All Talk No Action

"It's madness for him to be upset about such a silly thing. Why, when I was young, that sort of behavior was perfectly acceptable, so long as one kept it behind closed doors, you understand. It's nobody's business but theirs, anyway, and he has no right to fly off the handle as he did. It's shameful. Utterly shameful."

"Perhaps you'd like the opportunity to say that to his face, then, Mr. Opinionated-Loudmouth? 'Cause I don't remember asking you to poke your nose into our bizness, see? I'm sure we could arrange a proper introduction for ya, ya pimply-faced warthog."

"Now see here! This is not the place for name-calling. I've a right to my opinion, and -- "

"You've a right to keep it in that overstuffed head of yours, too, Warthog. Or maybe I'll shove it back into your head for ya." The man was on edge.

The one he called Warthog didn't shrink back. "Take your childish bullying someplace else, Mr. Muscle. Oh, you didn't think I knew you? I know exactly who you are, and I'm not afraid of ya. In fact, I misnamed ya. You're Mr. AllTalkNoAction, if my memory serves. Big game words, coward when the time comes for action."

Muscle man didn't say anything. He just reached into his coat and pulled out a nightstick. He glared at Warthog while he tapped the club against one hand. "What was that you said about "all talk no action," big man?

Warthog burst out laughing. "What's that for, boy? Kinky games? Like I said, what you and your boss do behind closed doors is up to you. Just don't bring it out here in the street where respectable society has to see it. That's all I'm saying."

It was more than Muscle could endure, and he rushed at Warthog with the baton raised. He was shocked when Warthog grabbed the nightstick and held Muscle at bay. "Now, young man, you're about to let your temper get the better of you in a fight you will lose. I suggest you let go and walk away before you start something I have to finish."

They wrestled a few seconds longer, and then Muscle let go. "See what happens when reason prevails?" said Warthog. "Now take your pansy self back to your boss and tell him you're still "AllTalkNoAction" when it comes to killing his enemies. He laughed again at the defeated man. "Or do you need me to shove this baton where it belongs, first?"

Muscle took one step back, reached inside his coat again, and before he could remove his hand, Warthog brought the baton down on his head, cracking open his skull. "Kid, you shoulda gone for the piece before the baton. Damn, never said a child to do a man's job."

---- 2----

"Boss, looks like Muscle fell down on da job again."

"Whaddya mean by that?" the boss growled.

"We just got a message from some guy called da 'Warthog' who says Muscle tried ta shake 'im down, and 'e left Muscle down, instead. 'e sent a pikcha. See?" Thug took his phone to his boss. It showed Muscle's cracked skull leaking on the pavement.

"Gaddammit!" Boss screamed, knocking the phone outta Thug's hand and sending it flying across the room. "I told that fuggin kid to stay the fug away from Warthog, and what does he do? He tries ta be big man on campus and be all tuff and shift. That fuggin kid. All talk. No action. Gaddammit! THUG! Find that gaddamm fuggin Warthog and bring 'im ta me, ya gat that? A-live, ya muddafugga."

Thug sulked away, scooping his phone off the floor as he left the room. He waited till he was out of the boss's office before he started muttering about the angry man's treatment of his phone. "Muddafugging ashhole tinks e's big man tossin my phone and screamin for 'is widdle fug toyboy. Dizguztin' muddafuggaz, bof o' dem. Pizzez me off, da way dey treats each udder. Big angry talk and den dey do nasty behind close' doors. Where's I'm gunna find dat Warthag?"

Thug was so busy telling off his boss in his own little world, he had no idea where his feet had taken him. He stopped short when a bloodied baton tapped him in the chest as a gruff stranger said to him, "Looking for me? I'd keep your hands where they are if you don't wanna end up like Muscle."

---3---

"I'm not the Warthag, by the way, you dumb motherfucker. Your AllTalkNoAction guy called me Warthog, so we'll go with that. Last I checked, hag was a woman, and my anatomy indicates that I'm not a woman. The irony in this is that you look more like your boss's muscle man than ATNA did, but since I already called him Muscle, what am I gonna call you?"

