone for a buck or two. When they make the movie
about Guy Kroeger they'll cast the American Funk Mobster Kid Rock to portray his skanky
sidekick Sepp Pearce.
Guy hooked up with Sepp on the 2 a.m. late night club circuit, partied with him and took a liking to
him and spoiled him like his favorite girlfriend with drinks and expensive early morning 4 a.m.
meals at the poshest restaurants in town. Sepp was touched by Guy's stylish flair and his expensive
fashion, he was turned on by his suits and his gold watches and of course by his stench of easy, fast
money. Before long Guy had seduced the young killer for life; he'd recruited him and turned him
out as his subordinate on the street.
These two hustlers do odd jobs for the mob. It's a living. Drug-running, payoffs, debt collecting,
enforcement, extortion. All in a day's work for Guy Kroeger and Sepp Pearce.
The next odd job was a big one. It amounted to the transportation of privately-owned goods from
Point A to Point B. The pickup and delivery of a very special product.
A very special product indeed.
The sign on the wooden door read: Imperial Investments Ltd. Guy opened the door and walked
into the office. Sepp entered the office behind his partner. In front of them in the sleazy slum
financial investments operation was the receptionist Josie, somebody's grandmother of at least 60
years of age. The old lady sat minding a telephone and computer terminal behind a counter. Guy
stood in front of the old woman and looked around the room.
“Hello boys,” Josie the receptionist said.
“Hello yourself, Josie,” Guy said to the receptionist. “Nice fuckin' day, ain't it? Big Rob around?
Wanna talk to him please.”
“He's out,” Josie the receptionist answered, nervously noticing the baseball bat in Sepp's hand.
“What's with the bat?”
“It's my walking stick,” Sepp answered.
“Big Rob's out?” Guy asked. “He was supposed to meet us here at ten.”
“He's doing an inventory appraisal in the basement,” Josie the receptionist said. “Would you care
to leave a message for him?”
“Yup, I would indeed,” Guy said. Guy didn't look at his partner. He didn't need to. “Sepp --”
The baseball bat in his hand, Sepp walked over to the waiting area. SMAAASH!!! SMAAASH!!!
SMAAASH!!! He raised the bat over his head and smashed the metal bat down on a glass coffee
table, shattering the table to smithereens.
Sepp turned his attention to the framed prints of cheapjack Japanese knockoff artwork hanging
from the walls of the seamy downtown fifth-story ghetto rat-hole. SMAAASH!!! Sepp began
systematically smashing every one of the pictures, leaving holes in the wall and sending shards of
glass and mangled picture frames and wires falling to the floor.
The office had several smaller one-room sub-offices where employees worked at computer
terminals and conducted sales calls and cold calls on the telephones. These vacant sub-offices all
had large windows beside the doors. CRAAASH!!! CRAAASH!!! CRAAASH!!! Sepp took the
metal baseball bat and smashed in each of the sub-office windows. Occasionally he'd lay the bat
into the sub-office doors as well.
Sepp's destruction was deafeningly intimidating and Josie the receptionist cringed and cowered in
terror at the commotion Sepp was creating.
When Sepp was done smashing the sub-office windows he returned to the counter where Josie the
receptionist sat frozen like an ice statue. SMAAASH!!! Sepp smashed the baseball bat down on
the counter inches away from the petrified woman's head. Josie winced. Sepp smiled at her
reaction, at how she flinched in fear. The terrorized woman shrieked and threw her hands up in
frightened bewilderment.
“Is it even possible to do fifty thousand dollars worth of damage to this dump?” Guy asked Sepp.
“Not fuckin' likely,” Sepp said. “Fifty bucks maybe. At the most.”
“We'll see if his Beemer's downstairs in the parking garage after we finish up here,” Guy said.
Guy walked around the counter and attacked Josie. He pulled her off her chair and forced her onto
the ground on her back and he sat himself on her belly. He held her face with his left hand. To
Josie, Guy looked like the devil. The next thing Josie saw was the knife in Guy's other hand
coming towards her face.
“Josie, you fuckin' delinquent bitch,” Guy said to Josie. “Pass this message onto Big Rob for me,
will ya?”
