The Heart of Stone

The Heart of Stone

  A Novella, by – Adam Knight

  Copyright 2012 by Knightfall Productions

  O-Ball was in a good mood, four grams of smack normally makes it real easy to feel that way. Business was good. The kids on the street nearly doubled their normal sales for last month's supply of heroin. That kind of profit calls ... no, demands ... for a celebration.

  Thus, the party. O-Ball's suppliers were talking about giving the gang leader the funds he needed to expand his territory. They were even footing the bill for

  O-Ball and his "main men", as a gesture of good faith on their part. Five tables had been reserved in the gang's favourite drinking establishment, the Night Machine. Needless to say, O-Ball and the boys were living it up and pounding them back.

  The Street Masters was what O-Ball had named his "organization". It wasn't the worlds most original name, but he thought it sounded cool and kind of menacing at the same time.

  Regardless, the Street Masters were public enemy number one as far as the City of Winnipeg's police force was concerned. As it stood, the Street Masters were just within months of cornering the city's heroin market, almost casually taking business away from the biker gangs. The police were baffled, not to mention outgunned. The police force had already lost the services of nine good officers thanks to confrontations with O-Ball and his gang.

  Only the beginning, as far as O-Ball was concerned. As soon as O-Ball's suppliers came through with the necessary cash and weaponry, the Street Masters were going to be taking over everything. The streets. the pigs ... Everything !

  As always, O-Ball was wearing an outfit that probably could have fed a family of four for a week and a half. Designer cotton slacks, 180-dollar Doc Martin steel-toes, a stained white undershirt, with the look of a Calvin Klein. Finally was his trademark, a glistening leather jacket with metal plates decorating it's shoulders and sleeve cuffs. Around his neck were several thick gold chains, rings on most of his fingers and in both ears. His hair was shaved to the scalp on the sides and back while the thick mound on top was slicked back and meticulously combed. Adjusting slightly in his seat, O-Ball made sure that his glock was still comfortably in place at the back of his waistband and reached for another drink.

  His "main men" consisted of four people. Slyck, Daco, She-La and Dave. All of them were having a righteous good time; stoned, drunk and ready to party 'til dawn. There were several women practically hanging off O-Ball as he sat in his seat. The dark-haired cunt on his left was making a point of catching his eye every time he looked over. He could fuck her anytime he wanted. No question. No problem.

  No challenge.

  The other four tables were filled in a similar fashion. The street kids who had gained the most scratch were there, getting felt up as much as the others by the street hos. Pinko, his little Asian dealer in the south end, was certainly getting a bit eager. He had his pants open and was trying to get his bitch to go down on him right there in the bar.

  Glancing over his shoulder, O-Ball made sure that his bodyguards were still on their toes. He motioned one forward. "Tell Pinko to do his fucking pants back up. He knows he has to wait 'til later." His guard nodded briefly and went over to Pinko. The kid didn't look too happy about it but he didn't say anything after O-Ball caught his eye.

  "Dumb fuckin'' chink," he muttered, raising his drink.

  Something warm and wet probed his right ear at that moment. "Mother fuck!" O-Ball swore, jerking his head away and spilling his drink all over the table. He scowled fiercely at the blonde with the tongue piercing who just leered back him at him dreamily, teasing at the straw in her drink suggestively. Her eyes were totally glazed over from all of the heroin she'd been shooting.

  "S'matter O-Ball?" she asked in a thick voice as her hand strayed from his crotch, sliding up to his belt buckle. "Aren't 'cha havin' fun?"

  He just sneered at her in response and replaced her stray hand on his groin.

  Taking a pull on a beer, O-Ball surveyed the bar. For a Wednesday it was really packed with people. The night's lame gimmick was "Industrial Goth", so there was nothing remotely resembling an actual song pounding out over the eight-thousand watt sound system. All of the weirdoes in the Village were out: the guys wearing skirts, the people with seventeen different hair colours. The people with painted faces, the fags, the homeless losers ... all of them. And the smart ones were giving the Street Masters their space. The ones that weren't as smart were quickly educated on the matter.

  O-Ball blindly pounded back another shot of whatever Daco had put in front of him and grimaced. He briefly contemplated smoking another joint when, out of the corner of his eye, he found a challenge.

