People don’t die like they aughta - not at all like you’d expect ‘em to, anyway. See, the good ones, the just ones, the ones who don’t deserve to be dyin - they draw the shit out. The day comes when they’re on the wrong end of a blade, or they catch a bullet or somethin - they make this big fuss about it. They hang around for a bit, writhin about - making all kinds of noise.
I like to think that their death is delayed by their judgement. They have to wait there at the station until the guys upstairs figure which train they’re gunna board.
The bad folks, though? They just go down. Motherfucker gets hit - bam, thud - like bricks, man. They just go down - like they knew it was comin. See now, its quick for them. There’s no deliberation in their sentence. They’re cold men, and they’re about to warm up, ya see?
The first time I seen somebody die, I seen the next die right there after. That’s how I came up with all this about judgment. I was thirteen - pickin away down at Warren’s Drug - helpin myself to some while he wasn’t lookin. Some bent guy comes in - same aim as me, larger scope, if you catch my drift. He’s got this wicked .45 up on the counter, and he’s showin Warren where to find his own belly button with it. Fucker didn’t even let him empty the till before he gave him one - right there in his giant fuckin gut. Warren’s down there on the ground, squeelin away. He’s got his breffist and lunch comin out of his-self, and he’s just bawlin. Like a little girl, he was.
Wasn’t long after, I heard another shot outside. Fucker caught one himself, but he didn’t stick around and make a fuss of it like Warren. He just went down. Bam, thud - like bricks. They knew where he was headed, and they didn’t take no more than a moment to send him there.
Bam, thud.
Like bricks.
Warren on the other hand - through all this, he’s waiting. Ticket’s punched, but train hasn’t arrived yet, yeah? So I’m watchin him, he’s still kickin about - doesn’t even know I’m there. I helped myself to a few extra things that day. I guess that was pretty awful, lookin back. Fat bastard is breathing his last breaths and I’m pocketing his junior mints. Awful.
So, I guess I’ve become a decent judge of character - having watched so many bricks fall, so many Warrens bleed. Enough so, I can mostly tell just by meetin a person whether they’re a brick or a Warren. Like this guy I work with - soon as I met him, I knew he was a brick. Cold motherfucker, built like a Sherman and twice as dangerous. Ironic bit? His name’s Danny, but they call him Danny the Brick, or sometimes, just Brick. The weird shit life throws at you sometimes, yeah?
Anyway, whoever gave him that name was right on the money. This guy wanted nothing but to bleed people; watch em squirm. Sure, I’d punched my share of tickets for people who might not have deserved it - but I didn’t revel in it like this guy. He laughed as he did it. Always cut em, too - never used a shooter. I thought to ask him once - why he always gutted em so - but to be honest, I didn’t much care to know.
So one day, orders come down to this Brick and I. Some dumb shit bet the wrong people’s money on the wrong fuckin pony. Debt’s way past due, and it falls on us two to remind him of his place in the world. Now, there’s no good to be had in putting a bullet into a man that owes you money, so we’re sent after this shit’s daughter.
I’d seen this girl around town - good woman, sharp. Legs for days, that one. Soon as I saw her, I could tell she wasn’t no brick. It was too bad - fine woman like that. She’s the kinda ticket you’d love to punch in one way, but hate to punch in the other, yeah? At least, that’s how it was for me - as soon as that Brick got his eyes on her, I reckoned he was lookin forward to punching both. Like I said - a brick if there ever was one.
The job didn’t feel right by me - but by that time, any job killin a Warren had started to feel a bit off. Mighta been that I’d just had enough, mighta also been on account of how much that fuckin Brick enjoyed it. Either way, I kept out of the dirty work and minded the door. That Brick had no complaints - he’d made it clear what he wanted from the poor girl. Even took the time to remind me that me and my “limp dick” would only get in the way. Motherfucker. Anyway, I was just keeping watch, so my conscience was clear. Not that it mattered; I was a brick just the same. Whether or not this girl got cut didn’t make a lick of difference.
She kicked and screamed as he wrestled her down - bawled even, like a little girl. I couldn’t help but think of Warren - the first Warren. He laid there, bawlin, waitin for his train, while I pocketed his junior fuckin mints. How awful that was.
Brick, just the same.
From there, it’s mostly a blur. Somethin came over me. I tried to pull that Brick up off the poor girl, but he had his knife in me before I knew he’d swung it. Three or four times he must have stuck me - like he’d been beggin for the fuckin opportunity. Jesus H - what a fuckin Brick that guy was. Had barely finished gutting me before he turned back to the girl.
I fell back against the wall. I could feel a warmth pouring from my chest - a cold snap of copper stung the back of my mouth. I don’t remember firing - I don’t even remember drawing my gun, but I heard familiar sounds as I put a bullet into his skull.
Bam, thud.
No surprises there.
The girl stood – I guess she was stunned. God damn, she looked like hell. She passed me a glance of what looked like gratitude as she stumbled out of the room.
Hah. Wishful thoughts of a falling brick.
I sat there a spell, and wondered.
What am I doin, waiting?
Ticket’s punched… was I wrong?
Fuckin A.
People don’t die like they aughta.
Not at all like you’d expect ‘em to.