Guy started with Josie's right cheek. He took the knife and used it to carve a ragged X into the
flesh of her face. Josie screamed. She shut her eyes and gasped in shock as she felt the cold steel
of the knife penetrate her skin, cutting through her flesh, scraping her cheekbone. Since Guy
wasn't a surgeon his cuts were far from surgical and precise. Josie's warm deadbeat blood spilled
out onto the floor. Then Guy turned the woman's head around to do the other side. His bloody
hand smeared red all over Josie's face. Sepp watched as Guy did the same to Josie's left cheek,
malignantly slashing an X into the other side of her face, severely marking the old woman for the
remainder of her life.
Guy stood up, leaving Josie lying moaning and writhing on the floor.
“I'm gonna find the shitter and wash my hands,” Guy said to Sepp. “Wait here.”
“Right-o, daddy-o,” Sepp said.
While Guy walked away, Sepp walked over to Josie the receptionist and stood over her.
“Josie, you dirty fuckin' deadbeat cunt,” Sepp said to the woman.
Sepp undid his belt and unzipped the fly on his trousers and pulled out his dong and urinated on
Josie's head, deliberately aiming his urine stream directly for her eyes and her open mouth and
especially for the bloodied X-mark knife gashes on her ruined face. It was like pouring turpentine
into an open wound and it hurt her. Sepp's piss burned and singed Josie's face as though it was an
attack with sulphuric acid. Josie screamed in her pain and turned over on her side and away from
Sepp's gushing shower of piss.
Guy moved through the office until he found the washroom. He went into the washroom and
placed the bloodied knife on top of the paper towel dispenser and he turned on the water. Guy slid
the gold ring off the third finger of his right hand and then, after getting the temperature of the water
to his exact liking, he squirted soap onto his hands and he cleaned Josie's blood off himself. He
placed the knife under the running water and cleaned away the blood then pulled out a paper towel
from the dispenser and he dried his hands and the knife. Then Guy inserted the knife in a sheath
hidden under his suit jacket and put his gold ring back on his finger and left the washroom.
ONE TWO FUCK YOU
Guy and Sepp left the office and took the elevator down to the parking garage level. They walked
through the concrete catacombs of the garage, their footsteps echoing in the underground chamber.
After looking around the dark sepulcher they found Big Rob's black BMW M6 Cabriolet.
Raging like a rabid bull on steroids, Sepp took the Louisville Slugger in his hand and --
CRAAASH!!! -- he smashed out the front headlights and the front grill of the BMW. The car's
alarm system was automatically activated and the siren howled and reverberated throughout the
secluded parking garage. The wailing alarm didn't deter Sepp at all. He walked to the back of the
car and smashed out the rear brake lights. SMAAASH!!! Sepp bashed out all the windows of Big
Rob's BMW M6 and he swung the bat at the doors and the hood, denting the shit out of the vehicle.
That's when Big Rob himself showed up. He came out of the door of a storage locker room to see
what all the racket and noise was about and standing on either side of Big Rob were two big beefy
bodyguards. Big Rob was a big fat greasy businessman; a six-foot, two-hundred-and-eighty-pound
huge lumbering mountainous beast of a man. He'd had the shit kicked out of him before and his
nose was flattened and deformed to prove it.
“Ah look who,” Guy said to Sepp. “It's the asshole who owes us fifty grand.”
“Hey, what the fuck's going on?” Big Rob roared, his voice booming and thunderous. “Whatta ya
two faggots doin' to my new car?”
“Let's get it on, motherfuckers,” Guy said.
The time to fight like delinquent bastards was now. Guy and Sepp paired up with each of Big
Rob's security men for a scrap. Guy pulled his blade from his sheath and closed in on Bodyguard
No. 1. He brazenly taunted the guard, threateningly flashing the shiny six-inch blade in the air in
front of the man's eyes. Bodyguard No. 1 recoiled backwards away from each slice through the air
of the razor sharp steel threatening to shear his nose clean off his face. The thug kept retreating
from Guy's advances until Guy had him cornered between two cars with his back up against a
concrete wall and no way out.