  Standing near the bar was a young woman who, quite obviously, did not fit in with the rest of the crowd. She was young, probably just out of high school. Her hair was a delicate honey blonde and her mode of dress was definitely not the norm for the Night Machine. Halter top, pressed jeans and a sweater knotted around her neck. Definitely not the norm.

  But exactly what O-Ball was looking for.

  "Where y'goin, O-Ball?" Dave asked as his boss stood up, shaking the hos away from him. "Th' servin' bitch is bringin' us drinks."

  O-Ball settled his jacket more firmly about his shoulders and sneered in contempt at his messed up lackey. "Y'see that cute pussy at th' bar?" Dave leaned to get a better look and nodded when he saw her. Slyck licked his lips contemplatively as he leered. "I do believe that I'm in the mood for some fresh meat, boy-eez." Slyck and Dave laughed hard and made some crass joke as O-Ball turned away. He absently noticed the hos he'd had with quickly shuffled over to his "main men" and started working their talents on them without even changing expression.

  O-Ball motioned for his hulking bodyguards to keep an eye open but remain out of sight as he started to weave his way through the crowd. The people who recognized the gang leader gave him a wide berth while those that didn't gave him a wary look and just let him pass.

  Halfway to the bar he made eye-contact with the chick. She started to recoil in surprise but O-Ball smiled widely and waved to her in a friendly fashion. The girl seemed to relax slightly but started to look around the rest of bar, purposefully avoiding his gaze.

  Still smiling innocently, O-Ball sauntered up to the bar and ordered a club soda. The bartender, recognizing O-Ball for who he was, gave him a surprised look but wisely kept his mouth shut. O-Ball eyed the woman carefully for a moment or two longer, wanting to make sure that he had the approach that he wanted to use all set up. Finally he stepped a bit closer to the girl and spoke in a very casual tone of voice. "I hope that you'll forgive me for saying this," he began confidently. "But you look really uncomfortable."

  The girl started in surprise. "Excuse me?" she said, her voice warbling musically over the DJ's blaring selection of industrial noise.

  O-Ball smiled again with a laugh and leaned in towards her. "I was just saying that you look a bit uncomfortable. You know, a bit out of place."

  "That's for sure," the girl said, laughing nervously. "I don't know why I ever let my friends talk me into coming here."

  "I always love it when my friends do that," O-Ball chuckled knowingly. "They convince you that going with them to some place that you've never been to before is the most important thing that you could possibly do. And then, the minute that you get there, they disappear and leave you all alone with nobody to talk to but strange guys who come up to you from out of nowhere."

  The girl laughed again, more genuinely this time. "True enough."

  O-Ball made a show of looking around the bar. "Where are those friends of yours anyway?"

  The girl pointed out onto the dance floor. "They're out there picking up wallets and changing lightbulbs behind that girl with the si
lver hair and that guy wearing the ancient army gear."

  O-Ball laughed genuinely that time. "You know," he said, still chuckling slightly. "I've been looking for a way to describe to my other friends how these people dance in their gothic style for ages. But now that I look at it, I'd have to agree with you. Picking up wallets and changing lightbulbs." He laughed again. "Can I use that line?"

  "Go right ahead, the patent doesn't take effect for a while yet." she said with a sly grin. "My name's Crystal. Crystal Reilly." The girl reached out her hand and smiled warmly.

  O-Ball shook her hand gently, inwardly smirking to himself as he mentally undressed her. "A pleasure, Crystal. My name's Michael. Michael Davis. My friends call me Mike."

  "How original of them," Crystal said with that same sly smile.

  O-Ball smiled as well and took a sip of his club soda, trying not to let his distaste for it show.

  "So what do you do, Mike? Are you in school?"

  O-Ball shuddered visibly. "Perish the thought. No, I've been out of the system for years now. I'm into sales and marketing."

  Crystal was obviously impressed. "Really? I never would have guessed ..." She broke off abruptly then, an embarrassed look flushing across her face, afraid she'd offended her new acquaintance.

  O-Ball waved his free hand reassuringly. "Don't worry, all of my other friends say the same thing. Believe me, I only dress like this on my own time." He forced himself to take another sip of club soda before speaking again. "So what about you? What do you do?"

  Crystal shrugged her shoulders softly and O-Ball absently took in the jiggling with a very quick, well practiced flicker of his eyes. "Well, I'm going to the University of Manitoba in the fall. It'll be my first year and I'm kind of nervous about it."

  "What faculty?"