"Boss calls me 'Thug.'"

"HA! Wait, seriously? All right, Thug it is. You the one that got the picture from Muscle's phone, then? Right. So he and your boss really were an item, huh? Good god, I just started that rumor to annoy them. I didn't think it was true. Well, maybe that's why Muscle tried to take me out--kill me, I mean, not date me. Oh, yes, it was self-defense. He'd still be able to sit on the boss's lap and make him all kinds of happy if he hadn't pulled this baton on me and then attempted to get the piece out of its holster. I'm just not one to take attempts on my life real polite-like. So, Thug, what're you looking around here for? Hmm?"

"Boss wanna see ya."

"See me? See me dead or alive?"

"Alive."

"All right. We'll go see your boss. But I'm warnin' ya, Thug. If he tries any funny business, you're goin' down first." Thug didn't seem to like that idea. I didn't give a fug, to use his word.

Half an hour later we was in the Boss man's office. I kept Thug close by in case I needed body shield. The bloodied baton was still in one hand, and I had the twunk's piece in my coat pocket if shooting was introduced to the party.

"You wanted to see me? What for, an audition as your new side piece? I hear your old one got too fresh with a bystander and got his coconut opened up." I couldn't help myself. Poking the bear is what I do.

"Whaddidyouhavetokillhimforyasorrybastad?" his words rushed out in a drunken hiss.

"Hey! It was self-defense. He was gonna take me out. You may have had him trained in the boudoir, but he was outta control on the streets."

"Yacouldajustbeatimup! Yakilledimtogetatmeyabastad!"

"Okay, Boss-man. Let's say I coulda just beat him up and that I killed him just to get at you. Now, why would I do a rotten thing like that? Huh? What possible reason would I have for killing someone you care about without any reason at all for doing it?"

I let him think about it. I got no response, so I turned to Thug. "How about Thug, here? What's he to you? Family? Friend? Ex-lover?"

There seemed to be some flicker of recognition when I said "friend." "Okay, so what's the connection?"

"We go way back, don't we Thug?"

Thug shrugged. "Twenty-five years, Boss. Some good, some bad, but it's been okay."

"Warthog, Thug's been here for me for a long ti--...what the hell did you do that for??"

While he was talking about Thug, I reached into my pocket for the piece I'd taken from Muscle and I shot Thug between the eyes before he had a chance to realize what was goin' on. His brain was all over the wall while Boss was still talking.

"You seriously don't remember, do you, Boss-man? Oh, leave that be. Thug's gone and there's nothing you can do about it now. You have anybody else workin' for ya? Or doing nasty things with ya? You think you're so smart, dontcha? You keep this dank, musty office where nobody knows you work. You send out your lowlifes to do errands for ya, and when you think everybody's lookin' the other way, you take one of 'em for yourself to satisfy your base desires. The thing is, boss, that you ain't satisfied to do this behind closed doors anymore. I remember days when you'd be left alone if you kept this kind of behavior to yourself. But now you insist on bein' real open about it, parading down the street with it."

"When you sent Thug out to find me tonight, I listened to him for ten minutes ranting about your vileness. Frankly, I did him a favor a few minutes ago. He didn't know how to be rid of ya, but he was sick of ya fer sure. I mean, how does one escape working for a high-level official of the Department of Justice who is known for criminal behavior without the risk of losing his life in the process? We both know that Muscle smuggled fentanyl for you. You used the guise of certain proclivities as a way to mask what was really going on. You had Thug fooled! I've already found what I need to send you to Guantanamo for the rest of your life, and I've sent it to the right people to ensure that happens."

"Warthog, you're full of bull." As he said that, he stood up and squeezed the trigger.

So did I.

I know my shots hit him in the heart and the head. I'm not sure where his hit me, but I'm not planning to stick around and be interrogated. I turned my pistol around, placed it in my mouth, and fired my last round.