Bad Day: Chinaman, Part Three – Short Story

Three broken fingers, a cracked sternum, two holes in my left shoulder, a broken nose, the worst fucking headache I’ve had this side of Joey Laurence’s bucks night and a clamp on each testical was what greeted me when I came back to reality. China hadn’t has the balks to remove me from the equation just yet, probably incase I’d peeled my lid and squealed the night away like your dad did when he shot his warm load into your mum’s cunt.

China was bent on getting enough meat off my bones before he’d pull the pin, but I just goaded the prick on. I’d never spilt any secrets before, and China was gonna poo my cherry.

The first few volts burnt more than burnt, don’t take that like I’m talking myself up, but I’m pretty sure if it was you sitting there, you’d be bawling your sissy eyes out.

He started ordering thug one and two around in his native tongue, and they quickly jumped to order like their lives depended on pleasing the slant-eyed fuck. I spat a wad of cream from my mouth and let fly with a few obscenities that pulled all slant-eyes back to me, then let the piss rip. I said enough about Jackie and Bruce to get China all the way to snapsville and he threw just the sort of girly punch I wanted from him, I felt my jaw shift in place and my mouth filled quickly with blood. One of his boys grabbed at him like a little kid trying to catch an ice cream he just dropped, in other words  it was pathetic display of skillful adults. China knocked his boy away and let rip with another slap that wound put Rick Flair to shame, and just like HBK did on almost every occasion he found himself on the losing end of someone else’s top maneuver, I overreacted the fuck out of the impact, which just spurned China on even more. It was the fourth of fifth slap of shame that finally yielded the desired result of sending me cascading backwards and crashing to the floor. The chair shattered as did my wrist, but I didn’t let that stop me from scrambling to my feet and planting a right hook to thug two’s temple, he staggeded backwards as I delivered another right followed by a haymaker of a left that dislodged a piece of his skull straight into his soft delicate pink marshmallow brain. Then out of nowhere thug number one dropped a suicide gut cruncher that almost decapitated me, followed up with a leg swipe that sent me back to the floor, I actually heard birds singing their fucking stupid songs. Reality slipped back in as one was bringing a boot down toward my head, and I shifted arse outta the way just in time as his foot landed with the force of a baby elephant next to my skull. I grabbed, twisted my legs up his docile frame, locked a cross armbar in place, pulled his arm out of joint and brought him to the ground better than John Cena had ever brought anyone down in his three moves of a career.

As I stood slowly up, like the hero out of so many awesome eighties movies Chinaman raised his revolver towards my head.

Stalemate he said, in his shitty fucking broken English and I smiled, he smiled back as if we were sharing a moment but my smile meant something entirely different to his.

By the time he figured out we weren’t both thinking the same thing I had his wrist twisted and the barrel of his revolver stuck up under his nose.

Bang, I said with a small hint of sarcasm. He flinched then nervously smiled just before I pulled the trigger.

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