  "Arts."

  O-Ball made a face. "I'm sorry to hear that.

  "Why? Have you heard something bad?" Crystal asked, slightly worried.

  O-Ball chuckled. "Don't be worried, I was just playing with your head. I can tell that you'll breeze right through."

  She smiled in relief. "Well, I guess we'll see."

  Roughly fifteen minutes passed. O-Ball used the time to his advantage, pushing his nice guy persona on crystal just as strongly as he could. He tried to learn as much about her as he could as fast as he could. Without any difficulty, O-Ball began to win her over.

  The DJ finally got around to changing the song. One selection of blaringly loud noise was replaced by another selection of blaringly loud noise. This time it sounded like the chorus of screeching cats had been replaced by someone grinding a power saw across a plate of sheet metal.

  "This is going to sound awfully crazy,?" O-Ball said with a perfectly casual voice as he made his move. "But I actually kind of like this song."

  "This qualifies as a song? " she asked with her sly grin.

  "Well, technically. Anyway, what I'm basically driving at is, would you like to pick up wallets and change lightbulbs with me?" He smiled at her winningly with just the right touch of uncertainty to make her say ...

  "I'd love to."

  The song was a long one, during which O-Ball slowly worked his way towards Crystal's body in sensual, swaying motions. She allowed him to dance closely at first and even smiled at him as they started to grind up against each other. Peering over her shoulder he could just make out Daco, Dave and the rest of his crew making their lewd and obvious gestures from across the bar. O-Ball leered then and decided that he'd had enough playing around.

  Determinedly, O-Ball grabbed a double-handful of Crystal's ass and started to lean his face in next to hers.

  Crystal placed her hands on O-Ball's and tried to move them away. "Hey, take it easy Mike. I'm not into that sort of thing" She said calmly, obviously thinking that he was just playing around.

  "What sort of thing?"

  She forced a laugh. "You know what I mean, now cut it out."

  "What for, Crystal? I know you want it."

  She started to look around for her friends while still trying to get his hands off of her. "I barely know you, Michael. It's way too soon!" Her voice was obviously trying to remain calm and was just as obviously failing.

  "What's that got t'do with anythin''? I want you, you want me. Where's the problem?"

  "If you don't take your hands off of me I'm going to ..."

  O-Ball took his right hand from her ass and grabbed a handful of breast instead.

  Crystal screamed piercingly and shoved O-Ball away from her. She stalked off the dance floor at top speed, pushing her way through the crowd.

  O-Ball slowly ran an arm across his mouth and completely dropped all semblance of his facade before striding purposefully after the girl. One of the more observant Goths tried to get in O-Ball's way but took a solid punch to the teeth and collapsed into the crowd.

  The crowd seemed to melt out of his way as O-Ball continued his chase.

  Seeing that she was being followed, Crystal immediately picked up her pace and ducked into the women's bathroom.

  Waving his bodyguards towards the advancing bouncers, O-Ball stepped right up to the door to the women's bathroom and slammed it open. There were several screams from the pisser's occupants as O-Ball entered. Crystal jumped visibly and pressed herself up against the wall between the sinks and the first stall.

  O-Ball merely glanced at the other women in the room. Without question they fled, leaving the gangster alone with the horribly frightened young woman.

  "It doesn't have'ta be like this, Crystal," O-Ball began, his face an absolute mask of cruelty as he took one step forward. "All that you gotta do is walk out of here with me an' all of this ... " He cut off after being struck in the face with a spray of thick spittle

  O-Ball slowly wiped at his face and let his gaze bore through the back of her head. "You're fucked, bitch"

  Crystal was rapidly becoming hysterical. Tears of fear had begun to stream down her face as O-Ball implacably stalked towards her. She frantically rustled through her purse and whipped out a small aerosol can, aiming it the gangster. "Stay back," she pleaded, her hands shaking horribly.

  O-Ball snatched the can from her trembling fingers with one quick motion while his free hand reached for Crystal's throat and slammed her back against the wall. Clinically, O-Ball read the label on the aerosol can. "Salon Selectives B-Label hairspray. I'm impressed, Crystal. This would've done wonders for my do." He negligently tossed the can away and reached for the fastenings of her pants. "You bitches always have'ta choose the hard way when it comes to fucking. I really don't get how someone like you can enjoy this."