Trapped with no escape, Bodyguard No. 1 took his chances and brazenly lunged at Guy. A bad
move. A very bad move. SLIIICE!!! Guy easily slid the blade of his knife into the man's belly,
plunging the steel through his shirt and into his soft, flabby gut. Guy pulled the blade out of the
goon's stomach and a stream of blood gushed out of his belly and Guy watched the disabled thug
slither to the concrete floor of the parking garage.
Brandishing his baseball bat, Sepp confidently moved in on Bodyguard No. 2 and when he got close
enough he started casually swinging the Louisville Slugger through the air, the intent being to let his
opponent know extreme and severe physical damage happening to him was as imminent as his next
breath.
“You're in trouble, fella,” Sepp quipped. “I gotta three-seventy batting average. Sammy Sosa ain't
got nothin' on ME.”
Sepp stepped in close enough to land a strike and he swung hard. Big Rob's hired thug put up his
left arm to block himself from the impending hit. The metal bat made powerful contact and the
bones of Bodyguard No. 2's wrist snapped like a piece of frozen celery when it fractured and
broke. The bodyguard held his wrist with his other hand and groaned in pain. Sepp brought the bat
up over his head like he was a lumberjack with an axe and he aimed the bat at the dazed
bodyguard's crown. Then he swung. CRUUUNCH!!! The bat came pummeling down and
connected with its full, intended force, crushing the security goon's skull in, splitting his head wide
open and mashing splinters of skull into his brain, wasting him instantly.
“Time for my induction into the hall of fame,” Sepp said to himself proudly.
Of course Big Rob panicked at the sight of the men he'd retained to protect him from this very
variety of trouble getting their asses so brutally and violently handed to them. He started running
like a maniac for the exit. But Big Rob was so obese Guy had no problem overtaking him and
running him down. Guy chased after him and caught up to him with ease. Then he hit him with
the pile-driver move. Guy decked Big Rob, slamming him violently up against the hood of a parked
car. Guy punched Big Rob in the rolls of his fat stomach and -- OOOFF!!! -- Big Rob buckled
over like a limp sheet of cooked lasagna, dropping to the ground, his gut bursting with pain.
Sepp came over to where Guy was standing looking down at his quarry and together Guy and Sepp
started kicking the living shit out of Big Rob with their expensive Italian leather shoes, stomping his
jowly face, breaking his teeth in, snapping his ribs, hammering at his legs, his crotch, both men
enjoying the sound of the crunching and cracking of Big Rob's breaking bones.
BAD BOYS
Meet Guy Kroeger and Sepp Pearce. Shake their hands. Then count your fingers. It wasn't even
twelve o'clock noon yet and these two bad boys had already marked a woman for life and had been
attacked by two mangy thugs and had laid waste to those same two goons and for the morning's
coup de grâce they'd shitkicked a delinquent debtor to his death.
Guy's a semi-grizzled old-timer ex-alcoholic ex-con who did a five-year bit for armed bank
robbery. He's known on the street as the Sadist. Sean Penn has got to play this character when
Paul Verhoeven directs the movie about Guy Kroeger one day.
Sepp's a cocky not-so-smart half-retarded money-starved twenty-three year old midnight cowboy
hooker who'll do pretty well anything or anyone for a buck or two. When they make the movie
about Guy Kroeger they'll cast the American Funk Mobster Kid Rock to portray his skanky
sidekick Sepp Pearce.
Guy hooked up with Sepp on the 2 a.m. late night club circuit, partied with him and took a liking to
him and spoiled him like his favorite girlfriend with drinks and expensive early morning 4 a.m.
meals at the poshest restaurants in town. Sepp was touched by Guy's stylish flair and his expensive
fashion, he was turned on by his suits and his gold watches and of course by his stench of easy, fast
money. Before long Guy had seduced the young killer for life; he'd recruited him and turned him
out as his subordinate on the street.
These two hustlers do odd jobs for the mob. It's a living. Drug-running, payoffs, debt collecting,
enforcement, extortion. All in a day's work for Guy Kroeger and Sepp Pearce.
The next odd job was a big one. It amounted to the transportation of privately-owned goods from
Point A to Point B. The pickup and delivery of a very special product.
A very special product indeed.
2 / 17