Gangsta’ Wrap

SIG226 and Redhead by -knave- on DeviantArt.com

“You cheating piece of shit!” The gorgeous newly arrived redhead dropped the vintage “Ace of Spades” bottle of champagne on the floor with a crash.

“I was just about done,” the blond said, climbing up from the cigar-smoking bearskin rug she straddled. She stood up and grabbed a gun from under the pillow, but the redhead was faster. A bullet rang from her own gun, piercing the blond through the forehead.

“Hey!” the guy sat up and pushed the blonde’s limp body to the floor. “What’ya do that for? I wasn’t finished!”

“Why you mad? It was my dame!”

Seashore Motif by The Despot

Crab Skull by Big-Rex on DeviantArt.com

“Cement shoes? How cliché,” said Stefan. “How about some creativity?”

“Yo, Chico!” said Gil. “Mr. Interior Decorator here says we ain’t creative.”

Chuckling, Chico loosened Stefan’s bindings.

“Your creativity gotcha in this mess. Boss asked for Romanesque motif. You gave him Seashore Motif.”

“It fit the pool design better!”

“Boss don’t like crabs. Dump him, Chico.” Chico tipped the dolly. Stephan fell, cement boots first, in the seawater. He sank four feet.

“Haaa, idiots. You dumped me in shallows.”

“That’s the creative part,” said Gil.

Stefan looked down. Huge crabs scuttled beneath. “You wouldn’t.”

“Seashore Motif works better for you.”

Hammer Time by The Despot

Hammer by torchfiremedia

Billy nervously grips the hammer.

The woman in red-sequined skirt, fake smiling and waving, skates off to applause.

Announcements and music echo over the rink. A blue-sequined woman steps onto the ice.

Red Sequins glances at Marvin, nods. Marvin whispers, “Take her out,” giving Billy a shove.

Billy lunges, hammer held high. Slick ice gives no traction. He sprawls, releasing the hammer. It flips, descends, hammer claw embedding in his skull.

Blue Sequins, seeing blood splatter freezing around Billy’s head, falls on her rump.

Red Sequins smacks her forehead. Marvin ducks out.

Lesson: Don’t hire thugs from Craigslist.

Hands Off! by Ron Kenney

Bloody Fingers by Maddagone on DeviantArt.com

Amid screams of digital pain, Three-Fingered Manny yells, “Faces, dis is ya’ final warnin’! Lay off our M&N businesses or we twist your thumbs off and stuff them up your nose!”

Watching the torturous scene from the alley door, Knuckles the Kracker chortles. “Pull his nails rickety-tick, and he’ll knuckle under damn quick!”

“Better yet,” snickers Palms Paulie, “give him the Chicago nail-gun crucifixtion! That’ll stop him.”

With a final twist of the thumb wire, Three-Fingers sneers at Faces. “Hands off our Manicure and Nail shops … we got the squeeze on that market.”

Nothing Personal by Aaron Michael Parker

DOGS: Haine Shoot ’em up by axl99

Johnny looks up as he hears a gunshot and a thump against the door. The door slowly opens and Jimmy falls to the ground, dead. Donny steps over the body and into Johnny’s office.

“Pull your hand out of the drawer slowly, Johnny or I’m going to kill you.” Donny says as he points his gun at Johnny.

“What’s this about, Donny?” Johnny asks as he raises his hands up.

“You’re the one that killed my father.”

“Of course I did. He was running the Family into the ground. It was nothing personal.”

Donny pulls the trigger.

“Neither was this.”

Remember to Tip Your Waiter by Naomi Butterfield

Femme Fatale 2 by aXeL-SWITCH on DeviantArt.com

Laura slinks her blue-sequined body across the room to Frank, her unlit cigarette extended.

“Frankie — you don’t mind if I call you Frankie? Frankie, can you give a girl a light?”

“Uh, sure.” Frank fumbles the lighter from his pocket. Laura smiles. “I don’t make you nervous, do I?” She locks eyes, inhales, picks up Frank’s drink. “What are you drinking? Is it tasty?”

Frank doesn’t see Vic or the knife now in his gut. Vic folds Frank into the chair.

Vic whispers, “C’mon, doll, exit stage left.”

Laura finishes Frank’s drink, drops a C-note on the table. “Delicious.”

He’s a ‘Was’ by Matt de Simone

Boy by hypnothalamus on DeviantArt.com

I had a lotta nerve … and a pistol.

“You’ve gotta lotta nerve, kid!” His name was Bull Nunzio. He’s a ‘was,’ not an ‘is.’ I stole two rolls of salami from the mob diner he ran. Bait and catch. Just wanted Nunzio under the night sky.

“You gotta lotta salami,” I said, dropping the meat. I was across the alley, vanishing over a wooden fence, by the time he lifted his Colt. The gangster didn’t move—stoic. Following a silent pirouette, I scoped out Nunzio through a hole in the fence. Bang. Made.

See, told you he’s a ‘was.’

Child’s Play (part 3) by Katherine J. Parker

Bloody hands by KarenKong on DeviantArt.com

The knife slipped between the silver-haired viper’s ribs as though her skin were soft butter.

“Giani,” she gasped as the blade sank deep, “you traitorous bastard.”

“I learned from the best,” he whispered against her ear. “At least you gave me that.”

“They’ll eat you alive.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, mother. That’s where you’ve always been wrong.”

Cecilia spat blood as the blade, inserted so carefully, was ripped maliciously from her breast, her son’s weight lifting from the bed.

Eyes glazing, she cried, “Anton—”

“Was a better father than you were ever a mother,” Giani snarled. “Give him my best.”

Carlton and the Kid and the Clavicle by Andy Cingolani

Thumb Head by Manuscule on DeviantArt.com

Everybody knew you didn’t mess with Carlton. Yeah, not really a tough-guy name. His mom was a big Fresh Prince fan, but didn’t want to name him Will. Too presumptuous. But anyone who did that stupid dance ended up with a broken clavicle, which he did with his thumb. Brutal. Then, there’s this kid, about nine, goes right up to Carlton and says, “Hey, why’d you break my uncle’s clavicle? He wasn’t dancing. He’s got Tourette’s. It was a spasm!” Kid books it, y’know? Why would he stick around? Carlton stroked his chin and thought, “What’s a clavicle?” and shrugged.

The Big League by Joshua Begley

Day 30 by vanishing446 on DeviantArt.com

“I coulda been a big leaguer.” Bobby swung his bat, enjoying the rush of air it created.

“Get outta here,” Louie said. He finished tying the informant to the chair.

“No, really. I was all set.”

“So what happened?”

“Leg got busted.”

The snitch squealed and squirmed. A dark stain spread across his pants.

“But even with this leg, I can outswing Ruth.”

“You gonna hit a homer?”

“I always hit a homer.” Bobby pointed to the other end of the warehouse, just like Ruth calling his shot. He swung and the snitch’s head snapped.

“Foul ball,” Louie said.