  Crystal started to beat on O-Ball's chest and shoulders, but she was too panicked to put any real force behind her blows. Her face was slowly turning a shade of purple that nature never intended and her arms flailed more slowly as O-Ball's ever tightening grip slowly choked the life out of her.

  Finally managing to tear open her slacks, O-Ball deftly unbuckled his pants and withdrew his penis, making sure that Crystal got a good look at it. "Now I know what you're thinking," O-Ball sneered. "You're thinking, Holy Shit! I've never seen a dick that big before!" He chuckled. "S'all right, I hear it all the time. But you can say it if you want." Cruelly, O-Ball jammed the fingers of his free hand up between her legs, probing, and licked at the side of her face like an animal.

  "How bad do you want it?"

  "P-please ... please ... " Crystal whimpered, her voice a choked rasp

  He slapped her across the face. "Answer the question, bitch!" he roared

  She just tried to turn her head away and closed her eyes.

  O-Ball sighed and swung his arm back for another strike, pausing briefly to take aim.

  A vice-like grip latched painfully onto his wrist. Before O-Ball Could even open his mouth, he was hurled the short distance through the air into the bathroom wall. Stars exploded in front of O-Ball's eyes as he crumpled to the floor, gasping to fill his lungs.

  O-Ball forced his vision to clear and look
ed up. There was a very large man standing in before him. Absently, the gangster realized that Crystal had slid down to the floor and was curled up into a little ball, trying to cover as much of herself up as she could.

  Forcing himself to his feet wasn't too difficult, the drugs that he'd taken earlier were taking away most of the pain that he should have been feeling. "I don't know who the fuck you are, asshole. And I don't fucking care, because I don't fucking care about dead fucking men, mother fucker!" he exploded, spitting and gesturing spasmodically.

  The man, who was almost six-and-a-half feet tall, didn't change expression as his rock-grey eyes gave O-Ball the once over. Then he intentionally turned his gaze away and swung the bathroom door shut.

  O-Ball looked quickly examined his opponent. The fucker's shoulders were wide and he looked to be fairly solid. No body-builder, but definitely solid.

  He was wearing faded blue-jeans with a hole in one knee and black motorcycle boots that came up to his calves. His shirt was grey and wrinkled. He wore a black bandanna over his hair and a black leather overcoat that hung down to his knees.

  The man, who had yet to say a word, took two steps across the bathroom and looked down at Crystal. His eyes narrowed and the bland curve of his lips twitched slightly in distaste.

  Crystal had huddled up in a ball and her face was pressed protectively against the wall.

  O-Ball's hand itched to pull out his piece but he didn't want to make any sudden moves.

  The man's eyes flicked over to O-Ball again, still no expression on his face.

  O-Ball tried to meet the man's stare with as much malice as he could manage.

  Finally he spoke.

  "You fuck with that?"

  O-Ball blinked in surprise. "What?"

  The man inclined his head towards O-Ball's now flaccid penis and quirked one eyebrow disbelievingly. "You fuck with that?" The man's voice was dead calm, no inflection or expression beyond a slight rasp.

  O-Ball's face went livid and he stopped caring about everything. "Mother fuck!" he screamed, reaching for the Glock at his back.

  The man rushed forward, grabbing the front of O-Ball's jacket with one hand. O-Ball brought out his Glock but the man casually knocked it away with his free arm. The Glock fired harmlessly into the wall and ceiling as the two of them wrestled for supremacy.

  It was a short fight.

  O-Ball's ears rang as the big man leisurely slapped him across the face. All of the gangster's ability to fight back left him at that point as consciousness started to slip away. Feeling the man grab him by the back of his head and force him to his knees O-Ball tried to flail his way free by swinging blindly. He was then pushed around until something solid and cool to the touch pressed against his chest. It wasn't until his entire head was submerged in foul tasting water that O-Ball realized that his head was being forced into a toilet bowl.

  O-Ball screamed, fighting and writhing ineffectually for air. The man's grip was like granite. O-Ball surfaced just long enough to grab half a breath before being forced back into the filth. Twice more the man did this to him. When he was finally done, O-Ball was hauled to his feet and forced to look directly into the man's flinty grey eyes. Neither man said a word for a long moment.

  A silver-haired woman that O-Ball vaguely remembered seeing on the dance floor stuck her head through the bathroom doorway and peered in. "Hey, Stone. Aren't you done yet?"