MicroHorror

Rex Miles looked down at an eight-by-ten, black-and-white photo of a long-haired, bony-faced man known as RatTail Randy.

“He’s a drug dealer,” B.J. Lovington said, pointing at the picture.

“Drug dealer?!” Rex replied through gritted teeth. “So he’s a scumbag? A real lowlife son-of-a-bitch! The shit on the bottom of a birdcage.”

“Yeah,” B.J. agreed, laying a black leather briefcase on the table. “That’s why I need you to kill him.” B.J. opened the briefcase, exposing ten thousand dollars in cash.

Rex lifted his eyebrows. “Nice,” he said, running a hand over the greenbacks. “You’ve got yourself a hit man.”

“The reason I want him dead is–” B.J. began.

“Don’t care,” Rex broke in, closing the briefcase, and shrugging his muscular shoulders. “A job’s a job.”

***

Four days later…

Rex followed RatTail Randy’s ’66 Cadillac down a dark alley.

He’s making this too easy, Rex thought.

Rex parked behind a huge dumpster and watched as RatTail Randy pulled in front of a worn-out warehouse and got out of his big Caddy. RatTail Randy looked around cautiously. Once he thought he was safe, he entered the building.

Rex exited his black Tahoe and climbed through a busted window. He pulled a nine-millimeter Browning out of his black jacket, and found RatTail Randy standing in front of huge stack of cocaine in the shape of a triangle. Rex emerged from the darkness.

“Hey, RatTail,” Rex said, taking aim on the skinny man wearing faded blue jeans and a black leather jacket.

RatTail Randy raised his hands and turned around slowly. “Don’t shoot,” he cried. “I haven’t done anything!”

“You’re a drug dealer, aren’t you?” Rex uttered.

RatTail Randy shook his head. “Yeah, but–”

“Enough said!” Rex chimed in, pulling the trigger.

Rex had been a hired assassin for fifteen years, and had never seen a man take a shoot to the head and not fall. Until now. RatTail Randy stood tall and unfazed.

RatTail blinked his eyes wildly. “You don’t know how much that hurts,” he said, rubbing the tiny hole in his head. “Don’t you know that you can’t kill me?” He paused, as the hole grew back new flesh. “I’m a drug dealer!” he bragged.

Rex pulled the trigger again. And RatTail Randy didn’t flinch as the bullet ripped through his head.

“Stop that!” RatTail yelled.

Rex frowned. “But I’ve got to kill you. It’s my job.”

“Job?” RatTail questioned. “Ah, I guess B.J. Lovington hired you.”

“How’d you know?” Rex asked.

“Ah,” RatTail sighed. “He’s been after my business for years.”

“He’s a drug dealer, too?” Rex probed, putting the Browning back into his jacket.

RatTail Randy shrugged. “Sort of,” he began. “He’s a drug lord. But he doesn’t own me, nor my market. And it pisses him off!” RatTail waved his hand at Rex. “Now,” RatTail said, “go. I’ve got business to take care of.”

Rex looked at the stack of cocaine. An idea crossed his mind. He went back to his Tahoe, and went to the nearest gas station. He returned to the warehouse, and found RatTail Randy in the same spot.

“You back again?” RatTail asked smugly.

“Yep,” Rex answered, pulling a high-power rifle off his shoulder and taking aim. “And I’ve got a new plan.” he said, pulling the trigger.

RatTail Randy’s head exploded and his body began stumbling around the place.

Rex ran over to the stack of cocaine, and began pouring the gas on it.

RatTail Randy’s head grew back. “I told you that hurts!” he screamed, eyes flared.

“And so does this,” Rex said, lighting a match and throwing it on the cocaine.

RatTail Randy’s eyes grew wide and glowed orange as the stack of cocaine went up like a bonfire. Almost simultaneously, RatTail’s feet caught on fire then the rest of his body. He fell to the ground, and Rex watched as RatTail Randy burned to ashes.

“Drug dealers.” Rex smiled. “How I do hate ’em.”

• Copyright: © 2009 Chad Case