I know a story. I know lots of stories. Like this one where this guy, he’s a police informer. He’s well known around town, gets around, basically just hangs everywhere, and no one, not a freaking soul, knows his real job. He’s that good. And this guy, he’s got a real wife. And because she loves the bastard so much, and loved him still when he really was a crook, she lives with this. He’s bringing home trash in the middle of the night just to get them high and loose and talking, and she just goes to sleep. Not much of a sacrifice, but hell. Anyhow, what happens to this guy is he meets up with this OCD named Hick, who, it turns out, works for Dominic the Spic, one of the biggest fuckers in town. Now, turns out that this guy is not only from Kansas, but he’s certifiably insane.
One night, the Informer comes home and finds Hick in the bed, on top of his wife, only she didn’t want him there. No, not at all. So he goes and gets his gun, which he knows is loaded, and he shoots Hick in the head three times, in the chest once, and in the nut-sack twice, once for each nut . Then he shoots his wife in the heart. There’s blood. It’s everywhere. Some his, some hers. And the Informer watches his beloved wife die.
This is not where it ends. After that, the Informer realizes that he’s doubly screwed. Once because he’s lost his beloved wife, and again because he’s just plain lost it. Since no one knows their real names for miles and miles, he puts his beloved wife’s body into an old freezer that doesn’t work and he hides her there. In the basement. Then he takes Hick out to the old mill and sprinkles him with drugs.
What a lovely picture.
Next day, the Informer informs the police of the incident. Someone’s killed Hick like the dog that he is down at the old mill. So much for that good leak.
Now he’s got to keep them from asking questions. Make it obvious, right?
So the Informer goes out and brutally kills each and every dirty bastard that has ever crossed Dominic the Spic. Dirty, filthy bastards. And the way he does it makes it seem more and more to the cops like they’ve got a real serial killer on their hands, someone who likes killing these dirty, filthy bastards. But it isn’t the Spic, because he’s got a broken leg. All the while, the Informer is bringing in leads and devices, crack pipes and empty guns.
Do you think they ever find out that he’s really the one they’re looking for?
Of course they do. It wouldn’t be a story without an end.
The Informer goes along with the plan as originally intended, not too sure if it will work. The last guy on his list just happens to be the Spic himself, who isn’t a hard one to do because of the broken leg and all. So the Informer wastes no time. He goes to the Spic’s house, ties him up real good and tight, and tells him the story of his life, about how he used to be just like the Spic and the Hick and all the other dirty, filthy bastards until someone ratted his ass out and he ended up doing six years in the Big House fighting for his life. Until it happens that one of the thugs he is doing time with tells the Informer about this job he had done, killing these dirty, filthy bastards one by one. But the guy got caught. Fucked up in the ninth inning. He got caught because he bragged about his dirty deeds to an informer, some guy named Jose, who he’d love to get his dirty hands on.
See, if you’re going to do a job, you’ve got to do it right, which means that no one gets out alive.
And that’s the story of the Informer’s life. And he tells his story to the Spic so he can remember it himself, and he can recall how, when he first got this job, he married his wife in the Low Down Dude Ranch Chapel out in Tennessee and a bird shit on his shoes. Then he recalls how he should have known right then and right there.
And then Dominic the Spic had two broken legs. And he’s dead.
One night later, the Informer comes home and finds Dominic the Spic in the bed, on top of his wife, only she’s been dead for six months. A pretty picture that looks better in a house full of accidental flames.
And I lied. They never did figure it out.
